#yuta fanfiction

[onyourhyuck]

We Met In April. | Na Yuta. (M)

↳ Prologue: “How can you be okay with all of this? Letting people hurt you everyday. ” + “If they aren’t hurting other people because of me, I’m okay with it.”

↳ The Summary: Yuta finds you crying in the boys locker rooms and finds out why.

↳ The Warnings: Mentions of severe bullying. Bruises and cuts etc. Wholesome fluffy moment. Established friends to lovers hint. Yuta is so warm hearted and kind to Reader.

↳ The Notes: Very ANGSTY. Read at own risk.

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If people asked you how are you still here after four years. You would reply with one word.

Yuta.

The sole reason why you are walking about on two legs, breathing and fully functioning college student trying to pass the exams and only worrying about exams now.

But it wasn’t always like this. So let’s rewind back to where it all started…

How you met Yuta who has changed your life from upside down ever since.

It was a very mundane day. The usual what happens in high school, the mean bullies get away with terrorising yet another helplessly weak student and the teachers simply pass it as a joke. You were one of those ‘weak’ students. But only because you got yourself into that trouble by helping out a victim and now you turned the hungry predators thirsting to get the outmost fun by beating you up. They enjoyed doing those things to you. No matter what you never gave them the satisfaction of them seeing you cry. But once they left because thankfully the bell saved you, you were on the verge of passing out from the multiple attacks. Both boys and girls partake. However today it was only one specific boy taking the pleasure of abusing you on this Monday morning.

The boy was somewhat known for having a handsome and ‘angelic’ face but you’d disagree quickly. If people were in your position as of right now laid on the dirty school floor inside the boy’s changing rooms that were locked (however one of his friends nit-pocket the key). You would say you saw the devil smiling down at you with two large horns and it’s red glowing eyes ominously glaring down at you as if he were sucking the soul out of your body. You felt heavyweight. You felt your bones go cripple. The swirling fear choking your vocal chords, squeezing it every two seconds because you were infatuated with the evil laughter shunning your down. Degrading words.

The way their fingers graze your open thighs and pinching your sweetly scented soft skin, marking it down as defeat to remind you. It’s the way the boy lifts your school skirt taking a peek. Harassing you. It wasn’t only physical assault. You could easily take an advantage of your body if he wants to and his friends…they would watch and record if anything. You were only a freshmen last year, now heading into your second year. They were third years. Seniors. Your upper class men you were vowed by the social hierarchy to obey and respect. As the elders can do whatever the fuck they wish to do.

You want to scream. You want to pull him by his hair and slam that pretty face of his into a wall. You want to make him cry and apologise to you. But deep inside you there was not enough built anger nor revenge to fully commit such things. You were always so soft spoken. Soft hearted and easily swayed by your kinder emotions that you doing revenge would make you feel guilty rather than pleased and finally getting your clarity. It wouldn’t be redemption. It would only be a social suicide for you pushing you further off the edge than you already are.

“Hey the bell rang.”

One of his mates in the back sling forward opening the door they would be guarding. As their so called friend was caressing his lips on the your neckline, tutting as his fingers let go off your school shirt. He pulls back with a smirk, that tells you ‘you’re lucky you got saved by the bell again’ —

God knows what he would’ve done with you if that bell did not ring.

“Let’s go boys.” He stands up leaving your trembling self alone. With the keys. They locked the door afterwards. Not that it bothers you, you can’t bring yourself to show your face to your other peers after whatever happens to you nearly every day.

Its the same routine. Harassment. Assault. Verbal abuse.

You wish for it to stop. But how to stop something no one wants to stop?

You have to disappear. You thought to yourself about the idea of leaving earth. The idea of just running away. Or maybe ending it all. The idea numbs your senses. You can hear voices but your mind can’t seem to process them. Your eyes can see but why can’t you stop the blurry vision and wetness rolling down your cheeks like rain? You can speak but you weren’t heard. You’re touching your knees pressing them to your chest, but why does it hurt the most when you are comforting yourself in a hug with your own arms— when no one has ever comforted you? Not a single person engulfs you in a hug.

Not a single person has ever asked you if you are okay. You are not sure that if you ever got asked you wouldn’t believe them about their sincerity level.

Shakily coughing out saliva stuffing your throat airways as more choke up sobs leave your parting lips, the room silence fills your mournfully cries from the deep depths making them echo. The changing room had a bunch of lockers that you were hidden behind. Many benches line up that you were hidden in between two. In front of you were the multiple rays of showers with curtains. They drip water drops on the floor that match in synch with your tears falling down your red cheeks. Your swollen reddish eyes were stinging with warm burning sensation as if onions were plucking in your eyeball.

It makes you conflicted though. Even though you don’t want to get hurt anymore, you realised later that the bullies haven’t been attacking other students but they stuck to bullying you only. Somehow you feel like this might be okay if it’s you. If it’s only you and no one else is getting hurt than you are okay with becoming their punching bag and their fucked up toy.

But is that really okay? Is this what you deserve?

Your breathe hitches loudly as you quickly shove your body to stay hidden once the door unlocks and swings open with the keys rattling by the fingers swinging them in circular motions would be a platinum blonde boy with long-ish bangs and hair, a very thinly shaped jawline and a perfected side profile as his lips pucker out with a humming melody. Carrying a side gym bag he thrown it on the bed that rocks the bench behind your back roughly hitting you accidentally where it hurt the most. Your bruised back. Everything was so sensitive the tiniest pain felt enhanced as if you were being burned alive on stake by the fire. With the tiny yelp and heavy groan, you found the boy staring down at you.

First he looks at you with confusion, wondering why the hell was a girl on the middle of the boys locker changing rooms. But there was another flooding thought ‘Why was there a girl with a bloody nose, bruised legs and a rough up uniform IN the boys lockers when it was locked and why the hell was she crying? ’

Your palm covers your nose once you felt the blood dribbling down on the floor. With panic entering your weak and sullen body you were quick to stand up even though it pained you to move you push and rushing past the boy.

Yuta was quick to quickly grab your wrist and look around at your appearance again. “Whoa hold up. Are you okay?”

The voice were veiled with nothing but compassion. Something you needed and now you have it you were starstruck by the words you completely forgot how to speak.

You were so broken that you began crying harder once again now that hearing those words touch your ears it begins to touch your weak and heartbroken heart. Yuta never knew he would encounter a pretty crier until he met you.

As you sobbed he felt himself pulling you closer into a warmly tight hug. Pushing your head into his chest as he caressed your rough up hair, touching you with outmost respect and gentleness…he was scared he would hurt you if he did anything harsh and quick. He was slow and steady maintaining you in his body.

“What happened here?” Yuta questions as you pull away with a sniffle. He offers you a tissue from his pocket and you took it cleaning the blood from your nose .

You bite your tongue, wondering what to reply to that. “I got locked in. That’s all. I was scared.”

Now. Yuta wasn’t one to be fooled with. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “What’s with your uniform and your bruises then?” He points out as he took a step back opening the sports gym back. It seems like the jersey he has inside would be the football club one. You can’t help but wonder who this was? He definitely wasn’t in your grade. He must be older. You play with your thumb as you sit down. You don’t want to go and leave. You don’t think you can handle a class right now. Instead you take a seat on the bench next to the gym back and Yuta eyes you with a short smile.

“You’re going to watch me get shirtless or what?” Yuta jokingly throws as he grabs the red jersey and you look away, staring at the floor and especially at your shoes now. “You can change inside the showers.” You point out smartly.

Yuta scowls. “Now I don’t want you giving me pointers where to change when this is in matter of fact— a boys changing rooms.” He tells you and you felt yourself cough awkwardly. You heard the way he slips of the white school shirt off his body even though you couldn’t see it, you heard the way the football red jersey crinkles and perfectly fits his body. Yuta smirks watching the way your eyes avoid him and he gives you a soft whistle as he rolls the white school shirt hanging it on the cloak hanger. As well as the school trousers.

“You can look at me now.”

You turn around to look at the boy who wore the red and white jersey shirt and shorts. He took off the white school shoes and grabs out the football appropriately used shoes on his feet slowly. You felt comfortable in the silence for a while until you would be the one to break it. Somehow you felt like you could speak about anything— but that would be because you’re so deprived from communication and as well as physical touch, when he hugged you; you felt safest in his arms than anywhere else.

“You play football?” You ask out.

Yuta softly nods looking your way. “Yeah. Do you play sports?”

You shake your head chuckling slightly embarrassed. “I- I well used to play a little bit of football in elementary.”

Yuta coos aloud with impressive noises as he comes closer to you with a wide smirk. That smirk, it was so different from the boy that beat you up. He was the devil. But Yuta’s smirk was a true form of something you’d call the Divine. Such a healing smile it healed all your worrisome thoughts from before a long ago.

“You should try-out for the girls football team this year then! Maybe you’ll find yourself a hobby that won’t involve getting trapped inside the boys locker rooms.” He leans closer whispering to you. “Peeping Tom.”

Your mouth drops at the accusation. “I wasn’t peeping.”

He raised his eyebrows at you once again. “I’m joking. Hey.”

You were so baffled through the way his voice changes such tones when speaking to you when he saw the way your slight lit up face that looks happier than before dims down by the sudden accusation in which he tried to play a teasing joke with you went bad. You didn’t take the joke well and he didn’t want any bad blood with you. God it’s the farthest thing he wants done. He hates seeing how your lifeless eyes ran numb and cold. Like they were sucked dry, left to die as if they were never meant to be full of life in the first place. The way your nostrils flare up and down trying to block out your stuffy nose due to the way you cried for hours so hard without a stop.

He knew something must’ve happened in here and you weren’t telling him. It was like a gut feeling. He wants to know what. He wants to help you. He wishes to give you advice and protect you if you need it. You seem like such a gentle soul and a down to earth girl who did nothing wrong and he can bet his own life on that you are incapable of harm.

“Sorry. That was a bad joke.” He apologises quickly to you.

You look on the side slightly sullen and now again feeling down as if you were drained. Drained by everything, by speaking, by thinking, by sitting and doing absolutely nothing makes you feel so…dissociated with everything happening round you. Your mind goes back to the replaying trauma of what happened few minutes ago. Approximately forty-five minutes ago, where you were beaten down as if you were nothing but dirt. Garbage.

It sent you shivers but what sent you through the roof completely was the warmth emitting from the boy that leans down grabbing your ankle and lifting it lightly. Your face gasps in surprise as your palm reach on surprise holding down the skirt fabric. In realisation you soon notice how he was checking the bruises and the small hidden cuts. He clicks his tongue. There was so many. He saw so much. He saw so much but he heard nothing from you but silence.

“W-what are you doing?” You stammer.

“This doesn’t look like nothing. Look I don’t even know your name but if you need help tell me what happened here.” Yuta was quick to cut you off. No time for answering you if you won’t answer him truthfully. You felt yourself heat up on your cheeks. He was demanding. Looking at you as if he was warning you to finally open up and tell him what the hell went on in here.

It’s not like he can check CCTVs. There aren’t any here.

You murmur quickly. “Okay fine. Bunch of third years taught me a lesson. You happy?” You snapped at him unintentionally. But it truly felt like you were cornered to tell him your whole sappy life story.

Yuta’s eyes strike you as he pushes your foot back down, standing up tucking the hands in the front pockets inside the gym shorts.

“Third years? You mean Kang Hanuel?”

You shiver, hearing the bully by the name. Yuta didn’t need a verbal response because you avoided replying and that was loud enough answer for him. He sighs out as he sits next to you. With a gentle ooze coming out,it felt like being next to a long term friend you haven’t spoken to in a while. That is how you felt like being with Yuta even though you don’t even know his name for god sake.

“How many times has he done this to you?”

“Few times.”

“How many is few times?”

You go silent before replying again.

“It’s been five weeks. There is seven days in a week. You do the math.” You retort back calmly but it seems like Yuta was far from calm. He was in disbelief at your nonchalant behaviour now. You seem to avoid showing emotion or care of your OWN well-being. It pissed him off seeing you treat yourself like this, and he barely knows you. He scowls.

“And you let them get away with this? Seriously?”

“Teachers won’t do anything… I tried. I don’t want my mother to worry and stress because of this. And…” You sigh out. “And even if i get the police involved Hanuel will bail out. He’s loaded with money.”

“That’s excuses.” He spat. He grabs your hands suddenly standing up as he pulls you with him to the door. You snatch your hand back with widen eyes. “You’re coming with me to report this. You don’t know how far he will go next.”

Biting on your bottom lip you look down.

“How can you be okay with all of this? Letting people hurt you everyday. ” Yuta trails softly as he saw the way you were unable to contain your words at once. As you flinch the further he came closer standing in front of you with barely a gap between you.

You want to tell him that you love other people more than you’ll ever love yourself. But you can’t bring yourself to. “If they aren’t hurting other people because of me, I’m okay with it.” You respond.

Yuta softly nods understanding your reasoning and thought process but it was unhealthy. He holds your hands with his as he whispers to you. “The other footballers are going to arrive soon but, What’s your name?”

“Y/n. It’s y/n.” You reply back.

“I’m Yuta. From now on if they ever hurt you I will protect you. I’m your new friend Y/n.”

The day you met him you knew from the moment your eyes laid on Yuta, He was going to be your savio it. The knight in shining armour and your will to survive and carry on living. Seriously who would’ve known? An international Japanese student studying football in Korea… becoming friends with you, a girl bullied and crying. Comforting you. He shown and gave nothing but love and even if you didn’t give anything back and he received none recognition— he was happy with just seeing you smile and make friends.

Now it’s been four years forward and you’re having lunch with Yuta. You both gotten sport scholarships and both managed to enter the same college. Now you’re on the same football program and training teams and you can see each other with same schedules. You would be having lunch outside in the open green field and park, out in a sunny day. Yuta hums nomming on the sushi as he lifts the chopsticks giving you one sushi on your plastic plate.

“Eat up Y/n. Gotta build that muscle.” He slaps his arms flexing the muscular arms at you. You snort in response and stay still admiring the way his healing smile and happy expressions never changed.

He’s still the same. Looks the same as the boy in high school you met in the changing rooms. You’re becoming too reminiscent of the past that you blurt out suddenly to Yuta.

With a loving gaze full of appreciation for the boy. All he’s done with you. You finally thank him for everything he has been through with you.

“I’m glad We Met In April, Yuta.”

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating copyrighting and plagiarising my work thank youu! REBLOG THIS FIC AND FOLLOW ME FOR MORE UPDATES!

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[writemekpop]

All Night Long | Nakamoto Yuta

Summary: Yuta can’t sleep because of nightmares. You know exactly how to make him feel better...

Genre: Established relationship AU, smutty, a little angsty 

Word Count: 0.5k

You woke to the sound of thick, heavy panting.

The bed beside you was empty. The only trace of your boyfriend’s presence was the sheets, which still breathed with his warmth.  

Yuta was standing by the window. He was facing away from you, staring into the night.  

His bare brown back was tense, his fists clenched. This was the sight of a troubled man.

You turned on the bedside lamp.

Yuta snapped around to face you. He scowled as he made his way towards the bed.

“Go back to sleep,” he said, voice gruff.

You wrapped your arms around his firm body, nuzzling your cheek against his. His stubble pricked your skin, the jolts making your body surge.

“What’s wrong?” you whispered.

“Nothing.” Yuta tried to pull himself out of your arms, but your grip on his biceps was vice-tight.

Yuta let out a deep sigh and relaxed his body against yours. He didn’t resist when you pulled the blanket over your entwined legs.

You knew what was going on.

Even if he refused to tell you.  

For months, Yuta had been plagued with horrific nightmares. Sometimes, he would wake up screaming. Once, in the middle of a particularly bad dream, he even hit you.

He never forgave himself for that.

Since then, he’d taken to sleeping on the couch. Tonight was the first night in weeks you’d finally convinced him to share a bed with you again. But it wasn’t going well.

“It’s okay, Yuta.” You pressed your head to his chest and listened to his racing heart. “Let’s just try to sleep.”

Yuta sucked in a breath, as if he was going to say something. Then he paused, and nodded.

You let your heavy eyelids sink shut.

Just as you were on the brink of unconsciousness, you felt a hand grip your shoulder.

You opened your eyes to see Yuta’s wide brown eyes staring at you.

His breaths were ragged. “I- I’m too… afraid to fall asleep,” he confessed.

Your eyes traced the sharp line of his jaw, skirted down the ridges of his muscled chest, now glistening with sweat.

Your gaze followed the line of dark hair that went from his navel down into his sweatpants. You realised that Yuta was most beautiful at his most vulnerable. Hair a static halo, jaw clenched...

“If you don’t want to sleep,” you whispered. “I know something else we could try…”

Yuta raised one brow.

The air between you thickened. The space narrowed. You stared into each other’s eyes, daring the other to make the first move.

Yuta caved first. He smashed his mouth against yours, kissing you eagerly.

You smiled into the kiss, pulling him on top of you…

This was much better than sleep.

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

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[sweetiesicheng]

yuta - club

word count : 557

-

"hey, can we get two more shots over here?" you spoke to one of the bartenders with cash in your hands.

a bartender poured shots for you, and you grabbed the two shot glasses while they took the cash. you went back to yuta and handed him one of the glasses.

"thank you," he sang and both of you took your shots together. “oh, anyways, so the girl tripped on her own feet and just decided to just give up."

"what? if i was her, i would've tried to run after him again," you replied. "i can't believe it ends like that," you added. you looked around and saw more people going onto the dance floor, "wanna go dancing?" you asked him.

"i'm gonna eat for a second. go without me," he responded and drank some water.

"okay," you smiled and made your way to the dance floor.

you started dancing with everyone that was on the dance floor. so many people were having a good time and the beat dropped in the music. more people came onto the floor as the night continued.

"need a dancing partner?"

you turned around and saw a guy next to you. “no, i'm good here," you said to him.

"me and you could get out of here," he suggested and tried to grab your arm. you dodged him and looked around to see if yuta was still at the table; he wasn’t there. "here, have some of this," he said and tried to offer you the drink in his hand.

"nope, i'm good," you said to him and tried to walk to another area; however, the dance floor was packed to the brim and you really couldn't move around.

"come on, have a sip. this stuff is really good," the guy said to you and successfully grabbed your arm. his grip was harsh.

"let go of me!" you yelled at him and some of the other patrons looked over at you at the sudden outburst.

suddenly, you saw yuta appear in front of you. he grabbed the guy’s hand that was touching you, "back off, man," he said to him.

"this doesn't concern you," the douchebag said to yuta and pushed him. yuta didn’t let go of him.

"it does when you're trying to hit on my girl and give her something that she doesn't want," yuta angrily spoke.

"hey! that's the guy who tried to put something in my drink earlier!" you heard another patron yell.

all eyes were on the guy and some bouncers walked through the crowd after noticing the commotion. the guy was reluctant and rolled his eyes but willingly left when one of the bouncers told him to leave.

yuta threw his arm around you as the dance floor became lively again.

"you okay, baby?" yuta asked and moved so he was in front of you. he pressed his forehead against yours, "baby?"

"i'm fine," you responded. yuta kissed you before hugging you tight.

"do you wanna stay here, or do you want to go home?" he asked.

"we can stay here. i don't want our night to be ruined," you said to him.

yuta smiled and kissed you again, "okay. come on, let's dance." the two of you danced for awhile and continued to have a lot of fun as the night went on.

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[kjmsupremacist]

double exposure (yuta/taeyong)

During promotions for his first Japanese mini album, k-idol Taeyong meets one of his favorite artists, j-rock star Yuta. Though it starts casual, Taeyong begins to realize he may be in over his head, and struggles to reconcile his affection for Yuta with all the things that keep them apart.

Chapter 9 |   prev   mlist

Characters: Taeyong, Yuta

Genre: k-soloist taeyong, jrockstar yuta; romance, smut, angst

Warnings: smut but it’s pretty vanilla, d/s undertones

Rating: explicit

Length: 5.8k

The crowd at the airport is much larger than Taeyong was expecting. He had wondered if the team of managers and security guards wasn’t a bit of an overkill, but seeing the throng of people now, he’s glad for his staff’s foresight. He’s squeezed through check in and security and then ushered to the private lounge where he can finally get a bit of peace.

Waiting to board, he sends to Yuta. I dunno how long it’s going to take me to fight my way through all the fans when I land, things were crazy here.

Just keep me updated! Yuta replies. Our dinner reservation isn’t until 8 so you should have lots of time.

They decided it would be best to make a public appearance first, so it wouldn’t look like they were hiding the fact that they were seeing each other. They were friends, after all, and it had been a couple of months since they had seen each other. Dinner was completely reasonable. No one needed to know that the car that went back to Taeyong’s hotel wouldn’t have Taeyong in it. 

The thing is, ever since Yuta told him that he cared, ever since Yuta took away those pretenses, Taeyong’s worry has all but disappeared. It’s still there, of course; things would completely blow up if the public found out. But now he knows he and Yuta would weather that together, and that alone makes it worth it to him. Of course, he’ll have to see if Yuta falls back into old habits, but he doesn’t think he will. They both know that this is too important to throw away. Closeness like this, vulnerability—it’s hard to find in their industry, especially between two people who are so different in so many ways. That he’s found it is enough for Taeyong.

The flight itself is easy enough. Taeyong listens to music and plays video games, and before he knows it, they’re touching down in Osaka, where Yuta has a secondary residence. 

As expected, there’s plenty of fans waiting there, too. Taeyong only waves, hiding the anxious and disgruntled press of his lips behind a mask, and then he’s escorted into a car, where he finally gets a little peace and quiet.

Yuta was right, though; it’s hardly six by the time he gets to his hotel, so he has time to wash up and change before braving the outside world again to meet Yuta at a sushi restaurant. 

It’s a high-end establishment, and seemingly rather private, much like the bar Yuta took him to the first time. There’s something almost nostalgic about it as Taeyong is checked in, as he’s led up to the dining rooms, as he looks across the room and sees Yuta sitting at a secluded booth, nearly hidden in the corner. He has his hands folded atop a closed menu, chin raised, waiting for Taeyong. When their eyes meet, he smiles. 

Taeyong sits down across from him and they stare at each other for a second. Yuta is just as strikingly beautiful as he’s always been, but Taeyong notices he’s a little dressed down. His jewelry is simple, his attire clean, his makeup light. Unlike their first meeting in that bar, he isn’t trying to turn Taeyong on. His charm is muted today; he’s in his natural state, instead of trying to exude an air of tongue-in-cheek sexiness like he seems to do almost every other day. He’s not Nakamoto Yuta, wildly popular j-rock star. He’s just Yuta.

“Hi,” Taeyong says softly, and Yuta smiles even bigger. It’s not that sharp, sly smile that sends goosebumps scattering across Taeyong’s skin. It’s sweet and gentle and floods his eyes with warmth.

“Hi,” Yuta replies. “It’s good to see you.” A slight pause, then, “It’s really good to see you.”

“You, too,” Taeyong says.

“Thank you for giving me another chance,” Yuta says. “I still don’t really know what I’m doing, but—I don’t know. I’m not as scared anymore.”

Taeyong smiles. “Thank you for being brave enough to say something first,” he says. “We can talk about it later, when we’re alone, okay? Right now, I want to enjoy a meal with you.”

“I think we can make that happen,” Yuta agrees, a hint of his usual self coming through. “Do you want to look over the menu and pick a few things out, or do you want me to order?”

“You know better, you should order,” Taeyong says. “I think it would just stress me out, trying to choose.”

Yuta laughs. “Okay. Anything you know you like? Or know you hate?”

“Yellowtail is always good,” Taeyong says. “And eel.”

Yuta nods, opening his menu. Taeyong browses the drink selection while Yuta makes his decisions, sneaking looks at him every few seconds. 

Yuta notices. “What?” he asks quietly.

Taeyong tips his head to this side. “I like you this way, too,” he says. “You look soft.”

The look Yuta gives him is sheepish. “It’s for you only,” he says, “so don’t go telling people. I have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

Taeyong giggles. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he promises.

A waiter comes to take their order, returning shortly with their drinks. They chat—about Taeyong’s flight, their last projects, their friends. Taeyong delicately avoids how murderous Doyoung still was when he left; he hopes pictures of Yuta spoiling him will be enough to soothe his outrage. 

“You should meet my friends,” Yuta suggests. “It’s only fair, since I met yours. Plus, one of them in particular is dying to meet you. Actually, he’s a lot of the reason I reached out in the first place.” He laughs softly. “His name’s Shotaro. Unlike me, he’s got his head screwed on right, so, you know.”

Taeyong giggles. “I’d love to meet him,” he says earnestly. 

Their food comes out, and Taeyong spends the next twenty or thirty minutes completely lost for words, lost in how good the sushi is. Yuta watches him fondly, insisting he take the last piece of everything, placing them on Taeyong’s plate before Taeyong can finish chewing and argue. Taeyong feels warmth rise to his chest, his cheeks. It’s not from the drinks. It’s this—them, together, in a way they haven’t been before. It’s new, and Taeyong thinks he likes it. 

Yuta’s manager retrieves them once they’re done. “It’s good to see you again, Taeyong,” she says, and Taeyong has to wonder just how much of this she knows. Regardless, her welcome seems genuine, and Taeyong dips his head in thanks.

Though the ride to Yuta’s is pretty high-spirited, the energy leaves them as they get into the elevator. Yuta quiets, watching Taeyong. Taeyong watches him back. It’s not a bad change; Taeyong knows they both knew they would have to talk everything though once they got back to Yuta’s place.

Yuta’s place in Osaka is much more understated than his apartment in Tokyo. Here, it’s a simple one-bedroom overlooking the river on one side and the street on the other. The design is much more traditional, with light wood finishes and muted decor. Taeyong finds he likes it; it’s comforting where Yuta’s Tokyo residence is sexy. 

Yuta locks up behind them, helps Taeyong with his things, files their shoes away. He pads over to his living room, gesturing for Taeyong to follow, dropping down into one of his couches and patting the cushion beside him. Taeyong sits.

“I want to explain myself a little,” Yuta says after a moment. “Not because I want you to think better of me, but because I need you to understand that the way I went about all of this had nothing to do with you.” Taeyong nods, waiting. “I’m usually someone who… sleeps around, I guess. I’ve basically had a consistent string of hookups ever since the start of my career. I’m known for being a bit of a playboy—and my fans like that about me. They think it’s fun, sexy. They hope the next NDA I sign will have their name on it, because it might.” Yuta runs his hand through his hair. “You’re not the first person I’ve arranged a meet-cute with. You know what I said—I know what I want, and I know how to get it. I wanted you, and I made that happen. But…” He trails off, and Taeyong realizes he’s nervous.

He takes one of Yuta’s hands, squeezing it gently. “What?” he prompts softly.

“Usually, you know, we’ll sleep together, and I might travel to see them again like I did with you, but it doesn’t last for longer than a few months, and it’s never meant to be more than that—just sex, and company. And…” Yuta shrugs. “I was fine with that. I knew I was years away from even being able to think about settling down, if I am ever able to settle down in the traditional sense at all. It was fun, and it kept me entertained.

“But then, I came to visit you. What happened between us last time you were here, I could write that off as infatuation. You are exceptionally handsome, Taeyong, you’re pretty and you’re a very good fuck, and you’re sweet and funny and kind,” Yuta says. “So if I was getting a little giddy about you, that was fine, it was natural. But then I saw you again, and I stepped into your life, your world. I met your friends. I worked with you. And all of a sudden, it wasn’t infatuation anymore. It was something else. And that was weird for me.” Yuta’s biting a nail, looking at Taeyong through his bangs. “I even considered asking my manager to fabricate an emergency and bring me home early, except I didn’t want to abandon our collab. And I didn’t want to abandon you.

“I thought, okay, I can stick it out to the end of this vacation, and then we’ll have some time apart when we’re both busy, and I’ll be able to cool down,” he continues. “But I didn’t. I thought about you all the time, I mean—I still do. I found myself wishing I had a different life. I wished we’d never met, I was kicking myself for setting up that stupid meeting, because then none of this would have happened, and I wouldn’t have been in such turmoil.” He squeezes Taeyong’s hand back, taking a deep breath. “And then we had that call, and it just—I couldn’t tell you any of it, how could I? I never thought I would be this kind of person, the kind that—lets emotion get in the way. And I think I was angry at myself and displaced that on you, blamed you for it when really, it’s nobody’s fault. It’s just what happens when—” Another breath “—when you find someone who you really care about, who makes you happy, who makes you better.” He huffs out laughter. “It’s a silly way to treat someone so precious, right? But I didn’t know what to do. So I said things—some true, some not—and hoped they would make you angry enough that you would never want to speak to me again, and I could wallow in peace.”

“Well, you very nearly succeeded,” Taeyong says drily, and Yuta exhales a weak laugh.

“I know,” he says. “But somehow, something I didn’t count on was that you might be feeling the same kinds of things. And that ate at me over the next couple of weeks. It was fine if I was left to suffer alone, and pay for my stupidity, but—it felt cruel and stupid if you were suffering, too. Eventually, I spilled all of this to Shotaro, who let me talk until I was tired. And you know what he said?”

Taeyong blinks. “What?”

“‘I’ve always admired you for being independent, and not letting other peoples’ expectations rule your decisions,’” Yuta quotes, “‘but now you’re losing yourself to an image you built when you were young, and have spent your entire career striving to live up to.’ Literally, that. Seared into my memory, because it was absolutely wild to hear from him. He’s usually all simple sentences and giggles, you know?” Yuta shakes his head. “There’s something humbling about being put in your place by someone you consider a mentee.” He looks at Taeyong. “And he was right. I’ve… gotten lost in my own shadow, I think. And it took nearly ruining things with you to bring me back to reality. So,” he says, taking Taeyong's other hand as well, “I’d like to apologize again, of course. I’m sorry for this giant mess. I know you won’t let me accept full responsibility for it, but I’m still very sorry. But just as much as I’m sorry, I’m also grateful for you, too. I don’t know if you’ll ever know how much.”

Taeyong shakes his head, some swell of emotion filling his chest. “You’ve taught me just as much about myself,” he says. “You don’t have to thank me for anything. I wanted—I wanted to thank you, really. I’ve spent the last few years empty and hopeless. I was happy with my success, but I kind of thought… that would be it. Like, my life now is all I would ever have. And then I met you, and everything changed. And I think I was almost hoping you could save me, even though that’s not something anybody could do. And I got angry when I found out you couldn’t. So I’m sorry, too.”

“Still, it’s…” Yuta’s expression twists. “I was cruel. I don’t know if I can forgive myself for that.”

“I can,” Taeyong says simply. Yuta’s brows crumple further. “I can,” he repeats, hoping Yuta will be able to internalize it. “You didn’t mean it, and everything you’ve done since then has proven it.” He lifts a shoulder. “I like to think that our first response to something is more representative of how the world has taught us to be, and then how we manage that first response is who we really are.” He leans in. “I’ve seen who you really are now, Yuta. And I like you a lot.”

“Are you sure about that?” Yuta asks.

“Very,” Taeyong says. “You’re kind, and you’re a very hard worker, and you have an innate sense of justice that, even when you lose your balance because life’s gotten hard, brings you back to your center very quickly, and compels you to right any wrongs. You’re a very bright person, and you want compassion and gentleness so much, even if you think you don’t deserve it, even if it also scares you. But, uh, that’s basically like everyone else I’ve ever met. Myself included.”

“Thank you,” Yuta says quietly, leaning forward, too. Their foreheads brush.

“Mm,” Taeyong hums, an acceptance of his gratitude. “And… I don’t know how this is supposed to work in the long term. Maybe one day, things will be better, and we can reveal this to the public. But honestly…” He pauses, thinking about his fans, thinking about everything he shares with them, thinking about all that they know. “I don’t mind so much that we can’t, really. I mean, of course I’m scared of the consequences, but it’s okay with me, to just keep it to ourselves.”

Yuta kisses him, soft and sweet. Taeyong gives a little giggle of surprise, muffled against Yuta’s lips. “I’m okay with that, too,” Yuta says when they break apart. “Just because it’s different doesn’t mean what we have isn’t worth as much.”

Taeyong nods his agreement. “I don’t need other people to know about it in order for it to feel real,” he says. He searches Yuta’s eyes and sees nothing but hope and joy there, warm and pure. “I know it’s real to you, and I know it’s real to me, and that’s all that matters. Is that okay for now?”

Yuta nods. “I think we can make that work,” he says, a flicker of his usual smile on his face.

“Great.” Taeyong kisses him again, just a swift peck, before standing. “Show me around your place,” he says. “We can talk about it more tomorrow if we want, but I think all we can really do is just hope for the best and see how it pans out now.”

“Yeah,” Yuta agrees, standing too and giving himself a little shake. “Okay, c’mon.”

He points out a couple of things, showing Taeyong how to operate the shades and how to move the sliding doors installed in each room before leading him down to his bedroom. Like the rest of his apartment, it’s simple and clean. His bed is resting just above the floor on wood slats with a short bamboo bedside table next to it. Taeyong realizes now how tired he is from traveling, the coziness of the room enveloping him in a sort of sleepy calm.

Yuta can tell. “Let’s get you a change of clothes. Do you want to rinse off before we go to bed?” 

Taeyong nods; though he showered after his flight, he knows he’ll sleep better if he’s freshly clean. Yuta grabs sleep stuff for the both of them, and then brings Taeyong to the bathroom where they shower quickly before drying off and tugging on big shirts. Yuta gets Taeyong settled in bed and then clicks off the light, shuffling his way back to the bed in the dark.

“Tomorrow,” Yuta murmurs once he has Taeyong curled up next to him the way he wants, “I think we’ll just spend the day, you and me. There’s a park nearby I think you’ll like. There’s koi ponds and things.”

“It sounds nice,” Taeyong agrees. He takes one of Yuta’s hands and brings it to his lips. “I think I’ll like it, too.”

Yuta kisses his hair. “And then maybe later this week you can meet Shotaro.” He shrugs; Taeyong can feel the movement behind him. “We can do whatever. I’m just glad you’re here.”

Taeyong giggles sleepily. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

ϟ ϟ ϟ

Taeyong wakes to the sound of birds. He realizes with a start that it’s been a while since he’s heard birdcall—he lives in a city, and is always traveling to other cities, and the bustle of a downtown always drowns out everything else. But Yuta’s place is a little removed from the noise of a city, and Taeyong can hear the birds singing.

Yuta is still asleep; Taeyong wants to turn and look at him, but their bodies are far too entangled for him to do so without the risk of waking him up. So Taeyong contents himself with finding one of Yuta’s hands and running his thumb over it, soft and slow. 

He wishes he could go back to just a few weeks ago, when everything felt hopeless, when he was sure he would never be happy, when he thought he could never have anything like this, and tell himself everything was going to be alright. It wasn’t easy getting here, certainly, but it was worth it. Still, it would be nice to be able to spare himself a little heartache.

He’s not sure how long he lies there, listening to the outside world wake, listening to the gentle sound of Yuta’s breath. Maybe an hour passes, and then Yuta stirs behind him with a sudden deep inhale. He feels him kiss the top of his head.

“G’morning,” Taeyong whispers, finally able to wriggle around and face him.

“Morning,” Yuta murmurs back, lifting his arm so Taeyong has room to turn, and leaning in and giving him a kiss once he’s settled again. “Sleep okay?”

“Mm-hm,” Taeyong hums, nodding. He smiles. “You?”

Yuta nods, kissing him again. “How hungry are you?” he asks.

“Only kinda,” Taeyong replies.

“Good,” Yuta says, and pushes himself up, pulling his arm free from underneath Taeyong’s neck. Another kiss. “Can I fuck you, honey?”

Heat rises to Taeyong’s skin instantly. “Oh,” he murmurs, smiling bigger. “Yes. Please.”

Yuta is on all fours now; he bends to kiss down the column of Taeyong’s throat. His movements are lazy, but Taeyong can feel the intent behind them. His eyes are almost reverent when he raises his head, though it’s guarded, like he’s not sure if he wants Taeyong to see it yet. That’s okay, Taeyong decides. It’ll be an adjustment for him, an adjustment for the both of them. Taeyong is patient; he can wait.

Yuta stretches out to find the lube. Taeyong watches him quietly, sinking further into the comfort of Yuta’s bed. He realizes he’s never felt this calm with Yuta before—they’re usually rushing for some reason, either reeling with the eagerness of seeing each other again after missing each other, or else frantic with the knowledge that it could very well be one of the last times they ever see each other.

But neither of those things are here today. It’s gentler—there’s no need to hurry. Neither of them have schedules today, and they know now that this—whatever it is they have, however nebulous—isn’t going away anytime soon. Yuta sits back, holding the lube, and Taeyong spreads his legs, letting his head loll to the side. 

Yuta rucks his shirt up, placing a few kisses down his stomach before focusing his attention a little lower. Taeyong draws in an unsteady breath, raising a hand to Yuta’s hair as Yuta kisses the head of his cock and then presses his tongue to it, licking up the underside before taking him in his mouth fully and sinking back down on it, cheeks hollowing. Taeyong sighs, letting the pleasure come, soft and quiet, dripping through his body, slow but sure until it’s all he can feel. 

Yuta keeps his mouth on him, uncapping the lube and slicking up a finger without looking, finding Taeyong’s entrance easily and sinking a finger in. Taeyong hardly notices the discomfort of the intrusion, too focused on Yuta’s tongue. What he does register a few minutes later is how good it feels when Yuta brushes past his prostate, and he moans without meaning to, fighting to stop his hand in Yuta’s hair from tightening into a fist. 

Yuta pulls off his cock when he adds a second finger, more interested in opening him up than getting him off. Taeyong doesn’t mind; he’s not sure he could manage more than one orgasm right now unless he was given four hours to nap after, so he hums, letting his hand drop to the mattress as Yuta sits up. 

“Opening right up for me,” Yuta murmurs when he adds a third finger. “So good, like always.” He kisses the point of Taeyong’s knee.

“Missed you,” Taeyong replies simply, and Yuta nods his understanding. 

“I’m all yours now,” he says. “I’ll fuck you whenever you want.”

Taeyong decides not to point out it’s less of a matter of when he wants, and more about whether or not his body can take it. If it was the former, Taeyong’s not sure he would be doing much else for his entire trip. He hums affirmatively instead, trying to hide his smile. 

Yuta works his fingers in and out, faster and faster until Taeyong’s taken fistfuls of the sheets, until the glide is smooth and wet and easy. He pulls his fingers out, smiling at Taeyong’s soft protests at the loss, drizzling a little bit of lube into his palm and spreading it over his cock.

“Ready?” he teases.

“I’m gonna kick you if you don’t put it in,” Taeyong replies, no heat behind the threat.

Yuta laughs, lining himself up, head of his cock bumping against Taeyong’s hole. “No need to get feisty,” he says. “I’ll always give you what you want.”

He prepped Taeyong well; it’s easy for him to push into the wet heat of Taeyong’s body. Taeyong whines happily as Yuta bottoms out. He feels so nice and full; Yuta’s just right, the weight of his cock heavy but not painful. Yuta leans in and kisses Taeyong’s jaw, circling his hips a little. 

“Oh, god, Yuta,” Taeyong whispers.

Yuta hums into his skin, clearly amused. “Kinda wanna be mean,” he murmurs. “Be rough with you, make you cry.” Taeyong whimpers; he kind of wants it too. “But we have a whole day, so I think that can wait till tonight. How’s that sound?”

“Okay,” Taeyong agrees. 

“Right now I’m just gonna make you feel good,” Yuta promises, then draws his hips back, slow, before pushing back in. The drag of it is delicious; it sings across Taeyong’s skin, raising goosebumps even though he’s still half-under the duvet. Yuta goes a little faster, but not much, instead making sure each thrust is deep and hard and hits Taeyong’s prostate every time. 

Taeyong’s head is swirling. He clenches around Yuta, hands finding Yuta’s arms and clinging while Yuta rocks his hips, lips and tongue and teeth on Taeyong’s clavicle. And that’s fine, too—no reason for anyone to see those marks, not if Taeyong just finds a shirt with a high enough neckline. A strange emotion has worked its way into the mix, and it takes Taeyong a few moments to realize it’s happiness, pure and simple. His next moan comes out different around the shape of his smile. 

“Yuta,” he breathes. “Kiss me.”

Yuta doesn’t hesitate, raising his head and pressing his lips to Taeyong’s, teeth scraping, not hard enough to really hurt. One of Yuta’s hands comes up to cradle Taeyong’s head, and Taeyong leans into it. He wants as many points of contact as possible. Really, he thinks he’d be happiest if they were touching everywhere, but this is good enough.

Whatever angle Yuta’s found is Taeyong’s new favorite, he’s pretty sure. He’s so deep, Taeyong swears he can feel him in his stomach, maybe higher. It’s going to leave an ache that he’ll definitely still be feeling tonight, but that’s good. It’s also gonna ache when Yuta comes that deep, but that’s good, too. Taeyong is his, after all, finally really his. 

Yuta pulls back, wiping some spit away from Taeyong’s lips with his thumb. Taeyong flicks his tongue out, and Yuta smiles, pushing his thumb into Taeyong’s mouth and hooking it in the inside of his cheek. Taeyong lets out a garbled moan, blinking slow and pretty. 

“I’m glad you’re gonna be here for a couple of weeks,” Yuta says. “So much I want to do to you.”

Taeyong’s not sure exactly what thought has sparked in Yuta’s mind, but he is sure that whatever it is, he’s going to like it. He swirls his tongue over Yuta’s thumb, making a soft “ah-huh” noise out of the back of his throat and hoping that Yuta understands this means he wants it.

Yuta drops down to his elbow so it’s easier for him to kiss down Taeyong’s chest, closing his mouth around one of his nipples and flicking his tongue across it. Pleasure sparks across Taeyong’s skin, sending tremors across his whole body. Yuta hums, and the vibrations make Taeyong gasp.

Taeyong reaches down to touch himself, but Yuta shakes his head, pulling off his chest. “Think you can come just on my cock?” he asks. “You just always look so pretty like that.”

Taeyong nods as best he can, letting his hand rest on his stomach instead. It’ll take a little longer, but if Yuta’s not in a rush, then neither is he. Yuta moves to his other nipple, tongue quick and practiced, and Taeyong clenches helplessly around him, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing around Yuta’s thumb in an effort to stay grounded. 

It’s hard, though. Yuta’s so deep; Taeyong gives soft little gasps every time he moves, involuntarily. It’s almost worse that he isn’t going fast. At least then, Taeyong would have an excuse for getting overwhelmed. But though Yuta keeps his pace lazy, he’s hitting all the right spots. 

So Taeyong gives into it. He lets his eyes roll back, lets his breathing come ragged, lets the sweet little moans that he knows Yuta loves so much spill out of his mouth. Yuta groans softly against his skin. 

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “So good. Always sound so good for me. Never met someone who likes getting fucked as much as you do, it’s perfect.”

Taeyong shivers at the praise, whimpering softly as the pressure in his belly builds and builds. He can feel his body tensing up, and he thinks Yuta can, too. 

He’s right again; Yuta raises his head, eyes hot and dark when they find Taeyong’s. “Close?” he asks. “Gonna come for me, untouched?”

Taeyong nods helplessly. Of course I am, he thinks, hazy. You asked me to, of course I am. Yuta pushes himself back up on his hand, turning the one that’s in Taeyong’s mouth and switching out his thumb for his index and middle finger, pushing them deeper. It’s not enough to make Taeyong gag, but it does make him feel nice and dirty, and he comes with a moan, his release dribbling slowly out over the head of his cock and dripping down onto his stomach. He convinces weakly; it’s always like this when he comes untouched, long and steady and nearly torturous, waves of pleasure that wrack his whole body. 

“So pretty, honey,” Yuta whispers, sounding strained, pulling his fingers out of Taeyong’s mouth and planting that hand on the mattress instead to help keep his balance. 

“Now you,” Taeyong manages, barely audible. “Now you.”

Yuta lets out a breathy groan, stilling deep inside Taeyong as he comes. Taeyong watches his face, the way his eyebrows pinch, eyes squeezing shut, the small curls of hair, damp with sweat, sticking to his neck over the spot where his pulse is jumping. Yuta, his Yuta. 

They stay there for a minute, maybe, until Yuta’s arms start to tremble and he has to pull out, dropping to the side and pressing a kiss to Taeyong’s shoulder. 

“Breakfast?” he whispers. 

The idea of food is honestly repulsive in this moment, so Taeyong shakes his head, making a soft noise of protest. “Let me lie here for a little longer,” he pleads. 

Yuta just laughs, giving him another kiss, this one to the cheek. “Okay, honey.”

They cuddle for maybe ten or fifteen minutes, skin to skin, Taeyong in Yuta’s arms. Taeyong wants to stay longer, thinks he could even fall asleep like this, only he can feel Yuta’s come dripping out of him. He doesn’t mind it necessarily except that he knows it’s making a mess. 

Eventually, the clean freak in him wins over, and he raises his head. “Okay,” he says, “breakfast.” Yuta smiles and releases him, moving to stand. 

Taeyong rolls off the bed, feet finding the floor easily. He pushes himself up to a standing position and nearly falls right back down on the bed as his legs shake. Yuta notices and laughs, coming around the other side of the bed with his hand outstretched.

“Fuck you so good you can’t walk?” he asks cheekily.

Taeyong takes his hand. “Almost,” he admits, willing himself to stay upright long enough to get to the bathroom.

Luckily, his legs grow stronger with each step, so Taeyong doesn’t have to worry about that brand of embarrassment. They rinse the come and sweat off, then return to Yuta’s bedroom to strip the bed, find some pants, and open the blinds.

The sunlight is bright and strong and makes Taeyong wince, but it’s warm and brings the room alive. Yuta giggles at Taeyong’s expression, kissing his forehead and then tugging him towards the door. “Let’s get something to eat,” he says.

Yuta’s kitchen is warm with the same light. Taeyong situates himself on a stool at the breakfast bar, looking out the window at the street below. Yuta sets some broth on the stove and pops a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster while their coffee brews. He passes Taeyong a bowl of raw eggs to whisk so he can scramble them while he finds the cream and sugar.

Taeyong whisks the eggs, thinking. What he and Yuta have, what they want, it’s not going to be easy. He doesn’t know if they’ll ever be able to share this with the public, if he’ll ever have to stop worrying about being discovered. But this, whatever it is, is also incredibly precious and rare. Taeyong doubts he’ll ever find someone like Yuta again in his lifetime—someone he matches well with, someone he cares about. Someone who cares enough about him to do what Yuta’s done—stuff away his pride and show Taeyong that nothing is more important than him. Taeyong won’t be able to let go of that, no matter how difficult things may get.

He passes the bowl of whisked eggs to Yuta, and a few minutes later, a simple breakfast is laid out before him. Taeyong sips at his coffee as Yuta takes the seat beside him, still watching out the window. There’s a young couple walking down the street; as Taeyong watches, the man stops to tie his shoe. His girlfriend realizes a few paces away, and turns to come back and wait by his side. When he stands, he kisses her briefly and she laughs. Taeyong can almost hear it, the joy there. She takes his hand, and they continue on their way.

“Sometimes,” Taeyong blurts, “I wish I had a different life.” He nods at the couple. “One like that.” Yuta looks, and smiles faintly. “Do you think—“ Taeyong hesitates, then plows on, “maybe in another universe somewhere—we have a life like that?”

Yuta’s smile grows; he turns and fixes his gaze on Taeyong. “You know,” he says, nodding, “for a while there I was considering auditioning at Korean entertainment agencies.” He shrugs. “Maybe in another universe, you aren’t a solo artist, but part of a group. And maybe in that universe, I did audition, and maybe I ended up in that group too.”

Taeyong giggles. “I’d like that, I think,” he says, imagining it. Maybe in that universe, Johnny and Doyoung and Kun are part of that group, too. It would certainly be less lonely, working side by side with his friends, sleeping in the same dorm, touring together. “Or—maybe in another universe, we’re not people at all. We’re two outdoor cats who live in the same neighborhood, and we make friends and bring our owners together, like in a rom-com.”

Yuta laughs brightly, head tipping back. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind being a house cat in another universe,” he agrees.

They’re quiet for a moment. The ghost of Taeyong’s laughter is still sitting in his chest. He looks at Yuta, at the man who changed everything. Yuta, his Yuta. “I don’t think I’d really mind what I was,” he says softly, “as long as you were there, too.”

There’s a moment of stillness, then Yuta reaches across the space between them and kisses him. He almost elbows his coffee off the table in the process, but he doesn’t, and it doesn’t matter anyway because they’re both laughing into the kiss.

“Yeah,” Yuta says when they break apart. “I think so, too.”

#cznnet #nct-writers #neowritingsnet #neosmutcollective #ksmutclub #works #yutae #nct #yuta #taeyong #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction #nct smut #yutae fanfic #yuta fanfic #yuta fanfiction #yuta smut #taeyong fanfic #taeyong fanfiction #taeyong smut #yuta x taeyong #taeyong x yuta #yuta/taeyong #taeyong/yuta #taeyongxyuta #yutaxtaeyong #yuta x taeyong fanfic #yuta x taeyong fanfiction #yuta x taeyong smut #lee taeyong

[mokitariau]

one last summerㅣseventeen.

“greece, my heart is yours”.

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one last summer masterlist.

#yuta nakamoto #yuta #yuta nct #nct #social media au #yuta social media au #yuta imagine #yuta scenario #yuta fanfiction

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ❞

❝ PROF GETO BROKE YOUR HEART & NOW YUTA IS HOT ?? ❞

✧ pairing: prof!suguru geto x f!reader (& grad student! yuta x f!reader)

✧ summary: after suguru leaves you broken hearted, yuta's there for you when you're putting your heart back together, and he's not sure when or if he even wants you to tell you how you feel. but what happens when you start to realize your feelings?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut , fluff, angst, depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader and yuta are grad students, but age is vague, dealing with a breakup, fingering (f! receiving), handjob (m! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, art by @ / polariae (who is incredible and everyone should go follow them now!!)

✧ wc: 12,464

Yuta felt as if he was always running late — for everything. 

He had transferred into this university a year into his schooling, he was always running late to meetings, and he was too late when he fell for you. 

But he seemed to have good timing in this moment — as he ran into you, as why was it he could always find you effortlessly without trying, but there was no smile on your lips when you met his gaze, but only tears — if only so he could comfort you. 

He says your name, as he stops you gently, fingers brushing against your shoulders, as your gaze falls to the ground, “What happened? Are you—” 

“Yuta, I’m sorry, I have to go—” but he stops you for a moment. 

“If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s completely fine, but can I call someone?” he says gently, he could see the tears slipping off your cheeks, even as you attempted to wipe them away, “I don’t think you should be alone—” 

And then you’re hugging him, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I shouldn’t—but I—” 

His arms go around you gently, “It’s okay, don’t apologize, I’m here for you,” and he doesn’t know what else to do but stand there with you, as curious gazes of passersby watched the two of you, “come on, let’s go somewhere more private.” 

~~~

When had he fallen for you? It was hard to say, but apparently easy to see. 

“So did you tell her you like her?” And Yuta nearly spits his drink out when Maki asks him that after one of the student government meetings. She sipped at the can of black coffee, nonchalantly, her eyebrows raised at his sputtering. He wipes his mouth, a slight glare in his gaze, “based on that reaction, I would say no,” 

“What are you talking—“ and your name leaves Maki’s lips, and his cheeks flush, ears burning, as he presses his knuckles to his lips, unable to meet her gaze, “was it that obvious?” 

“To a person with eyes,” and his gaze snaps to her, a question on his lips, “no, she doesn’t know,” 

Yuta slumps back in the chair he was sitting in, as he sets his drink down on the round table, “how can I tell her? She has a boyfriend,” 

“One that she doesn’t even see that often,” Maki leans back in her chair, “I’ll give you some unsolicited advice, Yuta — if you keep having these feelings and don’t do anything about it, you’ll regret it,” 

But how could he do anything when he already knew you were struggling? It wasn’t enough that your boyfriend was far away, but he didn’t seem to make time to come see you — even on your birthday — but to push his feelings on you on top of that. It wasn’t fair. 

So he had to settle on being your friend, just your friend. 

“What happened?” He asks again when the two of you get to a secluded corner of campus, a bench far enough away, as you sniffled, wiping your tears and murmuring apologies, “you don’t have to talk about it—“ 

And you shake your head, “My boyfriend, he, uh, broke up with me,” and he stares at you — your voice wavering as you speak, “I just, didn’t expect that to, you know—“ 

Yuta tilts his head, speaking softly, “Why don’t I take you back to your apartment?” 

So he does, taking the quick metro ride there, as your fingers brush his as the two of you walk beside each other. The silence hangs as comfortably as it can, your eyes straight ahead, as he sneaks glances at you. He wants nothing more than to take your hand, to tell you it would be okay, but he couldn’t — he didn’t want to overstep. It had already been hard enough to contain his feelings when you were with someone — and now that you weren’t — he wanted nothing more than to love you as you deserved to be loved. 

But it wasn’t his love you wanted — and it wasn’t what you needed either. 

You needed a friend, not a lover, more than ever. 

“Thank you for bringing me home, Yuta,” you mumble, shaking your head, “I’m sorry, I’m such a mess — I’m not being—“ 

“You don’t have to be anything, you’re fine,” he says softly, as you fumble with your keys, “do you want company?” 

You give a terse chuckle, as you unlock the door, “I’m not the best company right now, Yuta,” 

And he could have told you that you were the company he always wanted, the company he never would say no to — good or bad — but he couldn’t. So he said something else. 

“Then I guess I’ll have to make up for it by being very good company,” and you give a watery laugh, shaking your head, as you hesitate, glancing over your shoulder. 

“Are you sure?” And he only steps past you into your apartment, as he smiles. 

“Come on, I’ll order us dinner and you can put on an…interesting movie again,” and your lips quirk up as you step past him into the apartment. 

He couldn’t be more than a friend — not now — but maybe at some point. But he would be happy to just be in your life. 

That was enough. 

~~~

He wasn’t enough, Suguru sat in the train, the sun long set on Tokyo as he watched the city fade into the distance — as he leaned his face against the glass of the window. He had taken a late train back to Kyoto — one of the last — he could have taken an earlier one, but he had lost track of time. 

How long did he stand there? 

It felt like hours — minutes had ticked by as such, but he knew it was long enough for him to miss several trains by the time he had left for the station. It was long enough that he saw you disappear in the distance, Yuta assumedly in tow. 

It was right — it was what was necessary. That’s what he told himself as he watched the scenery move past him in seconds, but it felt as if time had stood still. He could hear the soft snores and quiet murmuring of the sparse passengers among the train, the footsteps of others as they walked up and down the aisle, and the steady shudder of the train as it ran along to its destination. But still, it felt as if he was still trapped behind glass in that moment, he watched himself drop your heart, watched it shatter beneath his feet, and he didn’t go after you. 

Why didn’t go after you? 

He asked himself again and again — but the only answer amongst the buzzing white noise that had only served to numb his mind to the pain was that it was necessary. 

He had always known you had a bright future — you could anywhere, lecture overseas, do fellowships or a Phd program, or even become a professor elsewhere. But when he had spoke to Yaga, it had solidified in his mind even more so — he wasn’t giving you what you needed and he was holding you back while he was at it. 

And the worse part was he knew you would never blame him — not for a minute. You would try to make it work. Long distance, giving opportunities up, or even choosing him over yourself. And he couldn’t abide letting you give up what you wanted for him — even if it wasn’t what you would have chosen. Because he knew you would always choose him. 

So he had to be the one to choose you. 

He needed to leave you behind, just as he had left Tokyo. He had made his choice, and now he had to live with it — and live without you. 

It was necessary. It was right — he shut his eyes, leaning against the window beside his seat, tears burning at the corners, as a tear rolled past hidden behind his hand  — so why did it feel so wrong to be without you? 

~~~

You didn’t want to wake up.  

You pulled the comforter over your head, finding refuge underneath the plush duvet, and wondering if it was possible to stay under here long enough for your problems to disappear. But you knew the pain would remain, but even so, you sought the sweet escape of sleep — if only for a few hours, you didn’t have to feel this heartache, you didn’t have to remember this. 

You didn’t have to remember him. 

And then there’s a knock on your door, a persistent knock that draws you from the arms of your only oasis under your sheets, and you drag yourself from bed, your eyes aching from your tears from last night. 

Fuck, you rubbed at your eyes. You glanced at the couch, finding no one there — when did Yuta leave last night? You couldn’t remember — and you’re dead on your feet as you find your way to the door, opening it without a thought. 

And your breath caught.  

“Suguru?” you stared, as he stood in front of you, bouquet of flowers in hand. You stumbled over your words as gracefully as you had gotten out of bed, as his arms wrapped around you. You stood motionless for a moment before melting into his touch, tears burning at your eyes yet again, “what are you doing here? Why—“ 

“What do you mean?” he murmurs, running his fingers through his hair, “you know I can’t stand to spend more than a few hours away from you,” and you’re burying your face in his chest, biting back the urge to sob then and there. 

You kept your tone as even as you can manage as you pull away, “Suguru, you said—“ 

“I know I’m early, but we can just spend some time together before we head out—“ 

And you’re shaking your head, “Head out where?” 

He furrows his brow in confusion, a chuckle escaping his lips, “Did you forget? You’re the one who insisted that we should be early — you kept saying we couldn’t be late,”

“To what?” 

“Our engagement party,” he takes your hand gently intertwining your fingers to show you the ring you wore — and you’re staring at it, as he presses sweet kisses to each of your knuckles, “now shouldn’t you get ready? Or are you the one who’ll make us late?” 

“Suguru—“ and his lips find yours in a gentle kiss, warmth blooming from his touch alone, your fingers finding purchase on his shoulder. For a second, it’s real and it’s right — Suguru has found his way back to you. 

Right? 

And his lips part from yours, his fingers brushing your cheek, “I love you,” he murmurs, saying your name again and again and—

A hand brushes your shoulder and you jolt awake, your hand slapping whatever had touched you away, as your fingers grasped at your comforter. You blinked, as your breath slowed, and you had found yourself in bed—

Again. 

And another mutter of your name snaps your gaze up to find Yuta standing a foot from your bedside now, his brow wrinkled, holding his hand in the other—

Fuck. 

“Oh my god, Yuta, I’m sorry — I was having a—“ you cut off a moment, you didn’t know whether to call it a dream or a nightmare, “just, I’m sorry,” you cover your face with your hands, “I barely remember getting into bed last night,” 

He waves you off, “It’s ok, I know you had a rough night,” he offers a small smile, “I had to help you into bed — you were a little out of it, so I just stayed on the couch,” 

You groan, wishing you could burrow into the Earth and never emerge, “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again—I’m sorry I made you stay—“ 

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says softly, “I’m your friend — I’m here for you,” and you swallow, tears burning at your eyes again, “s-sorry, did I?” 

And you shake your head before slipping out of bed and hugging him, “Thank you, Yuta, really,” and he wrapped his arms around you tentatively, “I think you’re my best friend,” 

You were so lucky to have him — especially when you needed someone the most. 

“Of course,” he murmured, and you didn’t not know his heart was aching ever so slightly, “you’re mine too.” 

~~~

“Do you want to talk about what happened with…your boyfriend?” Yuta knew the only way you would be able to heal is by talking about it — and that’s the one thing you had avoided doing all weekend. Sure you talked — but about the movies you were watching, about classes, about anything — then what had happened.

You hadn’t brought it up since that morning, you had washed up and it was as if he had imagined what had happened. You made breakfast, you put on a movie, and you joked about his allegedly questionable restaurant choices. But not a word about your dream or about your breakup. 

But he knew he had to ask. 

You were just coming off laughing at something that had happened in the rom-com you had switched on, and your lips fell into a seamless frown, as if the facade of happiness melted off with his words. 

Your gaze falls, arms tightening around the cushion in your lap, a bitter chuckle falling from your lips, “does anyone ever want to talk about their breakup?” 

He furrows his brow, “Bottling it up won’t help you heal from it — the only way is to let it out, and I can’t tell you what to do but—“ he bites his bottom lip, your eyes never lifting to meet his, “I know you need to let it out, one way or another,” 

You pause a moment, as you press your face against the cushion, “It hurts too much, Yu, I don’t know if I can,” 

“It doesn’t have to be now, I just want you to—“ 

“We were long distance,” and he’s opening his mouth to cut you off, but you shake your head, “you’re right — if I don’t talk about it now, I never will,” 

So you told him. Told him how you both had gotten together right before your boyfriend had received a job offer that required him to move, how the two of you decided to date regardless, and how you continued to be long distance even after he started. 

“It just got harder to see each other, and he ran late on my birthday but I didn’t care—“ and Yuta tilts his head, “I mean, I did care — but I knew it was temporary. I was going to graduate and move to be with him—“ and your nails dig into the soft fabric of the cushion, “but it didn’t matter. He thought it was for the best — for my best interest — that we break up,” 

He furrows his brow. This, the crying and heartache, was for your best interest? “Why—“ 

“Because he thought I was limiting my options, that he wasn’t a good enough boyfriend — one that I deserved,” you shake your head, tossing the cushion aside on the couch, “but he didn’t understand — I just wanted him—I knew it would be different when we were together—“ your voice breaks, “but he didn’t want to wait.” 

Yuta lets you talk and lets you rant and cry — until you’re asleep after lunch, taking a nap on the couch beside him. And he wonders if this is helping, but at least you’re sleeping now — he spotted the bags under your eyes when he saw you wake in the morning — as if you had spent the entire night tossing and turning. 

Was this okay for him? He wasn’t expecting anything — aside from your friendship. He didn’t think you were going to wake up and fall in love only because he did what a friend should do. But was it okay for him to be here? 

Because he couldn’t quash the little bit of hope that inched its way into the crevice of his heart that maybe you’d heal from this — maybe you would be able to get over this and you’d see him, as more than a friend or a best friend. He wanted to think he would do this even if he didn’t have feelings for you — it would probably be easier if he didn’t. 

But the facts stand that his motivation was corrupt — he chuckled, fuck, even the philosophy you had dosed him with, during your meals and student government meetings, was infecting his mind. Motivation mattered — because if you know or expect a reward from doing something, no matter how hard you try, your motivation will always be just that,

And his eyes slide to you — fast asleep as he grabs the throw blanket on your couch and gently places it over you — but he wouldn’t mind being corrupt, if it meant he could stay with you. 

~~~

“She broke up with her boyfriend?” Maki raises an eyebrow, placing her drink down, “and you still haven’t told her?” Maki’s judgment pierced through Yuta, even as he couldn’t quite meet her gaze, biting his lip, “what are you waiting for? For her to get back together with him?” 

“Maki, I can’t make a move so soon—she’s vulnerable—“ 

She sighs, leaning back, as she crosses her arms, “Well, you’re a good guy for that, but you need to do something, even if it’s not confessing. You should try spending more time with her, encourage her to open up more—“ 

“I don’t know — I don’t want to overstep—“ 

“Yuta,” Maki cuts him off, “you’re a good guy and you deserve to be happy — you spend a lot of time worrying about other people, and not enough time thinking about yourself. If she’s not ready right now that’s fine, but she might not realize she’s ready until someone helps her to,” she tilts her head, her fingers beginning to toy with the straw of her drink, “I just don’t want to see you regret hesitating,” 

Yuta’s phone went off — your name flashing on the screen, hey, are you free to hang out and watch a movie tonight? Finally finished working on my thesis proposal for the night! 

Maki glances at his phone, raising an eyebrow, “just don’t wait too long, “or you may end up alone, either way.” 

~~~

“I told you we should have gotten dumplings tonight,” you grumble, as the two of you take your takeout back to your apartment, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, “I can’t believe the sushi place was closed,” you pout. 

And Yuta bites back a smile — his cheeks burn — god, you’re so cute. It wasn’t fair. He knew you were just mostly teasing — only so you could have the pick of the movie tonight — which you knew he’d give you anyway. 

The two of you had settled into these weekly movie nights on Fridays, which had a 70% chance of devolving into a weekend of hangouts amidst work for your programs. It had been weeks since your breakup — and your sadness seemed to ebb with each passing day, normalcy seemingly returning. 

“We could have gone there—“ and you give a long, over dramatic sigh, shaking your head. 

“It’s fine, but if this food sucks, I will be holding this over your head,” you bump him with your shoulder, a smile on Yuta’s lips, and right then someone calls out Yuta’s name. The two of you glance back, and Yuta blinks as he spots his friends. 

“Toge, Panda,” Yuta greets them, Toge’s hands raise as he begins to sign— 

Hey, who’s your friend?

Yuta replies, before gesturing to you, introducing you by name, “we’re just headed back to watch a movie—“ and he points from the shorter one to the taller one, “this is Toge and Panda,” Panda flashes a knowing smile, adjusting his leather jacket, head tilting as he gives you a small once over. Toge’s lips are covered with his face mask, his dyed silver hair brushing against his forehead — 

Panda grins between the two of you, “Ah it’s good to meet you — I heard about you from Yuta, and Maki," he adds, while Yuta shoots him a look that he hopes that you don’t notice, “how’s the work in student government? I hope Maki isn’t working you too hard,” but you seem oblivious to it, only smiling between the two of them. 

“No it hasn’t been bad, and Yuta has made it really easy. He’s been a really big help—“ and Panda before leaning over to whisper in Yuta’s ear. 

“You have a chance with her, don’t mess it up,” Panda’s elbowing him, before clapping him on the back, his arm slinking around his shoulders, while Yuta tries to will his blush to leave his cheeks, “well we should let them get going, right, Toge?” and Toge nods, and Yuta only knows Toge has a smile hidden under his mask as well, flashing a thumbs up out of your line of sight, while you glance between Yuta and Panda, “you two love birds have fun!” 

And Yuta stammered, “We’re not together like that,” he’s shooting a glare at Panda’s back as the two of them walk off, waving. And his eyes snuck a glance at you, but you seemed unfazed, only tilting your head — and shit, his head was spinning, heart doing its best to exit via his chest by banging against his ribs. Did you know? Was it obvious? Was this it? 

“I didn’t know you knew sign language,” 

And apparently it wasn’t. 

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I learned when I met Toge in high school,” he offers a forced smile — but relief isn’t the only thing that floods his system, disappointment comes in waves — because again, here he was, right back at the start. 

The two of you continued to chat on the walk back to your apartment, his fingers curled tightly around the handles of the takeout bag as you pulled out your keys, wondering how many more times would he do this — how many more times would he think you realized his feelings only for it to remain unspoken? He was more than okay to stay your friend, but — he watched you open the door to your apartment — would he regret not taking a shot at being something more? 

And as you glanced back at him, a smile on your lips, he knew he would. 

~~~

You didn’t think it would — but it had gotten easier, easier to be without Suguru. 

There were days you still had woken up crying, there were other days you had almost forgotten.  

Almost. 

But now in hindsight, adjusting to life without Suguru hadn’t been much different than being with him the last few months. Not when the two of you had barely seen each other. You had put away his things, tucked away the memories, and picked up the scattered parts of your life —even though you couldn’t find the piece he had taken with him. 

But even so, you had finally felt as if you boarded up the love the two of you had built, one that he had set on fire and burnt the insides to nothing but ash and smoke — the same fire that had you coughing up the broken pieces of your heart — throat burning with his name on the tip of your tongue. 

Even so — your fingers found the dragon pendant under your shirt, some things were harder to let go than others. 

But it shouldn’t be hard, right? Love shouldn’t present so many obstacles — it should be simple, easy — not difficult and tenuous. And that’s all your relationship had been — only due to circumstance, but sometimes that was enough. 

And in your case, it had been too much.  

But you knew you couldn’t have made it through without Yuta. Your eyes slide to him, his face illuminated only by the glow of the TV — lights turned off for the best movie night experience. Or at least not as quickly as you did. He was leaning back against the couch, his head leaning towards your side. 

You bite your lip. Your mind wanders to what Panda had said — love birds — it hadn’t been the first time someone had commented on the two of you together. How many of your friends had made some comments about Yuta, even the ones in student government (Maki in particular had been dropping not so subtle hints)? How many of them had you brushed off without a second thought? 

But now — ever so conscious of his weight beside you on the couch, of every twitch of his fingers, shift of his limbs — you had second thoughts. 

You had tried your best to play off Panda’s comment, and Yuta did the same, the two of you had grown used to dancing around this topic. And before you hadn’t thought of Yuta that way in the slightest— not with everything going on — not with your mind still full of Suguru. 

But now…His eyes softly lit by the bouncing lights of the movie, until they found yours, and somehow growing even softer, as his lips curled. 

“Need something?” When was it that Yuta could make your heart flutter with only a smile? He was a friend — right? Just a friend, but now—

He leans over, your heart squeezing as he does — your eyes nearly fluttering shut, his hand brushing your cheek, only for the barest of touches. And your cheeks burned in the dim light of the TV. 

“You had something on your cheek,” he explains, and you nod, biting your lip — as you snap your gaze away, and a small chuckle on his lips, “What is it?”

What was it about him now? His smile was just a smile, his eyes were just eyes, and his presence was only comfort. And now — his smile made your stomach bloom with butterflies, his eyes were depths you wished to swim in, and his presence gave you comfort but in the loneliest of ways — the gap between you both a cliff you stared down, unable to jump. 

So you shake your head instead, “It’s nothing,” you smile as you press your knuckles to your lips. 

Maybe your head was full of someone else for once. 

~~~

“Do you want to grab dinner tonight?” You ask Yuta — a routine for most other weeknights, as you grabbed your bag, as you wait for him outside the conference room as the student government meeting ended for another week, “I heard this new restaurant opened up near my apartment, and we could hang out at my place after—“ 

“I—“ 

“Yuta?” A cute girl comes up to Yuta, and he smiles as he greets her, she pulls Yuta aside, as he chats with her just out of earshot, her hand grazing his shoulder. 

And your stomach turns, a twinge in your heart as you watch the two — you don’t remember Yuta mentioning her, but then again, Yuta rarely talked about himself, even when you asked. It was like pulling teeth — and now here he was. Now, he was smiling at a girl you knew nothing about. 

What was this feeling? You shifted from foot to foot, restlessness settling over your body as you purse your lips as if to prevent unnecessary words from spilling from your lips. Why did you feel so...helpless? Your arms crossed over your chest as if that would hold you together — keep your heart from falling back into the pieces you had meticulously put back together. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

You watched them talk, as the girl finally seemingly said her goodbye and flashed a small smile your way before disappearing down the hallway. 

“Sorry,” Yuta walks back over, a smile on his lips, but you knew that smile wasn’t for you. Not like before, “yeah let’s grab dinner,” 

And you weren’t the same either—

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you force your lips to curl, as you walk past him, “let’s go,” 

—because you were jealous.

~~~

“Yuta, have you thought about dating?'' Your question comes seemingly out of nowhere one night, right after midterms, and Yuta has to stop himself from spitting out the sip of his tea he had taken, forcing himself to swallow. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you, your eyebrow raising, “you good?” 

“Y-yeah sorry,” he clears his throat, hoping his cheeks weren’t flushed red from that, “why do you ask?” 

“I was just curious because we’ve talked a lot about my dating life, but nothing about yours,” it was late, or rather early—nearly 3 AM on a Saturday night, the two of you were half asleep on the couch, stuck in a stubborn battle of not wanting to sleep quite yet, “you don’t talk a lot about yourself,” 

“There’s not much to say,” he shrugs, and your raised brow tells him you’re not satisfied with his reply, he relents with a sigh, “there was a girl I liked when I was a kid — Rika, we met when I was in the hospital,” and your lips twist into a frown, “I was sick a lot when I was little, and that’s when I met Rika. She lived with her grandparents — her parents both had passed when she was even younger. We were inseparable—“ he gives a soft chuckle, “but then she…” his voice wavers. 

“You don’t have to—“ and he’s shaking his head. 

“We were playing and she went into the street to cross when a car sped by—“ and he shakes his head, “she didn’t make it,” your fingers knit together, before one of your hands finds his.

“You didn’t have to share that if you weren’t ready,” and he’s offering a weak smile, squeezing your hand. 

“I wanted to,” he sighs, as he rubs at his eye, “there’s not much I wouldn’t tell you,” and you supposed that was the difference between him and Suguru — communication that wasn’t limited, a conversation that wasn’t one sided, and honesty — without a price. 

“So there’s been no one else since Rika?” you tilt your head, and you swear you see a twinge of red across his cheeks, dusting his features even in the dim light. 

“Why are you asking?” he says slowly, it feels as if he’s caught you, as your gaze snaps away, a pout on your lips, as you press your knuckles to your lips — and it’s as if he got a hold of your thoughts, “is it because of Kirara earlier?” 

“Oh, that’s her name?” Yuta has to bite back a small smile at your narrowed eyes, unable to meet his gaze, “how do you—” 

“She’s a friend from high school — and she’s dating another old friend from high school,” he adds, and your eyes snap to his, “I don’t like her like that anyway — she’s just a good friend, and likes to give me unsolicited advice on my fashion sense,” 

Your lips curl, “Well you are a little basic in your—” and he cuts you off with a look, and you’re shifting your body to face him fully, “so if it’s not Kirara, you don’t have anyone in mind? Not even a crush?” 

Your question feels like an answer in and of itself — along with the look you’re giving him — the same one he had always given you, when you weren’t looking — longing. But what if he was wrong? What if he was projecting? But he could spend his whole time wondering, and never knowing — or he could take the leap. 

He chews on his bottom lip, and he steels himself, his gaze turning back to you, “and if I said there was?” 

Were you ready for this? Would you ever be ready for this? Suguru still lingered in the back of your mind collecting cobwebs, on the tip of your tongue like a curse unspoken — and yet your forefront was filled with nothing but Yuta — his kindness, his honesty, his straightforward nature — all things you hadn’t gotten from Suguru when it mattered, when it counted. And it would be easy — there would be no complications — other than the complications that always came with relationships and emotions. 

But that was far simpler than what you and Suguru had to deal with. 

“Then I’d ask you,” your fingers reaching across a line that was meant to be crossed, but one that perhaps you shouldn’t anyway, “what are you waiting for?” and your hand finds his — his hand smaller than the one you’re used to, but warmer and softer. 

“I don’t want to rush—” and you’re shaking your head, as your squeeze his hand, fingers laced together, as your thumb runs over his palm. 

“We don’t have to,” you murmur, your gaze finding his, and he’s leaning closer to you, as if with a magnetic pull — and you find yourself attracted and not repelled to his pull, “we can take our time, can’t we?” 

And his lips curl into a small smile, his dark eyes nearly consumed by the shadows underneath them, but somehow as soft as they always were — “Is this a dream?” he murmurs, whisper like, as if his words would ripple across the surface of reality until it disappeared within its depths, “I wanted to tell you for so long — but I didn’t know it if was too soon or if—” 

“I know,” it had been three months, three months since you had your heart broken, but you were tired of wallowing, of trying to put your heart back together by yourself — you may have filled in the cracks, but maybe you needed someone to cement the parts back into one — and maybe Yuta was the one, “and maybe it is, but I want to try,” you admit, “is that wrong?” 

And how could he say it was — when it was all he wanted?” 

“No,” his fingertips brush against your cheek, “maybe it’s just right.” 

~~~

He shifted in his sleep, a warm body pressed against him, his arms slinking around your own, your face buried in his neck in the best way he could imagine. Your fingers raked through his jet black locks, you pressed a sweet kiss to his neck, and a soft groan left his lips. 

“Baby, finally awake?” your lips press a smile against his skin, your finger drawing a circle against his chest, “we have to get up soon, we’ll be late,” you murmur, “and I know how you feel about being late,” your nose brushes against his jumping pulse, “Sugu?” 

Suguru groans softly, burying his face in your hair, “Five more minutes,” and you chuckle against him, his favorite sound that graces his ears, his eyes fluttering shut again, as he surrounds himself in your scent — the notes of lavender and rosemary from your shampoo, “just want to spend a few more minutes with you, sweetheart — I need you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

You hum, rubbing his head softly, fingers curling around one of the locks of his hair, “I don’t recall you gracing me with five minutes when I was late on that first day,” 

He groans, shifting only to bury himself in your chest, pressing soft kisses to the valley between your breasts, nose pressed against the hollow of your throat, the cold metal of the dragon pendant against his cheek, “I wasn’t your boyfriend then,” he’s leaning back only to press a sweet kiss to your lips, again and again — it always felt so right being with you. 

“But you’re not my boyfriend now,” and he pauses, before glancing up at you, your eyes glassy with tears, “remember?” your fingers ghosted over his cheek. 

RING. RING. RING. 

His eyes don’t bother to open as he reaches for his phone, turning off the ringer, before his hand reaches for you, only to find an empty space beside him. He flutters his eyes open, glancing over, and finds your absence beside him. 

It had been months, but you still haunted him—and he would spend the rest of his life running from the ghost of what could have been—and pretending it doesn’t hurt. 

He turns on his side to look away from your side of the bed — even though it still did.

~~~

You stared at the outfits laid out on the bed — practically your entire closet threw up your complete wardrobe, and even so, you couldn’t find a single thing you wanted to wear. Or rather— 

You tossed another blouse onto the pile— you couldn’t find a single thing that didn’t remind you of Suguru. One of these he had said brought out your eyes, the other he had picked out for you, and the other he had taken you out on your one month anniversary for a surprise date. 

There were too many memories — and too many that you didn’t care to relive. Especially today, as your phone goes off — I’ll be on my way over soon. Are you almost ready? 

Fuck. Yuta was on his way almost and you hadn’t even finished picking an outfit. 

By almost ready, do you mean not ready at all? You bite your lip, I know it’s silly but I can’t decide what to wear. 

You dig two outfits out of the bottom of the pile — and stare at them — you didn’t like to wear new outfits on a first date, but maybe this would be a fresh start for you. One where you could leave behind some of the memories tied around your ankles like anchors, dragging you down the depths of waters you didn’t want to explore any longer. 

Your phone goes off again — You’d look amazing in anything — I’ll be there soon. 

Your lips curl at the sight of his text — you choose a dress, tugging your shirt over your head and your shorts down, before pulling the dress down. And you adjust your hair in the mirror, before looking closely at yourself — a glint catching your eyes. 

Your fingers ghost over the dragon pendant — you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to take it off. But maybe it was time — and your hands reach around unclasping the chain before placing it in the palm of your hand. 

Your fingertip traces over the rainbow colored gems — and he wondered if he even still thought of you like you thought of him. It was so easy for him to leave — so did he put you out of his mind while he was at it? You held the necklace over the trash bin next to your vanity — your fingers squeezing at the chain and pendant, as it dug into your skin — should you toss it away like he had with you? 

No —you pulled your hand back — no, you couldn’t. You placed the necklace in the box it came in, tucking it away behind some things. 

You heard your phone go off again, as you spared one last glance at the vanity, where the box was hidden away— 

Because it still meant something to you. Even if it didn’t to him. 

~~~

“You complain about my movies, but the one you chose was much worse,” you say as you unlock your apartment, “that plot line made little to no sense,” 

“If you suspend your disbelief—“ 

You stop, your key hanging from your door, as you stare at him, “I can believe that supernatural powers exist in that universe, but why would the universe entrust these powers to the stupidest people alive?” He snorts, as you continue unlocking the door, as you spare a glance at Yuta who is still fidgeting near your doorway, “you gonna come in?” 

“I-well, I thought since this our first date, maybe I shouldn’t since you wouldn’t do that one a first date,” and you blink, your lips curling, as you watch him trip over his words, cheeks tinged pink, “not that anything would happen if I did come in—but—“ 

You step closer, silencing his words, seemingly stuck in his throat, “You really thought a lot about this, haven’t you?” and your fingers brush his, slowly intertwining with his as you bridge the gap, “I really appreciate it,” 

He bites his lip, eyes sliding sideways, as he does, before he’s tilting his head again, “I just don’t want you rush into anything, and I don’t want us to still feel like—” 

“Just friends I know,” you smile, “well then why don’t we leave it here for tonight, but call me when you get home?” He slowly nods, but he still isn’t leaving, “Yuta?” 

And he steps a little closer, your breath catches, stuck in your lungs, as your chest squeezes when his fingers find your cheek, “Can I kiss you?” And your answer comes before you know it as you nod wordlessly. 

His lips curl into a smile, as he leans closer and your noses bump, a small chuckle escaping your lips before his lips find yours. 

It’s chaste, at first, until his lips find yours in a firmer kiss. He tastes faintly of the salt and butter of the popcorn he just had, and you can feel him smile against your lips, before you both part. 

Your lips curl, “Well that is definitely something I never do with a friend,” 

“You sure?” He murmurs and you hum, as your foreheads press against the other’s, as your fingers intertwine and you tug him inside your apartment. 

“Maybe just the ones I really like.” 

~~~

“You look happy,” Maki notes, as Yuta shows up early to work on a project for student government — it had been a few days since their first date, and Yuta had just gotten a text from you asking if he was coming over tonight. His lips quirked upwards as he told you he’d be there after he finished his work, as his eyes flitted up to find Maki’s, “don’t tell me you actually got the balls to ask her—“ and his eyes won’t quite meet her own, a smile on his lips, “fuck, don’t tell me—” 

“We had our third date last night—” and he earns himself a hard punch to his shoulder, as he jolts, staring at Maki, “ow! Why—” 

“Three dates and you tell me now?” and Yuta’s rubbing his shoulder, as he frowns, “what’s with the face? My punch didn’t hurt that bad,” she takes a seat, and leans back in her chair, as she rifles through the paperwork, 

He shakes his head, “I wasn’t sure if I should be going around telling people — it’s new—” 

“Wouldn’t you be happy to talk about your relationship?” And he’s hesitating, and Maki’s chair legs clack against the floor as she leans forward again, “what are you so scared of still?” 

What was it that he was scared of? That it wouldn’t work out? That he’d lose you before he had even truly had you? That he’d hurt you? And it was true, he was scared of all of those things, but it wasn’t those things holding him back— 

“I saw the way she talked about her ex, the smile she had when she would come off talking about him,” he leans against his hand, elbow propped up on the table, “she always had this smile on her face — just this look that I don’t think I’ve ever seen her have with me—“ 

“A look doesn’t make or break a relationship, Okkotsu,” Maki says with a sigh, “and she was already in that relationship for who knows how long at that point?”

“I know, but—“ 

“I can’t tell you how to run your relationship but you have to decide whether you’re in this or not — because if you keep comparing yourself, you’ll never be happy,” and Yuta nods, before glancing at her, “what?” 

“How do you know so much about this?” Maki crosses her arms, a slight blush on her cheeks. 

“You’re not the only one with a social life—“ but she cuts him off before he can ask more questions, “but this is about you, not me,” she leans forward, “you need to focus on your relationship now, not her old one,” 

And he nods — he needed to trust you, otherwise this would never work with his head stuck in the past or looking into the future. Otherwise, this insecurity would seep like poison into his present — and he would lose you anyway. 

“You’re right, thanks Maki,” and his phone goes off again, another text from you — I miss you — come soon. 

Maybe he just needed to trust you — and himself. But even so, as he typed his reply to you — I’ll pick up dinner on the way. I’ll be back soon. Promise — but why was it so difficult? 

~~~ 

“Ah, Yu,” you murmured against his lips before swallowing your words completely, you were even prettier breathless than he had imagined. Well, more like than he had dreamt. He had resisted the urge to fantasize about you, thinking it would be disrespectful, crossing a line that wasn’t meant to be crossed. But that didn’t mean he could control his subconscious when he would slip into the embrace of sleep. 

He’d see you beside him on the couch, and you’d lean over and simply find his lips as if you’d done it a million times before. And he’d melt into your touch with such practiced ease, his fingers skimming over your sides, and he was desperate for more, more, more. He would only slide his hands up your thighs, fingertips brushing against the fabric of your panties before he’d wake in sweat soaked sheets and his cock straining against his boxers. 

This was so much better. 

It had started on the couch just like his dream, the two of you lying together, cuddling on the couch as the two of you half watched a movie. 

“Are you sleepy?” He asked softly, tucking a strand behind your ear, and you shake your head, as you shift closer to him, half of your body pressed against him. He did his best not to shift much, as you move even closer to him, nearly lying on top of him, “what—“ 

His breath catches as you lean closer, “can I—“ and he’s nodded without a second thought, as your lips found his, and his fingers found your hips. His tongue grazed the seam of your lips before slipping inside, and he eagerly steals your breath from your very lungs. And you’re moving, now lying squarely on top of him, your hips pressed against his, as his already hard cock throbs against your cunt. 

He bites back a moan when he feels just how wet you already are, soaking through your shorts and drenching  his sweatpants, “Fuck,” he murmurs, as your lips both part for a breath, as he cups your chin, only to press hot kisses to your burning skin, “baby, you taste so good,” 

And that’s where he found himself now. 

Your tiny gasps and murmurs of his name, as his lips explored what skin he could reach, while his hands slid up and down your body, now warm palms resting above your hips, toying with the hem of your shirt. 

“Yuta, please,” the whine in your throat makes the heat grow thicker been you two, the movie fading into but white noise, as he cards his fingers through your hair, “don’t tease me,” 

And he’s swallowing thickly, his dick twitching at the thought of taking this further — the two of you had done everything but this step, your hands had grazed under the other’s clothes, grinded against each other as you made out, but one of you would end up stopping it for one reason or another. It was a game of chicken, one or the other seemingly daring the other to take that step — but neither of you had. 

But now — as his thumb dragged over your puffy, kiss ruined lips, “Do you want to?” he asks an unspoken question, his resistance weakening to your touches, your fingers ghosting up his chest before one of your hands finds his cheek. 

“I do,” you answer, but bite your lip, “I’m just…a little nervous,” and his lips press a sweet kiss to your forehead. 

“We can always wait — I never want to make you feel uncomfortable, baby,” he’s featherlight in his touches now, “it’s up to you,” and it was — he would wait for you, as long as you wanted him. 

You smile at him, finding his lips in another kiss — he didn’t know it was possible for someone to be this soft, or feel this good — he could taste the sweetness of ice cream you had ate earlier on your lips, but you were so much better than any dessert. 

Your fingers rake gently through his hair, “Let’s move to the bedroom?” 

~~~

You wanted Yuta — you did. You had for the weeks the two of you had dated. It had been almost two months, and the two of you hadn’t had sex yet. There wasn’t a reason to rush, but there wasn’t a reason not to. The line had been edged to the brink of insanity — for the both of you. There was always seemingly a reason to stop — an early class, a late night, stomach upset — and it always felt like timing was just off. But it wasn’t always just the timing. 

It was also you. 

Every time you and Yuta got close, each time you felt even an ounce of pleasure, the guilt of Suguru would claw up your throat, again and again. And you were sure Yuta had noticed. But even if he had, you didn’t know a way to explain without making him think you were still in love with Suguru — which you weren’t. 

You didn’t think you were. The guilt lingered, like blood dried from a still open wound, scabbed over but not healed, easily reopened with even a scratch or a step. And it felt like with each step you took away from Suguru, you bled more and more — but you didn’t know how to stop the bleeding. You couldn’t stem the bleeding at its source, not when the person you had cut it open didn’t even give you a chance to speak. 

And you couldn’t talk to Yuta about it — not when you still hadn’t explained who Suguru is — and what exactly he does for work. Or much of anything else and you didn’t even know how to begin that conversation or why it would be necessary. Does he need to know all of that when you would be graduating soon enough and Suguru would be only a distant memory. 

But you hoped Yuta wouldn’t be. 

Your fingers laced with his as you led him to your bedroom — as you pull him inside, shutting the door behind you. You gently guide him onto your bed and have him sit while you stand, your fingers cupping his face, as his breath hitches at your proximity. His lips parted ever so slightly, as a pretty pink settled over his cheeks. 

“Baby, are you sure?” His lips are half twisting in a frown, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips and back again, “I don’t want—“ 

And your lips find his in a soft kiss, pressing yourself between his legs, as your hands find purchase on his shoulders, “I want you, Yuta,” you murmur, you were tired of letting the past dictate your present — you wanted to move forward, “don’t you want me too?” And your lips ghost over his jaw up to his ear, as you whisper in it, while leaving kisses that make his body shiver, wondering if you’ve turned his blood to ice or made it turn to steam with how his skin burned. 

“You’re not playing fair” he mumbles, as he buries your face in the crook of your neck, and you laugh, your fingers skimming the back of his neck. 

“I’m here to win, we never said anything about fair,” you twirl the black locks resting against his neck, your lips press another kiss to his cheekbone, “you still haven’t answered my question—“

 “Of course I want you,” he looks up at you, his need like a spark catching fire on your body, “I always have,”

“Well I’m right here,” you murmur, you tilt his chin up, fingers threaded in his black locks, “what are you going to do about it?” 

~~~

Yuta was going to lose his mind — but it’s just as well, you already had his heart. 

At your words, he’s tugging you even closer as he moves back on the bed, gaze hot as he watches you move, sitting on his lap — knees on either side of his waist. Fuck, you felt so good against him, plush thighs pressing into his hands already sliding down your lower back and grazing your ass to press you impossibly closer. 

“Good boy,” you murmur, and his blood flees his cheeks to his cock, twitching against your clothed cunt, and you smirk, a giggle escaping your lips, “you like that, huh?” you breath against his ear, “my good boy,” 

And in an instant, you’re pinned under him, and you’re blinking up at him, smile exchanged for parted lips, as his hands slide up your sides, and he’s leaning down to kiss you. His mouth burns against yours, tongue teasing the seam of your lips, before they part for him. 

“Now who’s being good for who?” he murmurs, as he pulls back with your teeth catching his bottom lip between your teeth. He groans, grinding against you, the length of his cock grinding against your clothed slit, “you won't let me have a moment, can you?” He murmurs, a red flush on his cheeks that makes you grin. 

“Not as long as you’re with me, Yu,” and god, that nickname for him makes his head spin— it’s already so much — the picture of you spread so prettily for him, your thighs parted under him, shirt riding up, just asking for him to slide underneath, and your bodies pressed together in all of the right places, as if neither of you could get close enough. 

And apparently you couldn’t, as you guide his hands to the hem of your shirt, and you’re helping him pull it over your head before tossing it onto the floor. And he sees nothing underneath, your nipples pebbled and hard under his gaze, so pretty for him. 

When his fingers twitch, you chuckle, “touch me,” and your words melt away his reservations, as his hands find your breasts, warm palms squeezing and teasing the soft flesh. He leans down and presses a kiss to one of your pert nipples, his tongue flicking the pert bud, drawing a small gasp from your lips, a pretty noise he wants to make fall from your lips again and again. Your head falls back into your pillow, as he switches sides, teasing the one with his lips, while he rolls the other between his index and thumb. 

“Fuck, Yuta,” he smiles against you, as his lips begin to kiss down your body, starting with the valley of your breasts before trailing wet kisses down your stomach, until he reaches the waistband of your shorts. And his eyes are flicking up to meet yours to ask silently, and your nod is all it takes for his fingers to dip in and tug the thin fabric down your legs, fingers dragging along the dips and curves of your legs as he does. He bends down to steal kisses to your swell of your hips and the crown of your knee. 

“S’pretty,” he’s mumbling, as his eyes find the wet patch on your underwear, fabric messy and soaked through as it cling helplessly to your hard clit, “how are you this pretty, baby?” 

“All for you, sweet boy,” you’re murmuring, as you hiss when he’s teasing your clit through your panties, “Yu, fuck—“ he could cum just listening to you — he doesn’t know what he’ll do once he’s inside you—

But one step at a time. 

He’s leaning down to press a kiss to it, before he’s slipping two fingers into the elastic to tug it down, with a nod from you. He’s pressing kisses and nips to your inner thigh, relishing in the marks he leaves on you — ones that he and you would only see. And finally you’ve kicked your underwear off, fully bare for him. 

“How do you smell so sweet?” he’s whispering, as his eyes drag over your exposed folds, and a whimper escapes your lips, he can’t wait to make you moan. And he’s bending down to drag his tongue over your dripping cunt, a thick stripe that has you gasping, fingers winding their way into his black locks, nails digging deliciously into his scalp. 

And you taste even better than he imagined — so good that he's already lapping at your folds, tip of his tongue flicking over your clit — and he hears the wrinkle of the sheets as your toes curl into them. He’s rutting into your mattress, ready to cum in his boxers at how good your pussy feels — dick nearly bursting at the thought of having your cunt around him. 

“Fuck, baby,” you’re swearing under your breath, as your body tenses under his tongue, he begins to slurp at your juices. His hands find their way under the soft flesh of your thighs to tug you flush to his lips, “Yu, so good,” and all he can hear are the lewd sounds of his tongue buried in your pussy, working your walls open, pretty walls fluttering around him, “feel so good, ngh, ah—” your eyes find his, and it’s enough for him to blow his load then and there — eyes blown out with lust as they meet his own, your lips parted in lovely pants and moans. 

And he knows you’re close, can feel it in the way your walls shudder, and he’s burying himself in your cunt, fucking you open with his tongue while he rubs your clit in quick circles. 

“Yu, I’m cum—“ and you cut yourself off with a moan, back arching as you cum hard, his name on your lips, and he’s eating you out through your orgasm, greedily drinking every bit of release you give him. And it’s only when it’s too much, your body slightly shaking, as you gently pull at his hair, that he eases off. 

You watch him with half lidded eyes as he pulls away, still between your thighs — lips and chin glossy and drenched in your release. He licks his lips and chin clean, watching you come down from your high, fuck, the way your walls clench around nothing makes him want to bury his face back in your folds. 

“So good, Yu, s’good for me,” you’re panting, sweat slicked against your skin, as you’re gently tugging at him, and he obliges, keening at the praise as he slips up your body until your lips find his. You moan, tasting yourself on his lips, a sloppy, messy kiss that leaves him breathless. 

And you’re flipping you both over, his eyes dilating at the sight of you, eyes raking over his body, eager hands thumbing at the hem of his shirt. 

Your lips in a smirk that leaves his dick throbbing, “my turn, Yu, let me make you feel good,”your hands make quick work of his shirt, tugging it up and over, tossing it in the growing pile of clothes in the corner of your bedroom. 

Your lips press sweet kisses all over his chest, fingers teasing his chest, but you have bigger intentions in mind, as your fingers quickly find their way to the waistband of his sweatpants. And with a nod given, you’re deftly tugging it down with a raise of his hips to pull the fabric off and kicked away, leaving him only in his boxers. 

You bite your lip when you see the large wet patch from his pre, your fingers teasing his slit through the fabric, drawing a hiss from his lips. He swallows, watching your pretty lips bend down to press a kiss to his cock through the fabric. And it’s enough for him to lose his mind completely, “please,” he whimpers, and you smile down at him, dragging your thumb down his lips. 

“Please what?” you ask innocently, for someone whose fingers were grazing his erection the way they were, he swallows as he watches your finger trace up and down his clothes cock, “what do you want me to use? My hand? My mouth?” 

And he’s shaking his head, “Anything, just please I need—“ and your fingers dip into the elastic of his boxers, snapping it against his skin, a yelp escaping his lips that makes you giggle, “that’s not nice—“ and he’s gasping when your lips press a hot kiss to his hip, your eyes lidded with desire. 

“Who said I was nice?” 

~~~

You were going to be the death of him, and with the way your fingers tug down his boxers — finally freeing his cock, slapping against his stomach as it does — it would be a sweet death. 

“Didn’t know your cock was so pretty like the rest of you, Yu,” and it was, so long and thick, pearly precum dripping down his flushed length, veins that ran up and down the length that you were far too eager to trace, “can’t wait to taste you,” you’re murmuring, as your tongue flicks down against his slit. 

“B-baby, please,” his hand is covering his face, but you reach up to pry it away, seeing the lovely red that settled over his cheeks, lips parted in need as he painted, “please—“ 

And your fingers wrap around his dick, thumbing the slit and working the precum up and down his length. And he’s moaning your name on his lips again and again, as you kiss his tip sliding your fingers down to his base and squeezing. And when your lips part for him, sliding his length in your mouth, his head falls back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut as he can’t help but roll his hips into your mouth. And when his tip brushes the back of your throat, it’s enough for him to cum right then and there, but he doesn’t want to — not yet, not until he’s inside you. 

He’s easing you off, watching strings of pre and your spit connect you to his aching cock, as you look up at him, and he’s pulling you into a messy kiss, tasting his own pre on your lips. 

“I need you,” he’s murmuring, fingers finding your hips, “baby, please,” 

You smile, parting from him, “how do you need me?” And he’s swallowing, cock twitching, and he knows he’s one stroke too fast from bursting — so he needs control. 

“Lie on the bed, baby,” and you do, easing from between his legs, and onto your back, head against the plush pillows. He parts your legs for you, warm palms squeezing your flesh teasingly, drawing a whine from you, he presses your thighs up, letting them hook around his back, as his skin meets yours. And god, you’re perfect, “how did I get so lucky? You’re so perfect, so pretty,” and he’s slotting himself between your thighs, fingers lining up his cock with your dripping slit, his curiosity getting the better of him as he drags the head up your messy folds still slick with your release, and groans as he watches your walls flutter around nothing, “so good for me, are you ready, baby?” 

You’re nodding, “please Yu, I need—” and his tip is sliding into you, his length stretching your walls far too well, and it’s enough for him to cum right there — as your cunt adjusts to his size, dragging against you as he pushes past your entrance. It’s enough for him to cum right there, but he wants it to be good for you both — wants you to hear you praise him again, wants to hear you say his name again and again until you fall apart on his cock. 

And finally he’s bottoming out, a moan from both of your lips, your walls fluttered around his length, your head lolls back a moment, before your eyes flutter open and meet his, “S’good, Yu, please, move,” and he’s cupping your cheek, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, before he begins to fuck you slowly. 

The echoes of your skin meeting his rings in hie ears, needy walls pulling you back in even as he tried to pull out, sinking deeper and deeper each time he fucked you. 

He’s burning, ready to melt at your very touch, putty in your hands to bend and shape at your will, even as you swallow him whole, he’s ready for you to consume every inch of him with your being. 

“Feels s’good, Yuta,” you’re moaning, legs around his hips pulling him impossibly closer, “such a good boy,” and his cock twitches, your mixed releases forming a ring around the base of his length, “s’good, need more,” 

And he’s groaning, as your wet squelches fill the silence between both of your moans and pants — and you’re close, as he gives a particularly deep thrust that finds the spot that has you seeing stars. Your head falls back, lips parted in his name, “Yu, I’m close — ngh, please—“ and he’s smiling, his cheeks surely flushed blood red, panting, as he reaches between your bodies to find your clit. 

“Cum f’me, baby,” he’s murmuring, and you’re nodding, as you fall apart for him, toes curling as you cum hard around him, making him groan your name as he spills his warm seed inside you, pumping slowly as he does. His body slows as you both come down from your highs, and he slowly rolls off of you, running fingers through your hair and pressing sweet kisses, “are you okay?” he murmurs, eyes soft with affection, but laced with concern. 

You smile, “I’m more than okay,” you press your face into his chest, and he’s shivering at your touch, pulling you even closer, “I’m with you,” and his fingers run up and down your cheek, before leaning down to meet your lips in a soft kiss. 

That’s right, he smiles as he kisses your forehead — he was with you. And the past didn’t matter — when he was in your present. 

“I’ll always be with you,” he mutters against your lips. 

And hopefully in your future. 

~~~

“What are you doing, I thought you were almost done,” Yuta mumbles against the soft skin of your neck, pressing sweet kisses that did nothing but sap the need for productivity from your very veins — leaving only behind thoughts of his touch behind, “baby,”

“Yu, I promise I’m almost done, I just have to send this email about my thesis and you’ll have my undivided attention,” you both had been stuck in the end of the semester rush, trying to find time for each other — leaving you stressed out and Yuta a little needy. That’s what this night was supposed to be for — a chance to reconnect, and yet here you were working. But you had to send this thesis out or you knew Yaga would have your head for delaying your work on your outline for so long — something you would be spending next semester fleshing out into a full thesis you’d be presenting. 

He nods, but continues to pepper you with kisses, your skin nearly molten under his touch as his arms wrap around your waist to pull you further into his lap instead of beside him on the couch, “After all the work I did to snag Professor Yaga as my thesis advisor, I cannot let the department head down with my draft,” 

He hums, vibrations making you nearly shiver, “I know, I’m really proud of you. I know you’re going to have something really special by the end of the year,” and you shake your head. 

“I just hope I make it past the defense — it’s the most nerve wracking part,” you sigh, “a room of my peers and professors staring me down while I discuss the work I’ve done,” you proof read the email for the millionth time — scanning for any errors and make sure the attachment is the correct attachment — and finally click send, and sigh before relaxing into his arms. 

“Can I come to your defense?” Yuta asks, perking up, and you smile, leaning back against him. 

“Are you sure you’d want to come? It’s going to be just me rambling about my thesis and answering a bunch of questions,” you kiss his jaw softly, nosing the small hickey you left blooming on his pale skin last night, “might not be the most exciting thing,” 

“I want to support you, as long as you want me there,” and you can’t help but wonder — would Suguru show up to your defense? The thought makes your stomach churn at the thought of them watching you present, eyes flitting from one to the other. You had doubts he would show himself there — but the only catch was if Yaga would twist his arm. And then what? You had nearly blown your relationship wide open once before when you had ran into Suguru in front of Yuta—

You couldn’t risk it again. 

“Let me think about it, ok?” You nuzzle your nose against his cheek, as he frowns, “I just think if I have you there, I might get too nervous—“ 

He shakes his head, “Whatever makes you comfortable, either way, we’re going to celebrate right after,” and you tilt your head. 

“What if I don’t pass?” And he shakes his head. 

“If hell freezes over, I think we’ll have bigger problems,” and you snort, “but on the very off chance you don’t, you still accomplished something incredible—“ and your lips find his, and he melts into your kiss after a moment. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, “I’m so lucky to have you,” and he curls his lips into a sweet smile. 

“I’m the lucky one,” and his lips press against yours this time, meeting yours again and again, until you’re placing your laptop aside, and turning to sit in his lap, “baby,” heat rolls off his body in waves, as your fingers trace down his chest. 

“I heard someone wanted my undivided attention tonight,” you smile, before taking your phone and placing it on ‘do not disturb,’ “well now what are you going to do with it?” 

He smiles, “Don’t know if we’ll have enough time for everything, but,” he presses a kiss to your jaw, “we can try,” and the two of you are making your way to the bedroom soon enough, unaware that you had gotten an important email that night—

From: Suguru Geto 

Subject Line: Regarding Your Thesis Advisor

~~~

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you’re adjusting your hair as you sprint your way to Professor Yaga’s office. This is what you get for staying up far too late with your far too tempting boyfriend. And now you woke up thirty minutes before the meeting, with barely enough time to make it on time, much less breath. Yuta gave you a kiss goodbye, but that’s all he had time for — before you were out the door. 

But you finally reached Yaga’s door, catching your breath when you took a second to regain your composure before knocking. You blinked — weird, his door was usually open. And the door opens, but it isn’t Yaga—

It’s Suguru? 

It’s Suguru. 

You stare at him, wondering if this is another twisted nightmare you had ensnared yourself in, but no — it isn’t. Because even your subconscious couldn’t make a scenario this twisted. His lips parted to say something, but you beat him to it. 

“If you’re meeting with Professor Yaga, I can come back at a different time, Professor,” the title slips from your lips without barely a thought, but it carries far too much weight. A flicker of emotion catches on the corner of his lips and in the glint of his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. 

“You’re on time, but I still you did not have the time to check your email before this meeting,” he tilts his head, as you blink slowly, “please come in and have a seat,” 

And you do, taking a seat across from him as he sits on the other side of the desk, you shift in your seat, as you take him in for the first time in months — his hair was still long, black tresses brushing against his shoulders, hair half up in a neat bun near the crown of his head; his eyes tucked behind his glasses for once, but you could see the burgeoning beginnings of dark bags under his eyes; and his clothes were meticulous as always — and you spot the tie pin he has — it’s the one you had gifted him near the beginning of your relationship — a joke that you had made about pinning him down in class turned into a gift. 

And that makes your neck feel all the more bare. 

“Is Professor Yaga ok?” and Suguru sighs, running his fingers through his hair. 

“He’s fine, he is sick at the moment — and receiving treatment,” you sigh in slight relief, “so he’s decided to take the rest of this semester off, as well as next semester,” and you sigh, leaning back as you cover your lips with your hand. 

“Is he going to be—” 

“He has a good prognosis, and his son’s with him, looking after him, so it should be fine,” he says softly, and his lips curl in a small smile, as he flips through the papers on Yaga’s desk. 

“What’s with the smile?” and he shakes his head, as he rifles through the stacks of paperwork, until he seemingly finds what he’s looking for. 

“Nothing, just noticing that your habit of worrying about others before yourself hasn’t changed,” and you glare slightly at him, pursing your lips, as he slides a stapled stack of papers to you. 

“And what’s this—” 

“Your thesis proposal,” and you take it, flipping through and grimacing at the red pen, “and my thoughts on it,” you scoff, as you see the familiar picture of his scribbles and notes in the margins of your work. 

“It looks like old habits die hard for the both of us,” as you finish flipping through, but your brow knits together as the pieces of news start to fit together like a puzzle — with a very mortifying picture, and your eyes meet his, slowly — the news going as well over as a lead balloon, and crashing down on your head like one, “so does this mean—” 

His lips curl in a small smile, “I’ll be taking over as your thesis advisor — for the rest of the year.” 

✧ a/n: it was supposed to be the last part and now! we have. one more part since i decided i wanted to flesh out the final arc a little more! one more part of this and it will be all done...:)

✧ taglist: @hatsunemitskislobotomy , @difficultdomains , @diogodxlot , @that-goth-bisexual , @dazailover1900 0, @aliyalala , @ashhlsstuff , @blue041803 , @mwtsxri i , @bblgumfairy , @sukunasleftkneecap , @xo-evangeline , @fiannee , @teatreeoilll , @chalametet , @ryukaver , @d1gitalbathh , @saga3ious , @seventhcinema , @satosugucide , @your-l0nely-star , @sokkasmoon , @deegausserr , @hyookka , @oggsyy , @littlebitb , @higuchislut , @ti-mame , @itoshisins , @cerene-dipity , @onionsoop , @sinlillith , @izzythenaive , @lalacute03 , @rxndou , @c-themoon , @xxrag-d0llxx , @hqtoge , @sugarxlumps , @hopeluna , @actualdeemon , @enchantedpendant , @serendididy , @soulstealercat , @neuviloved , @simply-a-s1mp , @satorusmochis , @maddietries

#sab [mlist] #sab series [prof suguru] #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x you #geto x reader #suguru geto fanfiction #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu x you #yuta okkotsu fanfiction #geto suguru x reader #yuta okkotsu smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction

[theprettyarachnid]

being under the mistletoe w/ the jjk characters

a/n: if anyone says jack shit about this being late, you’re done 💀

also i’m kind of in a suguru mood so don’t sue me

warnings: none

characters: itadori, megumi, yuta, inumaki, gojo, suguru, nanami, sukuna

itadori

🕷️ he awkwardly laughs while looking down at his shoes

🕷️ it’s not that he doesn’t want to kiss you but do you want to kiss him?

🕷️ ends up asking if he can kiss you and he gets really excited when you say yes

🕷️ it’s not long or over the top, it’s a simple and sweet kiss and when he pulls away his cheeks are as pink as his hair

megumi

🕷️ he hates mistletoes and was clearly trying to avoid them at all cost during the party

🕷️ cheeks go really red

🕷️ he doesn’t really like kissing you in public because of yuuji and nobara

🕷️ especially nobara

🕷️ so while he’s avoiding eye contact, you take the chance to give him a quick kiss on the cheek

🕷️ megumi eventually gives you a proper kiss when you two are alone

inumaki

🕷️ he lights up when you’re caught under the mistletoe

🕷️ “tuna tuna!”

🕷️ some turn of heads when they hear inumaki’s expression

🕷️ you get a little embarrassed but he gives you a small kiss before you can really say anything

yuta

🕷️ since he’s grown a lot more confidence, he’s actually pretty smooth about it

🕷️ yuta gives you a look waiting to see if you’re okay with it or not

🕷️ he gives you a small smile when you give him the ‘go ahead’

🕷️ yuta gently grabs your wrist with one hand and cradles the back of your neck with the other

🕷️ his lips are kind of chapped but it’s a nice kiss

🕷️ it’s gentle and loving and he’ll gladly give you another one if you let him

gojo

🕷️ i’m sorry i thought of this and the song ‘daddy’s home’

🕷️ he grabs you by the waist and kind of playfully sways you

🕷️ gojo was a bit too excited to be under the mistletoe

🕷️ he likes to show everyone you’re his any chance he gets

🕷️ the kiss is really nice and he has you wrap your arms around your neck and it’s a little too long but you’re okay with that

🕷️ he starts to tickle your waist when the kiss is done

suguru

🕷️ he smiles down at you before giving you a kiss

🕷️ suguru either holds your hands or gently cups your face

🕷️ you may hear mimiko and nanako either saying ‘ew’ or talking about how suguru should just propose already

🕷️ his kiss is very affirming and protective

🕷️ suguru did end up proposing this christmas with a delicate engagement ring that was just right for you

nanami

🕷️ he lifts your chin up and wraps his arm around your waist before firmly kissing you

🕷️ pushes the hair out of your face while whispering how beautiful you look

🕷️ when the kiss is over, he glances at the people chatting and suggests ditching the party because he’d much prefer to be with you alone

🕷️ he smiles when you say yes while grabbing his tie

sukuna

🕷️ to sukuna, mistletoe means sex

🕷️ over the top to the point where it’s really embarrassing

🕷️ grabs your legs with his two arms and his other two are under your arms

🕷️ he’s 7’5 in his true form so he can use that as an excuse but it’s still embarrassing

🕷️ roughly kisses you while squeezing your thighs

🕷️ does not care people are staring silently while the song baby it’s cold outside is quietly playing

🕷️ chrismas sex after you leave the party which is shortly after the kiss

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #itadori x reader #megumi x reader #inumaki x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #gojo x reader #suguru x reader #nanami x reader #sukuna x reader #fanfiction #jjk fanfiction

[emepe]

— Pairing: Yuuta x Reader, established relationship

— General info: 18+, one-shot, smut

— Summary: When it comes to Yuuta, “just the tip” is the start of a dangerous game.

— Content warnings: nsfw, unprotected vaginal sex, virginity loss, implied religious guilt, mild god complex if you squint, coercion, slight breeding kink.

— Notes: Honestly, I wrote this just to see if I could still write decent smut (and Yuuta fits the trope perfectly ugh, I can't lie). Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Happy reading! 

Links: Read on AO3 |  Masterlist

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. You promised each other you would wait. But an innocent kiss on the cheek while watching TV led to a sloppy makeout session on the sofa, with your legs on either side of Yuuta's lap and your clothed cunt grinding needily onto his crotch as his fingers crept under your shirt and dug into your waist. 

A whine escapes your lips when he involuntarily thrusts his hips upwards, meeting you halfway, desperate for further friction.

“My God, Yuu,” you moan into his mouth, as your combined drool trickles down your chin.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles, yet makes no effort to hold back. Because little by little, with every movement of your hips, his erection has become downright painful. It's practically throbbing in the confines of his jeans, swollen and red, aching to be let out, begging for relief.

But he promised.

It's a mental game to come down to his senses and draw an end when things get too heated between you. God knows you haven't one ounce of willpower when you're spiraling down a lustful haze. But he'd rather be the stronger one than risk the loss of your virtue ending in remorse. 

He loves you too much to force you to carry such an immense guilt. You vowed to wait until you were married and instead settled for a few steamy moments here and there — always sure you never made it too far.

You could hump and whine and he'd swallow every sweet sigh you pour into his mouth — as long as you never fully undressed and as long as he didn't ruin you by pushing himself between your legs. Then he'll wrap his arms around you, assuring you that whatever you did was still innocent, that you have no reason to feel guilty because you're both still pure. 

The vicious cycle never ends. 

You're incredibly precious to him — you're everything — but man, it really pisses him off sometimes that he has to be the one to protect a promise you were the first to suggest.

He brings a hand to collect your hair and nip at your neck, kissing it, tracing its slope with his tongue and sucking fervently at the supple skin. As if that's enough, as if it could compare to the glowing promise that being buried inside you represents. His cock twitches at the thought, the movement causing you to expel another string of holy affirmations.

His eyes land on the hand that grips at the fabric of his shirt as you whimper into his ear and the air thickens with the scent of spit, sweat, and desire.

The engagement ring on your finger has become a symbol of dread. So close to having you bound to him forever, and yet the time couldn't come fast enough.

His chest rises and falls dramatically with every shallow breath. It's all too much — the blood rushing south, the precum he can feel leaking from his tip and soiling his underwear, the line of sweat that transfers from your forehead to his as you squeeze your eyes shut and breathe against his mouth — it's all too good. 

But it's not enough.

He's tired of it, and you're not making things easier with your pathetic whimpers and your feverish body clinging to him. He can feel your pussy clenching around nothing through the layers of clothing dividing you. If he didn't know any better, he might’ve thought you wore a skirt on purpose to further drive him mad. He might be a patient man —loving, understanding, doting— but he's still a man.

“Just the tip,” he groans.

Your hips slow down as you struggle to comprehend what he just said, earning him a chance to will the cum threatening to spurt inside his jeans back.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head as you observe his blown pupils and his eyebrows upturned in desperate pleading.

“Just the tip, please.” 

Your lips part to draw a sharp breath as it dawns on you what he's asking for.

“But we promised,” you softly pronounce.

“It won't change anything if it's just the tip,” he promises. “It's barely anything. It'll be like the time you used your hand.”

He hopes your mind is too dizzy to comprehend that the two situations don't compare at all. 

Uncertainty casts over your features, but he can see a hint of consideration gleaming in your eyes at the idea. 

You'd be lying if you said you never considered loosening up on your convictions every now and then when you got so close to the act. But you didn't think you could handle disappointing Yuuta by breaking the promise you brought up in the first place. After all, he's so devoted to you and he promised to abide by your wishes no matter how long it took because the gratification when you finally joined in carnal pleasure would only make your commitment to each other all the more special. 

“As long as I get to be with you, the rest doesn't matter,” was what he said.

But now that he's looking up at you with such helpless eyes, like you're some sort of god he prays to, your morals take a toll.

His blue eyes stare adoringly into yours. 

“Please?” he asks again.

He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Please,” he insists, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth, biting down just hard enough to cause a whisper of pain before alleviating the feeling with his tongue.

“Please, please, please, it hurts,” he whines, tears lining his lashes and threatening to spill as he reaches between you to palm himself over his jeans. “I can't take it anymore. I'm begging you, I need you, I love you.”

How could you possibly say no when he asks so nicely? 

You'd have to be made of stone to deny him the pleasure. You'd have to be a monster to not relieve him of his throbbing pain. You'd have to be the cruelest god to impose him with such inhumane punishment.

“Yuu,” you whisper, his pain reflecting on your face upon witnessing his desperation. 

“Please,” he sniffles.

“Okay.”

The word falls over him like a fresh breeze.

“Really? You mean it?” 

His lips curve into an eager smile, with butterflies fluttering in his stomach in anticipation.

You nod, happy to see his teary eyes light up.

“Just the tip.”

“Just the tip, I promise.”

He brushes away at his tears with the heel of his palm.

“You're an angel,” he murmurs as he cradles your face with one hand and starts guiding your hips over his erection again with the other. 

Soon enough, you're back to panting into each other's mouths, feverish and dizzy at your new promise to fulfill. 

Your hands fumble to undo his jeans, clumsily pulling down the zipper in fragments.

“Just the tip,” you huff, as he moans upon feeling your clammy hands palm him through his underwear.

You pull on his briefs just enough for his erection to spring free.

“Oh, god,” you exhale, in awe of the intense red that consumes the head of his cock. Precum oozes from the tip, balls heavy as if he's seconds away from bursting. It's no wonder he looked so pained. 

“Just the tip,” he reminds you kindly as he pets your hair, heart rate spiking when he watches your thumb trace over his leaking tip.

He flips you over so that you're pressed onto the sofa while he hovers over you and hooks his fingers around your pink cotton panties, tugging them down your hips with ease and tossing them onto the floor, leaving you in your skirt.

The sight of your bare cunt — already a sopping wet mess from everything that now counts as foreplay — makes his cock twitch.

With his weight balanced on one forearm, he carefully drags himself between your folds, the most sinful sound reaching your ears as he coats his length in your juices. His free hand cradles your face as he bends down to capture your mouth in a heated kiss. His tongue pushes against yours, swallowing each of your moans as your hands lose themselves in his raven hair. 

With fingers trembling in excitement, he lets you go and starts lining himself to penetrate your insides.

“Yuu,” you gasp.

He watches in fascination as his reddened tip squeezes in and slowly disappears inside you, your cunt glistening with enough arousal that you barely feel any pain in the sudden stretch. In fact, Yuuta swears he can feel you suck him in the tiniest bit further as you flutter around the foreign member in your body. He can feel himself grow weaker as he's hit with the warmth and wetness of your insides. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, face dropping into the crook of your neck.

The overwhelming ecstasy of knowing he's connected to you burns at every inch of his skin as he scrambles to gather enough strength to pull out and push his tip back in again. 

You writhe under him, hands frantically pulling him in for a kiss. He complies. After all, you've gifted him with this — not that he wouldn't give in to your wishes otherwise. 

His brows furrow in concentration, eyes squeezed shut with the image of his tip swallowed by your insides flashing behind his eyelids. He pumps his head inside you — in and out, in and out — mesmerized by how good it feels even if it's barely a taste. 

It alleviates him… just a little.

He grips your hips with bruising force, rolling his hips further into you all at once, leaving a mildly burning sensation in its wake. 

A whine escapes your lips and your eyes close as you feel a tickle of his pubic hair brushing against your lower tummy. Your arms hook under his, bringing him close, scratching his back over his shirt.

An animalistic power washes over him, pushing him to penetrate the deepest part of you,  over and over again. His hand squeezes your face, demanding your attention and forcing you to meet his crazed gaze. His pupils are blown with lust, the gentle blue of his irises nearly gone. With the help of his thumb, he pries your mouth open, aggressively pushing his tongue against yours, relishing in the muffled cries of pleasure you release. 

The kiss is so needy, so aggressive, it's borderline painful and your jaw hurts from the tight grip of his hand. But it's still so fucking good.

When he pulls back, your eyes are lined with tears, much like his when he was begging to let you use just his tip minutes ago.

The sound of slapping skin echoes around you. Sloppy, wet, sinful.

“Yuuta, this doesn’t feel like just the tip,” you heave, feeling an unfamiliar knot tangling in your lower stomach. 

“It is, baby. I swear.”

You both know he's lying but you're too caught up in each other to care.

Your legs wrap around him, barely granting him enough space to move, but he doesn't care. This is better, this is what he needs to relieve the mild guilt that stems from lying to you, because this means you're just as thrilled by him ruining you as he is. And if you're so unwilling to ease your hold on him, he might as well kill two birds with one stone tonight and fill you to the brim with his cum.

The possibility of knocking you up has him reeling. A breathless laugh pushes past his lips as he looks down at you.

You're such a pretty mess and he's so in love. Your pussy does such a good job at sucking him in and he's so fucking drunk on it. 

The image of you sprawled below him, sweating and whining out his name will be burned into his memory forever. And you do have forever promised, he remembers. That ring on your finger — the very finger on the very hand that's creeping between your bodies to toy with your clit — stands as proof.

You perverted little thing, he thinks, as he feels you bucking your hips upward to meet his thrusts halfway.

“Yuuta, my god, oh my god!” you whimper as his strokes grow even sloppier and he grows even heavier on your body.

“Feel good, angel?” he taunts, using the nickname he imposed on you back before you became such a needy disaster.

An airy chuckle bubbles up his throat when you fervently nod and caress his cheek. He hooks an arm under your leg, pressing it further into your chest in a semi-mating press position. 

He carelessly thrusts his hips a few more times before he's washed over with a glorious relief that he pours inside you, marveling at the way your insides flutter around him, milking him dry with every wanton squeeze.

It's like you want to get knocked up, he thinks.

His hold on your leg loosens and his weight tumbles down on top of you as you work your way to clarity. 

He moves around on the limited space of the sofa so that you can snuggle into his chest with his arms wrapped tightly around you as he presses soft kisses onto the crown of your head.

You can feel his cum leaking from your insides and seeping into the couch cushions, but it'll be a while before either of you care to clean up your mess.

His warm embrace coaxes you to sleep. As you're teetering the line of peaceful slumber, a familiar thought pops into your head.

“Yuuta,” you murmur.

“Hm?”

“What we just did wasn't wrong, was it?”

He looks down at you, fingers lifting your chin so he can see your face. Your eyes are wide with worry. The duality with which you're able to confront these matters will forever be a mystery to him. 

His gaze softens and a smile graces his lips.

“Don't worry, angel. This was innocent.” 

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“It's pure love.”

Back to masterlist

#yuuta x reader #yuuta smut #yuuta okkotsu x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #yuuta okkotsu x you #yuuta okkotsu smut #okkotsu yuta x you #okkotsu yuta smut #jjk smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfiction

[hxnbi]

「 THEIR LOVE LANGUAGE 」

synopsis: the ways that they show their love

— characters: gojo satoru, fushiguro megumi, okkotsu yuta, nanami kento

— contents: fluff, a lil bit of angst and comfort in nanami's, gn reader

part two | masterlist

GOJO SATORU ➽ words of affirmation & gift-giving

This man is rich. Plain as day, there is no doubt about that. There is nothing that Satoru won't do to go to the ends of the earth to get you. The number of times you would receive gifts from this man would have Ieiri, Utahime, and even Mei's eyes widen in horror. And maybe even perhaps jealousy—to see a man so high up his ass so utterly devoted to his partner.

His mornings and afternoons would often be spent teaching his young students at Jujutsu Tech, but it didn't stop him from diving into a whirlwind of activity, all stemming from his blatant infatuation with you. Whenever he had the chance, perhaps luring his students for a "trip" with the promise of going to Roppongi, he inevitably found himself scouring the markets for any trinkets that caught his eye. But who could blame him? After all, they were virtually beckoning him to buy it for you—a delicate necklace, a quaint keychain, or a colorful bouquet of wildflowers. Each item held a piece of his heart, a token of his affection waiting to be shared with you and only you.

Satoru wasn't deterred. Hell, he was hardly even fazed by the indifferent stares or the murmurs of disdain that often followed his well-meaning gestures—mostly by his colleagues, probably thinking he was processed by a cursed spirit, God forbid, but I digress. Love wasn’t just a word to be said but a sentiment to be expressed through actions, however small or grand they may appear. But if that was what Satoru really thought a relationship was, then God may as well have struck him down at that moment. It didn't matter what people thought of him or even what material possessions he bestowed upon you; you're his entire world and don't deserve any less. 

To be able to feel pampered by his kindness and love through gifts. It warmed your heart to know how special you really were to him. Satoru may be rich, but he also knows about the superficial aspects of a relationship and tries to avoid them. But in the end, if that’s what you want, he'll do whatever it takes to make you happy. All he wishes for is your happiness and nothing more. As the strongest sorcerer in the world, Satoru knows he has a lot of power, and he is willing to put that all on the line for you to flourish. The man, to the surprise of no one, had a knack for flirting, effortlessly winning hearts with his smooth talk and irresistible charm. He can even be a flirt at times, for sure, but Satoru despised that label. To him, it's his way of showing that he is all yours. He's a tease who knows how to use his words to woo you—though it can sometimes be a bit much. You know that what he's doing is just trying to cheer you up.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI ➽ acts of service & words of affirmation

From the very beginning of your relationship, moments of vulnerability and intimacy were always scarce and few in between. He would never do or say something that you were uncomfortable with. He respects your boundaries and expects the same in return. Megumi, quietly and reservedly, sometimes has trouble articulating his thoughts. His words often fall short of capturing the depth of his feelings. Yet beneath this rock-solid exterior lies a heart that yearns for your happiness above all else—even his own. His emotions are conveyed not through words but through subtle gestures and actions veiled behind his typical stoic demeanour.

As much as Yuji and Nobara would tease him for it, their jests and blatant remarks were all rooted in good faith. Because in the end, when they would see just the way that he would gaze at you and how he would constantly be attentive to your well-being during missions—contrary to popular belief, not smothering you with overprotectiveness but ensuring that he's always there to support you—they would realize how committed Megumi really was. They understand that Megumi's silence speaks volumes. Gojo, for one, would disagree and instead say he was "utterly and completely smitten" with you, his eyes seeing the world through rose-colored lenses, but if that is the case, then so be it. 

When he extends a hand to help you out, whether it's on a mission to exorcise cursed spirits or simply going through the strains of daily life, it's a gesture that speaks volumes. To you, his short and sincere words were his way of showing that he cared. He is your protector, and he will ensure you know this about him. You don't have to lift a finger; he's already on it. His presence alone makes your cheeks flush pink.

OKKOTSU YUTA ➽ quality time & physical touch

Yuta cherishes the intimacy of being close to his loved one, especially when it's with you. Throughout his life, he's often felt isolated and disconnected from the world around him. Having someone he's genuinely close to fills his heart with a sense of completeness. And to him, you are everything—his entire world.

Quality time, to Yuta, means all the time—whether you both are on a mission, training, or even just together in the classroom, you best believe that Yuta will be following you around like a dog with its owner. But he doesn't do it just because it's expected. He knows his strength and wants to protect you no matter what. And if he can't find you? Without a doubt, Yuta will be deploying all of his nerves and anxiety to the forefront of his very being to see you.

You understand that, after all the trauma that Yuta's been through in his life, that is what makes up his anxieties. The scars of his past linger and still continue to haunt him—those memories of loss and loneliness. It's a burden he carries with him always, and that hurts. But unbeknownst to you, your presence alone healed him far more than any reverse cursed technique could. It would heal physical injuries, but internal ones? That was all you—the solace in his once dark-lit life.

Yuta's love language becomes evident. Not even the most oblivious people could look at the way Yuta looked at you and assume it was anything other than pure adoration. It's in the gentle brush of your hand against his, the comforting warmth of your embrace, and the way you lean in just a little closer when you speak, just to be able to hear him a bit more clearly. His affection is expressed through subtle touches and lingering gazes. He loves you, and you love him—just the way he is.

NANAMI KENTO ➽ quality time & words of affirmation

Straight up, he's one of the more mature men out there. Nanami is stone-cold, but he is painstakingly thorough in his care in practically everything he does. He can be a workaholic at times, for sure, but he knew what would become of him if that was all that he did. Despite his dedication to his work, he always made a conscious effort to prioritize his relationships and to nurture and cherish the time he had with you. He wanted for both you and him to live a proper and healthy life. Whether you were just feeling off about yourself or going through a tough time, Nanami would be right by your side in a matter of seconds to comfort you. 

If he were at work, he would drop everything he was doing, call you directly on his cell phone regardless of the weird looks he was getting from his colleagues, and immediately put on his jacket and drive to where you were, only to see you alone in your shared home curled up on the couch, and that made him angry—more than that. But he knew that, above all else, he needed to comfort you, and perhaps, even himself…

No questions would be asked of him, as he would then lift you up in his arms and reassure you that you didn’t have to tell him now but that he was here for you and would always be. He'd then take you somewhere in hopes of taking your mind off whatever was haunting your thoughts because, in his mind, you didn't deserve that burden while he could help. Even just his words alone would soothe your troubled mind. Every action and gesture he made to guarantee your well-being demonstrated his undying dedication to you. And if those words weren't enough, Nanami would drop everything and show his love through quality time spent together. Whether it was a quiet evening at home or a leisurely stroll through the city streets, he cherished every moment shared in your company. 

You cherished having him by your side, and you wouldn't have it any other way. And it didn't matter to him if you were feeling down or struggling with something, down to the littlest thing. And it didn't matter to him if you thought it was troublesome to tell him.

Because he always knew what to say.

©hxnbi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of my works.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fanfiction #fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen angst #gn reader #fluff #headcanons #angst #scenarios #comfort #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #okkotsu yuta #yuta okkotsu #yuuta okkotsu x reader #fushiguro megumi #fushiguro megumi x reader #nanami kento #nanami #nanami x reader

[neowinestainedress]

𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄?

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: any nct member!ghostface x detective!fem!reader 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: “horror”, thriller, yandere-ish, smut, halloween special, scream!au 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in these past months your only goal is to find the killer that is terrorizing the town of Woodsboro, but when you get close to him and feel like you finally have the upper hand, Ghostface turns the game around again.  Or, Ghostface wants to play with you but not like he does with his victims, and you let him. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: dark content, talks of [m*rders, sl!tting throats, v!olent stuff in general], dr*g/anaesthetic use [to make mc fall asleep but unrelated to any sexu*l act (she’s awake and willing)], mentions of [dubcon] phone s*x + masturbation, implied stalking, use of restrainers, cl!t rubbing, rough t!t/n!pple play, protected s*x turns unprotected, kn!fe play, ‘fear’ play, clothes cutting, fake sympathy, pet names used in a mocking way, degradation, rough s*x, hair pulling, spit (1), p*ssy slapping, dacryphilia, possessiveness, 1 brief talk of carving, polaroids pictures, all consensual but i’ll still put a dubcon warning just to be safe (tbh it’s more like hate sex bc the mc would rip his head off but also fuck him), reader is kinda fucked up herself. | inclusivity notes: reader has hair long enough that can be pulled (no mention of texture, type and color), no mention of body type but reader is manhandled a few times and has b**bs and *ss big enough that can be cupped, no mention of skin color, no use of y/n 𝐖𝐂: 10.662k 𝐀/𝐍: this year i had vague ideas for halloween but not even a defined good one, i had some suggestions i liked but were far too complicated, and i had no energy to write them in time. but a ghostface/scream au was an idea i had in mind for some time, the original was a ghostface cosplay, but then i went with this one, and I’m happy with how it turned out. i had 2 members in mind (johnny/haechan) for the og plot, then someone suggested jeno and jisung (as a duo) but if i unmasked him the plot wouldn’t have made sense anymore, so he’s whoever you want him to be! the other ghostface is mentioned but doesn’t appear physically in the story, you can pick who you want for him too. i never wrote blankly for the male mc so let me know if it was good. please, if you like it, leave feedback through reblogs or asks! and also let me know who you imagined behind the mask 👀 enjoy and happy halloween

𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 ���𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄.

Your mother always told you to mind your business or else your curiosity was going to be the death of you one day.

It’s clear you never treasured her words, and your curiosity led you to be a private detective with only a few thrills in your life since now, nothing too exciting ever happened in your small town, until one day you received a phone call from the district of Woodsboro. A string of murders was terrorizing the town after years and all the evidence led to another psycho who thought it was funnier to kill people while putting on a Ghostface mask. 

Months have passed since that call and you have nothing concrete. It’s like he’s only messing up with you and, in the meantime, innocent people keep dying. But you have your theories, the ones you only keep to yourself, stored away in the privacy of your diary, hidden under the pillow of your bed. Your colleagues seem decent people, but with time, you’ve learned to trust nobody. 

And your secret theories led you right where you are now. In the open country, away from the small town, where a small barn grabbed your attention the first time you moved to Woodsboro. 

The barn seems empty but eerie vibes surround it. The strong smell of the grass stings your nose as your black boots walk on the muddy ground, the rain of this morning still lingering in the air and in the countryside. 

When you reach the perimeter, you squeeze your eyes to see inside, but the few tiny windows don’t allow you a big view. The more you walk around it to make sure it’s empty, the more the hold on your concealed carry with the gun inside tightens.  

It’s late October and the cold penetrates your brown leather jacket, but the temperature is not the thing that makes you shiver. 

You should’ve never followed your instinct and come here alone. You should’ve spoken to somebody else in the department, told them your theory and have some backup in this crazy plan of yours. But when your impulses take over, your smartness slips away, and you find yourself in the worst situations ever. 

Like right now. You stand in front of the wooden door and find the courage to push it open. You should feel thrilled, you found him. You found the psycho that has been haunting the town for months now, messing up with you with clues and mocks that pushed you farther away from the right path. Yet, you beat him, for once it looks like you have the upper hand now that you’re walking around the empty barn away from the town. But something doesn’t feel right, your guts are telling you something but you don’t listen, you can’t walk away now that you’re so close.

There’s not much to inspect, a few pieces of furniture, a disheveled mattress in the middle of the room, and a few chairs in a corner. It almost looks like an abandoned farm if only it wasn’t for the unnerving vibes that carries with it and for two walls that call your attention. On the right, there’s a map of Woodsboro, pins linked by a red thread, connecting all the places where Ghostface hit in these past months. Your hand quickly reaches the back of your pocket to pull out your phone and snap a picture, hoping there will also be places he didn’t go, and this time you can be faster at stopping him. 

What’s on the other side is worse. 

“What the fuck…” you mumble under your breath as you step closer to the wall. Polaroid pictures hanging from it, Ghostface and the victims, you guess, moments before they were brutally killed. You’re not surprised, one of the gifts he would leave on the scene of the crime being Polaroids, but they didn’t make much sense. “He’s a fucking psycho,” you scoff as you take another picture. 

“Surpriiise!!” 

Your phone falls on the floor with a loud thud and your heart jumps in your throat when his voice breaks the deafening silence in the room, but your reflections are swift enough to make you reach for your gun and turn around, shooting. 

“Boo, fail,” Ghostface laughs, hitting your wrist hard enough to make the gun fall on the floor next to your phone. “You’re really not as smart as I thought you were, don’t you know intruding on someone else’s property is illegal?” he points out, pushing your body against the wall, the sharp blade of his knife grazing the skin of your neck. 

You try to keep calm, deep slow breaths as you try to don’t look scared for your life. You might die today, but you won’t give him that satisfaction. 

“Don’t look so frightened, my dear. I’m quite happy to have you all to myself,” he chuckles, his hand lifts to caress your face and you struggle to avoid it, but the click of his tongue makes you stop. “I wouldn’t act too careless, it’s sharp.” 

You stop moving. You are smart, and you can get yourself out of this situation. “Do you want to play a game, Ghostface?” You ask, ignoring his taunts, the irony in your voice is clear, just like it’s blatant in the slow bat of your eyelashes, but your words only make him laugh. 

“Oh, that’s not how it works, detective. That’s my line. You didn’t study the script?” 

You scoff, trying to take time to free yourself. “We’re switching roles. Do you want to play a game? It’s called you turn yourself in and I put you in jail.” 

He snickers, and his head tilts to have a better look at your face. He’s had many people in this position before and never saw so little fear in their eyes. “Now you want to act like you don’t love the chase?” 

“Fuck you, I don’t love it,” you spit out, narrowing your eyes, desperately trying to get a glimpse of anything under the mask. Another failed attempt. 

He laughs darkly, so deep it hits you to the core and makes you shiver — in fear or excitement, you’ll let this decide to your better judgment. “I know you do,” he coos as his thumb covered with the black glove caresses your lips. “Enjoy the little clues I leave you around? You were interested in the pictures, I knew you loved them, that’s why you get the prettiest ones. I tell you so much, but you don’t understand me,” his voice is calm, scarily calm, and full of sarcasm filled with a sweetness that feels like a slap across your face. “I was a bit mad it took you so long to find me.”

Rage shoots up inside of you, but you instantly push it down, you can’t lose your composure. “So, what are you going to do, kill me?” Your voice drops of a tone, and your eyes turn into a teasing gaze, making him chuckle. 

“Talking about death so nonchalantly with me, mmh… are you brave or dumb? Because if you ask so nicely, I just might let the knife sink in.” 

You laugh lightheartedly, putting up the best performance of your life before your eyes flutter seducingly at him. “No, please don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel,” you coo, lips in a pout and innocence in your eyes, until you hit him with a swift, strong kick between his legs, the distraction of your performance giving you time to slip to the side, causing just a bit of your skin to cut and bleed. 

“Bitch,” he mutters under his breath as he kneels to the ground. You reach for your gun, but barely have time to grab it before he pushes you on the floor again. “We were having so much fun, you just have to ruin everything.” 

You’re waiting for the worst when he traps you on the floor with his body on yours, but his arms don’t lift to stab you in your chest or stomach, the last thing you see before passing out is his hand lifting in the air and the sting of a needle pushing past your skin. 

The white light of the room feels like staring directly at the sun when your eyes blink repeatedly as you try to come back to earth and push away the hammering of your headache. You groan hoarsely, trying to adjust to the light, but the biggest discomfort comes from your shoulders, pushed behind your back and around the chair you’re now sitting on. 

“Sorry, I had to tie you up, but you’re a bit feisty today. Didn’t want you to get hurt,” Ghostface replies to your silent questions — not so silent, considering how loud you’re groaning and struggling on the chair, trying to break free. He’s standing in front of you, but a chair is right behind him so you guess he was sitting there before you woke up. 

“You can’t even take one down without a fight? Need to kill me without breaking a sweat?” You taunt, eyes dark and a deep frown on your forehead. 

But your teasing seems to leave him unfazed as he walks toward you with a glass in hand. “Drink.” 

You scoff, staring at him. You hate that you can’t see him, not even because you want to find out who’s hiding under there, but also because you feel like you can’t confront him well enough. “You think I’m so stupid to accept a drink from a psycho?”

His head rolls back followed by an annoyed sigh as he stops right in front of you. His black boots bumping against yours. “You know that’s not how I move, no fun in killing with these shortcuts. Drink. I would never want you to pass out here,” he coos while his free hand pushes your hair out of your face. You can’t see behind the mask, but you know he has a shit-eating grin on his face. He moves the glass to your lips, but you turn to the side, he doesn’t give you a choice when he strongly grips your chin, pushing your lips open, and forces the water down your throat. “Oops, it spilled all over, you’re so messy, detective,” he snickers when water drips on your chin and shirt. As if he didn’t do it on purpose. 

“Asshole,” you mutter, eyes closing into fissures while you look at him. His head tilts, “Oh, brave. I could slit your throat right now, add you to the collection.” 

You chuckle darkly, shaking your head. “You won’t,” you say firmly. “You’ve never had someone quite as fun as me.” 

A low laughter escapes from the mask. “So, you are at least a bit smart?” His hand places on your thigh and you try to move away, but the chair screeches on the floor, and his hold only tightens. 

“Don’t play games now. Don’t fake it,” he groans, hand moving up on your blue jeans. “You enjoyed our last conversation,” he whispers, the mask close to your face, so close you can almost see his eyes behind the blackness of the two holes. “Had shivers run down your back when the phone rang in the middle of the night, haven’t you? You sat up straight in your big bed, all alone, and felt fear take over. Never answer unknown numbers. That’s what they say, that’s what you say, running around town, warning everyone about me,” he laughs deeply. “And then look at you, picking up that phone call, eager to hear my voice on the other side.” 

“You’re a psycho,” you spit out, struggling against the restrainers. But once again it is an act; he is a psycho, but you are starting to fear you aren’t much different. 

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, I am, never denied that. But don’t act better than me. You stood right in front of that window, stripping for me, touching yourself for me, moaning for me. How fucked up that is?” He snickers. “You have fucked up fantasies, my pretty detective, but I’m not one to judge. I’d gladly help.” 

You laugh quietly, trying to look confident but it comes out shaky from your throat, “If you want to help, take the mask off and show me who you are.” 

“Wow, wow, darling. Not so soon, I’m not one to burn stages in a relationship. What next? Want to meet my mom?” 

You inhale sharply, and spit on him, “God, you’re insane.” Your eyes snap open when he pulls out of his back the sharp knife, your breath is stuck in your throat and fear runs all over your body. And once again you regret how impulsive you are. You did well all these past years of training and then on the first real-life experiences at pushing this side of you in the cage, but it looks like it’s coming out like a beast that’s been trapped too long.  

“Don’t be so scared,” he huffs, the fake sympathy in his voice should make you mad but it triggers something else inside of you, and you hate to admit that he might be right, you’re enjoying this more than you should, you’re enjoying this entire chase more than you should. It’s like a game, but it’s not when real people are dying. “I would never hurt you,” his voice is raspy, slightly muffled by the ghost mask he’s wearing, and the knife sits on your sternum. “I hope you didn’t like this shirt too much, detective.” 

You don’t have time to react, the steel cuts your shirt neatly, the sound bouncing in the small room and the sharp tip brushing your skin. You shiver, gulping hard and closing your eyes, already feeling the sensation of it cutting through you, but it doesn’t happen. 

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head disappointingly. “You truly don’t trust me. I’m offended, and I don’t like when people offend me. Just like I don’t like when they hang up the phone while we’re playing. If people were respectful, I wouldn’t have to kill them, you know?” You stare at him with a furrow on your face, you’d like to take the mask off and see his eyes, not really to find out who’s hiding underneath that mask, but to see if his gaze is as insane as you imagine it to be. 

“Let me go,” you say, the skin of your wrist bruised from the pressure you’re applying against the ropes.

“Don’t struggle too much, it turns me on,” he warns, kneeling at your level. He smiles softly and thinks it’s a pity you can’t see it, you’re just so pretty, with your beautiful face filled with different emotions and your eyes looking at him with a gaze that wants to be threatening but it’s all the opposite, almost making you look like a lost puppy.  

“Why?” 

“Why? It’s funny to see the victim beg for their life, it makes you feel powerful, you could show mercy, but you don’t,” the smug smile on his hidden face can be heard in his voice and you shiver at how cold he sounds, the shrug of his shoulder is just the cherry on top to his unhinged behaviour. 

“So, you’re just going to keep me here?” 

“No, I want to play with you. Do you want to play a game, detective?” 

Your gaze falls on your thighs where his hand is placed again, the black gloves preventing it from leaving traces behind, as it slowly moves closer to your heat. 

You snicker, pretending to play it cool, but your breath twitches at the contact. “’Cause if I said no you would stop?” 

“Hey, I’m a killer, not a rapist,” he defends, shrugging. Yet, you still don’t reply, and he doesn’t like that. “So? I’m not so patient when I ask people if they want to play with me, so don’t test me.” 

You swallow hard, swiftly looking around to see if you can pull a move on him. Damnit, it’s your chance to get him and throw him in jail but instead, you’re seriously thinking about his proposal. You fool yourself that you’re only doing this because maybe he could slip, maybe he could say something in the heat of the moment that could give you a clue, or he could leave his traces on you somehow, maybe his mask could fall, but you know you’re feeling something else. Attraction. 

“I said,” he mutters, his face comes closer to yours, making you pull back, and the knife pushes flat in the hollow of your chest, “do you want to play a game, detective?” 

“Yes, yes, I do,” you mutter, starting to breathe again when he pulls the knife away. 

“Good, I love playing with you.” His fingers move to unbutton your jeans and then pull the zip down, you look at him attentively. “Lift your hips for me, love?”

You glare at him at the pet name but he only chuckles deeply. “What? If I’m rough with you, you get mad, if I’m sweet with you, you get mad. I can never win, can I?” 

You huff, deciding it’s better to not reply and just do as he says. Your pants are quickly at your ankles and suddenly you feel even more trapped than before now that you can’t even move your legs, but his touch on your naked skin takes you away from that thought. 

“Pretty panties just for me?” He coos, tilting his head to the side as he stares at your burgundy panties with the lace trim. “Were you hoping to find me here so we could finish what we started on the phone?” 

“Shut up, this is not for you,” you retort, your forehead creasing with a furrow. 

“And who is it for?” He asks, cupping your pussy, watching your body shiver. “Oh, no, please don’t tell me there’s a boyfriend I’m not aware of. I’d hate to kill him.” 

You bite your lips and keep the contact with the mask, but words struggle to come out when his index finger starts rubbing on your clit, moving from the slit —where you can feel you’re starting to get wet— to your sensitive nub. “It’s not for you,” you repeat, trying to don’t show how much his touch is affecting you. 

“Well, you want me to work so hard too, I’ll have to find out on my own if someone is playing with what’s mine,” he replays nonchalantly. “I know where to find you, maybe I’ll come visit again.” 

“You talk so much for someone who wants to play so badly,” you retort, a teasing grin curling your lips. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know my princess was so eager,” he replies, saccharine voice filled with mockery, before a harsh slap lands on your pussy making you jolt and whimper. “Want my fingers?”

The glare you give him would be enough to kill him; isn’t this pathetic enough? How much more does he want you to humiliate yourself? 

He rolls his head back and then the knife is against your neck again. “Do we have to do this every time I ask you a question? Do you want my fingers, detective?” 

“Yes,” you whisper. Your body relaxes momentarily before tensing up with excitement again, but it quickly shifts to disappointment. “What are you doing?” You ask when his covered fingers press against you again. 

“Oh, you’ll get the gloves too, I’m not dumb, you know? Don’t leave fingerprints on dead bodies, won’t even leave them on yours,” his voice is smug, all the confidence of someone who didn’t make a wrong move and somehow was always ahead of you and the police department. 

You hate him. You hate he’s so much better than you at this. And you hate him even more now that he has you fighting whimpers and moans. 

“Are you seriously going to pretend you don’t like this while your hips are bucking up?” He taunts, clicking his tongue in a mock. “Think moaning is more pathetic than humping my fingers like a bitch in heat?” 

Your mouth opens to retort but you can’t deny the evidence; your hips are rolling against his hand, chasing for more, your panties are darkening as your wetness leaks through the fabric and your chest is heaving in erratic motions.  

“Look at me,” he sings, hand moving up to graze your neck, thumb pressing on your carotid, making your head snap up. “You listen so swiftly when you fear for your life. It’s funny, you know, because I truly would never hurt you.” 

You chuckle, shaking your head, trying to pull away from his hold when his hand moves up to caress your jaw. The gentleness of his touch is even scarier than when he has his knife pointed against you. “Is this what turns you on? The fear in their eyes?” 

His head tilts to the side, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “Partially. But not in your case, what turns me on with you it’s the chase, and the fact I always win.” 

You scoff bitterly, struggling in his hold but his hand quickly grips your chin and pulls you closer. “Didn’t you see the movies? The villain always dies.” 

“If the heroine is not busy getting fucked by him,” he mocks, squeezing your face harder and moving his fingers faster on your clit. Your head rolls back and so do your eyes while a chocked moan leaves your lips. “See, I doubt you will shoot me in the head if you keep moaning like this.” 

You groan angrily, you’re madder at you than you are at him. You want him and it’s so wrong that you do, but there’s not even a siren ringing in your head, telling you to make this stop. 

“No, shh, shh, angel, it’s fine, this will be our little secret,” he whispers to your ear, the mask rubbing against your face, and when your eyes turn to look at him, you can see small dots of blood on the white varnish. “We could play another game: one secret for you, and one secret for me. If you behave, maybe I’ll reveal myself to you, if you promise to keep it to yourself.” 

Your teeth sink into your lips harder when he delivers another harsh slap on your clit before resuming his quick movements. “Just — just tell me if I know you,” you mumble. You know he will never reveal himself, but maybe you can get something more, anything to complete the missing pieces of the puzzle. 

He chuckles darkly, staring at a spot behind you as he pretends to think. “Mhh, we’ve met.”

You frown and your heart jumps in your throat for a moment at the thought you’ve seen him. “Only met?” 

“We talked,” he adds, finally letting go of your face, making you breathe normally again. 

Your eyes widen while your brain hurts as you try to quickly connect the dots, and find out who’s hiding underneath the mask, you just have to put a face on a voice — even if distorted, but you can’t. And suddenly realization slumps on you.

“Will it — will it break my heart?” 

He snickers under his breath as he looks into your sad eyes, you’re looking at him like a dog when it’s being scolded, but in this case, you’re also silently praying he’s not someone close to you. He has no idea why that would make you feel better, if you care more about Ghostface or whoever is hiding under the mask, but it doesn’t matter, and he mocks you again, mimicking you in a high-pitched voice. “Will it hurt if I was someone close to you? A colleague? A friend? A lover?” 

Your breath gets faster. Will it? Would you turn him in or defend him? And you can’t stand you’re even questioning it, of course you’ll turn him in, that’s your job, but most importantly, your duty. But will you? You could be doing it now, and you’re not. 

“See? It’s not as funny if you know me,” he laughs at your face, your thoughts so loud he could get a headache. “It’s not as exciting, you love the thrill of this too, more than you like to admit.” 

“Fuck,” you curse when his other hand cups your covered breast, it’s a harsh tug and the leather feels weird on your skin, yet, it makes you clasp your thighs and forget what was tormenting your morals, again. 

“They’re so perfect, I can’t believe you always keep them hidden under those ugly clothes,” he pouts, giving it another hard squeeze. “Sorry.”

“For what — what the fuck?” You scream when he cuts your bra with the knife, first the middle and then the straps, the matching burgundy bra falling in pieces on the bottom of the chair. 

“It was getting in the way, and I don’t like things that get in my way. I cut them off,” in his voice lingers a hysterical laugh that makes you shiver, and in times like this, you’re glad you can’t see his face.  

You gulp and automatically close your legs. 

“Not you,” he reassures you, forcing your thighs open again with a smack, “you entertain me. And you suck at your job, so it’s clear you also don’t get in the way.” 

“I’m good at my job and I will get you and put you behind bars —” 

“Uh, uh,” he clicks his tongue, knife under your jaw before you can even finish the sentence, silencing you in an instant. “We were having so much fun, don’t ruin it, babe.”

You swallow and look down following the path he’s tracing with the knife, goosebumps bloom on your skin and you hold your breath when it gets closer to your neck, only releasing it when the blade sits in the hollow of your chest. 

“It’s so funny how you shake like a leaf, I’m a professional,” he says, sounding almost offended. And you furrow, is he talking about the knife or his fingers? “Both, love.” 

Another groan leaves your lips before he moves the crotch to the side and the cold air of the room hits your burning core. You’ve never been so ashamed your entire life, you shouldn’t be an open book to him, you shouldn’t be so malleable in his hands, it’s pathetic and humiliating. 

“You’re so fucking wet. I’m quite pissed I can’t run to the police department and let them know how much I turn you on. I can already see the disappointment on their faces,” he taunts, the slick sound of his gloves against your dripping pussy burns your body in shame and excitement.  

“Don’t you dare,” you spit out, but you don’t sound so menacing since your voice breaks, and a pathetically high-pitched moan rolls from your tongue right after.  

“I said I’m not going to, I keep my promises,” he kneels to the ground, one hand keeping you spread more and the other is still busy taking care of you. “Maybe if you promise you won’t shoot or put me in handcuffs right away when you’ll find out who I am, I can eat you out. I bet you let out the prettiest moans when you have someone between your legs.” 

Your head rolls back, and you hiss. “You wish,” you retort through gritted teeth, but a part of you dies to know what that would be like. “I will never give you the satisfaction.” 

He laughs mockingly. “Maybe I should blindfold you and do it now, will you recognize me by that?” At those words your body tenses up, head standing straight again as you look down at him with terror in your eyes. “What?” He asks in a giggle, surprised by your reaction. “You’re fucking with me right now, I still have blood on me. Would that be the most problematic thing? Having fucked with me before? Without this mask?” 

“You’re just messing with me,” you mutter but your brain is trying to think, the list of the people you’ve been with is not that long, he can’t be so stupid to out himself like that, right? 

“Maybe… I love it when I can see you think,” he whispers. “Usually, you have your hands in your hair, pulling at it even if you just washed it or spent hours styling it, and then you nervously bite your right thumb, somehow there’s always a hangnail to pull until it bleeds, oh, and you also nervously walk back and forth, two steps forward, two steps back. It’s cute, really. You have no fucking clue how to stop this, but you look so into it, chasing after me… well, so you think because, let’s be honest, you’re only chasing after your tail.” 

You can’t believe he knows all of this, how close to you is he? And a few names start popping into your mind, but for each face that you see, your only answer is it can’t be. 

“Why are you surprised? I told you, I love watching you,” he says, voice scarily soft even through the distortion of the mask. “You’re very pretty, detective. When you work hard to catch me, and even more when you screw it all up to moan for me.” 

“Ugh,” you groan through gritted teeth, wrist rubbing against the rope keeping you in place and hips bucking up, anger and pleasure mixing like a drug in your brain. You hate to admit it, but you’re close and you doubt you can push back your climax any longer.  

“It’s alright, love, I told you, I won’t judge you,” he hums. He studies your face for a moment, admiring how your teeth trap your lips in the vain attempt to don’t truly show how much you’re enjoying this, but your eyes are filled with lust, lightly glassy, and your cum is painting his gloves white. “Now, will you come for me?” 

He doesn’t have to tell you twice, your body shutters as the orgasm washes over you, the quick movements of his fingers on your sensitive clit making your nails dig into the palm of your hands while your moans slip out of you freely. Your morality disappears, getting dragged away with the orgasm that consumes you before leaving. 

You forget where you are for a moment, or to be more precise, with who you are with, as you let your head roll back, close your eyes and take deep breaths, waiting for the high to pass. 

The thing doesn’t bother Ghostface, though, he sees enough fear in people’s eyes, he likes it better when you stop pretending and relax around him. That’s the thrilling thing about you, you are the most entertaining game he has ever played. With all the others he knows how it will end, their lifeless bodies laying in a pool of their own blood and the sirens of the police going off in the background as he blends in with the crowd, but with you? It’s unknown. Like a Russian roulette. 

He’d love to shred all your clothes off, but he knows you’d have to spill your guts (not literally) if you walk out of there completely naked, and he’s sure the version you would tell the police would add another crime to his name. So, he takes your shoes off and then pulls your pants down. 

Your laugh makes him raise his face and stare at you. “What’s so funny, dollface?” 

You shrug, wetting your lips. “You scare me more when you act all sweet, you know?” 

He scoffs, standing up again, and caressing your face. “You want me to hurt you so badly. I could carve a heart right here,” he presses the tip of the blade next to your heart, tracing the shape of a heart, causing goosebumps to appear on your skin. “It would look so pretty on you, and you will always carry me with you. Isn’t it nice? Couple goals.” 

You raise a brow at him, he doesn’t even realize it, but he’s giving away so much of his personality, even if you don’t find it out now, you’re pretty positive all of this is leading you somewhere. You shake your head quickly, trying not to show how hard you’re thinking about your plan. “I only want one thing from you, and you know what it is.” 

He chuckles, leaning next to your ear. “My dick.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you curse, accidentally kicking him now that your legs are free to move. You suck your breath in, fearing your move, even if involuntary, might piss him off.  

He hisses but doesn’t do anything else. “Don’t get all bratty here, doll. You said you wanted to play a game, and we’re going to play it until the end.” 

When he cuts your panties and balls them in his fist, saying “keeping them as a souvenir,” with a grin that can be heard in his voice, you only reply with an “asshole.” 

Once again, he doesn’t pay your insults any mind, and you wonder why he’s so nice to you. Should you fear it? Will you be his last victim, getting the worst death of them all because he needs to put on a show? “Now I will untie you, if you play any trick on me… you know how it ends.” 

You nod quickly, watching him disappear from your view as he stands behind you. You inhale when the knife places against your neck again and roll your eyes back. “You don’t have to do this every time, you know?” 

“It turns you on,” he retorts firmly. “And I need to make sure you don’t do any funny business.” 

Your eyes roll back again but you try to relax anyway and keep still when your wrists are finally free. Your shoulders are in a more comfortable position again as you subtly roll them to ease up. “Get up,” he orders, and you follow, moving carefully because the blade is still close to your body and you don’t want to end up dead on the floor. “Good, now lay on the mattress.” 

Your face twists in disgust when you’re reminded of the mattress on the floor, but he pushes you forward. 

“We didn’t kill anybody there.” 

You stop, turning around swiftly, and his reflections are rapid enough that he doesn’t push the knife into your chest. “We?” 

“Oh… it didn’t click yet…” He laughs darkly at your expression, the whole world falling on your shoulders as you wonder how could you be so stupid to not realize it. “Sorry, love. But hey, aren’t you happy I helped you out?” 

You glare at him but then bring your hand to your hair and your thumb to your lips. Of course, there are two of them, that’s the only way they could always be so headed of you. 

“Not the right moment to think about that,” he warns, voice dropping lower, making you stop your nervous ticks. “Get on the bed.” 

You turn around again, suddenly aware that he’s completely covered and you’re bare. That thought makes you seek the cover of the mattress more, and swiftly you’re laying where he wants you. But it also turns you on, being so exposed to him while he’s giving you not even a peak of who’s under the mask and the clothes send chills down your body and more cum drips out you.

“Promise you’ll be good? We can play cat and mouse later if you want to,” he asks, the blade running flat on your boobs, making him chuckle darkly when your nipples harden at the contact and your hips buck up. “You promise, detective?” He repeats with urge when you don’t reply, too busy watching the knife move on your body as he pins you down. 

“Promise,” you reply, looking into the blackness of the eyes of the mask. 

He chuckles under the mask, and you watch him unbuckle his pants. You could easily grab the weapon that’s on your stomach and stab him, you could even un-mask him, but you lay still, almost mesmerized. And the conscience inside of you likes to remind you how fucked up you and your morals are, but you brush it off, shaking your head quickly. 

“Turn around,” he orders, but you hesitate. That’s too much vulnerability. It’s clear he doesn’t like your hesitation when he groans, grabbing the knife and pushing it aside. “God, I have to do everything with you,” he sighs as he forcefully flips you on your stomach before his legs trap you again. This time you can’t do anything even if you want to, but once again, you don’t want to. 

“Fuck,” he moans, hands cupping your full ass and squeezing hard, the firm hold eliciting a moan from you. “Look at you, so fucking pretty. Keep your head down, don’t try to even get a peak,” he warns, and your immediate reaction is to turn around to understand what’s going on, but you know better, so you press your face into the pillow and only when you hear the loud sound of a spit and a glob of saliva drip between your folds you understand what happened. “Not that it was needed, you’re dripping. But you know, I like to get messy at times.” 

You turn your face around, resting your head on the pillow, and bite your lips. The smugness and insanity of his voice causing more cum to ooze out of your pussy.  

“I want to feel you so bad,” he hums, spreading your cunt, making you feel so exposed, “but will you run to the police? Will you tell them ‘oh no, I had to fuck Mr. Ghostface to have a bit of his DNA and save the town from this psycho’?” he mocks with a high-pitched voice, it doesn’t sound like you at all, more like a hopeless, brain-dead, blonde girl that dies within the first minutes of any horror movie. 

You snicker. “You underestimate me, I could say I got those traces from somewhere else.” 

“But will you? Also, I’m pretty sure they will find traces of you too. How humiliating would that be? Come on, honey, I won’t blackmail you, but you will screw yourself over? That’s not very smart of you.” 

He’s right, you hate that he’s right. You will have to out yourself in the process of trying to turn him in. “I — I won’t.” 

Deep down he knows you won’t, there’s no way they won’t trace it back at you too, and he also knows you won’t try to play the victim when you’re not, but he needs to be conscious, one wrong step and you could turn the game around. As much as he likes to mock you, he knows you’re smart and have been close to discovering them a few times, it was a matter of luck, and they were extremely lucky. 

“Better safe than in jail,” he chuckles darkly, you don’t even try to peer around, and only listen to the plastic of the condom rip. 

You whimper when you feel the tip against your slit, and you hide your face in the pillow as if that could change the reality of what you’re willingly doing. You’re too excited to be so ashamed of your actions, but, even if some may argue your morality is nowhere to be found, it still feels like a big balloon hovering over you. 

You shiver when you feel the mask rest on your shoulder, “Nah, ah, angel, no being ashamed now. I told you I don’t like rude people, so don’t be rude and ask me nicely to fuck you.” 

The urge to slap him is stronger than anything else, but once again your greed makes him win. “Please… please fuck me.”

“Not what I want to hear, you know what I want. We practiced the other night, haven’t we?” He reminds you, a hand creeping around your neck, holding tight enough to make buzzes of fear run through your bones. 

You close your eyes, inhaling as deeply as you can while trying to find the courage to humiliate yourself one last time, but then the words slip out, “Please, fuck me, Ghostface,” and the air gets knocked out of your lungs when he pushes into you. It’s a strong, deep thrust that fills you to the brim and knocks you over. Your head falls against the pillow again while his loud groan fills your ears, “Fuck, it sounds so good from your lips.” 

“Oh, fuck,” you curse through gritted teeth when he starts moving right away, barely giving you time to adjust to the feeling, thick dick grazing your insides and strong hands wrapping around your waist tightly. 

“Is it too much for you, detective? My sweet little angel can’t take it?” 

A groan slips past your lips, you try to stand up on your elbows, but he pushes you down. His body presses against your back and you feel trapped again. “Don’t move. I will fuck you so deep into this mattress that I will feel your scent for days after this. I want your face smashed against the pillow, I want it to be wet with your ruined makeup and tears, got it? ” 

You nod quickly, shoulders dropping as you slump against the mattress. His breathing next to your ear makes you shiver, and you wonder if that’s the last thing the non-so-lucky people have met him heard before dying. But you push it away, for the sake of your sanity, you have to fool yourself that you’re not so attracted to a bloody murderer, that your morals are still intact, and that you are a good person. 

It’s pathetic how all the anger you feel disappears with each calculated thrust, pleasure getting to your brain so quickly you stop holding back. Soft whimpers and moans roll out of your tongue and unconsciously your ass grinds back into him.  

“Fuck, that’s what I want to hear,” he hums, standing up while his hands wrap around your waist. He never wanted to burn those gloves so badly, feeling the urge to feel your burning skin and mark you with his bare hands, but he can’t risk it. That doesn’t mean he can’t leave marks in other ways. One hand leaves your hips and cups your boob, eliciting a broken moan from you. “Have I told you they’re so pretty?” 

“Mhh,” you mumble, eyes closing as he pinches down on your nipple. You wish you could say it hurt you but instead, it makes you clench hard around him, cum leaking out more with each pinch on your delicate, sensitive buds. 

“Shit, you really are into pain,” he comments, there’s mockery in his voice —like always— but there’s also a genuine surprise. “Who would’ve thought, my innocent detective is way more fucked in the head than I thought.” 

“I — I’m not,” you retort, groaning and forcing your eyes open, but the deep chuckle that rumbles in his chest makes you quiver, and your attitude drops in a moment. 

“Honey,” he slurs, voice dipped in honey, “you’re letting Ghostface fuck you dumb, you are fucked in the head.” 

You shake your head quickly, but he’s had enough of your lies. The rough tug at your hair makes you let out a choked gasp as your head is lifted from the pillow. “I know you better than anyone else, angel,” he groans, mask pressed against your hot face. “I know your dirty, little secrets. I know what runs into that dirty, little mind of yours. You can’t lie to me,” he almost purrs, a low chuckle making shame fire up inside of you, “and I can feel you, princess. Squeezing me, barely allowing me to pull out to fuck back into you. Fuck — I should feel you right now, no stupid rubber between us.” 

Another broken moan slips from your lips when he roughly lets go of the hold on you, your fingers clench hard around the thin sheet under you, and your hips jerk up even more. It’s like you want to feel him more, to have him imprint himself deep into you, so far under your skin that you won’t be able to wash him off, and you don’t even know why you feel like this. Why it made you feel like this a week prior too, all the hesitation and fear as you picked up the phone and heard his breathy, distorted voice, flying out of the window the moment he started ordering you around. But was it truly an order when your only hesitation came from the fear of judgement, and you could only feel your body tingle with excitement? Sitting in front of the window, having no idea where he was hiding, putting on a show for the killer you swore you hated and making yourself come the hardest you’ve ever done. 

“It makes you feel special, doesn’t it? The way you’re the only exception. The only one I would never hurt.” His voice is lower, hitting you to the core, making your toes curl and your breath falter in your chest. “You’re like a daisy in a garden of bloody, red roses.” 

“Please,” you breathe out, choking on your tongue, eyes fluttering open shyly. 

“Want me to stop?” He coos, head cocking to the side as he lands a sharp slap on your asscheek that makes you hiccup on a whimper and then another to your boob that drags a louder cry out of you. “Don’t want to hear how special you are?” 

But that’s not what you meant. Your pleads were about something else, something you struggle to confess. 

A deep laugh resonates in his chest as he looks down at your already wrecked face. You’re so precious, he can’t believe you sometimes think he could hurt you. His prettiest game, his wildest fantasy. The thrill he feels in his bones every time he’s close to you, so, so near to being discovered and yet always safe. It’s exciting, getting to his brain so much he can hardly hide how much it turns him on. But you’ve never been this close before. He dreamed about fucking you, having you pressed under him, begging, moaning and crying as his dick hit deep into your sweet pussy, pounding into you over and over again until you were nothing but mush in his hands. He wanted to strip you down completely and leave nothing of the women he sees and admires every single day. He dreamed of having all this power over you, watching you get weak on your knees and let him do anything he wanted, watching your body convulse in pleasure and your brain empty. And here you are now; wet, fucked-out eyes looking up at him while your pretty, plump mouth opens and closes as your shut-down brain tries hard to find the words. 

“Speak up, princess. I don’t like to wait.” 

“Please, wa-want to feel you,” you slur in a whisper, eyes blinking lazily as you try to hold onto what’s left of your sanity. 

He chuckles, his thrusts coming to a stop that makes you whine in disappointment. “You want me to fuck you raw, detective?” 

You hum, nodding slowly, not for the lack of enthusiasm but for the amount of shame that’s looming over you like a tornado. But Ghostface doesn’t like your silences, he doesn’t like it when you hesitate, that’s not what turns him on about you. It’s your impulses, the way you jump into things headfirst without thinking, for some it may be dumb, but to him, it’s just that sprinkle of insane bravery that makes life exciting. Your head is yanked up again with a rough pull of your hair, but his hold quickly moves to your neck. “I thought we were over the phase where I have to drag the words out of your mouth, detective. I’ll ask nicely one last time, do you want me to fuck you raw?” 

You swallow your pride and reply meekly, “Ye-yes.” 

He chuckles, pulling out of you almost completely before sinking in again with no warning, knocking the air out of your lungs, air that’s already struggling to fill them as his hold on your neck doesn’t loosen up. “See? It wasn’t that hard, was it? Even your stupid brain could put two words together.” 

You gasp for air when he finally lets go and your face sinks on the pillow again. 

“I’d love to, but I won’t risk it. Maybe next time, maybe if I’ll ever feel like telling you who I am,” he replies, and you groan in disappointment. Not only he doesn’t give you what you want but he also mocks you, reminding you why you’re here and how your mission flushed down the toilet as you let him play you like a violin. 

“Then — fuck — please, fuck me harder,” at this point you want him to fuck you so hard your brain will just unplug and your superego can stop nagging at the back of your mind. You don’t want a single thought in your brain, just pleasure and lust. 

“That I can give it to you,” he hums happily, and in a second, he complies. His hips start snapping against you at a fast speed, his tip hitting you deep repeatedly as he keeps you arched back with one hand around your waist and the other one wrapped around the makeshift ponytail he made with your hair. 

You can already feel the orgasm build up at the tip of your stomach, but it only worsens when Ghostface roughly pulls you flat against him. Your head falls behind on his shoulder, eyes rolled far in your skull as your lips hang open to let out desperate moans and suck in as much air as possible. 

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he moans, his thumb rubs against your neck and jaw while his right hand squeezes and pulls your boobs hard before pinching the nipples. “Listen to those pretty sounds you make,” he snickers, “and you still want to pretend you’re innocent and pure? You’re fucked up just like me, baby, that’s why I like you so much,” he slurs. 

You blink, once again adjusting to the light is uncomfortable but you make out just in time the fact he’s holding a Polaroid camera. “Smile for the camera, babe,” his voice rings in your ears but doesn’t reach your brain and before you know it, you’re coming just like that. The look on your face is not a smile but an expression of blissed pleasure, the exact moment as the climax explodes inside of you, making you clench around his dick and shake in his arms, your arm twisting back, letting your hand claps on his bicep and sink your nail in the thick fabric of the black cloak.  

Ghostface would like to say he’s disappointed and scold you for misbehaving, but he can only stare at you with amused disbelief written all over his face. But you only see the constant expression of the mask and once again, you fear for a second he’s mad at you. Truth be told, he could even kill you right now, you wouldn’t mind much or even notice, too lost in the pleasure that’s still looming on your body. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, hips slowing down until they stop completely, “you just gifted me the most precious pic in my collection,” he whispers. You feel like the edge of mockery is still persistent but at the same time something genuine lingers in it, it doesn’t make it less creepy, but the ‘fuck me harder method’ worked because you don’t question his, and yours, fucked morality and just smile dumbly. 

And that smile, united with the slow bat of your wet eyelashes, is what he needs to lose it. 

“Oh, fuck it, I’ll clean you up once we’re done and if you’ll try to turn me in, I’ll find out, so you better keep your promise, alright?” 

You don’t get what he’s talking about right away, too fucked out as you lay on the mattress waiting for his next move, but when he pulls out of you and swiftly pulls the condom out, you get it. You bite your lips in anticipation and swing your hips in invitation. 

The sight would be enough to make him come right there, and he damns himself because out of all people, you can’t be his biggest weakness. It got to be some fucking joke of destiny. “Will you go to the police?” 

“No,” you mumble.  

“Good girl, because these little games are just for us, me and you, you can’t use what we do here to help you with your case.” When he sinks inside of you again, he feels like he could lose it all for the way your wet, warm walls wrap around him. “Fuck, fuck,” he curses, voice even more distorted now that he murmurs through gritted teeth, “you feel so fucking good.” 

His thrusts now are almost primal, desperately pounding you against the mattress, keeping you pinned down with a hand on the back of your head —not that you need that, you wouldn’t be able to hold your neck up even if you wanted to— and holding for dear life on your hips with the other. You’ll probably have some bruises by the end of the night, if not colored prints on your skin, surely light discomfort at the touch will follow you for a few days. And you almost want to beg him for more, to mark you in some other ways, to leave something just for you to see and carry with you. Sick and perverted thoughts cross your mind, and you push them away swiftly. 

You bite down on your lips when his hand leaves your side to torture your nipples again, he can barely push his hand between your body and the mattress, but he has just enough space to play with your sensitive nipples, making them even harder and causing you to clench even more around him. He loves how sensitive you are there and how each rub, pinch, and slap has you easily squirming and moaning under him.

“Look at you, going all dumb on my cock,” he groans, mockingly giving one harsh slap to your tits before his fingers trace your cheek. Your skin is so hot he can almost feel it through the fabric separating you, but what he’s most fascinated about are your tears, black mascara running down your beautiful face, dying on the pillow and your tortured parted lips. “Are you still thinking about being better than me or — fuck — have you finally embraced your dark side?” 

Not a word comes out of your mouth when you whimper back, and not even a thought crosses your mind. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he grins smugly. “You know,” he breathes out, head thrown back as it gets harder and harder to contain the orgasm, but he doesn’t want it to end so soon, “you should fire yourself and be my toy, just my toy, every time I need you, everywhere I need you. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? It’d make you feel even more special.” 

You mumble a weak reply, it’s a whispered ‘no,’ but your body doesn’t deny how much the thought turns you on. Too many responsibilities in your life and your job, too much to carry daily, but right now? Nothing. Guilt will eat you alive tomorrow but not now. Something feels exciting about being on the run with him, being the one that runs, instead of the one that chases. But it won’t happen, you believe in your job, and you want this slasher to end.  

“Cause only I can get you like this, ugh,” he grunts, hips slamming faster but more sloppily against your ass, the vulgar sounds filling up the room. “No man before and no man after will make you come this hard. Nobody, love. No matter how much you’ll want to, they all will disappoint you and you will look for me in every single one of them,” he groans, each word punctuated by a harsh slam of his hips, “well, the lucky ones that will get a taste before I’ll get them and kill them.” 

You don’t reply, just lay there, looking like a mess as you try to fight another orgasm because coming again would be humiliating. 

“It turns you on, doesn’t it?” You can hear the grin on his face and his voice has the edge of insanity of the usual. “Let’s be honest, you’ve got a list of shitty partners, you would’ve been grateful if I got rid of some of them.” 

“Fuck, just — just fuck me,” you beg, your hand reaching behind to touch him somehow, but he doesn’t like it. 

He grips your hand and pins it behind your back bending your arm, you hiss in discomfort, but he doesn’t let go. “Oh, no, angel. You don’t make the rules in this game, I do. If I want to sink into your brain and get so deep into you that I’ll make sure you will never come out the same, I will. I’m the darkest side of yourself, the fucked up filth you’re too afraid to face,” he groans. “And I know you’re close again. Your tight cunt is squeezing me, and you made a mess on the mattress,” he snickers. “Imagine if they find this place, this mattress, your DNA on it,” he stops, leaning next to your ear, voice dropping lower, “or better, imagine if they find us now. What do you say, detective? Would they be disappointed? Would they just jack off at the view? You look so hot right now, I wouldn’t blame them if they’d get off to you, to us together. Kill them surely, blame them not. We’re so hot, detective.” 

You squirm under him, feeling like the room is spinning fast and you can’t ground on anything. You have a darker thought in mind, something you can’t confess to him or else he won’t stop mocking you. You want to get caught, but not by your colleagues, by his partner. What would he do if he saw you and his partner in crimes like this? Would he understand this, or would he snap? Maybe even feeling betrayed. Does he even know you and him have been playing this game of attraction for a while now?  

Your silence doesn’t make Ghostface suspect anything. You simply look totally fucked out, brain empty as you plead in soft whimpers and moans. 

“You sound so fucking good,” he praises. “Why don’t we play another little game, uh?” 

Your eyes open in surprise and you hum with no strength, “what?” 

“Beg me to save your life,” he says, grabbing the knife again and placing it close to your neck. “Come on, do it for me, I won’t ever hear you say it because I will never want to kill you. Please, detective,” he coos, hips slowing down because your pussy is fogging his brain and he’s not sure his always-perfect aim and reflexes will work right now. 

You take a deep breath and then speak. “Please, Ghostface, please, spare my life.” 

His head rolls back, and a deep, groggy moan comes out of his lips. “Fuck, yes, keep going,” he orders, hips picking up the rhythm again as he skillfully flips the blade to the lesser sharp side just to be safe. 

And you obey. You beg, choked-up words slipping from your lips that soon turn into please, fuck me harder, and then please, wanna come. You feel boneless, your body is too hot, and you feel you might pass out, you need a release and then hope something bigger than you will make you get back on your legs and walk out of there as if nothing happened, as if you never followed your guts and found his —their— safe haven. 

“Come for me, love,” he orders, throwing the knife to the side before his hand sneaks under your body to roughly slap your clit a few times, enjoying the louder moans he drags out of you by doing so and watching with pleasure as your body squirms and shakes. “And don’t forget to smile for the camera.” 

This time your eyes lock with the polaroid that he points toward your face as his chin rests on your shoulder. But it only lasts for the time of the picture, your body collapses again when he lets go of your hair and you let the pleasure pervade you from head to toe. It’s breathtaking and mind-blowing, and next time you’ll fuck someone else you’ll hate that he’s right. You will feel him everywhere, you will feel his dick deep inside of you every time your fingers will desperately try to take its place, and every time you’ll let someone in your bed, but you don’t hate that thought as you should. 

“Fuck,” he groans, giving you a few more pumps to make sure you rode your high before slipping out and then roughly flipping you over. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and you follow with no hesitation —honestly, you were struggling to keep them open in the first place. 

Your heaving chest, your parted lips still letting out cries, your wet cheeks, and your trembling closed thighs are the last drop he needs to let go. Deep moans reach your ears while his hot cum drops on your face, most on your skin but some in your mouth, and they get even louder when you shyly swallow it and lick your lips for more. 

“Fuck, fuck, you’re —” he gasps but doesn’t finish, holding onto nothing as he empties himself all over your face. “Fuck.”

He feels dizzy, the orgasm still shaking him up, but then he looks at you and has to bite back a moan. The white strings of cum are covering your blissed face, your eyelashes are clumped together by the tears, and your lips are plump and darker, he knows he doesn’t want to forget what you look like right now. “Smile one last time, baby.” 

And you do, the corners of your mouth lift and then you hear the click of the polaroid. You think for a second you should’ve told him to don’t take them, he could easily blackmail you, or straight-up get you fired, but once again, you don’t truly care, and you don’t deny how much the idea of those photos turned you on.

You should get up, grab your pants, jacket, shoes and leave. But you feel heavy and tired, you’re still shaking, and your breath didn’t go back to normal, yet. 

“Don’t worry, detective,” Ghostface whispers, something passes on your face to clean you from the mess, but you don’t know what, and only then you open them ajar, just to see he’s still wearing his mask. “I’ll take care of you.” 

The Ghostface mask is the last thing you see. 

When you wake up, you’re in your bed, wearing your nightwear, completely cleaned up, but your bones and muscles are still sore, and a terrible headache is throbbing in the left side of your brain. You turn around, rubbing your eyelids with your palms before you can fully focus on the pillow and see three things on it. The Ghostface mask, a polaroid of you two from before, his face next to yours as he pulled your hair, and a note. 

“It was a pleasure playing with you, my pretty detective. Can’t wait to see what our next game will be like♡ ” 

general taglist: @froggyforyoongi , @wingsss45 ; @tddyhyck ; @technologyculturedneo

© neowinestaindress; all rights reserved. do NOT repost, modify, or translate any work from this blog on any other platform and claim it as yours. you can find my works on ao3 (neowinestaindress) and wattpad (winestaintedress_; currently inactive).

#nct fanfiction #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #wayv smut #haechan smut #johnny smut #jaemin smut #jeno smut #jisung smut #jaehyun smut #taeyong smut #yuta smut

[mylosz0]

It’s The Little Thing’s ♡

Characters: Yuji, Megumi, Yuta, Inumaki, Aoi Todo

Yuji - Always holds you close in his arms whenever he needs warmth and wants your reassurance. He loves having you nuzzle against his chest as he softly strokes your hair while you both get warm or one of you feels a little on the low. Definitely whispers I love yous as he peppers your face with kisses, ending with you both giggling with big grins on each others faces.

Megumi - Whenever you two are gossiping late at night, he stares at you like you’re the only person in the world (which for him you are). Loves to see you talking with a smile on your face as you get more excited. Always ends up taking your hand and just squeeze it to let you know he’s listening to everything you say.

Yuta - Whenever he hears a slow song on he takes your hands and dances with you, specially when you’re both in the kitchen cooking and it plays. He loves having your head rest on his chest as he sways the both of you to the music. When the song does end he kisses you softly as he smiles down at you, wondering how lucky he got when he met you.

Inumaki - Leaves little notes in your room whenever he knows your stressed or something important is coming up. It’ll be things like whether it’s “I love you, sweetheart!” Or “You’ll ace that exam!” or simply some chibi drawings of you, because he likes drawing you <3

Aoi - Cooks for you whenever he knows you can’t go out to lunch. He always tells you eating is important and that if you can’t get food he’ll make it for you, whatever you want whenever you want. He might not be the best at it, but always tries his best for you :,)

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fluff #jjk yuji #yuji itadori #yuji x reader #jujutsu kaisen yuuji #jjk yuta #yuta okkotsu #yuta x reader #megumi x y/n #megumi fluff #megumi x you #jjk megumi #jujutsu megumi #megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi fushiguro #inumaki x reader #inumaki toge #jjk inumaki #jujutsu kaisen inumaki #inumaki x you #inumaki fluff #inumaki x y/n #aoi todo #jujutsu kaisen aoi todo #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujustu kaisen

[onyourhyuck]

String Theory | Na Yuta(M) PREVIEW.

Prologue;; • “We said no strings attached, what happened to that?” “You, happened. I can’t control my emotions.”

TRAILER!!! Release Date;; • September 16th.

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Synopsis;; • Kano Alice gets dumped one day and where do you go to release heartbreaking pain? At a bar. She meets an older guy, Nakamoto Yuta and has an one night stand with him, later does she know he is her new CEO Boss. She struggles to hide her feelings of love for the non-commitment guy.

Genre;; • Angst Fanfic, Alice (23) and Yuta (33), Smut is an often thing here ahem, REALLY DEPRESSING TBH- so If you don’t wanna cry out of frustration DONT read this 😭.

Warnings;; • Age Gap 10 years, both are adults 😀 we don’t support minors here, CEO x Employee, Dilf!Yuta, Rich Yuta <3 augh, One sided love, FWBS (almost? But not really at the same time) Mention of bad mental health, Mention of divorce, tw domestic abuse and manipulation is used here a lot. Yuta is in denial, Yuta sucks ass here, Alice deserves better.

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#nct fanfiction #nct smut #nct x reader #nct yuta smut #yuta fanfiction #nakamoto yuta #nct 127 yuta #nct fic #String Theory #nct hard hours

[nctstar]

poly! nct 127 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ threesome ver.

hard dom members x sub reader

pairing: nct 127 x fem!reader

word count: 2.6k

genre: smut

warnings: sexual content so minors please dni! everything is consensual, hard dom members, heavy degradation and bsdm content (don't read if triggering), safeword discussed, oral (male and female receiving), rough penetrative sex (unprotected, please be safe irl), manhandling, hair pulling, painplay + impact play (whipping), face slapping + spanking, squirting, fingering, clitoral stimulation, double penetration (same hole), a lot of crying, begging, sexual punishment, daddy kink, kissing, anal (female receiving), multiple orgasms + overstimulation, intense orgasms, mentioning ex during sex, handjob, hand over mouth (female receiving), profanity, (everything is really messy idk how to write this so you hopefully get what i mean)

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction purely from my (filthy) imagination. I don't know the nct members and don't claim that they act like this in real life. I also do not condone any of the activity by any of the characters in this fic. everything is consensual and safewords/limits have been discussed prior to the scene - sex is only sex when it's fun for both parties, please keep this in mind <3

a/n: so um...here's this. I was running on matcha coffee 3 hours of sleep and 2 episodes of pretty little liars all before 9am yesterday when something in my body just felt COMPELLED to write this, so here it is :D also labyrinth ch 2 is COMINGG i just need time to write it in a good way, but i've planned the entire thing and am excited to see how it ends up. also, i've decided to make poly! nct a series, not quite sure if i'll keep the same pairings or how this will work but it won't only be smut, i plan to write lots of different types of scenarios for them. anyways, love you, bye for now xx

Mark & Taeyong ~ Thighs slipping against each other, water dripping down to your ankles as you stumbled towards Taeyong’s parted legs. “Bend over.” He commanded, but you felt the shove before you could, pushing you forward with a gasp. Mark’s open hand now pressing down on the shallow bend of your back, he toyed with the strings of your bikini bottom, chuckling darkly at your every whine. Taeyong grabbed your chin roughly, forcing your face inches away from his. You winched as his grip tightened, hard enough to leave bruises. “Fucking slut.” Your heart hammered as you felt the cold air hit your now bare core and ass, Mark squeezing the plush of your behind as he groaned in pleasure. “Fuck, she’s so sexy.” He drawled. The panic began to quicken, pouring down your veins like ice water when you felt the wood-hard bulb of his dick press against your exposed hole. Eyes watering, you begged, not quite sure what you were begging for. “Please, please, p-please…” Mark slapped your ass in response, the tears now rolling down your cheeks as you cried out. Your vision whitened, side of your face stinging as Taeyong slapped you, twice, the edges of his ring marking a spot underneath your cheekbones. “Bend the fuck over. All the way.” You nodded as you cried, shutting your eyes as you held your ankles and let your head hang down, the blood rush making you delirious.

The pain and pleasure made your legs tremble, losing control of your body, gripping until you felt the bony edges of your ankles, moans ripping themselves from your throat as Mark bottomed out. “So big, please…” You gasped, as if his cock choked you from the inside. You babbled apologies, shaking your head when you heard the sound of Taeyong’s zipper above Mark’s sloppy thrusts. “Please, n-no…no more, I can-nghh,” you trailed off, feeling your own release grease your inner thighs, shame pooling in the bottom of your stomach. “We’re not done here, slut. No safe word means you still want this. Stupid whore.” Taeyong groaned as he pumped himself to his full hardness, watching you shakily squat down to the cold tiles, listening for any signs of protest. You stayed quiet, heaving, a sudden urge to let go as your head throbbed from your last orgasm. You felt Mark wrap one arm around your lower stomach, pressing down hard and lifting you off the ground. You squealed, trying to push his arm away, the muscles bulging underneath his skin. “You’re too rough with m-me…” Your knees hit the cold tiles as Taeyong pushed his length into your mouth, another hand holding you in place and gripping your hair tight. “Can you cum like this? Hmm?” Your head spun, pussy throbbing from the humiliation, Mark’s legs now caging your body as you stared up at Taeyong, cock bruising the back of your throat. Your pleas were lost around his length as Mark began to press his fingertips into your scalp, making you sob. “What’s the matter? Too rough?” He teased, his laugh searing into your brain. You pressed your thighs together as something sent you over the edge, making you spray all over the tiles like a rabid animal. As you gasped for air, Taeyong kept thrusting in your mouth, groaning as he came, moonlight hitting the sheen on his skin as you swallowed every last drop.

Jaehyun & Johnny~ “Faster, sweetie.” His words dripped sticky like honey in the shell of your ear. Your legs wobbled, biting your lip so hard you tasted rusted metal. With Jaehyun’s semi-hard cock nestled inside of you, you tried to grind your hips quicker, earning a satisfied groan from Johnny. “Good girl.” You moaned in pleasure, shockwaves of euphoria running through your body, but moments later, Johnny gripped you around the waist, fingers digging harshly into the plush of your sides. “But not fast enough.” You whimpered, knowing what comes next. Jaehyun brought one arm up to wrap around your shoulders, pulling your face into the crook of his neck. As you shook your head, he shushed you quietly. “Wanna use your safe word?” You shook your head, and Jaehyun held you tighter against him, the fingers of his other hand travelling down to press down on your clit. “Such a nasty little doll for us to fuck.” You moaned when he sped up, tears flowing down your cheeks as you came. “So quick to cum too. Open.” You thought he meant open your eyes, so it took you by surprise when he pressed his fingers past your slightly parted lips, pressing down on your tongue until drool ran down your chin. “Silly girl.”

Your body jerked when you felt the thick tip of Johnny’s cock press against you. You gazed pleadingly at Jaehyun, as if to beg for mercy. “Can’t even use our cocks right. Gotta do all the work ourselves. Stupid girl.” You buried your face into Jaehyun as the heat of embarrassment blossomed across your face, but Johnny wasn’t having it. One quick wrap around his wrist and your head was yanked back, scalp burning from the impact, stray strands of hair falling limply across your face. “What do you say, hmm?” The stretch burned deliciously as he continued to push inside you, tucking himself right next to Jaehyun, so good you forgot how to breathe. “Mnghh, y-yes, s-so good, please, please, Daddy, l-love it, love being stuffed…” Your mouth slackened as an unexpected orgasm rendered you numb. When your senses returned, you felt Jaehyun grind his hips upwards in smooth, fluid, quick snaps, while Johnny pounded you from the back. You cried as you felt another orgasm be torn from you, piece by piece. “F-fuck, oh my god!” Johnny’s arms wrapped around your neck, your fingernails tearing at his biceps for air as you squirted hard over both of them. “Please, Daddy, can’t-“ As he released you, letting you fall onto Jaehyun’s toned torso, you cried, stuttering in between shaky breaths. “T-thank, you, thank you…”

Haechan & Taeil~ “It’s too big…” you whined, lube running down the crevices between your legs. Haechan shushed you, petting your hair. “You’re okay, kitty. Remember we use our words when we want to stop, hmm?” You nodded, remembering the safe word. You couldn’t lie – it felt equal parts weird and good. You felt Taeil lift you by your arms, letting you wrap your arms around him. “Mmm, Daddy…” you sighed as he sucked and nipped at your neck. The dildo continued to travel inside your ass, and Taeil whispered in your ear. “You’re gonna take it all, right? Like a good kitty.” You cried as the stretch started to make you force yourself off the dildo, but Taeil grabbed your thighs, pressing them against his so you couldn’t move. “Shhh…” he continued to kiss along the shell of your ear, while you protested. “Daddy, f-fuck, wait, it’s so b-big…” Haechan was relentless, and without warning, began to thrust it upwards. You felt like your entire world had been split into two, your stomach torn to shreds. “Oh my god!” you screamed. “H-Hyuckie!”

“Naughty kitty…you thought I hadn’t noticed that you were flirting with Mark today?” You cried, shaking your head as he continued his pace. Your heart pounded at the thought of him going faster, even though you knew you could stop him at any point. “Bad kitty.” He tutted. Taeil’s bulge grew underneath your pussy, and you made the mistake of glancing down. “Nasty kitty.” Haechan’s breath tickled the side of your neck, and your body started to shake in pleasure. “Hnghh…” Taeil laughed. “You’re soaking me, kitty. You’re really gonna cum from your punishment?” His teasing tone made you moan incessantly, and he grabbed your hand, shoving it under the waistband of his shorts. “Daddy first.” You nodded, stroking him under his pants as Haechan continued to fuck your ass with the dildo, groaning at your pornographic sounds. “What do you say, kitty?” You felt Taeil coat your hands with cum, and your legs shook. “H-Hyuckie, please, can I cum?” He stayed quiet, pressing the dildo fully inside you. You continued to beg as he pushed his cock inside you, sliding down Taeil’s body agonisingly. “Can’t, c-can’t hold it in, p-please…” Taeil pressed your face on his crotch while he chuckled. “What about me, honey?” With tears running down your face, you begged, “C-can I cum, Daddy…please – oh!” the breath left your lungs as Haechan yanked the dildo out, sheathing himself inside your ass. “Cum, kitty.” You stammered words of relief as you came the hardest you ever had, Haechan finishing all over the curves of your ass and lower back.

Jungwoo & Yuta~ You couldn’t see anything, but you knew it was him. You’d recognise his lips anywhere, tongue slithering up inside you like snakes. “J-Jungwoo.”

You heard the whip crack before you felt it, a diagonal line on your back, white-hot pain seeping into your body. You fought a sob as Jungwoo kissed your neck, the lips on your core still sucking and kissing your sensitive folds. “Wrong.”

He waited for you to give you the all-clear, to nod, letting him know you were still good to continue before he left your side, and it was silent again.

You yelped in surprise as you felt someone nip at your chest, one hand pressing your back to keep you still. You whimpered, the sudden jolts of pain making your body writhe under his arms. “Y-yuta.”

You were released immediately, but your breathing remained laboured. For a second you thought you were wrong again, and you held your breath, squeezing your eyes even though you were blindfolded. “Correct. Last one.” You felt your head be yanked back by your hair, making you yelp. “A-ah, it hurts…” You feel something rub against your lips, the shape and texture making you quickly realise it was a cock. You whimpered involuntarily, knowing this one would make or break this game. You swirled your tongue around the end, sucking on the tip, kissing blindly around the shaft, your lips meeting the softer skin of the balls as you did. “Jungwoo.” You continued kissing, sucking, bringing your hands up to cup his balls, and that’s when you heard him groan. “Fuck. So filthy, isn’t she, Yuta?”

He laughed, and you felt the air between your legs. He sucked your clit, making you moan onto Jungwoo’s length. “A-ah, feels good…” Yuta hummed into your core. “Filthy sluts like you…” he kissed you, “…deserve…” he swirled his tongue inside you, holding your knees down when they rebounded upwards to move away from his mouth, “to cum over, and over…” You came with a cry as he sucked relentlessly, but you were cut off by Jungwoo pushing his cock inside you, making you gag noisily. “If you like my cock so much, let me give it to you.” Dizzy with relief, Jungwoo lay you on your back, the sheets slipping against your bare skin as you slid your body upwards. Yuta held you down, pressing your stomach into the mattress, watching as your back arched off the sheets rhythmically, tits rolling with each movement. “S-so good, fuck, f-fuck…” Your legs felt like jelly as Jungwoo held your face in place, the new angle over you allowing him to thrust in your mouth, the weight of gravity making his cock heavier than usual. Balls slapping against your chin, you felt it bulge in your throat, wrapping your fingers around yourself to feel it slip in and out of you. He pulled out slowly, a slurry of coughs and moans filling the air as you felt yourself cum onto Yuta’s face, his fingers rubbing the inside of your knees to ground you. You babbled incoherently, not knowing whether you wanted Yuta to stop, for Jungwoo to leave. The tip of Jungwoo’s cock on your lips brought to back to Earth. “Give me a kiss.” You kissed him diligently. “Y-yes sir, love this c-cock so much…” He came all over your ruined face to finish the job, just as you felt Yuta press himself inside you, sensitive clit screaming from the stretch.

Doyoung & Jaehyun~ “Stop, s-stop…” Jaehyun halted his fingers as you shuffled your bare body on his satin pants, pressing your legs together to centre yourself in the midst of your post-orgasmic haze. “Already came.” Jaehyun leant his head over your shoulder, bringing your naked body closer to his. “I know, sweetie. Wanna see you make another mess…” He brought his hands closer to your core, watching and waiting for you to protest. You didn’t. You were watching Doyoung, watching the way his shirt hung off him desperately, inches of his body peeking out from under the fabric. “Like what you see?” You moaned unexpectedly when Jaehyun dug his fingers inside you, running his fingers across your spongy walls. “A-ah…” Your mouth hung open, the pleasure more intense than before. Doyoung walked across to tilt your chin upwards, wrapping his fingers around your jaw while his thumb ran across your swollen bottom lip. “What was that you said about your ex? How he made you finish so hard you had to throw away your sheets?” The implications of his words somehow made that knot in your stomach tighten, every stroke of Jaehyun’s fingers now bringing you to the edge of euphoria. “Answer me.” He squeezed your cheeks as you made guttural noises, your orgasm hitting you at once. Jaehyun sped up his fingers, not caring when he felt your insides grip him like a vice, as it begging him to slow down. The slap of his palm against your clit was brutal, and Doyoung pressed his open palm against your mouth. “If you’re not gonna answer me, then you don’t deserve to speak, whore.” Tears sprung to your eyes as you grabbed at Doyoung’s wrist, pleading. He watched you carefully. “Nod if you remember the signal that replaces the safeword.” You nodded eagerly, and he stepped closer to you, his other hand now pushing the back of your head into his palm, holding your head in place.

“Finish me off. Hurry up.” You grabbed at his pants, the silky fabric slipping away as you wrapped your hands around his length. He groaned, bringing your head to his stomach as he let go of your mouth, letting you breathe into his stomach. “Good girl. Stay quiet now.” You whimpered, losing count of the times you had already came. Jaehyun pulled his fingers out, pressing onto your clit now. You lifted your head off Doyoung. “Nghh, wait, not there…” Doyoung smacked your head in warning, making tears spring to your eyes. “This is why you haven’t squirted yet. We’re too nice to you. Always listening to you, treating you like a princess. When all you are is a dirty whore.” His words made the tears run down your face, but you were turned on more than ever. Jaehyun sucked at your neck aggressively, his voice deep and sonorous. “We’re not finished until you’ve squirted hard enough to ruin these pants. Then once again around my cock. And then around his.” You wailed, feeling your orgasm approach you in towering phases. “Ah, ah, feels w-weird, fuck, wait, I think I’m gon-“ You were cut off by Doyoung’s fingers, pressing inside you while Jaehyun drew circles on your clit. “Don’t fucking stop jerking me off. Don’t care if you’re cumming.” You threw your head back, quickening each flick of your wrist as you felt yourself reach your high, each cry more intense than the last. Legs shaking, you felt the wetness come out of you in quick bursts, fingers spreading it all over the three of you, through clothes and onto skin.  

#kpop #nct #nct fanfiction #kpop fanfiction #nct scenarios #nct fanfic #nct imagine #kpop imagine #nct 127 #nct smut #nct 127 smut #doyoung smut #johnny smut #mark smut #hard dom nct #dom nct #haechan smut #taeil smut #jungwoo smut #yuta smut #jaehyun smut #taeyong smut #dom taeyong #dom jaehyun #dom johnny #dom mark #dom haechan #dom taeil #dom doyoung #dom yuta

[magewritesstories]

[ ʏᴜᴛᴀ ᴏᴋᴋᴏᴛꜱᴜ ] ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱ, ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱ, ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱ ʙᴏʏ

summary: yuta is jealous of his replacement—your stuffed animal cw: fluff, established relationship, comical jealousy note: i had to write something for my fav anxious boy word count: 652 jujutsu kaisen masterlist // main masterlist

YUTA OKKOTSU NEVER HAD ANYTHING AGAINST DINOSAURS UNTIL TODAY.

Sure, they were cool in the weird way you would find deep sea creatures cool, but he didn't have a particularly strong opinion about them.

Until today.

In all honesty, it's a trap of his own making. He was the one that had won you that plushie at the night festival after all, but that didn't make it any less annoying.

Yuta had come back from his latest way-too-long way-too-far overseas mission and had been dead tired. So, when you suggested to simply cuddle as he caught up to some much-needed rest, the black-haired boy happily agreed.

Except he was wide awake right now, and all your attention and affection seemed to be directed towards the dark green dinosaur plushie in your arms instead of him.

The two of you were about as physically close as you could get—your back against his chest, legs tangled together, and his face buried in the crook of your neck, with one arm lazily thrown over your waist.

And it still wasn't enough.

You were leisurely scrolling through your phone, the sound muted to make sure it didn't disturb Yuta (a nice sentiment even if he wasn't actually sleeping), and your free arm wrapped around the stuffed animal.

You'd grown pretty fond of it, jokingly naming him Yuta Jr. with the thought that he was supposed to be your boyfriend's replacement as he went on overseas missions that he got assigned more often than either of you liked.

Yuta knew this. In fact, he'd laughed as he felt his ears go red when you'd hugged the animal to your chest and claimed it was your child.

He'd seen the dinosaur in the background of your many, many video calls and selfies.

Back then he thought it was endearing. Back then he was happy that you kept something that reminded you of him so close.

Now he just wanted to chuck the thing across the room.

Maybe even throw it away if he could formulate a plan where you didn't notice its absence.

Now, Yuta isn't stupid, he knows that being jealous of a stuffed animal of all things is childish but that logic doesn't seem to quell the annoyed feeling in his chest.

He's been trying to find a way to get rid of the damned thing for twenty minutes.

Yes, he has been pretending to sleep for twenty minutes now. It's pathetic—he's all too well aware of the fact—but it just gives him even more reason to be discreet about his jealousy.

How was he supposed to look you in the eye and tell you he was jealous of a stuffed animal (that he'd won for you) when the two of you had spent months apart without concern?

Eventually, he just lifts his head, midnight black locks brushing against your face. "What're you watching?"

You turn slightly, placing a quick peck on his cheek. "Tik Tok," You reply plainly, "You done sleeping?"

Yuta lets out a soft hum, burying his face in the crook of your neck again, this time to place soft kisses on the sensitive skin.

You let out a quiet giggle at the feeling, turning a little towards him. The boy grins against your skin, turning you until you're completely under him.

He grins at his small victory, prying the plushie out of your arms and letting his entire body weight on top of you.

You laugh at the way the tiny dinosaur goes flying across your dorm.

"Much better," Yuta mumbles, burying his face in your chest and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You raise a brow at the slightly annoyed tone in your boyfriend's voice, an amused smile making its way onto your face.

"Yuta?" You only get a hum in response, "Were you jealous of the plushie?"

A beat of silence. "No..."

Another small silence, then a sigh. "...Yes."

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #yuta okkotsu #jjk yuuta okkotsu #okkutsu yuuta #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu #okkotsu yuuta #yuuta x reader #jjk yuuta #yuuta x you #yuta okkotsu x reader #okkotsu yuta x reader #yuuta okkotsu x you #yuuta okkotsu x y/n #jjk x reader

[kjmsupremacist]

double exposure (yuta/taeyong)

During promotions for his first Japanese mini album, k-idol Taeyong meets one of his favorite artists, j-rock star Yuta. Though it starts casual, Taeyong begins to realize he may be in over his head, and struggles to reconcile his affection for Yuta with all the things that keep them apart.

Chapter 8 |   prev   next   mlist

Characters: Taeyong, Yuta

Genre: k-soloist taeyong, jrockstar yuta; romance, smut, angst

Warnings: angst

Rating: Teen & Up

Length: 3k

taglist: @meowniee @flowerboykun

Luckily, Taeyong’s years of training make plastering a smile to his face and performing as usual almost easy. He attends music shows, variety shows, films for his channel. If anything, he just looks a little tired—and understandably so. He’s at the end of a long promotional circuit. At fansigns, many people try to press bottles of vitamins and supplements into his hands, but that’s how it always is.

“Don’t work too hard,” they urge him. “I hope you rest a lot when your schedules are complete!”

Taeyong accepts their gifts, passing them off to his staff, and thanks his fans for their consideration. It is sweet, and he knows most of them genuinely mean it. Obviously they love to get new content from him, but generally, real concern for his health always wins out over anything else. Still, it leaves him feeling a little empty. They have no idea the real reason behind his fatigue. If they did, Taeyong doesn’t think they’d like him very much anymore.

And it really is awful. He misses Yuta. Of course he’s still angry and hurt about everything he said the last time they spoke, but the ache for him, for his texts, his voice, his comfort, makes all the rest of it pale in comparison. He’s lonely. It’s not that he’s more alone now than he was before he met Yuta, it’s just that before, he didn’t realize how much more was out there. He didn’t know there was anything else, didn’t know he was missing something. Now, the loss is evident, the pain sharp and fresh.

But there’s no going back now. Right? Taeyong’s manager canceled his flights, and he and Yuta haven’t spoken, and that’s all it’s going to be. This fling will sink into the depths of their histories, and Yuta will move on to the next pretty, shiny toy that stumbles across his path, and Taeyong will spend the rest of his life trying to find something that feels the same, trying to fill the void that Yuta left behind.

Though his fans don’t know anything is wrong, his friends certainly do. They try not to let him spend too much time alone, but it’s tough since they’re all so busy. Still, even Kun manages to make time to see him at least once a week.

Fortunately, the winter holiday season is coming up, and everyone’s calendars are clearing, so they manage to all sit down for a meal—Taeyong, Doyoung, Johnny, and Kun—one evening at Doyoung’s place.

Taeyong’s really been trying not to talk to them about it a whole lot. There’s not much any of them can do, and Taeyong knows that empathy and compassion are both finite resources, even for very close friends. Besides, they’ve all been busy. He doesn’t want to waste anyone’s precious free time dumping all of his turmoil on them. 

So for the first couple of hours, they don’t talk about it at all. They chat about their work, about how much success Taeyong’s recent album saw, about their plans for the holidays. But eventually this talk peters out, and Johnny asks, “But, seriously, Taeyong. Are you, like, doing okay?”

Taeyong starts. “I mean, yeah,” he says. “I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that,” Kun says. “But you can talk to us, you know. We want to help.”

“I do talk to you,” Taeyong says, almost defensively.

“You hardly mention him,” Doyoung says. “Or any of it. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, but—you can’t just keep all of it inside, either. And if you don’t tell us, who do you tell?”

Taeyong realizes now that in his attempts not to bother his friends too much with his problems, he’s kind of just not really said anything to them about it at all. “Um,” he says. “I mean, I just don’t want to bring you guys down, like, it’s kind of a bummer all around. And there’s nothing anybody can do, so.”

“But like—what did he even say?” Johnny asks. “All you told us is that it’s over, because you started fighting about how much publicity you were getting, and how to use it. Which, yeah, is kind of a big deal, but I don’t think that would be enough for you to cancel your flights and stop talking to him.”

Taeyong takes a breath. “I mean, yeah, it was more than that,” he admits. “I, uh, remember how we kinda just ran into each other at that show, and that’s how all of this started?” Everyone nods. “Well, he told me he orchestrated that meeting. Like changed his schedule around and stuff to make sure we’d see each other. He said he’d been following me for a while, and—and wanted to—to have me.” The words taste foul in his mouth.

“He said that?” Doyoung asks.

“Yeah.” Taeyong looks at his feet. “I don’t know, I guess I’m kind of embarrassed. I… I didn’t even realize. It didn’t even cross my mind.” I feel stupid. Used. Like a toy Yuta bought on a whim, and then tossed when I stopped working the way he wanted. “I thought, I don’t know, maybe it meant a little more to him than that. But… I was wrong.”

“That’s… really fucked up, actually,” Johnny says slowly. “Why did he say that?”

Taeyong sighs. “He accused me of using him when I brought up the—you know, staging public appearances and stuff. And I said that wasn’t fair, since we’ve both, you know, been kind of using each other to simulate intimacy, to simulate parts of a real relationship that we’ll probably never have. And I kind of, I dunno, I guess hinted that I was a little more invested now, because I didn’t think it was going to go this way…” Taeyong trails off. “I was pushing. I was asking him what we were gonna do, like where we were gonna go from here, basically. And that’s when he told me.”

“It’s not your fault!” Doyoung seems incensed. “Especially now that we know he planned it all along. He was toying with you! Did he think it wouldn’t get complicated?”

“He said he only intended for us to hook up a couple times,” Taeyong replies miserably. “It just… spiraled out of his control.”

“So,” Kun says, gently putting a hand on Doyoung’s shoulder, “what did you say after he told you that?”

“I was upset,” Taeyong admits. “I asked him if he was stalking me. I kind of blamed him for the whole thing, and, like, you know, he said it wasn’t fair of me to expect him to know what we should do next, or what he wanted, and so I said actually he was the one expecting too much because he went through all that trouble, and then he…” Taeyong swallows, eyebrows pinched in distress. “He basically just said that it didn’t really mean anything to him, and so I said there wasn’t a point in me trying since it didn’t matter, and he tried to sweet-talk me and say, like, I mattered to him just ‘not like that’ or whatever. Which basically means he wants to keep hooking up and playing house without any of the commitment or, like, real emotions that come with that. And I was about to cuss him out, I think, so I just… hung up.”

His friends are silent for a moment, then Johnny lets out a shout of incredulous laughter. He slaps his hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “Sorry,” he says, muffled in his palm. “But you’re like the nicest person I know, Taeyong, I can’t believe you hung up on him.”

“Don’t laugh!” Doyoung says. “This is serious!”

But Taeyong shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he says, giving Johnny a smile. “It’s fair, I don’t think I’ve ever hung up on anyone in my entire life, except as a joke.”

“Is that where we’re landing with this, then?” Kun asks softly. “That he’s an asshole, and maybe a little insane, and used you for fun? Like, you want to move on?”

Taeyong’s faint amusement dissipates, and his smile twists into something much more melancholy. “That’s the thing,” he says slowly. “Even after all of this, even after everything he said, I—I miss him.” He looks down at his lap. “And not just—in that, like, quick-fix, make-the-pain-go-away, bandaid kind of way, you know? Like, I really like him. I just wish…” He feels pathetic saying it, but pushes on anyway. “I wish he cared, too.”

Johnny lifts one shoulder. “Maybe he does,” he says. “Maybe you just took him by surprise, and he wasn’t ready to talk about it.”

“Or maybe he’s just an asshole,” Doyoung says drily. 

“How about this,” Kun says evenly before they can start going back and forth. “If it’s that important to you, you can always reach out to him. You don’t have to. You can think about it for a bit, decide how much that relationship is worth to you.”

Taeyong nods. “Yeah, I guess so.” He sighs. “I should probably do it, since I was the one who hung up.”

“He should do it, since he was the one who fucked up,” Doyoung scoffs.

“Yeah, but if both of them sit on it, then nothing’s gonna change,” Johnny points out. “He made you happy, didn’t he? Before all of this?”

Taeyong nods. “Yeah,” he says softly. 

“Then maybe it’s worth putting your pride aside for,” Johnny suggests, “even if it shouldn’t be your job.”

Taeyong nods. “I’ll think about it,” he says. “I just don’t want to give him the opportunity to hurt me again.”

“If he does, we’ll be here,” Kun says.

“If he does, I’ll kill him,” Doyoung says at the same time. 

Taeyong exhales laughter. He does feel better, just being able to talk about it. “Thanks guys,” he says. “Really.”

ϟ ϟ ϟ

Though he appreciates his friends’ vehemence that Yuta is completely in the wrong, Taeyong knows it’s not true. He’s coming to the realization that he idealized Yuta a little too much in his head, and then when Yuta showed himself to be human instead—flawed and a little selfish—Taeyong punished him for it without a second thought. He’s still angry, and he’s still hurt, but he knows Yuta’s hurt too, even if he didn’t want to show it. 

Still, he hesitates. Maybe he’s being too hopeful. What if he texts Yuta and gets a mean, sarcastic message back about how desperate and pathetic he is, or else just something telling him to get lost? Or worse, no response at all? Shame, embarrassment, and fear flood Taeyong’s body just thinking about it; he can’t imagine what it would really be like to experience it. 

It’s been over two weeks since that phone call now. Their text thread drifts further and further down on Taeyong’s recent conversations. He tries to forget, tries to distract himself with hobbies and dramas and hours spent in the practice room learning new choreography, but it doesn’t help. At night, Yuta is all he can think about, no matter how exhausted he is.

And then one morning, he wakes up to a message from him.

Taeyong,

I’ve been thinking, and I wanted to apologize. I’m sorry for all the things I said. It’s okay if you don’t want to hear from me. I know this sounds kind of awkward, but I don’t really know how to handle things like this. I know it’s too much to ask for your patience along with your forgiveness, but I’m asking anyway. If you want to talk, just let me know. I miss you. I’m sorry.

Taeyong’s heart is pounding in his ears, his skin sparking warm and cold. He kind of wants to tell Yuta to fuck off and then block his number. He kind of wants to forgive Yuta right away so things can stop being so difficult. He kind of wants to throw his phone straight into the ocean.

Can I call you? he sends instead.

Yuta calls him without replying. Taeyong answers quickly, nearly dropping his phone in the process. “Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” Yuta replies, and Taeyong freezes.

It’s so good to hear his voice. Taeyong wants to say so many things, but he also has no idea what he could possibly say now. 

They’re both silent for a few long moments. Taeyong bounces his leg absently, phone pressed to his ear, like if he doesn’t hold on tight enough, he’ll lose Yuta forever. I miss you, he wants to say. Can we fix this? I don’t need much, I promise, I’ll be better at wanting less. I’d rather have you like that than not at all. It’s stupid, but he thinks it’s true.

And then—”Taeyong,” Yuta says. His voice is small, quiet, scared. Taeyong’s never heard him sound like that, not ever. “I don’t like fighting with you. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner that I’d planned it. I’m sorry I couldn’t be honest. I just—” He cuts himself off to take a breath, and is quiet for a minute. Just when Taeyong’s thinking about jumping in, he continues, “I don’t want to share you with other people.” It comes out quickly, like the words are racing on their way out of his mouth. “I didn’t think it would be like that—I’m not really like that with anybody. I mean, I’ve never been. And then when you mentioned, you know, making public appearances, it just felt… I don’t know. Damn, I had a whole speech planned and everything. I didn’t expect you to want to call right away.”

“You called me,” Taeyong says, unable to stop himself from poking fun, even now. “You could’ve waited.”

“I know,” Yuta grumbles, and Taeyong smiles. 

“You planned a speech for me?” Taeyong asks, his mind catching up with the rest of it. Suddenly, he feels shy.

Yuta gives a short, self-deprecating laugh. “I planned out our meeting,” he says. “Of course I planned what to say. Well, tried to, anyway.” He clears his throat. “Listen, the point is I’d like to fix this, if we can. Because—I like my life better when you’re in it. You do matter to me, Taeyong, in exactly the way you meant it. It’s just all—new to me. But you’re not just another hookup to me. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not true, and I only said it because I was scared, but—that doesn’t mean it’s alright. You’re not one of many. I’ve never met anybody like you, Taeyong. I’m sorry I took you for granted.”

Taeyong shakes his head. Now that he knows it was just fear—it doesn’t make it okay, not yet, not all the way, but it does make it better. “I should apologize too,” he says. “I’m sorry for expecting you to have it all figured out. I’m sorry for expecting you to know exactly what you wanted—and to know what I wanted, too. I have a tendency to imagine people to be better than they can possibly be—and then get angry at them when they don’t meet my expectations. That’s my fault. So I’m sorry.”

“I appreciate it,” Yuta says. “Thank you. I mean, I forgive you.”

“Oh, I forgive you, too,” Taeyong says. “But if we’re going to actually, you know, move forward, we’re going to have to figure out how.”

“Yeah, I know.” Another pause. “I can be okay with some public appearances, but—not a lot. I’m… pretty private. I usually try to adapt quickly and quietly, but sometimes change is hard.”

“I know,” Taeyong says, guilt churning in his stomach. “I should’ve realized that it wouldn’t be something you were comfortable with.”

“I should have realized from the start that we would suffer a lot of scrutiny for this,” Yuta replies heavily.

“We come from… pretty different worlds, don’t we?” Taeyong asks slowly.

Yuta laughs, and the heaviness is gone. “Yes, I guess we do,” he agrees. “I guess—I did the same thing you did, to you. I made up a version of you in my head, and when you didn’t fit that version anymore, I got uncomfortable.”

“Let’s not do that anymore,” Taeyong says, and Yuta laughs again. 

“I missed you,” he says quietly.

Taeyong crumbles. “I missed you, too,” he whispers. “A lot.” He sighs. “It’s… not going to be easy. There’s a lot of things we have to be careful for, and we both live… strange lives. We’re going to have to learn a lot, and we’re going to have to be patient. But…” He might as well unbox his heart the rest of the way. There’s nothing for it now. “Just because it’s going to be difficult doesn’t mean it has to be impossible, and if you want to try, then I’ll try with you.”

“I’d like that,” Yuta says, warm relief saturating his tone. “I don’t want to leave this here. I want—” He draws in a sharp breath. “I want you.”

Taeyong can’t help it; he giggles. “Oh, good,” he says. “I want you, too. So, um, I guess I should rebook my flights?”

Yuta laughs, too. “Yeah,” he says. “If you still want to come, I would love to see you. I can apologize to you in person.”

This sends a little shock of excitement through Taeyong’s body. “I’ll do it today,” he says.

“Okay.”

“Good.”

They’re quiet for a bit, breathless and waiting on opposite ends of the line. Taeyong knows he should probably hang up and call his manager, and then start thinking about packing, but he wants to stay here a little while longer—in this moment, where it’s just him and Yuta, fixing things together. Slowly, maybe, but what counts is that they’re trying—what counts is that Yuta wants to try. For him. Hope and adoration bloom in Taeyong’s chest, settling his anxiety, soothing his hurts. 

“I’m glad you texted me,” Taeyong says after a while. “I wanted to, but I was scared.”

“I was scared, too,” Yuta admits. “How about this? How about from now on, if something is scary to us, we just say so? And if that means we have to stop talking about it for a little while, that’s okay. But—I don’t want to lose you to fear. That’s stupid. If the world wants to take you away from me, it’s gonna have to try a little harder than that. Sound good?”

Taeyong laughs brightly, his eyes filling with happy tears. “Yeah,” he says. “Sounds good to me.”

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