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oneforthemunny · 1 year ago

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marish hysteria |cowboy!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: eddie's been busy training for competition season, leaving you pent up and lonely.

so-called “marish” behavior—aggressiveness, impatience and general grumpiness—is more common during estrus because of increased hormone levels.

contains: minors dni 18+. dom/sub themes. exhibitionism (kinda??), spanking, with implement (strap), oral fem receiving, pinvsex, creampie, bratting (ish).

The bed creaked, the familiar soft grunt filling the room long before the morning light ever did. Eddie's arms stretching, hand rubbing softly over your hip tucked soundly under the quilt, feet padding across the groaning hardwood towards the bathroom. Light spilled under the door, the heavy stream of the faucet, toothbrush scratching across teeth; scratch, spit, swish, spit.

Jeans pulled off the rack, shimmying up his legs, buckle clinking as Eddie fastened it. Hair pulled back, short sleeve t-shirt on, today's selection a red tee, with a sports logo on it- something he saw at a yard sale that was in good enough condition to be a work shirt. His boots and hat by the door, the rising daw sun just barely starting to rise over the lush horizons. Eddie's lips pressed to your cheek, lingering a little longer than usual, nose rubbing against the skin before he pulled back, a final rub over your hip and he was out the door, leaving you to your peaceful slumber.

Or so he thought.

Your eyes fluttered open after you heard the screen door snap with a screech, latching and leaving the house still, silent. You sat up in the bed, reaching towards the curtains to yank them open, your curly headed love headed out into the stables. He looked so pretty in the morning light; that fucker.

You huffed, throwing the curtain back, lying on your back, watching the blades of the ceiling fan spin around and around. You knew Eddie would be out there all day, barely stepping in for lunch before he was back out there, training the last of the show horses. It was all he'd done for the past week... maybe longer, you weren't sure. You were starting to lose count, days blurring together in a blinded rage.

All you knew, was that it had been too long since you'd been with Eddie. You'd blame it on your ovulation, that sensitive time of your cycle that left you insatiable anyways, but with Eddie preoccupied in other ways it was miserable. Usually, Eddie would slip back into the house at eleven, after the stables had been clean and horses fed. Sometimes, he'd bend you over the kitchen table, hips snapping into you with such a deep force that you were left drooling over the faded wood. Other times, you'd join him on the porch, dropping to your knees when he walked up the stairs, sucking him off right there- he just looked too good, all flushed from the work of the day.

The first day he missed lunch, nothing more than a tired sigh when you went out to him a few hours later. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Lost track of time." A soft reply that came with a brief kiss to your cheek. He practically passed out when he climbed into bed with you that night, exhausted and snoring.

By day four, you were antsy. A dry spell was normal, you supposed. Eddie was busy and was working, it wasn't like there wasn't a reason. He was exhausted, working himself overtime in the stables to make sure the show horses could execute every command flawlessly. Selfishly enough, you couldn't help but feel rejected, neglected... and you missed him. You'd tried to do the job yourself, finger buried between your legs, circling your clit the way Eddie did, but it wasn't as fulfilling as when he did it.

Now, gone was that guilt and understanding, irritation standing in it's place. You'd been good, you really had, until last night. Eddie showered after he came in, heavy steps and drooping shoulders all the way to the shower, and even lower when he came out. You watched him carefully from the bed, how he tossed his towel from off his hips, cock hanging in front of him- teasing you. Your mouth watered at the sight.

"I'll be glad when these fuckers come get the horses and I get my money." Eddie grumbled, fumbling through his drawer for his boxers.

"Mhmm," You hummed, eyes trained on his ass, the outline of his soft cock in the green plaid material.

"'m gonna take you out when I do." Eddie's eyes met yours, soft and sweet, grinning just lightly enough to make your heart flutter with hope; with excitement.

"Take ya out somewhere real nice." He rasped, leaning onto the bed, lips pressing into yours in a sweet kiss that had your own head spinning.

Your hand reached to cradle his jaw, a small sigh when you pressed him deeper into your kiss, melting into him easily. The desperate throbbing between your legs easing with the smell of his soap, every move of his full lips against yours, pulling him closer and closer.

"Honey," Eddie sighed lightly, hands on your wrists, holding them softly. "'m beat. I don't think I have it in me, baby."

Your heart dropped, blinking at him blankly, that familiar rush snatched out of your chest, filling the empty space with disappointment. "B-But," You stammered, watching him with wide eyes when he slipped under the sheets next to you. "I'll ride you, Ed. You don't have to do anything-"

"- I really just want to sleep." Eddie said softly, sweet enough. No bitterness or harbored resentment in his tone.

You stammered, floundering with your words for a moment, gaping at him when he reached over, flicking off his lamp. A hand on your hip, sweetly rubbing the flesh there, a coaxing move to get you to lie down. Your cheeks burned with rejection, huffing furiously, angrily turning off your own lamp. Eddie pulled you closer to him, his chest on your back, hand thrown over your hip.

One last glimmer of hope, a Hail Mary you hoped might work. You shimmied yourself further into his grasp, ass wiggling against the front of his boxers, brushing against his cock. You repeated it once, twice, hips shimmying for a third time before Eddie's sigh came heavy out of his nose.

"Baby, I told you 'm tired. I'm not in the mood. Quit it." He grumbled, voice gravelly with sleep.

You bristled, rolling out of his gasp entirely so you were pressed against the edge of the bed. Normally, Eddie would huff, slap on the light and demand to know why you were being such a brat. Your tummy flipped at the idea that he might be rough with you, be a little mean and punish you for your attitude. Fuck, you'd take a switching at this point if that meant he'd fuck you.

He didn't.

Instead, just sighed softly, before settling back into his pillows, snoring within a matter of minutes.

Fury filled you, and you had to clench your fists, stop yourself from shoving him off the bed in your rage. You knew it was silly, silly to be this bratty and demanding. Eddie had been working hard. Yet, you couldn't rationalize it enough to your raging hormones, set ablaze with lack of dick.

You barely slept, tossing and turning, avoiding Eddie's warm grasp that drew you in like a magnet. It just made you more and more furious, reminding you of what you hadn't got.

Arms crossed over your chest, you replayed the night before- the week before, with a pouty scowl. Unfair, fuck, it was so unfair. How did Eddie not feel the same way?

If you knew Eddie, and you did, you knew he wasn't not feeling the same way. You knew he had to be just as pent up, his exhaustion trumping whatever hormones he had. You twisted your lips in thought, finger tapping in a rapid pace against your arm.

Flinging the covers off you, you looked out to see Eddie in the fields, letting each of the horses out to gallop around in the morning sun. Your eyes narrowed, stomping to the bathroom, slapping on the faucet to fill the tub.

Eddie pulled the reigns gently, a small grunt leaving his lips as the horse trotted skillfully around the barrel. "Good girl," Eddie muttered, hand sliding down the silky mane. He was feeling proud, a pep back in his step that had long been gone since the start of the week before. The owners were coming to get their horses, ready to trot for show and competitions, and that meant he'd have a large check in his pocket.

Eddie looked down, checking his watch. A quarter til one, the owner and the rider would be here soon to make sure he had efficiently trained their thoroughbred. "Let's get you brushed out before your owners come and-" Eddie's head stuttered, catching a glimpse of something- someone approaching the stables.

You, with that devious, sultry smile, in your little rubber rain boots- and just your little rain boots.

"What the fuck..." Eddie muttered, demounting himself, gripping the reigns while he paced towards you. You grinned at him, waving sweetly, a shy little smile that he knew better than to fall for.

"Hi, handsome," You purred, stepping onto the gate, leaning over so your breasts spilled over the bar. "How's it going out here?"

"What the hell are you doin'?" Eddie huffed, tying the horse to the post, hands on his hips when he strode over to you.

It wasn't quite the reaction you expected, your face falling slightly. "What?" You feigned innocence. "I just came out to see you."

Eddie rolled his eyes lightly, eyes scanning over your body. Fuck, you knew what you were doing to him, all shaved and oiled up- positively delicious looking. "I'm working, honey." Eddie swallowed the growing lump in his throat, his cock stirring at the sight. "I got people coming soon."

"Aw," You jutted your bottom lip out, nearly mocking. "I thought you liked when I walked around like this."

"I do." Eddie nodded, letting his hand fall over your hip sweetly, willing himself not to grab your ass. He sighed heavy out his nose, frowning at you. "But not when I got people coming. Not when I'm working."

Your face fell, the sultry mask falling off your face. There was a second of hurt, a small fall in your face that had Eddie's heart wrenching with guilt- only for a moment. Before you were overcome with rage. Lips twisting and setting in pure displeasure, eyes narrowing at him.

"Are you fucking serious?" You snapped, pulling away from him with a shove.

Eddie's brows shot up, shocked out your outburst. "Baby-"

"Don't." You sneered. "You've been working all week and... You know what? Fuck it." You threw your hands up, turning on your rubber soled heel.

Eddie called your name, a rather strangled, frustrated sigh, his hand reaching for your wrist that you slapped away. "No, no, fuck you, Eddie. You've ignored me all fucking week and I try to do something nice and exciting for you, and you still ignore me." Your cheeks burned with embarrassment maybe fury, waterline pricking with tears.

"Sweet girl, I told you. I'm exhausted. I've been out here all day-"

"-I know, Eddie." You snapped. "Didn't realize that meant you couldn't spend a second of your time with me. At the very least fuck me."

Eddie paused for a moment, lips pursing. "That's what this is about?" He huffed. "I've been tired."

"So have I," You shrilled. "Tired of you ignoring me."

"This is a very big job for me, you know that. It's a lot of money-"

"-Great, Eddie. You've said that." You snapped. "I didn't realize that meant you'd be ignoring me all week. Clearly you can't handle the pressure of this job." Finger jabbed in his chest, you emphasized your point. Mean? Yes. You knew it was, and the way Eddie's face fell secured that. Still, you didn't care. You were a woman possessed, blinded by rage and desire and rejection.

Eddie didn't get a chance to respond, the familiar crunch of the gravel startling him. The tiny figure of a car starting down the path. "Shit, shit," Eddie huffed, yanking you by your arm towards the stables.

You blushed furiously, suddenly very aware of how exposed you were. You'd wished you had at least wore panties now, but that was too late now. Eddie yanked you through the barn towards the far corner where his tools were, yanking a utility jacket that had been retired until fall off the hook.

"Put this on, and stay back here. Do you understand me?" Eddie's tone held no room for argument, stern and authoritative. Your head bobbed, fingers curling around the jacket to keep yourself concealed, wedging into corner behind the stall.

"Don't you dare make a sound, and don't you dare move." He pointed at you, jaw tight and firm, scolding you like a bad puppy. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, thighs clenching at the tone. You hated how thrilling this was, the adrenaline of being naked in the barn, of being potentially caught. Eddie's stern tone, fuck, it made your knees shake.

Eddie stomped out the barn, the soft mummer of voices mingling outside of the barn before they disappeared towards the field. A part of you wanted to look, watch Eddie ride and show off the horse, the veins in his hands, bulge in his forearm. You were dizzy at the thought. Instead, you stayed hidden, pressed up against the wood of the stable, hidden away from the eyes of others, heart trilling in your chest like a hummingbirds wings when Eddie's voice finally came into earshot again.

Muttered words about "pleasure to work with" and "another one soon", you leaned closer to hopefully hear more. Eddie's gruff tone, friendly but still rough, the creak of the horse trailer, heavy hooves clomping against the metal ramp, the tear of the check, before finally the gravel crunched under the truck and trailer.

You waited, too scared to peer around to check. Eddie's boots were hard, even against the hay, eyes hard and cutting under his hat. He looked at you for a moment, eyes scanning your frame, the valley of your breasts down to your navel, your freshly shaved pussy. His cock throbbed at the sight.

"You better listen to me. Do exactly what I say with no lip, you understand?" Eddie glared at you, pointed and mean. You nodded dumbly.

Eddie's hand pushed the jacket off your shoulder, the feeling of his rough fingertips on your shoulder enough to make you shudder. "I want you waiting for me inside." He nodded towards the house, hand raising to stop you. "Uh, not so fast, darlin'." His eyes were dark, gleaming with that wickedness that had your tummy flipping.

"Grab your strap." Eddie nodded towards the wall, hidden behind ropes and reigns, inconspicuous mahogany leather on the wall, a tool reserved just for you. Entirely yours.

You didn't hesitate, snatching the strap off the wall, scurrying back to the house bare except for your boots. Eddie followed slowly, a menacing pace he knew was thrilling to you. He'd find you in the bedroom, standing by the edge of the mattress, practically bouncing on your toes. Hands by your side but eyes wide, excited, every ounce of attitude from before gone with the promise that you'd finally get what you want- the attention you craved.

Eddie couldn't blame you, he supposed. He'd be mad too if it was him being ignored, and guilt flooded his system in an icy shock at the thought. Until he saw you, biting back your tiny grin at the edge of the bed.

Eddie snorted lightly, fighting back his own smile. He crossed his arms over his chest, a desperate attempt to stay stern. "I expected better from you." He shook his head at you. "Thought you would know better than to throw a hissy fit like that. All because you didn't get your way."

Your lip jutted. "It's not a hissy fit, Ed." You whined, foot stamping lightly into the ground. His brow raised at you, a warning. You huffed. "I just... I missed you, Eddie. I thought you'd like me surprising you like this. You always do."

Eddie hummed, pulling off his own shirt, your eyes gaping at his sweat slicked chest, toned softly from years of manual labor. You knew you had to be dripping by this point, and he wasn't making it any easier on you.

"I do like it when you surprise me, baby." Eddie cooed lightly, hands moving to his belt. You watched his fingers flex with the buckle. "I don't like it when you try to distract me while I'm working so you can get your way."

You crossed your arms over your bare chest. "Ed, I'm sorry." You sighed heavily. "But you were ignoring me and... and I missed you."

Eddie hummed, chest puffing to tower over you. "You missed me?" He tilted his head in question, stepping so he was toe to toe with you. You looked down at his tented boxers, lip rolling between your teeth.

"Or," Eddie's hand grabbed your chin, pulling your gaze back to him. "Did this pretty little thing miss me?" He hummed, free hand cupping your heat.

You gasped, knees locking at the sensation. The heel of his hand rolling over your mound, middle finger teasing your slick folds. You whined, hips grinding down into his touch. Your mind was blazing, body too, with every swipe of Eddie's fingers teasing you. Oh, it was delicious. You had missed this.

"You just not gonna answer me anymore? Not gonna listen, hm?" Eddie tsked, tilting his head down menacingly towards you. "That's how this is gonna be?"

"No," You whine, pressing down towards his fingers. He was purposefully missing your clit, your hole, the places you needed him most. "Both."

"Both, what, honey?" Eddie's twang fell through his words, making your chest bolt with feverish heat.

"We both missed you." The pout you gave him had his knees weak, fingers curling just barely into your entrance. Your eyes widened, mouth matching at the idea that he might give you what you wanted.

Instead, Eddie pulled his fingers out. You nearly fell into him, knees knocking together like the newborn foals that wobbled around the pastures. Eddie's free hand caught you by your waist, steadying you with a firm grasp.

"Easy, baby," He muttered, squeezing the fat of your hips gently. "We're just gettin' started here, sweetheart. Don't give up on me so easily now."

Stubble covered cheeks creasing, dimples deepening with the tug of his lips, curling in a dark grin that had you aching between your legs. Eddie told you to climb on the bed, hands and knees, and you knew you were too excited. You could hear him snort lightly, knowing he was shaking his head when you scrambled to your tabletop position on the edge of the bed excitedly.

"You know what you're in for?" Eddie scoffed, rolling the strap, heavy and thick, in his hand. "You ain't gotta outta that one, baby."

"I know." You chirped, looking over your shoulder at him. "I deserve it, I know." You purred.

Eddie nearly choked, swallowing down the spit that pooled in his mouth. The sight of your swollen cunt, slick already, eyes batting over your shoulder at him- it made his head spin.

"Christ Almighty," Eddie muttered. "I didn't know you were this bad, honey." His hand smoothed over the soft skin of your thigh, squeezing the flesh lightly. "Makin' me feel bad."

"Don't." You shook your head. "Just-Just-" You nodded at the strap in his hand, eyes shining with excitement. "I need you. Now."

Eddie's brow raised, shocked at your boldness, the commanding tone that took him back. It wasn't usually how things played out when you were in this position. Bratty, whiny- sure, but never directing... never this excited.

But who was Eddie to deny you? He'd be a fool to.

"You're really pent up, aren't ya, sweet thing?" Eddie grinned, the leather of the strap rubbing over your ass teasingly.

You sucked in a slow breath, eyes fluttering closed. "I told you I was." You muttered. Eddie squeezed your hip lightly twice, a warning that he was starting.

There was a pause, an absence of the strap, a soft grunt before the familiar swishing cutting through the air before it landed across your ass. The sting of surprise dwindling to a burning sear of pain sizzling across your skin, straight to your core.

Your usual whiney cry didn't fill the room. Instead, a delicious sigh of pleasure, like when you were sinking in the bath after a long day- longing and content.

Eddie's brows raised, hesitating before pulling his arm back again, sending the strap falling against your raised ass. You grunted, the hit harder this time, leaning forward at the impact. Your back arched, hips wiggling back into place, teasing, nearly.

"You know you're not 'sposed to be enjoying this." Smack!

"'m not." Your voice raised, lifting to that airy octave that teetered on a whine, leaned more towards a sigh of pleasure. "It hurts, Ed."

Eddie snorted, rolling his eyes. As if that was convincing. Not with the way your back arched, pussy drooling at him. "Does it?" Eddie brought the strap down harder this time, enough to pull a squeal out of you.

"Thought bringin' the strap out on ya woulda had you more obedient." Smack! You whined, swallowing down a hint of a moan you hoped Eddie didn't hear.

"Nearly let everyone out there see you naked." Eddie shook his head, the strap falling yet again. You jumped, wishing he would have let you bend over the bed instead so you could rub out some relief on your aching pussy. You knew that's why he had you in this position, so you couldn't.

"People I do business with," Smack!

"Seein' you out there, paradin' around with nothin' on." Smack!

"E-Eddie..." You were sure you weren't going to last, aching between your legs so badly it was beginning to hurt. You needed him to touch you, you would beg for it at this point.

"Wonder what they'd think, hm." Eddie smirked, letting the strap fall again, right to the center of your ass. His rough hands slid over your hot skin, squeezing. You hissed at the burn, his chest folding over your back, curls tickling the shell of your ear.

"If they saw you like that, like this." Eddie's hands slid between your legs, fingertips gliding through your slick folds. You gasped, a strangling of a moan tore through the air, head tipping back and back arching deep into his touch.

"If they saw how needy you get f'me." Eddie growled, teeth bared with lust, breath hot on your cheek.

Your eyes met his, rounded and begging before he pinned you beneath him. Teeth clashing, hands grabbing at anything, everything you could. Your threading, pulling at the hair at the nape of his neck. His squeezing your ass cheeks, grinning into your kiss when you squealed.

"I-I've fuckin' missed you- Fuck, I've missed you." Eddie muttered, hot, sloppy kisses trailing down your jaw, your cheek.

"I've missed you." You tipped your head back onto the pillows, hips grinding on his thigh, shamelessly humping his leg, hands tangled in his hair.

"This was too long, Eddie. Don't-Don't do this again." You whimpered, shuddering when he sucked a deep bruise into your collarbones.

"I won't, baby. I won't." Eddie rasped, squeezing your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple. "Fuck, 's too long for me. Been fuckin' miserable."

"Yeah?" You hummed, half lidded lashes fluttering down towards him.

"Yeah." Eddie's lips curled, squeezing your hip playfully. "Way too fuckin' long. Been fuckin' starving." He growled, sitting up at the edge of the bed, your legs hooked around his shoulders.

"Eddie! Be careful!" You squealed, your body raised half off the mattress when he pulled you. You loved when he's manhandle you like this, tug and toss you into place so effortlessly.

His hands gripped the fat of your ass, leaving you hissing as he dove tongue first into your heat. No warm up, no warning, no teasing- just a man deprived, desperate for a taste.

"Oh!" You gaped in surprise, back arching into his mouth. Your hands fisted around the quilt above your head. Your clit ached when Eddie's tongue swiped over it, a beautiful pain that had your whole body burning in heat.

Clicks of spit mixing with your slick, muffle moans and gasps filled the small room, your body twisting in his grasp. Toes curling, chest heaving and stuttering far easier than usual, but what could you say? You had missed him. Missed this.

Eddie's stubble covered chin was covered in a wet sheen, shining in the sunlit room, stripping off the rest of his clothes. Belt buckle falling, jeans joining in a puddle.

"How d'ya want me, baby?" Eddie rasped, eyes lust-soaked and dark.

"However, I don't care." Pushing up on your elbows, moving closer to the edge of the bed.

Eddie grinned, a sly, dimpled smile that had your body electrified with a throbbing excitement. He settled between your legs, wrapping one around his hip. He swallowed a groan when you pumped his length, hips rolling towards your hand.

"That's it." Eddie looked down at you through half-lidded lashes. "Go on. Put it in there for me, honey."

Your body flushed with thrilling heat, pussy clenching at the authority in his voice. You pumped him a few more times, guiding him into your sopping hole, his hips pushing in with your guidance.

"Good girl. Knew you could be good for me." Eddie's voice was tight, mind numbing with every slow roll of his hips, your walls strangling his length.

"Fuck," Eddie shuddered, bottoming out. He held himself there for a moment, just wanting to feel you. He'd missed it, nearly forgotten how good you felt, it had been so long.

Your nails dug into his forearm when he started to move, slow and deep thrusts, filling you. "Feel s'good." Eddie muttered, hand squeezing your thigh, your hip. "You feelin' good?"

"Yeah." A breathy sigh teetering on a whine.

"Yeah?" Eddie grinned. "This what you needed, baby? This's all you needed wasn't it?"

"Yes, Eddie." You whimpered, hips grinding down to meet his slow thrusts. "G-Go faster."

"Faster?" Eddie grinned nearly teasingly, shifting your leg on his hip, pulling your closer to the edge. "You're in charge now, hm?"

"I- no." Your mind swirled with pleasure, babbling at the change of pace. "I just- I need it like that."

"Need?" Eddie laughed. You frowned, lip jutting in a pout that had his cock throbbing with need. "Alright, alright, I'll give you what you need, sweet girl. I gotcha, baby."

You clenched around him, head tipping back into the mattress. Eddie's thumb circled your clit lazily, smirking at how you whined, legs tightening around his hips.

"Look s'pretty like this." Eddie hummed, lashes fluttering, gaze rolling over your body. "Look pretty f'me, don't you? Look at me, sweetheart."

"For you." You looked over at him, eyes glassy with pleasure. "Eddie, I need-" You whined, back arching, body twisting in his grasp.

"What? You need what?" Eddie's pace slowed, looking at you carefully. "Tell me what you need."

Your body burned, a shooting flare of heat, as blinding as it was before. A primal need that had your mind stuttering. You weren't exactly sure what came over you, Eddie certainly wasn't. Pulling him flush against you roughly, his chest pressed to yours, hands by your shoulders to steady himself.

"What are you doin'-"

You gripped his ass, squeezing the muscles of his cheeks, pressing him deeper and deeper into you. Your legs tightening around his hips, locking him in place, your hips rolling, grinding into the wiry hair of his base.

Eddie's eyes widened, startled, a little shocked. You grabbed at him, grinding mercilessly onto him, hips rocking, cunt squeezing his cock. "F-Faster, Ed." You panted, eyed pinched closed.

Eddie faltered for a moment, feet planting awkwardly, body still folded over your, jackhammering into you still buried deep. Your legs squeezing his hips, arms wrapped around his body.

"Yes!" You cried into his skin, nails digging into his shoulder. "Like that, like that. Oh shit, just like that, Ed!" You babbled, grinding down to meet his furious pace.

"Like that?" Eddie gritted, hand sliding under your spine to hold you closer. "That's how you need it? That's good?"

"Yes, yes, so good, so good." You rambled, head lolling back.

Eddie's breath was hot on your cheek, pressing a sloppy kiss to your jaw, teeth grazing over the nape of your neck. You whined, clawing at him furiously, he knew his back would be marked with your scratches- he couldn't wait.

Eddie fucked into you, hard, hips stuttering as his own orgasm teetered closer and closer. Teeth sinking in a rough kiss to your neck, sucking a bruise that sent you right over the edge, body shaking in pure pleasure. His own orgasm following, spilling deeply inside of you. Your feet dug into his lower back, pushing him closer and closer to you as he released, a hungry look in your starry eyes that told him you weren't going to be done with him anytime soon.

"You-You gotta give me a second, baby." Eddie's chest heaved with yours, grunting at the burn in his legs when he shifted to stand. "Gotta gimme a second, and I-I'll get it up again. Just let me-"

You were grinning, that same sly smile across your features that had Eddie's heart leaping in excitement.

Eddie found himself back on the bed, against the headboard, you between his legs. "I- hmph- I can get it up, baby. You don't-don't have to- shit!" Eddie's hips bucked, fists clenching the quilt on the bed.

You looked up at him, lashes batting innocently, tongue running down the seam of his sac, sucking lightly. Your thumb moved back teasingly, sliding towards Eddie's tight hole.

"Hey, hey! Get outta there." Eddie's voice was tight, trying to swallow down a moan that threatened to spill out.

"Think you like it." You grinned, fingertip running along the vein on the underside of Eddie's cock, stirring back to life.

"Think I'll strap your ass some more if you do that again." Eddie threatened, eyes hard, but the flustered flush on his cheeks made you grin.

"Promise?" You grinned wickedly, pad of your finger dragging back slowly towards his sac.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Eddie grunted, your hands rolling and squeezing his balls perfectly, making his toes clench and curl.

Your finger tickled the underside of his balls, trailing lower and lower towards his crack when he'd finally had enough. Face down in the mattress, hands pinned behind your back, Eddie's free hand reigning down on your still sensitive ass. You squealed, squirmed, even giggled, cheek pressed to the quilt to look over at him.

Eddie's tongue rolled over his cheek, fighting back a smile he couldn't hold in. Eyes batting sweetly, that same little smile on your lips. "You're somethin' fuckin' else, you know that?" Eddie smirked.

"Yeah." You bite back a smile. "You love me anyways."

"I do." Eddie nodded, his grip loosening on your wrists, leaning down to kiss your cheek gently. You sighed contently, melting under his tender touch.

"Love you so much, baby." Eddie hummed. You burned under his gaze, heart soaring at the affection in his tone.

"Even if you are a brat." His hand fell down on your ass, pulling a squeal of surprise from you.

"How you want me this time?" Eddie smirked, legs swinging off the bed to stand, looking at you carefully.

You grinned, pushing off the mattress, back in your table top position towards the edge of the bed. Eddie snorted, muttering under his breath as he stroked himself, a hand on your spine pushing you down into place. You smirked against the mattress, hips wiggling for him. You finally got what you wanted.

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zreamy · 2 years ago

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nothing to lose

pairing: jay park x fem!reader

summary: after a hockey party, a football game, and a near perfect first kiss, jay is humbled by his (practically silent) friend sunghoon, who reminds him that he has nothing to lose.

genres: university / college au, friends (uni crushes) to lovers, smut, fluff

warnings: minors dni, vaguely (very?) british undertones..

word count: 24,064 .. sorry.

playlist: awkward sza, do you like me? daniel caesar

author's note: please just be nice to me and let me know your thoughts (positive / negative / anything as long as ur not mean abt it) .. thank u @asahicore my rock, my bestie, my beta reader .. <333 hope u enjoy !!!

When you pair his kind eyes and charming smile with his ever-positive outlook on life, it’s easy to see why Park Jongseong is heavily popular amongst the student body; even described by your flatmates (and the rest of his fan club) as the stuff of dreams. And in your dreams, you know exactly why he’s staring in your direction with a sweet smile on his face. In real life, however, you have absolutely no idea and it’s kind of weird. Not his smile itself, no, his smile is.. really pretty, but it’s kind of weird in the sense that it’s directed at you.

You think.

Most of the library’s population sits across the room in the computer lab and based on your seat, at an empty table, in the (also empty) far corner, he’s either smiling at you or at the wall that your head is resting on. It’s not until the two of you lock eyes that you feel you should smile back, though your brows knit together at the way he whips his head around in the other direction when you do – a move that seems out of character for the Park Jongseong that you know. Or rather, the Park Jongseong Jay that you knew.

The Jay you knew was a (more than) pleasant enough guy who grinned in a way that pushed a dimple into his cheek every time he got to class and sidled his way through the aisle to sit in the seat next to you. The very first time he did it he’d mistaken you for someone else, his smile faltering slightly as he sat down anyway, a large hand extended to you.

“Jay,” he introduced himself, nodding thoughtfully when you told him your name and holding on to your hand for a split second longer than what was comfortable. And even though it was clear that he’d been sitting in the wrong seat, at Na Jaemin’s end-of-year party months later, you acted shocked when he told you about how he’d forgotten to put his contacts in that morning. Nonetheless, he continued sitting next to you in that class for the rest of the semester.

From your current seat in the library, you watch him curiously, wondering if he might look over again. For two minutes, he leans against a shelf in the reference section, completely unaware of his audience (you) as he types on his phone. You can’t take your eyes off him until the sudden vibration of your phone startles you, your hand reaching for it immediately thinking (hoping?) it might be a text from him.

yj: hockey mixer tn

yj: what are you guys wearing

You feel relieved to see that it’s just Yunjin in the group chat, though, as you read the messages, you struggle not to roll your eyes seeing that she (captain of the hockey team) is still trying to convince you (non-member of the hockey team) to go to the hockey mixer. By the looks of things, the field hockey team is the last to take advantage of the space that the student union building has to offer. Functioning as a nightclub over the weekend (and on select weeknights), The U is the place to be if you’re looking for a good time for a good price.

Unlike the other club parties, tonight’s hockey mixer is Yunjin’s answer to concerns raised by members of the students’ union about binge drinking on campus. According to her: “A mixer is an informal gathering where people mingle, interact, and get to know each other. And a party is,” she paused, fixing her eyes on the ceiling as if waiting for divine inspiration to strike. “Fun.” She didn’t seem pleased when you asked if this meant that the mixer would be boring and eventually confessed that the hockey party would be a mixer in name only.

You lock your phone without responding and lift your gaze back to references only to find that Jay is gone; stuck to the part of the bookshelf he was leaning on, you notice a lopsided poster featuring two crossed field hockey sticks and a ball over a green gradient, and a chill runs down your spine. If Yunjin is one thing, she’s bad at graphic design persistent.

Unfortunately, in all your time spent not working, you find that your laptop hasn’t begun doing your research paper for you, and the Google Doc looks exactly the same as it did when you last edited it one hour ago, with only the intro from the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals website pasted into it. In the bottom left corner of your screen, a white box tells you that it’s 467 words long, and, feeling a rare bout of motivation, you get to work paraphrasing and attempting to condense the text.

As morning turns into afternoon, the library starts to get busier and busier, and despite the low hum of several different conversations creeping in through your earphones, you’ve gotten into a flow with your work and don’t let anything distract you. That is until Jay himself lets his backpack thud onto the table across from you, brows raising a little at the sudden noise, before pulling out the chair and sitting down.

“Need a study buddy?” he asks, a tentative hand on the zipper of his jacket.

You take a moment to observe him; the way he asked to join you after having already joined you, settling into the seat before you’d had a chance to say anything. A part of you wants to say “no,” just to see how he reacts, but, with a smile on your face, you take out your earphones and say, “Sure.”

A grin spreads over his lips as he mumbles the word sweet, shrugging off the oversized coat and letting it drape over the back of his chair, revealing a chunky pair of headphones sitting around his neck and a thin gold chain with a hook pendant on it. His dark hair sits flat on his forehead and he rakes a hand through it twice before taking a textbook out of his bag. He doesn’t touch it, though. Instead, he lets his elbows rest on the table in front of him, biceps flexing slightly under his sleeves as he crosses his forearms. “What are you working on?” he asks.

“A report on the integration of renewable technology in buildings, for my sustainable development class.”

Jay hums, brows raising slightly. “Renewable tech like solar panels and shit, right?”

“Right.”

Another grin, pretty, sincere. “It’s cool you’re getting to learn about the stuff you care about,” he tells you, and even if you hadn’t been looking at him, you’d have been able to hear the smile in his voice, light, sweet. Jay is sweet. The statement trickled out of his mouth so simply, so casually, a small detail that you have to rack your brain to recall sharing with him; still just as attentive as you remember. “Really.”

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling too. “Exactly.”

There’s a distinct comfort that rolls off of Jay in waves as the two of you chat, and the scene feels familiar. It’s reminiscent of the nights you’d spend together last term, at a table like this one with the notes from your shared Property Law lecture sprawled out in front of you while pretending to study. The two of you would find anything else to talk about, and constantly received dirty looks from the laughter you’d struggle to stifle.

It’s not until Jay reaches for his textbook that you properly check it out, and as a non-fashion student, you’re not expecting to know what subject he’s studying but you’re pretty sure that Nutrition, Energy, and Human Performance are not part of his curriculum. “Excercise Physiology?” you ask, reading its title.

“I picked it up earlier for Sunghoon. He’s at the rink all morning,” he nods.

“So why are you studying it?”

Jay laughs, shifting in his seat. “It’s, like, the only thing I have in my backpack. I just came over here ‘cause I wanted to say hey.”

It takes everything in you not to say “aww” out loud; his sweetness palpable, his smile contagious, and his eyes so bright and warm that your heart soars in your chest when you look at them. “Hey,” you say after a beat.

“Hey,” he chuckles. “How was your break?”

“It was good! I went home for a week, or so, and then I got bored and came back to hang out with Chaewon,” you tell him, grinning despite yourself at the memory of poorly mixed cocktails and days spent lounging by the pool at her family’s holiday home. “85% of the summer was just us running around being stupid.”

“And the other 15?”

You feel more than a little awkward about telling him that you spent the other 15% fooling around with Jaemin, so with a forced smile you tell him, “Just more running around being stupid.” Hopefully, he can’t sense your mild discomfort and thinks you’re scratching your neck because it’s itchy and not because of the slight guilt you feel. “How was yours?”

“Minus Chaewon, I had, like, the exact same break.” He pauses, breaking out into the widest grin you’ve ever seen. “Oh, and I went to the Yuuri show! It was crazy.” He runs a hand through his hair, sitting up a little straighter in his seat. “I was gonna text you but I didn’t wanna bother you during break or anything.”

“Oh,” you say, dragging the vowel. “Right. So you’re bothering me during term time instead?” You tease, though with the way Jay’s eyes widen and his brows knit together, it doesn’t seem like he’s caught on to your joking tone. “I’m kidding, tell me all about it,” you add as quickly as you can manage, a huge smile on your face.

Relief washes over you as Jay laughs, his shoulders shaking, and his nose crinkling, showing off the scar across its bridge that you’ve come to like so much. After calming down, he watches you carefully, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Right,” he finally says, taking a breath before talking with excitement and at great length about the concert.

But it isn’t without slight interruption: Jay’s phone vibrates against the table a few times, and he ignores it, eventually turning it on do not disturb before squinting at you. “You’re not allowed to laugh. Pinky promise me you won’t laugh.” He holds his hand out to you, wagging his pinky finger in your face. There’s a smile on his lips when you link your finger with his, his skin rough against your own when he squeezes your pinky. As much as his tight grip is starting to hurt, you (unsuccessfully) fight off a smile when you realise that the two of you are effectively holding hands.

“I’m not gonna laugh,” you promise.

A beat passes before Jay lets out a chuckle. “That’s my girl,” he says, voice low as if he didn’t want you to hear him. You wish you didn’t hear him.

When you try to let go, he doesn’t budge, only easing up a little so he’s not cutting off your circulation anymore; just holding it lightly with his. Across the table from you, struggling to meet your eyes, Jay wears a sheepish look. “He threw his pick out into the crowd at the end of the show, and I caught it!” he tells you, looking away. “And I cried..” His voice thins out into practically nothing though you think you hear the words “home,” and “Heeseung,” before he stops talking completely.

Jay’s sentimental side has tugged at your heart for as long as you’ve known him, and given the way he’d sobbed quietly in his seat at the cinemas when you’d gone out to watch a late showing of Spider-Man 2 together, you find it easy to imagine him welling up over catching Yuuri’s guitar pick.

For some reason, much like the tears he’d shed over Peter Parker, you find the thought quite cute, and a smile teases at the corners of your mouth as you make a mental note to finally listen to some Yuuri songs later on. Jay looks at you expectantly, and before you have the chance to speak his phone starts to ring, vibrating incessantly against the table, though Jay doesn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, unable to suppress the snort that makes its way out.

Jay shakes his head. “You promised me. You’re still promising me,” he says, lips curving into a frown as he makes a show of waving your still-linked hands.

“No, it’s cute that you cried.”

He seems shocked by this. “Really?”

“A little.”

His mouth falls open in a silent gasp as he furrows his brows at you. “A li—” He’s cut off by his phone vibrating once again, and he releases your pinky to check it. Jay sighs lightly, reading the messages from his screen and picking up the textbook. “Sorry, Hoon’s on my ass about this thing. I gotta go.”

Disappointment weighs lightly on your shoulders at his words, though you do feel better when you see the little pout on his lips, hoping that it means he doesn’t want your conversation to end either. “I get it,” you say, shooting him a smile that you hope is convincing as he puts the book in his bag before pulling his jacket back on, and standing up from his seat.

“I’ll text you,” he says cheerfully, waving at you before leaving. He looks over his shoulder a few moments later, waving again with the same smile from earlier on his face.

You can’t help but watch as he retreats, captivated by the air of confidence he somehow exudes even without showing his face, until he disappears into the mix of students by the entrance, becoming just another bag and shoulders in the crowd.

Without Jay to chat to, the idea of sitting in the library becomes jarring, and suddenly it’s time for you to leave too. You don’t hesitate to grab your phone when it vibrates twice next to you, an odd combination of the relief from earlier and slight disappointment hitting you when you see that it’s Yunjin — texting you directly this time.

yj: if you wanna ignore me turn off read receipts

yj: open bar for girls on the team

you: sounds like the hockey girls are gonna have a good night

yj: i’ll get you a jacket

you: don’t bother i’m not going.

SWANG rattles through tinny speakers in the student union and with every free drink you knock back, it gets harder and harder to pretend to Yunjin that you’re not having a good time. The team jacket she snagged for you and Chaewon to share fits a little big over your shoulders as you conclude that Number 20 is a lot more popular than you thought if the vaguely disappointed look on many faces when they see your face is anything to go by.

Sitting in a booth towards the back of The U, you and Yunjin mumble along to the song with a shot in each hand as she starts a countdown from 3! and you wonder whether or not you’ll be able to make it to class in the morn—2!—ing given how much you’ve had to drink and how much of the night is still left to happen 1! The formerly rancid tequila goes down like water the first time around, and gets caught in your throat the second time.

“I’m so happy you came tonight!” she yells in your ear, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, choosing to gush while you cough into the crook of your elbow. “I always have the most fun with you but you never come out.” Her drunkenness is evident in the slightly higher pitch that her words take on and the way most of the consonants come out almost the same way the vowels do.

As sweet as she��s being, you can’t ignore the alarms blaring in your head hearing that your best friend would describe going out (at least) two nights a week as “never” going out, but you chuckle along anyway, locking your hand with hers.

With a smile on his face, Lee Jeno brings Chaewon back to the booth in one piece, ruffling her hair a little before raising a hand to salute you and Yunjin, and disappearing back into the crowd.

“The period at the end of that last text almost convinced us,” she says as she takes her seat beside you. “But I new your little crush on Jay wouldn’t let you miss a chance to see him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Chaewon rolls her eyes, backing a shot before leaning over you to get closer to Yunjin. “She’s pretending again.”

With a scoff, Yunjin unlocks her phone and pulls up her camera roll to an album titled with an unfortunately cute ship name. “I can’t stop thinki–” You cut her off, snatching the phone from her hands and placing it under your thigh.

“Okay, okay,” you relent, letting your head fall back as you groan. “I may have had a.. thing for him last semester but I’m over it now.”

“Do you think he’ll swipe up if I post a song he likes?” Chaewon reads between laughs.

Flustered, you sink into your seat after hearing the text that you sent two nights ago, hoping with all your might that the booth will open up to swallow you whole.

To your utter devastation, it does not.

The universe chooses to soothe you in a different way by sending an angel Kazuha to drag you all out onto the dance floor. With intertwined hands, the four of you “excuse me” and “sorry” your way over to where Sakura and her friend Mark are dancing a little closer than usual with one another.

His hands are on her hips as he holds her back to his front, the two of them grinding to the music, but she’s quick to smack his hands off of her and break away from him when she sees you guys approaching. Using a hand to push hair out of her face, Sakura laughs at nothing, smacking Mark’s chest playfully while he glues his eyes to the floor.

“We missed you at pres,” you say, wrapping her in a hug.

“Right, sorry, Mark had a thing at his place!”

Despite understanding why she does, you ignore Chaewon when she nudges you at the mention of Mark and his place before hugging him too, agreeing when he says that you guys should come next time.

The six of you form a circle after greeting one another, jumping around while yelling obnoxiously to the music blaring into your ears. Over Mark’s shoulder, you see Jay nodding at a friend before leaving the clu—“I’m actually gonna go get some air,” you blurt out. “Alone!” you add before Yunjin can offer to come with.

Despite the way the breeze nips at your legs, the fresh air is a welcome slap in the face when it hits you; the previously ear-splitting music reduced to a pathetic mumble now that you’re outside. A few girls that you recognise from some of your classes stand opposite the, now short, entry queue, waving you towards them and blowing cigarette smoke over their shoulders. You shake your head when they offer you a draw, though (against your better judgement) you do accept a few hits of a polar menthol flavoured juul while chatting distractedly about your “new spot” on the hockey team and trying to find Jay — which doesn’t take you very long.

Not too far from where you’re standing, he leans against the building’s grey brick while looking at his phone. Its OLED display casts a slight glow over his features, showing off the crease of his brow, the slope of his nose, and the tiny little pout set on his lips as he types.

You can’t help but stare as Jimin and Minjeong plan the rest of their night, which includes afters at Yizhuo’s if she doesn’t pass out, and extend an invitation to you and your friends — “I mean, we’re still gonna go. She’ll probably need us more if she does,” Minjeong says, stubbing out a cigarette under her shoe before both girls head inside.

Waving goodbye, you let yourself find Jay again and take a deep breath. For a moment, you attempt to strategise in the way you and the girls always do together. A few possibilities play out in your head and right when you think you’ve found a good opener—“Hello!” You find yourself saying as you stumble walk over to him.

As you’ve come to expect, his mouth curves into a smile when he looks up at you. “Hello,” he says, laughing through the word. In the short time it takes you to reach him, and lean about an arm’s length away on the same wall, he slips his phone into his jacket pocket. “Since when are you a hockey girl?”

With a smile of your own, you roll up your left sleeve to refer to a watch that you’re not wearing. “It’s been a few hours.”

Jay’s teeth press down on his bottom lip as he chuckles, before mumbling an apology and pulling his phone back out. You don’t mean to peek at his screen when he opens the messages app, but you do anyway. And can’t help but feel bad at the sight of your name at the top of the second message thread — the memory of Yunjin taking your phone so you couldn’t text back forcing your stomach to turn a little.

Lifting your gaze back up to him, you sort of hate how pretty he looks as he ruffles his hair before putting his phone back in his pock—You turn your head immediately, finding sudden interest in the lamp post that irregularly flickers a pale yellow over his shoulder. For a split second, it seems like you managed to stare at him without being caught, but if the little laugh he lets out is anything to go by, your neck jerk wasn’t as subtle as you’d hoped.

“You’re cute,” he grins, stepping a little closer. “It suits you.”

It’s a struggle to backtrack and remember what the two of you were even talking about as the faint scent of his cologne hits your nostrils. “F-field hockey?” you offer.

“The jacket,” he clarifies, a sweet laugh slipping past his lips as he speaks.

“Ohh, you too.”

He cocks his head to the side. “You think this suits me?”

His hand comes to one side of his denim jacket, holding it out slightly and allowing you to catch a proper whiff of his cologne and a glimpse of his bare shoulder. You worry a little about what might come out of your mouth if you open it, deciding for everyone’s sake just to nod and pray that he’ll leave the damn jacket alone.

“It’d probably look better on you.”

An audible smile tugs at your lips. “No way.” You shake your head, trying and failing to keep your giggles to yourself.

“You wanna prove me wrong?”

With a tilt of your head, you turn the offer around in your mind; a pros and cons list starting to take shape.

Pros: getting to wear Jay’s jacket, having an almost permanent reason to keep chatting with him throughout the night, and getting to see Jay in a vest — arguably the biggest pro of them all, given the amount of IG stories he’s posted in the gym recently.

Con: losing free drinks privileges; which doesn’t really seem like a huge deal because Chaewon can just wear the hockey jacket and get drinks for you like she’s been doing for half of the night so far.

Under the weight of Jay’s stare, you shift on your feet, realising that he’s clearing his throat for the second time since he stopped speaking and you still haven't said anything. “But then I’d have to pay for my drinks,” you say in an attempt not to seem too eager. The words slur a bit on their way out, though you’re too caught up in the way Jay’s lips tug into a grin to fuss over it.

“Not if you stick wi—” He stops short, cut off by a voice from a few metres away. “Jongsaaaaaaeeeeeeng!” it yells. And if not for his silver head of hair, you’d never have believed it was Park Sunghoon screaming like that.

“Poor guy kept icing himself,” Lee Heeseung calmly explains, walking ahead of Sunghoon and, what looks like, Sim Jake who’ve been giggling with one another since the cry left the younger’s mouth.

Despite not knowing Sunghoon very well, from what you’ve heard about him, it’s easy to imagine him hiding bottles of Smirnoff Ice to ice one of his friends, only to lose track of where he’d put them and find them himself later on, thinking one of his friends was icing him. The thought makes you stifle your laughter; you like the fact that Jay laughs too.

Before dapping Jay up, Heeseung offers him the confiscated Smirnoff Ice that Sunghoon had made quite a dent in, only shrugging when he declines. Jay watches as his friend wraps an arm around your shoulder in a polite side hug while asking if you want to finish the “smice”. You let a beat pass before telling him that you’ll think about it.

For a while, you listen as he fills Jay in on what he missed at pres, smiling at Jake and Sunghoon as they get closer, and wondering when it would be appropriate if at all, to introduce yourself to the three boys that you’ve only ever walked by at parties or on campus. You find a window when the two arrive, waving a little when you tell them your name.

Jake’s lips curve into what looks like a smirk as he looks over at you. “We know,” he says, eyes darting quickly over to Jay before looking back at you.

Sunghoon says nothing.

The boys are quick to get back to their conversation, and Heeseung glances in Jay’s direction, nodding his head before making a show of unscrewing the cap on the smice and skying it. After an impressive chug, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, holding up the empty bottle like a trophy before putting it in the bin.

With a slight frown, you realise that you didn’t even get to tell him that you didn’t want it.

There’s a grin on his face as he wraps his arms around Jake and Sunghoon’s shoulders. “See you guys in there!” he says before guiding the two boys away and into the club.

With the two of you on your own again, you become hyperaware of your proximity, of the fact that if you moved your hand even a centimetre it would brush his. The heat from his body is dizzying, and with his body leaning down towards you, Jay is already watching you when you look up at him. His lips rest in a small smile that only widens at the sight of your face, seeming unbothered that you’d caught him staring. That it wouldn’t take much to bridge the gap between your faces. Between your lips.

“The offer still stands,” he says. “To wear my jacket and drink for free.”

A somewhat familiar 808 beat rattles through tinny speakers in the student union.Jay’s jacket fits pretty big over your shoulders as you try not to say anything ridiculous while he holds your hand, leading you through the crowd. Now that your hands are actually clasped, the butterflies you’d felt over having linked fingers for a pinky promise seem silly, completely eclipsed by the feeling of your heart clattering against your ribs. After every few steps, he looks over his shoulder at you, your cheeks burning hotter and hotter with each smile he throws your way.

Upon your return to the booth, you drop the team jacket in Chaewon’s lap, praying that your friends won’t say anything about Jay or the fact that you’re wearing his jacket — or the fact that despite having reached your friends safely the two of you are still holding hands. By the looks of things it seems as though telling her to move up isn’t enough of a signal to her that you’d like to sit down; though maybe she’s just too busy trying to shrug the jacket back on to move up. You tell yourself that she’s just too busy trying to shrug the jacket back on to move up.

Chaewon wears a wicked grin on her face, making no effort to be discreet about staring at your intertwined fingers. “YN? Why aren’t you dancing? You love this song!” she says, opening her mouth to wink obnoxiously at you and nudging Yunjin.

“I don’t know this song,” you say, liking the way Jay laughs beside you, squeezing your hand a little.

For reasons unbeknownst to you, Yunjin sees this as the best opportunity to chime in, tilting her head before saying, “Whaaaaaaat? This is your favourite song! Trust me, Jay, she loves this song!”

“And she’s such a good dancer,” Chaewon adds. “Have you seen her dance, Jay?”

You stand around dumbly, mouthing the word “stop,” at your friends and leaning up towards Jay when he leans down to you. “How about a drink?” he asks with a voice as smooth as velvet, soft lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“Please.”

After telling the girls that you’ll be back, and flipping them off with your free hand, you let Jay lead you back through the dance floor to the bar, letting an elbow rest on its surface. When you look at him, he’s watching you, his lips quirked up ever so slightly while he does so.

Letting your nails drum against the bar, you smile back. “Sorry about my friends,” you say, unsure as to why you’re apologising but feeling like it’s the right thing to say.

“Sorry about your friends?” Jay asks. He grins. “Sorry about mine.”

You want to tell him that you liked his friends, that they seemed nice. Even though Sunghoon didn’t speak, and Heeseung finished the drink he offered you before you even had a chance to let him know that you wanted it. But he’s already distracted.

His eyes scan the bottles that line the shelves behind the bar, and you busy yourself doing the same thing, the sight of almost every rum brand bringing up memories of past nights out with your friends. Two palm trees on a white bottle of “MarkLeebu” leave you suppressing your laughter as you think about Sakura’s friend falling asleep - standing up - against the wall of a club after drinking two bottles of Malibu to himself on a dare.

Jay’s breath fans your ear when he speaks, “What are you having?”

“A jäger bomb.”

With a nod, he orders your drink and a whiskey for himself, and as per his suggestion, the two of you toast “to third year” before drinking.

Jay makes good on his promise. One shot becomes two becomes three, and a cocktail in a comically large pitcher before you wake up the next morning to Sakura hogging the duvet, and no memory of anything beyond sitting down at the bar.

While lying on your back you curse two versions of yourself: the first for leaving the window open before you left, and the second for having so much to drink. Staring up at the ceiling, you attempt to go over your interactions with Jay using a fine-tooth comb to figure out just how badly you humiliated yourself last night. Given the fact that you don’t remember what happened after 1 a.m. (or so), this doesn’t take too long, and the corners of your lips quirk up into a smile as you think about the way his hand felt in yours.

Your memory tells you that he smiled a lot, but this seems like an insignificant detail because Jay always smiles a lot. There was a pitcher. A big one. Inside it was a vibrant, sweet, too cheap to be true cocktail that you sipped, blinked, and opened your eyes to find yourself in bed. The unaccounted-for period fills you with a visceral sense of dread, leaving you unsure if you shiver because of the temperature in your room or out of sheer embarrassment.

The notifications you find on your phone only make you feel more nervous, so you cover your eyes with your hand before checking them. You were mentioned in Chaewon’s Instagram story (which means you behaved catastrophically), and you have a text from Jay (which .. well you’re not quite sure what to make of this). Through the gap in your fingers, you start by looking at the story, uncontrollable butterflies in your stomach from what you see. A picture (on close friends) of you sitting in Jay’s lap with his arms wrapped around your wairs, and his chin resting on your shoulder; the two of you donning wide grins with THESE TWOOOOOOO 😍😍😍 written over it.

Jay’s text is simple yet sweet: hope u got home okay, was realy nice getting to chill w u again <3. You don’t even realise that you’re giggling until Sakura stirs next to you.

you: i did thank uuuuuuu

you: sorry if i was weird though haha

You say. Although all things considered, you can’t really think of anything to be haha-ing about but Jay’s reply comes so quickly that you barely have the time to dwell on this fact. “Nahhhh you were so cute dw,” he texts back.

With your stomach doing somersaults, you turn over in the bed, burying your head in the pillow to muffle a squeal.

Sakura wakes up.

While in the shower, you let the water hit you directly in the face for a bit with your eyes screwed tightly shut under the stream. And not a single thought occurs to you other than how cute Jay seems to think you are.

jay: do you have class today

you: slept in

jay: L

jay: for me.. i wanted to see you again

Your jaw falls open as you read the message, and over your shoulder, Yunjin lets out the gasp that you hadn’t been able to. “Oh, my God!” she says, watching as a cheek-aching smile creeps up on your lips. A small celebration ensues while the two of you squeal and kick your feet like children. And then your phone vibrates again.

jay: could still link if ur down?

jay: hold up

Yunjin pulls air through her teeth. “Could still link if you’re down,” she reads before taking the phone from your hand. “Fuckboy text, ignore.”

Knowing you’re not likely to win the argument that Jay’s not a fuckboy — even though he’s not one, you think — you roll your eyes. “So what if he’s a fuckboy?” you frown, pulling your knees to your chest.

“If a fuckboy was supposed to be liked he’d be called a like boy,” Yunjin says as if reciting scripture. “Text Jaemin back if you want a fuckboy.”

You don’t mean to groan out loud at her tone. “Jaemin’s not a fuckboy, he’s just.. a guy. Who.. likes to fuck.”

The sound of the front door opening prompts you to pause the TV, and the two of you crane your necks towards the open doorway to hear what’s going on. It’s Chaewon giggling loudly before speaking.

“Thanks for bringing me home.”

A deep chuckle sounds through the hall. Jeno. Of course. “You’re my girl,” he says and his smile is audible through his words. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Chaewon giggles at this too, and, pressing play on the remote, you share a look with Yunjin as you hear the beginning of a wet kiss. Brooklyn Nine-Nine gets through an entire cold open and the theme song before she – looking fresher than ever in her boyfriend’s sweatpants – joins you both on the couch.

“What’d I miss?” she asks.

“Yunjin thinks Jay’s a fuckboy.”

Chaewon lets out a snort. “Well, yeah, anyone could’ve told you that, dude’s best friend is Lee Heeseung,” she says, though quickly changes her tune as if remembering her audience. “It’s all just rumours though, people see a good-looking guy who’s overly friendly and flirts with everybody, and posts obvious thirst traps to his Snapchat story, and just assume he’s a fuck boy..” she trails off, sinking a little in her seat.

Somewhat disheartened, you nod your head. “Right.”

“So what did I miss?” Chaewon asks again, pointing at the TV this time.

Still in Yunjin’s custody, your phone vibrates in her lap and she gasps as she reads the screen. “A reformed fuck boy?” she says, holding the phone up for you and Chaewon to read.

jay: would you like to hang out with me later?

You grin despite yourself, reading the message and reading it again before telling him “yes”, and later can’t come soon enough. The time slips by like molasses and you finally meet up with Jay -four decades- two hours later, with no set plan, at the library where he approaches you with Jake and a smile on his face.

Friendly as ever, Jake chats with you and keeps a pretty smile on his lips the whole time. “If you ever have a hard time with physics or math based classes, I’ve got you,” he offers, clearly happy to hear that you’re in STEM too.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you tell him, grateful as you remember the tears you’d shed over a Construction Mathematics lecture last year.

With a wave, Jake leaves the two of you alone, saying “See you later” before walking away. He excitedly glances over his shoulder to where you stand with Jay a few times.

After telling you that he “knows a spot,” Jay takes you on a bit of a walk, successfully distracting you from the distance by keeping you talking. He listens enthusiastically while you ramble about a show you started, and you like the feeling in your chest when he says he’ll check it out.

With a “ta-da,” Jay extends an arm to the gate in front of you. A play park. “We’re here!” he says, struggling to mask the excitement in his voice as he walks towards the empty play area. “It’s no fun when there’s kids here so I brought us the long way.”

As you follow him through the gate, you can’t help but feel a bit nervous. The last time you’d been sober at a play park you were probably 15 or so, cutting through the park on your walk home from school with your friends. You’d spin the roundabout at lightspeed cackling at the screams of terror coming from those sitting on it, and talk about your crushes while calming down on the swings.

Jay sits on one of the swings and watches you, and even though you’re not too sure what to talk about, you’re pretty sure confessing your crush on him as you sit next to him might send him running in the opposite direction. Instead, you clear your throat and look over at him. “So your “spot” is a play park?” you ask, using your feet to rock you back and forth.

He pulls air through his teeth, scrunching his nose and tilting his head. “Would you prefer it if I took you to CP in the Sky?”

If Jay had his car with him, you might have hoped for that. Most of the boys in your city who drive, including Jaemin, have been known to take girls to a spot they know. Super quiet, private, and almost as pretty as you, they’ll say, and take you up to ‘Car Park in the Sky’; the city’s most notorious hook-up spot. Though, Jaemin hadn’t exactly been secretive about wanting to hook up and actually only drove there after you’d told him about it.

You shake your head. “The park is good, it’s great.”

Conversation ebbs and flows between the two of you, the sounds of nature and the swings creaking keeping you company. It’s nice spending time with Jay like this. Sober. And not holed up in the library or a cafe with assignments and deadlines on your mind.

You don’t mean to gain momentum but you do, swinging about as high as you can, gasping when you see a car over the top of a climbing frame.

“What is it?” he asks, laughing to himself when you jump off the swing.

“I wanna take a drive!” you call out over your shoulder, jogging over to the wooden stationary car you saw.

Jay’s footsteps sound after yours, and he grabs you by the wrist before you climb into the driver’s side. “Did you get your licence yet?”

You shake your head, watching as his mouth falls open, bracing yourself for a lecture on how a girl of your age should be driving already.

He looks aghast, in genuine distress before he speaks. “What makes you think I’m gonna let you drive?” Jay nods his head to the other side of the car. “Go.”

Letting out the most exaggerated sigh you can manage, you comply, dragging your feet to the passenger side and climbing in. Jay follows suit, sitting down next to you on the small connected seat built with kids in mind, and his thigh presses up against yours.

“Don’t be upset, everyone knows passenger princess is way more fun than actually driving.”

And rationally, you know he’s not specifically calling you a princess but your tummy turns nonetheless.

“Whatever,” you mumble, faking a sigh and struggling to suppress your laughter when he buckles a fake seat belt. Jay gives you a disapproving look when you don’t move to do the same. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he says solemnly, though you can see the smile teasing at his lips. “Better safe than sorry, that’s what I always say.”

There’s nothing behind his words, no hidden meaning but you read into them anyway, hoping he can’t hear the way you gulp at the thought that plagues you. For some reason, you’ve chosen this hill to die on, shrugging at him and turning to look straight ahead.

Jay sighs dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose before leaning over you to grab your ‘seat belt’ and buckle in by himself. He takes his time though, and the way he looks you dead in the eye makes you wish you’d just done it yourself. His face is close to yours, his breath warm against your skin, creating a welcome contrast to the cold air around you. He lingers for a beat before sitting up straight and clicking the belt into place.

“Finally,” he whispers, putting an imaginary gear stick into reverse and draping his arm over the back of your connected seat. You can’t help but watch as he looks over your shoulders before moving the car, liking the way his side profile looks under the rapidly setting sun. Something stops him, he looks at you. “I can’t focus with you staring at me like that,” he says, taking his hand from the wheel to touch your cheek.

Your breath catches in your throat. Jay grins, gently turning your face away from him. You stare over at the roundabout and feel just as dizzy as you would have if you’d taken him up on his offer to spin you on it.

Jay gets on with all the necessary checks before ‘starting’ the car and ‘driving’ off. “What are you thinking about?”

It probably wouldn’t be appropriate to tell him that you’re thinking about the way it felt when he put his fingers to your cheek. Or how gentle he was with you, only pushing you a little bit and then guiding you the rest of the way. So you keep that to yourself. “The movies.”

You hear Jay chuckling next to you. “All of them?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “The drive-in kind. Have you been?”

“I went once.”

You gasp, excited. “Really? What did you see?”

Jay thinks about it for a while. He thinks about it really hard before shaking his head, “You know, I don’t think I was paying much attention.”

“You spent all that money on a ticket and didn’t even pay attention? What were you doing?” The words rush out before you can stop them and you cringe a little thinking about the possible answers.

He turns his gaze back out on the road. “Sleeping,” he mumbles, swallowing thickly.

You wish you could go back in time to stop yourself from asking, finding an answer to the question: “Is it better to speak or to die?”

“Hey, we can go to the drive-in right now! I just need to put this thing in park and we can watch any movie you want!” he says, stopping the car and turning as much as he can in his seat to face you. “Any movie that’s available with a Netflix subscription!” he adds, smiling when you do.

Cramped together in the front seat of the stationary car, the two of you watch The Devil Wears Prada and get about halfway through before Jay’s phone hits 10% — and it’s probably the best movie watching experience you’ve ever had.

You take Jay up on his offer to walk you home, and he chats with you about the movie, telling you how much he thinks it totally blows that Miranda Priestly isn’t a real person that he can work for after graduation, but he seems happy enough when you suggest that he could become Miranda Priestly.

Reaching the familiar crossing by the student union, you look up at him. “If it’s easier, you can just head your way from here. I can literally see my building,” you offer, feeling bad about him walking so far out of his way.

Jay scoffs like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “I’m not gonna make you walk by yourself.”

“It’s barely five minutes,” you tell him, shaking your head. “You don’t have to.”

“YN?”

“Hm?”

A pretty smile spreads across his lips. “I want to, let’s go.” And Jay hardly gets to start telling you about his upcoming mock trial before you reach your flat.

“This is me,” you say, pointing at the door to your building.

He lets out a dry chuckle. “You’re kidding.”

You shake your head. He frowns, looking terribly cute with his lips turned down like that. Though it doesn’t last for long and he raises his brows when you gasp. “You know, we came from a place I’ve never been before, and I’m starting to think this might be the wrong street,” you say, struck by the sudden realisation. “We should probably walk around the block a couple more times, just to really be sure.”

Listening to your words, Jay beams at you and it’s heavenly. “I heard it can actually take, like, 4 or 5 walks around the block if you want 100% certainty.”

“Oh yeah,” you giggle. “I think I’ve heard that too. Should we make it 6?”

“Perfect.”

To your surprise, you’d both been wrong. As it would turn out, the required number of, very slow, walks around a student housing complex to be 100% sure, completely beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’re at the right place is ten.

“Hey, uh, how about we do one more lap? Just to make sure? For the absolute best measure,” Jay suggests, eyes twinkling under the streetlamp. He almost looks a little nervous, burying his hands in his pockets as he watches you.

“Sounds good.”

Just like your last few walks around the student housing block, fallen leaves rustle under your footsteps, and the back of Jay’s hand still brushes against yours, but this time feels different. Maybe because there’s a finality to this; the last lap. You couldn’t possibly ask him to spend any more time walking around here. Could you?

“This neighbourhood is so cute, all the student apartments clustered together like this, I love it,” he says, looking over at you.

“It’s nice knowing that some of my friends, and the people I like partying with, live so close, but it’s always so noisy around here,” you tell him, continuing when he doesn’t speak. “‘Cause it’s all just a bunch of 18–20–somethings that live here, and The U’s just down the street. The noise is fun when I’m part of it, but when I’m studying or just trying to sleep it’s annoying.”

“Don’t you think it’s kinda cool though? There’s always something happening. So even if the girls aren’t down to go out, you’re not exactly short on plans.”

You’d never really thought of it like that. Probably because Yunjin is always down to go out. But you like the way he puts it. You nod, reminded of your classmates who live in the building right next to where you’re walking. “Yeah, I should probably text Minjeong more.”

“And if not you can always hit me and see what I’m doing,” he says at the same time.

You stop walking, and your heart — feels like it — stops beating.

Jay, noticing this, stands in front of you, hands help up defensively as he shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that, obviously. I just thought it’d be cool if you weren’t doing anything and I wasn’t doing anything, maybe we could link and do nothing together,” he explains. “I’m stupid, sorry.”

This might be the first time you’ve ever heard Jay ramble like this, and your heart does a twirl just seeing his worried expression. “I think if I’m not doing anything, and you’re not doing anything, then it’d be cool for us to link and do nothing together, Jay,” you smile, liking the way he visibly relaxes, his shoulders falling slightly and an exhale curling out of his mouth and into the air.

“Cool.”

When, for the 11th time, you reach your building, you turn to Jay and hesitate a little, unsure of what to say. Glancing at him, it looks as though he’s feeling the same way. A silence falls over the two of you.

Finally, Jay speaks. “Goodnight,” he says, pulling you into a hug.

Despite your surprise, you wrap your arms around his waist, holding him close. You hope he can’t feel the way your heart is racing. Or the way it starts to pick up when you catch a whiff of his scent. Warm and cosy, tempting in a strange way that you can’t quite put your finger on but you like all the same.

When Jay lets go of you, you look up at him almost instinctively. You don’t mean to stare at his lips but you do, gulping at how close they are. You want to kiss him. Not any more than usual, but the urge is there. “Goodnight,” you say, taking a step back and walking up the path to the door.

Using your key fob, you unlock the door, turning to look over your shoulder and thankfully finding Jay still standing there, watching you with a stomach-turning smile on his face. “I had a really nice time tonight,” you say, smiling back.

“Yeah?”

You nod. “We should hang out more.”

“I think so too.”

“Cool,” you smile, biting your lip. “Goodnight, Jay.”

“Goodnight, YN.”

“Could you, text me? When you get home, so I know you’re, like, safe.”

Jay beams at you, nodding his head. “Of course.”

After a week (eleven days) of texting and hanging out with Jay when you can, you find yourself spending 3 hours of your Friday afternoon taking notes in your Sustainable Development lecture, and coming to the realisation that none of the course content is relevant to the report you’re trying to get through.

Seeing Jay leaning on the wall outside your class when you leave is a welcome surprise; he wears a thin pair of glasses and a smile that makes your heart stutter a bit as he stands up straighter, greeting you when he sees you and quickly falling into your step. “I meant to ask you earlier, are you going to the game on Saturday?” A beat passes. “Football,” he clarifies. “First home game of the season.”

“Maybe if my friends are going.”

Jay seems to think about this for a moment as you round the corner at the end of the corridor and he holds the door to the stairwell open. “After you.”

You mumble a thank you and count six steps before he speaks again.

“I’m going,” Jay informs you, his hand meeting the back of his neck to scratch awkwardly at it. “I mean, I’m gonna be on the pitch but.. I’ll be there.”

A breathy laugh slips from your lips at this added information; how sweet of the football team’s captain to let you know that he’ll be at his team’s football game on Saturday. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I just think it’d be cool to see a friendly face in the crowd when I score the winning goal.”

Given Jay’s unending kindness, you imagine that most of the faces in the crowd — or at least the ones from your uni — will be friendly, especially if he scores the winning goal. The thought causes a smile to itch at your lips as you consider that maybe he means that it’d be cool to see your friendly face in the crowd. And who could say no to that?

The rest of the conversation goes smoothly and Jay slows down when you reach the second floor. “I have some admin shit to work out, but I’ll see you at the game?” he asks, watching you with hopeful eyes and chewing on his bottom lip.

Knowing full well that you’ll be there, you pretend to think about it for a moment. “Maybe.”

Jay chuckles at this, tilting his head. “Please?”

“Maybe,” you repeat, despite already planning your outfit. Did you wash your white shirt or will you be doing laundry tonight? You wave at Jay when he waves and make your way down the rest of the stairs while clicking mindlessly through Instagram stories.

Nothing interests you until you reach IG user onyourm__ark's story; a picture of IG user 39saku_chan in his football jersey. You hit the like button and pretend to believe that the song choice (Infrunami by Steve Lacy) was made purely out of sheer enjoyment of the artist’s early work.

With a smile on your face, you text the group chat to solidify your weekend plans.

you: are u going to the football game tmrw

cw: not even if u paid me

yj: hard no

yj: i’m going to the party AFTER the game though

yj: why?

you: it’s nothing dw

cw: ???

you: jay invited me..

The chill of October’s first evening is unkind on your face as you sit amongst the rowdiness of drunk uni kids, cheering and groaning in unison as the game trudges on, and somehow Kazuha manages to sleep through it all with her head on your shoulder.

“Fuuuuck,” Yunjin groans, shivering in the seat next to you. “I hate sports.”

“Says the captain of the hockey team,” you say, voice coming out muffled behind the top of your jacket.

“Playing and watching are, like, completely different.”

You’re sure Yunjin’s right, she has to be, but you have to admit that there’s something more than slightly entertaining about watching a group of boys chasing a ball around and yelling expletives at one another, all while number 99 keeps a huge grin on his face, laughing at his teammate’s temper. Or lack thereof.

However, the novelty wears off at around 8:45 when the ref calls for half-time; a chill runs down your spine as you’re struck with the realisation that university football games are full-length. But other than Yunjin’s teasing, there’s no use pretending that you hate the sight of Jay lifting the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.

As the players retreat from the pitch and some students start to clear the stands, Yunjin gets up to stretch. She hums along to the song playing while you watch from your seat with aching knees, slightly envious and trying not to move too much and wake up Kazuha who sleeps soundly on your shoulder.

With her arms above her head, Yunjin lets out a yawn. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but I’d really rather be doing a reading for marketing than be here any longer.”

“And I’d rather be helping you out,” you say, frowning a little when Kazuha stirs. “Hey, what do you think they do during half-time?” you ask distractedly.

She thinks about it for a beat, eyes flicking to the pitch before looking back to you. “We usually strategise, use the bathroom, get water — quick things like that,” she says, raking a hand through her hair, watching as you shift a little in your seat to get your phone from your pocket when it vibrates. “They have a lot longer than we do though.”

jay: are you having fun?

you: yeah you guys are great, good game so far :)

Yunjin scrunches up her nose as she reads the exchange. “God, you’re so boring,” she sighs, taking the phone from your hands, and typing something before showing the screen to you.

“We should link at the party later,” you read, scoffing as you take it back and delete the message. “I’d never say that.” In those words.

jay: hahaha i think you might be my good luck charm

A dramatic gasp comes from a now-awake Kazuha. “Don’t reply!”

You heed this advice, joining her as she stands up to stretch as well.

“Look how much fun they’re having,” Kazuha sighs, pointing over at Sakura and Chaewon in their seats close to the pitch. They dance along to the music blaring through the speakers and laugh so loudly you can hear them despite their distance. “Why didn’t we join them?”

You think about it for a bit, filled with regret. “At the time, pregaming before the game and then pregaming again before the party seemed intense but..” you trail off, watching your friends clutch their stomachs in laughter. “Next time.”

“Next time,” Kazuha repeats, slouching in her seat. “I’m clearing your drink supply when we get back.” There’s a frown on her face when she speaks but she’s quick to perk up at the sound of your text tone, grabbing the phone for herself.

jay: are you coming tn? got a feeling that congrats will be in order

you (technically kazuha): wouldn’t miss it !!!

“Three exclamation points? I’m not that desperate,” you say defensively, nudging her in the ribs.

As if on cue, Yunjin reads another text. “I saw his notes again, his handwriting is so cute and ugly, agh I’m literally clutching my chest, he’s perfect,” she says, her voice high-pitched and mocking.

Hearing your typed words out loud from someone else’s mouth is troubling, especially because “It never seems that bad when I’m typing,” you frown, immediately checking your phone when it goes off.

jay: awesome :) see u there

jay: !!!

The game’s second half goes by much quicker and in the end, they lose 5-3, leaving you and Yunjin struggling to keep your laughter to yourselves at the sight of the FIRST W OF THE SEASON banner hanging up in the living room of the house that most of the footballers share. With linked arms, the two of you make your way to the kitchen to get something to drink. Already feeling the buzz from pregaming, you settle on a cup of lemonade which Yunjin rolls her eyes at.

“Shut up,” you say, eyeing her over the rim of your cup.

Yunjin holds her hands up defensively, spilling a few drops of her tequila-vodka concoction. “I didn’t even say anything.” For a couple of minutes, you pretend to listen as Yunjin tries to come up with a game plan for the night, nodding and humming along when she pauses, and trying to decipher the animal code names she’s using. A gasp. “I see him! Black cat and penguin sitting out on the half wall.”

You watch as she leans over the sink to get a closer look out of the window. “I feel like saying exactly where they are makes the code names redundant.”

“I feel like you’re redundant.” A beat passes. “Just be yourself, and if he says something funny, laugh and put your hand on his bicep while you do.”

“Noted.”

Yunjin doesn’t let you go outside without taking a sip (or three) of the poison in her cup, and after you gag over the sink, the two of you make your way into the garden, sights set on the half wall where “black cat” now sits alone. A potent mixture of the scent of tobacco and weed hits you the second you open the back door, and the two of you leave the house to make a beeline to Jay, apparently to Yunjin’s displeasure, given the way she asks you three times to play beer pong with her when some of the basketball boys start setting up cups for the next round.

“No,” you say. Three times.

As if sensing your presence, Jay whips his head around right before the two of you reach him, a bright smile gracing his face as he waves at you with his whole arm. He seems to glow against the darkness of the night, bright, dreamy, an unreal quality that leaves you feeling fuzzy around the edges. Jay, you think, over and over and it starts to sound made up. Jay. Jay. Jay. Until you reach him. He stands up when you guys are close enough. “You’re here,” Jay says with a smile, pulling you into a hug. With his arms around your waist, his hold is somehow both tight and gentle. Secure. Safe.

“Hey,” you say, voice muffled by the fabric of his hoodie. A whiff of his scent hits you, flooding your senses. Fresh, citrusy, and undeniably Jay. A dizzying combination, so light, and distinctly him in a way that makes your heart beat a bit faster.

When Jay lets go of you to hug Yunjin, you take the last sip of your drink and almost wish you’d taken her cup instead; your lemonade is sweet to the tongue but does absolutely nothing to boost your confidence. You watch as they greet each other while Jay sits back down. Standing in front of him with your arm against Yunjin’s, you feel as though you've missed the window to sit down too and opt to continue standing next to her.

“We like your banner,” you say, pointing in the direction of the house behind him.

Following your finger, Jay lets his head whip around towards the back of the house. Yunjin uses the time he spends looking over his shoulder to nudge you, nod her head in his direction, and mouth the word “sit” at you. So you do.

If he’s surprised to turn back around barely a second later and find you right beside him, Jay doesn’t show it. He gives you a warm smile and knocks his knee against yours before speaking. “What, first w of the season?” He tilts his head. “And here I thought you were a good luck charm, twenty,” he says with a chuckle when you nod.

Yunjin’s brows raise, and you feel yours rise too. “Twenty?” she asks.

“The hockey jacket,” he answers without missing a beat. “Speaking of, when’s your next game?”

“Oh, we’re playing the Foxes next week,” Yunjin rakes a hand through her hair. “TDU, you know?”

Jay nods, turning his attention back to you. “Can I look forward to seeing you on the field, twenty?”

Tilting your head, you pull air through your teeth. “You know what, I actually just got benched, like, right now,” you say, liking the way Jay laughs. “I’m out for the rest of the season.”

After clapping a hand to his mouth, Jay points at you. “Did they get you on a drunk and disorderly after the mixer?” he asks through a laugh.

In horror, you watch while Yunjin’s head falls back with laughter as she lets out cackles that only unsettle you. “That’s exactly what happened!”

“I was not.. disorderly,” you say meekly, finding sudden interest in the hem of your skirt.

It sounds as though Jay says: “You didn’t tell her how she got back home?” though you’re finding it difficult to focus on much other than trying to recover your missed hours after the hockey mixer.

You’ve gone on countless nights out, spent many mornings after vowing never to drink again, and, on multiple occasions, have gotten too drunk to enter the club. But even then, in the past, your memory has only ever been.. spotty, nonlinear. Never completely void for hours at a time, and it’s concerning. After tonight, you really won’t drink again.

Except on birthdays.

And when you go to the club. Or to parties. Or when you’re bored with the girls. But again, apart from that? Never.

“How did I g—” you start, though Yunjin cuts you off.

“I think Zuha’s lifting her leg again, hold on,” she groans, looking over Jay’s shoulder at the glass doors leading to the kitchen. Yunjin disappears back into the house and it’s not until you watch her slide the back door shut behind her that you remember Kazuha having too much to drink at pres and having to stay in with Chaewon.

When you look at Jay, he watches you with knitted brows. “Kazuha’s doing what?” he asks.

“Ballet,” you explain. He nods.

Neither of you speak for a moment. While you chew on the inside of your cheek, you can’t help but wonder if you should’ve followed Yunjin, or if you should’ve had less to drink at the mixer. You reckon the fact that Jay’s still talking to you must mean you didn’t do anything that you can’t recover from, but you can’t shake the feeling that your trip home that night was less than pleasant.

“Hey,” Jay says quietly, catching your attention with concern lacing his features. “What do you look so down for?” he asks.

Though terrified of the answer, you repeat your earlier question. “How did I get home?” you ask, wondering if the Earth usually opened up to swallow people whole or if you’d have to put in a special request.

Jay licks his lips, using his hand to push your shoulder playfully. “I have no idea,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I was talking to Yunjin at the library on Tuesday, I think, and she told me you can’t remember anything. I just wanted to freak you out.”

You feel heat under his touch and relief from his words, though something about him talking with Yunjin seems to jostle you slightly. “Yunjin was at the library?”

Briefly, what looks like disappointment flashes across Jay’s face, replaced quickly with a pretty smile, light, playful. “You care more about Yunjin being at the library than me asking your friend about you?” he asks.

“You were asking my friend about me?”

“Yeah, I think you’re cute,” Jay says sweetly, smiling at you in a way that makes your cheeks burn even when you look down at your lap.

There’s something about the way he says it, so casually as if telling you the time or today’s date, that throws you off. It doesn’t make any sense to you that some of the most vivid sensations that Jay makes you feel are just that: sensations. You know that your stomach doesn’t actually have butterflies in it and that your heart isn’t really twirling in your chest, but it sure feels like it. You wonder if he also feels like that sometimes. You earnestly hope that if he does, it’s because of you.

He seems nearer than before when you look at him, and for fear that you might kiss him if he gets any closer, you bring your empty cup to your lips, lean back a little, and pretend to sip. Its emptiness isn’t lost on Jay, however, who chuckles, asking if you want a refill. While walking towards the house, you listen as he tells you what the team normally get up to during half-time (mostly strategising and pretending not to hear Heeseung’s snores), and silently beg your cheeks to cool down. His hand is heavy on the small of your back as he ushers you inside first, sliding the door shut behind him, and gently pushing you towards the kitchen island.

You let yourself lean against the counter, ignoring the fluttering in your stomach as you watch him reach for a visibly sticky bottle of your favourite drink without asking what you’d like. Though before actually touching it, his eyes widen. “Wait, I have something for you,” he says, holding out a hand for you to take. “Come on.”

Jay weaves his fingers with yours, leading you through the house and up the stairs into a bedroom. He closes the door gently behind you, stepping over a couple of backpacks before sitting on the end of the bed, and tugging at the zipper on one of them.

For a moment you watch as veins appear on his hands and have to physically tell yourself to drag your eyes to anything else, eventually settling on the walls. Walls that are covered in countless glossy 4x6 prints, some shots of landscapes, groups of people, out-of-focus beer bottles and.. “You have a lot of photos of Mark Lee in here,” you comment, scanning the room around you. “And it doesn’t look like you’re.. in any of them,” you continue as you notice a grainy polaroid stuck to the wall next to the light switch — a picture of Mark making out with his best friend, Sakura “give me a break, a boy and a girl can be just friends” Miyawaki, and make a mental note to bring it up later.

Jay glances at you as if you’re the one sleeping in a Markkura shrine. “Yeah, ‘cause it’s his room,” he chuckles. “You can sit down, you know,” he adds after a beat, moving over a bit on the bed.

With a nod, you look at some more of the pictures as you make your way over to the spot next to him, a photo of Mark and Jake with their middle fingers to the camera catching your eye. And holding it for so long that you trip a little over one of the backpacks before sitting down and pretending nothing happened. Thankfully, Jay doesn’t seem to notice.

“It’s not much by the way, don’t get your hopes up,” he warns, his hand still hidden by the fabric of his bag.

“Got it.”

Despite his earlier disclaimer, he makes a show of the whole thing. “Ta-da!” His voice is a little singsong as he brings the obje—bottle of Smirnoff Ice into view.

“Thank you?” The bottle is cold in your hands when you take it from him, reading the ABV 4% on its label and wondering how many of these Sunghoon must have had to drink to have been stumbling the way he was that night. You also can’t help but wonder what reason Jay has for buying you a bottle and then taking you into the privacy of Mark’s bedroom to give it to you.

“Yeah,” he trails off a little, letting his hand come up to scratch the back of his neck. “You looked pretty crushed the other night when Heeseung finished that one bottle.”

You can’t help the scoff that comes out. “Crushed? I mean, I might’ve frowned.”

“Frowned? You were near tears, I was worried about you.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, every time I looked at you, you had this.. upset look on your face.”

“Well, maybe you should stop looking at me so much.”

Jay’s eyes sparkle under the light, flicking back and forth from your eyes to your lips as he brings a hand up to your face, tucking some hair behind your ear, his fingers hot on your skin, unmoving. His eyes lock with yours. “Come on,” he says in a low voice. “You know there’s no stopping that.”

A smile tugs at your lips. Jay bites his. His gaze drops back down to your mouth. Lingers. And in what almost seems like an alcohol-induced hallucination, he leans in. Slightly. As if testing the waters. As if waiting for a sign that you want him to stop. A sign that you want him to continue. Anything. His hand is heavy on your cheek when he cups it in his palm, skin rough against yours.

Mere inches away, Jay’s lips seem more tempting than ever. Separated only by the distance of a breath and your nerves, you try to settle yourself. To put your heart at ease. But how could you relax when he looks at you like that; his gaze soft, tender, all of his attention on y—The bottle slips from your hands, cool against your thighs, reminding you of its existence. Jay flinches when you do.

“Let’s have a drink!” you suggest, though the absence you feel when he takes his hand from your face makes you wish you hadn’t.

“Sure.”

The cap screws off the bottle with a few satisfying clicks, and Jay, amused, shakes his head when you offer him the first sip. “After you,” he says.

Without a second thought, the bottle touches your lips and the sweet, sweet taste of Smirnoff Ice touches your tongue, coating your mouth and leaving you wishing the alcohol content was higher.

“Do you mind if I put my lips on it?” he asks while you pass the drink to him.

You shake your head, determined not to think of a double meaning, and watch as his lips connect with the bottle’s opening, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat while he drinks. When Jay pulls it from his mouth, he lets his tongue dart out to wet his lips. You wonder if it will taste different in his mouth, if his lips, wet from the drink, taste as sweet as they look.

Now that you realise you’ve shared an indirect kiss, you kick yourself for passing up the chance at a direct one, deciding that if you want him to kiss you, you’ll need to get closer. Step up your game a little. Maybe you’ll say something about his necklace, ask to get a better look.. And hopefully, he’ll take the hint and kiss you because you’re not really sure what else you could say.

Of course, you could opt to skip words altogether, taking his face in your hands, and pressing your lips to his. You’re sure that’s what Yunjin would do. And you’re sure that would be her advice to you if you asked her.

Jay hands the bottle back to you and you close it, determined to feel his lips on yours if it’s the last thing you do. And you quickly open the bottle again, one last sip for good luck. The soft laugh he lets out is breathy, and it’s hard to tell if the heat in your stomach is coming from the drink, or from the way you see him looking at you in your peripheral.

His straight teeth bite at his bottom lip, and he shakes his head when you offer him another sip. This time when you close the bottle, you do it for good, setting the glass on the floor so it doesn’t interrupt you again.

“I really like your necklace,” you say, off to a good start, following the plan.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Aw.. thanks,” he says, choosing now, of all times, to stop being a conversationalist.

In the quiet of the room, you realise that you hadn’t planned anything beyond the compliment. You let your eyes focus back on the charm hanging from his neck, trying to picture him with a fishing rod in his hand, and wellington boots on his feet. It doesn’t really work. “I didn’t realise you were so into fishing,” you blurt out, and the way he knits his brows together makes you wish you’d just grabbed him and planted a kiss on the lips he purses to the side while watching you.

“Me?”

“Yeah you, with your cute little hook on a chain.”

Jay squints at you. “Hook on a chain?” he repeats.

You let a hand reach up and press on the hook pendant on his necklace.

His shoulders rise and fall dramatically as he sighs, his hand coming up to wrap around yours, holding it to the base of his neck as the small (not) hook warms in your fist. “Why does everybody think it’s a hook?”

“It isn’t?”

“It’s the letter J.” He lets go of your hand to lift the charm. “See?”

You squint your eyes, leaning a little closer to him, gaze fixed on the little gold hook letter sitting near the base of his neck. “Ohhhh, right,” you say, but even from a few inches away, it still looks like a hook, and from this close, you can hear the way his breath hitches in his throat.

With an inhale, you find yourself lingering. Sticking around just long enough to make out the woodier notes of his cologne before moving back a little. Finally, you draw your eyes away from his neck, wanting to meet his gaze but finding yourself stuck on his lips instead. They sit slightly ajar, pink, pretty, sort of chapped in the way they always seem to be. His breath tickles your forehead. You sit straighter, noticing the way his eyes burn holes into you.

“Quit staring,” you mumble hypocritically.

Jay’s brows quirk up for a split second as he sits back on his hands. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Well, you’d have to be staring at me to know.”

“Do you want me to stop staring?”

He seems to consider this for a second before shaking his head. “No,” he tells you.

“What do you want then?” Your voice is soft when you ask.

“I wanna kiss you.”

Jay’s lips don’t move but you hear the word “really” being spoken out into the room like a question. Your voice doesn’t feel like your own and doesn’t fully register until Jay says: “Yeah,” so softly that it’s practically a whisper.

Jay wants.. to kiss you. You feel your breath catch in your throat and it seems even more ridiculous to think it than to have heard it from him. To see his lips move to form the words. I wanna kiss you, he’d said. You’d heard it. You’d seen it. It happened. He wants.. to kiss you.

“Do you want me to do that?” he asks, leaning in slightly, his hand rising to cup your cheek. Slower, gentler than last time.

You let your gaze meet his; regret flooding you immediately. Just as kind and soft as the rest of him, Jay’s eyes stare into yours, warm, and inviting, but, still, you can’t shake off your nerves. More than anything, you want to say yes; to say of course, can’t you tell? but you don’t trust yourself enough to open your mouth and speak to him. Instead, you nod, so slightly that for a moment you wonder if he even noticed. And then, there, in the dim privacy of Mark Lee’s bedroom, while your heart beats out of your chest, Jay kisses you for the first time.

His lips are warm against yours, the sweet taste of Smirnoff Ice only amplified as he holds you close. Soft, gentle, kissing Jay is everything you’d imagined it would be. You feel as though you might melt under his touch as his hand grabs your waist to pull you closer. So close that you’re nearly in his lap as he deepens the kiss, his tongue moving along yours.

It doesn’t feel real, it can’t be.

As if thrown by your thoughts, Jay pulls away. While attempting to form a coherent thought, you catch your breath, once again, regretting looking at him. He looks down the bridge of his nose at you with half-lidded eyes, and his pretty, pink lips sit parted, wet and plump from kissing. Jay leans in almost immediately, the moment cut short by his lips on yours once again.

It’s tangible this time; you couldn’t possibly make up the way his hand grips your ass or the way he groans softly when you whine into his mouth. He’s real, and he’s kissing you, and you only feel yourself growing dizzier, and dizzier the longer his lips move against yours. A gasp pulls you out of it and the two of you separate.

Looking in the direction of the now open door you see Sakura and Mark hand in hand. You can’t help the slight embarrassment that hits you at first, hating that, of all people, it had to be Mark to walk in and find you making out with someone on his bed.

Though you get a bit distracted seeing him and Sakura like this, they look cute together. His football hoodie covers her form completely, much longer than the dress she has on, as she leans into him, and a giggle slips from her lips when he lets go of her hand to wrap an arm around her waist instead.

Somewhat belatedly, and needlessly, Mark apologises, his eyes focused on you when he speaks but you can’t get the words out to respond to him. Jay chuckles at this, shaking his head and telling him not to worry about it as he stands up from the bed. You follow suit. Jay picks up your drink from the floor and takes you by the hand, telling Mark he’ll text him later while leading you out of the room. When you glance at Sakura, she’s grinning at you, mouthing: “Sorry,” before smacking your butt.

Jay hands you the bottle when the door closes, his hand slipping out of yours. A beat passes. And then another. He chews at his bottom lip. You clear your throat and the silence continues. It’s a shame to be standing around like idiots on the landing like this, you think.

“I..” he trails off, wiping his hands on his pants. He points over his shoulder with his thumb. “I should get back to the boys.”

Your heart sinks as you hesitate, unsure how to respond. Slowly, you nod. “Right, yeah,” you say.

“Later,” he mumbles, holding up his hand to wave stiffly at you before turning around to leave.

Deflated, you lean against Mark’s door while you search for your phone to ask Yunjin where she is. Maybe if you’d waited for a moment, you’d have seen the way Jay stopped at the top of the stairs to look over at you, seen the frown on his face when he saw that you weren’t looking at him. But instead, you read 2 texts from Yunjin.

yj: dude heso into u

yj: flirt more = hv fun upstairs

You spend the next three days pretending nothing happened at the party, avoiding Jay, and dreading going to uni. It’s just unfortunate that for you, pretending nothing happened looks like zoning out in the library while replaying the kiss in your head until your elbow slips off the desk. And avoiding Jay seems near impossible, given his tendency to show up everywhere. Or rather, your tendency to see Jay in everything.

Like the tiny little black cat you saw perched on the fence outside your apartment building, and the busker singing Harry Styles in the city centre. And the half-full bottle of Smirnoff Ice from that night that sits on your dresser with your perfume and jewellery, displayed with about as much sentiment as a trophy won at school for a random achievement.

Impulsively, you post a selfie to your Instagram story before hiding your phone under your pillow and leaving the room entirely, making yourself comfortable atop the kitchen counter and waiting for someone to come back home.

Chaewon gets home first, and quickly, arriving with a groan as she shrugs her jacket off and shuts the door behind her. “I hate uni,” she mutters. “I hate studying, I ha— Hey.” She jumps a little when she sees you in the kitchen. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, where’ve you been hiding?”

“My room.”

She nods, leaning comfortably against the doorframe. “You’re not going out tonight, right?”

You shake your head, amused by the look of relief that paints Chaewon’s features as she whispers thank God. “I’m gonna shower, and take a nap,” she informs you. “But when I wake up, it’s you, me, pizza, and whatever story Yunjin has from practice.”

“Can’t wait,” you say sincerely, stepping down from the counter.

With a wide smile on her face, she salutes you before dragging her feet to the bathroom. Completely endeared, you decide not to comment on the salute even though you think it’s sweet that she’s starting to copy her boyfriend.

The sounds of student housing on a Wednesday evening seep in through the open window as you pour yourself a glass of water, unable to stop wondering if Jay saw your story; and what he thought about it if he did. Wondering if he’d notice that the picture was from Saturday night.

Filling up your glass again, you take it to your room and pull your phone out of hiding. Along with a message from Yunjin telling you and Chaewon to order your food so it comes shortly after she gets home, you find that Jay hit like on your story. Then sent a reply ten minutes later saying: you’re sooo gorgeous.

With a smile on your face, you type out various forms of “thank you so much, you’re perfect,” before settling on a simple: thank uuu :D, and Jay’s response is immediate.

jay: i don’t think i’ve said that before

jay: how prettty i think you are

The heat that rises to your cheeks is troubling, yet despite your best efforts, you can’t get it to pass. Especially not when you read and reread Jay’s message. You press your eyes shut, willing the heat to pass, willing the grin on your face to fade. Neither works, in fact, they only worsen when you open your eyes to see the new messages waiting for you in the chat.

jay: it’s a lot bte

jay: *btw

You let out a romcom-worthy sigh, clutching the phone to your chest and laying down on the bed. A glow-in-the-dark sticker stares back at you from its spot on your ceiling, a single star that you’d won as a set of two at the arcade with Kazuha in December. The memory brings a smile to your face, even though you remember being a little annoyed after she turned down the other star when you tried giving it to her.

Another message from Jay makes your phone vibrate in your hands.

jay: sorrry

you: it’s okay

You tell him. Even though you’re not sure what he’s apologising for. Just like before, Jay reads the message immediately though this time his reply never comes.

With Yunjin now home from practice, and freshly showered, you sit on the couch with your flatmates, talking and laughing over the sound of the TV for hours until Netflix asks if you’re still watching, and Yunjin’s passed out with her cold, wet hair on your shoulder.

Pressing a wet kiss to your cheek, Chaewon retires to bed, whispering “Goodniiiiiiiiight,” in your ear before abandoning you. Tired as you are, a part of you feels bad about waking Yunjin so you decide to sit a while longer, moving the blanket from your lap to cover her up properly. But of course, this is the movement that wakes her up.

In a soft voice, you tell her goodnight, standing up from the couch to stretch your arms above your head.

“You never told me what happened on Saturday,” Yunjin says tiredly. “Kkura told me you and Jay were busy in Mark’s room.”

The mention of his name takes you back to that night. Back to Jay and the way his lips felt against yours, the way his hand held your waist, and the way he’d ditched you outside Mark’s room. A pit forms in your stomach; and as if reading your mind, Yunjin asks if you’re okay.

You sit down on the other end of the couch, bringing your knees up to your chest and telling the story from top to bottom. After recounting the night in detail from after she left you guys alone, you find yourself hyperaware of the differences between you and Yunjin. For you, the highlight of Saturday night was Jay kissing you and then running away after.

“Wait, Sakura and who?” she asks when you’re done.

For Yunjin, the highlight of the story seems to be Mark’s presence.

“Mark.”

“She told me she went on her own, what were they doing?”

Although you have some idea, you think it best to keep your knowledge to yourself. “They were looking for her phone,” you say, pleased to see that Yunjin accepts your answer and moves on.

“So then what?”

“He texted me hey on Sunday morning, which I ignored, and then a couple hours ago he replied to my story and told me how pretty he thinks I am,” you say, pausing to take a breath. “Then ignored my response.”

Yunjin sits silently, seeming to take in everything she’d just been told. Her eyes are focused on the TV screen ahead so you look over at it too. It had gone into standby mode, displaying nothing but an indistinct impression of the two of you.

And the silence continues.

In the TV’s cast, you can just about make out the way she tilts and then turns her head to look at you. “Maybe he’s just.. frazzled, or something, from being walked in on. How did you feel?”

The answer takes a while to come up with because for you, the night exists in two parts — Before kissing Jay, and everything else that happened when you left the room. This whole time, you’ve been so focused on him leaving, that you’ve barely given any thought to how you felt when Sakura opened the door. Frazzled, you think. Probably the best word to use. Embarrassed suits a bit better though.

“I was embarrassed about it, but only because it was Mark. If it had been you, or Chaewon, whoever, it would’ve been different because they’d walk in and go “oh sorry” or something and leave, but obviously, when it’s Mark going into his own room, he’s there for something, you know?” you explain, chewing at your bottom lip.

“Maybe that’s how he feels too.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t embarrassing enough to leave and never talk to him again.”

Yunjin exhales heavily. “I want to be on your side, really, I do, but isn’t that kinda what you did?” she asks, her voice hesitant as she tilts her head. “He texted you the next day and you didn’t reply, what do you think he’s thinking about right now?”

“He’s the one who said he should get back to the boys.”

“What if that’s just because he spoke first?” she suggests. “Obviously we don’t know what you would’ve said if you spoke first, because you didn’t, but I feel like you would’ve been like “I-I’m gonna get back to the girls” and ran away.”

Always correct, Yunjin is your worst enemy and your best friend rolled into one. Oh, how you hate her. Well, she’s correct about the fact that you would have said the same thing. You think. You press your lips together in a straight line and sink into your seat.

She sighs when you don’t speak. “Look, he talked to you today, and told you how pretty you are, which is a win, right?”

You nod reluctantly.

“So let’s celebrate that, celebrate the fact that you kissed Jay! Even better, the fact that he kissed you.” Yunjin pauses, for what you think is dramatic effect, before speaking again. “Just.. don’t sweat the small stuff, okay?” She stops again to yawn. “And text him back if he reaches out, or, text him first.”

Leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, you brush your teeth, watching as Yunjin does the same, sitting on the edge of the tub with her eyes shut. While gargling mouthwash, you think about the conversation you’ve just had and decide to take matters into your own hands. By pleading with God to put Jay in front of you and have him tell you that he likes you back.

Once again, the higher powers seem to be on your side. Kind of. Jay does end up in front of you to tell you that he likes you back. Kind of. But only after learning that you’ll have to start your report again; which, given that you’d only gotten through 800 of the required 4000 words, wasn't exactly criminal. It was an irritation that settled in you, mainly, as all of your research and the sources you’d found were now redundant in the face of such adversity.

Nonetheless, with heavy feet, you leave the lecture hall, trying to come up with a way to fake your graduation ceremony next year so you can secretly drop out. You draw a blank and find Jay waiting in line at the vending machine near the library’s entrance.

Even though you’d spoken with her on Tuesday night, here, today, on Friday afternoon, Yunjin’s words echo so clearly in your mind you almost want to peer over your shoulder to see if she’s there. You do. She isn’t.

Your formerly heavy feet lead you right over to Jay, who greets you with a smile. “How’s the report coming?” he asks, his tone light, easygoing, and clearly oblivious to the fact that his question strikes you like a knife to the gut.

The two of you shuffle forward slightly, now at the front of the queue. Waiting for your response, he punches E6 into the machine that rattles loudly, delivering his bottle of Lipton lemon.

“Not great,” you tell him, feigning nonchalance and watching as he presses E4 before squatting down to collect both drinks. “Are you heading to class?”

Standing up straight, Jay holds out the new(er) bottle of Lipton peach towards you. “What happened?”

Holding the drink in your hands, you fall into step with him and sigh despite yourself. “I have to start over.”

Jay’s eyes widen and his jaw drops slightly at your words. Dramatic. Cute. “Nooo,” he says sincerely. “How come?”

“I read the question wrong.”

“Oh,” he says. “That’s okay, at least you found out now rather than later. And you still have until December to get it done, that’s almost two months! I’m sure most people haven’t even read the question,” he tells you in a gentle voice.

There’s a fuzziness in your chest, and Jay’s words make you feel like everything will be alright. Even though you weren’t exactly cut up about the report, something about talking with him about it leaves you feeling soothed when you look up to give him a warm smile.

“I don’t have classes today, I’m just here to study,” he says, answering your earlier question as he leads you to a table.

You watch as Jay sits down, and decide to take a seat across from him, dumping your bag on the floor at your feet. His brows quirk up when you put the drink down on his side of the table, confusion evident in his voice when he says: “You don’t like peach tea anymore?”

All of a sudden your heart is pounding, and you grin despite yourself. Oh, Jay, you think. “It’s my favourite.”

Matching your smile Jay slides the bottle over to you. “It’s yours,” he says.

You can’t explain the overwhelming sense of gratitude you feel over a barely cold, 500ml bottle of tea, but it beams brightly on the table between you; radiant, glowy, the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. “Thank you,” you say sincerely in a soft voice, lest you knock the bottle out of its haze.

The deepest part of your brain romanticises the scene around you even further, and the table you sit at, in the smallest library on campus, starts to seem like something from a kid’s storybook. From a mythical land where the iced tea is luminescent, and you get to study with an angel who wears Chrome Hearts pants and olive green 6s.

“Can I read it when you’re done?” His question cuts through your thoughts. Surprised by how genuine Jay sounds, you glance back over at him to find him already looking at you, his lips pushed up into a soft smile that spreads flutters around your chest.

It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to realise what he’s talking about, but you tilt your head when you do. “You wanna read my paper on wind turbines and solar farms?” you ask.

Jay’s eyes widen briefly as if shocked that you’re even asking him that. “Of course I do,” he says, sounding almost offended, defensive maybe.

You eye him from across the table, sceptical. Jay seems to pick up on this. “Why wouldn’t I want to know about the UN’s advances towards net zero by 2030?” he asks, chuckling to himself when you raise a brow. He shrugs. “I got curious after you mentioned it.”

With burning cheeks, you watch him as he continues to talk, neither of you making any effort to start on the work you’re there to do. As much as you feel it’d be useful to get work done in the library — because it’ll allow you to go home and do nothing without guilt — you don’t see the point in half-assing your research and absentmindedly chatting with Jay, when you could ditch the research completely and fixate over the way his lips move to form his words.

“I lost my student card so I need to read while I’m in here. I think it’s better though; easier to stay focused, less distractions,” Jay tells you when you ask what brought him to uni just to study alone. “Usually,” he adds, gaze flicking up to meet yours with a teasing smile crossing his lips.

Jay’s words hold a flirtatious undertone that isn’t lost on you or the butterflies that take flight in your stomach. “I’m not a distraction,” you say, frowning slightly.

“I never said you were, but I had no problem getting my work done until you got here.”

Jay’s words remind you of your first test for Property Law in February. The two of you sat together at a table in the campus cafe, empty mugs and printed slides scattered across the space between you. For four hours, you highlighted sentences and rewrote notes to keep your hands busy until Jay walked you back to your flat, where you pulled an all-nighter so you could actually study. You got a 61 and slept for twelve hours afterwards.

“If it’s getting to you that much, I can go,” you offer, really, really, hoping he doesn’t take you up on it.

“No, please stay. I like spending time with you,” Jay admits with a slight downturn at the corners of his lips.

You try to work out how to echo his sentiment without sounding like a lovestruck fool, though you draw a blank, distracted by the way he– “Are you batting your lashes at me?” you ask through a chuckle.

Jay squints. “Is it working?”

You shake your head.

“Well, neither are you,” he points out, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that almost makes you feel scolded despite his light tone. You think you like it.

An overly dramatic sigh huffs its way out of your mouth as you roll your eyes at him, fighting a smile at the sound of his breathy laughter. “Whatever. Starting now, I’ll work on my paper. You focus on your reading, no distractions,” you suggest.

“Right, no distractions,” Jay repeats, his eyes falling to your lips.

Sticking to your word proves much easier than you’d initially thought and you manage to sit, mostly undistracted, for more than a little while, putting the paragraphs that can stay in italics, the bits that need to be amended in bold, and deleting the rest.

Your workflow is broken only when Jay speaks softly, “Is it cool if Heeseung works with us?” he asks, sending a text after you tell him that it’s okay.

And as if he’d been waiting around the corner, Heeseung shows up seconds later. “Jongseongieeeeee,” he coos when he sees Jay, extending a hand to pat his head and ruffle his hair.

Unable to hide his irritation, Jay’s face scrunches up at the interaction and in an attempt to stop the sudden attack, he grabs Heeseung by the wrist, seeming shocked when it works. You watch him fix his hair in his phone camera.

In the same playful tone, Heeseung says your name too, sitting down in the seat next to Jay. “I feel like I haven’t seen you since the hockey mixer.”

You can’t help the breathy laugh that comes out at the cute pout on his lips. “Because you haven’t seen me since the hockey mixer,” you say, smiling at Jay when you notice him looking at you.

“You weren’t at the football party, were you?” Heeseung asks, his eyes widening right when the words leave his mouth. “Riiiiiiiight, you were.” He mumbles to himself before covering his mouth with his hand. “I’m just..” he trails off, pointing at his laptop with his index finger before opening it and sinking in his seat.

There’s a nasty pit forming in your stomach while you watch Heeseung all but disappear behind his screen. And in the black screen of your laptop, you stare at yourself, pretending that: 1. The fingerprints and smudges don’t bother you, and 2. That you don’t notice the way Jay’s looking at you. Or rather, the fact that Jay’s looking at you. If you’d noticed the way he was looking at you, you might have picked up on the softness of his gaze. But you didn't, so you don’t.

Instead, the fact that Jay’s watching you only makes you feel worse. Though at least it looks like your hair is sitting nicely today, you think, glad to have at least one thing working for you rather than against you. Like the pit in your stomach, or the Lipton peach that tastes like nothing when you take the first sip.

In the presence of Heeseung - and the things he said - the three of you manage to get on with your work, free of conversation.

Reluctantly, you let the two boys walk you back to your place when you’re ready to go home. Heeseung leads the conversation, thankfully, with no more mention of the football party and even hugs you goodbye while Jay watches from a few feet away. Judging by the expression on his face, you’d think the person he’d liked for months kissed him and then ran away.

“Sorry,” Heeseung whispers, pressing his lips into a straight line.

With your key in the lock, you watch as they retreat, Heeseung nudging Jay when he reaches him and mumbling something that you can’t quite make out. Neither of the girls are home when you get inside and, sprawling out on the couch, you look for your phone to make plans.

you: we should go out tn

cw: tmrw ! i have a deadline

yj: broke friday or .. j*emins party

Too broke for broke Friday, the two of you find yourselves stepping over the legs of a sleeping Sunghoon to reach the open door to Jeno and Jaemin’s apartment. There are people everywhere, including the hall outside, but you suppose this is the benefit of student housing; none of your neighbours can complain about noise because they’re too busy being part of the commotion.

Jake almost spills his drink when he sees you both, saying “heyyyyy,” with a giggle and eyes that linger on Yunjin while he talks though he quickly excuses himself to take water to poor Sunghoonie.

The night is largely uneventful, much the same as every other night out you’ve had since starting college. Except for the part where Jay shows up,a massive grin on his face to greet your friends. Sakura, Yunjin, and Kazuha all get a “hey” and a brief hug. Jay regards you with a nod and a small smile. At least Kazuha seems to believe you when you tell her that you’re crying in Jaemin’s bathroom because you hate your outfit.

After a weekend of self-pity, you spend Monday at a coffee shop with Sakura, watching as she studi—“You could at least pretend to study, you know?” she sighs. “Every time I look up you’re either staring at me or using your phone, it’s distracting.”

With a frown on your face, you touch your mug to see if your coffee is cool enough to drink yet — it’s not — before flipping your notebook to a blank page and trying to write out some of the key points that you remember from Friday’s lecture. A part of you feels bad for neglecting your Architectural Practice class but it’s just not as interesting, and you tell yourself that you’ll dedicate all of your time to it after finishing your report. You definitely will not come to regret leaving three months worth of work to the very last minute.

You study with Sakura for a few hours until deciding that you simply cannot continue, and the two of you leave the cafe in favour of a Mcdonald’s drive-thru, eating your dinner in the dark parking lot before she drops you off.

On Tuesday night, you’re thankful that Yunjin and Kazuha don’t push you to go out with them when you say you’re tired, but when Netflix asks if you’re still watching Modern Family at almost 3 a.m., you wish they had.

You push yourself out of bed to do your skincare, and hear the two girls coming back home as you apply your last pimple patch. After Kazuha all but yells something about a huge pair of shoes by the door, it seems like they settle in the kitchen.

They’re sharing a bowl of cereal at the table when you get there. Feeling bad, you make instant noodles for them while Yunjin hugs you from behind. Both of you try your best to laugh quietly at Kazuha’s story about some box blond figure skater who completely blanked her when she tried flirting despite staring at her all night.

Once the food is ready, you sit up on the counter, watching them eat straight from the pot. Trying to talk to those two while they’re so invested in dinner is a waste of energy so you busy yourself on your phone instead, scrolling aimlessly until both girls kiss you on the cheek to thank you for looking after them. Kazuha gratefully drinks the glass of water you give her, and Yunjin, as you expect, is stubborn about it; taking three small sips before running away to her room.

The argument you can hear through the open window keeps you entertained as you wash the dishes, and you check your phone on the way to your room, finding two texts from Jay.

jay: i know it’s late but can we talk in person if you’re up

jay: it’ s important

They came in four minutes ago and you chew on your lip trying to figure out what he wants to talk about.

you: are you okay?

jay: can you come outside

With not even enough time to hit send on the three question marks you’d typed out, the distinct ring of a FaceTime call surprises you. Though what you find more surprising is the sight of your building’s door behind Jay’s face which just about fills the screen. Lit dramatically by an orange street light, he looks beautiful. Looks cute when his lips pout slightly around the words: come quickly and dress warm, as he successfully convinces you to leave the comfort of your bed.

Through the glass in the main door, you see him. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, he looks up towards the sky and puffs visible breaths into the air above him. Jay turns around at the sound of the door opening. You feel your stomach lurch because he doesn’t smile when he sees you.

“Hey,” he says after a while, watching you intently, inspecting almost, as you shut the door softly behind you. His face softens, the smile he hadn’t given earlier coming through now. “Are you wearing my jacket?” His voice is soft too when he speaks, breathy enough for the smell of alcohol and vague peppermint to hit your nose.

“I thought I should probably give it back,” you nod. “Sorry I kept it so long.”

Jay shakes his head, hair shifting on his forehead from the motion. “No, I love it on you. Please keep it,” he pauses, taking a step towards you. “I want you to keep it.”

Thank God, you think. You hadn’t really been meaning to give it back, and you weren’t really sorry to have kept it so long, it just felt like the right thing to say.

The space between you is so small that you wonder if he can hear the way your heart rate starts to pick up. In the time you hadn’t talked, you’d seen him around campus, in the corners of story posts, but seeing him here in front of you is almost overwhelming. A gust of wind ruffles the jacket Jay has on and his scent unfurls right under your nose; warm, lived in, mixed with faint sweat and what you think might be tobacco. It creates a musk that leaves you weak at the knees.

“It was milk and cookies night,” Jay continues when you don’t respond, digging into his pocket and holding a plastic-wrapped cookie out towards you. “You like white chocolate chip, right?”

Hearing that it was milk and cookies night makes you wonder if you’d been too hasty when you turned down the girls’ invitation.

Despite the cold, Jay’s hand is warm when your fingers graze his. Letting your touch linger, you thank him sincerely, touched by the little things he seems to remember about you.

Even though you’re aware of the other students coming home from various nights out, and end up having to move out of the way so some of them can enter your building, it feels like the two of you are in your own world. You notice that his sights are locked on the cookie, on the spot where your fingers touch, allowing you to admire him freely.

Standing almost directly under the lamppost now, you notice that his cheeks and the tips of his ears are dusted with red. You feel a little bad, he must be freezing, you think. Your gaze falls to his lips that sit parted, chapped like you expect, and now you’re thinking of kissing him.

Clearing his throat, Jay moves his hand from yours to put it in his pocket. You do the same.

“I know I said I wanted to talk, but I just wanted to see you,” he says, looking you right in the eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d come if I said that.”

You frown, wondering if this whole time he’s been avoiding you because he thought you didn’t want to see him. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Jay only shrugs in response.

From over your shoulder, you hear the door opening. Jay’s eyes flicker in its direction. You turn your head to look too. A boy with pink hair frowns when both of you tell him you don’t have the lighter he’d been looking to borrow.

“I’m sorry about leaving after we kissed. And for avoiding you. That was stupid,” Jay says as soon as the door closes. “It was childish of me to do that instead of just telling you how I feel. I wasn’t gonna say anything, because I know you only see me as a friend, but I have to let you know that I like you, a lot.”

You stand around limply for a beat, staring up at Jay and trying to take in every single detail about this moment before you inevitably wake up. But this ‘dream’ doesn’t cut off where you’d been expecting it to. Instead, you feel your heart thudding against your ribs, your stomach flipping. The only thing you can get yourself to do is blink at the boy in front of you. The boy who likes you.

A lot.

“It’s just that, after Heeseung said that shit in the library and you couldn’t even look at me, I knew I didn’t have a chance with you and I just.. am trying to figure out how to be near you and pretend like I don’t want to drop everything and kiss you.”

“What’s stopping you?” you ask, surprised that your voice even comes out properly.

Jay’s gaze drops to your lips. Without noticing, the two of you had gotten so close that your chests are barely an inch apart; they’d probably touch if either of you took just one deep inhale. A beat passes. His gaze flicks up to meet yours and your breath hitches in your throat. You want to kiss him. You must. Right when you start to lean up towards him, to put your lips on his, he steps back.

“Fuck,” Jay mumbles, his brows knitting together as he shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

The ability to hold his liquor is something that Jay sees as both a blessing and a curse.

On the bright side, he can drink as much as he wants and won’t say or do anything he wouldn’t say or do when sober. His delivery might be a little off when he’s drunk but the point still stands.

On the not-so-bright, catastrophically dim side, however, Jay wakes up the morning after drinking with a vivid memory of everything that happened to him at whatever party he’d been to. Plus a killer migraine.

And so, since drunkenly showing up at your place with a cookie in his pocket and his heart on his sleeve two weeks ago, Jay’s been quietly pitying himself and gently encouraging Jake to work harder on physics so he can get some sort of time machine up and running.

Though it seems like you’ve been able to go on as normal. So normal, in fact, that Jay starts to believe the whole thing was just an elaborate dream. So elaborate that when he scrolls through your text thread, he finds the messages that you’d ‘exchanged’ that night. He finds the thought of having developed self-awareness in a two-week-long dream to be a greater comfort than the reality that you don’t like him back.

You would have said if you did. Right? Or at least brought up what he’d said. Asked if you could talk about it. You’d be so excited to see him again, sober, that you wouldn’t even be able to say anything except: “I like you too!” Right?

But you haven’t. So unless you’re going through trauma-inflicted amnesia, or someone has finally come up with the technology to invent The Neuralyzer, you really don’t like him back.

Jay had been so sure, certain that you liked him back. It just seemed so obvious; like the way you seemed to find him at every party, and how anytime you saw Jake in the engineering block you’d ask about him. Surely it wasn’t all in his head. The way that Chaewon and Yunjin had been teasing you at the hockey mixer, and how Yunjin made up that excuse to leave the two of you alone at the football party. It was all so.. like-y.

Even today, when you texted him asking to hang out. He was sure that you were finally (finally!) going to tell him you liked him too. So sure, he’d even told the boys that he’d be coming back home as someone’s boyfriend. As your boyfriend.

But instead, Jay finds himself climbing the stairs of his apartment complex wondering how the fuck he’d been so delusional. In his back pocket, his phone vibrates. Twice. Texts; both from you.

you: i forgot to say but lmk when u get home lol

you: and if u have time to hang out before ur game tmrw !

His heart twists in his chest as he reads your messages.

jay: okayyyyyyyyyyyyy, i can chill for a bit

jay: what did you have in mind?

After fishing his house key from his jacket, he twists it in the lock and crosses the threshold before texting you once more: home now :). You heart the message immediately. The laughter that Jay could hear in the hall quiets as soon as he closes the door, and heavy footsteps thud towards the living room’s open doorway. Sunghoon.

“It’s Mr YN YL—” he stops short. “Oh.” It’s not until Sunghoon looks over his shoulder and shakes his head that Jay even notices the stupid shutter shades he’s wearing. And when Jay joins his friends in the living room, he smiles despite himself seeing the way they’d decorated the space. Streamers dangle from the ceiling, hand-drawn A4 posters with both of your names written in lopsided hearts are stuck to the wall, and Jay ignores the thought of losing the security deposit to appreciate his friends; they’re good to him.

On the way to his usual seat, an armchair in the corner of the room, Jay stops to wrestle a bottle of Desperados from the open six back sitting atop the coffee table and kicks a balloon that was in his path before sinking into his chair.

Knowing there’s no use giving them a play-by-play, Jay recounts the last few hours as briefly as he can. He makes sure to leave out small details; like how he felt weak at the knees when you hugged him and told him you loved him after he won you a Hello Kitty plushie from the claw machine that you swore was rigged. Or how you’d worn his jacket out and his heart started racing when he noticed that your perfume had started to mix with his cologne. Unexpectedly, the guys seem hooked on the story right until its end. “So it’s not like it went badly or anything, I just.. didn’t tell her.”

Somehow, all three of them speak at the same time: “What do you mean you didn’t tell her?”

Jay stares at a spot on the floor, noticing a hole in the toe of Jake’s sock. He’ll make fun of that later. “I just couldn’t get the words out,” he mumbles, shoulders drooping as he slumps further and further into his seat before taking the first sip of his bitter drink a—“Fuck, why does anybody drink these?”

“Cheap,” Sunghoon mumbles, scowling after sipping from his own.

Clearly.

“Unless I’m missing something, this doesn’t seem like the end of the world. Just tell her tomorrow, tell her now, text her,” Heeseung sighs, letting his eyes fall shut.

The other two boys seem to agree, echoing the sentiment and adding their own ad libs to it. Jay watches as Sunghoon leans over to get another drink from the table, admiring his commitment to beer drinking even though he doesn’t like it. He waits for silence before speaking again: “I already know she doesn’t like me that way. And it’s only been two weeks so it doesn’t make sense to confess again so soon when I know the answer.”

“Again?” Sunghoon asks, raising a brow.

Ahhh, Jay knew there was something he’d forgotten to do. Though he's struggling to figure out how he’d withheld this information, considering it was the main thing on his mind at all hours. “Yeah, after milk and cookies I went to hers and told her I like her,” he says, attempting to feign nonchalance, shoulders rising and falling in a stiff shrug.

“And you kept that to yourself because..”

Jay scrunches up his nose, genuinely unsure. “I didn’t go there to confess, I just wanted to see her and give her the cookie I got for her,” he admits. “But then she came outside, and she had my jacket on, and she just looked so pretty. The only thing on my mind was oh, my God, I can’t go any longer without telling you I’m in love with you.” Jay pauses, taking a long sip of beer before telling them what happened outside your building.

As if he wasn’t feeling bad enough already, Heeseung bursts out laughing. Hard. It’s not long before Jake and Sunghoon join in and Jay wants to vanish into thin air. Feeling slightly left out, he also wants to ask what’s so funny, but the fear of being slated holds him back.

It’s the eldest who calms down first, sitting up straight in his seat. “So you go to YN’s door, tell her you like her, almost kiss her, then explicitly tell her not to say she likes you back, run away from her, again, and you’re wondering why she didn’t say she likes you back?”

With the story being laid out so simply, Jay starts to see the flaws in his logic. Though too stubborn to admit that he’s wrong in front of Jake, he nods his head. “Exactly.”

He presses his lips into a straight line when the boys call him chronically stupid.

“You need to call her, talk to her, figure your shit out before it’s too late,” Heeseung says with a firm tone.

Jay thinks about it, biting at his bottom lip before replying, asking in a small voice: “But what if she says she doesn’t like me?”

As much as not having confirmation is killing him, there’s a part of Jay that likes not knowing how you feel about him because it lets him play into his delusions. Lets him feed himself with thoughts of you being excited to see him because you like him and not because he makes great platonic company. The thought of you checking up on him through Jake because you’ve been thinking about him, but feel too shy to ask directly. And Jay knows when you properly reject him, he won’t be comforted by such thoughts anymore. They’ll only hurt him.

Though after hearing what may be the wisest thing he thinks Sunghoon has ever said, Jay starts to see the situation a little differently. It’s casual. Spoken through a yawn. “You already don’t have a girlfriend. Nothing to lose, right?”

The walk to your apartment building is longer than he remembers, but the cool air feels good on his neck as he tries to figure out what exactly he should say. Jay only starts to consider that this may not be the best idea when he stands face to face with your apartment building and feels a little too nervous to buzz your flat. What is he doing?

A grating screech comes from the heavy door when it opens, and Chaewon’s boyfriend steps outside with squinted eyes. “Jay?” he asks as the door thuds shut behind him. “YN didn’t say you were coming over.”

An awkward chuckle slips from Jay’s lips and (for the first time in his life) he does jazz hands. “Surprise?”

Jay feels better when Jeno’s lips spread into a grin. “Ohhhh,” he says, nodding and extending an almost empty deck of cigarettes in his direction.

“I’m good,” Jay declines, shaking his head.

Though if things go poorly up there he might have to take Jeno up on his offer.

Holding his cigarette between his lips, Jeno uses a fob to open the door for him, and Jay can’t help but feel comforted by the way Jeno pats him on the back and says: “I’m rooting for you.”

Standing at the door to your apartment only unleashes a new sense of nervousness. His hand rests on it, balled into a fist, waiting to be pulled back. But something stops him. Jay lets his hand slip down the door and takes a step away from it. He’d been standing too close. Now, he stands shifting his weight from foot to foot, and the toes of his shoes are just touching the doormat.

Reminding himself that knocking isn’t the hard part, Jay takes a deep breath and knocks three times.

A few minutes pass and it’s now that he remembers he doesn’t even know for sure that you’re home, or awake. He counts ten seconds before knocking again and the second his fist touches the door, he hears the sound of a lock clicking and the door creaks open.

Like something from a dream, you stand in the doorway, looking so beautiful with his hoodie on that Jay has to put in effort to keep his jaw from falling to the ground.

“Jay?” you say quietly, brows furrowed. “Is everything alright?”

“Do you like me?” Jay blurts out, pressing his eyes shut immediately as all plans of a proper conversation go to the wind. From his spot on your doormat, he can hear the sound of the TV quieting and a terrible silence settles over the two of you; lasting eight whole seconds before you speak.

“Do you wanna come in?”

Jay steps into the apartment, taking off his shoes at the door while mumbling a greeting to Yunjin and Chaewon who (definitely heard him) lay on the couch with wide grins on their faces, and follows you to your room where you close the door behind him.

“Sorry, I had, like, a speech ready and then I saw you and I just..” he trails off, standing awkwardly near the door and looking at everything in the room except for you; he struggles to tear his eyes away from a polaroid picture of the two of you with huge grins. It’s only when you talk that he manages to look over at you instead.

“You can sit down,” you say, patting a spot on the bed next to you. Without saying anything, Jay crosses the room to sit beside you — if sitting at arm’s length can be considered as beside you. “Tell me about the speech,” you say, and Jay shakes his head while trying to convince himself that your chuckle isn’t patronising.

“Do you like me?” he asks again, not wanting to waste any more time.

“I like you.”

Your words, simple and quiet, leave Jay winded.

“You look surprised,” you say, tilting your head. “You really didn’t know?”

Immediately, he relaxes his face. Clears his throat. Jay’s not entirely sure what he did and didn’t know, but he doesn’t think it matters. Nothing could possibly matter more than you do right now. “Doesn’t matter,” he says, letting out a sigh of relief. “I like you too.” The words sound regular when he says them, though he does like the lightness in his chest knowing for sure that the feeling is mutual. “Can you say it again?”

“Jay,” you start, resting your hand on his knee. Jay wonders if this is supposed to comfort him and clasps his hands over his lap as discreetly as he can manage. “I like you,” you tell him again.

Under the weight of your words, Jay feels his heart cinch a little in his chest. Why does everything sound so perfect coming from you? He can’t help but lean in, finally kissing you after what feels like an eternity. Jay didn’t think anything would feel better than your first kiss, but having your lips move softly against his, and knowing that you like him back, might just be the best thing ever. How did he go so long without this? Dazed and lovestruck, he lets his forehead rest against yours to calm down, to catch his breath. “Again?” he whispers, hopeful, one step away from begging.

You let out a chuckle, soft, breathy, fanning his lips. “I like you,” you say after a while, quietly, a whisper, just for him before kissing him again.

Jay’s not sure when it happened, he’s not even sure he notices that you’re sitting in his lap until you grind down on him; the feeling overwhelming despite all of the layers between you. A whine slips from your mouth into his when he rolls his hips up towards yours, and he can’t help but hate himself a bit for not just confessing sooner.

You pull away from him, a smile on your face as he chases your kiss. “Please touch me,” you whisper, hiding your face in his neck when he chuckles at your request, calling you cute under his breath.

He feels oddly thankful that you’re not grinding on him any longer because he was about two more movements away from cumming in his pants. His hand slips under your shorts, finding your clit and pressing on it through your underwear, liking the way your breath fans his skin when you sigh. The wet patch on the fabric only starts to spread when he starts rubbing you. “You like that?”

“Yeah,” you tell him on an exhale, letting your hips roll against his hand, whimpering at the friction.

Your mouth quickly finds his again, and you let your hand clutch at his shirt, balling it up in your first before tugging at it, parting to take it off of him. With wide eyes, you gape at his torso, the word “Shit,” falling from your mouth while you let a hand rest on his stomach.

When he tries pushing your panties to the side, the soaked material sticks to your slit slightly, and Jay groans despite himself. You’re absolutely drenched in slick, sopping wet to the core as you let out a broken whine from the feeling of his finger slipping into you. Curling his finger towards your belly button, his eyes fall shut, cock throbbing against his thigh when he thinks about how you’d feel around his shaft, how you’d look under him.

“You’re so good,” you whisper, awestruck and trembling in his lap.

The way you watch him makes him feel a little under pressure when he opens his eyes, but, determined to make you feel good, Jay attaches his thumb to your clit and everything is so slick that his finger slips around a bit before he can help it. You squirm in his lap, your head falling forward into the crook of his neck, forcing Jay to hiss when you bite on the skin of his shoulder. Your whimpers turn into cries and you mumble that you’re close, your walls tensing around him a moment later as if to prove your point.

Jay pulls his fingers out, holding back a moan at the way they glisten in the light, coated in you— “Nooo,” you whine, sounding audibly distraught.

Though he’s too busy tasting your cunt on his fingers to grace you with a response. In the quiet of the room, you sit up properly to look at him, watching with parted lips as Jay sucks on his fingers, humming at the way you taste. You barely give him a chance to put his hand back down before pressing your lips to his, moaning into his mouth as you taste yourself on his tongue.

Getting a tight grip on your waist, he moves around a bit to lay you down on the bed. Resting on his forearm, Jay leans over you, kissing you again. He lets his hand trail down your body, liking the way you spread your legs when he dips his fingers into your waistband. You nod eagerly when he asks if he can take them off, and his cock throbs when you tell him to take your panties off too.

With no unnecessary fabric in his way, his finger drags up and down the length of your pussy. Already close, it doesn’t take long for you to start whimpering and squirming underneath him, your walls stuttering once again as you cum, hot and hard on his hand.

Ever the gentleman, Jay stands up to place himself between your legs, groaning at the sight of you, pulsing and wet. “Such a pretty pussy,” he says. Deciding not to waste another second, he uses his thumbs to spread your lips a little before burying his face in your cunt.

It doesn’t take much for you to writhe under his tongue, and as soon as he kisses your clit it’s a wrap. He feels his cock leaking a little when your clit starts to throb between his lips, and he can’t help but groan when you tug at his hair.

You stutter through the words: “Too much,” and Jay tears his mouth away from you, letting his forehead rest on your inner thigh while he catches his breath, savouring your taste on his tongue. It doesn’t last long though; your scent drives him crazy. When Jay leans back over your face, he presses kisses to your cheek, mumbling to you about how pretty you are, and how good you taste, all while playing with the drawstrings of your hoodie.

He likes the way it looks on you, way better than it does on him. Likes it so much, he almost objects when you sit up to pull it over your head. Jay’s glad he doesn’t. He gulps at the sight of your breasts, surprised to see that you weren’t wearing anything under his hoodie, his dick somehow growing harder just from looking at you.

Jay feels an intense desperation to suck on them, but your hands reach back up to his face, pulling him towards you to kiss him again. He settles (ecstatically) for holding one in his hand, pinching your nipple with his fingers. He’s relaxed, he’s happy; not torn up about it because he has all the time in the world to feel your tits in his mouth.

He thinks.

Jay pulls away from you. “Wait,” he says, feeling butterflies when you smile up at him. “Can I be your boyfriend?”

Your giggle sounds like music and he feels warm all over when you say, “Of course,” the words somewhat muffled by his lips on yours again, he could make out with you all day. But he stops for a moment, looking down at you, into your eyes and revelling in this moment. Revelling in you, his girlfriend, and the way you look at him. Like he put the stars in the sky or moved mountains; like you want him just as much as he’s wanted you all this time. And he wonders what he’s done to deserve it.

Overwhelmed by emotion, Jay kisses you, lets his tongue run along the seam of your lips as he considers just kissing you for the rest of the night. It almost seems like he’s trying to, and you speak once more against his mouth.

“Are you gonna fuck me?” you ask, moving your head to the side. “It’s okay if you’re not, but I’d like to know.”

Jay smirks at you — pretty cocky for a guy whose dick is throbbing against his thigh just from hearing you talk. “You want that?”

“Mhm,” you hum, nodding. “Need it.” Your gaze burns into his as he tries to process your words. You look distractingly beautiful with a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead, lidded eyes, and kiss-plumped lips that you press up against his once more. “There’s condoms in the second drawer.”

Leaning up off of you, Jay reaches into his back pocket to show off the two condoms he’d brought with him.

“Classy,” you tease, though there’s an excitement in your eyes that drives him mad.

“Responsible,” he corrects, standing up to pull his pants and underwear down. Slapping against his stomach, his cock throbs when he hears you gasp. Jay lifts his head in your direction, trying not to cum on the spot from the sight of you leaning up on your elbows, staring at his dick with an open mouth.

Taking a deep breath, Jay reminds himself that he has all the time in the world to find out what your pretty lips will feel like around him, choosing to busy himself with putting the condom on instead. “How do you want it?”

If the way you stop and stammer through the word “However” is anything to go by, the question seems to catch you off guard. Making his way back over to you, Jay racks his brain trying to figure out how he wants this to go, but seeing you on your back with your legs spread for him makes it clear. He hovers over you, lips drawn to yours like a magnet, using his hand to run the tip of his cock up and down your pussy, all while you whine against his mouth every time he pushes past your clit.

“Don’t want to wait any longer.”

Your words make his stomach turn. He pulls away, his brows knitted together. “How long have you been waiting?”

“Months, Jay,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, eyes screwed shut in a tortured expression. “Please.”

Satisfied with your answer, Jay guides his cock to your slit. Pushes just a little. “I won’t make you wait like that again,” he tells you, and he means it, pushing in as much as he can before you cry out.

Worried, Jay stops, leaning close to press a kiss to your cheek. “You okay?”

“I just need a sec,” you tell him breathlessly.

Jay nods. As good as he feels, quitting while he’s ahead seems like the better option at the minute — he needs a sec too, but with the way your walls clench around him, it doesn’t really feel like much has changed. He finds himself having to hold his hips back after a while, as you get used to the feeling of him inside, your pretty little cunt starts trying to suck him in and his breath hitches in his throat when you look him in the eye.

With a hand on the back of his neck, you pull his face back down to yours. “I’m good,” you mumble into his ear.

“Yeah?” he asks, grinning when you nod in response.

You stretch around him so easily that Jay whines as you take him in, deeper and deeper, inch by inch until he bottoms out. “Shit,” he mutters. How did he go so long without this? The sting of your nails digging into his bicep makes him hiss and he all but passes out when you moan. Falling from your mouth on a loop with every move he makes, his name is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard; you cut yourself off with a gasp, breath hitching in your throat.

“There?” Jay asks, even though he knows he’s hitting your spot.

You look up at him through fluttering eyelids, becoming more and more dazed each time his hips smack yours. “Mhm, I—close,” you mumble.

Jay takes this as a sign to hike your leg up around his waist, making sure to hit it each time he pumps into you. It seems like it’s working. “Cum for me, baby,” he whispers, using his free hand to push some of your hair out of your face.

Your whines turn into broken sobs and you hide your face in the pillow next to you, muffling your screams. Although he thinks your consideration for your flatmates is coming a bit late, he leaves you be, finding the sight sexier than he cares to admit.

Sexier still is the way your body tenses before squirming again, your walls pulsing uncontrollably around him while you cum. Jay’s stomach starts to tighten as he fucks you, spurred on by the look on your face as you orgasm, and the sound of his cock filling you up. With a few more thrusts and a jagged moan, he spills his load into the condom, just about collapsing on top of you.

Considering how fucked out and sleepy you’d been while Jay cleaned you up, he isn’t surprised to find you fast asleep when he gets back from cleaning himself. He does his best to join you in bed as softly as possible but it’s no use because you wake with a large yawn, making his heartache from a weird mixture of guilt and how cute you look.

He lays on his back, grinning to himself when you rest your head on his chest, making yourself comfy with an arm and leg slung over him. You talk drowsily about watching The Devil Wears Prada in full after his game tomorrow and nod eagerly when he asks if you want to wear one of his jerseys to come and watch him play. Jay keeps his eyes shut until he hears you snoring faintly, and looks forward to teasing you about it in the morning.

When he stares straight ahead at your ceiling, a fuzzy feeling rises in his chest. “I put my star on the ceiling too,” he whispers, knowing you can’t hear him, but feeling happy nonetheless.

Huddled up under Jay’s jacket, you sit on the half wall outside the football house with Chaewon, watching as Jeno blows smoke from his super king over his shoulder. Though given the way that the wind blows it back in your faces, the two of you may as well have taken him up on his offer to share.

Letting Chaewon rest her head on your shoulder, you take a sip of your drink and feel thankful to the version of you from five minutes ago who let Jay fill your cup with lemonade instead of vodka. The two of you laugh along with Jeno until you see Yunjin rushing out of the double doors and into the garden.

“Is there anything wrong with my outfit?” she asks, giving the three of you a twirl so you can check and mumbling a “thank you” to Jeno who reaches his arm out to stop her from falling over in the process.

Yunjin’s outfit looks fine. At first. Until you notice the massive hole in the left side of her skirt; the sight of which leaves you and Chaewon wiping tears of laughter. Through cackles and a slight stomach ache, you manage to ask what happened.

“I got caught on something, like, an hour ago, and I wasn’t hurt or anything so I forgot about it, and then I went out front and felt the craziest breeze on my thigh and I looked down and.. half of my skirt is just.. missing,” she explains, pausing only to take a draw from Jeno’s cigarette. “Does it look intentional at least?”

You almost choke on your drink when Chaewon suggests using her acrylics to make an identical hole on the side, telling her to market the holes as “cutouts” and try selling it on Depop.

“Vintage, Y2K, I.AM.GIA, Destiny’s Child, Britney Spears,” she says, although she’s had so much to drink that it all comes out as one word. “Don’t laugh at me, write it down! Babe, quick, take pictures!”

Yunjin poses dramatically while Jeno takes product photos on her phone, and in the space between them, through the double doors, you see your boyfriend standing next to the dining table, his friends laughing around him while he stares over in your direction with a sweet smile on his face.

And even though you can’t say for sure, you’re just glad that here, tonight, you have a pretty good idea of why Park Jongseong’s smiling at you.

permanent taglist: @asahicore

#jay smut #enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen scenarios #jay scenarios #jay x reader #jay park smut #jay park #jay park x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #jay oneshots #jay imagines #enhypen hard hours #fic.jay

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atriza · 2 months ago

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The Idol's Prize

Yandere Idol!Mark Lee x Reader

Summary: In a twisted arrangement by the company and his fellow members, NCT’s Mark Lee is gifted a new role for you—not as a manager or assistant, but as his personal possession.

Word Count: 1,250 words

Trigger Warnings:

Possessive/obsessive behavior: Depictions of controlling and obsessive tendencies.

Non-consensual physical contact: Persistent touch despite discomfort.

Forced proximity: Sharing a room and being subjected to Mark’s constant presence.

Emotional manipulation: Coercion disguised as love and care.

Themes of entrapment: Lack of agency in personal and professional life.

Please read cautiously.

The room was quieter than you expected for a dorm housing some of the most famous idols in the world. NCT’s dorm was spacious and pristine, yet there was an underlying tension in the air as you followed the manager down the hallway. Every step you took felt heavier than the last, the reality of your new role sinking in.

You’d heard whispers about this arrangement for weeks, but it still hadn’t prepared you for the announcement earlier today: you were being permanently reassigned to Mark Lee. Not as a manager. Not as an assistant. But as his.

The reasoning was simple, they’d said. Mark worked himself to the bone for the group and deserved a reward. And you—quiet, unobtrusive, and hand-selected by the company—fit the bill. The members had even approved of the idea, much to your surprise.

“Here we are,” the manager said, stopping in front of a door.

You blinked, startled. “This is… Mark’s room?”

“Yes,” he replied with a tight smile. “From now on, you’ll share this space. It’s important for you to be available to him at all times.”

Before you could protest, the door swung open, revealing Mark standing inside.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm but laced with something you couldn’t quite place. His smile widened when he saw you. “You’re finally here.”

---

The first few days were overwhelming. Sharing a room with Mark was… an adjustment. He was always there, always watching, his eyes lingering on you whenever you moved. At first, it was subtle—a hand brushing against yours as you passed, a fleeting touch on your shoulder. But as the days went on, his touch became bolder.

“You’re tense,” he said one evening, his voice soft as he stood behind you. His hands landed on your shoulders, kneading gently. “You need to relax.”

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, your heart racing.

He didn’t let go. “You work so hard for me. Let me take care of you for once.”

You didn’t have the courage to pull away, and Mark seemed to take your silence as consent. His hands slid down your arms, his touch lingering before he finally stepped back.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Perfect.”

---

The members didn’t make things any easier.

“Looks like Mark’s finally happy,” Haechan teased one morning over breakfast. “You’ve been smiling a lot more lately.”

Mark shrugged, his arm casually draped over the back of your chair. “Why wouldn’t I? I’ve got everything I need right here.”

You stiffened, feeling the weight of his words. The other members exchanged knowing glances, some smirking while others avoided your gaze entirely.

“She’s good for you,” Taeyong said, his tone neutral but firm. “You seem… calmer.”

Mark’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly, and you fought the urge to flinch.

---

Public outings were another challenge. Mark insisted on keeping you close, his hand always resting on the small of your back or your wrist. Fans began to notice, whispering among themselves whenever you appeared at events.

“Who is she?” they’d ask, their voices barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

“Why is Mark always with her?”

The rumors spread quickly, but the company did nothing to address them. If anything, they seemed content to let the speculation grow, as long as Mark stayed happy.

But you weren’t happy.

---

One night, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Mark’s voice broke the silence.

“Are you cold?”

You glanced over at him, surprised. He was lying on his side, his head propped up on one hand as he looked at you.

“I’m fine,” you said, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

Mark frowned. “You don’t have to lie. Come here.”

Before you could respond, he reached out and pulled you toward him, wrapping his arms around you.

“Mark—”

“Shh,” he murmured, resting his chin on top of your head. “I just want to hold you. Is that so bad?”

His grip was firm but not painful, his body warm against yours. You lay there stiffly, unsure of how to react.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispered, his voice filled with an almost childlike vulnerability. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The weight of his words pressed down on you, and you realized there was no escaping this. No escaping him.

---

As the weeks went on, Mark’s possessiveness grew. He rarely let you out of his sight, and when you did leave the dorms, he insisted on knowing exactly where you were and who you were with.

“You don’t need anyone else,” he said one evening as you sat together on the couch. His hand rested on your thigh, his thumb drawing slow circles on your skin. “I’m all you need.”

“Mark, this isn’t healthy,” you said, your voice trembling.

He looked at you, his eyes darkening. “Don’t say that. Don’t act like you don’t feel the same way.”

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. Mark leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You belong to me. They gave you to me. Don’t forget that.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, knowing that showing weakness would only make things worse.

---

The other members noticed the shift in your dynamic but said nothing. They’d made their peace with the arrangement, knowing that it kept Mark stable.

“You’re good for him,” Taeyong said one day as you stood in the kitchen. “He’s been through a lot, and you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.”

“What about me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Who’s going to keep me grounded?”

Taeyong didn’t have an answer.

---

That night, as you lay in bed, Mark pulled you into his arms once again. His touch was gentle, but his grip was unyielding, as if he were afraid you might disappear.

“I love you,” he murmured against your hair. “More than anything.”

You closed your eyes, trying to block out the sound of his voice, the weight of his presence. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t escape the truth: you were his, and there was no way out.

#yandere fic #yandere kpop #yandere mark #yanderemarklee #yandere nct #yanderenct127 #yanderenctdream #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nct mark #mark #mark lee

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ink-stainedkiss · 2 months ago

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𝐘𝐮𝐣𝐢 𝐈𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Warnings: none :)

Word Count: 1.2k

Type: extremelyyyy fluffy (if you squint there is angst)

*This is my first post so keep that in mind*

𝘚𝘶𝘮: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘠𝘶𝘫𝘪’𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭

The ceiling fan above you spun quickly, the cold air blowing all around your quiet room. If it wasn’t for the constant chirping from the insects outside you would claim it was dead silent. Usually, your dorm wasn’t like this, especially not since you went to Jujitsu Tech. Whether it was gossiping with Shoko or studying peacefully with Megumi, there always seemed to be some sort of distraction to drag you away from loneliness. You would have climbed out of your bed and just walked to one of your friends’ dorm, but the shimmering moon outside reminded you that even if you did knock on their door, you would most likely be intruding on their sleep.

It was a collective agreement that, no matter the person in the school, everyone was to respect each other's sleep schedules because it seemed that sleep was the only moment of peace that sorcerers got. You could testify for this quite immensely. Each time you come back from a mission, you only want the sweet satisfaction of slumber. Speaking of missions, it seemed that the two sent on one today were running behind. Unfortunately, one of the selected was your loving boyfriend. You turned your head, facing the rectangle clock, and read the time. 11:26. When you gave him a kiss goodbye, you promised you would be awake by the time he got back. Which at the time didn’t seem like a big deal. They had left around eleven in the morning and were supposed to be back around dinner.

You understood that your boyfriend was strong and he always had a back up power stored inside of him. A smile melted onto your face as you recall the words that slipped out of the angered mouth that appeared on your boyfriend's cheek. As annoying as it was, it often caused you to giggle to yourself. You lifted your hand toward your nightstand, grabbing your phone, you unlocked the screen and went to the messages.

Yuji❤️(6:42 p.m): should be back in a bit!

So much for trusting him. You weren’t angry, far from it actually, but you couldn’t help but feel somewhat upset. It was mostly because you had stayed up for so long, watching movies, playing on your phone, and doing whatever activity to stay up. You just wanted to see Yuji. As much as you joke about how much of an annoyance he is, your chest started to tighten at the fact you hadn’t seen him all day. Yuji was a packaged deal when it came to dating him. Not only was he an amazing boyfriend, but when you needed it he was a great best friend. Yuji was the first person you told when you had drama to tell. He would always be up for any sort of skincare or makeup you would want to put on him. You weren’t sure how you managed to find someone like him.

Frowning at the fond memories of him, you tossed an arm over your eyes, sighing and deciding you wouldn’t be able to complete your promise to Yuji. Your eyes were heavy and you kept finding yourself slipping in and out of consciousness. The only light source in your room was the yellow lamp resting on the dresser beside you and even then, the luminance wasn’t enough to keep you from nodding off. You felt a little disappointed in yourself, but it was getting close to midnight and he would understand. At least you’ll see him in the morning. You weren’t sure why they were so caught up, but you didn’t have a churning feeling in your stomach so you surmised that he was fine.

You glanced at your closed door and a downcasted sigh escaped you. I should just go to bed. It didn’t feel good to shut your lights off and cuddle under your sheets without Yuji, but he had his own business to attend to. Soon enough the only sounds that were heard in your dorm was your soft breathing and the whirring of your fan.

☽｡⋆

A noisy creek echoed through your room, making the pinkette opening your door cringe. Regrettably for him, the racket had woken you up, and all he could do was freeze as you sat up. Wiping your blurry eyes, you faced the lit doorway tiredly,”Yuji?”

Your voice was croaky, but he managed to catch your words. He smiled softly at your restless state, slowly shutting the door behind him,” Yeah it’s me,” He murmured, still exhausted from the extended mission,”I’m sorry I'm late.”

You flicked the light on, causing a light groan from you, but you were deterred nonetheless,”It’s fine, sweetheart.” You rubbed your sleepy eyes with one arm, while he was pulling back the covers and welcoming the boy.

Yuji folded instantly, trudging to your bed and immediately collapsing into your embrace. His large arms wrapped around your waist and he sank into your body heat. As you placed the covers over the two of you, you couldn’t help but ask,”What took you guys so long?”

Yuji huffed dramatically, eyes shut,”The stupid curse wouldn’t die and when we thought it was dead, it just duplicated itself,” Clearly the curse had given Yuji a hard time.

Your hand found its way into his pink locks and as you scratched his scalp, Yuji was practically purring against you,”Did you eat before you got here?” You questioned, hoping he wasn’t going to sleep on an empty stomach. The boy gave a long inhale and exhale, showing just how relaxed he was in your arms,”Mhm. Panda suggested we stop at a convenience store.”

You raised a brow, giggling at his response,”So you had snacks for dinner?” Yuji nodded, a content smile across his features,”There cup noodles were excellent.” You continued to suppress your laughs and you hoped your shaky body wasn’t disturbing Yuji.

Luckily for you, the half-curse was a heavy sleeper and could probably sleep through a rock concert. Your finger combed through his hair, earning a satisfied hum from the boy below you. You lived for moments like these. They were peaceful, but most of all they were normal. Normalcy was something that could only be caught in small fragments as a sorcerer. Each of you were different and you couldn’t just come out to the world and expect to be looked at the same. So having these silent moments fulfilled your fantasy of living an ordinary life. Of course if it weren’t for being able to see cursed energy, you would have never met your closest friends, or your boyfriend for that matter.

You were pulled from your thoughts when a not-so-quiet snore reached your ears. Looking down, Yuji was out like a light. You reached over, flicking off the light and scooted down so you could rest your head on your pillows. Your nails dragged over Yuji’s sleep shirt, tracing random squiggles across his clothed back. You weren’t sure if you were going to see your thirties, hell you were sure about your mid-twenties, but even after all the gruesome things you’ve witnessed, at least you never had to doubt if someone cared for you.

For now, the moon hung high, tranquility spread over the school, and you couldn’t be happier with your life.

#yuji itadori #⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᡣ𐭩carmi’s fics ༝༚༝༚#jjk yuji #jjk x reader #jjk #fluff #yuji itadori x reader #x reader #oneshot #fanfic writing #slight angst #comfort #yuji x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk fanfic #writers on tumblr

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m00nymonster · 5 months ago

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It All Sounded Interesting

Written for Tideland's On the Loose prompt!

"I'll give you a tour of the station, Three, and if you want we can go to the planet later," Dr. Ratthi said, clearly excited. This was my first time on Preservation Station, and I wanted to make a good impression.

"Yes, Dr. Ratthi," I said. 1.0 told me I didn't have to answer humans if I didn't want to anymore, but old habits die hard. Dr. Ratthi gave me a sad half smile.

"Ratthi is fine, Three."

"Yes, Ratthi."

It felt strange to address a human so informally. A lot of things were strange now that I was rogue. Freedom in general was strange.

"I--oh. Just a minute." Dr. Ratthi got a vague look on his face, and turned away, subvocalizing as he did so. I looked around. 1.0 had told me that humans here didn't know what SecUnits looked like, so they would think I was an augmented human, but 1.0 had also altered its configuration. Perihelion had offered a similar treatment, and while I had declined a physical alteration (not being SecUnit standard bothered me and I didn't know why) I had altered my code to grow my hair out. Still, it was strange to look at the humans through a fringe of hair.

So many things were strange, now.

I looked around, and realized Dr. Ratthi had walked away, probably assuming I was following along behind. A transport docked and a flood of humans deboarded, chattering amongst themselves, separating me further. I could ping Dr. Ratthi, ask him where he was. I could. If I wanted to.

Decisions were hard, so I was proud of myself when I decided not to follow him and instead let the crowd drift me away.

The main discourse was beautifully decorated, with sculptural shapes hanging from the ceiling and both holo and real plants scattered along the pathways, as well as many comfortable looking chairs and benches. There were several storefronts, but the one that drew me had a large display of media, including almost an entire wall of nonfiction books. 1.0 found my fascination with nonfiction puzzling--it preferred fiction--but it wasn't here.

A human walked up to me.

"We have digital and paper books," he said, his smile making little wrinkles around his eyes. I was confused.

"Paper?"

"Yes! We sell all genres. Are you a history fan?"

I wasn't sure how to answer this, but as I said, old habits die hard.

"I'm not sure."

"Hmm. Well, I have several interesting books if you want to find out! The most popular here of course is the story of Preservation, but I have other polities as well as the Corporate Rim."

It all sounded interesting.

"All of it, please," I said.

"All of it?"

At his expression I hesitated. This seemed like an unusual request. 1.0 had told me to not behave unusually.

"Just Preservation," I amended. The man beamed.

"No, no, always happy to encourage a fellow history enthusiast! Which would you like first?"

Dr. Ratthi found me an hour later, browsing the last of the nonfiction selection. I had already downloaded all the history books the man in the shop had recommended, and now was looking at biographies.

"There you are!" he said, out of breath. "I was looking everywhere for you!"

"Ah, is this your friend? I must say, this young person is a voracious reader! Quite commendable!"

Ar Dr. Ratthi's glance I looked down.

"1.0 gave me a hard currency card," I said meekly. It would not have understood why I actually paid for the books instead of just downloading them, but according to it I also didn't have to justify my decisions to anyone anymore.

Dr. Ratthi smiled. "If you want more I'll cover it," he said. The shopkeeper smiled widely.

Later, when I'd left with as much as Dr. Ratthi and my hard currency card could afford, Dr. Ratthi laughed.

"I'll say this, SecUnits certainly aren't predictable. Set you loose and you buy half the bookstore!"

I wasn't sure what to say to this, so I didn't. It was nice.

#murderbot #the murderbot diaries #tmbd #murderbot fanfic #murderbot fanfiction #murderbot three #three #secunit 3 #ratthi #murderbot drabbles

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gloomwitchwrites · 1 year ago

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Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: canon-typical swearing, angst, possessive!Simon, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, overstimulation, praise, hand job, dirty talk, aftercare

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Part Eleven of Ink & Needle

An argument becomes a moment of understanding. Certain carnal urges are fulfilled.

Chapter Ten // Chapter Twelve

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

“Tell me why your hands are shaking.”

Are they? Is that what you’re feeling? You didn’t notice.

Bringing them up to waist level, you observe their gentle tremble. Elbows pressing lightly into your sides, arms angled inward, you curl your fingers toward your palms in an attempt to cease the shaking. They continue to quiver as if the signals from your brain to your hands fall off the trail, losing themselves amongst the millions of constantly firing neurons.

What stops the trembling are Simon’s hands.

Your palms face the ceiling and the tops of your hands are aimed toward the wood floor. Simon slides underneath, fingers delicately encasing the stuttering shake. Tattooed and large. Rough, but dry and warm. Like a light switch being flipped, you are suddenly calm. Peaceful.

Simon said he wants to talk. He wants to know. He is asking you for understanding, to allow him in even if what’s inside isn’t all that pretty. There is no obligation you’re holding him to. No standard. Simon draws up his own, presents them, lays them out flat in fan before you like a deck of cards.

It’s your move. Your opportunity to select one.

But the quiet is shattered as Adam’s voice returns, bashing against your brain like waves crashing against rock.

Whore.

Fucking whore.

The trembling begins again and Simon’s hold on your hands tightens, his large frame shifting forward into your space, creating a protective cocoon that you desperately wish to lean against but don’t.

“I’m sorry,” you stammer. The inhale you take is fractured, splitting like an atom, the energy inside you roaring into an explosion that rings loudly in your ears.

Everything is fucked. Everything is torn apart. Ripped to bloody ribbons.

Wrong and twisted and broken and just wrong.

Evie’s in-laws do not forgive easily, and Adam is the worst of the bunch. On the surface, he is ever the gentleman, but underneath is the serpent hiding in the leaves.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I shouldn’t have let him touch me. I didn’t want him to. Simon—I promise. I—”

One of his large hands releases you only to grasp the side of your face. He forces you to look at him. Forces you to gaze into those dark eyes that you could drown in.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But—”

“Don’t apologize for someone else’s poor behavior,” interjects Simon. Your wraith’s thumb brushes away the tears staining your cheeks. “He had no right.” Simon’s voice is nearly a growl, as if the memory of Adam placing his hand on your thigh personally hurts him.

Simon doesn’t understand. He has no context to why you were even there to begin with. Seeing you and Adam together wounded him. While sitting in your chair, watching your wraith as he confronted Evie’s brother-in-law with such fury, you knew you made a mistake.

But how do begin to explain everything? How do you start to detail Evie and Archie’s lives together? How do you slot the pieces into a picture that Simon will understand? How do you tell Simon that Archie’s entire family is fucking awful?

How? How?

All Simon witnessed was you and Adam sitting together in a dark pub. All Simon saw was Adam placing his hand upon your thigh. All he heard was that one little sentence at the end. That’s it. Simon knows nothing else.

“Yet he did it anyway,” you exclaim. “And you’re angry.”

“With him,” growls Simon. “Not with you.”

Yet that fails to explain Simon’s behavior after his friends escorted Adam out of the building. As far as you know, they could have taken Adam down a side street and broken his nose. Perhaps punched out a few teeth. You hope that isn’t the case. You hope they only took him to his car.

And you’re still seething about the way Simon treated you after. The shaking in your hands isn’t simply a reaction to Adam’s inappropriate behavior. It is also a response to Simon’s rough protectiveness.

“You’re not angry with me yet you drag me around by my arm. Herd me like a fucking farm animal.” You attempt to remove your hands from his grip, but Simon is having none of it. His fingers only squeeze a bit tighter. “Is that why you were so rough with me? Because you weren’t angry?”

Your voice is rising. The need to defend yourself is insistent. Pulsing. A driving force.

Yes, Adam had no right to touch you. But Simon also had no right to handle you like he did. That too is wrong.

Simon’s shoulders heave, every muscle in his body tensing. He abruptly drops your hands. Withdrawing. Pulling away. Stepping back.

“That was,” he begins, but pauses, gaze dropping in subtle shame. At his sides, his hands form fists. “Wrong of me.” Simon glances up, and the fire returns, your wraith a burning inferno that might combust. “I saw him touch you. Heard what he said. I snapped. And I shouldn’t have.”

The apology is genuine, and while half of you eagerly accepts it, the other isn’t nearly as pleased. Maybe it’s because you’re protective of Evie, and Simon’s interference with your conversation with Adam might have ruined so much for her.

“Yet you did it anyway.”

It’s one last bite. A final sting. You try to keep it in, but you’re so goddamn frustrated.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. Even defeated, Simon is large, a looming figure you’re force to look up at.

While you’re frustrated, you know this isn’t really Simon’s fault. Sure, his behavior after the fact was fucking garbage, but he stood up for you. He defended you, was ready to toss Adam right out of the pub if you had told him to do it.

The grievance isn’t with Simon. It’s with Adam.

“It’s fine,” you sigh. It’s—”

You rub your lips together, running your hands over your face. Breathing is best. Breathing is good. The swirling pit inside your stomach is quickly rising to squeeze your chest. You need to calm down.

“It’s complicated,” you finish, not knowing what else to say.

Simon’s fists unclench. He hangs there, gaze pinned to your face, shifting slightly like he’s studying your features. “I told you to talk. I’ll listen.”

You shake your head. “It’s not that simple.”

Simon takes a step forward, breaching your personal space. One black boot lands between your feet, forcing you to open slightly. You attempt to back up, but Simon is insistent, moving with you.

“Simon—”

His hand goes to the back of your neck, halting your escape. Your own hands go up to push against his chest, using his solidness as a point of support to create space. As if knowing your intention, his other hand quickly snags one wrist and then the other, trapping them in the very spot you intended to place them.

Simon’s voice drops, almost to a whisper. Yet there is heat and a blooded blade beneath it that lends itself to innate instinct. “Does he mean something to you?”

“What?” you gasp, disbelieving.

Is Simon serious? Does he truly believe that?

“Are the two of you—”

“Stop,” you say, flattening both hands against Simon’s chest. “Just stop.” Simon begins to speak again but you’re putting an end to this like tearing out a thorn from your thumb.

“Adam isn’t anything to me,” you snap. “He’s Evie’s brother-in-law.”

Simon goes quiet. The silence stretches and you aren’t sure if you should fill it with more talking or just keep your mouth shut and wait for Simon to say something.

His brow hardens, the middle of it scrunching together. “He’s not—”

“Fuck, Simon. No,” you mutter, leaning forward to rest your forehead above the spot where your hands are joined.

Simon’s hand slides away from your neck and drops to your lower back, his fingers splaying wide, pressing against the slight curve. He releases your wrists too, only to run his fingers down your arm and to your waist. You do not drop your hands nor do you draw back from him.

Simon is warm. He smells of black tea and mint with the faintest hint of smoke. You breathe deep, burrowing closer. It sends you right back into memory. This is how he smelled when you first met him at Riot Room. You liked it then, and you love it now.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs.

It’s not a question. Simon isn’t asking. And it feels right, like a good pair of jeans or perfectly brewed coffee.

You’re mine.

Sounds nice, even if you are still a bit mad at him.

“I met him at the pub instead of Evie going,” you mutter against his chest. “He wanted to talk. I knew it wouldn’t be anything pleasant.”

Simon’s hand at your waist lightly squeezes, urging you to continue talking.

“I lied. Told him that Evie’s supposed to be on bedrest for the reminder of her pregnancy. He believed it.”

“What did he want?” You hear the restraint in Simon’s voice. He’s still upset, still angry.

“That’s the part that’s complicated.”

“Tell me what you can.”

What can you tell him? How do you formulate this in a way for Simon to understand but keeps Evie’s privacy intact?

You’re silent for far too long. Simon arms around you squeeze and then release, his large chest drawing back enough that you’re forced to look up at him.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, and you comply so easily.

It is nothing but your hand in his as he leads you to the couch. Simon removes your coat and gently sets it aside out of the way. Then, he’s guiding the two of you down onto the sofa. He reclines, leaning against the arm, pulling you into his lap. You drape yourself over him on your side, facing the blank television. Resting your head on Simon’s shoulder, you place your hand on his chest. His hand is quick to follow, encasing it, clinging to it. His other arm drapes over waist, creating a bit of support so you don’t sink into the cushions.

The two of you stay like this with Simon not saying anything and you simply thinking. Bravo is in the hallway near the bedroom, head resting on his paws, alert but still at rest. When Simon breathes in, your own chest rises slightly. You close your eyes, sink into the slow expansion and retreat of his lungs, imagining yourself weightless and floating. Fingers slightly digging into the front of his t-shirt, you snuggle into the crook of his neck, leaning into his embrace.

Simon remains neutral like a rock resting in a garden bed. He is simply there, propping you up, awaiting the moment you finally decide to crack open like an egg. In these brief moments, you drift off, the stress of the evening wearing you down like a nail file.

“Evie’s in-laws don’t like her,” you mumble, voice slightly strained with sleepiness. “They’ve never liked her. They’re old money and she isn’t.” You shrug but it’s more a shifting of your shoulders. “Now that her husband is gone, it’s worsened their relationship.”

Your eyelids open slowly. Leaning your head back, you seek out Simon’s eyes. He’s staring ahead, but when you shift, he immediately turns his head as if knowing what you need.

“Her due date is coming up quick. Less than two weeks.” You sigh and rest your chin right below his collarbone. “She’s always crying. Worrying even when she’s happy. I didn’t want them talking.”

This is what you give him. It isn’t nearly enough, but you can’t detail the threats or their constant push of trying to seize Archie’s assets. They want to leave Evie with nothing. They want her out of their life. It’s like they don’t care that she’s carrying Archie’s child. It’s a waste. But it’ll only make it easier for Evie to completely cut them off.

Simon delicately rotates your wrist, presents your palm to the ceiling like an offering. He brings it up to his mouth, tenderly pressing his lips against it through the balaclava. Gently, he guides it away, runs his thumb over the expanse of your palm.

His gaze tracks over every line and dip before flicking over to your face. “You’re smiling,” he observes, voice slightly husky.

“Am I?” and you hear the lightness in it, like fluffy white clouds on a summer day.

Simon brings your hand back to his chest. Releasing it, he guides those fingers to your chin, lightly pressing with intention, drawing your gaze to his. “Call me next time.”

“You don’t—”

“I want to.” Simon nods toward the now snoozing German Shepard. “I’ll even bring Bravo.”

“Bravo is too good a boy to make anyone scared.”

You know Simon is grinning because the balaclava stretches backward, pulling toward his ears. “He’s got bite.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Simon’s fingers still linger on the underside of your chin. They sit there, then slide along the jawbone, trailing up to the ear, and back down again. It’s a gentle caress, a soothing song that causes your eyelids to flutter.

“Simon.”

“Hm?”

Your fingers reach, toying with the edge of the balaclava. The arm he originally draped over your waist curves to your hip, squeezing, grabbing more ass than actual hip. Those fingers of his that so delicately touched you are hungry creatures, creating a necklace around your throat.

“What do you need?” he asks.

“You,” you breathe, the desperation burning like starving embers in your lungs. “I need you.”

Underneath the balaclava your fingers slip. They move in tandem with your body. Together they shift. Legs straddling hips. Chest pressed against chest. Lips finding lips the moment they’re able.

You and Simon are hunger personified, meeting and meeting, melting. Grasping the sides of Simon’s exposed cheeks, you use the leverage to push him against the couch, trapping him beneath you in a perfectly pleasurable illusion. Simon is much stronger than you. With only a quick shift of his muscles, Simon could easily pin you beneath him.

But you’re the one on top. You’re the one whose hips roll against him. His fingers dig and drag up and down your thighs, over the curve of your ass, and to the very top of your hips before he repeats it all.

There isn’t any sweetness to it. It’s not tart like lemon candies or sticky like toffee. This is overindulgence. Decedent. You and Simon are teeth and tongue and lips and endless endless gasps of air between it all.

It is the spaces between, the pause beneath where the two of you linger before coming together again. That’s the perfect part. The brief flash of separation. It is then that your wraith gazes on you with lust and something dipped in ancient longing.

Atoms calling to atoms.

Plants in orbit. A small object giving way to the larger mass.

Simon sucks on your bottom lip, lightly biting. “Mine,” he murmurs, drawing you back into a fierce kiss. “You’re mine.”

His.

Yes.

You like it. You want it.

You want him.

Your wraith.

Ghost.

Simon. Always Simon.

He grabs hold of your thighs, guides your legs further out and up to his waist. In seconds you’re on your back, Simon’s large frame pressing you into the cushions, his mouth on you in moments, tasting lips and tongue, traveling over and down, tracing the line of your jaw and the curve of your ear.

And Simon’s hands never stop. They never stop consuming.

Until they do. Until you’re whimpering for him to return his hands to your body. But Simon resists, keeping you trapped beneath him but not willing to bring your bodies together.

His head dips, lips brushing lightly over yours. “Pick a number between one and ten.”

“What?” you laugh, confused.

“Do it. One to ten. Pick.”

You nibble on the inside of your cheek, thinking. “Three?”

Simon only stares.

“Four?”

Again, he remains impassive.

Is Simon trying to herd you to a specific number?

“Five?” you reply hesitantly.

One eyebrow rises slightly. Finally, a reaction.

“Fine,” you laugh. “Seven.”

“Sure about that, love?”

You cock your head and playfully smack his chest. “Eight. Happy?”

“Final answer?”

“Yes, Simon. That’s my final answer.”

Simon nods, gaze quietly assessing. In the next moment, he’s dragging you up against him, bringing both of you to standing.

“What are you doing?”

Simon starts to back away, placing roughly an arm’s length of space between the two of you.

“Bedroom,” he purrs, the word a singular command.

Reaching down with one hand, Simon grasps the front of his belt. With expert quickness, he unbuckles it and then removes the belt from the loops with a fluid tug.

“No clothes,” he continues. “And on your back.”

“Simon—”

“Now.”

You’re being herded again, but this time you like it. This time it is from a place of desire, or a desperate yearning for another. This isn’t anger driving Simon, and it’s certainly not driving you.

Simon glances over his left shoulder at Bravo. The dog immediately gets up, trudging off somewhere. Stepping to the side, Simon makes space for you to slip through. He is right there, on your heel, entering the dark bedroom with you.

Once inside, Simon shuts the door behind him, cutting of the light from the living room and kitchen. The only source of illumination comes from the windows. The blinds are down, and only slightly cracked. It allows for lines of fractured moonlight.

Simon is mostly in shadow. Just an outline in the dark.

“What are the numbers for?” you ask, your eyes adjusting to the dimness.

“Get those clothes off, love. Then I’ll tell you.”

He moves closer, your wraith one with the darkness, silently slinking into your radius. Simon is near enough to touch you, to assist in the undressing, but he doesn’t. He only watches, his chest rising and falling, an imperceptible change in the shadows.

The outer layers are easy. It’s when you’re down to your underwear, bra, and top that you hesitate.

“Everything,” he repeats.

“What do the numbers mean?”

Again, Simon doesn’t answer. Instead, his hands rise, hovering just shy of your upper arms. They pause there before shifting down to slide underneath your top, to seek out the back of your bra. With ease, Simon unhooks it. Now he helps. Now he guides your top over your head, tossing it to the side. Straps loose against your shoulders, it takes Simon no effort to guide them down your arms.

You don’t resist. His touch is gentle but purposeful.

What do those numbers mean? What does he have planned. Is the number the amount of times he’s about to fuck you? The very thought of submitting to him like that makes your pussy clench.

You’re standing in just your underwear. Simon is fully clothed.

It doesn’t seem fair.

One large hand lightly brushes over your stomach, lingers right above the delicate, thin cotton. It’s nothing fancy. Nothing flashy. Simple and comfortable. And yet you’re not embarrassed by it because Simon clearly doesn’t seem to care either.

“These can stay,” he murmurs, fingertips lightly brushing against the cotton before withdrawing.

With his other hand, Simon reaches up and grasps the top of his balaclava. He tugs. Pulls. Removing it from his head.

But your wraith is in the shadows. You do not see his features. What you can see it just the soft sweep of his hair, and a brief flash of bone structure.

“The numbers,” he says. “They’re the orgasms I’m giving you.”

“You—what?”

“You’re going to count each one, love.” Simon stands so close your bodies are nearly touching. “Mess up. I start over.”

“Simon—”

“Are you mine?” Simon is gripping your throat against, pulling you taut against him, faces close, lips closer, but not touching.

Are you his?

Yes. Always yes.

“I’m yours.”

That hungry mouth of his lightly caress the corner of your mouth. “I want to mark my territory. I want to relearn your taste. Hear those gorgeous moans I’ve been missing.”

Greedy. Simon is greedy.

The possessively primal tone sends a delicious tingle through your limbs. It remembers him. It is your body crying out again, wanting to call him back home.

“On your back, love.”

You promptly fall, butt landing on the edge of the bed.

Your wraith still stands. Is still a looming shadow.

As he takes one step closer, you lean back onto your elbows. Simon’s fingers brush against the tops of knees before sliding between, easing your legs apart, guiding them wide for him to move between.

His rough hands are soft brands against your inner thighs. They slide further toward your sex, only to purposefully pass over it instead to grasp waist and stomach, seeking other tender spots that ache for his touch.

Simon places his knee on the bed, forcing you to scoot back a bit. It also forces your legs to stay open as Simon’s hands fall to either side of you. He adjusts, leaning onto one elbow, his other hand roaming across your skin.

He studies the curve of your hip, the softness of your belly, the places where you think there is too much and not enough. Simon worships it all, leaving nothing untouched. This room is a church. You are the alter. And Simon is one of the starving flock seeking salvation.

Hovering at your breasts, his tongue passes over a nipple. It promptly hardens, reaching toward him. Simon meets it, nipping lightly, teasing the bud until it’s aching. Moving to the other, he gives it the same attention. Your fingers dig into the bedding beneath you, and your head falls back as Simon’s lips press a kiss to the valley between.

One hand returns to your hips, slides over inner thigh, hooks a finger at the edge of your underwear, pulling it to the side. The air feels oddly cold against the warmth. A shiver passes through you and Simon’s sharp inhale is enough to draw forth a bit of danger.

“First one. Ready?”

The moment your mouth forms the agreement, Simon’s thumb hovers at your entrance where your slickness pools. He draws it up to your clit, presses, swirls. It’s a sharp tug. A sudden burst. You gasp, back arching slightly as Simon continues to play with that sensitive bump. His fingers aren’t even inside you. It’s just his thumb teasing. But you’re wired, strung out from the conversation with Adam, the argument and subsequent discussion with Simon, and now this.

You are Orpheus seeing the Sun again, giving into the joy, turning back to rejoice with Eurydice. And this time there is no punishment. Eurydice doesn’t disappear. Simon, your wraith, is still here.

And you are falling apart, fingers clawing at his shoulders, hips flexing into his touch as your body clenches. The moan is choked, suppressed. Simon knows, and grins against your throat.

“Count.”

“One,” you croak, knowing you’re not going to make it seven more times.

“Good,” he purrs, wrist rotating, his middle finger sliding through your new slickness.

Simon adds a finger, begins fucking you with it while he shifts up to press his lips to yours. You open for him, and Simon slides his tongue inside the moment he inserts a second finger. Using the knee already resting on the bed between your legs, Simon guides your legs wider to completely settle between them.

Spread wide, all you can do is cling to him. You have little control, but it’s good. It’s nice. It’s fucking perfect.

Simon releases your mouth and roughly kisses down the length of your neck only to run his tongue over your left nipple. Your hips buck, and Simon meets with a thrust of his hand. His thumb on your clit is relentless and it isn’t long before you’re clenching again, this time mewling softly, trying hard to relax but failing completely.

“Two,” you gasp as Simon’s teeth lightly trap your nipple between them.

He tugs softly. Releases the nipple. Kisses it.

Fingers slipping from your body, the loss comes instantly. It is momentary. A length of a breath. Simon is already moving down your body leaving nothing untasted. The knee between your legs disappears as Simon moves onto his knees in front of the bed. His arms slide under your thighs and curve up to lock onto them. With a sharp tug, you’re dragged to the very edge of the bed.

Simon turns his head and nips his way down the inside of your thigh. His breath is warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your legs to the tips of your toes. You float in coiled anticipation. Fingers drag up and down your thighs. Simon’s mouth hovers close, but not enough to make actual contact.

You don’t dare break any of it. You don’t dare make the first move.

You are the frozen mouse staring down the cat.

Simon sighs heavily, but as it tapers out, it becomes a growl. Drawing back, Simon’s fingers curl around the edges of your underwear, bringing it into his fist. It takes only two quick tugs for Simon to tug them down your legs. They disappear into the dark as Simon guides one leg over his shoulder while the other is pushed even wider.

You’re presented to him. A gift.

Communion offered by a holy hand.

Starved like a sinner seeking confession, Simon descends, parting your pussy with a slow swipe of his tongue. With the afterglow of two orgasms in your system, your body responds to Simon’s tongue like a gunshot. Like the crack of a whip, Simon swirls up, teasing your clit with just the tip, and that is enough to make your shake, for your back to come off the bed.

Without thought, your hands seek him. One slides through his hair, tangling, twisting, anchoring yourself as your hips roll against his mouth, riding his face. The other claws, gripping his shirt, snarling the fabric in your fist.

Simon sucks your clit into his mouth and it’s over. The leg not over Simon’s shoulder snaps up, wanting to trap his head between your thighs. But Simon is strong and insistent, pushing it back down, forcing you wide again to take his tongue without resistance.

“What number is that?” asks Simon.

Your lips part to answer, but Simon returns his tongue to your clit, swirling just the tip against it. It steals your clarity.

Crying out, the hoarse noise becomes a whimper as he continues.

“Number,” he growls.

“Three!” you gasp.

His smile is brief and so is your moment of peace. Simon returns, tasting and tasting until you come off the bed, your own strength and Simon’s arms keeping you in place. Everything in wiggling, itching to escape and yet desiring more.

You won’t make it to eight.

Simon places a kiss against your pussy before he guides your leg off his shoulder. It is not for rest or to give you a break. Instead, Simon’s hands begin at your knees, sliding down to your inner thighs. He finds a solid grip, guides them wide, and returns to eating you out.

That tongue of his is a viper, and you are unable to avoid its bite.

Your thighs quiver, and your legs jerk, attempting to close yet again. Meeting resting, the muscles quiver, unable to do anything else. Like your legs, your arms are at your sides, palms pressing into the bedding, fingers digging into the bedding as if you’re trying to crush fruit.

“Fuck,” you groan. “Oh—fuck. Simon. Si—”

Small death. A burst of light. So cliché and yet so true.

“How many is that, love?” purrs Simon.

Though your eyes have adjusted to the dark, it is not enough to glimpse his features in any detail. Frustrated, you focus on what you can see in the dark: his eyes.

Moonlight cuts through the room like silver steel. Sometimes when Simon moves, you see the faintest hint of brown. Fleeting. But important.

Simon is staring you down, mouth poised just shy of the curve of your pelvis.

“F—four.”

“Sure about that?”

“Yes.”

Simon nods. “That’s my good girl.” His mouth returns. “My good fucking girl.”

No return. No reversal. You are forever Simon’s.

This is not a simple exchange. This is a claiming. A “marking of territory” as he put it.

Your wraith isn’t fucking you. He’s not asked anything for himself. This is about you, and his control over you. In this, you will submit. In this, you will allow him to take the lead. Because, with everything going on in your life, letting go for a bit is a cleansing.

“Five” eventually leaves your mouth but it is fractured and shaky. Simon has to prompt you three times before it falls from your lips.

When his mouth returns for another round, Simon brings his fingers with him. You remember saying “seven” but “six” is lost like a rock thrown into a lake. Simon doesn’t correct you, but keeps going, returning to his task with just as much enthusiasm as all the rest.

On this one, Simon gently eases your thighs toward your chest, keeping them close but not touching. Using some of his body weight, Simon keeps you locked into position. His tongue runs lazy trails up and down your pussy, dipping inside before trailing upward again. You cannot reach him and you opt to hold onto the backs of your legs, your fingers layering over his own that hold you in place.

Overstimulation has been your companion since number three. You don’t know where you are. You are beyond that. Lost. Gone. Adrift.

The eighth and final orgasm brings tears to your eyes. They are clawed from your sockets, ripped from you in wet lines that leave you trembling and sensitive. Simon does not ask for the count right away. He guides your legs away from your chest, bringing them to rest against the bed.

Around you, the bed sinks as Simon shifts forward, pushing off his knees, crawling over you until the two of you are face to face. Your chest heaves and Simon’s lips are slightly parted. In the small slashes of moonlight, you glimpse the glossy shine on his lips.

Without speaking, without signaling to the other, the two of you meet. You taste yourself on him, and you hardly care. Your hands might be shaking but you reach out for him, touching him like he did you. One large hand comes to rest next to your head. The other slides up the bed.

Your hands go lower, pushing open the front of his pants.

Simon has to be aching. You want to give him some relief. You want to please him. It’s not a feeling of obligation but a deep desire to show him how much you crave him too.

“What are you doing?” he asks, breaking the kiss. As your fingers reach for him, Simon’s hips flex backward, retreating from your touch. “You can’t handle that, love. Not right now.”

“Simon,” you beg. “I want to.”

He shakes his head, lips returning to yours momentarily before leaving again. “When I fuck you, it won’t be like this. I can fucking promise you that.”

Simon’s forehead presses against your temple and you slightly turn into him, noses brushing. “Can I touch you. Just touch. That’s all.” With extreme care, your fingers find him, wrapping lightly in case he says no.

His breathing hitches, and you see that as sign to keep going. Your grip on him isn’t great, but Simon helps, easing his pants down enough that there isn’t any clothing creating an obstacle. Simon is hot and hard in your hand. It’s clear that he needs release, and though everything in you fucking aches, you want to give him this.

It’s not pretty, but you start to pump him in short strokes. Simon groans, leans into the movement, his hips thrusting shallowly to meet your hand. Softly smiling in victory, you shift your legs a little wider, sliding them up to hook over the backs of his knees. The sound Simon makes is feral and deep.

His thrusts lengthen, and you keep your hand in place, allowing him to use it as he needs. Somehow, this is so much more intimate than if he were inside you. Simon is draped over you, trapping you against the bed, and yet your legs are locked over his, keeping him in your own web. His forehead is still pressed against your temple.

You know he’s near because his grunts are slowly tapering off at the end into short moans. It’s your turn to talk to him, to guide him toward that finish line.

“Where do you want to finish?” you ask softly.

“My hand?” You lightly squeeze his cock as he thrusts and this snaps a guttural groan from out his throat.

“My tummy?” you offer.

“My thighs?”

You lick your lips. “Do you want to finish in my mouth?”

Simon’s hips stutter.

“Or inside me?” You emphasize your meaning by pressing your heels into the back of his calves, urging him closer to your pussy.

The move is so sudden, it startles you. Simon’s hand around your throat is a vice but he doesn’t squeeze. Doesn’t cut off your air.

He still thrusts into your hand as he speaks. “I want your cunt dripping with me.” He shakes his head. “Not there. Not yet.” Simon keeps his hand around your throat but his hold eases.

Every thrust is stuttering and slightly off.

“Fuck,” he growls. “Your thighs.”

Though your muscles cry out in protest, you release him, dropping your legs back to the bed. Simon shifts into position, his hand falling away from your neck to draw your legs closer together. Watching is the most pleasurable part, seeing his release coat the tops and insides of your thighs. You imagine it inside you, filling you up, marking you as his.

That thought lingers, even as Simon retreats, going to the bathroom. The door is slightly ajar and the light inside only gives you a brief glimpse. There isn’t skin or a face reveal. You glimpse Simon’s hair, and seeing it almost feels wrong, like you’re witnessing something you shouldn’t.

It’s…blond.

No.

Brown?

That’s not right. Maybe it’s both or just a trick of the light. It’s hard to tell.

But the light shuts off, and Simon returns with a warm, damp cloth to clean you up. He is so careful, so delicate and gentle with the way he takes care of you. There isn’t conversation and you’re deeply thankful for that. You probably couldn’t talk even if you wanted to. The exhaustion is setting in, and with Simon’s return to the bathroom, you start to drift.

When he returns, Simon reaches up with one arm, pulling off his shirt in one go. His pants go next, and it isn’t until he’s dragging you into his arms and tossing the top sheet and comforter over your bodies that you realize Simon’s nakedness.

The two of you are on equal ground here.

Yes, there is the dark. But Simon is just as bare as you, and there is no balaclava.

Leaning forward, Simon kisses the curve of your shoulder once…twice…three times. You curl into his touch and Simon drags you even closer.

You hear it, even though it’s so quiet that you don’t think Simon intended you to hear it.

“Mine.”

Mine.

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