୨୧ — When his daughter brings home her first potential boyfriend at fifteen, Sukuna doesn't say a word. He simply sits across from the terrified boy at the kitchen table, his fork clinking against the plate, the sound sharp in the tense air. The entire time, he maintains unblinking eye contact while you attempt to salvage the rest of the dinner conversation with meaningless small talk.
After about twenty minutes, Sukuna finally speaks, "You touch her wrong, they won't find enough of you to bury. Got it, boy?" The boy is out the door just as you bring out the dessert, and your daughter doesn't speak to her father for three days. But when rumors start to circulate that the same boy pressured another girl into something she didn't want, his daughter quietly finds him outside sipping on his favorite whiskey.
Sitting next to him -her shoulder pressed against his-, she whispers, "How did you know?" Sukuna just shrugs, but there's understanding in the silence between them. After that, she doesn't fight his "inspections" quite so hard. He's always been her protector after all.
︵︵︵ ๑❤︎๑ ︵︵︵
୨୧ — During a parent teaching conference, his daughter’s literature teacher suggests she might be "troubled"… due to her persistent interest in writing dark, violent stories… The teachers eyes flicker towards Sukuna’s tattoos and scars, suggesting it might be due to the home environment.
Wrong choice of words.
Before you can intervene, Sukuna leans forward and asks with a deadly calm, "You ever read Dostoyevsky? The fucking Bible?"
The teacher nods, shrinking back in his seat…
"All full of violence. All considered genius. My daughter’s writing isn’t the problem." His voice never rises, but the temperature in the room seems to drop a whole ten degrees as he continues. "Your small mind is."
Two weeks later, your daughter rushes home holding her regional writing trophy. Sukuna has her piece professionally framed and hung in the living room next day.
Because at the end of the day, that’s still his little girl.
You look up at Sylus from your head's position on his lap, watching the reflection of his holographic display in his eyes as he casually scrolls through classified information. His pupils dart back and forth as he skims the documents, deep in focus.
You whine, looking for attention, and you get it; long, dexterous fingers thread themselves through your hair and gently scratch your scalp. You settle without further protest, your eyes drooping like a content kitty's as you succumb to his affection.
The room is quite a bit brighter by the time you complain again, tugging at the hem of his sweater until he meets your gaze. He raises an eyebrow just slightly, prompting you to speak.
"s'too bright..." you mumble, and he chuckles softly in response, using his evol to tug the blackout curtains closed. You relax once the light behind your eyelids is finally dampened, something vaguely resembling "thank you" escaping your lips as you start to doze once more.
You force your eyes back open a little while later, reaching up to fumble with Sylus's display, trying to find the button to turn it off. He watches you struggle for a bit, then finally takes your hand and gently guides it to the right spot with an amused smile, allowing you to press the button.
He places it aside, then removes your head from his lap, resting it on your shared pillow before scooching downwards to lie beside you. You smile up at him when he reaches your level, leaning forward to nuzzle his nose with your own. He chuckles softly, kissing the tip of your nose.
Sylus extends his arm, coaxing you to lay your head on his shoulder and pressing his lips to your forehead when you nestle close. With his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you snugly against him, it's not long until you start to drift again, a smile on your lips from finally getting what you've wanted all along.
"Sweet dreams, my beloved. I hope to see you there."
are we too late? are we too far? // jack abbot pt. 1
At nineteen, you told Jack Abbot that you’d marry him someday. He laughed it off and disappeared from your life for eleven years. Now, you’re months away from marrying a safe, stable man. Until you lock eyes with Jack across a bar, and your perfectly curated life completely shatters.
genre: dad's ex-best friend!jack x reader, age gap, forbidden romance, mutual pining, eventual smut nsfw mdni
word count: 2700+
(a/n: i've had this one in the drafts for far too long. oooooohhhweeee i love this concept. has me giggling and kicking my feet whilst writing it. there will be a second and final part don't you worry.)
Then
"You're glaring." Jack said. He didn’t look up from the bed of his truck, his massive, infuriatingly broad shoulders working as he hauled a heavy plastic bin toward the tailgate. "It feels very vengeful gremlin. Stop it."
"I am not glaring." you lied, crossing your arms over your chest to keep the chill from the wind out and from the sinking feeling opening up in your stomach. "I am observing. There’s a difference."
"Right. And the term for burning a hole through the back of my flannel with your eyes is what, exactly?" He finally turned around, wiping grease off his palms with a tattered red rag.
He looked entirely out of place in the gravel driveway of your father’s crumbling, overgrown house. But then, Jack had always looked out of place here. He was the only functional adult who had ever walked through that front door.
And now, he was walking away for good.
"I’m documenting the exact moment my favorite person decides to abandon me to the wolves." you murmured, your throat suddenly tight.
Jack’s teasing expression faltered. He dropped the rag onto the tailgate and took two slow steps toward you, effectively obliterating your personal space. He was so tall you had to tilt your head back just to keep eye contact, a fact that you resented on a daily basis.
"I’m not abandoning you." he said, his voice dropping. "We talked about this, kid. Your dad...I can’t do it anymore. If I stay around, if I keep letting him drag me into his disasters, I'm going to end up throwing him through a wall. And that helps exactly no one."
Especially not me, you thought. You knew what your dad was. A master class in parental negligence, a man who viewed his daughter as an inconvenience until he needed a loan or a designated driver.
Jack had spent the last year playing shield. Fixing the plumbing your dad ignored, buying groceries when the fridge was empty, stepping between your father’s alcohol fueled rages and your quiet bedroom.
"I know." you whispered, hating how small you sounded. Hating that you were nineteen and yet entirely unequipped to handle the reality of him leaving. "I get it. He's a parasite. You should leave."
"But?" Jack prompted softly, tilting his head.
"But it sucks."
A corner of his mouth tugged upward, a faint, bittersweet smile. He reached out, his large hand coming down on top of your head, affectionately rustling your hair the way he always did when he thought you were being dramatic. "You’re going to college in the spring. You’re getting out of here. You just have to hold down the fort for a few more months, okay? If you need anything, you call me. I’m cutting ties with him, not you."
It was a safe promise.
And suddenly the suffocating reality of how much you loved him, how much you had loved him since he first showed up to drag your dad out of a bar, boiled over.
"I’m going to marry you someday." you said.
Jack froze. His hand stayed resting on your head before he slowly lowered it, his dark eyes blinking in confusion. "What?"
"You heard me." You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets so he wouldn't see them shaking. "I'm going to marry you someday. Plan accordingly."
The confusion on his face morphed into a booming laugh that rattled right through your ribs. He shook his head. "Jesus, kid." he chuckled, leaning his hip against the truck tailgate. "You really are losing it. I think the stress is finally liquefying your brain."
"I am entirely lucid." you insisted, your heart hammering against your sternum.
"Sure you are. Look, I know I'm a catch." he teased, his eyes glittering with amusement as he pointed a finger at you. "But I'm twelve years older than you, I have a bad knee, and my current retirement plan is hoping the lottery works out. You're nineteen. Go find some college kid who thinks a romantic evening is sharing a box of cheap pizza, and leave the old men out of it."
"You're not old."
"I'm ancient by your standards. Now get inside before you freeze." He waved a dismissive hand, turning back to his truck to close the tailgate.
You turned and walked toward the porch, the gravel crunching beneath you. You didn't look back.
As you reached for the doorknob of the house you hated, the lighthearted mask you’d worn slid completely away. Your chest felt tight, a wild, terrifying spark of certainty settling deep into your bones.
He thought you were joking. He thought it was a silly, dramatic crush from a teenage girl who had a bad dad and a soft spot for the guy who saved her.
But as you pulled the door open and stepped into the dim hallway, you knew with absolute clarity that you had never been more serious about anything in your entire life.
It was unfortunate then that you wouldn’t see Jack Abbot for another eleven years.
…
Now
"I think we should go with the eggshell white for the table linens." Meg said, waving a heavy, binder in front of your face. "Standard white is too aggressive. It screams hospital cafeteria, and we want understated elegance. Thoughts?"
You blinked, pulling yourself out of the haze that had taken over your brain three months ago when wedding planning officially began. "Is there a difference between eggshell and ivory?"
Meg looked at you with the pity of a maid of honor who was single handedly dragging a reluctant bride across the finish line. "One has warm undertones, one has cool undertones. Do you want your guests to feel cozy or intellectually stimulated while they eat their prime rib?"
"I want them to be fed and silent." you muttered, resting your chin in your hand.
You were sitting in your apartment, the coffee table entirely buried under fabric swatches, floral arrangement lookbooks, and a seating chart that confused the hell out of you.
From the bedroom, the sound of typing drifted through the cracked door. David. Your fiancé. A man who possessed a master’s degree in data analytics, an impeccably organized sock drawer, and a temperament so blindingly stable it felt like a weighted blanket for your chaotic soul. David didn't yell. David didn't forget to pay the electric bill. David didn't bring volatile drama into your life.
He was safe. He was exactly what a girl who grew up with a father like yours was supposed to want.
"You're doing that thing again." Meg observed, tapping her pen against the binder.
"What thing?"
"The thing where you look at your engagement ring like it’s a tiny handcuff instead of a three carat symbol of eternal devotion."
You instinctively dropped your hand into your lap, the platinum band suddenly feeling incredibly heavy on your finger. "I am not. I love the ring. I love David. I am just tired. Decision fatigue is a real medical phenomenon, Meg."
"Right. Well, the good news is David already approved the catering invoice." she said, flipping a page. "He made a spreadsheet comparing the price per head of four different vendors against their Yelp reviews. He’s very efficient."
"He is." you agreed, forcing a smile. "He's incredibly efficient."
When David asked you to marry him six months ago after a perfectly pleasant dinner, it had made total, logical sense. Your twenties had been a blur of trying to stabilize your life, working a steady job, and actively untangling the emotional wreckage your father had left behind.
David was peace. He was the quiet harbor.
So why, as you looked at the eggshell fabric swatch in your hand, did you feel like you were suffocating?
"I need a drink." you announced suddenly, pushing yourself up from the couch. The walls of the apartment felt like they were closing in.
Meg raised an eyebrow. "It's a Thursday night."
"Exactly. The perfect night for a gin and tonic. Want to come?"
She looked longingly at the mountain of swatches, then at her watch. "I can't, babe. I promised my mom I’d call her by eight. But go. Escape. Command David to join you for a celebratory beverage."
You glanced back toward the bedroom door. The typing hadn't stopped.
"No." you said quietly, grabbing your jacket from the back of the chair. "David’s working. I'll just slip down to the bar on the corner for an hour. A little solo decompression."
…
You pushed the heavy wooden door to the bar open, the overhead bell chime was immediately swallowed by the hum of a Thursday night crowd. The air inside was warm with the low murmur of conversations and clinking of pint glasses.
You threaded your way through the standing crowd toward the far end of the bar, finding a rare, empty leather stool near the service well. You sat down, sliding your purse onto the counter, your fingers instinctively finding the band on your ring finger. You began to rotate it. A nervous habit.
The bartender wiped down the wood in front of you. "What can I get you?"
"Gin and tonic, please. Lime if you have it."
He nodded and vanished. You let out a long breath, closing your eyes for a fraction of a second to let the frantic pacing of wedding checklists drain out of your head.
"I’m telling you, if the CT scan shows a retroperitoneal hematoma, you don't wait for the labs." a voice echoed from across the room, slicing through the noise of the bar. "You call trauma surgery immediately. If his pressure drops in the middle of the night, a spreadsheet of his blood counts isn't going to save him."
Your entire nervous system seemed to short circuited.
The sound of the bartender dropping ice into your glass faded. Your breath hitched, freezing right in the middle of your chest. You didn't move. You couldn't. Because your brain, despite eleven years of therapeutic distance and deliberate forgetting, recognized that voice with instantaneous accuracy.
Slowly, you turned your head.
You looked past the crowded center of the bar, your eyes tracking the sound toward a large, dimly lit booth in the far back corner. There was a group of four or five people sitting there but your brain entirely bypassed them.
It locked directly onto Jack Abbot.
Eleven years had done things to him. Unfair, frustrating things.
He was sitting with his back partially against the wood paneling, one massive arm stretched out across the top of the booth’s leather cushion. The boyish edge to his jawline was entirely gone, replaced by a rugged permanence that only came with time and the unimaginable stress of running an emergency room.
His hair was mostly silver now, but he still had those curls that you used to love so much.
You just stared. You took him in like a person dying of thirst who had unexpectedly stumbled into an ocean. You watched the way his fingers loosely gripped a lowball glass of amber liquid, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as a resident across the table nodded rapidly, absorbing everything he said.
Then, one of the residents cracked a self deprecating joke and Jack threw his head back and laughed. It was that uninhibited sound you used to listen for through the floorboards of your childhood bedroom. The sound that meant the storm had passed and you were safe for the night.
But as the laugh faded, Jack’s head came back down. His gaze drifted casually across the crowded bar, tracking the room with a lazy, relaxed familiarity.
Until his eyes hit your face. And stopped.
The change in him was instantaneous. The easy, relaxed posture vanished. Jack was frozen, his entire frame locking up as his eyes widened, just a fraction, in shock.
His glass stayed suspended halfway to his mouth. The lazy amusement in his face was entirely wiped clean, replaced by a stunned, piercing gaze that was pressing against your chest from across the room.
He stared at you as if he were looking at a ghost. As if he couldn't quite determine if the alcohol or the dim lighting was playing a cruel trick on him.
Panic taking over, you abruptly tore your eyes away. You spun your stool back around to face the bar, your hands trembling so hard you had to clasp them together in your lap.
"Here you go. Gin and tonic." the bartender said, sliding the glass in front of you.
"Thank you." you breathed, your voice sounding thin and reedy even to your own ears.
You grabbed the glass, your knuckles white, and brought it to your lips. You took a long sip, the sharp bite of the gin doing absolutely nothing to calm the wildfire currently roaring through your veins. You kept your eyes glued to the rows of liquor bottles on the wall, staring intensely at a bottle of cheap vodka as if it held the secrets to the universe.
Just leave, your internal monologue screamed. Pay for the drink, stand up, and walk out the door.
But you didn't move. You sat there, sipping nervously, your ears hyper tuned to the noise behind you, waiting for the inevitable.
You didn’t hear his footsteps over the chatter of the bar, but you felt him. The pressure shifted, the light dimming as a towering shadow fell over your left shoulder. The scent of rain and something deeply, inherently Jack invaded your senses.
He stopped right beside your stool, not saying a word at first. He just stood there waiting until you finally found the courage to look up.
When you did, he was looking down at you, his jaw tight, his eyes searching your face.
"I’d know the back of that head anywhere." Jack murmured. "Even if you did finally change your hair."
…
Your vocal cords felt like they’d been sutured together. You just stared up at him, your fingers around your gin and tonic, desperately hoping the dim bar lighting didn't betray the frantic pulse at the base of your throat.
"Jack." you finally managed.
A grin broke across his face. Without asking, he slid into the empty leather stool next to yours, his shoulder brushing against your arm. The casual dominance of his presence immediately erased the rest of the crowded room. He flagged down the bartender. "Bourbon. Neat. And whatever she’s having, put it on my tab."
"I can pay for my own drink, actually," you shot back, the old defensive reflex kicking in before your brain could stop it. You anchored your heels onto the brass rung of the stool, trying to match his height as best you could. "I have a big girl job now. I’m a fully functioning member of the tax paying public."
Jack tilted his head, his face doing that infuriating amusement you remembered all too well. "A big girl job? Is that right? I know you're an adult. I just heard you order a cocktail that tastes like pine needles and regret. Nineteen year old you would have demanded something neon green and loaded with sugar."
"It’s a sophisticated palate." you sniffed, taking a defiant sip. "And I overheard your little performance back there. 'You call trauma surgery immediately.' Honestly, do you ever stop playing god, or do you just like terrifying your underlings in public so they know you're the smartest guy in the room?" You couldn’t help being a brat. The feelings of him leaving you bubbling up, making you pissed off all over again.
"They’re interns." Jack corrected smoothly, leaning an elbow on the bar, shifting his torso so he was completely facing you. The scent of him was overwhelming. "And they need to be terrified. If they lose their heads because a patient's blood pressure drops, they don't belong in my ER. It's called guidance, kid."
"It's called being bossy.”
Jack let out a chuckle, a sound that rattled right through your ribs, agonizingly familiar. He shook his head, his eyes darkening as he leaned a fraction of an inch closer. "God, I missed your mouth." he murmured.
The words hung in the air between you. The banter evaporated, leaving a silence. Jack’s gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before lifting back to your eyes, searching them.
✧･ﾟBucky moans your name, and it’s the prettiest sound in the world.
✧･ﾟ“Please, baby,” he mutters, fingers digging into your hips. “Just- Fuuuck-“
✧･ﾟHis words fall off into a tiny whimper, and you giggle softly. Whenever you roll your hips, his whole body shudders under your hands. His head pushes back into the pillows, his jaw tight and eyes squeezed tight like he can barely take it. You know he can’t. The heat and softness of you around his cock, fluttering and squeezing deliberately around him.
✧･ﾟ“Come on, Buck,” you tease, scraping your nails slowly down his abdomen. “We’ve barely started, you can’t already be begging for me.”
He tries to glare at you, but it just makes you giggle again. You lean down, kissing over his face and rolling your hips cruelty down. You know just how to keep him on the edge. He hits deep inside of you, right against your g-spot as you use him to get off. He looks up at you with glossy, star-struck eyes and parted lips, and you smile sweetly.
“Hi,” you whisper, and he groans.
“Don’t- Don’t be mean, doll-“
“Hmm.” You pout, dragging your hips in a slow, torturous circle. “But you like it when I’m mean.”
A broken whimper escapes Bucky’s lips, and you hum, picking up the pace just enough to make him pant.
“You want to cum for me, baby?” You whisper, and Bucky nods frantically.
“Please, please-“
You start to rock back and forth, shoving down on his chest and purposefully clenching your tight, sweet walls around his cock. Bucky cries out your name, his face slack and eyes unfocused as you pull him right to the edge.
“Still trying to hold it for me,” you whisper. “Good boy.”
He moans, staring at you hopelessly, and you take mercy. He’s too pretty like this, for you to say no.
“Let go, Bucky,” you whisper, and at your command—just as always—Bucky cums.
Beautiful sounds escape him, as he does. His whole body trembles with the force of it, his hips rutting up into your heat as thick ropes of cum paint your walls and dribble down your thighs. You don’t stop when he’s sensitive and moaning, using his orgasm to get yourself off. When it’s done, you roll over and guide Bucky’s face into your breasts, petting his hair with a lazy smile.
“Good?” You ask softly, always just to be sure.
He makes a garbled sound and holds you tighter. Good.
✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on AO3!✦
✦Author's Note: sub bucky? in this econamy? more likely than you think✦
Summary : You joined Dex’s stream as a guest and left with a problem.
Pairing : Camboy! Benjamin Poindexter x Pornstar! reader (she/her)
Warnings/tags : porn industry au, pornstar!reader, camboy!Dex, virgin!Dex, switch! Dex, livestream sex, masturbation, exhibitionism/voyeurism, praise kink, mentioned bi!reader, jealousy!Dex, unprotected sex (they are mentioned to be tested and reader is on the pill, but wrap it up guys), filthy but still more focused on reactions/chemistry than explicit anatomical detail??? Dex being embarrassingly obsessed. (let me know if I missed anything!
Word Count : 12.8k
Requested by : anons X X
Notes : I see all your freaky asks :) I will be responding when I can, but in the meantime… enjoy!
You were a pornstar.
You didn’t call yourself an “adult entertainer” in the PR-friendly way. You weren’t an influencer who liked to sell a little fantasy on the side. A pornstar. A well-known one, actually. At least, you were famous enough that husbands and boyfriends recognized you in grocery stores, in hotel lobbies, in nice restaurants, on the street, their eyes going wide and staring at you for one beat too long while their girlfriends and wives stood beside them with absolutely no idea why their man had suddenly forgotten how to act normal.
You were used to it by now.
You always noticed the double takes, to the swallowed panic of oh shit I watched you get fucked by two guys on my screen last night. You were used to awkward little flashes of recognition from men who had absolutely seen you naked and were now trying to pretend they hadn’t watched you moan your co-star’s name into a pillow at two in the morning. Some of them got brave and asked for pictures. Some of them went pale when you smiled back, hand tightening on their girlfriend’s hand, hoping she didn’t recognise you. Most of them just looked away too quickly, as if you were guilty, like their search history had somehow climbed out of their phones and started walking around in chunky mary janes
It didn’t flatter you the way it used to.
Nothing really did, not anymore. You had been in the industry long enough for sex to become work in the most practical, unromantic sense.
You rarely, if ever, had sex without lighting, angles, and contracts. You had to think about testing windows, release schedules, which performer looks good with you on camera. Which one was all hype and no chemistry. Which one looked expensive but moved like they were waiting for applause. You still liked your job. You liked the control, the money, the fact that you had built a name out of everyone else’s desire. But desire itself was harder to come by.
These days, when you scrolled through adult sites, it was mostly scouting.
That was what you told yourself, anyway, curled up in bed in your hoodie with your laptop open, boredly clicking through streamer trending pages like you were reviewing résumés. Pretty girl. Pretty boy. Nice body. Bad camera presence. Too fake. Too loud. Trying too hard. You had seen every version of beautiful by then, and most of it did nothing for you.
Three hours of scouting had done absolutely nothing for you.
Nothing. Not a flutter. It was as dry as the Sahara down there. You had clicked through girl after girl with perfect asses, perfect lighting, perfect lip gloss, all thighs and breathy little smiles, and your only thought had been, great angles, weak branding. You watched a brunette arch her back so prettily it probably made half the site black out, and you just blinked at the screen like you were reviewing tax documents.
Then the men.
A blond with abs so defined he looked carved out of a protein advert. Nothing. A tattooed guy with a nice mouth and no camera presence. Nothing. Some cocky pretty boy calling everyone baby like he had learned seduction from a bad podcast. Absolutely fucking nothing. You had seen bodies. You had touched bodies. You had been paid very, very well to make bodies look better than they were. Sexy alone didn’t do anything for you anymore.
You were about to close the tab when you saw him.
Dex.
Just Dex.
No fancy stage name, no stupid pun, no little devil emoji. He didn’t use an overproduced thumbnail of him biting his lip like he was trying to seduce a ring light. He crossed your screen in a small live window with a ridiculously high viewer count for his production level, and him sitting there in a plain, dim room like he had accidentally wandered into every guy and gal’s dirtiest fantasy.
You hovered over the stream.
He had a big body, broad shoulders, thick arms. He had the kind of build that made your brain go. Ugh. Hot.
Annoyingly hot.
But that didn’t mean anything. Three-quarters of the industry was hot until they opened their mouth or moved like they were waiting for a round of applause.
So, fine.
He was pretty.
Was he good?
You clicked on him.
And then Dex looked up at the camera.
He wasn’t smirking or posing. He wasn’t selling you that lazy, hollow confidence men loved to mistake for sex appeal. Dex looked almost offended by his own arousal, tense and tightly wound, one hand wrapped low around himself… and, Christ, he was blessed enough there to make even you pause.
His jaw worked. His shoulders were rigid. His eyes were so dark and focused they made the heat between your legs finally, finally wake up after hours of nothing.
Oh.
You sat up a little straighter.
Well, that was new.
You had fucked beautiful men professionally. You had kissed women so pretty they made entire comment sections lose their minds. You had been under, over, between, worshipped, handled, filmed, edited, marketed, sold. Looking perfect was boring. Experience was overrated. Confidence was usually just choreography.
But Dex looked untouched in a way that did not feel innocent.
The worst part was that Dex was not even doing anything particularly new.
You had seen men touch themselves on camera before. You had seen it polished, staged, rehearsed, marketed within an inch of its life. Men who knew exactly when to bite their lip, when to groan, when to lean back and show off for the lens. Men who had perfected the fantasy so thoroughly there was nothing human left in it.
Dex wasn’t like that.
Dex looked like he hated that he wanted to be watched.
He sat too stiffly, one hand braced on the arm of his chair, the other stroking himself, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jump. His room was dim except for the glow of his screen, obsessively neat lines and no personality, like he had tried to make the space as controlled as possible because nothing about him was.
He kept glancing at the chat, reading whatever filth people were throwing at him, and every time his eyes flicked over something that got to him, his mouth parted just slightly before he forced it shut again.
God.
You leaned closer to the laptop.
He was trying to be quiet, that much was obvious. He was trying to keep his breathing even, trying to make it look like this was routine, like he was just another camboy doing what people paid him to do. But his body kept betraying him. His throat moved when he swallowed. His thighs shifted open another inch. His hand tightened around himself, careful at first, almost punishingly restrained, like he was afraid of giving too much away.
And you realized, with a curl of heat low in your stomach, that he was still holding back.
Even alone, even with thousands of people watching, Dex was holding something back.
You should’ve been bored. You should’ve clicked away, made a note of his follower count, and sent his profile to your manager like any other piece of potential talent. Instead, you sat there in bed with your pulse picking up, watching the way his hips gave one helpless little twitch into his fist when someone in the chat must have praised him.
Oh.
Your lips parted.
Dex’s eyes went unfocused for half a second, his grip faltering before tightening again, and the sound he made was rough and clearly not meant to slip out. The chat exploded. You could see it reflected in the faint flicker of his eyes, hundreds of people losing their minds because the untouchable pretty camboy had made a noise.
Dex went red.
And then, instead of playing into it, instead of giving the camera some smug little smile, he looked angry. Embarrassed, even. He was turned on enough that he couldn’t hide it and furious that everyone had noticed.
Your stomach dropped in the best way.
“Oh, you poor thing,” you murmured to no one, smiling at the screen.
Dex’s hand moved faster, but not like he was trying to put on a show. It was simultaneously worse and more honest than that. His rhythm stuttered, then steadied, his shoulders tense, his free hand gripping the chair like he needed something to anchor himself to. He kept looking away from the camera and then back again, like he couldn’t decide whether being watched made it better or made him want to crawl out of his own skin.
You had been desired by millions. You had built a career out of being watched. You knew the difference between arousal that was performed and arousal that escaped.
This was escaping him.
And maybe that was why you gave yourself permission to let it happen to yourself, too. Dex was losing control in inches, and you were doing the same in secret, thighs tightening, hips rolling once over nothing, twice, slow enough that you could still pretend it was nothing. You could still pretend you were just watching. You could still pretend you hadn’t started chasing pressure because some camboy with a furious blush had made you feel wanted through a screen.
You could not look away.
Dex was hot, yes, but hot was cheap in your world. His body was good, his face was better, his mouth was pretty in a way that made your imagination wander. But it was the restraint that ruined you.
You shifted again, slower this time, not even thinking about it. The pillow beside you had slipped between your knees at some point, warm from your body, and you tugged it closer with the same absentminded irritation you used to adjust a blanket. Except then Dex’s hand tightened on the screen, his mouth parted like he hated himself for needing it, and your thighs pressed together around the pillow before you could stop them.
You were not scouting anymore.
Scouting didn’t end up like this. Scouts did not sit in bed with their laptop glowing blue over their bare legs, breathing a little too shallow, hips moving in these tiny, thoughtless drags against a pillow. You only noticed when the friction pulled a soft moan out of you, embarrassing in how surprised it made you.
On screen, Dex lowered his head, breath coming harsher now. His hand was moving with less control, his hips following in small, involuntary jerks. He was close. Anyone could see it. He looked almost pained, brows drawn together, mouth open, every bit of him wound tight and shaking with the effort not to be too loud.
Then he looked at the chat again.
Whatever he read there made him freeze.
For a second, he just stared.
Then his eyes lifted to the camera, dark and wrecked, and he said, voice rough, “Don’t call me that.”
You stopped breathing.
The chat must have done exactly what he told them not to, because his teeth clenched, his hand tightened, and the next sound out of him was so fucking pretty it made you desperately hump a pillow.
Oh, he was a problem.
He was a massive fucking problem.
You watched him finish with his head tipped back, trying and failing to keep quiet, one hand still white-knuckled on the chair, his face flushed with embarrassment and pleasure. It was not polished or professional. It was so much better than that. It was messy and furious and needy, and when he finally slumped back, breathing hard, he looked almost offended by his own body.
Like he had lost a fight.
For a long moment, you didn’t move.
Dex slumped back on screen, breathing hard, looking offended by his own pleasure, and you stared at him with your thighs still locked around the pillow. Only then did you realize what you had been doing. Only then did you look down at yourself, at the twist of sheets, at the pillow dragged shamelessly between your legs, and laugh under your breath because, Jesus Christ, three hours of professional scouting had left you dry as dust, and Dex had made your pillow slick and sticky without even knowing your name.
You stared at the screen long after he ended the stream.
Then you picked up your phone and called your manager, Joanna.
She answered half-asleep and annoyed. “This better be an emergency.”
“I found someone.”
“For a video?”
You looked at Dex’s frozen profile photo, his serious mouth, his too-intense eyes, the ridiculous viewer count sitting under his name like proof that you weren’t the only one who had noticed.
But you were going to be the first one who mattered.
“For me,” you agreed, voice still a little too warm. “Camboy. Goes by Dex. Pretty big numbers, no studio work, and only solo stuff as far as I can see. Find him and work it out.”
Joanna went quiet, then, suspiciously she said, “Are you scouting, or are you horny?”
You smiled. “Both.”
Honestly, Joanna was shocked it wasn’t just the former.
He must be special.
—
Joanna managed to get you coffee with him three days later.
Which started very normal.
There was no immediate sexual tension so thick it made the barista uncomfortable. Not even dramatic eye contact over steaming mugs. No gag-worthy you’re even prettier in person that made you roll your eyes and secretly preen. It was just Dex sitting across from you in a corner table, shoulders too broad for the little café table, hands wrapped around a black coffee he barely touched, talking to you about the weather like he had not been the reason you dry-humped a pillow two nights ago.
It had rained that morning. You said you liked the smell of wet pavement when you didn’t have anywhere to be. He said he hated rain because it made people careless on the road. You laughed and told him that was such a depressing answer. His mouth twitched into an almost-smile, like he was embarrassed he had been funny by accident.
Then you told him you used to be a barista.
That surprised him.
“Really?” he asked, and it was the first time his voice lifted with something other than polite caution.
“Yeah,” you shrugged, “I can still steam milk better than half the people in here.”
His eyes flicked toward the counter, assessing the machine like he was genuinely considering whether that was true.
“What about you?” you asked, saving him from the heavy load of the conversation. “Before the camboy thing.”
His thumb moved once against the cup.
“Military.”
Ah.
That made the posture, the exit-scanning make sense. The calm that didn’t feel relaxed so much as trained into him.
“Fair,” you said, letting your eyes drag over him just enough to be obvious.
His ears went pink.
Fuck. Hot.
What you didn’t know was that Dex had almost not shown up.
And because he did not want to. Because he wanted too badly. Because your manager’s email had sat in his inbox like a live grenade, your name in the subject line, your actual name, your professional name, the name he had typed into search bars more times than he would ever admit out loud.
He loved your solo work most, which wasn’t surprising, considering his preferences for doing things alone.
You had no idea how many times you had been on his screen while he was live, in a second tab, your voice low in his tiny earphone while his chat thought they were the ones getting him worked up. And sometimes, sure, they helped.
But mostly, it was you.
Your solo clips were safer. He loved seeing your pretty face going soft with pleasure, with no one else in frame, no one else touching you, no one else making him feel that ugly twist in his stomach. It was stupid. Irrational. Embarrassing. You were not his. You didn’t know his name until two days ago. You had no idea he existed beyond maybe a faceless number in your views, but Dex still liked those clips best because, for a few pathetic minutes, he could pretend you were only being watched by him.
The scenes with other performers were harder.
He watched those too, but it made him mean, jealous in a way he had no right to be, staring at strangers with his jaw tight and his hand wrapped around himself like he could punish the feeling out of his body. He hated them for touching you. Hated himself for watching. Hated most that he still finished.
He knew he was not special for wanting you. Half the internet wanted you. He could see two joggers in the background, whispering in your direction. They’ve probably seen your videos, too.
Dex was no different from them, having spent months as one anonymous viewer in an ocean of them, wanting too much from too far away.
And now you were sitting across from him in sunglasses and a soft sweater, smiling like this was normal.
He asked about your job without being weird about it. Not the gross questions people thought they were allowed to ask because you were famous for sex. He asked what made a good scene, how you knew when someone had camera presence, whether the industry was as overproduced as it looked from the outside. Dex was proud of getting the questions out, considering he had spent an hour that morning practicing in the mirror in the effort to make himself feel like a normal human being.
You told him the truth. Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. Sometimes the best thing on camera was a move nobody planned, and sometimes the hottest person in the room became boring the second they started acting like they knew they were hot.
Eventually, though, you had to talk business.
“So,” you said, stirring your drink with your straw. “Usually, before a full collab, I’d do a test screening.”
“I…” Dex’s eyes came back to yours. “I can’t do that.”
You blinked, leaned back. “That’s pretty standard, Dex.”
“I know.”
“You know?” You raised your eyebrows.
“I read the packet your manager sent.”
“Mm,” you hummed, sipping your coffee.
His ears went pink again, but he didn’t look away this time. “I’m not saying no to you. I’m saying no to doing it like that first.”
Oh?
“Okay,” you said, leaning forward a bit. “Then how would you do it?”
He took a second. You watched his thumb move once along the seam of his coffee cup, the only nervous tell he had really given you. He was shy, you realized. Not helpless or naive, but shy in a controlled, locked-door kind of way.
“Let’s do a “test screening” on my stream,” he said, and he looked like he was gonna wince with how needy he sounded.
You stared at him for a beat, then laughed softly. “You want your first collab with me to be on a streaming site?”
“Yes.”
“You know my team is going to call that risky.”
Dex nodded. “Yes.”
“And you still want that?”
His gaze held yours, steady now despite the blush still sitting high on his cheekbones. “If I’m going to collab with someone like you, I want you on my screen first. Not the other way around.”
Oh.
You smiled into your coffee. So there was a marketing bone in his body. Smart.
You understood it instantly, because it was a good branding move.
His whole appeal was the intimacy of his setup, the feeling that viewers were seeing something private slip out of him in real time. A studio debut would make him look like everyone else. But you appearing on his stream? You, the famous pornstar, stepping into his room, like the fantasy had chosen him personally?
That would go insane online.
“Ah,” You nodded slowly. “You want it less produced.”
“Yes.”
“Your audience gets to feel like they saw it happen before the industry got its hands on you.”
His mouth twitched up. “You’re good at this.”
“I’m known for a reason.”
“I know,” he said, a little too quickly. You smiled at that, and he looked down into his coffee like it had the answers to the universe.
Fuck, he was cute.
There was something sweet about how badly he was trying to be professional while clearly not believing you were actually sitting across from him. It made you want to tease him just to see what would happen.
“You watched my work?” you asked lightly.
His fingers tightened around the cup. “Yes.”
“Research?”
“No.”
Your eyebrows lifted. Dex’s face went red.
Oh, that was fun.
You didn’t push him too hard, at least not yet. You just smiled into your drink and let him sit with it. Let him know you had noticed. Let him know you were kind enough not to eat him alive in public, even though you could.
“Okay,” you said eventually. “If I were to say yes, my rules still apply. I need boundaries and a safe word, of course. My manager sees the platform terms and the moderation plan. If I say stop, we stop. If I say cut, you cut. If your chat gets ugly, they’re gone.”
Dex nodded immediately. “I want you comfortable.”
It was so direct that it knocked some of the teasing right out of you.
You studied him for a second. “You’re very serious.”
“I’m trying to be.” His throat moved.
You smiled, smaller this time. “Relax, Dex. I’m not going to bite you here.”
His eyes dropped to your mouth, then back up.
“Okay,” he said, not sounding relaxed at all.
You laughed, warm and genuine. The rest of the meeting went like that. Business, then teasing. Testing requirements, then him asking if you still knew how to make latte art. Revenue split, then you asked if all ex-military boys read contracts like they were defusing bombs. He was shy, yes, but he kept up with you. He got drier as he got more comfortable, answering your little jabs with quiet, deadpan comments that made you laugh harder than you meant to.
By the time you stood to leave, you had already decided that whatever his final offer was, you were going to accept it. Dex rose when you did, because of course he did, and you watched him catch himself almost reaching for your chair.
“Send the room specs to my manager,” you said. “Camera setup, schedule, moderation. All of it.”
He nodded.
“And Dex?”
He looked at you.
You smiled. “Don’t overthink it.”
By the time you got into the car, your manager had texted.
How did it go?
You looked back through the café window.
Dex was still sitting there, coffee untouched, staring down at the table like he was trying to process the fact that you had been real.
You typed back: Good chemistry :)
Which translated to: get the contract through at all costs.
—
The contract came through a week later.
Joanna read it first, then legal, then you, curled up on your sofa with a glass of iced coffee.
It was careful and specific. From platform split, moderation rules, content usage, safeword protocol, post-stream review period. Dex had done his homework like he was preparing for a military operation instead of a livestream.
Joanna called you after. “He’s weird.”
You smiled at the PDF on your screen. “I know.”
The schedule was locked in for Friday night, two months from the initial meeting.
It was prime livestream time, where most people were off work for the week and needed to blow some steam off.
The announcement that he was going to have a special guest went up at noon and started trending by dinner. By the next morning, the comments were already feral, speculating on who the guest could be. The other half were calling the guest “lucky,” like luck had anything to do with it.
By Friday afternoon, your bag was packed like any other shoot: robe, makeup, a backup outfit, your own wipes, your own water bottle, your own little collection of professional comforts that made unfamiliar rooms feel less unfamiliar. You had done this hundreds of times before, with different sets and different performers.
But this time, your stomach kept doing this stupid little flip every time you looked at the address.
—
Dex’s apartment was exactly as clean as you expected.
The first thing you saw was shoes lined neatly by the door, counters wiped down, unopened waters on the coffee table, folded towels stacked beside them, a bowl of mints like he had prepared for a business meeting and a sleepover at the same time. The contract sat printed beside a pen, already signed on his end, with little tabs marking the important sections.
Dex stood in the doorway in a black shirt and dark jeans, barefoot, hair still a little damp from a recent shower. His eyes flicked over you once before he looked away, polite enough to be cute and interested enough to fail at hiding it.
“Hi,” you said.
“Hi.”
You stepped inside, smiling as you looked around.
“You cleaned like my manager was coming to inspect the place.”
Dex shrugged. “Would she?”
“She usually does,” you chuckled, “but you negotiated me coming here alone, so…”
“Then I cleaned the right amount.”
That made you laugh, and he relaxed by about half an inch. He offered you water, pointed out where the bathroom was, showed you the towels and extra robe, and then handed you the final printed contract like this was all very normal.
When he led you to his livestream room, you felt a bit parasocial, which was weird, because you rarely felt that anymore. There’s the table you saw on stream! There's the bed in the background! There’s the chair he jerked—
“The water is in the corner,” Dex said, pointing yet again to another oasis of neatly arranged water bottles.
You nodded and smiled, looking at the countdown stream on his computer. You read the comments, feeling pleased with yourself.
devilcam199999: WHO IS IT?
6polly16: dex with a guest is crazy
starknaked3000: is it a model???
the.raft.wifi: hes probably already nervous lmao
You leaned closer to the screen, amused. “They’re going to be unbearable.”
“They usually are.”
You smiled and he pretended not to notice.
The setup was good. While his room didn't have studio gloss, he had flattering lighting, clean frame, camera angled to catch the bed if he widened the shot, desk close enough that he could cut the stream instantly. He walked you through the kill switch, delay, blocked terms, moderator list, and what to do if either of you wanted to stop.
“You really did your homework,” you said.
His eyes flicked to you, and that tiny almost-smile came back. “You sound surprised.”
“I’m not surprised. I’m impressed.”
It was enough to make his face warm while he turned back to the monitor like the settings suddenly needed his full attention.
You liked him. That was becoming inconvenient.
He had a first-timer’s shyness and a professional’s discipline, and the combination was doing stupid chemicals to react like fireworks in your brain.
Before he clicked anything live, he paused.
“Can I ask something?”
You leaned against the desk. “Yeah.”
Dex looked almost embarrassed, but not scared. Just very aware of himself. “Can I kiss you first?”
Your eyebrows lifted.
“To get it out of the way,” he added quickly, then immediately looked like he regretted phrasing it like that.
You laughed. “That is possibly the least professional way anyone has ever asked to kiss me.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.”
“I just don’t want the first one to be for them.”
Oh.
How sweet, asking for one small thing to belong to the two of you before the camera got any of it.
You stepped closer. “Okay.”
He looked pleasantly surprised.
Dex kissed you carefully, almost chastely, one hand hovering near your waist but not touching until you gave him the smallest nod. His mouth was warm and far more polite than anything about the night ahead of you had any right to be. It lasted maybe three seconds. Four, at most. A sweet little closed-mouth kiss that shouldn't have made your stomach dip the way it did.
When he pulled back, you smiled. “That was very respectable.”
His ears went pink. “Was that bad?”
“No,” you said, still smiling. “That was adorable.”
Dex looked like he would rather walk into traffic be called adorable by you, which only made it worse.
You reached up, fixed the collar of his shirt even though you were going to take it off him anyway, and stepped back before you could get too fond of him too quickly.
“Okay,” you said. “Now we work.”
That helped him, and you could see almost instantly, how it whipped the room back into shape.
He nodded and turned to the monitor while you stepped into the bathroom and stripped to change to your skimpy two piece-piece, grabbing your robe from your bag and slipped it over your shoulders. When you got back out, he was checking the countdown settings. The chat was moving so fast now it looked like static. Dex had not even gone live yet, and they were already losing their minds over the idea of a guest.
You stepped into the preview beside him.
There you were, on his camera.
You missed this. The amateur stuff. It's been like, three years since you’ve done it like this.
“Oh,” you said, watching the monitor. “This is going to be good.”
Dex looked at your reflection instead of the chat. “Yeah.”
You smiled. “Ready?”
He took one breath. Then he clicked the stream into place.
“Ready enough,” he said.
The five-minute countdown began.
—
Three…
Dex sat in his usual chair, fully clothed, hands folded loosely in his lap like this was a normal stream and not the first time his chat had ever been promised a guest.
Two…
The chat was already moving too fast.
One…
The waiting screen vanished.
For half a second, it was just Dex. Same room, same camera, same controlled lighting. Same pretty, unreadable face that made people tip just to see if they could crack it. He looked at the chat, then at something off-screen, then back at the camera with his jaw a little tighter than usual.
“Hi,” he said.
The chat exploded just from that.
fluid69: HIIIIII DEX
blipped_and_bricked: he looks nervous oh my god
0nlyCams0fKamarTaj: WHERE IS THE GUEST
mod_mara: Be respectful. Rules are pinned.
Dex read none of it out loud. He never really did when it moved like this. He only glanced at it, then back off-screen, where you were standing in your robe, smiling with your arms folded like this was the funniest thing you had done all year.
They had known about a mystery guest for two days. They had theorized, spiraled, argued, made tier lists, accused him of secretly having a girlfriend, accused him of hiring another camboy, accused him of doing a faceless collab, accused him of lying for engagement. No one had guessed you, because why would they? You had not cammed in three years. You didn’t just wander into camboy streams like a surprise prize.
Dex swallowed.
“I have…” He stopped, jaw flexing like the word was harder than it needed to be. “I have a friend here.”
You almost laughed.
A friend.
You, pornstar-men-recognized, standing barefoot in his bedroom in a silk robe, and Dex had introduced you like you were coming over to borrow sugar.
The chat went rabid.
redline.616: A FRIEND????
hellskitchen_: DEX HAS FRIENDS???
6courtroom9: no because why was that hot
_afterdark: show friend show friend show friend
TIPBOT: @/redline.616 tipped 25 tokens — “for the friend fund”
Dex’s ears went pink.
You decided to save him and ruin him at the same time by moving, showing one bare leg sliding into frame from the side, like you had wandered in by accident. Your robe skimmed high on your thigh. You heard the chat hitch, the delay catching up in a sudden, violent flood of messages.
Dex turned his head toward you.
You gave him your hand. He took it immediately.
That, for some reason, was what made the room feel intimate. Even on camera, even with thousands of people watching, he was going to do this properly.
He pulled you closer, not rough or showy, just a steady tug until you stepped between his knees, face still off-camera. Then he looked up at you, waiting.
You smiled down at him, let the pause stretch just long enough for the chat to collectively lose its mind, then lowered yourself into his lap.
Oh, boy.
pretty-prince: WAIT
pretty-prince: WAIT WAIT WAIT
skull.hour: IS THAT—
starknaked.3000: NO FUCKING WAY
27watch: I KNEW I RECOGNISED THAT LEG
mistermidnight: DEX WHAT DID YOU DO
TIPBOT: @/mistermidnight tipped 100 tokens — “IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS?????”
TIPBOT: @/skull.hour tipped 250 tokens — “DEX YOU ABSOLUTE MADMAN”
You settled sideways across his thighs, one arm sliding around his shoulders as if you had sat there a hundred times. Dex went very still under you, almost stunned like his body had accepted you before his brain could process the fact that you were real, warm, and in his lap on his own stream.
“Hi,” you said to the camera.
That was all it took.
616.redline: I KNOW THAT VOICE I KNOW THAT VOICE
kamar-taj404: SHE HASN’T CAMMED IN YEARS?????
catholicguilt: DEX BAGGED A LEGEND???
the.raft.wifi: I WATCHED HER LAST NIGHT
velvet_77jaw: everybody shut up she’s real
blip.checked69: DEX BLINK TWICE IF YOU SOLD YOUR SOUL
TIPBOT: @/catholicguilt tipped 69 tokens — “I am deceased”
TIPBOT: @/goodboycommittee tipped 300 tokens — “I literally had her video open yesterday. Dex you lucky bastard.”
Dex read that one.
You felt it in the way his fingers flexed once at your waist in a tiny possessive twitch. That little reminder that yes, half the internet had seen you, wanted you, touched themselves to you, said filthy things about you. But now you were in his lap, on his screen, while they all watched him realize exactly how many people had wanted what he had his hands on.
You turned your head slightly, lips close to his ear.
“Breathe,” you murmured, sweet enough that the mic barely caught it.
Dex breathed.
The chat saw that too.
slowburnsir: he is NOT surviving this
camdad_404: his hands his HANDS
mod_mara: Do not spam. Tips are not requests unless accepted.
The second his eyes met yours, the room changed. The chat was still screaming. The tips were still chiming. The screen was still bright with names and numbers and disbelief. But Dex stopped looking like a camboy hosting a special stream and started looking like a man with you in his lap, trying very hard to remember that everyone else existed.
You smiled at him like you knew exactly what you were doing.
“Your chat is excited,” you said.
Dex’s gaze flicked to the screen, then back to you. His hands tightened again, just slightly.
You raised an eyebrow.
He looked flatly at the camera for half a second, then down at where you were settled across him.
“I noticed.”
The chat caught the tone even if they did not catch the whole meaning.
rorschach69: OH HE’S JEALOUS JEALOUS
confessional_3am: that was possessive as hell
guilttrip04: “i noticed” SIR????
billyphobia.16: wait this chemistry is insane
TIPBOT: @/lonelyplanet69 tipped 400 tokens — “for whatever that was”
You should have kept it professional, and to be fair, you mostly did.
You faced the camera again, one hand resting lightly against Dex’s chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm. It was very fast. Sweet, actually, if you ignored the fact that the man beneath you looked one good compliment away from blacking out.
“Hi, chat,” you said, bright and calm, like you had not just detonated his entire platform. “I hear Dex promised you a guest.”
The chat screamed.
Dex, poor thing, looked at you like calling him by name in that voice had been an attack.
You smiled wider.
“So,” you continued, letting your fingers tap once against his shirt, “be nice to him tonight.”
You leaned a little closer to the camera, lowering your voice.
“He’s new at sharing you guys.”
After that, you stayed in his lap for a while, letting the audience settle as word spread that you were her. You saw the chat screaming itself into static while Dex tried very hard not to look like he was losing his mind on camera. He was touching you through the robe already, one palm over your hip, the other over the swell of your clothed breast, fingers pressing in like he could feel the heat through the fabric, like he was trying to be respectful and failing in the most beautiful way.
Dex’s ears went pink, but he kept his eyes on you.
You stepped in close, hands finding the hem of his shirt. He lifted his arms before you even had to ask. Disciplined Dex standing there half-submissive in front of his own camera while you dragged his shirt up over his stomach, over his chest, over those ridiculous shoulders, and tossed it off-frame like it didn’t matter.
The chat went wild at the sight of him.
You barely looked at them. You were too busy looking at him.
His chest rose and fell too quickly. His stomach tightened when your fingertips skimmed down the center. His teeth clenched when your nails grazed the waistband of his jeans. He was so still it almost looked controlled, except nothing about the front of his jeans was controlled at all.
Dex was already hard, and not even half-hard from nerves and anticipation. Rock fucking hard, straining behind denim like his body had given up pretending. Like sitting with you in his lap, smelling your perfume, seeing the chat call you a legend had ruined every professional thought in his head.
“Dex,” you said sweetly.
His eyes shut for half a second.
You laughed under your breath and popped the button of his jeans.
27noirsignal_: OH MY GOD
ricochet.004: He’s so embarrassing
redacted-h3ll : everybody act normal.
TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 500 tokens — “for that reaction”
The zipper came down slowly.
Dex’s hands twitched at his sides.
“Don’t help,” you murmured under your breath, not loud enough for the mic to catch it.
He froze.
You pushed his jeans down just enough, then his briefs, watching his face while he was exposed to you and the camera all at once. He sprang free, heavy and so obviously neglected that you made a pleased sound before you could stop yourself.
The chat exploded.
You reached for him, but not properly. You gave him the lightest touch, fingertips fluttering over him, barely there, soft little strokes that were more a tease than relief. Dex’s breath hitched. His stomach jumped. His hands curled into fists like he was physically stopping himself from grabbing you.
You touched him again, featherlight.
His hips gave one tiny, helpless twitch into your hand.
“Oh,” you whispered, smiling. “You’re sensitive.”
glasshog_77: DID HE JUST
midnightorbit : she barely touched him I’m crying
goodboycommittee: this is not a stream this is an execution
You wrapped your fingers around him for one second, just enough to feel him pulse in your hand, just enough to make his mouth part.
Then you let go.
Dex let out a broken little breath, like he hated how much he wanted to chase your touch.
You smiled like a terrible person. “Your turn.”
For a second, he just stared at you. Then his eyes dropped to the tie of your robe.
Dex reached for it carefully, like the silk was a trap. His fingers brushed your stomach through the fabric before he pulled the knot loose. The robe opened in a slip of blue shadow and skin, but you didn’t make him peel it off you. You just let it fall.
The silk slid down your shoulders, down your arms, and pooled at your feet, showing blue lingerie.
It was pretty, almost innocent, if anyone watching was stupid enough to believe that.
Dex stopped breathing.
The chat did too, for about half a second. Then it lost its collective mind.
27watch: she knew exactly what she was doing
devilcam199999: DEX BLINK IF YOU’RE ALIVE
TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 1000 tokens — “WELCOME BACK TO STREAMING”
Dex’s eyes dragged over you with a focus so intense it made your skin heat. It wasn’t polished or performative. Dex looked like he was trying to survive you.
You stepped closer, turned back so your ass was facing him, and took his wrist, guiding his hand to your waist.
“Touch me.”
His palm settled against your skin with reverence first, then hunger second. His fingers spread over your ribs, thumbs brushing the edge of the lace. He traced the strap of your bra with one finger, then bent his head and caught it gently between his teeth.
Your breath hitched.
His teeth tugged the blue strap down your shoulder inch by inch, his mouth hot against your skin, careful until your breath shook. Then less careful when he heard it. His lips followed the strap, kissing the place it had marked, and when his eyes flicked up to yours, there was something darker in them now.
“Turn around,” he said quietly, almost embarrassed by his own command.
You did, because fair was fair.
Dex’s hands went to your hips as you faced him again, your chest to his, your ass framed perfectly by the lens in that tiny blue scrap of lace. The chat started moving too fast to read. Tips chimed over each other, bright and frantic, while Dex stood in front you, naked and hard, one hand sliding to your back to steady you, the other moving down over your hip.
Then his hands cupped you, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of your ass, spreading you slightly through the lingerie so the camera got the kind of view that made the chat forget how to spell.
catholicguilt: DEX???
soft_dom_accountant: HIS HANDS
the.raft.wifi: THE VIEW THE VIEW THE VIEW
goodboycommittee: chat shut up I’m dying
TIPBOT: @/mistermidnight tipped 500 tokens — “that angle is insane
And that was when Dex realized that the camera had the better view.
His hands paused. His fingers flexed once against your skin. His jaw tightened near your temple, and you watched his eyes flicker from you to the feed, from the feed back to what little of you he could see over your shoulder.
Oh.
Oh, he didn’t like that.
Chat clocked it before you did.
exitwound-17: HE’S JEALOUS OF US
badangle_300: DEX MAD WE CAN SEE HER ASS BETTER THAN HIM
holyshitcam.24: possessive king has logged on
user-51down: he set up the angle lol
TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 400 tokens — “for the angle”
Dex’s mouth flattened.
You arched your back just enough to make the view even worse for him and even better for them.
His hand shot to your back, pulling you back against him.
There he was.
Not the shy camboy or the careful professional. Just Dex, tense, jealous, turned on so badly he looked almost angry about it, his arousal hard against you from behind while thousands of people watched him lose the battle in real time.
You looked back at the camera and smiled.
“Aw,” you said, voice soft and sweet. “I think he forgot sharing means sharing.”
Dex’s grip tightened.
The chat screamed.
He bent close, lips brushing your ear.
“They get to watch,” he muttered.
His hands slid lower, possessive and warm, holding you open for one more second before he turned your face away from him.
“But I get to touch.”
Your back hit Dex’s chest, and you could feel the hard planes of his body behind you, the heat of his skin, the shaky rise and fall of his chest, the twitch against your lower back every time the chat said something particularly filthy. He was trying not to react, you could tell, wrapping an arm locked around your waist like he was keeping you in place for the camera and himself at the same time.
He was still jealous.
You could feel that too.
The chat had the front view now. You parted your thighs, your flushed chest, Dex’s big hand splayed possessively over your stomach. They could see the curve of your body better than he could, and it was clearly ruining him in several directions at once.
blindspot-13: this angle is criminal
sector_42seven: she’s so lucky smh
castle50files: DEX YOU GOOD???
TIPBOT: @/badangle_300 tipped 500 tokens — “I could never have his self-control”
Dex’s cheek brushed your temple when he leaned down.
“Tell me what to do,” he said.
It came out rough and almost too quiet. It wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t even a line. It was just a simple request.
Your stomach pulled tight.
Because Dex had his hands on you in front of thousands of people, but he still asked. He still waited. He still needed the words. Even with your hips held under his hands and your breath already starting to shake, he wanted instruction.
You turned your face slightly toward him. “You want me to teach you?”
You felt him twitch again against your back.
confessional.09: yikes
audiofile_6b: oh he LIKES being told
lessonpla.n: teacher voice unlocked
TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 300 tokens — “give him step by step instruction”
Dex’s hand tightened over your waist.
“Yes,” he said.
Fuck.
You smiled at the camera, sweet as sugar, and reached back to touch his thigh, just enough to make him feel your fingers and suffer.
“Okay,” you said. “First, put your hand here.”
You guided his hand up your stomach to your chest. Dex followed instantly, palm large and warm as it slid over your ribs. His fingers hesitated at the edge of your bra, then cupped one breast through the blue lace, careful at first, too careful, like he was scared of making you feel like a prop even though the entire point of the stream was showing you off.
You covered his hand with yours and squeezed.
His breath caught.
“Like that,” you murmured. “Don’t be scared.”
Dex swallowed, then did it again, firmer this time. His thumb dragged through the sheer fabric, and circled once. Your hips shifted back against him before you could stop yourself.
His mouth brushed your ear. “There?”
“Mm. There.”
The chat went white-hot.
echo.17room: SHE SAID THERE
9lives_witness: he’s learning in real time
paperclip-666: I’m going to be sick they’re so hot
bigwindow.34: DEX’S HANDS ARE HUGE?????
TIPBOT: @/bad.r0m4nce tipped 600 tokens — “student of the year”
Dex’s other hand moved lower, slower, down your stomach, over the rise and fall of your breathing. You felt the moment his fingers reached the waistband of your lingerie because he stopped again, waiting.
You were going to lose your mind.
“Under,” you told him.
His fingers slipped beneath the thin blue strap at your hip, and your thighs parted by instinct.
Dex went still behind you, his breathing now unsteady. You could feel him trying to stay controlled, trying not to rut helplessly against your back while he touched you, trying not to make this about how badly he wanted to lose his mind just from being told what to do.
“Lower,” you whispered.
He obeyed.
His fingers slid down, cautious, feeling the pool already gathered there, and the sound he made was almost inaudible. The mic caught just enough that the chat turned feral.
static.8pm: DID HE JUST MAKE A SOUND
mercykill_27: HE’S GONE
witnessbox.6: she’s literally teaching him and he’s dying
Dex’s forehead dipped against the side of your head. “Show me.”
You slid your hand over his, guiding two of his fingers higher, positioning them exactly where you wanted him. “Here. Not too hard. Keep your fingers flat.”
He rubbed once.
Your knees nearly buckled..
Dex felt that too. His arm around your waist tightened immediately, catching you, holding you up before the audience could even see you falter. Miss international pornstar, can’t be embarrassed like that in front of an audience, right?
“Like that?” he asked, voice wrecked.
You nodded, then remembered he needed more than that. “Yes. Small circles, Dex.”
He did exactly what you said.
Small, slow circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, fingers slick beneath the lace, his other hand still cupping your breast for the camera like he couldn’t decide if he wanted them to watch or wanted to cover you from everyone. His thumb moved again, firmer now, and the combination made your head fall back against his shoulder.
Dex stopped for half a second.
“No,” you breathed, grabbing his wrist. “Don’t stop.”
He started again instantly.
The chat screamed.
panicbutton.23: DON’T STOPPPPP
sweetspot_808: he immediately listened lolol
kneesweak.4am: he is so obedient I’m unwell
goodboycommittee: Dex looks like he’s going to pass out
Dex’s fingers kept moving, slow and slick, learning the rhythm by how your body answered. When he pressed too hard, your hand tightened around his wrist and he eased off. When he drifted too low, you corrected him with a gentle, “Up, baby,” and his whole body shuddered behind you.
Baby ruined him.
You felt it in the hard twitch of him against your back.
“Oh,” you laughed, but it came out broken. “You liked being called that?”
Dex’s mouth pressed to your shoulder.
His silence was answer enough.
The chat caught the shape of it even if they missed the words.
catholicguilt: SHE CLOCKED HIM
velvet-raw: he is not beating the needy allegations
goodboycommittee: DEX BABY FOCUS
TIPBOT: @/soft_dom_accountant tipped 250 tokens — “focus and concentration, babe”
You rolled your hips into his hand, showing him the pace you wanted. “A little faster now. Don’t chase it. Let me grind against your fingers.”
Dex made another sound then, rough against your skin, and did exactly that. He held his hand firmer, letting you move on him, letting you use his fingers while his palm pressed you open under the thin lace. His other hand squeezed again in time with the movement of your hips.
It was filthy.
Worse, it was intimate.
There were thousands of people watching. The chat was flashing too quickly to read. Tips were chiming. The room was bright with the glow of the screen and the sound of strangers losing their minds. But all you could feel was Dex behind you, his breath hot at your neck, his fingers doing exactly what you told him because he wanted to be good for you more than he wanted to look in control.
“Good,” you whispered.
Dex’s hips jerked once against your back, and you made a lewd sigh you haven’t made in a long time.
His fingers faltered for one second, not stopping completely but losing the rhythm, and you knew exactly why.
You smiled, cruel and warm at once.
“Don’t look at them,” you murmured. “Look at me.”
His eyes dragged away from the chat to the monitor, to the reflection of your face tipped back against his shoulder, your mouth open, your body moving against his hand. He looked wrecked. Blushing, jealous, and so focused on your pleasure that the whole audience might as well have vanished.
“That’s it,” you said. “Right there.”
Dex’s fingers moved faster.
Your hand flew up to his wrist, not to stop him, just to hold on. His mouth found the side of your throat, and you felt him twitch again, harder this time. “Dex,” you gasped.
His voice was hoarse. “Tell me.”
You clenched around nothing.
“Keep going. Don’t change anything. Don’t you dare change anything.”
He didn’t.
For all his jealousy, all his almost-frantic arousal, Dex could follow an order beautifully. He kept the pressure perfect, the circles tight, his hand steady while you rocked into him, your breath breaking into little sounds you couldn’t dress up for the camera even if you wanted to.
And then you realized distantly, that you weren’t performing.
You were just naturally losing it while Dex was touching you exactly the way you told him to.
His arm locked tighter around your middle, holding you upright against him, his fingers never stopping. “Like this?”
“Exactly like that.”
“You’re close.”
It wasn’t a question.
You laughed, but it cracked into a moan. “Don’t sound so proud.”
“I am.”
Oh, fuck.
That should do it.
Heat snapped low in your stomach, pleasure cresting hard and fast because he sounded proud, because his hand was perfect. Your head tipped back against his shoulder, your hand clamped over his wrist, and you came on his fingers.
Dex held you through it.
He didn’t stop too soon and didn’t get greedy. He didn’t panic when your hips jerked or when your thighs shook. He slowed only when you told him to, easing you down until you were gasping against his chest, body loose and hot and humiliatingly satisfied.
For a moment, the chat was just chaos.
27noirsignal_: HOLY SHIT
lonelyplanet69: Men take notes.
catholicguilt : the praise kink economy is thriving
TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 2000 tokens — “WELCOME BACK INDEED”
Dex pulled his hand out from under your thong slowly.
You felt his fingers leave you and shivered.
Then you looked at the monitor, at his face, at the furious blush on his cheekbones. At his dark eyes locked on your reflection. At the way he held his wet fingers slightly away from your body like he didn’t know what to do with the evidence of what he had just done to you.
You smiled, and licked his finger to clean him up, making a show of it for his already feral audience.
Dex’s eyes went black, because you teased him too much.
You should have known better, honestly. Dex had already been wound tight before you ever sat in his lap. So maybe it was your fault when he finally broke.
You were still catching your breath, knees unsteady, your blue thong damp and shifted crookedly beneath his hand. The chat was still feral.
redacted-h3ll : SHE CAME FIRST
glassjaw_838: I’M NEVER RECOVERING
midnightorbit: he looks like he’s about to snap
lonelyplanet69: someone check on him
TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 2000 tokens — “GOOD BOY DEX”
Dex read that last one, and felt him freeze.
Then you laughed, and made it worse by looking back over your shoulder. “See that? They think you’re a good boy.”
His hand closed around your hip, and it wasn’t gentle this time.
“Oh,” you whispered.
Dex bent you over before you could finish the thought.
One second your back was against his chest, his arm around your waist. The next, your cheek was pressed on the desk, your eyes turned toward the monitor, your hips angled up, Dex behind you with both hands on your ass like he had finally stopped caring about looking composed.
The little blue thong was in his way.
Dex stared at it for half a second like he wanted to kill it.
Then he hooked his fingers under the thin strap and pulled it aside.
The stupid thing stayed stretched over one hip, pretty and useless, leaving you exposed for him and the screaming, frothing chat that had no idea they were watching the exact moment Dex stopped being manageable.
It was supposed to go on for much longer than this before this happened. The contract had been very clear about the intended sequence: strip each other, handwork, oral, teasing, breast play, then penetration if both performers confirmed continued consent. But it had also been clear that the sequence was not a binding script so much as a guideline, and that both performers could improvise as long as the safeword system remained active, respected, and immediate.
Your safeword was milkshake.
You hadn’t said milkshake.
You had not even come close.
What you said instead, when Dex pressed himself against you from behind, was, “Oh, fuck.”
Dex froze just long enough for one last thread of professionalism to drag itself through him. His hand slid up your spine, grounding. “This okay?”
Your fingers curled against the desk.
“Mmhmm,” you hummed l immediately. Then, because he was Dex and needed the final bullet point checked off before he lost his mind completely, you added, “Keep going.”
The sound he made was almost a laugh in relief.
You pushed your hips back a fraction, and that was when Dex lost it.
His hand locked around your hip, the other braced beside yours on the desk, his body folding over you just enough that his mouth brushed your ear. You could feel him shaking, not exactly with nerves, but with the force of wanting you so badly that restraint had become physically painful.
His voice came out wrecked, and much too honest for a man with thousands of people watching.
“Ready to watch your favourite pornstar take my virginity?”
For half a second, your brain went completely blank.
Wait.
What?
Then Dex pushed into you all at once.
Not elegantly with practiced timing, and not like a performer hitting a mark or giving the camera the perfect angle. He shoved into you like his body had been waiting so long it refused to negotiate anymore, and the shock of him punched the air straight out of your lungs.
Oh, Dex was big.
You knew that. You had touched him. You had wrapped your fingers around him and thought, somewhat smugly, that you understood exactly what you were dealing with.
You did not.
Because seeing was one thing. Feeling him split you open from behind, hard and curved just right, was another thing entirely. He hit somewhere deep and bright, the kind of spot that made your knees buckle even with the desk under your hands. Your mouth fell open. No sound came out at first. Just a broken little inhale while your body tried to process his size, the stretch, and the fact that Dex had just announced to a live audience that you were taking his virginity.
The chat went nuclear.
exitwound-17: VIRGIN?
holyshitcam.24: Dex is a virgin?!
the.raft.wifi: EXCUSE ME
catholicguilt: THIS IS HIS FIRST TIME?????
audiofile_6b: OMG SHE JUST TOOK DEX’S VIRGINITY LIVE
Except Dex moved. And every clever thought in your head went straight out the window.
His first thrust was clumsy. Too deep, too eager, too much. His rhythm stuttered because he clearly didn’t know whether to chase his own pleasure or watch yours, and somehow that made it hotter than anything scripted could have been. You had been fucked by men who knew exactly how to look good on camera. Men who knew their angles, their timing, their marketable groans. Men who could make sex look expensive and still make it feel like absolutely nothing.
Dex did not know how to make it look good.
Dex only cared about what made it feel good.
And fuck, did it.
He found that spot again by accident, then gripped harder when your whole body jolted under him. His hand tightened on your hip. “There?”
You were too fucked out to be dignified. “Yes. There. Again.”
He did it again, harder, and your arms nearly gave out.
For the first time in a long time, you weren’t performing in front of a camera. You weren’t making sure your face looked pretty when you moaned. You weren’t arching for the best light or thinking about whether the angle sold the chemistry. You weren’t managing another performer’s ego, not timing your reactions, not pretending someone was better than they were because the scene needed it.
You were bent over a camboy’s desk while he fucked you raw and messy and half out of his mind, and the only thing your body cared about was the way he kept hitting that spot, the way he learned from every sound you made, the way he adjusted not for the camera but for you.
His inexperience made him greedy. His obsession made him attentive. His jealousy made him filthy.
Every time the chat screamed about your body, Dex pulled you back harder onto him. Every time someone tipped for the view, his hand slid possessively over your ass like he was reminding them they could watch all they wanted, but they could not feel how tight you were around him. Every time you moaned his name, his rhythm broke.
“Dex,” you gasped.
His hips stuttered.
He folded over you, chest against your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you up while he kept fucking into you in rough, uneven strokes. His mouth found your shoulder, teeth grazing skin, not quite biting, just desperate enough to make you clench around him.
He swore into your neck.
Dex, who had been so careful. Dex, who had asked to kiss you before the stream because he wanted one thing to belong to the two of you. Dex, who had printed contracts and arranged water bottles and checked the kill switch twice. That Dex was gone now, this Dex had no idea how to want halfway.
bad.r0m4nce: this man is having a religious epiphany
static.8pm: she broke him
mercykill_27: no he broke HER
TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 5000 tokens — “BEST STREAM ON THIS SITE”
You saw the messages blur across the monitor.
You didn’t care.
You could barely keep your eyes open.
Dex’s hand slid under you, fingers finding your sensitive spot between your legs again with frantic focus. He remembered what you had taught him, remembered the pressure, the small circles, except now he was fucking you while doing it and his hand was not nearly as steady as before.
You laughed, or tried to, but it came out as a moan. “Yes. Fuck, yes, just—don’t stop.”
He was determined while his hips kept snapping into you, making your body go loose and frantic at the same time. His breathing got harsher against your neck. His thrusts lost what little rhythm they had and became closer to instinct.
He was close.
His whole body changed, going tight behind you, arm locking around your waist, forehead pressed to your shoulder like he was trying to hold him back. It was an embarrassingly short time, and he knew it. He made one ruined moan into your skin and you clenched around him helplessly.
“Fuck,” Dex choked. “I’m—”
You should have said something professional. Something about pacing, control, stamina, the stream, the plan.
Instead, knowing you were religiously on the pill, you pushed back into him and whined, “Inside, please.”
Dex’s hips snapped forward once, deep and helpless.
You felt him empty himself in you.
His whole body shuddered, pulsing deep, his grip bruising-tight for one second before he caught himself and loosened like even mid-orgasm he was terrified of holding you too hard. He buried his face against your shoulder, shaking through it, breathing your name like he had no idea the mic could probably hear every broken piece of it.
And that should have been the end of it.
Except the feeling of him filling you, the heat of it, the broken little sound he made, the fact that Dex had lost his virginity inside you live on stream and was still rubbing your clit like the only thing he knew how to do was follow your last instruction….
It sent you over too.
Your orgasm tore through you so hard you actually cursed, hips jerking back against him, thighs shaking, hands slipping on the desk. Dex held you up through the whole thing, still making those ruined little sounds every time you clenched around him.
You were feral.
For a long time, there was no acting at all.
Chat was losing its mind.
kamar-taj404: THIS WAS HIS FIRST TIME. HIS FIRST TIME.
blip.checked69: she is NOT performing anymore
TIPBOT: @/anonymous tipped 10000 tokens — “HISTORY WAS MADE”
Dex stayed inside you for a moment, breathing hard against your shoulder, his arms around you like he had forgotten the stream existed too.
Then, very quietly, he asked, “Good?”
Your laugh came out wrecked.
“Good,” you echoed, voice hoarse. “Very fucking good.”
Dex smiled into your shoulder and stayed folded over you. One of his hands was braced on the desk beside yours, the other wrapped around your waist like he had forgotten he was allowed to let go.
You blinked at the monitor, still dazed, because the thing that kept replaying in your head was not the stream count, or the tips, or the fact that Dex had just fucked you live so messily that you had forgotten to perform.
It was the virgin thing.
It was genius, not telling beforehand to get a real reaction out of you.
Technically, he hadn’t done anything wrong. There was no contract clause that said a performer had to disclose previous sexual experience. You were tested, asked for consent, boundaries, yes. Experience level? No. Virginity was a construct anyway.
You knew all that.
You believed all that.
And still…
He had given you something he had never given anyone else, and even if that should not have mattered, even if you were too professional and too sex-industry literate to get sentimental about the concept of virginity—
Fuck.
It mattered.
It mattered enough that you should have known from the way he strictly did solo stuff. The way he had asked to kiss you before the stream because he didn’t want the first one to belong to the audience. The way you had to talk him through touching you.
Your fingers flexed against the desk.
“Dex,” you said finally, voice wrecked.
He hummed against your skin, barely enough to be a real answer.
You smiled, mean even like this. Especially like this. “Do you want to show chat?”
He went very still.
He understood what you meant: wanna zoom the camera on proof that you just made a mess in me?
It was standard, really, at this point. Shots like that were in high demand.
The chat saw your smile and started moving so fast the text blurred into light.
slowburnsir: SHOW CHAT WHAT
camdad_404: pleasepleaseplease
pretty-prince: DEX YOU OWE US
TIPBOT: @/skull.hour tipped 3000 tokens — “for the reveal”
Dex lifted his head.
His face was beside yours in the monitor, flushed and wrecked, hair mussed, eyes dark. He looked at the chat, at all the names begging, all the tips chiming, all the strangers who had watched you take him and still wanted more.
Then his mouth flattened. “No.”
Before the chat could even properly react, Dex reached past you and cut the stream.
The screen went black, and the sudden silence was so sharp it made you giggle.
Dex turned you around immediately, hands careful now despite everything, flipping you to face him and lifting your ass up to sit you on the desk against him. You were still laughing when he kissed you, almost desperate, then gentler when you kissed him back. His mouth was clumsy, like he had just realized the entire internet had seen him lose his mind over you, and now all he wanted was a part of you that belonged to neither camera nor contract nor chat.
You gave it to him.
Several, actually.
You kissed him until his shoulders dropped, until his hands stopped gripping like he was afraid you would vanish, until the frantic edge of him became almost shy again.
Then you blindly reached for one of the towels he had stacked nearby and tugged it underneath you, muscle memory.
You kissed the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t tell me you were a virgin.”
Dex looked at you for a second, still breathing hard.
Then, with the driest, most infuriating little tone, he said, “Well, I’m not anymore.”
You laughed so hard you had to hide your face against his chest.
Dex’s arms came around you properly, one hand smoothing over your back, the other resting low at your hip like he was still half-convinced touching you was a privilege he had to earn. He kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then your mouth again, slower, like now that nobody was watching, he could finally stop performing control and simply be greedy.
Eventually, you pulled back just enough to smile.
“Okay,” you said, still close enough that your lips brushed his when you spoke. “Now did that convince you to make a video with me?”
Dex’s eyes changed.
It was subtle, returning to himself with a terrifying piece of certainty.
“I want an exclusivity contract.”
You blinked at him.
For a second, you genuinely thought you had misheard him, because there was possessive and then there was whatever the fuck that was.
He had just lost his virginity on livestream. He should have been dazed, maybe overwhelmed. Maybe asking whether the stream had gone well, whether the numbers were good, whether Joanna would be happy, whether the audience liked you with him.
Instead, Dex looked at you like he had found the one clause in the entire industry he cared about.
“Exclusivity contract,” he repeated.
Your mouth opened, then closed. “Dex.”
His hands tightened. “You never fuck another performer but me again,” he said, quiet and absolute. “Got it?”
Oh.
You had negotiated worse things than this with men who thought violent jealousy was part of the brand. You knew the difference between a possessive bit for the camera and a man who meant it so deeply it was probably a walking red flag.
See, a performer should not feel this possessive after one stream. A new collaborator shouldn’t look at you like every booked performer on your calendar was an affair.
You had been in this industry long enough to know when desire became entitlement, when chemistry became control, when a man started mistaking access for ownership.
Except Dex had not acted entitled to you.
Dex had wanted you so fucking badly, and still,he had still waited for every yes.
And, more than anything, he had made you love the job again.
Not in theory, not in the marketable, “I’m so lucky to do what I love” way you said in interviews when people wanted you to be grateful and sexy and easy to digest.
Dex had made you love it again.
He had made the camera feel electric again. He had made being watched feel intimate instead of routine. He had made you forget your angles. He had made you forget the chat. He had pleased you to the point that you stopped performing in front of an audience that had paid to see exactly that.
You should have been more alarmed by him.
Instead, you kissed him, and he made a low sound into your mouth when you bit gently at his bottom lip.
His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer like he had been waiting for you to argue so he could convince you with his mouth. You let him. You let him kiss you like the contract was already signed, like he could sear your loyalty into his skin if he touched you carefully enough, desperately enough, possessively enough.
“Not even women?” You asked, almost innocently. “Guys usually like it when I—”
“No.”
Your thighs pressed together before you could stop them.
“If I’m gonna fuck you for a living,” he continued, “I’m not sharing.”
Oh.
Well.
That was inconveniently hot.
You should have told him that was impossible.
You should have told him exclusivity cost money, career-shaping money. That your name was a brand, your schedule was booked months in advance, your team would have questions, your existing scenes had deposits, clauses, penalties, timelines. That adult performers did not simply get claimed by the first beautiful, obsessive camboy who managed to make them orgasm on camera for the first time in a very long time.
Instead, you pouted.
“But I have a threesome schedule with Frank Castle and Matt Murdock next month.”
You watched every part of him shut down with jealousy. His mouth flattened. His eyes sharpened. His hands flexed on your waist like he could feel Frank’s name on one side of you and Matt’s on the other and wanted to drag you physically out of the hypothetical.
“Cancel it.”
You bit your lip, delighted. “Dex.”
“Cancel it,” he repeated.
“It’s already booked.”
“I don’t care.”
“There are contracts.”
“I’ll pay the fee.”
You blinked.
He did not say it like a joke. Like if there was a cancellation penalty, fine. If there was a buyout, fine. If Joanna wanted numbers, fine. Dex would find the number, calculate the cost, send the wire, and erase the booking from existence.
And God help you, you were into it.
“You can’t just buy me out of my own schedule,” you said, but you were smiling.
Dex’s eyes dropped to your mouth.
“I can try.”
You laughed, and he kissed the sound right out of you.
It was less shy now. Still controlled, but there was confidence in it that had not been there an hour ago.
His fingers slid up your back, into your hair, holding you where he wanted you while he kissed you harder. You let him for a second, then two, then long enough that the towel under you shifted and you had to laugh into his mouth again.
“You’re so cute.”
Dex frowned. “I’m serious.”
“I know.” You kissed him, smiling into it when he tried not to respond and failed. “That’s why it’s cute.”
His mouth chased yours when you pulled back.
You let him have another kiss. Then another. Then you cupped his face between both hands, still laughing softly, still stupidly charmed by the fact that Dex’s first post-virginity business decision was apparently to remove the entire rest of the industry from your schedule.
“Send the exclusivity contract to Joanna,” you murmured against his mouth.
Dex kissed you again.
You kissed him back, biting gently at his bottom lip just to feel the way he shuddered.
“And we’ll talk.”
His hands slid around your waist.
“Talk,” he repeated, like he didn’t believe either of you would be doing much talking.
You smiled.
“Mm-hmm. Professionally.”
Dex looked at you. Then at the black screen where his chat had been cut off mid-hysteria because he had decided the aftermath of your pleasure belonged to him and him alone.
"五条 悟 ✶ GOJO SATORU," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ wait, who's gojos girlfriend? The quiet girl at the back of the classroom? ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა artist credits: official jjk art reblog / like 2 support ⃘໋ׅ♡ 𝑤.𝑐: 1.3k ⁀ ˳ ⟡
♡⏝ ⸝⸝ 𝓦ARNINGS ˖ ❝ sfw fluff crack she/her pronouns nanami, haibara, suguru & shoko cameo reader is quiet & introverted shy-ish!reader popular boy!gojo 2006 timeline reader & gojo are like 17 reader obvi isn't loud and won't appeal to everyone only tooth rotting fluff canon compliant au before hidden inventory / premature death 2nd person perspective ❞
── #⃝ MINA'S NOTES ( 💬 ) literally me and gojo bro masterlist <3
GOJO SATORU was the it boy of popular boys in the 2000s.
There's fan pages of him online, teenage girls and boys take pictures with him in the street asking "can I punk my friends and tell them you're my boyfriend?" and how could he say no and stop people from experiencing the awesomeness that is Satoru Gojo. His flip phone is usually set to silent or vibration only, since he often took pictures of himself and uploaded them to Mixi and Nico Niico Douga under his "digimoncutiez639" persona. Blurry photos taken in the Shinjuku nightlife, mostly ones he had forced suguru and shoko to take for him.
junmasamoto4199: "digimoncutiez639 is meccha kakkoii! >_<"
Xx_Imblue_xX: "That boy is chou sekushii"
tempura2: "*gyaa gyaa . . . i wish he waz my bf (╥﹏╥)"
The last comment was one he seemed to get a lot, and he didn't exactly reject any of his dedicated fan girls and fan boys, never replying to comments unless the asked for where his outfit was from. He didn't avoid telling people that he was dating you, per say, it was more that… people reacted differently. Almost as if he was lying to them.
The first time had been almost at the end of his first year at Jujutsu Technical College and 3 weeks after he had officially asked you out. The upperclassmen usually avoided him, put off by the so called "prodigy," but he had finally been able to strike up a conversation with them after the school's athletics carnival had went well. Suguru had kicked the football a total of 3 times and scored one goal, while Satoru had hogged the ball most of their first year match and scored over 10 goals, before Yaga had dragged him off of the field by his ear.
"Ohhh, right, I saw you get dragged off," Haruto has nodded and yawned, scratching the back of his neck, while Yoshida had hummed. "Yeah, Sawako even wanted us to check up on you, pfft," he snorted before Haruto nudged him to shut up.
"Whaaat? I'm being a good friend," Yoshida scoffed and rolled his eyes with a prideful smile, before his eyes looked over at his tall underclassman again. "Yo, Satoru, do you have a girlfriend?" he asked bluntly, ignoring his friends glares and sighs of embarrassment and awkwardness.
He had raised a confused eyebrow, before pointing his thumb back at the classroom. He was sure he had kissed you and held your hand on the bleachers that day, did they not see? More importantly, you were literally the most gorgeous and prettiest girl in his eyes, obviously someone as hot as him was perfectly paired with another otaku baddie like you! Pshhhh, maybe they couldn't believe someone like him has been able to pull you.
"Yeah. Her." His thumb pointed back at your figure in the empty classroom.
Yoshida and Haruto had peered into the classroom, only to see… some girl they had never seen before. Plain hair, plain eyes, plain uniform, and a plain you just pressing away at your Tamagotchi. Haruto and Yoshida shared a confused look, before Yoshida clicked his fingers and gasped. "O-oh yeah, that's the girl I was telling you about the other day! You know, the one who walked away when I was trying to ask her for directions?" Haruto nodded, eyes lighting up in recognition, before confusion washed over their faces at the same time.
How does one of the most extroverted and loud boys, fall and date someone like you? Someone who talks in class maybe once a week! someone who’s flip phone is used to play snake while Gojo’s is used to actually… talk to people!
"What?" They had blurted at the white haired student, going on and on about how someone like you should’ve hated someone like gojo, and that you were clearly not meant for each other, and how they were going to tell Sawako that it'd be a waste of her time to pursue Satoru. As if Satoru wasn't right there. His eyes narrowing and upper lip curling in obvious annoyance.
As if he’d let anyone insult you.
"Hey, dumbasses. That's my girlfriend you're talking about," he scoffed at him, pushing past and going back inside the classroom to sit next to you again.
You had looked over at him curiously, showing him the small screen of your Tamagotchi. "Look, our child is growing," with that casual smile on your face. Satoru blinked, his face straight, before he broke out into coos and awhs, pinching your cheeks and suffocating you in kisses all over your face. "Aghhhh, get off of me! You lunatic!" You had huffed, while he was happily kissing your face all over, "you're such a good mother to our baby dragon! Awhhh, what's the name you chose for him again, my beautiful princess?"
You had huffed, looking a mess before sighing and giving the toy to him. "Sylus."
That day was one of the main reasons that Satoru avoided outright disclosing your relationship, preferring to show it to people instead.
Nanami didn't need to ask when he finally had enrolled into JJT, as Satoru made it a habit to hold your hand at every chance he got, and kiss your cute face. Haibara, unfortunately, hadn't seen enough or gotten the clue, only seeing how quiet and standoffish you were, and made the brilliant terrible statement when you all were camping in the back of the forest behind JJT for fun. Unfortunately, Haibara had spoken right in front of Satoru fucking Gojo, or Satoru L/N as he'd prefer to be called.
The fire crackled in the cold dark night, illuminating 6 faces in the forest, as the scent of pine and wet soil drifted through the air. "Y/N and Nanami would make a good pair, wouldn't they? They're so similar!" he had smiled happily and adjusted his hold on the marshmallow he was roasting, not noticing Suguru choking on his spit, Shoko looking up at him and even pausing in chewing her gum. He especially didn't notice Satoru freezing, when he was draping his expensive jacket over your shoulders, cold icy blue eyes glaring holes at the sweet boy's face.
"Converg—" Suguru had jumped to stop and tackle gojo to the ground before he could possibly have killed Haibara.
After calming Gojo down, mostly by you looking at Gojo as if he was embarrassing you and him whining apologies to you, Haibara had finally been made aware that Gojo and you were dating. "Ohhh, you're Y/N's boyfriend, sorry Satoru, I didn't know," Haibara had chuckled and nodded his head in an apology.
"We're married," he lifted his hand to show a string you had tied around his ring finger a few minutes ago while fidgeting with him quietly. "We're not married," you shook your head bluntly, correcting him with a straight face.
"Engaged. We're engaged." he nodded proudly and flipped his hair back, all cool and already thinking about wanting to whip out his digital camera and force Suguru to take more shots of him for his fans.
"We're 17, Satoru."
"We have a child."
"I have a Tamagotchi pet… one that you get jealous of."
"We're madly in love then." He nodded again, not shy or embarrassed after being shut down by you so many times. He waited, Suguru waited, even Nanami waited, wanting to hear you correct Satoru's claim. Only after a full minute had passed, Satoru smirked, a blush on his cheeks as he shrugged, "see, she loves me. Hah," he smirked and stuck his tongue out at Nanami for a split second, knowing the blond man had been doubting him.
That's when he felt your lips press against his cheek. Very rarely did you initiate an sort of romantic gestures, let alone kisses.
His face had turned beet red, while you were looking at him confused. Blinking blankly, and Suguru laughing loudly in the background. Yes, Satoru did love his girlfriend, more than he loved anyone or anything else, and much to peoples complaints . . .
-`♡´- Your boyfriend Michael x Asfab reader -`♡´- unfinished:(
ᰔᩚ "We're gonna have to tell him you'll only be a girlfriend of mine."
"I'm gonna be your boyfriendᰔᩚ"
WARNING: THIS FANFICTION CONTAINS THE FOLLOWING...
kissing, childhood friends to lovers, black reader, asfab reader, nipple play/sucking, oral sex(f/r), slightly jealous Michael, possessive reader and Michael, unprotected sex, fingering, pleasure dom/service dom Michael, thriller era/1982, non-famous au, mentions of marriage and cheating, squriting, wealthy Jacksons au, flirting, teasing, slight overstimulation and, more. IF YOU ARE A MINOR, GO AWAY AND DO NOT INTERACT. If any of these things make you uncomfortable, please look away kindly, thank you.
Plus size and skin tone friendly, no mentions of skin tone, weight, or height. Hair type frinedly, no mentions of hair color, texture, or wraps/coverings. Intended for black women. fem pet names used, such as "good girl." "pretty girl." "my girl." etc.
wc: 6kish sorry >n< (not proofread…sorry for any mistakes.)
“You have a crush on Marlon?” Michael laughed hysterically, tumbling back as he held his stomach and cackled loudly into the air.
“Stop laughin’!” You lightly hit his chest in an embarrassed manner. “It’s not funny!” When you told your childhood friend about your newly developed crush on his slightly older brother, you expected him to give you advice on how to win him over—maybe even tell you that he felt the same—but instead, as Michael always had, he laughed. He laughed so hard his stomach hurt and tears peaked in his eyes.
“I-I’m sorry, it’s just…MARLON?” He exaggerated as he caught his breath. You didn’t get the problem.
You jerked your head back, offended by his tone, “what’s wrong with that? Marlon is extremely attractive.” You defended. “He’s got nice abs, a pretty smile, pretty eyes and—“ Michael put his hand up and stopped you.
“Yeah, I don’t need the details.” He said with a chuckle, “besides, of all my brothers, him?” He asked again. “He’s great and all but, isn’t there anyone else?”
You sighed with a soft smile, thinking of Marlon as you stared up at Michael’s ceiling. “I dunno…” You breathed out with a blissful expression, “he’s just so….fine.” Michael shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I mean, all your brothers are so talented and just so sweet to me, but Marlon...”
“Yeah, sweet until you leave…” he muttered. You shot him a quick glare. “I’m just sayin’!”
You rolled your eyes at him and shook your head. “You’re just jealous.” You replied.
“Jealous?!” Michael retorted. “And why would I be jealous?” You smirked at his annoyed expression and looked away from him.
“Well, for starters, Marlon is taller.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“You need ya’ eyes checked girl, I’m taller than him.” You huffed. “I have no reason to be jealous. I just think you have strange tastes.”
“Yeah you do.” You argued, “Marlon gets more girls than you.” This made Michael laugh, but not like before. It was more of a laugh of disbelief and smugness.
“More girls?” He taunted, “Girl, the women love me! Marlon wouldn’t know what to do if he woke up as me.” He teased. He leaned a bit closer, leaning on his palm as he spoke in a soft and confident tone, “why, he’d be drownin’ in beautiful women like a fool if he were me.” For some odd reason your heart fluttered, he looked you in your eyes with this daring and dangerously charming expression. “Gettin’ a girl aint a problem for me.”
You felt your breathing catch for a moment, you could very faintly smell his minty breath, it made you want to inhale a bit more, but instead you lightly pushed him back and rolled your eyes.
“Sure and I bet you could have any girl you wanted.” Michael shrugged.
“I could.” He said simply. “But what’s the fun in every other girl, ones enough for me.” You laughed as he laid back and put his arms under his head, he sighed softly and stared up at the ceiling with a smile as he closed his eyes. “My brothers don’t get that, I bet if a girl gave all of them a chance, they’d act like a bunch of dogs seeing’ who could get ‘er first.”
You clicked your tongue and held a bubble of air in your cheek. You have heard of their scandalous behaviors before, but you didn’t care. You really liked Marlon, or at least how he looked and spoke to you. He was sweet and talented, he was funny too and very outgoing. You liked those things about him. You imagined dating him would be so fun, you just had to know what it was like.
“Well anyway,” You started. “I need your help.” That was why you told him, you wanted Michael to give you advice on how to win his brother over. “Tell me what his type is.” Michael peaked an eye open at you and raised his brows.
“You want me to help you date my brother?” You nodded enthusiastically with a big smile. “I don’t think you wanna do that.” But it slowly fell when Michael said that.
He was being so difficult. Every time you like anyone he always acts like this. When you told him you liked a now ex, mutual friend, he laughed at first and then told you that he was a ‘bad guy.’ And a ‘total schmuck.’ You let it go that time-, and luckily so since you later found out he was a serial cheater. The second time it was a lifeguard you met at the water park with Michael. He gave you his number and you were gonna call until Michael told you he gave all the girls his number, you took his advice that time and threw the piece of paper out-, deciding to spend your time swimming at the Jackson estate instead. But now, you feel almost annoyed by his constant negativity regarding the guys you like.
“And why not? I’ve known your brothers for a long time now and, Marlon is a very sweet guy.” Michael sighed and went quiet for a moment.
You didn’t get the problem. You both know his brother is a good person, he’s never given you reason to believe otherwise either. While he was usually able to give you a reason why your short crushes were a bad idea, he hadn’t given one solid explanation of why it was a bad idea yet. You were beginning to wonder why he was always so against you liking guys. Maybe he was just overprotective—you have been friends since he was just a child—or maybe he was just weirded out by the idea of you dating. That made sense. You pondered for a moment and then something clicked. Your eyes widened in realization and you grinned knowingly.
“Oh, I get it now.” Michael opened his eyes and look at you, seemingly growing nervous at your expression. “I know why you always get so weird about me dating.” He propped himself up on his hands and stared with wide eyes as his apple cheeks flushed.
“W-What? I don’t get weird about you dating!” Michael denied. His frantic response and sudden anxiousness made you completely sure, it was absolutely adorable.
“You’re just worried I’ll stop being your friend if I get a boyfriend.” You claimed.
Oh, if only you knew how Michael’s pounding heart slowed at your allegation. You didn’t catch his sigh of relief or the way his tensed shoulders slowly fell into relaxation.
He chuckled at your claim and flopped on his back again. “I mean, it would cramp our style if you started invitin’ some airhead to hang with us, three’s a crowd, y’know?” You cooed in a teasing manner and leaned on your palm, looking down at him as you smiled.
“Ya know, when you get a girl, youll probably forget all about me.” You poked, “I bet youll be somewhere with a billion little Michael’s and some pretty girl clingin’ to you going, oh Mikey, the weathers beautiful this time of year.” You laughed at your own joke, lightly slapping his shoulder as he chuckled along with you.
“Mikey?” You continued to laugh as he shook his head with a warm smile on his face, he watched you with affection playing in his eyes. “You’re so dumb…” He murmured.
“But for real, help me Michael.” You said with a soft smile, “I wanna start dating soon too.” You reasoned, “at this rate, you might even get married before me.”
His smile slowly dropped and he stared at you again. “Married?” You nodded. It was clear you weren’t going to drop this, so he finally gave in. “Okay, fine…” He sat up again and moved closer to you. “First of all, Marlon likes mature girls.” His tone was a jarringly serious considering the playful moment you just shared seconds ago. It made you tense. “You know the girl who lives down the street? Carol Parker?” You nodded. “He loves girls just like her.” The excitement you felt in your heart faded.
“He does?” Michael nodded.
“And I heard she likes him, so if you want ‘em, you gotta get his attention off her.” Suddenly the crush you felt was becoming a distant and bitter tasting memory. “And you gotta stop hangin’ out with me.” Your eyes shot open wide at this.
“What?!” Michael shrugged. “Why would I have to stop bein’ friends with you just to date him?” You asked in an almost angry tone. “What does our friendship gotta do with it?”
“You really think my knucklehead brother would be okay with you bein’ in my bedroom till midnight?” He posed. Though you wanted to argue, you couldnt. What guy would be? Most guys would think you were dating if they knew how much time you spent with Michael. “I mean seriously, if you were a guy, would you want your girlfriend sleepin’ in the same bed as your brother?” It was irrefutable.
You spend practically every second with Michael. He’s your best friend. You sleep in bed together, eat together and do everything else together. When new movies come out you call each other to make sure you see it together, when new games are released you play them together. He’s so close to you that he’s even learned how to braid so he could help you do your hair. Michael is like…a second skin. You always feel so safe and comfortable with him. He’s like your home, you truly couldn’t imagine being without him—even for a day. It was out of the question, Marlon would just have to suck it up. You wouldn’t stop being friends with Michael even if the sky was falling, it was a nonnegotiable.
“Well he just has to put up with it.” Michael choked on a laugh and raised his brows at you.
“What?” You held your head high, for some reason you felt shy all of a sudden.
You turned your head forward and shrugged. “Marlon just has to put up with it. My relationship with you has nothin’ to do with it. If he doesn’t like that then…” You paused. If he didn’t like it then what? You do like him after all… “Then…that’s his problem. Not ours.”
Michael smirked at your choice of words. Ours… it was such an intimate pronoun. His heart warmed at your use of it. “So, what if he said no because of it?” Michael asked, it was like he was testing the waters. “Would you pick him over me?”
You whipped your head around at him. It was a ridiculous question. One that he should know the answer to for a billion years over, but you answered it anyway. “Of course not!” You assured. “Why’d you even ask somethin’ so stupid? You know I would never pick anyone over you.”
His grin grew. You could see his perfect pearly teeth as he looked up at you through his lashes. “You must not like em’ much if you feel like that.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes as you looked away, but your heart skipped a beat as you did so.
“I couldnt ever like anyone that much…” You admitted in a low mutter. “It’s like askin’ me to hate you. I couldnt hate you even in a billion years.”
“Are you sure you even like Marlon then?”
You didn’t reply right away. Now that you thought about it more, with your relationship with Michael being thrown on the table, you weren’t too sure anymore. Sure he’s nice but…he’s not as nice as Michael. He’s sweet but, Michael has always been much sweeter and, you get plenty joy out of looking at Michael anyway. All the things you could do with a boyfriend, you can do with Michael. You can’t really say you like Marlon-, especially not enough to let go of Michael. The only thing you can say is that you adore his brother. If it were between Michael and Marlon, you would always choose Michael.
“I dunno…” He scooted next to you, joining you on the foot of the bed where you sat with your legs folded. “I mean…he’s nice and all but…” You looked down at your lap, your body felt tensed, your emotions were suddenly beginning to turn into a mess of confusion and distress. “Would we really have to stop seeing each other?” You asked softly.
Michael cooed and pulled you into his side, hugging you as you squished your face against his chest. “Awww, that really bothered you?” You reluctantly nodded. “You know, if you ever start datin’ that’s just how things will be.” He softly explained. “One day, youll meet some jealous airhead who’ll want you all to em’ self. He’s gonna wanna marry you and have kids, he’ll steal you away from me before you know it.” Though his short assumption about your love life seemed sweet, it made you tense.
You didn’t like the idea of anyone trying to ‘steal’ you away from Michael, it made you feel so defensive. Your heart ached a bit even thinking about some loser trying to outshine him in your life. You didn’t quite understand why but you felt so strongly connected and attached to Michael. Nothing could change your mind, no one could make your heart race or make you smile the way he did. Even if you wanted to, you would never change your mind. You had to keep Michael in your life.
“That’s not true.” You argued.
“But it is.” He teased while softly laughing, “I’m tellin’ you, whatever man you end up with would be sick of me. He might think you’re cheatin’ on him with me.” You looked at the wall and inhaled deeply.
“Well what about you?” You asked.
“What about me?” Michael answered.
“When you get married…Will your wife be okay with us being this close?”
He snickered. “Oh not at all.” He said, “In fact, I think I’d get divorced in a month dealin’ with you.”
“But what if you really loved her?” As you asked this he slipped his arms from around you and gave you a look that made you smile.
“Loved her enough to leave you alone?” He posed, “Yeah right.” As he rolled his eyes you smiled.
The feeling of distress you felt before melted into a soothing warmth, a familiar feeling of comfort that only Michael induces. “So we’re just gonna be single forever, huh?” He raised a brow at you.
“Who says we gotta be single?” He asked.
“Well obviously we won’t meet anyone who won’t have a problem with us being friends, so the only option is to be single forever.” Michael disagreed immediately. “What else can we do?” And then he looked you in your eyes, it made your heart flutter again.
Something about his expression, the look in his eyes, it was making your hands sweat and your heart pound. You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, he made you feel so unbelievably warm and happy. The charming look in his eyes was almost too much.
“Well I gotta idea, but I dunno if you’re gonna like it.” You felt so strange, like you were melting. You didn’t feel this way when thinking about Marlon, not even the other guys. You felt like a pad of butter on a stack of hot pancakes. His tone was so sweet and soft, like a gentle breeze.
“What’s the idea?” You asked, even your tone was being affected by him. You couldn’t help but sound so anxious and excited.
“I’ll tell you, but promise not to get mad.” You waved your hand at him and your smile grew.
“When have I ever gotten mad at you, Michael?” He nodded and took a deep breath, inhaling deeply before softly exhaling.
“Well…” he started, his cheeks flushed again and for the first time in a while, he looked away from you with a shy expression, like he couldn’t handle looking at you. “I was thinkin’…if you really wanna boyfriend…maybe—maybe I could be your boyfriend.”
His words settled into the air and for a moment, he seemed tense. But you couldn’t help the silence, his idea was so…surprising. Michael? Your boyfriend? Those words together feel so strange yet, good. You could never lie and say that you never wondered before, it’s always been a quiet thought in your mind, but you never thought he would ask. It only makes sense too. The feelings you have for him aren’t as simply explained away with the term, best friend. He’s much more than just a friend.
“Michael…” You breathed out, he stared at you anxiously as you spoke. Your heart was pounding. “I—I would love that.”
His big doe eyes went wide. “Re—Really?!” You nodded, smiling just as big as he did. You threw your arms around him, knocking him back on the bed as you hugged him tightly. You fell down with him, lying almost on top of him as you held him. He laughed with his arms around your waist. “But what about Marlon?” He asked in your shoulder.
You leaned up a bit and looked down at him, “what about him?” You asked. Michael laughed and you felt butterflies in your stomach, how didn’t you realize this sooner?
“See? I told you, you didn’t want to be with him.” He teased. “I knew you always liked me.” His arms tightened around you, his fingers lightly pressed into your sides.
You rolled your eyes but remained smiling, you felt so anxious, so excited and so blissfully happy. “Shut up…” You muttered lowly.
“Oh I’ll never shut up about it,” He teased. “I’m gonna make sure everybody knows that you’re my girl.” The air in your lungs was snatched away. ‘My girl.’ Hearing Michael say that made your stomach tighten. “Did you like that?” He teased, noticing the way your breathing hitched in your throat. “Hearin’ me call you my girl?” You shuddered and hid your face in the side of his neck.
“Shut up, you’re so dumb.” You said against his soft and warm skin. You could feel him tense underneath you, his shoulders tense as his fingers twitched at your sides. You could even feel his heart pounding against his chest. He was just as nervous and strung as you. You smirked as an idea bloomed in your head. To get him back for his teasing, you pressed a soft kiss against his neck despite the nervous feeling in your heart.
Michael gasped, his breathing caught in his throat and he squeezed you tightly. “D-Don’t do that.” He whispered. You giggled against his neck and he closed his eyes.
“Why?” You taunted, “d’ya like it?” He let out a short huff of air and lightly pinched your side, making you laugh.
“Stop bein’ a brat.” But you didn’t let up, instead, you kissed his neck again, this time kissing just a bit longer.
“You started it.” You kissed him again, something was taking over you, a warm desire that had nothing to do with annoying him and all to do with touching him and kissing him as much as possible. “I’m just finishin’ it.” You continued kissing his neck, your lips parted just a bit and your tongue crept out to lightly lick at his warm flesh.
Michael gasped and let out something between a stifled whine and a sigh. The sound sparked something inside of you, fueling the fire growing inside of you. His big hands held you as if to anchor you to himself and his lips parted just a bit as he quietly called out your name. The heat in your chest traveled through your body, going lower and lower until you could feel it between your thighs. Accompanying it was a growing slickness that wet your underwear, making them feel sticky and hot.
“W—Wait…” he barely managed to get the word out, he couldnt know how his voice—sounding so needy and desperate, all for you—made the sensitive flesh between your thigh throb with want. You stopped and looked at him. His eyes were a bit hazy but full of love, you wore the same expression. “Can I…Can I kiss you?” You almost moaned in response to his question.
You always imagined kissing Michael would be like heaven on earth. The thought alone was always enough to make you squeal and kick your feet like an excited teen. You could hardly speak, you nodded your head wordlessly and breathlessly as he pulled your body all the way onto him before flipping you over so your back was pressed against the middle of the bed and he was on top. You felt so turned on you could cry. As he leaned in you closed your eyes and your hands found his shirt, gripping it tightly as your heart pounded like a drum. The moment you felt his soft warm lips against yours it was like something inside of you shattered. Your hands weakened and your whole body turned into jelly underneath him.
You weakly pulled him closer, deepening the kiss as you softly moaned against his lips. While he kept himself above you using his arm, his other hand tenderly stroked your side, inching up and down your hip until it reached your thigh, his lips moved against yours with a passionate rhythm. Michael was such a good kisser. His tongue swiped lightly against yours lips, quietly asking for permission—you granted it right away. A pool of warmth grew in your lower stomach, the heat and slickness you felt was becoming unbearable. You opened your legs a bit, allowing him an intimate space between your thighs as he kissed you with an—almost overwhelming—amount of tenderness and affection. His hand stopped and held your thigh, big and hot against your skin as he very carefully and lightly pressed his waist you. His crotch pressed right against your pussy, you could feel the bulge in his dark blue jeans pressing against your wet panties.
Your hips bucked upward and his down, you both moaned at the sensation it caused and pulled away for a second to catch your breath.
“Maybe we should stop…” Michael suggested in a breathless manner. But his hips were just barely grinding forward into you. “Before we carried away.” He said, his tone wasn’t direct though, it wasn’t definitive at all. It was like he was asking you, like he was tempting you.
“We don’t have to…” You replied in a tone similar to his. “What’s wrong with us gettin’ carried away?”
“Gosh…” Michael whispered, “You’re somethin’ else.” Before kissing you again, this time in a much more rushed and hungry manner.
It wasn’t like he stopped holding back, the layer of him that was worried about going too fast was peeled back and all that was on his mind was making you feel good. His hips moved with a bit more confidence and purpose, it wasn’t just an absent minded motion anymore. You could feel the roughness of his jeans even more now, rubbing against your pussy in a slow and deliberate fashion.
“I just like you so much.” He broke the kiss and immediately began peppering your face and neck in kisses, “you’re so beautiful…so lovely…” Michael praised, “Gosh…I love you so much.” He whispered, almost so lowly that you didn’t catch it. “I just wanna touch you, I wanna make you feel good.” His kisses trailed down to your shoulder, moving closer to the middle of your chest as he lowered his body just a bit. “Can I make you feel good, baby?”
You felt so horny you almost thought you were going to pee. You were so excited. His voice, gosh he was so needy. His eyes were twinkling with a passionate admiration, a deep unrelenting love that oozed out into his voice.
“Yes Michael, oh God, yes.” Your voice came out in a desperate tone, almost as if you were begging him. It didn’t take more than a second for him to slip you out of your sundress, he tossed it aside without looking away from your body and caressed your bare flesh ever so softly.
“Just look at you…oohhh.” He breathed in deeply, winching as if you were just so pretty it hurt. “So pretty.” You sighed out a soft moan as he kissed just below your bra. “I wanna touch you all over…feel you all over me.” He kissed lower, going all the way down to the waistband of your panties. “Don’t move…” He licked his lips and pressed his face against the clothed mound of your pussy, just above your clit. It ached and pulsed for him, but he didn’t go lower. He pressed his mouth against it but only for a short second before going back to your lips. “My pretty girl.” You wrapped your legs around his waist and moaned into his mouth.
When he pulled away you were panting, staring at him with your eyes glazed over. “I love you Michael, please don’t stop.” You whimpered.
And he didn’t, you didn’t have to ask or beg. Michael finally rid you of the last bit of your clothing, setting your bra and panties aside. He was breathless at the sight of you, so beautiful and exposed, all for him. You were everything he dreamt of, all he ever wanted. All naked and bare on his bed, panting and wanton eyes. He felt like he would eat you alive if he lost all control. Michael gawked at the sight, shaking his head as he bit his lip with a grin. He licked his lips and admired your body.
“Youre drivin’ me wild.” He dipped his head down and kissed the mound of your breast, “you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me girl.”
You closed your eyes and tried to keep your breathing steady, but when his tongue trailed a wet line up the middle of your breasts it became impossible. Your lungs wouldn’t fill properly, your hips bucked against him and the feeling of his jeans against your bare pussy-, that unmistakable bulge, you could feel a tingle spreading across your body, starting between your legs and going up your spine.
“You make me feel so good inside…” Your nipples were as hard as a rock, they could cut through glass. Michael stared in awe. So pretty and so perfect, all for him. His mouth watered as he cupped one in his hand and wrapped his lips around the perky bud. The sensation of his warm mouth made the pit of your stomach tighten, heat pooled there and your walls clenched around nothing at all.
“Michael…” You whined, “Don’t stop, it feels so good.”
“Such a needy girl…” he teased, but he kept going. Taking your nipple back into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around it, sucking lightly while massaging the other between his index finger and thumb. You had no idea he was even capable of doing something like this, your mind was fuzzy and your body was buzzing. You felt like you were about to burst. “My needy girl.”
You closed your eyes and tried your hardest to hold yourself together, but it was so hard. The way his perfect teeth grazed your sensitive nipple made your head spin. You were so close to reaching down and soothing the ache yourself, but you didn’t. You waited and fell into the sensations that he brought, thrusting your hips into him as he switches to give the other side the same attention and love.
“Michael, please.” You were so impatient, you needed something, something more than just the friction of his jeans. His lips, his tongue, his long and thick fingers. God, you needed Michael to sooth you. “I can’t wait anymore.” You warned.
“Tell me what you want.” He said while kissing all over your breast, keeping the other trapped between his thumb and index finger, rolling it between the two ever so gently. “Tell me what to do.”
“Kiss me…down there, please.” You begged.
“Here?” He kissed just below your breasts, teasing you as he grinned. You shook your head, breathing heavily as you watched him with wet and almost teary eyes.
“Lower…” and lower he went, his kisses went lower, trailing between the valley of your breasts and then to your stomach, stopping in the middle to litter it in kisses. You held your breath and watched him, your mind hazy as you anticipated what he would do next as he looked up at you again.
“There?” You almost sobbed.
“Michael…” You begged, “please…please lower, go lower.” This time he kept going, worshipping your body with kisses on the way down, only stopping when he go to the soft mound of flesh just above your clit. You moaned at the sight alone.
His intense doe eyes staring up at you, lips wet and face flushed. Your hips jerked as you stared. “Right…here?” Michael stuck his tongue out and traced a small heart right at the peak of your labia. Your walls clenched so aggressively you let out a soft sob.
“Y—Yes…there, please kiss it…touch me there, Michael.” He pushed you further up on the bed by your thighs and snatched one of the pillows on the side of you.
“Lay on this.” He slid it under your back and pushed your legs back, “stay just like that, don’t move.” Your legs were spread, leaving you exposed and open for him.
The air in the room felt cold against your slick flesh, but Michael’s gaze was even stronger than that. His eyes drank in the sight of the glistening skin, staring as if he were starving. It was a bit embarrassing, just a moment ago you were best friends who hadn’t seen each other naked once, and now he’s your boyfriend going down on you in his bedroom. You felt so shy under his loving eyes.
“Michael..” you complained. “…stop starin’, it’s embarrassing.”
He smiled, his fingers grazed up your bare pussy-, barely touching as he watched your face. Watching you shudder and pant. “Can’t help it, you’re just so pretty…so needy for me.” You closed your eyes, “Just be patient…I’ll give you everything you want and more.” He peppered your thighs in kisses, making you pur at the loving gesture. “I’ll give you all my love tonight.”
“You’re so beautiful…” His hands traveled up your body and groped your breasts as he rubbed his cheek against your inner thigh, you opened them just a bit more, bucking your hips again—the action unintentional—and arched into his hands.
“just wanna make you feel good.” Michael kisssd your inner thigh, closer and closer to your needy core.
He worshiped your thighs until every bit of them were covered in the lingering warmth of his lips and then finally you felt them where you needed it most. He kissed the mound of your pussy one more time and then licked a long and slow stripe up your lips, moaning quietly at the taste. You quivered and reached for the pillow behind your head, gripped it tightly and bit your lip to keep yourself from making a sound. It felt impossible though, his tongue glided through your pussy, licking at your walls and sucking lightly. Your legs were trembling and your body was weak, his tongue pressed upward and your vision blurred.
“M-Michael…oh…oh my gosh…” You closed your eyes tightly and shook your head. He hummed against you and shifted his focus to your clit, you could feel him grin against your wet flesh when you whimpered, his mouth latched onto the sensitive bud. Your hips grind against his beautiful face, practically riding it as you trembled before him.
You were making such a mess, leaking onto the pillow and wetting his face. Michael loved it, he loved the taste of you, the scent and your moans. It was beautiful. As his tongue lapped at your clit, he slid his hands down from your breasts, one pressed against your lower stomach and the other continued down to your messy pussy.
“You taste so good.” He moaned. His fingers brushed against your clit for a moment, lightly teasing it before he slid it down further and pressed it gently against your entrance. “Tell me if it hurts, okay?” You nodded and braced yourself, but there was no pain.
As his long, thick finger slipped inside of you and pressed against your slippery, gummy walls, you felt your whole body throb. It was like you were electrocuted. He watched your face, expecting you to make a pained expression, but he was so elated to see the look of unadulterated and overflowing pleasure contorting your pretty face. Your vision blurred and you could hardly make a sound, his name left your lips in a silent and desperate call. The pad of his finger pressed against the soft spongy area, right beneath your clit, moving in a slow and careful pace. He rocked his hand back and forth, almost massaging the area as your back arched and your eyes rolled.
“Right…right there…” You whispered, your walls throbbed and when his mouth latched onto your clit again you cried out his name loudly. “I’m…I’m gonna…” You tried to warn him, you couldn’t get the words out though. Michael knew what you wanted to say but he didn’t ease up, he didn’t slow or stop. He slipped a second finger inside and straightened them, fucking you slowly with them as he sucked and licked your clit.
“M—Mike…” You whimpered as your vision went white with pleasure, your eyes rolled back and you clamped down on your fingers as your love gushed around them. You couldn’t even breathe, your heart skipped a beat as an orgasm ripped through your body and turned you into a puddle of heat. Your stomach tightened until it couldnt anymore and as he continued, you felt something building inside of you. “Michael…oh Michael, w—wait! Please! Please I….” you couldnt get it out.
Michael went faster, he could feel it. He could hear it, the faint sound of squelching wetness that grew louder with every thrust of his fingers and flick of his tongue. It spurred him further. He curled his fingers upward and rocked them back and forth until you saw stars, tiny sparkles playing behind your eyes as your love trickled out. With one final flick of his tongue and press of his fingers, it gushed out in a messy pulse that splashed against him, wetting his shirt as he grinned against your hot and wet flesh. You cried beneath him and pushed against his head, your legs threatened to shut around him, trembling as you were driven to a point of sensitivity.
“Michael! Michael please! I—I can’t take it! I can’t take it more!” You cried.’ And finally, he stopped. Allowing you to catch your breath as you laid on his bed panting and wet all over. You looked so lovely, perfectly ruined and beautiful. He felt a sense of pride wash over him as he watched you stare up at the ceiling with a look of pure ecstasy on your face.
“You’re so pretty.” Michael said as before kissing you, “I love you so much.” He assured. And you truly believed that, you knew he meant it. You wrapped your weak arms around him and held him closely as you kissed him back, the taste of him on your lips made you feel so proud. It was like you had marked him as yours. “You wanna stop?”
You smiled up at him and shook your head, “are you sure?” You slid your hand down his chest and pressed it against his belt buckle. “We don’t have to rush, if you aren’t ready, we can wait…we can wait as long as you need.” But it was clear you were in no mood to wait.
“Michael, I don’t think I could wait another second.” You admitted with a breathless laugh. “Please, make love to me.” Michael sighed a soft moan, his expression almost pathetically soft and lewd. He looked like he could cry from how badly he needed you. In a blur of messy kisses and wandering his, Michael’s clothes are stripped just as quickly as your own were.
He sits on his knees in front of you, bare and naked with his cheeks a pretty apple read and his chest rising and falling in deep, heavy breaths. He’s anxious. You can tell. You reach up and gently caress his face, smiling at him softly as you stare into his shiny doe eyes.
“Are you sure you wanna do this?” You could see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he stared at you. He was more sure of this than he had been anything. He wanted you so badly it was killing him, he was just so anxious… He was worried that he might lose control and hurt you. “You look nervous.”
He pressed a kiss against your palm and held it against his mouth. ”I just wanna make sure you feel good.” Your heart melted.
“Here, you lay down.” Michael was hesitant but followed your lead, he allowed you to switch positions with him, laying down in the same spot you were as you sat pretty between his long, toned legs. “Do you feel better?”
Michael felt amazing. He nodded, his dick throbbing embarrassingly at the gentle graze of the cold air. You straddled his lap and pressed your hands against his chest, your bare pussy just barely hovered above his dick and at the slightest movement you could feel it graze against you.
You leaned in closely, teasing him as you pecked his lips and grinned. “Stop teasin’…” He whispered, “c’mon…kiss me…” You pecked his lips again, leaning back as he chased your lips for the kiss he craved. You were expecting him to groan and roll his eyes, to pull your hips down aggressively or force you forward to his lips, but instead his lips parted and he let out a soft whine. “Please…kiss me, baby.” And begged ever so softly. It made you fall even deeper in love with him.
You couldn’t deny him or tease him a second longer, you kissed him with pure lust as you pressed your bare pussy against his length. You sighed as he whimpered into your mouth and wrapped his hands around you to hold you still. But you moved anyway. Your hips rocked back and forth in a slow motion, you could feel every vein, the glands of his dick and the pulsing. The thick length felt like heaven between your lips, heavy and hard. Your slickness coated him as you kissed him until he was panting and trembling underneath you.
“Please…” he whimpered, his eyes were glossy when you pulled away, “I need you so badly…” he pleaded, Michael’s voice was thick and airy, like a sigh. “I—I can’t take it anymore, I need you…God, I need you.” You raised your hips and nodded your head.
“I need you too Michael.” Your hand wrapped around his dick, hot and wet with his precum and your juices, he moaned and looked up at you with a pout and shiny doe eyes.
He bit his lip and held his breath, looking up at you with his eyebrows turnt upward. As your flesh pressed against the head of his cock he threw his head back into the pillows and closed his eyes tightly, whimpering as you slowly sank down onto him. He gripped the pillow behind him and opened his eyes, they were teary and his bottom lip was red from biting. As he slid inside of you, both of you held your breath. The stretch of his dick made your hands tremble, it took every ounce of strength to lead his hands to your hips and slowly guide you.
“Sl—Slow…” He whispered. “Take…take your time.” His voice cracked as he spoke and he tried his hardest to hold in his tears. You nodded and inched down, your walls fluttering around him as your love drips down. “Just…oh God…j-just like that…mhmm.” he whimpered and bit his lip.
As you slid all the way down your back arched and your toes curled. The head of his dick pressed firmly against your cervix, kissing it as he stretched you out. You stayed there for a moment, both of you panting and moaning into each other’s mouths. You moved slowly, grinding against him with your tongue in his mouth. Michael thrusted slowly up into you, holding your hips down at he went as slow as he could manage. Every movement made the bed creak and his body tingle. The slow pace was killing him, but he endured it until he could feel you tremble, your hips faltering as you moved a bit faster in a desperate and needy grind.
“S—So deep…” You whispered, your walls fluttering leaned down and cling to him, moaning quietly into his ear. “Y-You’re so deep…Michael.”
