#( and then go '..........where are you FROM

[littlefankingdom]

So happy this post came back on my dash so I can rant about an idea I have.

Tony Zucco would be the vilain because this Batman's movie follows Dick's pov.

Batman is like Spiderman, everyone knows his story at this point, telling it again is a waste of time. And, Batman’s movies tend to concentrate on a love interest instead of his family, which is just not very Batman. So, Robin's time! Through Dick's story, we can retell Bruce's story, and shows how they connect and how well Bruce can understand and support this kid.

You follow Dick Grayson as he loses his parents and this stranger comforts him, before trying to take him in. It's strange, because this nice guy is very different from what other adults say he is. Aside from that, Dick is craving justice, so he goes out to get it, and he meets the Batman. On one side, we demonstrate Dick developing detective skills, on the other, we demonstrate him developing the fighting spirit. The combinaison of both is what is needed to be a bat. As the story progresses, he discovers that Bruce is Batman, and Bruce has to accept to have a child following him around on rooftops. They bond through their different identities, Bruce showing how much he understand Dick in a way nobody else does.

The goals here is to make a parallel between Bruce's story and Dick's story and to demonstrate why and how Bruce will become so important for Dick. When the movie ends, people must think "they are not father and son YET, but they will, they are made for each others."

I need the softer side of Batman to be shown to the adult audience SO BAD.

You get free rein and a blank check to write the next Batman movie but you can’t use any villains who have appeared in any previous live-action Batman movies. That means you can’t use Joker, Penguin, Catwoman, Riddler, Two-Face, Poison Ivy, Dr. Freeze, Scarecrow, or Bane.

Which Batman villain stars in your movie

[fairiesthrum]

reader who can’t stand satoru but then he gets hit by a curse that turns him into a cat. you find him, to his dismay, and take him home, only for him to realize how different you are when he isn’t around to pester you.

at first, he causes a lot of trouble. breaking things in your house, tearing up the pillows. he just wants to be a human again, but nobody can understand him! but you still take care of him and coddle him no matter how much trouble he causes, so different from how people treat him normally, as if he were a nuisance (which he kind of was on purpose). and he finds himself falling for you without realizing it.

so he stops being a bad cat, steadily losing hope that he’ll ever be human again. and satoru would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy how you stroked him while you read a book or let him sleep beside you at night. maybe it wasn’t so bad? so he decided then if he was going to be just a cat, he was fine with being your cat.

the higher-ups had taken note of his absence, obviously, and he only knows cause you’ve mentioned it to him. you had this endearingweird quirk where you’d talk to him as if he were a real person.

throughout his stay in your home as a house pet, satoru finds out a lot about you. you’ve always kept to yourself, but you vent your frustrations out to him while he’s like this, and he offers his comfort the best he can. which you appreciate, rewarding him with kisses that he secretly enjoys.

once he turns human again, by some miracle, his first thought is to go and find you. and when he does, you give him the cold shoulder like you used to, and it surprises him. before he realizes that, ah, he wasn’t your pet anymore. he was gojo satoru.

satoru realizes his feelings for you in that moment. when he feels the ache in his chest from your dismissive behavior, it leads him to starting his most important mission yet—winning your heart once more.

but this time, it’ll be as a person, not a damn cat.

[nezuscribe]

life as a hit man was dirty but simple, and gojo preferred keeping it that way. he didn’t know his clients names, they didn’t know his. he’d send over proof of his work, they’d wire in the money. dirty, yet simple.

so when he gets a message to kill the daughter of some oil tycoon, he doesn’t think much about it. sure he thinks it’s cheap to go for the kid, but what does he know. this is the most he’s ever been offered for a one shot job, so he’s not an idiot to turn this offer down.

and unfortunately, that meant his next confirmed target was you.

he gets your information, where you go to school, what apartment building you live in, where you like to eat. usually he prefers a straight shot to the head, but sometimes sneaking in something to your food lets him off easier.

gojo gets to know your routine. what you do at what time. what shows you watch, what your favorite sweater is. he watches from the high rises that faces yours, crouching down so none of your bodyguards could see the reflection of the magnifier of his rifle.

and gojo is used to taking out a wide range of people. men, women, grandpas, aunts. it’s just business to him. but there’s something about you that makes him hesitate to pull the trigger.

maybe it’s the fact that the weeks he’s spent trailing after you he’s noticed you’re pretty much a loner. you keep to yourself, never bothering anyone. you don’t seem to have my friends in your classes, or even out of them. gojo never questions to morals of his clients or who they ask him to kill, but judging you so far you seem to have done…nothing wrong.

you treat the old lady who works in the convenience story with such kindness that gojo wonders if you were born into this level of wealth, because most people of your status treat those beneath them like ants. you always hold the door open for your body guards despite them insisting they do it for you. you always buy some food for the stray cats in the alley you pass, and you never yell when you’re on the phone with your dad, even though gojo tracks those calls and feels the need to yell for you.

it all comes to a moment when you’re at your favorite coffee shop (he knows this because you come here so often), and you’ve managed to weasel away from your bodyguards. he knows they must be freaking out by now, but you just want some alone time.

he’s right there, right behind you, the little pouch of his condition of drugs that instantly kill in his pocket ready, and you turn around with your coffee cup and bump into him.

your eyes seen, letting out a shocked gasp as the iced drink stains his shirt and pants, the cup not empty on the floor.

“oh my god, oh my god,” you stutter out, scrambling to find some napkins, “i’m so so sorry! i didn’t even see you there - gosh,” you shove some napkins into his hands, trying to dapple the coffee away but it does nothing to help, “i can’t believe…!” you trail off, the two of you moving out of line so you don’t hold the others up and your shaking your head in dismay, mad at your clumsiness.

“it’s alright,” he assures you, waving it off as his eyes take in your appearance. “don’t even worry about it, accidents happen.” it’s the first time he’s seen you this close, and he feels that pouch growing heavier in his pocket.

because you’re pretty. really pretty. and he likes the plush of your cheeks, the scrunch of your brows, the way you’re nearly gnawing your lip raw. you seem even prettier in person, and there’s a lump forming in his chest, something he’s never felt before.

“no, no,” you murmur, trying to find the tide pen in your bag, only to realize you left it at home, “and it’s stained too, fuck. i am so sorry about this, you probably have somewhere to be and…” your words trail off as you scramble for your wallet, pulling out some cash as you push it into his hands.

it’s more than he needs to replace the shirt and pants, probably enough to buy him a couple pairs from ralph lauren, but you still seem to think it’s not enough as you look for more.

“it’s no worries at all, i keep an extra of shirts in my car for emergencies like this,” gojo lies smoothly and you look up from your purse, eyes wide in shame. fuck he really likes your eyes too.

“no, please take it, it’ll be on my mind all day if you don’t,” you insist, but he’s shaking his head defiantly, a reassuring smile on his face as he hands the money back to you.

“and it’ll be on my conscience all day if i take it,” he promises you, and after you realize he’s not going to retract his hands you take the cash, shoving it back into your wallet as heat settles all over your body.

of course with your luck you spill coffee all over the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

you still look worried, finding another napkin as you take out a pen from your purse, messily writing something down.

“this is my contact information if you ever need me to replace your clothes,” you hand it over to the man with an apologetic smile, “please don’t hesitate to call me, i know stains and that’s gonna be really hard to get out,” you go to say something else but your eyes dart to the large windows behaubd him, catching sight of your body guards who seem to have seen you, and your face falls.

“i’m really sorry, again, but i have to go,” you mutter as you speed off, waving goodbyes to the stranger as you duck your head down and leave the coffee shop, not wanting to cause another scene as three buff men race in to find you.

gojo stands there almost in a haze, looking at his stained white shirt to the napkin with your number and name on it.

almost as if he didn’t already know it, almost as if you weren’t the girl he’s supposed to kill.

and in that moment he realizes how screwed he is, because he’d rather down that packet right there than shoot you down, and he’s never felt this dread before.

[thebibliosphere]

I’ve had an increase in rainbow aura with my migraines lately (I used to get them once a year, if that. Now, I’ve had it twice in one month) so I’ve become somewhat paranoid whenever something flashes over my vision.

Sometimes, it's just light reflecting off my phone, but it still makes me freeze up in a fear response when it happens because it usually means I’ve got about 20 minutes before I’m in agony.

Apparently, this new paranoia extends into my dreams now, too, because I was running down a long corridor, aware that there was something behind me that I needed to escape, but all of a sudden, in my dream, rainbow zigzags consumed my vision, and I stopped, dead and went, “fuck, migraine.”

That's when I became aware of James Bond/Daniel Craig standing beside me, gun drawn.

“Oh, shit. Do you need to lie down?” he asked while I stared at him.

I said, “What about the thing chasing us?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, darling. If you need to lie down you can lie down. I’ll just kill them.”

I blinked at him for a bit, still winded from running then said, “Sure,” starting to get to my knees, ready to lie down on the cold stone floor beneath us.

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Kill ‘em. I’m just gonna...” I gestured vaguely at the floor. “Be right here, I guess.”

“You can go upstairs, you know,” he said, loading a fresh clip into his gun. “This museum has a hotel on top of it.”

“Oh good,” I said, starting to suspect this was a dream and not Daniel Craig about to murder the people chasing me because I had a migraine. “I’ll do that then.”

So I got back up and started climbing the stairs that looked an awful lot like the stairs in the Kelvin Grove Art Gallery, only to abruptly walk into Deathstroke and Nightwing doing their best to kill each other in the corridor of what was clearly a hotel based on the room service tray Nightwing was using to deflect projectiles.

They froze. I looked at them. They looked at me. “I’ve got a migraine,” I said,

“Shit, sorry,” Nightwing said, putting down his tray as both men stepped back to let me walk down the decimated corridor. “We’ll be more quiet.”

“Room 13 is open,” Deathstroke helpfully informed me.

“Is there a body in it?” I asked, now leaning against the wall, less walking along, more sliding.

“Not anymore.”

“Do you need anything?” Nightwing asked, “pain killers? Ice pack?”

I waved them off and made my way into room 13 where David Jason dressed as Detective Jack Frost looked up at me from the book he was reading on the bed.

“This is a dream,” he informed me.

“No it isn’t,” I said, despite knowing it was as I hobbled over to the bed and flopped down beside him. “And this room was supposed to be empty.”

“Open, not empty,” corrected Jack Banon who had taken David Frost’s place, dressed like young Alfie from Pennyworth as he sat beside me on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “There’s a very distinct difference between the two. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Who do you think moved the body?”

“I need to sleep,” I said, “if I can fall asleep, the migraine might go away.”

“That's all right,” he said. “You do that. I’ll make sure no one else comes in. Oh, just one thing before you do.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something I couldn't quite see and held it out to me. “You’ll need this.”

“What is it?” I said, my brain doing the dream thing where it refuses to read books or interpret numbers correctly. “I can’t see, what is it?”

“Oft, sorry. Can’t tell you that. More than my job’s worth.”

“You’re job...”

“Yeah.” and thats when he leaned over, stuck me with a needle and said, “Night night.”

And I woke up to the sound of @mothman-etd getting into the shower and Holly Mop wiggling under thre covers with me.

First words out of my mouth were, “What the fuck?”

And then I immediately pulled up Tumblr to write this down before I forget it because what the fuck.

Didn't wake up with a migraine though so... *knock on wood*

[shenzi-hemlock]

Unfortunately this is AI. I’ve actually been to this national park and while it is definitely gorgeous and a stunning site to view, it does not look like this. This is clearly a piece of wood that is still wood and has not fossilized. That’s what that national park is, they call it petrified wood but it is fossilized. And the fossilization process does not express colors like in its natural formulation.

Sad that people would be dazzled by neat rainbow colors and then be potentially let down if hey were visited that park. It’s a lot more red, browns, tans, oranges, and creams than anything blue, purple, or green.

Petrified Forest National Park in Arizona 😲

[fairyofhee]

the space between.

PAIRING. heeseung x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS. It was a mutual agreement between you and the boy with high status and reputation to say that the kiss you both shared was a mistake and meant absolutely nothing. But while trying to win over your crush, you were distracted by that mistaken kiss from the boy who's won over your heart.

WORD COUNT. 16.3k

GENRE. smut, slight love triangle, rich!heeseung, basketball player!heeseung, flower shop worker!reader, angst, hurt, fluff, bickering, some themes inspired by f4 thailand

WARNINGS. 18+ only. MINORS DNI. profanity, kissing, fingering, oral sex (m and f receiving), protected intimate sex

—

I. THE SPACE OF HIM

Everywhere he went, his presence was distracting, almost intoxicating.

It was pretty typical to say that Lee Heeseung had an infamous reputation of being the golden boy. Taking the captain spot of your school’s basketball team, the privilege of freedom to do whatever he wanted, and a lot of money based on the fact that he came from a pretty well-off family.

He had everything you didn’t.

He tended to get everything handed to him, considering how admirable he was to other people. They looked up to him as if he was a god, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if it had to do with how rich he was. Everyone in his way stepped aside and would let him walk through wherever.

And literally everything was handed to him. A true spoiled kid, his mom hired a personal maid so he wouldn’t do a thing himself.

You didn’t live a life Lee Heeseung did. He lived easy in luxury, unlike you, who had to work your ass off. While he was out celebrating the win of the basketball game with his team, you were either studying for your exams or working your shift at the flower shop. You were a hard-worker, a perfectionist who simply wanted to please your strict parents. A life without luxury costed your social life, and it was difficult to make friends as freedom never came your way.

You were grateful to have your cousin Mina, who often helped to break you out of your shell with her popularity as one of the head cheerleaders. After much convincing to your parents, she would invite you to hangouts at her house which were merely cover ups to sneak out and attend parties.

Mina insisted that you both should attend tonight’s party at Park Sunghoon’s house. After working an eight hour shift at the shop, you were tired and didn’t want to attend. You let out a frustrated groan when Mina practically drags you inside the house.

The school’s basketball team won another game that made them advance into the playoffs — a step closer to championships. Of course, the players wanted to celebrate, or throw a rager perhaps.

The only thing that you were looking forward to tonight was seeing your crush who was one of the players on the team. Oddly enough, Park Sunghoon is aware of your crush on him because of Mina’s little slip up. It took a few weeks to forgive her but now that he is aware, Sunghoon began to initiate conversations with you and became your friend.

Based on the small interactions, it seemed like he didn’t find your feelings for him weird. It was also hard to tell if he felt the same way.

"I'm going to find Chae," Mina raised her voice over the loud music, "Go have fun."

You slightly rolled your eyes watching Mina disappear. "How fun," you mumbled after taking in your surroundings. There were a lot of people making out, drunk people running into you, and it smelt like piss. You’re starting to regret coming here.

Exploring the house, you try to find the kitchen to get a drink and hope to run into Sunghoon, but you were suddenly pushed and ended up on the floor.

“What the hell?” You exclaimed, looking up to the person who pushed you. It was a girl, someone you recognized because they were on the cheerleading team with Mina.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going bitch,” she laughed while leaving you on the floor, not bothering to help you up. You quickly brought yourself to your feet and grab the cup from the girl’s hand, throwing the alcohol towards her. But unfortunately it lands on someone else.

You cover your mouth with a hand, glaring at no other than Lee Heeseung who was looking down at his soaked shirt and already feeling a stickiness on his skin.

“Shit,” you mumbled, glaring at the boy who turned his attention to you. Surprisingly, he didn’t look pissed off — unlike the girl you wanted to cuss out who tried to drag him away. Heeseung still had his eyes on you but not one word came out of his mouth.

The crowd was beginning to build up as you scan the room, making you incredibly anxious.

“Are you okay?” announced a familiar voice who then stood in front of you blocking your view from Heeseung. It was Sunghoon, thank god, you thought. And before you knew it, he was pulling you away from the crowd of people and leading the way to the kitchen.

You finally got what you wanted tonight, a chance to talk to Sunghoon. But rather than excitement, you feel like shit. You were embarrassed about throwing alcohol into Lee Heeseung’s face. Out of all people, why’d it have to be him?

"Did you see everything?" You groaned out while washing your hands then whispering a 'thank you' when Sunghoon handed you a paper towel.

Sunghoon shook his head, "I heard there was a fight- or something going on, but then I saw the crowd with you in the middle and wanted to make sure that you were okay."

That giddy feeling was back again. “Thank you for checking up on me," you gave a smile. "Someone ran into me which made the alcohol spill.”

Sunghoon laughed, "Is that all what happened?”

“Heeseung's shirt was practically soaked." He didn't believe your half-assed story.

"No," you shook your head, holding in a grin.

"Everything's fine, Heeseung will get over it," Sunghoon declared after remembering how defeated you looked when he first found you.

Park Sunghoon was always the one to make you feel better. Even with the smallest acts from him, it was impossible not to like him.

You recall when your coding class test results were out and you failed, it was clearly evident in your face. Sunghoon noticed and approached you before giving you words of encouragement. “This is only the second test, Y/N, you’ll do better next time,” you remember him saying.

"So, congratulations on the game tonight." You changed the topic of conversation, hoping that he'll keep you company the entire night.

"Thanks," he grinned. "I haven't seen you at the games yet, you should watch us play." You sighed, "I've been so busy with work, but l'll the catch the next one. Playoffs right?"

Although it was exhausting, you were already thinking of another lie in your head to tell to your parents so that you can attend the playoff game.

Sunghoon nodded his head before reaching for the cooler in front of him, grabbing two drinks, handing a soda to you. "I'll try not to show off."

He carefully watches your reaction as you roll your eyes, trying not to laugh at his remark. You wanted to ask more about Sunghoon's position on the team, just to get the conversation flowing but he took your chance to speak.

"Someone's looking for me so I have to go. You should look for Mina," He says after finishing his beer. “Don’t run into anymore trouble," was all Sunghoon said before he left.

Your cheeks heat up watching Sunghoon leave.

The conversation was short, but it made your entire night. You don't feel so terrible anymore about the incident earlier.

You get out of the kitchen and search the entire house for Mina. She was in the living room dancing with a drink in her hand, having the time of her life. She was your ride home so you'd hope that she was sober enough to drive when it's the time to leave. You decided to wait for her outside, but before you could leave, you noticed Sunghoon standing in the corner near the DJ.

He wasn't alone. Your heart palpitates, watching as Sunghoon leans to whisper into a blonde girl's ear with a red solo cup in his hand. The girl reciprocated his action, whispering into his ear.

"If you stare too long, he's gonna notice," Mina murmurs when she catches you staring at the boy from across the room who was now dancing with the girl, bodies close and on each other.

"Is that his girlfriend?" You ask, hurt evident in your voice. Mina nudges your arm, bringing your full attention to her. "Do you want to go home?"

You thought about it for a while, "No, I'll just wait for you. I don't want to ruin your fun."

“Are you sure? We can go.”

After convincing Mina to stay, you sat on the stairs in front of house. You didn't want to make assumptions but the way that they were close and when Sunghoon was in a rush to leave makes you believe that they have something going on.

As you sit alone in your thoughts, you realize that it's getting late. You've only been at this party for an hour and so much shit has already happened. You had a feeling that Mina was already drunk so she was unable to take you home.

With this given circumstance and your parents expecting you to be home, you had to take an uber. As if your night couldn't get any worse, a couple started making out next you while you were trying to get wifi on your phone.

You walk upstairs and knock on a bedroom's door, hoping that inside was empty. Walking in the room when no one answered, your eyes widen unconsciously, looking at the one person that you didn't want to run into. Heeseung was sitting on the couch alone with a different shirt on, and the one that was soaked by you was laid out on the bed.

"Are you here to apologize for getting me wet earlier?" he broke the silence, not one hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Please don't say it like that," you scoff and cringe at the ambiguity. "And no, but if you want an apology you'd have to ask."

Heeseung paused at your response then tilted his head quizzically, "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with your boyfriend?" He teased, trying to get a reaction out of you.

"He's not my boyfriend," you walked closer, taken aback. "He's with someone else tonight."

"So you wanted to find some company?"

"I'm trying to find signal since there isn't any in this house," you peered intently at him. "Mina is drunk and I have no ride home, I'm trying to get an uber," you say while taking a seat next to him.

You weren't sure why you stayed but Heeseung was probably right, you wanted some company.

As you try to order an uber you feel his stare, "Why are you here alone?" You ask.

"Shouldn't you be with your girlfriend?" You think back about the girl who pushed you, who laughed about it then attempted to drag Heeseung away.

He let out a low laugh, "She's not my girlfriend.”

You turn your gaze to him, "Why not?" Your arms were crossed to taunt him, "Because Mr. Perfect doesn't do girlfriends?"

There was a long stretch of silence after your comment, Heeseung avoiding your eyes until he gains the courage to meet your gaze again. "If anything, you're Ms. Perfect.” He retorts.

"How?” Confusion crossed your face.

“Hmm,” Heeseung placed his hand on his chin as if he was thinking. “Perfect grades, working everyday to help your parents, and refusing to go out because you don't want lie to them."

Your brow furrowed, "How do you know all this?"

"Your cousin talks too much."

Of course Mina would tell him. Maybe it's best to not tell her anything from now on, you thought.

"My parents have given me a lot and I don't want to disappoint them," you explain the perfectionist side of you. "At the same time, they're always pushing me and sometimes I can't handle it."

"I get it," Heeseung stared at you, eyes filled with mutual understanding. You shake your head, not having a clear comprehension of his response.

"My mom pushes me to be this perfect business partner,” he starts. "I'm expected to attend these business meetings every week and listen like I understand what's going on just because I'm the son and future owner of the number one real estate company in the city."

"And honestly, I don't know shit. But I want to make my mom happy so I try my best to understand," Heeseung finishes and watches as you listen attentively without saying a word. "Sorry," he lets out low laugh while scratching his head, “You probably don't care-"

"No," you interject, "I-I didn't know that."

"You must have a lot of pressure. Especially balancing that with school and basketball. I'm sorry you have to go through this," you voice out your sympathy. You and Heeseung were more similar than you'd thought, and it was as if you were on different sides of the same coin. You felt sorry for how he has to run a huge business at a young age, but you can also relate with having to please your parents and expecting to be perfect.

"I'm also sorry for throwing alcohol in your face," you rush out, deciding to lighten the mood. He laughs, "It's fine, I should've seen it coming.”

Your phone then buzzes, it was a text from Mina.

mina: just saw park leave with a girl. i didn't see who it was but i’m sorry babe :(

Your expression flipped like a switch.

“What’s wrong?” Heeseung asked with an obvious look of concern on his face.

You shake your head and try to plaster on a fake smile, ignoring the heavy feeling in your chest, “It’s nothing, everything’s cool.”

He notices your pout and disappointed expression, “Nothing? You seem upset.”

A low sigh leaves your mouth as you place your phone on your lap. “It’s really stupid but Sunghoon left with a girl,” you shrugged while trying to forget the image of your crush leaving with someone else.

“He probably took her home.”

You try to meet Heeseung’s eyes, waiting for his reaction because you expected him to laugh in your face and make a stupid remark. Instead, he’s looking down and returning your same pout, possibly collecting his thoughts and words.

It was then too silent for a few seconds, except for the sounds coming from downstairs. You left Heeseung speechless but what was he supposed to say? He wasn’t even considered your friend.

You were maybe too open about your crush and Heeseung was probably tired of hearing it. You took his silence as a hint and decide to go back downstairs to wait for your uber. You stood from your seat and Heeseung finally looks up.

“How about we forget about him tonight?”

You return his stare, taking your seat back on the couch. “What do you mean?”

Your straight brows furrowed when he wasn’t answering. You almost flinch as Heeseung straightens his posture and moves closer to your face, training his eyes to yours then to your lips.

He’s leaning in and every second that he gets closer, you feel your heart stop. You were supposed to focus on your crush on Sunghoon. Kissing someone else wasn’t on your table.

“Heeseung, we can’t.” You shyly responded and guiltily avoid his stare, choosing to turn your attention to your hands.

“But you want to,” Heeseung softens, gently holding your hand to stop you from leaving. You look into his rounded eyes, filled with desire.

“All you have to say is ‘stop’ then I’ll stop.”

You subtly take a deep breath and study his face. Being this close was new and you can tell Heeseung wants this, he wants to kiss you so bad. You were uncertain if you wanted this too, but his look of desperation was almost too gut churning that you didn’t want to pull away and leave.

You cupped his cheek and made the move to meet your lips on his. First it was soft and languid, his lips tasting like cheap vodka. His fingertips were holding your chin as he sweetly returns your kiss. He was gentle like he wanted to take his time, but you were eager. Maybe it was the adrenaline from reading Mina’s text because you ended up on his lap with his hands on your waist.

You look into his eyes for any signs of discomfort, but his sure grip makes you continue. You reached for his nape to pull him in a deeper kiss, feeling the corners of his mouth raise into a grin. Your eyes roll knowing that he was thinking about your eagerness and how desperate you seemed. He was just smart enough to not comment about it.

A sound comes out of your mouth when Heeseung kisses you harshly before biting and licking on your lower lip, asking for entrance. His grip becomes more firm when you accept. The feeling of him on your mouth causes you to roll your hips, and Heeseung lets out a forced laugh.

You feel his hand slipping under the hem of your shirt and you almost freak out, not knowing what this is leading to. Before you both were able to do anything further, your phone next to you buzzes.

You broke the kiss, catching your breath to reach for your phone to check the notification.

“Ignore it,” Heeseung slurs out before trying to bring his lips on yours once more while adjusting his seated position with you still on his lap.

But you gently push on his shoulder, checking the notification on your phone. “My uber‘s here.”

It was all quick movements when you completely pull away your body and escape his grasp before standing and making yourself look decent. There was a slight delay in your thoughts, not surely processing that you kissed Heeseung.

Your flustered cheeks and beating heart causes you to hesitate, but you managed to move your feet and try to leave until Heeseung’s hand quickly wrapped around your wrist.

“Wait,” Heeseung lets out after a moment of catching his breath, his grip still holding onto you. You turn around to face him as he speaks.

“Let me take you home,” he pleads.

Afraid to look him in eye, you watched as his throat bobbled before moving your eyes to his contact on your warm skin. You’re shaking your head, refusing his offer and at that, he lets go.

“My uber’s already here and you‘ve been drinking, I can taste it,” you retaliate while licking your bottom lip, the taste of him lasting on your lips.

“What about your parents?”

You finally meet Heeseung’s gaze through half-lidded eyes, not noticing a hint of disappointment on his face. “I’ll be fine. Bye Heeseung.”

You left the party and lie in your bed, surprised that you’re not mentally cursing yourself out for initiating the kiss. It was difficult not to replay how his lips were perfectly in-sync with yours and the way he held your body.

You were in disbelief, not expecting yourself to makeout with anyone tonight — someone who wasn’t Sunghoon but let alone, Lee Heeseung.

With everything that happened tonight from Sunghoon leaving with someone else, to Heeseung practically comforting you with his surprisingly good kissing skills, it was unsure to you if what happened was a mistake.

Another notification sound from your phone interrupted your thoughts and you decided to turn off the ringer before checking the message.

Your eyes began to widen while reading Mina’s text.

What the hell? It was another moment of shock, the message confirmed that the girl Sunghoon took home tonight was his sister.

—

It was playoffs day, a few days after your kiss with Heeseung and the confirmation of Sunghoon not having a girlfriend. After finding out that Sunghoon was not dating anyone, that kiss with Heeseung long forgotten to you. It was a stupid mistake due to a rush of hurt feelings.

You were looking forward to the game tonight in which Sunghoon technically invited you to. It was also the first game of the season that you were actually attending, so tonight was going to be fun. With Mina’s help, as usual, you managed to convince your parents that you were going to study at her place.

Now you’re at your school’s gym, lining up to buy a ticket for the big playoff game. Since Mina was cheerleading tonight, you both arrived super early. Taking a seat in the student section, the junior varsity team’s game was starting which meant that the varsity team’s was after. Across from your peripheral vision, you see Sunghoon sitting near the bench. He gave a small wave which made the corners of your mouth upturn into a smile.

You feel your smile drop when you notice Heeseung taking a seat next to him. Sunghoon whispering something in his ear, Heeseung shot his head up and met your gaze. He barely moved a muscle in his face, not expecting you to be here.

You turn your attention to the game and fought the urge to not look in the direction of the two boys. However throughout the game, you didn’t miss the all times Heeseung moved his eyes towards you.

The junior varsity game was over and thankfully, they won. There was a small fifteen minute break until the next game started and the varsity team was getting ready to warm up. Walking back to your seat after taking a trip to the bathroom, you felt a small tap on your shoulder.

“Hey, can we talk?”

Your brows raised when the boy in front of you was not on the court where he was supposed to be, “Shouldn’t you be warming up?”

“We kissed the other night,” he spat out.

You’d hope the conversation that you were avoiding wasn’t happening so soon, especially now before he’s about to play. “We were drunk-“

“I wasn’t drunk- I was tipsy but you certainly weren’t,” he interjects, trying to meet you eye-to-eye but his height causes him to easily hover over you. “I remember everything.”

“Then try to forget about it,” You dismiss his words, “If you’re afraid of me telling anyone then don’t be. I don’t kiss and tell.”

Heeseung finds your remark funny as it was evident in his laugh. “I don’t care if you tell anyone,” he says, looking back to check how much time was left before the game started.

T-8 minutes until the game starts.

You sighed, “Heeseung, what do you want?”

“Why’d you kiss me?”

You feel a lump in your throat, recalling the moment when you initiated the kiss. “Why’d you kiss me back?” You asked, also recalling the moment when he was the one practically begging you to kiss him.

“Wait- you’re the one who actually started it.”

“I asked first.”

You let out a groan, “I was upset about Sunghoon and wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry that I kissed you, promise me that you’ll forget because it was a mistake and meant nothing.”

He was silent, his expression unreadable but you didn’t care to try to figure it out.

“Promise me,” You looked up at him with your pleading doe-eyes — now you were the one practically begging on your knees for a mutual agreement to forget the kiss ever happened.

“I promise.”

“Thank you,” You let out a big sigh of relief before noticing the clock had 5 minutes left.

“The game is about to start, captain.”

Heeseung left without saying another word and you head back to your seat. The game was about to start and you take out your phone to take a picture of Mina as she was cheering on the baseline in her cute uniform.

You watch Sunghoon play, or at least attempt to, since your eyes unconsciously land on Heeseung throughout the entire game. You noticed that something was off. He looked distressed and he wasn’t making any of his shots. It was probably his mother and the business on his mind, you thought. Heeseung’s look of frustration continued until the buzzer of the final second went off.

At the end, your school team won the playoff game and you can’t help but feel worried that something happened to Heeseung.

Once the team headed to their locker room, you and Mina walk back to her car to go home.

“Y/N, Mina,” a voice caught both of your attentions, and it was Sunghoon who was out of breath with sweat glistening on his forehead. He was in casual attire now, his uniform assumingly in his bag that was over his shoulder.

“You did so well tonight! How many points did you score?”

“I think it was 12- I don’t know, I wasn’t counting,” He laughs as a huge smile appears on your face. “Thank you for coming to watch. We’re going to the pizza place down the street.”

You turn to Mina, trying to hide the confusion on your face. “The team usually goes out to eat after the game to celebrate the win,” she tells. “I’m too tired to go, but I can drop you off there?”

“I can bring Y/N there,” Sunghoon murmurs to Mina before turning to you,” If you’re okay with that of course.”

“No- yeah, that sounds great.”

Fighting the urge to scream in excitement was difficult. Park Sunghoon wants to hang out with you? And he’s offering to drive you?

The drive was literally down the street, but the gesture was sweet and your heart felt warm. You weren't sure how you were going to go home but that was problem for later.

“Thank you for letting me hang out,” you say before entering the pizza place with Sunghoon behind you.

Sunghoon then catches up and leads the way, “You came to support the team, of course you’re welcome to hang. I’m glad you came to watch.”

You hold on a big grin, “I’ll make sure to watch more of your games,” your voice was surely going to crack soon.

“I’d like that,” he says before excusing himself to go to the bathroom.

You found Heeseung who was in line to fill his drink and approach him, “Hey, what happened out there captain?” You spoke to him softly after noticing the look of frustration still on his face.

But his expression quickly changed when realizing that it was you talking to him. “I think that was the worst I played all season,” he laughed.

“Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No everything’s cool,” he shook his head, “I-I was just off today.”

“I think that you played well and helped the team advance to the championships.”

“Thanks,” He grins. “Where’s Mina?”

“She’s at home. She was too tired to come so Sunghoon gave me a ride,” you say while trying to hide the wide smile that slowly crept on your face.

Heeseung raised a brow, “He did?”

You nod. “I also forgot to tell you,” your eyes lit up, “The girl Sunghoon brought home was actually his sister. She was super drunk so they went home.”

Heeseung studied the light in your eyes, “You feel relieved?”

You nod.

“And you still like him?”

“Yes,” you nod again, hearing a breathy laugh coming out of Heeseung’s mouth.

“That’s- great,” he smiled, “I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

Heeseung quickly left the conversation and you by returning to an empty table. You watch as a girl who was still in her cheerleading uniform shows up and sits next to Heeseung. They’re in the booth laughing and you immediately recognize her.

The one who humiliated you, who called you a bitch. You feel a hint of bitterness and don’t have an exact idea as to why you felt this way.

“Who's that girl?” You turn to Sunghoon, “I remember you saved me from her at the party.”

“That’s Ji-ho,” Sunghoon says. “Her and Heeseung have always just been… friends, but I guess they’re finally dating now.”

His girlfriend? Dating? You think back to your kiss and knew how messy things were going to be if she’d ever find out.

—

A week goes by since the playoff game and the night when Sunghoon gave you a ride home, and still, no progress with Sunghoon. It’s as if everything went back to normal. Heeseung and his girlfriend seemed happy (not that you cared) and that kiss was never mentioned again.

The scent of fresh blooms enveloped you as were surrounded by vibrant petals. Working with flowers wasn’t just a job to you, it was a canvas for your creativity. You especially loved working with customers and hearing their stories, knowing that you were part of their special occasions.

It was an everyday routine to organize the cherry blossoms, and overtime, they became your favorite flowers and you hoped to visit a cherry blossom garden someday.

“Hello! This is ‘Our Happy Florists’ located in Seoul,” your voice rang through the phone. “How can I help you?”

“Hey, am I speaking to Park Sunghoon’s girlfriend?”

You jumped out of your seat, “I’m sorry, who is this?”

“The one you kissed at the party, does it ring a bell?” The voice laughs in amusement.

“Heeseung?” You raised your voice then lowered it, “I told you not to mention it again. I will end this call right now.”

“Wait- don’t hang up. Sorry, I won’t mention it again,” his laugh remains.

“Um,” you cleared your throat,” How do you know where I work?”

“Your cousin.”

Of course Mina would, you groaned. “Why exactly are you calling?”

“I need advice. Please,” he pleads.

You put the phone down for a second to look over at your supervisor who was busy putting away flowers. “I’m trying not to get fired right now, Heeseung,” you say, almost whispering. “But if it’s urgent you can stop by during my lunch break.”

“Really?” he sounds surprised, almost elated.

“I’m not gonna repeat myself, but my break is in an hour.”

You find it odd that he went out of his way to ask you advice, but you also found it odd that you accepted without hesitation.

And so exactly one hour later, you were on your break and Heeseung was standing outside with his hands in his pocket and eyes roaming around the shop.

“So why can’t you talk to me at school? Why come to my work?”

He crosses his arms, “I’m a busy person and you know that.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, busy at parties.”

“Ha-ha,” he says with sarcasm, “I’m free after school on Tuesdays so I’m not busy today.”

“Whatever, you said you needed advice?”

You weren’t sure if he was worth your time. Were you considered his friend? Friends don’t kiss right? Stop — Why are you thinking about the kiss?

“You’re a good girl right?”

His choice of words cause your eyes to squint and he notices while exhaling a laugh, succeeding at trying to get a reaction out of you.

“I meant that you have perfect grades and you’re a good daughter to your parents. I need help with my mom.”

“I want to work on bigger projects and show her that I am responsible enough to handle them. And maybe even speak at meetings, but she doesn’t trust me. How can I earn her trust?”

Now you furrow your brow, intrigued while also in thought.

“Be consistent and confident. If you show her you’re working hard, she’ll start to trust you.”

“But does that work? Do your parents trust you?”

You shrugged. “They definitely trust me, but they’re just overly protective.”

“That makes sense,” Heeseung replied, nodding slowly as he processed the advice.

A period of quietness hung between you two, the noise of the wind fading into the background.

“Anything else you need?” You finally asked, breaking the silence.

Heeseung shook his head. “No, nothing else. I will take your advice, thank you.”

“Sure,” you said, trying to gauge where this was heading but he simply left and you returned to the shop.

He took his own precious time to drive to your work and have a conversation about advice on how to handle his mom. Weird, you thought.

—

A cold Monday morning, you were irritated and stressed out. Assignments piled up, deadlines loomed, and the weight of expectations — both from school and your part-time job — felt heavier than ever. However, your parents seemed to leave you alone and minded their own business lately, which was a glimmer of peace amidst the chaos.

In the bustling hallway, you spotted Sunghoon leaving his locker as soon as he spotted you. He started waving and approaching you.

“Y/N, hey!”

“Hey.”

“Have you started on Ms. Kim’s project yet?” he asked.

“No, not at all. I haven’t even found my partners yet.”

“You’re friends with Heeseung, right?”

You hesitated. “We talked a few times.” And kissed, but it was a mistake and we’re supposed to forget that it happened. “Did he say that?”

Sunghoon nodded. “We’re looking for a third person to join us, and he suggested you since he says we’re all friends.”

Friends? Does he mean it?

“Yeah, sure, I’ll join you guys. We can work on it tomorrow at my place? Since I know Tuesdays are free for you guys. And my grandma will just be at the house, not my parents.”

“That sounds perfect, just text me your address! I’ll let Heeseung know. Thanks, Y/N.” Sunghoon replied, a grin spreading across his face.

As he turned to leave, you felt a mix of excitement and nerves. Taking a deep breath, you pulled out your phone and sent a quick message to Sunghoon, your heart racing at the thought of him being at your house.

sunghoon: thanks for your addy!

sunghoon: can’t wait for tomorrow!

—

Today was your study date- or should you even call it that? You stood in the living room, glancing around with a mix of excitement and nerves. The afternoon light streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the space.

You set to work, your science textbook and notebooks were stacked neatly on the coffee table, and you arranged some colorful pens nearby for good measure.

With a quick check of the clock, you raced to the kitchen to grab a plate of snacks — sliced fruit and a few bags of chips. You set everything out on a small tray, arranging it carefully to look inviting.

You were glad that your parents were away for the weekend at a work trip and that your grandma, watching you, was super chill, not minding that two boys were coming over for a project hang out.

The soft sound of the doorbell sent a jolt of nerves through you. You hurried to answer and as you opened the door, you glanced at Heeseung, who stood shifting on his feet with a tray of drinks in his hand.

“You’re 10 mins early,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“I can leave then come back,” he replied with a half-smile.

“Get inside.”

He walked inside, peering around your home and following you into the kitchen before speaking.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For the drinks? Thank you.”

“No, your boyfriend is coming over because I suggested that the three of us should work together,” he places the tray of drinks on the countertop. “And I figured that if I leave early, you guys can spend time alone.”

You shake your head, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well, I thought it’d be nice.”

“Also your advice worked, my mom’s slowly but surely finally letting me handle the big projects and she even wants me to attend training workshops.”

“I’m glad to hear that my advice worked,” you chuckled, running a hand through your hair.

“It took a bit of convincing, but I didn’t think she’d actually take me seriously at first.”

“Well, you just need to show her that you are committed, that you could handle it,” You said, your eyes sparkling with encouragement which makes Heeseung smile.

“I have a few questions,” he suddenly says.

“Hmm let me guess,” you replied. “It’s not about the project or your mom?”

“Did you kiss him yet?”

You raised an eyebrow, confusion flickering across your face. “No, nothing’s happened between us.”

Heeseung chewed on his bottom lip and let silence pass by.

The air between you crackled with unspoken tension as Heeseung suddenly walked towards you. You could feel the electric pull of his proximity, a magnetic force that had been intensifying ever since he’d stepped inside your house. Your heart raced as you looked up at Heeseung, it felt like deja vu when his doe eyes are searching yours for permission.

You try to hide the fact that you were panicking when Heeseung leaned closer. You had nowhere to go, feeling the kitchen counter behind you. His breath was warm against your face and he licked his bottom lip. You knew he wanted to kiss you again and for a second, you would’ve let him.

“Heeseung,” you said, your voice betraying a mixture of frustration and vulnerability. “I still have feelings for Sunghoon.”

You reached out, placing a hand gently on his arm, “And you have a girlfriend.”

He laughs. “You’re trying to find excuses to not kiss me right now even though you want to.”

Your hands meet his chest as you gently push him. “You’re annoying,” the hint of a smile tugging at your lips, “You know that our first kiss was a mistake right? I don’t want to be a homewrecker.”

You watched as he took a hesitant step forward. “So you’re saying that if I was single, you wouldn’t be opposed to kissing me again?”

You try to find your voice, a simple response to reject him, but couldn’t.

“I’m not dating Ji-ho,” he shakes his head, “We’re just-“

The sound of the doorbell interrupts him.

“We’re just friends, it’s nothing serious.” He admits.

“That’s probably Sunghoon at the door,” you turn away and head for the front door, trying to keep your cool and shake off what just happened.

“Hey, glad you made it,” you greeted as Sunghoon stepped into your home.

“Thanks again for letting us come over. I think Heeseung should be coming soon,” he replied, glancing around.

“Oh, he’s here already- he’s in the kitchen,” you said, motioning toward the back of the house.

“Surprised he’s early, he’s usually late to things like this,” Sunghoon remarked with a chuckle.

You lead Sunghoon into the kitchen and he greets Heeseung. You all moved into the living room to brainstorm ideas for the project.

“So our assigned topic is biomechanics. Does anyone have ideas? Or something creative that we should do?” you asked, sitting on the floor leaning forward on the coffee table.

“I was thinking we can go the simple route with a presentation. It doesn’t have to be super detailed, but it can include our information or maybe we can show the concept with a video,” Sunghoon suggested.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you agreed.

“Since Sunghoon and I are athletes — no offense, Y/N — we can record a video of us playing basketball while explaining the mechanism,” Heeseung added.

“That’s actually a good idea,” you said, your eyes lighting up.

As you continued to brainstorm ideas for the project, the weight of your feelings began to feel less daunting. With every shared laugh, casual touch, or agreement with Sunghoon, you found yourself enjoying it more than you should. Maybe this project would lead to something even more.

And after a while of working on the actual outline of the project, Heeseung stood and stretched, checking the time on his phone.

“I got to head out,” he said, glancing at you as he made his plan to leave early, hoping to create a moment for you and Sunghoon.

“I have to go too,” Sunghoon then chimed in, clearly wanting to leave together with Heeseung.

Sunghoon was oblivious, but by the look on your face, Heeseung could tell that you were disappointed.

“My mom is calling me to go over training, but Sunghoon, you should help Y/N clean up.” Heeseung suggested, still pushing to create a moment for you and Sunghoon.

“No, it’s okay, Sunghoon says he has to go.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind,” Sunghoon replied.

“It’s fine, there’s barely anything to clean up.” You couldn’t deny that you were disappointed, but there was no point in trying to force something that clearly wasn’t going to happen.

“I’m glad we were able to get a majority of the presentation done,” you exhaled, leading Sunghoon and Heeseung towards the door.

“Definitely. We make a great team,” Sunghoon said, looking back at you, his eyes sparkling. “We should definitely hang out again, just for fun.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You reached the door, opening it wider, you wanted Sunghoon to stay, to prolong this moment, but he left with a simple ‘goodbye’.

Heeseung lingered for a while and and you followed him onto the porch. “Sorry, my plan didn’t work.”

“It’s okay, Heeseung,” you managed to reply, forcing your lips into a smile, but your heart wasn’t in it. “You can keep out of this, you know? It’s all too complicated, so I’d rather have everything play out without any scheming.”

He nodded, but just as he turned to leave, he paused, glancing back at you.

“Have a good night, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Heeseung. You too,” you said, your voice soft.

As Heeseung disappeared around the corner, the quiet of your home settled in around you.

You sighed, knowing that the day had been fun and special, but feeling a bittersweet sting. It’s only been two months, but longing for him has felt like forever. Sunghoon was only meant to be your friend, he has always been clear about that.

With a heavy heart, you have accepted the fact that Park Sunghoon doesn't like you back and possibly will never catch feelings for you.

—

Two weeks later and the project was over with. The presentation went smoothly and you received lots of great feedback about the video portion of the project — thanks to Heeseung for his idea.

It was honestly a great time working with both Sunghoon and Heeseung. They were both smart partners and fun to hang around. You’d wonder if things would be different if feelings weren’t involved. Would you all be best friends?

Sadly, you will never know.

Today felt like a regular Friday, but the excitement in the air was evident as students buzzed about the upcoming basketball championship game tonight. You were at the library, studying for an exam, and in walked Sunghoon, a grin spreading across his face. He was the last person you’d expected to see, but perhaps he did mean it when he said he wanted to hang out more.

“Hey, Y/N!” he called, waving as pulled out the seat next to you and sat down. Although you accepted your one-sided feelings, you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hey, Sunghoon. What’s up?” you asked, closing your textbook.

“I wanted to see if you’d like to come to the championship game tonight,” he said, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. “It’s going to be epic, and I’d love to have you there.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Really? I’d love to, I’ve been hearing everyone talk about it.”

He nodded, a hint of relief washing over his features. “Great, I can save you a seat with my friends. Plus, I could use some support. You know, for luck.”

“Absolutely, I’ll be there cheering for the team,” you replied, trying to contain your excitement. The thought of being there, watching him play, made your stomach flutter.

“Great! See you then,” he said, standing up to leave. But just as he stepped out, he dropped something from his pocket — an old, worn-out bracelet that caught your eye.

Sunghoon!” you called, rushing after him. He turned around, his expression shifting from excitement to confusion as you picked up the bracelet. “You dropped this.”

He took a moment to process it, then chuckled, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his cheeks. “Oh, that? It’s just an old lucky charm. I didn’t think I’d need it anymore.”

“It looks important,” you said, holding it out to him.

He hesitated, reaching for the bracelet but then pulling back. “You know what? Keep it. Maybe it’ll bring you luck at the game too.”

You blinked in surprise. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I want you to have it,” he said, his voice steady. “If you want, you can return it to me before the game. Just take good care of it.”

A warmth spread through you at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, I’ll take good care of it.”

“Good,” he said, flashing that charming smile again. “See you tonight, Y/N.”

Just as you thought you were sure on where you and Sunghoon stood on feelings, the whole conversation just made you even more quizzed.

Nonetheless, you were still going to give him words of encouragement and his lucky charm bracelet before the game.

T-25 minutes until the game started.

You stood outside the gym, the sounds of sneakers squeaking on the polished floor and the echo of basketballs bouncing filled the air. You glanced at the time; you were cutting it close, but you had to give Sunghoon his good luck charm.

Clutching the bracelet tightly in your hand, you pushed the door to the locker room open. The space was filled with the scent of sweat and liniment, it was empty except for one person.

It was Heeseung and he was shirtless with a towel draped around his neck.

You couldn’t help but study him, his abs were defined and taut. Each movement he made showcased the hard work he put into training — his core muscles flexing with each shot, the lines of his physique both sculpted and strong. When Heeseung noticed you, his face broke into a grin.

You felt a rush of nerves as you stepped forward. “Hey, I haven’t seen you since in a while. I feel like I only see you during Ms. Kim’s.”

“I’ve been busy. You know that.” He smirks.

“Were you looking for me?” He asked, staring at the piece of fabric in your hand.

“No, I-“

You were silenced as Heeseung suddenly closed the distance, backing you gently against the cool metal of the lockers.

“Heeseung, what are you doing?”

Heeseung was known for his teasing nature, but there was something different in his eyes today. He leaned in slightly with his arms resting on either side of you, effectively trapping you in place. He had a teasing smile on his face as your bodies were pressed against each other.

“Looking for your boyfriend?” his tone was light but laced with something deeper.

You rolled your eyes, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Shut up. How many times do I have to tell you that he’s not my boyfriend?”

He shrugged, clearly enjoying the banter. “I know. I just like to hear you say that he’s not.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s obvious that you like me. And you’ve been wanting me ever since our first kiss,” he replied, voice dropping to a softer tone with eyes locking more intensely onto yours. “Me and you have something, and you’re aware of it.”

“What?” You don’t understand his sudden change of boldness and cockiness but you give into the banter.

“What about your girlfriend?” you challenged, trying to regain some control of the conversation.

Heeseung sighed, leaning forward which causes your foreheads to touch. “How many times do I have to tell you that she’s not my girlfriend?” His expression was serious. “I told you, we’re not dating. She’s just a friend.”

“A friend that you kiss? Sounds a lot like me,” you said, raising an eyebrow while trying to push him away, but it resulted in him pressing against you harder.

“Didn’t know that you were my friend.”

“Forget what I said. I’m not your friend,” you insisted, but a flutter of uncertainty crept in.

He leaned closer, the tension between you two palpable that you could cut it with a knife. You felt your resolve wavering, caught in the pull of his intense gaze that you’re familiar with.

“Yeah,” a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“You’re not my friend because you’re so much more.”

The air thickened with unspoken words. And for a moment, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, teetering on the edge of something that could change everything.

You’re silent as your eyes follow his hand that slowly crept under your skirt and you didn’t make any effort to stop him.

“Can I touch you?” The weight of his body keeps you pinned against the lockers.

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of uncertainty and thrill, his confession left you speechless. You could push him away, but nonetheless, you nod your head wanting to feel his touch.

“I won’t do anything until you tell me ‘yes’,” his voice dropping an octave, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Yes,” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling the tension release.

“Please touch me, Heeseung.”

His hand caressed your tender skin before he lightly pressed down fingers on your core. Even with your panties still on, he could feel your wetness soaking through.

Heeseung felt proud of himself, because even though he didn’t fully touch you yet, his words and body against yours were enough to have you drenched.

You felt him move your panties to the side and his cold fingers dipping into your aching centre.

“You’re wet for me?” He murmured as he withdrew his fingers and lifted them to you, revealing your glistening slick.

You stammered, “Don’t- make fun of me.” Your cheeks flushed, overwhelmed by the way he was looking at you, his gaze intense and playful.

“You do this to me too,” he murmured while pressing his obvious bulging crotch against you.

“Why would I make fun of you?”

Heeseung reached under your skirt and dipped his fingers again into your soaking wet cunt. You moan loudly in surprise as one of his fingers enter your heat up to the first knuckle. He starts to slowly finger-fuck you with his thumb slowly rubbing circles on your sensitive clit.

The noises you’re making seem magnified because they’re all that you can hear. You feel Heeseung muttering words onto your neck but you can’t tell what he’s saying, all you know is that suddenly he’s stopped moving his finger which drives you insane.

“Need more,” you croaked desperately.

“Hmm?” he exhales, aware that he’s trying to tease you, to try to make you beg for him to keep going — and it’s working.

“Need more, Hee,” you plead, desperately trying to move your bound body to provide some sense of friction. “Please move.”

As soon as you think that he’s stopped completely and ready to leave you in heat, he suddenly thrusts two fingers deep into your cunt. “Oh my, fuck,” you clench around him with a surprised shout.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“Yes,” you nod, “Please keep going.”

It doesn’t take long for him to build you up to that edge, your body so needy and responsive to his touch, and he’s enjoying it.

You praise him by telling him how good his fingers feel inside you. You’re lost in the sensation of him pounding his fingers into you as he frantically starts rubbing your clit.

“Heeseung, I’m close,” you whined out.

You feel yourself clench around him, and he shifts the angle of his fingers a little bit to hit your sweet spot. “You’re doing so well for me, baby.”

“Let go,” he urges.

You let out a lewd moan when you back arches up sharply as you come undone around his fingers. He keeps thrusting, helping you ride yourself through it. You want the feeling to never stop but he halts his movement.

While you catch your breath, he starts to clean up the mess between your thighs with the towel that was around his neck.

“You did amazing, my love,” he praises, which causes your chest to sting. You felt this before except it was now because of Heeseung.

After he was finished cleaning you up, he helps to adjust your skirt. “My panties will be sticky the entire night now,” you laugh with a sense of worry.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, genuinely apologizing which makes you grin.

Once you felt completely relaxed, you couldn't help but notice the prominent bulge sticking through his basketball shorts.

“Um,” you clear your throat, “Need me to help?”

He noticed you staring at how hard he is and he gives a smile to break through the tension. “No, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

“Are you sure?” You shifted on your feet, biting your lip. “I mean, I can be quick.”

His expression softened, and he shook his head. “I appreciate it baby, but I need to warm up soon. I know the gym must be packed though, so you should find a seat to cheer me on.”

“You’re right, the game is starting soon,” you said, trying to sound casual.

“You dropped something,” Heeseung pointed to the ground. It was Sunghoon’s lucky charm that you planned on returning to him.

“It’s Sunghoon’s,” you gulped with an unknown sense of nervousness. “He dropped it so I wanted to give it back, but… I’ll just give it at the party.”

Heeseung nodded, his expression unreadable.

Before you exit the locker room, you walk up to him and give a small peck on his lips, hoping he’ll kiss you back and deeply. “Good luck, captain.”

But Heeseung doesn’t. Instead, he murmurs a quick ‘thank you’ and accepts the kiss with a hesitant look on his face, which immediately makes you leave. You don’t think anything of it, though.

The gym was electric, filled with the sound of cheering fans and the rhythmic thump of basketballs. You sat in the bleachers while waving at Mina, who was cheering at the baseline. The championship game had drawn a massive crowd, and the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. You could feel the energy pulsing around you, but your focus was entirely on what just happened in the locker room.

Suddenly, Heeseung stood near the center of the court, his jersey clinging to him as he bounced the ball, starting his warm ups.

You found him incredibly intoxicating, you couldn’t even focus on the game because the only thing on your mind were his fingers getting you off a few minutes ago.

The game clock ticked down, interrupting your thoughts, and the game started.

You could see the determination in Heeseung’s eyes, and it made your heart swell with pride. This was his moment, and you wanted nothing more than for him and the team to succeed.

As the whistle blew and the first quarter began, you leaned forward, holding your breath with every play. Heeseung darted around defenders, his movements fluid and confident. He made a quick pass to Sunghoon, who took a shot — missed. The crowd groaned in unison, and you felt a knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach.

“He’ll get it next time,” you whispered to yourself, willing him on.

The tension reached a peak when it was the second half. It was third quarter when the opposing team made a quick drive toward the basket, and for a moment, it looked like they might score. But Sunghoon slid in, blocking the shot with a perfect timing that had the crowd erupting into cheers. Your heart raced as you jumped to your feet and clapping.

Sunghoon turned briefly, catching your eye, and flashing a smile in your direction.

The final quarter ticked down and shortly, the score was tied with minutes left. The pressure was mounting, but the team seemed unfazed. Heeseung received the ball and dribbled down the court, dodging defenders with ease. The gym fell silent as he positioned himself for the final shot, and all eyes were on him.

“Come on!” you urged silently, heart in your throat.

He took a deep breath, the world around him fading into a blur as he focused on the hoop. With a quick flick of his wrist, he released the ball, and it soared through the air in slow motion. Time seemed to freeze as you watched, holding your breath.

Swish! The ball hit the net perfectly, and the crowd erupted into a frenzy. You jumped up, screaming with joy as the realization hit— there was 5 seconds left and you had just witnessed Heeseung’s winning shot in the championship game.

Those 5 seconds flew by and Heeseung turned to the stands, his face lighting up with a mixture of disbelief and triumph. As his teammates rushed to him, engulfing him in celebratory hugs, you felt a surge of pride wash over you.

As the team huddled together, you caught his gaze once more. This time, he pointed in your direction, a wide grin spreading across his face. Your heart swelled, and you couldn’t help but beam back at him. In that moment, amidst the chaos and elation of victory, you felt an undeniable connection.

The gym erupted in cheers and the team celebrated their hard-earned win, you knew this was a moment you would never forget.

You went down the bleachers and ran to Mina, hugging her. “That was insane,” you stressed.

“That game had me stressed, fuck! Are you ready to party?” Mina exclaimed.

—

The sound of music pulsed through the air, reverberating against the walls of the house, which was already packed with students buzzing from the excitement of the championship victory. Colorful lights flickered in rhythm with the beat, casting a vibrant glow across the crowd. You stepped inside, the energy wrapping around you like a warm embrace as laughter and cheers filled the space.

The living room was transformed into a party zone, with decorations celebrating the basketball team’s success—banners hanging from the walls, balloons in the school colors bobbing along the ceiling, and a table overflowing with snacks and drinks. Friends and teammates mingled, some already animatedly retelling highlights of the game, while others clinked cups in celebration.

As the night unfolded, the music thumped louder, and the laughter grew richer. You danced, celebrated, and lost yourself in the jubilant atmosphere. But amidst it all, you kept stealing glances at Heeseung, who was now animatedly recounting the game to a captivated audience. The way he lit up while talking made your heart swell.

As you scanned the room, you also spotted Sunghoon across the way, surrounded by a small group of his teammates. He looked effortlessly cool in a casual black tee and jeans, his hair slightly tousled from the night’s festivities. The sight of him made your heart stop. He was laughing, his eyes shining with excitement, and for a moment, you felt a surge of admiration.

You made your way through the crowd, weaving between familiar faces and beaming friends. The atmosphere was infectious, and Sunghoon caught your eye with a grin spread across his face as he waved you over.

“Y/N!” he called, his voice cutting through the music. “Come join us!”

You smiled back, your nerves easing as you stepped closer and noticing Heeseung also joining in. “Congrats on the win! That was so nerve-wracking, but you guys did so well,” you said, genuinely impressed.

Sunghoon shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but the pride in his eyes was unmistakable. “Thank you! I’m glad it was exciting.”

Heeseung nudged him playfully. “Yeah, and don’t forget your lucky charm.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, but the laughter that followed was infectious, and soon everyone was caught up in the moment.

“Oh shoot, here’s your bracelet” you take the bracelet out of your pocket and give it to him.

“Y/N, I need to talk to you,” Sunghoon said, ignoring the bracelet in your hand.

“Why can’t you talk to her here?” Heeseung asked.

You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but before you could say anything, Sunghoon grabbed your hand and led you outside in the backyard.

You stirred your drink, lost in thought, when you noticed him fidgeting. His usual calm demeanor had been replaced by something more vulnerable, and you sensed that something was off.

“Look, Y/N,” he started, his voice trembling slightly. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“What? Why are you sorry?” you asked, genuinely perplexed.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been leading you on. I was aware of your feelings, but got your hopes up by flirting a bit and never taking it further.”

“I realized that I’ve been leading you on, but I also realized that I caught feelings.”

Your heart raced as you processed his words. “Sunghoon- wait.”

“Before you say anything,” he continued quickly, “It’s not out of pity. I caught real feelings.”

“Y/N, I like you.”

Your mouth was open to speak but no words came out, it was a sudden confession. The boy who you liked finally reciprocated your feelings.

Before you could process your thoughts and whirlwind of emotions, he started to lean in.

His eyes searching yours and his lips approaching yours. But you instinctively recoiled.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” You shook your head. “I- I caught feelings for someone else.”

The words hung heavy in the air. You could see the realization dawning on him, his expression shifting from hope to disbelief and disappointment.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, a forced smile creeping onto his lips. “I guess I’m too late.”

You looked down at the ground, your mind racing. You had always admired Sunghoon, enjoyed your moments together, but recently someone else had entered your life — someone who made your heart flutter in a way you hadn’t expected. You were just too afraid to admit it.

“I’m sorry, Sunghoon. You’re such a good guy,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I’ve liked you for a while, but I think… I’m a bit confused right now.”

He nodded, arms crossed tightly. “It’s okay, really. If you have feelings for someone else, I understand.”

The moment stretched painfully, silence enveloping you both. You wanted to reach out, to reassure him, but the truth hung between you both like a chasm.

“Who is it?” he finally asked, his tone curious yet guarded.

“It’s someone-”

“Heeseung,” he answered for you.

“I don’t know- yes,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s complicated and I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it just did.”

He nodded slowly, “Heeseung’s a good guy. I’m not surprised that you caught feelings for him.”

“Please don’t tell him,” you insisted, your voice trembling. “I still haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” he chuckled, a sign that he wasn’t too saddened about the situation and you let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry, Sunghoon.”

“Me too,” he said quietly. “But maybe this is just how it’s meant to be. You and Heeseung are good for each other, you’ll realize it soon enough.”

With that, you both fell into a silence that spoke volume. You realized that you had a choice now. No matter what had transpired, you still admired Sunghoon and your feelings didn't just disappear, but now your heart was also longing for Heeseung. What’s important now is figuring out your feelings.

The conversation was left after your realization and you needed time to yourself. The soft glow of the streetlights illuminated the front porch of the house. You leaned against the cool brick wall, your heart still racing from Sunghoon’s confession. The laughter and chatter of the party faded into the background as you pulled out her phone, glancing at the time. Just then, the doe-eyed boy emerged from the house and walking towards the lot.

“Hey, captain,” you stop him in his tracks.

“What are you doing? You’re not leaving, are you?” you asked. “You know this is your party, you won the game. And that last shot was insane,” you beamed proudly.

Heeseung laughed, “I’m glad you were there to see that. I played well today, probably the best I played all season. Maybe because you were there.”

“And I’m actually heading home. I have a meeting in the morning and need to prepare for it since it’s the first time I get to speak,” he replied, trying to sound nonchalant as he scratched his neck.

“Why are you outside alone? Are you okay?” He stepped before you, his expression softening. “I was looking for you after Sunghoon dragged you outside. What did he want?”

You took a deep breath, the weight of your emotions pressing down on you.

“Sunghoon almost kissed me tonight.”

Heeseung’s eyes widened. “What do you mean almost?”

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice shaky. “I just… I rejected him.”

“Why? Don’t you want to kiss your crush?” Heeseung’s tone was a mix of disbelief and surprise.

“I’m not sure anymore,” you admitted, feeling a knot of uncertainty tighten in your stomach. The thrill of your moment with Sunghoon had turned into confusion.

Heeseung stepped closer, his gaze locked onto yours. “Y/N,” he said softly, “What’s going on?”

You grabbed the bottom hem of his leather jacket and pulled him closer. “Heeseung, I need you to kiss me.”

The words hung in the air, electrifying the space between you both. You visibly see his cheeks heat up as your heart pounds louder than ever.

“You want me to kiss you?” Heeseung asked, uncertainty lingering in his voice.

You searched his eyes, feeling the pull between you two intensifying. You knew that there was so much at stake — potential heartbreak or the possibility of something new.

You nodded, your gaze unwavering. “Yes.”

Taking a leap of faith, Heeseung closed the distance, you hesitated for a heartbeat before leaning in, your lips brushing softly, igniting a spark that sent electricity coursing through you. The kiss deepened, a mix of urgency and tenderness, and for a moment, the chaos of the night faded away.

You cling to the back of his neck and pull him close, mouth and lips mixing with his tongue and teeth.

You didn’t know how bad you needed his lips on yours again — it’s something that you’ve been craving ever since that party when you first had a taste of his lips.

Before you could press your body against his, wanting to experience the same feeling as what happened in the locker room, you feel him pull apart.

“We should stop.”

“I don’t want to stop,” You desperately urged, still feeling the remnants of the kiss linger on your lips.

“I want you.”

“I want you too,” he paused, “So fucking bad, but you’re confused about your feelings.”

You shake your head, “You're the one making me confused. The things you did to me in the locker room, this back and forth that we keep doing, and the way you keep-“ you groan in frustration.

“I want this Heeseung.”

Heeseung watched as you shifted nervously, concern etched on his face. “Do you still have feelings for Sunghoon?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know. He just confessed that he liked me too, and a part of me wished I hadn’t rejected him. But I’m so glad I did because I’m here with you now.”

You process your own words, realizing that what you are doing wasn’t fair to him. “I’m sorry, I guess- yeah, I’m a bit confused right now.”

Without another word, he reached out and gently grabbed your hand, grounding you. “I’ll take you home.”

You felt a rush of warmth at his touch, the familiarity of his hand in yours bringing a sense of comfort when he led you to his car.

He opened the passenger seat and you sit down with a pang of regret.

“Heeseung, I didn’t mean to make this complicated,” you said softly, “It wasn’t fair to ask you to kiss me.”

“I know,” he replied, his gaze steady. “But whatever you’re feeling, I know you’ll figure it out. It will take time, but that’s okay. I can wait.”

“You’re willing to wait for me? Why?”

Silence passed by.

“It’s been a long night. We can talk tomorrow, okay?” He shows reassurance through his eyes, and you appreciate his understanding.

The car ride was silent, both of you falling deeply within your thoughts of each other. Every now and then, you’d glance over at him. There was something about the way he held himself — so easy and entirely present — that made your heart skip. You weren’t sure if it was the quiet of the night or the way he seemed so at understanding with you, but in that moment, everything felt still.

The car slowed as he approached your house and he stopped at the curb. He turned to you, his expression softer now, a quiet sincerity in his eyes.

“Thank you for bringing me home,” you said, breaking the silence.

His lips quirk into a smile before he kisses your forehead. “Goodnight.”

You held his gaze, something unspoken passing between you, heart swelling at the tenderness in his voice. You opened the door and stepped out of the car, but before you closed it, you looked back at him. He was watching you, his hand resting on the wheel, his expression a mix of fondness and something more, something hopeful.

The world outside was quiet, but inside your mind, it was anything but. You lay in bed, your thoughts were racing and tumbling over each other like waves crashing against the shore.

Every little moment from Sunghoon’s confession to admitting wanting Heeseung seemed to replay in your mind, each one a gentle reminder of the feelings that simply can’t be ignored. You turned onto your side, staring out the window, trying to make sense of the whirlwind inside.

The idea of something more with Heeseung doesn’t scare you anymore. You made your choice and for the first time in a long time, it felt right.

—

The gentle chime of the doorbell signaled the arrival of a customer, pulling you from your thoughts as you arranged a bouquet of vibrant daisies. The flower shop was a cozy haven, filled with the sweet scent of fresh blooms and the soft rustle of leaves. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the colorful displays, but today, your mind was elsewhere.

You glanced out the window, lost in thought as you watched the street bustle with life. It was one of those quiet days at the shop, and as you worked, your thoughts inevitably drifted to Heeseung. You couldn’t shake the feelings that had blossomed between you.

You finished the bouquet of daisies when a familiar voice broke your reverie. “What are you thinking about?” Mina asked, plopping down on the stool across from you, a curious look in her eyes.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of your secret pressing down. “I... I need to tell you something,” you said, your heart racing.

“I have feelings for Heeseung.”

Mina’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in surprise. “What? Since when? What about Sunghoon?”

You sighed, “Sunghoon made me realize that I like Heeseung. Heeseung and I kissed at the party, then again last night after Sunghoon confessed to me.”

“And yeah, I rejected Sunghoon because I like Heeseung.”

“Oh my gosh,” Mina leaned back, processing your words, her expression a mix of shock and excitement. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You glanced around the shop, ensuring no one else was within earshot. “I’m sorry, but you have a big mouth. And I needed to figure my feelings out before it turned into something bigger.”

She grinned, a playful glint in her eyes. “So you’re certain about your feelings for Heeseung?”

“I am,” you said, the confession feeling like a weight lifting off your shoulders.

Just then, the door swung open again, and you looked up, holding your breath. There he was —Heeseung, with his easy smile and a carefree energy that filled the shop. He looked around, his gaze landing on you.

“Hey, got any good recommendations for a perfect flower for a pretty girl?” he asked, leaning casually against the counter.

“It depends, who might that pretty girl be?” Your heart raced as you stepped forward, trying to sound casual despite the flurry of emotions swirling inside you.

“It’s a secret,” he says, which makes your eyes roll playfully in return.

“Sure, I have the perfect one.” You gestured for him to follow you to the back of the shop, where the blooms were arranged in an array of colors.

As you guided him through the flowers, you couldn’t help but notice how the sunlight caught his hair, the way his eyes sparkled with curiosity. “I think a pretty girl would love cherry blossoms,” you said, pointing to a delicate bunch of pink blooms.

Heeseung’s expression brightened. “Cherry blossoms? Those are beautiful. Perfect choice.”

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth at his approval. “They symbolize the beauty of life and new beginnings,” you explained, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. “Plus, they’re just really pretty.”

“Definitely,” he said, nodding. “I’ll take a bouquet of those, then. When are you off?”

“In about ten minutes,” you replied, trying to contain your excitement at the thought of spending more time with him.

“Wanna get some ice cream after?” Heeseung asked, his tone casual but with an underlying hint of hope that made your heart leap.

“Ice cream sounds great,” you said, unable to hide your smile.

“Perfect. I’ve been craving something sweet since the game yesterday,” he laughed, running a hand through his hair.

You nodded, feeling your nerves fade as the idea of ice cream and time spent with Heeseung sank in. “We can go right after I finish up here. I’ll just wrap these up for you.”

As you moved to prepare his bouquet, the air felt charged with excitement. Maybe this was the chance you’d been waiting for to explore your feelings with him.

“Thanks for the recommendation,” Heeseung said, watching you intently as he gave you his card.

“Just doing my job,” you replied playfully, though the compliment made your cheeks warm. You carefully arranged the cherry blossoms into a beautiful bouquet, tying it off with a simple ribbon.

“Alright, all set!” you announced, handing it to him. “I hope she loves them.”

“I’m sure she will,” he said, taking the bouquet and flashing that charming smile of his before giving them to you. You try your best to hide your big smile at his cute gesture.

“Let’s get going then,” Heeseung said, motioning toward the door.

After clocking out, you stepped out into the warm afternoon, feeling a flutter of excitement at the prospect of ice cream and a chance to spend time with him. Maybe this was the perfect way to discover where your feelings could lead.

The ice cream shop buzzed with laughter and the sound of scoops hitting cones. The sunset streamed through the large windows, casting a warm glow over the pastel-colored walls.

Heeseung leaned against the counter as he waited for his mint chocolate chip ice cream, his brow slightly furrowed as he watched you asked for a cup with a swirl of chocolate and strawberry.

“You already got me flowers, you don’t have to pay for me,” you said, glancing over as he handed the cashier his card.

“I’m the one who invited you on this date, so I should pay for it,” Heeseung replied, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Thank you,” you said, your eyes softening.

As you both took a seat at a small table, the sun warming your skin, you couldn’t help but be distressed, the memory of last night swirling in your mind.

“Heeseung, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for bothering you about my feelings. I was confused, but I’m certain now.”

“Hey, you didn’t bother me,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I should be the one apologizing. I kept teasing you about Sunghoon and actually helped to get you with him, but then tried to convince you to get with me. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you replied, a hint of warmth in your cheeks. The memory of his playful jabs at your friendship with Sunghoon felt less burdensome now, more like a teasing lightness.

Heeseung took a deep breath, glancing around the shop as if searching for the right words. “Let’s save this conversation for later. We’re supposed to be enjoying ice cream, right?”

You chuckled, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. “Right. Ice cream first, feelings later.”

“Deal,” he said, his smile returning, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “I want to show you something at home. My mom went on a trip and doesn’t get back until tonight.”

Your eyes squint in uncertainty, “You’re making it sound like-“

“It’s not what you think,” he laughs, “I made sure to make it look clean this morning.”

You chuckle at your own ambiguous thoughts.

“But just so you know, I’m not letting this go. You owe me a proper discussion about your feelings.”

“Fair enough,” you replied, enjoying the banter.

—

You stepped through the grand double doors, your breath catching slightly at the sight before you. A crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, casting a soft glow on the modern art that adorned the walls. Your footsteps echoed softly as you followed Heeseung inside, feeling the weight of the place — the luxury and the quiet elegance.

Heeseung hadn’t said much since you arrived to his home, but there was an excitement in his eyes, an energy that made you curious.

"So," you said, breaking the silence, "what did you want to show me?"

He glanced at you with a half-smile, his fingers brushing against yours before he took your hand fully, his touch warm and steady. "Follow me," he said, his voice low, almost secretive, like he was leading you to something special.

You felt a flutter in your chest as you let him guide you to the back of his house. Eventually, he led you to a small archway, its intricate woodwork twisted into delicate, curling patterns.

The air felt cooler here, more peaceful, and as you stepped through it, your breath caught in your throat. It was a garden unlike anything you’d ever seen, a sprawling space filled with vibrant flowers in every color imaginable.

"Wow," you whispered, taking in the sight. "It’s beautiful."

He squeezed your hand gently, his eyes softening as he watched your reaction. "It’s a butterfly garden," he explained, his voice filled with something like reverence. "My dad had this built for my mom on their tenth anniversary."

The butterfly garden was a kaleidoscope of colors, delicate wings fluttering against the backdrop of lush greenery and blooming flowers. The air was filled with the sweet scent of blossoms and the soft rustle of leaves. You and Heeseung wandered along the winding paths, the sun filtering through the leaves and casting dappled light on the ground.

You turned to him, surprised by the tenderness in his words. "This is... incredible. I’ve never seen anything like this."

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah. It’s been here ever since I was a kid. Every time I come here, it reminds me of them."

You glanced around, taking in the beauty of the garden — its winding paths, the quiet trickle of a small fountain in the corner, the vibrant flowers, and the butterflies that seemed to dance through the air, so effortlessly. It felt intimate, serene, like it held memories in the air itself.

"It’s perfect," you said softly, your gaze lingering on a butterfly that had landed on a nearby flower. "It’s like you can feel the love here."

He nodded, his fingers still holding yours, his gaze not leaving you. "Yeah. It’s a place where everything feels still. You know?"

He looked at you for a long beat, his expression soft but serious, as if weighing something important in his heart. Slowly, he stepped closer to you, the world around you fading into the background.

"It’s my favorite place in the world," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "When things get hard, I like to come here and escape from everything. I wanted to share it with you."

You felt your heart flutter at the words, the weight of his honesty settling in the space between you. This wasn’t just about a beautiful garden, it was about him trusting you with something deeply personal, something precious.

"I’m honored," you said quietly, looking into his eyes. "Thank you for showing me."

A gentle smile tugged at his lips, and for a moment, it was just the two of you in that sacred space — no words needed, just the quiet, steady beat of your hearts. As you stood there, hand in hand, surrounded by the butterflies, you knew this was a memory that would stay with you forever.

“So, Sunghoon confessed,” Heeseung spoke, glancing at you.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice slightly subdued. “It was so sudden and made me even more confused. He was sorry for leading me on and I didn’t expect for him to return his feelings even if I wanted him to, but I appreciated his confession and honesty.”

“Bringing me home last night was a good idea,” you continued. “I was being messy the entire night and before I went to sleep, I thought for a long time.”

You remembered how you’d spent hours thinking about your feelings, trying to make sense of everything.

“Earlier, you mentioned that you were certain,”Heeseung began, looking at you, his expression earnest. “I’m certain about my feelings too. I’m certain about you, so whatever you tell me, I won’t be mad. I know I was an ass getting in the way of your feelings for Sunghoon, but just please be honest, and I’ll figure it out and leave you alone.”

“I don’t want you to leave me alone,” you said softly, looking directly into his eyes.

“Heeseung, I like you,” you blurt out without hesitation. The words hung in the air between you, bright and clear, like the vibrant butterflies flitting around. “I was trying to win over Sunghoon, but you kept distracting me.” You let out a playful scoff, trying to lighten the moment.

“You made me really confused and it was annoying — but in a good way. After being around you and knowing what you’re going through, I started to care for you and wanted to be there for you. And when we kissed or when you’re simply around me, I couldn’t handle it. I’ve always wanted more but was too afraid to admit it.”

“I want more with you,“ You confess,” If you want more with me.”

Heeseung’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flashing across his face before a grin broke through. He stepped closer, the warm sun illuminating his features, “I do want more with you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time, but obviously didn’t know if you felt the same.”

“I like you a lot… probably since our first kiss,” he laughed, a sound full of relief and joy, before leaning over, his forehead resting gently against yours. “If you give me a chance, I promise I will try my best to be good for you, because you deserve it. And even when things get complicated or messy or when shit gets in the way, I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere."

You swallowed hard, feeling your stomach flutter. His words were beautiful, something that was never said to you before.

“I know that especially for you, things will be hard but I’m not going anywhere either,” you promise.

Unable to think of anything else to say, you found yourself closing the distance between you and him. You reached up, your hand gently cupping the side of his face, feeling his warmth beneath your fingertips. His breath hitched, and his gaze softened.

Heeseung’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and you could feel the pulse of his heart beating in time with yours. You kissed many times but this one felt different, it was slow, tender, full of warmth and everything that had been unsaid between you for so long.

When you pulled back, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting together as you smiled.

“I’ve said this many times, but I want you, Hee.”

He nods and lets out an exhale, “You have me.”

Without thought, Heeseung led you upstairs. You both haven’t spoken yet, the desire of wanting each other too strong. The heavy wooden door swung open with a smooth, almost imperceptible motion, revealing a room that seemed more like something out of a dream than reality. Your eyes wide as you take in the sprawling space before you.

You reach out and pull Heeseung back in, kissing him fiercely desperate. You move before him, making him walk backwards until he’s sat on the edge of his bed.

When you released from his mouth and pulled back for air, Heeseung’s eyes were glowing, shifting between yours in silence. He knows exactly what you’re asking him.

“Can I?” You asked, eyes drawn upon the tent in his pants. He nods in approval, and slowly, you begin unbuttoning his jeans and kneeling before him.

Your fingers drag lightly against Heeseung’s hips before pulling his pants and underwear down.

As your breath hitches with the reveal of his cock that sprung free, you feel him studying you intently. Your eyes widened, he was thick and big, and you weren’t sure if he was going to fit.

“Are you sure you want to?” Heeseung asked.

You nod, “I want to make you feel good.”

Heeseung let out a small noise once you took hold of his cock and started stroking him slow. Then you guided it to your mouth, the taste of his pre-cum salty but sweet.

You watch his eyebrows pinch together as you lick a stripe up the underside of his cock and circle the head with your tongue without breaking eye contact.

“Oh, fuck baby,” his groan sounds strangled, almost pained. You continue to wrap your lips around the head, tongue teasing around it before tracing along the slit.

“Been wanting to feel your mouth,” Heeseung’s voice, shaky when he reverently admitted. “Please don’t tease me, you feel fucking good.”

You take his praise as motivation when you slowly sink your mouth down on Heeseung’s cock, swallowing the tip deeply into your throat, trying not to gag, and holding it there before bobbing your head and repeatedly continue the motion.

You didn’t want to stop after hearing the pretty whines and moans spilling out from him. Heeseung guides you a bit, holding onto your head and pushing it down so you can take him even deeper.

You felt his dick twitching as if he was almost there at release so you continue to move up and down, reminding yourself to breathe through your nose.

“Doing great baby,” he praises, “I think I’m close.”

Heeseung clutches onto his sheets with a hand as he grips your head tighter with the other. Your movements are getting faster, more frantic, you want him to let go already and spill in your mouth.

But he releases his grip and tries to stop you.

“Hold on, I don’t want to cum yet,” Heeseung brought a hand down to cup your face, his thumb tracing where your lips stretched around his length.

“I want to cum while I’m inside you,” he says.

You pulled off of Heeseung with a pop, an eager look in your eyes as he brought you towards him so that you’re straddling him.

“Thank you, that felt amazing,” he brought both hands back to your face, cupping your cheeks. Heeseung leans towards you and kisses you again, taking his time to savor it as he tastes himself.

He nips at your bottom lip, running the tip of his tongue alongside the edge of your mouth. You melt against him, responding in kind.

Heeseung lifts you, turning both of you around until your body is placed gently on his bed. He hooks his fingers through the elastic of your waistband and then slides down your pants and panties, leaving you naked from the waist down. You’re uncomfortably wet, all from getting a taste of him.

He pauses for a second just to admire you with a soft look in his eyes before glancing back at you, and your heart starts pounding intensely in your chest. You’re suddenly nervous, but desperate to feel him in every single way.

As you lie there on his bed, you’re unable to take your eyes away from him. Heeseung leans down to place a soft kiss on your hip bone before starting to undress, wanting to be completely naked, and you follow his lead.

Heeseung kisses your neck and drags his mouth down to your bare breast, then your stomach. He pauses for a moment before ducking down, and suddenly his mouth is on your cunt, leaving a kiss. His breath and mouth warm, wet, and, fuck, he hasn’t done anything yet but it feels amazing.

You feel him placing a hand flat against your stomach, strong and steady, keeping you still as his tongue begins to slip in and out of you.

“Heeseung,” you breathed, hands immediately darting out to grab the sheets on either side, fabric clenched between your fingers as you felt his tongue confidently lapping up and down your cunt.

“Fuck… shit, fuck,” Your words came out in soft mumbles as you screwed your eyes shut, feeling Heeseung nudging your clit with his sharp nose.

He sucks rapidly and noisily, and his grip around your thighs tightened when your hand traveled down to tangle amongst his messy locks, tugging in appreciation as his tongue rolled against your clit in circles.

You felt him let out a moan against you, which makes your vision blurry and your core clench tight — you felt yourself close.

“I’m- gonna-”

Your fingers grasp his hair tighter, and you desperately pull him closer once you come undone on his tongue. Your legs tightened around him, hips started bucking wildly which made it hard for him to stay in place.

Heeseung pressed soft kisses along your inner thighs, watching you relax under his touch. He waited a few moments until your eyes met his own, the sight was something that you wished to engrave forever.

He was too pretty, too cute. His cheeks were flushed, eyes glossy — bambi eyes glowing. You were lucky to see him like this.

“Was that okay?” Heeseung broke the silence.

You nod, trying to steady your breathing, “It was perfect.”

“I want you inside me now, Hee.”

Heeseung felt the same way, wanting to be inside you. He pressed his lips against yours before a small smirk formed.

He reached to the dresser next to his bed and opened the drawer to find a foil packet. You left a watchful gaze as Heeseung opened the packet and slowly slid the condom onto his cock, pumping it a few times until he was shifting his hips.

He began to line it up his cock with your entrance and sliding his head along your soaking slit a few times for full preparation.

“Tell me if it hurts okay?” He murmured. He takes it slow, stretching you out and allowing you to get used to the feel of him, while carefully searching for any discomfort on your face.

The feeling was unexpected, due to his girth and size. But you nodded your head and kissed him, giving him the approval to bottom you out. Heeseung didn’t expect you to feel so tight around him. Your cunt clenching his cock so perfectly that he could have sworn that he came already.

“Baby-“ he gulped. “I don’t think I’ll last,” he lets out a chuckle mixed with a soft whine.

“Me neither,” you breathlessly laugh in response.

“I’m going to move now.”

You felt Heeseung begin to roll his hips, starting a rhythm, settling a hand at your neck. All it takes is a nod and mumble of the words, “Go faster,” from you for him to pick up his pace. You don’t have too much difficulty matching it, and soon, your hips meet messily and erratically. The pace is fast and the feeling indescribable.

“Hee,” You moan out, “Just like that-“

One of your hands unintentionally makes a mess of his back, nails scratching when he snaps his hips and hits your deep spot, and Heeseung’s brows furrow at the feeling.

"Oh my fucking god," you felt the his breath against your ear as he groaned out. You were approaching your high and Heeseung can feel it too.

You continue rocking your hips back and forth, matching his rhythm while biting down on your bottom lip to try to stop the sound that's trying to escape from your throat. "Heeseung," you finally let out a whine, "I'm so fucking close."

"I know," he felt your walls clamp around him, watching your face scrunch up, unable to hold it in any longer.

His rhythm gradually gets faster, and you feel him get deeper causing you to clench even more tightly to the point where you start digging onto his shoulder with your fingertips.

"You can cum now," he grunts while bucking up his hips. Just from your face alone, he notices how much you want to let go. He removed hair out of your face before placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

"Go ahead, my love," he whispered.

You feel yourself let go and your body spasming. He carries you through your orgasm with small shallow thrusts until he follows, eventually releasing himself into the condom.

The condom gets thrown in the trash and Heeseung grabs a towel from his bathroom. He cleans you up, and you watch with a smile on your face. Heeseung rejoins you, pulling you into his arms under the covers. You curl up into him, feeling relaxed and happy in his embrace.

“What are we?” You ask, unsure of the new status between you two.

“We can be whatever you want to be,” he kisses the top of your head, “But I want you to be mine.”

“Well, before we officially become boyfriend and girlfriend,” you began, hesitating slightly, “I want to know more about you. I want to know what goes on other than basketball and partying. I just want to know about Heeseung.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “You’re asking a lot. But I want to know everything about you too. We can start tomorrow. Let me take you out on a date.”

“Another date? I’d love that.” A flutter of excitement stirred in your chest, but reality pulled you back.

“I want to stay here forever and I don’t want to leave yet, but I promised my parents that I’ll be home by 8.”

“Okay, let’s get ready. I’ll drop you off,” he said, his tone shifting to one of determination.

You shook your head, a playful frown on your face. “No, don’t worry. I know your mom is coming home soon, so- so just let one of your drivers take me home.”

Heeseung sighed, running a hand through his hair, a mixture of frustration and understanding. “I don’t like the idea of you going home alone. Just let me drop you off. I promise I’ll have you back before my mom comes.”

You could see the concern on his face, and it made your heart swell. “Heeseung, I’ll be fine. I appreciate it, really. But I think it’s better this way.”

“Fine,” he relented, but his expression remained serious. “But we’re definitely going on that date tomorrow. No arguments.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his insistence. “Okay, it’s a date.”

—

”This is Seojoon,” Heeseung said, his voice casual but with a hint of authority. "He’ll be driving you tonight."

Seojoon gave you a polite nod, his eyes steady and respectful. “Miss,” he greeted, his voice smooth and professional, with just the right amount of warmth to make you feel at ease.

You gave a smile, feeling a little out of place in such a world of luxury, but his quiet confidence made you relax. “Hi, Seojoon. It’s nice to meet you.”

He opened the door to the waiting car, a sleek black luxury vehicle that looked like it could glide on air.

Heeseung’s hand rested briefly on your shoulder, his fingers warm. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow and everyday with you,” he leaned closer, his voice low and sincere. ”I want to know everything about you too, and I promise to share more than just basketball and partying.”

The moment lingered, the air thick with unspoken promises and the thrill of what was to come. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said, giving him a kiss on his lips before getting inside the car.

“Call me when you get home,” he replied, his smile brightening as he closed the door.

On your way home, the world outside was still buzzing, but the night felt different now — calmer, and more intimate especially after the day with Heeseung.

You felt happy.

—

As soon as Heeseung returns inside, a sharp voice sliced through the warmth of the moment.

“Who’s that? You never bring anyone home,” his mother demanded, her eyes narrowing at him.

Heeseung straightened, determination flashing in his gaze. “She’s my girlfriend— well, soon to be. But I like her a lot, and she’s special.”

His mother’s expression darkened, her voice dropping to a more serious tone. “Heeseung, we cannot allow this.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Heeseung shot back, a hint of defiance creeping into his voice.

“Me. The company. Our family,” she replied, crossing her arms, a look of disapproval etched on her features.

“But, Mother, she’s the first girl to make me feel this way. I’m actually really happy.”

His mother sighed, her expression softening for just a moment before steeling again. “Heeseung, we already had this conversation a long time ago. And I don’t want to have to have it again.”

Heeseung’s eyes bore into his mother’s, a mix of frustration and desperation. “Can’t you just try to understand?” he pressed. “I know what our family’s expectations are, but she makes me feel like I can be myself. Isn’t that what you want for me?”

His mother hesitated, her facade cracking slightly. “You know how things are in our world, Heeseung. It’s not just about feelings. There are expectations-”

“Expectations that make me miserable!” he interrupted, his voice rising. “I’m not asking you to approve of her right now, but I need you to at least try to see why I like her.”

“I need time to think about this,” she said, a reluctant sigh escaping her lips.

“Then time is all I’m asking for,” Heeseung replied, his voice firm but gentle.

As the air slowly eased, Heeseung gave a glance with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

—

hee: can’t wait to see you, my love

hee: wear something warm :)

The next day was your and Heeseung’s date. He texted you that he was going to take you to a park that had pretty cherry blossoms, which is something you’ve wanted to do for so long.

As Heeseung stood at your front door, the afternoon air thick with anticipation. The soft glow of porch lights cast a warm hue over the two of you, and the world around felt still, as if it were holding its breath.

“Hey, you look cute in your scarf,” you giggle. “Is everything okay?” you asked, your brow furrowing slightly at the uncomfortable look in his eyes.

“Yes- no,” he replied, a mix of frustration and longing evident in his voice. He stepped closer, his gaze intense. “I just want to kiss you. I missed you.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his confession, feeling warmth bloom in your chest before leaning in to kiss him. “I missed you too, Hee.”

Heeseung hesitated for a moment, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

“What’s wrong?” your tone shifted, concern creeping into his words.

“I don’t want to waste any more time,” he admitted. “I know you said we shouldn’t rush into being official, but I just want to be yours already.”

Your eyes widened, the spark of surprise quickly morphing into determination.

“Can I be your boyfriend?” he asked, his voice steady yet filled with an undercurrent of hope.

“Yes, Heeseung, you can be my boyfriend,” you replied, your words tumbling out with an undeniable certainty.

A grin broke across his face, and in that moment, all the uncertainty from the past few days melted away. He stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking until he cupped your face in his hands.

“Really? You mean it?”

“Of course,” you said, smiling widely.

Heeseung leaned in, closing the gap, and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it quickly deepened as the warmth of his mouth sent a thrill through you. You melted into him, feeling his hands move to your waist, pulling you closer as if he were afraid to let go.

When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, foreheads resting against each other. With a renewed sense of excitement and belonging, you took his hand, intertwining your fingers. The future for you suddenly felt bright and full of possibilities.

As for Heeseung, he knew that whatever the future held, it was just the beginning of something even more complicated and uncertain.

But he knew that everything would be okay as long as he had you in his world.

—

© 2024, fairyofhee on tumblr

note, any reblogs and feedback is appreciated! if enough feedback, a continuation will be in the works. feel free to share your thoughts, thank you <3

[classyrbf]

dad bod!toji who’s still the big, muscular man he is but you can tell he’s gotten older and his metabolism has slowed down a little bit. He’s gotten chubbier in his arms, thighs, tummy. Not to mention, he’s started to gray and grow stubble on his face, the perfect salt and pepper mix. Toji says he hates it, always moaning and groaning about needing to hit the gym but you…? You fucking love it. It takes everything in you not to ravish his right then and there, wanting to pounce on him every second of the day. You’re always kissing up on him, grabbing on him, dragging him to the laundry room while the kids watching tv so you could have a quickie. And he’s so confused on where all this extra energy and affection has sprouted from, but he loves it. You’re always so eager for him, fucking your self on his cock, him waking up to you kissing his neck and stroking his dick, dropping to your knees and giving him head without his asking. He wonders what he’s done to deserve all of it.

He’s standing in the mirror one late night with his shirt off, examining just how chubby he’s gotten. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little insecure, thinking how gorgeous you are and how you shouldn’t settle for him. “I’m losing myself,” he grumbles. “What’s going on, baby?” You walk in the room, a smile immediately on your face when you see his shirt is off, definitely a sight to see. “I need to head to the gym is what’s going on.” He flexes his muscles in the mirror. You giggle and walk up behind him, snaking your arms around his waist. “I think you look so handsome with a little weight on you,” you whisper in his ear. “Does something to me.” You nibble on his ear before trailing kisses along his jaw, and that’s when Toji realizes why you’ve been so affectionate with him, like a lightbulb going off in his head.

Just mere minutes later, you’re riding him like your life depends on it, slamming your hips down on his, creating a sticky mess between you two. “S-shit,” he pants, “slow down, mama—fuck!” His bruising grips on your hips only tighten the faster you ride him. Your pussy sucks him in with each thrust, clenching around his throbbing cock. “I can’t…you get so me so hot and bothered, baby.” You grin, running your hands down his chest.

He swears he could cum right then and there, with the way you were riding him and that look in your eye, he was ready to give you another kid. And now you were kissing his neck, moaning and whimpering in his ear. “You’re so perfect, Toji,” you mewl. “Fuck me.” His eyes roll back before fluttering shut. “Keep going, yes, yes, just like that, mama. You’re gonna make me fucking cum,” he groans. You keep that same rhythm, squeezing your pussy around him, milking him. He suddenly wraps his arms around you, holding you in place as he thrusts up into you, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. “Ah, fuck!” You cry out, your cum dripping down his shaft. His thrusts grow sloppier and harder and next thing you know he’s filling you up, pushing his cum deeper inside of you with slow thrusts. Laughter erupts from your chest as you catch your breath, kissing him slowly and passionately.

“Mmm, goddamn,” he huffs, pulling you to his chest. “Now I finally know why you’re so goddamn horny all the time,” he chuckles. You blink up at him with a small smirk. “Can you blame me?” You trace patterns on his skin. He can see the look in your eye, that hungry stare you’re giving him, wanting more. “What are you thinking about, hm?” He caresses your cheek. “Oh nothing…just how badly I wanna give you some head right now, but I’ll wait.”

[reasonsforhope]

"For [Tanner] Green, the chief engineer at Not a Wheelchair, this is one of the thousand complications standing between his team and a rather lofty goal: upending the manual wheelchair marketplace.

If you’ve heard of Not a Wheelchair, it’s likely because of its owners, Zack Nelson, the star of the 8.8-million-subscriber YouTube channel JerryRigEverything, and his wife Cambry, a para and manual wheelchair user. The Nelsons got into the mobility equipment business a few years ago when they released The Rig, an electric, adaptive off-road device with a simple yet robust and functional design priced significantly lower than anything else on the market. Now, they’re bringing that same ethos to manual wheelchairs.

Not a Wheelchair aims to offer a base-model, custom manual wheelchair at a similar or better quality than most of the insurance-approved wheelchairs in the U.S. for $999.

Yes, that’s just under $1,000 for everything — wheels, handrims, tires, side guards and rigid, angle-adjustable backrest included. And the company plans to have a turnaround time of weeks, rather than the monthslong slog that it typically takes from order to delivery.

When I first heard about this, it sounded awesome and a bit far-fetched. It’s hard to find a pair of quality wheelchair wheels for less than $500. Same with a rigid backrest. How were they going to offer both, plus a custom wheelchair frame without compromising on quality? I drove to their headquarters in Utah to find out...

So how does Not a Wheelchair’s base model chair stack up to other options on the market? I hate to sound like a preacher, but … it’s totally reasonable! It hits the mark of being at least as good, if not better, than the majority of insurance-approved wheelchairs in the U.S.

Touring the factory, I saw other prototypes scattered all around the facility. There’s a beefier, four-wheel drive version of The Rig that the company just launched. There’s a track wheelchair that’s still in development. It’s clear that Not a Wheelchair doesn’t intend to stop at a simple, manual wheelchair. Inexpensive components, more advanced electric off-road devices, power assist, it’s all on the table. “We’re just really excited to see where this leads,” says Green."

-Article and video via New Mobility, October 1, 2024

[lobothebuilder]

Police in my city are literally spending their time surveilling homeless people (like, not even covertly, just setting up surveillance equipment in the parking lot nearest the intersection and focus exclusively on the homeless person with a sign) but when our car was stolen they never came out. They barely got a full report. At one point the cop on the phone was like "honestly, this phone call is taking too long for me, I'll call you again at some point" and hung up. And the n.v they found it the next day, kept it in impound for the next 27, then tried to charge us with falsely reporting a crime when I got understandably upset about the process literally saying "since we cant find a thief for all we know you just sent us to retrieve your car for you" of course never having looked for a thief. Despite a security camera definitely capturing the car being abandoned by not us. They literally only care about opportunities to make citizens pay them, and fucking over homeless people

the law office my mom works at was broken into and ransacked overnight and when she called the police they said they won’t do anything because they “don’t do that anymore”??!?!?!!!??

[luveline]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧

Things between you and Peter change with the seasons. [17k] 

c: friends-to-lovers, hurt/comfort, loneliness, peter parker isn’t good at hiding his alter ego, fluff, first kisses, mutual pining, loved-up epilogue, mention of self-harm with no graphic imagery

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

Fall 

Peter Parker is a resting place for overworked eyes, like warm topaz nestled against a blue-cold city. He waits on you with his eyes to the screen of his phone, clicking the power button repetitively. A nervous tic. 

You close the heavy door of your apartment building. His head stays still, yet he’s heard the sound of it settling, evidence in his calmed hand. 

“Good morning!” You pull your coat on quickly. “Sorry.” 

“Good morning,” he says, offering a sleep-logged smile. “Should we go?” 

You follow Peter out of the cul-de-sac and into the street as he drops his phone into a deep pocket. To his credit, he doesn’t check it while you walk, and only glances at it when you’re taking your coat off in the heat of your favourite cafe: The Moroccan Mode glows around you, fog kissing the windows, condensation running down the inner lengths of it in beads. You murmur something to do with the odd fog and Peter tells you about water vapour. When it rains tonight, he says it’ll be warm water that falls. 

He spreads his textbook, notebook, and rinky-dink laptop out across the table while you order drinks. Peter has the same thing every visit, a decaf americano, in a wide brim mug with the pink-petal saucer. You put it down on his textbook only because that’s where he would put it himself, and you both get to work. 

As Peter helps you study, you note the simplicity of another normal day, and can’t help wondering what it is that’s missing. Something is, something Peter won’t tell you, the absence of a truth hanging over your heads. You ask him if he wants to get dinner and he says no, he’s busy. You ask him to see a movie on Friday night and he wishes he could. 

Peter misses you. When he tells you, you believe him. “I wish I had more time,” he says. 

“It’s fine,” you say, “you can’t help it.”

“We’ll do something next weekend,” he says. The lie slips out easily. 

To Peter it isn’t a lie. In his head, he’ll find the time for you again, and you’ll be friends like you used to be. 

You press the end of your pencil into your cheek, the dark roast, white paper and condensation like grey noise. This time last year, the air had been thick for days with fog you could cut. He took you on a trip to Manhattan, less than an hour from your red-brick neighbourhood, and you spent the day in a hotel pool throwing great cupfuls of water at each other. The fog was gone just fifteen miles away from home but the warm air stayed. When it rained it was sudden, strange, spit-warm splashes of it hammering the tops of your heads, your cheeks as you tipped your faces back to spy the dark clouds. 

Peter had swam the short distance to you and held your shoulders. You remember feeling like your whole life was there, somewhere you’d never been before, the sharp edges of cracked pool tile just under your feet. 

You peek over the top of your laptop screen and wonder if Peter ever thinks of that trip. 

He feels you watching and meets your eyes. “I have to tell you something,” he says, smiling shyly. 

“Sure.” 

“I signed us up for that club.” 

“Epigenetics?” 

“Molecular medicine,” he says. 

The nice thing about fog is that it gives a feeling of lateness. It’s still morning, barely ten, but it feels like the early evening. It’s gentle on the eyes, colouring the whole room with a sconced shine. You reach for Peter’s bag and sort through his jumble of possessions —stick deodorant, loose-leaf paper, a bodega’s worth of protein bars— and grab his camera. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m cataloguing the moment you ruined our lives,” you say, aiming the camera at his chin, squinting through the viewfinder. 

“Technically, I signed us up a few days ago,” he says. 

You snap his photo as his mouth closes around ‘ago’, keeping his half-laugh stuck on his lips. “Semantics,” you murmur. “And molecular medicine club, this has nothing to do with the estranged Gwen Stacy?”

“It has nothing to do with her. And you like molecular medicine.”

“I like oncology,” you correct, which is a sub-genre at best, “and I have enough work without joining another club. Go by yourself.” 

“I can’t go without you,” he says. Simple as that. 

He knew you’d say yes when he signed you up. It’s why he didn’t ask. You’re already forgiven him for the slight of assumption. 

“When is it?” you ask, smiling. 

—

Molecular medicine club is fun. You and a handful of ESU nerds gather around a big table in a private study room for a few hours and read about the newer discoveries and top research, like regenerative science and now taboo Oscorp research. It’s boring, sometimes, but then Peter will lean into your side and make a joke to keep you going. 

He looks at Gwen Stacy a lot. Slender, pale and freckled, with blonde hair framing a sweet face. Only when he thinks you’re not looking. Only when she isn’t either. 

—

“Good morning,” you say. 

Peter holds an umbrella over his head that he’s quick to share with you, and together you walk with heads craned down, the umbrella angled forward to fight the wind. Your outermost shoulder is wet when you reach the café, your other warm from being pressed against him. You shake the umbrella off outside the door and step onto a cushy, amber doormat to dry your sneakers. Peter stalks ahead and order the drinks, eager to get warm, so you look for a table. Your usual is full of businessmen drinking flat whites with briefcases at their legs. They laugh. You try to picture Peter in a suit: you’re still laughing when he finds you in the booth at the back. 

“Tell the joke,” he says, slamming his coffee down. He’s careful with yours. He’s given you the pink petal saucer from the side next to the straws and wooden stirrers. 

“I was thinking about you as a businessman.” 

“And that’s funny?” 

“When was the last time you wore a suit?” 

Peter shakes his head. Claims he doesn’t know. Later, you’ll remember his Uncle Ben’s funeral and feel queasy with guilt, but you don’t remember yet. “When was the last time you wore one?” he asks. “I don’t laugh at you.” 

“You’re always laughing at me, Parker.” 

The cafe isn’t as warm today. It’s wet, grimy water footsteps tracking across the terracotta tile, streaks of grey water especially heavy near the counter, around it to the bathroom. There’s no fog but a sad rattle of rain, not enough to make noise against the windows, but enough to watch as it falls in lazy rivulets down the lengths of them.

Your face is chapped with the cold, cheeks quickly come to heat as your fingers curl around your mug. They tingle with newfound warmth. When you raise your mug to your lips, your hand hardly shakes.

“You okay?” Peter asks. 

“Fine. Are you gonna help me with the math today?” 

“Don’t think so. Did you ask nicely?” 

“I did.” You’d called him last night. You would’ve just as happily submitted your homework poorly solved with the grade to prove it —you don’t want Peter’s help, you just wanted to see him. 

Looking at him now, you remember why his distance had felt a little easier. The rain tangles in his hair, damp strands curling across his forehead, his eyes dark and outfitted by darker eyelashes. Peter has the looks of someone you’ve seen before, a classical set to his nose and eyes reminiscent of that fallen angel weeping behind his arm, his russet hair in fiery disarray. There was an anger to Peter after Ben died that you didn’t recognise, until it was Peter, changed forever and for the worse and it didn’t matter —he was grieving, he was terrified, who were you to tell him to be nice again— until it started to get better. You see less of your fallen, angry angel, no harsh brush strokes, no tears. 

His eyes are still dark. Bruised often underneath, like he’s up late. If he is, it isn’t to talk to you. 

You spend an afternoon working through your equations, pretending to understand until Peter explains them to death. His earphones fall out of his pocket and he says, “Here, I’ll show you a song.” 

He walks you home. The song is dreary and sad. The man who sings is good. Lover, You Should’ve Come Over. It feels like Peter’s trying to tell you something —he isn’t, but it feels like wishing he would. 

“You okay?” you ask before you can get to your street. A minute away, less. 

“I’m fine, why?” 

You let the uncomfortable shape of his earbud fall out of your ear, the climax of the song a rattle on his chest. “You look tired, that’s all. Are you sleeping?” 

“I have too much to do.” 

You just don’t get it. “Make sure you’re eating properly. Okay?” 

His smile squeezes your heart. Soft, the closest you’ll ever get. “You know May,” he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to give you a short hug, “she wouldn’t let me go hungry. Don’t worry about me.” 

—

The dip into depression you take is predictable. You can’t help it. Peter being gone makes it worse. 

You listen to love songs and take long walks through the city, even when it’s dark and you know it’s a bad idea. If anything bad happens Spider-Man could probably save me, you think. New York’s not-so-new vigilante keeps a close eye on things, especially the women. You can’t count how many times you’ve heard the same story. A man followed me home, saw me across the street, tried to get into my apartment, but Spider-Man saved me. 

You’re not naive, you realise the danger of walking around without protection assuming some stranger in a mask will save you, but you need to get out of the house. It goes on for weeks. 

You walk under streetlights and past stores with CCTV, but honestly you don’t really care. You’re not thinking. You feel sick and heavy and it’s fine, really, it’s okay, everything works out eventually. It’s not like it’s all because you miss Peter, it’s just a feeling. It’ll go away. 

“You’re in deep thought,” a voice says, garnering a huge flinch from the depths of your stomach.

You turn around, turn back, and flinch again at the sight of a man a few paces ahead. Red shoulders and legs, black shining in a webbed lattice across his chest. “Oh,” you say, your heartbeat an uncomfortable plodding under your hand, “sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry? I scared you.”

“I didn’t realise you were there.” 

Spider-Man doesn’t come any closer. You take a few steps in his direction. You’ve never met before but you’d like to see him up close, and you aren’t scared. Not beyond the shock of his arrival. 

“Can I walk you to where you’re going?” Spider-Man asks you. He’s humming energy, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot. 

“How do I know you’re the real Spider-Man?” 

After all, there are high definition videos of his suit on the news sometimes. You wouldn’t want to find out someone was capable of making a replica in the worst way possible. 

You can’t be sure, but you think he might be smiling behind the mask, his arms moving back as though impressed at your questioning. “What do you need me to do to prove it?” he asks. 

He speaks hushed. Rough and deep. “I don’t know. What’s Spider-Man exclusive?” 

“I can show you the webs?” 

You pull your handbag further up your arm. “Okay, sure. Shoot something.” 

Spider-Man aims his hand at the streetlight across the way and shoots it. He makes a severing motion with his wrist to stop from getting pulled along by it, letting the web fall like an alien tendril from the bulb. The light it produces dims slightly. A chill rides your spine. 

“Can I walk you now?” he asks. 

“You don’t have more important things to do?” If the bitterness you’re feeling creeps into your tone unbidden, he doesn’t react. 

“Nothing more important than you.” 

You laugh despite yourself. “I’m going to Trader Joe’s.” 

“Yellowstone Boulevard?” 

“That’s the one…” 

You fall into step beside him, and, awkwardly, begin to walk again. It’s a short walk. Trader Joe’s will still be open for hours despite the dark sky, and you’re in no hurry. “My friend, he likes the rolled tortilla chips they do, the chilli ones.” 

“And you’re going just for him?” Spider-Man asks. 

“Not really. I mean, yeah, but I was already going on a walk.” 

“Do you always walk around by yourself? It’s late. It’s dangerous, you know, a beautiful girl like you,” he says, descending into an odd mixture of seriousness and teasing. His voice jumps and swoons to match. 

“I like walking,” you say. 

Spider-Man walking is a weird thing to see. On the news, he’s running, swinging, or flying through the air untethered. You’re having trouble acquainting the media image of him with the quiet man you’re walking beside now.

”Is everything okay?” he asks. “You seem sad.” 

“Do I?” 

“Yeah, you do.” 

“Maybe I am sad,” you confess, looking forward, the bright sign of Trader Joe’s already in view. It really is a short walk. “Do you ever–” You swallow against a surprising tightness in your throat and try again, “Do you ever feel like you’re alone?” 

“I’m not alone,” he says carefully.

“Me neither, but sometimes I feel like I am.” 

He laughs quietly. You bristle thinking you’re being made fun of, but the laugh tapers into a sad one. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in the world,” he says. “Even here. I forget that it’s not something I invented.” 

“Well, I guess being a hero would feel really lonely. Who else do we have like you?” You smile sympathetically. “It must be hard.” 

“Yeah.” His head tips to the side, and a crash of glass rings in the distance, crunching, and then there’s a squeal. It sounds like a car accident. Spider-Man goes tense. “I’ll come back,” he says. 

“That’s okay, Spider-Man, I can get home by myself. Thank you for the protection detail.” 

He sprints away. In half a second he’s up onto a short roof, then between buildings. It looks natural. It takes your breath away. 

You buy Peter’s chips at Trader Joe’s and wait for a few minutes at the door, but Spider-Man doesn’t come back. 

—

I don’t want to study today, Peter’s text says the next day. Come over and watch movies? 

The last handholds of your fugue are washed away in the shower. You dab moisturiser onto your face and neck and stand by the open window to help it dry faster, taking in the light drizzle of rain, the smell of it filling your room and your lungs in cold gales. You dress in sweatpants and a hoodie, throw on your coat, and stuff the rolled tortilla chips into a backpack to ferry across the neighbourhood. 

Peter still lives at home with his Aunt May. You’d been in awe of it when you were younger, Peter and his Aunt and Uncle, their home-cooked family dinners, nights spent on the roof trying to find constellations through light pollution, stretched out together while it was warm enough to soak in your small rebellion. Ben would call you both down eventually. When you’re older! he’d always promise. 

Peter’s waiting in the open door for you. He ushers you inside excitedly, stripping you out of your coat and forgetting your wet shoes as he drags you to the kitchen. “Look what I got,” he says. 

The Parker kitchen is a big, bright space with a chopping block island. The counters are crowded by pots, pans, spices, jams, coffee grounds, the impossible drying rack. There’s a cross-stitch about the home on the microwave Ben did to prove to May he could still see the holes in the aida. 

You follow Peter to the stove where he points at a ceramic Dutch oven you’ve eaten from a hundred times. “There,” he says. 

“Did you cook?” you ask. 

“Of course I didn’t cook, even if the way you said that is offensive. I could cook. I’m an excellent chef.” 

“The only thing May’s ever taught you is spaghetti and meatballs.” 

“Hope you like marinara,” he says, nudging you toward the stove. 

You take the lid off of the Dutch oven to unveil a huge cake. Dripping with frosting, only slightly squashed by the lid, obviously homemade. He’s dotted the top with swirls of frosting and deep red strawberries. 

“It’s for you,” he says casually. 

“It’s not my birthday.” 

“I know. You like cake though, don’t you?” 

You’d tell Peter you liked chunks of glass if that was what he unveiled. “Why’d you make me a cake?” 

“I felt like you deserved a cake. You don’t want it?” 

“No, I want it! I want the cake, let’s have cake, we can go to 91st and get some ice cream, it’ll be amazing.” You don’t bother trying to hide your beaming smile now, twisting on the spot to see him properly, your hands falling behind your back. “Thank you, Peter. It’s awesome. I had no idea you could even– that you’d even–” You press forward, smushing your face against his chest. “Wow.” 

“Wow,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. He angles his head to nose at your temple. “You’re welcome. I would’ve made you a cake years ago if I knew it was gonna make you this happy.” 

“It must’ve taken hours.” 

“May helped.” 

“That makes much more sense.” 

“Don’t be insolent.” Peter squeezes you tightly. He doesn’t let go for a really long time. 

He extracts the cake from the depths of the Dutch oven and cuts you both a slice. He already has ice cream, a Neapolitan box that he cuts into with a serrated knife so you can each have a slice of all three flavours. It’s good ice cream, fresh for what it is and melting in big drops of cream as he gets the couch ready.

“Sit down,” he says, shoving the plates with his strangely great balance onto the coffee table. “Remote’s by you. I’m gonna get drinks.” 

You take your plate, carving into the cake with the end of a warped spoon, its handle stamped PETE and burnished in your grasp. The crumb is soft but dense in the best way. The ganache between layers is loose, cake wet with it, and the frosting is perfect, just messy. You take another satisfied bite. You’re halfway through your slice before Peter makes it back. 

“I brought you something too, but it’s garbage compared to this,” you say through a mouthful, hand barely covering your mouth. 

Peter laughs at you. “Yeah, well, say it, don’t spray it.” 

“I guess I’ll keep it.” 

“Keep it, bub, I don’t need anything from you.” 

He doesn’t say it the way you’re expecting. “No,” you say, pleased when he sits knee to knee, “you can have it. S’just a bag of chips from Trader–”

“The rolled tortilla chips?” he asks. You nod, and his eyes light up. “You really are the best friend ever.” 

“Better than Harry?” 

“Harry’s rich,” Peter says, “so no. I’m kidding! Joking, come here, let me try some of that.” 

“Eat your own.” 

Peter plays a great host, letting you choose the movies, making lunch, ordering takeout in the evening and refusing to let you pay for it. This isn’t that out of character for Peter, but what shocks you is his complete unfiltered attention. He doesn’t check his phone, the tension you couldn’t name from these last few weeks nowhere to be felt. You’re flummoxed by the sudden change, but you missed him. You won’t look a gift horse in the mouth; you won’t question what it is that had Peter keeping you at arm’s length now it’s gone.

To your annoyance, you can’t stop thinking about Spider-Man. You keep opening your mouth to tell Peter you talked to him but biting your tongue. Why am I keeping it a secret? you wonder. 

“Have something to tell you.” 

“You do?” you ask, reluctant to sit properly, your feet tucked under his thigh and your body completely lax with the weight of the Parker throw. 

“Is that surprising?” 

“Is that a trick question?” 

“No. Just. I’ve been not telling you something.” 

“Okay, so tell me.” 

Peter goes pink, and stiff, a fake smile plastered over his lips. “Me and Gwen, we’re really done.” 

“I know, Pete. She broke up with you for reasons nobody felt I should be enlightened right after graduation.” Your stomach pangs painfully. “Unless you…”

“She’s going to England.” 

“She is?” 

“Oxford.” 

You struggle to sit up. “That sucks, Peter. I’m sorry.” 

“But?” 

You find your words carefully. “You and Gwen really liked each other, but I think that–” You grow in confidence, meeting his eyes firmly. “That there’s always been some part of you that couldn’t actually commit to her. So. I don’t know, maybe some distance will give you clarity. And maybe it’ll break your heart, but at least then you’ll know how you really feel, and you can move forward.” You avoid telling him to move on. 

“It wasn’t Gwen,” he says, which has a completely different meaning to the both of you. 

“Obviously, she’s the smartest girl I’ve ever met. She’s beautiful. Of course it’s not her fault,” you say, teasing.

“Really, that you ever met?” Peter asks. 

“She’s the best girl you were ever gonna land.“ 

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I guess so.” After a few more minutes of quiet, he says, “I think we were done before. I just hadn’t figured it out yet. Something wasn’t right.” 

“You were so back and forth. You’re not mean, there must’ve been something stopping you from going steady,” you agree. “You were breaking up every other week.”

“I know,” he whispers, tipping his head against the back couch. 

“Which, it’s fine, you don’t–” You grimace. “I can’t talk today. Sorry. I just mean that it’s alright that you never made it work.” You worry that sounds plainly obvious and amend, “Doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re never a bad person, Peter.” 

“I know. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. You don’t need me to tell you.” 

“It’s nice, though. I like when you tell me stuff. I want all of your secrets.” 

You should say Good, because I have something unbelievable to tell you, and I should’ve said it the moment I got home. 

Good, because last night I met the bravest man in New York City, and he walked me to the store for your chips. 

Good, because I have so much I’m keeping to myself.

You ruffle his hair. Spider-Man goes unmentioned. 

— 

He visits with a whoop. You don’t flinch when he lands —you’d heard the strange whip and splat of his webs landing nearby. 

“Spider-Man,” you say. 

“What’s that about?” 

“What?” 

“The way you said that. You laughed.” Spider-Man stands in spandexed glory before you, mask in place. He’s got a brown stain up the side of his thigh that looks more like mud than blood, but it’s not as though each of his fights are bloodless. They’re infamously gory on occasion.

“Did you get hurt?” you ask. You’re worried. You could help him, if he needs it. 

“Aw, this? That’s a scratch. That’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse from that stray cat living outside of 91st.” 

You look at him sharply. 91st is shorthand for 91st Bodega, and it’s not like you and Peter made it up, but suddenly, the man in front of you is Peter. The way he says it, that unique rhythm. 

Peter’s not so rough-voiced, you argue with yourself. Your Peter speaks in a higher register, dulcet often, only occasionally sarcastic. Spider-Man is rough, and cawing, and loud. Spider-Man acts as though the ground is a suggestion. Peter can’t jump off the second diving board at the pool. Spider-Man rolls his shoulders back in front of you with a confidence Peter rarely has. 

“What?” he asks. 

“Sorry. You just reminded me of someone.” 

His voice falls deeper still. “Someone handsome, I hope.” 

You take a small step around him, hoping it invites him to walk along while communicating how sorely you want to leave the subject behind. When he doesn’t follow, you add, “Yes, he’s handsome.” 

“I knew it.”

“What do you look like under the mask?”

Spider-Man laughs boisterously. “I can’t just tell you that.” 

“No? Do I have to earn it?” 

“It’s not like that. I just don’t tell anyone, ever.” 

“Nobody in the whole world?” you ask. 

The rain is spitting. New York lately is cold cold cold, little in the way of sunshine and no end in sight. Perhaps that’s all November’s are destined to be. You and Spider-Man stick to the inside of the sidewalk. Occasionally, a passerby stares at him, or calls out in Hello, and Spider-Man waves but doesn’t part from you. 

“Tell me something about you and I’ll tell you something about me,” Spider-Man says. “I’ll tell you who knows my identity.” 

“What do you want to know about me?” you ask, surprised. 

“A secret. That’s fair.” 

“Hold on, how’s that fair?” You tighten your scarf against a bitter breeze. “What use do I have for the people who know who you are? That doesn’t bring me any closer to the truth.” 

“It’s not about who knows, it’s about why I told them.” Spider-Man slips around you, forcing you to walk on the inside of the sidewalk as a car pulls past you all too quickly and sends a sheet of dirty rainwater up Spider-Man’s side. He shakes himself off. “Jerk!” he shouts after the car. 

“My secrets aren’t worth anything.”

“I doubt that, but if that’s true, that makes it a fair trade, doesn’t it?” 

He sounds peppy considering the pool of runoff collecting at his feet. You pick up your pace again and say, “Alright, useless secret for a useless secret.” 

You think about all your secrets. Some are odd, some gross. Some might make the people around you think less of you, while others would surely paint you in a nice light. A topaz sort of technicolor. But they aren’t useless, then, so you move on. 

“Oh, I know. I hate my major.” You grin at Spider-Man. “That’s a good one, right? No one else knows about that.” 

“You do?” Spider-Man asks. His voice is familiar, then, for its sympathy. 

“I like science, I just hate math. It’s harder than I thought it would be, and I need so much help it makes me hate the whole thing.” 

Spider-Man doesn’t drag the knife. “Okay. Only three people know who I am under the mask. It was four, briefly.” He clears his throat. “I told one person because I was being selfish and the others out of necessity. I’m trying really hard not to tell anybody else.”

“How come?” 

“It just hurts people.” 

You linger in a gap of silence, not sure what to say. A handful of cars pass you on the road. 

“Tell me another one,” he says. 

“What for?” 

“I don’t know, just tell me one.” 

“How do I know you aren’t extorting me for something?” You grin as you say it, a hint of flirtation. “You’ll know my face and my secrets and even if you tell me a really gory juicy one, I have no one to tell and no name to pair it with.” 

“I’m not showing you anything,” he warns, teasing, sounding so awfully like Peter that your heart trips again, an uneven capering that has you faltering in the street. 

Peter’s shorter, you decide, sizing him up. His voice sounds similar and familiar but Peter doesn’t ask for secrets. He doesn’t have to. (Or, he didn’t have to, once upon a time.) 

“Where are you going?” Spider-Man asks. 

“Oh, nowhere.” 

“Seriously, you’re out here walking again for no reason?” 

“I like to walk. It’s not like it’s dark out yet.” You’re not far at all from Queensboro Hill here. Walking in any direction would lead you to a garden —Flushing Meadows, Kew Gardens, Kissena Park. “Walk me to Kissena?” you ask. 

“Sure, for that secret.” 

You laugh as Spider-Man takes the lead, keeping time with him, a natural match of pace. It’s exciting that Spider-Man of all people wants to know one of your useless secrets enough to ask you twice. The attention of it makes searching for one a matter of how fast you can find one rather than a question of why you’d want to. It slips out before you can think better of it. 

“I burned my wrist a few days ago on a frying pan,” you confess, the phantom pain of the injury an itch. “It blistered and I cried when I did it, but I haven’t told anyone about it.” 

“Why not?” he asks. 

He shouldn’t use that tone with you, like he’s so so sorry. It makes you want to really tell him everything. How insecure you feel, how telling things feels like asking for someone to care, and half the time they don’t, and half the time you’re embarrassed. 

You walk past the bakery that demarcates the beginning of Kissena Park grounds across the way. “I didn’t think about it at first. I’m used to keeping things to myself. And then I didn’t tell anyone for so long that mentioning it now wouldn’t make sense. Like, bringing it up when it’s a scar won’t do much.” It’s a weak lie. It comes out like a spigot to a drying up tree. Glugs, fat beads of sound and the pull to find another thing to say.

“It was only a few days ago, right? It must still hurt. People want to know that stuff.” 

“Maybe I’ll tell someone tomorrow,” you say, though you won’t. 

“Thanks for telling me.”

The humour in spilling a secret like that to a superhero stops you from feeling sorry for yourself. You hide your cold fingers in your coat, rubbing the stiff skin of your knuckles into the lining for friction-heat. The rain has let up, wind whipping empty but brisk against your cheeks. Your lips will be chapped when you get home, whenever that turns out to be. 

“This is pretty far from Trader Joe’s,” he comments, like he’s read your mind. 

“Just an hour.” 

“Are you kidding? It’s an hour for me.” 

“That’s not true, Spider-Man, I’ve seen those webs in action. I still remember watching you on the News that night, the cranes. I remember,” —you try to meet his eyes despite the mask— “my heart in my throat. Weren’t you scared?”

“Is that the secret you want?” he asks. 

“I get to choose?” 

Spider-Man throws his gaze around, his hand behind his head like he might play with his hair. You come to a natural stop across the street from Kissena Park’s playground. Teenagers crowd the soft-landing floor, smaller children playing on the wet rungs of the climbing frame. 

“If you want to,” he says. 

“Then yeah, I want to know if you were scared.” 

“I didn’t haveI time to be scared. Connors was already there, you know?” He shifts from one foot to the other. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it before. I wasn’t scared of the height, if that’s what you mean. I already had practice by then, and I knew I had to do it. Like, I didn’t have a choice, so I just did it. I had to save the day, so I did.” 

“When they lined up the cranes–”

“It felt like flying,” Spider-Man interrupts. 

“Like flying.”

You picture the weightlessness, the adrenaline, the catch of your weight so high up and the pressure of being flung between the next point. The idea that you have to just do something, so you do. 

“That’s a good secret.” You offer a grateful smile. “It doesn’t feel equal. I burned myself and you saved the city.” 

“So tell me another one,” he says. 

—

Maybe you started to fall for Peter after his Uncle Ben passed away. Not the days where you’d text him and he’d ignore you, or the days spent camping outside of his house waiting for him to get home. It wasn’t that you couldn’t like him, angry as he was; there’s always been something about his eyes when he’s upset that sticks around. You loathe to see him sad but he really is pretty, and when his eyelashes are wet and his mouth is turned down, formidable, it’s an ache. A Cabanel painting, dramatic and dark and other. 

It was after. When he started sending Gwen weird smiles and showing up to the movies exhilarated, out of breath, unwilling to tell you where he’d been. Skating, he’d always say. Most of the time he didn’t have his skateboard. 

You’d only seen them kiss once, his hand on her shoulder curling her in, a pang of heat. You were curdled by jealousy but it was more than that. Peter was tipping her head back, was kissing her soundly, a fierceness from him that made you sick to think about. You spent weeks afterwards up at night, tossing, turning, wishing he’d kiss you like that, just once, so you could feel how it felt to be completely wrapped up in another person. 

You’d always held out for Peter, in a way. It was more important to you that he be your friend. You were young, and love had been a far off thing, and then one day you suddenly wanted it. You learned just how aching an unrequited love could be, like a bruise, where every time you saw Peter —whether it be alone or with Gwen, with anyone— it was like he knew exactly where to poke the bruise. Press the heel of his hand and push. The worst is when he found himself affectionate with you, a quick clasp of your cheek in his palm as he said goodbye. Nights spent in his twin bed, of course you’ll fit, of course you couldn’t go home, not this late, May won’t care if we keep the door open —the suggestion that the door being closed might’ve meant something. His sleeping arm furled around you. 

Now you’re nearing the end of your second semester at ESU, Gwen is going to England at the end of the year, and Peter hasn’t tried to stop her, but he’s still busy. 

“Whatever,“ you say, taking a deep breath. You’re not mad at Peter, you just miss him. Thinking about him all the time won’t change a thing. “It’s fine.” 

“I’d hope so.” 

You swing around. “Don’t do that!”

Spider-Man looks vaguely chastened, taking a step back. “I called out.” 

“You did?” 

“I did. Hey, miss, over there! The one who doesn’t know how to get a goddamn taxi!” 

“I like to walk,” you say. 

“Yeah, so you’ve said. Have you considered that all this walking is bad for you? It’s freezing out, Miss Bennett!” 

“It’s not that bad.” You have your coat, a scarf, your thermal leggings underneath your jeans. “I’m fine.” 

“What’s wrong with staying at home?” 

“That’s not good for you. And you’re one to talk, Spider-Man, aren’t you out on the streets every night? You should take a day off.” 

“I don’t do this every night.” 

“Don’t you get tired?”

Spider-Man’s eyelets seem to squint, his mock-anger effusive as he crosses his arms across his chest. “No, of course not. Do I look like I get tired?” 

“I don’t know. You’re in a full suit, I can’t tell. I guess you don’t… seem tired. You know, with all the backflips.” 

“Want me to do one?” 

“On command?” You laugh. “No, that’s okay. Save your strength, Spider-Man.” 

“So where are you heading today?” he asks. 

There’s a slip of skin peeking out against his neck. You’re surprised he can’t feel the cold there, stepping toward him to point. “I can see your stubble.” 

He yanks his mask down. “Hasty getaway.” 

“A getaway, undressed? Spider-Man, that’s not very gentlemanly.” 

You start to walk toward the Cinemart. Spider-Man, to your strange pleasure, follows. He walks with considerable casualness down the sidewalk by your left, occasionally letting his head turn to chase a distant sound where it echoes from between high-rises and along the busy street. It’s cold and dark, but New York is hectic no matter what, even the residential areas. (Is there such a thing? The neighbourhoods burst with small businesses and backstreet sales, no matter the time.)

“Luckily for you, crime is slow tonight,” he says. 

“Lucky me?” You wonder if your acquainted vigilante flirts with every girl he stalks. “You realise I’ve managed to get everywhere I’m going for the last two decades without help?” 

“I assume there was more than a little help during that first decade.” 

“That’s what you think. I was a super independent toddler.” 

Spider-Man tips his head back and laughs, but that laugh is quickly squashed with a cough. “Sure you were.” 

“Is there a reason you’re escorting me, Spider-Man?” you ask. 

“No. I– I recognised you, I thought I’d say hi.” 

“Hi, Spider-Man.” 

“Hi.” 

“Can I ask you something? Do you work?” 

Spider-Man stammers again, “I– yeah. I work. Freelance, mostly.” 

“I was wondering how you fit all the crime fighting into your life, is all. University is tough enough.” You let the wind bat your scarf off of your shoulder. “I couldn’t do what you do.” 

“Yeah, you could.” 

He sounds sure. 

“How would you know?” you ask. “Maybe I’m awful when you’re not walking me around. I hate New York. I hate people.” 

“No, you don’t. You’re not awful. Don’t ask me how I know, ‘cos I just know.” 

You try not to look at him. If you look at him, you’re gonna smile at him like he hung the moon. “Well, tonight I’m going to be dreadfully selfish. My friend said he’d buy my movie ticket and take me out for dinner, a real dinner, the mac and cheese with imitation lobster at Benny’s. Have you tried that?” 

Spider-Man takes a big step. “Tonight?” he asks. 

“Yep, tonight. That’s where I’m going, the Cinemart.” You frown at his hand pressing into his stomach. “Are you okay? You look like you’re gonna throw up.” 

“I can hear– something. Someone’s crying. I gotta go, okay? Have fun at the movies, okay?” He throws his arm up, a silken web shooting from his wrist to the third floor of an apartment complex. “Bye!” he shouts, taking a running jump to the apartment, using his web as an anchor. He flings himself over the roof. 

Woah, you think, warmth filling your cold cheeks, the tip of your nose. He’s lithe.  

Peter arrives ten minutes late for the movie, which is half an hour later than you’d agreed to meet. 

“Sorry!” he shouts, breathless as he grabs your hands. “God, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. You should beat me up. I’m sorry.” 

“What the fuck happened?” you ask, not particularly angry, only relieved to see him with enough time to still catch the movie. “You’re sweating like crazy, your hair’s wet.” 

“I ran all the way here, Jesus, do I smell bad? Don’t answer that. Fuck, do we have time?” 

You usher Peter inside. He pays for the tickets with hands shaking and you attempt to wipe the sweat from his forehead with your sleeve. “You could’ve called me,” you say, content to let him grab you by the arm and race you to the screen doors, “we could’ve caught the next one. Why were you so late, anyways? Did you forget?” 

“Forget about my favourite girl? How could I?” He elbows open the doors to let you enter first. “Now shh,” he whispers, “find the seats, don’t miss the trailers. You love them.” 

“You love them–”

“I’ll get popcorn,” he promises, letting the door close between you. 

You’re tempted to follow, fingers an inch from the handle. 

You turn away and rush to find your seats. Hopefully, the popcorn line is ten blocks long, and he spends the night punished for his wrongdoing. My favourite girl. You laugh nervously into your hand. 

—

Winter 

Spider-Man finds you at least once a week for the next few weeks. He even brings you an umbrella one time, stars on the handle, asking you rather politely to go home. He offers to buy you a hot dog as you’re walking past the stand, takes you on a shortcut to the convenience store, and helps you get a piece of gum off of your shoe with a leaf and a scared scream. He’s friendly, and you’re getting used to his company. 

One night, you’re almost home from Trader Joe’s, racing in the pouring rain when a familiar voice calls out, “Hey! Running girl! Wait a second!” 

Him, you think, as ridiculous as it sounds. You don’t know his name, but Spider-Man’s a sunny surprise in a shitty, wet winter, and you turn to the sound with a grin.

He jogs toward you. 

You feel the world pause, right in the centre of your throat. All the air gets sucked out of you. 

“Hey, what are you doing out here? Did you get my texts?” 

You blink as fat rain lands on your face. 

“You okay?” Peter asks, Peter, in a navy hoodie turning black in the rain and a brown corduroy jacket. It’s sodden, hanging heavily around his shoulders. “Come on, let’s go,” —he takes your hand and pulls until you begin to speed walk beside him— “it’s freezing!” 

“Peter–”

“Jesus Christ!” 

“Peter, what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice an echo as he drags you into the foyer of your apartment building. 

Rain hammers the door as he closes it, the windows, the foyer too dark to see properly. 

“I wanted to see you. Is that allowed?” 

“No.” 

Peter takes your hand. You look down at it, and he looks down in tandem, and it is decidedly a non-platonic move. “No?” he asks, a hair’s width from murmuring. 

“Shit, my groceries are soaked.” 

“It’s all snacks, it’s fine,” he says, pulling you to the stairs. 

You rush up the steps together to your floor. Peter takes your key when you offer it, your own fingers too stiff to manage it by yourself, and he holds the door open for you again to let you in. 

Your apartment is a ragtag assortment to match the one next door, old wooden furniture wheeled from the street corners they were left on, thrifted homeward and heavy blankets everywhere you look. You almost slip getting out of your shoes. Peter steadies you with a firm hand. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on the hook, prying the damp hoodie over his head and exposing a solid length of back that trips your heart as you do the same. 

“Sorry I didn’t ask,” Peter says. 

“What, to come over? It’s fine. I like you being here, you know that.” 

All your favourite days were spent here or at Peter’s house, in beds, on sofas, his hair tickling your neck as credits run down the TV and his breath evens to a light snore. You try to settle down with him, changing into dry clothes, his spare stuff left at the bottom of your wardrobe for his next inevitable impromptu visit. You turn on the TV, letting him gather you into his side with more familiarity than ever. Rain lays its fingertips on your window and draws lazy lines behind half-turned blinds. You rest on the arm and watch Peter watch the movie, answering his occasional, “You okay?” with a meagre nod. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks eventually. “You’re so quiet.” 

Your hand over your mouth, you part your marriage and pinky finger, marriage at the corner, pinky pressed to your bottom lip, the flesh chapped by a season of frigid winds and long walks. “‘M thinking,” you say. 

“About?” 

About the first night in your new apartment. You got the apartment a couple of weeks before the start of ESU. Not particularly close to the university but close to Peter, your best, nicest friend. You met in your second year of High School, before Peter got contacts, ‘cos he was good at taking photographs and you were in charge of the school newspapers media sourcing. You used to wait for Peter to show up ten minutes late like clockwork, every week. And every week he’d barge into the club room and say, “Fuck, I’m sorry, my last class is on the other side of the building,” until it turned into its own joke. 

Three years later, you got your apartment, and Peter insisted you throw a housewarming party even if he was the only person invited. 

“Fuck,” he’d said, ten minutes late, a cake in one hand and a whicker basket the other, “sorry. My last class is on–”

But he didn’t finish. You’d laughed so hard with relief at the reference that he never got the chance. Peter remembered your very first inside joke, because Peter wasn’t about to go off to ESU and meet new friends and forget you. 

But Peter’s been distant for a while now, because Peter’s Spider-Man. 

“Do you remember,” you say, not willing to share the whole truth, “when you joined the school newspaper to be the official photographer, and you taught me the rule of thirds?” 

“So you didn’t need me,” he says. 

“I was just thinking about it. We ran that newspaper like the Navy.” 

Peter holds your gaze. “Is that really what you were thinking about?” 

“Just funny,” you murmur, dropping your hand in your lap and breaking his stare. “So much has changed.” 

“Not that much.” 

“Not for me, no.” 

Peter gets a look in his eyes you know well. He’s found a crack in you and he’s gonna smooth it over until you feel better. You’re expecting his soft tone, his loving smile, but you’re not expecting the way he pulls you in —you’d slipped away from him as the evening went on, but Peter erases every millimetre of space as he slides his arm under your lower back and ushers you into his side. You hold your breath as he hugs you, as he looks down at you. It’s really like he loves you, the line between platonic and romantic a blur. He’s never looked at you like this before.

“I don’t want you to change,” he whispers. 

“I want to catch up with you,” you whisper back. 

“Catch up with me? We’re in the exact same place, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know, are we?” 

Peter hugs you closer, squishing your head down against his jaw as he rubs your shoulder. “Of course we are.” 

Peter… What is he doing? 

You let yourself relax against him. 

“You do change,” he whispers, an utterance of sound to calm that awful bruise he gave you all those months ago, “you change every day, but you don’t need to try.” 

“I just… feel like everyone around me is…” You shake your head. “Everyone’s so smart, and they know what they’re doing, or they’re– they’re special. I don’t know anything. So I guess lately I’ve been thinking about that, and then you–”

“What?” 

You can say it out loud. You could. 

“Peter, you’re…” 

“I’m what?” he asks. 

His fingers glide down the length of your arm and up again. 

If you're wrong, he’ll laugh. And if you’re right, he might– might stop touching you. Your head feels so heavy, and his touch feels like it’s gonna put you to sleep. 

He’s Spider-Man. 

It makes sense. Who else could have a good enough heart to do that? Of course it’s Peter. It explains so much about him, about Peter and Spider-Man both. Why Peter is suddenly firmer, lighter on his feet, why he can help you move a wardrobe up two flights of stairs without complaint; why Spider-Man is so kind to you, why he knows where to find you, why he rolls his words around just like Pete. 

Spider-Man said there are reasons he wears his mask. And Peter doesn’t tell you much, but you trust him. 

You won’t make him say anything, you decide. Not now. 

You curl your arm over his stomach hesitantly, smiling into his shirt as he hugs you tighter. 

“I was thinking about you,” he says. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re quieter lately. I know you’re having a hard time right now, okay? You don’t have to tell me. I’m here for you whenever you need me.” 

“Yeah?” you ask.

“You used to sit on my porch when you knew May wouldn’t be home to make sure I wasn’t alone.” Peter’s breath is warm on your forehead. “I don’t know what you’re worried about being, but I’m with you,” he says, “‘n nothing is gonna change that.” 

Peter isn’t as far away as you thought. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

He kisses your forehead softly. Your whole world goes amber. He brings his hand to your cheek, the thought of him tipping your head back sudden and heart-racing, but Peter only holds you. You lose count of how many minutes you spend cupped in his hand. 

“Can I stay over tonight?” he utters, barely audible under the sound of the battering rain. 

“Yeah, please.” 

His thumb strokes your cheek. 

—

Two switches flip at once, that night. Peter is suddenly as tactile as you’ve craved, and Spider-Man disappears. 

He’s alive and well, as evidenced by Peter’s continued survival and presence in your life, but Spider-Man doesn’t drop in on your nightly walks. 

You take less of them lately, feeling better in yourself. Your spirits are certainly lifted by Peter’s increasing affection, but now that you know he’s Spider-Man you were waiting to see him in spandex to mess with his head. Nothing mean, but you would’ve liked to pick at his secret identity, toy with him like you know he’d do to you. After all, he’s been trailing you for weeks and getting to know you. Peter already knows you. Plus, you told Spider-Man secrets not meant for Peter Parker’s ears. 

You find it hard to be angry with him. A thread of it remains whenever you remember his deception, but mostly you worry about him. Peter’s out every night until who knows what hour fighting crime. There are guns. He could get shot, and he doesn’t seem scared. You end up watching videos on the internet of the night he ran to Oscorp, when he fought Connors’ and got that huge gash in his leg. His leg is soiled deep red with blood but banded in white webbing. He limps as he races across a rooftop, the recording shaky yet high definition. 

It’s not nice to see Peter in pain. You cling to what he’d said, how he wasn’t scared, but not being scared doesn’t mean he wasn’t hurting. 

You chew the tip of a finger and click on a different video. Your computer monitor bears heat, the tower whirring by your thigh. Your eyes burn, another hour sitting in the same seat, sick with worry. You don’t mind when Peter doesn’t answer your texts anymore. You didn’t mind so much before, just terrified of becoming an irrelevance in his life and lonely, too, maybe a little hurt, but never worried for his safety. Now when Peter doesn’t text you back you convince yourself that he’s been hurt, or that he’s swinging across New York City about to risk his life.

It’s not a good way to live. You can’t stop giving into it, is all. 

In the next video, Spider-Man sits on a billboard with a can of coke in hand. He doesn’t lift his mask, seemingly aware of his watcher. You laugh as he angles his head down, suspicion in his tight shoulders. He relaxes when he sees whoever it is recording. 

“Hey,” he says, “you all right?” 

“Should you be up there?” the person recording shouts. 

“I’m fine up here!” 

“Are you really Spider-Man?” 

“Sure am.” 

“Are you single?” 

Peter laughs like crazy. How you didn’t know it was him before is a mystery —it couldn’t sound more like him. “I’ve got my eye on someone!” he says, sounding younger for it, the character voice he enacts when he’s Spider-Man lost to a good mood.  

Your phone rings in the back pocket of your jeans. You wriggle it out, nonplussed to find Peter himself on your screen. You click the green answer button. 

“Hello?” Peter asks. 

You bring the phone snug to your ear. “Hey, Peter.” 

“Hi, are you busy?” 

“Not really.” 

“Do you wanna come over? I know it’s late. Come stay the night and tomorrow we’ll go out for breakfast.” 

“Is Aunt May okay with that?” 

“She’s staring at me right now shaking her head, but I’m in trouble for something. May, can she come over, is that allowed?” 

“She’s always allowed as long as you keep the door open.”

You laugh under your breath at May’s begrudging answer. “Are you sure she’s alright with it?” you ask softly. “I don’t want to be a burden.” 

“You never, ever could be. I’m coming to your place and we’ll walk over together. Did you eat dinner?” 

“Not yet, but–”

“Okay, I’ll make you something when you get here. I’ll meet you at the door. Twenty minutes?” 

“I have to shower first.” 

“Twenty five?” 

You choke on a laugh, a weird bubbly thing you’re not used to. Peter laughs on the other side of the phone. “How about I’ll see you at seven?” 

“It’s a date,” he says. 

“Mm, put it in your calendar, Parker.” 

—

Peter waits for you at the door like he promised. He frowns at your still-wet face as he slips your backpack from your shoulder, throwing it over his own. “You’re gonna get sick.” 

“I‘ll dry fast,” you say. “I took too long finding my pyjamas.” 

“I have stuff you can wear. Probably have your sweatpants somewhere, the grey ones.” Peter pulls you forward and wipes your tacky face. “I would’ve waited,” he says. 

“It’s fine.“

“It’s not fine. Are you cold?” 

“Pete, it’s fine.” 

“You always remind me of my Uncle Ben when you call me Pete,” he laughs, “super stern.” 

“I’m not stern. Look, take me home, please, I’m cold.” 

“You said it wasn’t cold!” 

“It’s not, I’m just damp–” Peter cuts you off as he grabs you, sudden and tight, arms around you and rubbing the lengths of your back through your coat. “Handsy!”

“You like it,” he jokes back, his playful warming turning into a hug. You smile, hiding your face in his neck for a few moments. 

“I don’t like it,” you lie. 

“Okay, you don’t like it, and I’m sorry.” Peter gives you a last hug and pulls away. “Now let’s go. I gotta feed you before midnight.” 

“That’s not funny.” 

“Apparently, nothing is.” 

Peter links your arms together. By the time you get to his house, you’ve fallen away from each other naturally. May is in the hallway when you climb through the door, an empty laundry basket in her hands. 

“I see Peter hasn’t won this argument yet,” you say in way of greeting. Peter’s desperate to do his own laundry now he’s getting older. May won’t let him. 

“No, he hasn’t.” She looks you up and down. “It’s nice to see you, honey. And in one piece! Peter tells me you’ve been walking a lot, and I mean, in this city? Can’t you buy a treadmill?” she asks. 

“May!” Peter says, startled. 

“I like walking, I like the air,” you say.

“Can’t exactly call it fresh,” May says. 

“No, but it’s alright. It helps me think.” 

“Is everything okay?” May asks, putting her hand on her hip. 

“Of course.” You smile at her genuinely. “I think starting college was too much for me? It was hard. But things are settling now, I don’t know what Peter told you, but I’m not walking a lot anymore. You know, not more than necessary.”

She softens her disapproving. “Good, honey. That’s good. Peter’s gonna make you some dinner now, right?” 

“Yeah, Aunt May, I’m gonna make dinner,” Peter sighs, pulling a leg up to take off his shoes. 

Peter shouldn’t really know that you’ve been walking. He might see you coming back from Trader Joe’s or the bodega on his way to your apartment, but you haven’t mentioned any of your longer excursions, and everybody in Queens has to walk. That’s information he wouldn’t know without Spider-Man. 

He seems to be hoping you won’t realise, changing the subject to the frankly killer grilled cheese and tomato soup that he’s about to make you, and pushing you into a chair at the table. “Warm up,” he says near the back of your head, forcing a wave of shivers down your arms.

He makes soup in one pan, grilled cheese in the other, two for him and two for you. Peter’s a good eater, and he encourages the same from you, setting a big bowl of tomato soup (from the can, splash of fresh cream) down in front of you with the grilled cheese on a plate between you. You eat it in too-hot bites and try not to get caught looking at him. He does the same, but when he catches you, or when you catch him, he holds your eye and smiles. 

“I can do the dishes,” you say. You might need a breather. 

“Are you kidding? I’m gonna rinse them, put them in the dishwasher.” Peter stands and feels your forehead with his hand. “Warmer. Good job.” 

You shrug away from his hand. “Loser.” 

“Concerned friend.” 

“Handsy loser.” 

”Shut up,” he mumbles. 

As flustered as you’ve ever seen, Peter takes your empty dishes to the kitchen. When he’s done rinsing them off you follow him upstairs to his bedroom and tuck your backpack under his bed. 

You look down at your socks. Peter’s room is on the smaller side, but it’s never been as startlingly small as it is when Peter’s socked feet align with yours, toe to toe. Quick recovery time, this boy. 

“There’s chips and stuff on my desk. Or I could run to 91st for some ice cream sandwiches if you want something sweet,” he says. 

You lift your eyes, tilt your head up just a touch, not wanting him to think you’re in his space no matter how strange that might be, considering he chose to stand there. “I’m all right. Did you want ice cream? We can go if you want to, but if you want to go ’cos you think I do then I’m fine.” 

“That’s such a long answer,” he says, draping an arm over your shoulder. “You don’t have to say all of that, just tell me no.” 

“I don’t want ice cream.” 

“Wasn’t that easy?” he asks. 

“Well, no, it wasn’t. Saying no to you is like saying no to a puppy.” 

“Because I’m adorable?” 

“Persistent.” 

“Yeah, I guess I am.” He drapes the other arm over you. The soap he used at the kitchen sink lingers on his hands. 

“Peter…?” you murmur. 

“What?” he murmurs back. 

You touch a knuckle to his chest. “This�� You…” Every quelled thought rushes to the surface at once —Peter doesn’t like you as you desire, how could he, you aren’t beautiful like he is, aren’t smart, aren’t brave, no exceptional kindness or goodness to mark you enough for him. It’s why his being with Gwen didn’t hurt; she made sense. And for months now you’ve wondered what it is that made him struggle to be with her. And sometimes, foolishly, you wondered if it was you. But it’s not you, it’s never you, and whatever Peter’s trying to do now–

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, taking your face into his hand. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What?” He pushes his hand back to hold your nape, thumb under your ear. “I can’t hear you.”  

You raise your voice. “Why did you invite me over tonight?” 

“‘Cos I missed you?” 

“I used to think you didn’t miss me at all.” 

Peter winces, hurt. “How could you think that? Of course I miss you. What you said to May, about college being hard? It’s like that for me too, okay? I miss you all the time.” 

You bite the inside of your bottom lip. “…College isn’t hard for you.” 

“It’s not easy.” He frowns, the fallen angel, his lips an unsure brushstroke. “What’s wrong? Did I say the wrong thing?” 

You’re being wretched, you know, saying it isn’t hard for him. “You didn’t. Really, you didn’t.” 

“But why are you upset?” he implores, dark eyes darker as his eyebrows tug together.

“I’m not–”

“You are. It’s okay, you can be upset. I just want you to feel better, you know that?” He settles his hands at the tops of your arms. Less intimate, but something warm remains. “Even if it takes a long time.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine.”

“How would you know?” you finally ask. 

Peter stares at you. 

“I know you,” he says carefully, “and I know you aren’t struggling like you were, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen or that you have to be a hundred percent better now.” 

“I didn’t realise that I was,” you say, licking your lips, “‘til now. I didn’t get that it was on the surface.”

Peter pulls you in for a gentle hug. “I’m here for you forever, and I’ll make it up to you for not noticing sooner,” he says, scrunching your shirt in his hand.

After the hug, he tells you to change and make yourself comfortable while he showers. So you put on your pyjamas and climb into Peter’s bed, head pounding as though all your energy was stolen in a fell swoop. You press your nose to his pillow and arm wrapped around his comforter, gathering it into a Peter sized lump. The shower pump whines against the shared wall. 

Things aren’t meant to be like this. You thought Peter touching you —holding you— was the deepest of your desires, but you feel now exactly as you had before he started blurring the line, needing Peter to kiss you so badly it becomes its own kind of nausea. Why are you still acting like it’s an impossibility?

When he comes back, you’ll apologise. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He does keep a secret, but don’t you keep one too? He’s Spider-Man. You’ve had deep, complicated feelings for him for months. They are secrets of equal magnitude, and are, more apparently, badly kept. 

You wish you could fall asleep. Your heart ticks in agitation.

Peter returns as perturbed as earlier. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” he asks, raking a hand through his hair. A towel hangs around his neck. 

“I’m sorry for being weird.” 

“You’re not weird,” Peter says, bringing the towel to his hair to scrub ruthlessly. 

“It’s just ‘cos things have been different between us.” And, you try to say, that scares me no matter how bad I wanted it. because you’re not just Peter anymore, you’re Spider-Man. I’m only me, and I can’t do anything to protect you.

Peter gives his hair a long scrub before draping the towel on his desk chair. He rakes it messily into place and sits himself at the end of the bed. You sit up. 

“Yeah, they have been. Good different?” he asks hesitantly. 

“I think so,” you say, quiet again. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

“I don’t want you to feel like I don’t want to be here. I just worry about you.” 

Peter uses his hands to get higher up the bed. “Don’t worry about me,” he says, “Jesus, please don’t. That’s the last thing I want from you, I hate when people worry about me.” 

You curl into the lump of comforter you’d made. Peter lets himself rest beside you, his back to the bedroom wall, tens of Polaroids above him shining with the light of the hallway and his orange-bulbed lamp. His skin is glowing like it’s golden hour, dashes of topaz in his eyes, his Cupid’s bow deep. How would it feel to lean forward and kiss him? To catch his Cupid's bow under your lips?

You brush a damp curl tangled in another onto his forehead. 

You lay there for a little while without talking, listening to the sound of the washing machine as it cycles downstairs. 

“Am I going too fast?” Peter murmurs. 

You press your lips together, shaking your head minutely. 

“Is it something else?” 

You don’t move. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks. 

“No.”

Peter rewards you with a smile, his hand on your arm. “Alright. Let me get this blanket on you the right way. You’re still cold.” 

You resent the loss of a shape to hold when Peter slips down beside you and wrangles the comforter flat again, spreading it out over you both, his hand under the blankets. His knuckles brush your thigh. 

He takes a deep breath before turning and wrapping his arm over your stomach, asking softly, “Is this alright?” 

“Yeah.” 

He gives you a look and then lifts his head to slot his nose against your temple. “Please don’t take this in a way that I don’t mean it, but sometimes you think about things so much I worry you’re gonna get stuck in your head forever.” 

“I like thinking.” 

“I hate it,” he says quickly, a fervent, flirting cadence to his otherwise dulcet tone, “we should never do it ever again.” 

“I’ll try not to.” 

“Would you? For me?” 

You laugh into his shirt, feeling the warmth of your breath on your own nose. “I’ll do my best.” 

“Good. I’d miss you too much if you got lost in that nice head of yours.” 

You relax under his arm. You aren’t sure what all the fuss was about now that he's hugging you. “I’d miss you too.”

May comes up the stairs about an hour later. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch when she finds you and Peter smushed together watching a DVD on his old TV. He’s holding your arm, and you’re snoozing on his shoulder, half-aware of the world, fully aware of his nice smells and the shapes of his arms. 

“Door open,” she says. 

“Not that either of us want it closed, May, but we’re adults.” 

“Not while I’m still washing your clothes, you’re not.” 

He snorts. “Goodnight, Aunt May. The door isn’t gonna close, I promise.” 

“I know that,” she says, scornful in her pride. “You’re a good boy.” She lightens. “Things are going okay?” 

Peter covers your ear. “Goodnight, Aunt May.” 

”I have half a mind to never listen to you again. You talk my ear off and I can’t ask a simple question?” 

“I love you,” Peter sing-songs. 

“I love you, Peter,” she says. “Don’t smother the girl.” 

“I won’t smother her. It’s in my best interest that she survives the night. She’s buying my breakfast tomorrow.” 

“Peter Parker.” 

“I’m kidding,” he whispers, petting your cheek absentmindedly. “Just messing with you, May.” 

You smile and curl further into his arms. His voice is like the sun, even when he whispers.  

—

To your surprise, Spider-Man comes to find you after class one evening. A guest lecturer had talked to your oncology class about click chemistry and other molecular therapies against cancer, and the zine book she’d given you is burning a hole in your pocket. Peter is going to love it. 

You pull it out and pause beside a bench and a silver trash can, the day grey but thankfully without rain. The pages of your little book whip forcefully in the wind. It’s chemistry, sure, but it’s biology too, wrapping your and Peter’s interests up neatly. If it weren’t for Peter you doubt you’d love science as much as you do. He’s always been good at it, but since you started college he's been a genius. Watching him grow has encouraged you to work harder, and understanding the material is satisfying, if draining. You take a photo of the middle most pages and tuck the book away, writing a quick text to Peter to send with it. 

Look! it says, LEGO cancer treatment!! 

The moment you press send a beep chimes from somewhere close behind you, all too familiar. You turn to the source but find nobody you know waiting. Coincidence, you think, shaking yourself and beginning the trek to the subway. 

But then you hear the tell tale splat and thwick of Spider-Man’s webbing. 

You wait until you’re at the alleyway between Porto’s Bakery and the key cutting shop and turn down to stop by one of the dumpsters. 

“Spider-Man?” you ask, shoulders tensed in case it’s not who you think. 

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You gasp as he hops down in front of you, his suit shiny with its dark web-pattern caught by the grey sunshine passing through the clouds overhead. “Shit, don’t break your ankles.” 

“My ankles?” He laughs. He sounds so much like Peter that you can only laugh with him. What an idiot he is for thinking you don’t know; what a fool you’d been for falling for his put upon tenor. “They’re fine. What would be wrong with my ankles?” 

“You just dropped down twenty feet!” 

“It’s more like thirty, and I’m fine. You understand the super part of superhero, don’t you?” 

“Who said you’re a superhero?” 

“Nice. What are you doing down here?” 

“I was testing my theory. You’re following me.” 

“No, I’m visiting you, it’s very different,” he says confidently. 

“You haven’t come to see me for weeks.” 

“Yes, well, I–” Spider-Peter crosses his arms across his chest. “Hey, you’re the one who told me to take a day off.” 

“I did tell you to take a day off. It’s not nice thinking about you trying to save the world every single night. That’s a lot of responsibility for one person to have.” 

“But it’s my responsibility,” he says easily. “No point in a beautiful girl like you wasting her time worrying about it. I have to do it, and I don’t mind it.” 

“Do you flirt with every girl you meet out here in the city?” you ask, cheeks hot. 

“No,” he says, fondness evident even through the mask, “just you.” 

“Do you wanna walk me home? I was gonna take the subway, but it’s not that far.” 

Spider-Man nods. “Yeah, I’ll walk you back.” 

He doesn’t hide that he knows the way very well. He takes preemptive turns, crosses roads without you telling him to go forward. You can’t believe him. Smartest guy at Midtown High and he can’t pretend to save his life. 

“Are you having a good semester?” he asks. 

“It’s getting better. I’m glad I stuck with it. I love biology, it’s so fucking hard. I used to think that was a bad thing, but it makes it cooler now. Like, it’s not something everyone understands.” You give him a look, and you give into temptation. “My best friend got me into all this stuff. I used to think math was hopeless and science was for dorks.” 

“It’s definitely for dorks.” 

“Right, but I love being one.” You offer a useless secret. “I like to think that it’s why we’re such great friends.” 

“Me and you?” Spider-Man asks hoarsely. 

“Me and Peter.” You elbow him without force. “Why, do you like science?” 

“I love it…” 

“You know, I really like you, Spider-Man. I feel like we’ve been friends for a long time.” You’re teasing poor Peter. 

He doesn’t speak for a while. He stops walking, but you take a few steps without him. When you realise he’s stopped, you turn back to see him. 

Peter’s gone so tense you could strike him with a flint and catch a spark. It’s the same way Peter looked at you when he told you about his Uncle, a truth he didn’t want to be true. Seeing it throws a spanner in the works of all your teasing: you’d meant to wind him up, not make him panic. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Can you hear something?” 

“No, it’s not that…” He’s masked, but you know him well enough to understand why he’s stopped. 

“It’s okay,” you say. 

“It’s not, actually.” 

“Spider-Man.” You take a step toward him. “It’s fine.”

He presses his hands to his stomach. The sun is setting early, and in an hour, the dark will eat up New York and leave it in a blistering cold. “Do you remember when we first met, the second time, we swapped secrets?” 

“Yeah, I remember. Useless secret for another. I told you I hated my major. It’s not true anymore, obviously. I was having a bad time.” 

“I know you were,” he says, emphasis on know, like it’s a different word entirely. 

“But meeting you really helped. If it weren’t for you, for Peter,” —you give him a searching look— “I wouldn’t feel better at all.” 

“It wasn’t his fault?” he asks. “He was your friend, and you were lonely.” 

“No–”

“He didn’t know what was going on with you, he didn’t have a clue. You hurt yourself and you felt like you couldn’t tell anybody, and I know it wasn’t an accident, so what was his excuse?” His voice burns with anger. “It’s his fault.” 

“Of course it wasn’t your fault. Is that what you think?” You shake your head, panicked by the bone-deep self loathing in his voice, his shameful dropped head. “Yes, I was lonely, I am lonely, I don’t know many people and I– I– I hurt myself, and it wasn’t as accidental as I thought it was, but why would that be your fault?” 

“Peter’s fault,” he says, though his head is lifted now, and he doesn’t bother enthusing it with much gusto. 

“Peter, none of it was your fault.” You cringe in your embarrassment, thinking Fuck, don’t let me ruin this. “I was in a weird way, and yes, I was lonely, and I really liked you more than I should have. You didn't want me and that wasn’t your fault, that’s just how it was, I tried not to let it get to me, just there were a lot of things weighing on me at once, but it really wasn’t as bad as you think it was and it wasn’t your fault.” 

“I wasn’t there for you,” he says. “And I’ve been lying to you for a long time.” 

“You couldn’t tell me, right? Spider-Man is your secret for a reason.” 

“…I didn’t even know you were lonely until you told him. He was a stranger.” 

You hold your hands behind your back. “Well, he was a familiar one.” 

Peter reaches out as though wanting to touch you, but your arms aren’t in his reach. “It’s not because I didn’t want you.” 

“Peter,” you say, squirming. 

He steps back. 

“I have to go,” he says. 

“What?” 

“I have to– I don’t want to go,” he says earnestly, “sweetheart, I can hear someone calling out, I have to go. But I’ll come back, I’ll– I’ll come back,” he promises. 

And with a sudden lift of his arm, Peter pulls himself up the side of a building and disappears, leaving you whiplashed on the sidewalk, the sun setting just out of view.

—

You fall asleep that night waiting for Peter. When you wake up, 5AM, eyes aching, he isn’t there. You check your phone but he hasn’t texted. You check the Bugle and Spider-Man hasn’t been seen. 

You aren’t sure what to think. He sounded sincere to the fullest extent when he said he’d come back, but he didn’t, not ten minutes later, not twenty. You made excuses and you went home before it got too dark to see the street, sat on the couch rehearsing what you’d say. How could Peter think your unhappiness was his fault? Why does he always put the entire world on his shoulders?

Selfishly, you worried what it all meant for his lazy touches. Would he want to curl up into bed with you again now he knows what it means to you? It’s different for him. It isn’t like he’s in love with you… you’d just thought maybe he could be. That this was falling in love, real love, not the unrequited ache you’d suffered before. 

But maybe you got everything wrong. All of it. It wouldn't be the first time. 

—

You and Peter found The Moroccan Mode in your senior year at Midtown. The school library was small and you were sick of being underfoot at home. When you started at ESU, you explored the on campus coffeehouse, the Coffee Bean, but it was crowded, and you’d found yourself attached to the Mode’s beautiful tiling, blues and topaz and platinum golds, its heavy, oiled wooden furniture, stained glass lampshades and the case full of lemony treats. The coffee here is better than anywhere else, but the best part out of everything is that it’s your secret. Barely anybody comes to the Mode on purpose. 

You hide in a far corner with a book and an empty cup of decaf coffee, a slice of meskouta on the table untouched. Decaf because caffeine felt a terrible idea, meskouta untouched because you can’t stomach the smell. You push it to the opposite end of the table, considering another cup of coffee instead. It’s served slightly too hot, and will still be warm when it gets to your chest. 

The sunshine is creeping in slowly. It feels like the first time you’ve seen it in months, warming rays kissing your fingers and lining the walls. You turn a page, turn your wrist, let the sun warm the scar you gave yourself those few months ago, when everything felt too big for you. 

Looking back, it was too big. Maybe soon you’ll be ready to talk about it.  

The author in your book is talking about bees. They can fly up to 15 miles per hour. They make short, fast motions from front to back, a rocking motion. Asian giant hornets can go even faster despite their increased mass. They consider humans running provocation. If you see a giant hornet, you’re supposed to lay down to avoid being stung. 

You put your face in your hand. Next year, you’ll avoid the insect-based electives. 

Across the cafe, the bell at the top of the door rings. Laughter falls through it, a couple passing by. The register clashes open. A minute later it closes. 

You don’t raise your head when footsteps draw near. A plate is placed on the table, pushed across to you, stopping just shy of your coffee. 

“Did you eat breakfast?” Peter asks quietly. 

His voice is gentle, but hoarse. 

You tense. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, not waiting for your answer to either question. “You don’t look like yourself. Your eyes are red.” 

You lift your head. Wet with the beginnings of tears, you see Peter through an astigmatic blur. 

“What are you reading?” He frowns at you. “Please don’t cry.” 

You shake your head. Your smile is all odd, nothing like his, no inherent warmth despite your best effort. “I’m okay.” 

He nudges you across the booth seat and sits beside you. His arm settles behind your shoulders. He smells like smoke and soap, an acrid scent barely hidden. “Can you tell me you didn’t wait long for me?” 

“Ten minutes,” you lie. 

“Okay. I’m sorry. There was a fire.” He rubs your arm where he’s holding you. “I’m sorry.” 

“Will you go half?” you ask, nodding to the sandwich he’s brought you. It’s tough sourdough bread, brown with white flour on the crusts and leafy greens poking between the slices. You and Peter complain about the price. You’ve never had one. He passes you the bigger half, holding the other in his hand without eating. 

“I know you’re hungry,” you say, tapping his elbow, “just eat.” 

You eat your sandwiches. Now that Peter’s here, you don’t feel so sick —he’s not upset with you. The dull pang of an empty stomach won’t be ignored. 

Peter puts his sandwich down, which is crazy, and wipes his fingers on the plates napkin. You’ve never seen him stop before he’s done.

“It was in the apartments on Vernon. I– I think I almost died, the smoke was everywhere.” 

You choke around a crust, thrusting the rest of your half onto the plate. “Are you hurt?” you ask, coughing. 

He moves his head from side to side, not a shake, but a slow no. “How long have you known it was me?” he asks, curling his hand behind your back again, fingers spread over your shoulder blade, a fingertip on your neck. 

You savour his touch, but you give in to your apprehension and stare at his chest. “The night you caught me outside in the rain in November. You called me ‘running girl’. The way you said it, you sounded exactly like him. I turned around expecting,” —you whisper, weary of the quiet cafe— “Spider-Man, and I realised it’s him that sounds like you. That he is you.” 

“Was that disappointing?” 

“Peter, you’re, like, my favourite person in the world,” you whisper fervently, your smile making it light. You laugh. “Why would that be disappointing?” 

“I thought maybe you think he’s cooler than me.” 

“He is cooler than you, Peter.” You laugh again, pleased when he scoffs and draws you nearer. “I guess you’re the same person, right? So he’s just as cool as you are. But why would being cool matter to me? You know I like you.” 

“You flirted pretty heavily with Spider-Man.”

“Well, he flirted with me first.” 

You chance a look at his face. From that moment you can’t look away, not from Peter. You like when he wears that darkness in his eyes, the hint of his rarer side so uncommonly seen, but you love this most of all, Peter like your best memory, the way he’s looking at you now a picture perfect copy of that moment in a swimming pool in Manhattan with cracked tile under your feet. His arms heavy on your shoulders. You didn’t get it then, but you’re starting to understand now.

“I’ve made a mess of everything,” he says softly, the trail his hand makes to the small of your back leaving a wake of goosebumps. “I haven’t been honest with you.” 

“I haven’t, either.” 

“I want to ask you for something,” Peter says, a fingertip trailing back up. He smiles when you shiver, not teasing, just loving. “You can say no.” 

“You’re hard to say no to.” 

“I need you to talk to me more,” —and here he goes, Peter Parker, flirting and sweet-talking like his life depends on it, his face inching down into your space— “not just because I love your voice, or because you think so much I’m scared you’ll get lost, but I need you to talk to me. We need to talk about real things.”

We do, you think morosely. 

“It’s not your fault,” he adds, the hand that isn’t holding your back coming up to cup your cheek, “it’s mine. I was scared of telling you for stupid reasons, but I shouldn’t have let it be a secret for so long.” 

“No, I doubt they’re stupid,” you murmur, following his hand as he attempts to move it to your ear. “It’s not easy to tell someone you’re a hero.”

His palm smells like smoke. 

“That’s not the secret I meant,” he says. 

You take his hand from your face. Peter looks down and begins pressing his fingers between yours, squeezing them together as his thumb runs over the back of your hand.

“So tell me.”

The sunshine bleeds onto his cheek. Dappled orange light turning slowly white as time stretches and the sun moves up through a murky sky. “You want to trade secrets again?” he asks. 

“Please.” 

“Okay. Okay, but I don’t have as many as you do,” he warns. 

“I find that hard to believe.” 

“I don’t. It’s not a real secret, is it? I’ve been trying to show you for weeks, we…”

He tilts his head invitingly. 

All those hand-holds and nights curled up in bed together. Am I going too fast? You know exactly what he means; it really isn’t a secret.

“I’ll go first,” he says, lowering his face to yours. You try not to close your eyes. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks.” He closes his eyes so you follow, your breath not your own suddenly. You hold it. Let it go hastily. “What’s your secret?” 

“Sometime I want you to kiss me so badly I can’t sleep. It makes me feel sick–”

“Sick?” he asks worriedly. 

You touch the tip of your nose to his. “It’s like– like jealousy, but…” 

“You have no one to be jealous of,” he says surely. He cups your cheek, and he asks, “Please, can I kiss you?” 

You say, “Yes,” very, very quietly, but he hears it, and his smile couldn’t be more obvious as he closes the last of the distance between you to kiss you.

It isn’t the sort of kiss that kept you up at night. Peter doesn’t hook you in or tip your head back, he kisses gently, his hand coming to live on your cheek, where it cradles. It’s so warm you don’t know what to make of him beyond kissing him back —kissing his smile, though it’s catching. Kissing the line of his Cupid’s bow as he leans down. 

“I’m sorry about everything,” he mumbles, nose flattened against yours. 

You feel sunlight on your cheek. Squinting, you turn into his hand to peer outside at the sudden abundance of it. It’s still cold outside, but the Mode is warm, Peter’s hand warmer, and the sunshine is a welcome guest. 

Peter drops his hand. “Oh, wow. December sun. Good thing it didn’t snow, we’d be blind.”

“I can’t be cold much longer,” you confess. “I’m sick of the shitty weather.” 

“I can keep you warm.” 

He smiles at you. His eyelashes tangle in the corners of his eyes, long and brown. 

“Did you want my meskouta?” you ask. 

Peter plants a fat kiss against your brow. 

You let the sunshine warm your face. Two unfinished sandwich halves, a mouthful of coffee, and a round slice of meskouta, its flaky crumb and lemon drizzle shining on the table. You would ask Peter for his camera if you’d thought he brought it with him, to take a picture of your breakfast and the carved table underneath. You could turn it on Peter, say something cheesy. This is the moment you ruined our lives, you’d tease.

“You never told me you met Spider-Man, you know.” 

You watch Peter lick the tip of his finger without shame. “They could make a novella of things I haven’t told you about,” you murmur wryly. 

Peter takes a bite of meskouta, reaching for your knee under the table. He shakes your leg a little, as if to say, Well, we’ll work on that. 

—

Spring

“Sorry!”

“No, it’s–”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m– shit!”

“–okay! All legs inside the ride?”

“I couldn’t find my purse–”

“You don’t need it!” Peter leans over the console to kiss your cheek. “You don’t have to rush.” 

“Are you sure you can drive this thing?” 

“Harry doesn’t mind.” 

“I don’t mean the car, I mean, are you sure you can drive?” 

“That’s not funny.” 

You grin and dart across to kiss his cheek, too. “Nothing ever is with us.” 

Peter grabs you behind the neck —which might sound rough, if he were capable of such a thing— and pulls you forward for a kiss you don’t have time for. “If we don’t check in,” —you begin, swiftly smothered by another press of his lips, his tongue a heat flirting with the seam of your lips— “by three, they said they won’t keep the room–” He clasps the back of your neck and smiles when your breath stutters. You squeeze your eyes closed, kiss him fiercely, and pull away, hand on his chest to restrain him. “And then we’ll have to drive home like losers.” 

Peter sits back in the driver's seat unbothered. He fixes his hair, and he wipes his bottom lip with his knuckle. You’re rolling your eyes when he finally returns your gaze. “Sorry, am I the one who lost her purse?” 

“Peter!” 

“I can’t make us un-late,” he says, turning the key slowly, hands on the wheel but his eyes still flitting between your eyes and your lips. 

“Alright,” you warn. 

He reaches for your knee. “It’s a forty minute drive. You’re panicking over nothing.” 

“It’s an hour.” 

Your drive from Queens to Manhattan is entirely uneventful. You keep Peter’s hand hostage on your knee, your palm atop it, the other hand wrapped around his wrist, your conversation a juxtaposition, almost lackadaisical. Peter doesn’t question your clinging nor your lazy murmurings, rubbing a circle into your knee with his thumb from Forest Hill to Lenox Hill. There’s so much to do around Manhattan; you could visit MoMA, Central Park, The Empire State Building or Times Square, but you and Peter give it all a miss for the little known Manhattan Super 8. 

It’s been a long time since you and Peter first visited. You took the bus out to Lenox Hill for a med-student tour neither of you particularly enjoyed, feeling out future careers. It’s not that Lenox Hill isn’t one of the most impressive medical facilities in New York (if not the northeastern USA), it’s that all the blood made him queasy, and you were panicking too much about the future to think it through. He got over his aversion to blood but chose the less hands-on science in the end, and you worked things through. You’re a little less scared of the future everyday. 

You and Peter were supposed to get the bus straight back home for a sleepover, but one got cancelled, another delayed, and night closed in like two hands on your neck. Peter sensed your fear and emptied his wallet for a night in the Super 8. 

The next morning it was beautifully sunny. The first day of summer that year, warm and golden. The pool wasn’t anything special but it was invitingly cool, blue and white tiles patterned like fish below; you clambered into the water in shorts and a tank top and Peter his boxers before a worker could see and stop you. 

It was one of the best days of your life. When you told Peter about it last week, he’d looked at you peculiarly, said, Bub, you’re cute, and let you waste the afternoon recounting one of your more embarrassing pangs of longing. A few days later he told you to clear your calendar for the weekend, only spilling the beans on what he’d done when you’d curled over his lap, a hand threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, murmuring, Tell me, tell me, tell me. 

He’d hung his head over you and scrunched up his eyes. Cheater.

The best thing about having a boyfriend is that he always wants to listen to you. Peter was a good listener as a best friend, but now he has his act together and the secrets between you are never anything more than eating the last of the milk duds or not wanting to pee in front of him, he’s a treasure. There’s no feeling like having Peter pull you into his lap so he can ask about your day with his face buried in your neck, sniffing. Sometimes, when you text one another to meet up the next day, you’ll accidentally will the hours away babbling about school and life and things without reason. Peter has a list on his phone of your silliest tangents; blood oranges to the super moon, fries dipped in ice cream to the world record for kick flips done in five minutes. It’s like when you talk to one another, you can’t stop. 

There are quiet moments. You wake up some mornings to find him awake already, an arm behind you, rubbing at your soft upper arm, fingertip displacing the fine hairs there and trailing circles as he reads. He bends the pages back and holds whatever novel he’s reading at the bottom of his stomach, as though making sure you can see the words clearly, even when you’re sleeping. 

There are hectic, aching moments —vigilante boyfriends become blasé with their lives and precious faces. You’ve teetered on the edge of anxiety attacks trying to pick glass from his cheek with a tweezers, lamented over bruises that heal the next day. It’s easier when Peter’s careful, but Spider-Man isn’t careful. You ask him to take care of himself and he’s gentle with himself for a few days, but then someone needs saving from an armed burglar or a car swerves dangerously onto the sidewalk and he forgets. 

He hadn’t patrolled last night in preparation for today. 

“Did you know,” he says, pulling Harry’s borrowed car into a parking spot just in front of the Super 8 reception, “that today’s the last day of spring?” 

“Already?” 

“Tonight’s the June equinox.” 

“Who told you that?” 

“Aunt May. She said it’s time to get a summer job.” 

You laugh loudly. “Our federal loans won’t last forever.” 

“Harry’s gonna get me something, I think. Do you want to work with me? It could be fun.” 

You nod emphatically. It’s barely a thought. “Obviously I want to. Does Oscorp pay well, do you think?” 

Peter lets the engine go. The car turns off, engine ticking its last breath in the dash. “Better than the Bugle.” 

You get your key from the reception and find your room upstairs, second floor. It’s not dirty nor exceptionally clean, no mould or damp but a strange smell in the bathroom. There’s a microwave with two mugs and a few sachets of instant coffee. Peter deems it the nicest motel he’s ever stayed in, laughing, crossing the room to its only window and pulling aside the curtain. 

“There it is, sweetheart,” he says, wrapping his arm around you as you join him, “that’s what dreams are made of.” 

The blue and white tiled pool. It hasn’t changed. 

It’s about as hot as it’s going to get in June today, and, not knowing if it’ll rain tomorrow, you and Peter change into your swim suits and gather your towels. You wear flip flops and tangle your fingers, clanking and thumping down the rickety metal stairs to the pool. There’s nobody there, no lifeguard, no quests, and the pool is clean and cold when you dip your toes. 

Peter eases in first. Towels in a heap at the end of a sun lounger, his shirt tumbling to the floor, Peter splashes in frontward and turns to face you as the water laps his ribs. “It’s cold,” he says, wading for your legs, which he hugs. 

“I can feel it,” you say, the cool waters to your calves where you sit on the edge. 

“You won’t come in and warm me up?” he asks. 

You stroke a tendril of hair from his eyes. He attempts to kiss your fingers. 

“I’m trying to prepare myself.” 

“Mm, you have to get used to it.” He puts wet hands on your thighs, looking up imploringly until you lean down for a kiss. The fact that he’d want one still makes you dizzy. “Thank you,” he says. 

“You’ll have to move.” 

Peter steps back, a ripple of water ringing behind him, his hands raised. He slips them with ease under your arms and helps you down into the water, laughing at your shocked giggling —he’s so strong, the water so cold. 

Peter doesn’t often show his strength. Never to intimidate, he prefers startling you helpfully. He’ll lift you when you want to reach something too tall, or raise the bed when you’re on his side to force you sideways. 

“Oh, this is the perfect place to try the lift!” he says. 

“How will I run?” you ask, letting your knees buckle, water rushing up to your neck. 

Peter pulls you up. He touches you easily, and yet you get the sense that he’s precious with you, too. There’s devotion to be found in his hands and the specific way they cradle your back, drawing your chest to his. “I don’t need you to do a running start, sweetheart,” he says, tilting his head to the side, “I’ll just lift you.” 

“Last time I laughed so much you dropped me.” 

“Exactly, you laughed, and this is serious.” 

The world isn’t mild here. Car horns beep and tyres crunch asphalt. You can hear children, and singing, and a walkie talkie somewhere in the Super 8’s parking lot. The pool pumps gargle and Peter’s breath is half laughter as he pulls you further from the sidelines, ceramic tiles slippery under your feet. In the distance, you swear you can hear one of those songs he likes from that poor singer who died in the Wolf River. 

He’s a beholden thing in the sun; you can’t not look at him, all of him, his sculpted chest wet and glinting in the sun, his eyes like browning honey, his smile curling up, and up. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says. 

You rest an arm behind his head. “The rash guard is a good look?” 

“Sweetheart, you couldn’t look cuter,” he says, hands on your waist, pinky on your hip. “I wish you’d mentioned these shorts a few days ago. I would’ve prepared to be a more decent man.” 

“You’re decent enough, Parker.” 

“Maybe now.” 

“Well, if things get too hot, you can always take a quick dip,” you say. 

You’re teasing, but Peter’s eyes light up with mischief as he calls, “Oh, great idea!” and lets himself drop backwards into the water. You pull your arm back rather than go with him. You can’t avoid the great burst of water as he surges to the surface. 

He shakes himself off like a dog. 

“Pete!” you cry through laughs, wiping the water from your face before the chlorine gets in your eyes. 

“It just didn’t help,” he says, pulling you back into his arms, “you know, the water is cold, but you’re so hot, and I actually got a pretty good look at them when I was under, and you’re just as pretty as I remembered you being ten seconds ago–”

“Peter,” you say, tempted to roll your eyes. 

Water runs down his face in great rivers, but with the dopey smile he’s sporting, they look like anything but tears. “Tell me a secret?” he asks, dripping in sunshine, an endless summer at his back. 

A soft smile takes your lips. “No,” you say, tipping up your chin, “you tell me one first.”

“What kind of secret?” 

“A real one,” you insist. 

“Oh…” He leans away from you, though his arms stay crossed behind you. “Okay, I have one. Ask me again.” 

You raise a single brow. “Tell me a secret, Peter.” 

He pulls your face in for a kiss. His hand is wet on your cheek, but no less welcome. “I love you,” he says, kissing the skin just shy of your nose. 

You’re lucky he’s already holding you. “I love you too,” you say, gathering him to you for a hug, digging your nose into the slope of his neck as his admission blows your mind. “I love you.” 

Peter wraps his arms around your shoulders, closing his eyes against the side of your head. You can’t know what he’s thinking, but you can feel it. His hands can’t seem to stay still on your skin. 

The sun warms your back for a time. 

Peter lets out a deep breath of relief. You lean away to look at him, your hand slipping down into the water, where he finds it, his fingers circling your wrist. 

“That’s another one to let go of,” he suggests. 

He peppers a row of gentle kisses along your lips and the soft skin below your eye. 

You and Peter swim until your fingers are pruned and the sun has been blanketed by clouds. You let him wrap you in a towel, and kiss your wet ears, and take you back to the room, where he holds your face. 

“I’ll start the shower for you,” he says, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs, each stroke of them encouraging your face from one side to the other, just a touch, ever so slightly moved in the palms of his hands. 

“Don’t fall asleep standing up,” he murmurs. 

Your eyes close unbidden to you both. “I won’t.” 

He holds you still, leaning in slowly to kiss you with the barest of pressure. Every thought in your head fades, leaving only you and Peter, and the dizziness of his touch as he lays you down at the end of the bed. 

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

please like, comment or reblog if you enjoyed, i love comments and seeing what anyone reading liked about the fic is a treat —thank you for reading❤︎

[ikeuverse]

DUAL LIFE — s.jaeyun

PAIRING: mafiaboss!jake x fem!reader  GENRES: smut, angst, slight fluff WC: 10.8k+

WARNINGS: swearing, mention of drugs and illicit things, mafia stuff, jake implicitly jealous, oral sex (f. receiving), nipple sucking, unprotected sex (do it safely, please). lmk if i missed anything else.

SYNOPSIS: being a serious and respected businessman was the only side of him that jaeyun wanted you to know, afraid that he would let you into his life and, over time, you would get to know not only sim jaeyun, but also sim jake, the mafia boss.

NOTES: idk how, but i thought about it for a day and just wrote it down. i let my mind run wild and wanted something completely different for jake, so here it is. i hope you like it!

masterlist

The corporate environment could be challenging and misogynistic when a woman holds a position of great power. At first, the fear hit you hard when your name was molded onto a plaque and, below it, the title of the boss was stamped. But alongside all this, you found yourself supported by your colleague and partner Sim Jaeyun. The first man who saw you with respect, who treated you like a boss and a partner, who handed you demands with the same intensity as he handed demands to other men in the company.

He was incredible when he signed the contract to share that company with you. And it was a good deal because once your name was linked to Jaeyun's, everything inside that building seemed to be moving perfectly toward success. Numbers and shares grew faster and faster, and meetings were shared late into the night where you and Jaeyun reviewed what you had done so far, whether you needed to change any strategies in your approaches, and how you two could take the next step.

You were surprised every time because even though he was there for everything, his word was always final. Jaeyun seemed to want your approval even if his vision was the opposite of yours. It was as if your permission was worth more than his, even though you saw him think for a while before making any decisions. Carefully and cautiously when he asked you about shares and employees, about investments, and what he should do, he was careful and very intelligent, but in his view, you were so much more. So having your approval before his was more important.

This meant that the two of you shared more time than necessary, apart from being in the office. Jaeyun constantly calls you to have dinner and go over some papers when, in reality, the two of you did everything but go over papers. Or when he called you for coffee in the middle of the day to de-stress from an annoying client in question, you gladly accepted because the combination of his company and a hot coffee was all you needed after a moment like that.

What started as routine things became a little different when Jaeyun became warmer towards you at work. It was hard to tell at first since he was always very professional and the looks you got from him were either approving ones or small smiles after a good idea in the corporate environment. You never noticed anything more than that. Until that moment. Where he made a point of touching your hand when he sat next to you, reaching for your pen while he was resting on the other side. Or when Jaeyun would gently rest his hand on your lower back so that you would enter the rooms before him as if he would lose sight of you at any moment even though the room was quite large and there was no way he could lose sight of you.

Dinners no longer had the excuse of work stuff, Jaeyun just wanted to go out and talk to you about everything other than shares, money, and boring investors. He wanted to know more about you, he wanted to hear you tell stories and he wanted to share his too. However, in this respect, you could feel him wavering a little as if he was afraid to talk about something he shouldn't have.

In your mind, Jaeyun had something difficult he was dealing with, so he tended to be more reserved about it, but you learned enough about him as the dinners became weekly. Every detail about his life – which he managed to share with you – and every quirk you picked up on as the two of you spent more time together. Jaeyun was a little box of surprises that you were trying to unravel little by little.

But as things naturally grew closer between you and him, something about the boy's behavior caught your attention. From time to time Jaeyun seemed more scattered at meetings, as if his mind was anywhere but on the words of an old, gray-haired man talking about work. Or how dinners between the two of you became the company cafeteria, him refusing – politely – to go out with you with the excuse that he was too tired. But at the same time, he didn't want to break his silent promise that you and he would share a meal at least once a week.

That didn't bother you, after all, you still had his company even if the dishes varied from pasta with fancy sauce to ramen that he asked an employee to pick up at the corner convenience store. That wasn't so important, at least Jaeyun was sitting in front of you with a faint smile and talking about how hard his day had been and how he wanted to go home and be with his dog.

Everything changed that night. You did everything in your routine, working tirelessly in your office while receiving a few emails from Jaeyun to line up a thing here and there. Answering a few calls and dealing with the staff as best you could. After you finished work, you just wanted to be in the cafeteria and try another flavor of ramen that Jaeyun had bought, claiming that you would love it. Your mouth was already starting to salivate because you knew he could find the most unusual flavors, always impressing you with the smallest things.

But your heart sank when the door to your living room opened, revealing Jaeyun and a grocery bag. Everything happened slowly before your eyes, even though the scene itself was so fast.

“I can't stay today” Jaeyun's voice snapped you out of your reverie, the bag placed on your desk while his hands were now hidden inside the tailored pants he was wearing.

“Why? Did something happen?” you asked, trying not to sound disappointed enough for him to see that he had messed with you.

But what you didn't know was that Jaeyun knew you as well as you knew yourself. Your every expression, tone of voice, everything. He knew exactly how you felt, perhaps because he was the same way, but also because he watched you too much.

“Some personal problems” he sighed softly, looking away from the bag to you “I brought you the ramen, so you can try it and tell me what you think.”

Jaeyun tried to smile to lighten the mood, taking his hands out of his pockets to fiddle with the bag and take out the bowl, showing you the new flavor he'd found. You bit your lower lip to keep from letting out a sigh or saying something you shouldn't have. Your heart was strangely bothered by it.

“It's no fun without you, Jaeyun” was the most you could say without sounding desperate or showing too much.

He felt the weight of everything fall on him as his eyes fell to the pot of ramen, seeing a spark of sadness shine in your eyes as your hands touched his and took the pot from his hand. Putting it back in the bag, you closed it and pushed it towards him.

“I—” Jaeyun turned away from your table, not wanting the ramen packets back “I'm sorry, Y/n. I really have to go.”

“Jaeyun—”

He was afraid that if he heard you say anything, he'd stay for dinner with you. That's what he wanted most. But he couldn't. Jaeyun had to leave as soon as possible before everything went to shit. So, just as quickly as he entered your office, he left and closed the door before he heard anything else come out of your mouth.

You stood there at your desk, staring at the bag that had been left there. It was the first night since you two started eating together that he didn't stay. The first night that Jaeyun barely looked at you before saying goodbye. He didn't even touch your hand as he did when he picked you up for dinner or coffee. He was so distant that it seemed like you didn't recognize him.

Meanwhile, Jaeyun was racing against time to try to balance the double life he was leading. Getting involved with you wasn't in his plans, not least because corporate life was just a façade for him, so the moment he found himself nurturing any feelings for you, he knew he was screwed. Jaeyun couldn't fall in love, but he also couldn't help feeling it when everything seemed natural when he was with you. Your presence made him forget all the bad things he experienced outside that office. That is there he was Sim Jaeyun, your partner and someone who was slowly taking over your heart.

But unfortunately, that couldn't be forever and he knew it. Leaving the elevator and walking hurriedly to his car, he took off his jacket and threw it on the passenger seat, the place where you had sat countless times in your work clothes as beautiful as any woman he had ever seen in his life. That symbolic place belonged to you, even if he didn't want to admit it. Jaeyun let his head fall back against the steering wheel of the car, uttering swear words that he remembered and that made his body explode with rage.

He wanted to be Sim Jaeyun forever. Your partner, the man who was slowly making you fall in love.

But leaving there he was Jake, one of the mob bosses who was now rushing to help his friends with new charges and problems coming up.

The sound of his fingers drumming on the marble of the table was a little louder than usual. Jaeyun tried hard not to show how annoyed – and angry – he was to be there that night. He knew it would be impossible to hide from his friends how much he disliked being there, but at the same time, he couldn't forget what an authority figure he was there too.

“Are you in a bad mood?” he heard Sunghoon's voice cut through the air, entering the room with all the grace he had compared to the other boys. Jaeyun sighed, stopping his drumming to slide his hand to the glass in front of him and drink all the liquid it contained. He wasn't sure what it was, but he would thank Heeseung later for putting in the highest alcohol content he could find.

“Don't tease me, Park” he replied after feeling the burning go down his throat.

Sunghoon laughed a little and sat down next to Heeseung, facing Jaeyun.

“I asked you a question, bro” he said, “Why are you in such a bad mood? Jay and San have already managed to corner those idiots and take what they tried to steal from us.”

Looking at it that way, Jaeyun could be relieved. Smuggling drugs wasn't something he was proud of doing, but he knew how respected he was for carrying on his father's work as well as he would have liked. At the time, Sim wished he hadn't been so good and just stuck to executive work, without getting involved with the family mafia. But he knew how much confidence his late father had and how much he wanted Jaeyun to take over.

“I know, it's just—”

“He's mad because we ruined his date with his girlfriend” Heeseung winked at Sunghoon, who quickly understood everything.

“Shit, tonight was the night of your romantic dinner.”

“It's not a romantic dinner” Jaeyun tried to make amends.

“I told us not to call him, damn it, Heeseung” Sunghoon pretended to be angry, knowing that there was no way not to call Jaeyun. This was of a gigantic magnitude and even though the two of them were his right-hand man, they couldn't make decisions without consulting him first. A form of respect for their best friend, who had taken them in even after taking on a dangerous and important position.

“What did you want me to do?” Heeseung tried to defend himself, sliding down the back of the chair and running one hand through his hair “They tried to rob us” he continued “My only thought was to run to the shed and stop it, but I couldn't do that without Jake's approval.”

Jaeyun listened intently as the conversation unfolded in front of him. Heeseung and Sunghoon knew that they had complete freedom when it came to any decision, especially if Jaeyun was playing the role of partner in a big company. Wearing a suit and tie, expensive tailoring, and with you by his side. It was a persona he wanted to maintain, even though reality hit him every time he received a call from his best friends informing him of something concerning his second job.

He ran a hand through his hair, the sting of the drink gradually fading from his throat as he looked at the two boys still talking.

An absurd urge to disappear and leave the business to the two of them, to run to the office because Jaeyun knew you'd still be there working, eating the ramen he'd left for you. A strange tightness in his chest made him sigh. He had left you alone for the first time after everything had happened. It wasn't because he wanted to, but Jaeyun was afraid of involving you in the second life he was leading. He didn't want to put you in danger, make you go out to dinner with glances lingering between the two of you.

That life brought Jaeyun and his friends a lot of good things, but just as many bad things. He walked around with plainclothes security guards all the time, but it wasn't as if he could do that for you without your permission. It would be handed to him on a plate to tell you about his life in the mafia because on what pretext would Jaeyun say he wanted to offer you private security? It wasn't as if it was necessary for the life of a company boss. No one would want to hurt you for that. So with his lack of creativity in coming up with an excuse, he found himself doing the one thing he didn't want to do: hide you.

Dinner in the company cafeteria was safer than parading around with you by his side, even though it was the only thing he wanted at that moment more than anything. Holding your hand again with the excuse that the restaurant was full and he didn't want to let you out of his sight. That may have been true, but a large part of it was because he was worried that someone in disguise might harm you.

Jaeyun had declared enemies and he knew what some were capable of. Anything could be done against him, but no one should lay a finger on you.

“Jake!” Heeseung's shout brought him out of his thoughts quickly, blinking hard to regain awareness that he'd been immersed in his thoughts for too long “Dude, do you have her on your mind again?”

“At least disguise it” Sunghoon muttered.

“I think I'm going to shoot your ass, you idiot” Jaeyun pointed at his friend, getting up from his chair.

“Calm down man, I'm kidding” he said “Messing with her really puts you in a bad mood.”

Jaeyun ignored it because he had no way of refuting it. He realized that everything that involved him made his nerves frayed and his feelings more acute. It wasn't as if he could control what he felt. If he could, Jaeyun would have chosen not to involve any feelings because he wanted to protect you. But the next thing he knew, any little detail about you made him lose his mind. He wanted to keep you close, he wanted to feel you, he wanted to have you even if it meant risking everything.

A remnant of conscience made him keep his touches a little simpler, although he felt the absurd urge to grab your waist and feel your lips pressed to his.

“I'm going to check what Jay's got so far” Heeseung got up too, passing the seats and going around the table to leave the room “Any news I'll let you two know, so keep an eye on the phones” and left.

Now with Sunghoon being the only presence in the room besides him, Jaeyun felt the weight of everything almost crush him. His friend's gaze almost pierced his insides because he knew how Sim felt. Sunghoon had a better view of Jaeyun's feelings than the other two.

“Sit down” he said when he saw his best friend lost in thought, barely able to utter a word apart from opening and closing his mouth a few times. Obeying, Jaeyun sat back in his chair “What's going on?”

What about? He wanted to ask but knew it was a waste of time. There was nothing Park Sunghoon couldn't figure out. So the other just sighed, leaning back even further in his chair and closing his eyes.

“I shouldn't have liked her in the first place” it was almost natural to let it out, as if he wanted Sunghoon to hear those words “Things should be professional, I should just focus on the actions and nothing else. Then go back home, deal with the mafia problems my father left behind, and later think about marrying the daughter of some other mafia boss.”

“Better than marrying Y/n?” Sunghoon asked.

It was strange that his best friends spoke your name. This was proof that the two worlds Jaeyun lived in were colliding. Then he opened his eyes, wanting to scream out everything that had been squeezing his chest for the last few hours.

“That's what happened to my father, I just—”

“It doesn't have to happen to you” Sunghoon interrupted him with a certain kindness, although there was none in his tone. He still looked at his best friend as he said each word with deep sincerity “You fell in love with her and you have to go with that. Make Y/n part of your life like Sim Jaeyun and—”

“Don't even finish it” it was his turn to interrupt him “I would never bring her to meet Jake Sim.”

“But if you two got engaged, sooner or later she'd find out about the double life you lead, man” Jaeyun hated how certain Sunghoon seemed about anything. He was the most rational when it came to work and personal life and always had the best advice. He was responsible for not letting any of his three best friends commit any kind of madness.

“This can't happen” his hands ran frantically through his hair, messing up every strand that Jaeyun managed to get his fingers through. He wanted to pull them out of his head in a moment of small sanity but came back to reality when he heard Sunghoon's voice next.

“Maybe you don't need to tell her at first, but it might make Jaeyun's life a little more enjoyable” he said calmly, “You really are falling for her, we can see that.”

We. Jaeyun had always been good at hiding his feelings, from the prettiest to the worst, from his friends. Or so he thought since he had to swallow so much just to make his father proud and be where he was at that moment. Bringing Sunghoon, Jongseong, and Heeseung with him was a baggage of confidence and a remnant of the normal life he had before getting involved in the family business. The only three people in his circle who knew everything, who never judged him, and were always there for Jaeyun. The best childhood friends who stuck together, and that in itself made them get to know more about each other every day.

That's why the three of you could see Jaeyun slowly falling in love with you. Although the words never left his mouth, the way he talked about you could already be deduced from afar. The sparkle in his eyes when he opened a message from you on the meeting table in the room as Jake Sim. The spark of a feeling emerged as he replied sweetly. When the boys attended a company dinner as fake investors, talking to you about the profit they could generate for your and Jaeyun's company. The reality was that they were there at Sim's request to check if anyone was a possible suspected smuggler or rival since his name had been talked about so much in the city at the famous dinner. He was afraid of someone showing up and ruining the double life he had fought so hard to hide.

It was the first and only time the three of them had met and talked to you, but it was enough to see the way Jaeyun looked at you. How he behaved next to you and the tired sighs he released throughout the night as each man approached you. Before, your name was a legend to them, Sim Jaeyun's lousy partner in the company, but when they saw you in person, it all seemed to make sense.

Now we know why Jake fell in love so easily, Heeseung almost lost his teeth when he made that comment inside the shed, after counting out three hundred and eight suitcases of cash. Payment for the container of drugs they had distributed. Jongseong was in charge of separating his best friend so that he wouldn't beat Heeseung to a pulp, while Sunghoon calmly intervened.

Everything went so slowly until he realized that he had fallen too hard for you. In the feelings he was having for you.

“What can I do about it now?” Jaeyun finally looked at Sunghoon, really looked at him. Looking for an answer and no longer wanting to run away from what mattered at that moment.

“How about making amends and asking her to dinner?” he asked.

“I don't want to go out with her and be seen— You know, I don't know who might be following me…”

“Come on Jake, how many men do you have doing security for your dead father's mafia?” he glared at his friend, always teased by the way Jaeyun didn't like to say that it was all his now. It would be easier to say that it still belonged to his late father, that all those men followed the command of Mr. Sim, to whom Jaeyun gave his voice. He didn't like to be called boss, although it happened at the teasing of his friends.

“Many” Jaeyun answered him.

“Then put them in charge of her security once a week” Sunghoon swiveled in his chair, his eyes never leaving Jaeyun's for a second “We have enough men to put in one a week without her noticing, and you'll still be able to go out with her in peace.”

He seemed to ponder this for a moment. He didn't want to be awkward about mentioning to you that men were escorting you for your safety, after all, he was afraid that something would happen to you even if the two of you had no involvement whatsoever.

“That's a very good idea, Hoon, but—”

“There's no such thing, you know it's the only way if you want to have something with her.”

For a while longer he seemed to think about the possibility. It wasn't as if Jaeyun was hiding something terrible from you, not least because he would be looking out for your safety. He'd also be freer to go out with you again for the dinners you two shared during the weeks.

“Not to mention that if you and she start dating, the security will be doubled, don't you think?” Sunghoon stood up from his chair “Everyone will know about her if something gets serious.”

That was Jaeyun's fear, that everyone would know about you besides him and his best friends. In that world where he was Jake Sim, there was no way anything could be hidden. It wasn't like the world where Jaeyun could get away with it under an expensive suit and a lot of stock. He sighed heavily, throwing his head back without the strength to continue the conversation. Knowing how right his best friend was.

“Right, thanks for the advice, anyway” Jaeyun asked.

“At your service” Sunghoon smiled “Are you going to stay there now? I'll check on Heeseung if Jay needs any help too…”

“I'll stay a while longer, I'll be going soon” he said, still sitting down because his body seemed to be weighed down by the barrage of information and advice thrown at him in such a short space of time.

Sunghoon walked to the door of the room, opened it, and turned to Jaeyun with a playful, silly smile on his face.

“Yes sir, boss” giving a mock salute, he ran off before Jaeyun could gather up a load of papers to throw in his direction, but Sunghoon was quick to close the door. Not before hearing the other swear at him for his provocations.

Jaeyun got to know you little by little, his first impression being of you as a strong and fearless woman. Someone he could easily work with among the men who underestimated you and who made him feel angry. Little by little, he noticed how easy it was to live with you and how you could read between the lines when things were happening. He was surprised when he started to notice the moment you felt uncomfortable in a meeting or in the presence of a man who tried to put you down, or how he could understand how bothered and angry you were with some stupid comment or action that had gone wrong.

Over time, he realized that he knew a lot about you just by interacting with you professionally. But when he decided to take a step and invite you to dinner, under the pretext of reviewing something from work, Jaeyun knew he was ruined. He knew that the first sincere smile you gave him had ruined and torn down any barrier he had built over the years in an attempt to not bring anyone into the dark and double world of his life. Jaeyun didn't want you to be a part of that.

So trying to push you away and keep you safe was the first and only thought he had, swallowing the physical and carnal desire that consumed him for wanting to have you in his arms. He couldn't afford to make the mistake of going around glimpsing you and your beauty, enjoying life as a couple that he knew was dangerous.

Sim Jaeyun was a good man, but Sim Jake was the opposite of that. And between the two personas he found himself divided on what to do because he knew that in both his lives, he was in love with you. It was the only thing he couldn't separate.

He knew it was too late to try to make Sunghoon's advice count for anything. Arriving at the office the next day, Jaeyun knew he had screwed up when he saw the bag of ramen on his desk, the two untouched pots very well placed next to the papers he needed to fill out during the day. What surprised him was the way you treated him throughout the week.

Professionalism took over again and you were the Y/n he had met when he joined that company and took on the role of being his partner. He saw the old woman with whom he had shared the management of that building and whom he had always admired – later he had fallen in love – and now he was back to the beginning. At least you, because he felt that he was falling more and more into your charms and letting his feelings take over.

It wasn't easy that you were monosyllabic in meetings, your gaze never meeting his, and every time you both needed to talk about any decision, you said you were busy and asked Jaeyun to talk to your secretary. You were running away, he knew that. So it could only mean that, besides being upset about him leaving you that night, something told you that you also had feelings for him.

Because no one would be upset about canceling a dinner. Even with the shitty excuse he gave you, if neither of you had feelings for each other, Jaeyun wouldn't have been frustrated to get Heeseung's call that night and you wouldn't have been upset to see him leave without even eating with you and then leaving.

It was a silent competition of who was handling it the worst way possible.

But he didn't know that jealousy was being added to the mix when he saw a new investor smile at you. How bold he was to approach you after the meeting, in the coffee room, and ask if you wanted to go out for something to eat.

I've seen this happen before, idiot. Don't even try. That's what he hoped the look would convey, but Jaeyun forgot that you hadn't looked in his direction for a few days, trying to ignore him as best you could. That's why you accepted the invitation. A little hesitantly because it had never happened before, other than Jaeyun, it was the first time that any man inside that building had invited you for something other than your partner. At that moment, after so many days, you looked in his direction, afraid of what you might feel when your eyes met. But seeing the discomfort on Sim's face seemed to give you some satisfaction.

“I still have a few more things to take care of, so—” the man extended a hand to you, gently holding yours. His touch was gentle and you tried to smile a little wider, looking away from Jaeyun to the boy in front of you “Do you mind meeting at the restaurant on the corner in half an hour?”

“No. It’s okay” you replied, feeling him squeeze your hand and lean in to kiss your torso, pulling away and letting go of your hand. He smiled at you once more, returning to the circle of men that was in the other corner of the room to say goodbye and do what he had to do.

You thought you should chat with your employees after a meeting, have some coffee like you always did, and then go to your office. But Jaeyun’s gaze was starting to make you feel strange. He didn’t miss a single movement of yours, from the moment you moved to get a cup of coffee to when you approached your secretary to whisper to him.

“I’m going to my office” you said quietly, not wanting to make a fuss with anyone. “I’ll be leaving for dinner soon, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am” he smiled at you, looking away to Jaeyun and swallowing hard. Your secretary had always been a bit wary of the man who was staring at you, but since there had never been any disagreements, that was passed on as he showed himself to be completely professional.

Jaeyun had never felt jealous until this moment, watching you gracefully leave the room and close the door.

It was all his fault and the idiotic way he tried to push you away even though he wanted to keep you close. Now, not knowing how to act, Jaeyun had to witness that scoundrel of someone asking you out and, worst of all, you accept it.

Something settled inside him and, without measuring any effort, he walked out the door quickly to your office. His mind had never worked well under pressure, whether from anger or jealousy like it was now. Jaeyun had never been jealous, after all, he had never met anyone who aroused that kind of feeling in him. It was like an urban legend or only hearing about the romantic stories that Jongseong and Sunghoon had here and there. But he had never felt that in his life.

When he stopped in front of your office door, his heartbeat almost rose to his ears as adrenaline and anxiety ran through him. Jaeyun didn't know how he would act after finding you in your office and confronting you. He knew something would happen, you could feel the tension in the air every time the two of you were in the same room, he just didn't know how intense it was. He had a slight impression, but he couldn't decipher you from that yet.

He decided not to knock, gripping the door handle and turning around without beating around the bush, entering right away before you could say anything else.

“What—” you quickly turned around from the table, where you had been facing away until then, packing your things and ready to leave. Your heart almost jumped out of your mouth at the sight of Jaeyun standing in the middle of your living room. The thud of the door as it closed went unnoticed by your ears and the only sound was your own racing heart. “Jaeyun?”

He approached slowly, one step at a time as he thought about what to say or how to act. You could tell how fast his chest was rising and falling due to the rapid breathing from the fright he had gotten seconds ago.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, trying to stay calm as he continued to approach. The steps stopped just a few inches away when he cornered you between his body and your table, making your body almost bend over if it weren’t for your hands being quick enough to hold on to the edge of the table.

“You’re not going to this dinner” the authority in his tone of voice made your legs tremble, but you were grateful to hold yourself firmly against the table and your hands tightened their grip on the edge. Jaeyun still had the ability and knowledge to read you so perfectly that when he saw your mouth open – probably with the intention of asking why – he was faster and leaned in to press his lips to yours.

He expected anything: a slap, a sudden pull away, a loud curse that could echo throughout the building. But the surprise came when you let go of the edge of the table to spread your hands against his chest, slowly moving up until you grabbed the collar of the shirt he was wearing, pulling him closer to you.

You were an amazing woman and he knew it, every single thing you did drove him crazy. And feeling you pulling him between your legs, giving way by opening your lips and welcoming his tongue and tangling it with yours.

Everything seemed magical to Jaeyun and you. Each touch took its time, something that had been repressed until now. He brought his hands to your hips, keeping you in place as he made a small effort to lift you up and sit you on the table.

Your pride in trying to ignore him was going down the drain more and more, as Jaeyun intensified that kiss and moaned against your lips. You should have pushed him away and gotten out of there when it was time, but now it was too late. He was tangled between your legs and his hands were doing a great job squeezing you and sliding down to your lower back to slide down to your ass. It was your turn to moan against his lips, your nails going inside the collar of his shirt and scratching his shoulder to mark something against the skin you wanted so much to know.

“Jaeyun” you whispered breathlessly and he swore that was the best sound he had ever heard in his life. Pulling his lips away from yours to get some air for his lungs, he let you ramble on as he lowered his mouth down your jaw. Feeling the taste of your skin and the texture of it between his lips, marking a path of saliva until it reached your neck.

“Yes, babe?” Jaeyun had no idea how much he moved you, because if he did, he would never call you by that nickname in the form of a whisper, while still kissing your skin and sucking a good amount of it between his lips. The pop noise he left after a long suck, certainly leaving the spot marked a few minutes later.

“I need—” you wanted to say that you needed to go, that this would be a provocation on his part. But your mind wasn’t working right and it didn’t help that he started pressing his hips against yours. “Holy shit” you moaned softly, the hardness of Jaeyun’s cock slowly making the right pressure against your still-clothed clit. You couldn’t say how he had the exact notion of where to press and how to press.

“I already told you that you won’t, Y/n” Jaeyun gasped against your neck, moving his kisses up and trailing the tip of his tongue across your skin until his face was level with yours again.

That sight was hell on earth for you. Jaeyun with his lips red and shiny from the kiss they had just shared, adding to the kisses and hickeys on your skin. His eyes drooping and dark with desire staring at you with a possessiveness you never thought you would know. You wanted to be able to say something, but it was impossible while you had his hands on your shoulders now.

“Tell me if this is too much, okay?” What did he mean by that? What was Jaeyun thinking when he asked you that kind of thing? It was already too much to have felt his kiss in a situation like that, but you were sure that it was too much to have his fingers unbuttoning the buttons of your shirt.

Every particle of your skin is exposed for his eyes to admire even more. You were never one to wear low-cut tops at work and his sanity was grateful for that, so he didn't know what to do as each button was undone until he reached below your breasts.

“Shit” he cursed softly, praying that you wouldn't hear the hint of vulnerability in his voice as he noticed the light lace adorning your breasts. They were beautiful and he didn't want to think about anything else but touching them. But Jaeyun didn't want to rush, he needed to feel you because he had been depriving himself of it for so long and almost lost.

When the last button was undone, he bit his lower lip to keep from moaning at the sight of you naked in front of him, sitting on the table with his body between your legs. Jaeyun would be lying if he said he had never thought about being in that position with you, or any other, where only his cock inside you and your voice moaning his name would be enough for any scenario to be propitious. He felt like a pervert for it, but there was no denying the desire that radiated inside him every time you showed up.

Leaning down, Jaeyun left a kiss in the space between your neck and your collarbone, enjoying the sounds you made and smiling against your skin when he didn't hear any objections from you. This meant he could continue with the kisses until he reached the curve of your breast, tracing the outline with the tip of his tongue. He looked up, seeking eye contact with you and when he did, he knew he was where he belonged. The way you looked at him, the tense and longing expression you maintained as you held his gaze was all he needed.

“Can I continue?” he asked.

“Please, yes” you answered, nibbling on your lower lip at the same moment that Jaeyun's teeth slid over the lace of your bra, lowering the fabric enough to expose your chest. He was on the verge of madness to taste every part of you, but desire consumed him with every reaction you had to his touch.

The tip of Jaeyun's tongue circled your exposed nipple, making a moan run through the room as it slipped out of your throat. He felt his cock tighten even more in his pants with each sound you made. His hands – which had previously remained calm when touching you – now impatiently ran over your shoulders to remove your shirt with a quick tug, going to the middle of your back to unbutton your bra and rip it off your body as well. Turning his attention back to your breasts, he sucked your nipple with such desire while his large hand covered the other and squeezed to feel its softness.

You were on cloud nine, his every touch coated with possessiveness and desire, making your head spin as you felt Jaeyun's warm tongue against your nipple. The silent sucking compared to the sound of your moans, while your hands quickly went to his hair to pull the strands as a sign that he would never stop what he was doing.

But he also didn't intend to take his mouth off your body. If Jaeyun could talk at that moment, he would tell you how good it was feeling every part of your skin, hearing every one of your moans, and he still hadn't done half of the things he wanted to do with you.

Missing your mouth, he went up to your lips again to share another kiss, this time a little more sloppy and slobbery. Your tongues ran against each other for dominance while your mouths fit perfectly, the synchrony of the movements making you both gasp into each other's mouths.

Jaeyun's hands went to your hips again, but this time his speed and strength came to the advantage as he took off your skirt along with your panties. At another time you could notice how skilled he was and wonder – or not – why he was in such a hurry or knew how to do it so quickly. But now you just wanted to focus on the cold air of the room hitting your pussy and how Jaeyun released your lips with a lewd and wet noise.

It never crossed your mind that Sim Jaeyun, your partner, the man you had seen many times seriously across the room – regardless of the number of times you had dinner together – and for whom you were harboring feelings, would now be kneeling in front of you. He was perdition personified in that submissive and vulnerable position. His eyes were bright, like a puppy begging for a reward. And you knew that what he wanted, besides making up for lost time, was to be between your legs like that.

A mutual and wordless agreement between you and Jaeyun was drawn at that moment, with him slowly approaching your pussy and you opening your legs enough to accommodate him even more. As a test, he stretched out his tongue and licked a long strip from your entrance to your clitoris, collecting your essence and feeling your taste linger on the tip of the wet muscle that he passed through your entire intimacy.

“Fuck, Jaeyun” you tilted your head back, the deliciously warm sensation of his tongue licking your pussy was too much to handle. His hands wrapped around your thighs and held them wide open as he licked a little more, seeming to be hungry as he collected a little more of your essence.

You rested your hands in his hair, your legs feeling like jelly as Jaeyun moved a little further. He focused on sucking on your clit, circling his tongue over the sensitive bud as he looked up to try to catch some reaction from you. Your head was thrown back, but he wanted you to look at him, just once. Just once to see him eat you like a good meal.

“Look at me, Y/n” Jaeyun asked hoarsely, pulling his lips away from your pussy to get your attention. You wanted to pull his hair and bury his face in your pussy again, the lack of contact with your clit made you whimper softly, it was a great torture. But you had to obey if you wanted to feel him again, so your head lifted, your eyes searching his to find the sinful sight.

There was no way Jaeyun could be that desirous more than anything else, it was impossible that that man could look so good in any position or situation. You almost cursed him if it weren't for how quickly he maintained eye contact as he approached your pussy again. This time he sucked you more slowly, drawing circles on your clit and maintaining eye contact, not losing a single second of his eyes on yours. He moved one of his hands away from your leg to slide between your folds, introducing his index finger into your hole.

“I— Fuck, don't do this” you pressed yourself against his finger, the introduction being too much for you. He wanted to fuck you so badly now, with your moaning and your eyes nearly closing, it was torturous to keep them open as he inserted the second finger and continued to suck on your clit.

The movements were now combined quickly, making him alternate between scissoring movements and rotating his fingers inside you, at the same second he sucked your clitoris and ran the tip of his tongue over your pussy, opening your lips so he could spread his saliva along with your essence. The wet sound of his fingers going back and forth inside you, Jaeyun's prominent knuckles almost making you come undone right there. Your walls sucked him so deliciously that he wanted to feel his cock being buried inside you and how hot it would be to be inside there.

The thought alone made Jaeyun feel his underwear get wet, he knew that his pre-cum was almost overcoming the tailoring of the pants he was wearing. It was already too much to have to endure all of that without being able to feel the slightest relief in his cock. But when he decided to introduce the third finger inside your pussy, it was as if he had seen the vision of heaven. Your head fell back again, you couldn't keep your eyes on him.

“Y/n, look—”

“Come up here, please,” you begged. He gave your clit one last kiss as if to taste you one last time before moving up his body to be close to you again. His fingers continued to work your pussy harder and harder as it clenched around his sliding, wet digits.

When Jaeyun brought his face closer to yours, you didn’t wait for any response other than to place your lips on his, sharing the taste of you that lingered on his lips. It was all so intense as your body shuddered and the knot in your stomach broke. You hugged Jaeyun’s body between your arms and held him by the hips between your legs, your pussy convulsing on his fingers as his mouth muffled the most obscene and loud moans you could make calling his name. Cumming on his fingers so hard that all of your liquid easily ran down the palm of his hand.

He wanted you to take the time you needed to catch your breath, the intensity of your orgasm taking over every cell in your body as he was careful enough to pull his fingers out of your pussy. You moaned and whimpered, the lack of contact making you feel empty and weak, but something sparked in you when Jaeyun pulled away enough to bring his fingers to his lips, licking the length of his cock until he reached the palm of his hand.

“I knew you tasted amazing” he whispered, completely cleaning up what had been your orgasm liquid until there was nothing left.

You pulled him back to you, running your thumb over his chin that held more of your liquid. Jaeyun smiled slowly as he felt your soft touch, your fingers sliding down it until they reached the waistband of his pants.

“Y/n, don’t—”

“Shhh, it’s okay” you kissed his jaw, your lips slowly sliding down Jaeyun’s neck to part of his exposed collarbone “It must hurt, huh?”

“No” he lied, moaning the second your hands undid his belt and opened his zipper so his cock would be less tight. He wasn’t good at that kind of lie per se, but he wasn’t stupid enough to want to demand too much from you either, considering the intensity of your orgasm, Jaeyun was already happy to see you satisfied like that.

“We can make this less painful for you” your voice whispered so sensually that he almost came undone right there, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down before he felt your mouth kiss him, right in the middle of his throat. “Put that down for me” your request was an order that had no objection, so Jaeyun quickly pushed his pants along with his underwear, his cock jumping out and hitting against his pelvis and stomach. Your eyes quickly scanned down, seeing the size of it and sighing at the thought of it being inside you in a few seconds.

“Y/n” Jaeyun moaned, an absurd need to have any kind of touch from you against him. Then your fingers quickly went to the head of his cock, red and shiny with pre-cum, spreading all the liquid with the sole purpose of stimulating him and teasing him a little. “What the fuck, shit” he cursed.

It was too much to suffer, considering that Jaeyun had been untouched for a long time, even more so after hearing your moans and seeing what your body was capable of with just a few touches from him. Impatience took over and he pulled his shirt by the collar, not bothering to undo any buttons, he just wanted to get rid of any piece that held him and feel the heat of your body against his.

“I want—” he moaned again, pushing his hips against the palm of your hand when you held the base and went down the entire length, masturbating his veiny and thick cock between your fingers. Jaeyun wanted nothing more than to feel your touch and what you were making him feel.

“What do you want?” you asked, your lips still against the skin of his throat, slowly sliding down to one of his ears to whisper the words. He spread his hands on your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh and pulling your body over the table so that he was at the edge of it. Your hips and your pussy are a little more exposed to him.

“I want to be inside you, Y/n. I— fuck” Jaeyun knew he was being a mess just moaning and fucking your fist as your hand tightened more and more on his cock. Spreading the pre-cum all over the length until it reached the base.

He went crazy when you leaned in enough for a ball of saliva to escape between your lips and slide down to the head of his cock, spreading some of it along the length with your – almost–perfect aim. That helped spread it even more across Jaeyun’s cock and he couldn’t take it anymore, it was too much for him and the boy was afraid he would explode in his hand and cum right there. It would be shameful to do this without him being inside you, even for a few seconds.

“Y/n, please…” it was his turn to beg now. The feared Sim Jake would never do this, would never be in this role, much less Sim Jaeyun. Both respected and feared, but now he just wanted to be yours and beg for whatever you had to offer.

Without further provocation, you knew how painful it was for him. And your pussy got wet again just from the sounds he made and the unfolding of the scene in front of you. Positioning his cock at your entrance, it was a silent invitation for him to insert himself into your hole. Your hands left there to hold him, one on each side of his neck, letting Jaeyun lead the movements.

Slowly he thrust his cock into you, the warmth of your pussy and the wetness of your juices being enough to shelter him so well and facilitate the entrance of his cock that you swore it would not be possible to fit. Soon he was all the way inside you, his breathing uneven as he finally had his cock shoved into your pussy.

“How do you feel?” Jaeyun uttered with some difficulty, his chest rising and falling quickly as he leaned his body towards you.

“Amazing” you tried not to moan, pulling his face close to yours so that his forehead rested on yours. “You can move now” your request, again, became an order when Jaeyun finally moved his hips to remove his cock and leave only the head inside you, returning with a slow but strong movement. His pelvis touching your clit with the movement.

He could no longer hold back his good manners and the desire to go slowly, wanting to make you feel every time his cock entered and left your pussy. Jaeyun pressed his fingers into your thighs, leaving marks that could be seen later as his nails dug into your skin, gaining momentum to start the movements. The sounds of skin slapping and the wetness of both your arousals are the perfect symphony accompanied by the moans that you and he left in your living room. It was visible the way you tried to keep your body each time Jaeyun thrust his cock even deeper into you, the burning slightly appearing in your groin with each more force that he thrust inside you. Your walls fluttered around his cock and sheltered him each time he entered with even more force.

“Shit, you feel so good.” Jaeyun gave a small smile when you tried to say something, only managing to moan and nod in agreement. Knowing how hard it would be for you to say anything at that moment he went faster and faster, pressing his fingers harder and harder against your body, now moving up to your hips. He felt you move your body against his, rubbing your clit against the length of his cock each time he pulled out completely before burying him deep inside you again. Jaeyun’s pelvis stimulated your sensitive bud each time he went so deep that there was no space left between your bodies, his balls slapping against your thighs and adding even more to the obscene noises in the sex between the two of you.

Jaeyun’s cock twitched as your pussy tightened, indicating that your orgasm was just around the corner. He was also about to cum, practically holding it in for so long that he feared how much would come next.

“I need—” Jaeyun whispered.

“Inside” you cut him off, knowing he could cum just by the way his hips bucked between thrusts. Your hands slid down his neck and up to his cheeks, cupping his face and pulling him in for a kiss. Your tongues tangled, your lips quick and desperate for some pressure as he picked up the pace to drive his cock even deeper into you.

A combination of his hip thrusts and the pulls he gave your hips to meet him, he felt your pussy clench around him so hard that it was enough for Jaeyun to spill. He came, painting your walls milky white as he moaned your name relentlessly. You weren’t far away and it only took a few more thrusts for you to cum on his cock. The white ring formed around his length as he continued to thrust in and out of you, not indicate that he was stopping just because cum was still gushing from the head of his sensitive cock.

With one last movement, your pussy milking every last drop, Jaeyun stopped moving. The strength draining from his body and giving way to calm, the high serotonin running through you and him after you both came together.

Jaeyun left a slow kiss on your lips, waiting a long minute until he finally pulled out of you. The sensitivity hits you both and makes you moan into each other's mouths.

“Sorry” he said as he knew you might be hypersensitive, even though he wanted to stay inside your pussy all night if he could.

“Okay” you replied, smiling tiredly before looking to the side and searching for your clothes. He went faster before lifting his underwear and pants, leaving a hint of sadness in your body for depriving you of the sight of him practically naked in front of you. But what caught your attention was that Jaeyun picked up his shirt from the floor, stretching it towards you.

“I don’t know where there are tissues, but—” he smiled a little, using the sleeve of his shirt to clean you between your legs.

“Jaeyun” you tried to stop him, but it was too late. Jaeyun cleaned you so carefully that it was practically impossible to believe, especially after what the two of you had done and the marks he had left on your body.

He helped you change, putting each piece of clothing in its proper place and still waiting for you to fix your hair, turning to him after a long time. The stain on the sleeve of his shirt, after it was put on, made your cheeks burn more than looking into his eyes and thinking about what the two of you had done.

“So…” you began, looking at him with a shy smile. Jaeyun smiled too, biting the inside of his cheek to keep it from growing even bigger as he got closer and wrapped one of his arms around your waist.

“Then I’ll take you home, and we’ll have dinner properly again from now on” as a couple, he wanted to add. But that was too much for just one night, Jaeyun wanted to tell you that as the two of you went out more often.

Explaining the fear he felt about his feelings for you was the most that could come out of Jaeyun's mouth. That made him feel good enough to not think he was lying – completely – to you. He was really afraid of what he felt, but at the same time, he was afraid of bringing you into his double world. The last part was still a secret, but at least hearing that you forgave him and that you accepted having a relationship with him was all that needed to be said.

Two months in which Jaeyun stopped being afraid to tell you what he felt for you. That the two of you, besides being business partners, had become a couple. You started to frequent his apartment and met his friends too, those who had to lie about their professions and never let it slip that they worked for Sim Jake, who you didn't even know.

Two months in which you had private security, unknown to you because Sunghoon's idea was better. At least one man every week took care of you from afar and kept Jaeyun informed in case anyone suspicious approached. No consequences were made as the relationship progressed. He was a little more relieved. Keeping it just in Jaeyun's life was what he wanted for a while, if things really progressed and became even more serious, he had to tell you about his other life. But there was no need yet.

“Love” your voice made him abandon the thoughts that constantly intrigued him, afraid that you would leave him at any moment for the lie he so wanted to get rid of, but couldn't. Looking in your direction, the smile came automatically when you approached him, going around the office desk to sit on his lap “Is everything okay?”

“Why do you ask?” in the last few months Jaeyun let the thought pass that you could also read him the same way he did with you. That you knew him as well as he knew you.

“Because I’ve been feeling quiet for a few days now” you wrapped one of your arms around his shoulders, at the same second he wrapped his arm around your waist “And because you’re twenty minutes late for dinner.”

Shit, the dinner. He had completely forgotten, staying inside the office to finish answering Jongseong and Sunghoon’s messages, trying to keep things out of danger with the new robbery that had been successfully carried out. He wanted to know if everything had gone according to the orders he had given that same morning, completely forgetting that he was supposed to meet you twenty minutes ago in the company parking lot.

“Shit, love, I’m sorry” Jaeyun leaned in, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. His heavy breathing hit your skin and made you shiver. “I just—”

“How about we go home, then?” you asked, one of your hands going up to his hair and trying to stroke it slowly. “Your day must have been kind of rough, those men are annoying when they want to go back on their proposals.”

Every time you deduced that Jaeyun's tiredness and fear had something to do with the office, his heart sank a little more. His breathing hitched and he wanted to scream. But he held himself back and just nodded slowly, kissing your skin and lifting his head to look at you.

“Wait for me in the car? I'll fix everything here,” he asked.

“Sure,” you smiled once more, that being enough to calm all the nerves that persisted in his body. You leaned in to leave a quick and simple kiss on Jaeyun's full lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, Y/n,” he whispered back, kissing you once more before letting you get off his lap to leave the room.

Saying that he loved you out loud was like freeing himself from the bonds that suffocated him, held him back, and hurt him. He had never said that out loud to anyone other than his parents and his best friends. At first, it was as scary as wanting a relationship, but as you said and showed your love, Jaeyun knew it was the right thing to do. He felt that all that love was overwhelming, that as intensely as it scared him, it was the only thing that gave him the courage to continue.

Turning off all the appliances in the room and turning off the lights, he headed to the hallways of the building, greeting the security guards and some employees who were still there. Going to meet you in the parking lot. He just wanted to go home, enjoy your company, and take a hot shower. Many notes Jaeyun could think about having sex with you and using it as a form of calming, but that night he just wanted to feel your embrace, and your smell alone being the only thing capable of making his mind unfocused from everything that worried him.

A natural calming that was always right in front of him, the person who was the perfect balance between chaos and what he needed to stay alive.

“Jaeyun!” That was your voice, he could hear it from far away, but it wasn't like your call was as soft and calm as it always was. You were screaming. In desperation.

He looked around the open parking lot, trying to find you and why you seemed so desperate, but suddenly his world fell apart. Jaeyun's stomach was churning seeing your figure through the window of that van, screaming desperately and being pulled by someone hooded who wanted you to be quiet.

The car accelerated, making a complete turn in the parking lot before stopping next to Jaeyun and the passenger rolled down the window.

“We have something that belongs to you, Jake” the man smiled with rotten teeth, Jaeyun ran a few steps to grab him, but the driver took off “We want our drugs back!” he shouted before disappearing.

Your screams were the last thing he heard before the dead of night and the noise of the tires tearing through that parking lot. Jaeyun fell to his knees on the ground, the strength draining from his body. His scream echoed throughout the parking lot as he felt despair flood his body, along with the burning in his eyes and tears streaming down his cheeks.

What he feared most had happened. And he would stop at nothing to get you back.

© ikeuverse, 2024. do not copy, translate or steal my stories.

[luvsupa]

LET’S KEEP IT PROFESSIONAL. . .?

𝜗𝜚 summary: where jjk men want you at the wrong place and wrong time… feat. gojo, geto, choso, nanami (seperate).

tags: fem!reader, pwp,smut, (p in v), ōral sex (f! receiving), lactation kink .. (gojo), gojos a king and he’s OBESSED w you, public sex, car sex, riding, sub men (ish), dirty talk, praise, hair pulling, getting caught, mentions of pregnancy (nanami), slight bimbo reader x choso, ummm dunno what else to add … mdni

w.c: 5,3k

a/n: THANK YOU GUYS SOSOS MUCH FOR 2K AND 2.1K!! IM SO THANKFUL FOR ALL OF YOUUUUUU^^^ HERES A 2K SPECIAL FOR YOU GUYSS MWAAA <33

+ there might be errors errrrr….

GOJO SATORU

“gojo-sama,” the family in front of you scolds, trying to get his full attention. the royal family has come to your estate to propose a business alliance—a union with the well-known gojo clan.

gojo has you seated prettily on his lap on his golden cushioned throne, in full view of the royal family and advisors. halfway through the meeting, he loses interest, he has little concern for these meetings—all he truly wants is to be with you and your newborn daughter.

it was nearly impossible for him to focus, your scent envelops him, clouding his thoughts, leaving only you in his mind. his lower lip quivers as you shift against his hardening cock. he struggles to maintain composure but can’t resist trailing soft kisses along your neck. one large hand caresses your once pregnant belly while you fight to keep your gaze steady in front of the royal family.

your eyes flutter, heart racing as you realize he cannot possibly be doing this now. below, the murmurs of the guests fade away as his heated kisses press against your skin. he hums deeply, almost moaning with each kiss, savouring the softness of your body. his glossed lips leave marks along your neck, gleaming in the natural light, a clear display of his desire.

“ngh—’toru. . .continue. . . later,” you whisper, struggling to suppress a moan as gojo’s other hand kneads your plump breasts through the kimono. the soreness from weeks wroth of nursing makes each touch electric. the king below stares, while the guards exchange knowing glances, accustomed to gojo’s actions.

“gojo-sama, we ask that you—”

“hahh, look at that—you’re leaking,” gojo murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he watches your milk seep through the thin fabric of your kimono, a damp spot growing with each teasing stroke of his fingers over your sensitive nipple. your head falls back onto his shoulder, eyes closing in embarrassment ,unable to face the audience.

shamelessly, gojo’s hand on your tummy snakes lower between your shaky thighs. he smiles knowingly as you’re bare underneath, warmth radiating from you. it’s embarrassing how quickly he’s made you this wet, you blame it on hormonal imbalances.

gojo’s slender fingers part your swollen folds, sending shudders through your body with his icy touch as he rubs gentle circles on your nub. you moan, not caring how loud you are, overwhelmed by his fingers toying with your nipples and clit—all while numerous pairs of eyes remain glued to both of you.

“what’s gotcha’ this drenched, baby? have i not satisfied you enough?” gojo spills out nonsense, even though he satisfies you too much. he spoils you rotten, always going above and beyond—no matter when or where.

“tell me what i need to do, precious,” he begs as his fingers slide into your slick cunt. you both gasp, his long fingers sucked in tightly by your needy walls. your eyes flutter open to see your breasts leaking uncontrollably as he pinches and twists your poor nipples.

your hips buck wildly, greedily taking in more of his thick fingers as your walls cling tightly to him, massaging your sweet spot with every curl and press. you sob, breaths coming in ragged gasps, eyes glossy as you glance at the guests through blurred vision. each breath is a shaky exhale, mingling with soft whimpers as gojo’s cock throbs, pulsating with each of your desperate thrusts—it aches painfully with need. his fingers work relentlessly, coaxing more cries from your lips. your chest heaves with every breath, the sound of your panting filling the room. 

“gojo-sama, take your wife out of here! she’s a clear disruption—” the king shouts, but falters as gojo’s icy gaze locks onto his, sending a chilling wave through him. fear creeps into the king’s eyes, and he immediately regrets his words.

in the blink of an eye, gojo places you gently onto the cushioned throne, your eyes fluttering in confusion as you look up to see him towering over you. before you can speak, he drops to his knees, his face inches from your drooling cunt.

he bunches up your kimono to your waist for better access, exposing your slickness that glimmersunder the harsh lights. just as gojo is about to devour you like a starved man, he hears footsteps retreating from the room.

without turning his head, his voice booms with unsettling authority, filling the space with an ominous weight. 

“the first person who leaves will be beheaded.”

fear grips the room as every footstep halts. the tense silence makes it clear, all eyes are now fixed on you two, trapped in the suffocating stillness that follows.

and now, here gojo is, his tongue buried deep inside your stretchy walls, his frosty hair sticking to his forehead, cheeks flushed a rosy pink. he lost himself the moment his lips met your pussy, consumed by an imhumane hunger.

your cunt is loud, the lewd sloshes echoing through the royalty room, disturbing the royal family's ears. your pussy spasms as his head shakes like a madman, his killer tongue curling and thrusting as deeply as he can reach. each movement sends shockwaves through you, and he revels in the chaos he's creating.

both of his hands are messily playing with your drenched breasts, which are on full display. he pinches and squeezes your nipples with need, adding to the overwhelming sensations. you're a moaning mess, the dual stimulation too much to bear—a toe curling experience that leaves you breathless.

gojo drinks and slurps loudly on your sloppy pussy, each sound a explicit reminder to his appetite. your pussy is like a drug to him, he's high off you and can't get enough. he needs more of you—your taste, your scent—or he'll surely go mad.

the room is filled with the symphony of your combined sounds, your moans, his greedy slurps, and the wet noises of your body responding to him. it's a lewd display that leaves no doubt about the depths of his obsession and your mutual surrender to this intoxicating moment.

“hahh, i n-need it, my lady,” gojo whimpers, his droopy eyes locked onto your messy breasts, glistening with milk. his mouth waters, a desperate hunger igniting within him as he rises from his knees, his lips and chin still slick from your leaky cunt. confusion flickers across your face until his warm mouth finally envelops your nipple, his tongue swirling around it with an insatiable eagerness, drawing forth your sweet fluids.

his eyes flutter closed at the new taste flooding his senses—so sweet, candied, and intoxicating that it sends a jolt of pleasure straight to his throbbing cock, which leaks eagerly against the fabric of his traditional attire. the sensation is overwhelming that he can’t get enough. 

“oh f-fuck, ‘toru…” you moan, your voice trembling as waves of pleasure wash over you. the sensitivity of your nipple sends shivers down your spine, and you arch your back off the cushioned throne instinctively, pushing more of yourself into his mouth. 

“mhm… so good,” he groans against you, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves through your body. he sucks harder, pulling on your swollen nipple as if it's the only thing keeping him alive. the sounds of slurping and moaning fill the air—each noise a raw desire consuming both of you.

you cry out again, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you. you gasp, lost in a haze of pleasure as gojo's mouth works its magic. every flick of his tongue and gentle tug sends you spiralling deeper into ecstasy. the royal family stares up in horror at your lewd actions, they tremble in fear at what gojo would do to them if they said one peep.

but gojo is completely lost in this moment, high on the taste of you. “i can’t stop… i need more,” he moans breathlessly between pulls as your milk coats his plush lips, his own arousal pushing him closer to the edge. each time he pulls away to catch his breath, he’s met with the sight of your flushed cheeks and blissed-out expression—fuelling his desire even further.

gojo has found his new addiction in you, and it’s a craving that will never be satisfied. as he continues to devour your milk with fervour , both of you moan like crazy, caught in an endless cycle of pleasure that only seems to intensify with each passing moment.

he’ll never stop at this rate.

GETO SUGURU

your ears perk up as you hear your coworkers squeak in excitement upon spotting geto suguru, the renowned artist, stepping into the luxurious store where you work. this high-end boutique, filled with fashionable handbags and stunning clothing, is where geto loves to shop—not just for the exquisite pieces, but because you’re always here.

fiddling with the clothing rack, you catch a glimpse of geto through your peripheral vision, flanked by his bodyguards as female employees swarm around him. little do they know—and little does the media suspect—that you and geto share a secret relationship. he often begs you to quit your job, promising to provide for you completely. as tempting as that offer is, you've built a family at work that you cherish deeply.

“hmmm, i was actually looking for this piece in particular,” you hear him say from behind you. his large hand engulfs yours as he selects the coat you were just touching. you stifle a giggle; this is nowhere near his usual style. he always does this to strike up casual conversations in public.

“would you get the fitting room ready for me, mrs. geto?” he rasps, whispering the last part just for your ears. your eyes widen in shock, hoping no one overheard. you nod, noticing your coworkers scoff at how clearly geto has a favorite.

you already know what he wants with that slick fitting room signal—he misses you and wants to fuck you.

that's why he has you bent over prettily for him in the vip fitting room, your hands pressed against the full-length mirror now smudged with your fingerprints. your work pants are discarded somewhere across the room as you watch him tease you mercilessly, rubbing his cockhead along your puffy folds. your pussy aches, desperate for more.

“i missed you, pretty,” he murmurs softly, and you nearly crumble when he slaps his chubby tip against your clit. the wet taps send jolts through your entire body, making your pussy clench around nothing.

“m-missed you too, sugu,” you whimper, voice trembling with need. he swats your ass, drawing a moan from your lips as you lean into the mirror. fog clouds the reflection as he continues to spank your sore skin, each slap a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that leaves you breathless.

“‘m not talkin’ to you,” he scolds as you whine, wiggling your hips back to feel more, a chuckle rumbling from him. “since you wanna ignore my texts... she would never ignore me.” his voice drops as his leaky tip pushes its way into your cunt, your walls stretching to accommodate every inch, almost burning. geto hisses at the way your velvety walls flutter around him, and you feel yourself growing blissfully dumb. the store's background music rings in your ears, a reminder that you're still on the job.

geto watches you slowly lose yourself through the mirror, pulling your hips firmly against his as he slams his cock deep into your walls, making you sob aloud. he pounds mercilessly into your sopping pussy, each stroke deeper than before, his flushed tip kissing your cervix with every thrust. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the fitting room, mingling with your moans and creating a sweet melody of raw desire.

“fuckkk—pussy so good,” he pants as you clamp down at the praise, a grin spreading across his face as he sees your eyes shut tightly, moaning out pathetic pleas. your pussy sobs uncontrollably, nearly louder than the soft music playing through the speakers.

“mmm, she’s very talkative today,” he rasps wickedly, his hand snaking down to vigorously rub your achy clit, the cool metal of his silver rings grazing your sensitive skin. you cry out from the dual stimulation, overwhelmed by the sensation.

“y-you came here to just speak to my pussy more than m-me,” you manage to say, a hint of attitude slipping through as he pauses, taken aback by your words. his thrusts come to an abrupt halt, and you whine at the sudden stop.

“awh baby. are you upset? wanna show me how mad you are?” he teases with a fake pout, watching as your frustration builds. “poor thing, all worked up and nowhere to go.”

he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “maybe if you hadn’t ignored my texts, i’d be a little nicer,” he taunts, giving your clit a sharp pinch that makes you gasp. “but now? i think i’ll take my time.”

his words send a shiver down your spine as he resumes his relentless pace, each thrust deliberate and punishing. “come on, show me how mad you are,” he urges mockingly, his voice dripping with amusement.

those were his last words before you took control, riding him like your life depended on it. he's whimpering beneath you,struggling to hold back his moans as your pussy works him over, each movement a killer. you're pouncing on him on the adjacent couch from the mirror, your hips rolling at a relentless pace as his large hands knead the flesh of your ass. he swears he's under some kind of hypnosis, his eyes glued to your breasts as they bounce wildly in front of his wide, purple eyes.

your pussy squelches louder and louder with each thrust, a symphony of wet sounds that’s music to his ears—he even thinks he might have to incorporate it into his next song.

“how’re you feeling, pretty boy?” you purr, and a moan slips past his lips at the praise. his eyes flutter slightly as you ride him faster, your walls sucking him in with a steady rhythm.

“hahhh, d-don’t think i won’t get back at you,” he whines, but there's no mistaking the submission in his voice. you grin down at him, taking in the sight of his long locks sticking to his forehead, strands of hair messily splayed across his face. he's completely undone beneath you, humming with pleasure as you continue your relentless pace.

his once-commanding presence is softened by the way he succumbs to your movements, each roll of your hips drawing out more whimpers and gasps. 

“mr. geto, we found a few pieces that you might like!” 

you stop in your tracks, eyes widening in panic as you hear your manager’s voice on the other side of the door. geto lazily smiles, clearly enjoying the fear that flashes across your face. without warning, he lifts you up from the couch, his strong arms wrapping around you as he strides closer to the door. your heart races as he slams you against the wall beside the door, and you stare up at him, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you.

“hmm? please tell me more about it, im dying to know more,” he lies smoothly, his voice low and teasing as he wraps your legs around his waist. his cock is still buried deep inside you, and he begins to thrust slowly, deliberately. you bite your lip hard, desperately trying to stifle any sounds as you’re mere inches away from your oblivious manager who rambles on about clothing pieces.

each thrust sends shockwaves through your body, and you struggle to keep quiet as he fucks you roughly. it almost feels like he’s punishing you, yet the thrill of being caught only heightens your arousal. but fuckk, the way you look at him—eyes wide with fear and desire—makes him want to abandon all caution. he wants everyone to see how much you belong to him.

“you like that, baby? you like getting fucked in front of your manager?” he whispers with a wicked grin, his voice dripping with mischief. you gasp as his dick throbs inside your sloppy cunt, your arousal leaking profusely and staining the expensive flooring beneath you. 

your managers voice suddenly drops as she realize something is off, her excitement turns to horror as she begin to piece together what’s happening just behind the door.

“yeaa, I bet you do, doll,” geto taunts, his eyes dark with lust. 

“just show her how much of a slut you are.”

CHOSO KAMO

“what do you mean there’s no room?” you exclaimed, eyes widening as you looked into the back seat and saw it completely filled. not even a single inch was available for you. of course, two of the tallest guys—choso and riko—were manspreading like it was their job, leaving your poor friends, mina and sajé, squished together.

“well… we thought the car would fit all of us,” choso’s friend, the driver, said as he glanced back, confirming that there was zero room possible. you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration; you’d already pitched in money for this road trip.

“you can sit on my lap if you’re comfortable,” choso chimed in, his voice smooth and inviting. your eyes nearly twinkle at his kindness, and everyone in the car exchanged side-eyes—half surprised and half amused by the suggestion. 

your low heels clacked against the cement as you hurried over to choso’s side of the car, excitement bubbling inside you. when you opened the door, you nearly choked on your saliva at how incredibly good he looked, manspreading in the back seat. his black baggy ripped jeans hugged his long legs perfectly, paired with those monstrous black boots that made him look even taller. your eyes trailed up to his chest—damn, that black compression shirt clung to him in all the right places.

he’s the true definition of an emo hottie!

his lap looked so inviting as you climbed into the cramped SUV. you settled snugly on his lap, feeling his large arm snake around your waist for extra protection. but oh gosh, your cunt was tingling like crazy—your clothed pussy was directly on top of his bulge, and it sent a rush of heat through you.

after nearly hours of driving, everyone in the car is dozing off to slumber—everyone except you, choso, the driver, and the person in the passenger seat. the car jolts suddenly, waking everyone up, but what’s even worse is that you’re practically bouncing on choso’s lap!

“ehh, sorry! the roads are pretty bad here,” the driver says as the car hits a series of small bumps that quickly escalate to larger ones. choso’s arm around your waist tightens, holding you down more firmly against him. you suppress a moan as you feel the outline of his growing cock beneath you—hell, you can even feel it throbbing uncontrollably.

you shut your eyes tightly, nibbling on your plush lips as you try to hold back any sounds. it would be beyond embarrassing if you let out a noise now. but with each bump in the road, the friction between your bodies sends electric shocks through you, igniting a fire deep within.

“f-fuck… need more,” he whispers lowly, just for your ears. your heart stops at his words. did you hear him wrong? but the way he’s holding you down makes it clear that you heard him just fine.

the tension in the air is thick—almost suffocating—as desire hangs between you like a heavy fog. every jolt of the car pushes you closer to him, and you can’t help but grind down slightly, feeling his hardness beneath you. it’s so pathetic how the both of you are grinding hard on each other, holding in whimpers and moans as you feel your panties fully drenched. choso’s breath hitches, and his grip on your waist tightens even more as he bucks his hips up desperately to feel more.

your nails scrape against the driver’s seat in front of you, and you swear you’re about to rip through the fabric. it’s embarrassing how turned on both you and choso are—especially with all your friends in the car!

“pull over here, let’s get some drinks,” riko groggily says, and the car sharply turns right into the parking lot of the convenience store. both of your movements come to an abrupt halt as the atmosphere shifts; everyone becomes hyper-aware of the situation.

“y’all coming in?” riko asks as he opens his door, and you feel your heart race. you and choso exchange a quick glance, knowing exactly what’s at stake. “no thanks, we’ll just stay here,” you manage to say, forcing a casual tone despite the heat pooling in your belly.

you don’t waste a minute as you reposition yourself facing choso, your knees sinking into the plush seat beneath you providing just enough comfort. his hair is messily tousled, strands falling across his face, and those puppy eyes of his are filled with a desperate need that makes your heart race.

without hesitation, choso quickly unbuckles his jeans, pulling out his achy cock from its confines. he lets out a soft moan as the cool breeze grazes his thick shaft, and your eyes widen at how incredibly hot he looks—his rosy tip leaking with anticipation.

“you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire. he’s already intoxicated by you, and all you’ve done is grind against each other!. the heat between you is noticeable , and you can feel your own need building as you pull your panties to the side.

“g-gosh, choso,” you gasp as his thick tip slips inside you, your walls inviting him completely. choso throws his head back against the headrest, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he drives his hips up with fervor, filling you entirely.

“i’m sorry, pretty— we don’t have much time,” he breathes, his voice strained and shaky, each word punctuated by heavy breaths. his hips move with a desperate urgency, thrusting into you with a rhythm all their own. the sound of your bodies meeting is so loud it drowns out the hum of the engine. 

you roll your hips, feeling him reach the deepest parts of you. your breaths mingle in the confined space, quickening with each thrust. a moan escapes your lips as his bulbous tip expertly finds your g-spot with each powerful thrust, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. choso’s breath hitches as he loses himself in the moment, the air thick with tension and desire.

the car shakes with each thrust, the windows slightly fogging up as you both fuck each other with desperateness and need.

“‘s fuckin’ big, cho,” you stammer out, your melodic moans music to his ears. his cock vigorously throbs within your slick walls, and the two of you are growing dumb off each other, lost in a haze of pleasure.

with each thrust met, your cunt begins to spasm around him, clenching tightly as waves of pleasure wash over you. the sensation is overwhelming; it feels like your body is begging for release. the car creaks under the intensity of your movements, the air thick with heat and urgency. 

as you both get lost in the moment, choso leans in closer, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. it starts softly, but quickly escalates into something primal and messy. his hands grip your face as if he’s afraid to let go, and you can feel his raw passion pouring into every touch.

your mouths move together with urgent need, tongues tangling in a wild dance that feels intoxicating and electric. he tastes like pure desire—sweet and addictive—as he kisses you deeper. each press of his lips sends shivers racing down your spine, igniting a fire within you that mirrors the rhythm of his thrusts.

the kiss grows sloppier; breaths become heavy and desperate as you both lose yourselves in each other. saliva mixes as you moan into his mouth, the sounds echoing in the confined space of the car. choso pulls away just enough to lock eyes with you, his gaze dark with lust and hunger.

“you’re driving me insane,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire before he crashes his lips back onto yours. the urgency intensifies, each kiss more fervent than the last, as if he’s trying to claim every part of you. 

with a sudden burst of playful dominance he snakes his hands down to your ass, he slaps your flesh hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure through you, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he watches your reaction.

“yeaaa you like that shit, huh? i bet you-“

his words are cut short when you hear the doors attempt to open. you glance at riko, who’s struggling to unlock the door. before you can react, the driver unlocks it, and riko comes flying into the back seat beside you and choso.

your walls clamp down around his thick cock as he groans lowly, the thought of getting caught sending a thrill through you. you bury your face into his neck, inhaling his husky cologne.

“what the hell are y’all doing?” riko asks, glancing at your awkward position on choso’s lap, head hidden in his neck.

“she’s sleeping,” choso replies quietly, raising a finger to his lips to signal silence. everyone nods, but you can feel choso smirking as you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood.

as the car starts moving again, your eyes nearly pop out of your sockets when it begins to shake. the bumpy road makes you bounce on his cock, and you instinctively grind down, feeling him tense beneath you. his eyes flutter as he watches your hips move, knowing exactly how to make him crumble.

“cut the shit, you two- we already know you aren’t sleeping,” nobara says, pointing at the dashcam that’s connected to one of their phones.

they heard everything,

fuck.

NANAMI KENTO

“let’s just fuck it out mama, we can’t be separated.”  

“you’re ridiculous,” you scoff, sitting cross-legged in the divorce attorney's office once the door shut closed.

“we need a moment to speak alone,” nanami had asked your attorney as he left, but he was nowhere near wanting to talk and you knew that the moment the two of you were alone.

“ridiculous? this isn’t even the worst place we’ve fucked,” he taunts, rising from his chair and leaning against the desk, his hazel eyes scanning your figure—something he could never get enough of.

“sign the papers,” you say through gritted teeth, but he smirks, clearly not listening as he admires how beautiful you look in the skin tight dress.

“sign- fuckkk,” you cry out as you’re now bent over your attorneys desk, your black dress hiked up to your waist as nanami ruthlessly pounds his cock into your sore pussy as your walls welcomes him back with a warm and slimey snug. within a split second you’ve become a sobbing cock-drunk mess, your tears staining the important documents that are now scrunched up from being smothered underneath your breast.

nanamis thick fingers grip your sides as he rams his cock deep into you, this speed almost too much for you that you feel as if he’s deep in your guts. he desk shakes beneath you, pens and papers tumbling to the floor, but in this moment, nothing else matters. all that exists is the connection between you, a powerful force that consumes your thoughts and senses.

your knees buckle as he lifts you up, steadying you to keep your balance. “c’mon wifey, what about our future kids? you reallyyy want me to sign it?” he teases, his voice playful yet charged with intensity. you find yourself crying out incoherent sentences, lost in the overwhelming sensation of how good he feels.

“s-sign it,” you shudder as his thrusts intensify, you can hear the animalistic growl he lets out once he felt you squeeze tighter. feeling the tension between you as he pulls you closer. his large hand grips your hair, pulling you closer to his chest as you back arches up from the messy desk. your pussy squeaks out broken sobs as he rams his cock sooo deep that you see a small bulge forming in your lower tummy.

“what’s our lawyer going to think, huh? I spent a lotta money for his services,” he rasps, his thrusts growing deeper and more meaningful, as if to prove that you cannot leave him.

“k-kennn, fuckk,” you moan as he tugs harder on your hair, your body trembling as tears spill down your cheeks. he doesn’t care where you are- all that matters is the pleasure coursing through you. a devilish grin spreads across his face, knowing exactly how to push your buttons and drive you wild.

“i know, sweetheart—I know. just let it allll go,” he sings, encouraging you as he coaxed you toward your intense orgasm. soft “oohs” and “ahhs” escape your glossy lips as warmth pools in your belly, your slick walls tightening around him, practically suffocating his throbbing cock.

“hgnn—gonna milk me dry, baby,” nanami stutters, feeling his balls tighten painfully as his breaths become sloppy and jagged. he snakes his hand from your hair to your throat, possessively gripping you just tight enough to spark thrill without pain, amplifying the waves of pleasure that crash over you and drawing your intense orgasm closer with every pulse.

you bite your lower lip hard as you both come undone in perfect sync, a skill nanami has mastered. your walls flutter around him as his hot release fills you, feeling his thick seed plunge deep within your womb. your vision blurs and your ears ring; it’s so messy that your mixed juices cling between your thighs, sticky and gooey.

your mind is so dizzy that you don’t even notice when he gently places you on the desk, your back crumpling the papers beneath you as your legs are pressed against your chest. your permanent anklet dangles and glimmers in the natural light, the diamond ‘K.N.’ charm a constant reminder that he will always be with you, no matter what.

your eyes lazily flutter open to find nanami kissing your inner thighs, your legs still trembling from your previous orgasm. his lips graze your swollen folds, causing your body to jolt in response. nanami's eyes glimmer with amusement as he watches globs of your mixed essence drip down onto the papers creating a small pool on the wooden desk.

“mmm, you sure came a lot for someone who wants a divorce,” he taunts, bringing his cool wedding band back to your throbbing core, globs of cum coating the once-gold ring in a sticky white layer. you gasp at the metallic sensation as he rubs the ring against your swollen clit, toying with you while you sob incoherent sentences. your eyes dart to the door, where you catch a glimpse of shadows peeking through the window. panic rises in your throat as you try desperately to signal to nanami that there are people watching.

but oh he knows,

he knows very well that the entire floor heard the scandalous things you two were doing, and he wants everyone to know.

without warning, nanami plunges his warm tongue into your sopping core, savouring every drop of your arousal as he hums against you. the vibrations sends shivers through your body, and you can feel him revealing in the taste, his tongue exploring every inch with a deliberate slowness that drives you wild. he laps up your juices eagerly, occasionally grazing your sensitive nub with his teeth, teasingly biting it just enough to send waves of pleasure coursing through you. it feels as if he’s determined to make you scream for everyone to hear.

the loud slurping fills the room, making you cringe at how messy and indulgent he is, yet your body craves him more with each passing moment. you feel yourself teetering on the edge, lost in the pleasure he’s giving you, when suddenly, just as you're about to beg for more, the door swings open. several flustered lawyers stand in the doorway, their eyes wide with shock.

“u-uhm, mr. and mrs. nanami, the p-police are outside…”

[savanir]

A sister's love

The justice league hurriedly responds to a call for backup at a little in the middle of nowhere place by the name of Amity Park. 

The situation had seemed so simple. 

A Star Sapphire had suddenly shown up on Earth which isn’t immediately cause for concern but she was unidentified, so a lantern was definitely going to have to look into it if only just to make sure that nothing bad was going on. There are two planet side green lanterns, Simon and Jessica. So they responded to handle the potential situation. 

Things rapidly spun out of control when they realized it wasn't just a Star Sapphire. 

"I hate to say this but we're gonna need backup" Simon tells Cyborg, "the Star Sapphire has brought something with her. My first guess was a white martian but..." The other one can do some manner of density shifting, and he can go invisible, but they know ways around that. Whatever this one is doing isn’t that though.

"Why isn't this working!?!" Comes Jessica's slightly panicked voice in the distance, "he keeps just going through my creations! dammit, think think Jess" She tried to contain him with a flamethrower construct but he just ignored it, like he’s seemingly ignoring everything else she’s throwing at him.

"Our constructs have zero effect on the other one, the alien, meta? man I don’t know he’s human shaped" 

"What is the situation other than the two hostiles?"

"Uh we got some government agents who are retreating because of the Star Sapphire wrecking their stuff. And the civilian people here seem to be falling under her influence, so she must be human. She's from here, she needs emotional connection to pull that stuff off."

The people are furious, the violet glow around them clearly indicates that the girl is using her ring to amp them up but if Simon didn’t know any better he’d say this was red lantern stuff.

Well there are more ways to whip people up into a frenzy, by hurting their loved ones for example.

There is a brief moment where it can be heard that Simon and Jessica try to get into a more advantageous position. 

Simon grunts, "dammit, those agents seemed to have weapons that actually worked on the other guy but the Star Sapphire used her violet constructs to shield him and destroy their guns and we've been struggling since" this whole situation stinks, he has a weird feeling about all of it.

"Simon this is really really bad, i can't keep restraining all these civilians, we're running out of energy fast!"

Cyborg tries to get a visual on the situation from his position in the Watchtower while he’s notifying any league affiliated heroes who are nearby and available. 

But all of a sudden he realizes there is just nothing, just a big lap of void where the two lanterns are supposed to be, there is no cctv footage, no cell towers, no internet connection. Just what the hell is going on here.

Then the audio transmission starts to violently crackle.

A new voice laced with static can suddenly be heard, "There you two are"

"Shit"

"Is the justice league coming yet? Are they finally going to do something?" the staticy voice continues.

"Stay back you-"

"Or maybe they still need more of a reason to act" 

The audio cuts out. 

"Jessica! Simon! Come in!" ... "Shit!" 

Cyborg finally gets a clear picture with the satellite cameras and now sees the entirety of Amity Park has been covered with a crystalized violet dome. It’s then that he remembers the story Hal told quite some time ago now about a Star Sapphire who managed to put a whole planet into love stasis.

They are gonna need more help with this one he thinks.

Meanwhile Jazz is still shakily trying to figure out how her new pink powers work, now that all the fighting is over (for now), the GIW forcefully expelled from Amity, and the two Justice league people captured and restrained.

Everything happened so fast, one moment the GIW had knocked out her brother and were forcefully taking him away and while she saw them drive off (she was pretty sure she was screaming) a pink thing just froze her in place, She was pretty sure someone said something about “great love in her heart” and then she was… well she was flying and- and there wasn’t really any time to question things then so she may have kinda gone and ripped into the van that had Danny.

She’s pretty sure she healed him, and then things just completely spiraled out of control from that point on. and now she’s here.

She’s pretty sure this is crazy villain behavior, she’s going to get put on some sort of watchlist and then she’ll never get to be a psychologist but it’s fine.

Her little brother is safe, that’s all that matters. And she will keep it that way.

[whatifitis]

♡ Cursing The Daylight - LN 4 ♡

Summary: Lando hates knowing you never sleep well so when he believes he's figured out why, he makes it his mission to save his sleepy girlfriend from sleep deprivation.

Author's note: A little blurb thing I wrote at 2 am. I tried my best 😭

WC: 1045

CW: Lando being a bit dumb and the sweetest person ever, fluff

You were currently cursing the daylight, watching as a blue bird flew past your window.

Fucker 

It was yet another sleepless night in your apartment. You continued to stare at your alarm clock, waiting for it to go off, a little reminder that if you were capable of sleeping properly, you’d still have 5 more minutes of sleep. 

For most of your life, especially in recent years, you’ve never been able to get a full night's rest. You’d always end up tossing and turning for hours, as well as waking up about 7 times a night. Every day you would feel irritated and restless due to your lack of sleep. 

However, whenever you slept over at your boyfriend's house, you always managed to get a good night's sleep. You and your boyfriend, Lando, have been together for about 5 months. The first night you two had spent together, was the first time you’d been able to sleep well. You woke up bright and early and you felt amazing, like nothing could stop you. 

Over the course of your relationship, Lando came to be aware of your inability to sleep well most nights. Whenever you would sleep in your own apartment, Lando would receive mass amounts of texts from you, all about how you slept terribly and that you either needed a nap or many coffees. 

Lando, being the ever so lovely person he is, picked up on something. The only times you would get a good night's sleep, waking up and not needing to complain about anything and everything, was when you slept at his place. 

The mattress! The boy thought, she sleeps better at mine cause my mattress is fucking mint. 

Upon realizing this, Lando goes and orders the same exact mattress he has, and has it sent to yours. He thought it’d be a nice surprise for you so that you can get a goodnight sleep every night. Another plus would be that you guys are coming up on your 6 month anniversary, this counts as a gift right?, thinks Lando. 

The day Lando gets an email stating that the mattress was out for delivery, he books it to your place, wanting to be there to see your reaction to his gift and so that he could help you bring it in and set it up. 

Lando arrives at your apartment, greeted by you with a massive smile and sparkling eyes. He wastes no time in pulling you to him by your hips and wrapping his arms around your torso. As you wrap your arms around his neck you say, “As much as I love seeing you, what are you doing here? I thought we were going to meet up later tonight for movie night.”

As Lando pulls away to look at you, the postman has just arrived. “That’s why.” he says, smiling cheekily and pointing to the truck behind him. 

The both of you watch as the postman begins to unload the mattress from the vehicle, before Lando jumps in and helps the man drag the mattress to the door of your apartment. 

Whilst Lando and the man bring the mattress into your apartment, you stand there dumbfounded. 

What the actual fuck is going on? The only thing I’ve ordered to my apartment is a new book and I don’t think the book is that big? Wait, did I order the right thing?!

As soon as the box is in your living area, you confront Lando, “Lan, my love, my gorgeous boy… what the fuck?” you ask, pointing at the big ass box in your living area. 

Your Lan stands there next to the box, all but swaying as he stands and gives you the biggest smile he could plaster on his face. 

The cheeky fuck. 

“It’s a mattress!” he says as he poses next to it, adding a pose for effect. 

“A mattress?” you ask.

“A mattress.” 

After a moment of silence, where you contemplated whether to strangle him or take his credit card away from him, you ask “Why?”

“Cause, you’re always tired and you never sleep well unless you’re at my place. So I figured out why! It’s because you find my mattress to feel so much better and comfier. I even ordered the same bed sheets I have, but I got yours in green since it’s your favorite color. They should be here tomorrow though so for tonight you can spend the night with me or we can use your old sheets.” he proposes, smiling so wide it makes your heart melt from the sweetness that you don’t deserve. 

He gets you the same mattress he has in his home, for your home. 

“I sleep better at yours because you’re there. Not because of the mattress, you muppet!” you exclaim. 

You watch as Lando’s face immediately drops, “what?” he asks. He’s truly been stunned with this information, “What’d you mean it’s not because of the mattress? You mean to tell me I haven’t helped solve your sleeping issues?! I thought I was smarter than all the doctors you’ve seen for this issue!”

You can’t help but laugh at your boyfriend's statement. 

“Gorgeous, you thought that of all the doctors I’ve seen… that none of them have thought that I was sleeping on an uncomfortable mattress?” 

Lando just stood there silent, blankly staring at a wall, likely contemplating all his life choices. 

“Fuck. So, do you not want the mattress? Seems like a hassle to return.” he states as he scratches the back of his neck, wondering how he’s going to return the heavy ass box. “Wait, you sleep better when you’re around me?” he looks at you, somewhat shocked. 

You walk up to him, taking his hands in yours and making him look you in the eyes, “Gorgeous, in the time we’ve been together, we’ve slept on couches and several different mattresses. And I always sleep well no matter where or what we are sleeping on. I sleep better because I’m with you, I feel safe with you.”

“Oh… oh!” he giggles a bit. Red starts to lightly color his face, he’s blushing, “That’s nice.”

You don’t think you’ve met anyone more awkward than this man, but you love him because of that, not in spite of it. 

[lemurchick]

Today russian government banned "childfree propaganda" with the law fining non-complying citizens up to equivalent of 4k dollars and non-complying organizations up to 51k dollars.

This law prohibits any public (for now; soon it could be used even for DMs) statements where childless life seen as a better or even equal lifestyle to having children. It forbids saying that it's okay for women to have abortions. It bans any advices to not have children if women don't have enough space, money, health (!) or any other reasons (like going-on war hello?) except when you're talking about monkhood celibate.

This is in line with Putin's signed order "to save and protect traditional values" which already led to banning any mention of LGBT people and had people arrested and sentenced just for organising private gay events or heavily fined for posting a photo of you with your same-sex partner holding hands or screenshot of tv characters kissing. Two female police officers friends were fired because they left messsages under each other photos "showing simpathy" (not even flirting).

And now this. Of course it's not going to affect men who proudly say online how women with children are second sort or calling mothers protecting their children crazy "butI'mAMother"s (popular derogatory term), or advocate to cancel child support, or doing anything else that actually turning women away from considering motherhood. It's going to affect feminists first and foremost because it is us who relentlessly advocate how marrying men and having children in this society is a trap.

And they plan to ban feminism next (they were tryng to do this for years at this point) and also... eh... egoistical lifestyle propaganda whatever this means.

Crazy times but I think we will prevail. Soviet feminists refused to keep silent and were called dissidents and extradited. For now not one feminist channel, podcast, page or community I know is planning to close.

[pathologicalreid]

falling flat | s.r.

in which you call Spencer for help with a flat tire, and he comes to help with you car troubles - and then some

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: allusions to the reaper, car trouble, blood, tetanus vaccine, kindergarten teacher!reader, flirting, protective!spencer, takes place following 5x22 "the internet is forever", hastily edited word count: 1.87k a/n: rahhhh an old prompt from may 2024 that ended up working for a margovember request rahhh.

The absolute last place you wanted to be was on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere Virginia, with a flat tire. You weren’t entirely helpless until your tire jack broke, sending metal flying everywhere and cutting your hand open.

You slumped down next to your car, pulling your phone from your pocket before calling the first people you could think of. Every single one of them ended up going to voicemail. Some of them didn’t even let it get past the first ring before declining your call—traitors.

With your thumb hovering over the call button, you thought of Spencer. He had a PhD in engineering, but you weren’t entirely sure that would come in handy in this instance. It was late, almost midnight, and you weren’t even sure he’d answer.

At this point, what choice did you have?

As the phone rang, part of you hoped he wouldn’t answer. When he asked you about it the next time you saw him, you’d wave it off as a butt dial and he’d be none the wiser.

“Hello,” he said through the phone, leaving your plans quashed.

This was awkward, you had been on four dates with the guy over the span of two months, and now you were calling him in the middle of the night. “This isn’t a booty call,” You blurted, cringing inwardly and banging your head back on the passenger door of your car.

Spencer laughed lightly, “I didn’t think it was, what’s going on?”

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” You asked, his job had a lot of long hours, and you didn’t want to bother him if he was catching up on sleep. If he was even home, “Wait, where are you?”

There was a rustling on his end of the call, “No, I wasn’t asleep, I’m at work. We just got off of a case.”

You let out a sigh of relief, at least you weren’t being a total nuisance. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you. I just… my tire blew out on the highway and my jack broke and no one else is answering their phone,” you told him, verging on rambling.

“You’re kind of cutting out, where are you?” He asked, he sounded concerned, and if there was a moment where you weren’t sure you still had feelings for him, it was fleeting.

Looking to either side of you for a mile marker, you stood up, looking at the ground so you didn’t step on any metal, “I don’t really know. There aren’t any signs, I’m somewhere on 28, I think?”

Spencer cleared his throat, “Do you have your location on your phone?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I have enough service to check it,” you said, all you could see were trees.

You could hear him talking to someone, holding the receiver away from his mouth, “That’s fine, I’ll have someone look, just stay on the phone.”

It would seem that dating someone in the FBI does have its perks, “Oh, cool.” You overheard Spencer explaining your situation to someone, hearing the other person in the room say something about Reid’s girlfriend and you couldn’t help but smile. The two of you were very unofficially official.

“Hey, I’ll be there in half an hour,” An elevator dinged in the background. “Is that alright?”

You hummed, leaning your hip against the front of your car. “I mean, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

Another ding of the elevator, “Will you do me a favor?”

In exchange for this? You’d do just about anything within the realm of legality, “Name it.”

“Get in your car and lock the doors,” he responded. “Turn your hazards on because right now you’re a sitting duck. If someone doesn’t see your car, they could hit you.”

As a favor, he was asking you to make sure you’re safe, “Okay, I’m getting in now, should I leave the car running?”

You heard the sound of a car lock disengaging through the phone, “As long as the cooling system on your car is in good shape, it shouldn’t be a problem to leave it running while you wait. Just remember what I told you about the hazards.”

Nodding despite the fact that he can’t see you, you got in the car, turning the key in the ignition before pushing the button for your hazard lights, “Okay, I’m in the car.”

“I can’t drive and be on the phone at the same time, but I’ll be there soon. Don’t unlock the doors for anyone except for me,” he told you, and you thanked him for his help before hanging up and settling yourself in your driver’s seat.

You pulled the hoodie you kept stashed in your car over your head, your school mascot—a panther—proudly displayed in the front, and made sure your car doors were locked. If you said you weren’t a little unnerved, you’d be lying to yourself.

Spencer had a worrisome job; it was something you were aware of before he ever asked you on that first date. It became alarmingly obvious to you when he revealed that he’d been shot a few months prior, which was an appropriate second-date conversation with an FBI agent. It made sense to you that he’d be concerned about you, in your idle car, on the side of the road, but you wondered if there was a case that he was thinking of. Someone with a flat tire who had met an untimely demise.

Shuddering, you turned up the heat in your car, flipping through radio stations until someone knocked on your window. You jumped at the noise, hitting your head against the roof of the car before looking outside to see Spencer. Sighing in relief, you unlocked your car door, and he opened it for you, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Is your head alright?”

You peered up at him, casually leaning over your car door. “You cut your hair,” you observed. You’d seen him just last week, where his hair still touched his shoulders, and now it was considerably shorter.

Self-consciously, he reached up a hand and thumbed one of the tendrils, “Yeah, it just got too long—and heavy.”

Resisting the urge to ruffle his hair, your head bobbed, “I like it. Did you do it yourself?”

“You can tell?” He asked, following you around the back of your car to your busted tire. Spencer sets his tire jack down before looking back at you, putting his hands on his hips.

Grinning at him, you shrugged, “I teach kindergarten, I’m basically a professional at noticing DIY haircuts.”

On a towel that you had previously set out, the two of you sat along the side of your car, and you tried to ignore the fact that Spencer still had his weapon holstered. It made sense, he’d come straight from work, but you wondered if there was a reason he didn’t leave it in his car. “Where’s your lug wrench?”

“I can change it myself,” you insisted, “I just needed a different car jack.” You gestured to the pieces of yours that were now all over the side of the road.

Alarm flashed on Spencer’s face, “Nothing fell on you, right?”

You shook your head, “No, just a cut from the metal.”

Holding out your hand, you let Spencer take a look at the cut on your palm. “When was your last tetanus shot?”

Blinking rapidly, you frowned at him, “Uh, when I was in college?”

“That might need stitches,” he responded, letting you take your hand back. “I’ll change your tire, I don’t want you using that hand for anything,” he informed you, pushing the hydraulic jack beneath your car.

Butterflies swarmed in your stomach as you watched him take your old tire off, muttering under his breath about how your old jack was practically an artifact, seeing how it literally fell apart under pressure. “How was your case?” You asked softly, fully aware that you were likely opening a can of worms by asking about work.

Spencer’s movements faltered slightly at your question, “It’s closed. We were in Boise,” he answered tactfully, leaving out any case details and cluing you into the fact that he didn’t want to talk about it. “What are you doing out here?”

You sighed, leaning back on your hands and watching him work, “I had a meeting with the other schools in our conference. It’s annual, and this year they happened to pick the school furthest away from mine.”

“Well, I suppose it worked out well that your tire blew out so close to me, then,” Spencer said, swapping out the busted tire for the donut and looking over at you. There was something nervous in his eyes, and you didn’t know if it was related to work or you.

Humming, you tried to watch the tire rather than just watching him, “Is there something bothering you?”

He was tightening the lug nuts on the spare tire, “Are you driving home after this?”

You furrowed your brows, “Yeah, where else could I be going?”

“It’s almost a two-hour drive to your place from here,” he reminded you, his tone laced with concern. “You won’t get home until almost one in the morning,” the displeasure in his voice was plain, but you don’t have anywhere else to go. “Plus, you really shouldn’t travel that far on a spare tire, they’re not made to travel far distances.”

Crossing your arms in front of your stomach, you let your shoulders slump forward, “So, what do you suggest I do? Get a hotel?”

Spencer mumbled something inaudibly, trying to finish tightening the bolts on the tire before sighing, “You can stay with me,” he blushes, a swipe of pink across his cheeks.

Your lips parted in surprise, “Uh, I don’t… I’m not…” you faltered. Utterly failing to come up with a good enough reason to tell him no, “I don’t want you to feel inclined. This isn’t what I was looking for when I called you for help.”

He let the car down, staying quiet while the two of you cleaned up, and Spencer swatted your hand away when you tried to pick things up. “So, you can come back to my place tonight. My work-issued first-aid kit has your name all over it,” he told you, eyes flickering down to the cut on your hand.

“Okay,” you breathed, unable to conjure a reason to refuse his hospitality.

He was grinning at you, hair just barely brushing his eyebrows, “So tomorrow, maybe we can get coffee and drop your car off to get a new tire?”

You smiled back at him, “That sounds great, date number five.”

“You know where you’re going, right?”

“Yeah,” you’d been to his place once to pick him up, “Hey, Spence?”

He turned around, fishing his car keys from his pocket. He looked ready to respond to you, but you pressed your lips to his before he had a chance to speak.

You kissed him softly, whispering against his mouth, “Thank you for coming.”

He chuckled lightly, gently resting a hand on your waist, “Thank you for calling.”