yeah

Before that though a quick disclaimer:

Please note that English is not my native language, and my stories were supported by AI (mostly ChatGPT). However, the plot, characters, and energy come from my own ideas.

Thank you for understanding!!!

scenarios:

just imagine...

parto Ⅰ

parto Ⅱ

parto Ⅲ

parto Ⅳ

finished

a scenario just came to my mind... :⁠0

anime fanfics:

my drunk best friend... what could possibly go wrong? - gojoxreader

Stranger Danger, But Make It Hot - sukunaxreader

Best Friends Share ~ gojoxreaderxgeto

His weak spot series - Sukuna:

His weak spot - sukunaxreader

His weak spot - sukunaxreader Part 2

Coming back from the Halloween party, you remembered why you shouldn't be drinking that much. Not just because you were a mumbling mess, barely able to form a sentence - no. Because your guy best friends, satoru and suguru, were completely unstoppable.

Usually, there was at least you, the one keeping a clear head and controlling the chaos. But now, in this drunk state, the three of you were a total disaster.

Gojo was usually a smooth flirt, capable of getting any girl just by waving. But today… let’s just say the girl he tried to hit on did not appreciate him pointing out that her nose hairs were visible in the light. And let’s not forget - he normally didn’t drink much. He didn't like it.

And geto? Honestly, not even worth mentioning! He had become ridiculously overconfident, borderline cocky, and somehow managed to spill his drink on literally everyone around him while still trying to look cool.

And you? Normally, you were the quiet one when drunk, the type to just mumble and sway slightly. But right now… your mind was screaming. Thoughts you normally wouldn’t have - thoughts you shouldn’t have.

Like, since when did gojo’s biceps look so… tasty? Or why did you suddenly imagine geto’s big hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer in a way that made your body burn?

Every glance, every smirk they threw - especially the ones that weren’t even meant for you - made your thoughts spiral. They looked so damn good, and suddenly, all you could think about was what it would feel like to have them… like really have them. Inside you.

“Come on, babe, just a few more steps,” gojo encouraged, his arms wrapped around you, giving you something to hold onto as you wobbled at the doorframe of his room.

“But the bed is so… so… so far away, and my feet… they’re- they’re made of jelly?” you protested.

The guys laughed, shaking their heads at you.

“Okay, okay, I’ll carry you… since you can’t even make it across the room,” geto said, scooping you up in bridal style.

Gojo had already kicked off his white shirt and pants, tossing them somewhere across the room, and was sprawled across the bed. His arms rested behind his head, a lazy, teasing grin on his face.

And just like geto promised, he made his way from the door to the bed, carefully laying you down. You immediately wrapped your arms around gojo, and in response, he hummed, tightening his hold around your torso. You kind of wanted to get rid of that tight dress you wore but you were way to tired to take it off.

“Aaah, finally I get to rest without you,” you mumbled, nuzzling your face into gojo’s chest.

“You’re mumbling so much nonsense, you know that, right?” geto teased, in nothing but his underwear as well, curling up against you from behind.

“Don’t care… now shut up. My head’s exploding… I need to sleep.”

With one last round of laughter, the three of you drifted off, tangled together, bodies warm and close, the room buzzing with the quiet chaos of the night.

---

The way gojo looked at you - it was telling you exactly how much he wanted you.

The way geto’s hands would roam over your body, making it clear he couldn’t get enough, needed more… and you wanted it just as badly.

Their lips on your skin, teasing, claiming, making you shiver… their names slipping from your lips in your mind.

Unfortunately, all of it was just in your head. Just a dream...

Or so you thought.

Your sleep was abruptly disturbed when you suddenly felt warm, teasing kisses trailing along your neck. Slowly, you opened your eyes, the drunken haze fading just enough for you to realize… it wasn’t a dream.

Gojo’s lips were on your chest, marking, tasting, claiming your skin. Behind you, geto’s hands roamed over your body, squeezing, teasing, while his mouth traced the side of your neck, his lips brushing just behind your ear.

Your heart was pounding. Your breath hitched. What was happening? Was this still part of the dream… or had your fantasy somehow come alive?

“She’s awake,” you heard behind you, his hand gripping your ass even harder, pressing you flush against him. You felt every inch of his cock - rock hard, straining against your back, his heat searing through you.

The air in the room was thick, almost suffocating, your breath catching as your body reacted to him, to the way he was pressed so perfectly against you.

“Fuck… babe, the way you moaned our names… we just couldn’t resist-” gojo mumbled against your chest, tilting his head just enough to lock eyes with you. His chest pressed against yours, warm and solid, his lips ghosting over your collarbone, teasing, claiming, sending shivers straight down your spine.

“You want it as much as we want it, am I right, princess?” geto murmured, low and playful, his touch wandering over you, exploring every inch with a slow, deliberate pressure.

Too much-

“What is it, baby now, huh? A few seconds ago you couldn’t restrain yourself from begging us to fuck you, and now… all quiet?” gojo teased, his voice low and teasing, chest pressing against yours as his hands also explored your body.

“Don’t be shy, princess. Let us make you feel good… oh girl, we’ll be so good to you, I promise.” geto’s mouth traveled further down, tracing the curve of your spine, sucking hard, sending shivers and heat coursing through you. His hands followed, sliding over your waist and hips, pressing you impossibly close, driving your body wild.

Realistically… when all of you were sober, this would have never happened. And even if it did, you would have pushed them off, rolled over, and gone back to sleep.

But now? The alcohol still burning through your veins, the lust that had been wandering through your mind all night, the memory of their hands, their lips, their bodies… Their dicks straining against you, their heat pressing you from every side… you were completely undone. Completely helpless.

“Yes, please-”

That was all they needed to hear.

With that, gojo kissed you, with so much heat it made your head spin. Your hands slid over his broad chest, tangled in his hair, feeling every muscle, every shiver that ran through him.

Meanwhile, geto worked carefully, pulling the dress down, slowly peelimg the straps from your shoulders, gojo's lips never leaving yours.

In the next moment, you were completely bare, pulled up so your back pressed against gojo’s chest as you straddled his lap. You both sat at the end of the bed, his erection hard and insistent against your naked ass, making him groan in low, needy bursts.

“Fuck… your body feels so, so fucking good against mine, baby,” he praised, and the sensation alone made your pussy clench uncontrollably, aching for more even though nothing was inside you yet.

Geto stood in front of you, moonlight spilling through the window and catching every curve of your body. He traced his gaze over you, hungry and appreciative, letting his hands hover, teasing, never touching too soon, building the tension.

“So beautiful, princess… so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, voice low, rough with want, and your chest tightened, breath shallow, heart hammering, every nerve alive with heat and anticipation.

His eyes wandered hungrily over your body, slowly taking in every curve, every line, until they finally landed on your pussy. He sank to his knees, hands gently pressing against your thighs as he pushed your legs wider, exposing you fully.

Your heat flushed, your core aching with need, and yet… not a trace of shame. You felt completely bare, and the thought made warmth rush through you.

“Such a pretty cunt… all wet from just kissing you, huh? Or was it that dream you had?” geto’s voice was low, rough with want, his eyes dark and hungry as they locked on yours.

He let his fingers trace tiny, teasing patterns along the insides of your thighs, making you squirm before leaning closer, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive skin.

From behind, gojo pressed his chest against your back, trapping you between the two of them. His hands danced across your breasts, cupping, kneading, rolling your nipples between his fingers. Every pinch, every squeeze sent jolts of fire down to your core.

He bent his head, pressing his lips against your neck, teeth grazing, sucking softly before leaving wet, heated trails that made you arch into him. His fingers moved expertly, teasing, pulling, holding… making your body respond without mercy.

Geto’s lips and tongue worked their way slowly, torturously down your body. From your knees he traced along your calves, over your thighs, letting soft, wet kisses press against your inner thighs and never breaking eye contact with you.

Every shiver, every involuntary jerk of your hips only seemed to drive him further, his hands following, kneading the muscles of your thighs, occasionally squeezing just enough to make you slip out a pathetic moan.

“Please… I need you-” you gasped, body trembling, fingers clawing at gojo’s arms as he held you tight. Your core throbbed, desperate for his tongue.

“Of course, my darling,” geto whispered, and finally, his mouth met your clit.

Fuck, finally.

Gojo’s hands tightened over your breasts, his lips nipping and sucking at your neck, groans vibrating against your skin. Every movement, every kiss, every press of body against body drove you higher, your world shrinking to the heat, the wetness, the overwhelming, impossible pleasure of them both.

“Fuck… you taste better than I ever imagined,” geto mumbled against you, lips and tongue working you with slow, deliberate heat. His groans vibrated through you, making your core pulse even harder.

Your hips lifted instinctively, trying to grind down on him, but gojo’s hands shot to your hips, holding you firmly against him, pressing you back onto his lap.

“Just leave something for me too, okay?” Gojo growled, his hands strong on your hips, keeping you steady, pressing you down, ensuring you stayed flush against his hardness.

Geto's tongue flicked, dipped, and teased your clit mercilessly, circling and sliding in patterns that made your thighs quiver. He pushed a finger inside you, stroking you with the rhythm of his mouth, eyes lifting to meet yours, dark, hungry, holding you captive with that smoldering gaze.

Every flick, every suck, every press of his tongue was designed to make you lose yourself, and it was working - every nerve screaming, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Gojo’s chin rested on your shoulder, jaw tight, eyes dark with want as he watched the scene unfold.

“Wow… look at you. You’re enjoying it, babe? Fuck, the way his tongue just went inside you… so fucking hot. Just the way I would do it,” he growled, voice low and rough, pressing his hardness against your ass.

You moaned, squeezing your eyes shut, your body trembling, desperate, lost. Then one hand slid up from your hip, pressing firmly under your chin, forcing you to look down at geto.

“Don’t look away. He’s doing such a great job at pleasing you… fucking you with his tongue,” Gojo said, deep, commanding.

Geto’s tongue went wilder at the command, flicking, circling, pressing harder, plunging in deeper. He teased your most sensitive spots with exquisite cruelty, lips sucking, tongue tracing every ridge, every fold, making your head fell back against gojo's chest, but the hand on her chin kept her gaze locked on the eyes below.

Gojo’s other hand stayed firm on your hip, keeping you close. Your body moved against his, your breath uneven. You felt it too, the wave building inside you.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice rough with control.

That was all it took; the tension inside you snapped, leaving only trembling and each breath coming out harder than the last.

Geto’s smile told you he knew exactly what he’d done to you. Any moment he had to enjoy the mess vanished as the man behind you grabbed you.

“My turn now,” Gojo said.

He closed the space between you with a kiss sharp, hungry, and all-consuming. You were kissing like there was no tomorrow, pressed together, unable to get enough.

His hand held his dick, holding it lightly against your entrance. At first, it was just a gentle, teasing press, moving slowly back and forth. Every little stroke had you quivering, your pussy waiting for more.

Then he drew circles with slow, teasing touches, letting the tip graze your clit and entrance, making your stomach twist and your knees go weak. Every pause, every glide, every careful touch seemed to stretch time itself.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” he murmured, low and rough, vibrating against your skin.

“Yes… please, fuck me toru-" you gasped, shivering, trembling under the deliciously slow, teasing rhythm.

And then, without hesitation, his dick finally entered, and you gasped, lungs catching, your body tensing around it.

“Toru…” you moaned, letting yourself melt into the sensation.

“Exactly like this…” he whispered, his voice husky, teasing.

He moved slowly at first, savoring every subtle tightening of you, every shiver that ran up your spine. He fucked you with slow, teasing motions, his dick sliding in and out in a rhythm that made your toes curl.

“You feel so good,” he said, low and husky, before driving in another hard, deep stroke.

Each push and glide had your pussy gripping him with need, trembling as your body betrayed you.

“Don’t stop… just like that…” he muttered.

Geto, standing close in front of you, didn’t take his eyes off the scene. You glanced up, smirking, and noticed how his cock had somehow grown even harder than before. The effect you had on him made your lips curl up, subtle, mischievous.

Geto noticed the smirk instantly, and heat flared inside him. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped closer, the energy between you three crackling like electricity. He lifted your chin gently, eyes heavy with teasing hunger.

“You think you’re so clever, huh?” he murmured, leaning in, teasing, letting the tension linger between you.

“Let’s see about that… open your mouth for me, please,” he whispered, watching your reactions, letting you feel the weight of his attention.

You opened your mouth slowly, trying to stay focused, even as gojo continued thrusting his dick into you from behind.

Geto leaned closer, teased your lips with the head of his cock, slow circles, letting your feel every ridge, every swell.

“You’ll suck my dick like the good girl you are, will you?” he murmured, deep and teasing, sending heat straight through your pussy.

You nodded, a small moan escaping, trembling as gojo stretched you and filled you fully.

With a low chuckle, geto finally entered your mouth, his eyes half-lidded, watching your reactions, savoring every flicker of your tongue and every nervous gulp. Your lips moved around him instinctively, warm and wet.

“Fuck, good, good girl! Suck him off while I’m fucking you. So perfect,” gojo groaned, voice low and rough.

His arms wrapped tighter around your torso, pressing you closer, guiding your body as he slid you slightly toward the edge of the bed. The motion gave him just enough room to thrust deeper, hitting every perfect spot inside you. His pace quickened, each push measured to drive you wild, making your chest press against his, your breaths hitching, pulse racing.

You had to really focus to keep geto's cock in your mouth, the sensation of it slick and warm, teasing the back of your throat. But he was careful - gentle, supporting your head with one hand under your chin, tilting it just enough so you could look up at him as your lips and tongue worked expertly around his coc.

Every little flick of your tongue made him shiver, moaning softly, fingers brushing through your hair, guiding you with subtle, possessive touches. You traced the ridges with precision, letting him feel every inch of your warm, wet mouth, teasing him just enough to keep him wanting more.

“Hmm, you’re killing me,” he hummed, low and playful, feeling the heat of your lips and tongue gripping him.

You could feel the tension building in him, the way his body leaned forward, leaning into your every motion, letting you know just how much power you had over him.

Meanwhile, gojo’s pushed deep inside you, slow and deliberate, then pulled back just enough to slide in again, stretching you perfectly. Each thrust hit a new angle, slick heat coating him as your pussy gripped him with need.

He didn’t hold back, driving relentlessly, each slam dragging you closer to the edge, your body pulsing around him with every motion.

“God… just like that…,” geto whispered, voice low, teasing.

You felt it building again, deep inside you. The tight coil of pleasure that had been winding up all night was ready to snap.

“Fuck, cum for me… be a good girl and cum,” gojo groaned, sliding his fingers against your clit, rubbing fast, precise, sending jolts of fire through your body.

The climax hit like a storm, waves of heat rolling through you, making you arch, bite your lip, and gasp uncontrollably.

The dick in your mouth threatened to slip, your throat filling with muffled moans, but geto was right there - steady, controlling. His hand pressed against your mouth, holding his dick firmly as he started thrusting inside, slow at first, then harder, meeting the rhythm of your gasps, teasing, making it impossible to think or stop.

Gojo’s thrusts inside you grew relentless, perfectly timed with the spiraling heat in your chest. His cock sank into you, deep, filling you so completely your body begged for more.

“Fuck… just like that… good girl…” gojo whispered, his voice ragged, barely holding back, as your body finally gave in completely.

You came around him, trembling, hips lifting, clenching, your breath coming in ragged gasps, the warmth and pressure inside you making you feel utterly consumed.

When the first waves of your orgasm passed, your body still trembling, heat radiating off you, you could feel the heavy tension still lingering in the room, every inch of your skin alive from the teasing and attention of both of them.

“Shit… that was - fuck, that was insane! You clenching around me like that… almost made me lose it,” gojo groaned, shaking his head, half-laughing, half-panting, secretly praising himself for holding back.

“Alright… my turn now,” geto murmured, a low, rough edge in his voice. His eyes dark, hunger written all over them. He leaned down, fingers gripping your hips, and lifted you off gojo’s lap with ease, setting you down on the bed. Your chest pressed into the cushions, your ass naturally arching up.

Geto's hands traced your sides, sliding over your back, over your hips, teasingly, before giving a slow, commanding nudge.

“Come on… on all fours for me,” he whispered, voice low, a mixture of heat and impatience. “I want to see you like that… perfect for me.”

Slowly, deliberately, you shifted, settling on your hands and knees, giving him the perfect view.

Geto's grin widened, eyes dark and heavy with need. He leaned closer, brushing his lips against the curve of your shoulder, his hands sliding down your sides to rest possessively on your hips.

“Perfect… just like that, baby. Don’t move… I’m gonna take my time with you.”

His fingers traced teasing lines along your spine, warming you up, making your muscles quiver in excitment, while his gaze never left your body. The room was thick with heat, your pulse racing, every nerve alive, waiting for him to finally claim you.

He was standing behind you, the tip nudged your pussy, barely slipping inside, then pulling back to tease again. He traced tiny circles along your entrance, slow and patient. With each tap, each gentle push, he explored every sensitive spot at the entrance, savoring the play.

“You’ve got no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,” geto growled, low and rough, his hands gripping your hips possessively.

And then, with one slow, commanding push, he entered you. Your body arched involuntarily, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as every nerve lit up with delicious tension.

"Suguru! Fuck-"

“Ah… fuck… heaven,” geto moaned, thrusting hard and deep, each movement sending shockwaves through your core. His rhythm was perfect - forceful enough to make your pussy clench, teasing enough to drive you wild. You could feel every inch of him inside you, the slick heat, the deep stretch, your body trembling around him.

Your moans filled the room, raw and ragged, head tilted down, back arching with every powerful thrust. The pressure, the friction, the sheer intensity made your knees weaken, fingers gripping the sheets, heart racing like it might burst.

You glanced over your shoulder and caught sight of gojo, his hand covering his mouth, eyes wide, clearly taken aback. It was probably the hottest thing he had ever seen.

“Oh… fuck… I need you,” gojo groaned, stepping in front of you. His voice low, demanding, and thick with want.

"Toru-"

“Can you… do the thing you did with him before… while he's fucking you? Please?” he murmured, heat and hunger in every word.

Without hesitation, you opened your mouth, guiding his dick in, tongue sliding and twirling expertly, matching the rhythm of geto behind you. Every flick, every swirl made gojo groan, voice breaking, eyes half-lidded with pleasure.

“Aaah… fuck… just like that. Good… good fucking girl,” gojo moaned, chest rising and falling rapidly, hands gripping your head gently but firmly, letting you feel both control and need.

Geto plunged into you from behind, hips driving deep and steady, each thrust deliberate and perfect. In front, your lips slid over him, teasing, sucking, following every subtle twitch, pushing him closer with each motion.

The two rhythms collided inside you, one filling you deep, the other pulling and pressing at the tip, sending shocks of heat through every nerve

Suddenly, gojo picked up his phone and a flash blinded you for a second, and you squinted.

“So good… I just had to frame this moment. Come on, swirl that tongue around my dick for the camera,” gojo said, voice teasing, amused.

The sight of his friend filming you drove geto wild.

“You like being recorded, don’t you, you slut?” he growled, voice low and rough. “Let the whole world see how you take two cocks at the same time.”

His hand slid to your hip, pressing you harder against him as he lifted one leg onto the bed, plunging in deeper, thrusts sharper, harder, each slam driving you closer to losing yourself.

The angle stretched you perfectly, every motion ruthless and precise, while your mouth worked in front, teasing and sliding over him with practiced skill.

Gojo angled the phone, catching every motion as geto pressed his dick into your pussy, sliding in and out with deep, hard thrusts. Your ass slammed against his pelvis with every thrust, the tilt of your hips making him hit every sensitive spot just right.

Your chest rose and fell in quick, shaky breaths, fingers digging into the bed as his hands gripped your hips, guiding every movement.

“Best friends share everything, right?” gojo teased, eyes dark, smirk playing on his lips.

Geto chuckled lowly, grip tightening on your hips, thrusts growing harder, faster. Slaps of your ass echoed with every motion.

“Only this time,” he muttered, voice rough, teeth biting his bottom lip.

Gojo scoffed, amusement and possessiveness mixing in his tone. “Of course. There’s no way I’m letting you have her like that ever again,” he teased, smirk darkening, eyes glued to you.

“I’ll see about that,” geto growled, pressing deeper, faster. “Maybe it’ll be your last time with her. I’ll be the one to fuck her like this forever.”

Their words barely registered in your mind, drowned out by the intense, pulsing pleasure coursing through your body.

Suddenly gojo grabbed your hair, forcing your mouth deeper onto his cock, and then he fucked your mouth hard, relentless and disrespectful, jaw aching, gagging around him as your tongue slid along him desperately.

“Such a little slut,” he growled, “taking me like this - so dirty, so mine.” Even though you knew how slutty you looked at the moment you enjoyed every single second of it.

From behind, geto unexpectedly slapped your ass hard, leaving a glowing handprint, a scream left your throat.

He pressed closer, whispering into your ear, low and rough, “Pathetic little thing… only I get to see you like this.” Each thrust from behind drove deep and precise, stretching you wide, hips slamming, cock filling you relentlessly.

The sight of your lips wrapped around the other, jaw aching and gagging, while your pussy gripped him from behind, made both of them lose themselves, pushing you harder, claiming every inch.

“Ah… f-fuck… I’m… I’m cumming!” you cried, body trembling uncontrollably.

You clung to both of them, lost in the storm of sensations, every push, every flick, every squeeze sending you higher and higher. Your body shook, muscles trembling, mind spinning, until finally, with a strangled scream and a shuddering gasp, the climax hit you.

You trembled from the aftershocks behind you, pussy gripping him tight, when gojo leaned in closer, cock slick and dripping.

“Such a filthy little slut,” he murmured, low and teasing, “taking me and showing me off for the camera.”

He pulled out just in time, pressing the tip against your lips and face, letting his hot cum spill over, smearing it across your cheeks.

“Look at that… so messy, so yours,” he growled, grabbing your chin, guiding your face closer to the camera, dragging his seed along your skin with deliberate care.

Geto, he groaned low, hands gripping your hips, pulling out his dick and letting his cum splash across your ass.

“Pathetic little thing… mine,” he mumbled, voice rough, then leaned closer, whispering into your ear as he watched you writhe, hips still twitching.

“Give me your phone,” geto demanded. Gojo handed it over and geto pressed his fingers against your wet pussy, filming up close, sliding two fingers in and out, showing just how soaked and desperate you were.

"Look at this little slut… so wet, so messy, all for us,” he murmured, smirk in his voice, enjoying every filthy second. Then he ended the recording.

The three of you collapsed in a tangled, heated heap, chests rising and falling, skin glistening, hearts pounding in unison, the room thick with heat, scent, and the shared chaos of what had just happened.

---

In the morning, the three of you met like nothing had happened. Coffee in hand, hair messy, laughing at some inside joke from the night before. Everyone acted casual.

However you unfortunately knew every single detail of what had happened. Every whisper, every touch, every word. Every naughty little game they had played.

Especially the discussion about who would be the one for you. The thought made your stomach twist - no matter who you chose, you couldn’t risk losing both of them. So, you played the part perfectly: clueless, pretending you remembered nothing beyond vague drunken antics.

For a second, the world felt suspended. No words were necessary. The tension from last night, the playful danger, the spark of something forbidden - it was still there, lingering in the air between you three. And maybe, just maybe, none of you were ready to let it go.

----

Gojo smirked, leaning back, phone in hand. “No, I won’t send you the video. If you wanted it, you should have recorded it on your own phone. Aaah... Just thinking about having multiple angles of that night… fuck, so hot,” he murmured, voice low, teasing.

Geto groaned, rolling his eyes but with a grin tugging at his lips. “Ugh, and you were the one talking about ‘sharing’.”

_________________________________________________

Guys, I'm back 😈 (for now HAHAHA)

hope you guys enjoyed it :)

Sukuna, who wakes you up with dozens of soft kisses. Every inch of your face — eyelids, cheeks, nose, forehead. Then slowly, his lips wander down to your neck, jaw, and collarbone. The best way to wake up.

You giggle. “Stop, it tickles!”

He grins. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to achieve.

A full-on tickling battle breaks out. Sheets everywhere. Laughs filling the morning air.

Sukuna, who makes you breakfast. He once told you he’s never cooked for anyone before — not even for himself properly. Now he’s standing in your kitchen, buttering toast and stirring eggs with messy hair and no shirt on. Your heart melts.

You always thought he wasn’t good with words. That he just didn’t know how to show emotions. But the truth is — he does. Just in his own quiet, thoughtful way. And you’ve come to love every second of it.

Sukuna, who’s finally opening up. Telling you random little things during the day. Sending messages like:

"Just saw this couple kissing in the car. Made me think of you."

"I hate my coworker. Miss you."

Sometimes he even sends voice notes. His voice tired, slightly grumpy, but always warm when it comes to you.

Sukuna, who knows exactly how to tease you. He sends you a message in the middle of your busy afternoon:

"If you were here right now, I’d pull you into my lap, fuck you so hard and make you forget about everything else."

Or:

"I can’t stop thinking about how you looked this morning in my shirt. You have no idea what you do to me."

Then a picture. Just a glimpse of his hard, thick cock — enough to make your cunt drip.

And right after sending you that pic, a call. His voice low, wanting. The way he talks you through it — so slowly, so deeply — until your voice breaks and your whole body shudders.

"Fuck, wished that my hand wrapped around my cock was your tight pussy."

You’ve never actually finished on a call before. But with him? He makes it impossible not to.

Sukuna, who goes shopping with you. He’s carrying all the bags without complaint, helping you pick out the perfect outfits. You show off your little model walk for him, and he watches with that quiet intensity that makes your heart race.

Then, he finds a pair of sexy panties and grins like a kid with a secret.

"Wear these tonight. I’m begging you."

You laugh and shake your head.

“Not today. I already have a surprise planned for you at home.”

Sukuna, sitting quietly on a bench, waiting patiently as you try on your next piece. Suddenly, a guy approaches him.

"Is that your sister? Damn, she’s hot. If I could, I’d take her right here..."

Before you can react, you catch sight of him rising, his jaw tightening. When you leave the fitting room, you see him, punching the guy right in his face, making him fall down, his nose starting to bleed. You stand frozen, disappointed.

Then, he notices your expression and immediately steps back.

"I don’t feel like shopping anymore."

He nods and waits silently while you change back into your clothes. Together, you leave the store without another word. The guy from before already ran away, maybe, because he's too embarrassed.

Sukuna, who pulls up at the parking lot — the place where you first shared a wild night together. He stays quiet, tension thick in the air.

Finally, you snap.

"I can’t believe you actually fought that guy. No, sorry, you totally beat the crap out of him!"

"Yeah, but he was about to tell me how badly he wanted to fuck you. And I couldn’t just stand there and listen to that shit."

"So your only solution was violence?"

"I’ll fight anyone who even looks at you the wrong way."

"Do you realize what you just said? That’s insane, you know that, right?"

"Well, that’s just who I am. If you don’t like it, then—"

"Then what? Leave you?"

He goes silent.

"...Maybe."

You take a deep breath, fighting back tears.

"Alright then. I’m leaving you."

"Fine. Let’s break up then."

He stares into your eyes — furious, hurt, but resigned. You open the car door, slam it shut, and walk inside. The moment your front door closes, you hear his car peeling away.

Sukuna, who makes you furious. Who does he think he is? Your personal bodyguard? Using violence for you? Is that okay?

Sukuna, who also makes you wonder. Why didn’t he stop you? Did he really want to end things just like that? Without a fight?

No. You know deep down it was the right choice. Things had to end — at least for now.

You don’t want to think about him anymore. To distract yourself, you order three whole pizzas. Yes. Three.

Then there’s a knock at the door. You think it's the pizza delivery.

Sukuna, who’s standing there. Fists clenched, breath uneven, eyes burning with intensity. How much time has passed? Maybe an hour?

"What are you doing here?" you ask, arms crossed, trying to keep your voice steady.

He doesn’t answer. Just stares at you.

"Hello? You come to my front door and then don’t say anything?"

Still no response.

"Alright, I’m not playing your stupid games anymore. Either leave or—"

Before you can finish, he grabs you roughly by the throat and pulls you into a fierce kiss.

Sukuna, who you kiss back fiercely, matching every move, every breath. His lips hungry, claiming yours like it’s the first and last time all at once.

Fuck, you are so glad that he's over because second ago you were about to go insane.

Sukuna, who steps inside smoothly, shutting the door behind him with a clever flick of his foot — no noise, no hesitation.

He pushes you hard against the wall, his body pressing into yours like he can’t get close enough. The cold surface cools your back while his warmth consumes you.

Sukuna, whose hands explore without mercy — one gripping your waist tight, the other sliding up your side, fingers tracing the curve beneath your shirt, making your skin tingle.

He bites gently at your lower lip, pulling it between his teeth, then licking it slow and teasing, driving you wild.

Sukuna, whose tongue slides past your lips, diving deep, tangling with yours in a heated dance. He pulls at your hair softly, tilting your head back just enough to expose your neck, where his lips trail kisses — soft at first, then harder, sucking lightly, leaving marks only he is allowed to make.

He murmurs against your ear, "You’re mine. Always."

Sukuna, whose teeth nip gently at your neck as he whispers, “Do you really think you can get rid of me that easily?”

You, who shove him back with sharp eyes, voice dripping with challenge, “I’m pretty sure I could find someone who pleases me better than you.”

Sukuna, whose eyes flash with fury and dark amusement. “Is that a challenge?” he murmurs, teasing mercilessly.

"One you wouldn't even dare to face."

He smirk widens. "We'll see about that."

Sukuna, who slides his fingers slowly over your waistband, teasing just the edge of your soaked cunt before daring to slip one finger inside. The slow glide makes you gasp, a sharp breath escaping your lips as he watches you closely, eyes dark with hunger and control.

His fingers move deliberately, pressing gently then curling inside you, searching that perfect spot that makes your body betray you every time. You try to keep your cool, biting your lip, but your hips betray you, tilting forward, craving more of his touch.

Sukuna, who murmurs husky words against your lips, “You like this, don’t you? Your pussy’s dripping just for me.”

You, who feel your muscles clench around him, your breathing quickening, soft hisses barely held back as he teases your most sensitive places. Every small movement sends a spark of heat through your core, and you know he can feel it in your trembling body.

Sukuna, who grins wickedly, sensing your struggle to stay in control. His thumb circles your clit through the thin fabric, sending jolts of pleasure that make your fingers twitch at his shoulders, desperate to pull him closer.

"You really think you can say all those things and not beg me to stop?" he murmurs against your neck, voice rough and low.

You try to glare back, harsh and defiant, but your voice breaks into a whisper, “Fuck… stop then.”

Sukuna, who smirks, dipping two fingers deeper, curling and stretching inside your hot, slick pussy while his thumb rubs faster against your clit. You hiss, trying to suppress a moan but failing miserably as your walls flutter and clench around him.

His hand tightens slightly on your waist to keep you steady while his fingers stroke with expert precision, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You, whose back arches instinctively, lips parting as you finally give in to the waves of pleasure rushing through you, biting down on his shoulder to stifle your loud cries.

Sukuna, who holds you down gently but firmly, whispering, “See? Nobody can touch you like this. Nobody knows your cunt better than me.”

You, trembling, gasping for breath, your body still pulsing with the aftershocks of his touch—completely his.

Just as you’re about to shatter, he pulls his fingers out slowly, making you whimper in protest, desperate for release.

“You really think you deserve to cum yet?” His voice is low, teasing, almost cruel. “Ha, nooo. I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you can answer, he spins you around, pressing your face gently but firmly against the cold wall.

“Slut like you don’t deserve to cum yet. I need you to beg for it,” he growls, his breath hot against your neck.

“Ha, in your dreams,” you manage between ragged breaths, trying to sound defiant but your voice cracks with need.

He smirks, lips brushing your ear. “I’ll see about that.”

Without warning, he slides inside you, thick and hard, filling you completely.

The sudden stretch, the raw heat of him buried deep, takes your breath away. His hips start moving, slow at first, then building rhythm—powerful, relentless.

You gasp into the wall, your body arching back against his thrusts, the tension between you crackling with every slam.

Sukuna, who is pounding into you hard, every thrust claiming you like you’re his possession. His grip tightens on your hips, pulling you closer with each brutal motion.

“You’re such a fucking stubborn slut, aren’t you?” he growls, voice rough, breath ragged against your ear. “Trying to act all tough, but I know you love this—my cock filling that tight pussy of yours.”

You grit your teeth, trying to push back, resisting. “I’m not your slut,” you snap, but your body betrays you, arching, grinding into him.

Sukuna, who smirks darkly, knowing exactly how much control he has over you. “Oh, don’t lie. You love it when I fuck you like this. Hate how much you need it. You’re dripping all over me, and you won’t admit you want it.”

Your breath hitches, every word sending fire through your veins. You try to pull away, but his hands clamp down harder on your hips.

“You don’t get to run, slut. You’re mine. Mine to use, mine to break, mine to worship.”

Sukuna, who slides one hand between you, fingers teasing that slick, swollen cunt as he fucks you deeper, faster. You hiss, biting your lip to stifle a moan.

“Say it,” he demands, eyes dark and hungry. “Say you want me. Say you’re my dirty little slut.”

You shake your head, breathless, “Never.”

He laughs, low and cruel. “Fuck, you’re impossible. But I’ll make you beg. I’ll break that stubborn pride, slut.”

Every brutal thrust, every teasing stroke of his fingers, pushes you closer to the edge, the tension between hate and need tearing you apart.

You feel it. You are about to cum again.

Sukuna, who of course stops and instead lifts you up effortlessly, your legs wrapping tight around his waist as he carries you to the kitchen. The cool air hits your heated skin the moment he presses you forward against the counter, your back exposed to him.

His hands grip your hips fiercely, holding you steady as his cock teases the entrance of your pussy, slick and ready.

“Fuck, I’m having so much fun with you, you dirty little slut,” he growls, his breath hot against your neck.

Without warning, he slams into you hard, the sound of your skin meeting the counter echoing through the room. Your body jolts with each brutal thrust, his pace merciless, relentless.

You try to push back, to resist, but every hard shove from him steals your strength, making your pussy clench around him, aching for release.

He leans down, teeth grazing your ear as he snarls, “Still gonna act like you’re not mine?”

Your breath hitches, the tension between wanting to submit and holding your ground twisting inside you like a fire.

“Never,” you whisper defiantly, even as your body betrays you with every shudder and moan barely held back.

Sukuna, who tightens his grip and drives deeper, fucking you against the counter like he owns every inch of you — because he does.

He leans in, mouth hot against your neck, teeth grazing your skin as his hands roam your body like he’s marking his territory.

The sound of skin slapping skin fills the kitchen, mixed with your ragged breaths and muffled moans you’re trying desperately to hold back.

“You like being pushed, huh? Like being used like this?” He growls, voice thick with lust and control.

You can’t stop the hiss slipping past your lips, but you keep your pride, biting down to stifle the moans that threaten to escape.

Sukuna, who watches you with hungry eyes, knowing every movement, every sound, every little tremble is proof that you belong to him — even if you refuse to say it.

“Say it,” he demands again, fingers teasing the sensitive skin of your thighs, “Say you’re mine. Say you’re my dirty, stubborn little cunt.”

You’re trembling now, hips moving involuntarily with his thrusts — the line between hate and desire so blurred it doesn’t even matter anymore.

He growls, his voice rough with hunger, “You’re made for this cock, my filthy little cunt.”

Your body trembles, pressed flat against the counter as he pounds into you with no mercy, hips snapping forward in a savage rhythm.

Sukuna, who feels it—the way your body tightens, your breath hitching, the subtle shake beneath his touch.

“You’re close,” he murmurs against your ear, voice low and hungry. “Still won’t beg?”

Your resolve crumbles. Soft, desperate, you whisper, “Please…”

"Please what?"

"Please, I want to cum, please, let me cum..."

That’s all he needs. He presses deeper, slow and deliberate, riding your cunt through your orgasm as your body convulses around him, trembling and open.

Your cries fill the kitchen, raw and needy, and he holds you steady, never letting go.

But he’s not done.

He spins you around, hands gripping your waist as he slams you against him, still fierce, still demanding.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice thick with want and frustration. “It was only an hour I was away from you, and I was going insane.”

His hips slam forward with a savage rhythm, relentless and hard.

“Can’t imagine a world without you,” he growls, voice breaking between thrusts.

He pulls you close, crushing you in a rough kiss, tongue tangling with yours, fierce and claiming.

But just when it softens, the fire reignites.

“You’re my dirty little slut,” he snarls, fingers digging into your hips. “Beg for me. Tell me you need this. You’re mine.”

You gasp, heat flaring, cheeks flushed and breath ragged, begging, “Please… don’t stop. I’m yours.”

Sukuna, who grinds harder into your cunt, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, relentless and demanding.

His hands slide up your thighs, effortlessly lifting one leg and wrapping it around his waist, giving him perfect control.

Your body arches, nails digging into his shoulders, breaths coming in shaky gasps.

He bites softly into your neck, marking you possessively while his cock fucks you deeper, rougher, taking what’s his.

“Look at you,” he growls low, “so fucking tight for me… so desperate. You want to cum again, don't you?”

Your breath hitches, voice trembling with need.

“Please… please fuck me harder… I can’t… I’m yours… just take me…”

Sukuna, who tightens his grip on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, slamming into you with brutal rhythm.

His fingers trace bruising patterns up your thighs, teasing, owning you.

Sukuna, who rides your waves of pleasure mercilessly, pushing you over the edge again and again, until you’re shaking and gasping in his arms, utterly undone.

And then, with one last deep thrust, he holds you tight as your body convulses around him, the rawest, wildest connection sealing you both together.

Sukuna, who carries you to bed with arms still warm and steady, his heartbeat calming slowly against your skin. The chaos from earlier seems far away now—muted in the hush of the room, replaced by the way he’s holding you like you’re something he almost lost.

He lays you down carefully, brushes a strand of hair from your face, and then just looks at you for a moment. As if he’s trying to memorize you again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice low, hoarse. “For what happened back there. At the shop.”

You blink at him. He’s not rushing to explain or justify—he’s just there. Present. Honest.

“I know I scared you,” he continues. “That’s not the man I want to be with you. You bring out something in me… something I didn’t know I needed to control until now.”

He pulls the blanket over your legs, tucks it in gently at your side.

“I’ve always felt this thing in me—this instinct to protect, to guard what’s mine. But I don’t want to be someone who makes you feel unsafe while doing it.”

You take his hand. Warm. Real. Still a little tense, but not distant.

Sukuna, who squeezes your fingers and finally lies beside you. Not too close. Just close enough for you to know he’s there if you want him. He doesn't force the closeness. He lets you decide.

And just as your eyes start to fall shut, you feel it—his hand reaching out slowly, resting lightly on your hip. Then the softest kiss pressed against your forehead.

He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.

-----

Bonus: Sukuna, who tells you he absolutely hates reality shows. Yet, after you beg him for what feels like a million times, he finally caves and agrees to watch LoveIsland with you.

At first, he sits stiffly on the couch — arms crossed, face unreadable, clearly unimpressed. He barely reacts to the drama unfolding on screen, like a kid forced to eat veggies.

The episode ends, and you nervously suggest, "Want me to stop? I don’t want to torture you."

He shrugs, nonchalantly glancing at the screen. "Nah, they should keep going. Someone’s gotta watch, right? Someone’s gotta suffer through it."

You laugh, knowing full well he’s just pretending.

By the fourth episode, things change. He starts leaning in, eyes glued to the screen. Suddenly, he’s dropping commentary like a pro:

"Is she seriously that dumb? Why would she forgive him after that?"

"She deserves way better, no question."

"No way he just said that. Red flag, red flag everywhere."

You catch him biting his lip to hide a grin, fully hooked but too stubborn to admit it.

You smile quietly to yourself, never mentioning how invested he’s become. Instead, you just ask to watch another show, knowing full well he’ll say yes — every single time.

Because, deep down, he loves these stupid reality shows as much as you do. And it’s not just about the shows. It’s the time he gets to spend with you.

You. His weak spot.

_________________________________________________

Ahhh, I love this series but I think it's enoughhh 💔

Sukuna, who’s now your boyfriend.

He sees you a few times a week. Picks you up late. Takes you out to dinner. Long night drives with barely any music, just the hum of the road and his hand resting on your thigh. He comes over. Fucks you.

Perfect boyfriend, right?

Sukuna, who still texts you. Still sends “Good morning”, still asks “You home safe?” But the messages feel shorter. Dryer. And you thought they were already dry before.

You know he’s busy. That he’s never been the type to open up. But still—You crave more. More affection. More words. More softness. More of him. Even if you never say it out loud, it sits in your chest like a dull ache.

Sukuna, who finally invites you to his place. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it. Just texts:

“I’ll pick you up at 8.”

He arrives exactly on time, as always. Leans against his car, silent, nods when you step out. Doesn’t kiss you — just opens the door for you like he always does.

The ride is quiet. Not tense… just quiet. You arrive. He unlocks the door. His place. For the first time.

Sukuna, who brings you to his place — and straight into his world. You didn’t expect his brother and nephews to be there.

You barely had time to fix your hair in the mirror before the front door opened and suddenly you were being introduced.

“That's Jin,” he says dryly, motioning toward the man in the kitchen — older, similar build, mischievous grin.

“And those two idiots are his sons.”

“Hey,” says one of the nephews, 18-ish, tall, messy hair, oversized hoodie. He shoots you a grin. “You’re the girl, huh?”

“Be nice, yuji,” the second one (his older brother) says while chewing on something. “You’re scaring her.”

“Oh please,” yuji rolls his eyes. “She’s dating him. If she isn’t scared already, she won’t be.”

You laugh softly, even though your chest feels weirdly heavy.

They’re fun. Loud. Playful.

So unlike him.

His brother, choso, walks past and claps him on the shoulder. “Wow. Didn’t think I’d ever see you bring someone home.”

He raises his brows at you. “You sure about this guy? He looks tough but he’s soft as hell when he’s not pretending.”

Your boyfriend just shakes his head and mutters something under his breath, sitting down at the table without saying much.

You follow.

The dinner is… normal. That’s the thing. It’s warm, funny, loud — and he barely speaks.

Sukuna, who sits next to you. Eats quietly. Answers when someone asks him something. But doesn’t reach for your hand. Doesn’t look at you much. Doesn’t smile.

And the more comfortable you get with them, the more uncomfortable you feel with him.

You keep wondering: Is this just how he is? Or is it you?

The conversation fades into the background. You feel the weight in your chest grow heavier. Until suddenly—

He reaches for your hand. Not dramatically. Not for show. Just… slides his fingers into yours under the table.

And without a word, he gets up. You follow. He leads you down the hall. Opens the last door on the right. His room.

No one says anything. The voices from the kitchen still echo down the hall. But the moment the door shuts. It’s just the two of you again.

Sukuna, who asks you,

“What’s wrong?”

Of course he knows something’s off. He knows you so well — even when you try to play it cool, he sees right through you. That’s what you love about him. That’s what makes all of this so frustrating.

“I just… Fuck, I—”

Sukuna, who gently sits down on the edge of his bed, patting the spot beside him — a quiet gesture, but one that feels intimate in its own way. You sit down. No hesitation. Like your body is already tuned to follow his lead.

His hand lands softly on your thigh, warm and steady. His eyes fix on yours — focused, serious, unblinking. Not cold. Not soft. Just present. Completely. He’s listening.

And that alone makes your heart ache.

And yet, even now — with his hand resting so close, his face just inches away — you can’t stop thinking about how fucking hot he is.

His eyes, the way they hold you there like a weight. His fingers, casually pressing into your skin, just a breath away from your cunt. Your mind betrays you — flashing images of what those hands have done. What they could do right now.

Stop. Focus.

You try.

“I know that you’re really busy,” you say. “And I know you’re not… the affectionate type. Not with words. Not all the time. And I’ve been trying not to let it bother me, but—”

You pause. Swallow hard.

“I really need more.”

Sukuna, who understands you. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t scoff. He just nods slightly — once — like he already knew.

“More of me?” he says, voice quiet. “You need me to be more affectionate? With words?”

His hand moves, just barely, fingers tracing higher.

“Or with actions?”

Sukuna, whose hand slowly trails upward. So slow it’s agonizing. Purposeful. His fingertips brush the softest part of your inner thigh now — his touch featherlight, teasing. Your breath catches. Your eyes stay locked.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. His voice drops, deeper this time.

“You want me to show you how much I care?”

And fuck — you do.

Sukuna, who shows you everything — not with words, but with his touch. He leans in, finally, finally, pressing his lips to yours.

Slow at first. Controlled. But you feel it — the way his fingers tighten slightly on your thigh, the way he exhales against your mouth like he’s been holding something back for too long.

His kiss deepens. Urgent now. Like he’s pouring every unspoken word into it. Like this is how he says

I care about you. I missed you. I’m yours.

Sukuna, who doesn’t rush. He lifts you gently, your legs wrapping around his waist as he lays you back on the bed. His body presses down on yours, not crushing — just grounding. Keeping you there. With him.

“You need more of me?” he whispers against your neck.

“Then take it.”

His hands roam your body — firm, steady, reverent. Not just touching. Learning. His mouth leaves slow, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down your chest, over the curve of your stomach.

He pulls your clothes off piece by piece. Not roughly. Not teasing. Just… focused. Like every part of you matters. Like he’s finally letting himself feel everything he’s been holding back.

And when he finally slides inside you — it’s not hard. It’s not fast. It’s deep. A slow, steady rhythm that says everything he never could.

Sukuna, who looks into your eyes the entire time. No dirty talk. No distractions. Just his breath mixing with yours, his fingers laced with yours, your bodies moving in sync like you’ve done this a thousand times.

Like he belongs here. Inside you. With you.

And when you whisper his name — quietly, shakily — his thrusts falter just for a second.

Then you feel it. His lips on your temple. His hand squeezing yours.

“I’ve never done this with anyone like this.”

It’s the only thing he says. But it’s everything.

And in that moment — you finally feel full. (Literally) Seen. Wanted. Loved. His.

You whisper it, barely audible —

“I need more… please.”

Sukuna, who hears your plea — and completely lets go. In a single fluid moment, he turns you over and puts you on all fours. No words. Only the sound of his breathing, heavier now.

His hands grip your hips, firmly, demandingly — and then you feel him again, deeper, harder.The rhythm changes. No more slow. No more soft. Just raw need.

His hips slam into you, each thrust a declaration:

"You want more? Take more."

Your body rocks with every movement. Skin on skin. The room echoing with the sound of it.

Sukuna, whose hand pushes your head into the pillows. Not to hurt — just to muffle your cries.

“Shhh…” he murmurs, voice rough against your ear.

“As much as I’d love to hear you scream, my family’s still downstairs.”

You whimper.

“Oh? You don’t care, do you?”

His pace gets even rougher.

“You want them to know, huh?”

Another sharp thrust.

“You want them to hear how this pussy sounds when it’s mine?”

Sukuna, who loses himself in you. Still fully in control — but letting the mask slip now. His voice no longer calm. His thrusts no longer steady. He’s breathing hard, groaning, low and broken.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he growls.

“Look at you. Taking all of me. So fucking good for me.”

His hand slides up your spine, then grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling gently, just enough to tilt your head.

“You’re mine, you hear me?”

And you do. In every word. In every thrust. In every breath.

Sukuna, who’s not holding back anymore. His grip tightens. On your hips. On your waist. On you. He’s driving into you like he’s chasing something — like you’re the only thing that keeps him sane.

The sounds in the room? Filthy. Wet. Raw. Skin slapping, breath gasping, your whimpers mixing with his low, broken groans.

“You feel that?” he grunts, voice ragged.

“That’s me. All of me. Deep in your greedy little cunt.”

Sukuna, who completely snaps.

“Fuck. You like that?”

You moan, barely able to answer — your voice caught in your throat. But he doesn’t need your words. He knows your body.

Sukuna, who slams into you harder now — rough, relentless — your knees barely keeping you steady as your thighs shake.

"Take it. Take it all."

Another thrust. Deeper.

"You begged for it. So take it like the pretty little slut you are."

Your back arches. Your head falls. And he knows — you’re close.

Sukuna, who leans over you now. His chest pressed to your back, one hand gripping your jaw, turning your head just enough so you hear him.

“I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this.”

His breath hot against your ear.

“You’re mine. You understand me?”

And you do. Every nerve in your body is screaming yes. And when he growls your name — hoarse, low, possessive — it’s over.

You come, shaking, breaking apart underneath him. You collapse onto the bed, body trembling, chest rising and falling in sharp breaths. Your legs are weak. Your voice barely a whisper.

He stays behind you for a second, both hands gripping your waist — tight, possessive. You’re about to turn around, maybe curl into him, maybe melt into that warm silence after chaos—

But then—

Sukuna, who leans down, voice deep and low in your ear.

“I’m not done with you, my gorgeous, little slut.”

Fuck.

Before you can even respond, he pulls out — only to flip you over, easily, like you weigh nothing. Your back hits the sheets. He’s already between your thighs again, spreading them open, eyes dark and wild.

“Thought that was it?” he growls, smirking now — just a little. Just enough.

“You begged for more. I’m giving you more.”

Sukuna, who hooks your legs over his shoulders this time, folding you in half, pushing so deep you gasp. The angle? Brutal. Perfect.

He watches every reaction — the way your eyes flutter shut, the way your mouth drops open, the way your nails dig into the sheets.

"You gonna cry for me now, baby?"

Thrust.

“Too much?”

Another.

“Or just right?”

Your answer comes in moans — broken, breathless, needy.

"Yes. Fuck. I love it."

And he loves it too.

Sukuna, who fucks you like it’s the only way he knows how to say “I love you.” Fast. Hard. Deep. Real. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, and all he can do is give you more, more, more.

Sukuna, who doesn’t slow down. Your legs are still over his shoulders, your body already wrecked — but he’s deep in you again, dragging another wave out of you with every sharp, needy thrust.

You moan his name — and this time, he breaks. Not physically. Emotionally.

Sukuna, who finally lets it out. His voice low, but raw, shaking, broken.

“Fuck… I love you.”

You freeze. So does he. Only for a second. Then—

“So much. It hurts sometimes.”

His pace picks up again.

“The moment I see you getting out of the car. The moment I text you goodnight. The fact I can't have you every fucking second.”

Thrust. Harder.

“I love you so much, I can’t get you out of my head.”

Another thrust.

“You're always in my mind. And that pretty little pussy…”

He groans into your neck.

“Fuck. I can't help but jerk off at night just thinking about being inside her.”

Your hands clutch his back. Your body arching into his. His words hitting harder than his thrusts.

He pulls back — just enough to see your face. Your eyes. Your tears.

“I love you.”

You say it back without even thinking. It’s not a confession. It’s a truth that’s been living in you.

“I love you too.”

And then— your bodies move as one.

Spasms. Moans. Fingers digging. Mouths colliding. You both fall apart. Together. Loud. Messy. Completely undone.

Sukuna, who helps you get dressed again. Your legs are weak. Your body still buzzing. But he’s patient. Quiet. He pulls your shorts up gently, fixes your hair behind your ear, zips up your hoodie without a word. His fingers linger on your zipper. His eyes don’t look away from yours.

“Ready?”

You nod, even if your legs say otherwise. And just like always, he offers his hand. Steady. Solid. His way of saying he’s not letting go.

Sukuna, who walks back downstairs like nothing just happened. Like he didn’t just ruin you in the best way possible. The others look up — confused for a second, then amused.

“Took you long enough.”

Yuji smirks.

“Did you guys fall in or what?”

Choso laughs. His brother just lifts a brow.

“Bathroom run or secret honeymoon?”

You nearly choke on air trying not to laugh.

Sukuna, who doesn’t even blink. He just grabs a plate, sits down, and casually offers you a bite. Like nothing. Like everything.

And the rest of the dinner? Warm. Loud. Easy. Jokes flying around. You laughing. Him beside you, quiet but listening. Every now and then his hand grazes your thigh under the table.

He doesn’t say much — but you feel it. The calmness. The peace. The way he looks at you like you belong here.

Later. In his room. His bed. For the first time. You’re both quiet again. Tired. Heavy. He pulls his hoodie over your head — one that smells like him.

You sit on the edge of his bed, watching as he changes out of his shirt, then tosses it in the corner and slips under the sheets.

You follow. You lay next to him. Not touching.

Sukuna, who doesn’t cuddle. Of course he doesn’t. But you don’t take it personal. You understand. That’s just how he is. And you love him for it.

You're drifting off when— You feel it. Soft. Brief. Warm. A kiss. Right on your forehead.

You’re not even sure it really happened. But something in your chest tightens in the best way. You fall asleep smiling. Full. Safe. His.

Sukuna, who’s all over you when you wake up. One arm wrapped around your waist. The other under your head. His face buried in your neck. Your legs tangled. Your hearts… synced. You don’t move. Not like you could get out of his grip. And you don’t say anything.

Because for the first time — he’s holding you in his sleep.

And he doesn’t let go.

_________________________________________________

Awwww

Sukuna, who doesn't care what others think about him. Says whatever he wants. Doesn’t soften his words. If it stings, then it stings. He's not here to make people comfortable.

Sukuna, who's respected by everyone. Not because he’s friendly. Because people know better than to test his patience. He doesn’t need to prove anything—his presence does the talking.

Sukuna, who only cares for certain people. And if you’re not one of them? You’ll feel it. He won’t look twice. Won’t pretend. You get what you mean to him—and nothing more.

Sukuna, who can’t stop thinking about you after seeing you once. He doesn't even know why. He just remembers the way you laughed, the way you didn’t look away when he stared. And somehow, that stuck.

Sukuna, who treats you differently than the others. Everyone notices—except you. It starts small. He says hi to you, bye to you. Always. Just you. It doesn’t sound like much. But from him, that’s everything.

Sukuna, who starts asking questions. Just one every time. Like it’s a game. Like he wants to learn you slowly.

“Where are you from?”

You answer, smile, and ask him back. He tells you. No jokes, no extra words.

Next time:

“What do you do for a living?”

You tell him, maybe add a sarcastic comment. He just nods. You ask him. He answers in one sentence. Simple. Direct.

Then one night:

“You seeing someone?”

You laugh, roll your eyes. “Do I look like someone who’s seeing someone?”

He tilts his head. “Didn’t answer the question.”

You grin. “No. I’m not.”

You pause, then give it back: “You?”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“No. I’m not.”

But he says it with your tone. With your words. A mirror. Something only you’d notice.

Sukuna, who cares about you in ways you don’t expect. You lick your lips—he brings you a glass of water without a word. Your stomach growls—he hands you an apple. Doesn’t make a big deal out of it. You tell your friend you forgot your wallet—next second, he’s paid for your drink. Doesn’t look at you after. Doesn’t want it back. You know better than to argue.

Sukuna, who offers you a ride one night. No buses. Rain’s coming in. It’s late.

“I’ll take you.”

You blink. “I’m good, really—”

He just opens the door and waits. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t ask again. You get in.

And for a few minutes, you sit in silence. But it’s not awkward. It’s just him.

“Everyone is speculating about us,” you say eventually, eyes on the window.

“What is there to speculate about?” he replies, voice flat.

“They’re saying we’re dating. Weird, right?”

You laugh softly. Just to fill the silence. He doesn’t laugh. Of course not. He keeps his eyes on the road—but his grip on the steering wheel tightens.

“Yeah. Weird,” he mutters.

You dare to look at him again. Longer this time.

He’s… annoyingly handsome.

Muscular. Broad chest. Tattoos wrapping his arms like they mean something. Expensive watch, black compression shirt, black pants with a belt. Everything dark, clean, sharp—just like him. His expression is focused, almost stern, eyes locked on the road. But you notice something.

Suddenly, his voice breaks the quiet.

“Is everything alright?”

You blink. “Yeah. Of course. Why not?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just says, calm as ever,

“Well, because you’re staring.”

Fuck. He noticed.

You clear your throat, half-laughing. “Oh… I just noticed that when you’re focused, your jaw does this thing—kind of tenses up—and there’s this vein that pops here.”

You motion vaguely toward your own face.

“Kinda makes you look more intense than usual.”

The car slows. You’ve arrived.

He parks without a word, puts the car in neutral—but he doesn’t move.

For a second, you think that’s it.

Then he finally turns his head to look at you. Eyes steady. Unblinking. The kind of look that makes your heart forget what it’s supposed to do.

His gaze lingers on your face—pauses at your lips—then meets your eyes again.

And he says nothing.

But you feel everything.

Sukuna, whose lips are on yours now. Still in his car. You’re sitting on his lap, the world outside fading to nothing. His kiss is fierce, almost desperate — like he’s trying to make up for every word unsaid, every moment lost.

His mouth moves urgently over yours, hungry and demanding, yet there’s a strange tenderness hidden beneath the intensity. Every touch, every press of his lips feels like a promise — raw, real, and impossible to ignore.

Sukuna, whose hands are all over you. No corner of you goes untouched. His fingers roam down your back, gripping your waist, sliding under your shirt to feel your bare skin.

You can feel the heat radiating from him, the way his hands tremble slightly, betraying how much he wants you — how much he needs you. He pulls you closer, his touch claiming you like you’ve already been his for years.

Sukuna, losing control completely. His hips move, grinding against you, searching for friction, for connection — anything to bridge the space between you two. Low groans escape his throat, rough and guttural, barely held back but so raw you can feel them against your skin.

His hands clutch your hair, pulling you deeper into the kiss, his breath hot against your neck. For a moment, all his control slips away — and it’s just you and him, caught in something too intense to name.

Sukuna, who’s enjoying you riding him. Every move you make sends sparks through his body — the way your pussy grips him, the slow rise and fall of your hips, it’s like fire lighting up every nerve ending. He feels you tightening around his cock, every inch of you alive and aching for more. His hands dig into your waist, steadying, pulling you closer, wanting to feel every heartbeat against his skin.

Sukuna, who’s losing himself in the way you take control. His breath comes harder now, rough and uneven. The sound of your wetness sliding against him is intoxicating, pulling him deeper into the moment. His eyes darken, watching your every move like it’s the only thing that matters. You’re his world, right here, right now — and he’s completely yours.

Sukuna, saying things like:

“Fuck, you feel so tight around me.”

“You don’t even know how good you look like this.”

“Riding me like you own me—damn, you’re perfect.”

“Can’t get enough of how wet you are.”

“Keep going, don’t stop. I wanna hear you.”

“You’re driving me crazy, baby.”

“Such a fucking good girl for me.”

“Look at you, taking me like that—so fucking sexy.”

Sukuna, taking over control now. He grips your hips tightly, his hands firm and unyielding as he lifts you slightly, guiding your movements, before thrusting into you in a fast, brutal rhythm.

The pace is relentless now — rough, fast, pushing you to the edge of pleasure and pain. You gasp, your hands scrambling for purchase, but he’s got you exactly where he wants you. His hips meet yours with every thrust, his cock buried deep, dragging pleasure from every inch of your body.

Sukuna, losing himself in the heat of the moment. His breath is harsh, his eyes locked onto yours with a possessive intensity, as if he's marking you with every movement. His thrusts get harder, faster, more desperate. There’s no holding back now, just pure, unrestrained need.

You feel the tension building inside you, the tight knot of desire that’s been coiling tighter with each thrust. He can feel it too, the way your body reacts to him, how you tighten around him with every push.

With a low groan, he pulls you harder against him, his thrusts more forceful now, driving you closer to the edge.

You feel yourself slipping, every muscle in your body tightening, ready to snap, but you can’t stop him. He’s got you, completely. The intensity overwhelms you — your body responds without thinking, as the waves of pleasure hit you in crashing surges.

Sukuna, watching you come undone beneath him. His name escapes your lips, breathless and pleading, and that’s all he needs. He loses the last thread of control, his hips snapping into you harder as his own release crashes through him.

You both reach the peak together, your bodies trembling with the force of it, before collapsing against each other, breathless and tangled in the aftershocks.

Sukuna, taking care of you now that he completely destroyed you. You’re breathless, your limbs shaky, your body sore in the best possible way — and he notices.

He says nothing, just pulls his shirt over your shoulders, lifts you carefully into his arms, bridal style. You feel your head drop against his chest, his scent and warmth surrounding you.

Your bag dangles from his hand as he walks up the stairs, silent and steady, your apartment key already in his fingers like he knew he’d be the one to carry you home.

He enters your room like he’s done it a hundred times. Gently lays you on the bed, tugs the blanket over your body. Presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

And just when you think he’s about to leave —

he sets a glass of water next to your nightstand.

Just in case you’re thirsty.

Just in case you need anything.

Just… in case.

Sukuna, who won’t let you go after that night. He texts you every morning.

“Good morning.”, “Did you sleep well?”, “How’s your day?” And always, without fail, “Good night.”

Not over the top. Not too much. Just enough to remind you he’s there — watching, waiting, wanting.

Sukuna, who won’t leave your side at friends’ gatherings anymore. Not because he doesn’t trust you — but because he knows he’s not the only one who looks at you like that.

He stays close, one hand always on you — sometimes at your hip, sometimes resting on your thigh. If you shift, he shifts with you. You belong to him now, and he makes sure everyone knows it without saying a word.

He smirks when you try to hide the marks on your neck — the ones he left. Your fingers brushing your collar, your hair pulled forward, your scarf.

But he sees them. And he remembers every second of putting them there. Sometimes, while walking, without a word, he just slips his hand into yours.

And doesn’t let go.

_________________________________________________

Need. THAT. ASAP.

You were standing at the edge of the dance floor, the bass thumping through your chest, the heat of the crowd pressing in around you. Suddenly, a shadow fell beside you, and before you could turn, he was there — sliding into the space like he owned it.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and smooth, eyes locking onto yours with that familiar mischievous spark. “Mind if I crash this party for a bit?”

You laughed, feeling the easy warmth that always settled around him. “Try not to embarrass me too much.”

He grinned, that perfect mix of cocky and charming. You couldn’t help but notice how the tight black shirt clung to his broad shoulders, outlining every muscle — arms toned and strong, chest broad and firm, and just a hint of stubble along his jaw that made you want to reach out and touch.

“You know,” he said, leaning in so close you could feel the heat of his breath, “I’ve been watching you all night. You’re impossible to take my eyes off.”

You arched an eyebrow, smirking. “That sounds like a challenge.”

He chuckled, tracing a finger along your arm, his skin warm against yours. “Maybe it is. Or maybe I’m just lucky.”

The way he moved was effortless, confident — hips shifting just so as he swayed with the music. His body radiated a magnetic energy that pulled you in, making your pulse skip.

As you talked, the banter flowed easy, light teasing mixing with genuine compliments. “You’re way too stunning to be standing here all alone,” he said with a smile that made your knees weak.

“Funny,” you shot back, “I was about to say the same thing to you.”

He laughed, a deep sound that vibrated through his chest and into yours. “Careful,” he warned, “I’m pretty persuasive when I want to be.”

Your eyes caught the way his strong jaw clenched slightly when he smiled, and the way his dark eyes sparkled in the club’s shifting lights. You realized you’d never really noticed how sharp his features were, how perfect the curve of his lips looked when he grinned just for you.

Without thinking, you stepped a little closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. “So, what happens next?” you asked, voice low.

He leaned even closer, lips brushing your ear. “I say we find somewhere a little more private.”

"I don't even know your name."

"Neither do I. Now, what do you think?"

Your heart thumped — fast, excited. “Lead the way.”

His hand slid to your lower back, fingers warm and steady as he guided you away from the noisy crowd.

As you slipped into the bathroom, the tension between you was electric. His eyes never left yours, full of promise and fire, as the door clicked shut behind you.

______

The dim light from the bathroom flickered, barely illuminating your flushed faces as he pressed you against the cold sink countertop. His hands gripped your hips so hard you could feel the heat radiating through his fingers, pulling you impossibly close.

His cock throbbed relentlessly against you, slick and hot, teasing the entrance of your wet, aching pussy. You were trembling, both from the sharp thrill of danger — anyone could walk in at any second — and from the raw need burning between your bodies.

He growled low in his throat, eyes dark and hungry. “You’re such a filthy little slut for taking me like this… right here, right now.”

Your breath hitched at the roughness in his voice. His hand slid down, fingers circling your clit through the thin fabric of your panties, teasing, gliding with maddening precision. You whimpered softly, trying to hold back the moans that threatened to spill out.

“God, you’re dripping for me. Can’t get enough, huh?” His voice was sharp, demanding. “Say it. Tell me how badly you want my cock inside you.”

You bit your lip, eyes locked on his as you gasped, “I want you... so bad.”

He smirked cruelly and shoved you harder against the sink, hips thrusting roughly, cock pressing deep, teasing the entrance of your wetness. “That’s my good girl.” His fingers curled, rubbing hard circles on your clit, matching every thrust. “You gonna take all of me, slut? You better.”

Your hands gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white, as he pounded harder, faster — hips snapping mercilessly into you with a reckless hunger. Your pussy clenched and pulsed around him, every nerve alight with fire.

“Look at you, bouncing on my cock like a desperate little slut. Fuck, you’re perfect.” He leaned close, breath hot on your ear, voice dropping to a growl. “Beg for me. Tell me what you want.”

Your voice was barely a whisper, shaky but eager, “Please… fuck me harder. Don’t stop.”

His teeth grazed your jaw, sending sparks down your spine as his pace quickened, pounding relentlessly. “Good girl. So fucking wet and tight for me. You love this, don’t you? Love being my dirty little slut.”

Your moans spilled free now, loud and ragged, your body arching into every brutal thrust. His hands roamed greedily, one slipping under your shirt to cup your breast, thumb rubbing your hardened nipple as he kissed your neck — teeth nibbling, tongue flicking with devilish intent.

He groaned deeply, the vibration rattling your core. “You’re driving me insane. So tight, so warm, so fucking perfect.” His hips slammed harder, dragging you down onto him with every punishing stroke.

“You’re mine. Don’t forget that.” His voice was rough, possessive, filled with raw lust. “You’re my good little slut, and I’m never letting go.”

You gasped, pleasure and pain mingling, breathless and overwhelmed. “Please… more…”

His fingers tightened on your hips, pulling you flush against him. “You’re gonna come all over my cock, aren’t you? You’re such a needy slut.”

Your pussy clenched, burning with every hit as he slid a hand lower, fingers teasing your wet folds from behind. He pushed one slow finger inside you, curling deep, while his cock continued to hammer relentlessly.

“Look at you, begging like the dirty little slut you are.” His voice was cruel but intoxicating. “You love it rough. You love being used.”

Your moans grew louder, begging, pleading, “Fuck me… harder… don’t stop…”

He chuckled darkly, finger pumping inside you as he slammed his cock harder, deeper, faster. “That’s it, baby. Take it. Show me what a good slut you are.”

Sweat dripped down your back, bodies slick and hot, the wild rhythm carrying you both closer and closer to the edge. His lips found your ear, voice a raw whisper: “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you? Gonna make a mess all over my cock.”

You barely held on, panting, trembling — and then the first wave hit, your body shuddering, pussy clenching hard around him as your cries filled the cramped room.

He groaned loudly, thrusting one last time before collapsing against your back, breath ragged, hands still holding you tight. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

He pulled back slowly, while you were still catching your breath, chest rising and falling with heavy pants. You were both slick with sweat, your skin flushed and your heart pounding like a drum.

He started getting dressed, the slow movement making it almost unbearable how close you still felt — every breath you took caught somewhere between excitement and disbelief.

“I still don’t know your name,” you blurted out, voice shaky but curious.

He was quiet for a moment, then reached down and grabbed your phone from where it had slipped out of your pocket onto the floor.

Without a word, he flipped it over to face you, holding it up for Face ID — unlocking it with ease. Meanwhile, you slid your underwear back on, fingers deft and casual.

He tapped a few things on the screen, then handed the phone back to you.

With a small grin, he gave you a quick wave.

“See you next time.”

You blinked, confused.

Looking down at your phone, you saw that he’d saved his number — under his name: “Sukuna”.

You couldn't help but smile. "Can't wait!"

_________________________________________________

Chat, am I cooked or did I cook?

I was having so much fun. My friend shoko had invited all of us to this club to celebrate her birthday - and she had gone all out.

This party was lit.

The music. The atmosphere. The people. The alcohol. It was the perfect kind of chaotic.

Just when I was about to pull over to the dance floor, someone threw their arm over my shoulder - heavy and lazy. I glanced to the side.

Of course. My best friend - gojo.

He was smirking at me, eyes glassy, lids drooping. His hair was a mess, his shirt half untucked, and he looked like he had no idea what planet he was on.

“You… look like a strawberry,” he slurred out, squinting at my face like he was trying to figure out if I was real.

“Strawberries are hot. I’d eat you.”

“Charming,” I muttered.

He leaned further onto me, his whole weight shifting. I staggered back slightly, catching him before he could completely collapse.

“Okay, you’re done,” I said, sighing. “You’re so done.”

He pouted like a five-year-old. “I was just talking…”

“You’re not talking. You’re melting,” I said, adjusting my grip around his waist. “How much did you drink?”

“All of it.” A hiccup. “Maybe. Don’t remember.”

I stared at him for a beat, then looked around the room. Our friend group was scattered, lost in dancing and drinks. No one else seemed to notice his state — or they were ignoring it.

I sighed again.

“Alright, come on. We’re getting you home.”

He let out a low laugh and leaned more into me, practically clinging now.

“You always take care of me,” he murmured. “You’re my favorite person.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes and trying to fight the weird flutter in my chest.

“Let’s just get you to bed before you puke on someone’s designer heels.”

I walked over to our friends, dragging his half-limp body with me like a human shopping bag.

“He’s done,” I said flatly, giving geto a look. “Dead. Finished. So guess who’s babysitting?”

He laughed - some guiltily, some a bit too hard.

“Poor thing,” he said.

“No. Poor me,” I muttered, then added, “Anyway, I’ll drive him home. Someone tell the birthday girl he didn’t die or anything, just passed out like the dramatic queen he is.”

There were some cheers, someone made a joke about “MVP of the night,” and then I was off — hauling him through the club like a mom carrying her toddler out of a toy store.

Outside, the cold air hit us like a slap.

He groaned dramatically. “It’s cold… I need warmth. Hold me.”

“You're walking. Barely. I’m not adding cuddling to your to-do list.”

Getting him into the car was a mission. He kept trying to talk mid-collapse.

“Watch your head-no, not there-your leg, oh my god-”

At one point he got halfway in, then just stopped, head flopped against the seat like he'd given up on life.

“You’re not dying in my car,” I told him, shoving him the rest of the way in. “Move your ass.”

When I finally closed the door behind him and slid into the driver’s seat, I glanced over. He was looking at me with this dopey smile on his face.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re pretty, you know that?.”

I rolled my eyes. “And you’re a menace when you’re drunk, you know that?"

“Perfect match.”

“Shut up.”

I started the car.

I parked in front of his place and got out first, walking around to open his door.

“Okay,” I sighed, pulling on his arm. “Get out. You're home, sir.”

He groaned dramatically again, still leaning most of his weight on me. “You’re so strong. So powerful.”

“Shut up and stand straight.”

Somehow, I got him out of the car. He leaned heavily on me, arm slung around my shoulders like I was his emotional support human.

We reached his front door and I paused. “Where’s your key?”

“In my pocket,” he slurred, smiling way too smug for someone who couldn’t walk straight.

I gave him a long, suspicious look. “Which one?”

He didn’t answer - just grinned.

“Of course,” I muttered, then reached into his front jeans pocket.

He laughed. Actually laughed.

“You're enjoying this way too much,” I said, trying to ignore the fact that he was very much still grinning down at me like I was fulfilling his greatest fantasy.

My hand came up empty. I blinked. “There’s nothing here.”

He shrugged, still smirking. “Oops. Might’ve forgotten which pocket.”

I fake-gasped. “You’re so annoying.”

He held up the key suddenly - it had been in his jacket the whole time.

“You did that on purpose!”

“Maybe,” he said with a wink. “I liked your hand in my pants.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

“And you love it.”

I didn't even reply. Just snatched the key and shoved it into the lock.

The door swung open and we stumbled inside.

Still leaning on me, he mumbled, “Home sweet home.”

“Yeah, yeah. You're welcome,” I said as I helped him toward his room.

By the time we got to the bedroom, he was basically a ragdoll. I let go, and he collapsed face-first onto the bed with a muffled groan. “You’re the best.”

I stared at his motionless form. “You're hopeless.”

Still no movement.

I rolled my eyes and headed for the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water.

“Stay alive for five more minutes, dumbass,” I muttered, making my way back.

When I returned to the room, I froze in the doorway.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, head slightly drooped forward, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt like they were a riddle in an escape room.

His fingers kept slipping. And that damn smirk was still on his face.

I blinked. “Seriously?”

He glanced up at me, totally unbothered. “I think… my shirt hates me.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Help me?” he said innocently, holding out his hands like a kid asking for candy.

I huffed, set the glass down on his nightstand, and walked over. “Fine. Just this one time. Don’t get used to it.”

I started unbuttoning his shirt. Slowly. Carefully. Too carefully. Because damn.

He was warm. His skin brushed mine occasionally. And when the last button popped open and I let the fabric fall apart - I saw them.

Abs.

Actual. Real. Sculpted. Abs.

His stupid smug voice broke through my stunned silence.

“Impressed?”

I tried not to look up. “Nope.”

“You’re staring.”

“Not at all.”

“You wanna touch them?”

I snorted. “Touch yourself.”

“Oof. Kinda hot when you talk like that.”

I shoved his shirt down off his shoulders. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re blushing.”

“I’m leaving.”

I turned around way too fast, trying to get away from the growing heat on my cheeks.

“Good night. Sweet dreams. Try not to choke on your own ego.”

I barely made it two steps before I felt his hand wrap around my wrist. Firm. Warm. Confident.

“Whoa-!” I yelped as he tugged me back, pulling me right onto his lap.

He was leaning against the headboard, legs stretched out, shirt hanging open, hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of a dream. Or into one.

And now I was straddling him. Perfect.

“Hey!” I protested, trying to find balance.

His hands slid to my hips like they belonged there, holding me steady - maybe too steady. I felt his hard cock beneath me - big and thick - and I had to swallow back a breathy moan that threatened to escape.

“Relax,” he said, his voice suddenly low. A little too serious. “Just a little night activity before I fall asleep.”

His eyes locked onto mine, dark and serious, like he was seeing me for the first time - really seeing me. There was something different in his gaze. No joking. No teasing. Just pure, raw intensity.

His hands slid slowly, deliberately, rubbing circles on my hips. And then, with the lightest pull, he guided me forward. A soft grind. My hips moved instinctively against him - a slow, teasing roll - and I could feel it.

All of him. Hard. Pressed right beneath me. His big, thick cock.

I bit my lip, trying to hold back the sounds bubbling up from deep inside. He was so big under me, so solid. I could feel every breath he took - rough and urgent.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. And God, the way he looked up at me - like I was driving him insane and he wanted more of it.

His hands gripped my hips harder now, holding me down. Keeping me in place.

He leaned in, lips brushing along my jaw with frustrating patience.

“Do you even know how beautiful you are?” he whispered.

My breath hitched.

What is happening?

My head spun, my heart racing. I was caught between wanting to pull away and leaning in even closer, craving more of that closeness.

I shifted again - another slow grind - and this time, there was no stopping the soft moan that slipped from my lips.

His head fell back against the headboard, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck... You’re gonna kill me.”

Fuck wait! He's drunk. He's fucking drunk. No no no ... We can't do this!

I had to come up with something - quick. I looked around, searching for something that might have helped me.

But his strong grip on my hips. Holding me, making sure I wasn't able to slip away. His beautiful eyes that bore into me. His lips that were so dangerously close. His hard cock, pressing against my wet core.

I wasn’t sure if I’d ever felt anything like this before.

And then... I had an idea. That devilish little idea.

I leaned forward, pressing my chest to his, bringing my lips so close to his ear he could feel them graze the edge.

“You know what we should do before sleeping?” I whispered, sweet as sugar.

He nodded, not even caring what I was about to say - completely under the spell of the moment.

I reached up.

His breath hitched - I felt it.

But my fingers bypassed his face and instead grabbed a thin, worn book from the shelf just above us.

I pulled back, holding it between us like a prize.

“Read a bedtime story.”

His eyes snapped open. His whole expression dropped into pure betrayal. I grinned and tapped the book lightly against his forehead.

I gave him a playful tap on the forehead with the book - bonk - and slipped out of his grip, climbing off his lap like nothing had happened, completely ignoring the very obvious situation in his pants, and began "reading":

“Once upon a time, there was a very drunk idiot who had the best best friend in the world. She took care of him. Even when he was hopelessly annoying. And if he didn’t die of alcohol poisoning, they’re probably still arguing somewhere today.”

I shut the book with a satisfied snap, stood up, tucked him under the blanket, and gently patted his head.

“There. All warm and tucked in.”

Just as I reached the handle, his hand grabbed my wrist, firm but gentle.

“One thing’s missing before you go…” His voice was low and hopeful.

"Oh?"

“A good night kiss.”

I shook my head with a smile.

There's no way I'll do that...

But the way he looks at me thouuugh. I guess I could at least do that.

I leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Good night,” I whispered, then slipped out the door, leaving him lying there with a half-smile.

"Dream of me."

Then I turned and walked out before he could say anything else.

Do friends do that?

My cheeks still burned just thinking about it - the way he looked at me. Touched me. Held me like I was... something else.

Something more.

And God, he was so hot. So hard under me. Big.

He’s always been flirty - stupid jokes, the occasional wink, compliments that felt safe because they never meant anything. Right?

But tonight...

When he told me I was beautiful, it didn’t feel like a joke.

It didn’t feel like a game. It felt real. Too real.

Can we even go back to being just friends after that?

Sure. Yeah. Of course. He was drunk!

He probably won’t even remember it in the morning.

Right?

...Right.

_______________________________________________

A short one but still sooo good ;)

And yes: he doesn't like alcohol - I know. But for the sake of this story I just had to... Anyways bye babes!

I couldn’t keep going like this. Not when my heart was playing tug-of-war and my mind was screaming for clarity.

It was time.

I stood in front of my closet, hands on my hips, scanning through the hangers like I was preparing for battle — because in a way, I was.

This wasn’t just a visit. This wasn’t a casual drop-by. This was the end of pretending.

I pulled out a pair of jeans — the kind that hugged just right — and a black fitted top. Clean. Simple. Comfortable. Not for him. For me.

In the mirror, I tied my hair back, leaving a few loose strands to soften my face. I looked tired, but determined. And maybe… free?

_______________________________________________

Keys. Phone. Purse.

I grabbed everything, paused for one last breath, and whispered to myself,

"You’re doing the right thing."

Because I was. Because I had to. Because if I didn’t end this now — I’d be trapped in something that had already died.

I headed to the door. No more excuses. This time, it was me who was leaving. But first… he needed to hear the truth. And I needed to hear his. Even if it burned.

The house was still alive with music and laughter when I pulled into the driveway.

Some people were scattered across the porch, drinks in hand, others stood in little groups inside, talking way too loud for this hour.

As I stepped through the door, a few heads turned. The mood shifted. Just a little. Subtle confusion in their eyes. Like I wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Oh… hey,” someone muttered. No one really smiled.

I spotted him — the guy from earlier. The one who had asked where I was from and then spent twenty minutes talking about his yacht.

He blinked when he saw me, brows furrowing slightly.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice low, almost tense.

Weird.

“I'm here for my boyfriend. He’s still here, right?”

He glanced away for a second. “Uh… I think he left. Maybe went home early.”

Before I could question him further, a voice chimed in from behind.

“Actually…” It was her. The girl. The one who spilled wine on me and apologized with a fake smile too sweet to be real.

Now she was smiling again — the exact same way. She gestured casually down the hall. “You’ll find him there. Last door, I think.”

My stomach fluttered. Something about her tone didn’t sit right. But maybe I was just nervous.

Shaking off the feeling, I nodded and turned toward the hallway, my heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

One step. Then another. The hallway felt too long. Too quiet. I reached the door at the very end.

I hesitated. My hand hovered over the handle.

The door swung open. And then I saw it. Them. Him. Her. The "she's just a friend" girl.

In the middle of the deed. Right there. On the damn couch. His shirt half off, her legs around his waist, his hands tangled in her hair. Her riding him, his dick still inside her.

My heart stopped. The room went still. They both froze.

He stared at me like a deer caught in headlights. She blinked once, then gave me that smile. Not guilty. Not sorry. Smug.

He shoved her off his lap like she was some random blanket that didn’t belong there. She yelped, pulling the blanket up to cover herself, still grinning like this was some twisted joke.

He jumped up, stumbling over his own pants, frantically looking around for his boxers.

"It's not what it looks like!" he blurted, voice shaky.

"Wait, I can explain!"

"Please, just listen to me—"

A nervous laugh slipped out of him. Not the funny kind. The I-just-ruined-everything-and-I-know-it kind.

He finally found his underwear on the floor, held it in front of himself like a useless shield.

I didn’t say a word. I didn’t need to.

The look on my face said everything. And judging by the panic in his eyes - he knew it was over.

I looked at him. Not at the half-naked mess he was. Not at the pathetic excuse of shame in his eyes. Just him.

And for the first time, I didn’t feel guilt. Didn’t feel torn. Didn’t feel anything.

Only one thing came out of my mouth. Calm. Steady. Final.

"It’s over."

He flinched like I’d slapped him.

"No—wait, please, I—"

But I’d already turned around. Didn’t even slam the door. Didn’t need to. Silence could be louder than any scream.

That was the moment I finally knew what I wanted. What I needed. Not closure. Not another sorry. Not a pathetic explanation or some weak justification wrapped in half-assed tears.

I needed revenge.

All this time, I carried guilt like it was my own sin to bear - while he was out here, tossing my heart aside like a game.

And suddenly, it all made sense. The wine girl. The awkward glances. The too-long hugs. The lies disguised as “just friends.

He didn’t deserve my heartbreak. He didn’t deserve my silence. He sure as hell didn’t deserve me.

But someone else... He might.

I stepped out of the room, my heart still hammering, breaths shallow and quick. The hallway felt colder somehow, the noise from the party faint but distant.

Heads slowly turned as I appeared. The lively chatter died down to confused whispers.

The guy — the one I’d talked to earlier, the one who only spoke about himself — his face shifted. I caught a flicker of something unspoken in his glance, almost like he was hiding something — but I didn’t understand it yet.

Then the woman — the one who’d splashed me with wine — her expression changed too. At first, that smug little smile of satisfaction still played on her lips, as if she’d won some small victory. But then she saw my face — not tears, not anger, just this cold, quiet calm.

Her smile faltered. Confusion replaced the smugness.

Around me, others looked puzzled. No one knew what to say or do.

And me? I was standing there, the calm eye of a storm I wasn’t sure I could contain.

Without a word, I turned, pushing through the crowd and out to my car.

The engine roared to life, and I drove away — my mind already racing.

I was done waiting. Done pretending.

I was heading straight to him.

I pulled up in front of the house — his house. Technically still my ex’s, but in this moment, it felt like it belonged to someone else entirely.

The lights were on. The door... unlocked. I didn’t even hesitate.

I pushed it open, the air inside still holding the scent of something rich — cologne, maybe, or an expensive candle burned down halfway.

My heels echoed against the floor as I walked in. No voices. No footsteps. Just my heartbeat — loud and relentless.

And then I saw him. Sitting on the couch. He looked like a dream I shouldn’t be allowed to have.

His dress shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the top, just enough to show that perfect bit of skin — the place where collarbone met heat. His tie hung loose around his neck, half undone, like he’d either just come back from war or was about to walk into one.

His hair? A beautiful mess. Like someone had run their hands through it one too many times — probably him, out of frustration. Or maybe just... him being him.

A lowball glass dangled between his fingers, filled with something dark, something expensive. Maybe whiskey. Definitely not wine. He wasn’t the wine type.

He looked up as if he had known I was coming. Like he’d been waiting.

Our eyes locked. And just like that — I forgot how to breathe. I was out of breath from the sprint, yes. But also because… damn. He looked like sin, dressed up in heartbreak.

He didn’t say a word. Neither did I.

The air stretched between us, pulling tighter, heavier.

God, how can someone look this good while I’m falling apart?

“What are you doing here?” he asked, not moving. “How did you even get in?”

“Door was unlocked,” I said, chin raised. “Not exactly a fortress.”

His brows lifted ever so slightly. And then it hit him. I saw it in his face—the memory flickering across his eyes like a shadow. The bathroom. My voice. "Occupied."

He smirked.

“You’re really using that against me?”

I took another step closer. “Why not? You didn’t seem to care much about boundaries then.”

He chuckled, leaning forward just a bit, eyes never leaving mine.

“Well, in my defense... you only said ‘Occupied’. That’s not a clear no.”

I smiled—slow, sharp. “Exactly. And you didn’t say no either now, did you?”

His tongue darted across his bottom lip, and the tension cracked like static in the air between us.

“Touché,” he muttered, voice low and smooth. “You’ve got a memory on you.”

“And you’ve got a habit of walking through open doors.”

He raised his glass slightly in a mock toast, still smirking.

“Well then,” he said, voice dipping into something deeper, darker, “why don’t you tell me why you’re here... really.”

I walked up to him. He stood up from the couch, setting his glass carefully on the side table without a word.

Now we were face to face—so close I had to tilt my head up to meet his calm, unreadable eyes.

I started talking before I could stop myself. Words tumbling out too fast, breath uneven.

“Okay, so, your brother—total asshole, right? Like seriously, I felt so guilty the whole time, and then I find out he’s been cheating on me all along, and I’m the one who’s supposed to feel bad? Like I’m the problem? And that whole bathroom thing, that was just—like, I didn’t do anything wrong, but he made me feel like I did, like I was the crazy one!”

He didn’t say a thing. Just watched me, steady, unmoving, eyes fixed on mine like he was measuring every word.

“And then that girl—the one with the wine? She totally did it on purpose, you know? Sprayed me just so I’d leave, so he could have time with his side chick. And the guy with the yacht, always around—like, was I really so blind?”

I could feel heat rushing to my cheeks, my words tumbling faster, my voice rising.

“And I’m sitting there, thinking I’m losing my mind, thinking maybe I’m just dumb, stupid—”

He cut me off before I could finish.

His hand reached up, fingers gentle but firm, brushing my cheek as he leaned in.

Then his lips pressed against mine—deep and urgent—like he’d been holding back for too long.

I froze for a moment, heart hammering, breath caught — but then, slowly, I gave in. My lips parted just enough as I leaned forward, returning the kiss.

His mouth was warm, soft, and so incredibly familiar — the kind of kiss that felt like coming home after being lost for far too long.

There was a roughness in his groan, low and guttural, vibrating through me like an electric current.

His hands moved with purpose, one sliding up to cup the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, pulling me closer, deepening the connection.

The other hand slid down my waist, pressing me gently but possessively against him.

I ran my fingers through his thick, tousled hair, tangling them as if trying to hold onto this moment forever.

Every second felt like the world had stopped spinning — just his breath mingling with mine, our hearts racing in sync.

I could feel the tension, the unsaid apologies, the regrets, the longing — all melting away in that kiss.

His lips were demanding yet tender, tracing mine with slow, deliberate strokes, as if memorizing every inch.

My body relaxed against him, the tight knot of frustration and hurt loosening, replaced by a warm, soothing wave of relief.

It was messy and perfect all at once — a beautiful chaos of feelings I didn’t want to stop.

And as our mouths moved together, soft and hungry, I knew this was only the beginning.

And then, everything shifted. His kiss grew deeper — hungrier.

His tongue slid against mine, not asking, but taking, and I let him. God, I needed to.

His hands gripped my waist, fingers digging into the denim of my jeans as if it frustrated him, like he wished there was nothing in the way.

A guttural groan escaped him — low, rough, like it was dragged out from the deepest part of his chest. It sent a pulse straight between my legs.

He pulled me impossibly closer, his body flush with mine, one hand sliding down to cup the curve of my ass through the tight fabric, squeezing — claiming.

My fingers tangled into his hair, tugging gently, then harder, unable to control the growing ache inside me. He groaned again, this time into my mouth, and it nearly made my knees buckle.

“Fuck,” he breathed against my lips, voice strained, needy. “You drive me insane.”

His hands roamed everywhere — up my spine, under my shirt, his fingertips now gliding across the bare skin of my lower back. The feeling was like fire and lightning, sharp and sweet.

The pressure of his body pressed me back slightly, and I hit the wall behind me with a quiet gasp. But even that didn’t stop us. It only anchored us — intensified it.

He kissed down my jaw, his lips trailing along my neck, teeth grazing just enough to make me whimper. I arched into him, unable to hold back.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, voice barely audible, trembling with restraint, “and I will.”

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because in that moment, nothing else mattered. Just his mouth. His hands. The way he made me feel — like I was the only girl in the world. Like he needed me more than breath.

Without a word, he turned us both toward the couch — our lips never parting — and guided me backward until the edge hit the back of my knees.

He sat down first, tugging me with him in one swift motion so that I landed right on his lap, my legs straddling him instinctively, like I belonged there. Because I did.

The second I was on him, something in him snapped.

His hands gripped my hips through the denim, hard, dragging her closer until there was nothing between us but heat and desperation. I could feel him — all of him — pressing up beneath me, thick and aching through his pants, and it made me gasp softly into his mouth. I knew how big he was - after all, I had already seen it.

“Oh my God…” I whispered, voice barely there.

His lips curled into a smirk against mine. “No. Just me.”

He kissed me again, rougher now. More desperate.

My hands ran up his chest, fingers clinging to the open collar of his shirt, tugging him closer, hungrier, as if I could pull more of him into me.

He groaned again, that deep, gravelly sound that made my insides flutter and my hips roll instinctively against him. He was so hard.

He hissed in pleasure. “Don’t do that unless you want me to lose every bit of control I have left.”

But I did it again.

“Fuck,” he growled, his grip tightening on my waist. His hands slipped under my shirt, warm palms trailing fire over my bare skin, thumbs brushing the edge of my bra, and I shivered at the contact. He unclipped it, my bra still covering my breasts because of the shirt.

“You have no idea,” he said between kisses, trailing his mouth down my neck, “what you do to me.”

My breath caught as he sucked gently at my pulse point, then nipped at it, marking me, making me his.

I could feel herself melting against him — mind foggy, heart racing, body completely overtaken by him.

And yet, even in the chaos of it all, his eyes met mine again — wild, dark, and burning — but waiting.

“Say something,” he breathed. “Tell me if you want this… if you want me.”

He bit down gently on my bottom lip before whispering, “Say the word, and I won’t stop. But if you want me to, I will.”

That voice. That velvet darkness. So unlike the way his brother ever spoke to me. This wasn’t lust alone. This was unspoken obsession.

My heart thudded. I didn't trust myself to speak. So I nodded. He smirked in response.

That feeling again. Sitting on his lap. Like that one day where I had found him - chained to that chair. That feeling, of being the one in control. Of him losing his.

As if he felt the shift in me, as if he knew, he suddenly moved. His hands gripped my hips, grounding me. And then - he flipped us.

His hands gripping my thighs as he laid me down onto the couch beneath him, never breaking eye contact.

I gasped, the air stolen from my lungs.

"Mine," he breathed, voice hoarse, as he leaned down and kissed me like he meant it - every single word.

His body pressed against mine now—hot, firm, overwhelming in the best way.

The couch creaked softly beneath us, but nothing else existed. Just him. Just us.

His lips crashed into mine again - no longer gentle, no longer asking. They demanded. And I gave.

I arched into him, hips lifting to meet the slow grind of his own.

Still clothed, still breathless - but it felt like too much and not nearly enough.

My fingers clutched the fabric at his back, tugging his shirt up and over his head in one clumsy motion.

God. That body.

Toned, warm, and humming with tension - his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as he hovered above me.

"You're driving me crazy," he whispered, lips brushing my ear.

"Every time you look at me like that. Every time you deny what we both feel."

His voice was low and ragged, like it was unraveling him to finally speak the truth.

My legs wrapped around his waist almost instinctively, pulling him closer.

He groaned—deep in his throat—his hands roaming down my sides, gripping, kneading.

“I should’ve had you that night,” he muttered, kissing along my jaw, “when you wore that red dress.”

I gasped as his hand slipped under the waistband of my jeans - fingers teasing, hovering just above where I needed him most. His fingers met my clit and he smirked against my neck.

“So wet already? And I’ve barely touched you.”

His thumb pressed lightly through my panties, circling - testing - making my back arch off the couch.

I whimpered, nails dragging along his shoulder blades. He hissed.

“You have no idea what you do to me.”

His fingers popped open the button of my jeans with maddening ease, the sound loud in the silence between our kisses. Then came the zipper - slow, teasing. Deliberate. Then pulling my jeans off completely with my panties at the same time.

He pulled back just enough to look down, his lips parted, chest heaving. His eyes roamed over me like he was trying to memorize every detail.

"You're even more perfect than I imagined," he breathed, like it physically pained him to say it out loud.

And when his fingers dipped lower…

"Fuck, so tight..."

Oh God.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, forehead pressing against mine.

"You’re killing me," he growled. "You remember when I was the one, losing my mind over you? Now look at you."

I moaned as his fingers explored - first slow and soft, then deeper, firmer.

He watched me fall apart under his touch, his mouth trailing hot kisses down my neck, my shoulder, murmuring how much he wanted me.

"Say it," he whispered. "Say you want this too."

And without hesitation, without shame, I said:

"I want it. Please."

Because I did.

He groaned. My hips rocked against his hand, chasing every stroke, every bit of pressure he gave me.

His other hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head gently back so his lips could find my throat again.

Then he whispered, voice rough and hot against my skin:

"Let me have you. Right here. Right now."

I barely had time to answer - my body was the answer. I shifted back on his lap, letting my thighs straddle him completely.

His jeans were rough against my bare cunt, and I could feel him - hard, hot, big, thick, straining beneath me.

The groan that left his throat when I pressed against him made my whole body clench with need, making a lot of mess on his jeans.

"Fuck," he hissed, burying his face in the curve of my neck. "You feel so fucking good."

His hands gripped my hips, dragging me even closer, grinding me against him. The friction made us both gasp - my fingers tangled in his messy hair, pulling slightly.

He bit down gently on my skin in response, just enough to leave a mark.

Then his hands moved - up my back, under my shirt. His touch was searing, his fingertips painting fire across my spine. He tugged my shirt up, and I raised my arms without thinking, letting him pull it off and toss it somewhere - anywhere - my bra included. Now I was completely exposed to him with nothing covering me.

His mouth was on me again immediately. On my chest. My collarbone. Down further.

Every kiss was worship. Every stroke was reverent. Like he’d dreamed of this. Fantasized about this. And now he finally had me.

"Tell me if I go too far," he rasped, voice nearly broken. "Tell me now - because I won’t be able to stop."

I looked down at him, hair wild, lips red, pupils blown wide with hunger.

"Then don’t stop," I whispered.

He cursed under his breath. Then he kissed me like he was falling apart. Like I was saving him.

My fingers trembled with anticipation as I slowly undid the button, then carefully slid down the zipper of his pants, inch by teasing inch.

His breath hitched in a low, ragged gasp, eyes never leaving mine — dark, burning with hunger and need.

The moment felt suspended in time, every second stretching as the fabric loosened, revealing the warm skin beneath.

With a slow, teasing smile, I tugged his pants with his shorts down just to expose the hardness pressing urgently against me. His lips parted slightly, letting out a soft groan that sent a delicious shiver down my spine.

His fingers moved back to where I needed them most - only this time, there was nothing in the way. No fabric. No hesitation.

His fingers moved back to where I needed them most, starting with gentle, feather-light circles, barely touching but igniting every nerve ending beneath his fingertips.

I shivered, breath catching in my throat as his touch teased me, awakening a heat that pooled deep and spread fast.

Slowly, deliberately, his fingers slipped inside me - inch by inch - drawing soft gasps and quickening my heartbeat.

Each movement was practiced, a tantalizing dance between control and surrender, coaxing waves of pleasure to ripple through my body.

His other hand gripped my waist firmly, grounding me while his fingers explored with increasing confidence.

I arched into him instinctively, muscles tightening and releasing as the sensations grew sharper, more urgent.

Every stroke was perfectly paced, coaxing gasps and soft moans from deep within me.

"That's it. Take it. Use me."

I needed more. So I started to ride his fingers, matching his rhythm. Our lips met again, his mouth claiming mine in a hungry, desperate kiss.

His tongue traced the seam of my lips before slipping inside, tasting, demanding - swallowing my moans with a growl.

My hands tangled in his hair, fingers pulling slightly as I lost myself in the heated rhythm of his touch and the depth of his kiss. I dug my nails into his shoulders, anchoring myself as waves of pleasure built beneath his touch.

He whispered my name, thick with desire, as his fingers moved with expert precision, bringing me closer and closer to the edge.

I was trembling, my breath shallow, heart pounding like a drum. Every nerve in my body screamed for release - I was so close, on the edge, ready to fall.

"I'm cumming, please!"

"Cum for me, darling."

And so I did. Riding to my high, moanings feeling the room.

He slowed down, pulling his fingers away. His eyes locked on mine, dark and intense, filled with something unspoken - control, desire, and something deeper.

"Fuck, that was amazing. I almost came just by watching you cum. I need another one."

His hand slid up my side, fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin, teasing but never fully satisfying.

I bit my lip, frustration and need mingling as he kept me hanging, caught between pleasure and denial.

"You can make it, right? For me?"

I nodded and in response he smiled. His lips traced a slow path from my neck down to my collarbone, leaving a trail of warmth and fire in their wake.

His hands, strong and confident, slid down my sides, gripping my waist firmly yet gently, pulling me impossibly closer.

Every nerve ending in my body sparked to life, craving more of him — the heat of his skin, the steady beat of his heart against mine.

I could barely breathe as he kissed me deeply, his mouth demanding but tender, speaking a language only my body understood.

Then, with a deliberate and slow movement, his cock slid inside me. It was fucking huge, stretching me out completely.

A sharp gasp escaped my lips, mixing with the rush of sensation that flooded every inch of me. He hissed, squinting his eyes.

"Fuck, so tight."

I trembled against him, my fingers clutching his shoulders, grounding myself to the overwhelming feeling.

He paused for a brief moment, looking into my eyes as if checking in - making sure I was still there with him.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, voice rough with desire but laced with care.

I nodded, breath hitching. “Yes… don’t stop.”

His lips curled into a small, satisfied smile before he began to move again - slow, deliberate, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge again.

His hands roamed freely now, one tracing the curve of my back, the other tangled in my hair, pulling gently whenever he deepened the rhythm.

I bit my lip to keep from crying out, my body responding to every movement like electricity coursing through my veins.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured against my skin, his breath hot and uneven.

“Don’t stop,” I begged, voice trembling with need.

He groaned low in response, increasing his pace just slightly - never rushing, always in perfect sync with my reactions.

My hips moved with him, instinctively matching his rhythm, every part of me on fire with pleasure.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he confessed between kisses, his hands exploring every inch of my body as if trying to memorize me forever.

He deepened his thrusts, each one slow and demanding, driving me wild with need. His breath hitched against my skin as he whispered, "You’re mine." The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver straight to my core.

My fingers tangled tighter in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more - needing more. The world around us faded, leaving only the heat of our bodies pressed together and the sound of our ragged breaths.

His hands traveled lower, gripping my hips with fierce determination, guiding me to move with him. The sensation was overwhelming — every nerve alive, every touch electric.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he groaned, voice thick with desire.

I bit back a moan, trying to keep control, but the way he moved—so confident, so sure—was breaking me apart.

He kissed my jaw, then my neck, nipping softly, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

With a sudden but smooth motion, he lifted me slightly, his hands gripping my hips firmly.

“I want to see you in action,” he murmured against my lips, before capturing my mouth again in a deep, hungry kiss.

His hands moved to my back, pulling me closer as I began to ride him slowly, each movement building the tension tighter between us.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he groaned, voice thick with desire.

And so I rode him, his hands assisting me and lifting my hips in rhythm. I was finally in control, hitting the spots I needed to.

His hand slipped away briefly - reaching for his phone. A wicked smile curled on his lips as he hit record. But at the moment was way too overwhelming to understand his actions.

“You know,” he whispered huskily, his eyes dark with mischief, “this little video might make a great surprise for my brother.”

Before I could react, the camera was capturing every gasp, every shiver, every inch of me wrapped around his cock. Me riding him, taking every inch.

His voice dropped lower, thick with desire: “Let’s make him regret everything. Make him face his loss.”

He pulled me closer, fingers tangled in my hair as he kissed me harder, deeper - our passion burning even hotter with the secret shared between us and the screen watching it all.

I bit back a moan, trying to keep control, but the way he looked up at me - so intense, so desperate - was breaking me apart.

"You see this, my dear brother? The way she's taking me sooo well. Bet she wasn't pleased for a while now, huh? So tight, have you even fucked her properly?"

He kissed my jaw, then my neck, nipping softly, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

"Oh, right! You never got the chance to! Well then, enjoy the show!"

Just like that he put the phone to the side, making sure the camera was still capturing our bodies but this time from another perspective.

“I’m close,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath.

"Not- Not yet."

And with that he shifted us again, gently lowering me back so I was lying flat beneath him. His hands braced on either side of my head, fingers splayed in my hair as he hovered above me, his breath hot against my face.

I looked up at him, heart pounding, caught in the heat of his gaze - fierce, hungry, like he wanted to consume me whole.

Without warning, he pushed inside me deeper and harder, a rougher edge to his movements that made me gasp and clutch at his shoulders.

His lips found mine in a fierce, demanding kiss, teeth grazing softly over my lower lip as his hands roamed down my body, tracing every curve with possessive need.

He pressed his body closer, weight pinning me down but every touch burning with passion. His hips slammed into mine with a wild rhythm — fast, urgent, intoxicating.

“God, you feel incredible,” he groaned, voice raw with desire.

I arched my back instinctively, matching his pace as waves of pleasure rolled through me. My breath hitched, heart racing, as his fingers dug into my hips, holding me tight.

His mouth trailed down my neck, leaving wet kisses and soft bites, marking me as his.

The world narrowed down to the feel of him moving inside me, his hands exploring, his lips demanding, the heat building higher and higher.

Every thrust pushed me closer to the edge — the tight coil inside me unraveling, unraveling...

And then, with a cry that mingled ours, I shattered, trembling beneath him as he held me through the rush of release.

He kissed me once more, softer now, breathing heavy as he rested his forehead against mine.

“I’m yours,” he whispered.

With a final, deep thrust, his body tensed above me. A low, guttural groan escaped his lips - raw and desperate - followed by a shudder as he released inside me.

He stayed still for a heartbeat, catching his breath, his chest rising and falling against mine.

Slowly, his movements softened, every touch turning gentle and caring. His hands brushed my hair back from my face, fingertips tracing soft, soothing circles along my cheek.

“I’m here,” he murmured, voice thick but tender.

I wrapped my arms around him, feeling the steady beat of his heart calm beside mine.

His lips found my forehead, pressing a warm kiss as he whispered, “You’re everything.”

We stayed like that for a while—lost in the quiet afterglow, tangled together, safe in each other’s arms.

He took me in his arms, enjoying the peaceful moment on the comfortable couch.

"I'm glad you were the one chained up — not your brother."

"And I'm glad it was you and not my failed date."

We laughed, the tension finally melting away, and ended up falling asleep together on the couch.

---

video sent

dumbass sent a voice message

"You didn't! I will kill you! You're. Fucking. Dead. You hear me? No mercy this time!!!"

_______________________________________________

And that's the end of this little series. Hope you like it! Love y'all <3

What the hell was that? And why the hell am I so... wet?

No. No. This can’t be real. It was just a dream. Just… a coincidence.

Yes. Coincidence. That’s all. No it's not.

But then why did it feel so damn real?

Why was it so intense…so hot?

Why is my skin still burning?

I’m not supposed to feel this way. Not about him. Never.

It’s not real. It’s just the aftermath of that whole mess. Just trauma messing with my brain.

That has to be it.

I shook my head, trying to snap out of it, and dragged myself out of bed. I needed cold water. Or maybe a cold shower. Or maybe just amnesia.

Either way, I had to keep moving. Pretend everything was normal. I pushed all the images, all the sounds, his voice out of my head.

Or at least, I tried.

Beeep. Beeep.

My phone was ringing.

What now?!

I groaned, grabbed it from my nightstand and squinted at the screen.

My boyfriend.

Oh, just great.

I forced a sigh down and slapped the fakest smile on my face before answering.

“Heeey, what’s up?”

Why does my voice sound like I just inhaled helium?! Get it together!

“Good morning babe,” he said in his usual sweet tone, “I just wanted to say that I’ll pick you up at 2.”

“What? Why?”

“You forgot? Our friend meeting.”

Shit.

“Oooh right, now I remember. Yeah, that’s alright. See ya!”

I was about to hang up - desperate to avoid small talk - but then he added,

“He’ll be there.”

My entire body froze.

He.

Him.

Suddenly, my mouth was dry. My skin felt too tight. That dream came rushing back like a tidal wave.

“Cool,” I said.

It came out like a squeak. God.

“Cool…?”

What do you mean cool? He almost destroyed our relationship! No, not cool.

“Uhm - I mean, cool in a way that I don’t care, haha…”

Please believe me. Please believe me-

“Dress nicely,” he said. “I want him to be pissed. Mad that I have you. Not him.”

“Yeah... as always...”

This annoying rivalry between the two again…

“No, but this time, I need him to boil. Like, screech his teeth just looking at us.”

“Whatever that means. Alright, see ya.”

I hung up.

Puh… he didn’t notice.

Good.

You need to know that the meetings we had in our friend group weren’t as usual as you might think.

We’re talking about rich people. Like rich rich.

Me, as the girlfriend of a rich guy, I was the only non-rich person there. I had met them multiple times before such as that one evening, and they were… different.

They treated me so weirdly, as if I was speaking a different language and they had to use "easy English" so I could understand. Yeah. They weren’t really used to normal people - I was probably the only one they even knew.

But as long as I got to spend time with my boyfriend (and eat free, expensive food), I actually enjoyed the meetings. The events. The parties. The balls.

And… the time with my boyfriend.

...

I mean, I always say that. "Spending time with my boyfriend." But the truth is: he didn’t really want to spend time with me.

Before every meeting, I’d always tell him not to completely ignore me. To maybe spend some time with me - because otherwise, I’d just end up sitting there. Lonely. Again.

And he would always say, “Yeah yeah, sure.”

But the second one of his friends looked at him, it was like I stopped existing. He’d run off to them like a happy dog seeing its owner again.

And I’d be left behind.

Still... The food. The atmosphere. The way everything felt bigger than real life. It was nice.

So I kept going. I kept dressing up, smiling, playing my role.

The girlfriend. The outsider. The silent, sweet girl who didn’t grow up with wealth, but at least knew how to hold a fork right.

And honestly?

It was exhausting.

By the time we arrived at that evening’s gathering — some private villa that looked more like a luxury resort — I already felt like I had to perform.

The laughter. The elegance. The fake kisses on cheeks.

“Oh my god, you’re so pretty!”

“You look adorable in that dress!”

Adorable. Not stunning. Not beautiful. Adorable. Like a well-dressed pet.

I forced a smile and returned the compliments. The usual game.

My boyfriend, of course, was already gone. Somewhere inside. Laughing. Drinking. Forgetting I existed, probably.

I was just about to grab a glass of champagne when a guy from the group approached me.

Tall, polished, expensive-looking. You know the type.

“So... where are you from?” he asked, with that slight pause rich people always make when they’re trying not to sound surprised you're not from their country club.

“Oh, I’m just- I grew up nearby, nothing fancy,” I replied, half-laughing.

“Ah. And what do you do?”

“I work in an office—just admin stuff.”

“Oh...”

The way he said it, the pause. That said everything. That tiny oh, like I had just told him I was homeless.

Then, without missing a beat: “So anyway, I just got back from my second trip to Bali. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find good saffron there. My chef was furious. And I told him: just fly it in, what’s the big deal, right?”

I nodded politely. Sipped my drink. Tried to keep smiling. He didn’t ask a single other thing about me.

I looked around, praying for a distraction.

And then I saw him.

Him.

Across the garden. Leaning casually against the railing. Drink in hand. In his hot-ass suit. Not talking. Not moving.

Just staring. Right at me. Our eyes locked. I froze.

He didn’t look away.

I took a sip from my glass, trying to act unbothered. Casual. Cool. But my fingers tightened around the stem and my heart was pounding so loud I could barely hear the background chatter anymore.

Was I imagining this? No. He knew exactly what he was doing. Still staring. Still not blinking.

Like he was peeling me apart with his eyes — calmly, slowly, like I was something to study... or maybe something to devour.

And worst of all? I didn’t look away either.

It was only when someone bumped into me — one of the girls in a silky champagne-colored dress — that I blinked and broke the connection.

I turned my head quickly, cheeks heating up.

What the hell was that? Why was I breathing like I had just run a marathon?

When I glanced back across the garden, he was gone. Of course he was. But I still felt it. That pull. That tension. That memory.

The way he looked at me like he already knew the dream I hadn’t told anyone about.

Fuck.

But there was something else I had to worry about now.

“Oops!” she squealed, even though her face didn’t show the slightest trace of shock.

Just that fake open mouth, the slightly raised brows — the expression rich girls wear when they know exactly what they’re doing.

Half my dress was soaked.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” she added, reaching for a napkin way too slowly. “I guess I just got a little too excited talking about my new Cartier bracelet!”

I forced a tight smile.

“No worries.”

Just kill me.

The chill of the wine seeped through the fabric, clinging to my skin. Sticky. Cold. Gross.

Everyone around us had turned to look, and I was not about to stand there and be the wet dog in a room full of diamonds.

“I’m just gonna… go fix this,” I said, already turning toward the hallway.

Her voice followed me like nails on glass.

“Babe! The bathroom’s the second door on the left!”

Babe. Ugh.

I closed the door behind me with a sigh so deep it probably came from my soul.

The bathroom, of course, was as big as a bedroom. Marble sink. Golden faucets. A candle that smelled like very expensive vanilla.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My makeup still held. Barely. But my dress? Ruined. My hair? Frizzy from the humidity and now awkwardly stuck to my cheek thanks to the wine splash.

“Great,” I mumbled to myself.

Freaking perfect.

I leaned against the sink, hands gripping the cold marble as I tried to calm my breathing.

What was that? That look. That damn look.

He didn’t even need to touch me. Just one second of eye contact and I was completely wet.

The way he looked at me — like he saw something no one else did. Like he wasn’t just looking at me, but into me.

And the worst part? I wanted it. I wanted him to keep looking.

I wanted him to drag me away right then and there, push me up against the wall and make me forget my own name.

God, what was wrong with me?

I have a boyfriend. I’m literally standing here at his friend's house. At his event.

And yet all I could think about was HIM.

The way his lips curled when he smirked. The way he sat there earlier, completely calm while I lost my mind. That quiet intensity. The silence that said everything.

I stared at my reflection. My cheeks were still flushed. My pupils wide. I looked like someone who’d just been kissed. Badly.

I ran my hands over my face, trying to reset. Erase whatever was happening to me. But it was too late.

That look — his eyes — they were already burned into me. And for a terrifying second...

...I didn’t want them to fade.

“Stop,” I whispered to my reflection.

“I have a boyfriend. I’m spending a nice evening with my boyfriend. And whether or not I had a stupid dream about his brother... it doesn't matter.”

I nodded at myself. Like saying it out loud would make it real. Like repeating it would erase the heat still pulsing under my skin.

Just focus. Be normal. Be the good girlfriend.

I reached for a paper towel to dry off the wine—

Click.

The door opened.

“Occupied!” I called out quickly, still blotting the wine stain on my dress.

But the door creaked open anyway.

“I said—occupied!” My voice sharpened.

I turned around—And froze.

It was him.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, expression unreadable, eyes locked on me. The door clicked shut behind him.

“What the hell… how did you even get in here? This is the ladies’ room!”

“Unlocked,” he said calmly, almost like it was no big deal. “And you didn’t exactly say ‘go away.’ Just ‘occupied.’”

“Because that usually means something!” I snapped.

He took a step closer. No smirk, no jokes. Just this heavy silence, this unspoken tension hanging in the air.

“You’re acting... different. Kind of off. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

I swallowed hard. Why did it have to be him who said that?

He took another step closer, and I instinctively stepped back.

I knew I couldn’t handle the space closing between us—his warmth, his presence, the way his touch lingered in my mind.

One small move from him, and I’d be completely wrapped around his fingers.

Did he know that? Did he realize the power he held over me? How effortlessly he could make me lose every shred of control I tried so hard to keep?

Our eyes never left each other.

Suddenly, I couldn’t take another step back and stumbled into the sink counter.

Now I was trapped—pressed between the cold surface and his body.

His body leaned softly against mine—gentle, not forceful—just enough to make me shiver at the touch.

“Not now. Please.”

Then, he smiled.

Shit. He knows.

He leaned in closer, so close I could feel the heat of his breath ghosting over my skin, right at my ear.

“You know,” he whispered, his voice rough with teasing, “it’s almost unfair how just one touch from me can leave you trembling like this.”

His fingers slid from my cheek down to the sensitive curve of my neck, tracing slow, deliberate patterns that sent shivers straight through me.

I bit my lip, fighting the sudden rush of warmth pooling low in my belly, my breath hitching in response.

His smirk deepened, eyes dark and unreadable, filled with a delicious mix of mischief and something more dangerous.

“Maybe I’m impossible,” he said, voice dropping an octave, “or maybe I’m just the one who knows exactly how to unravel you.”

His hand moved with purpose, sliding down to rest on my waist, pressing just enough to remind me of the control he held.

Every tiny touch was a spark, setting fire to nerves I thought I had buried deep.

“You can try to resist,” he murmured, his lips barely brushing my ear, “but I know you want this. I see it in every glance, every breath you steal when you think I’m not looking.”

The world around us faded, every sound muted except the pounding of my heart and the whisper of his touch.

I wanted to push him away, to remind myself of the boundaries I’d set—but my body betrayed me, leaning into him, craving more.

"I had this weird dream last night. Of what could have happened if my stupid brother hadn't interrupted us," he said, his voice low, almost a growl.

His hands slid to my hips, gripping them firmly, pulling me just a little closer.

"Do you want to know what happened?"

His eyes bore into mine, full of challenge and something dangerous.

"Are you interested in finding out? Right here, right now?"

His grip tightened, fingers digging in slightly as heat radiated from his touch.

"Here. In this bathroom." He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "I could show you. Prove to you that my words yesterday were not just empty promises."

I wanted him so badly — every fiber of me burning with desire — but I couldn’t move.

My body was frozen, trapped in a whirlwind of emotions and sensations I didn’t know how to handle.

His smile softened, like he could see right through my hesitation, and that only made the moment heavier, more electric.

He leaned in slowly, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he began to share his dream.

“I sat there, on that chair, chained up.” His lips grazed my cheek with such gentle heat it sent a thrill racing through me.

“All yours. But I couldn’t let you do all the work. I knew you were tired — wanted me to take over.”

Another kiss, this time on the other cheek, tender and lingering, making my breath hitch.

“The ropes were pretty loose, more than they looked. I could have slipped right out of them whenever I wanted. And so I did.”

His hand slid carefully beneath the hem of my skirt, fingers tracing slow, teasing circles on the outside of my thighs, lifting the fabric just enough to send a shiver racing through me.

“I got out of the chains, pulled you up, and threw you onto that bed nearby.”

His lips traced a slow path from my jaw down my neck, lingering with feather-light kisses on my pulse point before trailing down to my collarbone.

“I kissed every inch of your body — exploring your beauty, memorizing every curve.”

His fingers slid under the delicate strip of fabric, slowly pulling it down, inch by inch, revealing more of my skin with each teasing movement.

“I dared to do this,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear.

He felt it — how much I wanted him, just as much as he wanted me.

His hand traced the curve of my hip as the fabric slipped lower, his touch deliberate and confident.

“I could feel how badly you needed me — how much you wanted me.”

His lips grazed my neck, sending a thrill through my entire body.

“In my dream, you couldn’t resist me. Neither could I.”

His eyes locked on mine, full of hunger and promise. He searched my face, silently asking for permission to go on.

I swallowed hard, barely daring to speak. “What… happened next?” I whispered.

Without breaking eye contact, his hand slowly inched closer to my most sensitive area, tracing lazy circles just outside, teasing and testing my limits.

A slow, confident smile played on his lips as he finally spoke, his voice low and husky:

“I went lower… and then my mouth followed.”

His breath warmed the skin just below my hip as he leaned in closer.

And then — he dropped to his knees. Slowly.

I gasped softly. There was something devastatingly intimate about the way he looked up at me from down there. His hands still resting on my hips, his mouth barely an inch from my skin, his eyes — dark, intense — never leaving mine.

My fingers curled around the edge of the counter behind me, trying to find anything to ground me.

He wasn’t touching me yet — not there — but the way he knelt before me, like I was something sacred, something to be worshipped… it unraveled something inside me.

"Do you want to know," he murmured, voice low and thick with heat, "what happened next in my dream?"

I couldn’t speak. I just stared down at him, heart pounding in my ears. He took that as permission.

His lips grazed the inner side of my thigh, soft and deliberate, and I felt the air leave my lungs. He was so close, and yet every movement of his felt painfully slow — purposeful. He wanted me to feel it all.

“I kissed every inch… took my time memorizing you with my lips, my tongue. I wanted to make sure you’d never forget.”

Another kiss, just a little higher now. My knees almost gave in.

Just as his lips brushed dangerously close to where I was already aching for him—

BZZZ. BZZZ.

The sharp vibration of a phone shattered the moment like a rock through glass.

His phone.

He flinched slightly, the sound clearly jarring him too, but he didn’t move.

His eyes stayed on me, dark and unreadable.

But reality had already hit me like ice water down my spine.

“Stop,” I whispered, more to myself than to him.

I placed my hand firmly on his shoulder and pushed—gently, but enough.

He blinked up at me, surprised. “What is it?”

“I can’t,” I whispered. My voice cracked. “We can’t.”

The phone kept buzzing between us, louder now, like a cruel reminder of everything we weren’t supposed to be.

He didn’t say a word. No protest. No witty remark. No attempt to stop me. Just silence. Still kneeling. Not moving a bit.

I pulled my skirt down, ignoring the tremble in my fingers, and turned away. My heartbeat was loud—louder than the buzzing phone that had already stopped. I walked out.

My heels echoed through the hallway as I walked away, fast—too fast maybe. I didn’t even know where I was going. I just needed to get away. From that bathroom. From him. From myself.

I leaned against the cold wall of the corridor, trying to catch my breath. My chest rose and fell rapidly, but not from running. From what just happened.

What would’ve happened if the phone hadn’t rung? Would we have gone all the way? Would I have let him?

God. I wanted to. That was the worst part. I wanted him. His hands. His mouth. That husky voice whispering all the things he had dreamed of doing to me. And I had loved it. Every second of it.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I felt like I was burning inside, skin still tingling where he had touched me—where he had almost touched me.

This isn’t who I am. I have a boyfriend. A relationship. A reality. And I can't keep confusing dreams with real feelings—can I?

I need to leave. I need to get some air. I need to think. Just think.

I stepped back into the room, my heart still racing, cheeks flushed, and thoughts all over the place. And there he was—my boyfriend—sprawled out on the velvet couch, grinning like nothing in the world could touch him.

A glass of expensive liquor dangled from his fingers, his head leaned back as he laughed at something the girl next to him had said. Her. The one he swore was just a friend. The same one he seemed to be around more often than me lately. And there she was, sitting awfully close. Of course.

He didn’t even notice me at first. Only when I took another step forward—heels clicking on the floor—did his gaze finally snap to me.

His expression dropped a little. “What happened to your dress?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You look—uh—”

“Ruined?” I offered dryly.

He gave a half-smile. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“I’m going home,” I said, not giving him time to ask more.

He blinked. “What? Now?”

“Yeah. Now.”

There was a pause. No protest. No Wait, I’ll come with you. Just…

“Okay. Text me when you’re home.”

I stared at him for a second, waiting for anything else. A gesture. A tone. A flicker of something. But all I got was another sip from his drink and a glance back at the girl beside him.

Right.

I turned around, walked toward the exit, and pulled out my phone. Taxi. Now.

I needed to get out of here. Away from the chaos, away from the lies I was trying to convince myself weren’t there, and—most of all—away from both of them.

---

I was back there. Same room. Same golden light. Same tension that felt like a storm waiting to break.

Except this time, there was no hesitation. No interruptions. No phone call. Just him. Kneeling.

His hands rested firmly on my thighs—fingers warm, confident, commanding. His eyes were locked on mine with an intensity that felt like he could see straight through me, deep into places I hadn’t even dared to explore myself.

Then, slowly, without a single word, he leaned forward. His lips brushed against the inside of my thigh—so soft, so deliberate—it stole the breath from my lungs.

He stayed there for a moment, just kissing. Once. Twice. Again.

Each feather-light touch sent a surge of heat rushing through my body, crawling up my spine, pooling deep between my legs.

My fingers instinctively curled, gripping the edge of the surface beneath me like an anchor.

His name hovered on the tip of my tongue—so close to escaping—before I swallowed it down, caught in the tension of the moment.

I didn’t stop him. I didn’t hesitate. I let myself want it. Want him.

His mouth moved higher, tracing a slow path up my inner thigh, each kiss warmer than the last. His breath ghosted over my skin, hot and intoxicating, making my pulse thunder in my ears.

God, I could feel everything.

He pulled me gently but firmly closer to the edge, his strong hands holding me like fragile glass—yet the fire in his eyes promised anything but innocence.

“I told you,” he whispered against my skin, voice low and dark like velvet, “I wanted to show you what I meant.”

His fingers slid upward, teasing the curve of my waist, dragging lightly over the thin strip of fabric barely shielding me.

A sharp gasp escaped me as his thumb brushed over my clit—barely touching, just enough to ignite a desperate ache.

Then he knelt lower, his lips following the same reverent path upward. Slow. Deliberate. Every kiss a silent prayer, worshipping every inch of me.

“I took my time with you,” he murmured, voice thick with heat.

“Memorized every reaction... the way your thighs trembled... the way you gasped when I—”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Instead, his tongue flicked out—soft, teasing, hungry—tracing my cunt, sending shivers racing through me.

I shuddered, hips instinctively bucking forward, desperate for more.

He chuckled low, right against me—his hands steady, holding me firm but gentle, his mouth delivering another torturous, slow stroke.

“I could feel how much you wanted it,” he said, voice husky, dripping with desire.

“You were soaked for me, begging without saying a single word.”

His mouth dipped lower, deeper, devouring me like a secret treasure. And I lost myself.

My head fell back, breath hitching as a moan escaped—raw, uninhibited—echoing through the dream like a sultry melody.

My fingers tangled in his hair, clutching him close, anchoring myself as the world melted around us.

He worshipped me, slow and thorough—every flick, every circle, every tender graze of his lips made me spiral higher and higher.

I was falling. Drowning. Completely undone.

Just as that cry left my lips, his hands gripped tighter around my thighs—possessive, grounding—like he needed to hold me in place while I fell apart under him.

His mouth didn't stop. If anything, it grew more intense. His tongue moved with purpose now—slow, deep strokes, then gentle flicks that made my entire body tremble.

I whimpered his name this time. Whispered. Barely audible. But he heard it. God, he heard it. His eyes flicked up, locking with mine from between my legs. The look he gave me…

Pure fire. Satisfaction. Dark, delicious pride. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to me. Like he owned the reaction spreading across my body in waves.

He moved one hand, sliding it up my waist slowly, fingers grazing my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

And then… he slid two fingers, right next to his mouth. They circled first. Lightly. Lazily. Just enough to make me bite down a moan and arch my back.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice a husky hum against my skin. “I haven’t even really started yet.”

And then—without warning—he slipped a single finger inside me. I gasped.

It was slow, deep, deliberate.

His tongue still dancing over my clit while his finger curled inside my pussy, searching, exploring, pushing me closer and closer to that edge again.

My legs were trembling now, my thighs tightening around his head, but he didn’t stop.

He groaned softly against me, and I felt that sound deep inside me—it vibrated through me, stole my breath.

Suddenly he added another finger. He moved them slowly, curling, thrusting—every motion perfectly timed with the rhythm of his mouth.

It was too much. Too good. Too everything.

I couldn’t hold back anymore. I clutched at his shoulders, my body arching toward him like I needed more, more, more—

My name slipped from his lips like a promise, his voice breathless and reverent.

“You taste like fucking heaven.”

He sped up—his fingers, his mouth, everything—pushing me over that final edge, and I shattered. Completely. My moan filled the room. My muscles clenched. My fingers pulled him in tighter. My entire body lit up with heat and sparks and bliss so powerful I couldn’t breathe.

“Please…” I didn’t even know what I was begging for.

To stop? To never stop?

He looked up at me again—eyes dark, full of fire and desire and something so deep I thought I might drown in it.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he whispered against me, the heat of his breath making me jolt.

“Let go for me.”

He pressed his tongue down harder, fingers thrusting, curling—exactly where I needed them.

I was right there. I could feel it—seconds away. On the very brink. My back arched. My lips parted. My toes curled. The whole world started to collapse around me—

SCREEEECH!

A violent jolt ripped me from the moment. My eyes flew open. My body lurched forward.

“Fucking hell!” the taxi driver shouted.

I grabbed the door for balance, heart racing, breath still shaky, thighs still clenched from—

Wait. Where am I?

I blinked. Looked around. Back seat. Car. Taxi.

My legs were… together. My hands? Empty.

No him. No touch.

Just my reflection in the window, flushed and completely ruined.

What the fuck was that dream?!

And why did it feel so real? And why, for god’s sake, was I this wet?!

I coughed, trying to get my voice back. “Wh-what happened?”

The driver scoffed. “Idiot ran across the street. Lucky I stopped in time. You alright?”

I nodded. “Yeah… just—just tired.”

And completely wrecked.

I leaned my head back against the seat, closing my eyes again.

I needed air. I needed distance. And I needed to stop dreaming about him before I actually lost my mind.

But deep down… I knew I didn’t want to.

The moment I stepped through the front door, everything hit me like a wave.

The silence in the apartment was deafening. My heels echoed on the hardwood floor as I stood there, frozen.

I looked around. The photos on the walls. The jacket he always left thrown over the couch. The little things that were supposed to feel like home. But they didn’t. Not anymore.

I walked straight to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror.

Hair tousled. Lips bitten. Eyes wild. I didn’t look like someone in love. I looked like someone haunted.

Haunted by him. By those eyes. By that dream. By the way my body still tingled in places I shouldn’t let myself think about.

And then it clicked.

This isn’t fair. Not to me. Not to him — my boyfriend.

He didn’t deserve to be loved halfway. He didn’t deserve a girlfriend who couldn’t even look him in the eyes without remembering another man’s lips on her skin.

I took a deep breath.

This has to end.

Not because I was ready to run into someone else’s arms. Not because I had all the answers. But because I couldn't stay in a relationship while wanting someone else.

Whatever this thing between me and him was… I needed to figure it out.

I owed it to myself. To my heart. To my future.

And no matter how much it hurt. No matter how hard it would be to say the words. I knew what I had to do.

---

Guys, don’t cheat, okay? Cheating on tests? Sure, whatever. But cheating on your bae? Big no-no. Thaaaanks, love ya! ✌️

Well, now calling him my ex finally feels accurate...

Damn. My ankle hurts so much. Seriously — did I really manage to twist it that badly?

I hear someone sigh behind me. What? Oh. Right. He was still here.

I glanced behind me — he was still sitting on that chair, working on the rope around his legs.

_______________________________________________

I’m such an idiot. How did I not notice?

I had never seen him wear anything like that before. Usually, he stuck to oversized clothes. I always assumed he was insecure about his body and tried to hide it. But trust me: there is everything but nothing to be ashamed of.

His broad chest, the way his muscles flexed with every slight movement… the way his abs tensed as he leaned forward… Even the veins on his arms looked like they were meant to be kissed. He was the kind of beautiful that made your breath catch in your throat — unintentionally, unfairly beautiful.

He noticed me staring. He raised his head slowly and looked me right in the eyes. I broke eye contact immediately, turning away and pretending to focus on my ankle.

I should really check that... it hurts so bad.

I heard shuffling behind me — and suddenly, he was right in front of me. Towering over me, eyes locked on mine.

His eyes then dropped to my ankle, which I was gripping tightly now. A concerned expression crept onto his face.

He knelt down in front of me and looked into my eyes again.

“Did you actually hurt yourself?” he asked — his tone light, almost amused, but also a little confused.

I nodded, embarrassed. A short laugh escaped his lips. “Hah. Only you manage to hurt yourself in the dumbest ways.”

He smiled — but it faded the second he noticed my eyes starting to fill with tears.

It hurt. Not just my ankle — no, this pain went way deeper than that. My chest ached. My heart stung. Technically, I hadn’t cheated on him. We were broken up, after all. But I couldn’t stop the shame from creeping in. Ashamed that I hadn’t realized it sooner. Ashamed that my ex saw us like that. So ashamed...

“Hey, hey… it’s alright. I’ll check your ankle,” he said softly, trying to comfort me. He gently brushed his hand through my hair — slow, reassuring.

“Careful,” he whispered. “I’m gonna pick you up now, alright?”

Before I could even answer, he scooped me up in bridal style — so effortlessly it almost annoyed me.

His arms were warm and steady, and my face ended up embarrassingly close to his neck. I could smell his cologne — fresh, a little woody… the kind that makes your chest feel weirdly safe.

I kept my hands awkwardly on my lap, trying not to cling to him like some damsel, but it was hard not to. Especially when he held me like I was the most fragile thing on Earth.

He placed me down on the couch — so carefully. He looked at me once more, checking my face for any sign of pain. When he seemed satisfied, he gave a small nod to himself and disappeared for a moment.

He returned shortly after, a cooling pad wrapped in a towel in his hand. Without a word, he gently lifted my legs, sat down beside me, and rested my ankle carefully on his lap.

“May I?” he asked gently. I gave a small nod in response, avoiding his gaze.

His hand touched my ankle and I flinched slightly at the sudden contact — a mix of heat, pain, and... something else.

He was as gentle as humanly possible, but it still stung. His fingers moved slowly, checking the area around the joint, trailing carefully along the bone.

“Well,” he finally said, “it’s a little swollen, but I don’t think it’s anything serious. No real injury.”

At least some good news...

He adjusted the cooling pad again, carefully placing it on my ankle. The cold seeped through the towel, sending a sharp but soothing chill through my skin.

He was still holding the cooling pad against my ankle, his fingers lightly resting on my skin. There was something about the way his hand stayed there — steady, warm, grounding.

His brows were drawn together ever so slightly, a crease forming between them, not from frustration but from quiet concern.

Even now, his face was calm. Too calm.

His jaw was relaxed, his lips parted just a little — like he wanted to say something but kept hesitating.

And his eyes… Focused. Gentle. Like he was more worried about me than anything else.

He looked so effortlessly good today. Somehow, the clothes he was wearing right now made him seem even more real. Even more him.

I was busy overanalyzing the way his thumb slightly moved over the towel when—

Wait.

My heart skipped.

Oh god.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

My body tensed as everything came rushing back at once.

The room. The ropes. The kiss. The kiss.

A soft gasp left my lips as I quickly buried my face in my hands.

His head tilted slightly. “Are you—”

“What the hell was that?!” I blurted, cutting him off, voice a little higher than I meant.

His eyes widened a bit, caught off guard — probably by both my sudden panic and the question.

He opened his mouth to respond, but I wasn’t even sure I wanted to hear the answer.

“Why would you do this?”

My voice cracked as panic settled in my chest.

“Why didn’t you say anything? What were you thinking, just sitting there tied up like that— and that note?!”

He looked at me, visibly uncomfortable, his hand still gently resting on my ankle, the cold from the pack seeping through the towel.

"Well, I was waiting for someone else..."

What?

“So that’s what happened...”

He had planned a romantic evening. For someone else.

He’d invited a date over, set up the rose trail, the note, everything. He had even texted my ex to stay out of the house — but apparently, the message had gone unread.

She loved it. She really did. The lights, the setting, the effort — she called it “hot,” maybe even “movie-like.” And things were going well... until he made one, huge mistake.

He said the wrong name. He fucking called her the wrong name.

At first, the girl had laughed it off. Said it was “fine,” that he was just nervous. He apologized again and again. She smiled and said she forgave him.

But apparently, she hadn’t.

She told him she was into control — domination, role-play, ropes. He agreed, a bit hesitant, but open-minded. She tied him to the chair, placed the sack over his head. Said she’d be right back. He waited. And waited.

Then I walked in.

I blinked, still trying to wrap my head around what I’d just heard.

“Wait— so you're telling me you didn’t recognize my voice?”

He looked slightly embarrassed now, lips parting like he didn’t know how to explain.

“I did,” he admitted softly, eyes dropping for a second. “At first, I really thought I was losing my mind. But then you told me to shut up…”

He looked back up at me. "So I thought— maybe you were... mad at me. You know, after the whole thing at the ball. With the flirting.”

I stared at him, stunned.

“So your first instinct was just— oh yeah, she found me like this and decided to punish me?” He shrugged, a helpless little smile on his lips.

“I guess...", he shrugged his shoulders. "Your voice sounded pretty convincing.” He winked at me, and I just rolled my eyes in response.

„What was up with you though? Why were you here in the first place? I thought y’all… broke up... again.“

„Well, we did. However, he had planned a surprise here to make it up to me. But you ruined it.“ My voice carried a teasing tone as I leaned slightly toward him, a playful smirk forming.

He didn’t even flinch. No apology. No awkward guilt. Instead, his lips curled into that lazy little half-smile of his — the one that always looked like he knew something I didn’t.

„Oh really?“ he said, voice low and calm. „Guess I’ve still got great timing, huh.“

He leaned back slightly, resting one arm on the couch behind me, his body language casual — too casual for someone who had just been found tied to a chair with a bag over his head. His eyes flicked to mine, steady, amused. There was something unreadable behind them, something… contained. Like he was in control again. Like he had never not been.

His expression didn’t show much — he never really did. But there was that glint again. Mischievous. Observing.

Not apologetic. Just… playing. Teasing. Always watching how I’d react next.

Of course he wasn’t embarrassed. Of course he wouldn’t let me see anything he didn’t want to. And now he was definitely enjoying watching me squirm a little.

The way his body had reacted to my touch earlier...

His breath had hitched — just for a second — when my fingers had accidentally brushed along his collarbone.

He’d stayed still, but I had felt the shift in him. The way his muscles tensed ever so slightly.

Like he wasn’t used to being touched. Or like he had to consciously stop himself from leaning in.

That tiny pause. That sharp inhale. The faintest pull in his jaw. He hadn’t said a word, but his body had spoken volumes.

So touch-starved...

I wonder if anyone had ever really taken their time with him. If anyone had ever - Stop! I need to stop thinking about this!!

I could feel the heat creeping up my neck, rising fast to my cheeks. Of course. My face was burning now. Great.

I turned my head a little, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

But of course he had.

He was looking right at me, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Smug. Silent. Amused.

He said nothing. And that somehow made it so much worse.

Shake off these feelings. Keep calm. You're cool. Yes, I’m super chill! There’s no way I’ll give him the pleasure of seeing me flustered. I mean, ten minutes ago, I literally had him chained to a chair.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Now, it’s definitely over.” I sighed, looking down, fiddling with the hem of my shorts. I messed up.

“Oh… I’m- I'm sorry,” he murmured, sounding genuinely remorseful.

“Nothing to be sorry about, really! Maybe it’s for the best. Besides, you were drunk! I know you didn’t mean what you said that evening,” I assured him, waving my hand dismissively.

But after I said that, something in him shifted. His whole demeanor changed. His eyes locked onto mine—sharp, unreadable. I could sense danger in his stare, but I couldn’t tell what exactly was going on in his head.

“No. You misunderstood me. I’m not sorry for that evening. I meant every—”

He was cut off by the sound of the front door opening. Had my ex come home?

A loud sigh and heavy footsteps echoed through the house, coming our way. And then he appeared: my ex.

When he saw us, just sitting there on the couch as if nothing had happened, he… he just stared. Blank. Emotionless. Just a cold, distant stare. Our eyes met—only for a second. Then he looked away.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked, calm but exhausted.

I felt so sorry for him. He must’ve been furious. I pictured him yelling in his car, slamming the steering wheel, blasting dramatic music, maybe even crying.

Though… I didn’t think he cried. His eyes weren’t red. Still, he was definitely upset. And how could he not be? I betrayed him. And not just with anyone. With the one person he’d been competing against his whole life. The one who made him feel so small.

Before I could say anything, he spoke.

“She sprained her ankle trying to run after you,” he muttered, still not looking at me.

“Please go. I really don’t want to see you right now.”

“No—please, listen to me! There’s an explanatio—”

He cut me off.

“She thought I was you. The entire time. It was my fault. Not hers.”

And then, after all this time, my ex finally looked me in the eyes.

“Is that true?” he asked.

“Yes.”

It was true.

“And… you don’t want him. Right?”

....

Did I want him?

I turned my head toward him

He sat there, unmoved. No reaction. Completely unreadable.

What was he thinking?

Was there even the smallest part of him that hoped I’d say yes? That I’d choose him? Or did he not care at all? Maybe I was just another girl he had messed around with. Or maybe… just maybe… he was silently praying: Please don’t want me. Please.

“No.”

And then—he raised his eyebrows. Just slightly. Almost too subtle to catch. But I caught it. Was it disappointment? Relief? Surprise? Who knows. What mattered now was that I made up for what I had done.

My ex, on the other hand, was far easier to read. He was about to cry—but fought it. He couldn’t let himself break in front of his brother. That would’ve been too humiliating. And yet… after my answer, something in his eyes lit up. A spark of relief? Hope? Peace? Whatever it was, the choice was his to make:

To forgive me… Or to walk away forever.

"I... I believe you."

What?!

My ears were definitely playing tricks on me.

Did he really just say “I believe you”?

My eyes shot open in disbelief. I jumped up from the couch, and a smile crept onto my face. Relief washed over me like a wave.

“Do you… forgive me?”

“Yes.”

Yes. He said yes.

A sigh of relief escaped my lips as I jumped up to throw my arms around him, then feeling the sharp pain.

Oh right. My ankle...

I hissed out of pain but shortly after the pain was bearable enough. So I hugged him - my not-ex-anymore. He laughed.

When he let go, he told me he needed to grab something from the car real quick, leaving me alone with him.

I turned around—only to see him standing up. Fast.

He walked toward the door, but then… he hesitated. Just for a second. I shrugged and turned to sit back on the couch—

But before I could even sit down, he grabbed my upper arm. Not gently. But not painful either.

“So you’re telling me you didn’t feel anything?”

What?

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t feel any connection? Didn’t enjoy it?"

“What’s your deal, dam—”

“Let me just say this: He will never be able to make you feel the way I did. What happened between us today? That will never happen with my brother. He’ll never satisfy you. He’ll never fulfill your needs. Your desires. Your hunger", he smiled, looking deep into my eyes. His hand was on my cheek, caressing it with his thumb gently.

"I know what you want. I understand you better than anyone. Why would you do that to yourself? Just go with the flow - I know you want it."

Then he just let go of my arm and walked out like nothing had happened.

I froze. Stood there. Frozen.

Who the hell did he think he was? "Your needs. Desires. Hunger." — My ass, bitch.

I was still stuck in my thoughts when my boyfriend came back in. He held a big box in his hands.

“This is for you.”

I let out a little squeak, ran up to him, grabbed the box, and plopped down on the couch.

All that excitement made me forget the crap his brother had just said…

Or, well…

Most of it.

----

I tried to forget it. His words. But I couldn’t help it. They kept echoing in my mind, looping like a broken record I couldn’t shut off.

“He’ll never be able to make you feel the way I did.”

That was the problem. Not whether my boyfriend could "please" me or not. It was the way he did it. The way he made me feel.

It wasn’t only about the kiss. Not really. It was about the power. The thrill. The feeling of being completely in control—of watching someone like him crumble beneath me. That was what I couldn’t shake.

It was intoxicating.

Stop. You have to stop.

The paper on the counter. The trail of roses. The lighting in the room—low, perfect, cinematic. And him. Tied to that chair. Chest rising and falling. Hands bound. A sack over his head. His body tense, waiting. Needing.

The kiss—if that’s even the right word for it. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. It was dominance.

His reactions. His low groans.

The way he shuddered when I leaned in close, whispered something cruel, or traced my nails across his chest. God, the way he responded made my stomach twist with something dangerous.

"You really deserve a reward," I murmured, my voice dripping with sugar and something far darker.

I looked up at him, a smirk playing on my lips, and pressed a kiss to his head.

No bang. No interruption. No one storming in to ruin the moment.

Just him. Just me. And that feeling. All mine.

With deliberate slowness, I slipped his cock past my lips. The moment it touched my tongue, a rush of heat exploded inside me. I swirled my tongue around the tip, tasting him - salty, electric, intoxicating - without breaking eye contact.

My lips closed around his cock, warm and wet, and I explored every inch with languid, teasing strokes. I let my tongue flick over the sensitive tip, tasting the salt of his precum.

His breath hitched, a soft groan escaping from beneath the sack.

I tightened my lips just a fraction and pulled back slightly, then kissed the tip, savoring the moment as if it were the sweetest secret between us.

He started to breathe heavier, shallow gasps escaping him as he fought to stay composed. But the soft moans grew louder, mixing with groans that sent a thrill straight through me.

I brought his dick up to my lips again, his massive, thick cock. I let it rest on my tongue for a moment, then slowly closed my lips around it, sucking just a little harder this time. My tongue circled him, exploring every curve, teasing every nerve ending.

His body tensed, then relaxed, then tensed again—completely at my mercy. The power I held over him was intoxicating, making my heart race. His cock twitched in my mouth, betraying the control he desperately tried to keep.

His hands clenched the chair’s arms, knuckles white, as if gripping the last threads of his control. But it was slipping, unraveling under my touch, my teasing.

And I wasn’t done yet.

I let my attention waver for just a second—and suddenly, without warning, he thrust his cock deep into my mouth. His tip hit the back of my throat, making me gasp around him. The sharpness of the sensation sent a shiver through my body.

His pace picked up instantly, harder, faster, demanding. Each push drove deeper, and I struggled to keep up, the tight heat of my throat closing around him. He was literally filling my mouth, making my jaw hurt a little. I felt every twitch of his cock, every little movement, like an electric pulse.

He groaned, low and ragged, the sound vibrating through the sack. His grip on the chair tightened as his other hand balled into a fist. His whole body shook with the effort to keep control, but it was slipping away.

I matched his rhythm, sucking and swirling my tongue around him, wanting to drive him even crazier. My eyes locked onto his, catching every flicker of desire and desperation.

The way his breath hitched every time the tip hit the back of my throat made my core even wetter than she already was. I could feel him. All of him.

His moaning became even louder now. He was close.

Just as he let out a deep, broken moan—one that sounded almost like my name—

I woke up.

And suddenly, everything was gone. The roses. The chair. The chains.

Him.

My eyes flew open. The room was dark. Quiet. My ceiling fan spun lazily above me, humming its usual sound. My lips were parted, breath caught in my throat.

What the hell...?

I sat up slowly, heart racing, chest rising and falling in uneven waves. My skin was warm—no, hot. I pressed my palm against my cheek. Definitely flushed. My thighs were squeezed tight together without even noticing.

What kind of dream was that? Why did it feel so... real?

I pulled the blanket up, trying to calm my racing thoughts. But his voice still echoed in my head:

"I know what you want."

And the worst part?

I couldn’t tell if I hated it…

or wanted to fall asleep again just to finish it.

Yep. I'm sooo screwed.

----

Hang in there guys, it’s about to go CRAZY!!! Bear with me! Please😭

Just a usual Friday afternoon.

As always, I was at work, finishing up the last tasks before the weekend.

Ahh, I couldn’t wait to finally get home. To crawl into my bed and hide beneath the cozy blankets and pillows. To relax. To sleep. God, I hadn’t slept properly in forever.

A small smile crept onto my face just at the thought of it.

I glanced at my phone when I noticed a new message.

It was... my ex-boyfriend.

Well, “ex” sounds so clean and final. It doesn’t really capture whatever the hell this was… but fine. Let’s call him that for now.

"When will you be done with work?"

My smile faded. I texted back:

"What do you want?"

Let me introduce you to the brothers.

First, there's my ex. My ex was charming. He knew how to talk to people, how to make them laugh, how to make them feel seen.

He was funny, easygoing, a smooth talker. He was generous, loved to show off with gifts and compliments. He had a fancy apartment, a nice car, money, connections.

He was open, honest (well, mostly), and unlike his brother, he wasn’t afraid to show feelings. He had his own glow. He really did.

Now his brother?

At first glance, you'd never expect him to steal the spotlight. He was quiet, reserved. Rarely talked unless necessary. And if he did, it was often blunt or sarcastic. To strangers, he came off cold.

He didn’t try to be liked. Actually, he didn’t seem to care if people liked him at all. And yet... He had something.

He was smart — incredibly smart. The kind of guy who makes you question everything you say. He didn’t follow trends, didn’t crave attention, and still somehow got it. Tall, striking face, always dressed in oversized clothing.

He definitely had presence. That kind of intimidating calm that made people take him seriously. He never flirted. Never chased. But girls still watched him. Sometimes a little too much.

But the whole attention my ex's brother gets was a big problem to my ex.

He got really insecure.

He once said:

"I just know that one day you'll choose him over me."

He always felt like second place—especially next to his brother. When it came to success, their father’s approval, women — he always thought he had to fight harder. He was terrified of losing me, the one thing he had that his brother didn’t.

But still, we had our problems. Our relationship... well, it wasn’t perfect. At first, it was. But because my ex worked so much, we barely got to see each other. And when we did, we almost always ended up fighting—then breaking up again. So basically: an on-and-off relationship.

Our last fight?

It wasn’t like the others. This time, it had screaming. Crying. He called me names — multiple hurtful ones.

And of course... it was about him. But not out of nowhere. It was because his brother had flirted with me. Something like that had never happened before, really!

But I was pretty sure it was because of his drunken state, nothing more. My ex however thought otherwise. He saw the way his brother looked at me.

My relationship with him was... something. I did know for sure that he liked me but he wasn't treating me like it. If you compare the way he talked to his friends and me, you'd think that he despited me.

Still… after every breakup, my ex always tried to win me back—with gifts, flowers, vacations, dinners. So yeah… our fights kind of had their pros and cons.

Now that he had texted me I already knew what he was up to: He wanted to get back together!!

I guess I'll just...

"Approximately at 5 pm..."

Why did I respond!? He’s an asshole, after all. He really hurt me that day.

I was about to delete the text when suddenly another message popped up:

"Alright. Come to my house. I've got a surprise for you ;)"

I couldn’t help but smile at that message. What was he up to this time? Maybe a car? Flowers? A trip to Europe? Or maybe... finally our first time?

He once promised me:

“One day, it’ll happen. I’ll be ready.”

Maybe that day was today?

Should I text him back? Hmm... No. I’ll let him suffer.

With a satisfied feeling, I dove back into my work, pretending I wasn’t the slightest bit excited.

---

Coincidentally, I managed to finish earlier than I expected (excitement made me type faster, haha). I got into my car and drove to my ex’s house.

I had told him I’d be there by 5, but I arrived 15 minutes earlier. To make things a bit more playful, I decided not to knock on the door. Instead, I pulled out the key to my ex’s house and quietly let myself in. He had once given it to me so I could "surprise him at night while he was sleeping".

Silence. It seemed my ex wasn't home yet.

Well—better for me! I really needed a break after all that work!! :(

But one more problem left... I shouted his name. No response.

Good.

My ex's brother only stayed at this house when he was in town anyway—normally he lived somewhere else because of his businesses.

And honestly… I didn’t want to run into him. Not after that... incident.

I thought about just waiting for my ex on the couch. The house looked like something straight out of a magazine. Marble floors, huge windows, expensive furniture that probably cost more than my car… Yeah. Luxurious was an understatement.

As I reached the couch, my hand brushed over the cushion — and I froze.

The memory came rushing in like a wave I hadn’t seen coming.

It was that one night. A special occasion.

Everyone had dressed up — champagne glasses, low jazz in the background, candlelight flickering across marble and glass. I had worn that deep wine-colored dress — satin, open back, a slit high up my thigh. I felt beautiful. Powerful. But he looked at me like I was divine.

I had just come back from the dance floor when I felt a presence behind me.

He leaned in, hand brushing my waist gently as he passed me a glass of water. Not wine. Water. Always observant.

"You looked like you needed a break," he said, his voice low, as if it were a secret between us.

I turned to face him. His eyes were already on me — as if he was reading every line of my story written into that dress.

He tilted his head slightly, studying my face. "Everyone keeps talking about how beautiful your dress is..." A small pause. His lips twitched. "But they don’t even realize you’re the reason it looks that way."

My breath caught.

He took a sip of his own drink and leaned closer, not touching now — but his voice brushed against my skin.

"He hurts you too often," he said finally. His tone was steady, but his eyes weren’t. They burned. "I could treat you way better. If only you were mine".

Then he glanced down — just once — at my lips.

And held the silence. Let it stretch. Let it settle between us like a dare.

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

And just like that, he stepped back. Left me there, flustered, breathless — and confused.

And then my ex came, pulled me to the car aaand... lots of fighting.

I shook off that memory and went to the kitchen. I needed water, yes. I was just thirsty! But then I noticed something lying on the kitchen counter. A piece of paper. I picked it up.

“Follow the roses,” it said.

What the...

My eyes followed the note’s meaning—and there they were. Roses. A whole trail of them. Soft, red petals scattered carefully along the floor, leading through the living room, across the hallway...

…all the way to a closed door.

Oh. My. God!!!

It was actually finally happening!

After following the trail I stood in front of the door. Before opening it, I quickly fixed my hair and took a deep breath. With a fake annoyed expression, I stepped into the room.

The sun was already setting, and the reddish light spilled in through the big windows. The vibe in this huge room was warm, almost magical. Not too dark, not too bright—just enough to feel intimate.

I glanced to the left—the bed. Empty.

Then I looked to the right. And there he was.

He was sitting there, right in the middle of the huge room. His hands were tied behind his back — and his legs were bound to the chair as well. His head was covered with a sack.

I... I really liked this surprise!

The chair was one of those swivel ones, so I could have pushed him and he would spin around. Pretty funny, actually.

He was completely silent. Not a word. He only noticed me when I started walking slowly towards him.

Now I was standing right in front of him. His face was still below my eye level, so I gently lifted his chin to meet my gaze. That pathetic bag still covered his face — maybe he was still insecure about how he looked. But I respected his boundaries.

If he wasn’t ready to show himself yet but was willing to play along, I’d accept that.

My eyes wandered over his body. The only part hidden was his face — everything else was outlined by the tight compression shirt clinging to his broad, muscular chest, his bulging biceps, and defined abs. Below, he wore grey sweatpants that revealed just enough to make my heart skip a beat.

“Well well, what do we have here,” I said teasingly.

With one smooth motion, I spun him around so his back was facing me.

As I stood behind him, he shifted slightly — like he wanted to speak, to say something. But I didn’t let him.

“Shh,” I said quickly, tilting my head with a slight smirk. “You don’t get to speak right now.”

He swallowed hard and obeyed, lips parting but no sound following.

"Good".

I trailed a single finger along his shoulder, up to his neck, and across to the other shoulder.

He shivered at the sudden touch.

“How long have you been waiting now? Poor thing—” I cut myself off, the memory hitting me like a slap. The reason he was doing this. The reason we broke up in the first place.

“Actually… you deserve it. After what you’ve done.”

My voice stayed steady. Not harsh, not soft. Not warm, not cold. Just teasing— With a bitter edge tucked in the shadows of each word.

At first, he seemed confused. He probably didn’t expect me to act like this. But then, I could sense it— he was amused. I could practically picture the smug little grin spreading across his face under the bag.

I let my hand wander slowly across his broad, muscular back—fingertips gliding, almost playfully. Not quite teasing. More like... taunting. I traced the lines of his shoulder blades, the subtle dip of his spine. Every muscle tensed beneath my touch.

He exhaled deeply, a quiet, satisfied sound slipping past his lips. Then let his head fall back.

Wait. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy this.

“You're enjoying yourself?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

A low hum rumbled in his throat.

“Well, you shouldn't be.” I spun him back around so that he was facing me again. His bag-covered face now pointed straight at mine.

“…For what you did the last time we met…” My voice dropped as I stepped in closer, “…You should be punished.”

Slowly, deliberately, I lowered myself onto his lap, letting my weight settle on him just enough to tease. His body tensed beneath me. I felt it—the way his breath caught, the way his muscles shifted.

He wanted to touch me. Desperately. I could feel it. But he couldn’t. Not with those chains. Not after everything.

“You don’t get to touch me now,” I whispered, my lips dangerously close to where his ear might be. “Do you really think you deserve that? After what you did?”

He shook his head. God, this bag… The fact that I couldn’t see his face made everything more intense. More dangerous. More wrong. And so much hotter.

I let my fingers slide up the side of his neck, slow, tracing the vein that throbbed beneath the surface, all the way to his jaw. My other hand rested gently on his cheek, almost tender—a cruel contrast.

“You know…” I breathed, leaning in even closer, hips shifting ever so slightly against him, “…if you had behaved yourself…” I dragged my lips over the fabric, torturously slow, “…you’d get to feel this.”

And then I kissed him. Through the bag. Deep, lingering — owning him for just that moment.

To my surprise—no, to my delight—he kissed me back. Even with the bag between us. Desperate. Hungry. Like he had been starving for this.

His breath hitched, muffled, and I could feel it vibrate against my lips through the fabric. God, the way he tilted his head, the way he leaned into me—It was almost animalistic.

My hips shifted slowly over his, grinding down ever so slightly, just to test him. A reaction came instantly—his body jerked under mine. He tried to move again, to grab me, to pull me in—but those chains said no.

Good. That made it better. Hotter.

I let my tongue trace over the cloth, teasing the shape of his mouth, feeling the tension in his jaw underneath. I bit down softly on the fabric where his bottom lip would be, just enough to make him groan.

“Ohh, you really wanted this, didn’t you?” I whispered between kisses. My fingers slid down his neck, over his collarbones, trailing slow, lazy lines across his chest, then back up—nails dragging lightly, cruelly soft.

I licked the seam of his lips through the fabric again, and even though I couldn’t taste him properly—it was still electric. I could feel his tongue press back, trying to reach me, even like this.

"You wanna touch me so bad, hm?" I murmured, barely audible now, grinding down slightly harder, letting the pressure build. "But you can't. Not yet."

And then I kissed him again, this time deeper—slow, open-mouthed, playful. Controlling. The bag? Didn’t matter anymore. The tension between us burned right through it.

I stopped kissing his lips. There was more exploring to do. More places to tease. To torment. To taste.

His damn shirt… These damn chains…But no—The play must go on.

I pulled back just a little, just enough to look down at him. His chest was rising quickly now, the thin fabric of his shirt sticking slightly to his skin from the heat we were creating. I could see the muscles flex underneath. Tense. Expecting.

“Not yet,” I whispered, before letting my lips brush against the edge of his covered cheek. A soft kiss.

Then a slower one on his jawline. Then—bite. Just under his ear.

He groaned, low and guttural. I smirked.

His head tilted involuntarily to the side, baring his neck to me like an instinct.

I licked a slow trail up from his collarbone to his earlobe, then sucked on it gently—just enough to make him let out a shaky breath. He shivered. He twitched. His hips pushed up against me, trying to get anything, any pressure — but I didn’t give it to him.

"Patience…" I purred, dragging the word out against his skin.

I kissed down his neck, a path of slow, burning touches. My hand slipped under the collar of his shirt—just a fingertip, tracing along his collarbone. His body arched at the contact.

Then lower. His throat. The dip between his collarbones. His chest—soft kisses through the shirt that were just frustrating enough. Still chained up.

He let out a desperate moan and his hips were driving me crazy, thrusting up in short, needy pulses. I could feel his already hard bulge against me. It wasn't the first time feeling it. In fact, I had seen his noticeable bulge in his pants multiple times. But at that moment it felt somehow different than the other times - thicker and bigger? Maybe I was just imagining things and too wet to think straight.

"You really can't control yourself, can you?” I said with a teasing tone, brushing my hand down his ribs.

He was breathing harder now, small groans escaping with every move I made. I let my lips travel down his sternum, then lower— following the lines of his abs with my tongue, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses through the thin fabric, feeling him tremble. Then lower. Then—right above his waistband.

I paused. He held his breath. Waiting. Hoping. I looked up at him from beneath my lashes, lips barely brushing his stomach.

“Hmm… maybe I should stop here.” I smirked as his entire body reacted with a desperate twitch. A pitiful, frustrated sigh escaped him.

Of course I wouldn't stop. But I was having so much fun! He looked so pathetic right now. He was about to explode out of frustration if I didn't continue.

"Hmm... but I'm so curious..." I started to unzip his jeans slowly. He groaned. I knew exactly what he wanted. But I wasn't going to be easy on him.

When I was done with the zipper his cock almost sprang out. The only thing holding him back were his underpants now.

Without any warning I kissed his covered head and I could swear that I felt his cock twitch. Satisfied I gave him one more kiss. And then another. A frustrated, broken moan escaped his throat — not loud, but deep and shaky, like he was barely holding it together.

"If only you could see yourself!" I looked up to him but his entire body was tense now — muscles flexed, jaw clenched, and fingers twitching slightly against the restraints as if he was holding back everything at once. His cock was so hard, straining against the fabric like it physically hurt.

His hips twitched up involuntarily, searching for friction, for something, for anything. He couldn’t hide the way his chest rose and fell with every heavy breath, the way his legs subtly trembled underneath me. Overwhelmed. Desperate. Starving. Every little tease pushed him closer to the edge, yet just far enough to drive him insane.

And yet, he made no demands — just sat there, swallowing the torment, addicted to it.

"So desperate for more. Just a single touch from me and you're already melting".

Now it's time. I couldn't handle this anymore - after all, I also needed him. But I also loved watching him fall apart under my touch.

I pulled down his jeans - way faster than with the zipper before - yet still seductively. He sighed out of relief and lowered his head towards me. Oooh, he was so screwed! He waited. He followed her instructions. Now he was finally going to get what he needed and had dreamt of.

My fingers played the waistband of his underpants and slipped under them, tugging them down slowly.

God... he was really losing control.

And finally I teared them down. His cock sprang out and he now could feel my direct touch. He was practically begging to be touched without saying a word.

Gently I started to trail his length with my finger and yet another groan slipped out of his throat. He was literally on the edge. And when I grabbed his cock he almost came undone.

"You really deserve a reward" I looked up at him and gave his head a kiss.

I wanted more. I needed more. This was too good to be true. I had wanted this for so long — the tension, his reactions, the way his body gave in to every touch. My hands ached to explore him further, to see just how far I could push him before he’d completely fall apart.

The heat between us was unbearable now, like a fire fed with every breath, every sound he made. I felt powerful, desired — in full control, and I didn’t want it to stop. Not yet.

Wait… I hadn't realised it before but his hair down there… It was a different color.

BANG!

The door was slammed open, ripping the air apart and shattering everything in an instant.

What the...

The door slammed open.

A voice gasped. "What the actual fu—?"

I froze. He moved. The one beneath me.

With one powerful pull, he broke free from the chains, the clinking echoing wie ein Alarm in meinem Kopf. He sat up abruptly, yanked his pants up, still half breathless, but no longer weak — and definitely not helpless.

I turned toward the door. My heart dropped.

My ex was standing there. The real him. The one I thought I had tied to the chair.

"No... wait—" I spun around. My hands reached out, confused, panicked, desperate for an explanation.

In one quick move, I ripped the bag off the man on the chair.

My chest heaved.

And there he was.

His face.

His eyes.

A slow grin forming as he sat there, amused as hell.

His expression said it all. He had enjoyed every second of it.

"Son of a—" I glared at him.

Meanwhile behind me, my ex, stood there with his eyes and his mouth wide open in shock and betrayal.

He shook his head. "I knew it," he muttered, his voice trembling with hurt and disbelief.

"No, wait! Please!" I tried to chase him, heart pounding, lungs burning.

But the heel of my boot slipped on the floor. I stumbled, tried to catch myself —

and fell hard.

A sharp pain shot through my ankle. "Ahhh—fuck!"

I clutched it. Twisted. Sprained.

Well… now calling him my ex finally feels accurate.

----

Another one.

Just minding my own business, talking to my fine shyte, when suddenly he grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the room.

The door slammed shut behind us. In one swift motion, he pinned me against the wall, his breath hot and heavy between us. His hand rested on my waist — gentle, yet with a firm grip. His eyes searched mine, furious and aching.

“What’s the deal with you?!” I whispered harshly.

He didn’t answer.

“First, you tear me out of my conversation with him,” I said, narrowing my eyes, “and then you just stare at me like that?” I tried to keep my voice down since I didn't want to disturb others... again.

He started questioning his own actions. What the hell was his deal? What was it that made him so angry? Was it me? Or was it himself? Why was it hurting him so much? Was he even angry… or maybe just… jealous? - But why would he be?

I looked at him in confusion.

His mood swings were driving me insane. One moment, we ignored each other like strangers. The next, we were on the verge of killing each other that even our friends had to tear us apart. And sometimes (rarely) he acted like an actual human being, and I thought I understood him. And then he’d pull something like this.

“This guy…” He took a deep breath before continuing. “…he’s just playing with you. He’s a lying piece of shit.”

I scoffed, looking away with a smile tugging at my lips.

But he wasn’t done yet.

“Now you’re laughing… but how about the fact that in front of you, he acts like the perfect gentleman—yet behind your back, he’s making fun of you. Saying you’re so dumb for falling into his trap.”

My smile faded.

I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye anymore, because what he was saying—

“But I know you,” he added. “You’re not stupid. You noticed. You knew it, all along.”

Now I was furious. What he was saying was true. But I didn’t want him to be right.

“Since when do you care? It’s none of your business!” I whisper-shouted.

"How can I not care if your completely senseless decisions give me a headache?" He smacked his forehead with his other hand and closed his eyes in frustration. "You need to stop. Whatever your plan is — it's not worth it."

He was making me angrier and angrier.

"You have literally no idea! Who said you get a say in my life? I do whatever I want!"

"Why are you doing this to yourself? I guess you aren't as smart as I thought you were!"

"And I guess you're as dumb as I thought you were!"

And then it snapped in me. My eyes widened for a second as the realization hit.

Was he…?

"Are you… jealous?" I asked slowly, a wicked little grin tugging at my lips.

His jaw clenched.

He looked away for a second, then back at me, eyes burning.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

"Oh, come on," I laughed dryly. "You can drag me out of the room and pin me to a wall, but suddenly I’m the one making things weird?"

His hands balled into fists. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath. “You don’t even see it, do you? The way he talks about you when you’re not around. You’re walking straight into a trap, and it pisses me off that you’re letting him do it.”

“So you are jealous,” I teased again, though the smirk on my lips was starting to fade.

“I’m not jealous!” he snapped, stepping closer. “I just—damn it—you drive me crazy. You’re reckless and loud and stubborn as hell, and yet somehow you think that guy actually gives a damn about you?”

"I... I don’t care if he’s using me, whatsoever! I just want attention, okay?" I suddenly let it slip out, my voice sharper than I intended. "Now that I finally got a guy’s attention, maybe I’ll finally be normal! Every girl I know had a boyfriend. Some of them are even married by now! And me? I haven’t even had my first kiss!"

...

Shit.

Why did I say all that? Especially to him?

He froze. Something in his expression shifted. His stare softened, but I couldn’t tell what it meant.

Was he still angry? Sad? Confused? Or... something else?

But before I could figure it out suddenly he kissed me.

No warning. No words. Just heat.

What. The. Fuck.

His hands grabbed my face, his lips crashing into mine with all the frustration and chaos between us. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate. Unapologetic. Real.

And I... kissed him back.

I don't know what I was thinking back then. We’d despised each other our entire lives. Then why was I kissing him back? Why was he kissing me? What the hell was happening?

But in that moment, nothing else mattered but the kiss.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t polite. It was wild — urgent — like we were both trying to silence all the noise in our heads.

His lips moved against mine with desperation, like he'd been holding this in for far too long.

His hand slid up to my jaw, tilting my face just the way he needed it. I could feel the tension in every inch of his body pressed against mine.

He pulled back for the briefest second, catching his breath, his eyes locked on mine.

“If the only thing you wanted—”

Another kiss.

“—was a kiss—”

Another one, deeper this time.

“—then why didn’t you just say so?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

His mouth found mine again, and this time, I didn’t even try to think. His lips moved away from mine and worked their way along my jaw, down to my neck.

It was too much. I couldn’t handle all that tension. It was suffocating. Intoxicating. Unbelievable. Way better than I ever imagined my first kiss would be — especially not with that asshole.

A soft, quiet moan escaped my throat. He groaned in response.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

What was he even blabbering about?

But my mind was too clouded, too overwhelmed to process any of it.

“It’s better than I ever imagined it.”

And then — someone knocked on the door.

Reality slammed back into me like ice water.

I pushed him away, hard. We were both gasping for air like we’d just run a marathon. We stood there - just inches apart - our eyes locked. He didn't say a word. Neither did I. The silence between us was louder than any scream could’ve been.

He stared at me with hunger in his eyes. He wasn’t done. He couldn’t be. He had finally gotten me — and now that was it? No. That can't be.

Meanwhile he was deep in his thoughts, I realised that I had to act. Fast. Like, now!

“Yes?”

“Is everything okay? You’ve been gone forever — don’t tell me you actually killed him!”

I felt his stare burn into me, but I couldn’t meet his eyes.

Not after… that.

“This never happened,” I whispered sharply, brushing past him and walking out the door, back toward our friends, like nothing had happened.

But he won't give up. Not after... that.

---

Guys... I fell so hard for him like daaamn 😭