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fushitoru · 8 months ago

Text

infect me with your love

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you have always existed in gojo satoru’s shadow. he is a physics prodigy, a person that everyone endlessly admires for his intelligence and charisma, and you hate him for taking the spotlight that you deserve to share with him. but it all changes one day at 5:07AM at your starbucks job when gojo barges in, ordering ridiculously sweet drinks and posing existential questions. is there more to gojo that meets the eye, and is it linked to the vigilante swinging around New York City?

warnings ⸺ college au, academic rivals to lovers, SMUT, tooth rotting fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, basically the holy trinity, reader works at Starbucks (BOYCOTT tho), set in NYC, both reader and gojo are physics majors, mentions of SA, attempt at SA on reader but nothing too graphic, some violence, gojo swings reader across NYC so might trigger fear of heights?. SPIDER-MAN KISS SPIDERMAN KISS, injury and mentions of blood, mentions of gun, inappropriate use of webs LOL, fingering, oral, p in v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

a/n thank you for @avaults my POOKIE for beta reading this. this has been a journey and my first longfic and i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did writing it it's my baby:')

if u don’t wanna read the smut just skip the part after they make up, it’s not necessary to the story and is the ending scene. but just to be clear, minors dni.

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist

fun fact: starbucks opens at 5am.

of course, that depends on your local hours and where you live, but in the campus starbucks you worked at, your manager fortunately didn’t really care if you showed up to your opening shift a bit late. after all, no professor or undergrad is waking up at the ass crack of dawn to get a fuckin coffee; if they really needed a pick me up, they’d go to get the free alcohol at one of the frats that was still partying.

matter of fact, your manager didn’t really give a fuck what you did as long as you didn’t get the shop blown up or the matcha spilled (it was expensive). this meant you could leisurely wake up at 4:45am and set up the display muffins and cake pops when you arrived in the shop at 5:20am. really, the manager ought to reduce the hours because all you do is finish your readings for your gen ed history classes on the canvas app on your phone. so, really you get paid for doing your homework on your shifts—not that you’re complaining or anything.

that is, until gojo satoru.

first, let’s get the record straight about who gojo is. gojo is a physics second-year—same as you–who is the bane of your existence. up until a few months ago, you never saw gojo satoru outside of classes (where he was dozing off) unless you happened to show up at a frat party, which was only a few occurrences when you got peer pressured by your friends. clearly, he was a “work hard, party hard” type person because he frequents the frats more than the library while having the grades to make up for it because he’s a prodigy. he’s charismatic and smart as fuck; right out of middle school he was studying manifolds and abstract algebra while the rest of the high school freshmen were learning the quadratic equation and the concept of variables. he probably learned what gravity was at age of two and was doing research in quantum field theory by the time he got into college.

take the last time you saw him outside of class, at office hours with professor yaga.

the air in professor yaga’s office is thick with the scent of old textbooks, the hum of the overhead lights adding to the familiar quiet. you’ve been waiting all week for this chance, and you’re armed with a question that’s supposed to signal i’ve done my homework. you lean forward, trying to project confidence as you ask, “i read in your last paper that you’re working on optimizing error correction in quantum computing systems. is there a reason you prioritized stabilizer codes over surface codes?”

professor yaga’s brow lifts, impressed, and you can feel the warmth of his approval starting to settle around you. “ah,” he says, sounding pleasantly surprised, “you’ve actually read it. that’s... a complicated question.” he leans back, launching into an explanation, and for a second, you think this might actually be it—the moment he notices you for your dedication, your depth of knowledge.

but then, the door creaks open behind you.

you tense, a sinking feeling pooling in your stomach even before you turn around. of course, it’s gojo satoru, strolling in like he owns the place. his bag is slung over one shoulder, and he’s flashing that easy grin that never seems to falter. he spares you the briefest glance before zeroing in on professor yaga.

professor yaga’s face shifts instantly, a mixture of annoyance and resignation flashing in his eyes as he sighs, “gojo. nice of you to join us.”

“hey, i was just passing by,” gojo says casually, though he’s clearly anything but. he doesn’t pass by anywhere without making an entrance. “thought i’d check in on how everyone’s doing.”

the glint in yaga’s eyes sharpens, and he fixes gojo with a look. “when’s that last problem set coming in, satoru? i’ve had enough late assignments from you for one semester.”

at this, another professor at a nearby desk chuckles, casting an amused glance at gojo. “don’t push him too hard, yaga,” he says as if gojo’s delinquency is something charming, a shared inside joke. “kid’s already got the department’s highest scores without trying.”

oh, for god’s fucking sake. you force yourself not to roll your eyes, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag as you sink back in your chair. of course, all it takes is for him to show up and somehow you’re rendered invisible. just minutes ago, professor yaga was engaging with you, treating you as if you might actually belong in this room with your carefully constructed question. now, he’s utterly distracted, entirely absorbed by whatever pseudo-flattering insults he’s throwing at gojo. and, for the record, that stupid, balding professor is wrong. you have the same fucking scores as gojo, so you’re equals.

you’re not even sure gojo realizes he’s doing it—that he has this magnetic, obnoxious effect on everyone in a room. but that’s exactly what grates on you the most. he pulls all eyes to him, like he’s some cosmic force everyone’s compelled to admire. and you? you’re just… there. not that it’s any different than the usual experiences you’ve had as a woman in stem, always feeling like you have to prove yourself five times over. but somehow, gojo makes it worse.

and he does it all effortlessly, like physics is some sort of playground where he can breeze through research and exams, sprinkling charisma wherever he goes. he’s probably off writing his own theories on manifolds while everyone else is struggling to keep up with quantum mechanics. meanwhile, here you are, clawing for every shred of recognition, only to watch it fizzle as soon as he steps into the room.

he flashes a grin at professor yaga. “i’ll get it in,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “i’m just, you know, prioritizing. some of us have… extracurriculars.” he doesn’t wink, but he might as well.

you resist the urge to scoff, sinking deeper into your seat as the frustration bubbles up, sharp and hot. it’s not like you’re jealous. you’d rather endure anything than admit that. but watching gojo waltz in and immediately siphon off any attention you’d managed to earn feels like a slap. if he could just stop showing up, or better yet, stop pretending to be so casually brilliant, maybe—just maybe—you’d have a chance at something other than this routine invisibility.

you let out a huff, pretending to check the time, imagining you had somewhere better to be. you have brilliant, observant blue eyes following you out the door, but you’re too busy trying to keep yourself together until you reach your dorm, where you ugly cry it out.

which, of course, brings you to mornings like this one, where you actually do have to be somewhere. namely, behind the counter at the campus starbucks, opening up shop while most of the world is still asleep. you catch sight of the green mermaid logo ahead, just visible through the dim haze of a 5:07 a.m. chill.

and right beneath it, there’s a familiar head of silver hair.

your eyes have to double take on the man who seems to be looking a bit slouched, tired and leaning against the light pole while tapping his foot. the muscular yet tall stature and white hair are unmistakable; it’s the same ones you’ve dreamed about throttling. but you’re so confused as to why he’s there that you just decide to wordlessly walk towards the store and open up, ignoring his presence until his voice cuts through the morning silence.

“doesn’t this store open up at 5?” his voice sounds tired and groggy, you notice.

“uh, yea,” you answer tentatively, shrugging. “but, um, no one comes until 7 so i show up late.”

his eyes narrow and somewhat playfully (well, as playful as he can sound at the ass crack of dawn anyways), he asks, “don’t you know time is of the essence? seems pretty irresponsible to me that you’re not showing up on time.”

you just stare at him for a bit because, after all, this is the guy you’ve been having the murderous equivalent of wet dreams about for the past year talking to you in a friendly, joking, familiar way. needless to say, you’re at a loss of words in your slightly flustered state, so all that comes out is a short “sorry” before you’re walking in, getting ready to put on your apron and setting the oven on to heat up the croissants.

gojo follows in after you, choosing to sit at the table closest to the counter. he sets the backpack he had on his back down, rummaging through and whipping out his laptop and plugging it in. it’s a heavy old thing, and gojo’s biceps strain as he pulls it out and you almost snort when looking at it in its entirety. a gaming laptop.

but you don’t do that, because laughing at someone who’s a stranger to you would be mean, no matter how much you hate him, so you resort to setting up the counter and getting some powders out. bending over, you get the newly shipped box of cake pops, deigning to put them out on display until you’re interrupted with a cough.

you turn, looking inquisitively at gojo until he points down to the counter, indicating that he wants to order. you mumble, “just a second!” before you continue hauling the box to put it on the top counter where you can easily unpack it and brush your hands, walking up to gojo and getting the system ready to take his order.

and your fingers are poised on the buttons until you realize that no order is coming out of his mouth. you blink, and he blinks, keeping a stoic face that nevertheless poorly conceals an amused expression.

“…what can i get you?”

at that, he pouts. “no good morning? no chirpy hello?”

you just stare at him for a good second. what the fuck?

“what?” gojo frowns. “shouldn’t you do that to every customer?” you realize belatedly you’ve said it out loud in your shock, but shake it off nonetheless.

the silence lingers after gojo’s teasing comment, making you acutely aware of the odd situation: you’re standing there in your work apron, face-to-face with the man you’ve imagined taking down in your head a thousand times, and yet here he is, tired but playfully trying to chat you up. you should hate this—he’s getting under your skin, but for some reason, you just feel unsettled, disturbed that he’s so human.

you don’t trust your voice to not crack while making eye contact with him, so, instead, you focus on your screen. you settle on a simple, flat, “morning,” without a hint of cheerfulness, staring down at the register like it’s your lifeline.

gojo’s eyebrow quirks at your half-hearted greeting, but he says nothing, opting instead to study you with an amused glint. you can feel his gaze, like a weight on your skin, and it almost makes you shiver. he leans forward a little, propping his elbows on the counter, his posture loose but expectant. his playful energy is barely masking something beneath it, something harder.

gojo's grin is wide, almost boyish, and it makes your stomach churn more than it should.

“see? was that so hard?” he says, leaning forward on his elbows like he’s settling in for a chat. his tone is too friendly for someone who’s never exchanged more than a glance with you in class—someone you’ve been actively avoiding whenever possible.

you scowl, moving to the register to finally punch in his order. “what would you like?”

“hmm...” he taps his chin, dragging out the silence. he’s enjoying this, that much is obvious. “surprise me.”

you blink, fingers still poised over the buttons. “surprise you?”

“yeah,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “you work here. you know what’s good.”

you want to throttle him. really, truly throttle him. there’s no way this is real—no way the gojo satoru is sitting in front of you at 5:07 in the morning, asking you to surprise him with a starbucks order like he’s some quirky regular.

and yet, here you are.

“fine,” you mutter, punching in the order for the sweetest, most ridiculous concoction you can think of. caramel drizzle, extra whipped cream, a pump of every syrup in the back room—you’re not going easy on him. “that’ll be eight dollars.”

he doesn’t blink at the ridiculous price. of course, he doesn’t.

pulling out his phone, he taps it against the card reader and flashes you another grin. “thanks, i’m sure it’ll be great.”

you barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. “uh-huh.”

as you move to make the drink, the silence between you stretches uncomfortably. you’ve spent so much time thinking about gojo, despising him, that now that he’s here, right in front of you, you don’t know how to act. and the worst part? he seems perfectly at ease, completely unfazed by the fact that you’ve spent the better part of a year dreaming of his downfall. he’s back to looking at his stupid heavy ahh gaming laptop, and as you move over to put in copious amounts of caramel pumps, you notice that he’s on cool math games playing fireboy and watergirl and almost snort out loud. he’s locked in on his game, his legs moving up and down anxiously, reminiscent of an ipad kid.

after a few minutes of assembling his monstrosity of a drink, you slide it across the counter. “here,” you say, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice.

gojo raises an eyebrow at the drink, the sheer volume of whipped cream threatening to spill over the lid. “wow,” he says, sounding genuinely impressed. “you really went all out.”

“you said to surprise you.”

“i did,” he admits, grabbing the cup and taking a slow, deliberate sip. his eyes widen slightly at the overly sweet taste, and for a brief moment, you think you’ve won.

but then he smiles again, that same irritatingly carefree smile, and you know you haven’t.

“so,” gojo begins, leaning back in his chair like he’s settling in for a long conversation. “what’s a genius like you doing working the early shift at starbucks?”

your hands freeze mid-clean, and you glance at him sharply. genius?

you can’t tell if he’s being sincere or mocking you—probably the latter, considering who he is—but the word still lingers in the air between you, unsettling.

you scoff, trying to brush it off. “gotta pay the bills somehow,” you mutter, going back to wiping down the counter. but gojo’s gaze is heavy on you, and you can tell he’s not letting it go.

you glance up at him. “look, i like having time to think in the mornings. it’s quiet. besides, no one’s lining up for coffee before 7, so it’s not like i’m missing anything.”

gojo chuckles softly, but there’s something off about it. “thinking time, huh?” he repeats your words, but there’s a strange edge to them, like he’s mulling them over. in fact, you think you just realize that he’s been acting oddly this entire morning, restlessness evident in his figure. he taps his fingers on the table, his eyes flickering to the window, watching the gray morning light spill into the shop.

“doesn’t it ever feel like…” he trails off, brow furrowing slightly. “i don’t know… like you should be doing something else? like… something more?”

his question hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken, but you get the feeling he’s not talking about you. there’s something in his voice, something that sounds like he’s grappling with his own thoughts, with his own place in the world.

for a moment, you’re tempted to brush him off. to tell him he’s overthinking things, that he’s gojo satoru and he already has everything laid out for him. but something stops you. maybe it’s the way he looks—his usual confidence slightly cracked at the edges, his playful tone masking something else. something deeper.

you shrug, turning back to the counter. “i mean… it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”

there’s a pause, and you can feel the weight of your words sinking in. gojo goes quiet, really quiet, and when you glance back at him, his usual smirk is gone. he’s just… staring at you, eyes narrowed slightly like he’s trying to figure you out.

“just… showing up, huh?” he repeats softly, almost like he’s testing the words. his fingers stop tapping, and he leans back in his chair, his gaze unfocused, like he’s somewhere else entirely. somewhere in his own head.

you don’t say anything else. you’ve said your piece, and somehow, you know it hit deeper than either of you expected. there’s a strange silence between you now, not uncomfortable, but heavy with understanding.

gojo stands up after a long pause, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. he looks at you, his usual grin slipping back into place, but it’s softer now. less cocky. more real.

“maybe you’re right,” he says, and this time there’s no teasing in his voice. “sometimes it’s enough just to show up.”

and with that, he gives you a small nod, turning and heading out into the cold morning. the door swings shut behind him, and for a second, you just stand there, staring after him.

something’s shifted. you don’t know what it is, but it feels like the start of something. something bigger than just a rivalry.

you shake your head, turning back to the counter. it’s too early for this shit.

…

“you know, i didn’t get your name.”

gojo’s voice cuts through the low hum of the espresso machine as he leans against the counter, that same insufferable grin plastered across his face. he’s here again, of course, only this time it’s during your closing shift. the place is quiet, almost deserted except for the occasional customer who swings by for a quick coffee before heading back out into the cold.

you look up from the equipment you were cleaning, already annoyed. “i’m pretty sure we’ve shared at least one class every semester.”

you weren’t trying to hide the pettiness. gojo, for all his academic genius, clearly couldn’t be bothered to remember you—a recurring face in his orbit. it’s not like you were expecting him to remember you, especially among the sea of faces in lecture halls, but something about the way he strolled in, acting like this was just some cute, quirky meet-cute, got under your skin.

gojo quirks an eyebrow in confusion, his gaze drifting up toward the ceiling as if searching the recesses of his mind for your name—only to come up empty. “are you a grad student?”

you flash him an exasperated look. “just for that, i’m not telling you.”

grabbing a towel to wipe your hands, you step out from behind the barista counter, heading towards the trash can just behind him to restock the straws. as you make your way to the supply room, you can feel his eyes following your every move. to your surprise, gojo starts walking toward you, his presence looming as you dump the straws into the container.

it isn’t until you turn around that you realize he’s standing right next to you, bent comically at the waist and squinting at something on your chest. heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks as you realize his proximity and move to take a step back.

he wasn’t ogling you (thank god), but instead, squinting at the nametag pinned to your apron.

"ah," he says, straightening up with a triumphant grin. “there it is. y/n, huh?” the way his mouth rolls over your name slowly makes you feel a bit weird, because after all, this is the guy you’ve shit talked about in your diary finally acknowledging you existed, but before you can reflect on the feeling, you bristle again in annoyance.

“really? you had to get that close just to read my name?”

gojo doesn’t seem fazed by your annoyance, in fact, it only seems to amuse him further. “hey, i was just trying to be thorough. gotta make sure i get it right, you know?” his grin widens, and you swear he’s enjoying this way too much.

“thorough. sure.” you turn away, trying to busy yourself with the straws again, but the heat still lingers on your face. his proximity had been… unexpected. and a little too close for comfort.

when you’re done with the straws, you steel the courage to turn your body so you’re facing him, making an indication with your hands for him to move out of your way. instead of him giving you space to leave the cramped corner, he leans against the counter now like he practically owns the place. in doing so, he effectively pins you against the corner of the coffee shop, leaving you no option but to fiddle with the straws while pointedly avoiding his gaze, but not before you see the pout on his face. “you’re not going to ask me for my name?”

“i know it. it’s gojo.” you immediately curse yourself for letting your lips loose.

fuck. he squints his eyes in what you perceive as suspicion. “how do you know my name?”

“i saw it on your credit card information.” you couldn’t exactly tell him how you’ve stalked him (as well as how inefficient you found a function in his 6th grade robotics code), so that would be a plausible enough reason.

but gojo, of course, doesn’t let up. “so, y/n,” he starts. “you going to the party next week? you know, for halloweekend?”

ah, halloweekend. the ultimate weekend for getting excuses to dress slutilly, excessively drink, and get laid. at your college, it was an even bigger deal, with people partying for all three days of the week’s end as well as the weekend before and after halloween. you shook your head. “i don’t think so.” that phys 321 assignment was not going to finish itself, nor were parties really your scene.

“what?” he immediately crosses his arms across his chest, frowning and leaning closer to you to squint at you. “why?”

you sigh inwardly, awkward at the prospect of him bugging you further about your life. “i’m bu—”

you’re interrupted by the sound of the door opening and instinctively move to get behind the counter to take the new customer’s order; at first, you thank the heavens that you got a distraction from gojo, that you’re not alone anymore, but seeing who the customer was, the hope extinguishes like a candle face with wind.

you both see a man swagger in, the same guy you’ve noticed hanging around far too often lately. his eyes immediately lock onto you, and a slow, sleazy grin spreads across his face.

“hey, look who’s still here,” the man says, sauntering over to the counter like he owns the place. “my favorite barista.”

you tense, forcing a smile. “what can i get you?”

he doesn’t answer right away, his gaze sliding down your body in a way that makes your skin crawl. “i was thinking…” he drawls, leaning in closer than necessary, “you and i should hang out. you’re always here, and i’m always here, so it’s like fate or something, right?”

your stomach churns, and you take a small step back, maintaining your composure. “i’m good, thanks.”

but he doesn’t let up, leaning further across the counter. “come on, don’t be like that. just one drink. you deserve it after a long day.”

“i really can’t—”

“don’t be shy,” he interrupts, a grin spreading wider. “i’m a nice guy, i promise.”

before you can think of another polite rejection, gojo steps forward, his body language shifting entirely. the playful air around him evaporates, replaced by something colder, more dangerous. he positions himself squarely between you and the guy, effectively cutting off the man’s view of you.

“she said no,” gojo says, his voice firm, low. “so why don’t you fuck off?”

the sleazy guy blinks, clearly not expecting the sudden shift. his smile fades, and he glares at gojo, sizing him up like he’s considering pushing back. but one glance at gojo’s unwavering stare, and the guy decides it’s not worth it. with a muttered curse, he turns and leaves, the door swinging shut behind him.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. the guy’s been bothering you routinely; part of you thinks that he’s still not going to leave you alone, but the rest of you visibly relaxes, the weight of this guy’s harassment lifting off your shoulders under gojo’s protection.

gojo turns back to you, the usual teasing smirk creeping back onto his face, though his eyes are still sharp. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you manage, though your voice is quieter than you’d like. “thanks for that.”

“don’t mention it.” he shrugs it off like it was nothing, but there’s something different in the way he’s looking at you now—something protective. “i know you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself, but i figured i’d speed things up a bit.”

you roll your eyes, trying to shake off the tension. “you’re such a hero, gojo.”

“always,” he replies with a wink. and just like that, the moment’s lightened again, the balance between you restored, though there’s a subtle shift in the air. something unspoken between the two of you—an understanding, maybe.

you don’t acknowledge it out loud, but as you go back to restocking, you find yourself glancing at him more than before. and for the first time in… well, ever, you don’t completely mind his presence.

…

fast forward a few hours, and after a bit of conversation, gojo finally leaves the fine institution that is your campus starbucks. right now, you’re alone and finishing cleaning up. you lock up, the starbucks finally closed, finishing your last task for the night. it’s quiet—too quiet, actually, with the usual streetlights casting strange shadows across the empty sidewalk. the air feels heavy, like something unseen is lingering just out of reach, watching from the dark. you shake it off, telling yourself you’re just tired and letting your nerves get to you.

as you start your walk back to your dorm, the feeling only grows. the street’s nearly empty, and with each step, the silence presses in closer. it’s fine, you tell yourself, picking up your pace. but then you hear it: the echo of footsteps, faint but unmistakable. heart pounding, you speed up, every instinct telling you to just get back. almost there. you just have to cross the alley—

“hey there,” a voice drawls, and your stomach sinks. a hand moves to grab at your shoulder, making you turn quickly. what meets your vision is the same guy from earlier, his grin widening in a way that makes your skin crawl.

you try to move out of his grip, but he grabs you harder, cutting off any escape. “aw, don’t be like that. i just wanted some company.”

your throat’s dry, but you manage, “i said no.”

he doesn’t even pretend to listen, his gaze trailing over you with that same leering interest. “no need to be so uptight. i could make this fun for you.”

your back hits the wall of the alley. trapped. he leans in, his breath warm and sour against your face, one hand reaching out as he says something sleazy that you can barely hear over the pounding in your ears—

and then a voice cuts in from above, all easy humor. “y’know, i always thought this city’s trash problem was bad, but this is something else.”

your heart leaps in your chest at the small flicker of hope, that someone has the balls to try to rescue you. but as you—and this creep—turn, you find no evidence of another party present, only his mysterious presence.

“who’s there?” the guy snarls, his grip tightening so much that you wince. “why don’t you get lost if you know what’s good for you—”

“dude, don’t you have any rizz?” the mysterious boy retorts.the stranger has a youthful voice, someone of your age. “the way you have to resort to sexual harassment is just sad. you guys are always sooo predictable, you’re so gonna tell me to scram or something.”

the man scowls, hand leaving your arm in an effort to search for the stranger in the dark. “why don’t you mind your own business, punk—”

and he’s interrupted, because a shiny, silver something flings out in the darkness and lands on his face, sending his arms in a frenzy to uncover what it is. the man rips the sticky, silver webbing off his face with a growl, looking around wildly, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. his eyes dart through the dark alley, searching for the source of that cocky voice, but there’s nothing—just shadows and the faint flicker of a streetlamp somewhere down the block.

“who the hell are you?” he snaps, twisting his neck as if he could scare whoever’s hiding out there into the open. “show yourself, you bastard!”

a chuckle echoes from the darkness, bouncing off the brick walls. “wow, real tough guy, huh? but you should work on those anger issues. they’re, uh…a bit unbecoming.”

the man spins around, and another burst of webbing flies out from somewhere unseen, sticking to his shoulder this time. he yanks it off with a frustrated grunt, his head whipping from side to side as he tries to locate the stranger.

“you think this is funny?” he spits, voice raised in a mix of fear and fury.

“depends. do you?” the voice is closer now, almost like the stranger is right above you, yet no one’s there. “or is this just a big overreaction? all i did was suggest you rethink your approach. go to therapy or sum’.”

the man snarls, fists clenched, starting to look downright unhinged. “get down here and say that to my face, punk!”

“as you wish.”

with a soft thump, a figure drops from above, landing directly in front of the guy in a low crouch. in the dim light, all you see at first are the blue and black accents on the otherwise white suit, his head tilting up, illuminated just enough that his white, wide eyes glow with a certain playful menace. and then, your eyes widen as you gasp to yourself.

you’ve seen him before.

okay, pause.

you’re a busy college student, one who stays entrenched in the bubble of upcoming exams, assignments, and problem sets that you don’t check the news often. in the off chance you do turn from your usual consumption of social media during your breaks to the news, you only have time to read the big headlines.

so you did read somewhere that in your university’s city of new york city, there was a masked menan—vigilante that had beat up a few guys near a shawarma joint or prevented some shootings at a nightclub. new york city was full of incompetent cops that were on the lookout for him (a/n acabbbbbb) since this guy was a vigilante, some kind of superhero slinging around on webs. some name—spiderman.

but before you could read more into the article, your soul almost left your body when you got a canvas notification saying your midterm was graded, so that was the end of that.

alright, pause over. back to now.

“hi!” spiderman chirps, giving him a friendly wave before ducking just as the man throws a punch. the swing goes wide, and spiderman straightens up with a disappointed sigh. “see, this is why i’m the one with the web powers. you’d hurt yourself with these moves.”

without warning, the man charges again, swinging in rapid succession, but each one misses as spiderman easily sidesteps, practically dancing around him. “oof, dude, how did you make it this far in life with reflexes like that?” he ducks another blow, slipping behind the guy to give him a light tap on the shoulder as he passes.

the man stumbles, eyes flashing with frustration, and lets out a roar, reaching down to pick up a loose brick from the alley floor. he raises it above his head, face twisted in a snarl.

“oh, so we’re improvising now?” spiderman quips, and before the man can bring the brick down, a strand of webbing shoots out, sticking to the brick and yanking it from his grasp. it flies off somewhere into the alley, landing with a dull clatter.

the guy stumbles forward, off balance, and spiderman takes the opportunity to web his feet to the ground, immobilizing him in place. the man struggles, pulling his legs, but he’s stuck fast.

“ever heard of boundaries?” spiderman asks, tilting his head with mock innocence. “or, like, self-restraint? you should look into it.”

the man glares, seething, still struggling against the webs. “you think you’re some kinda hero?” he sneers.

spiderman shrugs, glancing over at you, catching your gaze in a way that makes you feel both strangely comforted and seen. “nah, hero’s a big word. i’m just your friendly neighborhood guy with slightly above-average reflexes.”

with a frustrated yell, the man finally wrenches one arm free and makes a desperate lunge, his fist connecting with spiderman’s side. spiderman lets out a small grunt but only wobbles slightly before grinning. “okay, buddy, playtime’s over.”

before the man can even react, spiderman sends out another web, this time at his wrist, effectively pinning him to the alley wall. he struggles, face twisted in anger, but spiderman just raises a gloved hand to his lips as if hushing a child. then, in the lull that follows, you remember the thick quantum mechanics textbook in your bag. without thinking, you yank it out and, in a burst of adrenaline, swing it at the man’s head. the book lands with a solid thud, and he slumps, finally, into silence.

spiderman looks at the unconscious man, then at the textbook in your hand. he lets out a low whistle. “you know, i’ve always thought textbooks were a weapon of choice, but that’s next-level dedication.” that’s when you realize just how tall he is compared to you, and you can’t help your excitement when you realize that he’s here in the flesh.

“nice hit, by the wa—”

“it’s you!” you exclaim.

“what?” he sputters, white eyes widening almost comically. “me? oh,” then he straightens up, “yea, yea. just your friendly neighborhood spiderman. rescuing pretty girls from creeps, kinda my thing. ” he shrugs.

you continue, excitedly, “right, you’re the one on the news—” you move your hand to point at him but quickly wince, the pain of the man’s grip catching up to you.

he doesn’t miss the movement, eyes squinting at you. “hey, we’ll have to get you home. do you trust me?”

you look at him, clutching your arm in pain, and really take a moment to check him out. he’s saved you, he’s probably six feet tall, and his ass looks fantastic in his suit. at this point, you’re looking at him with heart eyes. but you can’t exactly tell him you want him to propose, so all you utter out is a “y-yeah. my dorm’s randall.”

he doesn't waste any time. with a quick nod, he hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you close as he aims a webline up toward the buildings. “hold on tight, randall’s just a swing away,” he murmurs, his voice light but steady. his hand settles on your hip, and you can't stop the way your stomach flips at the contact.

before you can even process what’s happening, he launches the two of you into the air, the city blurring beneath your feet as you cling to him, fingers gripping the fabric of his suit for dear life. his arm stays solid around you, his grip somehow both gentle and strong. he lands lightly on the roof of your dorm, setting you down carefully like you’re something fragile. and he steps back, dusting his hands off in the most nonchalant way possible, like he didn’t just take you on the most exhilarating ride of your life.

“this is your stop,” he says, that signature, almost cocky smile playing in his voice.

“uh… yeah. thanks. for the rescue,” you manage, your voice a little shakier than you’d like. you don’t know if “thank you” is enough—it doesn’t even come close to covering what you feel.

but he just shrugs, taking a step back. “all in a day’s work,” he says. “or night’s work, i guess.” he pauses, giving you a quick once-over. “get some sleep, yeah?”

and just like that, he gives you a small, almost playful salute and vanishes, swinging off into the night as easily as he’d appeared, leaving you standing on the rooftop with your heart still racing.

back in your dorm room, you drop onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling as tonight’s events replay in your head: the alley, his voice cutting through the dark, that cocky smirk, the way he felt holding onto you as you soared over the city lights. a tiny part of you wonders if you imagined the whole thing—if maybe you’re just the victim of some wild, sleep-deprived hallucination.

but no, your arm still aches from where the creep grabbed you, and you can still feel the ghost of his hand on your waist, steady and reassuring. you bite your lip, a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself.

just before sleep finally claims you, you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. “the city’s vigilante, huh?” you murmur, as if he’s somehow still listening.

the thought is wild, a bit surreal—and strangely comforting.

…

“one caffe americano!” you call out, reading the label on the cup before handing it over with a small nod. the customer takes it with a quick thanks, and you return to the counter, barely holding back a yawn. the events of last night flicker through your mind—a web-slinging hero, an alley, the lingering ache in your arm—and you shake it off. there’s no room for distractions. life as a college student means the grind never stops, especially on a morning shift right before class.

when your coworker finally arrives, you let out a quiet sigh of relief, grab your bag, and step out into the brisk morning air. the chill helps wake you up as you make your way across campus, hoping to catch up with your friends before the lecture starts. just outside the building, you spot utahime, sitting on a bench, waiting with her usual tired smile.

“hey, finally off the clock?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, barely,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “i’m still running on fumes from last night. you guys save me a seat?”

“of course. nanami’s already inside,” she says, gesturing toward the building.

you sigh. “you won’t believe the things that happened last night.”

she gives you a look, in the traditional utahime protective-mother-hen type way. “what happened?”

you give her the rundown of what happened, the guy (who she bristles at, gives you a slap at your hand to tell you that you should’ve told her earlier, kento would’ve been able to beat his ass if she hadn’t gotten to it first) and how spiderman saved you. “i would give him what he’s missing,” you sigh, dreamily.

utahime looks at you in a judgmental way. “and that’s all you got from this? for fucks sake, he’s a vigilante, you don’t know if he’s started to tail you or not. pooks, he could literally be dangerous. try to convince your boss to let someone else get your night shift.” as soon as you open your mouth to protest, she cuts you off immediately. “and no, i don’t give a fuck about your people pleaser tendenci—”

“we’ll revisit this conversation later.” you give her a sweet smile as you start to speed walk, door of the lecture hall of the 9am section of phys401: intro to quantum algorithms, falling in with the usual stream of students after you hear an irritated “yea, cause i’m gonna kill you otherwise.” the familiar chatter and echo of footsteps make the day feel almost normal, grounding you as you weave through the hall.

inside, you quickly spot kento’s shining, disney prince-like blonde hair, who has saved seats for the three of you near the middle of the hall, away from the ugly, smelly grad students who always crowd the front. he gives you a quick nod as you settle down beside him, flipping open your notebook. the reliable calm on his face helps ease the lingering jitters you hadn’t realized you were carrying.

“long night?” he asks, glancing at the dark circles under your eyes.

“you could say that,” you mumble, not quite ready to get into details. instead, you wave it off. “just work assignments, and getting jumped, the usual.”

nanami breaks into a series of shocked coughs, and you hurry to pat his back as he undeniably burns his tongue on the coffee he was taking a sip of. “what?”

his rather loud exclamation sets off stares from people sitting closer to you both, so you give utahime, who lets out a quiet groan as she’s settling into her seat beside you, a knowing look. “it’s a long story, i’ll tell it to you later.”

he reluctantly settles in after that, not because he has a choice but because yaga is starting to address the class by asking about the weekend and getting his usual blank stares in return until a voice you recognize as suguru geto’s is saying something to undeniably piss him off, but you don’t register quite what it is exactly because the door opens and any attention on geto is directed to the boy with white hair and blue eyes tiredly walking into class.

he’s about ten minutes late to the lecture, which is already weird because he’s usually about 27 seconds late, not that you keep count. but also, normally gojo is the picture of confidence and cockyness, making some of the female grad students whisper things about him that you don’t think they should be for the five year gap between them and gojo.

but today, he looks different—messy, unkempt, with shadows under his eyes and a weird angle to his torso, the way he walks, and the way his opposite hand is subconsciously hovering around his side.

your brows knit together as he heads to an empty seat rows behind you next to geto, ignoring the stares of half the room. it’s so out of character for him that you can’t help but wonder what’s going on. you shoot utahime a knowing look, and she stifles a laugh, barely managing to keep a straight face as she watches gojo slink to his seat. nanami’s usually impassive face exchanges a look with you as well before he turns his attention back to professor yaga’s opening remarks. gojo slides into the row behind you without a word, avoiding everyone’s gaze—or so you think, until you feel it.

as you attempt to listen to professor yaga, you can’t shake the sensation of eyes boring into the back of your head. you resist the urge to turn, telling yourself it’s probably nothing… except the feeling lingers, so strong that your pulse ticks up a notch.

“okay, now that we’re all here,” yaga says in a dry tone, barely able to hide his irritation as he glances pointedly in gojo’s direction, “let’s begin with today’s lecture on grover’s.”

professor yaga taps the board, and the projector switches to a set of slides titled quantum speed-up and the grover search algorithm. he launches into his explanation, voice clipped. “grover’s algorithm provides a quadratic speed-up for unstructured search problems, a notable advantage in quantum computing. but can anyone tell me why this isn’t considered an exponential improvement?”

you raise your hand, as does nanami. a subtle shift of movement in your peripheral vision draws your eye to gojo, who’s leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. yaga’s attention lands on nanami first, and he gives a succinct answer about how grover’s algorithm yields only a quadratic speed-up in terms of computational complexity. as he answers, you swear you catch gojo watching you, again, through the corner of your eye.

determined not to let him get under your skin, you lean over to whisper to nanami. “what’s with him today?”

nanami, still watching yaga, raises a brow. “maybe he finally realized that he can’t get by without skipping class today.”

utahime snickers quietly. “doubtful. more like he thinks it’s funny to waltz in whenever he likes and still ace every test.”

“exactly.” you sigh, drumming your pen against your notebook. gojo’s rare absences don’t even seem to faze most professors. and despite his unpredictable attendance, he’s always managed to stay miles ahead. today, though, something’s… different about him. like he’s made a life changing decision in the past 48 hours.

“moving on,” yaga says, pointing to the board where the next slide materializes. “the heart of grover’s algorithm lies in its use of an amplitude amplification technique, where we iterate a search oracle along with an inversion process. pay attention—this concept of iterative improvement will become key when we start covering variational quantum algorithms.”

as yaga delves deeper into amplitude amplification, you manage to focus, jotting down notes on the necessary steps in grover’s search. yet each time you settle into the lecture, you feel gojo’s gaze pricking at you. the first time you turn around, there’s nothing there—just him slouched, seemingly absorbed in whatever he’s staring at on the ceiling. but then, you sense it again and, on your second glance, you catch his blue eyes meeting yours, and he quickly looks away.

what’s his problem? you give him a questioning look, but he’s adamantly not looking at you, trying to look nonchalant as he’s pulling out his laptop. he might look like a student taking latexing notes of what yaga’s yapping about, but the way he’s using his mouse more than he is his keyboard tells you that he’s probably on papa’s freezeria instead.

you decide that you’re going to waste your time wondering how gojo’s brain functioned, so you instead focus back on the lecture. after all, you didn’t understand any of the lecture notes you took notes on before and what it said about the diffuser in the circuit.

“now,” yaga’s voice sharpens, pulling you back into the room, “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of being late.” his eyes slide back to gojo, who remains oblivious, leaning back with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as the sound of his name brings him back to the lecture.

gojo doesn’t even look phased. instead, he raises a hand casually, like he’s about to ask a simple question. you can feel the anticipation ripple through the room—half the students are waiting to see if he’ll fumble, and the other half already know better.

“professor yaga,” he drawls, “don’t you think amplitude amplification is a bit of an oversimplification? the way it’s typically presented, you’d think grover’s algorithm was just… guessing with style.” he flashes an infuriatingly smug smile, drawing out the pause before continuing. “but we both know it’s more about quantum phase inversion, right? the oracle reflects about the mean state, iterating with a precision that isn’t just luck. or maybe that’s all too technical?” he leans back, feigning innocence.

the smugness in his tone makes something flare up in you, and before you can stop yourself, your hand shoots up.

“actually, gojo,” you interject, your voice louder than you intended, “calling it “guessing with style” is a very gross oversimplification. grover’s algorithm isn’t about intuition or luck. it’s about optimization. it’s not just about spotlighting a target like a rando guess, it’s more like rotating the probability in a controlled manner—with iterations—to amplify the correct solution. not just some quantum trick or guess.” you cross your arms, leaning back in your chair as you stare him down. “it’s not even that bad, compared to what we have classically.”

as soon as you spoke, it seems that the fight and mischievous look in gojo’s eyes fades, replacing it with something that shockingly looks like him being flustered as he averts your gaze, looks to the ceiling, and murmurs something like “yea, that’s basically most of quantum computing, desperately trying to prove we’re not just wasting our time” but yaga interrupts him, clearly a bit annoyed at the two know-it-alls that you and gojo were acting like.

“now,” yaga says, shifting back to the lecture as if nothing happened (probably because he wasn’t paid enough to deal with this shit), “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of missing lectures.”

you’re just left confused as to why the conversation didn’t escalate like the typical academic rivals in movies, because you’ve definitely seen gojo bully some people who didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about instead of just blushing like some schoolgirl. regardless, you can’t help but notice the thrill that you felt, having finally argued with him, having been seen as someone worth arguing. you try to temper it as yaga continues onto the rest of the lecture.

…

“i can’t believe you’re making me go.” you tug at the hem of your white corset, paired with a matching skirt, still incredulous at how utahime managed to talk you into attending one of the infamous halloween frat parties. the night air is crisp against your exposed shoulders, and despite your complaints, you shiver more at the thought of wasting the next few hours among sweaty strangers than the actual cold.

utahime, walking beside you in a devil-red version of your outfit—complete with horns perched precariously on her head—looks far too satisfied with herself. she adjusts the horns with one hand, giving you a sidelong glance that practically drips with smugness.

“stop pouting,” she chides. “i’m not going to let you waste another night holed up in your room, buried in manhwa or quantum physics. i’m pretty sure there are cobwebs growing in your—”

“utahime,” you hiss, cutting her off with a mortified glance around.

“pussy,” she finishes, completely unbothered. “i’m going to find you a guy to hook up with. i’m not saying you have to go all the way, but flirting? kissing? maybe something more? very healthy. highly encouraged.”

your mouth falls open in protest, but before you can get a word in, she fixes you with a sharp glare, her dark eyes flashing with all the authority of a disappointed parent. “don’t even think about arguing with me. i swear, if you don’t at least try to enjoy this, i’ll make it my personal mission to find someone for you.”

“i can’t believe this,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “you’re supposed to be my friend, not my pimp.”

“oh, i’m your friend. that’s why i’m doing this. you’ll thank me when you’re sixty and not crying about how boring your college life was.”

“i’m not boring,” you counter. “i’m selective.”

“sure,” utahime drawls, clearly unconvinced. “and whatever weird sexual tension you’ve got going on with gojo doesn’t count.”

you scoff, stopping in your tracks to stare at her. “what tension? we’ve literally talked once this week. and that was the first time we had a conversation.”

she doesn’t respond, already scanning the scene ahead. the street of frat houses looms just ahead, glowing with gaudy orange lights strung up across balconies. the bass from the nearest party reverberates through the pavement underfoot. it’s already crowded, hordes of people shuffling in and out, laughing, shouting, and showcasing their half-baked halloween costumes.

you follow utahime’s gaze to the nearest house, packed with enough people to make the windows fog up. just the thought of squeezing into that humidity makes your stomach churn.

“looks crowded,” you mumble. “maybe we should—”

before you can suggest retreating, utahime grabs your wrist and practically drags you toward the house. “nope. you’re coming in. no backing out now.”

the moment you step inside, the smell hits you. sweat, stale beer, and an undercurrent of what you can only describe as frat-house musk. your nose wrinkles, and you instinctively recoil, pulling your arm free from utahime’s grasp.

“god, it smells like a gym locker in here,” you say, covering your nose.

utahime doesn’t seem fazed. she’s already scanning the room, her eyes landing on a beer pong table set up in the corner, surrounded by cheering students. “this is perfect!” she says, beaming.

“for what? contracting a fungal infection?” you mutter.

but she’s no longer listening, her focus shifting as a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a makeshift cowboy hat approaches her and then stops in front of both of you, his stare fully enthralled by utahime. “hey,” he says, a bit suavely, in the way that makes you inwardly roll your eyes because you know she’s going to eat it up. she likes it when they’re a little ugly, and this guy fits the bill.

“hey,” and she giggles, making you have to physically fight the urge to puke, “what’s up?”

they exchange a few words, and before you know it, she’s smiling in that way that tells you she’s found her entertainment for the night.

“go ahead,” you say dryly, waving her off. “i’ll just fend for myself.”

utahime starts to protest, but you’re already beelining for the kitchen, trying to get a drink that’s not too crazy to survive the night. it’s surprisingly less chaotic in the kitchen, though the counters are cluttered with half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and some questionable punch that looks radioactive. you scan the room, your eyes landing on a cupboard that might hold something simple—like water. a series of ding! ding! ding!’s go off in your mind as you find the pack of plastic water bottles.

standing on your toes, you reach for the handle, but it’s just out of your grasp. you huff in frustration, shifting to get better leverage when a hand way bigger than yours suddenly appears above yours, effortlessly grabbing the item you were reaching for.

“let me get that for you.”

you turn to thank the person, the words dying on your lips when you see who it is.

gojo.

he’s standing impossibly close, his signature smirk firmly in place, but there’s something almost casual in the way he looks at you, as if this is the most normal interaction in the world. you swear you’re so close that you can see like the two open pores on his otherwise flawless skin, as his eyes inevitably drag themselves downwards to scan your outfit for the night—a shitty angel without wings and halo (you couldn’t be paid two shits to put in the effort; both of the top and skirt were utahime’s, anyways.) then, his eyes meet yours again, a bit of playfulness in them.

“well, well,” he drawls, handing you the water bottle. “never thought i’d see you here.”

you take the bottle, trying to ignore the brush of his fingers against yours. “didn’t have much of a choice. utahime dragged me.”

his grin widens. “classic. let me guess—she’s off trying to find her soulmate at the beer pong table?”

“something like that,” you mumble, not wanting to give him the entire story. twisting the cap off the bottle, you take a sip, hoping he’ll just leave you alone, but instead, he leans against the counter, looking entirely too comfortable.

“so,” he says, tilting his head, “i heard through the grapevine that you had a run-in with that spider-man guy this week.”

that makes you pause mid-gulp of water, instead coughing a bit as you try to swallow it down without basically drowning in kirkland signature natural spring water. you’ve only told like, three people outside of kento and iori, so you’re confused why he knows this information, but you continue on regardless. the memory of spider-man swinging in to save you flashes through your mind, and you can’t help but smile softly to yourself. “it was amazing. he’s—he’s incredible, honestly. the way he just swooped in and handled everything? so fast, so precise. he’s like a real-life superhero.”

you’re basically gushing to him, and you realize that a bit too late as you look at his face to gauge his reaction. he’s looking at you with a newfound interest, albeit a bit too conflicted to fully tease you about it when he says, “sounds like you’re smitten.”

“maybe i am,” you admit, laughing. “i mean, who wouldn’t be? he’s brave, he’s kind, and he doesn’t even stick around for the credit. it’s like he’s this selfless, untouchable figure.” you also kind of want to give him a sloppy toppy for saving you like that, but you spare gojo the details.

“untouchable, huh?” gojo echoes, his tone turning a bit wry and…jealous? “sounds like someone’s got a crush.”

you roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted, and you think gojo can tell with the way you’re heating up and bashfully looking at the ground. “don’t be ridiculous.”

“i’m just saying,” he continues, leaning closer, “if that’s your type, you might want to raise your standards. superheroes are overrated.”

you raise an eyebrow. “and what, you’re not?”

he grins, that infuriatingly charming grin that makes you want to simultaneously punch him and laugh. “i’m better. i’m real.” he then puts his hands on the counter behind you, caging you between them until your knees are lightly brushing, and suddenly his face is so close that small little breaths from his nose are fanning across your face. “i can prove that to you.”

and you hate your body for being so…reactive and enthusiastic to his smooth-talking, face flushing. despite that, you try to put on an air of nonchalance. “god, you’re insufferable.”

“really?” he teases. his hand leaves the marble counter to hover at your hip, his hand subconsciously tracing your curves an inch above your skin. the motion, firm but tentative as if he’s waiting for you to give him the green light, makes you shiver as you subconsciously move your hips to finally have the skin-to-skin contact. and your skin sings in happiness as he draws circles into the area right below your skirt, even momentarily dipping just below, to which you realize that he’s treading very close to your panties, since your skirt’s really short.

"yea," you basically sigh, hating yourself for how breathy your voice sounds.

it seems to have an effect on gojo because his eyes darken as he murmurs, "wastin' your time on that spiderman guy."

maybe it's the fact that it's late (you've been getting sub four hours of sleep this past week) or the lights in this humid frat bring a heady air, but all academic-rivalry-overshadowed-woman-in-stem history between you and gojo disappears in your brain as you rake your eyes up and down his torso and then look at him through your lashes. "who should i spend my time on instead?"

he gives you a little smile as he stares down at you, eyes raking over your face, catching at your lips and then going back up again to meet yours. “i don’t know, someone who’s as smart as you,” he murmurs.

“yea?” you laugh out breathlessly. your faces are so close that in normal circumstances, you would worry about how you both looked so close together, one hand on your thigh and the other splayed on your waist. “and how would you know how smart i am?”

satoru starts, lips coming closer and closer. “because i—”

but he’s interrupted, because you both hear a “satoru” and pull apart, breathing heavily as you both turn to look at the offender standing in the entrance of the kitchen: suguru geto, gojo’s best friend, looking more tired than anything as his eyes catch on you, then going to gojo with a pointed look. it’s not hard to figure out what was going on based on how disheveled you both look, your skirt crooked and his shirt crumbled, and your cheeks heat. before you can say anything, however, suguru sighs and says to gojo, “there’s a burglary happening nearby.” then, he turns but not before giving you a nod. “make sure to stay safe.”

he promptly leaves, leaving you confused standing there. was this such an emergency worth noting that he interrupted his best friend?

you try to seek the answer in gojo’s face, but he has this conflicted, annoyed countenance and you suddenly feel kinda of insecure because he’s raking his hand through his hair, staring painfully at the ceiling then at you. at the same time you utter out a “uh–” he says “i have to go.”

“oh.” you blink. a why brews on top of your tongue, but you temper it, reminding yourself that you’re not close to gojo like that. needless to say, you feel a little embarrassed as you watch him jog out of the kitchen with a little wave to you. you want to overanalyze gojo’s last look to you, the one that looked a bit like disappointment and yearning, but you shake it off, staring at the 16.9 oz plastic water bottle in your hand that you forgot about.

taking a sip, you cringe as you become more aware of your surroundings and the state you’re left in because of gojo. that your panties are a bit more sticky—you reach under your skirt to adjust them so they don’t stick to your crotch so much—and you’re hot all over.

then reality comes crashing back. what the hell did you and gojo just do right now?

you groan out loud, banging your head against the fridge, but as you reel back, in your peripheral you see someone there. your head shoots to see the guy who’s now looking at you with a weird expression as he undeniably waits for whatever freaking out you were doing to gain access to the fridge.

“sorry,” you blurt out, and gather yourself to beeline for the exit. god, you needed to find utahime.

…

the soft hum of a tv in the corner of satoru’s apartment provided the only sound, save for the faint rustle of suguru flipping through a textbook. the remnants of takeout—boxes of half-eaten pad thai and a pile of discarded chopsticks—littered the coffee table between them. satoru leaned back on the couch, legs stretched out, staring at the ceiling like it held answers he hadn’t thought to ask yet. he held a small foam ball, tossing it up and catching it over and over. his mind, however, wasn’t focused on the ball but on you.

it was starting to feel like an obsession. he’d always been able to compartmentalize things—his studies, his friends, his other responsibilities. but you? you’d broken through the usual barriers in his head, wedging yourself firmly into every free thought he had.

“do you think she likes me?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

suguru glanced up from his book, his expression unreadable. “who, starbucks girl?”

satoru scoffed. “she’s not starbucks girl. she’s…” he trailed off, tapping his fingers against his knee. your name lingered on his tongue, oddly weighty in a way that felt almost unfamiliar.

suguru smirked. “oh, she’s got a name now? progress.”

“shut up.”

but he couldn’t shut his mind off, not when you kept taking up space in it. it wasn’t just that he’d noticed you now—really noticed you, for the first time. it was more than that.

satoru had always known who you were. you weren’t exactly easy to miss. in a program full of ugly guys who didn’t shower and loud personalities, you had carved out your niche by being the cold, unreachable one. the one who didn’t bother with group projects unless she had to, who barely engaged in conversations beyond what was strictly necessary. other guys in the program talked about you, of course. they always did.

“frigid,” they called you. “too serious. probably thinks she’s better than us.”

they weren’t entirely wrong. you were better than most of them, but not for the reasons they assumed. satoru had read your work—papers that brimmed with insights that most of their half-baked theories could only dream of. he could tell you put in the effort in your classes and research, while all the guys left shit-talking had to rely on their grad student mentors to be able to write a legible paper. for fucks sake, he doesn’t even thing anyone could code in qiskit or cirq like you could; he had skimmed your notes once, left them behind after a lecture, and found them meticulous and sharp before he turned them into the professor to return to you.

and yet, despite the brilliance you carried with you, you had never given him a second glance.

that day at starbucks, though.

satoru rolled his head to the side, gaze drifting toward the window. he hadn’t expected to see anyone at five in the morning, let alone you. he’d been desperate for answers then—he had spent his night staring at his hands, which had seemed to keep ejecting spider-like webs after he’d been horribly sick. he knew he shouldn’t have gone fooling around in new york’s subway tunnels at 3am with suguru and shoko, but after a seemingly-harmless spider had bit him, he had been reeling from the discovery of his newfound powers and grappling with the weight of what they meant ever since.

and there you were, unlocking the starbucks, bleary-eyed but no less composed.

you’d handed him his coffee, not interested in him the entire time, and he remembered blurting something out—something ridiculous about fate or responsibility, his usual bravado faltering in the quiet of the moment. he had been spiraling, unsure of who he was anymore, and you’d said something.

what was it again?

“it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”

the words had stayed with him, carved deep into the corners of his mind. you didn’t know it, but they had pulled him back from the edge that day. since then, he’d started noticing you in ways he hadn’t before.

the way you brushed your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. the furrow of your brow when you argued as respectfully as you could with a professor (gojo knew you were holding back, though, and the thought always made him smile to himself because if he wasn’t an idgafer he would be incensed like you at the idiotic teacher). the smile—rare, fleeting, but utterly disarming—that occasionally lit up your face when you talked to utahime or that guy you were too friendly around, nanami.

“you’re doing that thing again,” suguru said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“what thing?” satoru asked, sitting up straighter.

“brooding. you’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

“no.”

suguru arched an eyebrow. “you’re a terrible liar.”

satoru sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “fine. maybe i am. but it’s complicated.”

“how is it complicated?”

“she doesn’t like me,” satoru said, shrugging. “at least, not as me. she likes spider-man.”

suguru blinked, clearly unimpressed. “you’re being stupid bro.”

“i’m not being stupid,” satoru argued. “she thinks spider-man’s this amazing, selfless hero. she doesn’t know i’m just some guy who can’t even figure out how to flirt with her without making an ass of himself.”

suguru leaned back in his chair, regarding satoru with an almost pitying look. “so let me get this straight. you’re worried that she only likes spider-man, even though spider-man is you. like it’s some kind of split personality thing?”

“well, when you put it like that—”

“it sounds dumb,” suguru finished. “because it is dumb.”

satoru glared at him, but suguru only shrugged. but how could he not think about you? even now, the memory of your voice—calm, steady, and unexpectedly warm—echoed in his head. you had this way of looking at him, like you were peeling back layers he didn’t even know he had. and that smile... he groaned inwardly. he wasn’t supposed to be so drawn to you, wasn’t supposed to imagine what it’d feel like to have you smile at him like that all the time.

“look,” suguru continued, “if you like her, shoot your shot. you’re already overthinking this, and you haven’t even done anything yet. what’s the worst that could happen? she says no?”

“or she laughs in my face,” satoru muttered.

“which would be deserved, honestly,” suguru said, smirking. “but seriously, you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.”

satoru didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the takeout boxes on the table. he wanted to believe suguru was right, but there was a small, stubborn part of him that wasn’t so sure.

because it wasn’t just about rejection, or even whether you liked him as satoru or spider-man. it was about what came after. if he let you in and something happened to you—if his double life brought danger to your doorstep—he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself.

but then there was suguru’s voice in his head, steady and persistent: you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.

…

amidst a week of endless projects upon projects and other miscellaneous assignments from your research group partners (since the grad students loved to pile their work on top of you, the helpless undergrad), you find yourself nursing a hot chocolate while on top of your dormitory building’s roof.

you find sanctuary, coming on here for time to yourself whenever you find yourself stuck in a busy week. quiet, solitary, with a view of the city lights flickering like scattered fireflies. you hugged your cardigan tighter around your shoulders as you stepped onto the roof, your laptop tucked under one arm, a mug of tea precariously balanced in the other hand. the air was crisp, biting just enough to sting your cheeks.

setting your mug down on the ledge, you perched beside it, pulling up your knees and balancing the laptop precariously as you typed. the words on the screen blurred after a while, blending into the chaos in your mind. frustrated, you closed it with a snap and leaned your head back to gaze at the stars.

“rough night?”

you startled, spinning your head around so fast your tea nearly toppled. but you can’t find anyone, just the sound of soft footsteps landing somewhere not visible to you.

“you scared the hell out of me,” you sighed, clutching your chest.

“sorry,” he said, though his tone didn’t sound all that apologetic. “didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“then maybe don’t sneak up on people like that,” you muttered, still trying to calm your racing heart.

he chuckled, and the sound was warmer than you’d expected. “noted. so, what’s got you out here at three in the morning? don’t tell me you’re pulling an all-nighter.”

you sighed, the initial shock fading into a dull thrum of shyness. “it’s not an all-nighter if the night isn’t over yet.” then, you squint at a random spot, pretending it’s him. “besides, why are you here? shouldn’t you be out stopping robberies or saving cats from trees?”

“done and done,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the ledge. “now i’m just enjoying the view.”

you turned your gaze back to the skyline, hoping the darkness hid the faint heat creeping up your neck. “so, what’s a guy like you doing on a random rooftop at three in the morning?”

“could ask you the same thing,” he countered.

you hesitated. for some reason, admitting the truth to him felt easier than admitting it to anyone else. “just…needed a break.”

“from?”

“everything,” you said, exhaling slowly. “classes. expectations. people.” you paused, then added with a faint smile, “not you, though. you’re an exception.”

“oh?” his voice lightened, carrying a hint of playful intrigue. “should i feel honored?”

“maybe,” you said. “it’s not every day you get to meet a real hero.” then, “okay, but why do you always hide in the dark?”

his voice is smug, meant to be playful. “it adds to the mystique?”

you pout. “what if i call the police?”

“it’s not like the cops can catch me anyways, baby. their shitty coffee and donut filled asses aren’t enough to keep up with me.”

you really try not to flush when he calls you that pet name. “is success getting to you?”

“what success? most i hear is everyone debating whether or not i should be experimented on.”

“really?” you teased. “that’s not what i saw on my for you page last time. there are girls out there who want you to sign their tits after you rescued that baby.”

then, you hear the soft thud of nimble feet dropping onto the ceiling and turn your head to see him in all his glory. he has a muscular figure highlighted in his white suit, blue and black lines traveling their way across his body. casually, he stretches and then drops down to the floor, sitting cross legged from across from you as if joining you in a regular gossip sesh. he puts his elbow on his knee and rests his head on his hand. “are you one of those girls?”

you laugh sheepishly, turning away as heat creeps up your face again and your heart hammers, because you can’t exactly tell him that, yes you’re absolutely enamored with him after he saved you that day and yes, you do indeed want him to sign your tits.

“you should do that more,” he said.

“what?” you look back at him, wide eyed in confusion.

“laugh.”

the way he said it, low and almost reverent, made your cheeks heat. you busy yourself with toying with your cardigan, scooting yourself away from the edge and closer to him. “and you should stop being such a flirt,” you said, though there was no bite in your voice.

“can’t help it,” he said, leaning closer. “it’s kind of my thing.”

“is that right?”

“mm-hmm.” he paused, then added, “you know, there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“what?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“take my mask off.”

the words hit you like a gut punch, dissolving the playfulness that had filled the air seconds ago. you blinked up at him, searching his face—or at least what you could see of it—for any sign that this was some elaborate joke. but there was no hint of humor, no smirk tugging at his lips. he meant it.

your fingers hovered at your sides, hesitant. “are you sure?” the question came out soft, barely audible, but it felt like it echoed in the quiet night.

“never been more sure of anything,” he murmured, voice low and steady.

you swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. slowly, almost against your better judgment, you reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of his mask. the fabric felt smooth, warm under your touch, but your nerves were anything but.

with a deep breath, you peeled it back. bit by bit, his face came into view—a shock of white hair, impossibly sharp features, and finally, those eyes. those unmistakable, infuriatingly familiar blue eyes. your breath caught, and for a moment, the world tilted sideways.

“gojo?”

the name fell from your lips before you could stop it, unsteady and disbelieving. your mind raced, trying to piece together the impossible puzzle that had just landed in front of you.

he grinned—that grin, the one that always made you want to slap it off his face and yet somehow managed to disarm you every single time. “hey.”

“hey?” your voice cracked as you took a step back. “that’s all you have to say? hey?”

“would you prefer, ‘surprise’?” he quipped, his grin widening as though this was the most normal thing in the world.

you laughed, the sound a little hysterical but real, like you couldn’t contain the storm of emotions rushing through you. “surprised? you’ve been… you’ve been spider-man this whole time?” the words felt foreign on your tongue, like they didn’t belong in the same sentence as gojo satoru—the one you’d argued with in class, the one who had no problem making you want to tear your hair out. and yet here he was, standing in front of you, the last person you ever would have suspected to be the city’s most infamous masked hero.

gojo gave you that crooked grin, the same one he wore when he thought he had won—when he thought he had it all figured out. “i know. it’s a lot to take in.”

you stared at him, trying to make sense of it, but no amount of logic could bridge the gap between the gojo you knew—the guy who drove you up the wall in class and always had a cocky comeback—and the masked hero who had saved you and the one you had a crush on.

you didn’t know whether to scream, laugh, or cry.

you take a shaky breath in, still trying to process everything. “you... you saved me, gojo. you’ve been right there, all these times, and i had no idea it was you.”

“guess i’m just that good at keeping secrets,” he said, his tone playful, but there was something more there, something softer, that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. his eyes held a flicker of something—maybe vulnerability, maybe uncertainty.

the weight of the moment hung thick in the air between you, and for a long second, you didn’t know what to say. this revelation was like the ground beneath you had cracked wide open, and you were left staring into an abyss that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

finally, you shook your head, letting out a short breath. “this is insane.”

he didn’t seem bothered by your reaction, though his eyes darkened just slightly, the smirk still there, but with something a little more honest creeping into his expression. “yeah. but you’re handling it better than i thought. kinda thought you would faint, or something.”

the world had shifted, but somehow, with gojo now sitting in front of you like this, with the mask off and the man behind the myth revealed, it felt like the pieces were finally starting to fall into place. even if they didn’t make perfect sense yet.

and yet, something about his presence—his undeniable realness—felt oddly grounding. he wasn’t the invincible spider-man anymore. he was just gojo. the gojo who had somehow become more than just your academic rival, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit more than that.

something in gojo’s facial expression shifted to something a bit more hesitant, a little nervous as he stands and extend his arm out to you. softly, he asks, “do you trust me?”

“yes.” you took his hand, standing up as he flashes you a charming, yet mischievous grin, one so shit eating that you regret saying that. “why?”

“i’m taking you for a ride. consider it an apology for freaking you out earlier.”

you hesitated, looking between his outstretched hand and the city skyline just beyond your college campus. “i don’t think this is a good idea—”

“you trust me, don’t you?”

and somehow, against all logic, you realized that you did.

“fine,” you said, stepping closer to him to cling onto him.

he pulls you closer, and as he does so, he cranes his neck down to meet your eyes, smiling giddy. “anywhere you wanna go?”

you think for a moment, but know immediately the place where you’d like to visit that’s open at this ungodly hour. “do you know that one shawarma joint—-”

before you can even finish, the wind whips around you as gojo slips his mask back on, pulls you closer to him, and uses his free hand—that is, the one that’s not clinging onto your firmly—to shoot a glistening web, one that you saw when he used it on the man who harassed you in the ally. it clings onto a nearby building, and then you’re off the ground, soaring through the air.

you let out a scream of terror against gojo’s chest, tightening your arms around him. you can feel a laugh rumble in his chest, a boyish chuckle as he peers down at you and shouts, “are you having fun?”

“gojo,” you whine, burying your head into his chest further. despite your initial fear, exhilaration creeps its way into you as you the city blur, skyline jumping and dipping as gojo effortlessly swung you both around.

when he finally stopped, landing gracefully on a secluded rooftop, you were breathless—not just from the ride but from the way he was looking at you.

“you good?” he laughed, panting from the exertion and tenderly using his hand to rake his hand through your hair, which, you note out of embarrassment, must’ve been messed up from the wind passing through it.

“i hate that you made me dizzy, but yea, i’m good,” you mumble, pulling out your phone to open your camera, fixing your hair.

when you’re done, gojo looks at you with the manic buzz you can only have at 3am. “ready to get some shawarma?”

…

the streets were eerily quiet, the kind of silence only a city at 3am could have. just the two of you, your footsteps echoing against the pavement, the occasional glow of a streetlamp painting your path.

“okay, that shawarma was like, mid at best,” gojo walks alongside you. he’s thrown on a sweatshirt and gray sweatpants over his suit, walking alongside you on the street. your stomachs are full, and you suggested a walk to be able to digest the bigass bowl you both ate.

“nothing tastes better than something you’re eating when you’re supposed to be studying, instead,” you shot back, hiding your little smile as you cross your arms while strolling. the shift between you and gojo was so jarring that you’re still reeling at it, but what is 3am if not for big life changes?

“yea, that’s fair,” he sighs, crossing his hands behind his head as he continues strolling beside you. “so,” he continues, “now that i’ve officially blown your mind with my secret identity and fed you some incredibly mid shawarma, what’s next? should i fly you to paris, or is that too cliché?”

you roll your eyes, but deep inside, you’re really biting back a grin. “relax, bugboy. maybe first let me recover from being swung like a human pendulum.”

gojo stopped walking, turning to face you with a playful glint in his eye. “you’re still thinking about that, huh? admit it—you loved it.”

you raised an eyebrow. “i screamed into your chest for a solid ten seconds. does that sound like love to you?”

he tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “i dunno. there’s a fine line between terror and thrill. and judging by how tightly you were holding onto me…”

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered, but your voice lacked bite.

“and yet, you’re still here.”

his words hung in the air, the playful edge softening into something quieter, more sincere. your steps faltered, and you looked up at him, the absurdity of the night fading into the background as your gaze held his.

“guess i’m curious,” you admitted.

“curious, huh?” he said, taking a step closer. “careful. curiosity killed the cat.”

without thinking, you blurted, “at least i’ve got a fifty-fifty shot, right?” the words barely left your mouth before the regret hit, your inner voice screaming at you for making a lame quantum mechanics joke at a time like this. schrödinger would be proud, you thought bitterly.

but then gojo laughed—not the teasing, obnoxious kind of laugh or the weird look you’d expect, but a genuine, boyish chuckle that reached his eyes. he smiled at you, soft and unguarded, and suddenly, the space between you seemed to shrink.

the flickering streetlamp cast a warm, uneven glow over the two of you. in that moment, the sprawling city felt impossibly small, narrowed down to just him and the pounding of your heart in your ears.

gojo reached up, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “you know,” he murmured, his voice low, “i’ve been wanting to do this for a while now.”

your breath hitched, heart thundering in your chest. “do what?”

“this.”

before you could respond, he closed the space between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was somehow both soft, yet electrifying. for a moment, time seemed to stop, the city around you fading into nothing as the warmth of his touch anchored you in the moment.

when he finally pulled back, his grin was back in full force. “so, was that better or worse than shawarma?”

you blinked at him, still trying to find your footing in the aftermath of what just happened. an immediate feeling of bashfulness crept over you because not only did you just kiss spiderman, you just kissed gojo. there are girls who would kill to be in your position, and that makes you flustered as you turn your head away from him so you don’t have to make eye contact. “i hate you,” you mumble half heartedly, cheeks burning.

gojo doesn’t let you off so easily. his thumb brushes gently along your chin, coaxing your face back toward his. his touch is warm, deliberate, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“oh my god,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “are you embarrassed? you’re so cute.”

when the warmth of his hand leaves your chin, you open your eyes, shocked as you find out that he’s nowhere to be seen. you call out a tentative, “gojo?”

somewhere behind you, to the left, comes out a muffled shout. “i’m here!” you whip around, your brows furrowing as you follow the direction of his voice. it’s coming from an alley just off the street, dark and bathed in shadows.

“seriously?” you mutter under your breath, your annoyance half-hearted, making your way toward the sound. you find yourself at the mouth of the alley, the dim glow of a distant lamp barely illuminating his silhouette.

gojo’s perched on the side of the wall like it’s the most natural thing in the world, one leg propped up, his mask pulled halfway up to reveal that damn smirk. “you’re slow,” he teases, his tone light and infuriatingly smug.

“what are you doing?” you ask, crossing your arms.

he gestures toward himself. “you came looking for me, didn’t you?”

you roll your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. “what, did you think i’d just leave you lurking in some alley like a creepy insect?”

“well,” he says, shooting a web to stick on the bottom of some stairs of one of the buildings to hang upside down, “you could’ve left, but i had a feeling you wouldn’t.”

before you could retort, he shoots his web closer to something on top of you, now dangling upside down yet again but his proximity even closer, stealing the air from your lungs. his fingers brush a strand of hair from your face, lingering just long enough to make your knees feel unsteady.

“so,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “are we doing this again, or are you gonna keep pretending you hate me?”

your heart stutters, but before you can overthink it, you pull his mask down even further to uncover more of his lips, and you join them together—this time, softer, slower, as if savoring the moment. you grab at his chin to pull him closer to you, you both sighing into the kiss, and then smiling giddily each time you pull back, only to come back in.

and just like that, you start to fall into…something with not only the vigilante that’s swinging around new york, but also gojo satoru, your long-time rival.

…

when satoru swings by your dorm next, he doesn’t expect his heart to lurch so much at the view of you so cozy.

it’s undeniable; you and satoru have been dancing around each other. you’re not exactly a hook-up to each other—you two haven’t had sex—but you’re not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. and it’s not something casual, either. he doesn’t reveal that he’s spiderman just to get into girls’ pants.

you’ve both developed a sort of rapport, he supposes. it’s been stolen glances during phys401 and late nights spent talking or, occasionally, making out. you’ve even started to nurse his wounds, if he ever shows up with bruises and blood matting his suit. one of the perks of you having a single.

he’s even fallen asleep overnight, especially on friday nights when he doesn’t have lecture in the morning. some of his things, like some spare equipment and suits, have even found their way into your closet.

you’re both on a dangerous roller coaster, and satoru is closing his eyes on the fall down.

but right now, he’s perched outside your window like a creep. you’re sitting on your bed, cross-legged and squinting at something on your laptop, and satoru smiles to himself as he sees your tank top and shorts and just how homey you look. you probably know satoru is coming, but you’re so comfortable around him that it makes his heart ache. he shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t stop.

satoru lightly taps on your window, his knuckle brushing against the glass softly, not wanting to startle you. you glance up, catching sight of him, and there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips.

you get up, and satoru follows the movement of your bare legs with his eyes as you slide the window open. “you know, most people knock on doors like normal humans,” you say.

“i like to keep things interesting,” he shoots back, climbing in effortlessly. the faint chill from the night clings to him, and his hair is slightly disheveled from the wind.

he glances around your room, catching sight of your scattered notes and the distinct look of frustration etched across your face. “what’s got you looking so miserable?”

“phys401,” you reply with a resigned sigh, flopping back onto your bed. “this problem set is impossible.”

satoru smirks, peeling off his gloves and mask and plopping down beside you. “let me see.”

acquiescing, you hand over your notebook, watching as he scans your work with intent, eyebrows scrunching as he tries to understand the statement to prove. he makes a few thoughtful noises, before grabbing a pen and scribbling something down. “here,” he says after a moment, “you’re overcomplicating this step. instead of doing the tensor product you did, you could just make this zero by taking an inner product, since they’re orthogonal states. the rest will fall into place.”

you squint at his messy, rushed handwriting, and sure enough, the proof seems to come together. “how are you so good at this?”

“physics prodigy, remember?” he teases, leaning back on his hands as he lays down on your bed.

“thanks for the help,” you say softly, your eyes lingering on him a beat too long. he’s kind of dreamy, you think. the moonlight filters across your window, giving his platinum hair a sheen as his cerulean eyes look into yours with kindness.

his smirk fades, replaced by something softer, something unspoken. “anytime.” he then makes a show of stretching out his limbs, purposely bumping into you with one eye open smugly to observe your reaction, to which you glare at him. he spots your notebook, picks it up, and flips through it. “you know, for someone who complains so much about phys401, you’re not half bad at it,” he teases, scribbling something in the margin of your notes by grabbing a stray pen next to him.

you roll your eyes, shifting so you’re cross-legged on the bed, facing him. “not all of us are physics prodigies, satoru. some of us actually have to work hard.”

he chuckles, handing the notebook back to you. “hard work is overrated when you can just charm your way through everything.”

you snort and joke, “if charm was all it took, i’d have aced the midterm.”

there’s a beat of silence as you glance down at his notes. he’s corrected a mistake you hadn’t even noticed, and his scrawled proof flows so effortlessly it makes you a little envious. “how do you do that?” you ask, more to yourself than him.

“do what?”

“make it look so… easy,” you say, frowning slightly. “everything. physics, life, swinging through the city.”

satoru leans back on his palms, his smirk softening. “trust me, it’s not as easy as it looks.”

you glance up at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. “what do you mean?”

he shrugs, but there’s something vulnerable in the way his gaze flickers away from yours. “i mean, everyone sees the guy with the jokes and the perfect test scores, but no one sees the late nights or the bruises.” he gestures vaguely to his chest, where you know the bruises from his spider-man escapades hide. “guess i’m just good at pretending.”

you sit with his words, the weight of them settling between you. “you don’t have to pretend with me, you know,” you say softly.

his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the mask—the real one—drops. “i know,” he says, just as softly.

the air between you feels heavier, like the world has shrunk to just the two of you. you’re hyper-aware of how close he is, the faint smell of the night clinging to him, the way his knee brushes against yours.

“thanks,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “for letting me be here. for…” he trails off, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up.

your breath catches. “satoru…”

“yeah?” he says, leaning in slightly, his voice lower now.

“i…” you trail off, not even sure what you were going to say.

he leans closer, and it feels like everything around you stills. his hand finds its way to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “can i?” he asks, his voice barely audible.

you nod, and then his lips are on yours.

the kiss starts tentative, almost shy, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. it deepens, his hand sliding to your waist as you pull him closer. the tension that had been building for weeks—months, maybe—finally snaps, leaving nothing but heat and want in its wake.

his weight presses you back into the bed, and you can feel his heart racing against yours as he pins you to the bed, now on top of you. his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and as his thumb traces shapes into your circle and closer to more sensitive areas, a sigh escapes you.

that’s when he freezes.

he pulls back, his breathing uneven, his eyes wide and filled with something like fear. “we can’t,” he says, his voice hoarse.

your heart drops into your chest.

“why not?” you ask, trying to catch your breath.

“because,” he says, sitting up and running a hand through his hair and he’s heaving. “because i’m spider-man, and you—” he breaks off, looking anywhere but at you. “you deserve better than this. better than me.”

you sit up, pulling your shirt back into place and looking at him, hurt. “that’s not your call to make, satoru.”

“i’m trying to protect you!” he says, his voice rising in agitation. he sits back onto his heels, raking a hand through his hair as he looks at the ceiling, as if in pain.

you can’t believe him. his self-righteousness irritates you to no end, especially after you’ve bared your soul, and now your body to him, something you considered intimate. you feel conflicted—whatever you had, it didn’t have a label. but that didn’t mean that you didn’t want that to be true. badly.

“and who asked you to?” you snap back. “i’m not some damsel in distress who needs saving.”

“i know that,” he says, his tone softening. “but if something happened to you because of me…” he shakes his head. “i couldn’t live with that.”

the anger bubbling in your chest boils over, and you snap. “so what? you’re just going to walk away? after everything?”

he stands, his expression pained. “i’m sorry,” he says, heading for the window.

“don’t you dare apologize,” you say, your voice trembling as you stand by the foot of your bed, hating how your eyes brim with tears. “if you leave, don’t bother coming back.”

he pauses, his hand on the window frame, before glancing back at you. “i’m sorry,” he says again, softer this time, before slipping out into the night.

the window clicks shut behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence, the ache in your chest threatening to swallow you whole.

…

the whir of the espresso machine and the gentle hum of background music fill the mostly empty starbucks, the occasional customer wandering in like clockwork. it’s a quiet shift, the kind you’d usually relish—except today, the quiet only makes the knot in your chest tighten.

you’re stationed behind the counter, staring blankly at the milk steamer as it hisses, lost in your thoughts. that is, until utahime’s voice breaks through.

“alright, spill,” she says, leaning her elbows on the counter beside you.

you glance at her, eyebrows raised. “spill what?”

utahime rolls her eyes, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “oh, please. you look like someone stole your favorite pen and broke it in half. what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you lie, turning back to the steamer. “i’m fine.”

utahime’s skeptical gaze bores into you. “you’re a terrible liar. nanami, back me up.”

from his spot at a nearby table, nanami looks up from his book, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto you. “it’s boy trouble,” he says flatly, like he’s solving an equation.

your head snaps toward him, a glare already forming. “excuse me?”

“it’s obvious,” he says, setting his book down and regarding you with his usual piercing gaze. “you’re distracted, you look upset—it’s boy trouble.”

utahime perks up, leaning closer. “wait, is he right? is this about a guy?”

you let out a groan, leaning your elbows on the counter. “can you two not gang up on me right now?”

“so it is a guy,” utahime says, her tone turning smug.

“i didn’t say that,” you retort, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

nanami raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. “you might as well just tell us. it’s not like we’re going to let it go.”

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “fine. it’s… someone i liked. someone i thought liked me too. but he freaked out and said it was too…dangerous to keep going.”

utahime frowns, her curiosity replaced by concern while kento snorts. “dangerous? what does that even mean?”

“that’s what i’d like to know,” you say bitterly, the frustration bubbling up as you speak. “he acts like he cares, but the second things get serious, he bolts. like i’m some fragile thing that can’t handle it.”

nanami leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “he might not be scared of you. he could be scared of what it means for him. of responsibility and commitment. some people run when they feel too much.”

utahime nods, her hand resting gently on your arm. “whatever his problem is, it’s not fair to you. if he can’t get it together, that’s on him, not you.”

you glance between them, the weight of their words settling in your chest. “i know that,” you say quietly. “it just… sucks.”

“of course it does,” utahime says, her voice soft but firm. “but you’re not the problem here. don’t let him make you think you are.”

nanami picks up his book again but pauses before opening it. “and don’t let him live rent-free in your head. if he can’t see what he’s giving up, that’s his loss.”

their support feels grounding, like a steady hand in the middle of a storm. you manage a small smile, nodding. “thanks, guys.”

“anytime,” utahime says, flashing you a reassuring grin. nanami simply nods, returning to his book but keeping an eye on you like always. for the first time all week since gojo left your room, the heaviness in your chest feels a little lighter.

…

the knock at your window is faint, almost timid, but it jolts you out of your daze. you sit up in bed, your heart pounding as your eyes dart toward the window. it’s late—so late it’s early—and for a moment, you think you imagined it. you hate to admit it, but because of your boy troubles you haven’t been able to sleep all week. you’re also no stranger to imagining ants crawling up your body or phantom noises, so you adjust in your bed, trying to go back to sleep.

then it comes again, a little louder this time.

you throw off the blanket and pad over, the chill of the floor biting at your bare feet. when you pull the curtain aside, your breath catches.

satoru.

he’s crouched outside, his suit torn in places and soaked with blood. his head lolls slightly, like he’s barely holding himself up, and when he lifts his gaze to meet yours, it’s tired and pleading.

you don’t think—there’s no time for that. you unlatch the window and shove it open, reaching out to help him inside. “satoru, oh my god,” you breathe, your voice shaking.

“hey,” he mutters, his grin weak but still so unmistakably him. “sorry for the mess.”

“shut up,” you snap, guiding him onto your bed and setting him down with gentle hands, ones that contrast your tone with him. “what the hell happened?”

“nothing i couldn’t handle,” he says, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter and flashes you a sheepish smile. “you should see the other guy.”

“you’re bleeding everywhere, satoru. you clearly didn’t handle it.” you grab your first aid kit from under the bed and yank it open, your hands trembling.

“i’ve had worse,” he murmurs, but his bravado is thin, cracking at the edges.

“stop talking,” you say, your voice trembling and cracking. “just—just stop.”

for once, you thank the gods that he listens.

you work quickly, cutting away the shredded fabric of his suit and cleaning the worst of the wounds. it’s not pretty—his torso is littered with bruises and gashes, the kind that make your stomach turn—but you keep your focus.

when you press a disinfectant-soaked pad to a particularly deep cut, he hisses, his hand flying to grab your wrist.

“sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him with a tender look in your eyes. his expression matches yours, and your faces are so close to each other that you can’t bear it anymore, going back to your work.

his fingers loosen but don’t let go, his grip warm and grounding. “you’re good at this,” he says softly, his voice rough.

“yeah, well,” you mutter, ducking your head to avoid his gaze. “you’ve given me plenty of practice.”

the silence stretches as you finish bandaging him up. when you’re done, you sit back, your hands still trembling as you place them in your lap. “you’re an idiot,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

he laughs, soft and hoarse. “yeah. i get that a lot from this girl i know.”

you look up at him, and the weight of everything—his injuries, his secret, the distance he tried to put between you—crashes over you. “you can’t keep doing this, satoru. you can’t keep pushing me away just to show up like this.”

his smile fades, replaced by something raw and unguarded. “i know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i know, but…”

“but what?” you demand, your voice cracking. “you’re spider-man? you think that’s an excuse to keep shutting me out?”

“it’s not an excuse,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair, matted with even more blood. his or someone else’s, you’re not sure. “it’s a reason. i don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“you think i’m not already hurting?” you snap, the anger bubbling to the surface yet again. “you think it doesn’t kill me to see you like this and know i can’t do anything to stop it?”

his eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like a little boy, lost and unsure. it is then that it hits you that he’s just twenty. a college student, not someone who’s wanted by the cia or someone who’s battled terrorists. for fucks sake, he can’t even legally drink.

and your heart can’t help but melt as he says, “i just… i don’t want to lose you.”

“then stop trying to,” you say, your voice softer now. “stop pretending like you’re protecting me by keeping me at arm’s length. let me in, satoru.”

he stares at you, his breath hitching like he’s holding back a thousand words. then, in a rush, he closes the distance between you, his hands cradling your face as he presses his forehead to yours.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “i’m so sorry.”

you exhale shakily, your hands finding their way to his wrists. “just stop being an idiot, okay? stop trying to do this alone.”

he nods, his grip tightening like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “i promise,” he says, and for the first time, you believe him.

…

a cramp gripping satoru’s entire leg is what wakes him up.

he winces in memory of the injury; one of those stupid terrorists had too good of an aim, grazing his leg while he was mid-air. it hurts like a bitch now, and he moves to lay on his back, until something stops him. roses.

he looks, bleary eyed, to you. the floral scent coming from you, making him dizzy. his body cocooning yours.

you both unconsciously moved in your sleep so that you were spooning, your fragrant hair, soft from shampooing, tickling his throat with your ass in his crotch.

nestled right against his morning wood.

good fucking lord, he groans to himself, then starts to panic because if you wake up and realize he had a raging hard-on while you were sleeping, you would definitely think he was a creep. he’s already on thin fucking ice. so naturally, he starts to recite the star spangled banner while trying to will his boner away.

oh, say can you see—

to no avail, because you huff softly in your sleep, soft and warm body unconsciously leaning back to grind your ass against his lap, turning his dick to steel.

“oh, fuck,” he curses out loud, using his hand to cover the lower half of his face and clench his eyes shut. you feel so sweet, innocently adjusting while he can’t even control his lust for you.

but once the grind seems to continue for a bit too long, more than what can be chalked up as adjusting in your sleep, he peers down at you. you’re awake.

and because satoru’s selfish, his hands creep up your tank top, settling on your bare stomach, where he knew you were ticklish. as a result, you wiggle, and he uses this opportunity to pull you even closer to him, right up against him.

“baby,” he says, making his voice all deep and sighs on purpose, just to be unfair to you. “is this okay?”

you whine, and he settles his face in your hair, the strands of it tickling his skin as he inhales in the scent of you. “i thought it was a dream.”

he smiles into your hair. you make him feel like sunshine incarnate, and the rush he’s getting right now is akin to the one he gets jumping off the empire state building. “no, this is very real.”

“hm,” and you continue to drag your ass into him, murmuring in a soft voice that makes him want to take you right there and then, “it still feels like a dream. like you’re not real, right now.”

oh, what he would do to make you say his name in that same voice; he wants to whisper all the things he wants to do to you right now. “i know, baby. you feel like a dream.” his hands continue to slide up and up your torso, groaning at your sharp intake as he gently fondles the softness of your breasts.

you overwhelm his senses, teasing him, and when you let out a whine of his name, satoru snaps.

“i’m going to make you feel good right now. tell me if it’s a fucking dream,” he grits out, ignoring whatever cramps that were screaming at him to get on top of you.

you gasp out a “satoru,” wriggling in his grasp, and he can’t take it anymore. he brings up one of his hands. shoots a web that lands right on your left hand. then your right hand.

satoru just tied you up using his webs.

you look at him in whatever version of shock you can muster in your tired state. “satoru, what the—” but you’re muffled, because he’s kissing you, hard, roving his hands up and down your body and grabbing whatever he can as if he’s devouring you while making out with you.

“do you know,” and his eyes flash dangerously while looking down at yours, “how you’ve teased me with these shorts?” his hands trails down to the waistband of the offending piece of clothing, pulling it to make it snap against your skin. you jump, looking at satoru desperately, who’s left you bare at his mercy, subject to his super human strength as he grabs your shorts with both his hands again. “every fucking time i’ve sneaked up in to your room, it’s been so hard to not fuck you senseless in these flimsy things. it’s only fair you pay the price, right baby?”

it’s not like you have anything to answer him with, having lost all brain cells being fucked out like this. he pulls them down, and if he had laser vision, he would have stared through your panties long ago, eyes fixated on the crotch that was nearly translucent with the amount of slick going through it. burying his face right in between your thighs, he noses at your cunt before groaning. then, he uses his teeth to grab onto the middle and pull. until your pussy is bare to him.

“oh, fuck you’re so pretty,” he curses, lapping at your sweetness. his tongue roves up and down your folds, and if your hands could, they would be pulling at his hair solely because you were so sensitive. but you were trapped, thighs gripped in his strong hands and your arms trapped by his ultra-strong webs. “my good girl.”

then, you feel pressure at your opening. “sato—” you squeal but are immediately interrupted by your own moan as he curls his long, thick fingers, eyes observing your every movement as you squirm, electric shocks running up and down your body as he hits your spot dead-on.

and he notices, because the motherfucker chuckles. “oh, so that’s the spot, huh?” he purrs, visibly pleased as he memorizes it and abuses it, hitting it with every stroke. you barely notice him add one finger, add two fingers as he starts to suck on your clit. overwhelmed with pleasure, you’re only brought back to reality when he rips all contact away from you.

“what—” you mumble mindlessly, until you see what he’s doing. he pulls his sweatpants down. and he’s not wearing boxers, so you drool when his cock springs out, leaking copiously and hard. without taking his eyes off you, he pumps it to its fullest length, and you’re just staring in awe at its sheer length.

“what’re you looking at, baby?” he teases, using his hand to wiggle his cock in front of your face to mock you. “want it so bad, isn’t that right?”

you glare at him half-heartedly, but whine regardless. “just put it in, gojo.”

“oh,” and he flashes you a smile that makes a big danger sign in red flash across your mind. “it’s gojo, now is it?”

“satoru,” there are tears brimming in the corner of your eyes, the ones that make satoru even more aroused at your want, “please. i need it.”

a boyish grin and a forehead kiss that has you reeling at his duality. “anything for my woman in stem.” with that, he pushes in, both of your eyes rolling back as his cock is engulfed by your gummy walls. soon after, he starts thrusting, desperation fueling both of you as you cross your legs behind gojo’s back, the deeper angle making his thighs shake while fucking into you.

he grabs your face, gives you a tender kiss. “fuck, i love this pussy. so sweet for me.”

you give him a wanton moan in return as he continues to thrust deep, tender strokes into you. “satoru, ‘m not gonna last long.” with the amount of foreplay he’s done alongside how sensitive you are, you’re steadily reaching your orgasm already, and with the way satoru’s now tightly gripping the sheets beside you while thrusting inside you, he is too.

wet squelching noises echoes across the room, and you know the neighbors can hear the obscene plap! plap! plap! coming from skin meeting skin, your hips against his. he buries his face into your neck, panting at your ear until he uses his hand to wrench your face towards his.

“i love you,” he groans, forcing your eyes to meet his. “i love you forever and will do so. so you can’t break my heart,” and he’s desperately thrusting again, “and you can’t leave me. please.”

at his confession, you break, back arching as you also squeal out a iloveyou while gasping loudly, hips rolling to rise against his as he fucks you through your orgasm. quickly, his thrusts veer into overstimulation and you whine. “toru.” he takes one look at your state—face impossibly flushed, hands tied, and pussy absolutely engulfing his cock, and his orgasm hits him like a truck, making him gasp and bend and break as he goes to heaven and back with the aftershocks of your orgasm making your pussy clench around him so beautifully. his cum enters you in hot spurts, making you exhale sharply at the feeling as he comes down from his orgasm, collapsing next to you.

for a few minutes, heavy breathing fills the room, both of you catching your breaths. until satoru breaks the silence. “so, what’s it like to fuck a superhero?”

you take one look at him—all smug and propped up on his elbow—and spidey sense be damned as you try grab a pillow. key word is try because you’re then wrenched back with a reminder that you’re still bound. “satoru,” and you give him a sickly sweet smile, the one that he knows means he’s in trouble, “when are these going to dissolve?”

and satoru pretends to be deep in thought, but you can see him trying to inch off the bed slowly, as if to escape your wrath after his answer. “uhm…maybe five hours?”

if it weren’t for the damn spidey sense that he had, he wouldn’t have been able to escape the swing of your legs as you looked at him murderously. “satoru gojo you will unhand me from these webs this instant—-“

“i don’t know,” he shrugs, shit eating grin in his face. “you look kinda sexy in bed like this. mad at me.” but when your eyes flash with anger, he hiccups nervously, telltale of the fact he won’t mess with you.

“i hate you,” you groan out, pouting like a petulant child while you glare at the ceiling.

satoru comes close to you to bend at his waist and give you a forehead kiss. “no, you don’t.”

you give him a pointed glare, telling him not to be testy. “clean me up. now.”

at your expression, his eyes widen in fear and he salutes. “anything for you, ma’am.”

at his retreating form, you giggle and sigh to yourself. you never would’ve known that spider-man would be the one fetching a clean up rag for you after fucking the shit out of you, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

when satoru comes back, he cleans you up, tenderly, as if he is afraid that you will break. you’re a little drowsy when he returns to you, but he doesn’t dare try to wake you up when he hears little breaths from your nose indicating you’ve fallen asleep. after he finishes his job, he admires your features.

satoru lingers for a moment, his gaze softening as he watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest. the weight of his responsibilities presses on him, as it always does, but tonight, it feels heavier—like a tether pulling him between the life he’s chosen and the life he craves.

you, so peaceful in sleep, represent something fragile, something precious. and that terrifies him. because what if he fails? what if the cost of being spider-man is losing the one thing that feels real?

still, he knows he can’t walk away—not from this city, not from you. with a deep breath, he leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead, a silent promise lingering in his chest.

“i’ll keep you safe,” he murmurs, barely audible. “no matter what.”

instead of leaving, satoru settles down beside you, careful not to disturb your rest. the city can wait, just for a little while. for now, he wraps an arm around you, grounding himself in the warmth of your presence. as your breathing evens out against him, he lets his own eyes drift shut, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifting. today, he chooses to stay.

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist

a/n ok if you're ever curious what being fucked in the ass with a wooden dildo no lube is like, just try to write this fic or any longfic. it's 4am, this a/n is short and unintelligble just like most of this fic but it's been a journey, im very sentimental because of this fic and i hope you guys like it. ok im going to pass out so pls ignore all typos xoxo but please flood my inbox im excited to see yalls reactions when i wake up

plspls pls comment and reblog!!!

TAGLIST

@sugoroo @ryutotsukai0824 @sharkubi @lisvanrouge @mxlktae

@samisfunky @achbbys000 @xd3pr3ss3dx @jottositto @cheescakebroom

@r0ckst4rjk @callmeagardengnome @rottmntrulesall @blankwashed @sindulgent666

@honeynanamin @obsessgurlll @starrnai @herefor-tojis-tits @ramonathinks

@creamflix

#aashi writes #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru

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reignpage · 1 month ago

Text

He Gave Me The (Eww)

Content: things the jjk men do that give you the ick, hard read fr, brutally honest, second hand embarrassment, don't tell me they wouldn't...you know they would...they're just men after all

Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Choso, Toji, Nanami, Sukuna

Satoru

Tells jokes he thinks are hilarious and repeats them when no one laughs. Even explains them. Looks to you to laugh too with manic eyes, begging, pleading. Might even throw in a, ‘Tough crowd, amirite?’

Gets ignored in the group chat and will keep spamming until he gets the attention he wants.

Tries to get discounts at any and every store by flashing a grin and using those baby blues to charm the sales assistant. Shoots his shot with men too. It rarely works and when he gives them his black AMEX card, the sales assistants always get a look in their eyes like, ‘Seriously?’

Sings the chorus too early and plays it off by trailing and then coming in at the right part. Goes, ‘Ay…ay….ay, YEA– oh… ahahah…ay…ayy… yeahhhh…’

Suguru

Spits when he talks. He gets into these long rants about monkeys and whatever so he doesn’t even notice when the person he’s talking to discreetly wipes off the fat droplet.

You’ve seen him going on spiels to random people, gets so into it that he also doesn’t realise they’ve walked away. Would play it off by taking his phone out and going, ‘Alright, talk to you later.’

Or, he'll say a snarky comment to someone out of nowhere and they didn't even hear him, caught by surprise, so they just awkwardly laugh and hope he doesn't follow up.

Super rude to servers at restaurants you take him to. Clicks his fingers. Confronts those moody teenagers working part time and says, ‘Why don’t you smile? You’ll look so much more friendly if you do.’

Wears open toed sandals everywhere. Dawgs out for free, toenails unclipped and ever so slightly yellow. Could probably cut a bitch.

Choso

At a group setting, a picture might be getting shown around and he isn't being shown the picture. He will say, ‘Can I see? Hey, you missed me. I wanna see. What’s so funny? Guys, come on, I didn’t see. Hey!’

When everyone else is in pairs or groups talking, he’ll go on his phone and open the Weather or Calculator app to pretend he’s doing something important. His phone is on full brightness so everyone can see he’s not actually texting anyone.

Gets left on read quite often. Will double text anyone and everyone. Triple texts even. Asks, ‘You aren’t ignoring me, are you?’

Invites himself to functions. If someone mentions a party or a visit to a museum, for example, with their friends, he’ll say, ‘That sounds fun. That’s at 3pm? I’m free. See you there!’

Toji

Boy oh boy where to begin…

Does the broke boyfriend hug. Swings you side to side too and gives you a kiss on the head, talking bout, ‘I’ll get the next one on payday, ma.’

Flashes his ass crack when he climbs out of the car.

Might even have skid marks.

Asks to remove the service charge off the bill, doesn’t tip no matter how great the server is, and probably puts his own hair in the food to comp the meal. Will even flash you a wink like he’s finessed the system.

Will fart and burp in front of you unashamedly. Doesn’t care how stinky it is. Laughs when you cover your nose. Won’t lie, he probably loves pulling a Dutch Oven on you. Peak comedy for him.

Shows up to his kid’s school events in his bum ass outfit and goes straight to the food table. It could be his university graduation and everyone’s in their pretty dresses and sharp suits, he will be in a Uniqlo heattech and grey joggers with a stain on it.

Finds a crumb on his shirt, doesn’t know what it is or how long it’s been there. Will eat it anyway..

You point to a bouquet of flowers or a cake you want, excited and wanting to buy it. He'll look at the price and very loudly complain, 'That's how much? The hell? Nah, we're not getting that. If you want flowers, I can pick some up from a park for free.'

Kento

Still gets embarrassed about farting or taking a shit around you. Will make a lame excuse to exit the room like, ‘Oh, sweetheart, I think I left a light on in the next room.’ Doesn’t realise that the walls aren’t that thick and you can hear his adorable toot. If you ask him if he’s okay because he’s taking a while in the bathroom, he’ll lie and say, ‘No, dear, I’m alright. Just fixing a light bulb in here. I’ll be out in a minute.’ The type to not realise you can quite literally smell the evidence after.

Will throw random slang and use it wrong. ‘You already ate? That’s slaying me.’ Or, ‘She cheated on her boyfriend? That’s so cunt of her. Please don’t entertain her anymore.’

Has built up a reputation to you as being all-knowing. Likes that you ask him first before Google. But when you ask him a question he doesn't know the answer to, he make some sort of distraction so he can go on his phone, find out the answer and give it to you like he knew all along.

Reads so much but often comes across words he knows the meaning of but has never heard anyone actually say. Mispronounces them. Says 'studious' as 'study-yus.' Or 'albeit' as 'al-bayt.'

Sukuna

Crashes out so often that he sometimes mistakenly gets upset for no reason. A servant will ask if you want a drink, assumes they’re talking to him and gets grumpy. ‘I already said no. Can you hear?’ When informed, he’ll tsk to cover up he’s ever so slightly embarrassed but everyone can see his ears going red. If he hears a single snicker though, he’s airing out the room.

Even when you tell him it’s okay and he doesn’t have to, he’ll join in on group dates just because he gets FOMO lowkey. Will stand there menacingly and so super out of place he actually looks like he’s stalking the group. Makes everyone feel awkward and tense.

Children get so scared of him that he’s been escorted out of premises before. You have to join him, apologising to everyone, otherwise he’ll kill all of your friends. Like children will full on start sobbing and hyperventilating and you’re ashamed to tell your friends he’s actually not allowed within a certain radius of a school. Their mind goes to the worst places.

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incognit0slut · 8 months ago

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was i stupid to love you?

in which a lingering glance at Rossi’s wedding threatens your engagement.

content: angst, 4.8k, takes place right after truth or dare (14x15), a lot of dialogue, mention of prison arc, emotional distress, relationship conflict, not proofread a/n: when was the last time you saw me write angst? exactly. this is inspired by malcolm & marie bc i really like the idea of having an argument while moving around the house (also disclaimer i have nothing against JJ i just like being dramatic)

The lock clicks open. The door swings with a creak. Your heels tap against the hardwood in a hollow rhythm that feels almost too loud. There’s a tightness in your chest, that prickling behind your eyes, and a familiar ache pressing up from the pit of your stomach, churning into a faint nausea that you try to ignore. You’re trying to hold it back.

Not here.

Not now.

Spencer doesn’t even look up. The keys slip from his hand with a soft clink as they hit the side table, and he turns away with a quiet sigh that reverberates deep in your bones.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, tossing a glance toward the kitchen. “Think we could order something?”

You trail after him, the sharp click of your heels echoing as you step onto the kitchen tile. “We just came back from a wedding.”

He’s rifling through the cupboard, his fingers brushing over the mismatched mugs and neatly stacked plates before he pulls down two glasses. “I barely ate anything at the reception.”

You watch him, biting back a response as memories flicker to mind. The slice of cake he’d poked at absentmindedly, washing it down with sips of water instead of real food.

It wasn’t hunger he seemed focused on tonight. No, it was his quiet glances across the room you keep on catching from the corner of your eye, and that conversation he’d had at the bar. The one where his posture softened, his gaze so intent you’d found yourself staring at the back of his head, trying not to read too much into it—and obviously failing.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

He shrugs, his back still to you as he fills the glasses with water. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding almost absent, like it’s something he hasn’t really thought about. “I didn’t get around to it, I guess.”

The muscles in your jaw ticks as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

Spencer turns, offering you a glass. “I was thinking of Chinese, or maybe we can check if that Thai place you like is still open.”

You take the glass from him, barely sparing it a glance before setting it back down on the counter. “Whatever you want is fine.”

A subtle crease appears between his brows. “You sure? You usually have some opinion when it comes to food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t want to eat anything?”

You suppress a sigh. "No. I'm tired."

The soft amber of his eyes dims slightly as he studies you. There's a flicker of uncertainty passing through them before he nods. “Alright,” he concedes. “We don’t have to order anything.”

A faint, humorless laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It tastes bitter, a little unfair, but it slips out before you can pull it back, “You don’t have to change your plans on my account, Spencer.”

“I’m not changing any plans,” he responds. “I’m just making sure you have something to eat in case you’re hungry.”

Your shoes dig uncomfortably into your feet. You shift your weight, starting to pace a few steps back and forth. "It's dinner, you don't have to check on me for every little thing. Do whatever you like."

He blinks, looking genuinely perplexed. "What are you saying? I was trying to be considerate."

"Right. Considerate.”

There’s an unmistakable bite in your tone.

“Yes, because we like doing these things together," he observes, watching your uneasy pacing. "Am I missing something here?”

You shake your head. “Nope.”

"Honey."

The term of endearment lands softly, slipping from his lips like he believes it has the power to melt whatever tension has suddenly crept between you. But it only tightens the knot building in your stomach. It’s stirring the words you’re trying to hold back, tangling them somewhere between your chest and throat.

He calls your name this time, his eyes narrowing into sharp lines. “You’ve been awfully quiet on our way home, and now you’re… honestly, I don’t know why you're acting this way.” His voice dips with a tinge of exasperation. "What’s this really about?"

The words you’ve been biting back feel like a stack of stones in your throat, rising up, up, up, each one pressed tighter by the gnawing nausea in your stomach. You can feel them gathering, and before you know it, they tumble out messily.

“I’m just saying, don’t let me hold you back from getting what you want. I wouldn’t want to stop you from anything—or, god forbid," you add, letting your gaze drift away as if a little distance might soften the blow, “anyone.”

The soft, almost stifled inhale he takes is audible. You don’t even have to look up to see his expression shifting. You’ve known him long enough to recognize the way his shoulders tense, the way his breathing slows as he processes your words. You know his reaction by heart, yet right now, you wonder if saying this was a mistake, if this is the start of something neither of you can take back.

His fingers twitching at his side slip into your line of sight. He's angry.

Maybe this isn’t the time to start a fight.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Your heels click softly as you turn.

“Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything,” you mutter, already moving toward the bedroom that’s been yours, too, for the past year. Although it feels strange tonight, like a space that belongs to someone else. A life you’re not entirely sure you belong in.

“No." His voice is somewhere behind you. “I think you should explain to me what you mean by that.”

You don’t respond, choosing instead to sink onto the edge of the bed, hands fumbling as you try to undo the straps of your heels. You twist the stubborn leather with more force. His shadow fills the doorway.

“Honey.”

Not again.

You decide to ignore him.

“Is there something you’d like to say to me?”

You tug harder at the strap. “No.”

He doesn’t buy it. “You’re clearly bothered by something.”

You shake your head, fingers still fumbling, the leather cutting against your ankle with each pull. “I’m just tired. Can we leave it at that?”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his gaze now, a crease forming between his brows as he studies you. He moves into the room. You barely have the chance to react before he lowers himself, bending one knee to the floor as he reaches toward the strap you’ve been fighting with. “Here, let me—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, pulling your foot away. “I can do it myself.”

“I know you can. But let me—”

“I can do it myself!”

Your heartbeat thuds loud in your ears, each pulse feeding the frustration that’s wound its way up from your chest. He rises slowly, not a word passing his lips, but the tension radiates off him like heat. He’s close enough that his warmth presses against your skin, although it’s not the kind you usually find comforting. It’s almost suffocating.

You turn your focus back to the stubborn strap, your fingers trembling slightly as you struggle to grip it. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him slipping off his shoes, one after the other, the soft thuds barely audible over the rush of your own heartbeat. He pulls off his suit jacket, carefully smoothing the crumpled fabric before hanging it in the closet. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to let it go… until his gaze drifts back to you.

You can tell his patience is fraying, and you’re proven right when he asks again, “What did you mean by that? When you said you wouldn’t want to stop me from anyone… what was that supposed to mean?”

You finally manage to tug the strap loose. The heel drops to the floor with a muted thump. “It was nothing.”

“I don’t think you’d say something like that if it was nothing.”

Your focus shifts to the other shoe. “Just drop it, Spencer.”

"How am I supposed to drop it when you're implying... whatever it is you're implying?"

You keep your eyes down, wrestling with the strap in silence. He cuts through the quiet before it has a chance to grow.

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing when it clearly means something. I need to know why you said that.”

You kick off the other heel and meet his gaze for the first time since you walked into the room. “You really want to know?”

He reaches for his bow tie, yanking it loose it with one hard pull. “Do I want to know why you’re giving me this attitude right now? Yes. Yes, I do.”

Oh. So this is going to be that kind of fight.

You hadn’t expected it to go here. Fights with Spencer are very rare, usually more a clash of misunderstandings that you both laugh about with limbs tangled between sheets by the time you’ve made peace. But seeing him standing there with the tie hanging loosely around his neck and his five o’clock shadow casting an even darker line along his jaw, it hits you differently.

This is real. And this time, you don’t know if brushing it off will fix anything.

“Fine, let’s talk about it then.” You rise from the bed, tension carrying you to your feet. “Emily’s speech tonight.”

His brow furrows, not quite a scowl, more a cautious crease as he processes your tone. “Emily’s speech? What about it?”

“What do you remember of it?”

There’s a slight pause, and you can tell he's clearly caught off guard by the question. “She mentioned how Rossi and Krystal are twin flames."

“Right. Two souls that are always meant to be together.”

His face is still marked by confusion, but there’s something else creeping in. A subtle tightening around his eyes tells you he’s starting to piece it together. “I don’t understand what that has to do with—”

“You looked at JJ the second Emily made that speech,” you cut him off. “Spencer, you didn’t even spare a glance at your future wife because you were too busy making eyes at the woman who’s apparently been in love with you all these years.”

There. You said it. The words that have twisted around your insides all evening are finally out. And maybe they taste a little bitter, but at least they're not choking you anymore.

A second passes, then another, and by the time the fifth heartbeat ticks by, he’s standing there with his hand on his hip.

“That’s not what happened."

“Then what was it?” you demand. "I sat beside you the whole day, you didn't even try to hide it."

“That’s not—you’re twisting things.” His hand moves through his hair, fingers digging in as his curls tumble forward onto his forehead. “And you know what happened that night wasn’t real. It was a forced confession. She was under duress, we both were. JJ and I are just friends.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You look at all your friends like that?”

His hand drops to his side. "I don't know what else you want me to say. JJ said what she did because she thought we might die. She has a family, and a husband who she loves. We already went through this, I don't understand why this is suddenly an issue again."

“Maybe I wouldn’t be bringing this up if you didn’t look at her tonight like you were ready to break up that marriage yourself.”

A flash of shock and anger crosses his features.

“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’ve heard in a while. “Do you really think I’d disregard everything I have with you because of a look? Because of a history that has never gone anywhere?”

“I don’t know what to think. It's not like it happened just once, I saw you looking at her the same way at the bar." You step forward, accidentally kicking your discarded heel as you move. "What were you two talking about, anyway?”

He lets out a tight breath. “She was checking in on me. She… we haven’t talked much since then.”

The corners of your mouth pull down. “Mhm. Another round of truth or dare?”

“I can’t believe you’re using that against me." His hair flops forward as he shakes his head, falling messily over his brow. "If there were anything unresolved with JJ, I would’ve said something. But I didn’t, because there’s nothing there."

“And yet, she’s always been an important part of your life, hasn't she?"

He tilts his head. "What are trying to say now?"

Your tongue darts out, briefly brushing your lips. You're not sure you should say it, but it feels like a door has swung open—a door to words that have been waiting for their moment.

You take a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you can.

“When you were in prison, you put her on your visiting list ahead of almost everyone else. Doesn’t that say something about where she stands with you?”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.

“She’s part of the team,” he says, as if he’s trying to spell out something he’s already explained a dozen times. "There were strict rules, I already told you that only a handful of people were allowed to visit. It wasn’t like I could just put anyone on the list.”

“But you could’ve put me on there!”

The familiar burn of tears prickles at the edges of your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. An explanation or protest is poised on his lips, but you’re already moving, closing the distance with a single, decisive step. A finger lands on his chest.

“I was your girlfriend, Spencer. Were you that determined to keep me out? Was the thought of seeing me really so unbearable? Do you even understand how hard it was to sit at home, knowing you were locked up, feeling completely helpless? Do you have any idea how much I hated myself day after day because I couldn’t do anything to help you?”

Your lips quiver. You feel like your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

“I was out here, just… waiting. Wondering if you were okay, if they were treating you alright, if you even had someone to talk to. And meanwhile, she’s there, with you. Every single time, she’s the one who gets to be by your side.”

Your nail digs into the fabric of his shirt.

“So forgive me if I can’t just let that go. Because when it mattered, it felt like you didn’t want me to be there for you. And now… now I don’t even know if you need me the way you seem to need her.”

Your breathing turns shallow, each inhale catching in your chest. The tears you’ve been holding back are dangerously blurring your vision. You swallow the knot lodged in your throat.

“I need a minute.”

Without another word, you turn and walk out of the room, leaving him standing there in stunned silence. You slip back into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you finally reach for the glass of water that’s been sitting there untouched. You take a sip, barely feeling the cool water on your lips, when you hear his footsteps behind you.

“You think I don’t want you in my life?” he demands. “You think I somehow need her more than I need you?”

You set the glass down. “What part of ‘I need a minute’ do you not understand?”

“You really expect me to wait quietly after you unloaded every doubt you’ve ever had about us?”

You life your chin up. “Yes, I do. I need space to think right now.”

“What more do you want to think about when you’ve already convinced yourself that I’m always going to fall short? Is it so hard to believe that you’re the one I want?”

“You want to know why it’s so damn hard to believe?” You turn towards him. “Because every time I try to let this go, there’s always something. A confession. That—that not-so-subtle look. And when those things happen, it reminds me that I’m not as close to you as she is. I’m fucking tired of feeling like I’m fighting for space in your life.”

“Do you think I want you to feel like that? Do you think I’d go through everything we’ve been through if you didn’t matter to me?”

“Then explain to me why I wasn’t on that list!” you cry out. “Explain to me why, in one of the hardest times of your life, you couldn’t make space for me?”

“Because I was trying to protect you!”

A heavy, dreadful silence falls between you. He takes a step back, his eyelids fluttering shut briefly, and when he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that mirrors the gentleness now threading through his voice.

“I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, and maybe it never will, but I couldn’t stand the idea of you seeing me like that. Living through it was hard enough, but having you there, seeing me so helpless… It would have crushed me. I didn’t want that to be your memory of me.”

His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows, a quick, almost anxious movement you’ve witnessed countless times.

“And when JJ came to see me,” he continues, “the way the inmates looked at her, the things they said after she left… it was disgusting. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen to you. I couldn’t live with thought of you being subjected to that because of me.”

You lower your head with a sigh. “I don’t care if they looked. I don’t care what they would’ve thought.”

“But I care,” he fires back, taking a step forward. “Because you mean more to me than anyone. All I wanted was to keep you safe, and maybe I didn't handle it right, maybe I made the wrong call... but it was only because I—" His voice drops into an even more gentle note. "Because I love you."

Your heart stumbles, an uneven beat that feels almost bruised, pounding hard against your ribs.

"I-I love you so much. More than I know how to put into words." The ache in your chest sharpens as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. "I don't like fighting with you. I hate it, actually. I hate seeing you look at me like this."

You also hate the way he’s looking at you. There’s a depth to his annoyingly pretty eyes that makes it impossible to hold up your defenses without feeling them crumble. You let your eyes flutter closed.

“Why don’t we… call it a night?” He suggests. “Let’s lie down. We don’t have to talk about this now.”

The blackness behind your eyelids does little to quiet your mind. Nor does his voice. Or his touch. Instead of offering peace, his presence throws every glance, every moment of tension from tonight into sharper relief.

You draw in a breath, trying to find some comfort in his palms against your cheeks. Yet, even this can’t smooth away the doubt that’s settled in. With a resigned sigh, you release the breath you’ve been holding along with the words that have been pressing at the back of your throat.

“You haven’t explained it to me.”

The shadows in his gaze seem to deepen when you open your eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been going in circles, but you haven’t explained to me what happened tonight,” you say quietly. “Why did you look at her, Spencer?”

His thumb absently strokes your cheek in a way that feels more hesitant than reassuring.

“Be honest with me,” you press. “Was there a part of you, even the tiniest part, that still wanted something with her? Some small part of you that… wondered what it might be like?”

The silence between you presses in from all sides, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled ticking of a clock on the wall. It’s the kind of quiet that sharpens even the smallest sounds, yet his lack of response feels like the loudest thing of all.

You pull back from him with an incredulous laugh.

“Unbelievable.” The word barely makes it past your lips, then louder as you start to move, pacing the length of the apartment. “Unbelievable.”

“Wait,” he says, trailing after you, “I didn’t even say anything.”

You stop short by the couch and whip around to face him.

“You didn’t need to! You—you hesitated," you stammer, searching his face for any flicker of denial, but it’s there, plain as day, that split-second of doubt you caught. “That was already an answer.”

He inches closer. A hand closes in on you. “Please—”

You flinch, pulling back, and every muscle in your body tightens. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now.”

His hand falls to his side. “Please… let me explain."

You watch his hand drop, fingers twitching like they’re not sure if they should retreat or reach out again, but he keeps them there, hovering in some invisible line you’ve drawn. He looks at you with those big, pleading eyes, and for a split second, you almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

A bitter sort of smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "So now you want to explain?"

He takes that as permission, and his voice comes in low, almost cautious. "When I first started at the BAU, I had… maybe a crush. A passing thing, barely anything, really. But that was fourteen years ago.” His hand scrubs through his hair in a frustrated sweep. “Fourteen years."

Your brows pull into a frown. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“Because it was nothing,” he says, almost too quickly. “I was young, it didn’t matter. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”

“Oh, I get it now. All those old feelings came rushing back the night she confessed, didn’t they?”

He mirrors your frown, a visible line of tension etching itself between his brows as he protests, “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?” you press. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a whole lot like you’re caught between us because some part of you is still hung up on what might’ve been with her."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you notice the muscles in his jaw clenching the moment his gaze falters, dipping away for just a heartbeat before he looks back at you.

“It’s not that I don’t know what I want,” he starts to explain. “I didn’t expect her to say those things, and, yes, it threw me off for a moment. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking back, or that I want her. I want you.”

You shake your head, feeling a tired sort of frustration settle over you, and walk over to the couch. The soft cushions give slightly beneath you as you sink down.

“If you really wanted me, this wouldn’t be happening. You wouldn’t have let her get into your head like that. And now, you expect to believe that none of it meant anything?”

He’s quick to follow, closing the distance in a few tense steps. “It’s not—” His hands flex open and close at his sides. “You’re acting like one single look tonight is enough to decide I’m not committed to you. Do you really think I’d let some confession I didn’t even ask for get in the way of what we have?”

“It’s not just about that single look. It’s the way she could say something and suddenly, you’re pulled back to something you swore you’d put behind you. How am I supposed to feel secure when she still has that power over you?”

“And what am I supposed to do, then? Apologize for things I don’t even feel anymore?”

You flinch at the sharpness in his voice. A low, frustrated noise rumbles in his chest when you don’t respond.

“You’re always going to question me no matter what I say, aren’t you?"

You glance over at him, catching the disheveled strands of hair falling over his forehead, and it pulls you back to that night he came home after that dreadful night. He’d walked in looking worn in a way you’d never seen before, his whole posture weighted down as if he was carrying more than just the fear of being held hostage.

You remember sitting with him on this same couch, fingers brushing his, and asking what was bothering him.

JJ said she loved me.

Your heart lurched, a quick, quiet ache that you tried to swallow down. Really?

Don’t worry. It’s not true.

But with that same haunted look in his eyes right now, you can’t help but wonder if it really was just a well-intentioned lie.

“One glance and you’re accusing me of things that are never going to happen,” he starts again. “Do you really think so little of me? After everything we’ve shared, you really think I’d betray you like that?”

In true honesty, you don’t believe he would ever cross that line. But the doubts still linger, fed by those small hesitations, the moments when his eyes seem somewhere else. It’s not that you think he’d betray you. It’s that a part of him might still be holding onto something he won’t let you see.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Now those words you might actually believe.

“Maybe I don’t,” you say quietly, eyes drifting to the ring on your finger. You twist it absently, remembering the night he proposed. How he’d stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing as he tried to make the moment perfect but ended up rambling in that endearing, nervous way of his. You’d laughed, reassured him that it was exactly right, that you didn’t need grand gestures. All you needed was him.

And yet, you don’t think he needs you as much you need him.

A hollow ache settles around your hand as you slip the ring off.

“What are you doing?”

You stare down at the gold band in your palm, blinking back the sting of tears.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

Panic. Desperation. There’s a sudden rush of melancholy in his voice, a heaviness that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “I—I don’t know anything right now.”

His face crumples, and in a sudden, almost instinctive movement, he drops down to his knees.

“No, no, you do know me. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Isn’t this—” he stops, then dips his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Isn’t that what couples do? They argue, they mess things up… but they work through it, right? Right?”

You look down, feeling the cool weight of the ring pressing into your skin.

“Spencer…” you begin. “I trust you. I do, and I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t. But… I need to feel secure. I… I need to know that I don’t have to wonder or worry about where I stand. I never thought you’d be the one to make me doubt that.”

There’s a sharp ache in your chest.

“I didn’t think it could hurt this much. Not from you.”

Your pulse ring in your ear.

“I can’t—” The words catch in your throat, a stinging burn rising as you force them out. “I can’t be your wife when I’m constantly questioning if I have all of you. When I feel like… there’s always a part of you that isn’t mine.”

“I’m yours, honey. I’m always yours.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

There’s a slight falter in his voice. “Don’t—please don’t do this—”

“I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

He falls silent, and for a moment, the only sound is the rough, uneven rhythm of both your breaths filling the space between you. Then, like something inside him finally cracks open, he sinks down, pressing his forehead against your lap. The sudden weight of him forces a broken sob from your throat.

“Please,” he begs, fingers clutching at your sides. His chin presses deep into your thigh. “Tell me how to fix this. I can’t— I can’t lose you.”

“Spence…”

“I love you,” he blurts out, the words tumbling from him in a rush. “I love you.”

But what is love, really? Is it just a word people reach for when they’ve run out of things to say, a way to patch over bruised hearts and broken promises? Or should it feel like something more solid, something that doesn’t leave you questioning or aching? You can’t even tell anymore.

You wonder, too, if maybe you’ve been wrong all along. If this feeling in your chest isn’t love but something dressed up as it, something that fills the gaps while slowly hollowing you out. Because here you are, clinging to a love that somehow makes you feel like you’re both needed and unseen. Everything and nothing all at once.

You feel like a fool.

“I want to go to bed.”

His head lifts from your lap, a flash of surprise darting across his face, as though he hadn’t expected you to say anything at all, let alone that. “Yeah, okay, let’s go to bed. We’ll… we’ll figure this out in the morning.”

“I’d rather be alone.”

The words hit him visibly. His mouth opens, an argument forming there, but he catches himself, letting the silence stretch before he nods slowly.

“Then… I’ll stay out here. On the couch,” he offers softly. “Just… in case you need anything.”

A pang cuts through you at the thought of him stretched out on the couch, his legs too long, his shoulders folded in to fit the cramped space. But the idea of sharing a bed right now feels impossible.

You reach down, holding out the ring towards him.

“No,” he says firmly, gently pushing your hand away. “Don’t do that. This… it doesn’t mean we’re giving up. It just means we need time. That’s all.”

You’re not sure if your mind will change in the morning. The ring presses into your skin, but finally, you close your hand around it, nodding faintly before you peel away from him.

The tears start the moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you. It spills over in a jagged, helpless cry that sounds nothing like you imagined heartbreak might sound. It’s messy, a kind of aching grief that feels too big for your chest, clawing its way out with no grace at all. You can practically hear how pathetic you sound, and yet you can’t seem to stop.

Even when the hem of your dress trails across the floor. Even when you finally collapse onto his side of the bed. There’s no stopping you. With the ring sitting cold in your hand, your tears keep coming, soaking into the pillow as you cling to the last trace of him woven into the sheets.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid fem!reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #angst #angst with no happy ending

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bluetimeombre · 28 days ago

Text

☽｡⋆ If you need my love ｡⋆☽

. You were growing up in a house with little love, but luckily Joel Miller was living across the road and he was always there to pick up the pieces.

this is a long one, 8k but i had so much fun writing it, might do a part two. i hope you enjoy!

warnings: smut, fluff, angst. neglectful parents, obsessed Joel, needy Joel, no outbreak au, oral (f! receiving) older joel, younger reader, drinking, p in v sex (unprotected) language

When Joel opened the door to you one cold evening, your arms wrapped around yourself, you drenched in rain, he only sighed.

"Oh honey," he shook his head.

Your teeth were practically chattering. "Nobody's home and I-I don't have a k-key."

A crack of thunder sounded behind you.

Joel looked over his shoulder at your house that was cloaked in darkness. It did look deserted, like nobody had touched it in years. "C'mon in, hun." He held the door open and stirred you inside.

Even if you'd been in the house more times that you could count you still shuffled inside, as if you didn't know where his living room was.

It was a small town in Texas, everyone knew everyone. Everyone knew Joel Miller and his daughter Sarah. Joel knew everyone too. He knew Jimmy a twenty minute drive away, his farm where anyone nice enough could get the best fresh eggs.

There was Bess who ran the bakery. You could get the best fresh bread and every year Joel always got Sarah her birthday cake from her.

There was Dave, coach of Sarah's soccer team. There was Louis next door who always had a issue with his hose leaking all over his garden- even in the drought.

Then, there was you.

You lived across his street with your parents. You who'd moved in ten years ago. A few years Sarah's senior, she'd been over the moon to have another girl to hang out with.

Apparently just hanging out with her dad was becoming a lost trend.

But even though you were a few years older, probably had your own teenage things to be getting on with, you treated Sarah like a best friend.

"You don't have to you know," Joel remembered saying years ago after you'd stayed up late with her, watching movies, only for her to fall asleep with her head on your lap- trapping you.

"It's no bother."

Even Joel had offered to pay you, acting as if you were a babysitter for his kid. You'd denied, almost offended.

You'd insisted you enjoyed it, that his house was nicer than yours.

Joel didn't get it. He was always behind on laundry, hardly had any healthy food- only takeout in the fridge- and dead plants on the windows, compete to your own house.

He'd seen the way you tenderly cared after anything and everyone, it didn't make sense. He assumed you were just sweet, or too shy to say anything different.

He remembered the day he discovered just why you liked his house.

Joel had only gone over with Sarah to talk to you about a sleepover. His brother, Tommy, was taking him out of town, insisting that he needed a 'guys weekend' and that Sarah at fourteen was fine to be left alone. Joel disagreed and he'd only meant to ask if you were around, would be willing to just hang out like you had hundreds of times before.

At the door he lingered, shouts and the shattering of glass sounding behind the door.

"Dad?" Sarah looked up to him un-sure.

Joel was already pushing her down the porch. "Go back to the house."

"What is that?"

"Not our concern."

But it was. It was his concern.

The shouting dulled but there was still a harshness hidden out of sight.

Sarah made her way down the porch, back to the Miller residence and Joel was following on un-sure feet when he heard the door swing open and shut.

Joel looked just as you hurried down the porch steps, keys swinging in your hand. "Woah hey-hey."

You looked aghast, stopping in your tracks when you spot Joel in front of you, hands out and reaching for your forearms.

"Is everythin' alright?" he asked, nodding back to the house.

In the afternoon sun your cheeks turned pink, the colour creeping up to your ears and down your neck. "Yeah, yeah everything's fine." You grinned but it was like a crack in an otherwise well structured wall.

Times like that started to happen more often.

Joel would always find you leaving the house in a hurry, getting in your car and driving off like escaping a crime. Or you'd be on the porch, sitting with a cup of coffee if it was early in the morning or tea late at night. He'd watch from his bedroom window that conveniently over looked your front porch.

Some nights he'd join you, pretending he didn't know why you were hiding out, pretending he didn't hear the shouting.

He'd make up some excuse.

"Neighbourhood watch, you never know who's out here..."

"Was gonna go for a drive, fill the tank if you wanna join..."

"My coffee pots bust, spare a sip?"

It was obvious what he was doing.

Yet you always entertained him.

You were standing like a statue in Joel Miller's living room. Granted- a chattering statue. You'd started shaking sometime an hour ago and you'd yet to stop.

The living room- the entire Miller house- was bathed in a warm orange glow. The tv was on mute, some film that was Joel's favourite Sarah had told you once. Curtis and Viper.

Joel had gone up stairs shortly after he told you to 'make yourself comfortable' but you didn't want to make his couch wet. You were already dripping on his carpet.

Had you woken him? God, what if you had?

What if he'd gone to bed and just assumed you'd wait until your parents get back? If they did.

You wouldn't have knocked and asked if you weren't desperate. But you'd only gone to go grocery shopping, you'd been hardly an hour and neither your mom or dad had mentioned leaving.

You wouldn't be surprised if they'd booked a last minute trip to try to salvage whatever was left of their failing marriage. Or if one had gone to the bar and the other to the arms of another.

Either way, you left the grocery's on the step and your key inside.

You'd called and got nothing from either of them.

You would never have annoyed Joel by knocking as night drew in if you weren't desperate.

Perhaps you could huddle on the porch, eat that chocolate you'd gotten.

You were just forming a plan in your head when Joel Miller practically tripped with how quick he came down the stairs.

"Here-" there was a small pile of clothes in his arms, what looked to be black jogging bottoms and a checked shirt. "I'd offer you some of Sarah's but she's already growing out of everything." He rubbed the back of his neck as you took the clothes.

"You don't have to," you said though you held the clothes close. "I'm sure someone will be home soon."

You really weren't certain anyone would be back for the weekend approaching.

Joel looked at you sternly, his hand on yours that was cold and trembling. "Change."

His eyes raked down the clothes that stuck to you.

He must have thought you looked a mess.

"Shower. You'll probably wanna get warm, c'mon." Joel led you up the stairs, this time slow. His arm was out, ghosting your back as he showed you into his room.

The one room that you'd forbidden yourself into entering.

Joel opened the door like it was just another room of his house, not his room where he spent quiet nights, where he slept among other things.

"Sorry 'bout the mess," he chuckled dryly, kicking away a pile of clothes that looked a lot like trousers and boxers. "Here, my bathroom."

It was cleaner than his room objectively. One or two cheap colognes and a good one littered the counter. A bar of soap and a watch that you remember Sarah showing you she'd got him for his birthday.

"Let me-" Joel slowly peeled the clothes from your arms and nodded down at you. "I'll put these to heat up, you get yourself warm hun. I'll be just down stairs if you need anythin' else."

You nodded and gulped down all your objections to his kindness. "Thank you, Joel. I won't be long."

He smiled at you, a gentle smile. It was the kind you'd never seen before. "Take all the time you need, darlin'. And then some. I imagine it's been quite the night."

You scoffed and averted your gaze.

"I'll be downstairs."

You took your time in the shower. Not because he'd told you to but because you were frozen from cold and from trying to keep every small detail in your mind.

It was not right to think about Joel in his bathroom, bowing his head under the steady warm shower, naked. No matter the circumstance it wasn't right for your mind to wander what Joel looked like naked with droplets of water running down his chest, his sternum and lower.

You blamed it on the lack of sleep.

But you knew as soon as you could get back into your room you'd be dreaming about him again.

By the time you were done with the shower, condensation had covered the mirror and made the walls slick. You wrapped a fuzzy towel around you and tried not to think about other parts of Joel it had touched.

You sat yourself down on the edge of his bed, ignoring the way it dipped. You tried to calm yourself, your nerves and think of a solution. You could hop the fence, break down the back door.

Maybe you could even book a hotel for the night?

You had no doubt Joel would be gracious enough to offer you the sofa, but you didn't want to take over his kindness. You were already there as much as possible with Sarah.

You liked the kid of course, but you also liked the smiles that were always around the house, accompanied by the peace.

A gentle rattle of knuckles on the door broke you from your search of solutions.

"Hey."

Joel slowly opened the door and paused when he spotted you. On the edge of his bed, draped in his towel.

You realised, as you were drying, your hair was dripping. You were getting his bed wet. "Sorry." You got to your feet.

Joel held up his hands. "I jus' wanted to check you were alright. Needed anythin'."

"I'm good, thank you, for all this," you said, clutching your hands in front of you.

"You don't have to thank me, at all," he said, leaning on the door frame. "You saved me from a boring evening alone."

"Sarah?"

"Gone for the weekend. Tommy took her on a fishin' trip."

Your lips tilt up. "You're not a fisher?"

"No," he chuckled. "I'm afraid all that talent went to Tommy."

"Well I'm sure you're good for other things." You hadn't meant the words to hide some sort of hidden comment but as soon as you'd said it all you could think about was his 'other' talents.

Maybe Joel could tell you were being filthy, taking his hospitality for granted. He looked down and grabbed the handle. "Change. I'll be waitin'."

When the door clicked shut behind him you dropped back onto his bed, hiding your face in your hands and groaning.

What were you doing?

By the time you'd peeled the towel from yourself and folded it up, changed into what you assumed were Joel's old clothes (you'd had to roll the waistband of the joggers over several times and roll up the sleeves to) and made your way down stairs the credits were rolling on the movie.

The sofa was hidden under cushions and blankets.

Joel was leant over it, punching the pillows till they seemed fluffy enough. "C'mon, damn you."

You cleared your throat.

Joel whipped around. His lips parted, ready to speak but instead he got an eyeful of you. You in his clothes.

For a second you were delusional enough- and exhausted enough- to believe that he liked seeing you like that. Draped in him. But he was probably realising he liked that shirt and wanted it back immediately.

"You didn't have to do this, really," you said, gesturing to the makeshift bed he was making. "I don't want to put you out."

"You're doin' no such thing, I already told you. I was havin' a borin' evening."

"Well I'm glad me getting locked out and soaked amused you," you teased.

Joel's jaw ticked, his tongue running slowly over his bottom lip as his gaze fell lower. "Yeah," he hummed.

It seemed like an excruciatingly long moment that you let him stare.

Joel realised and cleared his throat. "You must be hungry," he walked by you, leaning away to avoid your touch. "Can't say I've got anythin' much good. Some pizza, maybe."

"I'm ok, thank you though."

Joel glanced back at you. "You've eaten?"

"I had lunch, i'm good."

Joel frowned at you, confused. "Lunch? It's dinner time, we'll order somethin."

"You've done too much-" you protest but Joel was already reaching for the phone and pulling at the draw of take out menu's.

"You like it plain, right?" he asked, already dialling the number and wedging the phone.

You walk to him. "At least let me pay-"

Joel held up his hand. "No, stay," his voice was low and gruff, eyes watching you darkly as you paused in place. "Good girl- hello, Jo? Yeah, it's Joel you son of a bitch."

Joel had sat down with you on the sofa and re-played Curtis and Viper while you ate pizza. He'd insisted you had to watch when you said you'd never seen it before. He'd mumbled something about not living till you had seen it, he wasn't even sure what he'd said to get you to sit and watch it with him.

It had worked.

He should have sent you to his bed, told you to rest because you were giving him challenges after challenges and you moved like you didn't even know it.

When you'd told him to come in when you were only in a towel, sitting on the edge of his bed like you didn't know what to do with the space. Wearing his clothes like you weren't giving him images that he'd keep locked up somewhere deep and dark in his mind for weeks to come.

You'd eaten pizza, asked him about every scene and slowly come out of you cold.

You'd become warm again next to him and it was driving Joel into a hot mess.

When the credits started to roll for the second time that evening Joel could tell you were struggling to keep your eyes open.

"You wanna sleep?" he asked. His arm had stretched out along the sofa, conciously to get closer to you.

You shook off your sleep. "Sorry."

"You needa stop apologising, you know," he teased, finger prodding at your shoulder.

You stretched. "Is it bad if I say sorry?"

Joel chuckled, spreading his legs out. "Right, you take my bed. Sofa's mine."

You woke up at that, all sleep gone from you. "What?"

Joel looked at you again in confusion. "Can't have you takin' the sofa after the day you've had."

You scoffed. "And I can't kick you out of your own bed."

"You ain't kicken me outta anythin', i'm tellin' you."

Joel would never be this kind to anyone else except his own kid. If any other neighbour of his found themselves in this situation he'd never have offered them his own clothes, wouldn't have sat down and watched a movie he'd seen a dozen times before.

But it was you. Joel was good at saying no to you cause you were always unfair to yourself mostly.

You were gorgeous, intelligent, kind and self-dependant. A treat dangled in front of Joel, constantly nibbiling and never taking. If he took he'd never be able to spit you back out your system.

Either you knew what you were doing with your coy smiles, gentle shuffles into him and sweet words and wanted to torture him or you didn't know and that was worse.

He couldn't pretend the idea of you in his bed wasn't driving him mad but he also could see the droop on your eyes and the slug in your body. You needed rest. You needed someone to look out for you.

Joel would kill to be that man.

"Joel, I can't," you protest.

"I'm not takin ' no for an answer, sweetheart," he said.

"The couch is more than fine- the floor even."

Joel shook his head. "C'mon, it's gettin' late. Head up."

He stretched further out, his foot now against yours.

You were watching him, brows pulled together and eyes focusing on him. "No."

Joel's brows rose. He'd perfected the stern look of a father but it didn't seem to be workin' on you. "No?"

"No, I want the sofa."

In a move he didn't anticipate, you threw yourself down, your hair fanning out on the pillow and you pulled the blanket up to your chin, kicking out your legs till they were draped over Joel's lap.

For a moment all he did was stare, his lips parted and a soft breath falling from him. You closed your eyes like you were already drifting off, un-aware the effect your cat-like stretch was having on him. His nerves had been shattering since he saw you wrapped in his towel.

You were giving his patience a good try.

Joel chucked under his breath, calling your name.

Your sly smirk did things to him, especially as you ignored him.

Joel's hand fell upon your shin, trailing up slowly as his body slowly leaned over. He'd never known anyone to have an effect on him like this. Never been so allured and so ... needy like he was a damn teenager again.

All he wanted was to press his body into yours, to kiss your hair and assure you he would look after you, no matter what, no matter where.

Your body stilled as his, heavier and larger, caged you on the sofa.

His arm stretched over your head and your eyes opened, flickering to find his gaze.

"Jus' get comfortable," he'd reached over and flicked the lamp off.

But he didn't move. No, Joel was stubborn.

Once the soft glow of the lamp had gone and he'd turned the tv off the living room was put into darkness.

Joel wedged himself in, his chest to your back, arms wrapped around himself to stop him from teasing with a touch.

"Joel what are you-"

"Shh, i'm tryin to sleep," he grumbled. He tried to push himself into the back of his couch that was falling under both your weights, rolling you into him.

He tucked his head in and closed his eyes as he felt you turn, questioning him. Heck, he was questioning himself. He'd promised some easy down time while Tommy took Sarah out, not this. Not his own battle of temptation.

"If you ain't takin' the bed then i'm not neither," he grumbled.

Your body pulled back and Joel thought he'd done in, over stepped. That the walking in on you in a towel, wearing his clothes, an arm too close around you while the film played had been too much.

Instead he felt a warmth brush over him and your body close to him.

You'd shared his blanket that was too small for the both of you.

In all of Joel's wants to take care of you, perhaps there was a bit of you that wanted to take care of him.

They weren't back.

It was the Saturday and there was still no stirring in the house, no cars outside. Not even a damn text.

You were still draped in Joel's too big clothes for you, staring at the house that was still.

The sun had risen long ago but Joel still slept on the sofa.

Where you'd both slept. You woke with his arm around you, strong and un-yielding as he held you into his chest. It had taken you a near ten minutes to free yourself from his warmth but you'd finally gotten free and his little snores continued.

Only for two minutes did you stare at him, smiling to yourself before realising it was wrong. Wrong to want him so much and wrong to wonder why he'd insisted he share the sofa.

Either he was the most stubborn man you'd ever met.

Or he wanted to be close.

You couldn't decide which was worse.

But now you were faced with small other options.

What did you do now? You couldn't stay with Joel for another day, heck you still only had your clothes that were still damp on a chair in Joel's room.

Maybe you'd go out of town yourself.

Call a friend?

There was a stirring on the sofa.

Joel woke in confusion. Not at the sleeping on the sofa. His fist was clenching at the empty space in front of him and his gaze still blurry with sleep looked for you.

When he spotted you at the window his body visibly relaxed.

And it set your body taunt.

"Morning'." His voice was hoarse, lower register than you'd ever heard.

"Hey," your arms fold over your chest.

Joel was still watching you, throwing an arm behind his head. The blanket slowly fell and his shirt rode up. "You sleep alright? Didn't snore, did I? Sarah says I do sometimes."

You smile and shake your head.

Joel huffed as he sat himself up. You still weren't moving, body his but mind elsewhere. "Everythin' alright?"

You sighed, looking down at your feet that just about peeked over the joggers. "My parents, they still aren't back."

You couldn't meet Joel's gaze as he huffed in annoyance.

"I'm sorry," you apologised. "I'll be out of your hair as soon as I can. I'll drive around, meet a friend or somethin'. I won't trouble you anymore."

"You ain't troublin' me, honey, not in the damn slightest," he grumbled.

It did nothing to settle your nerves.

You took your bottom lip between your teeth.

Joel must've noticed your hesitation, your worry that you were too much. He was moving across the room before you could register it. "Stay."

"I shouldn't, you've done so much and you were supposed to have a break this weekend. I'm already ruining it," you ramble.

Joel's hands are steady as they settle on your forearms, thumbs soothing you. "Stay."

You eyes flickered up to him. It always shocked you how stern his face could be, the wrinkles dawning at his forehead and the creases when his mouth moved, but his eyes were soft, always calm like warm coffee. "Joel-"

"Whatta do I gotta say to make you stay, huh?" he asked, smirking. "Promise of more shitty movies and even worse food? My sorry-ass company?"

You chuckled. "It wasn't a shitty film," you said. "And your company is the best i've had in months. Sarah exculded."

There was a glimmer of pure joy in Joel's eyes as he laughed. His hands squeezed your arms once before he walked to the kitchen, leaving you to look at your house once more time before following.

"So what do you say I get some coffee goin' and then we can see what groccery's of yours we can salvage?" he said.

You nodded to whatever he said because leaning on the doorway, watching his shirt ride up every time he stretched, you weren't sure you could ever listen to anything he was saying.

Tommy: So, you resting up?

Was he? Was Joel using his weekend to rest.

No, he was using his weekend like a test.

When he woke without you in his arms he was close enough to whining. Whining! It took his body seconds to grow cold without your warmth and for him to wake.

And then it took every ounce of himself not to smile when he heard your parents still weren't back.

First he wanted to yell, wanted to beg your parents home so he could give them a peace of his mind. But he quickly thought about what was presented. You. You and him for a whole un-interrupted day.

Joel thought about the things he could do. Keep you next to him, cook you breakfast- whatever you wanted even if it meant he'd have to break speeding laws to get to the shops.

You in his house, wearing more of his clothes.

After coffee he'd dismissed himself to the bathroom quickly to get filthy thoughts out of his head before they could manifest lower. You in his house, all to himself, desperate for warmth and love. Everything he could give you.

Joel had called Sarah just to distract himself.

No, Joel was not resting up.

You'd spent the day with him cleaning his kitchen, insisting you needed to do something for him.

There was plenty he thought you could do.

Then Joel showered, it was already mid day. He'd stepped out the shower and pushed his face into his towel to dry off when he inhaled and smelt you.

He groaned into the towel, diving in again, almost slobbering at the smell of you on his towel.

It drove him mad.

And it drove him back into a very cold shower.

By the time evening had dawned you insisted to leave the house. Not because his company was boring, but because you wanted to take Joel somewhere.

"I could always break in through a window to get some clothes," you suggested as you gestured to the attire you were still in. "You're in that building way of work. You can repair a window?"

"Can't glue glass back together," he said, leaning over the counter. "I'll see what Sarah's got." Maybe yesterday he'd lied just a bit about her clothes and growing out of. He'd just seen an opportunity to have you draped in him and took it.

He found some of Sarah's things, a bag of clothes that were supposed to be donated last year and left you with them.

When you came back down the stairs Joel's pulse shot.

You'd put those jeans you had on yesterday back on, but they'd been cleaned and dried and now they were snug on your hips and backside. The top you'd picked was from one of Sarah's old favourite band but it was too small on you, tight on the sleeves and showing a healthy slither of your skin.

Fuck.

Suddenly Joel regretted giving you that bag, hated that he'd promised you a night out of his house. He hated everything in him that wanted you.

How could your parents leave you? How could anyone not want to be in your company always.

"Is it ok?" you asked.

Was it ok? Everything was far from ok?

"Let's go, darlin'."

The two of you went in his truck, going to a simple bar for some cheap and good enough burgers and drinks. You were over twenty-one, just, but you'd assured Joel you were a regular at the bar. That it was the hottest place for everyone to go to.

When he walked in and the two of you got a booth, Joel wasn't so happy with the old guys staring at you. Or the younger ones too. As if he wasn't ogling you when you got the chance.

He just liked that you hardly noticed any of them, eyes only on Joel.

You'd gotten burgers and beer, talking about anything and nothing.

Joel did not broach the subject of your parents.

He watched you talk about anything you wanted, watched the way your lips moved with words he could just about make out.

"You staring at me," you laughed, nursing another beer. The burgers were half eaten, fries gone. Your body was turned into Joel's as he curled into you.

"Starin'?" he repeated with cheek. "Am I?"

"You are."

Joel hummed and let himself stare a little longer. You'd already caught him, what was the harm of anymore.

You shied under his gaze, looking away. "I don't have to stay tonight, Joel," you said. "I could get a hotel, easily. We're in town anyway."

He was already shaking his head. "Not happin'."

"You don't have to do this just to be nice."

"Who's to say i'm not gettin' anything out of this?" he said.

Your brows rose as you lifted the bottle to your lips. "Are you?"

The teasing was laid out bare on the table like a meal.

"Maybe," he said, taking a swig of his own. "You're good company."

You smiled, a small pink to your cheeks coming again.

Joel wondered what else could have you blushing like that. If he was to dip his head low and trace whispers in the skin of your neck, would he be graced by your bashful look. Or would you crane your head back for more?

His eyes drifted at the skin of your neck at the thought.

You shuffled, leaning back in your seat, edging him on.

If you knew his thoughts would you take the reigns?

"Gotta take a leak." Joel did not have to piss, he needed to give himself a stern talking to in the mirror, splash some cold water on himself and move on, shake off his want.

You had come to him for solace, not to be the victim of his pervy thoughts.

"Get it together, Joel." One weekend without his brother and kid supervision and he was reverting back to a horny teen.

By the time he'd shook himself out of it and was walking back to the booth, his seat had already been taken by a man probably his age. John. The scoundrel.

"You're very pretty mind," Joel heard him mumble, saw you look down but not smile or thank him for the compliment.

Joel's hand was clapping down on his shoulder. "Everythin' alright here, buddy?"

"Joel, man," John greeted with a grin as if he wasn't taking his seat and his girl. "Where've you been hidin this young little thing? You know, sharin' is carin'."

"Excuse me?" your voice sounded, startled and disgusted.

That was enough for Joel to pull John out the booth.

"We don't care for your business here," said Joel, standing tall on guard over the booth.

"Oh come on-" John tried.

"Out!" he yelled, gaining looks from the people around.

John scoffed, a glare in his dark and cold eyes as he still took time to scan you.

Joel was watching him go, counting his steps and assessing anyone else in the room that might want to speak to you. He'd tell them to beat it to.

It wasn't until he felt your hand on his bicep that he looked at you.

"Hey," he could hear his own voice softer than the growl he'd used with John. His arms rose, hand holding yours. "I'm sorry."

"No don't be, don't be," you said. Your eyes drifted around the bar as his were still down on you. "Can we go back to yours?"

It had been ruined. The night you'd wanted so bad crumbled. Still, Joel couldn't find it in himself to deny he didn't hate hearing you ask to go back to his.

"Course, of course, darlin'. Come on." He led you out the bar, throwing dollars on the table and leaving your half eaten food and half drunk beers.

The night air ran shivers over your skin as he escorted you to his truck, opening the passenger door for you.

You stood there, hair brushed back in the wind and arms crossed over your chest. "Thank you, for back there."

Joel rested his arm over the opened door. "Don't thank me for that. Guy like that shouldn't have been talkin' to you like that."

You nod and gulp. You took a step closer to him as Joel watched. "You've done so much for me, Joel," your voice was low, with no need to speak up. "What can I do for you, please?"

Joel's breath stuttered as he saw you come closer, close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss and grab and hold and- he cleared his throat and looked past your head. It was not a step to take tonight. Maybe ever. "Get in the truck."

The night hadn't gone as planned. Granted, none of the weekend had gone as planned.

Joel's truck pulled up in front of his house slow enough for you to catch the lights on in your house, the car back at front. Someone was home and suddenly that made your weekend all the worse.

You and Joel both got out the truck silently and walked up to his porch but both of you were looking at your house, alive.

"Someone's home."

Joel sighed heavily next to you. "Yeah."

So the weekend would be done. You'd go back to whatever new and tense atmosphere was created. There goes your time with Joel that you hadn't realised could do so much for you.

"Well," you started. "I'll get Sarah's shirt washed and dried for you and get it back. Thanks so much for putting up with me and-"

"Don't go," said Joel.

Your head rose. From the silent way he drove you both back and the way he'd been in the bar, you thought he'd push you back to your house.

Joel's tender gaze shone under the dim porch light. "I know you have shit goin on in that house and I can't stand the thought of that. Can't stand to think you're upset. I want you to stay. For tonight. For always. Just-"

You kissed Joel.

You surged up on your toes, held his cheeks and kissed him.

And his lips felt better than ever imagined. They parted under you and you got your first taste of the man you'd dreamt about. Beer on his tongue, desire on his lips and a thousand wants in the back of his throat.

Joel's arms were strong and urgent as they scooped you up and into his chest, moving until he had you pinned against the wall and his body. He surged you up, feeling into your mouth deeper, pressing his body against yours.

He pulled back, lips kissing under your jaw and trailing down your neck. "Oh baby," he cooed, peppering kisses along the skin.

"Joel," you whined, hands grasping at his shirt and pulling.

He nipped at the skin at the base of your neck and licked over the red he'd created. "Fuck. Say my name again," he muttered. He pulled his head back enough to look at you. "Say it."

"Joel."

He kissed you hard, mouth open and tongue discovering your every angle. His hands wasted no time in falling into your hair.

"Stay tonight," he mumbled against your lips as if he couldn't take himself any further away from you. "Please. Let me show you love. Let me... let me take care of you, baby."

His eyes looked at yours, his head nodding like he could coax that same nod from you. He was still mumbling under his breath, a series of please.

There was nothing in the world that could take you from that moment.

"Yes."

Joel kissed you again, face in yours, tongue finding easy triumph over yours. He kept you into his chest with one arm, the other blindly reaching out to unlock his door.

He threw it open and it banged against the wall.

Joel carried you through the threshold, arms secure around your waist. One hand cupped your ass, dragging over your thigh and encouraging you to wrap a leg around him.

He groaned when he felt the warmth of you on him.

He kicked the door close behind him and was still kissing you, was still stealing your breath when he got to the stairs.

It was slobbery, it was wet. You could only hear the ticking of a clock and the sound of your lips as Joel set you on the stairs.

"Need you," he mumbled, kissing down your neck. "Needed you so long now, you have no idea."

"I do," you moan, throwing your head back, eyes squeezed shut to focus on the heat between your two bodies. "Dreamt about this."

Joel looked up at you. "Yeah? When? When you were in my shower?" his hand dragged down your neck, watching it go. "When you were wrapped in my towel? Wearing my clothes." His hand disappeared under your shirt.

Your breath caught as you felt his rough hands drag up and cup your breast. "Joel," you gasp.

"Wanted to have you so bad, baby," he said, speaking to himself as he tugged up the top. "Smelt you on my towel and had to fist myself thinkin' 'bout you."

You mewl at his words, a needy and pathetic noise.

Joel pulled the top off you and threw it somewhere behind. Your breasts were spilling out of your bra, begging. "Shit."

There was no time for you to speak, to gage yourself as Joel hid himself in your breasts, un-clasping your bra and throwing it aside.

It was needy.

Your hands were in his hair, tugging at the roots. You could feel Joel everywhere, his lips dragging against each boob, jumping between the two as if he couldn't decide where to start. His hands were running all over you, down your hips, between your thighs, desperate to feel it all.

Your breathing was erratic, your mind foggy with only one thing. Joel, Joel, Joel.

"Don't- don't stop," you beg.

"Never, never wanna," his voice was muffled as he cupped your breasts, squeezing them together. His tongue darted out and dragged over the skin, hands squeezing.

Your leg wrapped around his hips again and pushed him into the heat between your legs.

Joel groaned.

He pulled back enough to look at you. His hand cupped your cheek, brushing your hair back. "Please... wanna treat you so good.... want you to feel."

"I do," you nod, empty without his lips.

Joel could tell, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek. At odds with the hardness that he unconsciously thrust between your legs. "Wanna treat you so good.... gonna be so good for you. Wanna show you love... let me take care of you."

You couldn't make words. The promises in mumbles was driving you mad.

Joel's hand was gentle on your neck but there enough to stir your gaze to his. "Say yes, baby. Say yes."

"Yes, Joel, yes," you weren't even sure what he was asking for. To use you, to fuck you, to take care of you? It was all a yes.

"Let me... let me do everything to show you love," said Joel. He pecked your lips. "Let me eat your pretty pussy. Let me make you tremble on my fingers. Want it. Need it."

You gasp at his words as his hands fall to your jeans, popping the button and pulling them down. "Joel, we're- we're on the stairs." Was this about to happen, your parents over the road? Was Joel gonna take you however he wanted on the stairs leading to his bedroom?

"Yeah we are baby," he said, "need you. Can't wait. Fuck, might die if I don't get your pussy on my face."

You moan aloud at the words.

Joel looked up at you, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Stand up for me, baby."

How you got onto your feet, you had no idea. But you stood steps ahead of him, wearing nothing but soaked panties and a breathless expression.

Joel knelt before you, jeans tight and strained at the front but he moved like it wasn't there. Like his own need wasn't driving him mad as his hands cupped the back of your thighs.

His eyes weren't warm coffee but a dark night as he kept his eyes on you, tongue darting out to lick a strip over your panties.

He hummed. "You're wet. You're so wet. Been needing me? Been needing attention?"

"Ye-yes," you gasp, eyes closing.

"God what a pretty sight, coulda had this, honey," said Joel. His finger followed the path his tongue created. He prodded your panties, watching the material dampen under his touch. Joel pushed it and watched your pussy take it.

"Joel!" your hands flayed, unsure were to put them.

Joel kissed over your bundle of nerves hidden from him once more. "Can you take them down for me? Please?"

You nodded and realised he'd asked you to do something.

Quickly, you slid them down your legs, exposing yourself without a second thought while Joel tore his shirt off.

Before you could throw them with the rest of your discarded clothes but Joel was quick to take them from you.

The material bunched in his fist first before he brought it up to his face. You watched in wonder, noting the quick rise and fall of your own chest, as Joel's tongue darted out and got a taste of you on your panties.

It was obscene and almost had you kneeling over.

Joel's gaze flickered back up to you, dropping your panties when he noticed your pussy weeping. His hands pulled at your thighs, groping the skin until he had you spread on his stairs. "Gonna eat you out now, ok, honey? Gonna have you trembling. Need you on my face, all over me... fuck."

Joel went in like a man starved. He practically sat himself under you legs, holding your thighs apart and spreading you open.

Your moan beat in your own ears as you braced yourself on the wall and banister.

His tongue was sloppy as he went up and down your folds, gathering your juice and swallowing it. He moaned into your pussy.

"Gonna-" he kissed over your folds, wet. "Eat you up, yeah?" he was talking to himself, or your pussy.

The pleasure was all yours as it escalated up your body, leaving you in moans and pathetic whines.

Joel took no notice of anything else but his face in between your legs. "Eat you out till you forget your name. Till you only know pleasure and want," his tongue flattened against you and slurped, drinking everything you had for him. He whined into you, lost in need. "Fuck, baby, this so good."

Your breathing was un-stable, loud. "Joel, you're-you're-"

One of his hands fell to his crotch, squeezing the thick indent of himself. "Don't try and speak baby, know you can't. Just feel. Just feel me and cum when you want. Want you to cum on my face, all over me. Know you can... Want..." his voice was lost in moans and making out with your core.

If he went anywhere to your nerves... If he so much as looked at your clit you feared you might make his wishes come true.

Like he knew your thoughts, Joel's large palm sprawled out on your sternum, thumb circling your clit as his tongue fucked up, dipping in and out of your juice.

"Joel- Joel!" you yelled, gripping the banister like it was the only thing tying you to the earth.

Joel groaned, thumb applying pressure. He knew every part of you already, knew buttons to press to get you a squirming mess. "Come, god baby, please come all over my mouth. Let me... need it," he begged.

He pushed his face flush into you, nose nudging your clit even more as he moaned into you.

You were screaming out as you finished, thighs shaking so hard Joel had to hold them as he took what you gave him, all of it, licking up the mess and cleaning your thighs only to smear more of it over his face.

"So good..."

"Baby, your pussy the best thing I ever had..."

"Feel good, honey, I feel so good. So damn happy right now..."

He was still talking to himself by the time your eyes had opened.

You found his hand down his own trousers, the tip of his cock flush and pink and weeping. You leaned over him, desperate for your own touch.

"No, baby, no." Joel grabbed your wrist and stirred your wanting fingers into his mouth.

He sucked on them (just how you wanted to on his cock) he took them like it was his own favourite treat. He was still moaning, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat he'd created from his own need.

"Wanna.... want your cock, Joel," you whined.

Joel looked up to you, taking your fingers from his mouth with a trail of saliva. "I know baby, he wants you too. God, does he want your mouth."

Joel got to his feet, tugging your still shaking body into his. He kissed you, open-mouthed, tongue licking in. "But I wanna take care of you more than anythin'."

It took a while to get to his room. He carried you up, had your body on his and he couldn't have his lips without yours for more than a second before he was chasing after you for more.

It was like being a teen all over again. It was like tasting the first forbidden fruit, it was like a drug that you never wanted to quit.

It was enough to kill you, but have you living in bliss.

Joel flicked his light on in his room and closed the door behind him. "Gonna fuck you now, ok baby?"

His hand cupped your cheek, coaxing you to look at him.

You nodded, head brushing his.

"I'll be gentle, I will, but I need you open, I need you ready," he kissed you. "Need to fuck you into my bed. Want your body indented there. Want to smell you on my sheets for weeks in case."

In case he never got it again.

You cupped his cheek, fingers ablaze from the feel of stubble. You implored him to look at you. "Won't be the last time."

"No?" his eyes lit up like a boy on Christmas.

Your tongue darted out, flicking his lips. "Gonna need you, always."

"Always," Joel repeated.

While distracted, you slid to your knees, dropping down with a thud.

You didn't even bother freeing Joel from his trousers and boxers, you just wet him over it with your mouth. You dragged it up, tasting the denim but feeling the twitch of satisfaction he gave you.

Joel groaned, hands hovering in the air around you as you made quick work. "Baby, no, what did I... fuck... what did I say?"

You moan against the denim, hand on his thigh to steady yourself. "But want you, Joel, want to feel you."

"Arg- you will baby," he grunted, jaw clenching. "Go on then, play a bit."

You smiled and pulled down his jeans and boxers in one. His cock sprang out, beads of pre-cum already trailing down.

He had length but it was the thickness that had you swallowing. The veins that had you reaching out with spit on your hand to work him up and down.

You tried to go slow, you really did, quickly you picked up the pace as Joel moaned.

You kissed his tip and then around it before your tongue licked around him, collecting his pre-cum and savouring the taste. It was so him.

"Oh baby, enough to bring a man to his knees."

You sensed you didn't have much time, darting your head low to engulf his balls in your mouth- or at least one of them. It was heavy on your tongue, warm with him.

As suspected, Joel groaned loudly before dragging you up.

He tossed you down on the bed, stepping out of his pants.

You expected to feel his cock trace your entrance, to be prepared for the burning and passion inside of you.

Joel had gone in with his tongue again fist. He really was on his knees, holding your thighs open and licking up and down, getting your taste again like he'd forgotten it in the time it took to get to his room.

Your hand flew to his hair, tugging at the roots. "Joel!"

"Whatever you want, baby," he mumbled, kissing at your thigh.

"Fuck me! Fuck me, please!"

His tongue left you alone and you felt the bed dip as he crawled over you. Your legs fell flat and wide, accommodating him. He hovered over you enough so you wouldn't feel him. "You want it?"

"I do," your eyes stung, you were close enough to tears.

"Want all of me splitting you open?" he asked, "once you have me baby, that's it. You can't have anyone else."

"Don't want anyone else, just please."

Joel tested himself on top of you, head in the crook of your neck, nipping and licking. "Gonna fill you up, make you feel.... so good!" He broke off in a groan as he led his cock into you. "Shit! You're so ... so tight."

Your nails dug into his shoulder blades as he slowly inched himself in more and more. "Joel..."

He brushed your hair out the way, still over you. "This ok? You feelin' me? Feelin' all of me."

Your eyes screwed shut at the initial burn but your own need pulsed and had you begging for more.

"Don't wanna hurt you, my pretty girl," he mumbled.

You shook your head. "Won't. Just move!"

Joel could never say no to you.

His hips rocked slowly, until all of him was sunk in. He was still a moment longer, panting above you.

"Joel, move, please," you begged, holding onto him.

"Baby if I move now i'm coming inside of you and i'm spent," he chuckled. "Trying to make it good. Trying to make it last."

There was earnest in his voice. A true desire that went beyond touching, that went beyond proving he could love you and take care of you.

He wanted you. All of you. Forever.

Your hand cupped him, thumb tracing over his bottom lip as his eyes opened to yours. "It's perfect."

Neither of you blinked. Neither of you dared look away to where he slowly sank in and out of you. You looked at each others eyes, watched every wince and flicker of pleasure. Watched the darkest of desires and the purest of desires flicker with every twitch and move of him.

It grew to more.

Joel's hands went from your neck to your hips to rock you into him, to guide each thrust. Every time he slowly left you he entered you with force, needing to stabilise you.

He wasn't just talking when he said he'd fuck you into the bed.

Soon enough he was bottoming out in you with every thrust and you could only hear the slapping of skin and the words tumbling out his mouth.

"Made for me. My god, where you made for me..."

"Pussy feels just as good as it tastes... can't believe it...."

"Gonna finish inside of you, and you're gonna finish on my cock. This is it. It's us now, ain't nobody ever takin you from me..."

"Yours," you moan, nails scratching down his skin. "Oh, i'm all yours."

"Prove it to me," he all but growled as his thrusts became quick and hard. "Come on my cock and show him how good it feels. He needs it, he wants it. Needs.... wants..."

"Joel I- mmh- want you to come."

"So kind baby," he chuckled. "But I will, god will I. But only once you've come. My cock needs it now, baby, now!"

You didn't think it could get better, that his thrusts could get harder and stir you into a craze but he proved you wrong.

As you mouth hung open in a moan, Joel held your jaw open and had his fingers in there, gathering your saliva before he moved those fingers down your body and onto your clit.

The deftness of his fingers and the quick thrusts had you finishing and pulsing on his cock, screaming his name until the whole damn street could hear.

Your walls were wet, your pussy clenching around Joel until his hips were stuttering with his groans.

"Oh i'm gonna cum.... oh, i'm gonna... fuck- fuck!" his words trailed away into groans from hell as he hit one last thrust, balls against you.

You were still riding your high when you felt his warmth inside you, marking you, becoming you. Both of you climaxed and moaned, every twitch and touch sending trembles through you.

Every little pulse had more of Joel spluttering inside of you until he had nothing left.

He fell on top of you, cock twitching. He kissed your skin, licked away the sweat rolling down your temples until he could find it to move out of you.

Joel rolled onto his side, pulling the covers over you as you both caught your breath.

Once you had enough air in your lungs, you turned to Joel. He was already scanning you like he was ready for round two.

"Thank you," you didn't know why you said it. All you knew was you'd never felt so cared and loved before.

Joel smiled. "You're so welcome, baby. But don't think i'm done takin care of you yet."

2K notes · View notes

dakusan · 28 days ago

Text

S h u t U p a n d S i t S t i l l

Tattoo Artist!Kim Seungmin x Reader | He tattoos like a surgeon and fucks like a sadist. You showed up for ink. He gave you obsession.

🔞synopsis: Tattoo Artist AU. you walked into NO SAINT INK for a rib tattoo—left with trembling thighs, his hoodie around your neck, and a cock you can't stop dreaming about. Seungmin is quiet, sharp-tongued, and mean in the best ways: he bends you over the bench, fucks you until you cry, then wipes you down and feeds you strawberries like you're his favourite masterpiece. It starts with your seventh tattoo. Ends with you moaning his name every night, in his bed, in his hoodie, with his fingers under your panties. This isn’t just art. It’s obsession. And now he’s your boyfriend too—lucky you.

💌a/n: i literally don’t remember who requested tattoo artist seungmin first. either way. you got it. the man who fucks you stupid then wipes you down like he’s cleaning his favourite mug. HE’S HERE. AND HE’S IN LOVE (but would rather die than admit it out loud) 🫶🍓🖤. also? 🔔 THE MINI SERIES ORDER HAS BEEN DECREED 🔔 next up: JEONGIN. after that: ⟡ MINHO ⟡ CHANGBIN ⟡ FELIX and then finally—drumroll, throat clear, studio lights flickering— BANG CHRISTOPHER FUCKING CHAN. the cherry on top. the tattoo daddy. the final boss of soft filth and filthy softness. pray for me. p.s. if you liked it, if you screamed, if your thighs clenched even ONCE—REBLOG IT. LIKE?? yes. COMMENT?? also yes. p.p.s. if i catch you in the notes saying “need him biblically,” “he wiped me down like a canvas,” or “not the strawberries 😭”—just know i love you. violently 💋 p.p.s. see u next Tethered Tuesday with Jeonginnie~

📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Stretch. You are the CEO of your own coochie.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » Charmer — Stray Kids « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:09 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Seoul, South Korea. Tuesday, 3:12 PM.

You push the door open with your hip, bells jingling overhead as warm incense curls toward the ceiling — sandalwood, patchouli, something citrusy beneath it all. It’s always like this at NO SAINT INK. Chill beats humming low, Felix probably somewhere in the back rearranging his piercing tools like he’s Marie Kondo with a needle fetish, and—

“Fuck,” a voice mutters from behind a half-drawn curtain. You grin. Found him.

Kim Seungmin.

The reason you have six tattoos—and the reason you keep coming back for more.

You strut past the front desk like you own the place, setting down your tray of iced americanos and pastries with the confidence of someone deeply annoying. Your seventh session. Four healed pieces, one still peeling, and the newest one inked just last month. And of all the artists here, you keep picking the same one. On purpose.

Seungmin doesn’t look up at first. He’s sketching something at his desk—lined in ruler-straight precision, every pen stroke exact, no wasted ink. Hair slightly tousled. Sleeves rolled. Black gloves already on like he’s been prepping to ruin someone’s day.

He finally lifts his eyes—and groans.

“Why are you here again?”

“Hi to you too, sunshine,” you chirp, sipping your iced coffee with maximum slurp.

“I told Felix to screen your bookings.”

“I bribed him with matcha cake. Also, he says hi.” You swing the drink tray toward him with flair. “Got you your usual. Thought you could use the energy. You looked a little pale last time.”

He stares. “You’re lucky I don’t stab clients.”

“You already do,” you smile sweetly, plopping into the client chair. “It’s called tattooing.”

You met him through Felix, of course—NO SAINT INK’s glittery menace and certified piercing god. You came in on a whim two years ago for a constellation of helix piercings and left with a phone background of Felix’s stupid peace sign and a mouth full of swear words after he showed you Seungmin’s tattoo portfolio. Clean lines. Razor-sharp contrast. Occasional anatomical sketches paired with poetry in tiny, deliberate script.

When you told Felix you wanted something specific for your first tattoo—a geometric wolf across your ribcage—he nodded once and said, “Seungmin’s your guy.”

You’ve hated him ever since.

He’s impossible. Quiet, dry, sarcastic in a way that feels like a dare. Doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t smile. He just tattoos like he’s building something permanent—measured, focused, untouchable. But when you’re the one under his needle? His fingers linger a little too long on your waist. His voice drops when he tells you to hold still. And you—being the insufferable brat you are—live to poke at the ice until it cracks.

Which is why you’re here today. For tattoo number seven.

From him. Again.

“Let me guess,” he says, sipping the coffee despite himself. “Some half-baked Pinterest inspo you expect me to redesign overnight?”

“I’m hurt,” you pout dramatically. “I actually brought a reference this time. Plus, I figured you missed me.”

“I miss peace and quiet.”

“Then why’d you pick a career where girls beg to get pinned under you?”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just says, “Get on the table before I change my mind.”

You smirk. There it is. That little twitch in his jaw. That flick of his tongue against the inside of his cheek when you say something just annoying enough to rattle the cage.

You pull out your sketch. “I want it here,” you say, lifting your shirt to gesture just below your sternum, to the space between your breasts and your ribs. “Delicate linework. Abstract. Your specialty.”

Seungmin stares. Then sighs. “You do realize I’ll have to touch you for placement.”

“Oh no,” you gasp, faux-innocent. “That would be terrible.”

He drops the clipboard with a snap.

“You’re unbearable.”

“You’re obsessed.”

Seungmin mutters something under his breath—probably a curse, probably in two languages—as he snatches your sketch and jerks his head toward the back hallway.

You follow with a smug little skip in your step.

The private rooms at NO SAINT INK are all artist-personalized. Seungmin's? It’s all dark wood, clean steel, framed minimalist pieces, and surgical-grade tidiness.

Cedar diffuses from a sleek black humidifier in the corner. The light is warm-toned and angled perfectly. His iPad sits on a tidy desk, stylus already beside it like it was placed there with a ruler. And on the windowsill—three succulents. Perfectly spaced. You teased him about it once and he deadpan replied, “One for every time you’ve wasted my time.”

He drops your paper sketch on his desk and sits, spinning the iPad toward him with a sigh. “You’ve got five minutes to explain what the hell this is.”

You plop down in the rolling stool beside him, leaning your chin on your hand. “It’s art. Use your imagination.”

He gives you a long, deeply unimpressed look.

“Fine,” you huff. “It’s… inspired by sacred geometry. Like a mandala, but cracked open. Fragmented. I want it to feel like breaking and healing at the same time. Like symmetry trying to reassemble itself.”

Seungmin blinks. Then blinks again.

“…You pulled that out of your ass just now.”

“I did not.”

“Did too.”

“Seungmin.”

He groans and starts sketching.

You watch, quiet now—because this is the part you actually love. The way his fingers move when he draws. Controlled, calculated. Not robotic. Not sterile. There’s warmth there, if you know where to look. And you do.

He sips the coffee you brought like it’s medicine. Then grabs a croissant and bites it with grim resolve, like chewing it too quickly might register as gratitude.

“I still think you bribed Felix with blackmail.”

“He was emotionally weak. I seized the moment.”

“You’re a menace.”

“And you’re drawing me the prettiest trauma-symbol I’ve ever seen, so who really wins here?”

He doesn’t answer. But his pen slows. His strokes get sharper. He’s in his element now. You recognize the shift—the way he leans in closer to the iPad, slightly squints, drags his stylus with deliberate precision.

The design blooms under his hand: a fractured mandala, circular symmetry interrupted by jagged arcs and broken segments. Clean dotwork in the center, a few splashes of abstract floral curls breaking out near the bottom edge. Like order blooming from chaos. Like something whole again.

“You’re disgusting,” you whisper, stunned. “That’s perfect.”

“I know.”

“Arrogant.”

“You begged me for it.”

“I said please once and you moaned like I kicked your dog.”

He flicks his eyes to you, slow. “Say please again.”

You blink.

Then smirk. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

But he’s already reaching for the print button.

“Let’s stencil this,” he says coolly, rising from his chair and heading towards the printer to print the design out. “I’d like to be rid of you before sundown.”

“Careful,” you say, trailing him out of the room. “One day you’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

“Promise?”

“Never.”

While he is busy with the printer, you kick your shoes off and climb onto the bed like it’s yours.

Technically, it’s a client bench. Adjustable, padded, wrapped in fresh black vinyl. But in your mind? It’s a throne. A stage. A perfect little altar for the games you play with Kim Seungmin.

You wiggle into place, tugging your top over your head in one smooth motion. You’re down to your bralette now—delicate black lace with scalloped trim, something clearly chosen on purpose. Not slutty. Not overt. But just enough to see Seungmin’s jaw tighten when he walks back in.

He’s still fiddling with the stencil printer—cutting the sheet, prepping it with solution. Focused. Professional. Cold, as ever.

You lounge, arms folded behind your head, watching him from the bed like you’re sunbathing and he’s just lucky to be in your light.

“You gonna stare the whole time?” he murmurs without looking up.

“Am I bothering you?”

“Always.”

You grin.

Just then—click—the door swings open, and Felix’s voice rings through the room.

“Hey, demon duo—just letting you know I’m locking up soon. Jisung dipped early, and Chan-hyung’s out all day, so it’s just you two in the studio for the rest of the afternoon.” He wiggles his brows. “Try not to kill each other. Or fuck. Or both.”

Seungmin doesn’t look up. “Go away, Felix.”

“Don’t be rude. I brought you into this world.”

“I was here first.”

“Emotionally? Never.” Felix flicks his brows toward you. “Good luck, baby girl. If he’s mean, just call me and I’ll stab his tires.”

You salute him. “Noted. Drive safe.”

With a wink, Felix is gone. The click of the studio door locking behind him feels final. Loud.

Seungmin exhales slowly. Then turns.

You’re still lying there on the bed, head propped, shirt discarded, body sprawled like a damn invitation.

His gaze flickers once. Down. Then away. Then back again, like it physically pains him to give you that much attention.

He lifts the stencil paper, holds it up to the light. “You know this placement is gonna be tricky.”

“Delicate linework on soft skin,” you echo sweetly. “Your specialty.”

He levels you with a look. Flat. Dangerous. Amused.

“…You’re going to be impossible today.”

“I’m always impossible.”

“No,” he says, slipping on gloves with a soft snap, “today it’s worse. Today you want something.”

You blink, feigning wide-eyed innocence. “Me? Never.”

He steps forward, slow and deliberate, stencil sheet in one hand, alcohol wipe in the other.

“Sit up,” he says, voice low. Commanding. “And lift your arms. I need a clean canvas.”

You obey—grinning like a menace—arms up, ribs exposed, breath catching slightly as the cold wipe grazes under the swell of your breast. He’s careful. Professional. Completely murderous about it.

The tension is a wire, pulled tight between you.

He smooths the stencil paper across your skin, presses down, then peels it back slowly, eyes trained on the imprint left behind.

It’s beautiful.

Nestled between your ribs, spanning just above your solar plexus: the fractured mandala blooms in fine linework, cracked yet radiant. His style. His hand. His art.

And now—it’s on you.

Seungmin looks at it for a beat too long.

Then: “Lie back.”

You do.

He adjusts the overhead lamp. Tilts your chin slightly. Brushes a single finger along your sternum, just below the stencil line.

You shiver.

He smirks.

“Try not to squirm this time,” he says. “You’ll fuck up the symmetry.”

Finally, Seungmin moves again. Gloves snap into place—tight, black latex stretched over knuckles and the fine lines of his fingers. You watch him through lowered lashes as he pours ink into the caps—his shade of black. You’ve learned that by now. Not too warm. Not too blue. Just sharp enough to slice through skin and stay.

The hum of the machine starts soft. Like a warning. Like a purr with teeth.

He looks at you once.

Just once.

And you know he’s not going to go easy.

“You good?” he asks, voice flat.

You nod, smug. “You always ask like you care.”

“I do care,” he mutters, tilting your chin again with a gloved hand. “Would be a shame if my art got fucked up because someone couldn’t keep still.”

Your eyes narrow. “Someone?”

He dips the needle, tests the line on a pad, and leans forward—right into your space. His breath ghosts over your lips.

“You.”

You roll your eyes and shift slightly, arms up, chest rising.

“God, you’re such a dick.”

His smirk could slice bone.

“And you’re still here. What does that say about you?”

You go to reply—but the first sting of the needle hits, and the breath punches from your lungs.

“F-fuck—!”

“Oh?” Seungmin says innocently, hand steady as he traces the mandala’s outer ring. “Is it too much already?”

You grit your teeth, exhale through your nose.

“No. Just... colder than I remembered.”

He hums like he doesn’t believe you. Like he knows what you’re really reacting to.

The first lines burn clean and sharp—stretching out beneath your skin, each pass as exact as a scalpel. Seungmin works in slow, confident strokes, one hand guiding your body where he needs it.

His fingers splay across your ribcage for tension. Firm. Possessive. Cruel.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just tattoos. Focused. Controlled.

But then—

“You know,” he murmurs, “most people don’t come back after their first rib piece.”

You hiss, fingers curling into the vinyl under you. “Most people don’t have your charming personality to keep them coming.”

He chuckles. Actually chuckles. Which should be illegal.

“You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” he says.

The needle lifts for a second. He wipes gently with a cloth—soft at first, then firm, dragging over raw skin like he’s making a point.

You arch just slightly into his touch.

“I’m getting off on annoying you,” you counter, breath shaky.

His next line is faster. Harsher. He presses your side firmly, keeping you in place.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, low against your neck. “Then try really hard not to flinch right here.”

You flinch.

He clicks his tongue. “You’re so fucking bad at taking orders.”

“And you’re so—”

The machine stops.

He raises a brow. Wipes again. Slow this time.

“I’m so what?”

You glance down. Past his gloved hand on your ribs. Past the half-finished mandala. Past the slight smear of ink on your sternum.

You swallow.

“…focused.”

He smirks. Dangerous. “Damn right.”

And then he leans in—his next line beginning right where your breath catches worst. Right under your breast. Right on the spot where your heartbeat flutters like it’s begging him to notice.

You think he does.

Because his voice dips—deeper, smugger.

“Still think I missed you?”

You bite your lip.

Lying here. Under his hands. Wrapped in tension and black ink and the sharp, brutal pressure of a boy who tattoos like he’s angry at your skin for hiding itself from him—

You can’t lie.

Not to Seungmin.

“…yeah,” you say quietly.

His eyes flick up when you say it.

Yeah.

One syllable, quiet as breath, but loaded—the way confession always is. He doesn’t reply, not out loud. But the corner of his mouth lifts. Not a smirk. Something more dangerous. Something knowing.

He tilts your body slightly to one side, guiding you into the perfect angle, and you let him. Of course you let him.

“Still breathing okay?” he murmurs, even though he knows damn well what your breathing sounds like right now—shallow, choked, tight.

“Mhm,” you manage.

He presses back down with the needle. His strokes are smoother now, filling in the fractured petals of the mandala. He works just beneath the undercurve of your breast, just along the swell of sensitive skin—close enough to tease, close enough to make you ache.

You twitch. Barely. But enough.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t have to.

Because when he lifts the needle to switch angles, he uses his other hand to press firmly along your waist, holding you in place. His fingers curl just slightly into your side. Possessive. Grounding. A little cruel.

You shudder.

“Still can’t take orders,” he mutters.

You glare. “Still a fucking sadist.”

He hums. “Takes one to keep coming back.”

That earns him a punch to the shoulder—gentle, a flick of your knuckles—but he’s already grinning as he dips the needle again.

Your skin burns.

And still—still—you want him closer.

The ink trails down now, toward the bottom of the design. He’s practically tattooing over your stomach, your diaphragm pulsing with every breath. He’s leaning in lower too—head bent, nose just inches from your sternum. If he angled left, he’d be mouth-to-skin. If you arched just slightly, you’d be brushing right into him.

The tension hums in the air—hot, oppressive, close.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low again. This time it’s not mocking. It’s… loaded.

You nod once. “Are you?”

He glances up.

“Been better,” he mutters. Then, deliberate: “You squirm too much.”

You lift your eyes to his—taunting, daring. “You tattoo too slow.”

That gets you a sharp tap against your side.

“Careful.”

“Make me.”

The machine goes quiet.

You blink.

Seungmin sits back, gaze steady. Gloved fingers still resting against your stomach.

“You always this mouthy when someone’s on top of you?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know.

Your heart stutters.

You open your mouth—then close it.

He watches you for a second longer—until you shift just slightly under his stare. And only then does he lean back in, restart the machine, and murmur:

“Thought so.”

The final line burns sweeter than the rest.

Your breath hitches again—not from the pain, not really. You’ve gotten used to the sting. You chase it now. Crave it. Especially when it’s from him.

Seungmin finishes with a few last passes, the machine humming low and steady, until finally—he stops.

The silence after feels too quiet.

You blink up at the ceiling. It’s over. And suddenly your whole body is aware of how tense it’s been—your spine bowed slightly, your legs tight, your hands fisted in the sheets beneath you like you’ve been trying not to moan the whole time.

(You kind of have.)

He switches the machine off. The room exhales.

You stay lying down for a beat too long.

Then you hear the snap of his gloves being pulled off. The rustle of the rolling stool as he pushes back. The low clink of metal—his tools being set aside, wiped, lined up again with military precision. He always cleans up like he’s scrubbing evidence.

You sit up slowly, your ribs feel warm, raw—but not in a bad way.

He’s already tossed the gloves into the bin and is reaching for the mirror. You swing your legs over the side of the bed, biting your lip as you peek down.

The mandala gleams—inky black and flawless, nestled beneath the swell of your breasts like it belongs there.

Your breath catches.

“…fuck,” you whisper.

Seungmin glances over.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

You shoot him a look. “Cocky much?”

He shrugs, reaching for his disinfectant spray like it’s nothing. “Not my fault I’m better than everyone else.”

You laugh—quiet, low, still slightly winded. “I should stop feeding your ego.”

“You should stop showing up half-naked and asking me to touch you for two hours.”

You freeze.

He doesn’t even blink.

You’re perched on the edge of the bed now, ribcage still bare. And he’s standing barely a foot away, still wiping his tools, still calm—but his jaw is tight again. His fingers grip the disinfectant bottle like he’s trying to decide whether to clean your table or ruin your day.

The air shifts.

Slowly, you stand—stepping forward. His eyes flick downward. Just once. Then he meets your gaze.

“…Seungmin.”

He raises a brow.

You step closer. Bold. A little breathless. “You never said thank you.”

He tilts his head. “For what?”

“The coffee. The pastries. My continued emotional support and aesthetic contribution to your client portfolio.”

He snorts. “Oh, right. How could I forget.”

“You could show some gratitude,” you say, smile growing. “Like, I dunno…”

A beat.

You lean in.

“…a kiss, maybe?”

He stares at you—flat, unreadable.

Then, finally, finally—his hands stop moving. The rag drops from his fingers. His jaw twitches once.

And he says, voice low: “Lay back down first.”

Your breath stops. “W-What—”

“For the aftercare,” he says—completely serious. But his eyes are glinting, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners. “Unless you want it to get infected.”

You huff, but you obey—because of course you do.

You lie back down, ribs lifting with every inhale, the crisp air of the studio brushing across your skin. Seungmin moves slowly—methodical, precise. He reaches for the healing balm and the bandage roll with the same focus he uses when prepping a tattoo needle.

And then—

Then he steps into your space again.

You feel his gaze before his hands. That lingering look, dragging from the ink across your sternum to the fine lace of your bra. To the soft dip between your breasts. You’re not stupid—you know how you look. You know how he’s looking.

But he doesn’t say anything.

Just kneels beside you on the tattoo bed, bracing one arm by your head, and starts applying the balm.

It’s… soft. Softer than it should be.

His gloved fingers glide gently across your skin, cool gel easing the sting of the fresh lines, but what you feel isn’t clinical. It’s heat. A low, blooming throb of something far more dangerous. Especially when his thumb grazes the edge of your bra. Not on purpose, not exactly—but he doesn’t move it away either.

You exhale. Carefully. Slowly.

His voice comes quieter this time, rough around the edges.

“You really wore this just to fuck with me, didn’t you?”

You blink up at him. “Excuse me?”

“This,” he murmurs, brushing the bandage wrapper open, eyes never leaving yours. “The lace. The black. The fact that it’s barely covering anything while I have to touch you like a fucking monk.”

You smirk. “What, don’t like being teased?”

His eyes narrow. “You’re not teasing.”

“No?”

“You’re begging.”

Your stomach flips.

He leans down slightly. Applies the bandage. His fingers skim the top edge of your sternum, then press lightly under your breast to make it stick. You jolt a little—not enough to be a flinch, but just enough for him to notice.

His lips twitch. “Thought so.”

You swallow.

“You could’ve said something,” you murmur.

“I did,” he says. “When I told you to stop showing up half-naked and flirty like I wouldn’t do anything about it.”

“And yet—” you gesture around, breathless, “—you haven’t.”

He finishes pressing the bandage into place. Carefully. Slowly. But his eyes—his eyes are anything but.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says softly.

And then he leans in. Close. Close enough that his breath grazes your cheek, close enough that the heat of his body curls over yours like smoke.

“I’m just not done punishing you yet.”

You barely have time to gasp.

Because his hands are suddenly on your waist, fingers splayed wide, warm. He leans over you, lips brushing your ear as he speaks, voice like smoke curling from a lit match.

“You really think I’d let you keep pushing me forever?” he murmurs, his tone dark velvet, laced with something wicked. “Waltzing in here every time with that mouth—wearing shit like this—knowing damn well I’d eventually snap.”

You can’t speak.

Not with the way his hand is sliding up—up—fingertips skating the edge of your ribcage, the outline of your bra, the warm silk of your skin. Every inch he touches makes your back arch, breath stutter, pulse thunder.

“I—I didn’t—” you start.

“You did.” He cuts you off with a growl of a whisper, lips ghosting just beneath your jaw. “You knew exactly what you were doing. And you knew exactly who you were doing it to.”

His hand finds the clasp of your bra—flicks it once, expertly. Loose. Deliberate.

Lace falls.

You whimper.

He exhales sharply through his nose—his palm sliding up to cup you fully, thumb brushing across a nipple already sensitive from all that adrenaline and ink and restraint. The tension coils tighter—like it’s been waiting weeks to snap.

“You’ve been needing this,” he mutters against your skin. “Coming in again and again—acting like a brat. Begging for attention. Flashing me those looks like I wouldn’t fuck you into the goddamn wall the second I got the chance.”

A pause.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, mouthing down your throat, sucking once—hard. “You wanna be my canvas off-hours too?”

You nod. Frantic. Breathless. Your fingers clutch at the hem of his shirt, tugging, anchoring, pleading.

“Say it.”

“I wanted you,” you pant. “I want you. I’ve always—fuck—Seungmin—”

He snarls.

And that’s it.

His mouth finds your breast with zero pretense, tongue hot and teeth grazing—biting, not cruel, but enough to leave a mark. His other hand slides down, past your waistband, finding the thin lace of your underwear—

Already soaked.

You feel him smirk against your skin.

“Such a fucking mess,” he growls. “You come from the needle or from me?”

You writhe.

“Seungmin—”

“Yeah?” His fingers slip beneath the lace. “Lie to me again. See what happens.”

And then—

Then he presses in. Two fingers, all at once, knowing exactly where and how to touch you. Because he’s studied you. Memorized you. Sketched you in his mind over six tattoos and hours of tension, and now he finally gets to wreck you.

His fingers curl.

You break.

Your head falls back. Your thighs tremble. He’s still got one arm braced next to your head, and the other is fucking you open while his mouth maps every inch of your chest like it’s sacred.

“You’re mine now,” he mutters into your skin. “You wanted this? You earned this. So take it.”

You moan—high, wrecked, nearly slurred. His fingers don’t relent. Curling deep. Unforgiving. He’s fucking you with them like he’s trying to carve his name inside you, and maybe he is.

But just when it starts to crest—when you feel it, the rush, the crash, the electric burn starting in your spine—

He stops.

You jolt. “No—!”

He pulls out slow. Cruel. Slick fingers dragging free. You clench around nothing, hips chasing him, tears prickling your lashes.

He tsks.

“Thought you were smarter than that.”

You blink, dazed. “Wh-What—?”

“You think you get to cum already?” He leans down, lips brushing your ear again. “After walking in here like that? After tormenting me for months?”

His hand finds your throat—light pressure, just enough to pin you back against the vinyl bed. Your mouth falls open. Instinct.

“I spent hours sketching that design,” he whispers. “Tattooed it on your fucking ribs. You came in here dripping and smug and bratty. And you think you get to finish first?”

You whimper.

He lets go.

“Get on your knees.”

You blink. “W-What?”

“You heard me.”

He stands, undoing his belt in one smooth motion—his eyes never leaving yours. You follow his gaze down, down, as he pushes his jeans low and his boxers lower, cock flushed and leaking and so fucking hard.

You drop to your knees, onto the soft rug in his private studio, beneath the overhead lamp and the echo of the bed creaking behind you.

“Open,” he says tapping the tip of his cock against your pretty lips.

You blink up at him, lips parted, brain still catching up to the command. Seungmin doesn’t flinch, doesn’t repeat himself—he just stares down, eyes half-lidded, cock heavy in his hand, tapping the head once more—twice—against your bottom lip like a test.

You obey.

Mouth open. Knees aching. Head swimming.

"Good," he murmurs, voice like low thunder.

One hand tangles in your hair—possessive—guiding, not forcing. His hips roll forward, slow and controlled, and the first brush of him on your tongue makes you whimper. Your thighs press together instinctively.

Because he tastes like every fantasy you’ve denied yourself. And he’s watching you the whole time—jaw tight, chest rising, his gaze flicking between your mouth and your eyes like he's trying to brand the moment into memory.

“You always run your mouth,” he mutters, stroking your cheek with his thumb as you take him deeper, “but you’re so fucking quiet now, huh?”

You hum around him, tongue flattening, jaw straining, eyes locked on his like it’s the only anchor you have. He groans—quiet, raw, like it slips out before he can stop it.

Your hands steady on his thighs, you suck deeper. Hollow your cheeks. Let him feel everything.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You really—shit—you’re good at this, huh?”

You moan, just to be a brat. The vibration makes him jerk.

His fingers twitch in your hair. The other hand finds the back of your neck, thumb pressed right where your pulse jumps.

“Greedy,” he mutters, breath stuttering as you pull back slow—spit-slick, lips flushed—then take his cock again, deeper this time, choking a little and loving it. “You want all of it, don’t you?”

You blink up at him, teary-eyed and burning, and nod.

And that’s all it takes.

His grip tightens. His hips roll. Controlled at first, almost gentle—but the moment you relax your throat and let him in further, something cracks.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The next thrust punches straight down your throat.

You choke—once, loud and messy—but you don’t pull away.

You don’t dare.

Not when Seungmin’s hand tightens in your hair like a leash. Not when his cock sinks deep, hot and throbbing and slick with your spit. Not when his groan scrapes straight from his chest, raw and filthy, as he watches your throat swallow around him.

“Fuck—” he snarls, voice strained. “You were made for this. Look at you.”

You try—your eyes flicking up through the blur of tears, spit dripping from your lips, mascara smudged beneath your lashes. You can barely see, but you feel everything—his fingers curled at the base of your skull, his cock throbbing on your tongue, the harsh stretch of your jaw.

“You’re a fucking mess,” he pants. “Spit everywhere—shit—drooling on me.”

You are—slick and soaked, saliva trailing from the corners of your mouth to your chin, coating his cock in glistening sheen. You gag again when he presses deeper, but he doesn’t let up.

“Take it,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “Take it. You fucking wanted this.”

He rolls his hips again—harder this time. Meaner. The tip of his cock bruises the back of your throat, and you sob around it, spit bubbling at the seams.

Seungmin hisses. “Yeah. That’s it.”

His hand tilts your head—just slightly—enough for him to watch you from above. “Look at you. Fucking crying for it.”

You blink up, lashes clumped and wet, mouth stretched open and obscene.

“Don’t stop,” he growls. “Wanna see you ruined.”

He fucks into your mouth like it’s a punishment. Like every gag, every wet choke is a penance you owe for teasing him for months. For bratty texts. For lace bralettes and stolen glances. For every look that said take me without saying a word.

Your throat tightens—and he moans.

“God—your throat—shit, I can feel it. Fucking clenching like your pussy would.”

You twitch.

He laughs—low and cruel. “What, you liked that? Want me to fuck both ends until you can’t walk or talk?”

You whimper around him. Loud.

Precum spills onto your tongue—hot and bitter—and he curses. Your hands claw at his hips, digging for purchase as he starts to lose it—thrusts jerking harder, messier. Your throat is raw, face soaked, and still—still—you stay open for him.

His voice shatters through your haze, ragged and mean.

“You look fucking perfect like this. Broken. Beautiful. Mine.”

One more thrust. Deep. Sharp.

You gag—again. Loud.

And Seungmin snaps. He jerks back suddenly—his cock pulling free with a slick pop, strings of spit connecting you still. You gasp—cough—spit dripping from your tongue.

“Open wider,” Seungmin rasps.

You do. Tongue out. Strings of drool glistening in the studio light. He grabs his cock—slick, flushed, twitching—and strokes once, twice—then spits. Right into your mouth. Then again. Then again.

You moan. Loud. Shameless.

“Filthy little thing,” he pants. “Look at you. Covered in spit and tears and fucking loving it.”

You nod. Once. Hard.

He leans down, cupping your jaw—thumb swiping through the mess on your chin, dragging it across your lips like warpaint. Seungmin's eyes watch you for a beat longer until he finally helps you up onto your feet.

You gasp, legs wobbling, mouth still slick and open as he turns you around and places a hand between your shoulder blades, coaxing you down on the bench.

“Hands flat,” he orders.

You obey.

He kicks your legs apart with his knee—rough. You gasp. Then moan, throat raw and spit-slick, head swimming from the sudden repositioning. His hands working quick, pulling down your pants and panties in one go. Seungmin hums in satisfaction at the sight of your wet cunt dripping. Fucking dripping.

“Better,” he mutters. “Stay like that.”

You squirm—but not far. Not really. Just enough to test him.

He growls.

And then—CRACK.

His hand lands sharp across your ass, a loud sting that echoes through the studio like an accusation.

You cry out.

“Still a brat,” he mutters. “Still fucking pushing me.”

His hands drag down—gripping your hips, pulling your ass back against him like he’s lining up a weapon.

“You think I won’t fuck you right here? Bent over the same bench I tattooed you on?” he says low, cruel. “You think I won’t use you just like this—all messy, full of spit, dripping down your thighs like a fucking reward?”

You whimper. “Then do it.”

A beat.

And then—he does.

He thrusts in all at once—deep, unforgiving, stretching you full in a single brutal push that knocks the air clean from your lungs. The bench creaks. Your nails scrape against the vinyl. You’re already soaked, still fluttering from his fingers.

Now you’re split open around him.

“Fuck—” he hisses. “Tight little thing—gripping me like you were made for this.”

You were. You want to scream it. But all that comes out is a cracked moan, spine arching as he pulls back—

Then slams in again.

Hard.

Rhythmic.

Cruel.

The bench jerks with every thrust. His hips slap into your ass, cock punching deep and devastating with every motion. The angle hits something brutal—low, mean, a spot that makes your vision spark.

“Louder,” he growls. “Wanna hear you.”

You whine—broken, gasping, drooling against the bench.

He leans over you now—chest to your back, breath in your ear, one hand fisted in your hair while the other snakes under your stomach to lift your hips just right.

His cock drags so deep, your thighs shake from the pressure, and the stretch is perfect—like he’s carving himself into you on purpose.

“This pussy’s been waiting for me,” he mutters, voice guttural. “So fucking wet—so ready to be used.”

You cry out as he pounds harder—faster—gripping your hips with both hands now, dragging you back onto his cock with every brutal snap of his waist.

“You hear that?” he pants.

Slap slap slap. Wet. Filthy. Perfect.

“That’s you,” he growls. “Fucking dripping down my cock—making a mess all over my bench like a desperate little toy.”

You moan—loud. The vinyl squeaks beneath you. Your toes curl, your back arches—and you know it’s close. That heat low in your stomach coiling tight.

“Wanna cum?” he grunts, snapping his hips even harder. “Gonna let me make you cum on my cock this time?”

You nod frantically. “Please—please, Seungmin—”

“Beg properly.”

“I need it—I need you—I’m gonna—fuck—please—!”

He slams in one final time—

And you break.

You cum hard—clenching around him, gasping his name like a prayer, back bowed and thighs trembling, your body nothing but nerve endings and his. It hits like lightning—violent, hot, devastating.

Seungmin moans through his teeth.

“God—fuck—you feel so good when you cum—” he grits, voice cracking with restraint. “So tight, so—shit—don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop squeezing me like that—”

He doesn’t slow. Not even a little. Seungmin just keeps going—thrusts deeper, harder, dragging your spent cunt right through the sensitivity like he wants to fuck you into a second orgasm.

You whine. Loud. High-pitched. Borderline sobbing.

“Too much—” you gasp, but your body says otherwise—clenching, fluttering, soaking him.

He groans, hips snapping into you again.

“I know,” he pants, voice wrecked. “I know it’s too much—but you’re taking it anyway, aren’t you?”

You nod. Shaking. Barely holding yourself upright over the bench as his cock slams into your soaked pussy again, again, again.

“You look so fucking wrecked,” he snarls. “Bent over this bench, fucked-out and dripping—mine.”

“Yours,” you echo—half-breath, half-moan. “Yours, Seungmin, fuck—!”

And that—

That does it.

He growls, deep in his chest, and thrusts one final time, burying himself to the fucking hilt—and you feel it.

His cock jerks once. Twice. Then—heat. Hot, thick, flooding you.

Seungmin’s cum spills inside you in brutal waves, pulse after pulse, spilling past your already-fucked entrance, dripping down your thighs with every twitch of his hips.

He groans—loud, broken—grinding in deeper as his release coats your insides.

You both stay like that for a beat.

Panting. Shaking. Silent except for the slow drip of your combined mess hitting the studio floor. His hands are still on your hips, fingers bruising, cock still buried deep inside you like he can’t bear to pull out just yet.

Finally—

“…fuck,” he mutters. “Look what you do to me.”

You whimper. “You started it.”

He smirks. Breathless. Still inside you.

“You came first,” he says, voice hoarse. “That makes it your fault.”

You roll your eyes. Weakly. Legs trembling.

But when he finally pulls out—slow, careful—you both groan at the mess. His cum leaks from you instantly, hot and obscene, slicking down your thighs in thick globs.

Seungmin watches. Just watches. Then hums.

“Pretty,” he says quietly. “All ruined. Just like I wanted.”

You’re bent over the ink bench, gasping. Barely conscious of your own limbs. There’s cum dripping down your thighs, breath fogging the vinyl, your body throbbing in time with your pulse.

And behind you—

Seungmin exhales. Low. Spent. Quiet.

Then: zip.

The sound of his jeans being pulled back up, the belt loosely fastened with one hand as the other brushes through his hair. You hear it—the shift. The snap back to reality. To composure. To Seungmin-afterglow, where all that bite turns to balm.

You expect him to vanish, to go grab wipes or complain about the mess—

Instead, you feel his hands. Gentle. Soft on your waist. Carefully guiding.

He straightens you. Not rough. Not impatient. Just… careful. Like you’re something fragile now.

You blink as he eases you to sit on the edge of the bench again, his hands steady on your hips until your legs stop shaking.

“Still with me?” he murmurs.

You nod. Slowly. “Barely.”

He huffs a breath of a laugh—tired, wrecked, softer than before.

Then he brushes sweaty strands of hair from your forehead and mutters, “Good girl.”

You melt. Right there. Ruined part two.

He disappears for a moment—only to return with a full box of wipes, a towel, and a silver water bottle you know is his personal one.

“Open,” he says gently, uncapping it and holding it to your lips.

You sip.

He waits. Watches to make sure you don’t choke. Then: another sip. A wipe to your neck. Another for your thighs.

He doesn’t comment on the mess—doesn’t smirk, doesn’t tease. Just… cleans you.

Tender. Focused. A little too quiet.

He wipes the insides of your thighs slowly, scooping up the slick and cum and sweat and ink-tainted heat with barely-there touches. When you flinch, he pauses. When you shiver, he murmurs something under his breath you don’t quite catch—but you feel it. Like a balm.

“You’re doing fine,” he says eventually. “I’m almost done.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

That shuts you up.

Once he’s cleaned every inch of you he marked, he helps dress you up again, pants and panties up but then he grabs his spare hoodie—crumpled on the back of his chair—and slips it over your head with no warning.

It’s oversized. Smells like cedar and ink and him.

He tugs the hood over your messy hair, then pauses to kiss the top of your head.

And that’s what finally ruins you.

Your eyes sting. But you blink fast. No way you’re crying in this hoodie.

“…Seungmin?”

He hums.

“You okay?”

His gaze lifts to yours. Tired. Sweet. Still a little dazed. Another soft hum in response. And then he's back in motion. Efficient again. Packing up the mess, tossing used wipes, wiping down the vinyl. He moves like he needs something to do with his hands or he’ll grab you again.

Once the bench is clean, he turns to you—really turns.

And in a voice way too soft for someone who just fucked the breath out of you against workplace furniture: “Wanna come back to mine?”

You laugh—hoarse, soft, still ruined. “Like this?”

He smirks. “I have more hoodies.”

You blink up at him.

“…And strawberries?”

He smiles.

"And strawberries."

You end up at his place that night. Still wearing his hoodie. Still barely walking.

He gives you a fresh towel and the softest pair of sweatpants he owns, sets you in the bathtub like you’re made of porcelain, and kneels beside it the whole time—washing your hair with slow fingers and kissing your shoulder between rinses.

You eat strawberries straight from the bowl while wrapped in his towel. He lets you finish the last bite before tugging you onto his lap and kissing you breathless all over again.

No sex that night. Not because he doesn’t want to—But because he already has you.

And maybe, he just wants to hold what he’s wrecked.

He lets you fall asleep on his chest. Hoodie, thigh over his lap, lips parted against his collarbone. He doesn’t sleep. Just watches. Fingers curled around your wrist like a habit he never wants to break.

And the next morning? He wakes you up with coffee. And a second round (Messier than before.).

And ever since that day? You just… kept coming back. Not for tattoos, though that’s still a bonus. No—now you show up for him. Your boyfriend. Your soft-spoken menace. Your chaos control. Your personal ink-stained sadist.

You still strut into NO SAINT INK like you own it—drink tray in hand, smug little smirk on your face, eyes locked on the back room like a predator in love.

You still flirt just to watch him clench his jaw. Still wear lace under oversized hoodies and whisper “miss me?” every time you lean against his worktable.

He still rolls his eyes and mutters “unbearable” without looking up.

But when the clock hits closing time?

And everyone is gone. The lights dim. The blinds are drawn. The door locks with a click.

Seungmin doesn’t pretend.

He pulls you into the back with one hand around your neck and the other already working at your zipper. He lays you across the vinyl like it’s a fucking altar. And he fucks you like he’s trying to tattoo his name inside your soul.

You moan like you were made for it.

And when it’s over—when you’re sore and sticky and boneless all over again—

He picks you up. Wipes you down. And kisses your forehead like you hung the moon. A ritual really. Because from annoying menace client, you are now his favourite annoying menace girlfriend.

Who still pisses him off about random designs and bullies him into doing them. And he still ends up doing them for you, except they are ten times better and equipped with all the loving bullying just for you.

Just for his favourite menace girlfriend.

#stray kids #skz #skz x reader #skz smut #kim seungmin #seungmin x reader #seungmin smut #승민

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jupiterpilgrim · 2 months ago

Text

Heaven for Three

Yujin x Rei x male reader

word count: 20K

Okay, so here you are: standing in the middle of Yujin’s apartment, your heart is doing a weird drum solo against your ribs, a frantic beat mixing anticipation and a touch of nervous energy. It’s been almost two fucking months. Sixty-three days, if you’re counting, and yeah, you’ve counted every single one. Sixty-three days of shitty time zones, glitchy video calls that froze her face mid-laugh or mid-sentence, and texts that always felt like they were missing something vital, like her touch, her scent, the specific way her eyes crinkle when she’s genuinely amused. You glance at the small, ridiculously expensive cake sitting on her clean kitchen counter, next to a little pile of carefully chosen ‘welcome back’ trinkets, nothing major, just stupid inside-joke things you knew would make her smile.

A Hello Kitty keychain because you know she's obsessed with, some ridiculously flavored snacks she can only get overseas, a framed silly picture of you two from before she left, pulling faces at the camera. It feels both inadequate and excessive after so long apart. You check your phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. Her flight landed an hour ago. Traffic from Incheon can be a bitch, but she should be getting close. The lie you told her: "babe, I'm so sorry, work is chaos, I don't think I can get away until super late, maybe not even tonight", sits heavy in your gut, but the thought of the surprise wipes away the guilt. You wanted this moment, needed it, after weeks of feeling like a background character in her whirlwind life. You needed to see her face when she realized you were here... that you hadn't let the distance win.

You wander into her living room, running a hand over the back of her sofa, picturing her curled up there. God, you miss her. Not just the big moments, but the mundane shit too, arguing over what movie to watch, stealing bites of her food, the way she hums off-key when she’s cooking. The tour looked amazing, professionally, you know it was huge for her and the group, you saw the clips, the screaming crowds, the flashy stages. You were proud, genuinely. But fuck, it was hard. Every picture she posted with her members, every interview where she talked about how much fun she was having, felt like a tiny pinprick to your lonely heart, even though you knew it was irrational. You shake your head, trying to banish the insecurity.

That’s why you planned the other surprise.

One you know she'll love.

A whole week, just the two of you, cocooned away from the world in that ridiculously luxurious mountain cabin you somehow managed to book. Heated floors, private chef service if you wanted it (but you chose absolute privacy), panoramic views, and the pièce de résistance—that outdoor hot spring overlooking a snowy landscape. You grin, imagining her reaction to that. She’s going to lose her mind. You just need her to walk through the door first.

Then, you hear it. The unmistakable sound of a key scraping against the lock. Your breath hitches. Showtime. You quickly duck behind the edge of the doorway leading to the kitchen, heart pounding like crazy now. The door swings open, and you hear the clatter of a suitcase being dropped, followed by a heavy, exhausted sigh that seems to carry the weight of the entire continent she just traversed.

"Finally," Yujin mutters.

You hear her kick off her shoes, the soft thud against the floorboards echoing in the quiet apartment. She’s probably expecting to collapse onto her couch, maybe order takeout, and face the mountain of unpacking tomorrow. She definitely isn't expecting you. You hold your breath, listening to her footsteps padding further into the apartment. She rounds the corner into the living area, probably heading for the light switch, and freezes. You step out from your hiding spot, a slightly shaky grin plastered on your face.

"Surprise?"

Her eyes, wide and shadowed with tiredness beneath the brim of the baseball cap pulled low on her forehead, take a second to register you. First, confusion flickers across her face, then a flash of alarm—maybe thinking you were an intruder—before recognition dawns. Her jaw literally drops. "What the… you… how?" she stammers. The exhaustion mask cracks, replaced by pure, unadulterated shock. And then, it melts away into something else entirely, something raw and overwhelming. Her eyes well up instantly, shimmering under the dim hallway light. "You said… you couldn't…" she chokes out, taking a hesitant step towards you, then another, faster one. Before you can even reply, she closes the distance, launching herself at you with a force that nearly knocks you backward.

Her arms wrap around your neck like she’s drowning and you’re the only life raft, burying her face against your shoulder. You stagger back a step, wrapping your arms tightly around her waist, pulling her flush against you, finally feeling her solid warmth after weeks of holding pixels and air. Her scent, that familiar mix of travel staleness and her underlying sweetness, floods your senses, more intoxicating than any perfume. She’s trembling, or maybe you both are, clinging to each other desperately.

"Fuck, I missed you," she sobs into your jacket. "I missed you so much."

You just hold her tighter, burying your face in her hair, murmuring, "Me too, baby. God, me too," over and over again, unable to form more coherent words. The sheer relief of having her back in your arms is dizzying, eclipsing everything else.

After what feels like an eternity, she finally pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. Her face is tear-streaked, her cap askew, her eyes red-rimmed but shining with a fierce, desperate joy. Her hands come up to cup your face, thumbs tracing your cheekbones as if verifying you're real. "You're really here," she whispers, a watery smile breaking through. "You lied to me." There’s no heat in it, only wonder.

"Best lie I ever told," you manage.

You lean down and finally kiss her, a collision of longing and relief. It’s not gentle; it’s desperate, hungry, a reclaiming. Her lips are soft and instantly responsive, kissing you back with an equal measure of pent-up need. It’s messy and frantic, tongues tangling, hands clutching, trying to bridge the gap of the last two months in a single moment. It tastes like her, like exhaustion, like the faint saltiness of her tears, and it’s the best fucking thing you’ve tasted in sixty-three days.

You pull apart, both breathless, foreheads resting against each other. "Happy welcome home," you whisper against her lips. She lets out a shaky laugh, a sound that makes your heart clench. "This is… way better than takeout." She finally seems to register her surroundings, her gaze flicking past you to the cake and gifts on the counter. "And you brought cake?" A real smile, wide and bright, finally lights up her tired face. "Of course. And some other stupid stuff." You gently disentangle yourself, keeping one hand linked with hers, and lead her towards the kitchen. She picks up the ridiculous keychain, her laugh louder this time. "You remembered!" She hugs it to her chest like it's treasure before eagerly tearing into the snacks. You watch her, contentment washing over you. Seeing her here, safe, happy, touching the silly gifts you brought… It feels like clicking back into place.

She’s halfway through a weirdly flavored chip, eyes drooping slightly as the adrenaline rush starts to fade, replaced by the bone-deep weariness of international travel. "Okay," she says, rubbing her eyes. "As much as I want to just stand here and kiss you senseless until tomorrow, I think I might actually pass out vertically." She manages a tired grin. "Bed?" You shake your head, reaching out to take the chip bag from her hand, a playful glint in your eye. "Not just yet. I have one more surprise." Her eyebrows shoot up, curiosity momentarily chasing away the fatigue. "Another one? What could possibly top you ambushing me in my own apartment?" You grab your phone, pulling up the booking confirmation for the mountain house, complete with pictures of the stunning interior, the snow-dusted peaks outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the steaming outdoor hot spring.

You turn the screen towards her. "How about a week of this? Starting tomorrow. Just you and me. No schedules, no managers, no interruptions. Our own private little world." Her eyes scan the screen, widening progressively with each photo she swipes through. The chip bag slips completely from her other hand, scattering onto the floor unnoticed. Then she looks up at you, eyes blazing with an incandescent mixture of disbelief and pure, unadulterated joy that completely obliterates any lingering trace of tiredness. "Are you serious?" she breathes. "A whole week? There?" You nod, unable to stop grinning. "Booked and paid for. Pack your warmest clothes... and maybe not much else." That last part gets you the reaction you were hoping for. She lets out an earsplitting shriek of pure happiness, jumping up and down on the spot before throwing her arms around your neck again, kissing you wildly all over your face—cheeks, nose, forehead, lips.

"Oh my god! Oh my GOD! You absolute lunatic! I fucking love you!" she laughs breathlessly against your skin. "A hot spring? Seriously? Outside? In the snow?" The tiredness is completely gone. She pulls back, grabbing your hands, her eyes dancing. "Wait, we leave tomorrow? What time? I need to pack! What should I bring? Is there snow right now? Can we go sledding? Oh my god, just us for a week…" The questions tumble out of her, fast and excited, her mind already racing ahead to the mountains, to the seclusion, to the uninterrupted time with you. The strain of the past two months, the worry, the distance, it all seems to evaporate in the face of this grand gesture, this promise of reconnection. She squeezes your hands, her face radiating pure, unadulterated bliss. The apartment, the unpacking, the jet lag are all forgotten, replaced by the dazzling prospect of the week ahead.

—

The next morning dawns bright and ridiculously early, not that either of you got much sleep. Packing is a blur of excited energy and low-key chaos. Yujin, despite her professed exhaustion just hours before, is practically bouncing off the walls, flitting between her closet and her suitcases like a hummingbird on espresso. You try to inject some calm organization, making sure essentials like chargers, toiletries, and the really warm coats make it in, while she debates the merits of bringing five different oversized hoodies versus six. "They're for comfort," she insists, holding up two nearly identical grey ones. "Crucial for optimal relaxation!" You just laugh, shaking your head and adding her favorite fuzzy socks to the pile.

Loading the car feels like a victory, the city streets gradually giving way to highways, then winding country roads. The further you drive from Seoul, the more the tension seems to drain from Yujin’s shoulders, replaced by a palpable sense of freedom. She’s got her feet up on the dashboard, a habit you usually nag her about, but not today, scrolling through playlists, and chattering away. She tells you about the last few gigs, the roar of the crowd in Manila, the weird hotel food in Jakarta, the sheer relief when they nailed that difficult choreography transition during the final encore in Bangkok. She doesn’t dwell on the negatives, but you can read between the lines; the gruelling schedule, the lack of sleep, the constant pressure...

"Honestly," she sighs, leaning her head back against the seat, eyes closed for a moment, "by the end, I was just running on fumes and caffeine. Seeing the fans is amazing, always, but… fuck, I needed this. Needed you."

She reaches over, her hand finding yours on the center console, fingers intertwining tightly. "I just want to... melt. No schedules, no makeup unless I feel like it, just… exist. With you." Her thumb strokes the back of your hand, sending little shivers up your arm despite the car's heating blasting. You squeeze her fingers, bringing her hand up to kiss her knuckles.

"Melting is the primary objective for the week, Captain."

She grins, her eyes sparkling. "Aye aye."

The landscape transforms dramatically as you climb higher, tarmac roads turning into gravel tracks, the air growing crisp and smelling faintly of pine. Eventually, the road becomes impassable for the car. "End of the line," you announce, pulling into a small, designated clearing barely big enough for one vehicle. "Time for phase two." You both bundle up in layers; thermal wear, thick sweaters, insulated jackets, hats, gloves. The air bites at your exposed cheeks the moment you step out of the car's warmth. It’s invigorating. You haul your backpacks and duffels from the trunk, the silence profound, broken only by the wind whispering through the tall trees and the distant chirping of unseen birds. The path forward is marked but looks barely used, winding uphill through dense woods dusted with a layer of yesterday’s snow that crunches satisfyingly under your boots.

It's not a hardcore trek, but it's enough to get your blood pumping and reinforce the delicious feeling of isolation. Yujin, surprisingly energetic, takes the lead, every so often, she stops, pulling out her phone to snap pictures of frost-covered branches or panoramic valley views glimpsed through breaks in the trees. "Okay, this is already insane," she breathes, her breath misting in the cold air, turning back to grin at you. "Worth the hike." You nod, catching up to her, stealing a quick, cold-nosed kiss. "Told you."

After maybe thirty minutes of steady climbing, the trees thin out, and you see it. Nestled on a slight plateau, overlooking a breathtaking expanse of rolling hills and snow-capped peaks, is the house. It's a modern marvel of wood, stone, and glass, somehow managing to look both incredibly chic and perfectly integrated into the rugged landscape. Smoke curls lazily from a stone chimney, the landlord wasn't lying when he assured you that the house would already be heated before you arrived.

"Holy shit," Yujin whispers, grabbing your arm, her eyes wide. "It's… wow."

You share a triumphant grin. "Welcome home for the week."

The final approach feels almost ceremonial, crunching through the pristine snow towards the heavy wooden front door. You fumble slightly with the key code—cold fingers—and then the door swings inward, revealing the sanctuary within. The difference is immediate and staggering. Warm air, thick with the scent of cedarwood and a crackling fire, washes over you, melting the chill from your bones. The interior is stunning: plush, deep-toned sofas are arranged around a massive stone fireplace where logs are already blazing merrily. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominate one wall, showcasing the incredible mountain view like a living artwork. Polished wooden floors are softened by thick, inviting rugs. It’s the epitome of cozy luxury, a perfect cocoon against the stark beauty outside. You drop your bags by the door with simultaneous sighs of relief.

Yujin lets out a low whistle, spinning slowly in place, taking it all in. "Okay, you officially win all the points," she declares, already shrugging off her heavy jacket. "This is beyond anything I imagined." She doesn't even pause to properly explore. Her eyes, scanning the space, seem to fix on an internal goal: maximum comfort, immediately. "Right," she announces, kicking off her hiking boots without bothering to undo the laces properly. "Operation Melt starts now." She disappears through a doorway you assume leads to the bedroom wing, shedding layers as she goes; hat tossed onto a chair, gloves stuffed into pockets.

You start unlacing your own boots, chuckling softly. Her single-minded focus on relaxation is adorable. You hear drawers opening and closing in the other room, then silence for a minute. When she reappears, you honestly have to stop yourself from staring. Gone are the bulky, practical travel layers. She’s changed into a pair of soft, charcoal-grey leggings that cling lovingly to every curve of her lower body—the swell of her hips, the undeniable thickness of her thighs, the perfect roundness of her ass. Up top, she’s wearing a simple, slightly cropped, cream-colored fluffy sweater that leaves a tantalizing strip of smooth skin visible at her waist when she stretches.

Her hair is pulled back loosely, stray strands framing her face, her skin glowing from the hike and the warmth of the house. She looks soft, touchable, and incredibly sexy in a way that stage outfits or carefully curated airport fashion never quite capture. It’s the casual, effortless confidence, the way the soft fabric hugs her figure, showcasing the solid, athletic build beneath; those strong thighs honed by years of dancing, the curve of her calves, the gentle slope of her stomach.

Fuck, you think, she really does have a 'thick and juicy' body, as the internet often thirsted over, and seeing it displayed so casually, so comfortably, right here in your shared private space, hits differently. It makes something low and primal stir inside you, a possessive urge mixing with pure adoration. She looks utterly relaxed, utterly herself, and it’s ridiculously hot.

She pads barefoot across the wooden floor towards the massive sofa, throwing herself onto it with a contented sigh that echoes in the high-ceilinged room. She curls up against the plush cushions, tucking her feet beneath her, already looking half-asleep but utterly blissful. "Okay," she murmurs, eyes fluttering closed for a second. "I could get used to this." You stand there for a moment, just watching her, the discarded hiking gear at your feet, the fire crackling merrily, the stunning view outside the window, and the sight of her, finally here, finally relaxed, looking so damn edible in her comfy clothes.

You don't move for a long moment, just drinking in the sight of her curled up on that ridiculously plush sofa, bathed in the warm glow of the fireplace. That sliver of pale skin exposed by the cropped fluffy sweater at her waist seems to pulse with warmth in the firelight, an invitation your body understands even if your brain is still catching up to the reality of finally being here. Two months. Two fucking months of cold screens and yearning touches that never landed.

The sight of her, so real, so soft, so utterly desirable in her deliberate comfort, short-circuits something in your chest. That simmering desire, kept on a low boil for weeks by distance and shitty Wi-Fi connections, suddenly cranks to high, threatening to boil over.

Unpacking? Later.

Relaxation? This feels like a much more urgent, much more necessary form of melting right now.

You move before you consciously decide to, crossing the space between you, your own discarded jacket and boots forgotten near the door. You approach the sofa, your shadow falling over her. Yujin's eyes flutter open, a lazy, contented smile gracing her lips. "Hey," she murmurs. "Comfy?" Her smile falters slightly, replaced by a flicker of understanding, then a dawning heat that mirrors your own. Her breath catches almost imperceptibly. She knows this look. She hasn't seen it directed at her, in person, for far too long. You don't say anything, just kneel on the thick rug beside the sofa, bringing yourself level with her. You reach out, your fingers tracing the exposed line of skin at her waist. She shivers, a full-body tremor this time, and her eyes darken, pupils blown wide.

"Yeah?" she whispers, the single word thick with implication, a question and permission all at once.

Your hand slides under the fluffy fabric of her sweater, fingers splaying across the surprising warmth of her stomach. Her skin is so soft, yielding. You lean in, capturing her mouth in a kiss that’s miles away from the desperate reunion clashes at her apartment door last night. This is slow, deliberate, a claiming. You taste the lingering sweetness of whatever snack she was eating, mixed with her own unique flavor, a taste you’ve craved like a lifeline. Her lips part instantly, inviting you deeper, her tongue meeting yours with an eagerness that betrays her own carefully banked fire. Her hand comes up, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer, erasing the last few inches between you.

The kiss deepens, grows hungrier. The slow burn explodes into a wildfire. Two months of frustration, of longing, of picturing this exact moment, fuels the escalating intensity. Your hands are everywhere, rediscovering her shape, her feel. One hand slides up her ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of her breast through the thin material of whatever bra she has on under the sweater, eliciting a soft gasp against your mouth. Your other hand isn't idle; it slides down from her waist, over the curve of her hip encased in the soft grey leggings. You squeeze, feeling the solid, powerful muscle beneath the yielding flesh. God, her thighs. You’ve fantasized about being wrapped around them again, feeling their strength. She moans into the kiss, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through your connection, arching her back slightly, pressing her hips forward into your touch almost instinctively.

She breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough to breathe, her chest rising and falling rapidly, cheeks flushed. "Fuck," she pants, her eyes glazed with need. "Okay. Operation Melt just got… upgraded." You grin, leaning down to press kisses along her jawline, down her neck, finding that sensitive spot just below her ear that always makes her squirm. She shudders, tilting her head to give you better access, her fingers tightening in your hair. "Been waiting," you murmur against her skin, "to make you melt." Your hand slides further down her thigh, fingers tracing the seam of the leggings, heading towards the juncture of her legs. She shifts on the sofa, unconsciously spreading her knees slightly, a silent invitation. The fluffy sweater suddenly feels like too much of a barrier. You pull back slightly, your eyes locking with hers.

"Too many clothes," you state. She nods mutely, already reaching for the hem of her sweater.

Helping her pull the soft garment over her head feels like unwrapping the most precious gift. Underneath, she’s wearing a simple, dark sports bra that pushes her breasts together slightly, framing their soft swell. Her skin gleams in the firelight, smooth and inviting. You don't hesitate, leaning down to capture the peak of one breast through the fabric, sucking firmly. Yujin cries out, her back arching off the sofa cushions, hands flying to grip your shoulders. "Oh, fuck… yes," she gasps, hips tilting up again. You lave attention to both sides, switching back and forth, using teeth and tongue, feeling her nipples bead into tight points against the damp fabric. Her breath comes in short, sharp pants, her fingers digging into your muscles.

While your mouth is busy, your hands work on the leggings, hooking your thumbs into the waistband. She lifts her hips obligingly, helping you peel the tight fabric down over the generous curve of her ass, down her thick, strong thighs, past her knees, until they're bunched around her ankles. She kicks them off impatiently. Now she's wearing only the sports bra and a pair of simple, dark cotton panties. The sight is devastatingly intimate, devastatingly hot. Her thighs are bare now, powerful and pale in the flickering light, slightly parted. You move your attention lower, pressing kisses to the strip of skin above her waistband, then lower still, nosing at the fabric covering her mound. She groans, tangling her hands back in your hair, trying to guide you. "Please…" she whimpers

You oblige, replacing your mouth with your hand, pressing your palm flat against her mound through the cotton. She’s already damp, the fabric clinging slightly. She whimpers again, bucking her hips against your touch. You slide your fingers beneath the elastic band, finding her slick heat immediately. She gasps, her eyes rolling back slightly. Two months. You can feel the sheer amount of desperate need radiating from her. Your fingers explore, finding her clit, already swollen and sensitive. You circle it gently at first, then with increasing pressure, watching her face contort with pleasure.

"Oh god… don't stop," she pleads, her voice strained.

You add another finger, sliding inside her wet heat. She’s so tight, so welcoming, slick and ready for you. You pump your fingers in and out, slow and deep, while your thumb continues its relentless work on her clit. Her hips rise off the sofa to meet your rhythm, her moans becoming louder, less inhibited. The sound echoes slightly in the large, high-ceilinged room, mixing with the crackle of the fire. You move from the floor onto the sofa beside her, straddling her hips, needing to be closer, needing to feel all of her. You kiss her again, deeply, swallowing her moans, while your fingers continue their magic below. She claws at your back, leaving trails of heat through your shirt.

It's not enough. You need to be inside her. Now. You pull back from the kiss, fumbling with the button and zipper of your jeans, kicking them off hastily along with your boxers, leaving them in a heap on the floor. Your cock springs free, hard and aching. Yujin's eyes lock onto it, a predatory gleam mixing with the raw need. She reaches out, her hand closing around your length, her touch both hesitant and demanding after the long absence.

"Missed this," she whispers, stroking you slowly, deliberately. You groan, gritting your teeth.

"Fuck, Yujin…" You gently push her hand away. "My turn."

You reposition yourself between her legs. Her thighs fall open wider, granting you full access. She looks up at you, eyes dark pools of anticipation, biting her lower lip. You take the hem of her sports bra, pulling it up and over her head, tossing it aside. Her breasts spill free, perky and pale, nipples still tight and dark from your earlier attention. You lean down, kissing the valley between them, then take one nipple into your mouth again, sucking hard as you position the head of your cock at her entrance. She cries out, her body tensing, hands gripping your biceps. Her slickness coats you, hot and welcoming. With a low groan, driven by sixty-three days of pent-up frustration, you push forward, sinking into her heat.

Her gasp is sharp, her eyes squeezing shut as you fill her completely. Fuck, she feels incredible. Tight, wet, impossibly hot. It’s like coming home after the longest, hardest journey. You stay still for a moment, buried deep inside her, letting both of you adjust to the overwhelming sensation of being joined again. Her inner muscles clench around you involuntarily, drawing a pained groan from your own throat.

You rest your forehead against hers, both of you breathing heavily. "Okay?" you whisper. She nods, eyes fluttering open, glazed but focused on you. "More than okay," she breathes. "Don't you dare stop now." That’s all the encouragement you need. You begin to move, pulling back slowly, almost completely, before thrusting back in deep. Yujin throws her head back against the cushions, a long, keening moan escaping her lips. You establish a rhythm, slow and deep at first, savoring the friction, the feeling of her tight pussy gripping you with every inward stroke.

Her hands slide down your back, fingers digging into the muscles of your ass, urging you deeper, faster. You oblige, picking up the pace, your thrusts becoming harder, more frantic. The sofa bounces slightly beneath you, the only sounds the crackling fire, your ragged breaths, her increasingly desperate moans, and the wet slap of your bodies colliding. Firelight flickers across her sweat-slicked skin, highlighting the flush spreading across her chest, the cords standing out in her neck as she arches into each thrust. Her legs come up, wrapping around your waist, locking her ankles behind your back, pulling you impossibly deeper. The angle is perfect, hitting that spot inside her that makes her cry out your name.

"Fuck, right there… yes…" she gasps, her nails scoring lines on your back, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to leave marks, claiming you. You lower yourself, bracing your hands on the sofa cushions on either side of her head, driving into her relentlessly. You watch her face, her expression a mixture of intense pleasure and building pressure. Her eyes are squeezed shut again, her lower lip caught between her teeth. You lean down, kissing her fiercely, swallowing her breathless cries.

The intensity builds, coiling tight in your belly, mirroring the tension you see in her straining body. Her hips buck beneath you, meeting your thrusts with equal force, chasing her release. You feel her inner muscles starting to clench rhythmically around your cock, fluttering desperately. "Fuck," Yujin gasps, her eyes snapping open to lock with yours, pupils blown wide, swirling with raw lust. "God, I am so fucking horny for you right now, I can barely breathe. It’s insane."

You smirk, leaning down to capture her mouth in a brutal, tongue-tangling kiss, one hand sliding down to grip her ass cheek, kneading the firm flesh. "Tell me about it," you bite out against her lips when you finally pull back for air. "Feeling you this tight, this wet around my cock… knowing I'm the only one who gets you like this… driving me fucking crazy, baby." You emphasize the point with a particularly deep, grinding thrust that makes her cry out, nails digging into your shoulders hard enough to sting this time. "Yes! Oh god, yes! Just like that!" she pants, bucking her hips frantically against you. "Fuck, I love your cock. I missed it so much. Just having you inside me… it feels… perfect. Don't stop, please don't ever stop."

Her admission, the sheer worship in her tone as she talks about your cock, sends a fresh wave of heat straight to your groin. You pick up the pace, pounding into her relentlessly, your rhythm savage, pushing her further and further towards the edge. Her moans become higher pitched, more desperate, her body starting to tremble with oncoming pleasure.

"Oh fuck… oh god… I'm getting so close," she whimpers, her eyes squeezed shut again, face contorted in a mask of excruciating pleasure. "So close… please…!" You feel the tension coiling in your own body, your balls tightening, the inevitable climax building like a pressure cooker. "Me too, baby," you groan, your own voice strained now, pushing faster, harder. "Fuck, I'm right there with you…" Yujin's eyes fly open again, fucking onto yours with fierce intensity, a desperate plea shining within their depths. "Then cum with me!" she begs, her voice cracking with urgency. "Please, please cum inside me! Now! Fill me up! I need it! I need your cum inside me so bad!" Her hips buck harder, grinding against you in a frenzy.

Fuck. Hearing her beg like that, so needy, so utterly consumed by lust, demanding your seed deep inside her… it obliterates any remaining shred of control you might have had. You love this side of her, the hidden 'slutty' Yujin that only you get to see, the one who sheds all pretense and just needs to be filled, used, claimed. "Yeah, baby?" you manage, leaning down close to her ear. "You want me to fill that tight little pussy up? Want my hot cum flooding your womb?"

You give another vicious thrust, feeling her inner walls clench hard around you. She nods frantically, tears of sheer pleasure and desperation starting to leak from the corners of her eyes.

"Yes! Please! Begging you! Fill me up! Cum in me now!"

That's it. Her desperate, slutty plea shatters your control completely. "FUCK YES!" you roar, abandoning all finesse, slamming into her with everything you have, a final series of deep, punishing thrusts aimed at driving yourself as deep as physically possible. "I'm cumming babe, I'm cumming on your cock!" Her answering scream is pure ecstasy as her orgasm rips through her, her body convulsing violently around your straining cock, milking you with impossible strength.

That final, desperate clenching triggers your own release. With a guttural shout that echoes hers, you explode, unloading torrents of thick, hot cum deep within her tight pussy. You keep thrusting hard as you come, pumping every last drop into her, feeling the incredibly intimate sensation of filling her completely, picturing your seed flooding her womb just like she begged for. It's a volcanic release, fueled by weeks of absence and the sheer intensity of her begging, far more powerful than usual.

As your orgasm finally subsides, leaving you utterly spent, you feel her own shudders gradually lessen, though she continues to clench around you sporadically. She just melts underneath you, boneless and whimpering softly, completely overwhelmed. You collapse onto her, burying your face back into her neck, trying to catch your breath, your heart pounding like a drum against hers. You know how much she loves this, how much she craves the feeling of being filled by you, and the thought that she went two whole months without it… no wonder you both just about broke the fucking sofa.

You stay like that for a long time, glued together, skin sticky with sweat, limbs tangled, the only sounds the crackling fire and your slowly normalizing breaths. You can feel the warmth of your cum seeping out of her slightly, pooling between her legs and onto the expensive upholstery beneath her ass. Neither of you cares. The intimacy of the moment, the sheer relief and satisfaction, is profound. Her arms are wrapped loosely around your back, her cheek resting against your chest, her breathing soft against your skin. Eventually, she stirs, lifting her head slightly, her eyes soft, languid, utterly content. She presses a soft kiss to your collarbone. "Okay," she whispers, voice still rough with spent passion. "That was… worth the wait."

She shifts slightly, and you feel a little more of your cum trickle down her thigh. She glances down, then back up at you, a mischievous glint entering her eyes. "Speaking of waiting… that hot spring is still out there. Probably nice and warm by now…" She arches an eyebrow suggestively. "Seems like a good excuse to get cleaned up… maybe?" You chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Her 'excuses' are rarely subtle. "Yeah? Think maybe we need to wash all this… evidence… off?" You gesture vaguely at the sticky mess on her, you, and the sofa. She grins. "Exactly. Wouldn't want to stain the furniture on day one."

Getting untangled and upright takes effort, muscles pleasantly sore, bodies feeling heavy and satisfied. You're both naked now, clothes discarded in haste much earlier. You grab a couple of the ridiculously fluffy towels the house provided, tossing one to her. Standing there, naked in the warm glow of the fire, you take a moment to just appreciate her body—the flush still high on her cheeks and chest, the slight sheen of sweat, the curve of her hips and those incredible thighs, slightly marked by your grip. She catches you looking and smiles, a soft, knowing smile. "Like what you see?" she teases, stretching languidly, making her breasts jiggle slightly. "Always," you reply honestly, your voice still a bit thick. You lead the way to the back door, opening it to a blast of cold night air.

The contrast is sharp after the cozy warmth inside. Steam rises invitingly from the stone-lined hot spring built into a wooden deck area just outside, partially sheltered by the overhang of the roof but open to the starry sky above. The surrounding snow glows faintly blue in the moonlight. "Last one in is…" Yujin starts, but doesn't finish, instead making a quick dash across the freezing deck boards with a little shriek and sliding into the steaming water with an audible sigh of pure bliss. "Oh my god, that's amazing," she calls out, sinking down until the water reaches her chin, her eyes closed in pleasure. She opens them again, looking at you expectantly. "Come on!"

You hesitate at the edge, the cold biting at your bare skin. "In a sec," you call back. "Figured Operation Melt might require refueling soon. Gonna grab some snacks first." Yujin pouts dramatically for a second, then her expression softens. "Okay, fine," she concedes. "I am starving, actually. You're the best." You flash her a grin and duck back inside, heading for the well-stocked kitchen.

You quickly assemble a platter—some cheese, crackers, fruit, some chocolate you found in the welcome basket, plus a couple of bottles of cold water. Balancing the tray, you head back out. The cold air feels even colder now after the brief respite inside. Yujin is leaning back against the edge of the spring, watching the steam curl into the night sky, looking completely serene. You carefully set the snack tray down on the edge of the deck within easy reach before finally stepping down the submerged stone steps into the hot spring yourself. The heat is instantaneous, intense, enveloping you like a comforting blanket, chasing away the chill in seconds. You let out a sigh of relief, sinking into the water opposite her.

She watches you enter, her eyes soft and filled with an undeniable warmth that has nothing to do with the water temperature. There's gratitude there, affection, and a deep, simmering satisfaction. "Seriously," she says, the words soft and sincere, paddling a little closer to you through the steam. "Thank you. For… all of this." She gestures vaguely, encompassing the house, the trip, maybe even the mind-blowing sex you just had. "You're just… amazing. Spoiling me like this after I was gone so long." She reaches out, trailing her fingers lightly across your chest under the water. "I really need to figure out a really good way to reward you properly this week, make it up to you…" Her eyes hold yours, full of promise, the steam swirling around you both like a curtain, creating your own private world under the vast, cold night sky.

—

You wake up slowly on the second day, cocooned in an almost obscene amount of warmth and softness. Sunlight streams through a gap in the heavy curtains, painting a bright stripe across the ridiculously comfortable king-size bed. Yujin is still fast asleep, curled against your side, one arm thrown possessively over your chest, her face relaxed and peaceful in a way you haven't seen since before the tour madness began. Her dark hair is fanned out across the crisp white pillowcase, strands clinging slightly to her cheek. You watch the slow, even rise and fall of her breathing, feeling a profound sense of peace settle over you.

This.

This is what you both needed.

Just quiet, uninterrupted closeness. You resist the urge to wake her, instead just lying there, soaking in the silence, the luxury, and the simple fact that she's here.

Eventually, her eyelids flutter. She murmurs something incoherent, nuzzling closer into your warmth like a contented cat before her eyes finally drift open. They focus on you, still hazy with sleep, and a slow, soft smile spreads across her face. "Morning," she whispers.

"Morning, sleepyhead," you reply, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. She hums contentedly, stretching languidly under the duvet, her bare leg brushing against yours. The casual intimacy sends a familiar jolt through you, but it’s softer this morning, less frantic need, more simmering appreciation.

Getting out of bed happens eventually, reluctantly. You pad into the sleek, modern bathroom together, brushing your teeth side-by-side, sharing sleepy smiles in the mirror. Yujin pulls on one of your oversized band t-shirts that you packed, the hem falling to her mid-thighs, and pairs it with some ridiculously tiny, lacy black sleep shorts that barely peek out from underneath. It's an ensemble that's simultaneously adorable, comfortable, and mind-bendingly sexy. She knows it, too. As she heads out to the kitchen ahead of you, presumably in search of caffeine, she pauses in the doorway, turns back, and gives her hips a slow, deliberate sway, her ass looking incredible beneath the soft cotton of your shirt. She catches your eye in the mirror, winks, and then disappears around the corner, leaving you momentarily stunned and already half-hard before you've even had coffee.

She’s going to make this week exquisitely torturous, isn’t she?

You follow her out, finding her already navigating the high-end coffee machine like a pro. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the spacious open-plan living area. The fire from last night has died down to embers, but the underfloor heating keeps the whole place incredibly toasty. You pour yourselves mugs of steaming coffee, adding a splash of milk, and wander over to the massive windows. The view is even more spectacular in the daylight: crisp white snow blanketing everything, distant peaks sharp against a brilliant blue sky, sunlight glinting off the icy surfaces. You stand there for a while, sipping your coffee, shoulder-to-shoulder, just taking it all in. "It's unreal," Yujin murmurs, leaning her head against your shoulder. "Feels like we're in a snow globe."

Breakfast is a joint effort in the state-of-the-art kitchen. You find pancake mix in the well-stocked pantry, while Yujin tackles frying bacon and scrambling eggs, humming happily off-key. Working together feels easy, natural, falling back into a comfortable rhythm despite the months apart. There’s playful nudging, stealing bites of bacon straight from the pan (earning you a light smack with a spatula from Yujin), and lots of laughter. You eat sitting at the solid wood dining table, sunlight streaming in, talking about everything, trying to make up for lost time. She tells you more anecdotes from the tour, the funny mishaps, the exhaustion, but it’s lighter now, told with the relief of someone who’s reached the finish line and can finally breathe. You devour the delicious food—fluffy pancakes, crispy bacon, perfectly scrambled eggs—feeling utterly content.

After cleaning up together (a surprisingly domestic and pleasant task in this setting), the clear skies and stunning scenery outside beckon. "Walk?" you suggest. Yujin nods eagerly. "Definitely. Need to explore our kingdom." You bundle up again, the ritual of layering thermals and jackets feeling familiar now. You grab your phone, intending to capture the beauty of the place, and maybe its most beautiful inhabitant. The air outside is bitingly cold but incredibly fresh, scrubbing your lungs clean. You follow a different path this time, one that leads away from the house and deeper into the surrounding pine forest. The snow crunches loudly under your boots, the only sound besides your own breathing and the occasional gust of wind sighing through the branches overhead. Sunlight filters through the trees, making the snow sparkle like scattered diamonds.

Yujin is captivated, constantly pointing out animal tracks in the snow, or the intricate patterns of frost on fallen leaves. You hang back slightly, watching her, and start taking pictures. You capture her profile as she gazes up at a particularly tall, snow-laden tree, her breath misting in the air. You snap a shot of her laughing as she nearly slips on a patch of ice, catching herself at the last second. You get one of her turning back towards you, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, eyes sparkling with life and happiness, a genuine, unguarded smile gracing her lips. "Hey," she calls, noticing you aiming your phone. "Paparazzi even out here?" She strikes a deliberately goofy pose, hand on hip, lips pursed. You laugh, snapping that one too. "Can't help it," you call back, lowering the phone and walking towards her. "You look incredible."

You show her the pictures, scrolling through them. Especially the candid one, the laughing one. "See? Told you." You zoom in slightly on her smiling face against the snowy backdrop. "Absolutely beautiful." She ducks her head, a genuine blush rising on her cheeks this time, distinct from the cold-induced pinkness. "Stop," she mumbles, but she leans against you, looking at the photos on your screen, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Okay, maybe that one's kinda cute," she admits, pointing to the laughing shot.

You spend another hour exploring, venturing further until you reach a ridge with an even more expansive view of the valley below. You take more photos, some posed, some candid, each one capturing a piece of her relaxed joy, her stunning beauty amplified by the raw, majestic nature surrounding you. Every time you tell her how good she looks, she either preens playfully or swats your arm, but you see the pleasure it brings her in her eyes.

Returning to the house feels like stepping back into a warm embrace. You shed your cold-weather gear by the door, toes and fingers tingling as they warm up. Hot chocolate feels mandatory. You whip some up using the fancy milk frother and some high-quality chocolate flakes you found, topping them with whipped cream. You curl up on opposite ends of the massive sofa, feet tucked underneath you, mugs warming your hands, the silence comfortable again. Yujin sighs contentedly after a long sip. "This is literally heaven," she murmurs, eyes closed. The afternoon drifts by in a haze of blissful relaxation.

You put on some mellow music. Yujin finds a stack of glossy art books on a shelf and gets absorbed in one, while you try to read but find your eyes constantly drifting towards her. She's kicked off her socks now, feet bare. Your t-shirt has ridden up slightly as she shifted, revealing more of those ridiculously enticing lace shorts and the smooth curve of her hip. She seems completely oblivious, lost in her book, occasionally pushing her hair back from her face or biting her lip in concentration. Every small movement she makes sends a jolt of awareness through you.

The memory of how she felt beneath you last night, how she begged for you, is a constant, simmering undercurrent beneath the placid surface of the afternoon. Later, she gets up to refill her water bottle, pausing on her way back from the kitchen. She stretches languidly, arms reaching high above her head, arching her back. The movement pulls your t-shirt taut across her breasts and lifts the hem significantly, giving you a deliberate, heart-stopping view of her ass in those tiny black shorts. She holds the stretch for just a moment too long, catches your eye, and gives you a slow, knowing smirk before dropping her arms and continuing back to the sofa as if nothing happened. Fucking tease.

As evening approaches, you decide on dinner. The fridge is stocked with ingredients for steak, asparagus, and potatoes. Cooking together again is just as fun as breakfast, maybe even more so now that you've opened a bottle of red wine. Yujin expertly sears the steaks while you handle the sides, moving around each other easily in the spacious kitchen. She's still in your t-shirt and the tiny shorts, seemingly uncaring that she's flashing generous amounts of thigh and occasionally the curve of her butt cheek as she bends or reaches. You're pretty sure she's doing it on purpose now, enjoying the effect she has on you.

You sneak up behind her while she's focused on basting the steaks, wrapping your arms around her waist, pulling her back against your chest. You nuzzle her neck, inhaling her scent mixed with the delicious aroma of cooking food. "Smells amazing," you murmur. She leans back into you, tilting her head slightly. "The steak, or me?" she teases, turning her head just enough to press a quick, wine-flavored kiss to your lips before deftly flipping the steaks.

You eat dinner by candlelight, the food tasting incredible, the wine warming you further. Afterwards, instead of retreating back to the sofa, you brave the cold for a few minutes, stepping out onto the deck, wrapped in blankets this time, to look at the stars. The sky here, away from city lights, is unbelievable; a vast, dark canvas dusted with millions of brilliant stars. Yujin leans heavily against you, pointing out constellations she recognizes. The peacefulness is immense, broken only by your soft voices and the distant sigh of the wind.

Back inside, you rekindle the fire, the logs catching quickly, casting flickering shadows across the room. Yujin curls up beside you on the rug this time, leaning against your legs as you sit on the sofa, idly scrolling through the photos you took earlier. She looks up at you, her eyes soft in the firelight. "Today was perfect," she whispers. "Just… easy. And fun." She pauses, then a slow, wicked smile spreads across her face. "But you know," she adds as she reaches out, her hand landing purposefully high on your inner thigh, fingers starting a slow, tantalizing exploration beneath the fabric of your sweatpants. "All this relaxing… It's making me really needy. Maybe perfection needs a little… spicing up?" Her fingers tighten, finding the ridge of your hardening cock through the fabric, and her eyes hold yours, full of blatant, delicious promise.

—

You drift awake on the third morning feeling boneless and utterly drained in the best possible way. Last night… well, last night Yujin definitely collected on her promise to 'spice things up'. After her suggestive comment by the fire, things had escalated quickly, moving from teasing touches on the sofa to a full-blown, hours-long session in the massive bed that left you both sweat-soaked, marked, and completely spent. She’d ridden you like she was trying to break a world record, screaming your name, demanding you fuck her harder, deeper, finally begging, pleading for you to cum inside her again and again until neither of you could move.

Now, though? Now she sleeps beside you like a goddamn angel. Curled on her side, facing you, lips slightly parted, breathing softly, one hand tucked trustingly under her cheek. The picture of innocence. If you didn't have the faint soreness in your muscles and the lingering scent of sex clinging to the sheets (and probably both of you) as evidence, you might almost believe last night's debauchery was a particularly vivid dream. Seeing her like this, peaceful and cute after being such a demanding little demon just hours before, makes a fond, possessive warmth spread through your chest. You stay put for a while, just watching her sleep, letting the relaxed satisfaction wash over you.

The day unfolds with the same lazy rhythm as yesterday, but there's a subtle difference in Yujin's energy. While yesterday was about blissful relaxation and melting away stress, today she seems… effervescent. There's an extra bounce in her step as she pads around the house (today choosing a ridiculously soft-looking cashmere lounge set—pale blue joggers and a matching loose hoodie—that still manages to look incredibly sexy on her). She hums constantly, a cheerful, slightly tuneless sound. And she's definitely glued to her phone more than usual. You catch her sending off quick texts, a secretive little smile playing on her lips as she taps away, quickly pocketing the device whenever you glance over for too long.

You try asking casually who she's texting, but she just waves a hand dismissively, "Oh, just group chat stuff, checking in," before changing the subject with suspicious speed. It's weird, but you brush it off. Maybe she's just genuinely happy, fully recharged after a couple of days away and a night of intense sex. You spend the morning reading by the fire again, drinking coffee, occasionally getting lost in conversation, but her slightly distracted, anticipatory energy It's something you can't completely ignore.

Around midday, you both decide on lunch. Yujin takes the lead this time, announcing she wants to make a big batch of kimchi jjigae, claiming she's craving something spicy and hearty. You're happy to be her sous-chef, chopping vegetables while she handles the broth and meat. As she adds ingredients to the large pot, you notice she seems to be prepping way more than necessary for just two people. She adds nearly a whole block of tofu, a generous amount of pork belly, and practically the entire head of kimchi. "Hungry today, huh?" you comment lightly, eyeing the overflowing pot. She just grins, not looking up from stirring. "Starving! All that fresh mountain air… and, you know…" She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, referencing last night. You laugh, shaking your head. Fair enough. The rich, spicy aroma starts filling the kitchen, making your own stomach rumble.

You're setting out bowls and spoons when it happens: the sudden, sharp, totally unexpected chime of a doorbell echoes through the house.

You freeze, spoon clattering onto the counter. What the actual fuck? A doorbell? Out here? You’re miles from anywhere, accessible only by a private track and a final hike. You weren’t expecting deliveries, and certainly not visitors. Your head whips around to look at Yujin, expecting to see similar confusion or alarm on her face. Instead, she’s completely unfazed. She wipes her hands on a kitchen towel, a bright, almost smug smile spreading across her face. "Oh, good! Right on time," she says cheerfully, as if this is the most normal thing in the world. Your confusion morphs into suspicion. "On time for what? Who is that?" you ask. Yujin just pats your arm reassuringly. "Don't worry about it. I'll get it." She practically skips towards the front door, leaving you standing bewildered in the kitchen, the simmering jjigae momentarily forgotten. You follow her slowly, hesitantly, stopping in the main living area, peering towards the entranceway. Yujin swings the heavy wooden door open.

Standing on the threshold, looking impossibly small surrounded by the vast snowy landscape and bundled up in a thick, long padded coat, scarf wrapped high around her neck, and a woolly hat pulled low, is Naoi Rei.

Your brain takes a second to compute. Rei? Here? She has a large backpack slung over one shoulder and is juggling a couple of tote bags, her cheeks flushed bright pink from the biting cold. She looks exhausted and slightly grumpy. "Ugh, Yujin!" she complains immediately, voice muffled by the scarf. "It's freezing out here! And that hike was no joke. Are you trying to kill me?" Yujin just laughs, stepping aside to let her in. "You made it! I was starting to worry." She pulls Rei into a warm hug, then playfully pinches one of her rosy cheeks. "Aw, look at you, so cute when you're grumpy." Rei grumbles something unintelligible but allows herself to be pulled inside, stamping snow off her boots.

She starts unwrapping herself from her layers, revealing slightly tousled hair and wide, expressive eyes that finally land on you standing awkwardly a few feet away.

"Hey there," she says, smiling at you like she always does, but there’s a distinct curve to her lips this time, It's a smile that seems… knowing. Different. Like she expected you to be here, like she's in on some secret you're definitely not privy to.

"Rei, hi," you manage, trying to sound casual, friendly, plastering on a polite smile while your mind races. "Didn't expect visitors. Welcome." You gesture vaguely around the luxurious space. "Nice place, huh?"

Rei nods, her eyes scanning the room with appreciation before flicking back to you. "Yeah, it's beautiful. Yujin wasn't exaggerating…" she trails off, that knowing little smile playing on her lips again.

Yujin claps her hands together. "Rei, go warm up! Bathroom's down the hall if you need it. Lunch is almost ready." Rei nods gratefully, murmuring thanks, and disappears down the hallway with her bags, leaving you alone with Yujin in the suddenly charged silence.

You turn on her immediately, keeping your tone low but urgent. "Yujin. What. The. Hell?" You stab a finger towards the hallway where Rei vanished. "Why is Rei here? This was supposed to be our week. Just us. To reconnect. What is going on?" Yujin doesn't look guilty or apologetic. She looks amused, maybe even a little triumphant. She steps closer, reaching up to smooth the front of your shirt, her touch lingering.

"Baby," she says softly. "Don't you remember the first day? At the hot spring?"

You frown. "Yeah? You were talking about… rewarding me?"

"Exactly," she confirms, her smile widening. "I told you I needed to figure out a really good way to reward you. For waiting two months, for planning this amazing trip, for… well, for being you."

Your brain is still struggling to connect the dots. "Okay…? So you invited Rei for lunch?"

Yujin lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head like you’re being adorably dense. "No, silly." She leans in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, her gaze intense.

"Rei is the reward."

This sentence hits you like a physical blow, a jolt of memory so sharp it makes you dizzy. That night, months ago, before the tour. Both of you tipsy on wine after a date night, curled up on her sofa back in Seoul. The conversation had gotten silly, then bold. Yujin, flushed and giggling, had pinned you with a surprisingly serious look. "Hypothetically," she'd slurred slightly, "if you had to… you know… with me and one of the other girls… who would it be?" You'd tried to deflect, laughing it off, but she'd persisted, poking your chest, teasing you, her eyes full of drunken curiosity and maybe something else, something testing. "Come on! Just hypothetically! Who do you think is hot?"

Cornered, flustered, and definitely influenced by the alcohol and her relentless, playful interrogation, you finally mumbled something about how, hypothetically, you thought Rei had this unique mix… she was adorably cute, almost a doll with her cheeks and mannerisms, but there was also something undeniably sexy about her, a hidden heat beneath the surface.

"Rei?" Yujin had repeated, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise, before a slow, considering smile spread across her face. "Interesting…" The conversation had moved on quickly after that, dissolving into more drunken kisses, and you'd completely forgotten about it. Until now. Holy shit. Yujin remembered. She actually fucking remembered that drunken, hypothetical confession and somehow, somehow, she'd made it real. Standing here, in this secluded mountain paradise, she'd arranged for Naoi Rei—cute, adorably hot Rei—to show up as your 'reward'. The sheer audacity, the implications… your mind reels, struggling to process it.

And then, overriding the shock, comes a powerful, undeniable physical reaction. Heat floods your groin, your dick instantly surging against the inside of your jeans, growing thick and hard at the mind-blowing possibility Yujin just dropped into your lap. Rei. Yujin. Together. Your reward. Holy fuck.

You stare at Yujin, the kimchi jjigae bubbling forgotten on the stove behind her, the rich scent suddenly secondary to the absolute bombshell she just dropped. Your dick is throbbing insistently against your zipper, a physical testament to how quickly your body accepted this insane premise, even while your brain struggles to catch up. "Are you fucking serious right now, Yujin?" you finally manage. She doesn't flinch. Her smile remains firmly in place, smug and utterly confident. "Completely serious, baby," she confirms, reaching out to trail a finger down your chest, her touch electric. "Think of it as… a very special welcome home present. For both of us." You shake your head, trying to clear it. "But… Rei? Does she know? I mean, what did you tell her? Did she just… agree to show up here and be my 'reward'?"

The idea sounds ludicrous even as you say it. Yujin lets out a low chuckle, a throaty sound that sends another jolt straight south. "Let's just say Rei is… adventurous. And maybe a little curious about certain things." She leans closer again, eyes sparkling with wicked delight. "And maybe she trusts me. Give her a couple of glasses of wine with lunch," she murmurs conspiratorially, tapping your chest lightly. "You might be surprised what our little Rei agrees to." Your mind races. Open-minded? Curious? This is Naoi Rei, the group's seemingly sweet, slightly shy Japanese member. The image clashes wildly with what Yujin is implying.

"And you think…" you swallow, still grappling with the reality of it, "...you think I'll like this?" Yujin raises an eyebrow, her expression playful but challenging.

"Do you?" she counters, turning the question back on you, her gaze flicking down pointedly towards the noticeable bulge in your jeans before meeting your eyes again. Fuck. She knows she has you. The shock is fading, replaced by raw, undeniable arousal. The memory of that drunken confession, the image of Rei—cute face, unexpectedly hot body— joining you and Yujin… it’s becoming terrifyingly appealing. "...I guess we'll find out, won't we?" you finally concede.

Yujin's triumphant smile tells you that was the answer she wanted.

Right on cue, Rei reappears, padding softly back into the living area. She’s ditched the heavy coat and layers, now wearing a simple pair of black sweatpants and a slightly oversized, fluffy pink hoodie that makes her look incredibly soft and approachable, almost negating the knowing glint you keep seeing in her eyes. "Wow, smells amazing, Unnie!" she exclaims, sniffing the air dramatically as she approaches the kitchen. Yujin immediately switches back into hostess mode. "Right? Come on, it's ready. Let's eat before it gets cold." The three of you gather around the dining table, ladling generous portions of the steaming, vibrant red stew into bowls.

Lunch is… surreal.

On the surface, it's perfectly normal. Polite conversation flows easily. Rei talks more about her journey—a series of train rides and then a slightly confusing taxi drop-off where Yujin's detailed instructions for the final hike were apparently crucial. Yujin fills her in on your first couple of days, describing the house and the surroundings with enthusiasm. They chat about mutual friends, upcoming schedules (vaguely, avoiding specifics), and the food.

But underneath the mundane chatter, there’s a shared awareness; at least between you and Yujin, and you strongly suspect Rei too—of the real reason she's here. You catch Yujin sending subtle glances towards Rei, then flicking her eyes towards you with a tiny smirk. Rei, while mostly interacting with Yujin, occasionally directs comments or questions at you, her smile friendly but still holding that hint of something… more. Shy curiosity? Playful anticipation? You can’t quite read it, and the ambiguity is driving you crazy. You focus on eating the delicious jjigae, the spiciness a welcome distraction, though you make sure to pour Rei a generous glass of the red wine left over from last night, remembering Yujin's suggestion. Rei accepts it with a grateful smile, taking a healthy sip.

"Seriously, Yujin-unnie," Rei says between mouthfuls, looking around the luxurious space again, "this place is incredible. Getting here was hell, honestly, that taxi driver looked so lost, and the hike! But wow." She shakes her head in amazement. "I can only say that I am happy to have been invited."

Yujin beams. "Told you it was worth it! And we haven't even shown you the best parts yet. Wait till you see the hot spring."

Rei's eyes light up instantly, just like Yujin predicted. "Yes! You kept talking about it on the phone! Is it really that amazing?" Yujin leans forward slightly, her tone dropping conspiratorially, though she directs the comment mostly towards Rei, she makes sure to catch your eye too. "Oh, it's the best part. Especially… after dark." Rei giggles, taking another sip of her wine, her cheeks slightly flushed now—maybe from the spice, maybe the alcohol, maybe something else entirely.

After lunch, with the dishes cleared away (Yujin insisting you all leave them for later), Yujin suggests showing Rei the stunning view you discovered yesterday. You all bundle up again and head outside. Rei is instantly enchanted by the vast, snowy landscape, gasping at the panoramic view from the ridge. She pulls out her phone, snapping dozens of pictures, posing playfully for Yujin, and even asking you, with a slightly shy smile, if you could take a few of her with the mountains in the background. You oblige, trying to act normal as you direct her slightly, acutely aware of Yujin watching you both with keen interest. Rei loves the quiet, the crisp air, the sheer beauty of it all, her earlier grumpiness completely vanished, replaced by wide-eyed wonder.

Back inside, shedding the cold gear feels even better this time. The warmth of the house, the lingering smell of kimchi and woodsmoke, feels incredibly welcoming. "Coffee?" Yujin suggests. "Or more hot chocolate? Need to warm up properly." You opt for coffee, while Rei eagerly accepts another hot chocolate. You settle back into the living area, the energy shifting slightly now. The exploration is done, lunch is finished. The unspoken 'agenda' for the afternoon seems to loom closer. Yujin strategically steers the conversation towards more personal topics, asking Rei about her family, reminiscing about funny trainee stories, creating a relaxed, intimate atmosphere. Rei seems to visibly unwind, laughing easily, her initial shyness fading further, helped along perhaps by another small glass of wine Yujin casually tops up for her.

Eventually, Yujin stretches languidly on the sofa, catching your eye. "Well," she announces. "I think it's officially hot spring time. Before the sun goes down completely." Rei perks up immediately. "Yes! Finally!"

Yujin grins and pushes herself off the sofa. "Okay, you two wait here. I'll grab the towels. Need to change into something more appropriate first." She winks at you before disappearing towards the bedroom wing. Rei shifts slightly on her seat, suddenly looking a little nervous again now that the moment is here. She avoids your gaze for a second, taking a sudden interest in the pattern on her empty hot chocolate mug. Before the silence can become awkward, Yujin returns, carrying a stack of fluffy white towels.

And she's changed. Gone is the cozy cashmere set. Instead, she’s wearing a sleek, black one-piece swimsuit. It’s one you absolutely love—high-cut on the legs, showing off the curve of her hips and length of her thighs, with a plunging neckline held together by daring crisscross straps that frame her cleavage perfectly. It emphasizes her lean strength, her dancer’s body, radiating confidence and pure sex appeal. She looks incredible, and she knows it. "Your turn, Rei," Yujin prompts gently, tossing her a towel. Rei takes a deep breath, nods quickly, and scurries off towards the guest room Yujin must have prepared for her.

You wait, heart pounding a little faster now.

This is it.

The 'reward' is about to be fully revealed.

Yujin comes over to you, leaning down to whisper in your ear, her breath warm against your skin. "Excited?" You just nod, unable to form words. A moment later, Rei reappears in the doorway, looking hesitant but resolute. And holy shit. She’s wearing a simple, triangle-string bikini, a soft lilac color that contrasts beautifully with her skin tone. And Yujin wasn't kidding about her being 'open-minded' or maybe just incredibly trusting. Because the bikini reveals everything. Just like Yujin, Rei possesses that surprising idol duality: the cute, almost cherubic face paired with a body that is unexpectedly, devastatingly curvy and womanly. She is as thick as Yujin, maybe even slightly more so in certain places. Her hips flare generously from a trim waist, her thighs are full and strong, touching voluptuously at the top. Her stomach is soft but toned. And her breasts, fuller than Yujin’s, spill enticingly from the small lilac triangles, looking incredibly soft and heavy.

It's a stunning contrast—the sweet, almost shy face atop a figure that screams pure, unadulterated sex. She nervously adjusts the string at her hip, refusing to meet your eyes directly, a becoming blush staining her cheeks and spreading down her neck towards those impressive breasts. Yujin beams at her encouragingly. "See? You look amazing, Rei!" Rei mumbles a thank you, still looking anywhere but at you. But you see it all.

The whole reward, unwrapped and standing nervously before you. Yujin is practically vibrating with a smug 'I told you so' energy beside her in that killer black one-piece.

Right, if they're dressed for the water, lingering in sweatpants feels wrong. "Okay, okay, give me two seconds," you say, holding up a hand. "Need to change into something more appropriate myself." You jog back towards the bedroom, quickly shuck off your sweatpants, pulling on a pair of comfortable swim shorts instead. You glance in the mirror—shirtless, shorts, feeling ready. You head back out, finding Yujin has efficiently detoured via the kitchen counter where the wine was chilling. She now has the opened bottle in one hand, three stemmed glasses held expertly by their bases in the other. She nods approvingly at your attire change. "Perfect timing. Let's go."

The three of you head out onto the deck together this time. Yujin leads the way carefully with her fragile cargo, you follow with the towels slung over your shoulder, and Rei walks beside you, hugging herself slightly against the sudden blast of cold air on her mostly bare skin. "Woah! Okay, definitely cold out here!" Rei exclaims, teeth chattering slightly. "Get in, get in!" Yujin urges, already heading for the steps.

You all descend into the steaming water, the intense heat a blissful shock after the cold. Rei lets out a long, audible sigh of pure pleasure as she sinks gratefully into the warmth, her eyes widening as she takes in the surroundings properly—the steam rising into the twilight sky, the snow-dusted landscape stretching out around you, the luxurious feel of the smooth stone beneath the water. "Okay, wow," she breathes, looking genuinely impressed. "This hot spring is… seriously incredible, Unnie." She seems to visibly relax almost instantly, the tension melting from her posture as the heat works its magic.

Yujin beams, clearly pleased. "Told you!" She wades over to a built-in underwater ledge, carefully setting down the glasses before pouring a generous amount of red wine into each. She deliberately settles onto the ledge right next to Rei, their bare shoulders almost touching, before handing her a glass and then passing one over to you. "To relaxing properly," Yujin declares, raising her glass. You and Rei echo the sentiment, clinking glasses gently. The wine tastes good, warming you from the inside as the water warms you from the outside. As you sip, you watch the dynamic between the two girls. Yujin seems completely at ease, leaning back, swirling her wine, while Rei, though clearly more relaxed now, still seems slightly hyper-aware, occasionally glancing nervously at Yujin, then at you. The wine definitely helps, though. After a few more sips, Rei's posture loosens further, a genuine smile playing on her lips as she watches the steam curl upwards.

"Seriously though," Rei says after a comfortable silence, looking between you and Yujin. "Thank you both. For… well, for inviting me. Or letting me crash, whichever." She takes another sip of wine. "This place is amazing. I think I really needed this too, after everything." Yujin reaches over, playfully bumping Rei's shoulder. "Hey, all the credit for this genius idea goes to this one," she says, nodding towards you with an appreciative smile. "He organized the whole amazing surprise trip for me." She turns her attention back to Rei, her expression softening. She starts gently playing with the ends of Rei's wet hair where it floats on the water's surface, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. "You just relax, princess," Yujin murmurs, the pet name slipping out naturally. "You deserve it just as much after that crazy tour." Rei ducks her head slightly at the pet name, a faint blush rising on her cheeks, but she smiles, clearly not minding the affectionate term or the casual touch.

Yujin continues to hypnotically twist a lock of Rei's dark hair around her finger, her gaze fixed on Rei before suddenly looking directly at you. "Isn't she lovely?" Yujin asks, her voice soft, almost dreamy, but the question is pointed, demanding your participation. "Just adorable, right?"

You meet Yujin's gaze, then let your eyes drift over Rei; the cute face, flushed slightly now from the heat and wine, the surprisingly voluptuous body half-submerged in the steaming water, the wet hair clinging to her neck. Yujin isn't wrong. "Yeah," you agree, your voice coming out slightly rougher than intended. "She is. Very pretty." Rei's blush deepens instantly at your direct compliment. She looks down into her wine glass, then glances up at you quickly through her lashes. "Thank you..." she murmurs shyly, "...really."

Before Rei can look away completely, Yujin leans in suddenly, tilting her head. "So cute I could just eat you up!" she exclaims, and gives Rei's cheek a quick, playful nip with her teeth. It’s not hard, more of an affectionate nibble, but it’s startlingly intimate, fueled perhaps by the wine and the charged atmosphere.

Rei lets out a surprised little yelp, her eyes flying wide as she instinctively touches her cheek, looking at Yujin with a mixture of shock and amusement. Yujin just throws her head back and laughs, clearly enjoying Rei's flustered reaction. Rei swats playfully at Yujin's arm, giggling despite herself.

Yeah, the wine is definitely working its magic, alongside the simmering heat that has little to do with the water temperature. Yujin, sensing the shift, leans back against the stone ledge, swirling the wine in her glass, her eyes alight with mischief. She tops up Rei's glass, then yours, her movements fluid and deliberate. "We need to rearrange," Yujin announces suddenly, her gaze sweeping over the current seating arrangement. "Why are we sitting all spread out? This is supposed to be cozy." She looks pointedly at Rei. "Come on, princess, let's go flank our generous host. Make him feel appreciated." Rei hesitates for only a second before nodding, a tipsy giggle escaping her lips. "Okay, Unnie."

They both carefully maneuver through the water, splashing slightly, until they're positioned much closer to you. Yujin settles on one side, hip bumping yours companionably under the water, while Rei takes the spot directly opposite, close enough now that her knees occasionally brush yours. The proximity immediately cranks up the intensity, the steam trapping the scent of wine, chlorine, and their warm skin.

"You know," Yujin begins conversationally, though her tone is laced with intent, reaching out to gently stroke Rei’s wet shoulder, letting her fingers linger. "When I first texted you, Rei... floated the crazy idea of you maybe, possibly, joining us up here..." She pauses for dramatic effect, glancing at you. "This little one," she gestures towards Rei with her glass, "didn't even ask questions. No hesitation. Just texted back 'YES!' in all caps immediately." Yujin chuckles, shaking her head. "Seems someone was very eager for a little mountain getaway."

Rei splutters, splashing Yujin playfully. "Unnie! It wasn't exactly like that! You made it sound really nice..." Yujin just raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Mmmhmm. And," she continues, leaning closer to Rei, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper loud enough for you to easily hear, "you should have seen her face later, when I called her. When I finally told her the little detail about how our host here," she nods towards you, "specifically mentioned finding a certain Naoi Rei 'adorably hot' that one time." Rei's face flames crimson, and she tries to hide behind her wine glass, muttering denials, but Yujin barrels on, clearly enjoying this. "She practically glowed, didn't you, princess? Couldn't stop smiling." Yujin winks at you over Rei's head.

"And don't even get me started," Yujin adds, turning back to Rei, "on how much you loved our little late-night debriefs during the tour. My very detailed... 'reports from the field'." She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, making Rei groan and hide her face further. Yujin looks back at you, grinning. "Standard girl talk, you know. Just sharing... experiences." The implication hangs in the air: Yujin explicitly telling Rei details about your sex life. You decide to engage directly, turning your attention fully to Rei, whose blush now extends down her neck, disappearing into the water near the top of her lilac bikini.

"Is that true, Rei?" you ask, keeping your voice level, curious. "You enjoyed Yujin's... 'girl talk'?" Rei lowers her glass slowly, her eyes darting between you and Yujin. She takes a deep breath, seeming to gather her courage, fueled by the wine. "Well..." she starts, voice a little shaky but holding your gaze. "Unnie... she tells very vivid stories." A small, nervous smile plays on her lips. "It was... interesting. Hearing about... things." It's a confirmation, albeit a slightly flustered one. You can see her chest rising and falling a little faster now, her nipples clearly pebbled beneath the thin bikini fabric; maybe the cooling air hitting the wet fabric, maybe arousal, likely both.

Yujin laughs triumphantly. "Interesting? Oh, please! Admit it!" She nudges Rei again. "I bet you were lying there in your bunk after those calls, wide awake, picturing it all, huh? Imagining it was you underneath him instead of me?" She gestures towards you with a blatant lack of subtlety. "Picturing his hands on you, his mouth…?"

"Unnie! Stop it!" Rei squeals, splashing Yujin again, but there's no real heat behind it, only embarrassed giggling. She looks quickly at you, her eyes wide, then away again. "Maybe a little!" she finally admits, her tone muffled as she tries to hide her smile against her shoulder. "But it was your fault! Telling me all those things right before I was trying to sleep… it wasn't fair!" Even in her denial, there's an undertone of confession.

You can almost picture it: Rei, alone in her hotel room, listening to Yujin's explicit tales, her imagination running wild. The thought makes the pressure in your shorts almost painful. Yujin seems to sense Rei's flustered state, her arousal mixed with embarrassment. She assesses the situation, then pats the water beside you, or rather, directly over your submerged thighs. "You look uncomfortable all squished over there, princess," she says soothingly, though her eyes dance with calculation. "Why don't you come sit over here? On his lap. Much more comfortable, I bet."

Rei freezes, her eyes snapping towards the spot Yujin indicated—your lap. She looks at Yujin, then her wide, uncertain eyes land on you. She bites her lip, seeming torn between desire and nervousness. "Is... is that okay?" she asks you directly. Your heart hammers. This is a major step, orchestrated by Yujin but requiring Rei's explicit consent and action. You nod slowly, patting your thigh through the water as an invitation. "Yeah, sure. If you want to." Holding your breath, you watch as Rei carefully pushes herself off the ledge, maneuvering through the water towards you. She moves hesitantly at first, then with more purpose, finally positioning herself directly in front of you before slowly, carefully, lowering herself onto your lap, facing you.

Her wet skin slides against yours, her bikini bottom against your swim shorts. The initial contact is electric. You feel the surprising weight of her, the softness of her thighs pressing against yours, her stomach against your chest. Her arms instinctively come up to rest lightly on your shoulders for balance. She feels impossibly soft, warm, and undeniably real. You carefully bring your hands up, resting them gently on her waist, spanning the soft skin above the low-cut bikini bottoms. You feel her sharp intake of breath at your touch, her whole body tensing for a second before she seems to consciously relax, sinking slightly heavier onto you. Tentatively, her hands slide down from your shoulders to cover yours where they rest on her waist, her fingers intertwining with yours or maybe just gently massaging the back of your hands, a silent acceptance, even an encouragement, of your touch.

Yujin watches this entire transaction with a look of intense satisfaction, like a master puppeteer admiring her work. She takes a long, slow sip of her wine, letting the moment settle. "You know," she says eventually, dangerously casual, though her eyes gleam, "this reminds me..." She looks from Rei, now settled on your lap, back to you. "Way back, before you and I were even a thing..." Her gaze drifts back to Rei, who seems to freeze slightly at Yujin's tone. "...I used to help Rei relax just like this sometimes." Rei's eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't deny it. "Remember those nights, princess?" Yujin continues softly, her voice intimate. "After a stressful practice? You'd come over, curl up on my lap just like this..." Yujin pauses, letting the image sink in, "...and I'd help you out downstairs. With my fingers."

Fuck.

Picturing Yujin—your Yujin—with her fingers buried inside Rei, Rei sitting on her lap, moaning… holy fuck. Hearing it spoken so casually, so possessively, makes your cock instantly strain against the confines of your shorts, becoming painfully, throbbingly hard beneath Rei's oblivious weight.

Rei surely must feel it now.

Yujin leans closer to Rei, ignoring your obvious physical reaction for the moment, focusing entirely on her friend now trapped on your lap, pinned by the memory and the present situation. "You miss that feeling, don't you?" Yujin probes gently. "Having someone's fingers teasing you just right? Making you come apart..." Rei trembles slightly, unable to meet Yujin's intense gaze. A tiny whimper escapes her lips. She manages a shaky, almost imperceptible nod, her eyes wide and glazed now with a mixture of memory, wine, and burgeoning need. "Yes..." she whispers. Yujin turns her triumphant gaze towards you, her eyes gleaming with manipulative delight and shared arousal. "Well?" she prompts, nodding towards Rei. "What are you waiting for? She clearly misses being touched. You should do it." Her voice is a command wrapped in suggestion. "Touch her." You look down at Rei, her face now tilted slightly upwards towards you, her lips parted, breathing shallowly. You can definitely feel your erection pressing insistently against the juncture of her thighs through the thin layers of your shorts and her bikini bottom.

"Rei?" you ask. "Do you want me to?" Rei's eyes flutter briefly, then focus on yours, dark pools of undeniable heat and pleading. She bites her already swollen lower lip. "Yes..." she breathes, the word shaky but firm. "Please... it would be... great." She leans slightly closer, her warm breath ghosting your cheek, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper. "Unnie... Yujin said you're really good," she confesses, the final piece clicking into place, confirming the depth of their prior conversations. "With your fingers..." The invitation, the endorsement, the explicit permission hangs in the steamy air between you.

Rei's breathy consent, the confirmation that Yujin has already sung your praises ("good with your fingers"), hangs in the steam-filled air like an electric charge. Her eyes are locked on yours, wide and dark with a potent mix of wine, heat, and blatant, pleading need. She's heavy on your lap, the soft weight of her pressing down against your throbbing erection. There's no room for doubt, no space for hesitation now.

This is happening.

Your hand, still resting possessively on her waist, slides lower, fingers trailing over the smooth, wet skin revealed by the high-cut leg of her lilac bikini bottom. You feel her shiver beneath your touch, a full-body tremor that has nothing to do with cold. Your thumb traces the delicate line where the fabric meets her skin, right at the crease of her thigh. She lets out a tiny, sharp gasp, her fingers tightening instinctively on your hands where they still cover yours. Taking that as further encouragement, you carefully hook a finger under the thin, stretchy fabric of her bikini bottom, pulling it gently to the side. The movement reveals her completely beneath the water's surface: glimpses of soft folds, glistening pink flesh, looking impossibly vulnerable and inviting.

With painstaking slowness, you slide one finger forward, finding her entrance. She gasps again, louder this time, her head tipping back against your shoulder as your fingertip breaches her heat. Fuck, she feels incredible. Tight, velvety, impossibly hot. You push slightly deeper, feeling her inner muscles clench around your finger reflexively. "Mmmph," a soft, sweet moan escapes her lips, muffled against your skin. It’s the sound of pure, unguarded pleasure, and it sends another jolt straight to your already painfully hard cock. You add a second finger, sliding it in alongside the first, stretching her slightly. She whimpers, hips lifting instinctively off your lap for a second before settling back down, accommodating your intrusion. You start to move your fingers, a slow, exploratory rhythm, curling them slightly, searching, learning the feel of her. Her answering moans become less inhibited, soft sighs and sweet cries mixing with the gentle bubbling of the hot spring.

As you focus on exploring Rei's wet pussy, Yujin leans back against the stone edge beside you, watching the scene unfold with an unnervingly calm, intensely focused expression, like a scientist observing a fascinating experiment—albeit a scientist who is clearly getting turned on by the results. Her own breathing is slightly faster, her lips slightly parted, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. She takes a slow sip of wine, then begins to speak, her tone a low, seductive purr that cuts through the steamy air, deliberately amplifying the intimacy of the moment. "Mmm, listen to that sound," she murmurs, her gaze fixed on Rei's face, which is now flushed and contorted in pleasure. "She likes that, doesn't she, princess?" Yujin doesn't wait for an answer, her eyes flicking down to where your hand is working beneath the water, then up to meet your gaze.

"You know," she continues, "when I finally told her the full plan… not just that she was visiting, but that she was the main event..." Yujin lets the phrase hang in the air, savoring it. "...the official 'reward' for our very patient host here…" She smiles slowly. "...she practically melted right there on the phone. Couldn't stop asking questions. So excited, weren't you, Rei?" Rei just moans again in response, burying her face against your neck now, unable or unwilling to speak, lost in the sensations your fingers are creating.

Yujin chuckles softly, knowingly. "And she loved the idea… didn't you, baby?" she directs at Rei's hidden face, before looking back at you. "The idea of just… letting go for a week. Being taken care of. Being pampered, obviously, but also… being good." The word choice is deliberate, loaded. "Being obedient. She admitted she's fantasized about it… about submitting. Just handing over control and being told what to do, how to please." Yujin pauses, letting the implications sink in, her own arousal evident now in the slight flush on her cheeks and the undisguised heat in her voice. "So that's the deal," she declares, her tone becoming firm, almost business-like, yet still dripping with seduction. "For the rest of the week." She reaches out, trailing cool fingers across your bare shoulder, before gesturing between herself and Rei. "She's yours. Completely. We're yours." Her eyes lock with yours, intense and serious beneath the playful facade. "Anything you want. Any fantasy, any desire… consider it done. No limits, no questions asked. Our only job is to make you happy… and to take whatever you decide you want to give us." The sheer possessiveness in her tone, the explicit handover of control, the promise of absolute submission from both of them… it hits you like a drug. You feel your own cock pulse violently against Rei's backside, an involuntary throb of pure, unadulterated lust and power.

Rei certainly feels it. She gasps, her body going momentarily rigid against yours as your erection jerks beneath her. Her head snaps up from your shoulder, her eyes wide and glazed, looking at you with a mixture of shock and raw, escalating horniness. She knows exactly how turned on you are, pressed right up against her ass. And hearing Yujin lay out the terms, describing Rei's own supposed desire for submission while you're actively pleasuring her… it's clearly pushing Rei closer to the edge too. Her hips begin to move more deliberately against your fingers now, a small, instinctive grinding motion seeking more pressure, more friction. Her sweet moans are becoming louder, less inhibited, punctuated by sharp, breathy gasps. She clutches your arms tighter, her nails digging in slightly, not painfully, but with undeniable urgency.

The combination of Yujin's explicit, arousing words painting a picture of the week ahead, and the feel of Rei squirming and moaning on your lap, her tight heat clenching around your fingers, is making you dizzy with lust. You focus back on your task, increasing the pressure, finding a spot deep inside that makes Rei cry out, a high, keening sound that echoes off the water. Yujin watches, her lips curled into a satisfied smirk, her own body radiating waves of heat.

The night is dark now, the stars brilliant overhead, the steam swirling around the three of you in a cocoon of heat, wine, and rapidly escalating desire. Your fingers move faster inside Rei's slick pussy, finding a rhythm that makes her gasp and buck against your hand. She's incredibly responsive, her tightness clenching around you with every inward stroke, her wetness making your movements slick and easy. You alternate between deep, curling motions and circling pressure against that sensitive spot just inside her entrance, while your thumb finds her clit through the water, rubbing firmly, relentlessly.

Rei is completely lost in sensation now, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, sweet, helpless moans tumbling from her lips with increasing frequency. "Oh god… oh fuck… yes, right there," she gasps. "Please… please don't stop… fuck, I'm close… so close…" Her fingers dig into your shoulders, seeking purchase as her body trembles uncontrollably on your lap. Yujin watches, leaning forward slightly now. Her eyes are dark, pupils dilated, fixed on Rei's writhing form and your relentless fingers. "That's it," Yujin breathes. "Listen to her whimper… she needs it so bad. Make her come apart for us, baby. Make my little princess fucking scream all over your hand."

Yujin's crude encouragement, combined with Rei's desperate pleas, pushes your own excitement higher. You lean down, bringing your mouth close to Rei's ear, your lips brushing the sensitive shell. "You feel that, Rei?" you whisper. "How close you are? You're going to cum for me now. Right now. Let go. Fucking cum for me." Your words, low and demanding, seem to sever her last thread of control. A choked sob breaks from her throat. Her entire body goes rigid, tensing violently against you. Her inner muscles clench down hard around your fingers in a series of rapid, powerful pulses. A high-pitched, strangled cry rips from her lungs as her orgasm crashes over her, intense and overwhelming. She convulses on your lap, hips bucking spasmodically against your hand, riding out the waves of pleasure, completely undone. You hold her steady, keeping your fingers buried inside her, feeling the throbbing aftermath of her release, the hot slickness coating your hand.

As her shudders begin to subside, leaving her limp and trembling against you, gasping for breath, you gently lift her chin. Her eyes are unfocused, glazed with bliss, her face flushed a deep crimson, lips swollen and kiss-bruised looking. You capture her mouth with yours, a deep, possessive kiss, tasting the wine and her own unique flavor, a hint of salt from a tear of pleasure that escaped. You slide your tongue against hers, dominating the kiss for a moment before pulling back slightly, just enough to gently bite her plush lower lip, holding it for a second between your teeth. She whimpers softly at the small sting of pleasant pain. "Good girl," you murmur against her lips. "Such a good girl for me."

She just stares up at you, dazed and utterly pliant. You release her lip, letting your gaze drift from Rei's blissed-out face over to Yujin, who is watching you both with an intensely aroused, almost predatory gleam in her eyes. "Fuck," you breathe out, the word rough. "Seeing you like this," you nod towards Rei, still trembling slightly on your lap, "and hearing you talk like that," you glance at Yujin, acknowledging her filthy commentary and the power dynamic she established, "...you're both making me so fucking horny right now, it actually hurts."

The proof is undeniable, straining painfully against the inside of your swim shorts, pressed firmly against Rei’s soft backside. Action feels necessary, immediate. You gently take Rei's wrist, lifting her hand from your shoulder where it had been clutching tightly. Still holding her gaze, you guide her hand down through the warm water, pressing her palm flat against the thick, hard ridge of your erection straining beneath the damp fabric of your shorts. Her eyes fly wide open as her fingers make contact, a soft gasp escaping her lips. It takes her a second to process, then her fingers tentatively curl, closing around your length through the material. Even muffled by the fabric, the size and sheer hardness is obvious.

Her eyes widen further in genuine surprise, maybe even a little intimidation, before fascination takes over. Her fingers tighten, giving you an experimental squeeze, testing the feel of you. You watch her face, see the flicker of awe mixed with burgeoning, greedy curiosity. "You want this, Rei?" you ask, making sure Yujin can hear too. You push your hips forward slightly, letting Rei feel the full extent of your hardness pulsing against her palm. "Feel how hard you both make me?" Rei's breath hitches. She looks from her hand gripping your cock, up to your eyes, then maybe a quick, uncertain glance towards Yujin who nods almost imperceptibly, giving silent permission. Rei turns back to you, her eyes dark with newfound determination and undeniable lust. "Yes," she breathes. "God, yes… very much…"

Her confirmation is all you need. "Okay," you say softly, carefully easing Rei off your lap, helping her settle onto the submerged ledge beside where Yujin sits. Rei seems reluctant to let go, her eyes fixed on your groin. You stand up slightly in the hot water, ignoring the sudden rush of cooler air on your upper body, and quickly peel off your wet swim shorts, tossing them carelessly on the deck.

The second your cock springs free—thick, long, throbbing with blood and arousal—it draws a visible reaction. Rei’s lips part with a sharp little inhale, and Yujin's gaze drops instantly, lashes lowering with heat. You step up to the stone edge, placing one foot out of the spring, bracing it wide, grounding yourself, hips tilted just slightly forward. You know what you look like right now: cock hard and hanging heavy, glistening, your whole body haloed by steam and hunger.

“Come here,” you say. “Come suck.”

They don’t hesitate.

Yujin is first to move, slicking her soaked hair back as she wades forward, her eyes fixed to the way your cock twitches at the command. Rei’s right behind, crawling through the water like it’s instinctive, like her body doesn’t even require conscious thought anymore. She settles in beside Yujin, the two of them kneeling just at the lip of the spring, hands gripping the stone edge as they lean into you.

Yujin’s lips part as she leans in, but Rei beats her to it.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, almost reverently, breath warm as it ghosts across the head of your cock. “It’s huge…” She wraps a small, wet hand around your base, unable to fully close her fingers around it, and looks up at you like she’s discovered a secret meant only for her. “You weren’t kidding, unnie,” she murmurs without breaking eye contact. “You told me he was big, but… fuck. He’s thick. It’s so… hot.”

Your cock twitches hard in her hand, veins bulging under her fingers as she strokes you slowly, getting used to the heft, the weight of you. Yujin just grins, watching her like she’s proud of a new recruit.

“Told you,” Yujin says, inching closer. Her hand joins Rei’s, wrapping around the upper half of your shaft, and the two of them begin to stroke in sync—Rei near the base, Yujin working the upper half, their small hands overlapping, warm and slick from the spring. “He’s addictive. Just wait till you taste him.”

Rei’s breath catches, and she leans in, lips brushing the tip, kissing it like she’s testing heat from a fire. Then her mouth opens and she takes just the head into her mouth, slow, wide, soft lips forming a seal around your swollen tip. The warmth of her mouth makes your hips flex, your hands curling into fists at your sides. She lets out a soft, muffled moan, cheeks hollowing as she sinks down a little deeper.

Yujin doesn’t wait her turn—her mouth finds your balls, her tongue tracing slow, teasing circles over the sensitive skin before pulling one into her mouth with a hum of satisfaction.

“God, fuck,” you mutter, breath catching in your throat, stomach tightening as you watch them both worship you. Rei’s head bobs slow, tentative but eager, her mouth stretching wider every time she sinks a little deeper. She drools easily, spit rolling down your cock in messy strands, painting you wet and shiny. Yujin's sucking hard now, one hand gently massaging your other ball, and the contrast—Rei’s tight little mouth above, Yujin’s skilled tongue below—makes your knees tremble.

Rei pulls off with a gasp, strings of spit clinging between her lips and your cock, her eyes wide and wild. “It barely fits,” she breathes, stroking your length with both hands now, licking her lips like she’s starving. “It’s fucking perfect. Like… thick enough to make my jaw ache.”

Yujin chuckles, leaning in to lick a long stripe up the underside of your cock from base to tip, tongue flattening against the thick vein that pulses along it. “Bet your throat stretches around him,” she says to Rei. “Let me show you how deep he goes.”

Before Rei can reply, Yujin takes over, her mouth wrapping around your cock and sliding down like she knows exactly what she’s doing—and of course, she does. She takes more in one go than Rei managed, her lips sinking halfway down your shaft in one wet, practiced glide. She moans around you, vibrations rolling up your cock, eyes fluttering shut with bliss.

“Shit, baby,” you groan, reaching down to push her damp hair off her face, watching it cling to her cheeks. “That mouth is gonna make me lose it if you keep that up.”

Rei stares, spellbound, her fingers still wrapped tight around your base. “You’re seriously deepthroating him,” she says in awe, her free hand sliding down to her own chest, palm rubbing over the swell of one breast through the soaked bikini. “That’s so hot. I want to try.”

Yujin pulls off with a slick pop, grinning up at you, her lips red and swollen. “Tag team?”

You just nod, hips twitching, cock soaked and gleaming with their spit, twitching again when Rei leans in, licking a circle around your tip before slowly sinking down again, her tongue moving like she’s mapping every inch. Yujin stays low, trailing wet kisses along your balls and inner thighs, her fingers slipping between Rei’s stroking hands to cup your base.

“God, you taste amazing,” Rei whispers, looking up at you through thick lashes, her mouth returning to your cock without waiting for an answer. Her lips part and she sinks a little deeper this time, gagging slightly but not pulling away.

You’re groaning now, hips flexing forward in short, shallow thrusts, letting your cock nudge against the back of her throat just once—just enough to make her moan around you and pull back again, gasping for air.

Yujin leans up beside her, licking the side of your shaft before pressing her cheek to Rei’s. “Good girl,” she whispers. “You’re taking him so well. Bet your pussy’s soaking just from having his cock in your mouth.”

Rei whines, rubbing her thighs together beneath the water, still bobbing slowly on your cock, her hands trembling where they grip your hips.

Your hand slides down, fingers curling under her chin, lifting her off your cock with slow, wet resistance. Her lips pop off with a breathy gasp, her eyes glazed, mouth red and glistening. She licks the spit off her bottom lip like it’s sugar.

“Let’s take it further,” you say.

And both their eyes light up—Rei’s with wonder. Yujin’s with knowing.

Rei starts sucking your cock again, her lips stretched wide around your length, face flushed, her dark lashes fluttering every time your tip presses against the soft resistance at the back of her throat. Her tiny hand cradles your balls delicately, almost reverently, fingers splayed, palm warm against the slick weight of them. She’s trembling slightly, maybe from the heat, maybe from the way her mouth is completely full of your thick cock. Either way, the image is obscene, perfect—her soft cheeks bulging, eyes watery, her petite face dwarfed by the sheer size of you.

And she’s trying. Desperately. Gagging now and then, but not pulling back. Moaning low, the vibrations wrapping around your shaft, her lips soaked with spit and determination.

Yujin crouches beside her, one hand casually braced on Rei’s shoulder, the other gently stroking through her hair, occasionally slipping down to cup the side of her face, steady her. "Look at her," she murmurs, her breath hitting your thigh as she leans in. “Such a good girl. Taking that fat cock so deep already.” Her tongue flicks across her lips, eyes gleaming with heat. “You like that, baby? You like seeing our sweet little Rei choking on your dick?”

You groan, the sound guttural, involuntary. “Fuck yes.”

The heat coils tighter in your belly as you grip Rei’s jaw gently, guiding her mouth back to your cock, and this time—this time you don’t wait for her rhythm. You move. You slide in deeper, pushing past the resistance of her lips, her tongue, the soft clamp of her throat. She makes a surprised sound, a muffled whimper as her hands clutch at your thighs, but she doesn’t pull away. Her lips seal instinctively around you again as you push, slow at first, testing how far she’ll let you in.

And then you thrust.

Harder.

Faster.

Rei’s moan turns into a wet, choking sound, tears instantly springing to the corners of her wide eyes. You watch, transfixed, as your cock stretches her jaw, disappears between her lips again and again, her throat working frantically to take you. Her small, perfect face becomes a canvas for your desire—spit streaming down her chin, cheeks flushing deep pink, eyeliner starting to smear from the pressure building behind her eyes.

Yujin’s voice snakes up beside you, dirty and low. “That’s it. Fuck her face. Use that pretty little mouth.” Her grip tightens in Rei’s hair, not yanking, just anchoring her in place. “Don’t be shy, baby. She can take it. She wants it, look at her.”

You do. Rei looks up through the blur of tears and spit, and the expression in her eyes is devastating—need, submission, that messy pride of making you this desperate, this wild. She gags again as you bottom out in her throat, but her hands don’t push you away. She stays still for it, lets you rock your hips and fuck her mouth just the way you need. Her moans are guttural now, rising every time you slide deep into her throat and hold for a breathless moment before pulling back.

You can’t stop.

Every time you draw back and see the trail of spit that clings to your cock, the glisten of it painting her lips, it makes you growl—low and hot and feral. Her jaw is working to keep up, her face messy and slick, completely ruined for you. And Yujin—Yujin fucking loves it. Her hand strokes Rei’s cheek while her other dips between Rei’s legs, unseen beneath the bubbling surface of the water, but the sharp little gasps that break free between chokes tell you she’s not just comforting her.

“You’re making her so wet,” Yujin breathes, eyes half-lidded. “She’s so horny, I can feel it. Just from getting her throat used like this. Fuck, babe. She’s so fucking into it. You feel how she moans around your cock? She’s gonna cum just from this, just from choking on you.”

That image sears into your brain. Rei on her knees, sobbing, gagging, coming with nothing but your cock down her throat and Yujin’s fingers in her soaked cunt. You fuck her mouth deeper, harder, a few short brutal thrusts that make her gurgle and spasm, her eyes rolling up slightly. She coughs and chokes, but doesn’t pull back. Her nose presses against your pelvis, breath coming in desperate little hitches between thrusts.

“God—Rei,” you groan, your hand tightening at the base of her skull, your hips still grinding forward. “You’re fucking amazing.”

Yujin presses a kiss to the crown of Rei’s head, still holding her steady, her voice soft but edged with something twisted and proud. “That’s right, princess. Take it all. Let him use you.”

Rei lets out a strangled, needy whimper as she forces her eyes to look up again, lips stretched wide, tears tracking down her cheeks now. You don’t stop. Her throat is tight around you, wet and desperate and swallowing you again and again as you fuck into her with deep, powerful strokes.

“You gonna cum down her throat?” Yujin whispers beside you, licking her lips as she watches Rei drool around your cock. “You gonna stuff her little tummy full of your cum, huh? Let her feel it flood inside her? You know she’ll swallow every drop. She’d beg for it.” She shifts closer, one hand cupping your balls with slow, teasing strokes as Rei gags again, helpless, obedient. “I’d watch. I’d rub myself raw watching you finish in her mouth.”

Your control hangs by a fucking thread. Rei is a mess beneath you now, her mouth stretched red, spit pouring, eyes swimming—but she’s not stopping. She’s moaning around your cock like she loves it, even as she chokes, even as her throat spasms.

You don’t stop. You fuck her mouth harder.

You make her take it…

Your rhythm gets brutal. The slap of your hips against Rei’s flushed face echoes off the wood deck like a metronome set to ruin. You hold her by the back of the head now, no pretense of gentleness—just raw, driving need. Her lips are red and shiny, stretched to their limit, her cheeks stained with tears and saliva, your cock disappearing into the tight heat of her throat over and over with unrelenting force. She gags again, full-body spasms racking her frame, and you still don’t stop. Her hands are gripping your thighs, nails digging in as she tries to brace herself for the next deep thrust, her tiny form jolting with every fuck-deep stroke you feed her.

And then—she looks up.

Her eyes lock on yours, glassy, wet, completely wrecked and yet still wide open.

Wanting. Needing.

That look shoots straight down your spine like a lightning bolt. Something cracks inside you, a pressure that’s been building with every choking gasp, every wet drag of her lips, and it detonates in your gut.

“Fuck—” you grunt, your hand twisting in her hair, holding her face right where you want it. “I’m gonna cum—”

Yujin gasps beside you, like she’s been waiting to hear those exact words. Her tone is ragged now, laced with lust so thick it could choke. “Yes—fuck yes, baby, cum in her mouth. Give it to her. Stuff that little throat full. She’ll swallow it all.” Her fingers are already pulling her one-piece aside, the sleek black fabric dragged across her hip so she can slide two fingers directly into the slick mess between her thighs. “Look at her. She’s ready for it. She wants every fucking drop.”

Rei makes a choked noise around your cock, a garbled moan that shudders through your shaft as her throat clenches in anticipation. Her eyes never leave yours. She knows what she’s doing to you. Your hips jerk forward, faster now, desperate, out of control. You don’t care that she’s gagging, that her body convulses every time you push deep. She’s not stopping. She wants this.

Yujin’s hand is working between her thighs now, her other hand on Rei’s head, holding her steady as you use her mouth like a cock sleeve. Her lips part on a gasp. “Cum, baby,” she whispers, voice full of filth and adoration. “Cum in her mouth. Let her taste it. Fill her up so full she has no choice but to swallow every fucking drop. She’ll do it. She’s so good. Such a good little cocksucker for us.”

That’s it. That’s the last thread gone.

Your whole body locks. You push in deep, balls slapping wet against her chin, burying yourself fully down her throat. Her nose presses flush to your pelvis, her throat a tight, spasming vice around your cock—and then you explode.

“Fuck—fuck, take it—”

Thick jets of cum shoot down her throat, your cock twitching violently with every pulse, unloading more than you thought you even had in you. Rei chokes, spasms, her throat working frantically to swallow around your cock. She moans around it, eyes rolling back slightly, face flushed and raw and so fucking obedient as she gulps every single drop you feed her.

Yujin’s watching, panting, two fingers fucking herself hard and fast as she murmurs, “That’s it, swallow it—good girl, good fucking girl, don’t waste a drop—” Her own hips are jerking against her hand, the slap of fingers on wet flesh lost under the growl of your release.

You stay buried in Rei’s mouth until the last pulse fades, your thighs trembling, your hand still knotted in her hair. When you finally pull back, a long string of spit and seed clings from her lips to your cock before snapping, falling to her chin in a viscous trail. Rei gasps for air, coughing slightly, but she swallows again, visibly, her tongue darting out to catch the last of your mess. Her lips are puffy, cheeks shiny with tears, but she looks—fucking blissed out.

Yujin’s still panting, her hand shaking as she rubs herself through the aftershocks of her own orgasm. Then she leans forward, still flushed and glowing, and reaches down with one hand, tilting Rei’s chin up gently.

“Tongue out,” Yujin says softly. “Show me.”

Rei obeys instantly, her mouth falling open, tongue extended—wet, pink, glistening with spit and cum.

Yujin moans.

She leans in, pressing her mouth to Rei’s, not a kiss—no, this is something else entirely. She sucks on Rei’s tongue, slow and dirty, her lips sealing over it, her cheeks hollowing as she drinks the remnants of your cum from Rei’s mouth like it’s her fucking reward.

Rei moans again, hands twitching in the water, her whole body visibly shuddering from the sheer intensity. When Yujin finishes, chin drooling, Rei gasps for air, looking completely ruined, yet entirely hot.

“So,” Yujin says softly against Rei’s ear, “what’d you think?” Her hand drifts up, knuckles grazing the side of Rei’s neck, fingers trailing back down the curve of her spine. “You like being used like that? Mouth full of cock, throat stuffed like a little toy?”

Rei lets out a shaky laugh, cheeks coloring deeper, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she runs her hand up your thigh, fingers grazing the inside, slow and teasing, until she’s just beneath your cock again, her palm flat against your skin, dangerously close. She glances up at you, lips still wet, and that shy-turned-hungry smile spreads across her face like she’s only just realizing how much she loved it.

“I felt… so slutty,” she admits, almost breathless. “Like I was just a thing. A plaything for you. It was…” Her fingertips slide higher, brushing your balls with delicate, lingering pressure. “It was hot.” Her eyes search yours, equal parts reverent and mischievous. “Was it good for you?”

You reach down, gently cradling her cheek in one hand, thumb brushing across her damp jaw as you lean in. She closes her eyes, tilting into the touch. You press a kiss to her forehead, slow and warm. “It was perfect,” you murmur.

Then she feels it—your cock, still hard, still heavy, throbbing just inches from her face.

You don’t need to say it.

Yujin’s already watching the twitch of your shaft, the tension in your body, the way your hips are still subtly tilted forward like you’re fighting not to grind against Rei’s hand. “Mmm,” she hums, lips brushing Rei’s shoulder. “Still so hard… Guess you’re not done with us yet, huh?” She meets your eyes with a wicked grin. “You still have a lot of cum to give, don’t you?”

You nod slowly, jaw tight, blood still pumping hot with need.

“Then come on,” Yujin says, standing up and pulling Rei with her, water cascading down both their bodies in glistening streams. “Inside. It’s freezing out here and I want more to fuck without slipping into the damn hot spring.”

You laugh under your breath, grabbing a towel where you left it around the hot spring. Rei stumbles slightly, still a little dazed from the throatfucking, and Yujin steadies her with one arm, pulling her close as you wrap the towel around your waist. You grab another for the girls, slinging it around their shoulders like a shared cocoon, all three of you huddled together as you hurry across the deck. The cold wind slices at your skin, but you barely feel it. The only real heat lives between your legs and in the way both of them press against you—Rei at your left side, damp hair clinging to her neck, and Yujin at your right, one hand tucked low against your back, fingers sneaking lower.

You reach the door and stumble inside, laughing as you kick it shut behind you. The warmth hits instantly, the heat from the fire wrapping around your bodies. The towel clings wetly to your thighs. You’re still dripping, still slightly shivering, but that doesn't matter because you’re already pulling them toward the bedroom, your free hand tangled in Yujin’s.

The bed swallows you as you drop back onto it, not even bothering to pull the covers back. The girls land beside you, Rei’s towel slipping off her shoulders, baring one flushed shoulder, the curve of her breast peeking out. You catch her, hand sliding behind her neck as you pull her in for a kiss. Her lips are soft and wet and still taste faintly of you. Her body presses into yours, towel loosening, the curve of her hip against your bare side.

You break the kiss and turn to Yujin, who’s already crawling up your chest like a predator, straddling your waist. You pull her down, mouth colliding with hers in something rougher, deeper. Tongues slide. Teeth graze. She moans into you, grinding her hips slowly against your stomach.

Then you pull both of them in—arms around their waists—and your mouths meet in a chaotic tangle. A triple kiss, hot and messy, your tongues brushing, lips dragging, breathing in each other’s heat. It’s clumsy in the best way—spit-slicked and uncoordinated and absolutely filthy. Rei moans softly into your mouth, then turns her head slightly and kisses Yujin, their lips pressing together in a quiet gasp, and you just watch, heart pounding, cock pulsing, as the two of them fall into each other’s mouths like they were always meant to.

“Mmh,” you murmur, reaching between them to cup Rei’s ass, giving it a slow, possessive squeeze. “Take off the swimsuits.” Your cock is already twitching in your hand, precum beading at the tip as you stroke slowly, eyes fixed on the girls as they scramble to obey.

Yujin’s already halfway out of her black one-piece, dragging the fabric over her hips with a sharp tug. She shrugs it down her shoulders and tosses it to the floor, stretching out on the bed naked and glowing, her thick thighs spread just enough to flash a teasing hint of the pink between them. Rei hesitates for a second, Then she unties her bikini top, letting her breasts fall free and heavy, after that she finally takes off her bottom.

And there she is. Fully nude. Finally.

You don’t even try to hide your reaction—your cock throbs violently in your fist at the sight. Her body is delicate, soft curves where you imagined them, her breasts, bigger than Yujin's, are fuller and rounder too, her waist tapering down to a gentle flare of hips, her pussy bare, glistening faintly with the mix of arousal and water. She flushes under your gaze, biting her lip, eyes dropping to your cock like she knows exactly what she’s done to you.

You don’t give her time to second guess.

You grab her, pulling her close, crashing your mouth to hers again. One hand grips her ass—juicy, smooth, perfect in your palm—the other sliding up to cup her breast, your thumb brushing over the pebbled nipple. She gasps into the kiss, hips jerking against yours, her chest rising sharply as you roll the nipple between your fingers.

Then Yujin groans.

“Don’t forget about me, baby!” You can feel the arousal in her voice, needier than she probably means it to sound. “You think I’m gonna just lie here and watch while you play with your new toy?”

You grin, breaking the kiss with Rei, and turn to face her.

“Impossible,” you say simply, crawling between her thighs, lining your cock up with the heat that’s practically dripping from her greedy pussy. “You’re unforgettable.”

Yujin arches into you the second your tip presses against her, her hands flying to her breasts, squeezing them together as you push inside, slow and heavy. She lets out a loud, shameless moan, her head tipping back, mouth open, one leg locking around your waist.

“Fuck—yes, that’s it—fill me up—”

You start thrusting, your rhythm fast from the start, desperate to bury yourself in that velvet heat. Her pussy grips you like it remembers, like it missed you as much as you missed it, and your breath shudders out of you as you drive in harder.

Yujin reaches for Rei, pulling her closer, guiding the girl to straddle her chest. “Come here, baby,” she whispers, mouth already open, eyes hazy. “Let me taste you too.”

Rei moans softly, hips jerking as she moves, and a second later Yujin wraps her lips around one of Rei’s breasts, sucking it deep into her mouth while she’s beneath you, spread wide and soaking wet, her thighs slick with arousal and your cock punching into her over and over in a rhythm that’s pure desperation. Her body rocks up with every thrust, tits bouncing, hands braced on Rei’s waist as she keeps her mouth locked around one perfect breast. Her lips are sealed tight around Rei’s nipple, tongue swirling and flicking with the kind of focused hunger that makes Rei gasp, her fingers tightening in Yujin’s hair, head tipped back in a dazed, helpless moan.

Your hands are gripping Yujin’s hips, pulling her down hard to meet every thrust, drowning in the soft gasps and wet sucking noises filling the air. You’re balls-deep, your cock practically dragging her moans out of her with every stroke, and she’s so fucking tight around you—like her pussy is trying to milk every ounce of cum out of your body, even though you’ve barely recovered from the last time.

“Fuck,” Yujin groans, lips slick with spit and soft pink skin as she pulls back from Rei’s chest just for a breath, then dives right back in with a growl, dragging her tongue across the other breast. “Taste so good. Don’t stop, baby.”

Rei’s thighs tremble as she shifts forward, her body flush against Yujin’s, straddling her chest while you pound into her from below. Her hand trails down, fingertips feathering along Yujin’s stomach, nails grazing lower until she finds the swollen cunt between Yujin’s thighs. You feel her touch even from where you are, your cock brushing the edge of her fingers as she slides them across Yujin’s clit in slow, deliberate circles.

Yujin’s reaction is instant.

She cries out, arching her back hard, her tits pressing up into Rei’s mouth, the sudden pulse of pleasure making her tighten around you like a fist. “Shit—yes—right there, keep going!” she gasps, grinding herself against Rei’s hand even as she tries to fuck herself harder on your cock. “Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—”

Rei’s breath hitches, her fingers working faster now, slipping through the flood of wetness as her thumb flicks Yujin’s clit with practiced precision. Her voice is breathless, reverent. “You’re so beautiful like this, unnie,” she whispers, eyes fixed on Yujin’s flushed face, her parted lips, the tears beading at the corners of her eyes from the intensity. “Getting fucked like this… moaning for his cock, clenching so tight… it’s making me so fucking horny.”

Yujin lets out a choked moan, her hips jerking violently between you both, your cock slamming deep as her cunt contracts around you like she’s on the edge. Her hands claw at the sheets, at Rei’s hips, her teeth grazing Rei’s nipple as she bites down lightly, overwhelmed by the dual assault of your cock pounding into her and Rei’s fingers teasing her clit with such focused intent.

“You hear that?” you growl, leaning down to press your chest to Yujin’s, your lips brushing her ear. “You’ve got her dripping just watching you get ruined on my cock.”

Yujin nods frantically, her legs spreading wider, her heels digging into the mattress. “Yeah—fuck, I can feel it—feels so fucking good—I’m gonna—”

But she doesn’t finish the sentence. Rei’s fingers are too precise, too hungry, and your pace doesn’t let up for a second. You slam into her again and again, her body jerking under yours, her cunt fluttering around you in a frantic, desperate rhythm. Rei moans softly as Yujin sucks harder on her breast, her own thighs grinding against Yujin’s stomach, every one of her senses lit on fire by the sight of her unnie breaking apart beneath you.

And still—you don’t stop.

Yujin’s body is shaking now, her moans slipping into helpless little cries that bounce off the bedroom walls, every breath stuttering through clenched teeth as your cock drills into her harder, deeper, without pause. Her eyes are half-lidded, mouth open, drool smeared on her bottom lip, and her fingers claw at the sheets like they might anchor her through the hurricane you and Rei are dragging her into. Her thighs tremble around your waist, flexing and locking every few seconds like she’s fighting off the inevitable—like her orgasm’s already coiling hard in her core, just waiting for permission to destroy her.

And you and Rei? You’re fucking relentless.

You pound into her with wild, piston-like thrusts, hips snapping forward as you bury your cock again and again in her slick, greedy pussy. She's soaked, you can feel it with every wet slap of your bodies—feel the obscene gush of her arousal coating your length, dripping down your balls. Rei hasn’t moved from between Yujin’s thighs, her fingers circling her clit with expert rhythm, her other hand groping Yujin’s tits, squeezing and slapping them playfully, watching the way they bounce with each thrust you give her. Her eyes are wide with hunger, her mouth parted as she pants against Yujin’s stomach.

Yujin screams through her teeth, her voice raw. “Fuck—fuck—I’m close—so fucking close—”

You lean in, grabbing her by the jaw, making her look at you. “Yeah? You gonna cum for me, baby?” you snarl, grinding your hips deep. “You gonna cum all over my cock like a good fucking slut?”

Rei's giggle is high and bright, but there’s a filthy edge to it, a manic kind of thrill in her tone as she presses harder against Yujin’s clit. “She is, she’s so close,” Rei coos, licking her fingers to taste Yunjin's juices and then returning the relentless assault. “Look at her. Fucking wrecked. She’s gonna explode just from us using her. You gonna cum, unnie?” Her fingers slap Yujin’s clit once, a sharp flick that makes her jolt, back arching off the bed. “You gonna make a mess for us?”

“Say it,” you growl, fucking her harder. “Say it, cum for me.”

“Do it, slut,” Rei spits, her tone suddenly darker, filthier. “Cum like the whore you are. You love this, don’t you? Getting fucked like a bitch in heat. Getting used by your dongsaeng and your man like a cheap little cumrag.”

Yujin’s eyes flutter back in her head, a long, trembling moan spilling from her throat. “Yes—yes—I’m your fucking whore——I don’t care, just don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”

Rei's dirty talk turns savage, insatiable, you can hardly recognize her. “That’s right. Take it, slut. Let everyone see how much of a mess you are. Getting pounded like a dumb little toy, drooling like a dog. Bet your pussy’s gonna squirt all over the bed, huh? Gonna fucking soak us, unnie?”

“Cum for us,” you demand, breath burning through your chest as your cock slams into her again, again, again. “Fucking cum—now.”

Rei’s voice layers on top of yours, teasing, cruel, loving it. “Do it, unnie—cum on his cock like a little whore, make a fucking mess—cum—”

Yujin breaks.

She screams—no words, just pure noise, the kind that comes from deep in the gut, primal and raw—and her body locks up beneath you, thighs squeezing around your waist as her pussy spasms violently around your cock. Then it hits—hard—a sudden gush that blasts out of her, hot and wet, soaking your hips, your stomach, the sheets beneath her.

“FUCK—she’s squirting,” Rei shrieks, laughing in breathless delight, pulling her hand back to watch Yujin’s orgasm drench everything. “Oh my god, you’re squirting for us, you filthy little slut—fuck, that’s hot—”

The bed is soaked, dripping with the force of it, and still you keep fucking her, your cock driving through the spasms of her climax like you’re determined to draw every drop of pleasure out of her trembling body. Her hands are limp beside her head, fists curled into the sheets, her chest heaving with every gasping breath, her mouth slack and smiling, glowing with fucked-out bliss.

Rei's crawling up beside her now, brushing the wet hair from her face, giggling softly as she kisses her cheek. “So fucking pretty like this,” she whispers, tracing her fingers along the mess between Yujin’s thighs. “You’re perfect when you cum like that. You’re our perfect little cumslut.”

Yujin just sighs, her eyelids fluttering, her lips curling into a lazy, satisfied smile. “I love you both,” she murmurs. “So fucking much.”

Her skin glowing with sweat and afterglow, her inner thighs glistening with her own juices. Her breath comes in soft little sighs, each exhale a ripple of contentment across her flushed lips. But her eyes—they’re sharp now, glinting with a familiar spark as they shift from you to Rei. Rei’s sitting on her knees beside her, hair tousled, still giggling under her breath, clearly reveling in the chaos of Yujin's explosive orgasm, fingers tracing random shapes across the wet sheets like a girl who’s just watched her favorite fireworks show and wants it all over again.

Yujin watches her with a tilt of her head, her lips curling up slowly into something delicious. “You know…” she says in a warm voice, a little hoarse, “I think Rei might be getting a little too comfortable calling me a whore.”

That catches Rei’s attention immediately. She blinks, straightens up slightly, eyes flicking to you, then back to Yujin. “I was just… helping,” she says with mock innocence, but her smirk betrays her.

Yeah. She’s definitely not sorry.

You glance at Yujin, eyebrow raised, and she grins up at you. “Don’t you think our little baby here’s being a bit bossy? Throwing all that dirty talk around like she forgot who the real slut is?”

You chuckle, rolling your hips slowly into Yujin one last time before pulling out, your cock heavy and still hard, glistening with her juices. “I do,” you say, meeting Rei’s gaze. “Sounds like someone needs a reminder about her place.”

Rei’s expression falters for just a second—her breath catches, her thighs clench subtly—and then her tongue darts out across her bottom lip.

“W-what do you mean?”

Yujin hums, her hand reaching out to stroke Rei’s cheek. “It means, baby girl, you forgot that I’m your unnie,” she says sweetly. “And you don’t get to call me names like that unless we tell you to.” Her fingers trail down to Rei’s lips, thumb brushing her lower one. “So I think it’s time you show a little respect, don’t you?”

You nod, shifting on the bed, your hand tangling in Rei’s hair. “Start by cleaning her up,” you say, firm and low. “That pussy’s a mess because of you. Lick her clean. Use that filthy little mouth for something useful.”

Rei hesitates for half a beat. Then, slowly, deliberately, she crawls down Yujin’s body, eyes never leaving yours. She settles between her unnie’s thighs, her hands sliding under Yujin’s knees to hold her open, and lowers her face.

The second her tongue flicks out and brushes across Yujin’s oversensitive clit, Yujin’s entire body jerks.

“Fuck—” she hisses, hips twitching violently. “Oh my god—so sensitive—”

But she doesn’t stop her. In fact, her legs fall wider apart, trembling slightly, breath ragged. Rei’s tongue moves slowly, almost reverently at first, lapping up every trace of cum and slick smeared across Yujin’s swollen folds. Her mouth shines with it within seconds, spit and juice and sweat painting her chin as she dives in deeper, tongue curling through Yujin’s folds, licking around her clit, flicking across the soft skin just below.

Yujin moans, hands fisting in the sheets. “Holy shit, baby girl… You’re lucky I’m not too wrecked to push you off—fuck—right there—”

Rei moans softly, her own thighs rubbing together as she licks Yujin clean, slowly, thoroughly, like she’s savoring every drop. Her hands keep Yujin’s legs open even as they twitch and quake, her tongue moving with agonizing patience over every inch of her unnie’s cunt.

Finally, when Yujin pushes at her head with a shuddering breath, too sensitive to take more, Rei pulls back—her lips glossy, cheeks flushed, her mouth open and panting. She looks up at you for approval, eyes wide and pupils blown, her mouth slick and pink.

You reach down and cup her jaw, pulling her in close. You kiss her—deep and dirty, tongue sliding into her mouth to taste your girl’s cum straight from her tongue. She melts into it instantly, moaning against your lips, her hands gripping your arms for balance.

“Good girl,” you murmur against her mouth. “You clean your unnie up so sweet.”

You shift on the bed, stretching out onto your back. Yujin smiles and rolls to the side, still catching her breath, propped up on her elbow to watch. You pat your thigh, eyes locked on Rei. “Now ride me. Let me feel that tight little pussy.”

Rei’s breath catches, eyes wide as she moves into position. She swings one leg over your hips, straddling you. Her hands plant on your chest, and she lines herself up—gripping your cock in one shaking hand and guiding the head to her soaked slit. You both groan at the contact.

She lowers herself slowly, inch by inch, and the tight heat of her pussy wraps around your cock like a vice.

“Shit,” you groan, your head tipping back. “Fucking tight—Jesus—”

Rei gasps, mouth open as she sinks down fully, her walls stretching wide to take your full length. Her nails dig into your chest, her entire body shaking as she bottoms out, your cock pulsing inside her.

“Oh my god,” she moans, hips trembling. “I—he’s so big—I feel so full—”

She sits there for a second, breath stuttering, getting used to it. Then, slowly, achingly, she starts to move—lifting her hips an inch, then sliding back down. Over and over, slow and shallow, her body adjusting to the stretch, her breath catching every time your cock brushes deep inside her.

Yujin watches with that wicked smile returning, eyes glued to where your bodies meet. “Look at her,” she purrs, reaching out to run her hand down Rei’s spine. “Fucking herself on that cock like she was made for it.”

And you don’t disagree.

Because Rei looks like she was made to be fucked just like this.

Rei begins to move with more confidence, her breath soft and fluttering with each bounce, hips rolling into a rhythm that makes her moan louder with every rise and fall. Her knees dig into the mattress on either side of your thighs, thighs flexing, slick skin catching the low firelight as she works herself down your cock with growing need. She’s tight, unbelievably so, her pussy stretching just enough to take you, her inner walls clenching around you like they want to keep every inch buried inside. The sounds—wet, obscene, addicting—mix with her whimpers, the slap of her hips against yours, the breathy gasps that escape her parted lips every time your cock punches up into that spot that makes her whole body twitch.

You grip her waist, thumbs digging into the soft dip above her hips, guiding her, not controlling—just giving her something to grind against. And fuck does she grind. Her pace picks up, small moans catching in her throat, her head falling back as she bounces a little harder, a little deeper. Her hair sticks to her neck and shoulders, her breasts rising and falling with each thrust.

Yujin’s watching, eyes hungry, a slow grin curving across her lips. She shifts up onto her knees, scooting closer until her chest presses against Rei’s back. Her hands reach around, cupping Rei’s tits, squeezing them roughly. Rei lets out a sharp gasp, arching against her, grinding your cock even deeper inside herself.

“Mmm,” Yujin hums, kissing the curve of Rei’s neck, her fingers pinching lightly at her nipples. “Tell me, isn't his cock better than my fingers, baby?” she whispers, sliding one hand down to press against Rei’s belly, feeling how deep you’re inside her. “Still think they feel better than his cock?”

Rei’s head tips forward, lips trembling. “N-no,” she gasps, voice high and shaking. “Nothing—nothing’s better than this. Than him.”

Yujin bites at her shoulder lightly, dragging her tongue across the red mark left behind. “That’s what I thought.” Her hand snakes back up, fingers rolling Rei’s nipples again, harder now, making her whimper and clench around you. “You look so fucking hot like this, getting ruined on his cock.”

You groan, hands sliding up Rei’s sides to meet Yujin’s, fingers brushing, the three of you moving together like a machine of heat and rhythm. Rei keeps riding, her moans getting louder, sharper, her body rocking forward every time your hips meet hers. You thrust up to meet her now, hard and deep, the rhythm intensifying until the wet slap of skin is constant, echoing through the room.

Yujin laughs softly, catching the way your jaw tightens, your eyes locked to where your cock disappears into Rei’s soaked pussy. She reaches down and brushes her fingers across your cheek, dragging your attention up to her face.

“You like watching her ride you, huh?” she says with a voice like velvet, sultry and knowing. “Like seeing our little toy bounce on your cock like she’s starving for it.”

You let out a low groan, hips jerking up harder into Rei, making her cry out and collapse forward against your chest.

“She’s perfect,” you breathe, your hands gripping Rei’s hips harder now, keeping her locked in your rhythm. “Fuck, you’re the best girlfriend in the world, Yujin.”

Yujin giggles, delighted, her lips brushing your jaw. “Damn right I am.” She leans down to kiss you, slow and deep, her tongue curling against yours, wet and hot and tasting like sex. Rei’s still riding through it, gasping between you both, her breath stuttering against your neck as her cunt milks your cock with every thrust.

You break the kiss just in time to watch her sit up again, her face pink and glowing, her body slick with sweat. She grinds down harder now, her pussy gripping you tighter, her rhythm more frantic, needier. Her hands press to your chest, nails raking slightly as she tries to steady herself, to keep control, but she’s unraveling—every second on your cock breaking her down more.

Yujin leans forward again, wrapping her arms around Rei from behind, pulling her flush to her chest. “Don’t slow down now, baby,” she whispers, lips brushing Rei’s ear. “Show him how good that tight little cunt of yours is. Make him lose his fucking mind.”

Rei moans, louder than before, her entire body jolting as she rides harder, faster. She rides you like she’s unraveling, hips jerking faster, sloppier, every grind more desperate than the last. Her moans have lost all inhibition—high, sweet, sharp little cries that echo off the walls, spiraling up through the rafters of the mountain home and disappearing into the cold air beyond the glass. She’s not holding back anymore. Every bounce makes her whimper, her thighs clapping down against yours, sweat glistening along the curve of her spine. Her tits sway with every frantic motion, her hands splayed on your chest as she fucks herself on your cock like she’s chasing something too big for her little body to hold.

“I—fuck—I’m close,” she gasps, eyes fluttering shut, head tilting back as her voice cracks on the confession. “So close—”

And god, hearing that, feeling how wet she’s gotten, how tight her pussy’s squeezing you like a vice, like she’s trying to hold you inside forever—it does something to you. The idea that she’s about to cum this fast, just from riding you, just from being watched and used and praised, carves itself into your memory. You know you'll use this to your advantage later.

You drag your hands up her sides, gripping her waist tight, halting her just enough to make her whimper in protest.

“Turn around,” you say. “I want to see that perfect ass swallowing my cock while you cum.”

Rei doesn’t hesitate. She bites her lip, nods quickly, and lifts herself off you with a breathless moan, your cock slipping free, drenched in her slick. She pivots around, her knees pressing to either side of your hips, her back now to your chest. She looks over her shoulder once, cheeks red, hair clinging to her damp skin, eyes glassy with submission.

And then she sinks back down.

You groan like you’re being pulled under water—her pussy splits around your cock again, tight and soaking, the new angle even more punishing. Her ass presses down against your pelvis, and fuck, it’s perfect. Juicy, round, the way it bounces with every move—it’s hypnotic. You can see everything now. The pink stretch of her cunt around you, the soft ring of her hole hugging your shaft like it was made for you. Every grind, every bounce, lets you watch her fuck herself open in real time.

“Holy fuck,” you hiss, hands grabbing handfuls of her hips as you push up into her. “You’re so fucking tight, baby.”

Yujin lets out a low whistle from beside you. “Damn,” she says, kneeling behind her, eyes locked on the way Rei’s pussy grips your cock. “That ass is unreal.”

Then she slaps it. Hard.

Rei jolts, letting out a surprised cry, her whole body shaking from the impact. Yujin grins, slapping her again, the sound sharp, obscene.

“Faster,” she commands, dragging her nails across Rei’s back. “I said faster, slut. Don’t slow down now. You’re about to cum, right? Show him how desperate you are.”

Rei lets out a broken moan, hips snapping faster, the cheeks of her ass bouncing wildly now, jiggling with every impact. Her hands dig into your thighs for leverage, her body working like she’s chasing orgasm with everything she’s got. Yujin leans forward, grabbing a handful of her ass and spreading her open, just to get a better view of your cock slamming into her soaked pussy.

“This your place now, huh?” Yujin sneers, slapping her again. The mark blooms bright red on her pale cheek. “Still think you’re the bossy one? Still wanna call me names?” Her voice drops to a growl, filthy and dripping with delight. “Look at you now. Just a fucktoy, getting your pussy destroyed for our entertainment. Serving daddy like a good little cumdump.”

Rei cries out, her moans high-pitched, shaky, legs trembling as she grinds down hard, trying to stay on rhythm even as her body threatens to fold. “Y-yes—yes, this is my place—want to serve you—want to make you both feel good—”

You slap her other cheek, hard enough to make it bounce and match Yujin’s. “Then fucking keep going,” you growl, your hands now dragging her down, your cock driving up into her with every bounce. “You want to cum? Then show me. Ride me like you mean it.”

Rei’s pace turns frantic, desperate. Her moans turn to cries, sharp and breathless, her hands gripping your knees so tight her knuckles turn white. Yujin’s slaps don’t stop—quick, hard, alternating cheeks, making her ass bloom with bright handprints. Rei’s entire body shudders with each one, her moans rising in pitch.

“You’re so fucking close,” you say. “I can feel it. You’re choking my cock. Don’t you fucking dare stop.”

“Daddy—oh god—fuck—I’m—”

You feel it—first in the subtle quiver of Rei’s thighs, then in the tightening of her pussy around your cock, pulsing rhythmically, almost pleading. Her pace falters for the first time, hips starting to stutter, her cries growing sharper, pitched higher with every bounce. You know that sound. That trembling, fragile edge of control that always shatters a second later. She's about to cum, and it's coming hard.

So you take over.

Your hands clamp down on her waist, dragging her down onto you harder, faster, each thrust slamming into her with force that makes her cry out, her nails digging into your thighs as she tries to brace herself. Her body rocks under the impact, spine arching as your cock pounds up into her, hitting that sweet, devastating spot over and over again.

"Fuck—fuck—he’s fucking me so hard!!" she screams, breathless and wild.

Yujin is right there behind her, her palm cracking against Rei’s already raw ass, loud and sharp. The mark deepens into a blazing red, the flesh bouncing with the blow. Rei howls, her voice breaking with the shock and pleasure. She can’t even stay upright anymore—her back arches, her body trembling like she’s about to break apart completely.

“Oh my god, she’s shaking,” Yujin laughs, breathless herself, her hand striking again, then again. “You’re gonna cum, huh? Gonna cream on his cock, you needy little bitch?” She grabs Rei’s hair, pulls her head back just enough to see her face—eyes fluttering, mouth open, cheeks flushed.

“Say it,” you growl, your hands moving now—spreading her ass open, wide, so you can watch everything. Her swollen pink pussy clenched tight around your cock, her slick dripping down your shaft and balls, and above that—her tight, twitching little asshole winking with every thrust.

The view is obscene. Filthy. Perfect.

Rei screams, her hands slamming against your legs for leverage, her whole body jolting. “I’m cumming—I’m fucking cumming—oh my god—DADDYYY!”

She falls forward with it, collapsing against your chest as her orgasm rips through her. Her pussy clenches violently, sucking at your cock like it’s trying to drain you, her body convulsing with each wave. Her mouth hangs open in a silent scream, her breath caught, eyes rolling back as she trembles through it, completely undone. You hold her in place, grinding your cock deep inside, keeping her filled through every shake.

She’s so tight—too tight—and it nearly breaks you.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you growl, your hands clutching her ass, your hips still rolling up into her softly now, chasing that last spark of heat. “Get off. Now. Lie down.”

Rei shudders one last time, barely able to move, and Yujin helps her off your cock, your length sliding out wet and throbbing. A thick strand of cum and slick clings from her dripping pussy to your cockhead, and your hands are already guiding them both.

“On the bed,” you command. “Heads on the edge. Open those mouths.”

Yujin smirks, moving without hesitation, dragging Rei with her. The girls crawl across the bed, bodies flushed and glistening with sweat, their asses in the air, breasts pressing into the sheets. They lie on their stomachs side by side, faces turned up, heads hanging slightly off the mattress, mouths parting in perfect unison.

Your cock is throbbing, heavy and ready to blow. Their tongues stretch out instinctively, eyes full of eager heat.

You step in close, cock heavy and gleaming, inches from their waiting mouths, and you let it fall against Yujin’s lips first. She smiles without breaking eye contact, licking the tip slowly, deliberately, her tongue circling the crown before flicking up under the frenulum. That single motion almost makes your knees buckle. Her mouth is warm, practiced—she sucks the head in, sealing her lips around it so tight that you almost cum right there.

Then you shift, feeding more to her. She takes a few inches easily, sucking hard enough to make your thighs tense, tongue teasing every ridge and vein as you begin to fuck slowly into her mouth. Wet, obscene sounds rise up between her lips and your cock—every time you push deeper, her throat hums around you, moaning softly like she needs it, like this is how she says thank you.

But it’s Rei who stuns you next.

When you pull from Yujin’s mouth with a soft pop, a thin strand of spit clinging to your tip, Rei tilts her chin higher, holding her mouth open like a good little slut, and you slide in—slow at first, watching the stretch of her lips around your girth, her lashes fluttering as the head pushes over her tongue, then deeper. She doesn’t stop you. She doesn’t flinch.

She swallows everything.

“Fuck—Rei,” you groan, hands gripping her jaw, guiding the pace now as her throat opens and her lips press flush against your base. “You just took it all, huh?”

Her answer is a wet gag and a shiver that rolls down her spine—but she doesn’t pull back. You feel her throat clench, a tremble passing through her whole body, and she moans around your cock, gurgling softly. Her nose is against your pelvis, her lips stretched around you, and it’s all too fucking much.

You start to fuck her throat properly now, pulling back an inch or two before driving back in, over and over, your cock disappearing down her tight, hot throat while Yujin strokes herself beside her, moaning softly as she watches.

“Look at her,” Yujin purrs, reaching out to brush hair back from Rei’s face. “So eager now. You were such a brat earlier, but this? This is your place. Swallowing cock for us. And you’re so fucking good at it.”

Rei moans in response, her eyes fluttering shut as her cheeks hollow. You pull back and slide into Yujin again without warning, and she groans around you, sucking you deep immediately, hands on your thighs for balance, throat flexing as you push deeper. Then Rei is back—she kisses and licks your shaft while Yujin’s mouth works your head, dragging her tongue up your length, kissing your balls, moaning like she’s addicted to your taste.

Each girl begs in her own way. Yujin pulls off just long enough to whisper, “Give it to us, babe. Cover our faces. I want to feel you dripping down my chin.” Then her mouth is back on you.

Rei strokes your shaft when she can, kissing the base, whispering, “Cum for me, daddy. Paint me. I want to wear it.” Her mouth finds your tip again, sloppy and desperate, sucking with the kind of pressure that makes your spine curve.

You can’t hold it anymore.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you growl, pulling out of Rei’s mouth with a wet sound. She gasps for air, mouth still open, tongue hanging, eyes wide.

You grip your cock, jerking it fast, tight strokes from base to tip as both girls hold their mouths open, faces tilted up, tongues out, waiting. Their eyes are locked on your hand, then on the head of your cock, and they’re moaning in sync—Yujin panting, Rei whispering “please, please, please—”

And then you explode.

Your cock pulses violently in your fist and thick ropes of cum launch from the tip, hot and heavy, splattering across their faces in long white streaks. Rei flinches as the first shot hits her cheek, then moans when the next hits her lips, dripping down her chin. Yujin gets a thick stream across her nose and mouth, a few drops painting her cheek and lashes. They both gasp, letting it hit them, worship them, mark them.

You keep stroking through it, more spurting out, your thighs trembling as you finally empty yourself, painting them both in messy, dripping ropes. It drips from Rei’s chin onto her breasts, rolls down Yujin’s cheek and pools at her collarbone.

The silence that follows is a different kind of intimate—no rush, no frenzy—just breathless stillness and bodies pressed close. You watch them breathe, watch their chests rise and fall in sync, the flush slowly fading from their cheeks as the afterglow settles in.

Yujin moves first.

With a slow, almost tender touch, she reaches for Rei, brushing her thumb across the corner of her mouth where a thick drop of your release clings. She scoops it gently and brings it to her lips, sucking it clean, eyes locked on Rei’s. “Messy girl,” she murmurs with a faint smirk, but there’s affection underneath it.

Rei doesn’t look away. She shifts forward, mirroring the gesture, her fingers curling under Yujin’s jaw as she leans in and slowly licks a thick smear of cum off Yujin’s cheek. It’s unhurried, like she’s savoring it, letting her tongue drag deliberately slow before pulling back with a faint moan. “You taste like him,” she whispers, almost in awe, then grins. “Kinda addictive.”

You slide down beside them, your body still pulsing faintly with the remnants of your climax, and lean back against the headboard. They press in on either side, warm and soft, naked and smeared with your cum. The room smells like sweat and sex and skin. You wrap an arm around each of them, fingers threading through theirs, grounding yourself in this closeness.

Yujin tilts her head against your shoulder, her voice lower now, that teasing edge replaced with something quieter. “So?” she asks, eyes half-lidded as she turns to look at you. “Now that you’re not fucking the soul out of one of us… what did you think? Be honest.”

You smile. You can’t help it—it stretches wide across your face, a lazy, completely satisfied grin. “It was amazing,” you say. “Really. I mean it.” You turn toward Yujin, squeeze her hand gently. “Thank you. For planning this. For bringing her. For knowing exactly what I needed when I didn’t even ask.”

Yujin blushes a little, like she wasn’t expecting you to get soft, but she leans in and kisses your shoulder. “You earned it,” she murmurs. “Two months waiting? You deserved more than just me on your lap for a week.”

Then you look to Rei. Her eyes are shining, lips parted like she’s trying to figure out what to say, what she’s supposed to feel right now. You reach over and take her hand, intertwining your fingers.

“And thank you,” you say, quieter now, more deliberate. “For trusting us. For being here, like this. You didn’t have to say yes. But you did.”

Rei’s eyes flicker, then she nods slowly. “I was nervous,” she admits. “At first. But… it feels right. Being here with you both. Like I’m not just watching, I’m part of something.”

“You are,” Yujin says immediately, reaching over to run a finger down her arm. “You are part of it. And you’re not getting rid of us now, so…”

You laugh, and the sound cuts through the lingering haze, lifting the tension just enough. You squeeze both their hands, looking between them. “This week’s going to be unforgettable.”

Rei smiles, glowing now, more open than you’ve ever seen her. “So what do we do now?” she asks, almost shyly.

Yujin stretches, yawning a little, her body arching beautifully as she slides off the bed. “We shower,” she says. “We’re sticky, we smell like sex, and the bed looks like someone got waterboarded with cum.”

Rei giggles, burying her face in your neck for a moment before pulling back. “Gross. True. But gross.”

Yujin turns toward the bathroom, looking back over her shoulder. “Come on. We clean up, then we crawl back into that bed and cuddle properly. I want to fall asleep between my two favorite people.”

Rei rises to her knees, stretching out her back with a soft moan. “And maybe we do it all again later.”

Yujin smirks. “Oh, baby. That’s a guarantee.”

And just like that, the three of you slip off the bed, bare skin brushing, fingers still tangled, limbs overlapping as you stumble toward the bathroom. Together.

—

The house transforms. After the first night as a chaotic threesome—the tangled limbs, the cum-soaked sheets, the three of you curled into one another like some beautiful, breathless tangle of heat and trust—something shifts. It’s not a fling anymore, not just a wild vacation. It becomes a rhythm. A dynamic. An unspoken contract that every glance, every obedient gesture, every parted mouth affirms.

The mornings start slow, but never soft. Rei’s the first to rise most days, slipping from the bed on quiet feet only to crawl back between your thighs, warm mouth sealing over your cock before you’ve even opened your eyes. She worships you in silence, gentle kisses and long, wet licks, until you’re hard in her throat and groaning into the pillows. Some mornings, you pull her up by her hair and fuck her mouth while Yujin wakes to the sounds of her little toy gagging on your cock. Other mornings, Yujin pulls Rei into her lap, rubbing slow circles on her clit while you slide inside her from behind, fucking her while she’s still half-asleep, her head buried in Yujin’s chest, moaning softly.

The rules become natural. No one speaks them aloud, but they’re etched in the way Rei drops her eyes when you approach, the way Yujin spreads her legs for you with a smirk that dares you to make her beg. You tell them what to do, when to open, when to kneel, when to cum (and when not to). And they obey. Not because they have to, but because they want to.

You fuck them everywhere.

The kitchen island becomes a favorite: cold marble on their bellies, their knees hooked over the edge, their cheeks flush with exertion as you alternate between them, cock slick with both their juices, slapping against their asses before slamming back inside. Yujin’s louder there, moaning openly as she gets filled, one hand clutching Rei’s hair as she holds her in place beside her, their lips brushing as they pant through it together. Rei’s frame bounces with every thrust, whimpering when you grab her hips and whisper how tight her little cunt is, how easy it is to ruin her.

The living room couch isn’t spared. One afternoon, fire roaring, snow falling lazily outside the wide glass windows. Rei on her knees, mouth wide, tears dripping off her chin as you fuck her throat, one hand buried in her hair, the other holding Yujin’s leg up as you finger her slow, deep, denying her the orgasm she’s clawing toward.

“You don’t cum until I say,” you murmured, lips brushing her ear. She sobbed in frustration, her slick soaking your hand, thighs trembling, but she nodded. “Yes, daddy.”

You used your belt that night. Their wrists bound, their asses striped with marks. Yujin counted out every hit with a moan, each number slurred between her gasps. Rei sobbed and whimpered but never begged you to stop—she just pushed her hips higher, her soaked thighs glistening as the red marks bloomed bright across her pale skin.

And they loved it.

“Thank you,” Rei whispered after, her eyes wet but not from pain. “Thank you for putting me in my place.”

You kissed her then. You always did after.

The hot spring was used more at night, when the steam clung thick to the air and the cold wind made every movement outside the water a delicious shock. One night, you made Rei cum three times in a row, her pussy so swollen and sensitive she begged you to stop, even as her hips chased your fingers. You held her down, whispering praise and filth into her ear, while Yujin sat beside you, masturbating lazily, watching her lovely friend fall apart with a smirk on her lips.

“You’re so sensitive, baby,” you murmured. “But this pussy’s still fucking greedy, isn’t it?”

Rei only nodded, eyes rolling back as another orgasm tore through her.

Other nights, you took Yujin to the edge and held her there—fingers deep inside her, tongue dragging slow circles over her clit, stopping just as her thighs locked around your head. She cursed you, clawed at your hair, begged and pleaded.

“You’ll cum when I say,” you reminded her, wiping her slick off your lips and making her taste it on your tongue.

The hot spring became your throne. Yujin on your lap, straddling you, bouncing on your cock slowly while Rei knelt on the edge, watching, touching herself, waiting her turn. You pulled Rei in after, making her ride your face while Yujin kissed your neck, her breasts pressed to your chest, still grinding down onto your lap, still greedy for more.

But it wasn’t just the sex.

There were quiet moments too. Evenings where you cooked together, Rei sitting on the counter, legs swinging, still wearing your hoodie and nothing else. Yujin behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, her cheek on your back, humming while the pasta boiled. Long hikes once the snow melted, bundled in coats and scarves, holding hands, stealing kisses behind trees. You stopped to take photos of them—Rei leaning into Yujin, Yujin’s head tilted, a grin tugging at her lips.

And always, at night, you ended up back in the same bed. Sometimes naked and aching. Sometimes just wrapped around each other, warm under the covers, their breathing soft and even as they slept against your chest. Rei tucked against your side, Yujin draped over your stomach, your arms around both of them. Safe. Close.

One night, as the fire crackled low and the sky outside darkened to a violet hush, Rei whispered, “I don’t want this to end.”

Yujin didn’t say anything, just reached for your hand under the blanket and held it tight.

Yeah. Neither did you.

—

The snow melts in pieces.

At first, it’s subtle; just a softening at the edges of the deck where the heat of the hot spring spills over. Then the air starts to change. Less bite, more breath. The icicles drip, slow and steady, and patches of green appear between the stone steps leading from the house to the trees. What once was a white-blanketed silence becomes a landscape of new possibilities: thawed trails, streams trickling with cold meltwater, sunlight dappling through the trees as if the forest was waking up with you.

You take them outside often, now that the world’s no longer buried in frost. The hikes stretch longer. Mornings start with Rei bouncing against your chest as you fuck her up against the side of a pine, her hoodie bunched up under her arms, her bare ass slapping against your thighs while Yujin watches with her hands in her panties, panting, whispering encouragement.

Afternoons are for sunlit fucking in the grass, knees pressing into soft earth, their mouths full of your cock while the trees sway above. You remember one particular moment: Rei straddling your lap in a clearing, her cunt dripping onto your cock before you even sank in. She rode you like she was trying to leave marks on your pelvis, while Yujin kissed her neck from behind, whispering “Good girl. That’s it. Take daddy’s cock like you need it.”

And she did. Every damn time.

The deck becomes another playground. With the snow receded, it’s all open space now—warm planks under your feet, bodies glistening in the sunlight, the girls naked and on their knees in the late afternoon glow. You use them however you want. Rei lies across your lap, ass red from your belt, moaning into Yujin’s pussy while you fuck her mouth. You deny Yujin again that night, teasing her over the edge four times in a row until she’s crying from frustration, her body trembling, begging, telling you she’ll do anything

And you still make her wait until the next morning.

They thrive in their roles. Not just the sex, but the trust in it. The clarity. The pure, unshakable knowing that they are yours, and that you take care of what’s yours. You fuck them with dominance, punish them with intention, reward them with care. You spoil them when it’s earned, and you’re cruel when it’s needed. Yujin leans into your hand when you pet her hair. Rei practically melts every time you whisper 'good girl'. You tuck them in at night like they’re precious. Because they are.

The house becomes a memory before it even ends. The walls feel like they’re made of more than wood now. Every room has a story. The kitchen tile still bears the faint mark where Rei’s knees pressed while you came on her tongue. The windows fogged over during Yujin’s first denied orgasm. The hot spring bubbled around your waist as both their mouths worked your cock in tandem under the stars.

And then it’s the last day.

You wake before them. Habit, maybe. The bed is warm, the sheets tangled with limbs and the scent of skin. Rei’s cheek is on your chest, Yujin curled along your side, her arm draped across your stomach. You lie there, just watching the ceiling, your hand stroking Rei’s back in lazy circles, feeling the weight of time pressing in from the edges. There’s no more food in the fridge. The towels are already packed. The silence is heavy.

Eventually, you shift, brushing hair from their faces, and they both wake slowly—blinking, stretching, sighing into your skin.

Yujin kisses your jaw. “Is it really the last day?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “We should start packing.”

No one moves for a long time.

When you finally do, it’s slow, unhurried. Rei sits on the edge of the bed in your shirt, staring out at the mountain view one last time. Yujin folds clothes with robotic precision. You zip up the suitcase and pause before closing it, staring at the belt coiled neatly inside.

The hike back down the trail feels different. The thrill of arrival is replaced by a quiet reluctance, the damp earth breathing a soft scent of pine and thawing soil where crisp snow crunched just days ago. Rei walks between you and Yujin, her hand tucked firmly in yours, Yujin’s on your other side, occasionally bumping her shoulder against yours. The silence isn't awkward, just... full. Heavy with memories made, unspoken emotions, and the lingering heat of that last night, that last morning fuck that left you all tangled and blissed out until the absolute last second.

Loading the car in the small clearing feels anticlimactic after the grandeur of the house. You slide into the driver’s seat, the familiar smell of the car—leather and lingering coffee—a stark contrast to the house’s cedarwood and sex musk. Yujin takes shotgun, immediately fiddling with the music, searching for something mellow. Rei curls up in the back, pulling Yujin’s discarded travel jacket over herself like a blanket, tucking her feet up onto the seat.

The drive starts slow, bumping back down the gravel track onto smoother pavement. Mountains recede in the rearview mirror, replaced by rolling hills, then farmland, then the first hints of approaching civilization. Sunlight streams through the windshield, warming your face. Maybe it's the warmth, maybe it's the comfortable silence stretching a little too long, but a thought that's been nagging at the back of your mind surfaces. You glance over at Yujin, then catch Rei’s eye in the mirror.

"So..." you start, trying to sound casual, one hand steady on the wheel. "Week was... okay? For you guys?"

Yujin turns down the music slightly, giving you a sideways look, eyebrow arched. "Okay? Seriously? After that?" She gestures vaguely, encompassing the entire insane, intense week. "What brought this on?"

You shrug, feeling a little awkward now you've voiced it. "I dunno. Just thinking back." You grip the wheel a bit tighter. "Was I... too much? Sometimes?" You glance in the mirror again, meeting Rei’s wide eyes. "Like, uh... the belt that night? Or keeping you waiting, Yujin? Making Rei ride me till she basically passed out?" A flush creeps up your neck. "Maybe I got carried away. Just wanted to make sure... you know. It was good. Not just... rough."

Yujin bursts out laughing. She twists in her seat, elbow resting on the center console, leaning towards you. "Babe," she says. "Did you miss the part where we basically signed up for exactly that? Where Rei practically glowed when I told her she was the 'reward'?" She shakes her head, still chuckling. "Overdo it? You gave us exactly what we didn't even know how badly we needed. Don't go getting all insecure on us now."

From the back seat, Rei leans forward quickly, sliding between the front seats, her expression earnest. "No! He's right, Unnie, don't laugh!" she insists, though a small smile plays on her lips. She looks directly at you, her gaze surprisingly steady now. "It wasn't too much. Not at all." Her cheeks color slightly, a familiar pretty pink. "Honestly? I... I loved it."

She takes a breath, seemingly gathering her thoughts. "It was... intense, yeah. Sometimes it hurt, like the belt. And sometimes..." she trails off, glancing away for a second before meeting your eyes again, "...sometimes when you were fucking my throat, I thought I might actually pass out. But..." Her tone drops slightly, becoming more intimate. "It wasn't just rough. Not ever. Even when you were being... demanding... or cruel..." She searches for the right words. "I never felt scared. Or unsafe. I felt... seen."

She gestures vaguely towards herself. "Like, you saw the part of me that wanted that. The part that liked being told what to do, liked being pushed, liked... feeling like a toy, maybe?" Her blush deepens, but she doesn't look away. "But you always took care of us afterwards. The kisses, the cuddles, the way you'd just hold us..." She shrugs, a small, vulnerable movement. "It made the hard parts... worth it. More than worth it. It made me feel... cherished, even while you were leaving marks on my ass." A tiny, self-conscious laugh escapes her. "Does that sound crazy?"

"No," you say immediately, reaching out to gently squeeze her shoulder where she's leaning between the seats. "Not crazy at all. Makes perfect sense."

Yujin nods emphatically beside you, her expression softening as she looks at Rei. "She's right. You nailed the balance, baby." She reaches over, taking your free hand from the wheel, intertwining her fingers with yours on the center console. "You knew exactly when to push, when to praise, when to punish, and when to just... hold us. That's not easy. That's... rare." She brings your joined hands up, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "And honestly? Bringing Rei?" She grins, glancing back at the her. "Best fucking idea I ever had. Watching you two together... the way she looked at you, the way you handled her... pure magic." She winks. "Definitely got me off more than once just watching."

Rei playfully swats Yujin's arm, though her eyes are shining. She stays leaning between the seats, after a moment of comfortable silence, punctuated only by the hum of the tires, Rei speaks again, hesitant this time

"So... um... do you think..." She clears her throat, looking from you to Yujin and back again. "Could we... maybe... do this again sometime? Like, another trip?"

Yujin answers instantly, nodding enthusiastically. "Oh, hell yes. In a heartbeat." She squeezes your hand tighter. "Same house, if we can get it. Or maybe a different but equally isolated place, who knows? Definitely same rules... maybe even some new rules?" She raises a suggestive eyebrow. "Definitely same people. And next time? We stay longer. A week wasn't nearly enough."

You turn your head slightly, catching Rei’s hopeful gaze.

"You'd really want to come again, Rei?" you ask softly. "Seriously? After everything? The throatfucking? The denials? Making you lick Yujin clean?"

Rei doesn't even blush this time. A slow, wicked smirk spreads across her face, transforming her expression from sweet ingenue to knowing participant. It’s ridiculously hot.

"Especially after everything you put me through," she replies, her tone steady. "Try and stop me."

Yujin laughs, delighted. "See? Told you she was hooked." She leans back in her seat, already brainstorming. "Okay, so next time... maybe we explore denial a bit more? For both of us?" She glances at you slyly. "See how long you can make us wait? How much we'll beg?"

Rei nods eagerly. "Ooh, yes! And maybe... maybe some outfits? Like, actual maid outfits? Or collars?" Her eyes sparkle with ideas. "And maybe... could you tie me up? Properly? Like, spread-eagled on the bed?"

"Baby steps, princess," Yujin chuckles. "But I like where your head's at. Collars are definitely happening. Maybe leashes?"

"Okay, okay," you interrupt, laughing, though the ideas are definitely sparking something low in your gut. "Let's get back to the city first before we plan the next round of debauchery." You steer the conversation slightly. "But yeah. Another trip sounds... essential."

They start chattering excitedly, bouncing ideas off each other: different locations, maybe a beach house next time, incorporating public play dares, exploring different dynamics, maybe Yujin dominating Rei more explicitly under your direction. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter, suggestive touches, and shared glances in the rearview mirror that hold promises of filthier, more twisted adventures to come. The melancholy of leaving fades… Now there’s the certainty that this incredible, intense connection you've forged isn't ending here.

It's just taking a breath before diving even deeper.

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