a bit nervous, considering i’ve never sent an ask here before…if you’re comfortable with it, can you do a popular gyaruo reader x an emo loser who tutors the reader? theyre good friends, they’ve been friends for years. and like, theyre studying in the emo’s bedroom, when he leaves to go to the bathroom and m/n somehow comes across the emo’s notes on how much he’s obsessed with the reader and wants to feminize and dumbify him and freak shit like that. then emo comes back and gets mad at him for snooping thru his shit, and then they have sex!!
but if you don’t want to do it, just ignore this ask lol!! no need to do it if you don’t want to!!
ఌ 𝐄𝐌𝐎
w.c › 6.7k
warnings › bottom male reader. OC.
kinks › lite feminization, manhandling, dumbification, degradation, dubcon
ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-
“You and Matsuda-San are friends?”
That was how everyone, no matter their age, would react when you brought up Matsuda Kota casually in conversation. You were quite the persona since middle school. Going against the dress code to fit your gyaruo style. Kota, however, was quiet.
Some labeled him an ‘emo’ but he just had long black hair and mostly wore black clothing. At least that’s what he would say. His hair was so long that his bangs regularly covered his face.
You wore black clothing too—but they were often paired with bold pieces. You wore black eyeliner to make your eyes pop. It was only in university when you were able to go full out in being a gyaruo—a male version of a gyaru. Though you were on the more simple side of the aesthetic.
The full makeup and outfit took so much effort that you only did it on rare occasions. Or whenever you were in the mood to sit in front of a mirror for over an hour.
Your parents were lacking in the usual strictness that older Japanese people were known for. So you basically wild out—a stark contract to Kota whose parents were so overly strict it was concerning.
That’s probably why he spent most of his time over at your house. The two of you met in middle school. By pure accident.
You were sent to your homeroom teacher’s office for being caught with eyeliner. After a stern talking to and being shoved outside of the room with some wet wipes—you were too busy wiping your eyes to notice Kota standing in front of you.
It was only in middle school that you were taller than him. You bumped right into him, causing him to crash to the ground. His bento box spilling all over the floor.
“Woah! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” You kneeled down and carelessly began scooping up the food with your bare hands, dumping them into the bento box. “Five second—”
“I’m not eating that.” Kota rudely interrupted you.
You blinked, finally glancing up to look at him. He had an ugly bowl cut and thick rimmed glasses that looked too big for his face.
“Pfft—!”
Your lips clamped shut as you quickly covered your mouth. Eyes wide while Kota’s narrowed.
“I don’t know why you’re laughing. You look ridiculous too.”
Kota huffed. He roughly grabbed his bento box from your hand and walked away. You stood up and looked to your left, seeing your reflection in the window.
He was right.
The makeup was all smudge—giving you perfect raccoon eyes. A laugh left your lips. It was honestly a look. You rushed after Kota and wrapped your arm around his neck. He grunted and tried to push you off but you used your height to rest your chin on his head.
“Since we both look ridiculous, we should hang out!”
Kota groaned. “What are you—?”
“My name is Togami (Name). But you can call me (Name), no one calls me Togami.”
“We just met, why—”
“Because it’s sooo boring. My name is so much better than Togami. Don’t you agree?”
“Well—”
“Anyway, what’s your name?”
“Matsuda Kota, why—”
“Can I call you Kota?”
“Are you going to keep interrupting me??” Kota yelled out, stopping you both in your tracks. You stared down at him before grinning slyly.
“Sorry, Kota-kun~ keep talking, keep talking. I think I really like you!”
“I didn’t give you permission—”
“Lunch’s almost over! Hurry, we don’t want to be late for class!”
“I said stop interrupting me!”
The rest was history. Which led to where you are now. University. You were able to dress up more and didn’t have to worry about getting in trouble with teachers for a little bit of eyeliner.
You and Kota decided to rent an apartment together. With your parents' help mostly. They were retired and had a decent amount of savings. Kota paid for everything else that your parents didn’t cover. You were just there to decorate the apartment.
Kota really didn’t care about that type of stuff. His bedroom was bare. Really bare. It looked exactly how it looked before you both moved in. The decoration he had in there was from you. Though he rarely allowed you in his room.
The apartment was covered in a lot of furry furniture. Black, brown, and gold. Leopard print… it was a mess but also somehow worked for the chaotic vibe you were going for. Your bedroom was the only real mess.
In any case, you and Kota lived together fairly well. Despite everyone being shocked that the two of you were even friends. You were outgoing and nice–Kota was quiet and a little bit rude. Everyone called you by your first name… no one but you could call Kota by his first name.
It actually got you into hot water once with Kota.
“You can call me (Name), I don’t mind!” You proudly said, grinning at your clubmate. You and Kota joined the photography club to kill some time. The club was meeting at a restaurant as a way to get to know everyone.
Everyone said their introduction. Kota’s was as bland as ever while you were practically bursting with excitement. You were sitting beside some guy–you couldn’t remember his name–and was telling him that he didn’t have to be formal with you.
A loud clink of glass hitting the table startled everyone even with the bustling sounds of people excitedly chatting. Eyes were all on Kota. His beer glass had a small crack on the bottom, the yellow beer slowly seeping free all over the table. He calmly grabbed some napkins and dabbed at the liquid.
“Uh, waiter!” The club leader waved someone down and pointed to the pointed glass.
You only watched Kota, blinking as he seemed to not even react to anything. Not when the waiter carefully took away the glass. Not as a few other clubmates wiped away the mess. Not when a new beer glass was placed in front of Kota.
Kota only grabbed a skewer of meat from the shared plate in the center of the table. He took a small bite, his gaze not even flickering over to you. It took a minute before everyone began to talk like normally, as if nothing happened.
As soon as the club leader had mentioned that everyone should start heading home–you were roughly grabbed by the arm and tugged to stand up. Everyone watched in silence as Kota grabbed your coat and backpack without a word.
He draped your coat around your body, buttoning it without allowing you to properly put it on. Your arms were restricted but he didn’t seem to care. Kota nodded his head at everyone, wrapping an arm around your waist and guided you outside.
“Kota. Kota, I can’t move my arms,” you tried to push your arms through the sleeves but Kota kept pulling you forward. His hand tightening his grip on the curve of your hip. “Kota!”
He hummed. “Does everyone need to call you by your first name?” His words suddenly stop you in your tracks. It was only now that he actually stopped as well. You both were far from the restaurant by now.
“I let everyone do that.” You muttered, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“Maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Where… is this coming from?”
Kota looked you in the eye. There looked to be something there… the need to say something. Something that could possibly change things. But he only shook his head.
“Forget it.” He removed his hand from your waist, finally allowing you to properly wear your coat. You follow behind him as you slip the coat into place. His words swirled around in your head but you didn’t say anything.
You still allowed people to call you by your first name. At least the people you had already allowed to but for some reason, anyone new had to call you by your last name.
Nothing was said. It just happened.
But you couldn’t forget the one time Kota had overheard you introducing yourself to a new member of the photography club.
“Hi, I’m Togami (Name). You can call me Togami or Toga!” You said, smiling wide as you excitedly shook their hand. Your gaze flickered to Kota who was standing right beside you and his expression was pure smug.
A small smirk tugged on his lips. Big enough that even another member noticed and asked Kota what he was thinking about to smile like that.
Kota only hummed. “Nothing.”
That was really the only time Kota had ever been mean towards you. Or at least angry. Afterwards he didn’t use any force on you again. Which really made you wonder what upset him that badly.
But you never brought it up again.
“If you want at least a B, you’ll need to get an 80% on the final exam, Togami-San.”
You groaned, rubbing at your face. Your grades in college were decent. Could be better but decent. Your parents were just happy you weren’t flunking. The fact you even went to college surprised them and your entire family.
It wasn’t like you didn’t care but you didn’t go above and beyond like others. You studied like twice a week. Each time before an exam you studied a bit and somehow that allowed you to continuously get Bs and A minuses.
Good enough. Some would kill for that.
However your studying method was proving to be useless for one class. The one class where you had your first ever D.
Organic chemistry.
Now why are you taking organic chemistry?
Well because you’re dumb.
Dumb enough to not realize that you signed up for the wrong class until it was too late and you had to continue taking it. You were a literature major! Why would you ever need organic chemistry?
“It’s okay, (Name)-Chan~” Hinata, your classmate, gave you a wide grin. “Maybe you should do tutoring.”
“Tutoring?” Another one of your classmates chirped in, Genki. He was a fellow gyaruo who put more effort into everyday makeup in comparison to you. A true legend. “What (Name) needs is a miracle.”
Hinata rolled her eyes. “Don’t make it worse. You’ll stress him out. I know someone who took organic chemistry as a freshman and actually passed with a 99%!”
“99%? Woah,” Genki’s mouth dropped while you perked up at her claim. “How—? That professor is strict. How'd that kid pass?”
“Don’t know but he was even the teacher assistant last year. He’s good, really good. But he doesn’t just tutor anyone.” Hinata turned her gaze over to you. “You might have to really beg for it.”
You frowned, “beg…? Ah, it can’t be helped. I’m not failing that final exam!” There was no way you’d let this class ruin your semi perfect record of As and Bs. “Where can I find him?”
“He’s an engineering major! My friend said he’s currently a teacher assistant for engineering 101, class should be ending right now. Go stop him before he leaves!”
The thought of having to beg some stranger to hopefully pass your class was a little stressful. Technically your whole life was up to this one dude.
And judging by how Hinata had described him—he wasn’t exactly the helping type.
He already reminded you of Kota.
Ah, Kota.
A giddy smile pulled on your lips at the thought of him. It’s already been three years of living with him and you had begun to realize you had a crush on him. Nothing serious at the moment but it certainly was something.
You found yourself doing more things for him. Making him lunch or dinner. He wasn’t a breakfast person so you never forced that. Two days ago you even bought him a leather jacket that reminded you of him. Though you still haven’t given it to him yet.
You’ve given him things before. Especially not an expensive leather jacket. It was around ¥291,500. Nothing cheap at all. But it was real leather with fluffy fur around the collar.
Perfect for winter that was right around the corner.
Thinking about Kota, you began wondering what you should make him for dinner. You stood outside the classroom door just as students began to walk out.
“(Name).”
“Kota?” You blinked, looking over to see Kota standing right beside you. Your head tilted as you blinked. “You’re taking this class as a junior?”
Kota fixed the strap of his bag as he raised an eyebrow. “I’m the teaching assistant.”
“Ah!”
Well looks like luck was on your side after all.
You grinned and rushed to his side, grasping his arm with your hands. “Kotaaaa~”
Kota only hummed and looked down at you. The height difference wasn’t by much. Your head was the perfect height to rest on his shoulders—which you constantly took advantage of.
“Can you tutor me? In organic chemistry? I heard you passed the class and I need to get an 80% on the final exam to even pass the class. Please, please, please—”
“Sure.” He interrupted you.
You blinked.
That was really easy.
Well, getting him to tutor you was easy but he wasn’t an easy tutor at all.
“If you can’t even memorize this then don’t even bother showing up to take the exam.”
“Kotaaaa.”
“Try again.”
It had only been a week and you were pooped. Kota didn’t let up. Each day after dinner, you’d spend almost two hours sitting at the dining table as he tutored you. No breaks, no days off.
And yes you were certainly learning and retaining information… but you were also tired.
“67%,” he said, placing the mock final exam he made you take on the table after grading it. Despite his rough tone—you knew he was semi happy about your progress in just one week. “I’ll test you again next week.”
You sighed. Better than nothing. You used to get 20-30% on the exams. This was an improvement.
Kota cleaned up the dining table while you placed your head on the table. You were only going to close your eyes for a second. But soon you found yourself in bed. Hands tugging up your shirt.
“Kota?” You groggily whined, placing your hand over his. His hand was larger than yours. He stopped what he was doing and leaned away a bit.
“You’re awake?” He asked. You felt his hand slipping away but you quickly tightened your grip. With sluggish movements, you tugged his hand up, making him gently cup your face.
He didn’t stop you nor did he say anything. If you weren’t struggling to even stay awake, you would’ve noticed his thumb gently rubbing circles on your cheek.
“I got something for you.” You whispered.
“Like what? Is it a thanks for tutoring you?”
You weakly shook your head. “No. It’s…” your voice trailed off, eyes struggling to stay open. “It’s just for you. Because I like you. It’s underneath my bed.”
“Don’t fall asleep.” He gently tapped your cheek. “You still have makeup on.”
“I like you… didn’t you hear me?”
“Mhm.” Was all he said in response.
The rest of that moment was a blur. You remembered feeling makeup remover wipes on your face. Kota grabbed the box from underneath your bed but he didn’t open it in front of you. Your eyes were basically closed by then.
He whispered something and then you were fast asleep.
Another two weeks passed. It was uneventful. Kota continued tutoring you and you made significant progress. Your little puppy crush was beginning to grow by the minute. Especially now that you two were spending most nights together.
You didn’t have to ask about the jacket because not even a day later you saw him wearing it. It made you so giddy that you almost laughed right in front of Kota. Luckily you managed to hold it in.
Despite organic chemistry being the worst class you’ve ever taken—you certainly had to thank it for allowing you the opportunity to be near Kota for such long hours.
However there was something you began to notice.
Kota didn’t allow you in his bedroom.
At first you didn’t notice because well it’s not like he comes into yours. You both were close but still wanted the bedrooms to be your own personal space. But now that you two were studying together for a long period of time… you and Kota would sometimes study in your bedroom.
It was a mess, obviously, but Kota didn’t seem to mind.
But it was like his room was off limits before you could ever ask.
Nothing was wrong with that per se… at least at first. Until you finally realize it when Kota always keeps his door locked. The door was always closed and even locked sometimes.
That’s strange, right?
Was he hiding something?
What would someone like Kota have to hide? He’s such a normal guy at the end of the day. You were the one that had more to hide but your day was basically left wide open at all times. Even when you were changing.
Like right now.
You slipped on your boxers, yawning. The thought of looking for some pajamas felt like a hassle. Your body was tired and even struggling to stand up straight.
“Where did I put it…” you whispered mostly to yourself, rubbing your shirtless chest. It was certainly a sight to behold. Your makeup was only semi cleaned off, your eyeliner was being stubborn and your lips were stained from left over lipstick. It’s kind of why you never wear lipstick that often.
It always stained your lips.
Just like your clothes, your pajamas were also heavily influenced by gyaruo clothing. You even dabbled a bit in more feminine pajamas. Simply only because male pajamas were boring half the time.
You knelt down and grabbed your silk shirt. It was plain black but felt nice to sleep in. “Pants… where’s my pants?” You spun around, now facing the doorway when you finally noticed that you weren’t alone.
Kota was watching.
He looked like he had just finished taking a shower. Hair still damped while the towel laid around his neck. An old beaten up white t-shirt and black sweatpants. His bangs covered his right eye entirely.
You gulped. Your own semi nudity was the last thing on your mind. Just the fact of seeing Kota in clothes that didn’t cover his body entirely. Nothing baggy that hid his muscles. You were allowed to see everything.
Almost everything.
Your bottom lip caught between your teeth. You didn’t even realize just how bad you were ogling him. Though it seemed to be mutual when you glanced up at his face.
Kota was staring at you. Really staring at you. His gaze flickering from your thighs to your chest. You still hadn’t slipped the shirt on yet.
Feeling yourself heat up from his strong gaze, you slipped the silk shirt on. That finally broke the spell as Kota quickly looked away. He began quickly drying his hair.
You finally found your pants, right near your dirty hamper. They were actually shorts. A matching pair to the shirt. You stepped into them and it was basically the same length as your tight boxers. These were one of your more feminine pajamas.
“Well,” you spoke, blinking slightly as you glanced over at Kota. “Uhh,” your lips pursed together. Hands wringing together. “Can I ask you something, Kota?”
He hummed. His eyes still focusing on anything but you.
“Can we… maybe study in your room one day?”
That caught his attention. His eyes snapping over to you. “Why?”
You froze. This was probably one of the first times Kota ever pushed back against a request of yours. Usually you could just say one word and he’d do it without hesitation. Not even asking why you want to do a certain thing.
It wasn’t always like that—that behavior didn’t start until high school.
“Oh well…” your voice trailed off. There was technically no reason. Or really any good reason. “Uhm, I just… want to change the environment.”
“We can study at the library.”
“Kota.” A pout on your lips. “I don’t wanna. I like being at home.”
“Then we can study on the balcony.”
That did sound nice.
You sighed. “Then… if I pass with an 89% can I celebrate in your bedroom?”
Kota raised an eyebrow. His face was neutral but you could tell he was getting agitated. The slight twitch in his upper lip, the way his grip tightened on the towel. “89%? That’s high.”
“Yeah, so if I do that good, then you have to grant my wish.”
“Why do you want to do that? Be in my room so badly?”
You were nosy, that was certainly the main reason.
But instead of saying that…
You said, “because I want to be in your scent.”
Which, in hindsight, was one of the stupidest things you had ever said.
I want to be in your scent? What did that even mean?
It was one of the strangest things you’ve ever said. And you were known for being weird to Kota.
Oh well—you couldn’t dwell on it too much because to your shock, you did it.
“How??” Hinata and Genki stared at the final exam paper in shock. There, written in bright red ink, was the percentage 90. You had done better than you had even thought was possible.
You simply smirked. “I managed to get that tutor you told me about.” Was all you said before heading straight home.
Kota was home, luckily enough. You had bought some take out and a case of beer. A smug smile on your lips as you walked over to where he was sitting on the couch.
He closed his book as soon as he saw you. His gaze solely focused on you. Your cheeks felt a little hot from his gaze but you straightened your posture. You placed the food and drinks on the center table.
“I took the exam.” You reached into your bag, excitedly pulling the exam paper out. The paper was folded as you handed it over to him. He took it, you excitedly sat down beside him and inched close, wanting to see his exact expression once he saw your score.
Kota opened the paper and despite the fact his face didn’t move an inch, you could tell he was proud. “Amazing.” He simply said, placing the paper on the center table. “How do you want to celebrate?”
You pursed your lips, eyes looking to where Kota’s bedroom was located. There was nothing else that needed to be said. Kota got the hint immediately.
Kota’s bedroom was the exact same as you remembered. The last time you had seen it in its full glory was maybe a month after you both moved in. To say it had no personality was an understatement.
It didn’t feel lived in if it weren’t for his studying material all over his desk. You plopped down on his bed as he sat at his desk, placing the items you brought on the surface. He glanced over at you with an unamused expression.
“This is all you wanted to see?”
You eagerly nodded your head. “Well yes.”
“You’re weird.” He opened a bottle of beer with a bottle opener. “Enjoy my scent.”
Your cheeks felt hot.
Kota’s room really was uneventful. He didn’t even have a tv. You stuck to watching something on your phone. About an hour or two passed when Kota excused himself to the bathroom.
You only huffed and moved to rest more comfortably on the bed when you felt something poke your back. It felt like a notebook. Underneath his pillow was a small little notebook—a diary was your first thought.
Now, did you originally plan to snoop around Kota’s room? No, you did not.
But now that you had the opportunity to possibly read his diary were you going to miss it?
No.
While you might be able to understand Kota’s expressions after spending so many years with him—it was too tempting to be able to read about his thoughts.
Who was he talking about? Jealousy bubbled deep within you. Who was lucky enough to be the object of Kota’s affection? It wasn’t like he talked to many people that weren’t you.
You gasped as the diary was roughly ripped from your hands. It was there you came face to face with an overly pissed Kota. A first. The last time you ever saw Kota this angry, his face actually showing the full emotion, was back in middle school.
Your stomach began to twist into knots. The idea of angering Kota this much hadn’t even crushed your mind. Sure you were pushy sometimes but you never wanted to ever make him feel this way.
It was silent. Your mind raced a mile a minute. But nothing left your lips.
Kota let out a humorless laugh. Another first. He stared down at you. “Are you weirded out?”
“Huh?” A soft gasp left your lips. Your eyes flickering up to stare at him. He towered over you. You sat on your knees on the bed.
He waved the diary. “You read what was in this.” His voice sharp. “You’re weirded out, right? You want me to leave don’t you?”
“Why—? Why would I want that?” You quickly moved to stand up but Kota grabbed your shoulder and shoved you back down. It should’ve upset you that he put his hands on you but you felt your cock twitch in your pants.
“Stop acting dumb.” He carelessly tossed the diary behind him. His eyes never left you. The intensity in his eyes scared you but also made you incredibly horny. Who knew he could act like this? “You read it, you saw what I wanted to do. Degrade, feminize, and dumbify—you saw it, didn’t you? Don’t spare my feelings.”
You quickly shook your head. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn't judge what you… do in your free time.”
Kota froze. He raised an eyebrow before leaning further down. You leaned back until your back bumped into the wall, effectively caging you in.
Your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it. You clamped your legs together. Why was this actually doing something for you?
“How did you get that 90% on the exam?” He finally spoke.
“Huh?”
“You. I want to degrade you.” His hands pressed on either side of the wall, gaze harsh. “I want to make you pretty, only to ruin you for anyone else. Who else would I ever want to see naked beneath me?”
“…huh…? Kota…?”
Kota sighed. “I’ll move out as soon as possible.” Was all he said as he began to pull away.
“Wait—!” You grabbed his shirt and tugged him back towards you. The force causing him to accidentally bump his nose against yours. “Ow,” a whine left your lips but you quickly pushed through the pain. “Why… why are you going to leave me?”
“Did you not understand a word that I said?” Kota responded, his tone exasperated.
“I did. I did and I don’t mind. I like you! Didn’t you know that? I told you…”
Kota tilted his head. His gaze focused solely on you. “You always tell me that you like me. Was I supposed to believe that one time was different?”
You frowned. “Well I did mean it differently. I meant that I like like you.”
“You like like me?”
“Mhm.”
Kota laughed. You were seeing a whole new side to him. “Do you like me enough to let me do whatever I want to you?” He asked, his voice deep. There were simple words but somehow they felt heavy in your chest. It didn’t feel like it was a simple easy thing to agree to.
He seemed mad but not that mad that you thought he would’ve been. It felt different. A scary different. But not scary enough that you didn’t nod your head in agreement to his words.
“I need to hear a yes.” He said.
“…Yes.” You whispered. “I really like you.”
For the first time ever, Kota’s lips pulled into a wide smirk.
Your cock twitched at the sight.
You would’ve never expected that Kota would be the kinky type. Honestly you ever really expected that he’d be into sex… or anyone really. He didn’t seem like the type. It’s why you didn’t expect anything to happen from your feelings.
But here you were, hands tied together above your head with Kota’s belt. Undressed—your boxers being the only clothes you were allowed left.
Kota didn’t say anything at first. He had silently tied your wrists together, manhandling you to rest on the bed. His hands gripped your skin. It felt harsh and rough but it didn’t scare you.
“Kota…” You whispered.
He was silently taking in your body. His hand slowly tracing up and down. As his hand reached your inner thigh—you let out a gasp. Your legs clamped together as your cheeks heat up and feel hot to the touch.
“Kota… are you mad?”
“No,” he answered. His hand squeezed your thigh before he reached his other hand and grasped your other leg. He easily parted your legs open, it happened so fast you didn’t even register it until your legs touched the bed.
Kota sighed. His gaze flickered up to look you in the eye. “I’m not going to do everything I ever wanted.” He said. That somehow disappointed you. “I don’t want to rush this… not now.”
“Rush?”
“(Name),” he whispered your name as if he was worshipping you like a God. So soft and tender though his eyes held a certain hunger that made your stomach clench. “I’ve always wanted you to cry on my cock—letting your makeup mess up your face.”
“Really?” You couldn’t help but grin. “Is that why whenever you saw me with my makeup a mess, you’d get quiet?”
Kota didn’t respond. He moved to sit between your legs. “When we moved in together, I thought I’d have to deal with you bringing in random people to have sex… or maybe even get a boyfriend. How lucky am I that you aren’t able to date anyone?”
“Hey, I was single on purpose!”
“Sure.”
You frowned but before you could say anything else Kota pushed your legs forward. A strained grunt left your lips. The stretch was a little unnatural—not a position you’ve ever done before.
“Since it’s our first time, I’ll be nice. Okay?”
“You’re a virgin?” You muttered, blinking slightly.
“Aren’t you?”
“Ah,” you quickly looked away, biting your bottom lip. “Not… exactly.”
It was silent.
Too silent.
“Kota…?”
The sound of fabric tearing caused you to cry out in shock. You looked over to see Kota focused solely on your legs. Your boxers were torn open, the cool air teasing your hole. Embarrassment shot through your body when you realized Kota would have a perfect view of a certain something in your ass.
Finally, your little secret was revealed.
“(Name)…” Kota chuckled, his voice deep. His index finger circled around your sensitive rim. Your body shook from the touch. “Is this a butt plug?”
So, it wasn’t as if you expected sex today. You had just wanted to be a little… adventurous today. After your exam you had actually come home first before going back out to buy the food and beer. Just for fun.
It was a small plug. Only stretched you a little bit to where you could feel it if you shifted just right. But other than that it didn’t feel like anything was inside you.
Really the only thing you expected tonight was using your dildo late at night as you imagined Kota fucking you instead. Luck was really on your side today.
“Did you wear this all day? Even when you took your exam?” Kota grasped the edge of the plug, slowly tugging it out. You gasped—tugging at the restraints around your wrists. “Did you masturbate like a pervert, hoping no one would notice you rocking in the chair, trying to focus on the exam while making sure the plug hit your prostate?”
With a simple shift, the tip of the plug pressed directly on your prostate. A loud moan left your throat. You wanted to tell him that he was wrong. That he was making stuff up. Degrading you.
But the continuous, slow rub against your prostate took over your thoughts. All you could focus on was gasping and moaning in response. Nothing else could escape your lips. Your cock twitched. It was still covered inside your tight boxers.
“Kota,” you mewled.
“Such a slut. Is that why you’re so flashy?” He asked, pressing down on your prostate. “You want everyone’s attention on you. Not just your looks but also from your sex appeal? So perverted, Togami (Name).”
You sniffled. Your wrists tried to break free from the belt but somehow it was wrapped tightly. You could only bring your hands down to try and cover your face from Kota’s intense stare.
“Am I not enough?” Kota moved up, his body now towering over you. His free hand grasped your wrists and tugged your arms to rest above your head once more. “Do you need everyone else’s attention? I’m not enough for you?”
You quickly shook your head. The words escaped you—only broken wet moans leaving your parted lips.
“Fine.” An almost pained laugh left Kota. “They can look…” he leaned down, his breath teasing your face. “But you’ll always be mine. Only I can see you, touch you, and ruin you, do you understand?”
Kota pulled back when you didn’t respond. His glare sharp as he roughly pulled the butt plug out. He tossed it behind himself. “Answer me with words.”
“Mhm, ngh,” you nodded your head. It was hard to speak, your throat was already dry. You haven’t even been fucked yet and you already felt tired. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
You let out a shuddered moan. Your legs wrapping around Kota’s waist. It felt so sinful for you to be practically nude while Kota was still dressed. He was wearing a black sweater and black pants—his usual winter clothing.
“You’re perfect for me, (Name)… I don’t even need to prepare you.” Kota unbuttoned his pants. His gaze focused solely on you. “I won’t be nice. I’m going to fuck you and if you manage to cum, good. If not…” his voice trailed off.
The thought that he wasn’t even going to try and make sure you would come too. To just use you for his own pleasure… made your whole body shiver.
Shit, you were really learning new things about yourself.
Kota was never known for being particularly nice. Sure he did nice things for you but that never meant he wasn’t a little rude to you still. Even if you were his favorite person. He had no issue degrading you. And it was shocking to yourself that you didn’t mind it at all.
He didn’t fuck you nice and slow. He didn’t slowly ease inside you or anything like that. Your hole was still dripping from the lube and allowed for a semi easy entrance. Though his cock was bigger than your small butt plug.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. The stretch felt otherworldly. Kota grasped your face, pushing your head down into the pillow as he began thrusting in an easy rhythm.
The slap of skin filled the room. Your gasps and moans came out in rough staccato. Toes curling as you bite your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
“K-Kota…” you cried out.
Kota pushed your head further into the pillow as his thrusts began to pick up speed. He was unforgiving—obviously chasing his own orgasm. True to his words he didn’t aim for your prostate nor did he touch your cock.
He was fucking you got his own pleasure.
“Mhm?” He grunted out. His thumb brushing against your lips, pushing them apart. “Does it feel good? Are you enjoying yourself?”
Each thrust sent a shock throughout your body. The sound of skin slapping, bed creaking from each thrust into your tight heat. It was sending you into a frenzy. You could’ve sworn that he was purposely avoiding your prostate. Just barely teasing it to cause a shiver in your body before ignoring it once more.
It was degrading. He was treating you like a toy.
You smiled slightly, eyes glancing up at Kota. He was a sight to behold. His eyes almost fully covered from his long bangs. He was sweating but still hadn’t made the effort to take off his sweater.
The jeans rubbed against your ass, chafing the skin. You’d certainly cry about it later but now it only served to make you moan. Every little thing he did that only served to please himself and not you… made your toes curl.
“Hey,” Kota cut in. “I asked if you’re enjoying it?” His voice deep and held an air of dominance.
A strained laugh left you, punched out in tandem with a particularly harsh thrust that almost sent you hitting the headboard. Your bottom lip was cut. A little bit of blood coated both lips and some on your teeth.
“Yeah,” you breathed out. Your eyes struggled to stay open, fingers curling to grip the pillow beneath you for a sense of purchase. “Love it so much.” An almost exasperated laugh left you.
Kota’s thrusts slowed down. His grip on your face almost loosened. He certainly didn’t expect such an answer from you. The willingness to accept his behavior as if it was a normal thing. A thing that you readily craved and enjoyed.
A perverted smirk pulled on his lips.
It was one of the widest smirks you’ve ever seen from him. With his eyes practically hidden behind his bangs—his smirk was the only thing you could use as a way to see what he was thinking. With that smile alone you knew he was happy.
Proud even.
This… was exactly what he wanted.
And how lucky was he that you wanted it just like him.
The last of his thrusts were almost cruel. He positioned his hips so his cock would tease your prostate. Barely a touch that was enough to even count as anything. You almost cried at the teasing—it was too much.
Your cock was weeping in your boxers. But you didn’t beg for Kota to start pleasuring you as well. No you enjoyed how he was fucking you. This was too fun. Better than anything you could’ve originally imagined.
Kota released his grip on your face, both hands reaching to grab your waist. He held your body still against the bed. Keeping you still as he delivered his last, harsh, heavy hitting thrusts into your ass. Each thrust earning a loud accompanying cry from you.
Hot wet cum released inside you. The fact that he didn’t even ask if he could only made you shivered in delight. A weak gasp left you. Kota spanked your ass as he pulled out. The cum slowly seeping out of your hole.
“You look beautiful like this.” Kota hummed, “next time I want to see you in full makeup when I fuck you.” He said. He grabbed your boxers, tugging them off when he stopped.
A soft humorless laugh left him.
“You actually came?”
Two fingers touched the lower half of your stomach. White cum leaking from your cock. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. You didn’t expect that this would lead you to cumming in your boxers.
But here you were.
“Of course a slut like you would come untouched.” Kota leaned over you, gently freeing your wrists from the belt. He captured your lips into a hungry kiss—not allowing you to take any sense of control.
𝓲𝗻 𝗳𝗮𝗰𝘁 ⟢ because you decided to get a good grade on your midterms, your professor decided to reward you with something even way better.
✿ ◞◟) nanami kento 𝓍 male reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 598 words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, dom top nanami kento & sub bottom male reader, age gap, college au, professor nanami, blowjob, deep throating, gay, smut, facial, male reader.
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professor nanami was in the midst of grading midterm papers one late afternoon when, unbeknownst to them, you were beneath the desk, on your knees, engaging in sucking the professor’s thick cock.
as you persist in taking his full length, gripping his sturdy thighs, your face contorted as more of his manhood entered your mouth.
nanami noticed your struggle as you gagged and choked, attempting to accommodate his entire length. he slid his chair back, allowing his member to slip from your mouth, giving you a chance to catch your breath. your eyes were misty, tears streaming down your cheeks.
with a gentle touch, nanami extended his arms, holding your chin as he softly remarked, "i thought you said you wanted to pass my class so badly."
"i do, professor," you whimpered, casting an innocent gaze at professor nanami. he gently ran his fingers through your hair, showing his tenderness, before suddenly grasping it tightly to make you look up at him. in a stern tone, he commanded, "then, be a good boy and take me deep in your throat."
without hesitation, nanami forcefully pushed your head down onto his thick shaft.
struggling for breath, you felt nanami press your face downward until your lips met the base of his shaft. tears blurred your vision, making it difficult to breathe, but you endured, listening to nanami's intense moans as you fought to accommodate his cock.
as nanami's cock filled your mouth, the taste of his hot, salty precum overwhelmed you. saliva dripped from your lips to the floor as you struggled to contain his length. your throat tightened around him, causing your vision to blur with tears. despite your gagging and frantic grip on his thighs, nanami was not ready to climax yet.
nanami released his hold on the back of your head, causing you to retreat as his cock slipped out of your throat and out of your mouth. gasping for air, you were left breathing frantically, which prompted a smirk from nanami.
nanami allowed you a moment to catch your breath before firmly gripping both sides of your face and guiding you back down onto his throbbing manhood. this time, nanami unleashed his full passion, driving your head up and down in a steady rhythm without restraint. his thrusts were powerful and unrelenting, showing his intense desire.
as you hear nanami's grunts and moans, feeling his cock reach the back of your throat, you sense that he is on the brink of climax.
as nanami quickened his pace, it was evident that he was on the brink of climaxing in your mouth.
"i'm close. swallow every last drop," he demanded with a deep, intense voice.
nanami tightened his grip on your face as soon as he spoke, causing you to hear his moan as his release spilled into your mouth, causing his member to twitch. you clung to his thighs as you began to struggle with his essence, allowing his member to slip out of your mouth with a push. his saliva-coated shaft continued to release its load, painting your face and prompting you to shut your eyes.
after the final drops of his seed had been expelled, you opened your eyes to find nanami catching his breath. he glanced down at you, taking in the sight of your cum-covered face and the aftermath of his actions.
"consider this your reward for your well-written midterm paper," nanami remarked with a chuckle, his deep voice resonating. he ran a finger along his member, creating an 'A' shape with the lingering fluid - an 'A' now adorning your face.
Imagine having a big fat crush on a person but learning that the exact same person has an obsession with you.
He's my man
And I love him like nobody else can
He's my man
He's gone quite mad
Yandere HSR mean x reader ( Phainon, Jingyuan, Sunday ) different AU
PHAINON
Phainon was the dream son in law for every family, he is very popular and known by everyone–you bet that there's one person among your circle that knows phainon. You have been having a crush on him, but it was something small–it's not something big plus you move on by then plus he has a girlfriend.
One day out of the blue, you receive a message or a friend request from phainon Instagram. Your best friend's boyfriend, outed your previous crush on him during a hangout and now he's messaging you. He is checking in on you as well as wondering whether or not you still like him, you thought that he was asking for reassurance because he already has a girlfriend and he doesn't want to make it awkward between you and her.
You reassure him that you no longer have any feelings for him thinking it was the end of it–he took a long time to respond to your messages and he responded with an okay and then went offline. For one week, you've been hearing gossip of phainon and his girlfriend getting into arguments because he has a gallery of photos of a girl–thats what cyrene and castorice has been telling you.
The next day, your best friends break the news that phainon and his girlfriend officially ended their relationship. Honestly, you feel sad because his girlfriend is genuinely a nice presence but you guess people fall out of love–thats what you thought on what happened towards phainon and his girlfriend.
What you don't know is that phainon for the longest time has fallen in love with you, he's aware of the crush you had on him–in fact he enjoys the chase from you, from the gaze that you think he wasn't paying attention it simply fuels the flames in his heart. He and his girlfriend were nothing but a stunt to make you more jealous, and the relationship was fake for him. It immediately becomes a big problem when you said that you don't like him anymore, he instantly panicked. By now, he's now focused on rekindling the old spark–since you are too shy to make the first move he would.
JINGYUAN
You have admired the head chairman for a long time and from a distance, it's already known that the chairman is often too busy for a relationship–which is such a shame due to his good looks that would not be passed down, that's what the elders in your family say–after when you tell them about your small crush on your boss.
You were an assistant towards him and would manage his schedules so that he would not be overwhelmed and be burned out by the constant work he already has to do, he already has enough up his plate and he doesn't need more. There was so much for a person to handle, and he already suffered enough.
Jingyuan would often find your presence comforting and grounding, that's what he often says about you–referring to you as his sanctuary. Quite nice to be dotted on at first, but now it becomes uncomfortable for you–back then when you first work for him, he's always distant and closed off even dismissing you.
During a company party, you accidentally got too drunk and confessed your crush towards jingyuan in front of him and coworkers. It was a disaster night for you and the worst day of the year, you were ashamed of showing your face again but the paycheck was too big so you kept a low profile to avoid any attention.
Recently you've been trying to do a transfer but when you send your papers it's always denied, it's very frustrating because all you wanted to do is just to leave and start a new but unfortunately the chairman has this idea of wanting to "embarrass" you by keeping you there as a reminder of your previous embarrassment. When you finally, confronted him–he already expected it. You asked if this was an attempt to embarrass you and humiliated your confession, all he said was "when did I ever reject you" now you are all his now.
SUNDAY
You were a childhood for Sunday and robin, both coming from a royal family. Despite being from a lower status–your family and king gopher have a close relationship, that's probably the reason why you are able to meet Sunday and robin not to mention growing up together. You used to have a crush on the prince, but that dream was always a fantasy because it's expected for him to marry a high Noble.
Unfortunately a revolution has emerged and separated you from them for a long time, both Sunday and robin went missing when people flood the castle to execute the royal family with their relationship with the order which is seen as blasphemy against the Harmony that your nation serves.
During the years without them, you manage to grow in status by becoming the current king advisor. You never really expected that Sunday would return back, to take back his throne. It was a cold war and penancony was then split up again, another side wishes the return towards the oak prince while the other wishes to maintain the watchmen's wishes.
By the end Sunday manage to reclaim his throne again, you originally thought he might hate you but he seems neutral with you. Holding no grudge with you, in fact express happiness towards finally meeting you. He tells you his stories about travelling the world and his path of atonement as well as self reflection.
When you offer him a list of future spouses he seems to have taken it back, he always thought that you would be the one to be by his side–that caught you by surprises and move back, as you take a few steps back–sunday stand up from his chair and approach pinning you up against the wall. He is quite sad how lowly you viewed yourself, when you explain that you are not trained as a spouse–he told you that he doesn't mind at all because the title of spouse or advisor doesn't matter all that matters is you by his side.
thinking you got away from yandere! lohen.. but you know he loves a good chase. and he won't let his darling go that easily.
it was hard enough trying to manage a clingy, lovesick knight that won't take no for an answer. you thought that was cute when you first met him, and how he'd coincidentally run into you everywhere you went. his uniform was always stained with blood, with some sweat dripping down his face that you perceived as endearing rather than dirty. he had an oddly creepy enthusiasm when it came to interacting with you, but you brushed it off as just a little unique trait of his. his teasing yet clingy personality always kept you on your toes, wondering what creative excuse he'd come up with this time to spend more time nagging you than actually doing his duties.
you knew he was strong. but you weren't aware of how reckless he was when you first met. he picked fights for the fun of it. he saw blood and bruises as trophies instead of hindrances. his pain represented his achievements, and that was something he often utilized as bait for you to concern over his well-being.
you'd massage his shoulders, chastising him for swinging his weapons with too much force. then he'd casually mention that his scars were burning as well, leading you into fussing over yet another injury that magically doubled in severity the last time you saw it. you'd trace your fingers over his scars, which drove him mad. a chill would run down his spine and he'd shudder, relishing in the touch of your gentle hands while imagining what it'd feel like for those same hands to tightly grip his throat. dazed eyes looked up at you in anticipation while you slowly went on a tour of his body littered in a mixture of major and minor injuries that he never had a shortage of. while you were concerned and slightly annoyed by his rash behavior, he was already plotting in his head how he'd ruin your kind, caring nature and replace it with hatred for him. just the thought of you yelling insults at him and pitifully attempting to fight back had him excited. you could tell just by the tent in his pants and the drool that escaped from his mouth every single day as he let you nurse him for a few weeks.
his plan was put in motion one day when his patience ran out. he never wanted to wait anyway. nothing triggered him to snap. it was simply on a whim when he decided the time was right and he'd finally take you for himself.
it was excruciating for him to wait. his patience was tested every day you walked past him and your scent would fill his nose. it always reminded him of how he'd steal your clothes in the middle of the night and jerk off with them in his hands, not even bothering to muffle his moans. he got off on the thought that you could've caught him at any moment. he didn't even bother washing them thoroughly afterwards either. his cock would grow even harder the next day when he saw you wearing the same clothes he beat himself to the night before, knowing the small stains and scent you haven't noticed are his. the remnants of his pleasure was all over your body, and there was nothing you would've been able to do about it, since you figured the scent was just from your new soap you started using on your laundry.
your other belongings weren't safe either. that bandage you threw away after using it to cover a minor cut was licked and sucked on so severely that the bloodstains were gone, and you had no idea the new gauze lohen used were just your old ones, since they looked so clean and good as new. he really didn't care that his wounds took longer to heal because of the used bandages. he didn't care that they burn longer and scar deeper. it shows how dedicated he is in his obsession. his body is an art museum of his lust and he puts the "pain" in the paintings.
he couldn't wait any longer. he had to have you, even though you trusted him. you took care of him and spent so much time with him. you were so kind to him. but nothing from the weeks of your kindness filled him with more pleasure than the fearful, teary-eyed look you gave him the second you woke up in his basement with rope tying you down.
"you always knew it would end this way, right? you were tempting me every day. every single second you were around me. man, it took all of my self-control to resist you for this long... but you and i both know i'm not the kind of guy to hesitate when i find my target."
he spoke to you as if you were some sort of animal he hunted. the prey that he'd rip to pieces and hang up on his wall. and as much as he wished he could see you like that, what's the fun in killing you? if you were gone, he wouldn't be able to play with you anymore. that's another reason why he seemed a bit careless when it came to your security. your ropes were oddly loose, and there were plenty of objects in the basement that you could use as a weapon if you needed to. almost as if he was teasing you. willingly giving you the resources you needed to escape as bait, confident that he'd always catch you in the end. unfortunately, you fell right into his trap.
you were tired of his love. he always felt the need to ruin you every single day. then he'd kiss it all better and hold you while you cry over the pain and exhaustion. if you tapped out he'd stop, not because he particularly cared for your physical well-being, but because it's not fun to play with prey that won't run away or fight back.
he'd hurt you, tease you, then he'd praise you for taking him so well. you were his pretty little thing that was oh so strong for being able to handle him. it was difficult to pin down exactly what he wanted from you. did he want you to love him back? did he want you to sexually desire him in the same perverted way he did to you? or did he want you to hate his guts? it was confusing, and tiring. you had to escape. there was no way you'd be able to put up with him any longer.
when he left for his usual knightly duties, sloppily kissing you goodbye without caring about the fact that you never returned his affection, you knew that was the moment you'd leave. and you got quite far considering the fact that you didn't bother to look back once to see him tailing after you.
you ran through the woods of mondstadt, praying to the archons that you wouldn't be seen by another knight. you were running on nothing but an empty stomach and adrenaline, hoping you'd at least reach liyue by morning. but your exhaustion got the better of you, and you decided to camp out in the trees for the night. until a familiar voice called out:
"you call that an escape? i've seen rats shimmy out of traps smoother than this!"
you sprung up and ran away as fast as you could, hearing lohen's manic and gleeful laughs not too far away. he seemed to enjoy the chase far more than anything he already did to you.
but you couldn't outrun him. you never will.
you weren't running for long before you felt a sharp pain in your legs, letting out a cry and falling to the ground. lohen's knife had been thrown into your thigh, immediately crushing your hopes of an escape. muffling your cries with a hand over your mouth, he quietly shushed you like you were a child with a temper tantrum.
even without looking at him, you could just hear the grin on lohen’s face as he whispered: "caught you."
Dorohedoro but Nikaido has a crush on fem reader who just opened up a takoyaki shop across the street from her gyoza restaurant.
She’s usually level headed and confident, but gets so nervous when she sees you and tries to hide her blush.
Anytime she sees you, she tries showing off her cooking and muscles to try to impress you, but you’re always too busy with your shop to notice.
Kaiman finds out about Nikaido’s crush and loves teasing her about it. He’s determined to help her confess to you and ask you out on a date.
Kaiman: “Hey!! Isn’t that the girl you like?!”
Nikaido: “KAIMAN SHHHH!!!”
She eventually gathers up the courage to actually introduce herself to you by going to your shop. People weren’t kidding when they said this place has some of the best takoyaki ever.
You both get to know each other as you cook and serve her meal. Everything’s going well until some creeps walk into the shop and start harassing you.
Before Nikaido can even get off her seat to beat their asses in, you already beat her to it by throwing one of your takoyaki pin sticks right at one of their eyes.
The creep screams in pain and starts crying like a baby while his buddies become enraged and gang up on you two. Nikaido easily beats them up and you even lend her your other pin stick to help out.
You: “They make really nice weapons!” You cheer as you hold up one with an eyeball still attached.
Nikaido didn’t think she could fall any harder for you but she’s guesses she’s wrong.
outline ; “Love your writing!! Would you mayhaps be able to do nsfw hcs of Jouno x Tecchou (bungo stray dogs) with a transmasc SO? Out here feeding my addiction to these side characters
Also I am indeed 18”
note ; this ended up reading as mostly gender neutral, but it was written with a trans masculine reader in mind (as specified by the original requester)
warning(s) ; sexually explicit content, mean dominant!jouno, dominant-leaning-switch!tecchou, bottom!reader, sadism, masochism, overstimulation, sensation play, marking kink, use of sex toys
minors and ageless blogs will be blocked
first thing’s first, but with these two hunting dogs as your lovers it’s all but guaranteed that you’ll be the one acting as their submissive — or that, at the very least, you’ll be on the receiving end of all the punishments and pleasure they each strive to bring you. granted tecchou is much more willing to compromise on this point and is happy to hand over the reigns to you whenever you ask, but as long as jouno is involved you’re going to have to settle for co-dominant or submissive (i.e. he’s an uncompromising dom while tecchou is more of a switch)
as far as positions go, both of them prefer to be on top — though tecchou is the more willing of the two to give you the chance to top him in return every so often — but neither of them are super picky about specifics beyond that. in jouno’s case because he just wants you to be completely at his mercy and couldn’t care less about what direction you’re facing at the time, and in tecchou’s case because he just wants to make you feel good and will gladly go along with whatever you want (or, more often than not, what jouno tells him to do as that’s how things tend to go with the three of you)
neither of them are especially vocal in the bedroom, but jouno is undeniably the more chatty of the two — never passing up a chance to tease or degrade or mock you (though being mindful of any boundaries you’ve established with him beforehand — he’s a sadist, not a monster) unless his mouth is otherwise preoccupied. tecchou, meanwhile, tends to stay mostly silent aside from the occasional grunt or groan or moan, but whenever he does speak up it’s almost always either outright praise or him making sure that you’re alright and enjoying yourself
sadist that he is, jouno is very much so into pain play and almost gets off more on punishing you than he does just fucking you. of course he’s mindful of your boundaries in doing this and is deceptively casual in his avoidance of any topics or language or body parts you have asked him to avoid, but other than that he really doesn’t go easy on you — and it’s not unusual for you to leave a session with him borderline covered in handprints, swatch marks, cuts, and cum, as delirious from pleasure as you are completely out of it from pain. it’s… a lot, certainly, but good fun if you’re a masochist
tecchou on the other hand is all about experimentation and exploration, which lends itself to a lot of sensation play whenever it’s just the two of you having sex. occasionally that can leave you with a few marks, though never anything permanent or especially long lasting, but his intention is always just to try out something new with his boyfriend as opposed to staking a claim on you — he’s just not all that possessive, honestly
these two fall on opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to controlling your orgasms — with jouno taking a great amount of joy from edging, denying, and ruining your orgasms as they come, while tecchou will happily and eagerly eat you out until you’re squirming and squirting and so overstimulated you can’t even remember the sound of your own name. either way you don’t get much say about where or when or how or if you get to finish… and either way you may end up struggling to walk the next day
given how stressful their line of work is, it almost goes without saying that these two men are carrying around a great deal of frustration and stress — feelings that they previously had their own ways of dealing with, but that they have more recently started taking out on you
(though tecchou was a bit reluctant to do so at first, being all too aware of his own strength, until you took the time to assure him that you could take it and wanted him to use you to de-stress. jouno had no such hesitation)
tecchou prefers to stick to just using his body to get you off — his hands, his thighs, his mouth, and his cock, depending on what you want/need at the time — so any toys that enter the bedroom will need to come from you (for them to use on you or for you to use on him if you want to top him for a change) or from jouno (which will then be used to torture you in all sorts of wonderful ways, naturally)
very thorough aftercare — but that’s to be expected given how intense your sessions with them can get. they don’t actually want to break you, after all
SUMMARY : a petty fight on the drive home from a party gets heated enough for your boyfriend, jake sim, to pull over. things don’t exactly cool down after that.
CONTAINS : smut, top!jake, bot!reader, jealous reader, fuckboy-ish jake, banter (ofc), bj (r. recieving), car sex
WORD COUNT : 2.686k
your drive home was supposed to be quiet. supposed to be. instead, it’s jake humming along to some dumb trending pop song, drumming his fingers on the wheel like he didn’t just spend the last two hours acting like .
“what’s wrong with you?” you mutter, arms crossed tight. “like, genuinely. do you think i like watching you grind on people like i’m not even there?”
jake scoffs playfully, eyes flicking back to the road. “grind? i wasn’t grinding on anyone.”
“you had your hands all over her.”
“i was helping her find the kitchen.”
you sound bitter. “with your hand on her waist?”
he smirks. “hey, i’m a hands on guy.”
you slap his arm, more reflex than anything. “you’re such an asshole.”
he laughs, like actually laughs, which you swear makes you one step closer to fully snapping. “you’re overreacting. seriously. i was just talking to people.”
“sure you were," you say sarcastically, "you were eating it up, the attention, the flirting, all of it. you love it.”
his smirk rises, that little dangerous curl of his mouth. “and you don’t?”
“i don’t like my boyfriend look like a fucking idiot. like a fuckboy.”
that shuts him up for half a second, and you think maybe you won something... until he shakes his head, smirk sliding right back in place. “god, you’re cute when you’re jealous.”
your whole body tries its best not to strangle him right now. “don’t call me cute right now.”
“what? it’s true.” he leans back, one hand loose on the wheel, the picture of smug comfort. “you get this little pout, all defensive. makes me wanna—”
“pull over so i can walk home.” you snap.
his tongue pokes his cheek with that smirk, like he’s holding back another laugh. “so dramatic.”
“stop saying that!” you shove at his shoulder this time, the car swerving slightly as he chuckles.
“what, i can’t tell the truth?”
you glare daggers at him, heat rising in your throat. “you’re so full of yourself.”
“and yet,” he says slowly, eyes cutting toward you, “you’re the one all worked up over me.”
that’s it. you can’t take the smugness, the little smirk, the way he’s so calm while you’re fuming. disbelief spilling over into anger. “worked up? oh my god, you’re insane. i’m pissed, jake. there’s a difference.”
he tilts his head, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “pissed because someone touched your pretty boy?”
“shut the fuck up,” you snap, even if he is a little bit right. “i don’t care if someone touches you. i care when you let them.”
“so you do care.” his grin widens, triumphant.
you groan loud, dragging both hands through your hair. “you twist everything i say.”
he shrugs, like the steering wheel isn’t between his hands and your patience. “i just think it’s funny. you act all cold at the party, ignoring me, and now you’re foaming at the mouth ‘cause i smiled at someone.”
“jake. you didn’t just smile,” you shoot back. “you leaned down, whispered in her ear like—like—”
“like what?” his tone sharpens just a little, though the smirk doesn’t fall. “like i wanted her?”
you hesitate, pulse racing. “yeah. exactly like that.”
he exhales, amused. “baby, if i wanted her, i wouldn’t have left with you.”
“oh, congratulations,” you bite. “you came home with your boyfriend. what a fucking saint.”
that makes him laugh again, low and delighted, which is the worst possible response.
“you’re ridiculous,” you mutter, crossing your arms so tight it hurts.
“and you’re jealous.”
you snap your head toward him, eyes wide. “say jealous one more time—”
he smirks, eyes on the road. “jealous.”
that’s it. you can’t take the smugness, the little smirk, the way he’s so calm while you’re fuming.
“you’re such a fucking child,” you spit, voice sharp enough to cut.
jake’s laugh is low, smug, deliberate. “say that again.”
before you can snap back, the blinker clicks, and the car swerves off the road. tires crunch against gravel as he kills the engine, plunging everything into a buzzing silence.
you blink at him, chest heaving. “what the fuck are you—”
his hand shoots across the console, grabbing the lever at your side, yanking it so your seat jolts back with a squeal. before you can react, he’s shoving the chair down, reclining it until you’re half-sprawled, pressed against cool leather.
he’s leaning over you now, braced on one arm, breath hot against your mouth. “say it again.”
your pulse hammers. you glare up at him, jaw tight. “fuck you and your smag ass personality.”
his grin sharpens. “aww, you wanna fuck me?”
then he’s kissing you, hard, bruising. it’s messy, desperate, like every insult in the car condensed into heat and teeth. you hate how fast you melt into it, how your hand fists in his hoodie instead of pushing him away.
he drags his tongue along your teeth, groaning when you bite down too sharp. “still mad, huh?”
“don’t act like this fixes anything,” you snap, voice catching when his thigh shoves between yours, pressing you open.
he smirks, grinding his hips down against you, the console creaking with the force. “then don’t act like you don’t love it.”
you shove at his chest, but it’s weak, traitorous. “you're an asshole.”
“and you’re hard,” he shoots back, one hand sliding down your stomach, groping you through your jeans. his palm presses slow, teasing, until your breath stutters. “so which one of us looks stupid now?”
“still you,” you bite out, even as your hips roll up into his hand.
he laughs, low and wrecked, like he can’t believe how much this turns him on. “god, you’re hot when you’re petty.”
your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard. he groans, smirk never faltering, and dives down to mouth at your neck. the wet drag of his tongue makes your eyes flutter, but you grit your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a moan.
“gonna be quiet for me now?” he murmurs against your skin. “after all that yelling?”
“maybe i just don’t wanna hear your voice anymore.”
jake pulls back, eyes glinting in the dim dashboard light. “i'll just wait till you do.”
before you can retort, his hand slips under your waistband, fingers wrapping around you. you choke on a gasp, back arching against the seat.
“fuck—”
he grins, stroking slow, deliberately teasing. “there’s the sound i wanted.”
you bite your lip so hard it hurts, glaring at him even as your hips jerk up. “don’t... give yourself the credit”
he laughs while his wrist twists, pumping you with maddening rhythm. “oh, i’ll take the credit. all of it.”
your nails dig into his shoulders, grounding yourself against the way your body betrays you. he shifts lower, mouthing down your chest, fumbling your jeans open with one hand.
“gonna let me take care of you?” he asks, voice mocking but soft.
“just shut up and do it,” you snap.
his grin widens. “so bossy.”
but he does. he drags your pants down, pressing kisses to your stomach, slow and messy. his hair brushes your skin as he works his way lower, until his mouth is on you, hot and wet and perfect.
you curse loud, head hitting the seat. your hand shoots down to grip his hair, tugging hard. he groans around you, the vibration making you buck.
“hate you,” you gasp, even as your thighs tremble.
he pulls back, lips slick, smirk devastating. “funny way of showing it.”
before you can answer, he’s back down, taking you deeper, throat working. you swear your vision goes white for a second, breath catching on a broken moan.
your petty resolve cracks with every drag of his tongue, every swallow. you’re still glaring, but it’s weak now, desperate.
he pulls off again just long enough to breathe, “say it. say you hate me.”
your chest heaves, words spilling before you can stop them. “i hate you—fuck—”
he groans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard, dives back down harder, faster, until your whole body’s shuddering. your grip in his hair tightens, thighs shaking around his head, chest heaving like you can’t get enough air.
he pulls off with a wet gasp, lips slick, chin shining, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “look at you,” he pants, grinning. “falling apart already.”
you’re flushed, breathing ragged, still glaring down at him. “don’t think this cancels out what you were doing back there.”
jake tilts his head, hair falling into his eyes, smirk sharp as ever. “what was i doing?”
“stop playing dumb, jake.” your voice cracks when his hand slides back up your thigh.
his grin widens, fingers ghosting over you again, maddeningly light. “i was being polite.”
you groan, dragging a hand down your face, half-delirious and still pissed. “you were being an whore.”
“maybe,” he mutters, pressing two fingers inside you without warning, “but you’re still letting a fingerin.”
your breath stutters, eyes fluttering. “fuck—”
“yeah,” he says, watching your face like he’s starving. “keep talking, i like it.”
you try, words strangled as his fingers curl. “you should’ve just— kept your hands to yourself.”
he leans up, mouth hot against your ear. “want me to keep them here instead?”
you don’t answer fast enough, back arching as he separates the fingers, and his laugh is low and smug. “thought so.”
the seat squeals as he shoves it farther back, crowding over you, braced between your thighs. the moment his cock drags against you, both of you groan.
“still holding that grudge?” he teases, lining himself up.
you glare, jaw tight, even as your body pushes toward him. “if you take your time, i’ll start listing names.”
his smirk nearly splits his face. “jesus. that's hot.”
then he pushes in, slow but relentless, and your words cut off in a sharp cry. your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in.
“fuck,” jake groans, head dropping against your neck. “you’re unreal.”
your breath stutters, back arching into him despite yourself. “don’t sugar talk me now.”
he pulls back, thrusts forward hard enough to rock the car on its axles. “who said i was sugar talking?”
you bite your lip, half a glare, half a moan. “just... shut up and move.”
and he does, grinning against your skin, hips snapping faster, deeper, like he can fuck the fight right out of you
the rhythm builds fast, jake driving into you hard enough to make the whole car creak. sweat sticks his shirt to his back, windows slightly fogging with every groan and gasp.
your fingers dig further into his shoulders, and you manage to choke out, “you better not think this means i’m over it.”
jake laughs, breathless, grinding deeper until you can’t keep the sound in your throat. “baby, you could still be yelling at me and i’d eat it up.”
you want to roll your eyes, maybe spit another comeback, but the way he angles his hips steals the thought. instead, you end up clinging harder, your legs trembling around his waist now, you pray anyone driving wont notice the shaking car.
he notices, ofcourse. he always does. “there it is,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “knew i’d find it.”
you bite back the whine threatening to slip out, gritting your teeth. “smug bastard.”
he kisses your jaw, sloppy and hot, smirk curving against your skin. “keep calling me names. i’ll make you scream them.”
the car rocks harder, rhythm messy now, both of you sweating and swearing. you try to hang onto the grudge like it gives you some control, but your body betrays you, arching into him, clenching around him.
jake’s groan is harsh. “fuck... you’re not mad, you’re obsessed.”
you glare, even as your moan exposes you. “don’t flatter yourself.”
the sound in the car is obscene now, skin slapping, the slide of sweat, your broken gasps. you’re too far gone to keep up the act.
“jake—” it rips out of you, raw and desperate, more plea than accusation.
his forehead presses to yours, thrusts sharp, relentless. “cum with me. right here.”
your legs lock around him, dragging him in deeper, and the fight you’d been clinging to unravels in a single messy rush. your body seizes as you cum, gasping against his mouth.
he curses, low and ragged, chasing it. three more brutal thrusts and he’s coming too, hot and heavy inside you, hips grinding until he’s wrung out.
the car goes quiet but for the ringing of your breaths. windows slightly dripping condensation, both of you wrecked.
jake collapses forward, chest heaving against yours, then starts to laugh, soft and smug. “still mad?”
you shove at his shoulder weakly, glaring even as your body refuses to let him go. “don’t talk to me.”
he kisses your neck anyway, lazy and warm. “you say that all the time.”
you close your eyes, trying not to melt into him, trying not to give in to the comfort sneaking in under the haze. “next time you flirt with someone, i’m keying your car.”
he grins against your skin, too satisfied to argue. “worth it.”
jake eventually pulls out with a hiss, the sudden emptiness making you shiver. he leans over you, presses a kiss to your jaw, lazy and smug, before finally climbing back into the driver’s seat. the car creaks under the shift.
the engine rumbles to life, headlights carving out the empty road ahead. jake cracks the window and lights up, the faint scratch of his lighter filling the quiet before smoke curls into the night.
you fix your clothes in silence, still fuming on principle, even though your legs are trembling and your pulse hasn’t caught up. you turn your face toward the window, pretending the empty road is more interesting than him.
“so quiet all of a sudden,” jake says, exhaling smoke with a grin in his voice. “kinda suspicious.”
you scoff, crossing your arms. “don’t flatter yourself. i just don’t feel like talking.”
“mm.” he taps ash out the window, glancing at you sidelong. “you don’t not feel like talking. you’re holding onto your little grudge ‘cause it makes you feel powerful.”
your jaw tightens. “would that include making you sleep on the curb tonight.”
he laughs, warm and throaty, like the idea doesn’t scare him at all. “please. you’d last five minutes without me before crawling back.”
you glare at him, but the heat behind it is softer now, dulled by exhaustion and the buzz still fizzing in your veins. “you’re impossible.”
“and irresistible,” he shoots back instantly, grin spreading across his face.
you groan, dragging a hand over your face. “god, shut up.”
but then he flicks ash out the window, voice dropping just a little. “seriously, though… why would i go for anyone else? i’ve got the world’s best ass sitting right here.”
you whip your head toward him, giving him a side eye, but your chest warms anyway. “you’re disgusting.”
he smirks around the cigarette. “disgusting and loyal. can’t beat that combo.”
the corner of your mouth twitches annoyingly close to a smile. you turn back to the window to hide it, watching streetlights blur past as the smoke swirls between you.
jake drives one-handed, other arm draped out the window, humming some half-remembered tune under his breath. the road hums steady beneath you, and bit by bit the tension bleeds out of your shoulders.
he glances over once, catches the way you’re leaning into the seat now, not rigid anymore. “see? told you we’d be fine.”
you huff, still clinging to the last scraps of your grudge. “don’t get used to it.”
“too late,” he says, grinning as he takes another drag. “i already did.”
the silence that follows isn’t heavy this time. it stretches comfortable, the air thick with smoke and leftover heat, and when jake reaches over at the next red light to squeeze your thigh, you don’t push him away.
you just sigh, soft and surrendering, and let the hum of the engine carry you both the rest of the way home
jae's note ! a little thing i was writing for a while and took a bit to get out. currently in the midterm season so will try to fulfill the poll's results sometime soon!
sim jaeyun, park sunghoon, park jongseong x male reader.
The concept arrives with moodboards of motels, guns, and neon, turning their debut into a visual fever dream. Jay sees confusion. Jake fights the feelings. Sunghoon waits in the dark. When Y/n slips out of his room past midnight, he finds Sunghoon in a compromised moment and does the only thing he knows how: he helps. Y/n doesn’t pull away.
warnings: idol!reader, objectification, noncon(?), voyeurism, possessiveness, psychological tension, industry power dynamics, masturbation, emotional manipulation, subtle gaslighting, obsessive behavior, celebrity exploitation, toxic dorm dynamics, dark themes of identity loss, performance vs. reality, aestheticization of grief and desire, morally gray characters, elitism within the industry, unresolved jealousy, subtle yandere behavior, inspired by The Idol and Anora.
By the time the creative team settled, the dorm already had that strained, in-between feeling it always got before something changed. Not quiet exactly — the refrigerator still hummed, someone’s charger still blinked beside the couch, a half-finished drink sat sweating onto the coffee table — but suspended. The kind of stillness that didn’t feel peaceful so much as expectant. The reality crew hadn’t set up anything dramatic for it. No heavy lighting, no slate, no loud countdown. Just one handheld camera drifting between faces and one fixed lens angled loosely from the corner of the living room to catch whatever happened naturally. A “reaction moment,” the producer had called it earlier. Something candid for the episode. The boys finding out the final debut concept in real time. The audience seeing their first impressions. Soft behind-the-scenes content, on paper. But nothing in the room felt soft.
The creative director came in first with her laptop tucked under one arm and a thick stack of reference printouts pressed to her chest. Behind her were the two people the managers had been whispering about all afternoon — the film director and his producer, both dressed too simply and too expensively, both carrying themselves with the kind of confidence that came from already being obeyed. They weren’t idol people. That was obvious immediately. They didn’t walk into the dorm looking around with polite curiosity or performative excitement. They looked at the space the way people look at a location they’re already trying to strip down in their heads. The reality cameraman shifted slightly, adjusting his grip so he could catch the boys’ faces as well as the newcomers, and the atmosphere tightened by another degree.
The creative director didn’t bother with any long preamble. She dropped the printouts across the coffee table and let some of them slide onto the floor, image over image, all of it building into one dense visual field before she even opened the laptop. The board wasn’t built from anything personal. No test shots. No old trainee photos. No mockups with their faces pasted in. It was all strangers. Anonymous bodies, anonymous nights, anonymous moments pulled from editorials, old camcorder stills, documentary fragments, low-resolution nightlife photography, fashion tears, surveillance-style screenshots, film references stripped down to color and texture and posture. And even before she started talking, the mood of it was immediate — hot, reckless, gaudy, humid in a way that made your skin feel sticky just looking at it. Motel balconies lit electric pink against a violet sky. Girls in bikinis and ski masks holding drinks and handguns like both were accessories. Boys with bleached hair and smeared glitter kneeling in a church pew under blue stained-glass light. Three teenagers in candy-colored balaclavas laughing in the backseat of a convertible with fistfuls of damp bills. A drained pool covered in graffiti, bodies sprawled at the bottom of it like they’d decided not to leave. Fluorescent convenience store aisles at 3 a.m., all the colors too bright and too dead at once. Wet pavement glowing under palm-tree shadows. Glitter mixed into sunburn. Cross necklaces resting against chlorine-slick skin. Gold grills. motel ice buckets. cheap champagne. fake innocence. real danger. Every image carried the same feeling — youth with too much freedom and no instinct for consequence, beauty made louder by bad decisions, criminality made seductive by heat and light.
The creative director opened the laptop and let a loop of silent reference clips play while she spoke — not polished footage, just fragments. Grainy phone video of girls dancing barefoot on a motel bed while someone off-screen counted cash. A strip mall parking lot filmed from inside a car, all sodium-orange light and liquor store neon. Four bodies waist-deep in a pool at night, faces blurred by bad focus, the water lit an impossible chemical blue. Someone in angel wings and a thong walking through a convenience store with a pink lighter and no expression. A prayer circle in a bathroom with glitter, smoke, and a pistol left on the sink beside a tube of lip gloss. It was tacky and gorgeous and vaguely criminal in the exact way it meant to be. The reality camera stayed on the boys as much as it stayed on the screen — catching whoever looked longest, whoever looked away first, whoever tried not to react and failed.
Then the creative director finally spoke, standing over the table with one hand braced on the edge of it, her voice calm in that unnerving way people get when they’re saying something they know has already been approved. “Okay,” she said. “So. What you’re reacting to right now is the final shape of the debut era. And before I get into what the visual language actually is, you need to understand where it came from.” She gestured slightly toward the man and woman behind her. “They came to the company. Not the other way around. They’d seen early material, heard the direction we were moving in, and what they wanted was very specific. They didn’t want a normal debut film. They didn’t want polished mythology, or a performance cut with pretty inserts, or a safe little cinematic intro that still behaves like idol content. They wanted to reproduce a feeling.”
She let that word sit there for a second before continuing, and when she did, she clicked to another board — this one even more saturated, more vulgar, more feverish. “Not reference it. Reproduce it. The sensation of one very particular kind of American excess. Youth in a place that feels fake and holy and rotten all at once. Tourist paradise turned criminal playground. Sunburnt skin, motel sheets, liquor-store neon, stolen money, pool water, strip-mall Christianity, petty violence, fake luxury, no sleep, too much heat. The feeling that everyone is too young for what they’re doing and too gone to care.” Another image flashed across the screen: a group of girls in white bikinis and pink ski masks pointing finger-guns at the camera while fireworks went off behind them. “The key isn’t nostalgia,” she said. “It’s intoxication. It’s delusion. It’s the seduction of bad choices when the whole world looks bright enough to forgive them.”
No one interrupted her. The fixed camera in the corner kept blinking red. The handheld one caught little things — someone’s jaw tightening, someone shifting in their seat, someone staring too hard at the board like maybe if they kept looking long enough it would become less real. The creative director continued anyway, talking over the quiet hum of the dorm the way people do when they’re used to being listened to. “The story structure is loose, but the emotional structure is not. It follows the logic of a spring-break fantasy mutating into something darker. Escape first. Then indulgence. Then reinvention. Then crime. Then devotion. Then collapse. It’s not linear in a clean way, but that arc is there under everything. The world starts out glittery and stupid and playful — all cheap paradise. Then it gets more feverish. More intimate. More dangerous. The party and the threat become the same thing. Freedom starts looking a lot like possession. The group stops reading like a team and starts reading like a closed system. A little cultish. A little doomed. Very watched.”
She crouched then, picking up one of the larger printouts from the floor and holding it up. It was a motel room washed in blue and pink neon, the kind of room that looked both filthy and cinematic, with cash scattered over the bedspread and someone’s tan legs hanging off the edge of the mattress. “This,” she said, “is the emotional baseline. Not literally this room. Not literally this styling. But this temperature. We want everything to feel humid, overlit, slightly unreal. Like you can smell chlorine and sugar and stale air-conditioning through the screen.” She reached for another — a church interior with girls in tiny pastel dresses and rhinestone cross necklaces standing under stained glass like they were about to either confess or commit a felony. “And this is the tension. Sacred and trashy at the same time. Seduction and innocence in the same frame. Sweetness with rot underneath it.” Then another — masked figures on scooters under boardwalk lights, carrying water guns and one real gun, the whole image so unserious it became threatening. “And this is the rhythm. Play acting sliding into something real.”
When she straightened, her tone sharpened just slightly, less descriptive now, more practical. “The director’s pitch to the company was that this group already contains the emotional material for this kind of world. Tension. Silence. Possessiveness. Performance. The feeling that everybody in the room wants something and no one is saying it directly. So instead of forcing a conventional concept onto you, we’re building a world that amplifies what’s already there.” She glanced at the filmmaker, then back at the group. “That’s why this isn’t being treated like a standard music video. It’s a visual album. A full visual narrative. The songs are chapters inside one long fever dream. We’re not centering clean choreography and then decorating around it. We’re centering atmosphere, fixation, and escalation.”
She clicked once more, and the board shifted into what looked more like structure than inspiration: annotated reference stills, color maps, fragments of wardrobe notes, texture studies, scribbled words in the margins — lacquered skin, fake tan, wet heat, boardwalk glitter, motel baptism, pink violence, devotional trash, Florida noir. “The opening section is all false freedom,” she said. “Sun, skin, money, reckless fun, this idea of youth as something endless and untouchable. The middle gets stranger — more saturated, more obsessive, more enclosed. Nights get longer. Rooms get smaller. The images get closer to the body. By the end, the world should feel almost hallucinatory. Like the fantasy got so intense it started eating itself.”
The producer behind her finally spoke then, but only briefly, her voice smoother, more pragmatic. “The company said yes because nobody else in your lane is doing this at debut. They don’t want safe. They don’t want expected. They want something that feels imported from another genre entirely and still commercially lethal.” She folded her arms. “So locations are being locked. Styling is being rebuilt. The shoot structure is being changed. And from this point on, every piece of behind-the-scenes content, every dorm beat, every practice clip, every reaction — all of it feeds this world.”
The creative director nodded and closed the laptop halfway, but didn’t shut it fully, as if the concept was still breathing on the screen between them. “That’s why the reality camera is here,” she said, glancing briefly toward the handheld operator, acknowledging the obvious without making it awkward. “This isn’t the official reveal film. This is your reaction material. The audience will eventually see pieces of this through you — how you take it in, how you respond to it, how the temperature in the room changes. That matters. Because the whole point is that this era doesn’t start on set. It starts here. In the dorm. Before the styling, before the locations, before the final choreography. It starts the second you understand what world you’re being asked to live in.”
She looked down at the spread of images one last time, then back up at them, and her next line came out quieter than the rest. “You’re not debuting into a fantasy of success,” she said. “You’re debuting into a fantasy of excess. There’s a difference. Success is clean. Excess is memorable.”
The dorm went still after that. Not silent exactly — the fixed camera still hummed softly, someone in the hallway shifted their weight, the air conditioner kicked on with a low mechanical breath — but still in the way a room gets when something irreversible has just been placed inside it. The moodboard remained scattered across the coffee table and floor like evidence from a future crime scene: hot pinks and chlorine blues and money and bodies and heat and religion and danger, all the colors of a paradise already starting to rot. And the reality camera kept recording, patient and unblinking, catching whatever happened next — not the concept itself, but the moment it settled into them.
The room held its breath for a beat too long after the creative director stopped speaking. The moodboard still glowed from the laptop screen, all that neon and chlorine and skin and sin bleeding color into the dim afternoon light of the dorm, and the printed references scattered across the coffee table and floor looked less like inspiration now and more like evidence — like someone had reached into a fever dream and pulled out handfuls of it and dropped them here, in the middle of their living room, between the half-finished drinks and the charger cables and the socks someone had kicked off near the couch. The silence wasn't empty. It was thick. Loaded. The kind of quiet that happens when people are processing something too large to respond to immediately and also very aware that they are being filmed while they do it.
Jay was the first to move, though move was generous — it was more of a shift, a slight straightening of his spine against the back of the couch, his jaw doing that thing it did when he was thinking hard and didn't want anyone to know what direction the thought was going. His eyes stayed on the screen for another second, tracking over the images still rotating in the slow loop the creative director had left playing: a girl in a white bikini and a pink ski mask laughing with her head thrown back in a convertible, cash fanned out in her lap like a bouquet; a boy with smeared eyeliner kneeling in a fluorescent-lit bathroom with a rosary wrapped around his knuckles and a cigarette burning between his fingers; a motel pool at night so saturated with chemical blue light that the water looked radioactive, bodies floating in it face-up like saints or corpses. Jay blinked once, slowly, and then he smiled — not a real smile, not the kind that touched anything behind his eyes, but the kind he wore when he was being watched and needed to look like he was handling something well. The camera caught it. The camera caught everything.
"Okay," Jay said, his voice measured, almost too even, the tone of someone choosing every word like it was a chess move. "So this is… bigger than I expected." He let out a breath that was almost a laugh, controlled, performative, the kind of exhale that said I'm impressed but also I'm not going to let you see how much this is affecting me. "I mean — when they said visual album, I thought, okay, maybe something more cinematic than usual, maybe some narrative elements, maybe a longer runtime. But this is — " He gestured loosely toward the coffee table, toward the spread of images still lying there in overlapping chaos: the angel wings dragging on wet concrete, the convenience store aisle lit like a crime scene, the church pews full of girls in rhinestone crosses and tiny dresses. "This is a whole world. This is a whole… thing." He nodded slowly, like he was convincing himself as much as the camera. "I respect it. I respect the ambition. It's not safe. It's not what anyone's going to expect from a debut. And that's — yeah. That's the point, I guess."
He didn't say more than that. He leaned back slightly, one arm draped over the back of the couch, his posture deliberately relaxed in a way that didn't quite match the tension still visible in the line of his shoulders. The creative director watched him with the neutral expression of someone cataloging a response rather than reacting to it. The handheld camera drifted slightly, adjusting its angle, and landed next on Jake.
Jake hadn't moved much since the presentation started. He was sitting on the floor near the edge of the coffee table, one knee drawn up, his back against the base of the couch, and his face had gone through something during the moodboard reveal — a series of micro-expressions too fast and too layered to fully read, cycling through surprise and confusion and something darker, something that looked almost like recognition. Like he had seen pieces of this world before, maybe in his own head, maybe in the parts of himself he didn't show on camera, and now it was being projected in front of him in glossy high-resolution fragments and he didn't know whether to feel validated or exposed. His eyes kept returning to one image in particular — a motel room shot from above, the bedspread a mess of tangled limbs and crumpled cash and cheap gold jewelry, the light coming from a neon sign outside the window and staining everything the color of a bruise. He stared at it like he was trying to memorize it. Or maybe like he was trying to figure out why it made him feel something he didn't want to name.
When he realized the camera had shifted to him, he blinked and looked up, and the expression that crossed his face was a quick, almost involuntary rearrangement — the mask sliding back into place, the performance rebooting. He smiled, but it was a strange smile, caught somewhere between genuine excitement and something more complicated. "This is insane," he said, and his voice came out a little breathier than usual, a little less controlled. "Like — in a good way. I think. I mean — " He laughed, short and sharp, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that looked almost nervous. "I've never seen a debut concept that looks like this. It's not pop. It's not — I don't know what it is. It's like a movie. It's like something you'd see at a film festival and then talk about for weeks because you couldn't figure out if it was genius or unhinged." He glanced toward the creative director, then back at the camera, his smile widening into something that was trying very hard to look confident. "I'm into it. I think. I mean — I'm definitely not going to forget it. That's for sure."
But there was something underneath the enthusiasm, something the camera might catch if the editor knew where to look. A flicker in his eyes when they passed over certain images — the bodies in the pool, the masks, the weapons styled like accessories. A tension in his jaw that didn't quite match the easy grin. Jake was good at performing comfort, but this had unsettled something in him, and it showed in the small places: the way his fingers kept tapping against his knee, the way his gaze kept drifting back to the moodboard like he couldn't help himself, the way his laugh came a half-second too late to be fully spontaneous. He was excited. But he was also something else. Something he wasn't going to say on camera.
Sunghoon hadn't spoken yet. He was sitting at the far end of the couch, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, his posture so controlled it looked almost architectural. His face was the hardest to read — not because he was hiding something, but because he had long ago perfected the art of showing exactly as much as he wanted to show and nothing more. The moodboard played across his features like light on water: present, visible, but impossible to hold onto. He watched the images cycle through the loop without reacting visibly, his eyes tracking from frame to frame with the detached precision of someone studying technique rather than absorbing content. The handheld camera moved to him eventually, and he let it sit there for a moment before he acknowledged it, his gaze shifting from the screen to the lens with a slowness that felt deliberate.
"It's cohesive," he said finally, his voice flat and measured, giving nothing away. "That's the first thing I noticed. It's not just random references thrown together — there's a language to it. A grammar. The colors talk to each other. The textures repeat. The mood stays consistent even when the content shifts." He tilted his head slightly, a gesture so subtle it almost didn't register, but it carried something — a flicker of genuine interest beneath the careful neutrality. "It's rare to see a concept this… committed. Most debuts hedge their bets. They try to appeal to everyone, so they end up feeling like nothing. This feels like something. Whether it works or not — " He paused, and for a fraction of a second, something almost like a smile ghosted across his mouth before disappearing. "That's a different question. But it's not boring. It's not safe. And I respect that."
He didn't elaborate. He didn't offer personal feelings or performative enthusiasm. He just stated his observations like facts and let them sit there, clinical and precise. But the creative director was watching him with something like satisfaction, and the producer beside her made a small note on her phone. Sunghoon's response was exactly what they wanted from him — controlled, intelligent, subtly appreciative without being sycophantic. He was playing his role perfectly. And he knew it.
The room shifted then, the attention redirecting itself naturally, inevitably, toward the one person who hadn't spoken yet. The handheld camera panned slowly, almost reluctantly, toward the other end of the couch, where Y/n had been sitting quietly through the entire presentation. He was folded into himself in that way he had — knees drawn up slightly, shoulders curved inward, hands tucked between his thighs like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. His oversized hoodie swallowed most of his frame, the sleeves pulled down over his fingers, the neckline slipping off one shoulder in a way that looked accidental but somehow still drew the eye. His face was half-turned toward the laptop screen, and the glow from the moodboard painted his features in shifting colors — pink, blue, gold, pink again — making him look less like a person and more like a projection of one. He hadn't reacted visibly during any of it. Not the motel rooms or the pool water or the masks or the weapons or the religious imagery or the bodies tangled in cash and cheap silk. He just watched, quiet and still, his expression so neutral it was almost impossible to tell if he was processing or dissociating.
When the camera settled on him, he didn't immediately notice. His eyes were still on the screen, tracking the slow loop of images with something that might have been focus or might have been distance — it was hard to tell with him. The creative director said his name, gently, the way you might say someone's name to pull them back from somewhere far away, and Y/n blinked once before turning his head toward her. The movement was slow, almost liquid, and when his eyes finally met the camera lens, there was a beat of stillness so complete it felt like the room had stopped breathing. Then he smiled.
It wasn't a big smile. It wasn't performative or exaggerated or trying to sell anything. It was small and soft and a little uncertain, the kind of smile someone gives when they're not sure what's expected of them but they want to cooperate anyway. "It's beautiful," he said, and his voice came out quieter than the others, almost gentle, like he was talking about something fragile instead of a concept built on neon violence and chlorinated sin. "The colors especially. And the — the way it moves. Like it's all connected, even when the images are different. Like it's telling one story underneath all the separate pieces."
He paused, and his gaze drifted back toward the moodboard, toward a still of a girl in angel wings walking barefoot through a convenience store at 4 a.m., her face lit by the refrigerator case glow, her expression so blank it could have meant anything. "I don't know if I understand all of it yet," Y/n continued, his voice still soft, still careful. "But it feels… honest. In a strange way. Like it's not pretending to be something clean when it's not. Like it knows what it is and it's okay with that." He looked back at the camera, and there was something in his eyes then — not sadness exactly, but something adjacent to it. Something that had been there before the moodboard and would be there after. "I think that's rare. To be honest about what you are. Even if what you are is a little… yeah."
The room went quiet again after that. The creative director didn't push for more. She just let the moment sit, let the camera linger on Y/n's face for a beat longer than necessary, catching the way the neon light from the screen painted shadows under his eyes and made his skin look almost translucent. There was something about the way he had responded — the softness of it, the vulnerability of it — that felt different from the others. Jay had been strategic. Jake had been enthusiastic but guarded. Sunghoon had been analytical. But Y/n had been something else entirely. He had looked at a world built on excess and decay and recklessness and called it honest. He had seen the rot and found something like beauty in it. And the camera had caught all of it — the quiet voice, the uncertain smile, the eyes that seemed to hold more than they let out. The editor would use that footage. The company would use it. The audience would see a boy who looked at darkness and didn't flinch. And they would want to know why. They would want to know what he had seen before. What he had survived. What he was hiding behind that gentle, damaged stillness. They would want to save him. Or ruin him. Or both.
The creative director finally closed the laptop fully, the click of it cutting through the quiet like a period at the end of a sentence. The moodboard vanished, leaving only the printed references scattered across the table and floor — all that heat and neon and skin now static, frozen, no longer moving but still radiating something. "Okay," she said, her voice shifting back into practical mode. "That's the direction. That's the world. From here, we start building."
The moment the cameras powered down, the room exhaled.
It was a subtle shift at first — the handheld operator lowering his equipment with a soft grunt, the fixed lens in the corner finally going dark, the red blinking light that had been a constant presence for weeks now suddenly absent. The creative director exchanged a few murmured words with the film director and producer, their conversation too low to catch, and then the three of them gathered their materials with the efficient movements of people who had already gotten what they came for. The PA who had spread the printed references across the floor began collecting them in reverse, stacking the images of motel pools and neon churches and masked people back into a neat pile that somehow looked less dangerous when it wasn't sprawling across their living space. Within twenty minutes, the crew had filtered out through the front door in ones and twos — a camera case here, a lighting rig there, polite nods and vague promises to send tomorrow's schedule by midnight. The managers lingered longest, exchanging glances with each other that carried the weight of conversations they weren't having in front of the group, and then they too disappeared into the hallway, leaving behind only the faint smell of equipment and the heavier smell of something having changed.
The dorm felt strange with everyone gone. Not empty exactly — they were still there, the four of them, arranged in roughly the same positions they'd held during the presentation — but hollow in a way that made the silence feel louder than it should have been. The coffee table still held the ghost of the moodboard: a few stray printouts the PA had missed, a ring of condensation from someone's glass sitting right on top of a photograph of a girl in a white bikini pressing a pastel-pink gun to her own temple like she was checking her reflection in it. The laptop was gone. The camera was gone. The performance was over. And now they were just four people sitting in a room that didn't feel like theirs anymore, trying to figure out what to say to each other without an audience.
Jay was the first to move. He let out a breath — not a sigh exactly, but something heavier, something that had been held in for too long — and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands over his face like he was trying to wipe away the last hour. When his hands dropped, his expression was different than it had been on camera. Harder. More honest. The carefully measured enthusiasm was gone, replaced by something rawer, something that looked a lot like exhaustion mixed with irritation mixed with something else he probably couldn't name himself.
"So," he said, and his voice came out flat, stripped of the performance polish. "That was a lot."
No one responded immediately. The words just hung there, obvious and insufficient, filling the space without really addressing it. Jake shifted on the floor, drawing his other knee up so he was sitting cross-legged now, his back still against the base of the couch. Sunghoon remained perfectly still on his end of the sofa, one arm stretched along the back of it, his fingers drumming a slow, almost imperceptible rhythm against the fabric. Y/n hadn't moved at all since the cameras cut — still curled into himself, still half-swallowed by his hoodie, still looking at the space where the laptop had been like he could still see the images playing there.
Jake broke the silence next, and when he spoke, his voice sounded different too — less breathless, less enthusiastic, more like someone thinking out loud than someone trying to be quotable. "I don't know what I expected," he said slowly, his eyes fixed on the stray printout still sitting on the coffee table, the one with the girl and the pink gun. "But it wasn't that. It wasn't — " He gestured vaguely, a frustrated motion that didn't land on anything specific. "I thought visual album meant like, aesthetic. Pretty shots. Maybe some narrative stuff to connect the tracks. But that was — " He stopped, searching for the word, not finding it. "That was a whole ideology. That was a whole worldview. That was — I don't know. It felt like they were showing us a religion and asking if we wanted to convert."
Jay snorted, a humorless sound. "They're not asking," he said. "That's the thing. Did you hear how she talked? 'The company said yes.' Past tense. 'Locations are being locked.' Present tense. 'Everything from now on feeds this world.' This isn't a pitch. This isn't a discussion. This is already happening. They came here to show us what we're going to be, not to ask if we wanted it."
The words landed with a weight that pressed the silence even flatter. Sunghoon's fingers stopped their drumming. Jake's jaw tightened. Y/n's gaze flickered, just slightly, like something had shifted behind his eyes.
"Did you notice," Sunghoon said quietly, and his voice was strange — not angry, not upset, just very, very controlled in a way that meant he was working hard to keep it that way, "how much of it was about bodies? Not faces. Bodies. Skin. Sweat. Tan lines. That's what the whole board was. Flesh in different contexts. Flesh in pools. Flesh in motel rooms. Flesh in churches. It wasn't about music. It wasn't even really about performance. It was about — " He paused, and the pause was long enough to feel intentional. "Consumption. It was about making something people want to consume. And the something is us."
Jake looked at him sharply. "You think it's exploitative."
"I think it's honest about being exploitative," Sunghoon corrected, his tone still flat. "Which is different. And maybe worse, because it means they know exactly what they're doing and they've decided it's worth it."
Jay laughed, but it wasn't a real laugh. It was the sound of something uncomfortable being forced out through teeth. "Of course they think it's worth it. We're the ones they're selling, not the ones they're buying. Our comfort isn't a factor. Our opinions aren't a factor. The only factor is whether the product moves, and they've clearly decided this is the packaging that makes it move."
"But do you like it?" Jake asked suddenly, turning to look at Jay directly. "Forget whether it's happening or not. Forget the business side. Just — as a thing. As an idea. As a world. Do you like it?"
Jay held his gaze for a long moment, and something complicated moved across his face — something that wasn't quite anger and wasn't quite excitement and wasn't quite disgust. "I don't know," he admitted finally, and the honesty of it seemed to cost him something. "Parts of it, maybe. The ambition. The fact that it doesn't look like anything else. The fact that it's going to make people uncomfortable, which means it's going to make people pay attention." He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that looked almost vulnerable on him. "But I also feel like — like we're being fitted for costumes we didn't choose. Like someone else already decided what story we're telling and now we just have to figure out how to live inside it."
"Maybe that's always what this industry is," Jake said quietly. "Maybe we were always going to be wearing costumes we didn't choose. This is just a more honest costume. A more — obvious one."
"That doesn't make it better," Jay said.
"No," Jake agreed. "But it might make it easier. In a weird way. If you know what the game is, you can figure out how to play it."
Sunghoon made a soft sound, something between acknowledgment and disagreement. "Or you can figure out how to get played by it. Because the thing about a game this visible is that everyone can see you losing."
The conversation lapsed into another silence, this one heavier than the last. Outside, the light was starting to deepen toward evening, the gold going amber, the shadows in the dorm stretching longer. Someone should probably turn on a lamp. Someone should probably start thinking about dinner. Someone should probably say something normal to break the tension. But no one moved. They just sat there, four people in a room that didn't feel like home anymore, processing something too big to fit into small talk.
And then, very quietly, Y/n spoke.
He hadn't said anything since the cameras cut. He'd been so still and so silent that it would have been easy to forget he was there at all, folded into the corner of the couch like a piece of furniture that had always been there. But now his voice cut through the quiet, soft and certain in that strange way of his — not loud, not assertive, but somehow impossible to ignore.
"I like it."
The others turned to look at him. His eyes were still fixed on the coffee table, on the stray printout with the girl and the gun, but his expression wasn't blank anymore. There was something moving in it — something complicated and hard to read, like watching weather change through a window.
"I know that's not — I know it sounds strange," he continued, his voice still quiet, still careful, like he was picking his way through something fragile. "And I know it's about consumption. I know it's about making people want things. I know it's designed to be seductive in a way that's probably manipulative. But — " He paused, and his fingers curled tighter around the hem of his hoodie sleeve. "I don't think that makes it not beautiful. I think maybe that's what makes it beautiful. The honesty of it. The fact that it's not pretending to be innocent when it's not."
He looked up then, finally, and his eyes moved across the room — landing on Sunghoon first, then Jake, then Jay. His gaze was steady, but there was something underneath it that trembled very slightly, like a surface tension about to break.
"Everything in this industry is about consumption," he said. "Everything is about making people want things they can't have. About making them feel like they need something, and then selling it to them in pieces. This concept is just — more visible about it. More upfront. It's saying: this is what we are. This is what you're buying. And I think — " His voice wavered, just a little, before steadying again. "I think there's something almost kind about that. About not lying. About showing the machinery instead of hiding it."
Jake stared at him. "You think it's kind that they're going to dress us up like motel fantasies and film us like we're for sale?"
Y/n's mouth curved, just slightly — not quite a smile, but something in the family of one. "I think everything was always for sale," he said. "I think we were always the product. This is just — a more interesting packaging. A more honest one." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice had dropped even quieter, almost like he was talking to himself. "And I think — I think I'd rather be consumed by something beautiful than something boring. If I have to be consumed at all."
The room went still again. But it was a different kind of stillness now — charged with something, heated by something. Jake was staring at Y/n with an expression that couldn't decide if it was fascination or concern. Sunghoon's carefully neutral mask had cracked slightly, something sharper showing through. And Jay — Jay was looking at Y/n like he was seeing him for the first time. Like all the irritation and resentment and complicated want that had been building for weeks had suddenly found a new shape, a new target, a new reason to exist.
Because Y/n wasn't just accepting the concept. He was welcoming it. He was opening the door to the fantasy and stepping inside willingly, and he was doing it with those soft, damaged eyes that made everything he said sound like a confession instead of a statement.
And for the first time since the creative director had opened her laptop, Jay understood exactly why the company had built this whole world around him.
Not because Y/n was the most talented.
Not because he was the most beautiful — though he was, in that strange, unsettling way of his.
But because Y/n already knew what it felt like to be consumed. He'd been living inside that knowledge since before any of them met him. And instead of fighting it, he'd learned to find it beautiful.
That was the product.
That was what they were selling.
Not the costumes or the concept or the chlorine-blue motel pools.
And the worst part — the part Jay couldn't stop thinking about even as the conversation drifted toward safer topics and someone finally got up to turn on a light and order food — was that Jay wanted to buy it too.
The Los Angeles night didn’t so much fall as it did settle like a heavy, smoggy blanket over the dorm. Outside the windows, the sky was that bruised, cinematic purple unique to the city—a hazy cocktail of exhaust, ocean salt, and the neon glare of Sunset Boulevard bleeding into the clouds. Somewhere distant, the rhythmic thumping of a helicopter blade cut through the air, and the low, constant hum of the 405 freeway sounded like a long, drawn-out sigh.
Inside, the room was thick with the residue of the day. The creative director had left, the film crew had packed up their rigs, and the managers had retreated to their own phones in the hallway, leaving the four of them alone in the half-light.
Jay had disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower hissing against the tiles like a demand for silence. Sunghoon had stood up minutes ago, his movements cold and architectural, not saying a word before he slipped into his room, his footsteps heavy with a frustration he wouldn't name. That left the two of them.
Y/n was still on the sofa, looking small against the cushions. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, the oversized hoodie he’d been wearing all day finally slipping down, revealing a shoulder that looked too pale, too smooth for the world he was about to enter. He wasn’t looking at the door or the cameras; he was just staring at a stray photo on the floor—a shot of a boy’s hands tied loosely with a silk ribbon.
He didn’t look upset by the concept. He didn't look like he wanted to fight the executives who had decided his "marketable sadness" was the perfect anchor for a visual album built on the aesthetics of a beautiful disaster. There was a terrifying, quiet compliance in the way he sat. He looked like something waiting to be picked up. Something waiting to be used.
"Y/n," Jake said, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. "You should probably go to bed. Early call tomorrow."
Y/n blinked, his long, heavy lashes fluttering slowly. He turned his head toward Jake, and for a second, Jake felt that familiar, sickening lurch in his chest. It was the look—that wide-eyed, dazed innocence that wasn't a choice, but a condition. It wasn't that Y/n was trying to be provocative; it was that he was so fundamentally soft that it made the air around him feel violent. He looked like he’d been born to be broken, a blank, pretty canvas that practically begged for someone to leave a mark.
"Okay," Y/n whispered. He stood up, his movements languid and dazed, as if he were perpetually waking up from a dream. The hem of his hoodie brushed the middle of his thighs, and as he walked past Jake toward their shared room, he didn't look away. He didn't offer anything. He just… was. A soft, breathing target.
Jake followed a minute later, his heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against his ribs.
The bedroom was dark, save for the neon glow of the L.A. streetlights filtering through the cheap plastic blinds. The light cut across the room in sharp, horizontal slats, painting the bed in stripes of blue and shadow. Y/n was already there, sitting on the edge of the mattress, pulling the hoodie over his head.
He didn't rush. He didn't turn his back. He just lifted his arms, and the thin, white tank top underneath rode up, exposing the delicate, pale curve of his waist. When the hoodie dropped, he was just there—a vision of fragile bones and soft skin in the amber light. He looked like a secret. He looked like something you’d find in a motel room at 3:00 AM and never tell a soul about.
He crawled into the bed, his movements shy, tucking himself under the sheets with his back to Jake’s side. He didn't take up space. He didn't demand attention. He just settled into the mattress like he was waiting for the world to happen to him.
Jake stripped off his shirt, the air in the room feeling far too hot, far too small. He climbed into the other side, the springs creaking under his weight. The space between them was barely a foot, but it felt like a canyon filled with static. Jake could smell him—the laundry detergent provided by the company, a hint of something like vanilla, and the warmth of clean skin.
"Do you understand what they're going to do?" Jake asked, his voice low, vibrating in the narrow space between their pillows. He was staring at the back of Y/n’s head, at the dark, messy hair resting against the white linen. "The concept. The visual album. They're going to make you look.... They're going to make everyone want to touch you, Y/n."
Y/n shifted, turning slowly onto his side to face Jake. The amber light caught in the corner of his eye, making the perpetual glaze there look like unshed tears. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't smirking. He just looked up at Jake with that devastating, quiet honesty.
"I know," Y/n said. His voice was a soft, airy thing. "The creative director said I have a 'ruined' quality. She said people will want to save me."
Jake’s jaw tightened. "It’s not about saving you, Y/n. It’s about the look of it. It’s about making you a product. They want to sexualize that... that quiet thing you have. They want to turn your silence into an invitation."
Y/n didn't flinch. He didn't look offended or scared. He just lay there, his hands tucked under his cheek, looking at Jake with an innocence that was so profound it felt like a provocation. He didn't seem to understand that he should be angry. He didn't seem to have the instinct to protect himself.
"I don't mind," Y/n whispered, and the words felt like a physical blow to Jake’s chest. "If it helps the group. If it’s what I’m for... then it’s okay.
Jake’s breath hitched. The heat in his stomach flared into something sharp and agonizing. It was the way Y/n said it—so calmly, so shyly, as if his own body were just a piece of equipment he was lending to the company. He wasn't "dirty." He wasn't offering himself like a pro. He was just a boy who had been told his value was in his fragility, and he had accepted it with a soft, heartbreaking "yes."
He was the ultimate prey. The kind of boy who would let you ruin him and then look at you with those same glassy eyes, wondering if he’d done a good job.
"You're too quiet," Jake breathed, his hand twitching under the covers. He wanted to reach out. He wanted to wrap his fingers around Y/n’s wrist and feel how small it was. He wanted to tell him to run, to fight, to scream—but he also wanted to be the one the camera was filming when Y/n finally broke.
"I'm just tired," Y/n murmured, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. He didn't pull the covers up to hide his collarbones. He didn't turn away. He just lay there in the low llight, a soft, beautiful sacrifice waiting for the morning to come and the cameras to start rolling.
Jake realized then that the company wasn't just building a concept. They were building a cage. And Y/n was already inside it, sitting quietly in the center, waiting for someone to turn the key.
Jake looked at Y/n’s parted lips, at the soft pulse in his neck, and felt a wave of possessive, dark hunger that made him sick. If the world was going to watch Y/n be ruined, Jake was going to make sure he was the one standing closest.
Outside, the L.A. night hummed on, indifferent to the slow, quiet breaking of the boys in the room. Jake stared at the ceiling until the amber light turned to grey, his hand resting inches away from Y/n’s skin, never quite touching, but never letting go.
The neon digits on the microwave flickered 3:12 AM, casting a sharp, radioactive green glow across the kitchen tiles.
Y/n couldn't stay in the bedroom. The air there was too thick, saturated with the heavy, rhythmic sound of Jake’s breathing and the lingering scent of heat and unsaid things. He’d slipped out from under the duvet like a ghost, his bare feet making no sound as he padded down the hallway. He was dressed only in a thin, ribbed white tank top and those soft jersey shorts that sat dangerously low on his hip bones, the fabric clinging to his skin in the humid Los Angeles night. He didn't turn on a single light. He didn't need to. The city outside provided enough of a sickly, cinematic glow—a mixture of orange streetlights and the blue-white hum of the billboard across the street—to turn the living room into a landscape of silver and deep, bruised shadows.
He rounded the corner, intending to just sit by the window and watch the helicopters circle the Hollywood Hills, but he froze.
The living room wasn't empty. Sunghoon was there, sprawled back on the leather sofa, but he wasn't sleeping. His head was thrown back against the cushions, his throat arched so sharply the tendons were straining like wire. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clamped in a jagged line of pure, agonizing concentration. One hand was white-knuckled, gripping the armrest so hard the leather groaned, and the other was buried deep inside his unzipped sweatpants. He was moving with a frantic, rhythmic violence, his hips jerking up off the cushions in a desperate search for friction. The sound was the worst part—the wet, sliding friction of skin on skin and the hitching, broken gasps of a boy who had been pushed past his limit in the dark.
Y/n’s breath caught, a tiny, soft hitch that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.
Sunghoon’s eyes snapped open. They were dark, the pupils so blown they were almost entirely black, shimmering with a glazed, predatory intensity. He didn't stop. He didn't pull his hand away or scramble to cover himself. He just froze mid-stroke, his chest heaving, his cock thick and straining in his own grip, glistening with pre-cum in the dim city light. He stared at Y/n standing there—pale, soft-shouldered, and blinking with that dazed, ruined innocence that made Sunghoon’s stomach do a slow, sick flip. The amber light from the window caught the slope of Y/n’s waist where the tank top had ridden up, and the sight of that soft, vulnerable skin seemed to snap something inside Sunghoon’s head.
"Come here," Sunghoon rasped, his voice a jagged whisper that vibrated through the floorboards.
Y/n didn't move at first. He just stared at Sunghoon’s hand, at the way his fingers were curled around his own length, at the raw hunger in Sunghoon’s face. He felt that familiar, heavy compliance wash over him—that feeling that he was a thing meant to be used, a vessel meant to be filled. He padded across the floor, his knees feeling like water, until he was standing right at the edge of the couch, his bare thighs inches from Sunghoon’s spread legs.
"You've been walking around like this all night, haven't you?" Sunghoon whispered, his hand finally slowing, but not stopping. He reached out with his free hand and hooked a finger into the waistband of Y/n’s shorts, tugging him closer until Y/n’s stomach was brushing against Sunghoon’s hot, damp forehead. "Looking like this. Smelling like this. Driving us all fucking insane while you act like you don't even know what you're doing."
"I... I just couldn't sleep," Y/n whispered, his voice trembling as he looked down at Sunghoon.
Sunghoon let out a low, bitter sound that was half-laugh, half-groan. He let go of his own cock, his hand coming up to wrap around Y/n’s wrist, pulling his hand down. His skin was burning, slick with his own sweat. He guided Y/n’s hand into the opening of his sweatpants, forcing Y/n’s fingers to curl around the hot, pulsing weight of him. Y/n flinched at the contact—at the sheer size of him, the way the skin felt like velvet over iron—but he didn't pull away. He never pulled away.
"Help me," Sunghoon breathed, his eyes locking onto Y/n’s with a terrifying, possessive focus. "Finish it. You're the one who put me here. You're the one I've been picturing in the dark. Now do it."
Y/n’s fingers trembled as they closed around Sunghoon’s cock. He was so shy, his movements tentative and dazed, which only seemed to drive Sunghoon deeper into a frenzy. Sunghoon’s hand stayed over Y/n’s, guiding the rhythm, forcing him to squeeze tighter, to move faster. Sunghoon’s head fell back again, a long, broken moan escaping his lips as he felt Y/n’s soft, cool palm sliding over his heat.
"God, Y/n," Sunghoon choked out, his hips beginning to roll, thrusting up into Y/n’s hand. "You're so soft. You're so fucking soft. I want to ruin you. I want to mark every inch of you so the cameras can't see anything but me."
He reached up with his other hand, grabbing the back of Y/n’s neck and pulling him down until their faces were inches apart. He didn't kiss him; he just breathed Y/n’s air, his eyes searching Y/n’s dazed, glassy ones. He wanted to see the exact moment Y/n realized what he was doing. He wanted to see the corruption of that innocence in real-time.
"Faster," Sunghoon commanded, his voice a low growl of command.
Y/n obeyed, his hand moving in a frantic, sliding rhythm that made Sunghoon’s body go taut as a bowstring. The leather of the couch creaked under them, the only sound in the room besides their ragged breathing. Sunghoon’s grip on Y/n’s neck tightened, his thumb pressing into the soft skin of his throat as he felt the climax beginning to roar up through his spine.
"Don't look away," Sunghoon hissed, his eyes wide and dark. "Look at me, whore. Watch what you do to me."
With a final, violent thrust of his hips, Sunghoon’s body jerked, his entire frame shuddering as he came, thick and hot, over his own stomach and Y/n’s trembling hand. He let out a long, wrecked sound that was almost a sob, his forehead dropping onto Y/n’s shoulder as the aftershocks racked him. He stayed like that for a long time, his breath hot against Y/n’s skin, his hand still clamped firmly on the back of Y/n’s neck, refusing to let him move.
The city glowed outside, indifferent and bright, but inside the dark living room, the air was heavy with the scent of sex. Sunghoon didn't let go. He just pulled Y/n closer into the mess, his heart hammering against Y/n’s chest, silently claiming the softness he had just used to break himself.
The silence in the room was heavy, thick with the smell of sweat and the sharp, cloying scent of Sunghoon’s cum. Outside, a helicopter’s spotlight swept briefly across the ceiling, a pale blade of light that illuminated the mess on Sunghoon’s stomach and the way Y/n’s hand was still trembling, slick and glistening in the dark.
Sunghoon didn't move to clean himself. He stayed slumped back against the leather, his chest heaving as he fought to bring his breathing under control. His hand was still clamped firmly on the back of Y/n’s neck, his fingers buried in the dark, messy curls, keeping him close. The predatory glaze hadn't left Sunghoon’s eyes; if anything, the climax had only made him look more territorial, more consumed by the soft, dazed boy standing between his knees. He looked at Y/n—at the way he stood there, chest heaving, his mouth slightly parted in a silent, confused exhale—and felt a fresh wave of possessive heat.
“Look at it,” Sunghoon rasped, his voice low and jagged, barely a whisper meant for the space between them. He nudged Y/n’s hand, the one coated in the hot, sticky evidence of his climax. “Look at what you made me do.”
Y/n’s gaze dropped. He looked down at the mess on Sunghoon’s skin, then back up at Sunghoon’s face. He didn't look disgusted. He didn't look like he wanted to run. He just looked dazed, his eyes glassy and wide, that terrifying innocence making him look like he was waiting for the next instruction. He was so pliable, so ready to be whatever Sunghoon needed him to be in the dark.
Sunghoon’s grip on Y/n’s neck tightened, pulling him down an inch closer. “You’re so good at taking care of me, aren't you? So quiet. So shy.” Sunghoon’s thumb traced the line of Y/n’s jaw, his eyes dropping to Y/n’s mouth. A dark, cruel thought flickered behind his eyes—a need to see just how far this compliance went, to see if he could truly stain the purity that everyone else in the agency was so obsessed with.
“Don’t let it go to waste,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice vibrating with a dark, commanding edge. He leaned forward, his forehead nearly touching Y/n’s. “Be a good bitch… Lick it. Lick it all clean, Y/n. Every drop.”
Y/n’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He looked at the wetness on Sunghoon’s stomach, then back at those dark, demanding eyes. He felt the weight of Sunghoon’s hand on his neck, the silent pressure of the Los Angeles night pressing in on them. He was a boy born to be ruined, and Sunghoon was offering him the chance to start.
Slowly, Y/n sank to his knees between Sunghoon’s spread legs. His movements were hesitant, shy, his bare knees meeting the cool floor with a soft thud. He didn't look away from Sunghoon’s face as he leaned in. Sunghoon let out a low, shuddering breath, his fingers clenching in Y/n’s hair as he watched the boy’s head dip.
When Y/n’s tongue finally met Sunghoon’s skin, it was soft and tentative, but the effect was electric. Sunghoon’s eyes squeezed shut, a broken, guttural groan escaping his throat as he felt the warm, wet heat of Y/n’s mouth against his stomach. He tasted like salt and sweat and the raw, heavy reality of what they were doing in the dark while the others slept.
“That’s it,” Sunghoon choked out, his hand in Y/n’s hair guiding him, pushing him to be thorough. “Get all of it. Don't leave a trace.”
He watched with a sick, possessive fascination as Y/n obeyed, his head moving in the silver city light, his dazed innocence being consumed by the very act of cleaning Sunghoon’s filth. It was the most beautiful thing Sunghoon had ever seen—the corruption of a boy who didn't even know how to fight back.
By the time Y/n sat back on his heels, his lips were damp and his eyes were wider than ever, looking up at Sunghoon with a terrifyingly pure devotion. Sunghoon reached out, cupping Y/n’s face with both hands, his thumbs dragging over Y/n’s wet lips.
“Good boy,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice thick with a new kind of hunger. “You’re mine now. Do you hear me? Before the cameras, before the fans... you’re mine.”
Y/n just nodded, a soft, dazed movement, letting Sunghoon claim him in the dark living room, the sirens of Sunset Boulevard wailing in the distance like a choir for the ruined.
The air in the living room was stagnant, smelling of salt and the heavy, humid residue of what had just happened. Y/n stayed on his knees for a long moment, his chest rising and falling in shallow, jagged hitches. The city light caught the dampness on his lower lip, making him look like something fragile that had been caught in a storm. He didn't move to wipe his mouth. He didn't pull away from the heat radiating off Sunghoon’s thighs. He just looked up, his eyes glassy and wide, searching Sunghoon’s face with a devastating, quiet sincerity.
"Are you satisfied?" Y/n whispered.
The question was so soft, so devoid of any edge or irony, that it made Sunghoon’s pulse jump. It wasn't the question of a lover; it was the question of a thing that had been used and wanted to know if it had performed its function. It was the purest form of the ruin Sunghoon was so obsessed with—the idea that Y/n could be completely debased and still look at him with that same dazed, angelic devotion.
Sunghoon’s hand, still tangled in the dark curls at the nape of Y/n’s neck, softened. He looked down at the boy at his feet—this soft, pale creature who had just licked him clean in the dark—and felt a wave of protectiveness so sharp it bordered on violent. He wanted to keep him here. He wanted to hide him from the cameras, from Jake, from the world that was about to try and take pieces of him.
He leaned forward, his shadow swallowing Y/n’s face. Instead of the rough command of before, Sunghoon reached out with his other hand and gently tilted Y/n’s chin up. He pressed a kiss to Y/n’s forehead, then shifted, his lips ghosting over Y/n’s closed eyelids before finally landing on his mouth.
It wasn't a deep kiss. It was short, soft, and tasted of salt, but it carried the weight of a brand. It was the kind of kiss you gave something you’d finally admitted you owned.
"Yes," Sunghoon murmured against Y/n’s lips, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "I'm satisfied."
He pulled back just enough to look into Y/n’s dazed eyes, his thumb tracing the soft line of his jaw. Sunghoon’s expression was no longer predatory, but it remained intensely possessive. He saw the way Y/n’s body was trembling, the way his bare shoulders looked cold in the artificial light of the L.A. skyline.
"Go back to bed," Sunghoon said, his voice dropping into a gentle but firm command. "Or stay here on the couch with me. Whatever you want. But you need to sleep."
Y/n blinked, his mind clearly still foggy, still caught in the orbit of Sunghoon’s gravity. He looked at the couch, then back toward the dark hallway leading to the room he shared with Jake. The thought of going back there—back to the heavy, silent heat of Jake’s presence—felt impossible.
"I'll stay," Y/n whispered.
Sunghoon didn't say a word. He simply shifted, making space on the leather cushions, and pulled Y/n up. He guided him until Y/n was tucked against his side, his head resting on Sunghoon’s chest, his small frame almost entirely hidden by the curve of Sunghoon’s arm. Sunghoon pulled a discarded throw blanket over them both, his hand resting on Y/n’s hip, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the thin fabric of Y/n’s shorts.
The city hummed outside, the helicopters circled the dark hills, and the neon signs of Sunset Boulevard flickered on. Inside the dorm, the silence returned, but it was different now. It was shared.
Y/n closed his eyes, his breathing finally evening out as he listened to the steady, powerful thud of Sunghoon’s heart beneath his ear. He felt safe, and he felt ruined, and in his dazed mind, those two things were starting to feel exactly the same. Sunghoon stayed awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, his grip on Y/n never loosening, watching over the boy he had claimed in the dark.
The visual album would start tomorrow. The world would get its chance to look. But Sunghoon knew, as he felt Y/n drift off to sleep against him, that he had already won a piece of the only part of the fantasy that mattered.
author’s note: hey guys! did y'all miss me? i’m so, so sorry for being away for so long. i know i kind of disappeared, and i hate that i left you hanging. the truth is, i was going through some pretty heavy things in my personal life... it was a lot to handle, and i needed to step back to breathe for a bit. but even when i wasn't posting, i was always here in the background, watching how you guys kept appreciating my work, keeping the story alive. seriously... i can’t even explain how grateful i am. seeing your comments and reblogs pop up on my notifications while i was dealing with everything? it genuinely meant the world to me. thank you so much! i love each and every one of you.
i’m not making any crazy promises because life is unpredictable, but i promise to give my best to be active from now on. i’ve missed this so much. and also... please forgive me if this chapter of world class sin feels a little off or rusty. i haven't written in a long time, and i feel like i might’ve lost my touch a little bit while i was away. i was actually really nervous to post this, so please be gentle with me >.< but i really hope you guys enjoy it regardless!
it feels so good to be back writing for you all. thank you for sticking by me even when i was quiet. please take care of yourselves, okay? i love you!
— luke
this work was originally written in portuguese and manually translated into english.
"You’re a cheat, Aiku!" you spat, stepping into his space. "That slide tackle was filth and you know it."
The locker room door slammed shut, echoing like a gunshot. You were still vibrating with post match fury, your chest heaving under your jersey.
Oliver aiku leaned against his locker, peeling his gloves off with a maddening slow composure. His gaze turned to you, his height making him look down at you with his pretty eyes.
"Don’t you talk too much when you lose?" he rumbled, his voice smooth as oil.
"I’m talking because you’re a fraud," you spat shoving a finger into the center of his chest. "You didn't win that. You played dirty because you knew I had you beat."
Aiku didn’t even stumble. his eyes was busy tracking the way your chest heaved with every jagged breath.
"Fraud? That's rich coming from a striker who spent more time on the grass than the ball," he countered, "It’s pathetic, all that ego and you'd rather spend the post game barking like a dog than actually looking at the scoreboard."
You grabbed the front of his damp jersey, twisting the fabric into your fist to jerk him down. “Don’t even call me—”
Aiku’s hand interrupted you mid sentence. his hand was firm against your jaw, pinning your head back against the cold metal. You gasped in surprise, but he didn't give you the chance to recover.
“What are you—”
"You want to put your hands on me that bad?" He pressed his thumb and forefinger against your lips, forcing them apart. With a blunt, possessive shove, he slid two fingers into your mouth, hooking them over your bottom teeth. The taste of salt and sweat hit your tongue instantly.
“Aiku—” The way you said his name wasn’t meant to be a moan at all, but it came out as one.
You froze, your eyes blown wide as he used the leverage to tilt your face up toward his. The air in the room suddenly felt twice as hot.
He didn't pull out. He just watched you, his fingers shifting heavy and dominant against your tongue, waiting to see if you’d bite or break.
“Don’t you look much better like this? With your pretty mouth shut and moaning my name around my fingers.” His stupid fucking smirk was annoying.
Still, both of you couldn't help but notice the way your cock twitched at this.
His rugged voice, sharp eyes, rough hands... They're all so different from the softness you've known your while life. It's dangerous, it's everything you were taught to avoid.
And yet, it's warmer than anything you've ever felt.
"You shouldn't be alone- What do you mean you're not? You have friends here?"
An older gentleman, he's definitely a gentleman. Sure, he may not match the typical description of one with his... less than presentable appearance, but he treats you with such gentleness that it touches your heart!
He's a hunter, one you met while wandering a bit too far one day and oh... your chest is feeling things it hasn't. You don't know what to make of it, especially since you know you met him while breaking a rule.
"Ah..."
Your heart races, thumping loudly in your chest as blood rushes to your cheeks. You don't know why but you've been feeling weird every time you think of him. It's a bit embarrassing actually, the other members of the family have been pointing it out and-
"[name], are you quite alright my dear? You've been zoning out a lot the past few days. I worry for you."
"Father!"
Your thoughts immediately cut away from the handsome hunter you stumbled upon 2? 3? weeks ago. Oh no, you can't believe father found you thinking about another man! What would he say if he knew of the thoughts you had in your head?!
You fiddle with your hands in your lap, nervously avoiding eye contact with the man you grew up alongside with. Yeah, you two were friends from when you were born, and yet he has managed to get to the status of father already. A prodigy chosen by god himself, the youngest father in the history of the family.
"I- Um," a shaky breath escapes your trembling lips as your flush grows deeper. "I think I have caught a fever, father."
"I told you to just call me by my name. You know I don't like it when you call me so formally, we aren't strangers, [name]."
A sudden warmth settles down beside you on the church pew, invading your personal space. It makes your skin crawl, you don't really understand why your body reacts like this with him. Especially because he's your best friend, you love him.
"Ah... Right, right..."
He stares at you, seemingly gazing right into your soul. Father is a gentle man, all soft and sweet with his words. A little bit too sweet, especially for those hollow eyes that cuts souls. But he's a nice man, isn't he? He's the father after all.
Fathers of the family take care of all of their children, they teach the words of god and spread the truth. In this beautiful house of the god, where you and hundreds of children all stay as part of god's family. Fathers take care of us and he does it beautifully, doesn't he?
"[name]."
"Y-yes!"
His piercing eyes meet yours, his painted smile slowly stretching into one softer. Not as soft as that hunter's though. Oh, you're drifting off again!
"You love god, right?"
That's a weird question, of course you do. He's all you've grown up knowing, saved you from the darkness that is the monsters past the forest. Yes, you really do wonder what the world out there is like sometimes. But the one chosen by god himself - father - has repeatedly warned all of his children of the horrors that lay beyond the sacred space of the family's residence.
And you'd never question his words. Not when he was chosen by god himself. Father is always right, he knows best, he will lead us to salvation. So you nod at his question, nod at everything he says. He is never wrong.
"Good... Good... Wouldn't want the monsters corrupting your mind. You know how the world out there is like. It's dangerous, not safe for us to travel beyond, especially you."
A warm hand finds its way to yours, stroking at the skin affectionately. A soft tune escapes father's lips, it's hypnotizing as always. He's had that ability ever since he was a kid and while it would usually calm you down, today it's only serving to make you more alert.
"[name], you know what happens to sinners, don't you?"
You nod again, looking down at your intertwined hands. How elegant, so long and soft, unblemished hands clear of sin. Sin.
Sin, sin, sin.
Sinners die.
They go to hell. They never reunite with god, never get a chance to be in his embrace or feel the salvation of his gaze. They rot in hell for their sins, burning in the eternal fire to repent.
Breaking a rule is a sin.
"I hope you don't sin, I would hate for you to face punishment."
A smile flashes on father's face, yet you fail to feel reassured by that. Does he know of you walking near the boundary and meeting that man? That hunter from the outside? He couldn't, there's no way he could have known. Sure he's chosen by god himself but it's not like he himself is god... right?
"Of course father... I am a child of god, how could I be a sinner?"
"I am reassured, my dear. Anyway, starting today I shall be enforcing a strict bedtime. Some naughty children have been close to breaking rules."
His hand gently releases itself from yours, his warmth leaving the bones of your skin and leaving in its place an unnerving chill. Father takes one last glance at you before standing and taking his leave. His long robes swish with every step, graceful feet making it seem like he's floating above ground. And with his disappearance, you seem to let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding.
Oh... How are you supposed to meet the hunter tonight?
soobin lets you slide onto him while he’s soft so you can feel him slowly grow hard inside you.
❛ content 2.8k words, 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, power bottom!male reader, nerd!soobin, getting hard while inside, big dick!soobin, unprotected sex (p in a), cockwarming kinda, riding, creampie, praise, lots of kisses.
"can we put it in soft and feel it grow together?"
the question hangs in the air of soobin's dimly lit room, completely severing the comfortable silence that had settled over them like a well-worn blanket.
soobin's pen freezes mid-annotation over his biology textbook, and for a solid three seconds, or maybe just a little more, his brain — usually so quick, so sharp when it came to memorizing diagrams and reciting historical dates — completely short-circuits.
he hears your words, processes each one individually, but putting them together into a coherent concept feels like trying to solve a calculus problem underwater.
beside him, you're already wiggling with barely contained excitement, your phone abandoned face-down on the mattress. you're watching your boyfriend with those eager eyes, waiting, practically vibrating.
soobin slowly turns his head, and he can feel the heat creeping up his neck, flooding his cheeks. his glasses have slid down his pretty nose slightly, and he pushes them up with one finger, a nervous habit.
"what?!"
but you're already leaning into him, your hand finding his knee through the soft gray fabric of his sweatpants.
"i'm serious! think about it, babe."
your voice is that special kind of excited, the one soobin usually hears when you're explaining a new game you're completely obsessed with or suggesting a takeout place you've been dying to try.
"we've never done it like that. it's always, you know... we're both already hard, and it's kind of rushed and intense. but this..." you squeeze his knee, your thumb tracing a small circle. "this would be different. slower. we could just... be together. and feel everything."
soobin's heart is doing something erratic in his chest.
he's still holding his pen, still surrounded by highlighters and flashcards, and his ridiculously attractive boyfriend is sitting on his bed, talking about his dick like it's the most natural thing in the world. which, okay, it is, they've been together for eight months, they're past the awkward stage. but this is... new.
"you want to..." soobin swallows, his throat suddenly dry. he glances down at his own lap, then back at you, his cheeks impossibly pinker. "you want to sit on it? while it's... you know?"
"soft, yeah."
you nod enthusiastically, scooting closer, and your thigh presses against his.
"i just keep thinking about what it would feel like. the sensation of it... waking up inside me. getting harder because of me, because of us," your voice drops a little, losing some of its excited energy and gaining something warmer, something more intimate. "i think it would feel really good, babe. really close."
and that's the thing.
soobin has never been able to deny you anything when you look at him like that, when your voice goes soft and you say his name like it means something more than just letters strung together. he's completely, utterly gone for you, and you know it. you use that power sometimes, but never cruelly. always like this — to pull him closer, to bring him into a moment with you.
he sets his pen down carefully, marking his place in the textbook with a sticky note; a small, practical gesture that's so distinctly him that it makes your heart clench.
"you really want to?" soobin asks softly, his voice quieter now, a little shy.
"yeah, more than anything right now," you admit, and it's the truth.
the textbook, the phone, the outside world — it's all completely faded away. there is just soobin, in his ridiculously soft-looking oversized white t-shirt and those grey sweatpants that you've told him a hundred times should be illegal, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his glasses framing those warm, curious eyes that are currently fixed entirely on you.
soobin bites his lower lip, a telltale sign that he's thinking, he's considering. then, slowly, he shifts on the bed, putting his textbook on the nightstand. he leans back against the headboard, the wood creaking softly, and his long legs stretch out, then bend slightly, creating a space for you, an invitation.
"okay," he breathes out, the word carrying a mix of nervousness and genuine curiosity. "let's... let's try."
and oh, you don't need to be told twice.
you're moving immediately, crawling over the messy comforter to settle between your boyfriend’s legs. soobin watches you, his hands coming up to softly rest on your hips as you straddle him, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs.
you're face to face now, close enough to see the tiny mole under his eye, the way his eyelashes flutter.
"hi," you whisper, a stupid, giddy smile spreading across your face.
a matching smile tugs at soobin's lips, despite his obvious embarrassment.
"hi," he whispers back. his hands are warm through the thin fabric of your pajama pants. "this is so weird."
"good weird or bad weird?"
"just... weird. different."
soobin ducks his head slightly, looking at where your bodies meet, at the tentatively interested bulge in his own pants that's nowhere near full attention.
"are you sure you're gonna be comfortable? what if—"
you cut him off with a kiss; it's soft, just a brush of lips, simply meant to soothe.
"we'll go slow. if it's weird or uncomfortable, we can just stop. okay?"
soobin nods against your mouth. "okay."
you kiss him again, deeper this time, and you feel his huge hands tighten on your hips. you rock forward experimentally, just a small shift of weight, and soobin makes a tiny sound against your lips.
you break the kiss to sit back slightly, your hands finding the hem of his oversized t-shirt. "can i?"
soobin lifts his arms without a word, and you pull the shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind you, and your breath catches, like it always does.
you've already seen him naked countless times, but the sight of his pretty bare chest, the smooth expanse of pale skin, the subtle definition of muscle from carrying heavy books and the occasional gym session with his friends — it never gets old. he's beautiful in a way that feels accidental, unassuming.
soobin doesn't seem to fully realize how hot he is, and that, somehow, makes him even hotter.
your fingers find the waistband of his sweatpants, and you look at him for permission. once again, soobin gives a small, shy nod. you tug them down, along with his boxers, just enough. his cock lies soft against his thigh, and you feel a fresh wave of heat pool in your stomach. it's still him, still soobin, still the part of him that makes you feel so incredibly full and complete.
it's just... resting.
you shimmy out of your own pajama pants and boxers quickly, not wanting to break the moment. when you settle back on his lap, it's skin-to-skin, his soft length pressed against the curve of your ass. soobin hisses in a breath, his fingers digging into your hips.
you position yourself carefully, one hand on soobin’s shoulder for balance, the other reaching down to guide him. your eyes meet his.
"ready?"
he looks terrified and thrilled in equal measure.
"ready."
you shift your weight, lowering yourself slowly. the head of soobin’s soft cock presses against your entrance, and for a moment, it just... sits there. it's an odd sensation, really — the familiar pressure, but without the familiar hardness. it feels almost impossibly soft, pliable.
you take a breath and push down gently.
the slide is different; way slower. there is no resistance in the same way, because he's soft, but your body still has to accommodate his size. even soft, soobin is... well, considerable. you feel yourself stretching around him, taking him in inch by inch, and the sensation is so unique, so new, that a shaky moan escapes your lips.
soobin's eyes are wide.
"oh," he breathes. "oh, wow."
"you okay?" you manage to ask, pausing when you're about halfway seated.
soobin nods frantically, his hands softly stroking up and down your sides.
"y-yeah. it's just... it feels so warm, and so tight. but it's also different. it's like... i can feel everything. i can feel every part of you."
you lower yourself the rest of the way, and then you're fully seated, his soft cock buried completely inside you. you sit there for a moment, just breathing, just feeling; the weight of him, the fullness, the strange, intimate knowledge that he's inside you but not hard inside you.
it's like a secret, a moment stolen from time.
you're both still for a long, breathless moment. soobin's hands are splayed across your lower back, warm and grounding, and you can feel his heartbeat, or maybe it's yours — it's hard to tell anymore when you're this close.
"how does it feel?" you whisper, your forehead resting against his.
"warm," he repeats, his voice soft with wonder. "and... tight. but it's like..." he struggles for words, his brow furrowing adorably. "it's like i can feel you holding me. not like... fucking. just holding."
you smile, pressing a gentle kiss to soobin’s lips.
"yeah. that's what i wanted."
you start to move, but not in any real rhythm.
just small, subtle shifts of your hips. you were rocking, more than anything, simply testing the sensation. with each tiny movement, you feel him, soft and pliant, moving inside you, and it's incredibly intimate in a way you hadn't tully anticipated.
soobin's hands roam your back, your sides, his touch full of reverence. your boyfriend is looking at you like you're something so precious, something he can't quite believe is real. his cheeks are still flushed that pretty pink you love so much, his lips slightly parted.
"you're so beautiful," he murmurs, almost to himself.
you feel a flutter of warmth in your chest that has nothing to do with where you're connected.
"so are you."
you kiss him again, deeper this time. your tongue slides against his, slow and exploratory, and soobin’s hands come up to cup your face, holding you close. the kiss deepens, becomes more urgent, more hungry. you feel his hips twitch beneath you, a small, unconscious thrust.
and then, finally, you feel it — the slightest change; a thickening, a growing weight inside you. you gasp against his mouth at the very new sensation, pulling back just enough to look at him.
soobin’s eyes are hazy, his pupils blown wide.
"soobin," you breathe. "i can feel you."
he looks down, as if he could see through both your bodies to where they're joined.
"it's you," soobin whispers, his voice wrecked. "it's because of you. you feel so good."
another small, unconscious thrust. another surge of growth. soobin’s cock is filling out inside you, pressing against your walls in a way it couldn't when it was soft. the sensation is really overwhelming — the gradual stretch, the increasing fullness… you can feel every ridge, every vein as they become more pronounced.
you can feel soobin getting harder because of you, because of the way your body is wrapped around him, because of the kisses, because of the closeness.
"oh—my god," soobin pathetically whimpers, his head falling back against the headboard. his hands grip your hips tighter, his knuckles white. "oh my god, that feels... that feels so..."
"i know," you groan, and you start to move with more purpose now, rolling your hips in a slow circle. each movement seems to encourage him, to draw more blood, more hardness. "i can feel every second of it. you're getting so hard inside me, babe."
soobin makes a sound that's somewhere between a moan and a whine, high-pitched and desperate.
"d-don't stop. please don't stop."
you don't. you keep moving, keep kissing him, keep whispering praise against his lips.
"feel how good you feel. feel how perfectly you fit."
"i can't—" soobin cuts himself off with another whine, his hips starting to thrust up in small, jerky movements that meet your rolls. "it's too much. it feels too good."
"it's not too much," you assure him, your hand coming up to card through his soft hair, pushing it back from his forehead. "you're doing so well. just feel it. feel me."
soobin is fully hard now, thick and heavy inside you, and the transition from soft to hard has left you both breathless and shaking. you've never experienced anything like it — the gradual, inexorable filling, the knowledge that his arousal is a direct response to you, to this moment. it's really intoxicating.
"i wanna move," soobin begs, his voice cracking. "please, baby, please can i move? i need—i need to—"
you simply nod, unable to form words properly. you lift yourself slightly, and soobin thrusts up, a real thrust this time, deep and sure. you both moan, the sound mingling in the small space between you.
"y-yeah," you gasp. "like that. just like that—"
soobin sets a rhythm, slow at first, still overwhelmed by the newness of it all. his thrusts are deep, deliberate, each one punching a soft sound from your lips, and his hands are everywhere — your hips, your back, your face.
he can't stop touching you, can't stop looking at you.
"you're so perfect," soobin babbles, his words tumbling out between kisses and pretty moans. "so perfect for me. i love you so much. i love being inside you. i love—ah!—i love feeling you."
you capture his mouth with yours, swallowing his words, his every sounds. you simply love him like this — open, vulnerable, completely undone by you. the pretty nerd who annotates his textbooks and makes color-coded study guides, reduced to a whining, desperate mess because of how you feel around him.
you start to meet his thrusts, matching his rhythm, making it deeper and harder. the bed creaks beneath you, the sound joining the wet, obscene noises of your bodies coming together.
"i'm close," soobin warns, his voice tight.
he's gripping you so hard you know there will be bruises tomorrow, and you can't bring yourself to care.
"i'm so close, baby, where do you want—"
"inside," you moans. "stay inside—wanna feel you come inside me."
soobin’s eyes roll back slightly at your words, and his thrusts become erratic, losing their rhythm. he's chasing his release, but he's also watching you, making sure you're with him. your boyfriend’s hand snakes down between your bodies, finding your cock, stroking you in time with his thrusts.
it only takes a few more strokes; you come with a broken cry of his name, your body clenching around him, and that's all it takes to push soobin over the edge. he follows with a desperate, high-pitched moan, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, hot and deep.
for a long moment, neither of you moves.
you're both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, sharing the same humid air. soobin's hands are still on you, but they've gone soft, just resting.
right now, you can feel him softening inside you, the reverse of the sensation from before, and it's just as incredible in its own way.
finally, you shift, wincing slightly at the oversensitivity, and soobin's hands immediately try to hold you still.
"wait," he murmurs. "just... wait a second. i'm not ready to not be inside you yet."
you smile, pressing a kiss to his nose.
"okay."
you simply stay like that for a long time, connected, breathing together. soobin’s thumbs trace absent patterns on your skin, and your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
the room slowly cools around you, but you're both warm, wrapped up in each other.
"that was..." he trails off, searching for the right word.
"incredible?" you offer.
"yeah," soobin laughs softly, a little puff of air against your lips. "incredible. you always have the best ideas."
"i know," you tease, but you're smiling too.
eventually, you have to move.
the practicalities of cleanup, of bodily functions, of reality intruding on the perfect bubble you've created. but even as you disentangle yourselves, even as soobin disappears into his attached bathroom and returns with a warm, damp washcloth to clean you both with gentle, careful hands, the intimacy doesn't break.
when you finally settle back into bed, both of you having pulled on fresh boxers, soobin immediately pulls you against his chest. he's warm and solid, and you can feel his heartbeat, still slightly elevated, against your cheek.
"so," you mumble against his skin. "worth interrupting your study session?"
soobin laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest.
"my biology textbook can wait. this was..." he pauses, and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head. "this was the best kind of practical application."
you snort, elbowing him gently. "such a nerd."
the room falls into a comfortable silence, the kind that only comes after moments of profound intimacy.
outside, the city continues its endless hum.
inside, in soobin's small, cluttered bedroom, there's just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, sated and sleepy and utterly, completely in love.
Yandere!Doctor prescribing you meds you don't need to keep you coming back.
He knows he's probably slowly messing up your body- but it's really hard to care about all that permanent damage when he knows it'll just keep you coming back to him.
A cocktail of drugs all barely balancing themselves in your system, while the doctor reassures you it's ok, that it's just your condition getting worse over time. But they'll prescribe this and that in order to ease the pain... While you unknowingly make other symptoms worse. Your liver practically attrophying under the abuse.
Hard to believe it started out with a persistent headache, and now you're on a barage of medications so large it leaves your pill organizer overflowing. And all your perverted doctor can think about is what exact dosage he'd need to use to get you hospitalized.
It'd be so much easier to monitor you if you didn't have the option of a life anymore, wouldn't it?
And no visitors, dear.
You're far too sick for things like friends and family ♡
Two psychos (Yandere Geto suguru/yandere Satoru Gojo x male reader)
WC:. 5.7k
Tags: fluff-smut, threesome, spit roasting, poly satosugu, trio friendship, friends to enemies to lovers blowjobs, p in a sex, male on male oral, handjobs, ass eating, anal creampies, Yandere themes, dark content x male reader, dub con, non con, manipulation, drugging, Gojo just gaslighting reader
About: satoru and suguru become friends with male reader ending up in an obsession leading to Geto leaving, even after you split ways with him, he stays watching you from afar despite their separate paths they stay holding their obsession leading to trapping you.
Before the Riko incident you became a transfer at jujutsu high, you weren't really strong nor weak, you were the prime balance of an average guy who just wanted to be in the middle- as long as you helped others then that was fine by you, being well known seemed overrated anyway.
You never thought you'd get between the infamous duo, they were tight knit after all, they were all any jujustu student aspired to be and after all you were just a boy looking to make it through the academy without any complications
If you would've known the outcome of transferring to this school you would've stayed far away, how did you even enter their lives? You were put on their team as a balance, you were put there to be guided and who was better to guid you than you once upper class men Satoru?
You were put on their missions, it started simple, the three of you going against curses together but you noticed very quickly that your friendship meant more to them than what met the eye. The friendship you thought of as normal or even just knowing them out of same interests turned dark far to fast.
What stool out at you the most was during a mission when you were saving a civilian from a low level curse, after a hour the fight was over and you were clean from any wounds, the man just ran up to you muffling his words between tears grabbing your hands.
"thank you—I don't know what would've happened if you didn't show up!"
The man hugged you and the next thing you knew you tilted your head and suguru was already pulling him off of you pushing the man away harshly throwing him to a wall of a near by store.
"What do you think you're doing suguru?!"
You quickly ran forward to him pulling him away from the civilian leaving the man running off terrified, your hands reaching up to his uniform shaking him back and forth while yelling at him. All Geto seems to do is stare blankly like he didn't care what you did in the slightest.
"He touched you [name], nobody should get up close and personal, unless it's me or Satoru"
"What's that supposed to mean? You two aren't my damn keepers, we are friends Suguru- just friends!"
You look at him offended with your lips pressing in a thin line shoving him back and letting him go, walking off pushing past a confused Gojo leaving him tilting his head looking back at Geto with a 'what did you do?' Face.The next few days to pass you avoided Geto like the plague, only being around Gojo when he wasn't near Suguru.
Sitting in a café during the weekend with Gojo lifting your drink, the feeling was off and you weren't the biggest fan of how Gojo kept staring over at you but your dad was pushing you to be more like other boys your age, that's how you ended up calling Gojo on the water day morning after the incident with Geto.
"You don't have to avoid him Y'know [name]?"
Gojo breaks the silent looking at you with his eyes rolled forwards under his glasses watching your every move when you take a bite of whatever pastries you made him buy you.
Gojo just gives a shrug, of course he would. Always sticking up and vouching for Geto like he was some sort of fan boy. What did you really expect? Gojo knew Geto before you, they had an uncanny close relationship and knowing all you know now looking back on it that's the reason Suguru didn't mind sharing you with Satoru.
"I think you're overreacting, he was probably just worried about you, I'm sure he did in in good intentions"
"Yeah, whatever you say Toru"
You shove down a few more bites while Gojo takes a sip of his tea, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched but you always feel that way. Gojo kept trying to bring the topic back to Geto, trying to persuade you two to make up and apologize but you were just creeped out with his actions.
"Come on? He's our friend [name] you don't wanna be the one to put a wedge in our trio right?" Gojo did his best to speak sweetly to you. Trying to convince you, and if that didn't work then he'd just whine and make you feel bad til you felt like you just had to forgive Suguru. You didn't wanna be the reason your friend ship fell apart with them right?...
The next day was a Sunday and Gojo had practically done everything but force you to meet up with Geto. Gojo had used the fact he and Geto were on a mission looking after a girl as the perfect opportunity to finally get you three together.
You hear your phone ringing whilst you lay sprawled out in bed, it's a Sunday morning after all, it's the last day of your week to sleep in until next weekend.
"Hello Toru..why're you calling me so early?.."
"I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come and hangout at the beach today? Me and Geto are gonna be watching after this girl for our mission and I really-really want you there [nicknaamee]"
You just let out a small sigh and groggily open your eyes up begrudgingly mumbling back out to Satoru when you hear his whiny voice on the other end of the phone pleading and going high pitch on the nickname he gave you"
After that day at the beach things fell right back in line, you and Suguru had made up, and Gojo was happy, after all his best friends had made up.
Then it went and happened, some assassin had killed who they were protecting- or so Satoru told you. You weren't there the day it had happened, you were on another mission with your upperclassman Nanami. Suguru wasn't the same after that point, he hardly talked to you or Gojo- he would just silently space out staring at you.
Then summer hit and when he had came back he wasn't the same at all, he was cold and distant and snapped at you over the slightest things. If you spent more time with Satoru than him then he'd give you the cold shoulder until you apologized despite your lack of knowing what you did wrong.
"I just don't understand why you're acting like this Suguru?"
You walked along side Gojo after school one day following after Geto, your eyes were wide and your lips pressed firm.
"Hey! Where are you goin?!"
Gojo ran faster than you walking forward more when Suguru stops and turns facing Gojo, their argument starts leaving you chiming in every few seconds standing next to Satoru, by the end of their fight Suguru just turns forward to walk away.
"Suguru wait! What the hell are you doing?"
You stand in utter disbelief for what was happening right in front of you— this couldn't be happening? Your friendship was splitting up right before you and suguru, the boy that was eerily close around you was leaving you now.
You didn't think you were going to be that affected over the loss but it left you confused on how you felt.
The days following that incident the team had drifted apart but you and Gojo had a newfound closeness but you couldn't shake the feeling of always being watched, it felt like all eyes were on you even when you were walking through your dorm, that must just be the paranoia that comes with being a jujustu sorcerer right?
By the time you had graduated from Jujustu high, Gojo was already number one, you were happy for him of course as any friend would be. Eventually by the ripe age of twenty you take up a teaching job at jujustu high after a long time of Satoru pestering you to take the job with him.
"If I take the job will you just shut up Toru?"
"Of course I will! I promise [nickname]"
You eventually get tasked over the same team as Gojo, which you found strange. Not that Gojo didn't totally pull strings to make them place you two together. The teams you were mentoring were names Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi, the boy that Gojo had been watching after ever since he fought with his father- you think he's the son of that assassin that killed Riko.
The Jujustu world became hectic, not that it was new but it became crazier than usual especially after finding out that Yuji boy had ate one of the king of curses fingers— how was he even alive after that?
Over the years of being a Jujustu sorcerer you had seen and dealt with many things and you couldn't deny you never thought you'd see Suguru again, not after what he did to his parents- you had just assumed he was gone for good. For some odd reason Gojo never seemed too concerned it felt as though he knew something you never did.
You remember earlier in the day hearing Satoru asking you to take the subway with him later after classes had ended, something about this new place he wanted to take you too and knowing Gojo and his Expensive tastes you had just expected another luxury restaurant so imagine the confusion on your face when you see a old Japanese style parlor.
You walk right in behind Gojo, following confused seeing the dark colored interior and dim lights, non sorcerers walking out of the place wearing matching robes.
"What is this place Toru?"
"It's just a parlor ran by an old friend"
The way he hummed those words with a smirk made you feel uneasy, this place felt cultic, the purple walls and candles lit around the halls leading towards a pair of Japanese styled double doors, Satoru opens them ushering you inside. Your senses feel different in this room, it smells sweet and all you can do is feel fuzzy inside, were you being laced?
When you come to again you open your eyes half way seeing two figures hovering above you. Softness is all you can seem to feel right now, you're laying on something soft, maybe a pillow? It's fluffy and all you wanna do is close your eyes and succumb again, your body is weak and you only muster up enough strength to open your eyes when you feel a hand undoing your pants.
Your eyes roll around a little in their sockets before focusing in on the two figures, they look like yin and yang- one has white hair, it's Gojo...is that—
"Suguru?"
His name sounds pathetic when you slur your words looking up at him letting out a little whine seeing his robes, where has he been and why was he dressed like a messiah. What was happening? All those thoughts are postponed when you feel hands pulling your cock out of your boxers.
"You have no idea how much I've missed you [name], god you know how hard it is to not be able to touch you? To not hear my name from your mouth? It's torture sweetheart"
"Awe suguru! You told me the cameras I put in his apartment were close enough?"
Satoru and Geto conversation while kneeling before your body, one of them on either side of you with Suguru's hand on your cock playing with the soft flesh and teasing it. Your body felt too many things to let your mind properly think.
"You're alive?"
Those words come out shakily with your body shuddering feeling the warm palm of his hand under the base of your cock pulling a few strokes while Satoru leans down more sliding your shirt up your body, lifting your arms up and discarding it while you lay on your back in the parlor. Your eyes seeing candles lit around the room next to a picture of Geto— this was a cult.
"Of course I'm alive? Why wouldn't i be [name]?...you know me and Satoru will never leave you"
"Look at him Suguru, he's so loopy, I told you that gas was too strong~"
Your cock pulses in his hand with your nipples erect from the cool air, your body heating up and your cock starting to leak precum.
"What're you two doing?"
The words fall weakly while you lay on the pillows with your eyes circling in on Geto the whole time he touches your cock, your eyes rolling over to Gojo when he coos words to you talking you through it while your hands tremble pulling at the pillows.
"What we've wanted to do since day one [name]"
Suguru hums, leaning in more stroking your cock a little faster and moving his way between your thighs before craning his neck backwards whispering out something to Gojo. Gojo groans and pouts, taking his hands off your body and getting up walking off and out of the room leaving you and Suguru alone.
When Gojo comes back he's holding a bottle of strawberry flavored Lube, Geto let's go of your now hard cock and turns you over on your stomach, Gojo tossing Suguru the lube while he squirts the lube all up and down your crack, sitting the lube aside and squishing your cheeks together over and over making the lube smear around in between your cheeks.
"All I can think about is how you'll taste, I hope Satoru don't get mad I eat you up first"
Geto leans down kissing your arch and holding your hips sliding them down to your ass cheeks and slowly pulling them apart while grinning up at Gojo, watching the white haired man undoing his slacks and pulling out his cock, Gojo slaps his tip to your lips still soft.
"Toru please-"
"C'mon, suck it hard f'me?"
Before you can respond Geto has his faced buried between your cheeks eating you out like your his last meal, his tongue sliding up and down your crack and back down to your rim.
When your lips part to gasp, Gojo takes that as his chance to shove his cock down your throat making your lips wrap around him gagging and tearing up laying on your stomach with Satoru's hand reaching down to grab a handful of your locks making you tilt your head back and look up at him.
"How's it taste [name]?"
You can't seem to muster a word, feeling Geto's tongue going flat against your rim and pressing its way inside you while he reaches one hand under you to grab back ahold of your cock, Suguru starts stroking you in time with his tongue while aiming your cock down towards the pillows in jerking motions like he was milking you.
Gojo and Geto share gleaming looks, they were on cloud nine finally getting the intimacy from you they had longed after for years. Gojo thrusts his hips forward slowly making your cheeks bulge with every motion, his cock now fully hardened in your mouth hitting the back of your throat making vibrations around his base when you wail out.
"Poor baby is all delirious isn't he Satoru?"
Geto smile against your flesh, pressing sloppy wet kisses to your rim rolling his own eyes back at the taste of strawberry and you on his tongue leaving a satisfaction in his stomach with his cock hard under his robes being pressed to his hip.
Gojo keeps stroking your hair before starting to lift your head by your hair and bob your mouth up and down on his cock making you deep throat him to the point your face was buried in his white pubes.
"Sugu—tworu ple~"
Your words come out choppy around his cock. You speak with your mouth full feeling your throat hurting and the hot tears in your eyes streaming down your cheeks being used by the two men unable to put up a fight due to the drugs in your system keeping you weak between the men.
The feeling of Geto's tongue swirling around your insides makes your head go fuzzy again, you just wanna close your eyes but you can't because yours are locked on Gojo's bright blue ones, have they always been as blue as they are now? The look of pleasure on his faces makes knots build in your stomach knowing you're the cause for his half closed eyes.
"Oh you're so close aren't you? Don't even gotta answer I can tell [name]"
Geto can tell by the way your rim greedily puckers around his tongue and the amounts of precum oozing from your tip that you're on the verge of your orgasm. His hand keeps working you between your thighs leaving your legs trembling laying on your stomach when a wave of heat floods your whole body making you moan around Gojo's cock.
Your tip starts to swell angrily under Geto's thumb, when his tongue laps your prostate it pushes you past your breaking point making you lose it, cumming all over the pillows, staining the purple fabrics with an off white stain making Gojo look down at you with his signature smirk.
"Mhmf— he's a fuckin squirter Satoru"
"Suguru you should just feel how he's gagging on me right now-"
They talk about you like you aren't there, using you for their own pleasures you feel Geto pulling his face from your cheeks with one last lick pulling his tongue out of you leaving your s/c ass all sticky from a mix of spit and lube.
Geto starts lifting up his robes pulling them up over his head throwing them to the side with a smile, wearing black boxer briefs with a prominent bulge inside them with a dark patch of black hair trailing down his abdomen giving Satoru little to the imagination.
Suguru slides his fingers under his boxer waist band pulling them down his thighs allowing his cock to spring forward and press to his stomach.
"I would ask if you're ready [name] but you probably shouldn't speak with your mouth full~"
His voice is cold and mocking not giving a damn about Satoru face fucking you like a fleshlight. Suguru pulls your slick cheeks apart again thrusting his cock up and down your crack getting himself lubed up with the mixed substances.
Gojo reached his thumb down tracing over your full cheeks, watching how your throat bulges more and more the deeper he pushes himself inside your mouth fucking your eyes to reverse watching how they looked away from him and into the back of your head with a teary face that could arouse any man.
"I need-air tworu~"
Your drool running down your chin with your cock half limp between your thighs from how Geto jerked you off leaving you already feeling empty. Suguru reaches his hands up and grips your hips tightly nudging his cockhead against your rim watching while it stretches wide in a sad attempt to fit him, his cock feels like it's tearing you in half.
"Fuck!~ hurts Suguru—"
You gasp when Satoru pulls his cock from your mouth leaving you fishing the purple pillows clenching up around Geto while he lazily pushes in, he doesn't pay mind to it hurting you, he rubs small circles on your hips before bottoming himself all the way inside you with your rim leaving a little blood in with the lube from being stretched so much you tore.
"Shh, now you know you can take it can't you [nickname]"
Gojo drops your head letting it fall forward with your teary face in the purple pillows, your lips all swollen and your throat feeling like razors doing nothing but keeping you from screaming anymore. Your voice is weak and all you can do is hold the pillows and let out little squeals around Suguru.
"Suguru- pleasee—"
You get shut up again by Satoru's cock, he doesn't tap his tip to your lips like last time, he forced his whole cock back down your drool filled throat making a slobbery mess running down your face while you reach one hand back trying to push Suguru's hands off your hips.
"Don't even try it [name] you know better, god you're still as feisty as the last time I seen you"
Suguru reached one hand forward holding both your wrists tightly leaving promising red marks while he slowly thrusts his hips forward pushing your face more into Satoru's groin when Suguru starts to fuck you from behind holding you and binding you with his hands keeping you all defenseless but at this point with the way his cock is sliding against your inner walls you can't even properly think.
"There you go [nickname] you're so good at this aren't you? I think he was made for two cocks Suguru"
Gojo's blindfold hanging around his neck with his large hand around the back of your head holding it in place while he rocks his hips forward making his veins start prodding against the roof of your mouth more showing you he was close.
"Hmfh!~ Toruu"
You whine wanting to reach your hand down and start touching your cock, you needed to come so bad but you couldn't do anything but depend on them to make sure you got off. Suguru's cock pressed against your prostate milking your insides with his base stretching your channel to fit his cock like he was trying to mold you.
"Does our boy wanna come that bad?"
Geto asks you with a fake confused tone fucking you a little harder holding your hands behind your back with one hand using the other to reach down and lift your left thigh up forcing his cock inside you at a deeper angle making you feel every vein and curve to his cock.
"Mh hmm-!"
You're so far gone you can't bother to care about every messed up thing these men are doing to you, all your mind can process is 'needa come' your back arches and you start trying to bob your head under Satoru's hand trying to earn good graces from him when you look up at him with your wide eyes batting your lashes back and forth like a doll.
"Oh what's this? I think he's starting to be a good boy Satoru, you think we should let him come?"
Suguru asks Satoru with a smug smile holding your thigh tight fucking your insides raw with your rim all puffy and wrapped around his cock split open wide now accepting him with ease with the room in the parlor filling up with lewd squelches from the mix of lube and his spit making wet sounds when his hips hit your ass cheeks.
Plap-plap-plap, the sounds silently echo throughout the room while you just stare up at Gojo with a full mouth before feeling his load shoot down your throat spilling all over the back of your throat and running down the roof of your mouth leaving the pungent taste on your lips.
"I think we should let him come Suguru- he's been actin nice hasn't he?"
"I think you're right Toru~ good boys deserve rewards after all"
Geto let's your arms go reaching back down between your thighs starting to jerk your cock like he did before, fucking you rougher with his chubby cock head pulsing and twitching on your prostate putting a strong pressure in your stomach threatening to break over at any moment.
Satoru's cock slips out of your mouth letting you finally breath and gasp for air while Gojo stares down at your face stroking his soft cock hard again and aiming it at your fucked out face watching you get pounded from behind by Geto.
"Close- just a little more- suguru pleasee~!"
You start letting out whiny moans and sounds you never new your voice could make when his thumb runs right across your slit, staring up at Gojo the whole time with your teary face ruined and covered in tears and drool with your hair messy from Gojo's pulling. Geto keeps going bucking his hips forward harshly rutting himself into you going deep as he can pressing his balls to your backside feeling your rim spasming ready to orgasm around him.
When Suguru flicks his wrist holding the base of your cock it sends you over the edge arching your back under him clenching around his cock and holding onto the purple fabric beneath you, orgasming so hard your ears start ringing making everything in the room feel surreal when you come in Geto's hand.
"There he goes Suguru- oh that's such a beautiful face you're making [nickname]"
Your come floods over Suguru's thumb and spilling onto the pillows under you making you wail and cry at the nearly dry orgasm being pulled from your cock having you stiffening up under the two men with your nose scrunched in a over stimulated pleasure.
"I'm getting close [name], gonna flood these insides"
When Gojo hears those words he starts stroking his cock faster at your face watching his two best fiends fucking eachother with you laying all out of it and fuzzy from the drugs having you limp under Geto when he lets your thigh down to mount you more fucking your motionless body making you feel how his cock nudged you on its own before his flood gates break.
"O-oh hng~ suguru-"
The words come out high pitched and louder than the last when his come floods your anal cavity, the warmth surrounds your prostate in a hot sensation leaving you feeling all bloated and full from his seed, your hole instinctively starts to clench and unclench around him milking the rest of his load out of him while Gojo lets out a groan watching the whole scene play out before him.
"Here it comes [nickname]"
Those words were the only warning that Gojo gave you before his orgasm shoots across your face all over your nose and lips running down your chin, mixing in with your spit and tears leaving you completely ruined from the two men, with two loads in your tummy and another on your face leaving you spent.
"I can't take no more Toru~ Suguru I can't-"
"But you gotta [nickname] ! I haven't even got to feel your hole yet~"
Gojo lets out a whine while Geto lets go of your cock and pulls out of your ass, using his thumb to push any come that oozes from your hole back inside you while he rotates with Gojo letting Satoru get right behind you swapping places, god! At this rate it was gonna be a real long night.
"Toru- I can't take it"
You droop your head down feeling his hands flipping you over back into your back on the pillows feeling your come stained pillow fabric pressed to your skin making you cringe, Satoru lifts up one of your legs placing it up on his shoulder nudging your sore rim with his cock while Suguru adjusts himself now facing at your head pressing his cock against your come stained lips.
"Don't lie, we know you can take it [nickname], you were made to take it baby"
"He's right baby, we know you can handle it"
They don't take your weak response as an answer, Gojo slowly pushes his cock into your already stretched hole, sliding in easily from Geto's come and lube. Your chest aiming up at the air arching splayed on your back with your cock red and soft unable to harden from being milked to many times by the men.
Suguru pushes his cock pash your lips delving it into your wet cavern. Your throat bulges again from your now full mouth, your whole body aches and hurts but all you can do is lay still and take it. Gojo gives you no time to rest before he lifts your other leg up in the air holding you in a mating press while jackhammering into you.
"Fuck Suguru, you're right his hole feels so fucking good"
Geto hums in response shuddering a little when your canines graze over a sensitive vein on the underside of his cock making him reach his hand down choking your throat a little bit as a warning making your fission blur from the lack of oxygen and the way Gojo was fucking you, reaching more spots than Suguru if that was even possible.
"Ah- careful with your teeth baby, don't chew on it. Suck it"
Your thighs start trembling pressed to your chest with Gojo dipping his face down and burying his face into your pecks like a madman, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking on it. His hips roll forwards lifting and reaching down to pull your hips, pulling you back onto his cock with your moans being gagged by Suguru's cock.
"T'muush~ too stuffed Suguru~"
You roll your eyes back into your head looking up at Geto above you with your nose pressed to his balls from the angle he was fucking your mouth at leaving Satoru's cum all smeared across your face like a sticky mess. Your cock half limp and tender against your inner thigh while it rests on your stomach leaking a little puddle.
"You sucked Satoru off fine, I think you can handle me too [name], now don't start acting defiant again on us"
The way Geto spoke to you made you whine sadly unable to fight either of them, the drug still in your system and the way they were trying to consume your body whole left you mute sucking on his cock while Gojo pressed his chest up against yours making your toes curl up when he thrusts forward and nails your sweet spot head on.
"Don't be so mean to him Suguru, he's just about used up S' all"
Satoru coos out to Suguru while he makes the pillows dip under the shared weight of him on top of you, Geto's come swirling around your insides and trickling down your thighs around the base of Gojo's cock while Gojo bites down on your nipple again only pulling his mouth off of your flesh to speak.
"I'm getting close [name], do' you want it down your throat or face?"
Geto asks looking down at you feeling his balls drawing up against your cheek signaling he was close to his peak. Gojo on the other hand didn't care about Suguru's orgasm, he was too busy trying to chase his own inside your stomach. Your rim starts burning and stinging from being used and gaping around a cock for so long leaving you in painful pleasure.
"On m' face~"
You whimper out quietly just not wanting to have to taste another load or feel more come inside your stomach. Reaching one hand down whining when you start to touch your cock, it felt like touching a stiff rod, your hand slowly moved up and down it crying to have to pull another orgasm but you needed to come so bad.
"You can't do that [nickname] you gotta come from me or Suguru, so no touchin yourself"
Before you can respond or complain Satoru has his free hand slipping off your hip and down onto your cock, quickly swatting your hand away from it. His strokes aren't gentle like yours were, his are fast and unorganized like his thrusts are. Gojo takes his mouth off your nipple and shoves his face in your neck while Suguru keeps fucking your mouth, his thrusts slow down pulling out of your mouth with his cock jumping on its own.
"There we go [name] see what you do to us?"
Your ass feels sore and red from hips slapping against them over and over but before you can complain a hot load shoots all over your face spilling into your eyelashes and into your mouth making you taste his come, he tasted sweeter than Gojo, his semen more thick and less opaque than Satoru's.
"I'm getting close Sa-Toruu~"
Your voice cracks from a sore face fucked throat, your lips are all sticky and cracked in the corners from opening your mouth too wide, your lips part and ho agape making an 'O' shape when Gojo bites at the crook of your neck licking over the red marks he's leaving on your S/c skin.
Your abdomen starts feeling hotter and more tense making you sweat underneath Satoru when his cock teases your insides making your legs feel like jello up in the air with your knees bent over his shoulders. By the way Gojo was tensing up and the muscles of his shoulders stiffened beneath your finger nails you could tell he was about to come.
"Me too- you're just milking it out of me [nickname]"
His hand works harder and faster against your cock making you groan starting to orgasm shaking and crying with hardly any semen able to spill from you. Your tip starts leaking barely any pre come, you begin orgasming dry making Geto smile above you happy to know they had milked your body dry, Suguru reaches his hand down stroking your cheek while Gojo plows you between your thighs making the room spin through your eyes.
Soon the feeling of warmth in your gut hits you again letting you know Satoru had just found his release inside you, his semen seeping out of you overflowing your hole leaving the thin strings of his come running down your thighs and staining the pillows beneath the two of you.
"Toruu.. I'm soo sore-"
You whisper out under him reaching one hand up to his neck and grabbing his hair with your other hand still on his shoulder. Rolling your eyes forwards looking up at Suguru with your insides flooded and your face ruined- god you can't handle these two insane men- They're something else!
𝓨𝒖𝒕𝒂 was obsessed with you. not in the way you'd expect. not in the demanding, or the aggressive or even the outwardly possessive way. it was persistent. dedicated. and worst of all?
loving.
he never quite got over you after the breakup. a year after the shinjuku showdown. you said he changed. he insisted he grew.
“i miss my sweet boy,” you'd said.
“aren't I sweet?” he still smiled like it.
you shook your head. turned away. told him there was something else in his smile. something shifted. an innocence you mourned.
he never quite let you grieve his absence, though. your coffee would be on your desk in the morning. your favourite flowers delivered every other week. you'd find him on your doorstep with takeout and a smile. find him in your apartment cooking, cleaning, making your bed, making things easier for you.
“what're you doing here?” you confronted him. got up in his face. looked at him like he was an irritable nightmare.
and yuta? he just smiled. never a threat. never a warning. looking at you like you were the sweetest dream.
“we're friends, aren't we?” he tilted his head. “that's what you said we were.”
“yeah well—”
“friends take care of each other, don't they?” his head tilted. that flicker of innocence that you lost shimmered in his eyes. ached your heart. flared your mind. because he knew what he was doing.
this wasn't first, nor second year. okkotsu yuta knew how to get under your skin, and he did so with the same smile that stuttered your chest.
he was insistent. promising he'd wait for you. assuring that you just needed time. but then another year went by, then another, and another— and before you knew it? he was twenty three and still delivering your favourite flowers.
it was overwhelming. he claimed love should feel like that. said love should be something that you chased for.
what scared you the most? the way his cursed energy crackled whenever he said it. like it really was his curse onto you.
“you can't chase me forever, okkotsu.” you'd hissed, as he stood in your kitchen. using your ingredients. cooking you dinner.
he didn't even look up. “that's what you think.”
then he turned to you with a spoonful of soup and the flat of his hand brushing beneath your chin to raise it. just slightly. delicately.
he smiled. “now. . . say ah.”
he frustrated you. with his kind smile. with his shifted outlook on life. with the maturity he'd developed when you just weren't looking.
finding someone else was impossible.
going back to him felt like a sentence.
so when you'd snapped, who could blame you?
when you snatched his sword from his very sheath and swiped it through the air. bladed it to his throat. a threat, a shaky promise. with your trembling hands and your snarling lips.
he didn't flinch.
and that's what frustrated you more.
a special grade sorcerer like himself, what could you possibly do?
you saw it in his eyes. he asked the question without even uttering a word. a calm confidence that eased from him in the arch of his brow and the unfaltering look on his face.
he was sure of himself. and even worse: unafraid of death.
truly, not your sweet boy anymore.
no sweetness in the way he stepped closer. no sweetness in his shadow that loomed over you. in the paleness of his neck that pushed closer to his blade.
“you want to kill me?” he asked. drawled, simple. as if asking about the weather, and not his life that was held in hands he clearly still wanted to kiss.
his hand shifted. long fingers curling around the blade. tight. unflinching. he yanked it closer. shoved his neck further. till the steel bit into his skin. into his fingers.
and even while you shook. while you gaped and hesitance faltered your grip— he stood there.
staring into your eyes. into your very soul.
he spoke clear. crystal. calm.
“do it properly, then.”
his face pressed further. digging deeper into the blade if it only meant to be closer to you.
not a blink. not a breath.
just brutal. bloody. devotion.
“kill me,” he breathed. cold lips brushing yours. his own blood dripping from his fingers. “just make sure to curse me a little.”
warning: prince!taehyun x gn civillian!reader, modern royalty au, some angst, some fluff, th calls reader beautiful once, calls them my love a lot, “would you still love me if i were a worm?”
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jacobvanloon
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