CW ꕤ porn without plot tbh · breeding talk · breeding · dubcon? (The condom breaks and soobin keeps going. Readers overwhelmed but doesn’t tell him to stop) · dirty talk · soobins a freakaleak · dom!soobin · overstim (f) · let me know if i missed anything!
Felt it. That subtle pop of latex giving way mid-thrust—so quick, so clean, you barely registered it before the change hit you. That tight, familiar resistance was gone.
In its place was something else entirely—the raw, burning heat of Soobin’s cock suddenly bare, skin-on-skin, sliding deeper than it ever had before. It was blistering, a kind of stretch and fullness that made your whole body stutter in place.
You gasped. “Soobin—” you choked, arms trembling where they held you up. “I think—it broke—” But he was already moving. Already fucking into you, slow and deep and undeniably bare.
“I know,” he growled behind you, voice so low it scraped your spine. “Fucking felt it.”
There was no panic in his voice. No guilt. Just that dark, heady note of relief. Like he’d been aching for this. Like the second the condom broke, he made the choice not to stop.
He just moaned, deep in his throat, and drove forward again, sliding in to the hilt so you could feel every inch—every vein, every twitch of his thick cock pulsing inside your raw, soaked cunt.
“God—” he hissed, one hand curling around your waist, the other gripping your ass tight. “You feel even better like this. Warm. Wet. Nothing between us—fuck, I can’t—”
He was losing it.
You tried to move, to lift your hips, to think, but your body was already reacting—clenching around him, sucking him in harder with every thrust.
“Wait—wait, Soobin—”
“No,” he snapped, thrusting harder now. “Don’t tell me to stop. Not now. Not when you’re taking me this fucking well.”
You whimpered as he slammed into you again, his cock sliding in slick and hot, his hips slapping against your ass in sharp, wet collisions. Your walls fluttered around him, confused by the bare stretch, the sheer exposure. He could feel it.
“I know,” he grunted. “I know, baby. Your pussy knows it’s different. She likes it, doesn’t she?”
“Soobin—fuck, it’s too—”
It wasn’t too much, though. Even as your body shook under him, even as your thighs trembled, your back arched—you wanted it. Every brutal thrust, every messy slide of slicked skin-on-skin, every primal moan he let loose into the crook of your neck.
You wanted it all, and he knew it.
“Knew you’d feel like this,” he muttered, rutting into you faster now as he leaned into your neck, his voice right in your ear. “Knew you’d squeeze me so tight. You weren’t meant to be fucked with anything on—meant to be bred raw.”
Raw. Bare. Unrelenting.
Your pussy, already slick and swollen, clenched around him so tight it was almost hard to move—and that only made him rougher. His cock glided through your wetness, each thrust squelching obscenely between your thighs, the filthy sound echoing through the room alongside your strangled whimpers.
“Too good,” he panted, his voice cracked open with hunger. Sweat beaded at his hairline, dripping down the curve of his jaw, sliding off his chin and onto the small of your back as he leaned over you.
“You feel too fucking good—I’m not stopping now, baby. No way.”
Your elbows buckled under you, palms slipping uselessly against the sheets as your body struggled to hold itself up. Your legs shook—quivering under the weight of him and the way he fucked you like he was on a mission.
Your cunt fluttered around him, spasming as another orgasm crept up too fast, too hard, forcing a choked, panicked moan from your throat.
You tried to crawl forward—instinct, not thought. Your body screaming that it was too much. That it couldn’t handle another one. That you needed space, a second to breathe, anything—
Soobin growled. Deep and possessive. Voice ragged as his hand snatched your waist and yanked you back down.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
You cried out when he drove back in—deeper, somehow—his cock punching into you with a force that made your vision blur. Your ass slapped against his hips, the sound sharp and wet and absolutely obscene.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled into the back of your neck. “Not when this pussy’s dripping like it was fucking made for me.”
He bent over you, chest pressed to your back now, his breath hot in your ear, and his hand slid up under your stomach—feeling the bulge of his cock pressing inside you from underneath. The heat of his palm spread across your belly like a brand.
“You feel that?” he whispered hoarsely. “That’s me. That’s how deep I am.” You could only sob in response, the pleasure too overwhelming, your body clenching around him like it was trying to keep him, not push him out.
“Fuck it,” he hissed. “I’m gonna cum in you.” He kissed your shoulder—soft, trembling—and then bit it just hard enough to make you yelp. “I’m gonna fill you up,” he growled. “I’m gonna stuff this pretty little pussy full—fuck it in so deep it sticks.”
He didn’t stop. Not when your thighs were shaking. When your voice broke from begging. When you came again, screaming his name, eyes rolling back as your body gave out completely.
Now he was chasing something, fucking into you with single-minded, animalistic focus, driven by the feel of your warm cunt clenching, sucking him in, the way your body melted under his touch and went pliant from being used.
When he finally came?
It was loud. A guttural moan, a tremble through his whole frame, hot ropes of cum flooding deep, soaking your pussy until it dripped down your thighs in thick, warm streaks.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ summary: gentlemen can still get their dicks sucked. michael thinks he’s exempt because you’re too pretty. AHNT! wrong.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ smut, oral sex (male receiving), a very shy and flustered michael because I genuinely don’t think he’d be any way else at this age, female reader. wrote this with the “it’s wonderful day!” interview in mind.
Michael isn't sure how he got in this predicament.
One second she'd been curled against him on the bed, tracing lazy shapes against his chest while the television hummed quietly somewhere in the background. The next, her lips were brushing against his ear, soft and plush and devastatingly warm, whispering something sweet as melted honey that made his stomach flip straight into his ribs.
He didn't even fully process the words, only the feeling of all the blood from his head rushing straight to his pants.
A featherlight breath against his skin.
A little kiss tucked just beneath his ear.
The way her voice wrapped around him slow and warm, making him melt before he even realized he was melting. And somehow after that, she was on her knees between his legs.
Michael sat frozen at the edge of the mattress, staring down at her with wide brown eyes while she looked up at him like he'd hung the stars himself. The lamp beside the bed washed everything amber gold, catching in the blush already flooding his cheeks and the nervous shine of his bitten lips.
She looked downright lovesick.
The kind of gaze that made his pulse scramble like frightened birds in a cathedral. Her pupils looked enormous beneath her lashes, soft and syrupy and practically heart shaped with how fond she seemed of him. It made him duck his head immediately, one hand flying up to cover his face as a helpless laugh escaped through his trembling fingers.
“Baby..” he laughed weakly, voice embarrassingly breathless. “Don't look at me like that...”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause...” He peeked at her through his fingers only to instantly regret it when she smiled. “You know why.”
Her hands settled on his thighs then, thumbs smoothing absent little circles against the fabric of his jeans while his knees twitched under her touch. Michael inhaled sharply, shoulders pulling inward with shy tension as she started inching upward, slow enough for him to want to instinctively close his thighs as his stomach tightened when her fingers brushed his belt.
“Can I taste what's in here, angel face?” she spoke softly, tilting her head.
Michael made the tiniest strangled sound. Immediately his head tipped back with embarrassment, curls tumbling across his forehead. “Don't say things like that..”
“Like what?” she asked, all faux innocence and sparkling eyes.
“Those cute names when you're being..” He swallowed hard. “..dirty.”
A grin tugged at her lips. “I think you like it.”
Michael shook his head too fast to be believable. “N-no! I’m a gentleman.”
“Liar.” Her fingers hooked lightly into his belt loops now, teasing without actually pulling. The anticipation alone had him squirming beneath her touch, one leg bouncing nervously while he tried very hard to avoid looking directly at her.
It didn't help that she looked beautiful like this.
Too beautiful, and the thought escaped before he could stop it.
“You're too pretty to be down there..” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Messin' with something so.. perverted.”
She blinked up at him, trying not to laugh. “Perverted?”
Michael groaned softly and buried his entire face in both hands this time. “Please don't make me repeat stuff.. I’m really shy..”
The sound of her laughter was gentle, fond. She leaned forward just enough for her cheek to brush against his knee affectionately, and Michael nearly folded in on himself from the sheer tenderness of it.
“You’re shaking, Mikey..” Her hands left his belt slowly.
For a second Michael thought maybe she'd noticed how overwhelmed he was getting. The poor boy could barely breathe correctly anymore, all flushed cheeks and twitching thighs and nervous little laughs muffled behind his hands.
But then she reached for one of them.
Michael peeked through his fingers just in time to see her guiding his larger hand into her lap, her own looking impossibly small wrapped around it. Long fingers. Elegant fingers. The kind that belonged behind piano keys beneath stage lights.
“Mama..” he whispered, already embarrassed again.
She ignored him completely and instead, she turned his hand over gently and pressed a kiss to the tip of his thumb and Michael visibly melted.
Another kiss landed against his index finger.
Then his middle.
Then the next.
Slow little kisses. Unhurried and affectionate enough to make his pants feel unbearably tight. Michael stared down at her in stunned silence, lips parted slightly while heat crawled all the way down his neck. This was almost worse than the teasing because it was too sweet. Way too sweet.
His thighs shifted restlessly beneath her as she kissed the tip of his pinky last, eyes never leaving his face once— she was watching every single reaction bloom across him in real time.
Michael tried to hide again instinctively, but she still had his hand still holding him there. Her gaze dropped briefly and she took his longest finger gently between her lips, and Michael forgot how to breathe for a solid three seconds because all he could focus on was her mouth.
The softness of it. The shine of it. The way her plush lips looked wrapped around his finger while she looked back up at him through her lashes. She started sucking, bobbing her head up and down on the digit as her tongue swirled a little too good around the flesh.
Michael sucked in a shaky breath so suddenly it almost sounded painful. His free hand immediately covered his face again, utterly overwhelmed.
“Hoh, God..” he laughed weakly into his palm, voice trembling around the edges. His thighs tried to cave inward again, only stopping because she was still between them.
And she looked entirely too pleased about that fact.
This time her hand slid upward, fingers disappearing into the curls at the nape of his neck gentle and possessive in the softest way possible. She tugged him downward carefully, and Michael followed without resistance, folding toward her like he was helpless against gravity whenever she touched him like this. One of his hands caught against the mattress beside her head to steady himself.
He looked unbearably pretty up close with his flushed cheeks, heavy lashes and hips parted slightly from nervous breathing.
And still shy. Still hiding little fragments of his face from her whenever she looked at him too lovingly for too long. Her thumb brushed along his jaw and Michael's eyes fluttered shut the second her lips met his.
When she pulled back barely an inch, his eyes opened slowly. Dazed. She smiled at him so fondly it nearly finished him off right there. “Can I make you feel good, my angel?” she asked softly.
He ducked his head immediately, forehead nearly falling against her shoulder while a breathless giggle escaped him in pure embarrassment. “You already are..” he mumbled shyly.
Moments of movement and shuffling pass before Michael's breathing is completely uneven now.
Every inhale came sharp through parted lips, every exhale trembling back out because he couldn't quite steady himself anymore. His face stayed turned away half the time, curls falling over his eyes while little helpless sounds kept slipping from him no matter how hard he tried to swallow them down.
“Mm.. mm—baby.. baby—” The words barely even sounded intentional. More instinct than speech as his fingers flexed uselessly against the sheets beside him before curling tight enough to wrinkle the fabric. A second later they were in his hair instead, tugging lightly at the curls near his temple while he whines under his breath in disbelief. A completely overwhelmed sound, genuinely not able process how good this felt.
Her tongue swirls around the sensitive head of his pretty mauve flushed brown tip, the wet warmth of her mouth enveloping him completely. Her small hands grip his base firmly, matching the rhythm of her mouth’s movements.
Michael squeezed his eyes shut again, brows pulling together while another soft moan escaped him, quieter this time. Almost ashamed of itself with pink flooding across his cheeks, lips parted helplessly and chest rising too fast beneath the open collar of his shirt.
Every little reaction crossed his face openly before he could hide it. And god, he kept trying to hide it. Every time a sound slipped out, he’d duck his head immediately afterward, one hand covering his mouth like maybe he could physically stop himself from making another. It never worked.
“Please..” he whispered at one point, though it didn't even sound like protest. More like he was overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of being wanted this way.
Her mouth is filled with the prettiest cock she’s ever had— slender but long, with a graceful curve that hits the back of her throat perfectly. And such a precious shade of cooked honey, the head thick and smooth. His pelvic area is impossibly smooth, completely hairless and perfectly groomed. She can see every detail of his erection without obstruction; the way his shaft rises from the clean shaven pelvis as her hands run over his smooth pubic bone, feeling how soft the skin is stretched tight over the area.
Another broken little moan caught in his throat.
Michael swallowed hard afterward, eyes glassy when they fluttered open again. He looked almost distraught from pleasure alone now.
“This is so..” He exhaled shakily, unable to finish the sentence.
Dirty.
Dirty and deply intimate in a way that made his stomach twist itself into knots. Michael looked almost painfully pretty like this. Completely unraveled by tenderness and desire all at once. Every soft sound leaving him admittedly was very pathetic and he couldn't understand how he’d ended up here at all. With a beautiful girlfriend who likes, no—loves him enough to put his.. thing in her pretty mouth. They’ve been intimate before this, but he’s still so shy when they do fool around he’s just like this every time. He hasn’t even seen what in between her legs looks like yet but he’s felt it before with his fingers.
A particularly shaky moan slipped out of him then, and he immediately groaned afterward biting the knuckle of his pointer finger. “I can't hold it.. I can't hold it..” he mumbled weakly against his skin, mortified. But even then his thighs trembled.
Michael’s breath stutters as his entire body tightens for a brief, helpless second before he loses whatever shaky control he’d been holding onto. He sits up almost involuntarily, pulled by instinct more than thought and immediately folds forward over her, shoulders hunched, curls falling around his face as he cradles her head with both hands. He’s cumming.
“Lord—have mercy..”
His fingers press gently into her hair, careful not to mess it up too bad while his forehead dips close. He tries to steady himself against her, a soft broken sound caught in his throat, as he stays there feeling her tongue roll against the underside of his dick. He.. doesn’t quite know how to come back down from the intensity except by holding on.
And that’s what he does until he bashfully lets her pull away, a big flirty smile on her face as she wipes the corner of her mouth.
“What? Don’t look at me like that..” His little accent is thicker now.
“We’ve been dating for months and you’re still so precious! Come hereeeee~! ♪ ” She chirps going in to tickle him, to which he preemptively starts screaming.
[ 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)
synopsis: michael working on his new album ‘bad’ has him occupied all day, everyday for weeks on end. as his wife, you’re rightfully frustrated in more ways than one. so, when you hear a female voice in the background during a phone call to the studio — you can’t help but want to claim what’s yours.
warnings: sexual themes, smut, 18+
Hayvenhurst had never been this quiet.
Usually, the large mansion was filled with noises of laughter, joy and, more often than not, pure ecstasy from you and your husband.
However, as of late, Michael had been occupied from early hours of the morning, to late at night, when he would trudge home in an exhausted state, curl up against your slumbered frame and fall asleep. And, by the time you’d be waking up, he was already gone. You understood that being the wife to a global superstar had its perks and drawbacks — and when it came to writing and producing an album, the drawbacks were more prominent.
It was late on a Saturday night when you found yourself more bored than usual.
Maybe you were overthinking it, or maybe it was because you hadn’t seen, heard from or touched your husband in 3 days. 3 long, excruciating days. Michael usually would call, but it seemed the concentration and focus the album needed was at the centre of his mind.
So, you had situated yourself in front of the television — a movie you’d already seen twice playing in front of your tired eyes. Barely focusing on what the actors were saying — you drifted off to a place where your husband was. Picturing him sat beside you — warm, salty popcorn in a bowl and a freshly squeezed orange juice in hand, giggling away at a movie he loved.
The soft smile that had crept onto your face slowly sank away into the depths of despair at the reminder your man wasn’t here, and you had no idea when you’d next see him.
You knew you could see him if you really wanted to by paying Westlake Recording Studios a visit, but, Quincy Jones was a perfectionist like Michael, and any unnecessary distractions this close to finishing the album were not permitted to enter the studio.
And you were definitely a distraction to Michael.
Despite being a busy man, whenever you did spent time together, by God did he make up for lost time. That man would spend 50 days and 50 nights making up for any time you’d spent apart by showering you in irrevocable affection to show you just how much he missed you too.
With an exaggerated yawn, you glanced at the glistening gold watch around your wrist, one Michael had gifted you for your 4th wedding anniversary. Mumbling about the time, the numbers 20:38 stared back at you.
‘Time to get ready to sleep alone, again’ You thought to yourself.
Sighing dramatically, you pushed yourself off the couch, switching off the television and dragging your tired feet towards the stairs. The house was always eerily dark and quiet at this time of night, especially being alone, leaving goosebumps down your arms as you reached your even quieter bedroom.
A wave of sadness hit you as you observed your cold, dark and pitiful bedroom — once filled with glistening low lighting, a bottle of Champagne and love-making all night, giggling with your other half. Now, the total opposite.
And the worst thought of it all — even when the album was finished, you knew he’d be touring, and you’d either be stuck at home alone permanently or living on the road for the next year. Either way, you’d do anything for Michael — which agitated you even more.
There was no one better — he was the one for you, the one you promised at the alter that you’d be there, sickness and in health, for better and for worse. This was the worse they were referring to. You loved him more than life itself to ever leave him — it’d break your heart more than this loneliness ever would.
For now, you’d wait for his call. Sit around all night, yawning and rubbing your tired eyes — awaiting a call that would never come, before succumbing to sleep and kicking yourself in the morning for not staying up for him.
Brushing away the negative thoughts that corrupted your mind, you trudged to the bathroom, deciding a floral scented body cream to flood your nostrils would hopefully cheer you up. Grabbing the large bottle, you squeezed a small amount out of the tube — rubbing the delightful smelling cream into your arms, your eyes locking on the phone on your nightstand.
‘If he didn’t call by 10 o’clock, you’d call.’ You decided, knowing that the next hour would be spend watching the time, feeling as though watching paint dry would be quicker. But, what else would a viciously devoted wife do?
Once your body was slicked with the fanciest lotion Michael could’ve possibly bought, just because, you slipped under the covers of your four-poster bed, the Emerald green, satin bedsheets sliding over your skin like water as you settled down.
21:05, Check the clock.
21:18, Sigh irritatingly at the ceiling.
21:25, Rest your eyes for a moment to pass the time.
21:29, Surely at least 10 minutes had gone by—oh, no, just 4 minutes!
"Oh, fuck this." You mumbled to yourself, ignoring the 21:34 on the clock metaphorically screaming ‘You’re weak’ at you as you picked up the phone and dialled the number to Westlake Studios.
The sound of the phone ringing droned on throughout the room — your nails tapping impatiently on the handle, your bottom lips being gnawed on as you waited.
"Hello, Westlake Recording Studios, this is Susie, how can I help?"
"Hi Susie. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you why I’m calling, huh?" You chuckled into the phone, knowing your voice was recognisable by now.
"Oh, good-evening, Mrs Jackson," She replied, a smile evident in her voice, "Let me check with Mr Jones that he’s available, okay? Give me a sec, sweetie."
"No problem."
A rustle, a click and the sound of the hold music indicated Susie, the receptionist at Westlake, was calling Quincy Jones to make sure your husband wasn’t knee deep in a song. Knowing your husband, he probably was.
Click! "Hey, sweetie, just gonna connect you now."
Butterflies erupted in your stomach like a lovesick teenager at the confirmation you were about to speak to your husband, having to bite back a smile at the thought of hearing his sweet voice.
Click! "Baby?"
Oh, Lord, it was better than you imagined.
You sighed a sweet relief, "Oh, darling, it’s so good to hear your voice." You admitted straight off the bat, "Hi, my love."
Michael laughed, a smile that hurt your cheeks creeping up onto your face, "Hi, sweet girl, are you okay?"
"I’m so much better now I’m talking to you." You spoke, clutching the phone in two hands in desperation, "Mikey, I miss you so much."
"I know, baby, I miss you too." Michael agreed, "I’m coming home tonight, so don’t fret that little head anymore, okay?"
"Really?"
"Yes, really, my baby, I can’t wait to hold you." His voice as sweet as sugar, echoing in your brain like an addiction begging to be tended to, "My beautiful wife all alone — makes me so sad."
"So alone." You pouted, craving to be babied, "Need you so bad, Mike." You whispered.
Michael breathed out a laugh, your grin deepening as you pictured his flustered face behind the phone — blush creeping onto his face at your suggestive words, "Oh, darling." He whispered, "I love you, I hope you know that."
"I love you so much more." You sighed, "The house is so quiet and boring without you."
"I know, I know. I’m sorry I’ve left you for so long — things have been hectic here. Y’know how Quincy gets when the album’s nearly finished, he just gets so excited and just wants to make that push to the finish line without stopping."
"I know." You mumbled, toying with the phone cord, "I just can’t wait to have you all to myself."
"Won’t be long, baby. Only a few hours."
"Mm, I can’t wai—" "Mikey, come back, the album won’t finish itself!"
Silence filled the room as your eyes widened, the smile wiped clean off your face as the reality of what you just heard hit you.
A female voice — calling your husband the nickname you have for him, beckoning him back to the studio. A voice laced with an undertone you didn’t like nor want to hear the other end of the phone knowing she was with your man and not you.
Absolutely the fuck not.
"O-Okay, Coming!" Michael called out, "Baby, I gotta go."
"Who was that?" You pressed, your eyebrows knitted together.
"Oh, just another producer. I’ll speak to you later, okay? Don’t wait up for me. Love you."
Click! Beeeeep!
Your jaw dropped, moving the beeping phone away from your ear as the line disconnected. You blinked, in utter shock at the conversation that just occurred in your ear without even a second to process.
Your brain ran a mile a minute as you replayed the scene in your head. An unfamiliar female voice, with a suspicious tone, calling your husband back to the studio, then being hung up on after being told to not wait up for him, ending with the ‘I’ missing from ‘I love you’, had you spiralling as you placed the phone down.
The silence that consumed the room was deafening — your heart beating out of your chest as your mind ran away with itself.
Michael, tired, lonely, and equally as sexually frustrated as you, alone with a musically talented woman who’s investing in his career and spending more 1-on-1 time with him than you, could easily lead to—
You’d never picked the phone back up quicker, speed dialling the Studio back, the mortifying thought of anything happening clouding your judgement, your foot tapping impatiently against the floor, now sitting on the edge of your bed cautiously.
"Hello, Westlake Recording Studio, this is—“
"Hi, Susie, it’s me again. I need you to connect me with Michael again right now please." You rushed through gritted teeth.
"Oh! Hello, again, I thought I already connected you, sweetie?"
"You did. But, I need connecting again, please. Now." You pleaded, your shaking fingers pinching the bridge of your nose.
"Let me check with Mr Jones, okay? One second."
Click! Before you even had chance to plead her to just put you through, the hold music sounded again. Groaning as you flung backwards onto the bed, phone still pressed to your ear, you could feel the anger growing inside you.
Click! "Hey, honey, I’m afraid I can’t put you through. Mr Jackson’s very busy right now."
Could worse words ever be spoken.
"Okay, I appreciate that, Susie, but I must speak to my husband right now."
"I’m sorry, Mrs Jackson, there’s nothing I can do."
"Please. Let me just speak to Quincy, I’m sure he’ll let me speak to him."
"I’m sorry, but Mr Jones has just left for the night, so Mr Jackson is with one of our other producers who has left me with strict instructions to make sure Mr Jackson has no distractions. Goodnight, Mrs Jackson." Beeeeep!
You placed the phone down once more — the beeping subsiding as you stared off into the distance, zoning out as the recollection of the past few minutes clouded your mind.
He’s in there, alone with her. Not even Quincy was there anymore. Your heart was in your throat as you remained perched on the end of the bed, chest heaving in pure adrenaline — visions of your husband doing things he shouldn’t polluting your thoughts.
How he didn’t even notice how concerned you sounded when asking who she was made anger and jealousy bubble in your chest. Knowing that you’d been dying to see Michael for days, not counting the past few weeks, months and even years he’s been busy working on music where you’ve missed out on marital business because of his work — and now she was getting to spend alone time with him without even having to lift a finger?
Furious didn’t even cover half of it.
Michael didn’t know what he was walking into when he pushed open the door to the Hayvenhurst mansion, sighing tiredly. It was just past midnight, his eyes were heavy and his feet were dragging against the floor as he trudged through to the kitchen, expecting an empty room to make himself a warm glass of milk and head up to bed, to hold you as promised.
What he didn’t expect to see was you, in a long sheer gown, feathers on the edges, barely covering the matching black and baby pink lacy lingerie set that adorned your delicious body. Your tits pushed up perfectly, and your hips, waist and glorious legs all on display, with your hair perfectly groomed and a glass of wine in hand, stood on the opposite side of the kitchen island.
His heart jumped into his mouth at the sight of you — in shock of not expecting you to be there and the vision of your beautiful body on full display for him.
"Baby, wow, you look— wow, incredible." He breathed, taking in the sight of you as a took a swig of your wine, "What are you doing awake? I told you not to wait up."
You didn’t answer straight away — just stared at him, taking sips of your wine as you remained in constant eye contact with him. After a few seconds of silence, Michael’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.
"Honey, you okay?"
"Do you like what you see, Michael?"
Michael breathed out a laugh, "Like? Baby, I’m in love. You look breathtaking."
His eyes never left yours as you sauntered your way around the kitchen island, slowly heading towards him, your high-heels clicking against the floor.
"I called you back, did you get the message?"
"Sorry?" Michael questioned, utterly confused at your words.
"Earlier. I called you back — did someone tell you I called again?"
Michael scratched the back of his neck, puffing out air as he thought, "Uhh, no. Sorry, honey, I was really busy."
You hummed in response, standing before him, eyeing him up and down, "So I was told. Something about a new producer not wanting you to be disturbed, hm?"
"Oh, yeah, that’s Ester, she’s great. Been helping me and Q with the album." Michael innocently complimented, a smile on his face as he looked down at you, "God, baby, I can’t get over how amazing you look. I just wanna touch you all over."
You brushed past him before he got a chance to grab a hold of you, a waft of your sickly, addicting perfume clouding his nostrils, "Come get me then." You beckoned, heading towards the stairs, your gown traipsing behind you.
Michael trailed behind you like a predator to prey — his eyes glistening in desire at the sight of you, your plump ass and curvy thighs on perfect display as he practically crawled up the stairs like a rapid dog behind you.
"Come here, darling, wanna touch you so bad."
"Patience, Mikey." You dragged out the nickname, "Gotta catch me."
Playfulness glistened in his eyes as you turned around, walking backwards up the stairs slowly, as if assessing the threat that crawled slowly behind you, his eyes never once leaving yours.
After making it up the stairs without being ‘caught’, you waltzed into the bedroom with an aura radiating off you that Michael had never seen — your hair bouncing as you walked, along with the wobble of your perfect ass, which he couldn’t help but stare at, his cock twitching in arousal.
Michael remained behind you as he watched you slip your gown off, letting it fall of your body sensually, your half naked body now fully exposed to him. A shaky breath left his lips at the sight of you as you crawled onto the bed on all fours — your hips swaying while looking back to meet his eyes.
"Fuck." Michael groaned under his breath, his gaze not daring to look away from your frame, contorting into sensual positions.
You slid slowly onto your back, your arms holding you up and your legs pressed together, your eyes never leaving his own blown out ones — observing as his chest rose and fell quicker as he anticipated your next move. Fulfilling his undeniable need, you slowly parted your legs, revelling in the gasp that ripped from his throat at the sight of your crotchless panties, your gushing cunt exposed to him so suddenly.
"Oh, baby." He sighed, falling to his knees at the edge of the bed, his eyes locked on your glistening pussy.
"Is she pretty?"
"Mhm, the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen." He mumbled, barely listening to you as he gawked at you.
"No — Is she pretty?"
That’s when it hit him — the reason you were awake, the outfit, the wine, the questions. It all finally clicked in his head what was going on.
"What? Ester?"
"Yes, her." You spat, a foul look on your face, acting as those even referring to her tasted vile in your mouth.
Michael breathed out a laugh, "Baby, no. Not at all. Never in a million years. She’s my producer." He answered, a playful smile on his face, "Enough of that — let me taste this sweet pussy that I’ve missed so much."
Leaning forward in attempt to press his face between your thighs, he was met with a forceful being stopping his path.
Your shoe — the heel pressing firmly on his forehead, stopping him in his tracks.
"Ah, ah, ah! No touching for you, Mikey." You teased, "Or is it only her that’s allowed to call you that?"
Michael groaned, a hint of a pathetic whine threatening to blend with the gruff of his voice, the severity of the situation really setting in for him now.
"Baby—"
"No. Beg."
"Honey, please," He wasted no time, his eyes meeting your own challenging ones from between your legs, all of his wrong-doings becoming apparent to him now he was being denied your pussy, "I don’t know why she called me that — that name is reserved for you and you only. You, my beautiful, loving, perfect wife. Not her." He rambled, his eyebrows curved upwards in despair as his voice threatened to break, desperation dripping off him more than the slick from your wet pussy at the submissive sight of him, "And I am beyond sorry at the fact I didn’t say ‘I love you’, I was in a rush and I didn’t think. But, I should’ve thought. How dare I deny my gorgeous sweet little one the words of my true love. And I should’ve answered your second call, and I should’ve been here to begin with. I hate leaving you alone for so long, but I’m an idiot husband, please, please, forgive me."
You stayed silent as your high-heel, the Armani ones he’d bought for your birthday, still remained pressed against his warm forehead. His puppy dog eyes, now a silent plea of desperation as he looked at you, his face a complete wreck at the pure fact that he was being denied your glorious pussy.
"Hm." You spoke finally, lowering your foot off of his face, "I suppose I’ll forgive you."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you." He chanted, grabbing a hold of your ankle, craving any sort of touch at this point.
"If."
"Yes, baby, anything." He rambled, "Anything — just let me feel you, please."
His obvious built up sexual frustration was manifesting itself in the most submissive, pathetic manner you’d ever seen — his voice cracking and stuttering as he begged you for physical contact.
"You let me use that pretty mouth and cock of yours until I decide you’ve made up for it."
He could’ve cum on the spot at the pure erotica that left your pretty pink lips, swallowing hard as his cheeks flushed, trying to ignore the way his cock throbbed in his boxers.
"Jesus, sweetheart." He breathed, "You’re killing me over here."
"Is that a yes?"
"Yes, absolutely, 1000%, yes."
"Lay down then."
Michael wasted no time doing what you asked. Usually, he would dominate in the bedroom, and he knew deep down the second he slid his achingly hard cock into your tight little cunt, that you’d submit to him that millisecond, but right now, he’d humour you — secretly enjoying letting you take the reigns for once, especially if it meant getting to devour your pretty pussy.
You crawled up his body, before hovering over his face, your legs either side of his head — your clenching cunt just centimetres above his eager mouth that had him twitching in excitement at the thought of the taste of your sweet pussy, one he’s missed for so long.
"Lemme take care of you, sweet girl. Make everything alright again." He promised, two firm hands coming to grab a handful of your shaking thighs.
Without giving him a second to prepare, you lowered your pussy down onto his face — both of you moaning at the feeling of one another after so long.
"Oh, Michael." You cried out, your hands flying to the headboard above your bed, as his tongue wasted no time in delving between your lips.
His tongue slithering its way around your quivering sex — the tip of the warm muscle swiping over your throbbing clit, eliciting the most needy, pornographic whine from your lips. Michael couldn’t help but smile into you — knowing the dominant act was going to wear off pretty soon with that way he was devouring your cunt like his last meal.
The erotic noises that filled your once depressingly quiet bedroom had Michael twitching uncontrollably in his pants — his cock screaming to be freed as you began rocking your hips back and forth on his face, moaning like a bitch in heat at the feeling is his nose nudging your sensitive nub.
"O-Oh, baby, yes! Yes, God, baby, so good." You whined, your voice a high-pitched strain of undeniable ecstasy as you rode his face.
Michael was in heaven — after weeks of not even seeing you naked let alone having his face stuffed full of your pussy, he couldn’t be stopped from devouring you even if anyone tried. He didn’t even care that his dick was begging to be touched — he wanted, no, needed to be forgiven, to make things right. Prove to you that you were the only woman he needed in his life.
A devilish hand slid up your thigh to grab a handful of your ass, earning a moan of delight into your pussy as Michael sucked your aching clit. Nearly buckling over at the vibrations of his noises — you hunched over, knuckles turning white as you gripped onto the headboard for dear life at the feeling of his swollen lips wrapping around your clit like his life depended on it.
It was only when two of his long, slender fingers dipped suddenly into your hole, reaching such depths so quickly that you came on the spot — crying out deliciously as you coated Michael’s face in your juices.
"Michael—ah! God, yes! Don’t stop!"
Your hips rocked back and forth faster than before, denying him of oxygen, not that he cared, but prolonging your orgasm as his slicked nose repeatedly abused your extremely overstimulated clit.
Lifting off his face with a whine, your legs threatened to collapse before Michael caught you, two strong, reliable hands holding your waist and legs before they gave way. Michael picked you up with a smile, before laying you gently on the bed beneath him.
"You’re such a good girl for me, baby." He whispered, leaning down to press a sweet, gentle kiss on your forehead, cheek and nose, "Did so good for me."
You hummed tiredly, looking up at him innocently — one side of your bra strap had fallen down in the bustling of your orgasm, revealing your rounded left breast, your erect nipple on show for him, as well as your now dripping wet pussy one buck upwards away from meeting his thick bulge as he situated between your open legs.
He knew your dominatrix act would let up after he made you cum.
"Look what you did to me, sweet girl." Michael revealed, guiding your hand gently to grab a handful of his despicably hard cock, a loud gasp ripping from your throat, "So fucking hard for you baby. Missed feeling you cum against me so fucking bad."
"Mikey." You whined, irresistibly desperate beneath him.
"Fuck, I only love it when you say it, darling."
You wrapped your arms swiftly around his neck, pulling him down to connect your lips in a fiery, needy, frantic kiss. You hummed into his mouth, the taste of your tangy release still evident on his tongue. Michael kissed you with a burning passion that had you rubbing your legs together once more — the feeling of irrefutable arousal radiating off you like heat.
Michael, without needing to be told, freed himself quickly from his boxers, hissing into your mouth at the contact of his warm hand around the base, guiding it towards your slick cunt.
"Legs up, baby." He mumbled into your mouth, not daring to break the intense kiss.
Michael hummed in pure delight at the feeling of your heeled feet wrapping around his waist and forcing his hips closer to you — his leaking tip now colliding with your clit.
Michael cursed under his breath as his positioned his cock at your hole, his hands shaking at your sides, as he pushed in slowly. The feeling of his pulsating tip, dribbling with anticipatory pre-cum, stretching your pleading pussy had both of you crying out in euphoria — your moans already growing louder before he’d even filled you to the brim.
"Oh, my fuck — this pussy is to die for, Jesus." Michael whined as he pushed further into your tight cunt, inch by inch, his cock stretching you so perfectly.
Once bottomed out and fitted perfectly into your abused cunt — Michael began to set a brutal pace. One that you seeing stars and moaning beyond control underneath him — your sharp nails dragging down his muscular back as he ploughed deeper.
"Mhm!, Mikey, right there!" You gasped blissfully, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he slammed perfectly into your G-Spot, brushing your cervix perfectly.
Michael was a piece of string held taut and being sawed at — ready to snap at any given moment. You hadn’t had sex this good in months — the build up frustration and lack of communication had you both needing each other like water in the desert.
"M-Michael?"
"Yeah, baby?" He panted above you, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek, and down your neck.
You whined, "Pass me the phone."
"What?"
“Don’t stop. Just pass me the phone."
Michael obliged reluctantly, unsure of where this was going. He reached over, his thrusts slowly slighly, one handed to grab the phone, handing it back to you.
"Dial her number."
Michael’s face drained of colour as his thrusts slowed to a stop, which earnt him a slap on the ass from behind, like a jockey on a horse, "Don’t stop, I said. Now, dial her number."
Michael’s swallowed thickly as he searched your face for any sign of humour, but your knitted eyebrows in pleasure paired with your oh so serious eyes had him reaching over to the phone and dialling Westlake Recording Studio.
This late at night had the calls connecting directly to Michael’s studio, Susie long gone, and the only person left in the Studio, was the one person you wanted to answer the phone the most.
"Hello, Ester from Westlake Studio speaking."
A wicked smile flickered over your face as her muffled voice filled your ears. You took the phone from Michael’s hand, sneaking out from under him, pushing him onto the bed and climbing on top of him, guiding his slicked, hard cock back inside you — now riding him just how you knew he loved. Michael strained a loud moan that threatened to escape his lips.
"Hello?" Her voice sounding more confused at the rustling and whispering on the other side of the phone.
You handed the phone back to Michael who eyed you confusedly. His only instruction was the word ‘Speak’ that you mouthed at him, before lifting your cunt off his throbbing cock and bouncing straight back down, his cock nudging your cervix perfectly now.
"H-Hi Ester, it’s M-Michael."
"Michael? What are you doing calling this late?"
Michael looked at your fucked out face for answers — as your beautiful frame and gorgeous complexion stared right back at him, your wedding ring glistening in the moonlight as you grabbed a handful of your tits, he knew exactly what he needed to do to make things right.
"I’ve decided your actions at the Studio are wildly inappropriate and disrespectful to my wife." He started, his voice huffed as he bucked his hips up into you, "Using a personal and private nickname that is reserved for my wife and my wife only is—ah, baby! unprofessional and calls for immediate dismissal."
"What? A-Are you firing me over a nickname?"
"Yes, e-exactly." Michael breathed, "My w-wife is the most important thing in my life, and anyone who upsets her will be—o-oh fuck—banished effective immediately."
Michael positioned the phone to be held up with his shoulder as he gripped your hips — slamming upwards into your tightening pussy, forcing your moans and whines to grow deliberately louder.
"What the fuck? Are you having sex?"
"Pack your stuff and be gone by tonight," Michael breathed, biting his lips momentarily at the sight of your tits bouncing as he fucked up into you, "And never disrespect my wife again."
Not even bothering to hang up, knowing the embarrassed woman on the other line would, Michael threw the phone onto the floor and thrust up into your drooling pussy like he had seconds left to live.
"Oh, Michael, I love you—I love you so so much. Thank you, baby—mmhm!!— thank you, you’re so good to me!"
"I love you, sweetheart, god, M’love you so much."
With a tentative hand crawling down your body to rub tight circles on your clit, to the way it made you clench around his twitching cock — the both of you came with a strangled cry.
"Yeah — cum on my cock, baby, give it to me." Michael coaxed, a whine following shortly after as he forced his cock as deep as it would go before letting his much needed release fire up inside of your oh so willing cunt.
Whining on top of him, juices flowing down his length, coating his tightened balls, your orgasm subsided and you crashed onto his chest, heaving as he, too, came down from filling your cunt up to the brim with his hot seed, before slipping out as he softened.
His gentle hand came up to caress your head, the other taking a hold of your left hand, lifting it carefully to display your wedding ring to the both of you, the 24 Carat gold rock glistened in front of both your eyes, a smile creeping onto your face as it remained a reminder of your dedication to one another no matter.
"This will get you anything you want and more." He admitted, "Just say the word and I’ll go to the ends of the Earth for you, darling."
You peered up at him, your eyes a hazy, fucked out mess, "Will it get me a week alone with my husband?"
Michael smiled, pressing a kiss to your jewelled finger, a boyish giggle leaving his lips before he spoke, "I’d have to check with Quincy—“
mark cant stop yapping about spiderman and you cant stop kissing him. (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
“You don’t understand,” he says, wide-eyed, voice already three octaves too loud, “if Peter and Miles actually team up again and then 2099 shows up, that’s like—bro, that’s like—”
You hum softly against his lips, and he still doesn’t get the hint.
“—three different timelines! And—mmph—okay, wait—wait—babe,” he mumbles as you kiss him again, “I’m trying to explain the multiverse and you’re distracting me—babe—”
You kiss him harder.
Mark Lee, your sweet, nerdy, infuriatingly kissable boyfriend, is sitting on the couch in his Spider-Man hoodie (the Miles Morales one, obviously), gesturing with one hand and completely unaware of the way you’ve climbed into his lap like a lovesick koala.
His other hand? Firm on your waist, like it always finds its home there. His thumb’s rubbing lazy circles, up, down, up, down—like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Absent-minded. Natural.
And his lips—god, his lips—so soft, so pouty, so Mark.
“But if you think about it, like, Gwen and Miles—babe, I’m serious—they represent two different—mmhm—oh my god, you’re literally ignoring me right now,” he grins, nose scrunching as you pepper kisses along his jaw.
“I’m not ignoring you,” you murmur against his skin. “I’m just… appreciating you.”
“With your mouth?”
“Mhm.”
His laugh is all breath and heat, slightly shaky now, finally trailing off from his spider-rant. “You’re insane.”
“You’re talking about spider variants while I’m kissing you.”
“I was talking about variants,” he pouts, letting his head fall back against the couch, looking at you through thick lashes. “Now my brain’s melting. I had points to make.”
You kiss his pout. Then his cheek. Then his neck.
“Baby,” he groans, squirming just a little, “I had a whole theory—”
You slide your fingers under the edge of his hoodie, grip the fabric, kiss him again and again and again.
Now he’s not talking at all.
Just breathing in soft little stutters, kissing you back with those loser-lovey eyes like you put the stars in the damn sky.
“Your lips are so distracting,” you murmur against his mouth.
“You’re the distracting one,” he huffs, arms wrapping fully around you now, pulling you close, surrendering with one last grumble: “Spider-Man can wait…”
(He still tries to finish his theory ten minutes later—with you half-asleep in his lap, lips kiss-bruised and smiling.) finally some couple stuff !! *clap* *clap*
sfw (tho slight suggestive at the end) [kinda wordy i got away lmfao] 1510 words.
- you don't really like the idea of flirting or being in a relationship with a friend from the same circle
- but all of a sudden, someone is changing that narrative. that someone = anton.
- basically, you've been in the same circle since freshman college. the circle has its own ~sub-units~, as to what your friends would like to call them. anton is usually with sohee and the guys yada yada
- it all started at a drinking game during wonbin's birthday
- everyone was asked who's their type in the circle; everyone answered safely and with no malice, some answering none. but alcohol got to you and you just blurted out anton's name in response to the question.
- everyone was silent. the actual guy named anton took a shot and returned your name in response to the question.
- everyone cooed, everyone cheered. but there's a certain shared atmosphere with anton that suddenly became too thick that night.
- after that night, anton suddenly became flirty with you. initially, you just saw it as a normal thing. he's like that—a gentleman and a sweet guy.
- it all officially started when he would randomly message you or send you tiktok and instagram reels. you went from nada to having an ongoing tiktok streak of 35 already. ever since, both of you have established that he will facetime you as both of you study. sometimes, he's practicing a cello piece while you're stressed out with org work, but you never get annoyed
- oh, also, he would always sing to you as he practices with his guitar or piano. that's where you start getting annoyed... because you're definitely falling. lol anyway
- well, you could say your battery has already deteriorated from how you and anton would always go on a sleep call
- sitting next to you in hangouts, scooting closer to you on couches, opening the cap of your bottle, resting his shoulder on yours, quickly dropping to his toes to tie your shoelaces, cleaning your utensils when the circle decides to eat outside, explaining to you (in his soft-spoken voice) what the group was bickering about or what the boys were debating about, and so on
- one time, he insisted on having you on his lap during a car ride where only one person brought a car. so you spent an entire hour stiff and breathless as you were settled on his lap. well, sohee was on wonbin's lap. your other girl friend was also on another girl friend's lap... so being on anton's lap seems normal, right?
- his hands steady your waist, your back pressing to his chest when the car suddenly brakes. anton, on the other hand, swears he could smell you and would slightly pull you closer so you can be comfortable. he asks you from time to time to adjust and assures you not to hold back your weight
- the small moments shared and the subtle actions that make your breath hitch continue every day. you let him, though. you don't say anything. and it's just as bad how these lines are blurred. again, you guys have been friends for a long time...
- it's all about the longevity and comfort you guys shared. LMFAOO you try to convince yourself that way
- but those aspects suddenly blur out when it's only the two of you studying together at the library and throwing flirty punches at each other.
- anton's sentences would often start or end with him referring to you as "pretty," "babe," or worse: "baby." and worst of all, you just let him and don't police that habit...
- when everyone's hanging out at wonbin's house, he would suddenly sneak up behind you and lean on your shoulders. he'd compliment how you look and how he likes your scent. apparently, the anton lee likes giving back hugs... and likes being hugged every night...
- also maintaining eye contact while being across the table or sofas? and he would just smirk when you break the eye contact
- to say the least, even the most boring errands—like grocery shopping, buying stuff you need for school, or waiting in line at the hospital—felt so exciting because anton was your company.
- you'd say everything is normal until it's 12 am, and anton's sleeping soundly with his face on your neck, laying on his side clinging to your waist
- then came the days when he would tease you, or plague your late-night talks with "what if" questions
- "you're lucky you're cute." "if you keep treating me like this, i might fall." "what if i actually took you on a real date?" "what if we actually kissed right now? nah, i'm just playing."
- and telling any of your friends about all of this could be the dealbreaker. so both of you never did. hell, you and anton never even addressed this elephant you're nurturing in your friendship... setup.
- "best friends premium?" you shamelessly muttered to your close girl friends when they caught all those selfies of you and anton in bed, cuddling together. or even those photos when the two of you went for breakfast 'dates.'
- sohee mentioned one time to everyone that anton's wallpaper is a baby photo of someone. "oh anton-ah, you didn't tell us you're talking to someone! who is it?" anton remained quiet but he quickly glanced at you to see your reaction.
- you bit your lip, hiding your smile from everyone who was teasing him. it was your baby photo that he found so cute when you showed him one time. you didn't know that he actually took a photo of it. and made it his wallpaper. like fuckkk WAT DAT MEAN?
- you noticed that anton seems different and acts unusual when you're wearing his clothes
- he's flustered each time :p
- so, you steal some of his clothes and he just lets you...
- you swore you saw him bite his lip one time when you were just wearing his oversized hoodie and your sleep shorts
- the subtle (or not-so-subtle) tension that arises when your previous fling or ex situationship is in the proximity. or when you're suddenly clingy with one of your friends (he doesn't care if it's a girl or a guy... he knows you can bend all genders so all of a sudden he's sulky???)
- "i'm not jealous though," he states.
- "okay. i didn't ask though. wha- anton, can you stop pouting?"
- but he still wins because he's holding your hand as you two walk to your house after the hangout or after your classes. sometimes its his biceps you're holding when the two of you are walking.
- finally, your and anton's tiktok streak says 50. so, 50 days of ridiculousness already of whatever-this-is with anton. you have fallen already. definitely. you feel conflicted at the same time. and you hope he does, too
- the routine you shared was present daily and anton was consistent in either being the flirty friend or stirring your feelings. well, to be fair, he's a romantic guy...
- the flower vase in your room was never empty. when he comes to visit for a movie night or a study night or a sleepover, he's never empty-handed as he enters your door. there's always a bundle of fresh flowers from the supermarket in his hands. if it's a special day, they're from a flower shop :3
- your friends can't do it anymore. they have noticed, they pointed it out, they sometimes pretend not to know or care. but they're just tired of seeing anton and you dilly-dally and call it friendship
- one night, as you and anton were walking to his house from a nearby burger joint sungchan recommended, you felt like it was already time to address it. his hand was warm on your palm, and he's just grinning as he sways it playfully
- you stopped in your tracks. the moment you guys were sharing earlier and the quiet of the night made it feel like it was the right time. "do you think we should date?"
- "definitely."
- "cool."
- "yeah, yeah."
- it felt sweet and innocent even though you guys were quiet and red the whole walk back to his place. you guys weren't teenagers anymore yet you acted like it—
- acting all innocent after that declaration of affection and suddenly you're in his lap, hoodie on the floor, your fingers threading through his hair carefully, and his lips almost engraved in yours
- you pulled away, unable to breathe. he whines.
- "well, i'm sorry i don't have the lungs of a swimmer." you playfully rolled your eyes.
- he scoffs lazily, followed by a smirk. "my bad."
- "remove your shirt, lee."
- anton follows and went for a quick kiss then pulled away out of nowhere. he rasped, "you know what else i could dive into?"
- you and anton both slept very well that night
- the following day, he asked you out properly for a date with all the things you could ask for (yet you never did because he did it all naturally!)
▶︎︎ SCREAM VI (starring . ghostface! geto, gojo, & choso)
synopsis . In which your ‘killers’ soon realize you’re not stuck with them but they’re stuck with you…
content . afab!reader, three/foursome, squirting, non-curse au, oral sex, established relationship, reader gets kinda passed around, men teasing one another, dirty talk, unprotected sex, established relationship, fear play, lowk feral reader, cuck!Geto, rough sex, praise, overstim, degrading, tw: spitting, pet names, filth (cùm eating), pussy slapping, teasing, chojo sneak bc i cant help it, a hint of knife play, etc.
word count . 9.6k || author’s note: in honor of the new scream movie coming out tmr i thought i’d go ahead and repost this from kamitv—if it looks familiar, that’s why. banner art by the lovely @/aransmind!!
“You want me to wear that and chase you around the estate?”
“Yeah, and when you find me…”
“I fuck you instead of killing you.”
“Mhm!” You hum cheerfully to your rather concerned boyfriend whose lap you’re currently sitting on.
Those dark raven strands of hair framing his gorgeous face sway with the light tip of his head to the side as his naturally slim eyes narrow at your overly excited expression, “And I’m doing this, why?” Geto questions.
You let out a giggle, which only confuses him even more. “Because Scream is my favorite franchise and Ghostface is hot… Duh.”
It’s as if the man only falls for you more and more every day. Geto’s been with you for roughly two years now and yet you’ve never revealed this sudden… mask kink you clearly have. He likes the Scream franchise just as much as you do and the idea of chasing you around and eventually fucking you in costume definitely excites him.
So there you are; sitting in his lap and pouting, steadily snaking your arms around his neck and pulling yourself in close before you plant a chaste little kiss on his lips.
“C’mon Sugu, I know you’ve thought about it before,” You point out to him in a low purr as your lips depart from his.
The hands that’d been calmly resting on your hips suddenly grow intrigued as they slide up to your waist and give you a soft squeeze, “I really haven’t.” He admits honestly. You can see it all in his eyes that he silently agreed to this the moment you brought out that stupid mask.
At his soft admission, a gleaming smile spreads across your face, “Okayy, well you are now… So is that a yes or what?”
He pretends to think for only a moment longer, glancing off to the side in faux thought before landing those pretty lilac irises back onto you, “Yeah, sure. Tomorrow's Halloween so, we can do it then.” Geto tells you.
And that was all it took.
Halloween night was here before you even had time to fully prepare for it. The entire day you weren’t able to stop thinking about the moment Geto would walk through the front door, dressed in all black with that overly attractive ghostface mask cloaking his equally beautiful face.
Your heart was racing in anticipation as the sun began to set outside and the clock ticked closer and closer toward the time of which he would return home from work. You knew he’d be there no more than thirty minutes after and all you could do was wonder how this all would go down.
Clad in only one of his oversized white t-shirts, you distracted yourself by mindlessly scrolling on your phone as you awaited the moment he’d get home. Any second now and you’d hear that lovely security chime go off—
You jump a little in your bed when your thought is cut off by an incoming unknown number. If you weren’t buzzing with excitement before, you damn sure are now because it’s clear your boyfriend is going out of his way to play into this with you. There are practically small hearts in your eyes as you tap that enticing green button on your screen to answer the phone.
Biting back a smile, you’re quick to bring the phone up to your ear, “Hello?”
An almost low-quality distortion to the person’s voice is instantly recognized by you—it wasn’t Suguru’s voice at all, it was that infamous voice changer that spoke to you. “Why don’t you wanna talk to me?” A man asks, and you know this line all too well.
Hell, you know the entire dialogue. This is exactly why you sit up in your bed and hold back that smile of yours like your life depended on it. Tilting your head into the phone, you glance around your bedroom, “Who is this?”
“You tell me your name, I’ll tell you mine,” The ‘mystery’ man continues.
You had to slap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from giggling right then and there. Your dark little fantasy was becoming true right before your very eyes and it had a sliver of excitement slipping down your spine. Sliding out from your bed, you take small steps toward the nearby window and glance outside.
Scoffing softly, “I don’t think so.” You quote, straight from the first Scream. You’ve seen the movie enough times to recite the whole thing word for word, even his lines.
It’s a bit off-script how things go from here on out but, that’s the goal.
“Aw, you’re no fun.” He purrs. Even with that damn voice changer, you’d recognize that purr any day. You know this is your boyfriend and that only has your body heating up with each passing second.
Now you’re left to improv a bit. “Think so?” You reply as you pull your bedroom curtains closed and turn away from the window.
“Oh I know so, sweetheart. It’s Halloween night and you’re doing nothing to celebrate.” The man on your phone points out.
You’re walking out of your room now and taking a careful peek into the dimmed hallway. “And that makes me not fun? What am I supposed to do to celebrate Halloween aside from dressing up and maybe handing out some candy?”
He chuckles. “You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you can figure something else out.”
“Let me guess,” Your brows raise a little, “I should be watching scary movies?”
“That depends. You like scary movies?” There you are, right back onto the script.
“Uhuh,” You hum in response with a slight nod as if he could see you.
“What’s your favorite scary movie?” And there it is, infamous line one of many. You nearly let out a dreamy sigh knowing that it’s nothing but your boyfriend on the other end.
Allowing yourself to smile this time, you trek down your hallway and towards the staircase. “Uhhh, I dunno,” Of course you know, but where’s the fun in saying it so soon?
“You have to have a favorite. What comes to mind?” Every scratchy distorted-pitched word that pours from the man’s mouth has anticipation bubbling within you.
You sigh. “Uhmm, Halloween!” As you recall that answer straight from the movie, you turn to your staircase and allow your eyes to scan the first floor of your home.
Most of the lights are on so it’s not too dark or anything but you really are curious whether or not Geto has made his way inside already.
“Y’know, the one with the guy with the white mask who walks around and stalks babysitters?” You quote flawlessly yet again. You’re such a fanatic for the Scream franchise that you’re loving every single second of this.
“Yeahh,” He purrs again, making your heart involuntarily flutter.
You begin to slowly descend down the flight of stairs, “What’s yours?”
“Guess.” He orders on the other end.
Pausing halfway down, you glance over to your kitchen. The light is still on and everything is exactly the way you left it. “Uhm, Nightmare on Elm Street?” You soon reply.
“Is that the one where the guy had knives for fingers?” The way your boyfriend knows every word to this just as well as you do makes your stomach churn in affection just a bit.
Your voice turns enthusiastic and you continue your steps down, “Yeah! Freddy Kruger.”
“Freddy, that’s right.” He continues, “I like that movie—it was scary.”
“Well the first one was but the rest sucked.” You’re downstairs now, looking around at the way all the blinds in your home are open. Did you leave them like that for this exact reason? You don’t remember.
“Mhm,” ‘Mystery’ man hums and you swear you can picture the smirk on his face as he utters the next infamous line. “Soo, you got a boyfriend?”
You pull your lower lip into your mouth for a second before smiling, “Why? You wanna ask me out on a date?” Now you’re making a right to enter your living room, heading toward your couch placed in the center.
“Maybe. Do you have a boyfriend?” He asks again.
You pause for a second. This literally is your boyfriend so, surely he wants you to play into this question, right?
“No.” You chirp simply.
You can hear the smile on his face even through that stupidly attractive voice changer, “You never told me your name.”
You know what comes after this and you can’t help but begin to look around as you plop down on your couch, “Why do you wanna know my name?”
It’s silent over the phone for a long couple of seconds
“Cause’ we wanna know who we’re looking at.”
Your heart surprisingly sinks as those words hit your ears. We? That’s not… how that scene goes. He was supposed to say that he wants to know who he’s looking at. There’s no we? Where the hell did he even get that from??
For the first time since you picked up this damn phone and started this whole thing, you’re actually a bit nervous. Chuckling loosely, you try to play it off as your eyes glance around your living room, “What do you mean, ‘we’?”
There’s a shuffling over the phone for just a moment. Then, you hear that distorted voice again, but the pitch is slightly different. “C’mon, princess. You’ve seen the movies, you should know by now that there’s hardly ever only one killer.” The man says.
Eyes all over every corner of the house, heart thumping slightly in your chest, you can feel your anxiety rising within. “I… I don’t understand.” You murmur softly.
And then… all the lights go out with a loud noise coming from somewhere outside. If you weren’t shaking in fear before, you damn sure are now. Your eyes go even wider and you move to put your phone on speaker, clicking your flashlight on right after.
“S-Suguru, this isn’t funny! I like the movies ‘nd all but I’m not the biggest fan of being scared, you know that.” The person(s) on the phone can hear the clear trembling in your voice as you stand up and point your flashlight to whatever area your eyes land on, searching for any signs of anyone.
There’s a snicker over the line. “Oh but this iss funny, sweets.” The tone changed again—it’s still distorted in that famous Ghostface pitch, but it’s not Suguru nor the person who’d said something before. “You look sooo scared right now.”
Aw hell, that lets you know he (or they) can see you right now. Which is just great considering you can’t see shit aside from darkness and the few areas of your house that your light lands on. You’re scared to leave the living room but… you’re also terrified of staying right where you are. You don’t know how many Ghostface’s are in your house right now and you don’t know what the hell Suguru has planned for you tonight.
“Stop playing around! Turn the lights back on and quit this scary shit, Suguru.” You huff out into the call, taking one step to your right and hearing the floor creak below your foot.
The house is eerily quiet—which is ridiculously concerning considering how he-, they can see you but you can’t see them at the moment. How the hell are they talking to you without you hearing them? They are in your house now, right??
“You said you wanted to get fucked by Ghostface, baby.” The voice returns, as does that natural purr, letting you know it’s Geto talking once more. “You never said how many…”
You slowly walk around your couch and shift your flashlight toward the blinds, trying to get a look outside your windows. “Are you serious? That sounds insane. How many of you are there?!” Your gaze flicks toward the nearby staircase and you only scare yourself as your eyes get lost in the darkness of your home.
Geto’s still talking, “Including me, there’s three of us. How does that sound, hm? I’m obviously not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to but, you do know who we all are.”
You swallow thickly. “Do I?” This time your words leave in a whisper and you swear you hear a shuffling coming from upstairs.
Lord knows you’re scared out of your mind right now. But, it is comforting to know that whatever this is, your boyfriend is in control of it all. You trust him more than anything, so there’s no real reason to be scared… right?
“Mhm. So how ‘bout we play a game?” Your boyfriend requests, and the sound of him smiling again is heard through his tone.
You stop walking entirely and your eyes are fixated upstairs as you flash your light up there. “Okay Jigsaw.” You snort, “What… What kind of game, huh?”
He sighs, almost sounding as though he were sitting back against something. “The one you and I were going to play. Y’know, you run around ‘n hide but if I find you, I fuck you. Let’s continue that but… with two others.”
“Suguru, you’re gonna let two other guys fuck me?” You’re beyond baffled by this whole thing. Never in a million years would you have expected this from your boyfriend. This is the same man who got mad a while ago for the way some guy who was all flirty with you at a restaurant…
Geto hums deeply, “S’long as you’re okay with it and they find you before I do, yeahh.”
“I didn’t know you were into that…” You reply, moving a hand to tug his shirt further down your body. Knowing that there was more than just him in the area right now made you a bit self-conscious.
“Didn’t know you were into masks but the Ghostface thing really does it for ya’, huh?” Suguru snaps back with that sass you know and love.
“I mean…” You shrug, “Yeah.”
“Right. So then, the game is simple. You try to hide and whoever finds you first; fucks you.”
“That’s it?”
“Oh, nooo. There’s more to this baby…” You swear you hear a creak upstairs—coming from somewhere down the left end of the hallway. It gives you the chills as Geto continues. “See, I know how loud you are when you cum so… tonight, I want you to be nice and quiet.”
You gulp, “What happens if I’m not?”
“Another one of us will find you.”
“Oh—“
“…And join in.” He steadily adds on with an amused smile on his face that you obviously can’t see right now.
Your heart races at the thought alone. “Oh.”
Just for extra consent, Geto tilts his head against the phone, “That alright with you?”
“Yes… but, wait do I still have to be quiet even if there ends up being two of you guys fucking me…?” You lean to the side a bit and aim your light toward the direction you heard the creak, spotting no one and no signs of life whatsoever.
“Yep.” Geto replies with a teasing pop of the ‘p’.
“But—“
“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll do fine. After all,” The voice changer clicks off and Suguru’s tone is nice and clear with you, “Y’know whose cock you’re supposed t’get loud on.”
You feel yourself throb at the sound of his voice without that stupid filter, puffing out a little sigh in reaction to his lewd words.
“Oh, and by the way…”
“Huh?”
The voice changer clicks on one last time and he chuckles. “They’re already in the house.”
——
Okay, you knew Halloween was one of Suguru’s favorite holidays but shit you didn’t expect him to go all out like this.
Not one, not two, but three Ghostfaces in your home searching for you right now? You’re lucky the house is big and there are plenty of places to hide but fuck is your anxiety through the goddamn roof as you sit in the empty tub of your first-floor bathroom. The door is shut but not locked and you’ve got the tub curtain pulled closed, just in case one of them does happen to stroll in.
Obviously, this wasn’t the best hiding spot in the world but you wanted them to eventually find you. You were scared in the beginning because of how unexpected this was but now you’re just as excited as you were when you first received that infamous phone call and recited all the lines with your boyfriend.
As soon as the call had ended, you clicked your flashlight off and snuck around in search of a hiding place—which is roughly how you ended up where you are now…
Now you’re left wondering who would find you first. Well, that and who the hell is under two of those masks. You suspect one of them is Gojo Satoru since that’s your boyfriend’s best friend but the other guy… you’re not too sure. Geto said you knew him but that still doesn’t help much.
Your boyfriend has a lot of friends that you know. Which one does he trust enough to let them have their way with you??
After maybe fifteen minutes of sitting in the tub, you start hearing someone outside the bathroom door. Footsteps shuffle by and you can tell the person went off into your kitchen. Then you hear the sounds of doors and cabinets opening, all of which make your breath hitch.
It’s so nerve-wracking and exciting waiting for someone to swing open the bathroom door. The footsteps soon pass it again and you let out the faintest sigh.
…Only to hear those steps halt not too far off from the door. Then, they turn and your body stiffens up entirely as each thump against the hardwood floor draws closer and closer to the door. You can’t see it because of the shower curtains but, there’s a shadow at the bathroom door.
Then you hear a small clinking sound, followed by a very soft… thump? Almost as if someone were leaning against the bathroom door to listen.
It was so scarily exciting that you had to move a hand over your mouth to keep yourself as silent as possible. After which, it’s all so very motionless.
There’s no sound, safe for someone walking around upstairs, and you just know someone’s outside the bathroom door right now. Your heart sinks into your ass the moment you hear that doorknob turning torturously slow until it’s lightly pushed open.
Then, there are but two soft steps taken inside and you don’t hear it but the door is closed behind whoever just entered.
They could be coming in to just use the bathroom… riiiight?
That’s extremely naive of you to think but a girl can only hope. Another step is taken deeper into the bathroom and that soft clinking sound you heard before is getting louder. It’s faint, almost like… jewelry or… necklaces slapping against one another gently. Jewelry… Necklaces… Which one of Geto’s friends do you know wears a lot of jewelry...? C’mon, think.
Necklaces… rings maybe… piercings—
The very second it clicks in your brain who this might be, you practically flinch right out of your skin as you spot a knife slowly moving to slide the bathtub curtain open. As the curtain is pulled open, you’re met with the tilted head of someone in a Ghostface costume.
Your eyes are all wide on them and you genuinely have no idea where on your body this guy is looking but the mask is actually quite scary when it’s all dark and neither of you is making any sudden movements.
His head slowly angles to the opposing direction, just like Ghostface often does in the movies, and you gulp loudly. The curtain is pinned to the wall by the knife in his hand and you think you’re sweating.
“Scared?” His voice is deep. Familiarly deep. It quickly confirms your suspicions of who’s face may be lying beneath that iconic mask.
With your eyes all frantic along what’s covering his face, noticing the bits of blood and cracks decorating it, you swallow thickly yet again. “Choso?” Your voice is hardly above a whisper and the air feels so heavy with tension.
His hand moves away from the wall and the knife, which you hope is fake, is placed on the edge of the tub with a soft tapping noise emitting into the still air. Then he takes that same hand and lifts it to pull his mask up to the right side of his face, revealing his expression to you as he crouches down to your eye level. You quickly feel your fear die off and it’s replaced with… something else as you study his face. There’s fake blood splattered on his skin, makeup extending the tattoo along the bridge of his nose, and piercings that stand out against his facial features.
“The tub, really?” He whispers to you, chuckling softly and flashing this kind smile at you that makes you feel overly warm inside. “S’this the best you could do? Y’know if I was a real killer you’d be dead right now, right?” Choso teases, all of his words kept in a low voice.
You roll your eyes and shift against the cold tub flooring, “I wouldn’t have hid in here if you guys were real killers, I’m not dumb.”
His lips curve into this sexy yet lazy smirk and you can feel your heart fluttering in your chest. You had a thing for Choso way back before you started dating Geto and it seems as though your body hasn’t forgotten why. “Yeahh?” Choso chastises with another tilt of his head, “Think you would be the final girl?”
Leaning forward a bit, you nod. “No, I know I would.”
Choso lets out a hum before biting his lower lip for a moment. Then, he lets it fall from in between his teeth and you think you’re in a trance. “Oh she’s cocky, huh?” He teases.
You smile at him and then push up to stand on your knees. Leaning all the way forward, you slowly reach for the knife and take it into your hands. Then you move to hold the tip of it right underneath his jaw and the sound of his breath hitching hits your ears just right.
You openly stare at his lips and watch the way his smirk slowly transcends into a full cocky smile. “Y’know that’s not fake, right?” Choso hushes out to you.
The knife is carefully caressing his skin as you trace it up slightly to his chin, “It’s not?” You ask innocently, placing your free hand on the edge of the tub and watching how he slowly moves to sit on his knees so that he’s looking up at you.
His face is all pretty from this angle, big brown doe-eyes batting up at you so softly, such a pretty face of dark innocence presented before you. Who’s really the ‘victim’ here—you or him?
“Nah,” Choso whispers, “That’s a real knife.”
“Why would you carry around a real knife?” You ask in an equally soft tone as your brows twist up in confusion.
He shrugs. “Honestly, I was gonna ask if you were into a bit of knife play…”
His words make your mind stray away from the situation at hand. Your imagination is quick to push out ideas and all sorts of scenarios that could have occurred with this knife of his had you not looked so scared when he first saw you…
“Are you?” The question in return makes Choso’s gaze flicker into something way more lustful than it was moments before.
He scoffs, “Am I? Why would I ask you about it if I wasn’t.”
“So… What, you wanna cut my clothes off of somethin’?” You ask carefully, steadily slipping the tip of the knife along his jawline.
Choso just barely nods his head in response.
“Y’know it’s funny you say that and yet you’re the one on your knees with a knife held up to your chin right now.” You point out with an all-knowing grin plastered all over your face.
Choso bites back a laugh. It’s cute that you think you have the upper hand here. “You and I both know that could easily change in a matter of seconds.” He claims.
And y’know, maybe it’s because you found yourself turned on by this whole game or maybe it’s simply because you wanted to fuck Choso but either way—you do not shy away from testing that theory. All you said was a simple ‘prove it’ and you found yourself in quite the position moments later.
It was one thing that Choso managed to easily gain a hold of the knife once more but it was another thing entirely that he was able to swiftly and quietly get you out of the tub and into his arms. All without even so much as grazing you with that sharp weapon too.
It was almost impressive, in all honesty.
Somewhere in the mix of all that, he ends up placing the knife down and soon has you sitting on the bathroom counter. Well, had you sitting on the bathroom counter—it quickly becomes a lot more than simply that.
Choso used that lil’ knife of his to cut down the center of your (Geto’s) shirt and was quick to have you all exposed to his overly greedy eyes. You were wearing nothing more than this lacy black set beneath that oversized shirt so it wasn’t much to get you unclothed.
One second he was cutting your shirt open and the next his lips were on yours. Then his pierced tongue was in your mouth and your arms were around his neck, tugging him closer to you and feeling his hard cock poking you through the thick layers of black clothes between you and him.
Which is exactly what led to the way you are currently.
Choso now has your legs spread wide open for him and his clothes are hardly even off, safe for the black cloak-like jacket that slipped off of his shoulders and the way his pants have been tugged down. He’s got on this black compression shirt and you spot the layered chains/necklaces hanging from around his throat that you heard earlier. Now leaning back slightly against the mirror behind you with your eyes set down between the two of you, you’re left watching the mean slap of Choso’s leaky cockhead against your clit.
“Cho,” You whispered out pleadingly. He’d been doing this for the longest—tapping his thick cock against your clit and then rubbing it from side to side against you, feeling the way you leak onto the counter below and hearing those faint whines escaping your throat.
Then he has the nerve to have the sluttiest expression on his half-revealed face, eyes all low-lidded and glued to your exposed pussy, bottom lip locked in between his teeth as he holds back his own breathy sounds of pleasure, and brows all tense as if he’s not the one torturing the two of you like this. “Shiiiit,” Choso rasps out, sliding his cock down slowly and pressing his fat tip against your weeping hole. “Suguru was right, this pussy is s’fuckin’ loud ‘n messy…” He breathes.
Your lips are all parted and all you can do is pant softly as he lifts his tip away and then slaps it against your cunt again, listening to the shlick tapping sound that comes from your sex.
Almost in a daze, he glides his cock up and down your wet folds, “Look at herrr,” Choso purrs, “All wet f’me. Can’t believe he’s lettin’ us fuck you.” His hips push forward a bit and you feel the way his heavy shaft glides against your cunt instead of inside like you so desperately want him to.
You have to suppress the needy whine that threatens to escape your throat, holding one hand slightly over your mouth. “Choso, please.” You whisper beneath your palm.
He pulls his hips back and angles his tip back down to your entrance, pushing forward ever so slightly and teasing that tight ring of muscle, not trying to really push himself into you at all. “What is it, princess?” Choso taunts, smirking as he lifts his eyes up to your face, “Want me to fuck you?”
You throb at his words, nodding as if a second longer would have you pronounced dead. “Please,” You whine, trying your best to wiggle your hips forward.
Choso leans forward and moves his lips right up your ear, his breath all warm and tickly against your skin. “Yeah? Y’want my cock inside you that badly?” He says with another faint push of his hips. Every word that leaves his lips has you dripping all over him.
It’s not until you move your hand away from your mouth and place it on the counter space behind you, and whisper, “Yes Choso, just put it all the way in already, I’m losing my fuckin’ m-mind…” Your last word leaves a little shaky due to the way he suddenly moves a hand over your lips.
Pressing his palm against your mouth, you grow confused until you look over to the bottom of the bathroom door and see a shadow moving by. Yet another Ghostface was nearby.
Choso, not yet wanting to ruin his alone time with you, presses his lips further against your ear, and his other hand grips your thigh tightly. “M’not ready t’share you yet so, be really fuckin’ quiet f’me, alright?” His warning confused you for half a second before you felt him roll his hips forward with a sharp snap at the end, stuffing you full with every hard inch of his cock in one go.
Your eyes tear up and your mouth hangs open under his hand, a strangled moan escaping your throat. Choso’s dick is so stupidly big, reminding you of your boyfriend in more ways than one. Unlike Geto though, Choso’s got this ruthless right curve and just drags against your sweet spot with every small movement he makes, the rest of his cock felt throbbing and twitching wildly against your sodden walls.
He lets out a choked grunt against your ear and you can feel him humping his cock deeper inside you with these small maddening little thrusts. “Does he even fuck you? S-Shiiit…” Choso lets his thoughts be vocalized against the crown of your ear and you only squeeze around his girthy shaft. “S’fuckin’ tight.. God-, fu-uck…” His voice has this pretty lil’ crack at the end that makes you soak his cock even more, sloppy juices leaking all out from where the two of you are connected.
Choso has to tug his hips back a bit and he completely forgets that he recently heard someone walking by the bathroom as he mindlessly thrusts right back into you. Your eyes meet the back of your skull and you groan into his palm. The wet gurgles and squelches from your pussy are what draws attention to the bathroom, if any.
Which is something you can’t even control, especially not with the way Choso goes from short grunts in your ear to moaning delightedly against your skin and fucking his thick cock into your sinfully warm cunt. Deep and almost passionate strokes are made into you and he can’t help but rid his hand from your mouth at some point. Moving it back to your thighs, he sprawls your legs out even wider so his cock can dig deeper into you.
With your jaw still hanging open, the sounds of him fucking you against the counter slowly grow louder and louder. You’re trying not to moan but it’s so hard with him—Choso knows how to use his cock all too well and his eyes are studying your face so he knows where exactly he should be thrusting. Just the slightest shift of his hips causes drool to leak from the corner of your lips and that makes him flash this fucked-out little smile.
Choso leans up closer and his body sandwiches against yours for a moment. You swear you can feel his angry cockhead prodding at your guts because fuck is he in there deep. Not to mention how orgasmic it is to feel him drag his pierced tongue against your chin, lapping up the mess of drool from your face before shoving the muscle into your mouth and forcing you to suck on it.
That leaves your moaning drowned out for a bit and Choso takes the opportunity to pound himself into you like a damn madman. Your legs quickly begin to feel like jello in his hands and you couldn’t even focus on sucking on his tongue anymore. Then, he pulls his mouth away, just barely, and the two of you are staring deep into each other’s eyes as his pace gets faster. His hips are so sharp against you and you can feel his weighty balls slapping against your ass with every mean and pronounced thrust.
Your breath mingles with one another and you’re both so fucked out that you don’t even realize you’re a lot louder now until you spot the bathroom door cracking open in your peripherals. It barely makes a sound as it’s pushed open slightly and all you see is yet another person wearing a Ghostface mask—the sight alone and the clear eye contact you make with them leading straight to your orgasm.
The second Ghostface stands motionless, doing nothing more than watching the blissful way your eyes lull to the back of your head and you release this sweet moan of Choso’s name. Choso, oblivious to being watched right now, is so close to emptying himself inside you.
“F-Fuck,” He huffs, tipping his head back and looking up to the ceiling for a moment. “So tight… I’m gonna c-cum if you keep squeezin’ me like that.” His voice fluctuates here and there but by the time your eyes roll back into place, the bathroom door is shut and that second Ghostface is now standing right behind Choso.
You flinch and Choso chokes out a grunt at how tightly you just clenched around his cock. The second Ghostface is slow to lift his mask up a bit, only revealing his mouth with this recognizable snake bite piercing that has your cunt gripping onto Choso even tighter. Then, the man leans to Choso’s ear and practically scares him into cumming inside you.
“What do we have here, hm?” Gojo whispers, making Choso’s hips stutter against you. He then reaches a gloved hand around Choso and your neglected clit is met with his thumb swatting over it, “Can’t believe you found her first. S’not fair…” Gojo hums softly with a slight pout.
You have this dumbfounded look all over your face and you may be fucked out of your mind but you swear Choso’s cock is almost harder inside you. The two of you curse in unison as Gojo rotates his thumb against your clit in a sensual circle motion, making you clench again and Choso rolls his gaze back—only the whites of his eyes visible to you.
“K-Keep rubbin’ her like that,” Choso pants with a soft moan. “She’s so fucking tight… I’m gonna die in here, s-shit.” He curses dramatically.
Gojo flicks his thumb upwards against your clit with a nasty trickle of your slick oozing out onto Choso’s cock. “You’re not gonna die, Cho,” He says in a chastising tone with a smile on his face, taking his free hand to pull his mask further up so that you can see his eyes.
You watch the way Gojo looks over Choso’s shoulder and stares at Choso’s lengthy cock disappearing in and out of your slobbering pussy. Gojo feels his own dick throb against his pants, pressing himself a bit closer to Choso and moving to talk into his ear. “I mean look at her,” Gojo directs, leading to Choso focusing his hazy gaze onto your face. “You’re already fucking her to tears, you’re not gonna die, heh. You’re fuckin’ her good.”
That last praise is what causes Choso to slump forward against you and roll his hips harshly against you—followed by which is a thick spurt of cum as he finishes inside you with a broken groan pouring from his lips. All as Gojo keeps his thumb on your clit, despite his hand getting squished in between you and Choso’s body.
Then Gojo smirks and leans in toward Choso again, “There ya’ go, good boy. Let it all out inside her. Jus’ like that…”
You don’t think you’ve ever been this… ruined before in your life. Watching Gojo tease and praise Choso like that while you were still being fucked and your clit was being stimulated led to you abruptly squirting. Choso’s cock slips right out of you and Gojo removes his hand just so that both of them could watch you let out that filthy lil’ stream.
Choso’s completely out of it as he watches your pussy spasm wildly. “Holy…” He whispers, hardly able to finish the rest of his statement.
Gojo clicks his tongue, “Suguru didn’t tell us you were a squirter. Or, has he never made you do that before?” He asks, slowly lifting his eyes up to your face.
You look like you’re about to pass out, your body all sweaty as you lean back against the mirror again and pant heavily. “He… hah, f-fuck, h-he has.” You squeak out softly.
Gojo hums before looking back down, allowing Choso to step (stumble) back slightly past him so he can catch his breath. Then, once Choso is completely out of the way and the space between your legs is left vacant—Gojo lets out an alarming chuckle.
He watches the way Choso’s cum dribbles out of your overstimulated cunt, glob after glob leaking out so prettily that Gojo can’t help but crouch down to get a closer look. Your eyes lazily follow his snowy head of hair and watch as his face is repositioned in between your spread legs. He moves his gloved thumb to your pussy lips and sloshes that mix of you and Choso’s cum around against you.
Then, Gojo flicks his gaze up to you and you gulp. He looks you dead in the eyes before spreading your lips further apart with his thumb and leaning forward. Your jaw drops in shock as Gojo cups his mouth against your pussy and suckles the mess from Choso into his mouth.
You whine, “S-Satoru—oh, w-wait,” You’re left gasping as you shoot a hand down to his hair and grip him tightly.
Gojo groans deeply and you feel his tongue lap against your saturated cunt leisurely. Moving up and down in a sloppy filthy manner, your legs are trembling while Gojo cleans you up casually.
Choso’s sitting on the nearby toilet seat now, batting his lashes at Gojos actions in shock. “Satoru you… you know I just—“
“Mhmm,” Gojo mumbles into your pussy, pulling his lips back just barely to allow a cool slap of air to hit you. Then, he swallows. “You both taste really,” Gojo leans back in to kiss your cunt, “Mmph… fuckin’ sweet.” He murmurs against you before slithering his tongue inside you.
Your back arches and your legs move to close around his head as your fingers tug desperately on his locks of hair. “S’toru,” You mumble, “Fuck. Please… mgh, n-needa’ break. I-I can’t—“
Gojo tilts his head and smiles into your honeyed slick, “Sweetheart,” He rasps against you, suckling on your taste for a moment longer before pulling off with a wet pop! “I jus’ got here ‘n you want a break from me already?” He says, pushing out his bottom lip to pout. “That’s so mean.”
Before you even get the chance to argue with that, he’s diving right back in and eating you out like a man staved. Sucking, licking, kissing, spitting—Gojo’s between your legs in some kind of trance as he drools all over his current meal. He’s such a messy eater too, his actions quickly leading to the lower half of his face being coated with remnants of you.
After a bit, Choso seems to have collected himself and he’s soon standing up. His pants have been hastily pulled up and you’re too lost in the overstimulation Gojo’s giving you to realize Choso is approaching you too. When your eyes lift, you see Choso with his Ghostface mask back over his face and his phone held in his right hand.
Cocking his head to the side, he looms closer to Gojo and sneaks a, now gloved, hand into his bright white tufts of hair, prying his mouth away from your cunt with a harsh tug. You watch with teary eyes as Choso holds his phone up to Gojo’s face, and hums out a low, “Smile.” With the voice changer turned on.
Gojo sparks a toothy grin and his expression is all high in pleasure. He looks faded out of his mind, simply off of eating you out alone. The flash from Choso’s phone lights up the bathroom and within the picture he just took, only your legs are visible dangling over Gojo’s shoulders. They’d just recreated that infamous photo you see around this time of year all over your socials. Usually, the victim would be laid out stomach first on the floor and Ghostface would tug their head up by their hair but, this definitely works too.
“Atta’ boy,” Choso praises after he’s taken the desired amount of pictures.
Gojo looks up to you and he’s pretty sure he can see little hearts in your eyes as you glance back and forth between him and Choso. “You don’t mind, do ya’? We wanna have somethin’ to remember this by,” He tells you.
You simply shake your head no and both of the men in front of you smile. Choso then nods his head a little before using his grasp on Gojo’s hair to shove him back down in between your legs—earning a surprised hum from your throat and a muffled groan from Gojo’s.
Despite the little Surprise, Gojo gets back to work with his mouth and you end up leaning forward a bit in surprise. Choso moves over to the side a bit and he feels you drop a hand to Gojo’s head to give him a light push away so he can ease up on you. In contrast to this, Choso steals your attention by wrapping a free hand of his around your throat. Your eyes shoot up to him and you’re met with the eyes of Ghostface since he’s got the mask back on.
Purposefully, he does that head tilt again. So slowly does it tip to the side as Gojo’s teeth graze your clit, causing you to let out a pleasureful yelp. “Fuck!” You gasp, to which Choso removes his hand from Gojo’s hair.
Creeping up along your body, Choso grabs a greedy handful of your breast before leaning in. “That was loud, princess. You’re gonna get us all caught,” He snickers to you.
Your bottom lip quivers and you think the sight of it makes Choso feel bad. He takes his hand off of your tits for just a second to pull his mask up and then returns his gasp. Both of you have the same idea in mind but it’s you that reaches for him this time, tugging him in so that his lips can meet yours again.
And then it’s just sloppy from there on out. Anyone with ears could walk past that bathroom, or anywhere down stairs for that matter, and hear the sliding of lips over one another followed by gurgled gasps and barely muffed goans. Choso’s making out with you while he plays with your tits in his hands and Gojo’s still lost in between your legs.
Your whole body feels like it’s on fire and your head is beginning to spin from how good you feel everywhere. It only gets worse when the two start muttering praises out to you.
Dragging his lips down to your chest, Choso hushes out these elated whispers, “C’mon pretty girl, don’t tap out on us jus’ yet.”
Then there’s Gojo who moves to suck on your inner thigh. “Yeahh, don’t tap out. Let us make you feel good, baby.” He hums into your skin.
The counter beneath your ass is a slippery wet mess just like the bottom of Gojo's face and all the way down his neck with the way he let your juices trickle along his skin as he ate. All three of you get a little lost in the moment for quite some time. So much that you all seem to forget there’s supposed to be a third Ghostface.
Who, unknowingly, ends up silently opening the bathroom door and catching the way his two friends have his girlfriend all spread out ‘n ruined like some slut. Geto swore he almost came in his pants at the sight alone. You don’t seem to notice he’s standing there and you’re the only one facing him. His eyes are all over your wet expression, watching and listening to you moan two other guy’s names.
He didn’t even want to say anything. Geto just wanted to remain where he was and watch because lord knows if he joins in he won’t last longer than a few seconds. So, he does exactly that—going completely unnoticed there for a while.
Up until Gojo pulls his mouth off of you for a second. He looks up to see Choso decorating your chest in hot kisses and wet hickies, the two of you constantly making eye contact with one another before he moves his lips to yours again. Fuck just watching you two was hot. So hot that it makes Gojo wonder where the hell his best friend is at and why he’s missing out on all this.
Which is what leads to him turning around to glance back at the bathroom entrance, quickly spotting Geto standing there leaning against the door frame. Well, shit. It’s in that moment that Gojo realizes he sees the appeal in the whole Ghostface thing because fuck is his best friend just as hot as everything and everyone else in this damn room.
After Gojo, you’re the next person to realize your boyfriend is now present, and then Choso seconds later. Each of you have this face as if you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to but that little detail is irrelevant given how Geto could care less about how he was the last to find you. And sure, he may have watched you run into the bathroom earlier and could’ve gone in there to scare you a while ago but, watching Choso and Gojo eventually find you and then listening to them interact with you from outside the bathroom was far more entertaining.
—
So, one thing led to another and…
You find yourself laid out in your bed all over again, this time accompanied with three men. Geto was the first to get himself situated—seating himself not too far away from the bed and telling you to “put on a show for him”.
By this point, who were you to even question him? If Gojo and Choso were leading things before, they damn sure aren’t now because it’s you who’s ordering them around and letting them know where you want them. Starting with you on all fours, showing off that arch that Geto has had you perfect over the years. Then your legs part slowly and Gojo’s behind you in a trance as he watches you move a hand to spread your cunt open for him.
“You spoil us, sweetheart,” Gojo rasps in a low pitch, voice slightly hoarse from how long he’d gone without talking earlier.
You wanted to focus on him some more but a pair of fingers are placed on your chin and your face is quickly redirected to the second man of need. The moment your head turns, you’re met with Choso’s fat cockhead right in front of your face. Batting your lashes, you’re slow to look all the way up to him and see the way he’s smirking down at you.
“‘Could get off on that look alone, y’know.” Choso comments deeply in reference to your wide glossed over eyes and how close his tip is to your lips.
Gojo’s behind you frowning at the way Choso stole your attention yet again. In an attempt to, at least, have your mind on him once more, Gojo simply pushes his hips forward and eyes the sloppy part of your pussy spread against his pink tip. He hears it, Choso hears it, they all hear the way you gasp softly. It’s like they’re all hyper aware of every sound or slight movement you make.
Immediately after, your hips are wiggling back and Gojo’s quick to palm the fats of your ass. “Finally givin’ me some attention now, huh?” He quips.
You pull away from Choso’s touch just to look back at Gojo. “Suguru should’ve told you guys, I hate bein’ teased.” The way you force yourself back on him not even a second after that last word is leaving your lips has Gojo’s jaw falling and his fingers curling into your skin.
“W-Woah sweets, you could’ve warned me f-first…” He stammers, eyes dropping down to your greedy cunt swallowing up his lengthy inches of cock like it’s nothing. Gojo had to bite back a whine as he listened to the syrupy squelches that came with each backward push of your hips. “Fuuck, don’t stop. Give it t’me, baby.”
Gojo doesn’t even have to move yet and you’re already letting off a shaky moan, driving your hips back carefully and feeling him fill up every inch of your cunt. He’s all dazed while he watches his aching cock delve deep inside you, inch by inch—you take him like you were fuckin’ made for him.
The man is just dazed. He understands why Choso said he was gonna die earlier becuase fuckin’ hell he’s not even all the way in yet and you’re already clamping around his veiny shaft with no intention of ever letting go. And the goddamn arch you have, they way your ass looks all pretty backing up against him—
Gojo’s thrusting forward before he even realizes he is and his hands slide up to your hips to hold you nice ‘n steady. Your legs shake and your jaw mirrors his with the way it just hangs open. Then there’s your eyes and the way they roll back, a delicious moan exiting from deep within your throat.
He definately fucks you harder than Choso was earlier because you can feel his cock everywhere—he has you so stupidly full and dumb on his dick within seconds, landing a mean hand down onto your ass amid his thrusts.
“Ohh fuck, Suguru y’had this pussy all to yourself all this time?” Gojo grunts. “…S-Selfish bastard.”
Gojo’s hands are arguably slimmer than your boyfriends but his grip on you is just the same. Hence why you can’t do anything as he tugs you back to meet his rough pounding. Hell, all you’re left with is a brain full of nothing as your head turns to face forwards and you unconsciously look up at a stunned Choso.
His hand is wrapped around his cock and despite being right in front of your face, he’s definitely jerking off to they way Gojo’s fucking you (or maybe just to Gojo himself, who knows). When Choso does look down, you see his brows twist up and his lips part.
Your mouth is already hanging open so clearly you’re silently offering to help him, right? Which is why he angles himself toward your gape mouth and grunts, “Open up f’me pretty girl, nice ‘n wide…”
And you do, widening your mouth for him to slide his cock in steadily. Choso hisses at the sensation, the underside of his cock gliding down the center of your slobbering wet tongue so lewdly that it makes his teeth grind together. God, if you weren’t every bit of perfect like this. He watches the way his dick fills your mouth and feels how ridiculously tight your throat is as he eases his hips forward.
Almost in unison, Gojo and Choso and up tossing their heads back—one letting out a guttural groan and the other releasing a sweet moan. You’re soaked just about everywhere. Your pussy is sobbing and dripping around Gojo’s cock and your mouth is hardly any better with the way drool is dribbling down from your chin and onto the bed.
All as your boyfriend is losing his ever loving mind.
Geto came twice in his hand already and yet he’s still bucking his hips up into his fist. He’s never been this hard in his life. Something about watching you get absolutely ravaged by his two friends just make his dick throb in ways he cannot explain. You look perfect too, so damn angelic despite the rather sinful situation you’re in. There’s a creamy mess of cum slicked up and down Geto’s length from the thick tip to his base.
You’re busy getting fucked to tears (again) by Gojo and Choso, one of which has a heavy hand on your head encouraging your throat further around his curved cock and the other keep’s snapping his hips against your ass with his weighty balls grazing your clit every now and then.
You’re all so screwed. This is like something straight out of a damn porno and yet you didn’t care. Hell, you could hardly fathom enough thoughts at the moment to care.
And of course all three of them are just babbling all sorts of things to you, teasing you, taunting you, making you dizzy with pleasure.
Gojo’s back there spreading your ass apart and watching how wet you’ve gotten his dick, smiling sinfully at the sight. “Look at this pretty girl,” He grunts, “Takin’ my cock so. fucking. well. ungh.”
Then there’s Choso, nodding along as if he agrees with Gojo’s groaned words. His fingers are buried into your hair and by this point he’s fucking your face at the same rate Gojo’s fucking your cunt. “Her throat’s even better—shit. Y’should see how her lips look wrapped around me right now. Especially when I get,” Choso pauses just to give his hips one tortuously slow push, making you deepthroat his angry cockhead. “Right here, f-fuck.”
Again, Geto’s on the side just losing himself at the moment. You make the mistake of glancing over at him and his eyes lock with yours. Geto’s bottom lip is quivering and you watch his hand jerk himself off faster, his legs shifting open and closed as he overstimulates himself. Some nerve you had to look at him as if you don’t have two cocks inside you right now.
“M’gonna cum,” Geto’s muttering to himself over and over in some fucked-out little mantra.
Watching his head toss back and the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down is probably one of the sexiest sights. The Ghostface mask is all pulled up and his hair is splayed out in a mess of strands.
You end up gagging around Choso when Gojo hits your sweet spot for the sixth time in a row, your fingernails clawing against the sheets below. That’s all it takes for Choso to pull out and come undone all over your face without warning. In his defense, he wasn’t expecting your throat to tighten around him like that so suddenly…
Geto’s not too far behind, cumming in thick ropes with a sexy groan of your name leaving his lips—a sight you barely get to see because then Gojo’s leaning over you and your torso is suddenly pressed down against the bed for a moment. Then, you’re tugged up by a harsh grasp of your hair and Gojo’s fucking you even rougher than he was before, pressing his lips right against your ear.
“Fuckin’ slut,” He degrades so suddenly, wraping a free hand around your waist just to swat a finger over your clit again. “Look at this mess,” Oh, he’s just mean all of a sudden. Gojo lets go of your hair and turns your face toward him, leaning in and… licking the remnants of Choso’s release off of your face, again.
Your breath hitches and you wish you could have said something snarky but then you’re shoved right back down onto the bed. Gojo shifts his gaze to Choso, who flinches at the sudden eye contact, and then motions for him to come closer.
Once he does, Gojo grabs him by the jaw and pulls him in. “Open your mouth,” He breathes out hotly.
Choso bats his lashes at the man but doesn’t hesitate, parting his lips and taking the extra step as to sticking his tongue out. Gojo spits right onto the center of it and then smirks, “Good boy, now swallow it ‘n taste yourself f’me.”
It’s right about then that you release for the nth time of the night, followed by you squirting again due to the exchange you just heard between those two men. Then, as you wait for the stars in your vision to clear out, you hear Choso gulp loudly.
Half-way smiling to himself, Choso scoffs. “Guess you were right… I do taste pretty sweet.”
synopsis: a story in which a depressed satoru gets sent to the future and sees just how bright it eventually becomes. meanwhile, you're reminded of how much of a brat your husband used to be when you first started dating.
cw: MDNI, time travel, smut w/ a touch of angst bc we LOVE plot, satoru's actually so mean at first lol, dad!jo (him and reader share a daughter together)
notes: hiiii we got 6.5k words for this one ❤️ comm for the lovely @sadlittlecucumber i hope u like!!!!
song rec: drag path — twenty one pilots
Satoru’s life ended up being a fucking bummer.
His best friend’s a mass murderer. Shoko’s gone off to do her own thing with medicine. Nanami left to go become a banker or whatever. Ijichi’s… Ijichi. Oh, and Haibara’s dead. Everyone who’s alive seems to have moved on— so should Satoru, honestly. But times proved that to be quite difficult.
He’s starting to understand where Suguru was coming from with the whole exorcise-absorb mantra. Except for him, it was exorcise and destroy, leaving every cursed site he’s stepped foot on looking like god himself decided to hit the reset button to obliterate the place.
Nobody says anything about it. He’s probably the closest thing to a god. Despite having tried his hardest all throughout his youth to fit in and act as if he was just like everyone else, people were still terrified to fuck with him.
And despite the chaos he’s constantly surrounded by— mainly from his own doing— the days still find a way to bleed into each other, morphing into a never ending cycle of boredom and violence. It’s quite the combo. The higher ups are lucky he’s too tired to plot anything behind their backs.
He’s exhausted.
The past is too blurry. The future’s too bleak.
Gojo was bound to fuck up sooner or later. The thought of him finally snapping like Suguru did, dangling in the back of his mind, taunting him.
He didn’t snap. It’s so much worse than that. At least in the eyes of the arrogant boy who got bested by, what he assumed to be a grade two curse because of how pudgy and stupid it looked. The thing that caught him lacking looked like a fucking blob fish that struggled with crippling anxiety, how the hell was he supposed to know that it could mess with timeof all things?
One moment he’s laughing at the way it looks, the next he’s in the complete dark.
That was the first time he’s smiled in months, by the way.
“Huh?” Satoru huffs out, trying to look around before eventually realizing that he has a blindfold on, and rips it off in annoyance. “Don’t tell me that thing knocked me out,” he begins to grumble to himself. It’d explain why he had a blindfold on… but then he realized he was in a completely different outfit, one that you didn’t put on someone who was currently in rest and recovery.
He highly doubts Shoko would even change him, anyway, at least not for this.
“Oh hey, you’re home.”
Home?
He looks around, and all he knows is this isn’t the dorm he’s continued to stay in after graduation, purely due to the fact that he was already out on missions for up to 18 hours each day. Not to mention that the penthouse he was currently standing in was too clean to be his. Too warm. Way too comfortable.
You already knew there was something deeply off in those first few seconds of looking into his eyes. This wasn’t your husband— this was the hot mess you met and still fell in love with all those years ago.
You tilt your head to the side, more curious than cautious, “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” he snorts, literally the worst liar ever. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know,” you hum, holding eye contact long enough to leave him feeling a bit unsettled. “You tell me.”
First of all, who the fuck do you think you are speaking to him like that?
Second, who even are you?
Something big and shiny on your finger catches his attention, then he looks at his own hand that has an equally shiny band around his ring finger.
Fuck.
“Honey–”
Satoru physically cringes at the pet name, giving himself away once again.
“I’m not Satoru,” he blurts out, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I mean, I am, but I’m not— FUCK– some fuckin’ curse blasted me into the future, and I need to go back.”
Well, that was quick. He’s always quick to fold under pressure when it comes to you— it’s something he’s unaware of though, as he fights back the urge to start pacing back and forth.
There’s a light smack from your mouth when you go to open it, only for the words to never even come, let alone die out. Nothing about this surprises you. This is not the craziest thing that’s happened since you’ve met Satoru.
Your lips thin into a smile as you take a deep breath, knowing you had no choice but to accept your new circumstances.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He raises a brow at how you just… accepted it.
“Yeah… I believe it.” You respond flatly, then point at him, casually motioning your finger up and down. “Your attitude kinda sucked when we first met.”
He grimaces, taken aback by the statement. “No, it doesn’t–”
“You also liked to argue, too.”
“Okay— whatever,” he waves a dismissive hand, not at all interested in hearing what else you had to say. At this point, it just sounded like you wanted to shit on him, something he actually doesn’t have any fucking time for right now. “You’re a sorcerer… right?”
“No.”
“Christ.” Satoru sighs, turning on his heel. “You’re fuckin’ useless—“
You scoff, more humored than offended. “Where are you going?”
“To figure this shit out!” he snaps, throwing his arms out as he turns around to face you.
“Okay,” you shrug, still way too calm for Satoru’s liking, as it pisses him off even more. “If you don’t get it all figured out tonight, you can always come back. We have a guest room.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He huffs out a bitter laugh, as if that was the dumbest suggestion he’s ever heard. “I appreciate the offer.”
–
“Yaga” Satoru storms into the principal’s office, ignoring all his cursed stuffed animals, but noticing what he’s done with his hair. “What the fuck happened to you?”
The principal's brows pinch together, wishing he had locked the door to his office. Satoru fucked with him enough today by showing up to a meeting 20 minutes late with some sugary frap in his hand, and now he’s storming into his office, insulting him out of nowhere.
“Actually, nevemind.” Satoru waves a hand to stop him from even answering his question, reminding himself not to get sidetracked right now. “Look, I need your help. I got sent into the future by some curse, and I need to get back.”
Yaga inhales sharply. “What are you even talking about?”
“Exactly what I just said! I’m from 2009! Not whatever age I am now—”
“31.”
Satoru throws up a little in his mouth. “Send me back.”
Yaga lets out a long, disappointed sigh. It’s always something with Satoru. Always. Having to deal with the younger version of him was a painful reminder that he’s been dealing with his bullshit for well over a decade now. Nothing surprises him anymore.
“Let me see if some other windows would be willing to help look through the library. I’m sure you’ll be able to find information on what kind of curse you got hit with.”
“Thank you,” Satoru groans, still not very pleased by everyone’s reactions thus far, but grateful that he can at least get somewhere with Yaga… unlike a certain somebody.
Hours later, he finds himself at the school’s dusty, unkept library. It looks worse than it originally looked before he walked in. Books sprawled everywhere. Research papers were scattered all over the tables and floor. Assistants running around in every direction, more than half of them terrified at the total 180 in Satoru’s attitude.
“W-we can’t find anything,” Ijichi says, too old to be acting this scared in Satoru’s opinion.
He hums, elbows still resting on his knees, not bothering to sit up. “Hey, Ijichi?”
Ijichi gulped loudly, managing to annoy the world’s strongest sorcerer even more. “...Yes?”
“How are you even more incompetent now than you were before?”
“I tried my best! I swear!”
“Well, it’s not good enough— I’m still here!” he snaps at the nervous wreck of a man. Thank fucking god Ijichi listened to him and just became a window. He sucks at it too, but at least it’s easier for this dumbass to avoid death. “God— what the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”
“This is just one of the libraries, there’s more! And some in Kyoto too, that we’ll have the Kyoto branch check out.”
“Do whatever you need to do. I’m just letting you know right now that if I'm not back by tomorrow, you better watch the fuck out.”
The threat is followed by complete dead silence, aside from a certain someone's breath catching in horror.
“Me?!” Ijichi squeaks out.
The sorcerer doesn’t bother answering that and instead walks away, grumbling something insulting under his breath, just in complete and utter disbelief over how Ijichi truly hasn’t changed.
—
You figured your husband would eventually come back, so you set some food aside for him, and now you’re sitting at the dinner table, trying not to laugh at the pout on his face as he picks at his dinner with the chopsticks in his hand.
“Is the food good?”
“Sure.”
“I can warm that up for you, if you want?” you ask, barely trying to hide your amusement.
“No thanks,” he curtly responds before shoving another piece of karaage into his mouth. He’s known to have a sweet tooth, but chicken karaage’s probably his favorite food, savory wise. You almost want to tell him that he’s allowed to enjoy food even if his day hasn’t gone the way he had planned. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped staring.”
Your lips twitch, threatening to break out into a fit of laughter. “Right, sorry.”
“Mommy…? Is Daddy home yet?”
Oh great. As if the day couldn’t get any worse— now there’s a child.
“Yeah,” you respond in a tentative tone, shooting Satoru a look that screams ‘behave or else’, and even though you are currently a stranger to him, it intimidates him enough to behave for the time being.
A little girl, no older than 4 years old, walks into the kitchen and Satoru’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head upon seeing his daughter. It’s pretty obvious she’s his with her baby blue eyes and stark white hair. Her facial features are entirely yours, though. It’s strange to see.
“Hey… kiddo—” he awkwardly says, not really sure how to address the little girl. You clear your throat, mouthing ‘princess’ when he looks at you, because your daughter also happens to have her dad’s attitude. “I mean princess.”
It’s hilarious how unnatural it sounds right now when he was the one who started calling her that the moment you two took her home from the hospital.
“You pomis to wead bedtime stowie,” she starts to pout— same exact way he does.
“Did I?” He gives the girl a sympathetic look, albeit fake.
“Yeah,” she frowns as she walks up to you, giving him the world’s nastiest side eye. “Liar.”
Why is that the one word she’s able to enunciate correctly? She didn’t even stutter.
“Yeah— I was a little busy with work today,” he murmurs, as if she knew what that even meant. With the glare she was giving him, he doubted she’d even care if he broke down what work and the importance of it was. “Maybe mommy can read to you tonight?”
Sai wasn’t having that.
Satoru spent the end of his night reading her favorite book to her. Multiple times. He almost asked if it was some form of punishment for not upholding a promise he didn’t technically make himself, but decided against it in fear that she’d make him read it one more time. Sai fell asleep… eventually. Despite there being no way to prove it, he knows that the little girl forced herself to stay up out of pure spite.
But still, he finds himself smiling as he thinks about his nightmare of a future, not wiping it off quickly enough when you lightly knock on the guest bedroom door.
“Here’s some jammys for the night.” You smile back as you walk up and hand him a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt, both neatly folded up. “Figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in your work clothes.”
“Oh uh— thanks.” He clears his throat and forces out a laugh, pushing through the embarrassment of getting caught smiling to himself.
You’re giving him that look again. The one that’s mixed with amusement and a bit of fondness, where you look like you’re about to start making fun of him, but never do. Satoru would rather die than admit it makes him nervous.
“What?”
There’s a small pause as your smile grows. “Do you like your kid?”
“She’s weird.”
“Yeah, no— you wouldn’t believe who she got that from.”
“Fuck off.” A laugh easily slips through his lips this time, unable to stay serious at the thought of her inheriting even just a quarter of the traits he had as a child. Then it grows quiet again as he realizes she probably has the freedom to be a kid.
He wants to ask, but you beat him to it with a statement that answered the question he had in mind.
“Your duties as her father don’t end just because you managed to time travel by the way,” you say playfully, though he knows you’re being dead serious.
He can only guess what other horrors that little girl will subject him to for the rest of his time here. To put it simply, she’s not afraid of Dad.
For once, somebody doesn’t look at him as a god to fear.
—
It’s been over a month.
Ijichi and the rest of the windows are just as useless as they were when they first started trying to find answers. All that’s changed is that Nanami knows, and doesn’t seem to be too thrilled about the fact that he is now involved.
But still, the search for the fix to his predicament continues, turning every library and warehouse upside down. That’s all they could really do— aside from asking the elders for assistance of some sort.
Over his dead body.
Knowing they’d most likely do more harm than good, everyone’s agreed to keep this all a little secret from them.
So all that’s left to do, or rather forced to do, is to be patient. It’s hard. Satoru doesn’t do patient— he’s the type to snap his fingers and have a solution magically appear right before his eyes. You can only imagine how difficult it’s been for him to accept that he can’t immediately get what he wants right now.
Not to mention the fact that he had to continue working throughout all of this, but that wasn’t very surprising.
Now, what was surprising was learning that he has his weekends completely to himself. If anything, he assumed he’d just work more as time went on, but no. Turns out he threatened to kill the higher-ups if they didn’t let him have that when you two got married.
Satoru looks over your body once.
Twice.
He totally understands his future self.
He looks again for a third time, and you just so conveniently turn around, showing off your cute, frilly little apron covered in flour streaks.
It’s Sunday— you’ve been baking sweet treats all morning, and he wishes he had been a little nicer to you. Especially a couple of days ago when he snapped at you.
You had found him sitting alone on the balcony, head in his hands from yet another day of failure.
“Hey… any good news?”
“No,” he said impatiently. “If there was, I wouldn’t fucking be here right now.”
“Fair enough.” Your voice took a dip as you looked at the ground, allowing yourself to feel a little hurt for a moment before trying to lift the mood again. “Well… me and Sai stopped by your favorite bakery and got you the cookies you like if you wanted some—“
“No— no,” Satoru cut you off. “I don’t want your fucking cookies. I don’t want to do a family movie night where all we watch is Ms. Rachel. I don’t want to read some book about a mouse trying to become a fucking painter over and over again. I don’t want ANY of it. I want to fucking go home— what part about that do you not get?”
You tried to stand as straight as possible despite your shoulders growing heavier, pushing against the small frown threatening to carve itself across your face. You forgot how mean he used to be, at least during that first year of dating him. It only stings more because the man you married would never raise his voice like that, and you remind yourself that this isn’t him.
After a long pause, he looked up at you and immediately felt guilt wash over him.
“I didn’t mean that,” he tried to meet your eyes as he began to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I just— fuck. I didn’t mean any of that—”
“It’s fine.” You forced yourself to look at him again and smile. “I’ll uh… give you some space.”
The one thing about Satoru is that he doesn’t apologize. Like ever. So, one could only imagine how painfully awkward it was later that night when he knocked on your bedroom door to say he was sorry. It didn’t help that you were in a paper-thin silk slip, skin glistening from the lotion you rubbed all over it— he spent half his time trying not to stare at your tits. Had you been anyone else, it wouldn’t have felt as genuine.
But thank fuck he apologized, you probably would’ve spent all day ignoring him.
You raise a brow, and his cheeks start to pink. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing, you just–” he awkwardly gestures at your entire body, “there’s flour all over you.”
It almost sounds like he’s offended by it. He kind of is. You keep your foot on his fucking neck— he doesn’t even know why he came out here.
“Oh, right— 'cause messes have always bothered you,” you lean over the island ever so slightly. The pink on his cheeks darkens as you do, unable to control his eyes from drifting down to your cleavage. And while he’s not exactly ashamed of looking— you are his wife after all— he can’t help but be a little flustered.
He’s always had a thing for milfs.
Especially when said milf is talking about messes— he knows a couple of places he could make a mess on right now.
“Nah,” he rests his elbows on the marble counter as a playful grin stretches across his face. “This is nothing compared to how I like it.”
You tilt your head, a small laugh escaping you as you rest your chin over your palm, curious to see where this conversation will get you.
“How do you like it?” you ask, as if you didn’t already know how filthy and depraved he could get when he’s alone in a room with you.
And you fucking miss that.
He opens his mouth to respond.
Then you hear your daughter whimpering about waking up alone. It’s nothing new, and you revert back to mom mode as you watch her turn the corner and waddle towards you.
Satoru, on the other hand, is not used to this. The slightly bruised laugh he lets out just barely masks his desire to fucking scream. What a fucking cockblock— no wonder you only have one kid.
His kid completely ignores his existence as she wraps herself around your leg, continuing to whimper despite no actual tears streaming down her cheeks. “I had a nightmawh.”
Meanwhile, there’s Satoru, who has yet to wake up from his very own nightmare. He internally sighs, then attempts to grab her attention because it doesn’t feel very good watching her give it all to you. “You wanna share a muffin with daddy?”
It’s starting to sound more natural.
“Y-yeah,” she sniffles.
Minutes later, she’s sitting on his lap, absolutely demolishing the blueberry muffin they ended up splitting— a complete 180. He couldn’t be mad, even if he tried.
His little girl was a dream.
—
Month two. Ijichi is still as useless as ever. He stopped complaining to you about him, though. You noticed he doesn’t talk about going back to his original timeline all that much anymore.
It’s not like Satoru’s given up hope, he’s just more present, as if he finally realized that wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to send him back any faster. He’s unknowingly more like his future self— laid back, not a care in the world.
He’s even sleeping in for once. It’s not that hard though when Sai’s gone for the day. She seemed to care more about getting the hell out of the house with her grandparents than greeting her father a good morning. You didn’t push her to, either— figuring Satoru needed the sleep. He always does.
It’s too bad that his phone started blowing up at around 10:00 am. Unfortunately for you, he left his phone in the living room, leaving you to get up and grab it since the master bedroom was the closest room to it. With how thick the walls are, you doubt he’d even hear it.
With a long sigh, you rise from bed, rubbing the sleep off your eyes as you snatch the stupid phone off the coffee table.
The snores coming from Satoru reach your ears before you even open the door. You have to hold back a laugh as you walk in and take a look at him. Face down, his long limbs sprawled over the bed, messy white hair sticking out in all directions.
You reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, surprised infinity is off.
“Toru?” He stirs a bit, and you cautiously attempt to wake him up again. “Toru— someone’s been trying to call you for the past 10 minutes now.”
He lifts his head, eyes still sealed shut as he murmurs, “Who?”
“Uhh,” you look at the screen, unsure of who it might be. “Your contact name for them is nerd.”
You know it’s not Ijichi because his contact name is “courage 🐶” in his phone. Someone else must've annoyed Satoru for him to change yet another contact.
Satoru shoves his head back into the pillow and groans before taking the phone off your hands.
It’s Nanami. He, of all people, should know now is not the time to be blowing up his phone right now because he is fucking sleeping. It’s a Saturday for fucks sake.
Satoru sighs and accepts the call, grumbling into the phone. “What?”
Nanami cuts straight to the chase, as he would rather be doing anything else right now.
“How long are you planning on hiding your secret from the higher-ups?” he asks in a clipped tone.
Satoru rubs his eyes, too tired to return the same sense of urgency his friend seems to have at the moment. “Forever.”
“Don’t give me that.” A vein pops up on the side of the usually stoic man’s forehead. “They asked me about you this morning. They know something’s up. I can’t keep covering for you if it means my own safety’s on the line.”
“You really haven’t changed, have you?” It’s more of a statement than a question.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean—“
“You’ll be fine,” Satoru cuts him off. “They’re always up my ass anyway. I doubt they’re even suspicious. They just don’t know how to mind their own fuckin’ business. Seriously. You’re worrying over nothing right now.”
“I swear to god Gojo, if you—“
“Kay’ good night.”
Click.
Nanami’s probably fuming right now, but he’ll get over it. Satoru wanted to enjoy this. Lying in a comfy bed, surrounded by nothing but peace and quiet. He closes his eyes and stretches a bit, then rests his hands behind his head.
He would’ve forgotten that you were still sitting at the edge of the bed had you not lightly cleared your throat. One eye opens to look at you, then closes. The last thing he wants to do is share the reason why Nanami had been blowing up his phone all morning.
“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not here.” You cross your arms. “What was that all about?”
“Nothin’,” he easily says. “Just Nanami being Nanami— the guy’s a fuckin’ stickler for no reason.”
“That’s a little rude, no?” you chastise him.
“So is waking me up.”
“Sai wakes you up all the time, though.”
“Sai’s a ball of sunshine,” he says, quickly coming to her defense. “Not a grown man with depression— where is she by the way?”
“She’s spending the afternoon with my parents.”
Both eyes open this time, and stay open. “Why didn’t you go with them?”
“No way,” you wave a hand. “I need a break, too.”
“Yeah, no— I’m sure,” he agrees, feeling flustered all the sudden.
And Satoru being Satoru, he doesn’t do a very good job of hiding it, once again forgetting that you can read him better than anyone else can.
You smile, scooching closer, “You good there?”
“Yeah, m’fine,” he murmurs, trying not to shift around too much.
“I can take care of that, you know.”
“What?”
“That.” You look down at the boner he’s been trying to hide since finding out it’s just you two here.
“That’s not—“ His brain straight up short-circuits. “You don’t think that’s weird?”
“No.” You continue to inch forward, getting closer to him. “Do you think it’s weird?”
“No— never,” he shakes his head, answering a little too fast. “Fuck— won’t future me get mad?”
“Not at all. The most he’d probably do is make me show him what we did.”
“Make you show him?” he repeats after you in disbelief.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, that’s— that’s fuckin’ hot.”
Minutes later, you’re leaning forward with your hand wrapped around his base, and his breath catches as you start to slowly pump his cock.
“Feel good?”
His lids lower as he hums, “yeah— keep going.”
You lean forward, letting a string of spit fall from your lips to the tip of his cock, letting it mix with the precum that was already beading down from it. The wet sounds of you stroking him begin to grow, making the heat in between your legs start to pool.
“Can I sit on it?” You look up at him, batting your lashes as you innocently ask.
“Please,” he blurts out, just about ready to start begging you to.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as eager as him after all the weeks spent pretending like you don’t notice the way he stares at you. Lustfully. The slip you’re wearing happens to be extra short today, so you forego stripping down and practically pounce on him. Your soaked panties grazing over his rock-hard length as you straddle him, letting yourself get comfortable while Satoru grows impatient.
His hands find themselves planted on your hips and pull you down. A low groan escapes him as he grinds you against him. “God— fuck me. Please.”
“Well, since you’re being so sweet—”
You reach down, hooking a finger into the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side. He’s already lining himself up with your entrance, teasing your hole as he runs his tip through your folds, collecting all the slick. His lips part as he watches in awe at how damn wet you are.
His head tips back as you lower yourself, groaning and rambling to himself as if you weren’t there to hear it all.
"Fuck. You’re so hot.” His words come out strained as he watches you start to take him inch by inch, slowly working yourself open. “So fuckin’ tight, too.”
“Mmm— forgot how big you are.” Your voice is all soft and breathy from the fullness, nails slowly digging into his abs as you bottom out.
It takes a minute to adjust— it has been 3 months after all. But then you finally roll your hips, and Satoru almost starts singing praises at how good you are at that— lifting your hips all the way up and throwing them back, taking all of him.
"Fuck yeah– just like that," he breathes, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Feels so fucking good."
You murmur back a measly, “kay,” already dizzy from the stretch. You’re able to keep up the pace on your own for a bit, until you feel his grip on you tighten and the sounds of skin slapping against his start to grow as he starts to help you out.
You wouldn’t exactly call it help though, not when he ended up doing all the work— holding you steady while he practically bounces you on his cock, pulling more and more moans out of you as the head of his cock repeatedly kissed your sweet spot with almost no effort.
"You take it so good," he groans, pupils blown wide as he starts to feel himself lose control, snapping his hips up a little harder than the last. He wants more, he always wants more— so he pulls you forward and pulls your straps down far enough for your tits to spill out. "Perfect fuckin’ tits. Been thinking about these for weeks."
You let out a surprised gasp as he pops a nipple in his mouth with no warning. You fully believe him with the way he starts sucking and swirling and flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud, all while snapping his hips up harder.
He pulls back with a pop, looking up at you for approval. “Was that good?”
“Mhm.” There’s a fucked out expression on your face as you weakly nod. “Harder.”
“You want me to fuck you harder?”
“Yeah.”
Something in him snaps. Eager to please you, he flips you over and folds you underneath him— grabbing the back of your knees and pinning them to your chest so he can drive his cock into you deeper.
“Better?”
He drives his hips forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs. “God— yes.”
“I can’t— fuck— can’t believe you’re all mine, can’t believe I get to have you,” he starts to ramble as the sounds of him absolutely pounding into you fill the room. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect— all of you.”
He crashes his lips into yours— the kiss is messy, powered by hunger. Satoru’s always been overwhelming, but it’s been years since it’s been this emotionally intense. He fucks you like he needs you, like he’s been waiting for you all his life.
Your walls begin to squeeze and flutter around his cock, pulling another groan out of him. “You close?”
“Yeah,” you whine, feeling the pressure begin to coil. “Keep going.”
He’s close too, you can tell by how sloppy his thrusts have grown, no longer trying to control himself as he starts chasing after both of your releases. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck and fucks you faster, harder— balls slapping against your ass with each lewd wet squelch.
Your orgasm hits you hard after one particularly rough thrust. Scratching at his back as a cry tears through you, and it only goes straight to his dick, not even realizing just how overstimulated you are from the way he drills into you.
“Fuck.” It’s just one word that comes out of his mouth after realizing how hard he’s about to fucking cum. He bites into your shoulder as his balls start to tighten, squeezing his eyes shut as he braces himself.
When it happens, it’s a lot. He shoves himself deep inside of you, unaware of all the weight he puts on you as hot spurts of cum begin to flood your walls. Slowly grinding against you, letting your tight pussy milk the rest of him.
You’re wrecked by the end of it. You both are— lids tired and heavy, bodies sore and out of breath.
And in the end, you just let yourself fall asleep, unaware of the soft kiss pressed against your temple as he watched you.
—
It’s month three, and Satoru doesn’t want to go back.
What was the point? It’s not like he had anyone or anything to go back to. Jujutsu Society never crumbled from him getting shot into the future. Would it really be that bad if he just never went back and continued on with his life from here?
He hasn’t uttered a word about it out loud, but the way he completely stopped asking Yaga and Ijichi for updates was telling of where he was at mentally.
Acceptance.
He likes his life here.
You’ve come to your own conclusion after these last three months.
No wonder why he was so hot and cold when you were trying to get to know him. Satoru got a little taste of genuine comfort, only for it to be ripped away from him sometime before you two actually met. It explains all the times you wondered why he even tried with you, despite being too emotionally inept to even be in a relationship. He probably went through the beginning of your relationship thinking you could disappear at any second.
With that being said, he can’t stay here. As much as you’d love to continue being the source of comfort for this version of Satoru, he needs to experience the last year he spent alone before meeting you. He needs to feel cautious around you. He needs to try and fail at opening up a handful of times before getting comfortable with the idea of truly being vulnerable with a person. Getting over that element of fear he had towards getting close to others is what made him a husband and father— he couldn’t just skip that part of his life.
You have no idea how you’re going to tell him that, though. You’re not one to kick a sick puppy, especially one as cute as him. He’s so happy here with you and Sai that the thought of doing so makes your chest ache.
He’s having a tea party with Sai right now, limbs way too long to sit in the little stool she pulled up for him to sit in. He drinks imaginary tea from the plastic pink cup she hands him, and your chest aches some more. You force yourself to look away before the tears start.
You’d do the next 11 years all over again if you could.
“Hey, Honey?” Satoru calls out to you.
There’s a pause before you whip your head around— it’s been months since he’s called you that. There’s nothing but warmth and fondness in his eyes as his gaze meets yours. “Why is Nanami’s number saved under ‘nerd’ in my phone?”
He’s back.
“I don’t know,” you laugh, despite the tear falling down your cheek. “You tell me.”
—
Satoru didn’t want to believe it when everything around him went dark once again. It’s not until his feet touch the ground with a soft thud and he finds himself back in his messy, cold dorm when reality slapped him across the face.
Something between a sob and a gut-wrenching scream rips from his throat. Grabbing the round shades he had hoped he’d never have to fucking wear again, he rips them off his face and sends it crashing into the wall, breaking into a hundred little pieces. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give himself a chance to even breathe or think before raising his hand and releasing a purple orb with just a flick of his fingers.
Impulsive. Reckless. Deadly.
Satoru was fucking devastated.
Nobody knew what triggered him that night. All they knew was that the east wing of the school looked like it had been hit by an asteroid by the time he calmed down. He didn’t speak to anyone for a good two weeks following the incident. Everyone wants to think he was lucky the explosion didn’t have any casualties, but then they remembered who he was: Satoru fucking Gojo.
God’s don’t get punished, nor do natural disasters— it’s hard to tell which one he was at this point.
One Year Later
“If it’s that small of a curse, why are you sending me there?” Satoru continues to argue with one of the new managers over the phone.
It wasn’t that small of a curse. It was a grade one. But still, given the sorcerer’s title as a special grade, he was overqualified for the job.
“I’m sorry, we just don’t have anyone available to take on the case at the moment.” The young woman continues to apologize over the phone. “I think we might have a grade 3 available for the job. I- I can check—”
“Save it.” Satoru cuts her off. He wasn’t that heartless to push the case off to some 15 year old. That’s exactly how Haibara died. “Send me the address.”
The mission was nothing short of an inconvenience for him. He liked a challenge when exorcising curses, and the damn thing didn’t even put up a fucking fight. He traveled 2 hours to get here just for that? Unbelievable.
He wasn’t ready to leave and sit on a train for another 2 hours just yet, so he decided to walk around the town for a bit.
It was a cute place, a little quiet. Kinda boring. That’s never a bad thing, though. Lots of mom and pop shops, a few coffee shops scattered around, one of which he decided to try. A little sugar’s always good, at least to him.
The smell of vanilla and roasted coffee beans hit him as he walked into the place. There was a decent amount of customers inside. Not too much to feel crowded, but enough to stay busy. He keeps his eyes on the menu the entire time. The line moves fast, and he figures out what he wants just in time.
“And what can I get started for you today?”
His eyes are still on the screen, reading the item off the menu.
“Can I get a white chocolate mocha frappuccino, with an extra pump of…” his words die out, and his eyes widen as he finally looks at the girl taking his order. “Hey.”
“Hi.” You laugh at the way this stranger loses his train of thought. “Extra pump of white chocolate syrup?”
“Yeah.” He exhales, unable to rip his eye off you as you write the words down on the plastic cup with a sharpie.
“Name for the order?”
“Go– Satoru,” he corrects himself. “It’s Satoru.”
He’s a little awkward, but you still find him quite charming and smile. “Alright, Satoru. Your order should be ready in about 10 minutes.”
“Awesome. Thanks,” he nods rather pathetically, then goes to sit in an empty corner of the shop with only one thought in mind:
He has 10 minutes to come up with what to say to get your number.
random blurb because he's acts of service final boss. gender-neutral. fluff. no warnings. not proofread :3 still, hope u enjoy! :')🍊
calloused hands that go wrinkled or badly strained—it's just a normal part of anton's day. he juggles cello practice and swim training, often having to write with tired hands or practice his guitar when he has free time.
as his hands ache from the strings and the pull of the water, you would always take his palms into yours and knead the tension out of his muscles with the same gentleness he offers you.
anton's (one of his) favorite things about you is when your eternal love for oranges. so, it has also become his habit to always bring you oranges or fresh tangerines he finds in the market. sometimes, it’s the tiny bundle of kiat-kiats you finish easily in one sitting.
he also likes how clean your peelings are. he likes how focused you are when you peel them instantly, as if you were competing in a rubik’s cube competition.
anton notices. he notices how you always peel for him. he doesn't have to ask or request; your hands just swiftly pass him a peeled piece, sometimes even holding it near his mouth already.
in return, you notice and love the littlest things he does for you. carrying your bag, tying your shoelaces, opening a bottle cap, reminding you of your to do's, remembering your favorite flavors, knowing how you like your coffee, and sooo much more.
some people call it the "orange peel theory." you just call it love. and to you, it's anton.
there's a quiet choreography of care through this shared bond. the way the citrus scent clings to your fingertips, he notices how precisely you peel those tangerines and how you offer them to him before yourself. (though sometimes you do take a bite first, just to inform him if the piece is sweet or sour.)
sometimes anton had to wait patiently like a bird when you’re peeling a particularly stubborn tangerine. you eat the first slice, your face scrunching up in an instant. he immediately knows. if you finally hand a certain slice to him, it’s the sweet one he deserves. he finds it lovingly that you’re trying to save him from the sour ones.
moreover, he can't afford to make his strained hands move to peel a tangerine, let alone have the juice spill on any possible open wounds on his fingers. with his tired hands, he'd rather just skip the fruit entirely.
but he has you. well, double benefit. he also gets his source of vitamin c from his clementine personified, who loves to peel oranges for him as if it's a profession of love.
"i have peelings for you," he joked one time, followed by a giggle because he realized how cheesy it sounded.
"well, well, well. orange you glad we met?" you hit back with the exact same dorkiness. this resulted in him grinning ear-to-ear, until the tips of his ears turned cherry red.
one time when you were eating ramen with him, your hands went into autopilot mode on the boiled egg he ordered; you peeled it clean, leaving not a single crack or damaged spot on the egg white. it’s as if these small acts of service you do naturally for him are done from love and with love.
anton just lets you. he's so fond of you and this gesture. would he peel oranges for you? he'd rather let you do it. it's your way of love and kindness. instead, he'd plant an orange tree for you so you can have fresh fruit all the time and he would squeeze an orange juice every morning. or he'll just pray that there would be a cloudy chance of oranges.
again, would he peel oranges for you? yes. (so, please let him for once)!
there is a quiet trade of softness for sweetness. it's always the acts of service that go both ways with anton. this was about more than your love for oranges... or even how skilled your hands were in contrast to his tired ones.
he thinks that this favorite habit of yours is more than just the kindness he knows about you. loving people do exist, because you exist. you extend and show love to him with no questions asked, even in the simplest way of peeling the fruits you love to share with him.
he's just as attentive as you. his love is precisely sweet. yours is delicately tender. just like a perfect halve of an orange.
you thought, if there's pure love, then it's probably anton.
after a long day, you were met with a mesh of tangerines at your table. there's a piece of paper inside along with eight round oranges waiting to be peeled for the week (or maybe three days max!). in anton lee's very recognizable handwriting, the note says: "i love you. i'm glad you exist."
no money? no problem! pizzadeliveryguy!sukuna x opportunist!reader
cw: backshots, slight degradation, reader lies on the spot after seeing how beefy the pizza guy was, just a fun little drabble based off this ask
“you’re kidding,” the man groans, sliding a hand down his face as he holds a warm box of pizza in the other. “you couldn’t have told me that when i called 5 minutes ago, asking for fucking directions to get here? ‘fucks wrong with you??”
a lot.
he doesn’t get paid enough for this. the fact that you’re the last delivery of the night makes this all even worse— he could’ve been home by now! lounging back on his couch with an ice cold beer, watching a show, not out here in the freezing cold as some chick looks at him all doe-eyed, probably thinking you can sweet talk your way out of this.
and you can. you absolutely can. you’re ready to do more than just talk your way out of this. “i’m so sorry,” you feign innocence, just barely hiding how giddy you are. “i swear i thought i had $20 on me.”
“you got a venmo or something?” he continues to be annoyed, trying to ignore that fact that you’re barely dressed and a little too happy for a girl who claims to be broke. though he must admit, the silk shorts and tank top look pretty damn cute.
“i don’t have a phone.”
“no?” he clicks his tongue, holding back a laugh at how ridiculous of a lie that is when you had just spoken to him over the phone. he rests his arm over the door frame and leans down, lips curving to a grin as he continues to entertain whatever this is. “well what do you have then, sweetheart? gotta have somethin.”
it all happened faster than you thought it would.
“who just lets the pizza guy in like this, huh?” he heaves, balls slapping against your clit with each thrust, filling the living room with the lewd sounds of harsh slaps and wet squelches.
“i don’t know,” you say through struggled moan, barely able to form a thought from how he has you— on your knees, back in the craziest arch as he delivers the deepest backshots, fucking you dumb on your couch that won’t stop creaking. “i- i just—“
“you’re just, what?” he laughs, not letting up on the brutal pace he’s had from the start. he grabs a fist full of your hair, yanking you up to mutter in your ear. “a fuckin’ slut?” he chuckles as you pathetically nod. a hand snakes around you and pressed against your lower belly. “you really are a little slut, look how good you’re taking me. you feel me? feel how fuckin’ deep i am?”
“uh-huh,” you whine from the way he continues to press down on to the bulge on your tummy and taunt you. he was big. everything about him was. he was strong too, having to hold you close to him so you didn’t fall forward each time he slammed his hips against you. “it was so worth it though— fuck— feels so good.”
he smirks, satisfied with the praise. “yeah?”
“mhm— shit, right there,” you cry out, making him shove you back down as he continues to give you exactly what you want.
how could he not? especially when you’ve been so sweet to him.
he grabs both your wrists and pulls them back, keeping you in that perfect arch while he pounds into you, just hammering through your walls and hitting your sweet spot every. single. time. it’s insane, you’ve never been with anyone that’s made you cum this much. who would’ve thought it would be him.
he was clearly experienced, it was the direct result of him being attractive as hell, and he knew it. but this? getting the chance to live through something that was straight out of some raunchy porno? of course he took you up on your offer. a lucky man he was.
“yeah, that’s it. cum for me. show me how good this strangers making your pussy feel,” he groans, watching the creamy ring around the base of his cock grow thicker and thicker.
god, he was nasty— not just in the way he fucked you, but with his words, the way he talked you through it as if he didn't already have you a sobbing mess from the way he was manhandling you. he was fucking shameless and it all unfortunately goes straight to your core, making the pressure in you build up even faster.
at this point he's just working it out of you. you might be a crying, babbling mess, but this was light work for him. pulling you back, making you take each and every inch he was stuffing into you with ease.
"c'mon on, give it to me," he continues to encourage you, roughly. it's not like you had much of a choice to begin with-- not with how fast he was going, and definitely not with how he straight up abuses your sweet spot, the fat cock of his cock just hitting it over and over again.
and the orgasm doesn't just hit you, it fucking tears through you and you don't even recognize the sound you made when it did. you don't know whether you should be embarassed or grateful for how hard the guy made you cum.
not that it stays on your mind for too long, you're easily pushed into overstimulation while he chases his own release. your ears are still ringing, all you can hear are the rough grunts above you and the wet schlick everytime he drags his cock out of you. a couple harsh thrusts later and he's cumming too. you can feel his dick throbbing and you're almost disappointed that you made him wear a condom.
almost.
you had to remind yourself that he was stranger for fucks sake.
"you sure you don't have a phone?" he continues to heave, trying to catch his breath as he slowly pulled out of you.
"...why?" you ask nervously, thinking he's still going to make you pay. that would've been beyond unfair. you might just start crying again.
he scoffs. "so i can get your number, lyin' piece of shit," he ends up scolding you.
but in time you'll quickly realize that this pizza guy loves his women on the crazier side, and you were not getting rid of him anytime soon.
pairing: ghostface! p. jisung x fem.reader
genre: smut, slasher, best friend's brother
summary: halloween should have been another forgettable college party... until the quiet boy who’s loved you from the shadows decides he's had enough of being invisible.
wc: 11.4k+
content warnings: stalking, obsessive behavior, unhealthy attachment, dubcon/dubious consent, slight age gap (4 years) rough sex, choking (breathplay), face-fucking, anal sex, blindfolds, explicit sexual content, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, voyeurism, alcohol consumption, drunk driving, violence/gore (slasher themes), degradation, possessive!jisung, non-consensual recording, self-pleasure, manipulation, post-orgasm overstimulation, psychological horror, dark themes.
a/n: i was rushing to post this the last minute of halloween! but i hope you enjoy my little freaks<33 tis my first time writing a slasher kind of fic and it ended up giving ghostface meets joe goldberg from you but i hope i did it justice lol. feedback as always is greatly appreciated!
Jisung had been in love with you for four years, two months, and sixteen days.
Not that he was counting.
The exact moment was seared into his memory with the clarity that only comes from years of obsession. His sophomore year, late August, unseasonably warm for the dying days of summer.
You'd shown up at his house with his sister, Jiwoo, and something about you had changed in the months since he'd last seen you. Your hair was shorter—cut to your shoulders in a way that made your neck look longer, more elegant. You were wearing this sundress, yellow with little white flowers scattered across the fabric.
Even now, he could close his eyes and see it perfectly: the way the cotton moved when you walked, catching on your thighs; the way the sun painted gold across your bare shoulders; the delicate chain of your necklace glinting against your collarbone.
He'd been staring (of course he'd been staring, he was fifteen and stupid and utterly incapable of controlling where his eyes went when you were in the room) and you'd caught him. For one terrible second, he thought you would be annoyed or disgusted.
Instead, you'd just smiled fondly. Reached over and ruffled his hair like you always did, like he was a golden retriever who'd done a particularly good trick.
"Don't worry, Sungie. High school gets better after freshman year."
You'd thought he was nervous about school. Thought the flush crawling up his neck, the way he couldn't quite meet your eyes, the rabbit-quick pulse you could probably see hammering in his throat. You'd thought all of it was anxiety about classes and whether he'd make the basketball team.
That's when he knew he was fucked.
Because you'd never see him as anything more than Jiwoo's awkward little brother. The scrawny kid who used to trail behind you two during summer breaks, always begging to be included in whatever adventure you were planning. The boy who was just... there, like wallpaper or background music, noticed only when absent. You'd known him since he was twelve, and in your mind, he'd never stopped being twelve to you.
And that should have made him give up, move on, find someone else. Someone who would look at him and see a person worthy of attention.
But the heart (or whatever sick, twisted thing Jisung had in his chest) doesn't work like that. Rejection didn't kill his feelings. It mutated them. Made them grow into a desperate, gnawing hunger that kept him up at night.
It made him obsessed.
Four years later, and nothing changed at all.
Except for Jisung. He had changed, certainly. Puberty had finally taken pity on him and he'd shot up six inches in a single year, growing from a forgettable 5'7" to a respectable 6'1". Thank fucking god for genetics. He'd started working out with his best friend Jeno, who was into bodybuilding and protein shakes and had the discipline that Jisung had never possessed until he had a reason to. Until he had you as a reason.
He learned quickly that physical pain was easier to manage than emotional pain. He could control the burn in his muscles, the ache in his joints, the exhaustion that made him collapse into bed too tired to think about you for at least a few hours. His body transformed from something gangly and awkward into something strong.
The kind of body that made people step aside on the sidewalk, that drew appreciative glances from girls at parties, that should have been enough to make you finally, finally look at him differently.
But you didn't.
You still ruffled his hair whenever you saw him, still called him Sungie in that sing-song voice that dripped with affection and condescension in equal measure. The tone you'd use for a particularly cute puppy.
When you treated him like that he wanted nothing more want to grab you and make you understand that he wasn't a fucking kid anymore and hadn't been for a long time.
But he never did. Because that would require you to see him as a threat, as someone with desires and agency and the capacity to want things he shouldn't want. And you didn't. No matter what he did, no matter how much he changed his body, his clothes, his entire existence, you treated him exactly the same. Like he was still fifteen. Like he was invisible, or worse, like he was so thoroughly categorized in your mind as "little brother figure" that he might as well have been neutered.
And god, it made him furious.
Not at you. Never at you. You were perfect, blameless, a deity who could do no wrong in the twisted temple of his obsession.
No, the rage was directed inward, at himself for being stupid enough to fall in love with someone so thoroughly out of reach. At the universe for putting you in his path, for making you Jiwoo's friend, for ensuring that you were always there.
The worst part, the thing that made him want to claw his own skin off sometimes, was that this pent up rage didn't diminish the love. If anything, it fed it. The two emotions twisted together like strands of DNA, inseparable, until he couldn't feel one without the other.
Every dismissive smile made him want to scream and worship you in the same breath. Every casual touch that you thought nothing of sent him spiraling for hours, caught between fury and euphoria and a desperate, aching want that lived in his bones.
You were at his house constantly. Practically lived there after you started college since their house was particularly close to campus. You had your own drawer in Jiwoo's dresser, the bottom left one, where you kept spare clothes and makeup.
His mom bought your specific coffee creamer, the vanilla oat milk kind that cost twice as much as the regular stuff. His dad asked about your classes, your internship applications, your life with the kind of genuine interest he usually reserved for his own children.
You were family. Everyone said so. His mom called you her honorary daughter. Jiwoo called you her platonic soulmate.
And Jisung got a front-row seat to his own personal hell.
He watched you live your life up close. Every relationship you started with hopeful eyes and nervous laughter. Every heartbreak that left you crying on the couch at 2 AM, mascara tracking down your cheeks in dark rivers while Jiwoo rubbed your back. You'd fall asleep eventually, exhausted from crying, and Jisung would watch from the hallway while you lay there looking so heartbreakingly beautiful that he had to dig his nails into his palms until they bled and had to focus on that small, controllable pain to keep from doing something stupid.
He knew everything about you, too. Not the surface things that everyone knew like your major or your favorite movie. He knew the real things. The secret things.
He'd found your journal six months ago, tucked behind a row of old textbooks on Jiwoo's bookshelf. The journal was small, bound in soft leather that had worn smooth with handling, and he'd known immediately that it was yours. He’d known that reading it would be a violation, a betrayal.
But he'd read every single page anyway.
Your handwriting was neat, looping, they probably taught it at that expensive private school you went to. Sometimes it got messier, though, when you were upset the letters would slope and crash into each other like cars piling up on a highway.
You wrote about everything. Your fears that you weren't good enough, smart enough, pretty enough. Your conviction that everyone would eventually leave once they saw the real you, the disappointing you hiding behind the smile and the jokes. Your desperate need to be perfect, to be worth keeping.
Reading it had made him sad. And also pissed him off.
Because you were so worried about people leaving, about not being enough, and meanwhile Jisung was right there. Right fucking there. Had been there for four years, watching and wanting and willing to take whatever scraps you'd throw him. Would be there for forty more years if you'd just look at him. If you'd just see that someone already thought you were perfect, already knew all your flaws and loved you not despite them but because of them.
But you refused to see it.
So he learned you in secret, hoarding information obsessively over the years, and started leaving things for you.
Nothing obvious, nothing that would raise suspicion. But when you mentioned losing your favorite earrings in the journal (small silver hoops, bought at some artisan market in New York three years ago), he'd spent hours tracking down the vendor, had driven to a different city on a weekday just to buy an identical pair. Then he'd "found" them on the bathroom floor, presented them to you with a casual "hey, are these yours?"
The way your face had lit up and you'd thrown your arms around him in gratitude had been worth every second of effort, every mile driven.
When you wrote about missing your grandmother's sugar cookies in another entry, his mom had suddenly developed a craving to bake that exact cookie after Jisung showed her the recipe. You'd cried when you tasted them, said they were almost exactly right, and Jisung had watched you lick sugar off your fingers and felt like a god.
This was love, he told himself. This was devotion. This was caring about someone enough to make their wishes come true even when they didn't know. To pay attention to even the most mundane details about their life.
Jisung even knew your schedule better than his own by now. Tuesday-Thursday class that ended at 3:30, followed by a stop at the campus coffee shop where you'd sit by the window and study for exactly fifty-three minutes before packing up. Gym on Monday, Wednesday, Friday at 6 AM which way too early, you complained in your journal, but it was the only time the place wasn't crawling with people. Therapy every other Thursday at 5 PM, followed by a smoothie from the place across the street because therapy "drained" you and you needed the sugar rush.
He'd followed you enough times to have the routes memorized. To know which streets you took, which shortcuts you preferred, which coffee shop bathroom you'd duck into if you were running late and needed to fix your makeup.
He told himself he did this to keep you safe. The world was dangerous, and you were so careless sometimes, walking with headphones in, not paying attention to your surroundings. Someone needed to watch out for you.
The fact that he got off on it, that knowing your patterns and routines gave him a sense of control and ownership that was probably deeply unhealthy…Well. He tried not to think about that part too hard.
He had a folder on his laptop labeled "Organic Chem Notes" that had nothing to do with chemistry. Inside were hundreds of photos of you, organized by date and location like some kind of deranged scrapbook. Some were from screenshots from Instagram, photos he'd saved from Jiwoo's posts or your other friends' feeds.
But his favorites were the ones he'd taken himself. Candid shots. You at the kitchen table doing homework, bottom lip caught between your teeth in concentration. You curled up on the couch watching TV laughing at something on screen, your head thrown back in a way that exposed the long line of your throat. You asleep in Jiwoo's bed, hair spread across the pillow in dark waves that made him think of Renaissance paintings, of devotional art, of saints and madonnas and things men built churches for.
That last photo was his favorite. He looked at it every night before bed, and sometimes (most times) his hand would drift into his pants while he stared at your sleeping face on his laptop screen. He'd imagine what it would be like to be there next to you instead of getting off through a screen. What it would feel like to touch you, to make you make those breathy sounds, to be the reason your face flushed and your pupils dilated and your—
He knew he was sick. The thought would surface sometimes, usually in the gray morning light when shame felt more potent. This wasn't normal. This wasn't healthy. This wasn't what love was supposed to look like.
But then he'd see you again, and none of that mattered. Because how could something that felt this consuming, this important, this real be wrong?
Other girls noticed him now. He wasn't the invisible kid anymor. He was tall and lean and apparently, according to Jaemin "had that mysterious quiet guy thing going on that chicks dig." He'd had offers. A girl in his Econ class who kept finding reasons to touch his arm. Someone at a party who'd pressed her number into his hand with a smile that promised everything. Opportunities to be normal, to want someone who wanted him back, to have the kind of relationship that didn't require hiding and obsessing and violating privacy.
But they weren't you.
And that made them worthless. Fundamentally, completely worthless. He couldn't even pretend to be interested. His body wouldn't cooperate, his mind wouldn't engage. They'd talk and all he could think about was how your voice sounded different, how they laughed wrong, how they'd never be you and that was an insurmountable flaw.
This frustrated him to no end. Why couldn't you just see him? What the fuck did he have to do?
But the frustration always dissolved eventually, melting back into that aching, desperate love that was the only constant in his life. The anger was just love's shadow, after all. Two sides of the same coin.
And it wasn't your fault. You didn't know. Couldn't know. He'd made sure of that, had been so careful to never let the mask slip, to never let you see the hunger in his eyes when he looked at you.
Besides, even if you did know, even if he laid it all out, every obsessive thought and stolen moment and privacy violation catalogued and confessed… You still wouldn't want him.
Because he knew your type. He’d watched enough of your relationships to see the pattern by now.
You went for older guys, usually. The kind who were ambitious, charming, the sort who could talk about their "five-year plan" without sounding ridiculous. They were confident in a way Jisung had never managed. And they treated you good….at first. But then they were careless. Like you were pretty and fun and ultimately replaceable. As if you were lucky to be with them instead of the other way around.
And you ate it up. Every single time. You'd glow under their attention, would try so hard to be what they wanted, would shrink yourself down to fit into whatever box they offered.
It made Jisung want to break things.
Because these assholes didn't know you. They didn't know that you picked at your cuticles when you were anxious. They didn't realize you only wore your hair up on bad body image days, when you felt too "ugly" (your word, written in the journal with such casual self-loathing that it made his chest ache). They couldn't tell the difference between your real laugh and your polite laugh, the pretty one you used when you wanted someone to like you.
Jisung knew all of it. He'd studied you like other people studied for the bar exam or medical boards, with the kind of dedicated focus that could move mountains.
And you didn't give a single fuck.
Your current boyfriend was Marcus Webb. Marketing major, crypto bro, 5’10, brown hair that he spent too much time styling, white teeth that were definitely veneered. His Instagram was full of gym selfies and motivational quote graphics and photos of his car that his parents definitely bought.
Jisung had done his research, obviously. He knew Marcus was from C, that his parents were divorced, that he had a younger sister he never talked about. Knew he'd cheated on his last girlfriend—Jisung had found her Twitter after some digging, had spent an evening reading through her heartbroken posts about betrayal and lies and how she "should have seen the signs”
He'd thought about telling you. Even drafted the message a dozen times and imagined your face when you realized what Marcus really was.
But that would raise questions. How did Jisung know? Why was he looking into your boyfriend's history? Why did he care so much?
So instead he just... hated Marcus. Deeply, violently, with the kind of visceral loathing usually reserved for war criminals and people who hurt children. He'd lie awake at night imagining elaborate scenarios where Marcus would disappear—car accidents, shipping him off to some random country in a bag.
The violent fantasies didn't satisfy the howling thing in his chest, however. Didn't even come close.
Because he knew the truth: even if Marcus disappeared tomorrow, you'd just find another one. Another careless asshole who didn't deserve you, who'd make you cry, who'd take and take and take until you had nothing left to give.
You'd never choose Jisung.
It was a special kind of hell, loving someone like this. Like dying slowly, one day at a time, while simultaneously being so angry he wanted to tear down the sky. He wanted to protect you and possess you and make you see him, wanted to be your savior and your captor and your choice, all at once, and the contradictions were eating him alive from the inside out.
But even drowning in obsession and anger and desperation, even when the wanting got so bad he couldn't eat or sleep or think about anything else... he never blamed you.
He couldn't.
Because every time you smiled at him, even that dismissive smile that cut like glass, his heart still dropped into his stomach and his breath still caught and he still felt like he'd swallowed the sun. Every time you ruffled his hair like he was a child, something in him still melted into grateful, pathetic goo. Every time you existed in his space (breathing his air, touching his things, leaving traces of your perfume on his furniture) he felt blessed. Lucky beyond measure.
He'd take your crumbs. Your leftovers. Your casual dismissal and thoughtless affection.
He'd take anything you'd give him.
Even nothing.
Especially nothing, because nothing meant you were still there. Still close enough to watch and want and maybe, someday, have.
Which brought him to tonight.
Halloween. The one night a year when people wore masks and pretended to be something they weren't, when the normal rules bent to let the darkness breathe.
He was at a party at some senior's house, a sprawling place with too many rooms and parents who were conveniently out of town. A party that would definitely get broken up by cops around midnight, but for now it was still in that sweet spot of controlled chaos.
The music was pounding through expensive speakers and making the windows rattle. Bodies packed too close together, everyone drunk or high or well on their way. The living room was suffocating with artificial fog from some machine in the corner, mixed with weed smoke and cheap cologne.
Jisung had come with Jaemin and a few other of his friends, but he'd lost them within the first fifteen minutes. Not that he cared. He hadn't come here to socialize.
He'd come here for you.
He spotted you almost immediately when he arrived. His eyes always found you in a crowd, like his brain had developed some kind of specialized radar. You were dressed up as a pirate, a corset that made his mouth go dry, a skirt short enough that it shouldn’t even count as a skirt. Your hair was down, wild around your shoulders, and you'd done something dramatic with your makeup. Dark eyes, red lips, a sharpness to your features that made you look dangerous.
God, you were so fucking beautiful it physically hurt.
You were with a cluster of your other friends, dancing in that unselfconscious way tipsy girls do, laughing at something someone said. You looked happy.
Jisung had positioned himself across the room, nursing some godawful mixture of vodka and Hawaiian Punch, watching. He'd been here for forty-five minutes now, and he'd barely looked at anything else. Had catalogued every person you talked to, every drink you accepted, every time someone got a little too close and you laughed it off or stepped away.
Then Marcus showed up.
Jisung felt the way the energy in your little group shifted, how your smile got tighter, your shoulders tensed. He tracked your gaze across the room and there he was, stumbling through the front door with a group of his frat brothers, already clearly drunk. He was wearing a Ghostface costume, half-assed and lazy, the mask pushed up on his head and the robe hanging open over jeans and a white t-shirt.
Of course he'd pick Ghostface. Couldn't even be original.
Jisung watched Marcus scan the room, saw the moment he spotted you. Watched him say something to his friends (probably something crude, judging by the way they laughed) before making his way over.
This was going to be bad. Jisung could feel it the way animals can sense earthquakes before they hit.
Marcus pushed through the crowd with that particular douchebag confidence. He reached you and said something Jisung couldn't hear over the music. You'd stopped dancing, your whole body language changing. Your hand went to your necklace, fingers worrying at that tiny bird pendant.
You were uncomfortable. Jisung's hands clenched around his cup hard enough that the plastic cracked.
The conversation was clearly escalating. Your friends had stopped dancing too, creating a small circle of tension in the middle of the party. Other people were starting to notice, to watch. One of your friends put her hand on your arm, probably trying to defuse things, but you were shaking your head.
Then Marcus reached for you, fingers wrapping around your wrist, and Jisung went rigid.
He was touching you. Putting his hands on you when you clearly didn't want him to.
You yanked your arm away, said something harsh enough that Marcus actually stepped back. But then he let out a dismissive laugh that made Jisung's vision blur red at the edges, and reached for you again.
"—told you I was sorry, babe, come on—" The music had dipped just enough for Jisung to catch fragments. "—being dramatic—"
"Dramatic?" Your voice cut through the noise now, loud and furious. People were definitely watching. "I'm being dramatic? You ignored me all week, Marcus! You don't get to—"
"Jesus Christ, it's not that deep—"
"No, fuck you!" You shoved him hard enough that he stumbled back a step. "I'm tired of your bullshit! You ignore me for days and then get jealous when I talk to other people?"
"Babe, you're making a scene—"
"Good! Maybe everyone should know what an asshole you are!" You shoved him again, and this time he nearly fell. Someone whooped from the crowd. This was entertainment now, a show. "We're fucking done. Do you hear me? Done! Get out of my way!!"
Marcus's face had gone red from embarrassment, anger, alcohol, all mixing into something ugly. "You're being a fucking psycho right now—"
"Get out of my face, Marcus. I'm serious."
"Whatever. You'll come crawling back. You always do."
Jisung could see it in the way you flinched at those words, the way your eyes went glassy for just a second before the anger came back.
"Fuck. You." You flipped him off with both hands, then turned and stormed toward the front door.
The crowd parted for you, everyone watching, phones out recording this probably for their Snapchat stories. Your friends called after you, but you were already gone, disappearing through the door into the cold October night.
Marcus stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, looking around at all the watching faces. Then he shrugged, tried to play it off. "Bitches, man," he said to no one in particular, and headed toward the kitchen where a blonde girl was waiting with a sympathetic smile.
Jisung watched him go, something cold and dark spreading through his chest like frost.
This was the fourth time you'd broken up with Marcus this month. But this time felt different. More final. You'd made a scene, burned it down in front of everyone. There was no coming back from that kind of public humiliation.
Unless Marcus forced the issue. Unless he showed up at your door, and wore you down the way he always did.
Unless someone stopped him.
Jisung's phone buzzed, it was a text from Jiwoo.
Jiwoo: omg did u see that disaster
Jiwoo: i should go check on her but jackson just asked me to "see his room" 😏
Jiwoo: can u make sure she's ok??? she said she was gonna crash at our place tonight anyway
Jisung stared at the message, his heart starting to pound.
This was perfect. Too perfect.
You were staying at his house tonight. Would be sleeping in Jiwoo's room, one door down from his. Jiwoo would be "busy" with Jackson, probably wouldn't come home at all knowing his sister. His parents were both working overnight shifts. Meaning the house would be empty.
Just you and him.
His eyes drifted to the coffee table across the room, where Marcus had abandoned his Ghostface mask.
An idea began to take shape in his mind. Dark and reckless and insane.
But also... perfect.
You were staying at his house. You'd shower, change, go to sleep in Jiwoo's bed. You'd be vulnerable. Unguarded. And you'd be thinking about Marcus, probably. Wondering if he'd try to contact you, whether he'd apologize, whether this time would actually stick or if you'd cave like you always did.
What if Marcus did show up? What if he came to the house, tried to talk his way back in, used that manipulation and charm to make you doubt yourself again?
What if someone made sure Marcus couldn't do that?
What if someone... took care of it?
Jisung's hand moved almost without conscious thought, reaching for the mask. The plastic was cheap, probably from a Spirit Halloween, but it felt significant in his hands. Heavy with possibility.
He could put this on and turn into someone else. Could finally stop being invisible, harmless Jisung and become someone you'd actually notice.
Someone you'd actually fear.
This felt right. Like everything had been leading to this moment—four years of obsession and anger and desperate, aching love all converging on this single point.
He pulled out his phone, typed a response.
Jisung: yeah i got her. heading out now anyway, i'll make sure she gets home safe
Jiwoo: ur the best!!! love u little bro 🖤
Jiwoo: oh and moms working til 7am so the house is empty. make sure she has everything she needs ok?
Everything she needs.
Oh, Jisung would make sure of that.
Jisung: don't worry. i'll take good care of her.
He pocketed his phone and the mask, then headed for the kitchen. He needed another drink first. Something strong enough to silence the last remaining shred of conscience whispering that this was wrong, that he should stop, that there was still time to be the good guy.
But Jisung was so fucking tired of being good.
Good got you nowhere. Good got you ignored. Good meant watching the person you loved give themselves to people who didn't deserve them, over and over, while you stood in the shadows like a fucking ghost.
Well, tonight he'd be a different kind of ghost.
Tonight, you'd finally see him.
He found the bottle of cheap vodka on the counter—the kind that tasted like paint thinner and gasoline had a baby—and poured himself a shot. Downed it without flinching. Poured another. The burn was good, clarifying. It quieted the noise in his head, turned the guilt into something sharper and more useful.
Determination.
He grabbed the bottle and headed outside.
The October air was cold enough to hurt, that particular autumn chill that promised winter wasn't far behind. His breath came out in white clouds. The street was quieter out here, away from the pounding music, just the distant sound of traffic and someone's car alarm going off a few blocks away.
He spotted you almost immediately, standing at the edge of the lawn under a flickering porch light. Phone pressed to your ear, your free hand rubbing your bare arm, trying to stay warm in that costume that was definitely not meant for forty-degree weather. Even from here he could hear the frustration in your voice.
"Come on, Jiwoo, pick up. Please pick up." A pause. "Why the fuck aren't you answering?"
Because she was busy. Because she'd abandoned you for some random hookup, like everyone always abandoned you eventually.
Everyone except Jisung.
You lowered the phone, staring at the screen with this look of frustration and hurt that made his chest ache. You tried calling again.
"Fuck," you muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself. You looked so small suddenly. Vulnerable. Lost.
And alone.
Jisung took a long pull from the bottle of vodka, felt it burn all the way down, then set it aside and started walking toward you.
Each step felt like crossing a threshold. Like there would be a before and an after, and he was choosing—actively, consciously choosing—the after.
His boots were quiet on the grass. You didn't hear him coming.
"Need a ride?"
You jumped, spinning around with wide eyes, hand going to your chest. For just a second there was real fear on your face.
Then you saw him, and your whole body relaxed.
"Oh." You actually laughed, breathless with relief. "It's just you, Sungie."
Just you.
The words settled in his chest like stones.
Of course. Harmless Jisung. Jiwoo's quiet little brother. Nothing to fear here.
If only you knew.
"Yeah," he said softly, shoving his hands in his pockets so you wouldn't see them trembling. The mask was there, pressing against his palm. "Just me."
You sighed, the fight draining out of you now that you weren't alone. Your shoulders slumped, and you looked so tired suddenly, bone-deep exhausted. "I was supposed to stay over at your house, but your dumb sister isn't picking up. Ugh, I knew she'd do this."
Jisung watched you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to preserve warmth. Your lips were starting to turn slightly pink from the cold, and he could see goosebumps rising on your exposed skin. He wanted to trace every single one with his fingers.
“She left with some guy about ten minutes ago,” he said. “They went upstairs.”
“Of course she did.” You laughed bitterly and tired and so fucking beautiful even when you were miserable. “God, I’m such an idiot for relying on her.”
No. You’re an idiot for not relying on me.
But he didn’t say that. Instead, he just watched you, drinking in every detail of you tonight. The way your hair was slightly messed up from the wind. The smudge of eyeliner under your left eye that you probably didn’t know was there. The way you kept shifting your weight from foot to foot in those boots that he knew hurt your feet.
You pulled your phone out again, thumb hovering over Marcus's name in your recent calls. Jisung could see it from where he stood, could see you hesitating. Considering.
No. Absolutely fucking not.
"I can drive you," he offered quickly, taking a step closer. "I was heading out anyway. It's not a big deal.
You looked up from your screen, and for the first time tonight, you actually looked at him. Really looked. Your eyes tracked over his face, the face he'd carefully cultivated over the years, sharp jawline and dark eyes—and something flickered across your expression. Surprise, maybe. Like you were seeing him for the first time.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on his part.
"Since when do you drive?" you asked, eyebrow raised. There was that note in your voice again, that subtle disbelief that he could be capable of something as basic as operating a vehicle.
He’s had his license for over a year. But you didn’t know that because you never asked or cared enough to learn basic facts about his life.
His jaw tightened, but he kept his expression pleasant.
“Got my license last year,” he said simply, even though he wanted to grab you by the shoulders and scream that he wasn’t a kid anymore. “I’m better than Jiwoo, too. Haven’t hit a single curb.”
You laughed at that. A real laugh this time, the kind that made your nose scrunch slightly. The sound hit him like a drug. God, he'd do anything to make you laugh like that all the time. Anything to be the only reason for it.
"Ooh, really?" You were teasing him now, some of that earlier fire coming back into your voice. "Damn, when did you grow up, Sungie?"
You reached out to ruffle his hair, that thoughtless affection that made him feel like a fucking pet, and his hand shot up before he could stop himself.
He caught your wrist mid-air. Not roughly, he was never rough with you, would never hurt you even when the wanting made him feel like he was dying.
You blinked, clearly a bit thrown off. He could see the first threads of unease in your eyes.
“Um,” you chuckled awkwardly, trying to pull away. “Okay then…”
He held on for just a second longer than necessary. Long enough for that unease to sharpen into something closer to awareness. Long enough for his thumb to stroke once across the inside of your wrist, right where your skin was softest.
Then he let go, sliding his hands back into his pockets like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't just crossed another invisible line, like the mask wasn't burning a hole through the fabric, waiting.
You were staring at him now with this look on your face– confused, maybe a little wary—and it was the most attention you'd paid him in four years. He wanted to drink it in, to savor it, to make it last.
“You didn’t drink too much, right?” you asked, and there was a new edge of caution to your voice.
“Just one cup,” he lied smoothly. The alcohol was buzzing pleasantly through his system. He was tipsy enough to dull his inhibitions without affecting his coordination
Your eyes narrowed, clearly not buying it.
But before you could push further, he added, “It’s only a few blocks. If it wasn’t freezing, we could’ve walked.”
You hesitated, and for one terrible, endless moment, Jisung thought you might refuse. Might call an Uber or text another friend or do literally anything other than get in a car alone with him.
His hands clenched in his pockets. The mask pressed against his palm. If you said no, if you walked away right now, he didn't know what he'd do. Didn't know if he could come back from the edge he was already teetering on.
Say yes. Please say yes. Please…
Then the wind cut through your thin costume and you shivered, teeth chattering slightly.
“Okay,” you said finally, exhaling white breath into the cold air. “Yeah. Thanks, Sungie. I owe you one.”
You actually had no idea what you owed him.
But he just smiled, “Don’t worry about it.”
"Don't worry about it," he said quietly, already turning toward where his car was parked.
You fell into step beside him, close enough that he could smell your perfume even over the cold night air. Vanilla and amber, the expensive one you wore for special occasions. You'd worn it tonight because you wanted to feel confident, wanted to look good. Probably hoped Marcus would notice.
Marcus. Fucking Marcus.
Jisung's jaw clenched thinking about him. About the way he'd grabbed you earlier, tried to manipulate you, made you feel small. About all the times he'd made you cry, made you doubt yourself, made you think you were the problem.
Well. Marcus wouldn't be a problem much longer.
They reached his car, a black Honda Civic, parked in the shadows at the far end of the street, away from the porch lights and the other vehicles. He'd parked there specifically. Had planned this, even if he hadn't consciously known he was planning it.
Some part of him had always known tonight would be different.
He unlocked the doors and opened the passenger side for you.
"Wow, what a gentleman," you teased, but there was still that uncertain note in your voice. As if you couldn't quite figure out what was different about him tonight, why the familiar felt suddenly strange.
You climbed in, and he closed the door behind you with a soft click. Stood there for just a second, hand on the door handle, breathing.
This was it. Once he got in this car, there was no going back.
He could still stop. Could drive you home like a normal person, could tuck you into Jiwoo's bed and go back to his room and hate himself for being too much of a coward to ever tell you the truth.
He could still be good.
But the thought lasted maybe two seconds before it dissolved. Because he'd been good for four years. Patient and invisible and so fucking careful not to scare you away.
And where had that gotten him?
Nowhere. Still nothing to you. Still just Sungie.
He walked around the front of the car, slid into the driver's seat, and suddenly the car felt too small with you in it. Close enough to touch. Close enough that he could see the subtle rise and fall of your chest, the way you were worrying your bottom lip.
Close enough that if he reached over, he could—
Not yet.
“Seatbelt,” he said softly.
You fumbled with it, and he noticed your hands were shaking. From the cold, probably. Or maybe…
Maybe you were finally starting to sense something was off.
Your survival instincts, kicking in too late.
He waited patiently until you were buckled in pulling out of the parking spot. “Good girl,” he said when you were strapped in. He could see the way you shifted at that.
The streets were mostly empty at this hour. A few cars here and there, some houses still lit up with people getting home from their own Halloween parties. But mostly it was quiet. Dark. No witnesses.
"Thanks again for this," you said, breaking the silence. Your voice was softer now, smaller. "I really appreciate it. I'm sorry you had to leave the party early because of me."
"I wanted to leave anyway," he said truthfully. He'd only gone to the party to watch you. Mission accomplished.
You leaned your head against the window, breath fogging the glass. "What a fucking disaster. I can't believe I made a scene like that."
"He deserved it."
"You saw the whole thing?"
"Everyone saw it."
You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "God, I'm such a mess. I'm literally that girl, you know? The one who causes drama at parties. I swear I'm not usually like this, it's just…he makes me so crazy sometimes."
He makes you cry. He makes you doubt yourself. He makes you feel worthless.
"Your boyfriend’s a fucking asshole" Jisung said, keeping his eyes on the road. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He realized too late that his tone sounded far too personal and filled with hatred to be a casual comment.
"Ex-boyfriend," you corrected automatically, then paused. "Wait, do you know Marcus?"
"I've seen him around," Jisung said vaguely. He didn’t want you to know he was stalking you and by extension your boyfriend.
You were quiet for a moment. "Yeah, well. He is an asshole. You're right about that."
"Then why do you keep going back to him?" The question came out, sharply and frustrated, before he could stop it. "To guys like him, I mean. You always... you always pick the same type."
He could feel you staring at him now, actually looking at him for the second time tonight. Was he being too forward?
"Wow, okay," you said, and there was a defensive edge creeping into your voice. "Didn't realize I was getting a therapy session. What are you, my life coach now?"
"I'm just saying—"
"What, Jisung? What are you saying?" You'd turned in your seat to face him fully now. "That I have bad taste? That I'm stupid for dating assholes? Trust me, I know. I'm very aware."
"You're not stupid." His hands tightened on the wheel hard enough that his knuckles cracked. "You're just... you're looking for something in the wrong place."
"Oh yeah?" There was a bitter laugh in your throat now. "And where should I be looking, oh wise one?"
At me. Look at me. I'm right fucking here.
"Closer than you think," he said quietly.
The words hung between you, heavy with meaning that you were still too oblivious to catch.
You stared at him for a long moment, and Jisung could feel the weight of your gaze, could feel you trying to puzzle him out. Trying to figure out why Jiwoo's quiet little brother was suddenly acting so strange, saying things that felt too intense for a simple car ride home.
But then you just shook your head and turned back to the window. "You're being weird tonight."
He pulled into the driveway, killing the engine. The house was dark except for the porch light. His mom’s car gone. His dad’s car gone. Jiwoo definitely not coming home.
Just you and him and the mask in his pocket.
Perfect.
“Looks like everyone’s asleep,” he said, even though he knew no one was home.
“Ugh” you groaned, checking your phone again. Still no response from Jiwoo. “I’m gonna kill her tomorrow.”
You both got out of the car, and the cold night air hit so hard that you wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering violently now.
Jisung shrugged off his jacket and held it out to you.
“I’m fine,” you protested.
“Take it.”
It wasn’t a request.
Something in his tone made you comply. You took the jacket, pulling it around your shoulders. It was way too big on you, sleeves dangling past your hands, and the sight of you drowning in his clothes made something possessive and dark curl in his chest.
Mine.
“Thanks,” you mumbled, and he noticed you pulled it tighter around yourself. Buried your face in the collar for just a second, breathing in.
Did you like how it smelled? Did some part of you, subconsciously, feel safe in his clothes?
The thought made him dizzy.
He unlocked the front door and held it open. You stepped inside, immediately hit by the familiar warmth and smell of the Park house. The vanilla candles, laundry detergent, whatever floral plug-in his mom was obsessed with this month.
This feltlike a second home to you. You’d spent so many nights here over the years. Knew which floorboards creaked. Which cabinet had the good snacks. Where everything was.
You felt safe here.
“You need anything?” Jisung asked, locking the door behind you.
“I’ve only been coming here for like, six years,” you teased, kicking off your heels with a grateful sigh. You immediately lost three inches of height, and Jisung realized he was towering over you now. When had he gotten so much taller than you? “I think I can manage on my own, Ji.”
Six years. You’d been in his life for six years, and he’d been in love with you for four of them.
And you’d never noticed.
“Jiwoo keeps your spare clothes in her bottom drawer,” he said, even though you already knew that. He was hoping you didn’t question how he knew that.
“Perfect.” You padded toward the stairs in your bare feet, and he watched the way you moved. Tired. Unguarded. Vulnerable.
You paused at the base of the stairs, looking back at him.
He hadn’t moved. Was just standing there in the entryway, watching you.
“You okay?” you asked.
“Yeah.” He blinked, forcing himself to look normal. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ll just… I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”
“Cool.” You gave him a little wave and headed upstairs.
He waited until he heard Jiwoo’s door close. Counted to sixty. Then walked to the kitchen.
He needed another drink. Something to steady the shaking in his hands, the adrenaline flooding his system.
There was a bottle of whiskey in the cabinet his parents thought was hidden. He poured himself two fingers and downed it.
He pulled out his phone and checked the time anxiously. You were probably getting undressed to shower now . Probably texted Jiwoo a few more times telling what a shitty friend she was.
He’d give you thirty more minutes.
Long enough for you to feel safe. To let your guard down completely.
Then he’d put on the mask and become someone else.
His hand went to his pocket, pulling out the Ghostface mask. It looked almost comical in the moonlight coming through the window. Cheap plastic, probably bought from a Spirit Halloween.
Upstairs, he heard the shower turn on. Heard the pipes groan the way they always did. You’d be in there for at least twenty minutes. You always took long showers, hot enough to turn your skin pink.
Jisung smiled, taking another sip of whiskey, and stared at the mask in his hand.
After half an hour passed, he decided to head upstairs.
But something made him stop in his tracks.
A sound outside.
He heard a voice, slurred but loud enough to carry through the door: “Babe? Baby, I know you’re in there. Come on, we need to talk.”
Marcus.
Every muscle in Jisung’s body tensed. His hand, still holding the whiskey glass, tightened until his knuckles went white.
He moved to the window, peering through the curtain. Sure enough, there was Marcus clearly wasted, standing in the driveway and staring up at the house. At Jiwoo’s window, where the light was on.
“Come on, don’t ignore me!” Marcus called out, louder now, slurring his words. “I’m sorry, okay? Let’s just—let’s just talk! I love you!”
The words echoed in Jisung’s head, acidic and wrong.
You love her? You don’t even KNOW her.
This fucking asshole. This piece of shit who’d made you cry multiple times, who’d humiliated you at a party, who’d cheated on you, who’d never deserved a single second of your time was now here at Jisung’s house. Drunk and entitled and about to ruin everything.
No.
Absolutely fucking not.
Marcus pulled out his phone, probably trying to call you. “Pick up, baby. Come on, pick up…”
Jisung’s vision tunneled. His heart was racing, but his hands were steady.
He looked down at the mask on the counter. Then at the knife block next to the stove.
His mom’s kitchen knives. She’d spent a fortune on them. They were sharp.
He could stop this. Could go out there as himself, tell Marcus to leave, maybe even threaten to call the cops.
But that wouldn’t solve the problem, would it?
Marcus would just come back. Tomorrow. Next week. Next month. He always came back. They always came back. And you always let them because you didn’t think you deserved better.
But you did deserve better.
You deserved someone who would do anything for you.
Jisung’s hand moved before his brain could catch up. He pulled the largest knife from the block and tested the weight.
He grabbed the mask, pulled it on, and he wasn’t Jisung anymore. He was someone that could do what needed to be done.
Someone that could protect you.
He slipped out the back door, knife hidden against his leg, and circled around the side of the house. His footsteps were silent. Years of being invisible had taught him how to move without being noticed.
Marcus was still in the driveway, phone pressed to his ear, getting increasingly agitated.
“Come on, baby, don’t do this. Don’t—fuck!” He pulled the phone away, staring at it. You must’ve hung up. “Fine! FINE! You want to play games? I’ll just come up there—”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Marcus spun around so fast he nearly fell over. His eyes went wide when he saw the figure standing there in a mask, completely still in a way that was deeply, fundamentally creepy.
“Jesus—fuck!” Marcus stumbled backward, hand on his chest. “Dude, you scared the shit out of me.” He laughed nervously, trying to recover. “Nice costume, but the party’s over, man. You can—”
He stopped talking when he noticed the knife.
“Whoa. Whoa. Okay, that’s… that’s a real knife. That’s a real fucking knife.” His voice pitched higher. “This isn’t funny, man. Stop playing.”
Jisung said nothing. He was enjoying seeing Marcus in such a pathetic state. Made him feel a little better about what he was about to do.
“Look, I’m just here to see my girlfriend—”
“Ex-girlfriend.” The voice that came out was barely recognizable as Jisung’s. “She’s not yours anymore.”
“That’s—that’s none of your fucking business!” Marcus’s fear was turning into anger now, liquid courage making him stupid. “Who the fuck are you? You her new guy or something? Because I swear to god—”
“You swear to god what?” Jisung took a step forward. “Do you really think you have a right to do anything now?”
Marcus’s face went pale. “What the fuck are you talking about. Who are y—”
“You don’t deserve her.” Another step. “You never did.”
“Okay, this is fucking crazy. I’m leaving. I’m just gonna—” Marcus turned to run.
Jisung moved faster than Marcus’s drunk brain could process.
He grabbed Marcus by the back of his shirt, spun him around, and slammed him against the side of the house. Hard enough that his head cracked against the siding and his eyes went unfocused.
“Wait—fuck—” Marcus gasped, and now there was real fear in his voice. Real understanding that this wasn’t a prank. “Please—”
“You came here to hurt her again,” Jisung said softly, pressing the knife against Marcus’s throat. “You were going to make her feel guilty, make her take you back.”
“No—no, I wasn’t—I just wanted to talk—”
“Liar.” The word came out like a hiss. “You’re always lying. That’s all you do. Lie and hurt and take.”
“Please—” Tears were streaming down Marcus’s face now. “Please, I’m sorry, I’ll leave, I’ll never contact her again, I swear—”
“You’re right. You won’t.”
Jisung looked at Marcus with disgust. This pathetic, drunk, entitled asshole who’d had the privilege of holding you, kissing you, touching you. Who’d had everything Jisung wanted and had thrown it away like it meant nothing.
He thought about you upstairs. How safe and peaceful you must feel. Finally free of this piece of shit.
He thought about how you’d never be truly free as long as Marcus was around. Jisung knew he’d keep coming back, keep hurting you, keep making you doubt yourself.
He remembered the journal entry he’d read two weeks ago, where you’d written “I don’t know why I keep letting him back in. I think there’s something wrong with me. Maybe I don’t know how to be alone.”
There wasn’t anything wrong with you.
There was something wrong with Marcus.
And Jisung could fix that.
“I’m sorry,” Jisung said quietly. And he was. Not sorry for what he was about to do, but sorry that it had come to this. Sorry that this was what it took to protect you.
“No—NO—”
The knife moved and it was easier than Jisung thought it would be. The blade was sharp, and Marcus was soft. The way it slid between his ribs was almost gentle.
Marcus made a wet and horrible sound as his hands came up, trying to grab at Jisung’s arms and push him away
But Jisung held firm. He watched the light start to fade from Marcus’s eyes slowly.
“She’s going to be okay now,” Jisung whispered. “She’s going to be free.”
Marcus’s hands fell as his body went slack.
Jisung held him for a moment longer, making sure. Then he carefully lowered him to the ground behind the bushes, out of sight from the street.
He checked for a pulse and felt nothing.
He stood there for a moment, breathing hard, waiting for the guilt to come. The horror. The realization of what he’d just done.
But it didn’t come.
All he felt was… relief. Like a weight had been lifted and he’d finally done something right.
Marcus was gone. You were safe. No one would ever hurt you like that again.
Not if Jisung had anything to say about it.
He looked down at the knife in his hand. There was blood on it. On his hands. On the mask.
The sight of it was gruesome and for almost a second he thought he’d be sick. But all he felt was calm. He was clear-headed in a way he hadn’t felt in years.
He’d need to clean this up and the body properly. He had time, his parents wouldn’t be home until morning, and Jiwoo wasn’t coming home at all.
But first…
First, he needed to see you.
Jisung looked up at your window. The light was off now. You had no idea what had just happened. No idea that the obstacle between you and happiness had just been permanently removed.
No idea that he’d just killed for you.
Because that’s what love was, wasn’t it? Doing whatever it took to protect someone, even if they never knew. Even if they never thanked you for it.
He’d take care of Marcus’s body later. Right now, he had more important things to do.
Jisung wiped the knife on Marcus’s shirt, then looked at it thoughtfully. He needed to dispose of it.
He went back inside through the back door, moving quietly. Washed his hands in the kitchen sink, watching Marcus’s blood swirl down the drain. Put the knife in the trash, took the bag and hid it in the laundry room. He’d deal with it later.
The mask was still on his face, and there was a small spatter of blood on the white plastic. He wiped it clean, checked his reflection in the microwave door making sure there was nothing to suggest what he’d just done.
He was still just Sungie. Harmless Sungie.
Jisung pulled the mask back on properly, let himself sink into this other version of himself, the one who could do what needed to be done, and headed upstairs.
Each step felt heavy with intent. He’d just crossed a line he could never uncross and didn’t regret it for a second.
He paused outside Jiwoo’s door, listening. He could hear you moving around inside. Still awake. Phone probably in your hand, maybe wondering why Marcus stopped calling.
You’d never know why.
You’d just think he’d finally given up. Moved on.
And eventually, you’d move on too. Hopefully toward someone who actually deserved you.
Jisung’s hand was steady as he reached for the doorknob.
He’d just killed someone, and all he could think about was seeing you.
I did this for you, he thought. Everything I do is for you.
He turned the knob slowly, quietly, and pushed the door open.
You were lying in Jiwoo’s bed, wearing tiny sleep shorts and a thin tank top, phone in your hand, completely unaware that your ex-boyfriend was currently bleeding out in the bushes outside.
You looked up when the door opened, and your expression shifted through several emotions in rapid succession.
Confusion. Recognition. Annoyance.
“Really?” you said, sitting up. “You’re doing this now? Marcus, I swear to god—”
You thought he was Marcus.
Perfect.
Jisung said nothing, just stood there in the doorway watching you.
And for the first time in four years, you were looking right at him.
Truly looking.
Even if you didn’t know it was him.
He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
“Oh my god,” you groaned, sitting up straight. “You’ve got to be kidding me right now.”
You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, suddenly acutely aware of just how little your pajamas actually covered. “This is how you say sorry? Seriously? Sneaking into my best friend’s house dressed like that?”
He still didn’t say a word but he stepped further into the room, slowly locking the door behind him, and the sound made your heart race.
“Okay, this is…,” you trailed off, biting your lip.
You probably should’ve been more annoyed considering what an asshole he was to you earlier.
But… there was something about the way he moved—slow, predatory, and confident—that sent a rush of heat pooling low in your stomach, despite your better judgment.
You could blame the alcohol still buzzing in your veins and the adrenaline from the breakup, but this was starting to get you a little excited.
Your breath hitched as he stood at the foot of Jiwoo's bed. Your boyfriend was very dramatic, but breaking into your best friend's place in that slasher costume was a completely different level of theatrics you’d never see from him.
It was kind of ridiculous, but the way he looked in that Ghostface mask, how tall and menacing he looked, made your pulse race with a thrilling edge you couldn’t quite ignore.
Jisung's blood roared in his ears under the mask. He had replayed this in his mind a thousand nights, slipping into your space to take what he'd stolen glances at for years.
He craved the moment when your fear would morph into surrender, your body yielding to his control. He let the silence stretch, feeding on your uncertainty, before his fingers clamped around your ankle, yanking you forward with a grip that bruised the skin.
You yelped, sliding down the bed a few inches. “Babe, what the fuck?” you snapped, voice sharp but trembling at the edges.
“If this is your way of making me take you back, it’s seriously ridiculous”
No answer. His hand crawled up your leg, rough leather scraping your thigh, digging into the soft flesh until you hissed. The pressure intensified, his thumb digging in hard enough to leave marks, and you squirmed, a confusing warmth pooling between your legs.
“Say something, jerk. You're scaring me for real now,” you whispered, though your thighs instinctively parted just a bit.
Jisung's cock pulsed painfully against the fabric of his jeans, the taste of your fear only intensifying his craving. He wanted to leave his mark, to carve his obsession into your very skin.
With a sudden movement, he climbed onto the bed, his knees framing your hips and pinning you down with his weight. Then his hands gripped your wrists, forcing them above your head.
He pushed your thighs further apart with his own and moved in so close that the only thing separating you was your clothes. Slowly, he began to move, and you could feel the pressure of his bulge pressing against your thin shorts. The headboard rattled as he ground against you in a steady rhythm, mashing the denim into your skin.
“Wow, you’re really going for it,” you gasped, your chest rising and falling, your nipples hardening against your light shirt.
“But Jiwoo could walk in any second… This is her room, you know. What if she sees us?” Your words turned into a breathless gasp as he tore your shirt up, revealing your tits.
Jisung licked his lips under the mask. God, the sight of you was driving him crazy. He couldn’t even believe this was reality and not one of those dreams that ended up with him having to change his boxers at night.
He palmed one roughly, squeezing until the flesh spilled between his fingers, then twisted the nipple viciously, pulling a sharp cry from you.
“Fuck—easy! That hurts, babe.” You whined, arching towards him despite the sting. “You're being too rough tonight. What's gotten into you?”
Jisung's thoughts blazed with dark satisfaction. He had craved twisting these tits until you begged, relishing the sight of them reddening under his hands.
He wanted to drown in your cries as he claimed every part of you. He didn’t relent, switching to the other breast, biting down through the mask's edge. Not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make you buck.
His other hand shoved into your shorts, fingers shoving past the fabric to plunge into your pussy without warning. Two thick digits curled deep, pumping with brutal force that squelched your growing slick.
'Oh god—yes,' you moaned, hips jerking up to meet the invasion, confusion lost in the stretch of his long fingers.The feel of you squeezing his fingers was insane, he could barely breathe.
He added a third finger, scissoring wide, thumb mashing your clit in harsh circles that bordered on pain. You clenched around him, walls fluttering, but he pulled out abruptly, leaving you empty and throbbing. “No! Don't stop, I'm getting there,” you pleaded, legs spreading wider on instinct.
He flipped you onto your stomach in one swift motion, yanking your hips up so your ass jutted out and your face was pressed into the pillow. Your shorts teared with a rip, fabric shredding as he exposed you completely. Your ass, your pussy, your tight little asshole spread wide and glistening, all for him.
The sight of your holes presented for his ruin made his mouth water. He wanted to fill you until you overflowed with his cum. He spit on your cunt, rubbing it in with his palm before slapping your ass hard, skin blooming red instantly.
“Ah-! Fuck!” you yelped, but pushed back against him anyway, pussy clenching visibly.
Jisung couldn’t help but stare, completely mesmerized by how perfect every inch of your body was. He couldn’t let anybody enjoy this sight. Nobody was worthy enough. Not even him.
“Fuck me already, babe.” You moaned and Jisung rewarded your enthusiasm with another slap, then he freed himself.
His thick shaft slapped heavily against your thigh. You wanted to twist and see him but he pushed your head down against the pillow.
He rubbed the head of his cock along your slit, teasing your entrance, then slammed in balls-deep in one vicious thrust. Your scream muffled into the sheets, body jolting forward.
'Fuck!” you gasped, fisting the bedding.
Jisung gripped your hips with bruising fingers, and started railing. Slow at first, each drag out pulled your walls taut, then he snapped back in to bruise your cervix. His balls slapped your clit rhythmically, building the burn deliciousy.
His mind reeled with the grip of your cunt, hotter than he could’ve imagined. He had jerked off to this many a times before, imagining your ass rippling with every brutal hit.
Minutes stretched into agony, your moans turning desperate as he edged you by thrusting deep but slowing when you tightened.
“Please... let me cum, baby,” you sobbed, sweaty body trembling under his.
He pulled out, flipping you onto your back again, and took out a blindfold from his back pocket, tying it tight over your eyes. Darkness swallowed you immediately, heightening every touch. The mask came off silently once you couldn’t see, and he shoved your thighs apart, burying his face in your pussy.
His tongue speared inside, fucking your hole with wet, sloppy thrusts. Nose grinding your clit.
“God, oh god!” you cried, hands tangling in his hair.
You were so overwhelmed with pleasure that you didn’t even realize the hair you were holding onto was much longer than your boyfriend’s, whose hair was always trimmed and perfectly groomed.
Jisung lapped up your juices, then latched onto your clit, sucking viciously while two fingers plunged back in, curling to hammer your sensitive spot. The pressure built unbearably, and you shattered in a matter of seconds. Squirting so hard, for the first time in your life, that you soaked his chin.
“Fuck! T-too much, wait…” you panted.
He wanted to give you a second. But the sight of you squirting on his face unfortunately drove him animalistic.
So he rose and hauled you up into a standing carry, impaling you on his cock again. Your legs locked around his waist, back slamming the wall as he bounced you down, gravity forcing every inch deeper.
“Hold on, god… You— You're destroying me,” you moaned, nails clawing his shoulders.
Jisung grunted, the feel of being so deep inside you was intoxicating. He couldn’t even remember how many times he imagined using your body like this, slamming until you begged for mercy. He wanted to breed you so bad, to flood your womb with his seed.
But he couldn’t cum yet. No, he needed to drag this out as long as he could.
“Fuck” he grunted, his hands kneading your ass as his cock drilled into you relentlessly. “So… good.”
He lowered you back onto the bed, flipping to reverse cowgirl. You sank down, ass facing him as he thrusted up savagely, hands spreading your cheeks to watch his cock disappear into your stretched pussy. “Ride it, bounce on my dick,” he groaned.
Your second orgasm ripped through quickly, pussy milking him deliciously. But pulled out, denying his own release. His control was wavering with the sight of your ass bouncing like that. He didn’t want this to end, he still wanted to split you open and hear you scream his name.
He yanked the blindfold off, your eyes bleary and unfocused as he positioned you so you were sitting on your heels. He stood up in front of you.
“Open your mouth,” he growled, his timbre rough and low. You were too far gone, floating in post-orgasm haze, to notice it wasn’t your boyfriend’s voice at all.
You parted your lips obediently, and he shoved his cock down your throat, gagging you instantly. “Suck it clean, taste your pussy on me,” he rasped, hips snapping forward, balls smacking your chin.
“Mmmph—yes,” you mumbled around the girth, tears streaming as he face fucked you without mercy.
Saliva dripped onto the sheets, your throat bulging with each deep thrust. Jisung's hands fisted your hair, pulling you onto him like a ragdoll. The sight of your lips stretched around his cock enough to make him cum.
But even after releasing all down your throat, he was still hard. So he didn’t let you catch your breath, pushing you back and flipping you over again.
“You're mine tonight. Gonna fill every fucking hole,' he muttered, voice husky. You just nodded dazedly, still too wrecked to question the slight difference in tone.
“Yes... use me, please,” you slurred, third climax crashing as he choked you lightly with a hand around your throat.
He pressed his cock to your ass and spit on your hole again. He eased in, slow for a second, then lost his mind entirely, burying himself deep, the stretch sharp enough to make you gasp and tremble, pain blooming into something you both craved.
You screamed, pain mixing with pleasure.“Fuck, it's too…too much” you begged.
He pounded your ass relentlessly watching it jiggle whenever his cock plunged hard into it. His hand started rubbing your clit, forcing another squirting orgasm that soaked the bed.
“Good girl, take it all,” he groaned.
He had never wanted anything more than to ruin you for anyone else, to mark every inch of you as his, to leave something behind that would stay even when he was gone. When he finally came, it was with a guttural sound, hips slamming in deep, cock pulsing, painting you inside with everything he had.
He collapsed over you, breath ragged against your neck. “You’ve never looked at me like that before.”
And even if you didn’t understand, even if you never did. He’d always remember the way you looked back at him, dazed and spent, like maybe you’d finally see him.
Synopsis . In which your playful jokes about getting fucked by a serial killer during a camping trip to Crystal Lake with your friends quickly manifests into something real.
Pairing . jason voorhees!gojo x slightly bimbo!reader / Content . afab!reader, porn with little plot, dubcon (blackmail), rough sex, filth, fear play, getting chased through the woods, hint of knife/blade play, the ripping of clothing, dirty talk, biting, edging but make it life-threatening (lol), covering of the mouth, finger sucking, machoism, sadism, choking, gojo is insane, implications of character death, implications of stalking, he’s a serial killer and reader does NOT gaf since hes hot, possessiveness, gojo is feral, creampie, etc. / wc 5.4k
A/N: I'm a simple woman, I see Gojo fanart on TikTok (banner art by them, ofc), I get to writing. Hope you enjoy! Barely proof-read, sorry for errors. Also IGNORE how I didn't post this on Friday.... I'll change the date later. (Kinktober Masterlist.) [MDNI]
"Damn, I really hope a six-foot-tall serial killer with a hockey mask and a machete doesn’t come out of that lake, rip all my clothes off, and fuck me… that would suck."
You were joking, of course. It was broad daylight outside, and you had your phone held high in your hand, having only said that crazy set of dialogue because of a trend you’d seen on TikTok.
With you were your two friends who’d dragged you out here, Utahime and Shoko, who laughed as soon as you finished recording that video of yours. You never planned to post it or anything like that, just filmed it to earn some giggles from your two closest friends.
You didn’t expect your little joke to turn into something real later that night…
————
Camping with Shoko and Utahime is something you don’t care much for. You’re not the biggest fan of bugs, can’t really stand being miles out from your nearest… well, anything, and you mostly mull over the fact that there’s little to no service.
That, and the woods give you the creeps. Especially after they’d taunted you by telling you there’s a killer lingering about—though they claim for some reason said killer has never bothered them.
Currently, the three of you are sitting around a crackling fire that’d been loosely put together by Shoko—who’s presently tending to a rather drunk Utahime on a log not too far away from you—and you all had been laughing about how your recently assembled tents for the night look like shit.
Even so, the woods around Crystal Lake are darker than you thought they’d been—scarier than even the movies depicted. Every little sound felt like it was ten times louder; a twig snap like a scream from the void of night, the rustling wind through leaves rivaling a howling wolf, and the distant sound of water from the lake’s shore similar to that of large beach waves.
Of course, most of this was just you and your fears playing tricks on your mind but still. It was creepy as fuck.
And at some point between the alcohol and giggled conversations, the air around you just started to feel heavy. As if you were being watched or something stupid like that.
When Shoko noticed your constant awkward looks off into the dark forest that enveloped your surroundings, she comforted you with that weary smile of hers, “Ms. Paranoid’s back at it again,” She’d teased, the little nickname something her and Utahime started calling you earlier that day after you expressed your list of worries regarding this weekend trip.
It was only Friday and yet you just wouldn’t shut up about the dangers of three women camping out in the forest alone like this—especially with a killer on the loose. Now, they both knew you had your points but if you really didn’t want to come with them then they know you wouldn’t be here right now, hence why they’ve been teasing you.
Utahime lifts her head up from Shoko’s shoulder and lets out a drunken belch before lifting a hand to rub her eyes, “Oh my God, for the millionth time, we come out here every other weekend. Everything's gonna’ be-, hic, f-fineee..” She mumbles over to you.
You were about to give in and finally listen to them but the sound of a twig snapping distantly makes you flinch like you’d just been stabbed.
The dramatics of your jumpiness makes both of them burst out into a fit of laughter, to which you send them a harmless glare, “Hey, that’s not funny, I know you both heard that.” You scoff softly.
Though, you will admit, it was a little humorous how jittery you’d been all day. Even earlier you screamed because a deer had unintentionally jumpscared you.
Shoko shakes her head a bit, lighting the cigarette that’s prettily perched between her glossed lips, “It’s probably just another animal, babes.” She hums before taking a slow drag and then sighing heavily, plucking the cig from her mouth and pointing at you with it, “We’re in the middle of the forest, remember?”
You stare pointedly, “Okay, but what if it’s not…”
To which, she deems this a perfect time to mess with you even more. Shoko tosses some of her hair over her shoulder before looking at Utahime to make sure the poor girl’s not about to slump forward due to her current lack of a clear head. After which, she smirks slightly and glances at you again, “You want me to go check it out for ya’?”
“No!” You say quickly enough to incite her desire to spook you, “I-I mean, no, you don’t have to go anywhere…” Your voice softens again and you look off into the woods again, “That’s like, the quickest way people die in horror movies.”
The sound of her standing up could be heard and your head whirls back around to see what the hell she’s doing now. After making sure Utahime is steady, she turns and makes her way over to you, leaning down to your ear just to whisper, “Good thing this isn’t a horror movie then, yeah?” and then brushing past you casually, “I’ll be right back—I’ve gotta piss anyway.”
“Go piss girl,” Utahime murmurs dazedly, snickering at her own joke afterwards.
Shoko steps over the log you’re sitting at and just before she could avoid it, your fingers come clinging onto the edge of her shirt to tug her back towards you. Peering up at her all pleadingly, you frown, “Shoko, please don’t leave me. ‘Hime’s drunk and–”
“Y’know,” She cuts off almost sensually. Her hands come to your wrist and she carefully plucks your hand away from her shirt before crouching down to where you’re seated, brown eyes pouring into yours for a moment. Then you watch that sly smirk of hers spread across her lips before her voice lowers into something teasing again, “For a girl who watches sooo many horror movies and constantly talks about how she wants the killers in them to fuck her… You’re one big scaredy cat.”
You swallow thickly and almost feel yourself shrinking under the intensity of her eyes on you, “I-I’m not-”
“Relax, cutie, I’ll only be gone for a sec’,” She purrs sweetly enough to distract you from your own fear for a moment, “And Utahime may look like she’s barely with us right now but I promise if any killer were really out here, I wouldn’t leave you like this.” She claims, letting you know the things her and Utahime told you at the start of this trip were just harmless claims to mess with you. “We know these woods, you’ll be fine. Okay?”
You bat your lashes and she mocks you with a pout of her lips, hand lifting as she lightly grabs your face into her palm, squeezing your cheeks together between her fingers and her thumb. Then you watch how her gaze dips down to your mouth and the way they were really trembling lightly.
Snickering, “Though, I must say… you’re pretty adorable when you’re scared,” She flirts, to which your face flushes. Shoko leans in and you could smell the taste of cigarettes on her tongue, head tilting, “If there were a killer, I’d see why they’d wanna fuck you instead of killing you—y’know, just like you’d asked for earlier.”
Faster than you can work a response out, she’s pulling away and then skipping off into the dark of the night as if she didn’t just say what she just said. Leaving you huffing out a loud, “Shoko!” and earning a silly wave of her hand.
“I’m just fucking with you!” She shouts back, silhouette slowly disappearing into the night, “‘Be right back.”
You groan and then turn around all frustrated and annoyed because of her constant teasing. One second there were rumors of a killer and the next she was “just joking” with you. It was really messing with your head in a way you didn’t much care for.
Then there’s Utahime who…
You look up and notice she isn’t sitting on the log you last remember seeing her at. Hell, if anything, she’s gone completely.
“Okay, really funny, Utahime.” You say carefully as you shoot up to your feet, hugging your arms to provide yourself with some sense of comfort now that you’re seemingly alone, “I already have to deal with Shoko’s jokes, I don’t need you adding to it again.”
The surrounding woodlands suddenly feel as though they were pressing closer to you with both of your friends gone. You watch the fire eat itself away for a couple seconds longer before whining under your breath.
Refusing to let your anxiety fuck you to death, you don’t waste much time moving to walk around the small campsite you three have been chilling at for the day.
“Utahime?” You call out again, worry evident in your voice, “Please tell me your drunk ass just wandered off behind one of these trees ‘cause this really isn’t funny.”
Groaning as your words go unresponsive, your steps become a bit more determined as you walk over to your bag for a second. You’re cursing both of your friends out under your breath while you fish for your flashlight because part of you knew they were doing this on purpose to scare you.
The fire behind you spits out a low pop of flames and you glance at it for just a second, reconsidering if you’re really about to go out in the woods and look for this girl as if you’re not the main one paranoid about dying out here.
With one soft fuck it, you stand to your feet, step over your log, and finally exit your camping spot to search for Utahime in the woods. The silence around you feels big and invasive, as if each crunch of leaves and muck of wet dirt beneath your shoes were interrupting its brooding stillness.
“You guys are assholes, y’know,” You say out loud, praying they can hear you from wherever the hell they’re hiding. Your light beams through the haunting trees around you and you’re searching for the slightest movement within the shadows. Even spotting a wild animal would be comforting to you right now.
The woods quickly turn out to be one big maze of fogs and grubby bushes, each turn you make mirroring the last. You quickly end up walking farther than you mean to, calling Shoko and Utahime’s names out into the night. Nothing ever answers you aside from the chilly kiss of wind against trees and leaves.
A brand snaps somewhere above you and you immediately swing your light upwards, flashing at nothing but bare twigs.
That feeling in your chest is tighter now. The air around you smells damp and strangely metallic. If you thought about it too much, you’d dizzy yourself with fear because you swear it smells just like fresh bloo–
You catch a shape in between the trees from your peripherals, your head and eyes moving before your flashlight does. You blink and the figure is still there; tall, brooding, and still.
Your gulp is loud enough to be considered comedic. Slowly, your hand lowers and your light is shaking as it aims into that direction to reveal a dark, distant outline of someone standing some yards away from you. The only things you could make out were broad shoulders and something gleaming down by what appeared to be their leg—like something metal.
“Shoko…?” You squeak, though you know damn well it isn’t her.
Then the figure moves.
If anyone thought you were about to let said figure motion any closer to you without you bolting on instinct, they must’ve mistook you for one of those cliche girls from those shitty slasher films.
You take off so fast into the direction you came from that you accidentally bump into a skinny tree and drop your flashlight, not that you were about to stop and try to pick it up or anything though. Especially not when you swear you hear a scoff somewhere behind you.
Yeah, fuck that.
Luckily for you, with the way the flashlight lands, it aims into the very direction you’re running and gives you enough light to navigate yourself through the woods for a good distance. Branches chip at your arms as you run but you don’t look back, not even once.
You could hear heavy stomps following behind you, all slow and calculated like you’re running was futile to whatever was chasing. Your heart is pounding so hard in your chest that it's consuming the thumping in your ears. You don’t even know where the fuck you’re going anymore.
You’ve no idea if you’re heading toward your campsite or getting further from it until you trip over some stupid ass root and go tumbling forwards—hands bracing yourself in the moist dirt, lungs heaving with panted breaths. You quickly scramble up, brush at your thighs and look forward to see a flicker of oranges and reds through the darkness.
Oh, thank God. The campfire.
You hurriedly break through one last line of trees, relief flooding you so fast you could cry tears of joy. Especially since you see your two friends sitting and giggling exactly where you needed them to be.
Breathlessly and way too soft to hear, “Shoko! Utahime!” You call out, though it leaves you like a broken whisper more than anything since you’d exhausted your oxygen from all your running.
They don’t move or even look over in reaction considering you’re too far to see and spoke too quietly to hear. The firelight illuminates their casual expressions—making you wonder if they even noticed you disappeared at all—and letting you know you were almost safe, almost free from whatev—
A big, ice-cold gloved hand clamps around your mouth so abruptly you choke before your body is yanked backwards into the dark. You’re tugged back against something sturdy like a tree-, or better yet, a wall of pure steel.
“Scream," A low grumbling voice sears against your ear, "And you die.” The man warns.
Your heart sinks into your feet and you feel as though your very soul took this interaction as its one way ticket to the afterlife with the way it just left your body. Not a single sound leaves you considering the way you notice this stranger from the dark extends a blade out to point at Shoko and Utahime.
Said blade, a machete to be exact, is smothered with crimson red at its edges, the liquid dripping off and onto the soil below. Your eyes widen as you realize exactly what that means. Fresh blood, this man had killed recently and you were likely next if you made any sudden movements or sounds.
Appreciating your quiet and stillness in his grasp, you feel his cold lips quirk up against the skin of your ear before he starts speaking again, tone gravelly, “Atta’ girl," He praises, the words making you melt against him in a mix of fear and subtle excitement. Then, his blade angles a bit as it aims from Shoko to Utahime, "Are those your friends over there?”
You're quick to nod against his hand, feeling his damp yet hulky body press harder against your backside. “M-Mhm!” You chirp in fear.
There's something eerie and disturbing about his voice but, it only makes a wave of heat trickle down your spine as he continues talking into your ear, “Yeah? You love ‘em?” The killer asks, making your thighs clamp together a little. You hated how ridiculously scary yet... arousing this was. Before you can answer with another nod, his hand readjusts from your mouth to your jaw, forcing it up to meet his face, “Uh-uh, look at me.”
And shit, your biggest fear just came true.
The guy who wants to kill your best friends is hot!
Eyes a evocative crystalline blue, face grimy with perfectly placed streaks of dirt and heavy bags of no-sleep underneath his lower lashline, and lips glistened with faint drool that twisted up into a crookedly feral grin--oh it was downright unfair how sexy he was.
This was the typa' attraction that got people killed, literally.
He was nothing like those stories or movies you'd heard about the Crystal Lake killer who was quite the foul sight underneath that signature hockey mask, no, this was Gojo Satoru--a guy who was rumored have gone crazy a few years back before an altercation with someone resulted in him literally getting split in half.
“How much do you love your friends?” Your captor rasps out ravenously, "Hm?" Then his head is cocking to the side in one short motion, mimicking that of something inhumane.
A whimper dances in your throat as you feel yourself diminishing under his piercing gaze, “M-More than anything, please don’t kill me…”
His thick white brows bunch up at the center and you notice how the iconic hockey mask is resting at the right side of his head--splatters of blood noticeable across his pale skin and dingy mask. Then his plump pinkened lips push out into a pout, “Aww, m’not gonna kill you, sweetheart.” He coos way too softly for the situation he has you in, his voice growing weirdly tender with the words that follow, “I just thought you’d want what you asked for earlier.”
Mind blanking completely, you blink, “What I asked for…?”
Gojo smiles wickedly at you, all crooked and sinister like he's never been made aware of how it comes across to people. “Damn, I really hope a six foot tall serial killer with a hockey mask and a machete doesn’t come out of that lake, rip all my clothes off, and fuck me…” He quotes throatily, “Sound familiar to you?”
There's a lump stuck in your throat now, “I was just–”
“Shhh, shhh.” He cuts off, shifting his gloved hand against your face and rubbing the thick pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, “I’ve been itchin’ to kill those two girls over there for the past few weeks ‘n I was finally gonna do it today but then you came along…” He explains slowly, watching the way fear comes and goes in your pupils. “Now I’m thinkin’... I’ll let ‘em live s’long as you give me something in return.”
You're whining all over again, “A-Are you gonna kill me to spare my friends?”
To which he cocks a brow that makes you feel dumb where you stand, “Why the fuck would I do that when you already asked me to do something else to you?" He asks in a demeaning tone.
“What?” You mumble.
Fighting the urge to roll his eyes at you, he instead leans his face down to yours and his thumb glides your lips apart so your mouth could open and his words could pour down into them, “Guess who’s a six foot tall serial killer with a hockey mask and machete, sweetheart.” Gojo points out to you.
Oh.
You've never felt dumber than you did right now. There was no way something you'd said that morning as a joke really came true like this. And the guy behind said manifestation was hotter than you ever could've imagined him to be.
“So, how about it?” His voice intertwines with a crispy husk of need and you could feel your thighs clenching together again. Then Gojo takes his machete and lodges it in a nearby tree for a second to get both of his freezing hands on you.
When they meet your waist and begin to manhandle your frame, you flinch. The killer so easily spins you around and pushes you back against the same tree his blade is housed deep into. Then he sighs, “We’ve already got the chase out the way," He says, picking his weapon out of the bark and redirecting its sharp edge to your shirt, staining the fabric with the blood on it before droning, "M’sure you know what comes next.”
Your voice is a bit steadier now as your back hugs the tree behind you, eyes following the movement of his machete whilst it begins to tear at the flimsy fabric of your shirt, “If… If I don’t do this you’ll...”
“Kill your friends, yeah," He finishes for you, gaze boring into your frightened expression again. To which he fights back a groan. Shoko was right about one thing earlier, you damn sure are adorable when you're scared. “Told’ you I was gonna do it anyway but, I like your little idea better.” Gojo tells you.
It takes a while for you to answer since you're too busy watching and letting him rip the front of your shirt open, the garment falling to the ground and all soiled with blood. Then Gojo thumps closer and your spine stiffens as you bring your eyes up to his and finally utter a gentle, “Okay."
It's immediate the way he lunges forward, hand coming up to grab the back of your neck and tugging your body to his again as if the few minutes of distance were killing him. Talking hotly into your lips as he goes in for a kiss with a harsh utterance of, “Fuckin’ love dumb girls like you..."
The kiss is nasty and loud, dollops of wet saliva smearing in between both of your lips mere seconds after they connect. The chilly material of his black glove slips against your nape and it's not long before you're letting out needy moans against his sloppy lips.
When ever the two of your faces pry away from one another for room to return a breath to your lungs, it only last for a split second to let the strings of drool drip down both of your chins before you're diving right back in. Filthy and raw with primal want on both ends.
Gojo's tongue is heavy and searing against yours, dragging along the center of your pink muscle and lathering something naturally sweet onto your tastebuds.
And his hands-, fuck, his hands...
They're grabby and desperate, tugging at your hips and then flying up to your breasts to snatch your bra off with one loud teaaarrrr of expensive fabric. “Yeahh, let’s get all this shit off ya’,” He huffs in between kisses, plucking away long enough to look down and moan, “Ohhh, she’s even prettier under all those fabrics—what a surprise.”
You're a mess of whines and eager moans, the sound growing increasingly louder as the seconds pass and driving him insane considering your friends weren't too far for how loud you were getting. The killer in front of you is quickly annoyed and stupidly horny, cock swollen forward against his heavy layers of old clothing.
So frustrated that he doesn't even realize how roughly he's snatching your clothes off, quickly leaving them shredded somewhere on the dirt behind him after flinging it all off. And the very second you're bare, thighs soaked with pretty streaks of your own slick, Gojo finds himself moaning at the sight.
Then his whole hunky body, broad shoulders, and haughty torso weighs-, more like slumps, to the side a bit before he's bending down and swooping you up 'n open into his bulky arms faster than you can wrap your mind around.
You barely get to catch your breath as your naked back is pressed against a tree and your legs are left dangling over the arms he had hooked beneath your knees as if you weighed less than anything. His strength alone had your brain in a fuzzy daze and your pussy weeping profoundly around nothing.
Then the bastard grinds his entire frame forward and you moan as if he just pushed inside you. Hell, it damn sure felt like he did with the way that jumping cock of his hauled and then pressed against your syrupy-slicked folds, which merely spread over his bulge as he did so.
Mouth dangling open like some slut, your head thumps back, "Ohmygod..."
Encouraged, the man moves as if possessed and leans back just to glare at you, "Need you to do something, sweetheart." He huffs.
You barely meet eyes with him and raise a brow.
To which he looms forward with drool dangling past his bottom lip, "Pull that fuckin' cock out f'me."
You don't know what jumps first; your body or your cunt in leaky arousal. Either way, you obediently slide a hand in between your bodies and shuffle in between all those clothes he has on, working to free his slobbering length.
It takes a few shuffles and a mix of hot pants before you manage to grab his cock and drag the massive weight free from the restricting confines. Something inside you twitches when you feel how wet it is in your palm before you start angling his bulking tip against your entrance.
He helps you via the movement of his ample hips, nudging the head up against your clit to purposefully draw a loud moan out of you before he quickly sinks past your plush folds, jaw slacking open at the delicate and daubing wetness he’s met with.
The killer was about to toss his head out and allow himself a groan as he smoothly meets the hilt of your warm cavern with only one juicy thrust but, as you cry out all loudly again, he’s easily pissed off.
“Shut the fuck up,” Gojo husks after yet another noisy sound exited your body, quickly adjusting himself so that he could shove two stingy fingers into your mouth. With it, he lurches forward and presses his lips against your ear, “If they catch us like this, m’gonna kill ‘em.” He warns, earning a sudden squelch and sloshed clamp around his vein trickling girth, “Aagh, fuck…" He breathes, flashing an already fucked-out smile, "Did you clench out of real fear or is my dumb slut into that, huh? Y’like a lil’ fear play?”
Without waiting for an answer, his hips and fingers are moving in tandem with one another. The corpulent head of his cock is mashing against your sweetest spot like he’d known the way to it prior to this and his fingertips are ticking the back of your throat just to feel you choke against his digit.
“Ah, who am I kiddin’, of course you do,” He chuckles, pulling back a bit and sliding his digits out of your mouth just to stuff them into his own. “Probably got this-, fuck… wet halfway through our chase…” He mumbles in between his cleaning of his fingers.
Gojo was a obnoxious fuck, hips mean and pounding against your sprawled out legs whilst he occasionally glided your entire frame forward onto his impaling cock. At some point you remember having to put a hand over your mouth to stop your sounds from echoing throughout the forest.
Y’know, as if your cunt wasn’t loud enough with the way she was moaning and crying around the fat dick stretching you out against some random tree.
You’re struggling the whole way through, toes curling tightly every time his tip kisses over your g-spot with saccharine grazes. The way your pussy slobbed around him with the most gorgeous squelches had him pussydrunk and delirious in only a mater of minutes.
Once he starts hearing your whines struggling against your throat again, he knew you were getting close. Hence why his weight sandwiches into yours all of a sudden, your nails scraping at his back whilst yours curves into an arch away from the tree. “Mmmgh, fuck… are you about to cum? So soon?” Gojo taunts, speaking into the taut skin of your neck now as his balls clap heavily against your skin. “Nahhh, fuck that. If you cum on me before I say you can, I’m gonna take that pretty lil’ blade and–”
“O-Okay,” You whisper before he can finish, pussy narrowing around the curvaceous edges he was thrusting into you, “I-I won’t… mmnh… I won’t c-cum,” You attempt to say in one breath. Though, it definitely takes multiple.
Rubbing his initials over your clit and causing your eyes to roll into the back of your skull, Gojo smiles wickedly. “That’s what I like to hear.” He praises lightly, peppering dribbly kisses into your neck, “Pluuus, you wouldn’t want your friends to hear how much of a whore you really are, would you?” He asks in a slouchingly deep purr.
You shake your head cutely.
Loving the hold and control he’s got on you, a snicker escapes him, the breath from it slapping and sliding down to your collarbones, “Yeah, I didn’t think so. They’ve no idea their best friend likes gettin’ fucked by killers in the woods for real. They thought it was all just jokes, right?”
His pounding is getting faster now, more erratic. And you know he’s doing it on purpose because he wants to see how long you can hold back your orgasm. “M-Mhm-mm..” You stammer out.
“Awww, you poor thing.” Gojo frowns as he lifts his head and looks into your ears, biting his bottom lip at the sight of dainty tears, “Can’t even be yourself around them, can you?”
It quickly becomes too much for you as he starts humping his deliciously vivacious cock in and out of your saturated hole. Your eyes flicker and your mouth is wide open, sweet drool lapping its way down your chin and falling down in between your bodies, “S-S’toru, please… I-I can’t hold-, ah.. I’m gonna—”
“Not yettt,” He whispers as if to convince you, hips rolling rhythmically now just to drive you to the point of edging shivers, “Look, you really wanna die out here just because you couldn’t hold back your own orgasm? That’d be embarrassing, don’tcha think?” He asks playfully.
You shudder and then his thrusts return to something rougher-, needier.
“What you’re gonna instead is cum with me—not before me like the selfish slut you wanna be so bad,” He suggests as his forehead meets yours with a careful tap, your breath mingling. “On the count of three, yeah?” You nod anxiously and as soon as his voice comes out all slow, you feel like you’re really gonna lose your life over this.
“Oneee…” He murmurs.
Your cunt is jolting around his cock, “S-Satoru…”
He swallows down a grunt, “T-Twoooo… c’mon you can do it,” He encourages, though you’re not sure if that’s for him or you.
When his cockhead slaps up against where your insides are most sensitive and stars suddenly coat your vision you choke, “O-Ohgod, I can’t, I can’t–”
“Three,” He breathes out finally.
Your moan echoes out into the air in true pornographic fashion, so loud that both you and Gojo fuzzily sense the way Shoko and Utahime probably looked around a bit. His frosty hand comes slapping over your mouth again before he tugs your body against his once more, moving to groan in your ear, “Thought’ I told you not to be fucking loud.”
Oh shit.
His hand falls down to your neck and he squeezes tight, putting a halt to your easy breathing. “S-Sa-, hahh… Satoru… p-please,” You whine softly, cunt hugging his still spurting cock and gushing a mess of white around where you two connect.
He lets out something raspy before letting go of your neck, grabbing your face, and then forcing your eyes onto his. “You’re s’lucky I’ve taken a liking to you…” He snorts like it’s humorous and then sighs, “That, ‘n I like the way you look when you cum.”
Lashes wet from your tears, you bat them at him, your body all breathless and spent. The most important thing about this whole interaction dawns on your mind again and you gulp as your voice hoarsely leaves you, “D-Does this mean-, mh.. we all get to live?”
Gojo smiles at you, just barely before his head tilts and his hockey mask falls off onto the floor with a soft thud, “For now, sure.”
but also... if anton smiles at you like that one more time, you might actually hold him underwater during the next relay.
"great turn, y/n!" he chirps, shaking water from his head. "you're getting so fast lately!"
you want to hiss at him like a feral cat. but instead, you nod stiffly and shove your goggles up to your forehead, muttering, "whatever."
every. single. practice. he's like this.
offering you fist bumps, grinning when you clock a personal best, even loaning you his swim cap last week when yours snapped. the audacity.
the worst part? he's not fake. everyone likes anton. he's effortlessly friendly, absurdly attractive, and the coaches adore him. meanwhile, you've been grinding out extra sets, analyzing your stroke meticulously, and he still shaves seconds off your best time like it's nothing.
you line up on the blocks, heart pounding, and glance over. he sends you a thumbs-up and a blinding smile.
you lose. by like 0.03 seconds.
again.
and he still has the nerve to pull himself out of the pool, panting and flushed and smiling.
"so close!" he says, jogging over to you with a towel. "you were amazing!" you nearly combust on the spot.
"i'll be in the locker room," you grumble, ripping your cap and storming off.
you think you're safe once everyone else clears out. just you, your duffel bag, and a mountain of unresolved inferiority issues.
so naturally, anton finds you.
he's waiting just outside the hallway, hair still wet and cheeks a little pink, towel slung loose around his neck.
"hey. can we talk for a sec?" he smiles sheepishly.
you groan. "if this is about the pull buoy again, i swear-"
"no, not that," he interrupts. "i just.... i just wanted to ask you something.
you sigh, tired. "what?"
he hesitates. then, "you hate me, right?"
you blink. "what?.."
"it's okay if you do." his voice is soft and careful. "you kinda... glare at me a lot. and you never talk to me unless you're yelling about flip turns or lane violations or... i don't know, it just felt like maybe i did something wrong."
for a moment, you just stare at him. and then, panic.
"i don't hate you," you blurt, too loud, too fast.
he looks confused. "you don't?..."
"no! i just... maybe wanted to beat you. one time. and you kept being nice about it and... it made it worse." you scratch the back of your head, embarrassed.
he tilts his head. "me being nice... made it worse?"
"yes! because you're so good at everything and you still clap for me and tell me i did great like you don't even see me as a rival-"
"i don't.."
you flinch. "wow, okay. rude."
"no, wait!" he steps closer, eyes wide. "i don't see you as a rival because i don't wanna beat you. i wanna.... be around you.. talk to you.. and i've thought about holding hands... more than once."
you short-circuit.
he shrugs, towel slipping. "i like you. a lot. you kinda terrify me, but in a good way?"
your brain is a real life buffering wheel. so naturally, you grab him by his towel and kiss him.
he stumbles a bit in surprise, but catches himself quickly. his hands find your waist, thumbs brushing soft against your sides.
when you pull away, sill breathless, you mutter, "i still wanna beat you. just saying."
"that's fair. i'll still cheer for you." he beams.
꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑
it's been three days since the kiss.
and he's been so much worse since.
"you want some?" anton asks, plopping down next to you on the bleachers before morning practice.
he's holding a protein bar, a banana, and a bottle of your favorite sports drink. the flavor no one else on the team drinks because they swear it tastes like cough syrup.
you squint. "how did you even get that?"
"7-eleven. went at 6:30am. for you, babe." he smiles.
you nearly choke. "did you just.... did you just call me babe?"
he nods cheerfully, already unwrapping the protein bar for you. "yeah. or do you like 'sweetheart' better? ooh, or 'honey badger.' since you're so small and feral."
you stare at him, stunned into silence.
around you, your teammates side-eye the interaction like it's a drama unfolding in real time.
after practice, anton throws his towel around your shoulder. "you looked so cool out there," he says sweetly.
you bury your face in the towel, "you're going to kill me." you groan. he laughs, nudging your side. "is it working?"
"what?"
"making you fall for me."
you look up, flushed and grumpy, but undeniably soft for him. "...maybe."
Summary: You impulsively adopt the cute hybrid that avoids all eye contact, but you end up accidentally spoiling him too much.
Pairing: Hybrid! Jisungx Rich! Female reader
Warnings: smut, smut, smut, fluff (he's too cute), mentions of drugs and SA (doesn't happen to ji nor y/n), mentions of hybrid abuse, some miscommunication at first, but it's solved quickly because they talk like adults (sort of). Also no proofreading! Sorry I got a bit lazy.
You examined the papers in front of you meticulously, looking for any abnormality. Every month, you visited the shelter to ensure your generous donations were used to improve the facilities and provide healthy meals for the hybrids that lived there. It had happened before that charity organizations received big sums of money from you, but it all went into the owner’s pocket. Whenever you discovered that was the case, you stopped your donations to the organization altogether, but this shelter had passed all your tests so far, offering you very detailed documents to prove that your money had been used the way it was intended to. Even if you showed up on a random Tuesday morning, the employees welcomed you calmly and showed you any document or room you asked to see.
The corridors were clean, besides the unavoidable remains of fur here and there. The rooms on each side of it were not luxurious, and the furniture was minimal, but they were large enough for 2 or 3 hybrids. When you were walking by the feline area, you stopped in front of the only room that had its door closed. All doors had a small, rounded window that allowed you to look inside, for security reasons, as the volunteer had explained during your first visit about a year ago.
Once you peeked inside, you saw a lone figure in the corner of the room.
“Where’s the other one?” you asked, after double-checking the room number. You remembered clearly that room 16 had an extra inhabitant.
The volunteer worker walking next to you stopped as well. “What?”
“The orange cat,” you clarified, remembering the sharp eyes of a cat hybrid glaring at you whenever you came too close to that room. “The one that hates people.”
“Chenle?” The volunteer seemed to know who you were talking about. “He doesn’t hate people! He’s just picky. Someone adopted him last week, actually,” she said with a sweet smile.
You raised your eyebrows in disbelief, thinking about that one time he tried to scratch a loving family that wanted to approach him.
“I know,” the volunteer laughed at your incredulous expression. “We were all surprised! There was this woman who came here looking for a hybrid to keep her company, and she made it very clear she wanted to adopt a dog, but Chenle clung onto her and, after a few visits, she ended up taking him home.”
“Ah…” you nodded awkwardly and glanced over at the lonely occupant of the room. His fluffy, dark ears were folded down, and his lips almost formed a pout as he sat on the floor, staring at the floor cheerlessly. “Is he sick?”
“Jisungie?” the volunteer asked, lowering her voice when she saw his ear twitch at the mention of his name. “He’s probably just sad,” she whispered. “It’s hard for him to get adopted. He’s not exactly what people expect of his breed…”
“Well, his ears are not as pointy, but other than that, he seems like a healthy cat hybrid to me…” You said, trying to defend him.
“Cat?” the volunteer echoed, surprised. “Oh… oh, no, Jisungie is a cricetulus barabensis.”
You stared back at her blankly before you finally admitted you had no idea what that was. “A what?”
“He’s a hamster hybrid,” she explained. “A Chinese striped hamster.”
“Then what is he doing in the feline zone?!”
“A few of our cats took a liking to him as soon as he arrived. They took care of him like he was their baby, so we let him stay here… but now that everyone in that group has been adopted, he’s been by himself. We tried to have him move to the rodent zone, but other rodents don’t get along with him…they find him…different.”
“...Why?”
“The same reason people don’t adopt him. When you think of a hamster, you picture someone small, chubby, and cuddly. He’s tall, awkward, and skittish. He’s not what hamster people are looking for, and neither does he match the description of an ideal companion for dog or cat people. Someone who came yesterday said he was not cute-”
“He’s cute!” you said without thinking. “Was that person blind? Were they even that pretty themselves? There’s nothing wrong with him! He’s adorable!” you ranted angrily. You were a softie inside. The type who watched compilations of people being nice to each other online and cried herself to sleep. Hearing about someone having their feelings hurt just because they didn’t fit the standard someone set for them made you want to either fight or sob uncontrollably. Maybe both.
“I agree with you,” the volunteer said. “But we can’t change what potential owners want…”
“They have to be dumb not to want him! Who in their right mind wouldn’t want this cutie?!”
“...Do you want him?” she asked cautiously.
“Me?!”
“We have known you for a while, so the background check would go smoothly and you could take him home in less than a week,” the excited volunteer explained.
“I’m not here to adopt. You know that,” you replied curtly.
“Right,” she hesitated. “I just thought… Well, if you change your mind–”
“I won’t. I do my part, donating more than enough for you all to keep this place afloat.”
“Hybrids need more than money…” she mumbled. “They need someone to care for them.”
“And you are great at it!” you assured her with a pat on her shoulder.
“It’s not the same,” she shook her head sadly. “They need undivided attention and companionship–”
“And I can’t offer that,” you declared. “Not with the lifestyle I have. I don’t want an extra responsibility taking up my time.”
The volunteer’s sad eyes looked away from you and at the hybrid. You followed her gaze and saw Jisung’s dark eyes boring into yours, before he quickly looked away. Then, he stood up slowly and dragged his feet towards his bed, where he lay on his side, with his back turned to you.
“I didn’t mean to pressure you,” the volunteer said, guiding you away from the feline zone. “I just thought you liked Jisungie.”
“It’s not that I don’t like him,” you said quickly. “I just don’t want to adopt him.”
“That’s understandable,” she said, trying not to show her disappointment.
It bothered you. You felt like she was trying to make you feel guilty because you didn’t want to adopt. Not wanting to own a hybrid didn’t make you a bad person. You were giving them money, weren’t you? That already made you better than those people who didn’t care at all.
Some people called you selfish for not wanting to form a family or have any type of companion. But was it really wrong to be selfish? You weren’t hurting anyone. You had worked really as an actress for years to build your current luxurious lifestyle. You wanted to enjoy it, have brunch with the girls, party until dawn with your friends, and take spontaneous trips to the beach. If you had a pet, you wouldn’t be able to do all that freely.
You cringed at your own thoughts. You tried to train yourself to treat hybrids as equals, but you found yourself, once again, referring to them as pets. Maybe you weren’t making donations because you were a good person, but because you wanted to feel better about yourself.
You remembered the hybrid’s sad eyes when he looked at you. You wondered how many times he had been rejected. Judging by his behavior, it had been too many to count.
You drank shot after shot and laughed at your friends' jokes at the club, but the image of the pitiful hybrid kept haunting you.
“I’m not a bad person!” you yelled drunkenly for the fifth time that night.
“Shh!” Seungkwan hissed. “Do you want another scandal?”
“The last one wasn’t even my fault!” you huffed.
“We know, we know,” Seungkwan said dismissively, switching your shot for a glass of water. “The director from your last movie was an asshole. But you still have to be careful with what you say in public.”
“Why are you so worked up, by the way?” Vernon asked. “You never let people’s words get to you like this.”
“I don’t care about what the volunteer said… But why did he look at me like I stabbed him in the heart?!” you insisted.
“The volunteer?”
“No. Jisung!” you exclaimed, frustrated at your confused friends.
“Who’s that?”
“The hybrid!”
“If it bothers you that much, go back and adopt him,” Vernon said, drinking your shot.
Seungkwan glared at him. “Are you crazy? Look at her! Do you think she can take care of somebody else?”
Now you glared at Seungkwan. “I totally can.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Drink your water, girl,” Seungkwan said, pressing the glass against your lips.
You gulped the liquid down and turned to Vernon. “I totally can, right?” you repeated.
Vernon shrugged. “I see no reason why not.”
Seungkwan shook his head. “You know you can’t get crazy drunk like this every week if this hybrid depends on you. What are you gonna do, leave him alone at home the entire time?”
“With food and TV,” you deadpanned, like it was enough.
“You’re just gonna keep him inside watching TV,” he paraphrased, unamused.
“He could party with us,” Vernon offered.
You nodded and looked at Seungkwan, looking for approval.
“You’ll adopt a hybrid and get him drunk so that you can feel better about yourself?”
“You’re making it sound like I would be a terrible owner,” you scoffed. You waited for him to contradict you, but he silently took a sip of his cocktail. “Seungkwan!”
“Y/N. A hybrid is a responsibility for life. And you are terrified of commitment.”
“I’m not terrified! I just don’t want to commit!”
“Then why are you talking about adopting a whole hybrid?!”
“I just want you to say I can do it!”
“You can’t!
“Vernon said I can!”
“Vernon!” Seungkwan scolded the handsome man who, once again, shrugged and stole a sip of his cocktail.
“I’m adopting him,” you declared, standing up, but the world immediately started spinning. Vernon caught you right before you fell, and with Seungkwan’s help, he carried you out of the club. “Gonna… gonna adopt Jisungie….,” you babbled.
“You won’t even remember this conversation tomorrow, Y/N,” Seungkwan sighed.
But Seungkwan was so wrong.
When you woke up after a few hours, your first thought was Jisung. You got up, wore something comfortable, took an aspirin, and got in your car with a clear destination: the hybrid shelter (with a short but necessary stop to get coffee).
Your heart was beating fast by the time you reached the shelter. You took a deep breath in and opened the door, quickly spotting the same volunteer you had talked to the day before.
“I want Jisung,” you declared.
The woman almost dropped the box she was carrying when she saw your disheveled appearance. She scanned you before putting the box down and approaching you slowly.
“A-are you okay?” she asked.
“You said there was no need for a background check, right?”
“Uh…I said it could be faster…”
“So I get to take him home today.”
“Today?!”
“Is he awake?” you asked agitatedly, walking towards the feline zone where you knew he was mistakenly staying.
The volunteer quickly caught up and stood in front of you, making you stop. “What are you doing?! You can’t just take him!”
Her outraged yelp worsened the sharp pain in your head, so you massaged your temple, irritated. “You wanted to give him to me yesterday,” you reminded her.
“And you refused!”
“I changed my mind,” you said simply, walking past the stressed woman, but you barely took a step before she grabbed your forearm. You turned around, feeling insulted by her behavior. “WHAT?!”
She glared at you defiantly. “If you take him, you can’t change your mind. You must treat Jisung like family, not a trophy to display your altruism.”
That stung. “I…I know that…”
“Then please go home and come back only when you’re absolutely sure you can do this,” she demanded firmly. “And make sure you’re sober.”
You sighed with relief when you got back home. Now that you were sobering up, the idea of adopting a hybrid seemed as ridiculous as Seungkwan pointed out. You dodged a bullet thanks to that annoying volunteer.
It was better to forget about Jisung.
And his fluffy ears.
…And his sad eyes.
…And the way he flinched when you said you didn’t want him.
But you just couldn’t stop thinking about him. After two weeks, you found yourself filling out the necessary paperwork to register him under your care. The annoying volunteer was being nice to you this time, which led you to think that previously she was being cautious to ensure the safety of the hybrids.
When Jisung came to the reception area, carrying only a backpack with his belongings, he had the look of a lost child. He stole glances at you before looking at the floor nervously, and his hands were visibly shaking.
He also kept looking at the volunteer to confirm that this was indeed happening, and when she gave him a thumbs up, his eyes widened a little before squinting to accompany his timid smile. He mentally repeated your name a few times when you officially introduced yourself to him, and then he nodded enthusiastically at everything you said.
You started to get nervous when you noticed he hadn’t said a single word while you went on about the room you had prepared for him, the phone you had bought him, and how you hoped you two would get along.
“He’s just overwhelmed,” the volunteer quickly assured, noticing your concern. ”Give him time and he’ll be yapping non-stop…” she trailed off when she caught sight of a familiar face entering the shelter. “Haechan, again?!”
A cat hybrid with beautiful caramel skin sighed and dropped his backpack on the floor. “Stop acting surprised. You keep giving me away to shitty people and then blame it on me when they send me back.”
“Where’s your owner? I’ll talk to her and maybe–” the stressed volunteer walked to the door to solve the problem.
“She’s not my owner anymore. Bitch kicked me out of the car and drove away. I’m not going back to her.”
She groaned. “Haechan… what do I do with you?”
“How about a welcome hug? Didn’t you miss me?” he pouted, opening his arms as an invitation.
“I did not,” she grumbled.
“Yeah… yeah, you did,” he affirmed with a sultry tone you doubted was appropriate for the workplace, and when his gaze lingered on her body for a little too long, you decided to clear your throat in an attempt to speed up Jisung’s adoption process.
Both the volunteer and Haechan jumped and looked at you. Haechan was the first to speak.
“Hi, I’m Y/N!” you introduced yourself, shaking his hand. “Are you Jisung’s friend?”
“Mhmm, you can call me Haechan. Hopefully, you won’t send him back like they did to me.”
“NO!” you exclaimed, scandalized. “I would never–”
“Yeah, you’re right…” he purred, patting the hamster hybrid’s back. “You won’t want to send him back when you see what he’s packing.”
Jisung’s eyes almost popped out of his head, and he clumsily covered his crotch with his hands despite being fully dressed.
“HAECHAN!” the poor volunteer shrieked, pushing the mischievous cat towards the feline area. “I’m so sorry about him. Just ignore him! You’re all set! A staff member will visit you after a few weeks for the first evaluation. Good luck!” she said, disappearing into the corridor with Haechan.
Jisung was silent on the ride home, and he remained quiet as you gave him a tour of the penthouse. When you finally heard his voice, it wasn’t what you expected.
“Master…” a deep voice suddenly called when you were leaving him to unpack his stuff in his room.
You turned around, speechless.
That was his voice?
“You haven’t told me the rules, master,” he pointed out. This time, you saw his lips move as the words left his mouth, which helped your brain accept that such a soothing voice came from this cute creature.
“T-the rules?” you echoed confusedly.
“Yes, master. Please tell me what I can and can’t do in your house.”
“Jisung, this is your house too. Just make yourself comfortable.”
He visibly malfunctioned. It felt like a trap, but he wouldn’t dare question your instructions.
“Okay. Thank you, master.”
“And don’t call me that,” you requested. “Just call me by my name.”
He nodded. “Master Y/N.”
“No…I mean– just call me Y/N.”
His mouth opened and closed, and then he shook his head.
“No?” you asked. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”
He bit his lip and looked at you nervously.
“Okay,” you sighed with defeat. “Just call me whatever is easier for you.”
“Thank you, master,” he whispered.
It may have been easier for him to call you by that title. But for you, it was mortifying when you took him shopping and he said it out loud in front of other people. Other than that, Jisung was an incredibly well-behaved hybrid. He always did as he was told, obediently accompanied you whenever you took him out to run errands, thankfully accepted every luxurious item you bought for him, and patiently waited for you at home when you went out by yourself.
And the best part was that you could continue living your life the way you liked. You still went out to parties until late at night, and Jisung didn’t seem to mind. He simply stayed at home, watching TV like you told him he could and asking you about your day as soon as you arrived. What you didn’t notice was his growing anxiety, the longer it took you to come back to him.
But how would you notice? He never said anything.
One night, you came back very late, taking off your shoes at the entrance and trying to find your way to your room in the darkness.
“Master,” his deep voice called out of nowhere, causing you to yelp in shock.
“Jesus–fuck, Jisung!” you exclaimed when you saw him standing in the corridor. “What are you doing awake?”
“I’m sorry– I…I have a question…” he mumbled.
“A question? This late?”
“Uh…I can wait until the morning…”
“No, no…” You sighed. “It’s fine. What is it?”
“I was uh…I was wondering if it would be okay for me to eat something…”
You stared at him, dumbfounded. “What?”
His stomach growled loudly, and he cleared his throat. “I didn’t want to grab anything without permission, so…”
That’s when you realized that in the couple of weeks Jisung had lived with you, you had always given him clear indications whenever it was time to eat.
‘Dinner’s in the microwave’, ‘Shall we have pizza?’, ‘Breakfast ready!’, ‘You can heat up some soup if you want’, among other verbal confirmations that it was okay for him to eat something, were always there, but he didn’t hear anything like that today. You had left early in the morning, spent the day outside, and returned past midnight.
“Jisung, have you eaten anything at all today?” you asked.
“I wasn’t sure what was okay–”
“Oh my god,” you groaned, grabbing his arm and dragging him to the kitchen. “I told you this is your house! You can use everything in it, and you can eat whatever you want!”
He mumbled a weak ‘Sorry’ as you took out a package of instant ramyun from the shelf and started preparing it.
“I want you to eat even if I’m not here. Understood?” you said once you were both at the table, and he started eating. “You can cook too, if you want. Do you know how to cook?”
He shook his head.
So you decided to buy more frozen meals that he could heat up when you’re not around.
Another week went by uneventfully. A staff member from the shelter showed up to check on Jisung and decided you were doing a good job since he was clean, well-fed, and had his own spacious room. Jisung tried his best not to cause any trouble. Even if that meant he didn’t do anything all day. But he felt uneasy…
Each passing day, he saw you less, and he was starting to think that maybe… you didn’t like him.
He tried waking up earlier in the morning to spend more time with you, but as soon as you got out of bed, you dressed up and left to who knows where. So he tried staying up until very late instead, but as soon as you arrived, you went to bed. He didn’t want to be ungrateful; after all, you had given him a home.
…But he felt even more lonely than when he was at the shelter.
“How are things with your human?” Chenle asked while videocalling.
“Uh… she’s nice,” he mumbled.
“Nice or… nice?” Chenle stressed the last word with a teasing smile.
Jisung’s face turned red. “It’s not like that…”
“Oh…” Chenle’s smirk dropped. “Haechan said she was your type…”
“WHA–?” Jisung cried out and then covered his mouth, looking around and then remembering he was–once again– alone. “What does he even know about my type?!”
“Jisung, we raised you,” Chenle deadpanned.
“We’re almost the same age!” he refuted, offended.
“But we’ve known you for a long time. He said he saw your ears twitch at the sound of her voice.”
“That’s…! I was just happy to be adopted…” he replied.
“Okay, maybe he got the wrong idea,” Chenle conceded. “Relationships between hybrids and humans aren’t all the same.”
That’s when Jisung got curious. “What about your owner?”
“Hm? What about her?” Chenle asked nonchalantly.
“Is she…nice like that?” he asked, lowering his voice at what he thought was a scandalous question.
But Chenle’s eyes lit up, and the corners of his lips curled. “She’s very nice.”
Jisung gasped.
“D-do you have that type of relationship with her?!”
“No, not yet,” Chenle sighed. “I’m working on it, but she acts more like a mouse than you… she gets all jumpy and shy when I get too close…” he added, chuckling.
“You’re going to scare her,” Jisung warned him.
“Nah, she just follows this dumb moral code that makes her think it would be wrong to let me fuck her stupid,” Chenle shrugged.
Jisung blushed, but not only because of his friend’s obscene choice of words. For some reason, his brain decided to create a visual representation of himself fucking you stupid. A tiny, surprised moan escaped his mouth, and Chenle heard it.
“Thinking about something naughty?” he teased.
“N-no!”
“Are you thinking about your owner?”
“I… our relationship is not like that!” he whined.
“But do you want it to be?”
“No– I just… want to be friends...”
“Okay…” Chenle said. “Then what’s the problem?”
“There is no problem.”
Chenle raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Jisung.”
“...Fine, I… I think she may not… like me very much…” the hamster hybrid finally admitted.
“Why would you think that?”
“We never do anything together… She’s never home, and when she is, she goes straight to bed… I don’t know, she may be avoiding me…”
Chenle hummed, processing this information. “I don’t think she’s avoiding you, Jisung. If she didn’t like you, she could just return you, like they did to Haechan.”
Jisung gulped. Going back to the shelter was the worst that could happen to an adopted hybrid. He felt bad for Haechan.
“Maybe she’s actually busy,” Chenle continued. “What does she do for a living?”
“Hm… she’s an actress… Have you heard about Y/N L/N?”
“WHAT? YOU WERE ADOPTED BY Y/N L/N?!”
“Uh…yeah…”
“First of all: wow. But secondly, and more importantly, that means she is busy, Jisung. Celebrities have a lot going on.”
Jisung shrugged. “I guess…”
“And I bet she’s tired when she gets home too. Why don’t you do something to help her relax when she gets home? Maybe that would help you two become closer.”
Jisung nodded slowly, but he couldn’t hide the confusion on his face. “...Like what?”
The cat hybrid stared back at him, blinking slowly. “That’s up to you. What would you like to do for her?”
Jisung thought hard about it all day until he eventually came up with something he thought was a good idea.
…And that’s how you came home to your kitchen being a mess, with your hybrid looking like he had committed a crime.
“Y-you’re home early…” he stuttered, avoiding your questioning eyes.
“Were you hungry?” you asked with a small laugh. “What were you trying to make?”
“Lasagna…” he replied, embarrassed. His sauce-covered clothes confirmed that cooking wasn’t one of his talents. “Saw it on tiktok.”
“You could have just ordered some, or text me to buy some for you on my way back,” you said, shaking your head and starting to clean the kitchen.
“I, uh… It was for you…” He said, barely above a whisper.
“Huh?” You looked at him, surprised. “For me?”
He shrugged, but then you noticed something weird. He kept one of his hands behind his back.
“What are you hiding?” you asked, teasingly.
“Nothing,” he said, but he took a step back.
“I promise I won’t laugh, Jisungie!” you said, thinking he was hiding the results of his cooking attempt. You took a few steps towards him until he was cornered against the counter. “Show me, come on!”
“It’s nothing!” he insisted, trying to escape, but you reached for his hidden hand, and he winced in pain.
“Jisung?” you asked worriedly, finally managing to take a look at his reddened hand. “What happened to your hand?”
He bit his lip, still looking anywhere except your eyes.
“Did you burn yourself?!” you insisted.
He shrugged, but his cheeks were red and his eyes were glossy. He wanted you to see he could be dependable, but he ended up making a fool of himself. Could things get any more embarrassing?
“Why didn’t you call me?! I gave you a phone for a reason!”
“It wasn’t an emergency,” he mumbled.
“What?!”
“You said to call you in case of an emergency.”
“Burning your hand is not an emergency to you?!” you asked.
“Sorry for the inconvenience,” he said, trying to pull his hand away with a humiliated sigh, but your grip remained strong.
“Inconve–What are you even talking about?” you asked. “Jisungie, I’m supposed to take care of you!”
“Yeah, since I’m just a useless pet…” he spat, breaking free from your grasp and walking away.
“What did you say?!” you asked incredulously.
“Nothing. Just leave me alone, ok?”
You saw red. This wasn’t like him at all. He had never talked like that before.
So you followed him.
“Don’t you walk away from me! Where is this attitude coming from?”
“I don’t get it,” he yelled back, ignoring your order and walking towards his room. “If you don’t like me, why did you adopt me?”
You gasped. “What’s gotten into you today? Of course I like you!”
He stopped right before his bedroom door, turning around and glaring at you. “Yeah? Is that why you’re never home since I started living here?”
“I’ve always been like that! Even before you got here! I have things to do!”
“And I have nothing to do!” he exclaimed. “I stay home all day, waiting for you like an idiot.”
“You can do anything you want, Jisung,” you repeated the words you had told him so many times before. “You don’t need me here to have fun.”
“I don’t want to be alone!” he finally admitted. “I–... I hate it,” he added softly.
Despite his quiet voice, the words landed like a dropped plate. Silence followed the unexpected confession.
And then, he sniffed.
It started as a small broken sound, but it soon escalated into sobs that let out the sour feeling he had been repressing for so long.
“Oh…” you mumbled, astonished. He always said everything was fine… This was the first time you heard him voice his feelings so strongly. “Jisung, I– I’m sorry…” You cooed, pulling him into a hesitant hug, praying it didn’t make him feel more uneasy. Thankfully, he welcomed your touch, and his arms immediately pulled you closer. You had no idea how much he needed physical touch right now. How much he craved being close to you, the person whom he had hoped would be his new family.
Still clinging to each other, you slowly sank to the floor, as he cried loudly on your shoulder.
“I w-wanted to do…something f-for you,” he managed to say between hiccups. “But y-you already have… you have everything you want and I– I’m j-just here… dumb and useless and u-ugly–”
“NO!” you refuted, pulling away and holding his face with your palms. “You are none of those things, Jisung. You are smart, loving, and beautiful. Do you hear me?
His reddened, sad eyes avoided yours. “You’re just saying that…”
“I’m not! I’m sorry I made you feel like this, Jisung. I’m just… too used to being alone. I… don’t know how to live with someone. But I like you. I really do.”
He sniffed, and his rounded ears twitched. “Really?”
God, he was adorable.
“Really,” you insisted, and before you could stop yourself, you kissed his forehead softly. “Now, let’s go to the hospital,” you said, smiling and pulling his arm to guide him to the front door.
Jisung thought going to the hospital was a great idea, but not because of his hand. His heart was doing weird flips in his chest, and he felt his face burning after your lips touched his skin. There was surely something wrong with him.
Time blurred since that moment. He followed you without hesitation and let you take him to the hospital. Then he heard you explain everything to the doctor before he could say a word. He looked at you in awe as you took care of all the paperwork, paid the bill, and drove him home. He then waited obediently for you to cook a meal for him, shaking his leg excitedly and replaying the memory of the loving kiss in his head again and again. It felt so tender, and he just knew you weren’t faking it.
‘She cares,’ he thought. ‘She likes me at least a little bit.’
“Is it good?” you asked as he devoured the stew.
For the first time, you heard him giggle. The gentle sound escaped his mouth before he cleared his throat. “Yes. Thank you,” he said, trying to act normal, but his eyes squinted slightly, the corners crinkling as he fought back a smile.
It was contagious. Seeing his efforts to keep a straight face made you break into a wide grin.
You reached out and ruffled his hair, laughing at how happy he looked despite his injured hand.
“What you said earlier…” You spoke carefully, trying not to ruin the moment. “About hating to be alone…”
His smile instantly dropped. “Sorry about that…I was just upset…”
“Did you mean it?”
“I know you like your independence.”
“But you don’t,” you guessed.
“I’ll get used to it,” he assured you quickly.
“But you don’t like it,” you insisted.
He licked his lips nervously and hesitated before nodding. “I don’t like it…”
“Good to know,” you sighed, much to his surprise. “I want to know these things. You never tell me what you like or don't like.”
“I didn’t want to impose,” he mumbled.
“You’re not imposing. It’s normal for two people living together to know things about each other. I have been waiting for you to open up.”
He blinked. “Open up?”
“Yeah, I want you to talk to me.”
His nose wrinkled, and he looked at you, completely lost as to what he could say.
“Let’s start with something simple. What do you do in your free time?”
“My free time?” he echoed blankly.
“Yeah, what do you do all day in this place?”
“I…I wait for you?” he replied.
“...And do what?”
“Uh…I watch TV.”
You resisted the urge to question whether that was really all he did or how he could watch TV all day. “Do you like watching TV?” you asked instead.
“Yeah, it’s…it’s okay…”
“But it could get boring,” you tried to reason. “Doing the same thing every day, I mean…”
He bit his lip. He wasn’t denying it.
“How about doing something outside? Do you like sports?” you offered.
“... I like soccer,” he admitted.
“Let’s find you a team to play with, then.”
“Really?” he asked with an unlikely high-pitched tone.
“Yeah! I’ll ask some friends if they could recommend–”
“Chenle–!” Jisung exclaimed excitedly, before regulating his voice to a calmer tone. “M-my friend from the shelter… he– he goes to this sports club and he said it’s fun and– and a lot of his teammates are hybrids and–” he rambled excitedly until a sudden thought crossed his mind and his ears flattened. “But he pays for a membership…”
“Yeah, all sports clubs require a membership,” you agreed. “I’ll pay for it.”
“Oh, no I– I don’t really need–” he stuttered, feeling guilty for suggesting something that would be a waste of your hard-earned money.
“But you want it.”
His body tensed, and his gaze lowered. “It’s fine.”
But you weren’t having any of that. “Ask your friend for the club’s name. You’re going next week.”
His jaw dropped, and then he forced it shut, shaking his head. “No, master, I–...” he sighed. “I’m–... you don’t have to spoil me like that…”
You snorted, finally understanding why he kept choosing the cheapest stuff at the store.
“Jisungie,” you called his name gently. “I’m rich. I have money. I want to spoil you,” you clarified.
He gulped. You wanted to spoil him? Fuck, that sounded so good coming out of your mouth.
“Yeah?” he asked, his voice accidentally sounding deeper, raspier.
Unaware of the sudden shift in the air, you kept talking, thinking you were still talking about money.
“Of course, Jisung! I want to give you the best life you could ever have. Just tell me what you want,” you offered, reaching for his unwounded hand across the table.
“What I want…” he echoed absentmindedly, observing the way your thumb caressed the back of his hand. His brain was picturing exactly what he wanted from you, and Chenle had been so right about it. Seems like he didn’t want to be just friends after all…
You nodded. “I’ll give you anything you want,” you confirmed.
He exhaled a shaky ‘Oh…’.
Now he was hyper-aware of your touch.
Stillness bloomed in the wake of his not-so-pure thoughts.
“Wanna try right now?” you asked suddenly.
“What?!” he shrieked.
“Come on!” you giggled. “Tell me one thing that you want.”
He looked from your touching hands to your curious face, mulling it over cautiously. If he told you what he wanted, it would change everything. So he didn’t say anything.
“We can start with something small,” you suggested, sensing his uncertainty.
Small?
For him, everything that came from you was a big deal.
A kiss…
One like the one you gave him earlier.
Or maybe he could give you one instead. A loving kiss on your temple, or your cheek…
Would you let him kiss your lips?
He pushed those thoughts away. The last thing he wanted was you sending him back to the shelter because he crossed the line.
“Y-you are an actress, right?” he asked instead.
“Yeah,” you confirmed. “I’ve been acting since I was 7.”
“Can we…” he trailed off nervously. “W-watch one of your movies, or something? I mean… a movie you’re in…”
You were expecting him to ask for something you could buy, but this was a good start if you wanted him to be comfortable asking you for things in the future.
“Sure!” you nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “Do you wanna watch it right now?”
“Yes,” he said quickly, not wanting to say goodnight and part from you just yet.
You gently squeezed his hand before telling him to google a list of your movies and choose one while you made popcorn.
When the movie started, he sat in the opposite corner of the sofa, but as the story progressed and you both became more absorbed in the plot, he moved closer. He touched your arm clumsily, keeping the touch light enough to play it as an accident if you didn’t like it. Instead of questioning him or pushing him away, you opened your arms as an invitation to come even closer. He held his breath as he hesitantly scooted over, and he melted when one of your hands landed on his fluffy hair and scratched his ear carefully.
“Hmm…” he purred, leaning into your touch.
“Good?” you asked sleepily, with your eyes glued to the screen.
“Good,” he whispered, clinging onto you, resting his head on your shoulder, and letting out pleased little sounds.
“Should we do this every week?” you offered.
“Mhmm…”
That was the beginning of you and Jisung’s first routine as ‘roommates’, but more were soon to come. Now, having breakfast together was sacred; Jisung learned to make pancakes and other simple recipes, and he woke up excited to make something to eat together. You always found yourself waking up to the smell of coffee and the soothing view of your hybrid preparing breakfast and humming to little tunes.
He was also getting more comfortable asking for things… and bolder with his words.
‘Is it okay if I decorate my room?’
‘May I go with you?’
‘Would it be too much if I ask for a laptop?’
‘Can some friends come over?’
‘I want to take singing lessons.’
‘Can I sleep with you tonight?’
“What?” you asked while you stood at the doorframe of your bedroom.
“Uh…I asked if… I could sleep w-with you…” stuttered your hybrid, having knocked on your bedroom door late at night.
You looked from him to your king-sized bed, confused. “You want to sleep here?”
He barely nodded, losing his confidence at your hesitation. “T-the neighbors are having a party and… and I hear everything from my window so I c-can-t… It’s kinda hard to sleep…uh… sorry, I shouldn’t have woken you up, I… I’m gonna g-go…”
“Come in,” you murmured.
“What?”
Instead of replying, you opened the door wider as a silent invitation. Jisung’s pulse accelerated as he watched you walk towards your bed and lie down.
“You coming?” you asked when he didn’t move.
Your sleepy voice shouldn’t have made his heart jump like that. As he lay down on the opposite side of the bed, he began to question whether this had been a good idea. Your pillow smelled like your shampoo and he could feel the warmth emanating from your body. And to make things work, his anxiety decided to act up, making him tremble slightly.
“Are you cold, Jisungie?” you asked with a yawn.
“Y-yeah,” he lied. He wasn’t going to admit that the real reason he was shaking was that being in the same bed as you was making him spiral.
“Hmm… come here,” you mumbled, opening your arms just like you did to cuddle when you watched movies together.
Yes, this was no different than watching a movie with you. Just because now you were on a bed, he didn’t need to be this nervous, Jisung told himself as he moved closer. As usual, all tension left his body once he was hugging you. He let out something between a sigh and a moan.
“Thank you…” he breathed out, pulling you closer and impulsively kissing your cheek.
You froze, and you felt his face heat up through the fabric of your pajamas as he hid his face in your chest.
“G-good night!” he said quickly, wondering how believable it would be if he pretended to be snoring right at that moment.
But instead of being mad, you chuckled and kissed the top of his head. “Good night, Jisungie,” you murmured.
He fought the urge to kick his feet like a happy teenage girl with a crush and replayed the sweet interaction in his head until he fell asleep.
One thing about Jisung was that he was a fast learner, but that also meant that if you permitted him to do something once, he assumed it was okay to do it anytime. So he ended up sleeping in your bed so often it became the norm.
He was also more touchy. He caressed your hands and arms absentmindedly whenever you were hanging out, and he had developed the cute habit of kissing your cheek every night before going to sleep (although you could feel his lips trembling as they touched your skin).
You were so proud of how his timid requests became assertive. Now he sounded confident whenever he wanted something because he just knew you would always say yes.
The first time you regretted teaching him how to feel so empowered happened during one of your weekly movie nights.
“I look so dumb!” you whined, looking at yourself playing the role of a sexy spy.
“You look good! Stop saying that!” Jisung laughed, resting his head on your shoulder and hugging you tighter against his chest, between his sprawled legs. This was a cuddling position you naturally adopted when watching movies lately.
“I hated this movie! I never watched it after I finished filming it last year…”
“Why did you hate it so much?” he asked.
“Because it makes no sense! Why would I wear high heels and a tight dress to run and jump out of buildings?!”
He giggled. “But you look amazing,” he murmured sleepily.
You felt your skin warm up a little.
…And this wasn’t the first time.
Now that Jisung was more confident, he found it easier to compliment you when you least expected it. Each compliment made you feel a little hot and bothered, especially when he said them with that voice.
He had never done anything remotely sexual in your presence…
So why were you thinking about Jisung like that?
Was it because of that time he came out of his room shirtless, asking if you had seen his favorite hoodie, and you stared for too long?
Or maybe that one time you scratched his nape and he straight out moaned and asked for more, making you accidentally picture him in a totally different scenario?
Or any other time you kind of perceived him as attractive?
Jisung.
Attractive.
Oh god…
You were attracted to your hybrid.
You were still coming to terms with that realization when you heard a moan–your own moan–coming from the screen.
Oh, no…
No, no, no…
You completely forgot about that scene.
“Shit. Let’s watch something else–” you quickly suggested, trying to stand up to reach for the remote, but Jisung’s arms kept you in place. You looked back as much as you could with the limited movement he allowed you, and you saw his dark eyes looking past you, glued to the lewd scene on the screen. “Jisung, nooo! Don’t look!” you begged, trying to cover his eyes with your hands.
“Stop,” he replied curtly, grabbing your wrists and holding them against your chest with one big hand, while his other arm kept circling your waist. “You said we can watch whatever I want. I want to watch this one.”
A shiver ran down your spine.
His agitated breathing was hot next to your ear, while he kept you still with a gentle yet firm grip and watched you fake pleasure for the camera.
“Wow…” he whispered when your character stepped out of the ridiculously uncomfortable dress to reveal a set of black lingerie.
You had to look away when you saw yourself crawl on top of the middle-aged actor who played the detective. Jisung gulped.
You knew what was coming: An unnecessarily long scene full of close-ups of your tits bouncing with exaggerated screams to appeal to the male audience.
You let out a small whimper. “This is so embarrassing…” you mumbled, defeated.
“Shh. I told you you look good,” Jisung cooed, kissing your shoulder (something he had never done before) to comfort you. “Fuck…”
And that was the first time he ever cursed in front of you. He used to mind his actions and words around you, looking for your approval. But now, after months living together and you giving him everything he asked for and praising him all the time… he was letting loose.
“Oh…” he moaned quietly when you shifted awkwardly and something poked your lower back. He gulped before moving his own hips subtly, but too skillfully to be an accident.
“J-jisung!” you yelped when you finally snapped out of it and twisted your body around with difficulty to look at him. “Wait– No!”
“...No?” he repeated, the word sounding foreign coming from your lips. Since he first became part of your life, you had always told him there were no rules he needed to worry about. You never got mad at him when he accidentally broke something or made a mess in the kitchen. Neither did you deny him any of his requests. You had even gone as far as to promise him that you would give him anything he wanted.
Anything.
One time, he did some research on the most ridiculously costly PC equipment to exist and asked you to buy it for him. Hell, he didn’t even want it, but he wanted to see if you would follow through. You did. No questions asked. You just handed him your credit card and said ‘Sure’ like it was nothing.
And it wasn’t only about money. Whenever he had asked for other things, such as holding hands, cuddling, and napping together, you said yes every time.
Why would you say no to him now? You always let him do whatever he wanted, so what was wrong? He thought you two had a little something going on, even if none of you dared to say it. He had seen your ears turn red whenever he told you you were pretty. He knew you checked him out whenever he walked around with little clothes… that’s why he did it (Haechan’s idea).
He heard your voice crack when you told him to get dressed… and there was that time he was so sure you smelled aroused when he let you feel up the lean muscles he had been working out for.
Was he wrong?
Had he crossed the line?
His eyes went from lidded and dreamy to wide and panicked.
“I mean–” you tried to calm yourself and him down when you saw his expression. “Okay, hold on. Let’s clarify: what do you want exactly?”
He bit his lip and looked down, just like he did when he had first arrived at your home and didn’t trust you enough to speak up.
“I won’t be mad,” you assured him. “You know you can tell me anything, right? Have I ever been mad at you?”
He shook his head slowly.
“See? There’s nothing to be afraid of. Now tell me, what do you want?”
For a few seconds, he was quiet, letting the lewd sounds of the movie fill the room.
Then, he moved his hips only a little, just enough to chaff against your ass. Despite the lack of force, the gesture was clear.
“This,” he mumbled, thrusting again, this time a little harder, to make his point. “... No?” he asked again, like a kid who was being denied a cookie.
You opened your mouth in shock, but no words came out. What were you supposed to say when your cute hybrid, whom you had been secretly checking out, politely asked to hump you while watching a soft porno of you?
…To be fair, it was not his fault that he got hard. The movie was intended for a male audience, and Jisung was, after all, a man. It was your fault for letting him watch it.
If he was turned on because of you… It was only logical to help him feel better, right?
You were just taking responsibility for your mistake.
At least that’s what you told yourself.
It was easier than admitting you were doing it because you finally got some non-platonic physical touch from the man who had been making you feel flustered for weeks.
Instead of replying, you moved, pressing your ass against his hardened shaft and holding in a whimper at how hot it felt.
He gasped, looking down to see the point where thin layers of fabric stopped his cock from entering you.
“S-so… yes?” he asked hopefully. “Master, is that a yes?”
Of course. Your well-behaved hybrid always needed verbal confirmation to be sure.
“Yes,” you whispered. “But only this, ok?”
He sighed, and his hands reached for your hips. He looked back at the screen and kept rutting lazily. “T-thank you… Thank you, master…”
You pressed your thighs together and shut your eyes closed, embarrassed at the entire situation. His tiny gasps were making you so wet you worried you would leave a stain on the sofa. You took a deep breath in. All you had to do was stay still and wait for him to finish… by the way his hips stuttered, you knew it wouldn’t take him long.
“There’s one thing I find stupid about this movie,” he suddenly said, making your heart drop. You weren’t ready for him to tell you how ridiculous you looked now. Thankfully, he said: “That guy. He shouldn’t be part of the scene… he ruins the whole mood.”
You opened your eyes and stared at the still-going sex scene. There it was: a quick cut of your coworker grunting, covered in oil that was supposed to imitate sweat. You couldn’t help but laugh a little.
“How was I supposed to do that scene then?” you asked. “Should I have just bounced on an empty bed?”
He laughed too. It was the first time you two ever spoke about something like sex…and it was surprisingly chill, if you ignored his dick still humping your ass.
“Honestly? That would have been better,” he snickered, and then he groaned when the camera panned on the man again. “Gross, I don’t wanna see the sweaty dude. Can the camera go back to you?” he whined.
“Then don’t look?” you offered, suddenly feeling playful. “The actress is right here with you. You don’t have to watch the screen to see me.”
The sudden realization hit him.
“Yeah…” he sighed, and he finally stopped watching the dumb movie to rest his forehead on your shoulder. “You’re right here…”
Your warm body against his, and your shampoo-scented hair tickling his cheek, made him feel at home. You were his home.
If he could feel just a little bit more, it would be perfect, he told himself, pausing his movements.
“Jisung?” you asked, trying to control your ragged breathing. You were enjoying yourself a little too much and were disappointed that he stopped… but the disappointment was replaced with a surprised yelp when you felt skin against skin, hot, hard, and wet. His member slid under your shirt. “Oh my god…” you breathed out. “Is that…?”
He hummed, nosing your neck and placing a chaste kiss on it before resuming his swift movements, letting you feel his cock on the bare skin of your lower back. “Master… this is okay too, right? It f-feels amazing…”
How could you say no when he asked like that? When he told you it felt that good? When he was spreading precum on your skin? When he was moaning and calling you ‘master’ with that insanely raspy voice?
“It’s...okay,” you panted and a little moan escaped you, which didn’t go past him.
“I like that sound…” he admitted, his thrusts still slow but sensual. “Can I hear it again?”
“Jisung…” you whined instead, covering your face with your palms, mortified.
“Please, master…” he begged next to your ear. “Please,” he repeated, and then he nibbled on your earlobe, successfully making you release something between a gasp and a moan. He couldn’t stop himself; he let out a small “Ah…!” and spilled on your back, hugging you tightly as his cock twitched.
He sighed and his hands caressed your hips in soothing circles… and then wandered to the hem of your shorts. Your breath got caught in your throat…
And your phone rang.
You jumped up and ran to the shelf where you had left it.
“Hello?” you answered nervously.
“Hey, girl. You busy? Sorry, I just really need your help…” said Vernon’s tipsy voice.
“Uh…” you hesitated, looking back at the disheveled appearance of your hybrid, with rosy cheeks, unfocused eyes, legs spread wide open exposing his…“Nope. Not busy at all. What’s up?”
“Thank god. Hoshi’s wasted, like… dancing on top of the table type of wasted and we can’t convince him to leave with us. But maybe you could? You know how every time he sees you he goes ‘Is this famous actress Y/N L/N?’ and follows you around like a puppy?”
You snorted. “Let me get my keys and I’ll pick you guys up.”
“Oh, no, I was thinking you could just talk to him on the phone. I know you’re having roomie time with Jisung tonight…”
“NO! I mean… it’s totally fine, really. I’ll pick you up!” you insisted, and then turned to Jisung. “J-jisungie, I have to go out for a bit. You don’t need to wait up for me, okay?” you told him, using your acting skills to mask your awkwardness.
“Uh… okay…?” he replied, like he was just waking up from a dream.
You did not convince Hoshi to go home. You didn’t even try. Instead, you joined the party, much to Seungkwan’s frustration, and you tried to make it last as long as you could so that you didn’t have to face Jisung.
You felt guilty when you entered your room at 5 A. M. and saw him hugging your pillow.
“Master…?” He mumbled sleepily when he noticed you, his arms reaching out for you. “You’re back. Did you have fun?”
“Mhm,” you nodded nervously and let him cuddle you, hoping he couldn’t hear your heartbeat.
“Missed you,” he whispered.
“Me too…” You admitted.
That’s what you said, but then why did you start acting so distant after that? Jisung couldn’t understand: you had kissed his cheek, held his hand, cuddled and even let him hump you, but now you had started spending more time outside, coming home late (and sometimes not coming home at all), and sitting as far away from him as possible when you watched your weekly movie.
…Oh god…
Had he crossed the line that night??
You said it was okay.
You gave him permission.
You moaned.
What did he do wrong?
Was it because you didn’t cum or because he didn’t clean you up after he finished?
He was planning on taking care of those things, but you had left so fast–
“Jisungie?” your sweet voice made him jump.
“Y-yeah?”
“I was asking you what you wanted to eat this weekend. The chef is asking so they can prepare the ingredients in advance.”
“We… have a chef now?” he asked, confused. You had the money for a chef, but you preferred to cook your own food, so this was new.
“Uh… just for the weekend. I’m going on a trip, remember? I don’t want you eating more frozen food…”
“Ah… your trip…” he murmured, looking down at his now cold plate of pasta. “Tell them that anything is fine.”
“Are you sure?” you insisted. “You haven’t been eating much lately…”
Your worried tone made him cringe. You sounded like a pet owner again. Like when you first met and you weren’t close. It was almost condescending.
“I’m sure. Have fun,” he said curtly.
It stung. You knew he noticed your absence recently, and it broke your heart to pull away when he hadn’t done anything wrong. You were just awkward and didn’t know how to address… whatever that had been.
“Do you wanna come with me?” you asked before you could think about it.
“What?” he asked, looking up with surprised, wide eyes, but there was a tiny sparkle of hope in them.
“You could come with me. The hotel is fully booked, but my suite is big enough for both of us.”
For a second, he looked excited, but then his ears flattened. “No, it’s ok. I don’t want to bother you.”
No, no, no. You hated this. He was acting like when you first adopted him: nervous and distant.
“What, you wanna bring your girlfriends home while I’m not here? ”
His eyes widened. “NO! I don’t have–” he stopped when he saw you smirking.
“It’s fine,” you faked a sigh. “I guess you don’t wanna be seen with a smoking hot actress.”
He laughed. He finally laughed.
“I don’t know,” he joked, too, catching on. “What would my fans think?”
“I’ll help you prepare your statement for the press,” you shrugged. “I’ve been in all types of scandals.”
He pretended to mull it over. “Is there gonna be a jacuzzi?”
You nodded. “And an open bar.”
“Then I'd better start packing.”
Things were starting to go back to normal. You laughed and held hands during the flight, the awkwardness between you long forgotten. He wasn’t joking about wanting to use a jacuzzi; jumping in it was the first thing he did when you entered the suite, and, after some convincing (him giving you puppy eyes), you joined him.
There was no denying the closeness (and nakedness) brought your nerves back. You had chosen a one-piece swimsuit that didn’t cover as much as you had hoped, and Jisung was staring. You knew because your eyes kept meeting whenever you checked him out too, which was unavoidable when he was shirtless and wet and sitting so close to you. He looked like he belonged to this world, holding a glass of champagne and occasionally munching on some grapes that were on a tray next to the tub.
“So…” you joked, trying to break the ice. “How do you like traveling like the rich do?”
He smirked. “It’s alright. This room is decent. And the company is not too bad.”
“Not too bad?” you scoffed. “Should I be feeding you those grapes myself to be a worthy companion?”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”
You laughed. “Okay then,” you said, sitting closer and reaching for a grape. “Here, eat this.”
“Ask nicely,” he said, with a fake arrogant tone.
You let out a gasp, playing along. “Jisung!”
He laughed, but the sound got stuck in his throat when you grabbed his jaw and forced him to look your way. You were hovering, almost sitting on his lap, looking into his eyes and pressing a single grape on his lips.
“Open your mouth,” you commanded.
He parted his lips slowly, allowing the fruit to slip into his mouth. He savored it and licked his lips, looking at you with dilated pupils.
“Want another one, your majesty?” you asked sarcastically, relaxing the hand on his jaw to then brush the wet hair out of his face.
He nodded.
“Use your words.”
“Yes, master,” he whispered.
You fed him another one, and he sighed in delight.
“I spoil you too much, Jisungie,” you said, still caressing his hair.
“Love it when you spoil me,” he confessed.
“Do you?” you asked, reaching for another grape.
“Hmm… yes…” he moaned when you scratched his ear.
“Then why are you being such a brat?”
He shook his head. “Never! I’m good–hmph!” he managed to say before another grape was shoved past his lips.
“Is that so? Are you my good boy?”
His eyes almost rolled back at the nickname. “Y-yes…” he said after he swallowed.
You chuckled, reaching for another grape, but he stopped you by gently grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer.
He was breathing heavily, and you could feel his quick pulse where your hand was pressed on his chest.
“W-what is it, Jisungie?” you asked, noticing your own pulse had accelerated too.
He just gulped and stared at your lips hungrily.
And then you were kissing him. It started with a soft peck, and then you pulled back expectantly to see his reaction. His mouth chased yours unconsciously, and he gave you an equally sweet peck. Then your lips fit together for a kiss that became desperate, between moans and teeth clashing. You caressed his chest, and he whined, hugging your waist to force you onto his lap. He gasps at the weight of your barely covered body on his crotch, and he has to rest his head on the edge of the bathtub because the pleasure mixed with the hot temperature of the water was making him dizzy.
“You okay, baby?” you asked, kissing his jaw.
‘Baby,’ he thought to himself, trying to regain some strength.’That’s me. She’s kissing me’.
“Haa… f-fuck…” he panted. “I’m… okay…”
You hesitated. He looked like he was about to pass out. “Are you sure–?”
Knock knock!
You jumped at the unexpected sound, but Jisung was too preoccupied mouthing your neck between gasps.
“Yes?” you yell towards the door.
“Y/N? Are you guys ready? We were supposed to meet at the lobby 20 minutes ago!” Seungkwan yelled back.
“Fuck,” you murmured. “Wait–hmph!”
Jisung’s lips were on yours again, and when you tried to push him away, he bit your lower lip with a groan.
“No,” he breathed out. “Let’s… stay… haa… here…” he said.
… And then his body went lax.
“Ji?” you called. “Jisung?” you insisted, slapping his cheek gently. “Shit… SEUNGKWAN!” you shrieked, stepping out of the jacuzzi clumsily.
“What?!” he asked from the other side of the door, panic evident in his voice.
You tried to pull Jisung out of the tub, but he was heavy, and he seemed too dazed to cooperate. So you ran to the door and opened it quickly.
“SEUNGKWAN!”
“WHAT. WHAT’S WRONG?” he screamed, holding your arms as soon as he could see you, checking your body for any injury.
“JISUNG!” was all you could say, leading your friend to the jacuzzi. “Help me!!”
You got to the tub right in time to see him sinking in the water. With a shriek, Seungkwan grabbed onto him and, together, you managed to drag him out.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t know!” you said honestly.
“Should I call an ambulance?”
“Master…?” Jisung whispered, blinking slowly.
“Oh, my god. Jisungie? I’m here, Jisungie,” you said, holding his hand.
“...Kiss me…more?” he managed to say, with a weak smile.
You blushed and slowly looked up to see your unimpressed friend glaring at you.
“You know what? I don’t wanna know. You have 10 minutes to get ready or I’m going for dinner without you,” he said with a huff before he stood up and left the room.
Jisung was too weak to go out, so you ended up leaving him in bed, with some water and a sports drink. He pouted, but you promised him you wouldn’t be back too late.
“Finally!” Vernon said when you showed up at the lobby. “I’m starving!”
“Sorry! I had to take care of something–”
“Sure you did,” Seungkwan murmured.
“I’m starving too!” you exclaimed with fake excitement. “What should we eat?”
“Thought you ate already,” Seungkwan said sassily.
You sighed. It was going to be an awkward dinner.
“So, you and Jisung are official?” Vernon asked while munching on his food after Seungkwan told him everything despite your pleas.
“Maybe…? I don’t know… We just kissed a little,” you said.
“You got him so worked up he fainted,” Seungkwan said.
“It was his first time in a jacuzzi,” you mumbled.
Vernon snorted. “Sorry, your boy’s cute, but lowkey a loser.”
You and Seungkwan couldn’t help but laugh too.
“He’s adorable,” Seungkwan admitted with a sigh. “He was so sweet, asking her for a kiss when he could barely move. I need to get myself a man like that.”
“I’m literally here?” Vernon ( his manager and boyfriend) countered.
“So you’re not mad at me anymore?” you asked Seungkwan.
“I wasn’t mad at you… you scared the shit out of me, that’s all…” Seungkwan took a sip of his margarita and then he added: “And, well… to be honest, I was afraid you were taking advantage of him…”
The color drained from your face “...What?” you croaked.
“Bro…” Vernon stopped eating and glared at his boyfriend, apprehensively. “What are you even saying?”
“I know! I know she wouldn’t… But you know how things are with hybrids in most cases. Too many of our actor coworkers have adopted hybrids to get them high and use them as fuck toys. I overheard this bitch saying she had given a heat-inducing drug to her cat hybrid to get him to fuck her. The hybrid refused to touch her, so she beat him up and sent him back to the shelter.”
You remained silent and Seungkwan quickly tried to fix it.
“I trust you! We know Jisung too, so we know he’s been crazy about you for a while now. It’s obvious that you both like each other and that your relationship has developed healthily– I just… got startled when I saw him so lost and weak… I’ve seen hybrids looking like that before and it’s always for terrible reasons… How was I supposed to know he got overwhelmed by a kiss and being in a jacuzzi?! What I mean is… Sorry for doubting you, Y/N.”
You nodded slowly. “I get it. I know bad things happen to hybrids adopted by celebrities all the time…”
“Hey, Y/N,” Vernon said, reaching for your hand. “You are not like those people. Jisung is very happy with you, okay?”
Seungkwan nodded.
You smiled timidly. You knew what Jisung and you had was consensual. He was happy and he made you happy, so everything was okay.
“Weird question, does Jisung have heats?” Vernon asked casually.
You choked on your drink. “I don’t… know? I don’t think so…”
“Ok, cool. Just curious,” he shrugged, calling the waiter to order another round.
You got back to the hotel a little later than expected and Jisung was sleeping comfortably on the bed. You climbed on it quietly, not wanting to wake him up, but as soon as you lay down with your back towards him, he hugged your waist gently.
“Missed you,” he whispered, like he did every time you came back to him too late at night.
“Missed you too,” you replied. “...Hey, Ji… Can I ask you something?”
He hummed.
“Do you ever… go into heat?”
He tensed behind you.
“N-no… female hamsters do, though. Us males are sensitive to the females’ heat…”
“Oh…” you replied. Well, you weren’t a female hamster, so you probably had no effect–
“In your case…” he continued, folding under zero pressure. “I g-guess I’m a little sensitive to your uh…ovulation?”
“Oh,” you repeated dumbly. “...I’m ovulating now…”
“...I know…”
“How does it affect you?” you asked hoarsely.
“...Makes me wanna… do things…” he murmured.
“W-what things?”
For a few seconds he didn’t reply. Just when you were about to tell him to forget you asked and go to sleep, he pulled you closer.
“If I tell you… will you let me do those things?”
“...Yeah…”
He gulped before he stuttered. “W-wanna do that thing we did…”
“Kissing?”
You felt him shake his head. “ That too, but I mean—The thing we did… when we watched your movie…”
“Oh… Dry humping?” you asked, grazing his crotch with your ass. “Like this?”
“Hmm… y-yes,” he nodded. “B-but… can you turn around?” he asked nervously.
You swallowed a mortified groan. Yes, you were kissing with little clothes in the jacuzzi earlier, but that had been spontaneous. This was slower, which gave you more time to overthink what was happening.
“No?” he asked softly. “You don’t want to…?”
“I do!” you said quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “I’ll… I’ll turn around…” you mumbled, clumsily turning to face his expectant pretty face. You looked into each other’s eyes as he carefully placed his palm on the small of your back, moving his hips to meet yours. You gasped when his clothed member grazed your clit.
“Like this it feels good for you too, right?” He asked hopefully.
You nodded, moving your body experimentally to match his movements and he let out the tiniest moan.
“Can I kiss you?” he panted, dangerously close to your mouth, his question a mere fromallity. “You said… haa… I c-can…”
You couldn’t bring yourself to form a coherent answer so you fulfilled his wish and kissed him. He sighed shakily and kissed you back, snapping his hips against your crotch. Though the stimulation was more than gratifying, the position was a little awkward. At least that’s what you assumed went through Jisung’s mind when he grabbed your leg and pulled it over his waist, allowing for a better angle.
You let out a surprised moan and he halted his thrusts and kisses.
“S-sorry, I should have asked…” he swallowed and spoke with difficulty. “Can I…uh… touch your leg?” he asked, but is fingertinps were digging into your thigh, unconsciously refusing to let go. “I uh… understand if you wanna stop… though I really hope you don’t because I really like doing these things with you—” his incoherent explanation was cut short by his shocked gasp when you flipped both of you so he was on his back with you on top.
He looked like the perfect pray like that. His glossy eyes widened, his mouth slightly ajar letting out aroused little sounds, disheveled hair and ears perked up expectantly. His hands rested on each side of his head obediently, not daring to touch anything until you explicitly allowed it.
“Shh, Ji…” you breathed out, trying to regain some composure. “There’s nothing to be anxious about. Have I ever been mad at you?”
He shook his head quickly.
“Good boy,” you praised sweetly, feeling his clothed cock twitch under you. “Just enjoy this, okay?” you instructed.
He tried to nod, but as soon as you started gyrating your hips slowly he became a babbling mess again. “M-master… yes, master…”
You chuckled. “You keep calling me that, even in this situation?”
“Huh?” he asked dumbly.
“When are you gonna call me by my name?”
The red in his face became darker and he shook his head energetically. “I c-could never… disrespect you– ah! Like…that… haa…”
“Using me for pleasure is not disrespectful?” you teased.
He gasped, trying to sit up, but you pushed him back, placing your hands on his chest and rutting faster.
“AH! M-mast— so sorry… not using…haa.. I’m n-not using y- Oh!”
“Aren’t you?”
“No! Haa… haa… p-please, I– I respect you, I–Hmm… I love you so mu–Aaah!”
You almost lost your balance at the last sentence. You stopped moving and he whimpered.
“Master…” he sobbed, having his orgasm stolen from him. “I’ll b-be good, please don’t stop… don’t…”
You could think about his spontaneous confession later. First you really needed to see your beautiful hybrid cum. So you started moving again, this time grinding hard.
He arched his back. “Haa! Haa… Thank you… Master, thank y–Aah! Ah… haa… ah…”
The view was beautiful: His veiny hands held onto the wrinkled sheets, and tears threatened to escape his eyes as he trashed under you, overwhelmed by pleasure. Something seemed to switch in his brain in these circumstances, because the usually timid hybrid, couldn’t stop running his mouth.
“S-so good… master’s warmth feels… ooh… amazing…” he mumbled as he tried to focus his dazed eyes on where your crotches made contact. “Ooh… yes, yes… h-harder…”
“A-are you trying to tell me what to do?” you asked, making a poor atempt of a dominant tone.
“No! Sorry, sorry…” he yelped, panicking. “I d-didn’t mean too… I’m just… so close…”
“Yeah?” you gulped, ignoring the constant pulsing feeling on your clit. “Wanna cum?”
He nodded. “Please?”
You kissed him lovingly so he wouldn’t see you smiling like an simp, and then you bounced on him harder, like he wanted.
“Ah! Ah! Oh… Oooh you’re so good to me, m-aah… master… haa….” he managed to say in between fervent kisses. “Gonna cum… f-fuck… master, I’m gonna cum…”
You gasped when at the new wetness in your pajama pants as he came with a silent moan, his cock and whole body spasming with pleasure. You slowed down, riding him slowly to help him come down from his high, caressing his face and kissing the tears away.
“How are you feeling?” you asked when he calmed down a little.
“Did… did you cum?” he croaked, instead of answering your question.
You chuckled. “Don’t worry about it, Jisungie,” you said getting up.
“Wait!” he said, fighting the dizziness to sit up. “Let’s keep going.”
You looked at his trembling figure and couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Jisung… You can’t keep going. You’re still too weak from what happened in the jacuzzi.”
He whined. “Please, come back here.”
You ignored his request to go get him a wet towel and change of clothes. When you came back, he kissed your neck to get you in the mood again, but you pushed him away gently. “Ji.”
“I just wanna make you cum,” he pouted. “I can use my fingers. You like my fingers, right? You always stare at my hands.”
You cleared your throat. “You have nice hands,” you conceded. “But they are shaking. It’s not that I don’t want you Jisung, but you need to rest. We can try another time.”
“Tomorrow,” he suggested quickly.
“I have a busy day tomorrow,” you reminded him.
“Then when?”
“I… I don’t know. Next time.”
His pouty face was adorable, so you giggled and kissed his cheek. “Let’s get you cleaned up, ok?”
“I can do it myself,” he mumbled, grabbing the towel. “You’ve already done way more than I deserve tonight.”
“Don’t be dramatic, Ji,” you laughed, walking to the restroom to shower. “If it makes you feel better, I was really close.” you said before getting in and closing the door.
Jisung stared at the restroom door blankly and then he groaned. That actually had made him feel worse. So that night he went to bed with a plan: giving you the most mindblowing orgasm as soon as you woke up. Exept that next morning you woke up before he did, leaving him alone with a note and a tray with breakfast on the nightstand.
Immediately he reached for his phone and called you.
“Morning, Ji!” you answered cheerfully.
“M-morning. Where are you?”
“I had to meet with the director this morning.” you explained. “Now I’m having brunch with Vernon, waiting for Seungkwan to finish with his hair appointment.”
“Can I join?” he asked, starting to get out of bed.
“Oh, Jisungie… We have more meetings scheduled today. You know my new movie is coming up.”
“Oh… Yeah, I get it,” he murmured. “Then when can I see you?”
“I’ll drop by before the the event at night to change clothes! I’m so sorry I didn’t take you anywhere fun…”
“No,” he said quickly. “It’s ok. You’re here for work. I’m grateful enough you brought me along… and I got to try a jacuzzi, though it didn’t go as planned,” he joked. “I’ll see you later, then,” he added before he hung up.
He munched on his breakfast unenthusiastically as he came to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t get to spend time with you on this trip. He didn’t lie when he said he was grateful, but in the back of his brain there was a distant voice saying that maybe being a hybrid sucked. He huffed, pushing that thought away. He had no excuse to be bitter: last night you had literally made him cum so hard his fingertips kept tingling in the morning. So he would take what he could, and if that meant he had to stay in the room and watch a boring TV show while you were at some fancy event with handsome actors, then so be it.
But much to his surprise, there was a change of plans.
“Get up! You need to get ready,” you said energetically as soon as you walked in that evening.
“Huh? Ready for what?” he asked, turning the TV off.
“You’re coming to the event with me!” you exclaimed, showing him an expensive looking black suit.
He just looked at the suit, speechless.
“You don’t like it? I bought the black one because I wasn’t sure you would feel comfortable with other colors…”
“N-no! I mean, yes, it’s nice…” he said.
“But?” you asked apprehensively.
“Is it really okay for me to go? I thought it was only for actors…”
“Well…yes, but I asked the host and they said you could come… But if you feel uncomfortable, you don’t have to come. I just felt bad I didn’t get to spend much time with you, and we’re leaving tomorrow…”
“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable!” he assured you, though his voice cracked. The idea of attending such an event made him a little anxious, but that meant he would be with you. “I want to go with you.”
“Yaay!” you jumped a little and kissed his cheek, giving him his new clothes and rushing him into the restroom. “I’ll change clothes too. We need ot be ready by 8, okay?”
“Okay!” he yelled back from the restroom, trying to match your cheerful tone, but god was he getting nervous, but god was he getting nervous at the thought of spending the night surrounded by rich and successful men who could steal you away. Actually, now that he thought about it, that was a good reason to go with you: to ensure your safety and that no other man than him (and Seungkwan and Vernon, because he knew them. And maybe that Hoshi guy, because he saw the video of him drunk and he seemed like a decent guy) would approach you. That would be his mission…
Which he forgot all about when he stepped out to see you wearing a a long backless dress.
“You’re so beautiful…” he blurted out.
“Ji… Wow… You… Do you know how hot you look right now?” you replied.
“I… look hot?!” he asked, astonished. You had called him cute a thousand times, but never hot. Holy shit.
“Yeah… I don’t think I want other actresses to see you now,” you teased.
“Then we could stay here,” he suggested.
“Nice try,” you laughed. “Let’s go. The guys are waiting.”
“You brought Jisung?!” Seungkwan hissed when he saw you two at the lobby. “Are you insane?!”
“It was my idea,” Vernon said.
Seungkwan couldn’t believe his ears. “And you thought this idea of yours was… good?”
Jisung’s ears flattened. “Sorry, I can go back to my room…”
“No!” Seungkwan said quickly. “Nothing against you, Jisung. You look fantastic by the way. I just worry about your safety.”
“My safety?”
“He’ll be fine,” Vernon said, rolling his eyes. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Baby,” in spite of the nickname, there was no sweetness in Seungkwan’s voice. “This is like introducing a girl to a forum of incel gamers, or a child TO THE VATICAN CHURCH!”
“I’ll keep him safe!” you said quickly, hushing your friend. “And we’ll stay for an hour at most.”
Jisung liked that plan. He could do an hour at a boring event. If he was lucky, you wouldn’t be too sleepy and you two could continue what you had started the night before. But one hour felt like an eternity when everybody was looking at him. Jisung kind of understood… he was after all the only one with fluffy ears. It hadn’t crossed his mind that he would be the only hybrid, and even if it had, he wouldn’t have thought it was an issue, because you had never treated him differently for it. Everything was so natural with you, he forgot that not everyone saw him… as a person.
“Jisung?” you asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“Hm?”
“I asked if you would be okay if I left you alone for a minute. The director wants to introduce me to someone.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. I’m fine,” he said, fighting the need to cling onto your arm and beg you not to leave him alone. The last thing he wanted was to be a burden while you were working.
You squeezed his hand and bit your lip. You knew him well enough to know he was not okay. “Wait here. I’ll go get one of the guys to stay with you, okay? Don’t move,” you instructed, walking away quickly to find your friends.
Jisung nodded and mentally thanked you. At least he would be with someone he knew. All he had to do was avoid strangers for 1 minute–
“What a cute little thing,”a sultry voice said behind him.
He jumped and turned around nervously. “Pardon me?”
“Your ears are adorable,” a woman in a red dress said, smiling at him.
He tensed. He wasn’t sure if she was complimenting him or laughing at him. But he had to behave.
“Thank you,” he said, hoping the conversation would end there.
“What are you?” the woman asked casually, taking a sip of his cocktail.
“...What?”
“What type of hybrid are you?” she clarified, scanning him, looking at his behind to look for, what he thought, was the small tail he was hiding under his clothes.
Jisung was sure what she was doing was considered rude. But again, he chose to be civile. “A cricetulus barabensis,” he said. “A hamster,” he paraphrased at the woman’s confused face.
“Oh! Delectable!” he exclaimed. “I’ve never tried one of those!”
“Uh…” Jisung looked around, looking for you or the guys, or anyone that wasn’t this lady really.
“Are you here with someone? Or did the host hire you?” she continued.
“Hire me?”
“Oh, you know,” she laughed. “For the after party,” she whispered into his ear. She either didn’t notice how uncomfortable he was or she didn’t care.
“No one hired me,” he said, taking a step back and trying to keep calm. “I’m here with my master.”
“Master? Oh, my!” she gasped and placed a hand on her chest. “I never got that bastard to call me that. You’re very well-behaved.”
Jisung didn’t know what to reply to that, so he gave her a short nod.
“I’m sure you keep your owner very satisfied,” she continued.
That got Jisung’s attention. He wasn’t loving the conversation, but he still felt bad about not making you cum the night before. “I…try to…” he said.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed. “It’s hard to know how to please someone at first, isn’t it?”
Jisung wasn’t sure they were talking about the same topic. And if they did, then he wasn’t sure it was okay to discuss it in public so casually. Still, he nodded.
“If they return you, you could always come home with me,” she offered.
“Return me…?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
“Don’t feel too bad about it, sweetheart,” she said, grazing over his arm. “Some hybrids are not compatible with their owners. We acquire you because you have needs, and if those needs aren’t satisfied, then it’s for the best to end the agreement,” she explained.
Needs. Satisfied.
You had given Jisung everything for months, and he hadn’t made you cum once. He wanted to throw up.
“Oh, dear, you don’t look too well. Let me get you a drink–”
“Back off, Camilla. He’s taken,” Vernon’s voice said, standing between the two.
She laughed. “You and Boo got a new toy?”
Instead of engaging, Vernon grabbed Jisung and walked away. “You okay?” he asked.
Jisung shook his head, so Vernon took him outside to get some air.
“Did she do something to you?” he asked once the hybrids cheek recovered their natural color.
“No…”
“Did she say something, then?”
Jisung shook his head. “She was just…weird, I guess…”
“She’s batshit crazy, that one,” Vernon agreed. “She returned her last hybrid.”
Jisung gulped. Returned.
“Guys!” you called. Jisung’s ears perked up immediately and he almost smiled, but then he saw you accompanied by a muscular guy who was too close to his liking. The annoying voice in Jisung’s head told him that such a man could surely satisfy you and wouldn’t be returned… because humans don’t get returned. The man told you something and hugged you before going back inside, and you made your way to your friend and your hybrid.
“Jisungie, are you okay? Vernon texted me–”
“I wanna leave,” Jisung said curtly. “Please,” he added, because he didn’t mean to snap at you.
You stared at him in shock, and then looked at Vernon, who gave you a sympathetic smile.
“I’ll call us a taxi,” you said, dialing on your phone.
“Thank you,” Jisung said in spite of the rage he was feeling. Because he was your good hybrid. He was well-behaved.
The ride to the hotel was uncomfortably quiet. You could tell Jisung wansn’t ready to talk about it yet, so you didn’t ask him anything, giving him space to cool down. You sighed, relieved when he grabbed your hand once you got off the vehicle, but his touch wasn’t the usual gentle one. He was holding your hand firmly, almost posessively, as he dragged you to the suite.
What was even more out of character was that once you both were in the suite he was all over you, not in a sweet cuddly way, but in a feral way. He had you pinned on the door, kissing you, devouring you like he owned you.
“Ji…haa… w-what…?” you stuttered, bewildered at the sudden change.
“Gonna make you cum,” he declared, nibbling on your neck.
“Hold on…” you hesitated. Where was this coming from?
“Shh…”
“J-jisung… Are you drunk?” you whisper-shouted, trying to put some distance between you.
He scoffed. “I wish. If I was drunk I wouldn’t be so pissed.”
“Why are you angry with me?” you asked, nervously.
He took a deep breath and exhaled, reminding himself that you hadn’t done anything wrong. “I’m not angry with you. Okay?” he waited until you nodded to continue caressing your body, sucking on your collarbones like he was starving. But right when he slid his hand under your dress, you stopped him.
“W-wait. Let me take care of you,” you offered. You had good intentions. Something was clearly bothering him, so you thought he needed some relief. Naturally, you would be happy to help him get that relief, but you didn’t get the reaction you were expecting.
The hybrid who would normally fold and beg for your touch looked furious. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them over your head with one hand, while the other continued its way into your panties, immediately getting his fingers soaked.
“Jisung!” you moaned.
“Feels good?” he asked, collecting your wetness to rub on your clit.
Your legs shook and you bit your lip.
“Tell me, master. I need to know how to please you,” he commanded.
You nodded urgently.
“Use your words,” he spoke through gritted teeth, suddenly inserting his middle finger inside, while still caressing your clit with his thumb.
“F-fuh…fuck!” you sobbed. “Feels good…ah…Jisungie…”
“See? You could have been using me all this time.”
“Wha– AH!” You screamed when he slid two fingers inside of you.
“Turns out everyone’s been banging their hybrids like blow-up dolls except you, huh?” he muttered more to himself than to you, fingering you at a pace that was bringing you close to your climax embarrassingly fast. “First you let me cum on your back and then you treat me like a baby. What the fuck are we even doing?”
“I wanted… oh… wanted t-to take care of y-you…”
“Can’t I take care of you too?” he asked, rhetorically. More like a challenge. Not like you could reply when you could taste your orgasm.
“Jisungie…” you breathed out.
“Shit, that’s it… gonna cum?”
You moaned the most erotic ‘yeah’ he had ever heard, so he had to remind himself that he was trying to make you cum so that he wouldn’t release a load in his new pants.
“Let go,” he commanded, though he sounded out of breath. “Cum nice and hard on my fingers, yeah?”
You did. You even hit the back of your head with the door when you threw your head back because of the intensity of your orgasm. You kicked your legs and moaned pathetically as Jisung kept playing with your clit. He was dazzled feeling you squeeze his fingers like you couldn’t get enough. You really came while he was fingering you. He made you cum.
He let out a long, relieved breath, took his hand out of your panties carefully and let go of your wrists so he could hug you delicately.
“...Are you okay?” he asked, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
“I’m… okay…” you breathed out, hugging him back. “Are you okay?”
He shrugged. “Sorry I was mean…”
“You weren’t mean,” you assured him. “Just… different. But I need to know what happened.”
He didn’t want to talk about it, but he knew you deserved to know why he had gone full beast mode on you. “Heard someone saying hybrids got adopted for…sex… got a little nervous that I wans’t being really useful… and you would send me back….”
“WHAT?” you shrieked, pushing his shoulders just enough to see his face. “I did not adopt you to be my fuck toy.”
“I know,” he said simply. “I just needed some reassurance.”
“Oh, Ji,” you cooed, kissing him with utter devotion. “I would never send you back.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise,” you said, bringing him close again for a hug. After a minute of silence and you scratching his nape, he spoke again:
“Did you actually cum?”
You bursted out laughing. “Yes. I did. Thank you for that.”
He raised his head and looked at you with a barely contained smile.
“Can I see?” he asked.
“...See what?”
“What I did,” he replied naturally, letting his hands find the hem of your dress to lift it again.
“NO!” you yelled as a reflex.
He halted, looking at you in surprise. “...No?”
“I mean…” you laughed nervously. “Jisungie… Why do you wanna see that?”
He tilted his head. “Can’t I?”
“It’s just embarrassing…”
“Why? Didn’t I do that?”
“Well…yes, but–”
“Did you lie?” he asked. “You didn’t cum?”
“I’ve never lied to you, Ji. But even if you looked, you wouldn’t know if I came or not,” you pointed out, laughing at his ridiculous request. But he wasn’t laughing.
“So… no?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
Great, now you made him sad. He was happy just a second ago and you took that away because of your shyness.
“Fine,” you said. “Just a quick look, and don’t say anything embarrassing.”
He nodded and quickly dropped to his knees.
“Hold this, please,” he said, handing you the wrinkled fabric of your dress. You wanted to hide under a rock, but he looked so excited you obeyed.
“Don’t push them together, master,” he whined, pushing your thighs open. “How am I going to see?”
“Just hurry up,” you urged him.
“Wow…” he breathed out, tracing your panties with his fingertip. “These are ruined…”
“What did I say about saying embarrassing stuff– AH!”
Your legs almost gave out when he licked you over the thin wet fabric with a soft ‘Mmm’.
“J-jisungie… haa…” he seemed to be ignoring you, because he suddenly sucked on your clit through your panties. “JISUNG!” you shrieked, letting go of the dress to pull his hair and get him off you.
He looked at you innocently. “What?”
“You said you would only look,” you reminded him.
“So I can’t taste you?”
“I’m not saying you can’t… I’m saying now is not the time–”
“I told you I loved you last night,” he said out of the blue.
Your jaw dropped open. “Uh…that…” so he meant it? He wasn’t just pussy drunk?
“You didn’t say it back,” he added.
“I… I do love you, Jisung. I just didn’t find the right moment to say it.”
“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to hurt my feelings.
“No, of course not! I love you, Ji,” you insisted.
“Okay…” he murmured, though he didn’t sound convinced. “So… you won’t let me taste you?” he asked dejectedly.
It always broke you when he gave you those eyes. Hesitantly, you let go of his hair, and pulled your dress up again. “Just a little, okay?”
“Okay,” he said more enthusiastically, but when he was grazing your crotch he chuckled. Then he looked up at you with a smile. It was his usual sweet smile, but there was something else there. His eyes had a tiny spark of…mischief? “You’re right, master,” he said. “You spoil me too much,” he said before pulling your panties to the side and attaching his mouth to your pussy, lapping greedily.
“FUCK! Ji… aaah!” you gasp. He chuckled, sending waves of pleasure through your body.
Did he just… manipulate you?? He had never done that be– Oh… or had he? Come to think of it, the interaction seemed familiar. Whenever you were about to deny him something, he looked incredibly hurt and worded your denial in a way that made you sound like a monster. He started with small, insignificant things, and made use of your promise to give him anything he wanted, until he had you like this. Not that you didn’t want him like this, but… fuck, you really had turned him into a spoiled brat.
“Wait, Jisungie– Ngh! I’m still sensi…haa… sensitive… it hurts… gently, b-baby, please.”
He listened, licking around your clit instead of on it to give you the chance to catch your breath.
“Oh! That’s it, baby. That’s a good boy.”
He hummed and nodded, accidentally stimulating you too much again. You hissed.
“Gently,” you reminded him with a gasp and he whined, but obeyed, once again circling your clit slowly. And then he had an idea: he opened his mouth wide and his tongue lolled out lazily, then he grabbed the back of your thighs and pushed you forward, bumping your clit on his hot tongue.
“Jisungie,” you moan and he looks into your eyes, mouth still hanging open. He gave your thighs another push, giving you another wave of pleasure.
“Do you want me to move, Ji?” you asked breathlessly.
He nodded, tongue lolled out like a thirsty puppy, waiting patiently for you to fuck yourself on his mouth.
You moved carefully, and god did it feel good. You could apply the right amount of pressure to make it pleasurable and not painful. You sighed, moving your hips slowly and enjoying his soft tongue caressing your bundle of nerves.
“Fuck… a– ah!”
You felt it again. A new orgasm was approaching. Jisung must have known it too, because he grabbed onto your ass cheeks and pressed you firmly against his face, groaning and sucking, forgetting all previous instructions.
“Ji– Oh! AH! Slow– slowly, g-gently haa.. Haaa. JISUNG!” you tried to reason, ultimately letting go of the ruined dress to grab onto his hair.
That only spurred him on more, making him moan and move his head up and down. Eventually, you switched from hair pulling, to pushing his head closer, renouncing to all dignity as you humped his face desperately.
Your legs trembled and your body almost folded over him when you reached your climax. He moaned like he had been the one cumming, drinking up your release desperately until you had to gently push him away, sliding down the door and landing on the floor in front of him.
He looked absolutely sinful, with his face covered with your cum as he giggled. You slapped his arm weakly.
“What the fuck was that?” you croaked.
“You didn’t like it?” he asked, giving you his best puppy eyes. But it was hard to unsee what he was doing once you discovered the trick.
“You’re a menace,” you simply replied.
“But you love me,” he smiled, kissing you and allowing you to taste yourself. “And my fingers,” he added between pecks. “And especially my tongue.”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “Can’t wait to try your dick.”
“On it,” he said, standing up and helping you stand up too, too then picking you up effortlessly and carrying you to the bed. It was crazy how strong hybrids were. They could take over the world if they wanted… No, let’s not imagine revolutionary apocalyptic scenarios right now… More importantly:
“I was joking!” you yelped when you landed on the mattress. “I didn’t mean now!”
He climbed on top of you. “So… No?”
“Stop that!” you slapped his arm again. “You know I can’t say no to you!”
He laughed, undoing his belt. “You can,” he said, pulling his pants and underwear down to reveal a long, veiny, beautiful cock. “But you don’t want to.”
“And you’ve been using that to your advantage,” you teased.
“Yeah,” he smiles shamelessly. “I guess I have–Ngh!”
He tensed when your hand grabbed his cock.
“My pretty boy,” you cooed, giving him a few strokes. “Can I lick it?”
“S-shit, wait, master– No!” he exclaimed, quickly pushing your hand away.
You blinked.
“Ha! So now you are saying no to me?” you laughed.
“I’m sorry, master,” he whined. “I’m too close already…”
“I don’t mind…” you said, trying to touch him again, but he gently grabbed your hand again and intertwined your fingers.
“I do,” he murmured. “I was kinda thinking… I could uh… be inside you…”
You clenched around nothing. Just thinking about it was enough to have you ready to go again.
“W-would that be okay?” he asked, mistaking your silence for hesitation.
“I would love that, Jisungie,” you smiled at him, pecking his lips gently. “Lie down and let me take care of you, yeah?”
“...No.”
You scoffed.
“Jisung, how–?”
“I wanna be on top,” he said. It was supposed to sound assertive, but his voice trembled.
“Oh…” you gulped. “Are you sure?”
He nodded.
“Okay,” you breathed out, caressing his arms reassuringly. “But if you get tired…”
“I won’t,” he whined like a kid being embarrassed in front of his friends. “I can do this.”
You chuckled. “Okay then,” you said, spreading your legs and allowing him to position himself between them. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” he said, holding his cock and placing it on your entrance.
You closed your eyes, bracing yourself, but it never went in.
“Ji?” you asked after what could have been an entire minute.
“Y-yeah?”
“Are you gonna put it in or…?”
“I… don’t think it will… fit…” he trailed off.
You burst out laughing, and he looked at you offendedly.
“Ok, you are big,” you admitted. “But you’re not that big.”
“But you look… small down there…” he said.
“It stretches,” you deadpanned.
“I know that!” he defended himself. “But what if I hurt you?”
“Jisung,” you sighed. “If you don’t put it in yourself, I’ll flip us over and fuck myself on it.”
He groaned, squeezing the base of his cock. “That would be so hot,” he said.
“Then let me do it?!” you suggested, running out of patience.
“No! I get to be on top!”
“Then fuck me–Ah!” you yelped when Jisung pushed in.
He hissed. “M-master… you need to relax. It hurts…”
“Easy f-for you to say,” you whined. “No one shoved a monster inside of you…”
He whined too. “You said I wasn’t that big!”
“No big deal… haaa… I c-can take you…” you insisted.
“... You sure?”
“Y-yeah…” you sighed, almost fully used to the girth.
“Can I push the rest in, then?” he asked with a pained voice.
“... The what?” you asked dumbly.
“The… rest?”
“The rest of what?”
“Of… me…?”
“You’re kidding,” you half sobbed, half laughed. “That’s not all of you?”
He gulped. “... No…”
“Holy shit…”
“I– I’ll pull out,” he said quickly.
“No! Don’t you dare, Jisung!” you warned him, circling his hips with your legs. “Finish what you started.”
He gasped when the sudden movement accidentally made him shove himself fully inside of you. His forearms landed on each side of your face, caging you under him and he peppered your face with loving pecks as you sobbed.
“S-sorry, master… Aaah…” he tried his best to apologize, but it was hard to feel truly sorry when your walls squeezed him so deliciously. “Fuuuck, you–ah… You feel so good– please… haa… c-can I move?”
You took a deep breath in and exhaled as you calmed down. Finally, you nodded.
“G-go slowly…”
You sighed, relieved, and nodded, but contrary to what he had agreed on, he started fucking you at a brutal pace from the start.
A choked moan left your mouth. Your nails scratched his arms and back in an attempt to ground yourself as he fucked your brains out.
“Ji– Ah! Haa.. Jisung!” you gasped out when you finally found your voice. “Slowly. B-baby… go slow– Stop!”
He halted, breathless, his arms flexed as he held his weight while hovering over you. His wild eyes seemed to regain some of their original spark. He blinked and stared at you innocently.
“O-oh… yes, slow…” he nodded. “Sorry, I don’t know why–”
“It’s okay,” you said, quickly. “Let’s try again?”
He nodded, leaning in for a tender kiss. You kissed him back with a satisfied sigh, but it turned into a shocked gasp when he once again started to jackrabbit into you like his life depended on it.
“Haah! Ah! Ah! Ooh! Ji! Jisungie, s-stop!” you exclaimed.
He once again obeyed. He sat up and looked into your eyes with the same feral glint he had a moment ago. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion at his own actions.
“I… I think I can’t?” he breathed out, sounding unsure.
“You can’t what?” you asked, out of breath too.
“Go slow… I can’t f-fuck you slow, master…” he said, fighting his hips' urge to snap into you again.
“...What do you mean you can’t?” you asked, astonished.
“I think it’s…” he gulped. “... A hybrid thing?”
You tilted your head. “I've never heard of hybrids having that problem…”
“It may be my breed…” he said, blushing. “Actually, I don’t know what it is… but even though I’m thinking about doing it slowly… my body just… doesn’t do it?”
“So…” you said, trying to process this information. “You’re saying… that you can only fuck me like a madman?”
He was as red as a tomato. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “You won’t make me stop, right?” he asked, like the idea was terrifying for him. “Master, please,” he begged, making you shiver as his hands went up and down your still-dressed torso, landing on your breasts and playing with them obsessively. “Don’t make me stop, hmm? I’ll be good,” he promised, toying with your hardening nipples. “Yeah? You’ll let me do this?” he asked, thrusting once, twice, and then quickly gaining a harsh pace again. “P-please, mast–aah!” he kept begging like he wasn’t already doing whatever he wanted. Like he didn’t know he could get away with anything.
“F-fuck, ah! You’re s—aaah! So spoiled,” you spoke through gritted teeth, biting back the moans he elicited from you.
He nodded with a dumb smile. He took it as a compliment, because he was this way because of you. “Mmyeah… haaa, ah, ah…”
“F-feels good,” he moans, pushing you into the bed with each thrust. “You feel s-ooh!! So good, so good, so good,” he repeated like a mantra, welcoming the pleasurable feeling.
“Is t-that haa… why you’re using… mmm… me like a… toy?” you teased.
He shook his head with a gasp. “N-nooo,” he sobbed. “Not using you…Ngh! Wanna make y-you… cum too, please master…”
“Want m-me to cum?”
He nodded, digging his fingers into your hips to keep you in place to take him. “Please?”
You were so close he didn’t have to beg like that. Still, you decided to put on a little show for him, sucking onto two of your fingers to then slowly lower them until you reached your clit, rubbing it slowly under his hungry gaze.
With how good he was pressing all the right spots inside of you, and the added stimulation from your fingers, you came instantly. Your back arched, and you were sure you were crosseyed, but you felt too good to be embarrassed about it.
“Yes!” he gasped, crazed by desire. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck—Aah!” he let out a weak moan. His entire body trembled when his orgasm hit him. All strength left his body, and he lay on top of you, hugging you and kissing your sweaty skin with a sob. “I love you so much…”
“I…haa… love you too…” you said. Your entire body was still tingling.
“That felt so good…” he whispered to himself in awe.
“Yeah…” you admitted. “Wow…”
“...Can you be on top now?” he suddenly asked.
“Now?!” you shrieked. “You wanna go again?”
“You… don’t want to?” he asked pitifully, looking at you with sad eyes. There it was again. He was going to be the death of you.
“I can’t feel my legs, Jisung,” you replied. “Next time.”
𝖘𝖚𝖒.ㅤ★ Dilf!Gojo fantasizing about taking his babysitter's virginity 'till it becomes a reality and oops... now he's fucking you off the bed 'n taking this to the floor like a wrestler!
𝖜𝖈ㅤ★ 6.7k (beefy like his di-)
𝖈𝖜ㅤ★ strictly NO under 18s, smut, virginity loss, plot, fucking the babysitter trope, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms/creampies, cunnilingus, aftercare 🫶, age gap (Gojo in his 30s, reader in her 20s), solo masturbation, pet names (good girl, slut, etc.), breast play, subtle breeding kink, daddy kink, big d!ck Gojo, he um... fucks a pillow while you give him an innocent massage
"I've always liked older men. Boys my age just don't get me, you know? Neither do they know how to fuck me."
That was one of the first things you said to Gojo Satoru.
And he nearly had a heart attack. Choked on his drink so hard that he had to spit half of it back into the glass.
How could you say something like that with such an angelic voice? It didn't match up, your words were nasty but your face was innocent.
Wiping his mouth, Satoru tried to recompose himself.
"Is that so...?" is all that he could manage to reply with.
He tugged at his baby blue shirt's collar, unbuttoned one button 'cause he couldn't breathe. His blood was pumping. His heart was thumping.
"How old did you say you were again?" you asked softly.
"Thirty-two." he replied. "And way too old for you."
"Perfect." you smiled.
"Huh?"
Mmm... now what did his best friend say about you? "Oh Satoru, I know a babysitter that you and the kids will just adore. She's a real sweetheart."
A sweetheart... uh, yeah, well Suguru didn't warn him about the fact you had a thing for dads. Didn't warn him that you might be crazy. Touch-starved. A way too horny and provocative twenty-something year old virgin.
Maybe Suguru didn't even see this side of you... maybe it was just Satoru that you were throwing yourself at. Surely Suguru would have told him all about a heated affair that he had with a babysitter... right? Or was he the only daddy that you fantasized about fucking your pretty brains out?
Just the thought of that being true made his ego swell and his blood rush down to his heavy cock. He loved thinking about the obvious fact that you laid in bed touching your pussy to the thought of him.
He endured your flirting. Held his hands behind his back. Bit his tongue. Told himself that he can't make out with his hot babysitter on a random Sunday afternoon, as much as he wanted to, because that was diabolical.
You were sitting on the couch alone some nights, ensuring his kids were entertained and fed and happy, while he was at work. You watched their favorite cartoons until they felt drowsy and then you had to tuck 'em into bed and read three separate bed time stories for each of them because Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara all liked different stories.
It was exhausting, but such a joy to babysit such sweethearts.
After they fell asleep, you'd wander a lonely path back downstairs and look at the time — 8:45 PM — then yawn big and snuggle up on the couch and... wait. And wait. Anddd... wait.
Satoru would always come home late from work.
You'd hear the click of the front door and have an almost Pavlovian reaction. Oh, daddy's home.
You'd strain your ears to hear his footsteps as he walked down the hall, hear the satin hiss of his loosening tie, the sound sparking your over-active imagination. And, pushing a stressed-out sigh past his lips, Satoru would walk into the living room to see you looking drowsy and messy after a long day of taking care of his three kids.
And it's that messy sight of you which made something click in Satoru's mind. That's what really sold him on you. Sure, you were a crazy hot mess... but you had this undeniable motherly quality about you that just made him wonder.
What if he gave you his babies?
Shit. Sorry. Random Friday night thoughts. Forgive him. He's been working at a desk all day and now he's feelin' a bit woozy.
He looked at you, mumbled a sweet but gruff "Hey." and then took a seat right next to you on the TV-lit couch. He sat a respectable distance away from you at first... but then, uh, the next second you had already scooched over to his side until you two were almost pressing thigh against thigh.
Exhausted. Apprehensive at how close his flirty babysitter liked to sit next to him, while at the same time getting half-hard at the thought of tearing off your tiny clothes and showing you just how frustrated a tease like you makes him. Satoru sat and endured.
Underneath all that teenage-like sexual tension, he was feeling welcomed home by you. He almost forgot how nice it felt to have someone waiting up for him.
"So, how was work?" you asked.
He grumbled. He sighed. He was half-hard and full-frustrated. No one had asked him that question in a long time in such a caring voice that it actually tugged at his heartstrings a bit. Just a bit.
"It was... um, yeah... like any other day. Long and hard."
"Long and hard..." you nodded, trailing off and letting the innuendo fill the air.
He gave you a look.
"Exactly how long and hard?" you asked.
He couldn't believe that your stupid jokes like that made him chuckle. And what a sight his smile was; his dimples, the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners, making the slightest age lines appear on his pale face.
"Ah, finally I got a smile out of you."
"And that's the only one you're getting." he shook his head.
Satoru brought his big hand to massage his shoulder, letting out a tense groan from his thought.
Oh, the pitiful look that you gave him made him wanna crawl onto your lap and weep. He'd worked so hard all week with scarce breaks, and all he wanted was a sweet, soft woman to lay upon, to be loved by, to fuck stupid, to use like a good stress-relieving fleshlight — ya know? Just a nice way to wrap up a hard week.
"You..." you began, pressing one long decorated nail into his firm pecs, "... look like you're in desperate need of a massage."
"Ahah... no, no..."
He stuttered, smiled a big toothy smile that made you wanna bite him. God, he really looked like that old photo of himself right then — that one you stole, remember? His graduation photo. He just looked too hot and you had to have a memento of him for your memory box.
Shit. You were crazy.
Satoru had no fucking idea whether you were making a dirty suggestion or just genuinely offering him a massage.
Either way, the thought of your hands on him got the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.
Though the rational side of his brain was telling him to refuse your offer, the ghost of the crazed fuckboy that he used to be forced him to accept — like, fuck, what kind of idiot would you be if you refused a pretty girl to work her hands on you, Satoru? Don't put your past self to shame, he thought, you're only gonna get older one day and then that thing ain't even gonna sit up like a good boy without some treats... yeah... that's right... you're gonna be real fucking old one day, Satoru... think about it...
"You know what, actually...? Yeah, I'd love one... but you better be good." he said in a low rasp.
"Oh, don't worry — I'm the best." you grinned like a sweet little devil.
I'll fucking bet you are, cheeky slut, he thought.
He looked like he was holding back all his raw lust. Like if you said just one more thing like that then he would tear your clothes right off your slutty little body and fuck you until every thought flew out of your head except for thoughts of him.
****
Yeah, that martial artist discipline of his really came in handy once you started massaging his shoulders and back. If he hadn't been so strict on himself, he would have...
"Gosh, you're sooo tense, Mr. Gojo... relax."
... I need to fuck her brains out. That's the first thought that he had to push out of his head.
"... let me take the weight of your shoulders..." you nearly whispered, working your hands into his meaty muscle.
Ooh he slipped, he totally gave in.
"Mmm..." he let out a purring moan, feeling the pressure of your fingertips sink into his sore muscles. "That feels good... keep going."
You were trying to keep it cool and professional... er, as professional as you could with your hands exploring Gojo Satoru's muscular back.
Having the lights down low didn't help much. Everything was turning you on. Your clit was already buzzing and begging for attention from behind your thin panties.
This was babymaking atmosphere.
You were going insane, soaking your panties and twitching 'cause you've got a hot dad groaning under your touch.
"Y' can go a little harder..." he muttered in a rough voice.
"M'kay..."
"Mmm..." he let out that purring moan again, this time stretching it out.
Something was so erotic about giving him a massage, even though it wasn't supposed to be — uh, it really wasn't supposed to be, right? Right? It's not like you planned this out all night, not like you were scheming while watching cartoons and waiting for Gojo Satoru to come home.
Ah c'mon... he's an overworked man in need of a massage. Just listen to him, he's moaning like he's — oh, he's closing his eyes, too? He must be really feeling it. His breath is becoming choppy, too.
"Just a bit more..."
"Like this?"
"Yeahhh... just like that."
His mouth hung open in bliss. He squirmed a little. Shit... he could feel himself throbbing. Even slightest friction of his pants shifting along his painfully hard cock was already intense enough to make him clench his jaw.
You smirked, catching a delicious glimpse of the prominent outline of his bulging cock right before he instinctively covered it up with a pillow.
Damn, how does he keep such a monster hidden under such thin dress pants?
Sticking your tongue out in focus as you deliberately massage a spot on his back that makes him moan out the most, Satoru rolls his eyes back and dies a little orgasmic death.
"Yeah... th-that's it... right there... right there... you can go harder."
"Like this?"
"Yeahhh... good g- uhhh, th-that's good." he purred, holding back his tongue just in time because oops, he almost called you a good girl without even thinking.
Oh, that pillow coverage sure helped to keep his boner out of sight but then he had a new problem... the pleasurable friction of the pillow and the fact his stubborn hips liked to move on their own.
Without trying to make it obvious, he was getting off with the pillow, shifting it as inconspicuously as he could but he just couldn't get enough friction — shit, when was the last time that he was so horny he could even enjoy fucking a pillow? It was insane how hard he was, how much his cock oozed sticky precum, how every inch stood at attention asking politely to stretch out some good babysitter pussy.
He shut his pretty blue eyes when started feeling reaaally good. Like, god, he needed this more than he needed air. It was such a shit day at work, but now all the stress that he had built up throughout the day just melted away with each subtle thrust of his bulge into the pillow, and your soft hands digging into his muscular back.
I wanna fuck her so bad.
"Uhhh, fuckkkkkkk...!" he let out a broken moan.
You stopped massaging his back, eyes blown wide open, trying to hold back your shock and snickering. He had worked up a subtle sweat. His muscles were twitching. He was gasping. It was so obvious to you what had just happened.
"Mister?"
"Huh?" he blinked the stars out of his eyes, coming-to as if his orgasm knocked him out for a second.
"Are you okay...?"
He opened his eyes and... oh, there was a wet patch on his dress pants where he just came. Oops. A little massaging and pillow-fucking and he came all over his thigh? Well, that had never happened before. Guess his cock was just super sensitive after not having sex for so long — but you didn't hear that from me...
Satoru gulped. He abruptly stood up, acting as nervous as a bird, "Um, uh... it's late, isn't it? I've gotta drive you home..."
"Aw, okay." you frowned at him, wiggling your hips like you were expecting more.
And he looked at your wiggling hips, your slightly spread apart legs, and then he let a nasty thought pass his mind, and nearly caved and asked you if you wanted to...
****
God, you had your legs apart and he could smell your ovulation. No no, don't call him crazy. He could smell it.
And as he went upstairs to wipe the cum off his inner thighs and change into new pants, he couldn't stop thinking about the fact that you must have been soaked. You must have had the prettiest pussy ever.
Oh, he threw his head back and groaned when he met you back downstairs because while he tried acting professional, now you were all worked up and in an outrageously flirty mood.
You were about to say something outrageous again but he stopped you dead on your tracks.
"Shut up, I don't want to hear it. Let's go." he said, grabbing his keys.
You saluted him playfully, "Yes, daddy."
He did a double take. "What?"
"Nothing." you smiled innocently.
His eyes caught yours, then he rubbed his cheek like he was stressed out.
It was really obvious why he liked you, but Satoru was aching to ask why on earth you like him so much.
Didn't you think he was an egotistical asshole? That's how his ex-wife described him, anyways.
*****
"So you're a Sagittarius, huh?" you ask, little voice dripping in sultriness and setting off alarm bells in the fuckboy side of his mind. "That's hot."
"Uh-huh."
He's driving you home. 60 mph. Switching lanes. Bright blue eyes blind-spotting to the left. Next they're side-eyeing you. Catching on your pretty baby angel face. Trying to keep it together, but his cock is starting to make a bulge in his pants again. Something you've discovered is that the poor man doesn't even change out of his suit most days; when he comes home he just faceplants into bed and falls asleep.
"A december baby?"
"Yup. December seventh." he replies curtly.
Relax, Satoru. It's just conversation. Just innocent, professional conversation with the babysitter who just witnessed you fucking a pillow and cumming in your pants.
After a steadying inhale, he politely returns the question, "What about you? When's your birthday?"
Satoru pays you a brief glance before bringing his gaze back to the speedometer. 50 mph.
Just that one question turns into a deep exploration of your psyche.
"... I just don't like guys my age... like, god, they don't even turn me on anymore."
You give a dramatic pause before looking at him with a nympho fire in your eyes.
"Hey, you're an old man — got any sage advice for me?"
"Hey, who you callin' an old man?"
"Sorryyy, I'm just being cheeky."
"I can tell."
"Sooo... what's your advice?"
Satoru furrows his brows. "For what?"
"For getting older guys to pay one small glance to a sweet girl like me?"
He tenses up and doesn't reply.
You're insane. Worse, you're even more insane than he was when he was your age.
His cock is throbbing against his inner thigh. Again. Precum. Everywhere. How dare you? He's in-between throttling you and stopping off on the side of the highway to bend you over his car's hood to show you he ain't no old man. What a cheek...
"This is your turnoff, isn't it?"
"... yeah."
You watch him flick on the turn signal. You catch his eyes just before he blind-spots again.
As he's pulling off the highway, you pull a dumb joke out of your brain, eager to get a response from him.
"It's my turnoff. But ya wanna know my turn-on?"
"..." he doesn't reply, just gives you a look, then tears his eyes off you and rubs his fingers over his mouth.
"C'mon." you encourage, "You're so uptight; let me humor you a little."
"I'm pretty sure I can guess your turn-on."
You tilt your head at him expectantly. He purses his lips. Drives down your street. Pulls into your driveway. Parks. Unbuckles his seatbelt with a tantalizing slowness that sparks your imagination — d'you wonder if he unbuckles his belt that slowly, too?
Satoru offers one lazy guess. "Older men?"
"Bingo!"
He stifles a smile, shakes his head, thinks you're crazy, and then opens his car door and steps out, leaving you to giggle and unbuckle your seatbelt alone.
He swerves 'round the hood of the car over to your side, and reappears at your window to open your door for you.
"Wow. Handsome and chivalrous? Why'd your wife let a gem like you go?"
"... that's not really any of your business."
"Aw, c'mon... I'm just dripping with curiosity."
He doesn't reply again, just walks you silently to your front door. His heart is beating faster as he eyes out the curve of your ass. That tight sundress shows just the faintest hint of a thong underneath.
Just a thin sundress? A tiny thong underneath? God you're so fuckable, he thinks. So, so fuckable. And the worst part is that you're one of the girls who knows you're hot. That's why you bounce around in front of men like him like you're a reckless bunny.
He's trying so hard to block out wild fantasies of ripping the fabric off your tight body and fucking you into a dumb, slutty mess.
Block it out, Satoru, block it out.
Finally, he replies to the question you posed earlier.
"I'm full of myself, apparently." he says bitterly.
"You're full of yourself?" you tilt your head, a light confusion glossing over your features.
He's so patient and fatherly to his kids; a jovial and wholesome man. I mean, he takes his kids to every place they wanna go, makes gingerbread houses with them in the festive season, plays pretend with them, sets up outdoor adventures in his backyard, gets dressed up in a ridiculous costume for Halloween and takes them out trick-or-treating every year without fail. For god's sake, he bought a hot pink set of baking cookware just because Nobara fancied herself a chef.
He gives his all to his kids, how could anyone think he's full of himself?
"... seems like your wife was wrong about you." you reply.
"Ex-wife. And nah, you'll probably agree with her if ya stick around me long enough — " he speaks self-deprecatingly of himself, but then you interrupt him.
"— mmm, if I stick around ya for to long... y'think I'll end up being full of you, too?"
He stutters. Blood rushes to his cock.
"What?"
"Nothing, nothing."
Satoru blinks at you in total disbelief. Again, an innocent face like you saying such outrageous shit is just insane to him.
"You've got a nasty conscience, you know that?"
"N'aw, don't mind me. I'm just having fun, being a little silly." you giggle, eyes all over him and his pretty, rideable face.
"Well, I wouldn't call flirting with older men being 'silly'..."
"And I wouldn't call pillow-fucking being 'professional'..."
Oh god. Oh my fucking god. He's breaking in two like a kitkat.
Satoru is rendered fucking silent. He's stunned. He's red.
"Goodnight." is all he replies with. And then he leaves. What the hell else is he supposed to say to that? You're crazy.
Now you got him all worked up and he doesn't know what to do. If younger Satoru knew that one day in his thirties he'd meet a slutty babysitter... oh, god. Younger Satoru would be pumping his fist in the air.
But he's gotta keep playing it cool, 'cause there's no way he can fuck his babysitter... there's NO way...
... so there he is that very night tucked in his black satin sheets, leaky cock in his fist and jaw slacked, face sweaty, fucking himself to supposedly real "I fucked my babysitter" erotica stories. No, he's not one for porn videos. He just wants to lay back and picture your pretty face with no disturbances. He just wants to lay wayyy back on his king-sized bed, fisting his cock with soft fwupfwupfwups while picturing his babysitter's pussy sitting pretty on him.
He groans at his dirty little fantasies as he slides his hand up and down his shaft, getting so lost in the idea of taking your virginity that he forgets all about the erotica story he's reading and jus' closes his eyes, head thunking back against the headboard in bliss and cock dripping like a leaky faucet, practically drooling all over his lower abdomen.
"Good girl; take it all, just like that..." he mutters.
He slides his thumb over his leaky tip and holds it over the hole, smearing precum everywhere as it oozes out, getting his cock wetter before going back to stroking it at a steady speed. His breath gets ragged as he lures his orgasm out.
He's never met a virgin as slutty as you before, that's for sure.
Shit, he really shouldn't be thinking about fucking his babysitter. He really shouldn't tease his cock to thoughts of taking your virginity. It shouldn't bring on his orgasm to picture you trapped underneath his heavy muscles, cumming all over his mature cock.
"... ugh!" he moans out, shifting down the headboard and curling his toes. "Fuck! Fuck... oh, shit, baby..."
Just like that, his jaw slacks in pleasure 'n his cock shoots out thick ribbons of cum and he's creaming all inside you — oh, sorry. That was just in his fantasies.
In reality, he's just cum all over his abs and chest. It shot up so high that it almost reached his neck.
He pants and looks down at the wasted seed that he coulda pumped inside you.
Groaning as he comes down from his high, Satoru lays with his long legs spread out on his bed for a while and curses himself for thinking of fucking his babysitter.
And then he starts weighing the pros and cons of actually doing it.
Yeah, he stares up at the ceiling after jerking off for like thirty minutes, cum splattered on his abs, thinking about how bad of an idea it would be to actually fuck his slutty babysitter.
No, Satoru. You can't. Absolutely no — no fucking the babysitter. Satoru? Bad boy. Don't do it. I know she's fuckable but you cannot fuck your —
****
— so like a week later, he's spreading your legs and crawling inbetween them.
He's placing rough kisses against your lips like he's almost angry about being this horny.
"Nn!" you whine, feeling his fingertips press against your clothed pussy, pushing against your entrance.
"Aw, you're soakin' your panties just from a little bit of kissing? Aren't you cute." he murmurs on your skin.
"Sh-shut up and fuck me... I can't take this teasing." you spit back, pulling him back into a rough kiss.
He chuckles into your mouth, tongue slithering over yours and tangling up with it for a few seconds before he pipes up;
"I'm just getting back at you for all the teasing I endured from your slutty ass."
Biting your lip. Pulling away. Letting out a purely erotic noise. Sliding his big hands down your sides and gripping you like you're his woman.
Oh now your breath gets caught in your throat.
"Let's get you nice and ready for me, hm?" he husks, lips dangerously close to your clothed pussy.
Oh now your heart rate spikes to an alarming rate. Fuck. You're actually doing it. You're actually gonna fuck an older guy.
He plants a rough kiss on top of your pussy, chin pressing against your buzzy clit.
"Mm...!" you press your lips together, trying to keep some sort of composure but you can't 'cause you've got Gojo Satoru between your legs — who the hell would be able to stay composed in your position?
Damn, it drives him crazy when your inner thighs graze the sides of his cheeks. You're ruffling up his hair. He's going down on you.
A moment later, he's pushing your panties aside and lapping at your pussy. Another moment later, he's curling his tongue up inside you.
"Oh my god th-that feels good..." you gasp, feeling his slippery tongue writhe inside.
"Mmm, I know it does."
He feels smug hearing this, pressing an open-mouthed smile against your pussy lips as he sticks his tongue as deep into you as he can possibly go, eyeing your blissed-out expressions. Sliding his tongue out, spitting on your pussy, rubbing sloppy frantic circles on your clit, Satoru's acting like a total show off.
It makes you hide your face between your palms.
"Ah-ah-ah... I want you to watch." he growls, "Don't you dare take your eyes off me, m'kay? That's a good girl."
Tip of his nose nudging your clit as he tongue-fucks you into hazy bliss, you're moaning like you never knew you could.
And he's just in heaven, 'cause he's got your juices dribbling down his chin and glossing his lips better than his favorite lip gloss — uh-huh.
"Mister! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck — nnn! G-gojooo!" you start mewling his name and he goes faster, trying to chase your orgasm out with full intent to leave you hanging.
Your breath is staggering, pussy pulsing with that edge of pleasure and oh, suddenly he's retracting his tongue from your weeping, spasming hole before you can cum all over his face.
Yep. He leaves you hanging.
"Wait — ! Nn, I was gonna c—"
"— y'know, princess" he interrupts, wiping your slick off his cheek with his fingers and licking it off right before your wide eyes, "I really think we're past the formalities; call me Satoru."
Half-dazed and ditzy on the pleasure of a missed orgasm, you watch as Satoru pulls away from you, his knees digging into the mattress and weighing it down.
Veiny hands find his belt and smoothly undo it, whipping off with a loud crack.
"O-oh?" you breathe excitedly.
He smirks, seeing how your eyes are glued to his bulge, "Aw, ya gonna perv on me while I strip for ya?" he teases, then clicks his tongue in regret when you reply with a lamb-like look, "Hahaha, don't get shy on me now. I'm just teasing."
Absolutely drooling over his physique as he strips his clothes off tantalizingly slowly, Satoru's been so composed up until now; as he unbuttons and unzips his long zipper, you notice how ragged his breathing actually is. Like he needs it bad. Like his cock is getting strangled by his clothes.
After hastily taking his pants off, Satoru quickly frees his eager cock from his boxer briefs.
And your eyes go wiiide.
"Oh."
Pale. Pink. Stiff. Leaky. Bit of an upper curve. Thick veins. What's that, like maybe a nine? No, no, there's no way. Actually, on second look, maybe?
"C'mere, let me have you." he rasps, one hand gripping his dummy big cock.
"That is not gonna fit inside me."
His ego swells. Ah, how many girls have said that to him in his life? And it never gets old.
"Nah, it'll fit."
You twitch excitedly, breath catching in your throat as Satoru comes closer to you and snuggles his slim waist between your legs which you just keep spreading wider and wider, so ready to take him even though you're nervous as hell.
"Ready to get ya cherry popped, cutie?" he asks.
He taps his cock against your entrance, coats it in your slippery juices, teases that hot tip in 'n out.
"Yeaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhfuck! Holy shit! Um! Uh!"
"What is it?" he throws a smug smile your way.
He watches intently as your pouty lips move, "'Big, 's really fucking big...! Ooh, god! Nn! Nnn!"
"You're so cute." he arches over you, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
His head starts to spin as he slides inside you.
Fuck. He's actually doing it. Sure, he fucked that flight attendant once. Yeah, he had a couple flings. He was a nasty, sex-crazed fuckboy in his youth. And yet... nothing felt as nasty as this.
This is everything he ever fucking needed. This is the sweet and nasty girl that he's craved for all his life. The rest were too nasty, some too sweet, but you? A perfect slut.
Satoru's curving up into you and teasing your sweet spots with his tip like he's letting 'em know that soon they're gonna get bullied with his hard-hitting strokes.
And your pussy's happily getting stretched out, walls clinging to every inch he pushes in like she's so thankful that you finally gave her something besides your fingers or toys to clench around.
"Ah, fuck, that's tight."
"I'm sorry!"
"No, no, it's a good thing... just relax a little more, 'm gonna push it deeper, is that okay?"
"Yes, please... oh please, fuck, yes give me everything!"
He grins, "No need to ask twice." he murmurs, right before he's sinking another few of his inches into your struggling pussy.
Satoru just comes undone at the feeling of being inside you.
His big hands come to squeeze your breasts, jiggling them around with a playful tongue poking out his mouth like he's just tempted to put his mouth on them.
So he does, y'know he's already lost enough self-restraint to the point where he's fucking his babysitter, so of course he's gonna give into his urge to suck on your breasts.
His hot, wet mouth envelopes your sensitive nipple, tongue flicking against it 'till he draws out cute whimpers from you.
He's pulling his mouth off, kissing the curve of your cleavage, groping a handful of your breasts, looking down at you like he knows damn well no boys your age are gonna fuck you as good as him — shit, scratch that, ain't fuckin' nobody in your whole life gonna fuck you as good as he will.
When your walls permit him to go deeper, Satoru stutters out like he's the virgin here, "F-f-fuck, there you go, baby, jus' take my cock like you're meant to, yeah?"
He moves his hips, relishing that sloppy sound of your pussy gushing around him — oh god you're bucking your hips to meet his hips 'n you're driving him crazy makin' him think for a split second about remarrying.
Hardly ten minutes later and he's fucking you into your first orgasm, loving how you can't even control how hard you cum on his cock. He's ruthlessly rubbing your clit throughout your orgasm, eager to make your eyes roll back completely. And it's making you freak the fuck out, 'cuz no one else has done this to you. No one has brought you to a real orgasm before.
And he can tell.
It makes him twitch and dive deeper into your sopping hole, eager to lure out as much juice as he can 'cause there's nothing he loves more than a creamy mess on his cock.
He's bending and pushing you into the positions he loves, thrusting at a steady pace that you can keep up with at first but sometimes he'll go harder, harder, harder until you're sobbing and wailing out so loudly that he needs to clamp a hand over your mouth.
He chuckles, "Quiet down, princess. You're gonna wake up my kids at this rate."
" 'm shorry!" you mumble into the palm of his hand, feeling his cock drill into your sweet spots and pressure your walls like crazy.
"No, no. Don't be sorry. It's cute. You're taking me so well," he praises, "Doing so so well for me, princess."
Those soft coos don't match his nasty strokes. He's railing you like he's trying to fuck every last bit of virginity out of your pussy, 'till it remembers the shape of his cock, 'till it clings to him, 'till it knows who's ya daddy.
Especially while prone-boning you. Damn, who forgot to give this guy the handbook on How to Fuck a Virgin? He's pounding into you and grunting like he's gone psycho... ohhhhehasn'thaddpussyinlikeayear. Okay. Makes sense.
"Ah, fuck — fuckin' look at me while I fuck you," he commands, sweaty cheek pressing against yours. Satoru grabs your jaw and makes you look at him, loving your lewd expressions. "Haha, such a fucked-out face... cute."
He thrusts faster into you, not even letting much of his cock in 'cause he knows form experience that virgin pussy just can't handle all of that. So he's easing out each time he accidentally dives in too deep.
And when he pounds up into you like that, it makes sense why the phrase "fucking your brains out" came about. His cock has got you in a crazy back arch, got you seeing stars. No thoughts. Just pussy spasms.
"Harder!! 'want it harder! Please! Fuck me harderrr!!" you plead, totally cockdrunk on Gojo Satoru.
"Are you sure 'bout that, sweetheart? 'Cause I don't think you can handle it..."
"Please!!" you beg.
"Aw... 'can't say no to that fuckable face, can i?" he throws your leg over his shoulder, repositioning himself, grinning, "Take a deep breath. You tell me if it's too much, m'kay? Y'can tap out at any time."
"Yeah, yeah! I know!!" you respond so eagerly it makes him giggle.
As instructed, you take a deep breath. But honestly, did it really prepare you for getting fucked this hard? Um, no.
"Fuck, fuck!! Nnn... god, fuck me! Yesyesyes, just like that please!!"
"Ah, shit, baby..."
"God, you're gonna — you're gonna break the bed, 'Toruuu!"
"I'm gonna break you first." he moans, pounding every last inch of his cock into your happy little pussy, gives your g-spot a beating that has your whole body on the brink of insanity.
"Ughhh... fuck!" you choke up, you hiccup, you sob and wail — and he has to kiss you quiet.
My god did you need this. You needed to indulge in this nastiness, 'cuz who the hell else is ever gonna give you the fucking of a lifetime? Uh, yeah, that's right...
"Yeah, keep enjoying my fucking cock. You know nobody else is gonna fuck you as good as this, little slut." he whispers into your ear, cheek sticky with sweat 'n pressing against yours.
What kind of man did his ex-wife think he was? Full of himself? Nah... he wasn't that full of himself. C'mon now...
"... fuck you look so good cumming on my cock like that. Aw, you shaking? Can't handle it? Am I just too good at fucking you, huh? Wanna cum again? Come on, use your words, you're a big girl. You wanna cum again, don't you? I know you want it. I know you love my cock, 'course you do... 'm fucking perfect, baby. 'N you're gonna take every perfect fucking inch of me."
Oh. Okay. Maybe he is full of himself.
Well, he's full of himself and now you're full of him, too.
Satoru isn't shy about pumping a thick, gooey cumload inside you. He isn't shy about frothing up his creampie during round two, either. And he isn't shy about flipping you into missionary and pushing your trembling legs back and sliding his cock in again.
"Can ya do one more for me, baby?"
"Y-yeah!"
"Aw, but you look exhausted..." he grins. "I wouldn't wanna break my favorite babysitter on accident."
"I'm okay, I swear! I can take it!" you start babbling.
Sweat is dripping off your bodies and soaking the bed. The room smells like sex. His muscles are pressing into you. He's diving into you like a swimmer and grunting and making a dent in the wall 'cause that headboard is banging into the wall just as hard as he's banging into you. Neither of you even notice the dent in the wall. You're just stuck together, connected in that one place, fucking like bunnies.
You palm at his abs, pressing flat against them and melting at the feeling of his mmmaturemusclestwitchingohgodbless, you're so gone after feeling his sweat gather on your hand and catching a glimpse of the bulge his cock makes inside you.
Satoru blanks when your small hand feels up his muscles. Now his thrusts got your lower tummy shuddering and you just wonder what he's thinking when his brows furrow together in such serious focus at your fertile pussy.
"Ohmygodohmygodyou'regonnafuckingbreakme!!" you squeal, fisting the pillow and nearly crying into it.
He giggles, slowing his thrusts to a pace your poor, abused pussy can handle better, "Sorry, doll, you jus' got me too excited when you touched me like that."
"Nn!!" you fist the sheets in your hand, realizing just how far he fucked you to the edge of the bed — the two of you were nearly falling off the bed until uh, oops, you were on the floor?
"Ahh-ahhh! Ah! AH! Wh-what kinda... wrestling move is this, Satoru! Fuck, go easy on me!! 'M gonna cum again!!"
He's too into it to bother getting the two of you back on the bed. Now he's just pinning you down on the plush carpeted floor, railing your tight cunt from behind like he owns it. He may as well, honestly.
"Oh yeah?" he grunts, "Cum again on my cock. Lemme see you work it out on my cock. C'mon, isn't this the cock you wanted so badly? Put on a show for me, baby."
"Ahh!!" you sluttily cry out, bouncing your hips up and down and working your pussy on just six of his nine inches.
"Fuuuck... look at that back arch... haha, you already runnin' outta stamina? Yeah, tell me about it. It's hard work fuckin' a big cock, isn't it? Okay, okay, spoiled princess..." he mutters, hearing your exhausted pleas, "Perk that ass up, lemme show you how it's done."
"But this position is so — AH!" you kick your legs as he slides deeper with each quick stroke.
His tip's prodding at a spot you don't even recognize; a sweet gummy spot that's like your off button. You can't keep your mouth shut and now you're getting so loud that he's gotta clamp a hand on your mouth again, pushing you into the carpeted floor and not stopping his hard-hitting thrusts for a looong few seconds, driving it deep.
He picks up his pace, balls slapping into your clit so loudly that he can't even complain about the loudness of your moans. That skin-slapping 'n squelching could wake up the neighborhood.
"Fuck," he grunts, "Ah, ah... stay right there, 'gonna make you a mama..."
You thrash your legs around, "Nn! Please!" you squeal, feeling his warm seed pour into you again without warning. Just that feeling makes you cum. Hard. Satoru's cock freaks out at the feeling of your pussy's milking contractions along his length, making his tender tip spurt out a little bit more cum against your cervix.
It's so bad. You really shouldn't love getting creampied by an older man this much, let alone your... uh, boss?
Worse. He shouldn't have such a big fucking smile on his sweaty face. He shouldn't be rolling his eyes back in satisfaction like that, like he finds it so funny that he actually did it.
"God, you sure loved milking me, huh?" he smiles wide, bangs soaked and sticking to his sweaty forehead.
"Nnn..." you nod, totally exhausted.
He watches you trying to catch your breath, gulping and gasping. He slides his softening cock out of your over-creampied pussy, earning a small whimper from you. Oh, you feel so empty now, it's crazy. Just how did he pack all of that cock inside you? He can't figure it out, either.
"You okay, sugarplum?" he asks sensitively, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand.
"Yahhh..." you weakly whimper back, wiggling your foot cutely, "Need t' cleanup... need help w-walking..."
All his creampies bubble out your pussy.
He stifles a laugh, feeling a bit guilty. Satoru presses a kiss to your back, peeling you off the floor and practically carrying you to the bathroom — floor and walls black tiles, every corner spelling 'rich boy' in bold letters.
Carefully and slowly, Satoru helps to clean you up, massaging your sore parts with his big hands, peppering your neck in the sweetest little kisses as if he didn't just rearrange your guts and ruin your pussy for other men.
"So... how's it feel, not being a virgin anymore?" he asks with a dirty big bad fuckboy smile.
You simply blush and smile shyly in response. It makes him laugh.
"Aw, are you all shy now, pookums? Shit, I think I fucked tha nasty outta you..."
You nuzzle him, looking about ready to sleep, and it just melts his heart.
"Mm, y'know... Suguru was right about you; you're a real sweetheart. I think I might just have 'ta keep you around for a long time."
ㅤ🍒 x 🐇 x 💗@𝖆𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖎
ㅤ𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙
@screampied (I KNOW IT'S BEEN LIKE A YEAR SINCE I LAST MENTIONED THIS FIC SORRY LOL) 💗 @pickledballer 💗 @wakashudou 💗@miseryyouth-99 💗 @ilovelokism 💗 @yuji-baby 💗 @natsuw181 💗 @madamechrissy 💗@magical-girl-bunny 💗@arminswifee 💗 @msheds0519 💗@nariminsstuff 💗@strychnynegirl 💗@satorupi 💗 @lvstru 💗@buniibloom 💗@tojijibaby 💗@peach-olic 💗 @mandistromboli 💗 @bwunniibell 💗 @nezukochaaann 💗 @valentine4738 💗 @katthekat1234 💗 @aryanaaa 💗 @astxrismstar 💗 @delusionalandabnormal 💗 @shadykittyperfection 💗 @pettypinkprincessblog 💗 @chososgf04 💗 @eliengoddes 💗 @peachmangoe 💗 @dollyschii 💗 @palegardenrebel
.ᐟwarnings/tags: nerd/weeb!anton, dom!anton, shy!anton, he is a nervous mess, fluff, praising, dirty talk, making out, anton is a bit subby at first but turns into a dom, size kink?, grinding, fingering, unprotected sex, spanking, p in v, bulge kink, squirting, cum eating, aftercare
𓏸⠀ 𓈒 you fall for anton, the quiet nerd who looks at you like you’re his whole world—and shows you exactly what that means behind closed doors.
.ᐟwc: 11.5k
You weren’t proud of it. The way your eyes always found him the second you walked into class, the way your heart sped up at the mere sight of those glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, how you kept catching yourself doodling his name in your notes like some middle school girl with a first crush. Lee Anton.
He was handsome, almost unfairly so. Tall and broad-shouldered, with soft brown eyes that flicked nervously around the room when someone tried to talk to him, and the most angelic face. His dark hair always looked a little too perfect, like he’d just rolled out of bed and still managed to look better than everyone else. And then there was the way he dressed, plain hoodies, oversized sweaters, jeans that hung low on his hips like he didn’t even care, like he had no idea what he looked like. Which made it worse.
Because Anton was also…a nerd. A real, honest-to-god, anime watching, figurine collecting, jerking off to hentai nerd. You knew this because you’d seen the way he decorated his laptop with holographic stickers of anime girls, the kind with thigh-highs and jiggly boobs and sparkly eyes. His phone lock screen? Ahri from League of Legends. His bag? Covered in pins of little anime mascots and game logos. You’d heard the rumors too, that his dorm was basically a shrine to 2D girls. Shelves of figures, walls lined with posters, LED lights glowing purple like a teenage boy’s wet dream. And yet none of it made you like him less. If anything, it made your crush worse.
Maybe it was because he was so quiet. Always sitting in the back, earbuds in, sketching something in his notebook or scrolling on his phone, head ducked down behind the collar of his hoodie like he didn’t want to be perceived. And yet you always perceived him. You noticed him. The way he adjusted his glasses when he was concentrating. The way his fingers tapped against his thigh when he was bored. The way he blushed when the professor called on him, even though he always gave the smartest answers in the room. You’d never spoken to him. Not once. But that didn’t stop you from wondering what his voice would sound like if he said your name.
It wasn’t just a little crush anymore. It was a full-blown obsession. The kind that made your stomach flip whenever you spotted him walking down the hallway, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, headphones around his neck, backpack hanging low on those broad ass shoulders. God. He was so tall. Every time he stood up, you felt like the air shifted around him. Like he didn’t even realize how dreamy he looked, towering over everyone, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose while he blinked all soft and sleepy. It was so unfair. He looked like he belonged in an anime himself—tall, quiet, hot nerd that girls fight over. Except no one else seemed to be crushing on him. At least not the way you were. And that made it worse.
Because you were crushing hard. Pathetically hard. You thought about him too much, not just during class, but when you were alone in your bed at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering what kind of porn he watched. You probably knew the answer was anime girls with squeaky voices and thigh socks, and honestly? That only made him hotter. You loved that he was a nerd. You loved that he probably spent his Friday nights watching One Piece recaps or arguing on valorant with noobs. You loved that his fingers looked big and awkward when he fidgeted with the pins on his bag, those same fingers you thought about every time your thoughts drifted somewhere a little too dirty.
He was just so fucking cute. Too hot. And maybe it was bad, maybe you were going to hell or something, but there were moments where you looked at him and just thought ‘I want to bounce on your dick so bad it’s embarrassing’. And then you’d get flustered all over again. Heart pounding, thighs pressing together, face buried in your sleeve so no one could see how red you’d gotten. He’d just be sitting there, minding his business, adjusting his glasses with the tip of his finger, and you’d be staring at him like he was some kind of god. He had no idea. Absolutely no clue that you were slowly losing your mind over him from across the room.
You barely register what the professor is saying until you hear the words: “Partner project. Two people per group. If you don’t pick someone, I’ll assign you.” Your stomach sinks. You didn’t know anyone in this class, not well enough to pair up without looking like a weirdo, anyway. You shift nervously in your seat, clutching your pen like it’ll save you. You can already feel your cheeks heating up just from the pressure. “Alright, you and…Anton,” the professor says, glancing briefly between the two of you before moving on. “You’ll work together. Should be a good match.” You freeze. Your eyes flick behind you, and sure enough, there he is. Anton.
He’s blinking at you with wide eyes, clearly just as surprised as you are. His glasses are slightly crooked, lips parted like he wants to say something but can’t quite get there. You feel your heart stutter in your chest. This is real. You’re going to talk to him. Work with him. Be around him. Alone. You turn in your seat slowly, like any sudden movement might shatter the moment. “H-Hi,” you manage, voice soft and squeaky. “I guess we’re partners.” Anton sits up a little straighter, and you swear you see his fingers twitch on the edge of his desk. “Oh. Uh. Yeah. I guess we are.” He rubs the back of his neck, then smiles, small, nervous. “Hi.”
Up close, he’s even more handsome. Long lashes, flushed cheeks, that faint scent of clean laundry and something warm and boyish. He’s wearing a plain gray hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, and you have to fight the urge to stare at the veins in his hands. “I’m, um…” You tuck your hair behind your ear, trying not to melt. “I’m Y/N.”“I know,” he says quickly, too quickly. Then he winces. “I mean—not in, like, a creepy way. I’ve just…heard you answer a few questions in class before. You’re smart.” Your mouth goes dry. He knows who you are? You blink. “Oh. Wow. Thanks. That’s… really sweet.” You shift in your seat, fingers nervously playing with the hem of your sleeve. “You’re smart too. Like, really smart. Your notes are insane.”
He laughs under his breath and ducks his head, and you can barely hear him murmur,“That’s ‘cause I don’t talk to anyone. I have to overcompensate somehow…” You giggle quietly, shyly. He glances up at you again. And that’s when it happens. That flicker. That look. His eyes settle on your face, your lips, your eyes, just a little longer than normal. He swallows hard. “Sorry, I just…didn’t expect to be partnered with someone like…you.” You tilt your head. “Like me?” He hesitates. “You’re just…you’re really pretty.” Oh. Your brain short circuits.
“I—” You practically squeak. “You think I’m pretty?” He immediately looks away, ears turning red. “Was that weird? That was weird. I’m sorry.” “No!” you blurt, too fast, clutching your notebook to your chest. “No, it wasn’t. I…I think you’re…really cute too.” He stares. You stare. There’s a beat of silence where neither of you knows what to do. You’re both blushing, both shy, both clearly freaking out a little on the inside. “So,” he finally says, voice a little higher than before, “uh…where’d you wanna meet?”
You show up to the little café fifteen minutes early, heart racing and dress just a little shorter than it probably should be for a study session. But you’d spent so long picking it out. It hugged your waist and flared out right at your thighs, showing just enough skin to make you feel cute without trying too hard. When Anton walks in, you swear he almost drops his phone. He freezes in the doorway for half a second, blinking like he’s not sure he’s in the right place. Then his eyes land on you, and you see him double take. His gaze flicks down your body and then quickly jerks away, like he’s trying not to look. He shuffles over, clutching his backpack in front of him like a shield, and offers you a shy little smile as he sits down across from you. “H-Hey. You look…really nice.”
You blush instantly. “Thanks. You too.” You both stare at the table for a second. It’s a cozy café, low lighting, indie music playing softly, warm smells of coffee and pastries filling the air. You open your laptop with trembling fingers, trying to seem normal, like this is just a regular study session and not the hottest guy you’ve ever seen sitting right across from you. You pull up the project doc and smile nervously. “Okay, so…I was thinking we could start with the outline first? Just, like, divide the sections and go from there.” You glance up to see if he’s following, but he’s not.
Anton’s eyes are very much not on the screen. They’re a little lower. Right at your chest. You freeze. So does he. And then, like a switch flipped, his entire face erupts in red. “I—” He stammers, scrambling to sit up straighter and look anywhere else. “Sorry! I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—I just zoned out—”Your cheeks burn. You look down at your dress and then quickly cross your arms over your chest, suddenly very aware of how low-cut it actually is when you’re leaning forward. You clear your throat, voice tiny. “…It’s okay.” He still looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and die.
His hand comes up to adjust his glasses, but he’s shaking so hard he nearly knocks them off his face. You try to pretend you’re not just as flustered. You tuck your hair behind your ear and murmur softly, “So…should I repeat the question?” His eyes flick up to yours, hesitant. Then he gives the smallest, most adorable nod. You swallow, voice even softer now. “I said…should we start with the outline?” He nods again, still flushed, but smiling this time, a shy, crooked smile that makes your heart flutter. “Yeah. Let’s do that.” You try to focus. You really do. But his hand is brushing against his notebook, and his knees are so long they almost bump yours under the table. And every few minutes, you catch him sneaking glances at you like he can’t help it. And you don’t blame him. You kind of want him to.
You’re halfway through outlining the second section of the project when Anton suddenly stands up. “I’m, uh—I’m gonna get something. Do you want anything?”You glance up, smiling sweetly. “Mm…maybe a milkshake? If they have one?” He nods, “Milkshake. Got it.” He hurries off like he needs the walk to breathe, and honestly, he probably does. You watch him go with a soft little smile, noticing the way his hoodie sways as he moves, the curve of his back, the way he ducks his head at the counter, shy even with the barista. When he returns, he’s carrying a milkshake in one hand and a warm latte in the other, balancing it all carefully on a tray. He sets it down gently in front of you, then passes you the cold drink with a soft, slightly nervous look. “Here you go.” Your smile widens. “Thank you, Anton.”
You don’t notice the way his throat bobs when you wrap your lips around the straw. He freezes, barely blinking as he watches you take that first long sip, lips pursed around the plastic, cheeks hollowing slightly. You let out a soft little hum of approval at the taste, eyes fluttering shut for a second in pure satisfaction. And Anton…Anton is dying. His brain short-circuits. All he can see is your lips, pink, wet, soft, wrapped around something that isn’t a straw. And for a second, he’s imagining you on your knees between his legs, looking up at him with that same innocent expression as you suck him off like you don’t even realize what you’re doing to him.
You pull the straw from your mouth and swipe your tongue across the tip to catch the foam. A tiny bit of it clings to the corner of your lips. You giggle quietly. “Oops.” And then, as if you don’t already have him on the brink of death, you lick it off with a slow, casual flick of your tongue. He nearly chokes on his own spit. “Is everything okay?” Your voice is gentle, head tilted with that same soft concern you’ve had since class. You blink at him sweetly, sipping again like nothing happened. He’s flushed deep red. His hands are gripping his cup like it might ground him to reality. He forces a smile, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Uh. Y-Yeah. All good.” Then, quieter, with a softer smile. “Just… distracted.” You giggle again, eyes sparkling. “You sure?” He swallows hard. “Very sure.” But he can’t stop looking at your lips.
You take another slow sip of the milkshake, eyes flicking back to the laptop screen. Anton’s leaned in now, typing something into the shared document, brows furrowed in concentration, completely unaware of what he’s doing to you just by existing. Your gaze drifts. It always does. The sleeves of his hoodie are pushed up, revealing his forearms, all lean muscle and light veins, the skin pale and soft looking. Your eyes trail downward, to his hands on the keyboard, long fingers flying over the keys quickly. His hands are big. You hadn’t noticed it before. Or maybe you had, and your brain had just stored it away for later.
Now it was all you could think about. Those fingers. Those veins. The way his knuckles flex with every tap. You imagine them wrapped around your throat, firm but careful, his breath stuttering while he watches your eyes roll back. Or worse—better—you picture them inside you, slow and deep, your thighs trembling as he curls them just right, testing what makes you whimper. The idea makes you shift in your seat, thighs instinctively pressing together beneath the table. You blink and glance up at his face. God.
Even his profile is hot. His jaw is sharp, lips a little parted, the tip of his tongue just barely peeking out as he concentrates. His Adam’s apple bobs slightly when he swallows, and it makes something tighten in your gut. His hair is messy and soft, curling a little behind his ears, and all you can think about is how it would feel to tug on it while he’s between your legs. You press your thighs together again, harder this time. And he has no idea.
He’s just typing, all innocent and focused, while your mind is playing out filthy scenes in 4K. You look back down at his hands again, biting your lip without realizing it. His fingers twitch slightly as he types a number into the doc, the tendons in his hand flexing.
You whisper to yourself inside your head, ‘I want those fingers in me so bad’. And just like that, you realize you’re no better than him. Maybe you look sweet, sipping your milkshake in your little dress and smiling all shyly, but deep down? You’re starving for him.
You want him to ruin you with those hands, want to ride his thigh, want to hear what he sounds like when he moans. You glance up again. He’s blushing faintly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. You wonder if he’s thinking something dirty too, if maybe both of you are pretending to be normal while your thoughts are a mess. God, you hope so.
The project was technically done. Or at least, enough of it was done to call it a night. You both packed up slowly, lingering over every click of the laptop, every sip of your drinks, drawing it out like neither of you wanted to leave. The café was dimmer now, a few tables empty, the music quieter. When you finally stepped outside, the air was warm and gentle, the sky a dusky blue stretching wide. You walked side by side down the path toward the dorm buildings, your shoulder bag bouncing lightly against your hip, Anton’s long strides matching yours.
And yet neither of you spoke. There were little things, small glances, quiet smiles, an occasional “mm” when one of you pointed out something with a nod. But for the most part, the silence between you was soft. Comfortable. Tense in all the right ways. And then your hands almost touched. You both noticed it at the same time, that inch of space between his knuckles and yours. He was walking close, so close, his fingers slightly curled inward, yours swinging just a little too far to the left. When your pinkies brushed, you felt it like static. He flinched. So did you.
And when you both glanced at each other, eyes wide and startled, it was like being caught doing something scandalous. His cheeks were red. He laughed nervously under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck like he didn’t know what to do with himself. You ducked your head, smiling softly. By the time you reached your building, your heart was fluttering like crazy. You stopped at the bottom of the steps, turning to face him.
He looked even taller under the glow of the porch light. His hoodie was a little rumpled, hair tousled, glasses slipping down just slightly. He looked so effortlessly handsome and completely flustered, like he couldn’t believe he’d just spent two hours alone with you and somehow survived it. You swallowed, clutching your bag a little tighter. “…Thank you,” you said softly. His brows furrowed, confused but gentle. “For what?” You smiled shyly. “The milkshake.” Anton blinked. And then smiled, this soft, melted kind of smile, like you’d just said the sweetest thing in the world. “Oh. Yeah. Anytime.”
You hesitated for a second. And then, before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him. His body froze. Completely still. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, the way his arms hung awkwardly at his sides like he didn’t know what to do. But then, after a second, he slowly brought them up and wrapped them around your waist gently, almost nervously, like he was scared he’d hurt you if he squeezed too tight.
His face was buried half in your hair, half in your shoulder, and you felt the shaky breath he let out. You pulled back just a little, just enough to meet his eyes. Both of you were red. Both of you smiling, small, breathless, bashful smiles. “…Goodnight, Anton.” He blinked like he was waking up from a dream.“G-Goodnight.” You turned and walked into the dorm building, heart pounding, fingers still tingling from the ghost of his touch. And behind you, Anton stood frozen in place for a good thirty seconds, like his brain had fully shut down.
You spot him as soon as you walk into the lecture hall. Anton, sitting alone near the middle, headphones on, bobbing his head faintly to whatever song he’s listening to. His laptop is open in front of him, but from the way his fingers tap lightly against the keyboard, you doubt he’s doing anything academic. Your stomach does that little nervous flip again. You stand there for a moment, working up the courage, then step forward and gently tap his shoulder.
He turns, pulling one side of his headphones down, and when he sees you, there’s this flicker of surprise followed by a quick flush of pink across his cheeks. “H-Hey…” he says, voice softer than you expected. You smile shyly. “Hey, Anton.” There’s a beat of silence where you just look at each other, and you swear you catch him glancing at your lips before quickly looking away. You shift your bag strap on your shoulder and try to sound casual, even though your voice comes out a little too nervous. “My friend didn’t come today, so…do you wanna…sit with me? Maybe?”
His eyes widen a fraction, and he blinks like you just asked him to solve a math problem in front of the whole class. “Uh—y-yeah, sure! Of course!” The words come out in a rush, and the pink in his cheeks deepens. You grin, and when he stands to follow you, he fumbles a little with unplugging his headphones and gathering his stuff, as if he’s suddenly hyperaware of every move he’s making. By the time you both settle into seats together, there’s a faint awkwardness in the air, not bad awkward, but the kind that makes your pulse race and your knees bounce under the desk.
The professor starts droning on at the front of the room, the scratch of pens and the faint clicking of laptop keys filling the air. You sneak a sideways glance at Anton, the way his hoodie sleeves are pushed up, his hair slightly messy, his glasses slipping a little down the bridge of his nose. You lean in just a bit, lowering your voice to a whisper. “You look good today, Anton.” He freezes mid-typing, fingers hovering over the keys. Slowly, he turns his head toward you, eyes wide behind his lenses. The blush is instant, creeping up from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.
“Oh—uh… thanks,” he murmurs, voice cracking slightly before he clears his throat. Then, after a pause, he adds quietly, “You… you look good too.” The corners of your mouth lift into a shy smile, and for a moment, neither of you look at the professor, just each other. You both face forward again, but a minute later, you notice him stealing a quick glance at you from the corner of his eye. You bite your lip, leaning closer again. “What?” you ask softly, smiling.
He shakes his head quickly, the blush still there. “Nothing… just—you’re distracting.” You blink, startled, before letting out a soft laugh. “Distracting how?” His jaw tenses like he instantly regrets saying it. “Just…distracting.” he says again, almost shyly pouting, and turns back to his screen, though you can see the tips of his ears still red.
The lecture finally wraps up, chairs scraping against the floor as students start to file out. Anton closes his laptop with a quiet click, slipping it into his bag. You tuck your pen into your notebook, fingers fidgeting a little before you work up the courage to speak. “You heading out?” you ask softly, glancing at him through your lashes, heat blooming in your cheeks.
“Uh—yeah,” he says, voice low, almost unsure, like he wasn’t expecting you to talk to him first. You stand, swinging your bag over your shoulder. “Cool,” you say with a small, shy smile. “We can walk together…if you want.” For a second, he just looks at you, like the words took a moment to process. Then he nods quickly, lips twitching into a faint smile. “Y-yeah, yeah, sure.”
The two of you fall into step as you leave the classroom, the low hum of voices around you fading the moment you step outside into the crisp air. You walk side by side, the afternoon sun spilling gold across the pavement. Your shoulder nearly brushes his, and you catch yourself smiling before you even realize it. “So…” you say, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, “distracting, huh?”
Anton’s head snaps toward you, eyes widening. “Wha—I—” He stumbles over his words, his ears already turning pink. “I didn’t mean—I mean, I wasn’t—” You bite back a grin, pretending to look ahead. “Relax, I’m teasing.” He huffs a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re…uh…good at that.” Your smile softens. “Teasing you?” His gaze flickers to yours for half a second before dropping to the ground. “Yeah…that.”
You walk a few steps in silence, the kind that feels warm rather than awkward. “So…” you murmur, glancing up at him with a playful smile, “do you always get that flustered, or is it just when I’m around?” Anton’s blush deepens instantly. “Uh…maybe just when you’re around.” You bite your lip to hide a grin. “That’s cute.” He looks away, shoving one hand into his pocket. “Not sure that’s the word I’d use.”
“What word would you use, then?” you ask, tilting your head. His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Dangerous.” You blink at him, surprised. “Dangerous?” He shrugs, finally daring to meet your eyes again. “You make it hard to think straight.” Your stomach flips, and you quickly glance away before he can see just how much that got to you.
By the time you reach the dorm building, your pulse has settled into a strange mix of calm and nervous excitement. The late afternoon light makes the air feel softer somehow. Anton stops with you in front of the entrance. “So…I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks, his voice a little uncertain, like he’s not ready for this to end. “Yeah,” you say with a smile. “Thanks for walking me.”
Before you can overthink it, you shift up onto your tippy toes, your hand lightly brushing his arm for balance, and press a quick kiss to his cheek. You hear his breath catch, feel him go still for just a heartbeat before you pull away. When you step back, his cheeks are flushed a deep pink, his gaze flicking down to yours like he’s still processing what happened. You’re blushing just as hard. “Um…bye, Anton.” “B-bye,” he says, his voice low and almost dazed, watching you slip inside.
Anton stood there for a moment, staring at the glass doors you’d just walked through. His cheek still tingled faintly, the ghost of your lips lingering like it was branded there. He exhaled, running a hand over the spot, almost like he needed to confirm it actually happened. 'She kissed me'.
The thought looped in his head, each time making his stomach twist in the best way. He’d been kissed before—well… sort of, but never like that. Never so soft and sweet and completely unexpected. He caught himself smiling, then quickly shoved his hands into his pockets and started back toward his own dorm. His heart was still racing, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop thinking about how small your hand felt against his arm and how close your lips had been to his own.
The lecture was dragging, the professor’s voice a low drone in the background. You were scribbling down notes, leaning just slightly closer to Anton so you could peek at his laptop screen. He shifted in his seat, leaning toward you to point out a line in the slide you’d missed. As he did, his shoulder brushed yours, and he froze for half a second before murmuring, almost to himself, “You smell nice.”
Your pen paused mid-word. Heat rushed straight to your cheeks, and you turned your head to look at him. He was already back to staring at his screen, ears tinted pink like he hadn’t even realized what he’d said until it was too late. “...Thanks,” you whispered, smiling down at your notebook. You didn’t get much else written for the rest of the lecture.
Over the next couple of weeks, it became a quiet routine—finding each other before lectures, walking side by side to the café between classes, sharing fries at the food place near the uni while pretending not to notice how often your knees brushed under the table.
Sometimes it was a lingering glance over the rim of a coffee cup, sometimes a shy compliment slipped into the conversation when you thought the other wasn’t listening. Each time, it left you both smiling to yourselves for hours after.
One afternoon, as everyone was packing up after a lecture, you let out a small groan. “I forgot to write half the stuff from today,” you mumbled, shoving your notebook into your bag. Anton looked over from where he was closing his laptop. “Don’t worry. Gimme your number, I’ll send you my notes.”
You perked up instantly. “Really? Thank you so much, Toni!” The nickname rolled off your tongue so naturally that you didn’t even think about it until his ears flushed pink. Before he could react, you rocked up and ruffled his soft hair playfully.
“See you later!” you chirped, turning to leave.He stayed rooted in place, blinking after you like his brain had shut off. His cheeks were burning, half from the nickname, half from the unexpected warmth of your hand in his hair. And, god help him, he swore his jeans felt just a little tighter than they had a moment ago.
Anton
here are the notes :)
You
thanks so much toni! you’re a lifesaver
Anton
no problem :) i didn’t do much
You
you always do more than you think :3
Anton
haha…maybe :)
You
wanna grab a coffee after class tomorrow?
Anton
sure :) that sounds good
You
yay! i’ll see you then
Anton
looking forward to it :)
You slide into the chair across from Anton at the café, the smell of coffee and pastries wrapping around you. He sets his keys on the table as he takes out his wallet, and your eyes catch something dangling from the keyring. A tiny, metal Calcifer keychain. “Oh my god!” you exclaim softly, leaning a little closer. “Is that…Calcifer from Howl’s Moving Castle?” He freezes mid-motion, eyebrows shooting up. “Uh…yeah. You…you know that movie?”
You grin, trying not to squeal. “Love it! It’s one of my favorites!” He blinks at you, clearly surprised, adjusting his glasses. “…Wait. I didn’t know you liked anime.” You tilt your head, smirking slightly. “You never asked.” He chuckles softly, still a little flustered, and the conversation drifts naturally into talking about favorite scenes, characters, and little movie details. You laugh together, the atmosphere cozy and easy.
As the hangout winds down and you both finish your drinks, he fidgets slightly, looking down at the table, then up at you with a soft, shy smile. “Uh…so…you—if you want…maybe…you could come over sometime? Watch it…with me?” You freeze for a second, cheeks warming, before letting out a small, happy laugh. “I’d love that.” His relief is obvious, he lets out a quiet breath, smiling sheepishly. The flutter of excitement between you both feels electric.
“Uh…you can…come over tonight, if you want.” he says softly, voice barely above a murmur. Your heart skips a beat and warmth floods your cheeks. You bite your lip for a second, trying to play it cool, before smiling brightly. “Mhm! Tonight it is, then.” you say, the words coming out a little breathless, but cheerful. He blinks at you, clearly caught off guard by how naturally you accepted, and his ears tint pink. A small, shy smile tugs at the corners of his lips.
Anton told you to meet at 8pm. You glance down at your outfit one last time—shorts and a cozy sweater, nothing fancy, just casual. Your stomach twists with nerves. Taking a deep breath, you knock on Anton’s door. The second it opens, your breath catches. He’s…stunning. Damp hair clings slightly to his forehead from a recent shower, his pyjama pants hanging low on his hips, the white shirt stretched perfectly over broad shoulders.
He looks effortlessly perfect, and you realize you’ve been staring before you even noticed. Anton clears his throat, probably aware of the way your eyes linger. He scratches the back of his neck, cheeks already pink, like he’s caught in some awkward but very sexy moment. “Uh…hey.” he mutters, voice low and rougher than usual.
“Hey.” you manage, trying to force a casual smile, though your heart is racing and your palms feel hot. You can’t stop yourself from stealing another glance at him, and he seems to notice, quickly looking away with a small, flustered laugh. The room smells faintly of his shampoo, warm and inviting, and your nerves are suddenly tingling in a very different way.
You step into Anton’s room, eyes widening as you take it all in. Posters of anime and game characters cover the walls—some cute, some daring, and many of the girls featured have big tits and barely any clothes. Shelves lined with figurines catch the soft glow from the warm lights he has set up around the room, and a few of the figurines are equally risqué. A few plants sit on the windowsill, adding a touch of life to the space.
Despite all the decorations, the room is surprisingly tidy. Everything has its place, and it feels…comfortable, inviting. “Wow…I like your room,” you say softly, cheeks heating as you glance around. Anton shifts slightly, scratching the back of his neck, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks…I, uh…like to keep it cozy, I guess.”
You nod, still looking around, letting your gaze linger on the little details—the way some posters are slightly angled, the neat lineup of figurines, the LED light spilling across the floor. The room feels like him. Nerdy, thoughtful, and warm all at once. He watches you quietly, clearly noticing how absorbed you are, and feels a little thrill at how easily your eyes wander over his space.
You curl up on Anton’s bed, leaning against the wall as he sits cross-legged a little distance from you. It feels like you’re in a little world of your own. As the opening scenes of Howl’s Moving Castle play, you find yourself inching slightly closer to him. He glances at you, those soft brown eyes catching yours, and his cheeks pink. You notice how easily your knee brushes his, and your heart flutters.
At one point, the remote slides off the bed, landing on the floor with a soft thud. “Oops! I got it.” you say, bending over to pick it up. Anton’s breath catches. Your shorts ride up just enough that your ass is completely in his view, and he instantly curses under his breath, voice low and rough, fuck…
When you sit back up, you hold the remote triumphantly and smile up at him. “Got it!” you chirp, eyes sparkling. He forces a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck, trying not to look anywhere but your face, even though his gaze keeps flickering down in spite of himself. “Yeah…nice save,” he mutters, voice tight, cheeks burning. The tension between you both hums in the quiet of the room, the movie forgotten for just a few seconds as your proximity and the way you move sets his heart racing.
The movie’s been playing for a while now, the both of you leaning back against the headboard. You’re trying to keep your eyes on the screen, but Anton’s quiet presence beside you is almost louder than the sound coming from the TV. Halfway through, he lets out a soft sigh and stretches, lifting his arms above his head.
The hem of his loose white shirt rides up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin—smooth and pale, with a faint trail of hair dipping below the waistband of his pyjama pants. The faint outline of toned muscle is enough to make your breath hitch.
You don’t even realize you’re staring until you bite your lip without thinking. Anton freezes mid-stretch, his arms lowering quickly. When his eyes meet yours, he notices the way you’re looking at him. His face turns pink instantly. “Uh—” he starts, voice awkward and a little high, “comfortable?”
“Mhm.” you hum, looking back at the screen as if you hadn’t just been caught shamelessly staring. But then you notice something. Out of the corner of your eye, his gaze drifts downward… to your thighs. You’re sitting with them pressed together, the fabric of your shorts hugging your skin in a way that leaves very little to the imagination. His eyes linger for a few seconds too long before darting back up.
You catch it. You definitely catch it. But you don’t say anything. The air between you feels warmer now, charged with something unspoken. You try to focus on the film, but your heartbeat is loud in your ears. Somewhere around the hour mark, the coziness of his room and the warmth of his body next to yours start to lull you to sleep. Your head dips before you even realize it, landing softly against his chest.
Anton stiffens instantly. His eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like he’s trying to compute what just happened. His heartbeat spikes, and he’s sure you can feel it under your cheek. You mumble something incoherent in your sleep and shift, curling slightly toward him until your arm almost wraps around his. His face turns a deeper shade of red. He doesn’t know where to put his hands.
He tells himself not to move. Not to touch you. If you woke up, you might think he was taking advantage of the situation. But then…he can’t help it. Slowly, carefully, his hand lifts to your hair. His fingers brush against it tentatively, then slide through the strands with the lightest touch. He pets your head so gently, as though afraid you might shatter if he pressed any harder.
The smell of your shampoo drifts up to him, and it makes his chest feel tight in a way he can’t quite explain. He’s so wrapped up in the moment that when your voice suddenly breaks the silence, his heart nearly jumps out of his chest. “Will you ever ask me on a date,” you murmur, voice groggy but teasing, “or do I have to do it?”
Anton freezes, every muscle going rigid. “You’re…awake?” he says softly, almost as if he’s in disbelief. You still don’t open your eyes, your cheek warm against him. “I have been for a while.” you admit with a faint smile.
His hand stills in your hair, and he swallows hard. “Oh…uh…I mean…if you want to go on a date with me…” Finally, you tilt your head up just enough to look at him, your smile small but certain. “I do.” He swears his chest has never felt so light and tight at the same time.
Anton’s lips twitch into the smallest smile, and he nods. “Okay then.” His voice is soft, almost shy. Slowly, reluctantly, he begins to lift his hand from your hair. “No.” you murmur, catching his wrist before he can pull away. His brows lift slightly, startled. You guide his hand right back onto your head, fingers threading gently through yours for a second before you let go. “Keep doing it…I like it.”
The tips of his ears turn pink, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “O-okay…” he says quietly, the faintest smile curling on his lips. And so, he keeps going, his fingertips brushing through your hair in slow, absent strokes while your attention drifts back to the TV. His heart is still racing, but there’s a strange calm in the rhythm of touching you like this.
By the time the movie ends, you’re wide awake again. You slip on your shoes while he stands by the door, watching you with that same gentle, slightly awkward expression. When you step into the doorway, you tilt your chin up at him, hands clasped behind your back, eyes wide and soft. “So…I’ll see you tomorrow?” He nods quickly, his Adam’s apple shifting as he swallows. “Y-yeah…” The corners of his mouth lift into a quiet smile. “It’s a date then! Goodnight, Toni.” You stand on your toes, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.
The warmth of your lips lingers there, and Anton freezes, eyes widening before color floods his face. He blinks, flustered, clearly at a loss for words. “Goodnight.” he finally manages, giving you a small wave as you head down the hall. The door closes softly, and he leans back against it, pressing his palm over the spot you kissed, his heart hammering like it’s trying to escape.
When you stepped out to meet Anton, you didn’t miss the way his eyes widened before darting away, a flush creeping up his neck. White thigh-high socks, a short skirt, and a soft fitted sweater—it was exactly the kind of outfit you’d seen on some of the girls in his posters and figurines, and you knew it.
“Hey!” you greeted with an innocent smile, pretending you didn’t notice how his gaze kept flickering to your legs before he forced himself to focus on your face. “Hi,” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You, uh…ready?”
The arcade was loud and bright, neon lights reflecting off his glasses. You started at the air hockey table, where you made an exaggerated show of celebrating each point you scored, and he just shook his head with that quiet, amused smile he always wore around you now. Then it was racing games—he won, of course, but the little spark of pride in his eyes told you he liked seeing you try to beat him.
“Okay, okay,” you said, catching your breath, “one more thing.” You tugged on his sleeve, leading him toward the claw machines. Your eyes landed on a soft, pastel plush near the center of one, and you pointed. “That one.” He stepped forward, feeding coins into the machine, and muttered under his breath each time the claw slipped. “This is rigged.” He scoffed.
“You just have to believe in yourself.” you teased, resting your elbow lightly on his arm. By the fourth try, the claw finally lifted the plush all the way to the chute. You squealed, grabbing it and hugging it to your chest. “My hero!” His ears turned pink immediately, especially when you added, “Thanks, Toni!”
“I—uh—yeah… you’re welcome,” he stammered, trying to hide a smile. When you hooked your hand around his arm in excitement, he went stock-still, like every muscle in his body froze at once. You felt the warmth under his sweater sleeve, and his heartbeat felt a little faster than normal, but he didn’t pull away.
As you stepped out of the arcade, still clutching the plush to your chest, your eyes caught a small ice cream shop glowing warmly on the corner. “Oh my god! Let’s go!” you gasped, pointing, not waiting for his answer before your fingers slipped into his hand. You tugged him toward it, the warmth of his palm making his steps a little hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should hold back or just let you lead.
Inside, the place smelled like sugar and fresh waffle cones. You picked vanilla without hesitation, grinning as the server handed it to you. Anton shook his head when they asked him, mumbling, “I’m fine.” but when you reached for your wallet, he was already pulling out his own cash. “Anton—” “Nope,” he said, eyes dropping to the counter, “I’ve got it.” You beamed, leaning up on your toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Toni.” The heat in his ears spread to his neck instantly, and he muttered something under his breath you couldn’t quite catch.
You both sat outside on the shop’s little chairs, the evening air cool against your skin. You took slow licks of your ice cream, savoring it, completely unaware (or maybe not) of the way his gaze kept flicking to your mouth. Every time you let your tongue glide over the melting vanilla, he shifted in his seat, red creeping over his cheeks again. When you wrapped your lips around the tip of the cone, sucking lightly to keep it from dripping, he swallowed hard, his thoughts skittering somewhere very far from ice cream.
By the time you finished, you licked your lips, smiling at him like nothing was out of the ordinary. “Okay, we can go now!” He stood up a little too quickly, adjusting his pajama pants in a subtle, desperate motion. “Y-yeah…let’s go.”
The walk back started off quiet, the night air soft and cool against your skin. You were still clutching the plushie in one arm, your other hand swinging loosely at your side. Anton walked next to you, hands shoved deep into his hoodie, every now and then glancing at you like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite bring himself to.
Halfway down the block, you slowed your steps and then stopped entirely, turning to face him. Your lips curved into a small pout, eyes glimmering with something a little sad. “I don’t want this date to end yet.” you said softly, toeing the pavement. He froze, caught off guard, his breath visible in the cool air. The tips of his ears flushed pink. “We…could go to my place again,” he offered shyly, then, with a small smile, “Watch something?”
Your pout melted instantly into a grin. “Mhm! Yes, please.” You stepped forward and slipped your hand into his without warning, your fingers curling through his. Anton stiffened in surprise, eyes widening for just a second before his gaze darted away. He didn’t pull back though. If anything, his hand tightened slightly around yours.
You began swinging your joined hands back and forth in an exaggerated, playful rhythm, and his mouth twitched into a smile despite himself. Neither of you said much more, but the silence was comfortable now, each step bringing you closer to the dorms…and whatever would happen next.
By the time you reached his building, Anton still hadn’t let go of your hand. You didn’t point it out, you just smiled to yourself and followed him inside. His dorm room was exactly how you remembered it from last time—tidy, cozy, softly lit, with the faint scent of his shampoo still lingering from earlier. You kicked off your shoes and, without hesitation, plopped down onto the edge of his bed, hugging your plush to your chest.
He closed the door behind him, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at you. “Uh…what do you wanna watch?” You leaned back onto your hands, swinging your legs slightly. “Anything you want, Toni.” You said it cheerfully, the nickname rolling off your tongue in that way you knew made him blush.
And blush he did. He turned to his desk, pretending to scroll through his streaming options just to give himself a second to recover. “Okay…um how about A Silent Voice?” You nodded instantly. “Perfect.” He climbed onto the bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight.
At first, there was a polite little space between you—but as the opening scenes played, your legs brushed once, then twice. Neither of you pulled away. The warmth of him was right there, just inches from you, and you could already feel the air between you shifting, thickening, the same way it had last time.
The movie played softly in the background, the purple glow from the LEDs making the whole room feel hotter. You were sitting closer and cloer, each touch sending a little spark up your spine. At one point, Anton shifted, his arm resting on the bed behind you, and you leaned slightly into him without thinking. A quiet moment in the movie made you glance at him, and you caught him already looking at you. Neither of you moved.
His hair was sticking up a little in the front, and without thinking, you reached up to smooth it down. Your fingers lingered, brushing his forehead. You felt his breath hitch. When your hand dropped back to your lap, the space between you felt electric. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. “Anton.” you said softly. He hummed, almost nervously, “Hm?”
“Kiss me.” For a second, he froze—his wide eyes searching your face like he was making sure you meant it. And then, slowly, he leaned in. The first brush of his lips was hesitant, testing, but you pressed closer, kissing him back, and that tiny hesitation melted away. His hand came up to cup your cheek, warm and careful, as the kiss deepened. You shifted, closing the space entirely, and before you knew it you were in his lap, your knees on either side of him.
His breath caught against your mouth, and he gripped your waist like he was scared you’d pull away. But you didn’t. You rolled your hips experimentally, and his quiet, shaky whimper made you smile against his lips. Anton kissed you like he was afraid to mess it up, but the moment you tangled your fingers in his hair and gave a gentle tug, something inside him faltered. His breath stuttered, and you felt the way his grip on your waist tighten.
You deepened the kiss, your mouth moving against his with a slow hunger. His lips were soft, but the way he kissed you now was firmer, almost desperate. You tugged on his hair again, a little harder this time, and he let out the smallest, most breathless sound into your mouth. It made heat pool low in your stomach.
You whimpered—not loud, just enough for it to slip past your lips, and that sound seemed to wreck him. He shifted under you, his thighs tensing, and you felt the hardness pressing against you through his sweatpants. His breathing got heavier, more uneven, as you rolled your hips just enough to test him.
“Y-you’re…” he broke off, swallowing hard, his cheeks flushed deep red. He didn’t finish the sentence, just leaned forward to kiss you harder, like he couldn’t stop himself anymore. His hands slid up your sides, hesitant but needy, bunching the hem of your sweater as his thumbs brushed the bare skin of your waist.
Every little whimper from you made him twitch under you, his self-control fraying by the second. He didn’t even notice how tightly he was holding you until you pulled back slightly, both of you catching your breath, foreheads touching, his chest rising and falling quickly.
His hands, still trembling slightly, slid down from your waist to your thighs, caressing slowly as if he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you. The soft fabric of your thigh-high socks under his palms made his breath hitc, every inch of exposed skin between them and your skirt had him swallowing hard.
You could feel the way he was hesitating, his fingertips barely grazing, almost shy. So you reached down, took one of his hands gently, and guided it under the hem of your skirt until it rested against the warm fabric of your panties. His eyes widened, his entire body freezing for a second. “Please…touch me.” you pouted, your voice soft but desperate, looking up at him through your lashes.
Anton’s jaw clenched, his cheeks burning crimson. “I–I…” he stammered, clearly overwhelmed, but his fingers flexed ever so slightly against you, already feeling the dampness there. He swallowed, gaze flicking from your pleading expression to where his hand was between your legs, like he couldn’t believe this was really happening.
Slowly, hesitantly, he started to stroke you through the thin fabric, his breathing quickening with every tiny sound you made. The warmth and wetness beneath his touch sent a shiver through him, and when you whimpered again, he bit his lip hard, fighting the urge to just tear the panties aside and fuck you right there and there.
Anton’s breath was coming faster now, his fingers rubbing gentle, nervous circles over your clothed clit. The friction had you rolling your hips down against his touch, but every movement also pressed you into the growing bulge beneath his sweatpants. You couldn’t help it, you shifted closer, grinding lightly against him as his breath hitched, his other hand gripping the bed sheets like he didn’t know where else to put it.
You reached for that hand, guiding it up to your chest. His eyes flicked to yours in surprise, but when you placed it over your breast, his fingers curled instinctively, squeezing through your sweater and bra. The combination of his touches had you letting out a soft, shaky whimper against his lips, which made him groan quietly into the kiss. It wasn’t enough. You wanted to feel him, really feel him.
You broke the kiss for just a moment, your lips wet and swollen, and slid your panties down your thighs, kicking them aside on the bed. Without giving him time to process, you took his hand again, the one that had been rubbing you through the thin fabric, and guided it between your legs until his fingers met your bare, slick pussy.
Anton froze, a sharp breath escaping him, his pupils blown wide. His fingertips twitched slightly against you before he swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet room. “You’re…s-so warm.” he whispered, almost like he was talking to himself.
His thumb kept rubbing slow, deliberate circles on your clit, and you couldn’t stop yourself from rocking against his hand, chasing that sharp, sweet pleasure. Your breath came out in shaky bursts, your skirt bunched up around your hips, his eyes glued to the way you moved for him.
Then, without warning, you felt the gentle press of his finger slipping inside you. Your back arched instantly, a gasp spilling from your lips that quickly melted into a needy moan. “Ah—Anton!” you whined, your thighs trembling slightly as he moved that finger in and out of you in slow, careful motions.
His gaze flicked up to your face, flushed and focused. “Is that…okay?” he asked softly, almost like he was scared to break the moment. You nodded fast, your voice urgent. “More.” His lips parted, chest rising quickly, he didn’t hesitate. He slid another finger inside you. The stretch had you letting out a broken whimper, and his breath stuttered at the sound. He kept his pace gentle, curling them just enough to make your hips jerk.
His fingers moved inside you faster now, curling expertly as he matched the rhythm of your hips grinding against him. Every wet, slippery sound of your arousal seemed to drive him further, and he couldn’t help the small, shaky moans that escaped his lips.
You tugged at his hair, hard enough to make him gasp, and he let out a sharp, breathy whine, eyes closing for a split second. His pace didn’t falte. If anything, it quickened, fingers plunging deeper, curling just right to hit all the right spots. The room was filled with the slick, wet sounds of your pleasure and the occasional whimper or gasp that slipped past your lips.
Every noise you made made him harder beneath you, his own need pressing against your clothed heat. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours for a second, watching your expression contort with pleasure, and whispered, almost desperately, “You feel so good…”
As he kept fingering you, his other hand wandered nervously over his lap. You felt the hard outline of him through his sweatpants and palmed him gently. A small, shaky whimper escaped his lips, and you looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading. “Want you inside...” you breathed, voice soft and desperate. The sight of you like that—lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling—made him stiffen even more.
You slowly peeled off your sweater and bra, tossing them aside, and he couldn’t stop staring. His hands trembled slightly, but finally he pulled his own shirt off, revealing the toned chest and abs. Your breath hitched, and heat pooled low in your belly, you were already dripping just from looking at him.
You took him in your hand, drooling at how big and hard and pretty he was, slick with precum. A soft whine escaped him at your touch. Slowly, carefully, you began sliding down onto him, lips parted and breathing uneven. His length hit you and made you gasp, it was more than you expected, and you struggled a little to take him in fully.
“You’re so big, Toni…” you whimpered, the words shaking as your hips pressed down. He let out a deep moan at your words, fingers gripping your hips lightly, trying to help guide you, while his eyes stayed locked on your face, full of need and disbelief. You finally bottomed out with a sharp, breathy moan, and he immediately groaned, gripping your hips tightly. “F-fuck…” he stammered, voice low and shaky, eyes wide as he tried to take it all in.
Clinging to him, your arms wrapped around his neck, you started moving slowly, rocking up and down against him. Every little thrust made him whimper softly, his lips parting in short gasps. His hands pressed against your waist, thumbs brushing over your sides as you moved, both of you making quiet, desperate sounds. The tension and pleasure wrapped tightly around you, leaving no space for anything else.
“Toni…” you whispered between breaths, voice trembling, chest rising and falling. “S-s’big…” you added, eyes fluttering shut, heat pooling between your thighs as you slowly rode him, both of you lost in the new, intense sensations. You cupped his cheeks, leaning in close, and kissed him hard, teeth and lips mingling, tongues brushing. The feel of him beneath you, soft and firm at the same time, made your body tremble.
You started moving faster, bouncing and whispering in between shallow, desperate kisses, “Want you…feels so good…” Anton was a blushing mess, sitting there stunned, barely able to process how breathtaking you looked taking him like this. He let out a quiet, shaky whimper, unable to resist just watching you, the way your hips rolled and your chest pressed to his, the scent and sight of you overwhelming him.
Then, you pulled your lips back from his briefly, gasping, and as you continued bouncing, you pressed a hand flat against your belly. “Can feel you up here, Toni,” you whined, eyes half-lidded and desperate. That was it. Something snapped in him. Heat surged, his pupils blown wide, and he moaned deeply, leaning forward to grab your waist tightly. His hands dug into your hips as he started bouncing you hard on him, quick, punishing thrusts that made you gasp and whimper.
The switch had flipped—the shy, hesitant boy from earlier was gone. Every motion was confident, dominant, controlled. His eyes locked on yours as he guided your movements, his mouth open in low, needy moans, taking over completely as he rode you through the pleasure he’d been holding back.
The sudden shift in Anton’s behavior made your eyes go wide. The man under you, replaced with someone fierce, commanding, and hungry for you. Every hard, quick thrust made you gasp, moan, and shiver, high-pitched, desperate sounds spilled uncontrollably from your lips as he drove into you. He leaned down, pressing a hand to your chest, cupping your breast and rolling your nipple between his fingers. “You’re so fucking tight.” he groaned, voice low and serious.
You immediately clenched around him at that, your body responding to every word. “Fuck…you’re so wet.” he continued, sliding his hand a little, teasing and grinding as he kept his pace relentless. Your moans grew louder, each one feeding him, making him fuck into you harder, faster. Every time he hit that spot just right, a whimper escaped you, and you tugged at his hair desperately, needing to feel him closer.
His eyes rolled back at the sight of you writhing beneath him, every flicker of your expression only spurring him on. “You feel so good…so fucking good for me,” he whispered, low and dirty, each word a promise and a command. “Such a good girl…gonna make you scream for me.”
Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in as the pleasure built unbearably high. His fingers dug into your hips and your chest, his dirty words and praise mixing with the way he pounded in you, making your vision blur and your body shiver uncontrollably under him.
His hand slid down from your breast, fingers circling your clit with a firm, insistent rhythm. Every motion made your hips buck uncontrollably, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. “Toni…m’so close…” you whimpered, voice high and trembling, moans spilling past your lips as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your stomach.
“Fuck—cum for me, baby,” he groaned, voice low and ragged, heat radiating off him. “You’re so fucking hot.” The pet name, him calling you baby for the first time, had an immediate effect. Your walls clenched around him, your toes curling, and a high-pitched, broken moan tore from your throat as you came hard, shivering against him.
He didn’t hesitate. He captured your lips in a hard, hungry kiss, pressing you flush against him as his hand moved to cradle the side of your throat, gentle pressure just enough to make your breath hitch. You whimpered into the kiss, muffled, overwhelmed by the combination of sensations—the taste of him, the feel of him, and how your walls pulsate around him.
Before you could even process it, Anton’s hands were under your hips, flipping you over onto your back. Your breath hitched, heart racing, but before you could protest, he gently urged you onto all fours, the curve of your ass pressing invitingly toward him. “Anton, I—” you started, breath trembling.
“One more, baby,” he cut in, voice low and commanding, pupils dilated with need. “I know you can do it for me, hm?” You swallowed, cheeks burning, and nodded eagerly. “Yes! Anything for you, Toni!” He smiled, a dangerous, possessive grin spreading across his face. “Good girl.” he murmured, voice rough.
With that, he positioned himself behind you, pressing against your slick pussy before sliding inside you again. The sudden fullness made you gasp, your hands digging into the bed for balance, and he didn’t hesitate to start thrusting, hard and fast, his hands gripping your waist firmly. He slammed into you again, hips snapping hard, hands gripping your waist as he drove in and out with relentless force. “Keep your ass up for me.” he commanded, voice low and rough.
You obeyed instantly, arching into him, a high-pitched whine escaping your lips as he hit that sensitive spot perfectly. The aftershocks of your previous orgasm made every motion even more intense, every touch unbearable in the best way. “You like it, baby? Me fucking you like this?” he asked, voice thick with lust, leaning close so his breath ghosted over your back.
“Mhm!!” you moaned, barely coherent, your nails digging into the bedsheets. “Fuck—say my name, baby.” he demanded, thrusts rougher, faster, more insistent. “Toni…!” you whimpered, voice shaky and desperate, clinging to the bed as he pounded into you, each stroke hitting harder and harder, making your back arch and your chest press to the mattress.
A sharp, hard smack landed on your ass, leaving a red handprint. You gasped loudly, the sting sending shivers of pleasure through you, your hips jerking involuntarily. “Fuck, baby…look at you,” he groaned, eyes dark and hungry. “Taking me so well…so perfect for me.”
Another slap landed on your other cheek, and you whimpered, pressing back into him. He grinned, low and possessive, tugging roughly at a handful of your hair to tilt your head just right. “Such a good girl…you like it when I spank you like this, hm?” he whispered, voice thick and rough, each word dripping with lust. You moaned, voice shaky, “Y-yes!…please, Toni…”
He responded with another hard smack, this time letting his hand linger, fingertips digging slightly into your skin as he pressed your ass against him. “So fucking wet, baby. You’re mine.” His other hand twisted through your hair again, tugging gently to make you arch back, giving him better access, and he leaned closer to your ear. “Tell me how good it feels… say it for me, baby.”
“So good, Toni!—Nghh!” you moaned, your hips practically slamming into him from your own desperation. His hand moved from your waist to your belly, pressing down just enough to make you moan loudly, hips jerking against him. “You feel me here, baby? So deep in you, yeah?” he groaned, voice low and rough.
You nodded uncontrollably, eyes watering from the overwhelming pleasure. He pressed down harder on your stomach, leaning back slightly to take in the sight of you—skirt bunched at your waist, thigh-high socks stretching over your legs, body pressed perfectly against him. “You’re so fucking cute…with your cute socks,” he murmured, voice thick with lust, his hand moving to squeeze your ass firmly. “Fuck, baby…so pretty. You know what you’re doing to me, hm?”
You nodded again and he smirked, a low chuckle escaping him. Without warning, his hand came down hard on your ass, leaving a stinging slap that made you yelp and moan at the same time. “You’re mine, baby,” he breathed, voice rough, eyes dark and intense. “Every inch of you…all mine.”
He kept slamming into you, each thrust hitting that perfect spot, his hand sliding down to circle your clit in tight, fast motions. “M’so close—ah!” you whimpered, voice trembling, your legs starting to shake. “Fuck, baby…me too.” he groaned, hips moving faster, almost desperate. That strange, overwhelming pressure built deep in your abdomen, making you gasp. “Toni! S’too m–much!”
“But you take it so well, baby,” he growled, his voice rough and filthy in your ear, “you’re such a good girl for me.” You cried, “Fuck! Anton!”, body tightening before the release hit you all at once—hot, messy, unstoppable. Your thighs trembled as you squirted around him, the sound of it mixing with his moan as he pounded you through it.
“Shit…you just squirted all over me…fuck, you’re perfect.” Anton groaned, his voice low and wrecked. You moaned at his words, your body still trembling from release. Before you could catch your breath, he pulled out abruptly, flipping you onto your back with surprising strength. His messy hair fell over his forehead, his flushed face twisted in pleasure as his hand pumped his cock fast.
The sight of you—skirt messy, socks on, your stomach rising and falling with every shaky breath, it pushed him over the edge. With a loud, broken whimper, he came hard, spilling hot ropes across your belly and chest, his shoulders tensing as his hips jerked. Anton stayed kneeling between your legs, chest heaving, hair a total mess. His wide eyes followed every rise and fall of your stomach as he tried to catch his breath.
You dragged your fingers through the warm mess on your belly, scooping some up without breaking eye contact. His gaze locked on you, pupils blown, as you slowly brought your fingers to your lips and licked them clean. He let out a strangled sound, half groan, half whimper, before whispering, “Holy…fucking…shit.”
You barely had time to smile before he leaned forward, kissing you hard, his hands cradling your face like he couldn’t get enough. “You’re the best girl, baby.” he murmured against your mouth, voice still wrecked. You tugged on his hair gently, and he sighed into the kiss, finally collapsing beside you.
A few moments later, you were lying flat on the bed, his head resting against your chest while your fingers played lazily with his hair, feeling the rapid thump of his heartbeat slowly calm. You’re lying there, feeling his warmth against you, your fingers lazily combing through his messy hair. The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the AC. “Anton?” you say suddenly, voice quiet and soft.
He hums against your chest, “Mm?” You swallow, heart thumping. “Will you be my boyfriend?” His head lifts immediately, eyes wide and cheeks flushing a deep pink. “A-are you for real?” You pout a little, glancing away before looking back at him. “Anton…you just made me squirt, I’ve never done that before…and besides—” you bite your lip, “I really like you. A lot.”
His mouth parts slightly, like he’s lost for words. Then, with a shaky little laugh, he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. “I like you too…like really fucking like you. And yeah—yeah, I’ll be your boyfriend.” You grin, cheeks warm, and pull him back down against your chest, feeling him smile into your skin.
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