#I actually haven’t been able to decide if | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovelylogans · 16 hours ago

Text

debutante

previous chapter / chapter five

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: mentions of transphobia, food mentions, alcohol, kissing, mentions of child abuse, but nothing actually happens (virgil suspects something and dee mentions parenting attitudes that aren’t healthy) also a mention of harassing women, but it’s more of an abstract than any actual harassment. please let me know if i’ve missed anything else!

pairings: logince, moxiety

words: 21,961

notes: fifth verse, same as the first: i hope this can serve as a distraction for some of you today—please go out and vote if you are in the united states!! i'm actually posting this as i'm in line for my ballot so i can vote before work! there are so many important issues on your local ballot (several states have potentially life-saving but certainly life-altering provisions on ballot this year for a lot of folks!) in addition to national-level stuff! and, in regards to why this took so long to get here,

⁂

janus looks at the jar skeptically, his arms folded across his chest.

“this. this is your favorite food?”

logan tries not to take the slight too personally, but he offers the spoonful of loganberry jam to him again.

“yes, it is,” logan says. “i said nothing when you said your favorite food.”

“because my favorite food is normal,” janus grumbles, but he takes the spoonful anyways. “but seriously. just straight up jam?”

“crofter’s loganberry jam,” logan corrects. “followed by the rest of the jams that crofter’s offers.”

janus sighs, but ingests the jam, presumably in the name of getting to know each other better.

with the introduction of a name, logan had thought to propose getting to know each other better; so now logan knows janus’ favorite color (yellow) his favorite book (the art of war) and his favorite food (he’d said mille feuille, then admitted it was really pretzel m&m’s, which perhaps was a more conventional choice than a specific type of jam.)

logan watches him, hawk-eyed.

“so?” he says when janus swallows.

“i mean,” janus says. “it’s a good jam, i guess?”

logan sighs, but accepts that janus’ education when it comes to jam is a work in progress. that’s fine. in the meantime, logan will prepare a jam sandwich as a midnight snack. he dearly anticipates the day when he is no longer a teenager and therefore no longer so hungry all the time.

⁂

janus waits a long time to change into his pajamas.

logan gets up, presumably to go to the bathroom, and comes downstairs with an overly large hoodie without preamble, or even mentioning it at all, really.

janus refuses to smile, but he does change into the pajama set his parents bought him, with a big hoodie advertising a sideshire save-the-bridge fundraiser.

⁂

“why are you making me watch this,” logan groans.

“because it’s a cultural touchstone, hush,” janus says dismissively, staring at the screen but really staring at logan out of the corner of his eyes, trying his very hardest not to start cackling.

“this sex scene has been going on for three minutes!”

“cultural. touchstone.”

“you’re doing this to make me suffer,” logan accuses.

“obviously,” janus says. “that’s the whole point of making someone watch the room for the first time.”

“i should have just lied when you asked if i understood that reference,” logan mumbles under his breath, pointedly avoiding looking at the screen.

janus, in deciding to go full obnoxious, croons, “yooou are my rose, you are my rose, you are my rooo-ooooo-ooooose—”

logan pulls a pillow over his face and declares, muffled, “i hate you.”

“save it,” janus says dismissively. “we haven’t even gotten to the flower shop scene yet.”

“the what?” logan says, peeking tentatively from behind the pillow.

or the other terrible subplots, janus thinks gleefully. he’s not a huge fan of the room, himself, it’s not like he’s proudly in the cult following for it, but being able to show it to logan for the first time is something he absolutely cannot miss out on.

⁂

“but it makes no sense,” logan practically howls at the screen as the credits roll, janus laughing so hard he can barely breathe.

⁂

“christ, isn’t your boyfriend a dancer?” janus complains, shuffling his feet out of the way.

“my boyfriend is the dancer,” logan says, scowling. “my boyfriend.”

“either way, he needs to bring you in for extra waltzing lessons,” janus says. “poppy is going to kill you if you step on her toes even once.”

logan goes a little pale at that.

⁂

“why this,” janus groans, tempted to do what logan did and put a pillow over his face.

“you picked a movie, now i get to pick a movie,” logan says smugly, and janus considers throwing the pillow at the screen. the only reason he doesn’t is because he somewhat respects ken burns, even if logan picked his most boring documentary ever.

⁂

“this is ridiculous,” logan says.

“it’s meant to be a traditional sleepover activity,” janus says dismissively, counting each curl of the spiral, tapping the paper with his pen. “the internet says so.”

“yes, famously lauded for accuracy, the internet,” logan says. janus ignores him and starts crossing off options, counting under his breath as he goes.

“okay,” janus says, straightening the paper with a great deal of fanfare. “you’ll graduate from princeton—”

“surprising.”

“—i know, quite, i’d had you pinned as an east coast man—after majoring in chemistry, that’s a bit of a departure, isn’t it? but after you graduate, you’ll marry bowman—”

“bowman?!” logan says, aghast. “bowman wasn’t one of the options!”

“i editorialized,” janus says dismissively, “and you’ll have a hundred and two beautiful children—”

“where did you get that number?!”

janus ignores him. “—but you’ll settle in los angeles and live in a cozy little shack—”

“well, i’ve done that before,” logan says fairly, and janus tries his hardest to hide his wince as he continues.

“—and, funnily enough, you’ll be an astronomer. the end.”

“this game is ridiculous,” logan says, snatching back the notepad, before he hesitates and looks at janus.

“all right, fine,” he sighs, and readies the pen. “mansion, house, apartment, shack, those are listed. marriage options?”

“jeff bezos, bill gates, and elon musk,” janus says briskly.

“those are all terrible options,” logan says, disgusted.

“those are all terribly rich options,” janus corrects. “if this is going to be my imaginary m.a.s.h. life, i will live lavishly due to the money my husband will provide. i don’t have morals, i’d gladly be a sugar baby.”

“you don’t get to pick all your spouses,” logan says. “you married me off to bowman.”

“i’d argue elon musk is worse than bowman,” janus points out.

“narrowly,” logan says under his breath.

⁂

tristan, janus reflects, has to go, of course.

if not for his being racist toward janus—which is, admittedly, a more self-preservational factor that has put janus into plotting more actively than he has in the aftermath of almost everything else tristan has done. this includes that tristan cheats poorly, lies without even being clever about it, peacocks about with absolutely no sense of swagger or charm, is generally obnoxious, and somehow manages to both virgin-shame and slut-shame girls at their school without imploding from the hypocrisy of it all—

wait. he’s getting distracted.

if not simply for everything else tristan has ever done, then certainly for the note that’s been smuggled into his pocket.

the question, of course, was which plot to pick: to go out with a bang, or to pick a piece of blackmail so heinous that he’d shipped off to military school, with absolutely no time to lose…

⁂

“—and that’s how you say where can i find a newspaper in french, creole, and portuguese,” janus says. “i mean, your next problem would be if you could read it or not, but.”

“i wish i knew another language,” logan says thoughtfully. “the closest i have is latin, and that’s not exactly something i can use to converse with people.”

they’re both lying on their backs, staring up at the artificial ceiling of the pillow fort.

“i mean,” logan amends. “i know some conversational spanish, but. certainly not fluent.”

“spanish?” janus asks sleepily.

“roman,” logan explains, and janus makes an ah noise. then, “portuguese?”

“childhood nanny,” janus says. “she’s from the dominican republic, not haiti, but. she did teach me some things about haitian culture.”

“i met her, didn’t i?” logan says. “at your grandmother’s.”

“yes, you did,” janus says.

“creole from haiti,” logan guesses, and janus mm-hms.

“and you mentioned your grandmother was french,” logan completes.

“yeah,” janus says, and even logan can pick up the edge in his voice. logan props himself up on an elbow, furrowing his eyebrows.

janus looks at him, arching his own eyebrows, and repeats, “haitian.”

logan flushes, a little bit, remembering the (very little) amount of haitian history they’d covered in their mutual world history class, and the (slightly more, but still not exactly a wealth of information) studying he’d done in his free time.

“right,” logan says quietly.

“i’ve got ideas,” janus says darkly, staring up at the blanket ceiling. “my adopted ancestors’ vast fortune? it’s going to go straight into a trans, black haitian’s pockets. they’re probably rolling in their graves.”

logan is quiet, for a couple moments, before he says, “good.”

janus’s grin unfurls as he stares up at the blanket, daydreaming about how best to squander that fortune.

⁂

they’re lying in the pillow fort, mostly quiet, logan on the edge of sleep. but then, tinny and muffled, as if from a phone speaker:

your touch, pullin' fire out of me your touch, like the wind crashing on the sea...

“i am going to kill you,” logan declares, even if he does start laughing when janus does.

⁂

patton staggers down the stairs, stifling a yawn with his hand, and he has to stifle a smile at the sight of a blanket fort in his living room, just big enough for two teenage boys.

he edges around it carefully, heading directly for his first stop every morning: the coffee maker.

by the time the coffee maker starts making those slightly alarming sputtering noises that always makes patton think he should probably get it looked at, the boys emerge from the fort, bleary-eyed and honed in on the scent of fresh coffee.

“mugs in there,” patton mumbles to dee, who grabs three at random and pushes them toward patton so patton can pour, the coffee steaming and diffusing its delectable scent all throughout patton’s tiny kitchen.

there’s a stretch of silence only broken by the sound of sugar shaken into coffee, the pouring of milk, the clattering of a spoon against ceramic, and sipping.

by the time patton’s three-quarters of the way through his mug, he feels much more like a human.

“hope you boys slept well,” patton says, his voice not quite at its usual level of perkiness—he’ll need another mug of coffee for that. “do you have any preferences for breakfast? dee, you’re the guest, you can pick—we could go to virgil’s, that’s got diner breakfast—”

a strange expression flashes over dee’s face. patton takes note of it but doesn’t mention it.

“—remy, he runs the café in town, he does some good breakfast sandwiches… or fran’s, she’s got danishes and little pies and things. she runs the bakery near town center, you might have seen it.”

“fran’s,” dee says decisively.

patton nods, drains his mug, and reaches for a travel thermos. “i’ll go ahead and get going for fran’s, then, it can get a bit busy on weekend mornings. logan, could you fish out a menu and show it to dee? either of you can text me with your orders.”

both boys make sounds of affirmation, mostly preoccupied with consuming as much coffee as possible.

patton can’t really talk; he’s busy trying starting to drink the coffee from his thermos while simultaneously hunting for his house keys.

⁂

is the taste of cinnamon rolls in these small-town bakeries the entire appeal of living in a small town with an entire store for christmas lights? janus can now slightly better understand the appeal of living in a small town, if so.

squidgy without being mushy, just enough cinnamon to keep it from being sickly sweet, just enough icing to keep the whole thing moist, paired with the unexpectedly spectacular coffee from remy’s café…

janus eats three in addition to the rest of the pastry selection patton had generously gotten for them, and is only slightly regretful when a food coma signals its impending arrival.

but, as all things do, his visit to bizzare-o-town comes to an end—he’s put on his clothes and returned the hoodie logan had lent him, he’s tucked patton’s phone number into a small, almost-hidden pocket in his duffel bag, and he stands on the sanders’ surprisingly roomy front porch with logan, patton waving them both out with his ever-cheerful air.

“where are you going again?”

“newsroom,” logan says, shouldering his own backpack. “at this point, i think rudy’s just coming up with new typos to make sure i come around at least once a week. it’s ridiculous. look at this.”

janus obligingly looks at a newspaper, grimacing at the blatant inconsistencies of the use or lack of an oxford comma scattered across the page.

“we use ap style,” logan says mournfully. “he knows about proper comma placement. i know he knows about proper comma placement.”

“well,” janus says, striving for something polite to say, only ending up with, “best of luck with that.”

logan sighs, tucking away the newspaper. “i will require it.”

he holds out his hand. janus shakes it. (he notices only during the drive home his absolute absence of any hesitation.)

“i’ll see you at school.”

“see you at school,” janus echoes.

it’s probably the absolute lack of tension that is serving to make janus feel strange. since the beginning of the school year, they’d been picking at each other over grades, and he’d been needling logan for so long, it feels odd to leave without some kind of academic repartee.

and, well. who is he to break from tradition, after all.

the entire reason for this gathering being to forcibly break tradition aside.

so he adds, “i bet my score on our science exam is higher than yours.”

“it will not,” logan says, looking affronted.

janus snorts, shaking his head and starting down the stairs, heading for his car. “whatever you say.”

“it won’t!”

“four point margin.”

“absolutely not! your score will be less than mine by two at most!”

“i’ll make it mine is six points above yours!” janus calls, sliding into the driver’s seat, and sees logan shaking his head and probably muttering to himself.

janus rolls his eyes, but his lip turns up at the corner a bit more than usual as he drives down a rinky-dink little residential street and is that an old couple walking a cat in a stroller?! who put drugs in this town’s water supply?!

⁂

“hey, over here!”

the jolly bell fixed to the top of the door of this (admittedly quite cool) coffeeshop has barely rung before poppy’s attention is called to a corner lit by a big, dramatic brass lamp, where two fat, squashy buttery leather armchairs are framed on either side by bookshelves containing a boggling number of books in seemingly every genre and cool little bits of artsy decor.

poppy waves to lauren, before she points to the bar in a wordless offer. lauren, in answer, holds up her own to-go cup, waving her on to order.

poppy loves coffee.

poppy isn’t allowed to drink coffee.

well. decaf is fine. but the reason she isn’t allowed to drink caffeine “should be self-evident,” according to her mother. so this cuts down a bit on her café offerings.

the barista—who has the largest cup on offer in one hand, and his phone in the other—barely glances away from his phone to look at her over the frames of his sunglasses.

“what do you want?”

okay, blunt. poppy can appreciate blunt.

“the honey lavender latte. decaf,” she tacks on.

“size?”

“large.”

“hot or iced?”

“iced.”

“anything else?”

poppy shakes her head, nods when he recites the order back to her, taps her card when asked, and shuffles off to the pickup area to get her coffee, taking a moment to look around.

all of the machinery is sleek, decorated in white and black, down to the framed wall art beneath the menu. the barista is talking on his phone, now, gesticulating grandly with his truly enormous cup of iced—tea, she’s pretty sure?—behind the espresso machine, even as he’s pulling a shot for her drink. it’s frankly an impressive display of multitasking.

she looks around the room. there are other chilton people here, but not many, and most of them upperclassmen lingering in sideshire before they have to retreat back to the horrors of the workload of their junior and senior years.

there are a few of sideshire townsfolk, too, most of them chattering in polite undertones, lounging on the couches are the same buttery brown leather of the armchairs. there are also a couple of modern black rocking chairs cushioned in white, also under a couple of those big, brass lamps, all so similar in style; it all looks right out of a period film’s library mashed together with a sleek, black-and-white modernist look. poppy’s burgeoning designer brain can appreciate the adherence to an aesthetic, and this place has it in spades.

the entire place is very… cool.

poppy isn’t very well-versed in how to handle cool. her peers have made this very clear to her.

she scoops up her order when called with a quick “thanks,” and scoots her way over to the other armchair.

“hey!” lauren says, immediately shifting her laptop so poppy can see. “i’m just getting the most likely stuff features onto a flashdrive—what d’you think on this one?”

poppy examines it. it’s a good shot, ana and janey talking, heads leaned in close, fan angled just so to shield what they’re saying from their seat neighbor, but not enough to obscure their faces. ana smirking in perfect profile, janey’s laugh covered in dramatic shadow.

“that’s good,” poppy says, then, with much more honesty, “well, with a bit of color grading…”

lauren laughs ruefully. “yeah, i know. it’s juuuust cloudy enough to mess with my exposure settings with all the windows in there, let me tell you. i’ll chuck it into the folder of likely contenders and meet up with mel to whittle all the options down on monday. do you wanna help? if you don’t, i can just do it later. i’m procrastinating on an essay for mr. medina.”

mr. medina teaches sophomore and senior honors and ap english. poppy isn’t sure how she’ll handle it next year; he’s a fine enough teacher, sure, but he also doesn’t seem to be the sort to do things when poppy tells him to, like some other teachers at chilton. one compliment to mrs. caldicott, for example, and she’d probably eat out of the palm of poppy’s hand.

“sure, i can help sort photos,” poppy says, wondering if this is some kind of test. she doesn’t know lauren very well—should she just agree with everything she says? will lauren be the sort to get ruffled up if disagreed with, or would she think poppy a suck-up if she didn’t?

and photos, too! so prone to artistic disagreement. so prone to subjectivity! at least design tended to have some very classic rules. poppy knows less with photography; rule of thirds, and that was about it.

“cool, thanks—i don’t have many left, i don’t think, let me get it set up here…”

poppy takes a nervous sip of her beverage as lauren plugs her laptop in to charge, then angles the screen so they can both see it without too much glare.

the drink is good. very good. just sweet enough with the honey, just floral enough with the lavender, but the drink isn’t too sweet nor too floral nor too bitter from the coffee; all the flavors work in perfect concert with each other. it’s the sort of good that makes poppy very happy she’s taken a risk and gotten a large, and she’s already mentally plotting an excuse to come see logan just so she can swing by this coffeeshop again.

“okay!” lauren says brightly, enlarges the photo, and poppy can’t help but snort, then wince.

but—it’s, objectively, a bad photo. it’s an insanely blurry shot; it looks like lauren accidentally snapped a photo on its way into her camera bag, focused mostly on the ballet studio’s wooden floors.

“okay, yeah, immediate no,” lauren says, also laughing, which makes poppy’s shoulders relax, just a bit.

she also files the information away; lauren is, at least superficially, okay with laughing at herself. that’s useful intel.

there are very few other immediate nos in there; one where kai, lauren’s boyfriend (poppy thinks? she’s not up on the gossip. she has better ways to spend her time) has stolen lauren’s camera and attempted to take a selfie with it, missing most of his face and instead capturing a surprisingly steady photo of their own shoulder. there’s one where tristan dugray is obviously in the middle of sneezing. (her mother says that poppy ought to have a crush on a boy like tristan, who is objectively handsome, poppy can yield that, but he’s just… such a jackass.)

a few others pass in that nature; people who turned at the last second, awkward blinking, action stills that aren’t very photogenic, but the one five photos after that are, that kind of thing.

but the rest of them are remarkably well-composed, featuring a mixture of chilton students, not just those who are popular. there’s a mix of dynamics, of expressions, of poses; even as poppy tries to peruse them with a critical eye, as she gathers that lauren does actually want to know her opinion, it’s obvious that lauren has a talent.

she says as much as they wind down on the end of the photos, lauren detaching the memory card reader from her laptop and packing it away into a teeny tiny little case.

“aw, shucks,” lauren says, grinning, starting to dissemble her camera with swift, practiced motions, detaching the lens and reaching for a microfiber cloth. “i mean, i’ve been taking photos since i was a little kid, i’d hope some sort of talent would have rub off on me by now.”

“so you’ve always wanted to be a photographer?” poppy asks, immediately intrigued.

lauren hesitates, pausing from polishing the lens.

“...um,” lauren says, and laughs a little bit, awkward, and poppy immediately know she’s overstepped. she doesn’t know how—this is a frequent occurrence—she just knows that she has.

“sorry,” poppy says hastily, knowing that this is typically the smoothest path to resolution.

“no, no, it’s fine,” lauren says, waving her hand. poppy watches the cloth flutter like a flag in the wind. “um—i dunno, it always just gets a bit… you know how chilton is.”

“they do tend to prioritize STEM careers,” poppy agrees hastily. this is a boon for her, considering she intends on going into medicinal research, but she can see how this might be a bit of a struggle for someone more artistically inclined.

“yeah,” lauren says. “um. it’s more… i don’t know what i want to do. actually.”

poppy freezes.

the idea is such anathema to her that it’s boggling her mind. poppy knows her life and who she’s going to grow up to be ever since she had a concept of herself. high school at chilton, college at harvard, then staying at harvard for med school, then making a career in cancer research. that’s it. path plotted.

“like,” lauren says, “at all. i mean, i like photography a lot! i really enjoy mel’s class. but do i like it enough to stake my entire college experience on it? to make a career in that? i really like to bake, too, but i don’t want to be a baker. same with chemistry. same with—everything. i don’t even know which colleges i’ll apply for yet.”

that’s insane. objectively, poppy thinks.

(it’s not.)

even if lauren wasn’t also a chilton student—who famously set their students rigorous exercises and standards for the collegiate application experience—she doesn’t even know where she wants to go?!

“like,” poppy echoes, lost for words. “...at all?”

“like at all,” lauren agrees miserably. “i’m seventeen, anyways! who the hell has their life figured out at seventeen?!”

she does not give poppy an opportunity to answer—probably good, because poppy would have said something like well, i’ve had it figured out since i was four—before she says “no one! no one does! why is society set up like this?!”

“...historical precedent,” poppy decides to say, because that feels safer than offering any emotional input.

“historical precedent is stupid,” lauren grumbles. “all i know i want to do is keep spending time with my boyfriend, take pictures, bake things to bring into class, and probably be editor in chief next year, because i really like the idea of spending more time with mel and molding the paper into the best it can be, not because i know for a fact that i want to be editor in chief someday and i want to put it on my resume.”

wow. poppy and lauren really are different.

“is that too much to ask?!”

“no,” poppy says because, objective wildness of not planning your future since you’ve had a concept of time aside, it isn’t a lot to ask.

“thank you,” lauren sighs, flopping back into her armchair, then meets poppy’s eyes for the first time since she’s started this little tirade.

“oh, god, i’m sorry,” lauren says. “sorry. it’s just—my parents were getting on me about it right before we got here, they want me to buckle down, like, four years ago, and it’s… sorry. i shouldn’t have put all that on you.”

“no, it’s okay,” poppy says, once again relying on that old faithful of Societal Norms.

“here i am, freaking out, and here you are, with—” lauren gestures vaguely. “a painstakingly organized agenda and a straightforward trajectory and a—a purpose. a future, a plan. i mean, cancer research, wow!”

it is pretty wow, but poppy thinks it’d be pretty insensitive to bring that up at the moment, as lauren is currently burying her face in her hands.

“i’m all—mess, and you’ve got everything figured out,” lauren finishes.

“not everything,” flies out of poppy’s mouth before she can even consider a response.

lauren peeks through her fingers, arching an eyebrow.

“i know it sounds—silly,” poppy says, haltingly. “but—you’ve got things figured out that i definitely don’t. i mean—my mom would kill for me to have a boyfriend and do social things like you do.”

“your mom has her priorities a bit skewed.”

“i know that,” poppy tries not to snap, “but that’s—what it is. people like you, you get involved in things, and i can’t even figure out which stupid secret society to join because, even though i have all the family connections, neither of them really like me enough to invite me before now.”

welp. there it is.

poppy knows she’s an acquired taste; the trouble is, she’s never met anyone particularly patient enough to actually acquire it. dee has come close, she guesses, but he’s so hard to read that it’s genuinely difficult to tell, and even then, it’s because they’re “of a like mind,” according to him.

which—considering dee’s reputation within the chilton social stratosphere—is not particularly comforting.

“oh, poppy, that’s not—”

“i’m going to have to suck up to francie jarvis all year if i want to get into the puffs, she all but told me that outright,” poppy snaps. “help her with her homework, secure her a prime spot in the parking lot, organize her locker, scrunch up the plastic strands on her pom-poms to make them fluffy. i’d have to do everything except give her a manicure, if I had any talent with an orange stick.”

“but there’s the—”

“—clairs, i know, but no one’s even approached me about the clairs, even though i have cousins who graduated from both sororities! my family's name and reputation, not to mention my entire future, all depend on me getting into that group—”

“okay, first of all,” lauren says, “the entirety of your family’s name, reputation, and your incredibly bright future do not all depend on which clique you’re in in high school.”

“—my mother was a proud puff,” poppy continues as if she hasn’t spoken, because really, what a ridiculous notion that the world was not pinned on the minutiae of decisions you make in high school, “and my cousin maddie. the connections maddie made with the puffs got her an internship with the supreme court. but my father’s sister was a clair, and so was my cousin ruth. the connections ruth made with the clairs got her an incredible job managing celebrity pr, which sounds like hell to me but she’s thrilled as anything—”

“poppy—poppy!” lauren’s holding up her hands in supplication, and poppy promptly shuts her mouth.

did that guy behind the barista bar screw up and give her full caffeine?! she surreptitiously looks at the sharpie markings on her cup—no, marked off as decaf. hmph.

“okay,” lauren says, speaking in a soft, quiet tone, the way one might talk to an easily startled bunny or something of that nature. which is ridiculous, even if poppy’s shoulder’s relax a little at the sound of it. “first of all: i don’t know about the puffs, but clairs don’t recruit until the last month of your freshman year.”

poppy blinks.

“which wouldn’t be for a minute, for you,” she adds helpfully. “second, you could probably report francie for hazing—”

“it was mostly implied,” poppy mumbles.

“—still,” lauren says. “francie’s…”

poppy waits for lauren to finish that sentence, taking a sip of her drink.

“...francie,” lauren finishes delicately, as if unable to come up with any singular term that would do the work to encapsulate francie. “look. you’re smart, and driven, and you’d succeed in either sorority you wanted, or no sorority, even—”

poppy’s already shaking her head at that notion.

“—but, hey, part of why i asked you to coffee is to tell you about the clairs,” lauren says, settling back in her armchair.

“that would be great, thank you,” poppy says politely, trying to pack away their mutual spinouts into the distant past of thirty seconds ago, never to be thought of again. “maddie tells me all about the puffs, but ruth’s pretty quiet about the clairs. what are meetings like?”

“i mean, it’s kind of secret,” lauren says, warmly enough that it’s not entirely discounting the question, “but, i mean—you know how chilton tends to try to keep everything about the secret societies hush-hush and fails at it completely?”

poppy nods. there are ten secret societies worth cracking at chilton, and the puffs have been commonly regarded as number one for the last fifty years. a supreme court justice was once a puff. the ship to keeping secret societies hush-hush had sailed long ago for that reason alone.

“i can tell you the stuff i knew was in the public eye before i got initiated,” lauren says, “which—you probably know, but it’ll probably be good to clear up rumor-rumors from rumors based a little more in fact.”

also accurate. the jefferson has famously implied that the clairosophic society are the closest a modern girl could get to going into the woods and slaughtering chickens and drinking each other’s blood to enact witchcraft, like fabled salem witches of old.

the jefferson has also implied certain things about the puffs and their… well, poppy thinks its not too far of a stretch to mention the comparison to a cultish honeybee hive, complete absolute obeisance to their designated queen—highly likely to be francie for the next few years.

“this is different for every society—and for fraternities and sororities in college—but i can generally tell you that it’s not too different from a lot of club meetings. we have an agenda, we have questions and discussion, we do an occasional activity, we make a plan for what we’ll do between this meeting and the next one.”

vague, but poppy can appreciate mentions of agendas and plans. valuable intel. poppy is notoriously good with agendas and plans—she might be able to finagle this into a boon, regardless of which sorority she joins—

“usually, we talk about things going on at chilton, philanthropy events, any tweaks to the bylaws, social events that we’re all planning, voting for some of the more niche aspects of running a sorority… formal meetings are a lot of bureaucracy.”

poppy can do bureaucracy! poppy is great at bureaucracy!

wait.

“and… informal meetings?” poppy says.

“also a bit secret,” lauren says sheepishly. “more like… friend hangouts. don’t stress about it.”

hilarious. as if poppy has experience with informal hangouts. poppy will absolutely be stressing about it.

“you mentioned philanthropy?” poppy prompts, and lauren brightens.

“yes! we vote on a cause each year, and this year—for the past couple years, actually—we’re focusing our efforts on a children’s research hospital.”

poppy must visibly perk up at this, because lauren grins.

“i thought that might be up your alley.”

“what kind of things do you do?” poppy says, practically vibrating. depending on the puffs’ philanthropic efforts, this could absolutely tilt the scales—establishing connections at a hospital this early! poppy had previously planned on beginning to do volunteer work as soon as she was legally old enough to do some work of import at the hospital, but this was huge, this could advance her plans by years—

“a lot of fundraising—i need to pin down what i’m going to bake for a bake sale in two weeks, actually—helping out with their phone bank, some occasional office administration stuff, supporting their fundraising events. some girls—ana does it, i can give her your number if you have questions—help out in the playroom. ana’s there basically every weekend, she’s there probably the most of anyone. some of the girls on the cross-country and track teams are finagling the rest of them to join in the national 5k.”

poppy nods, absorbing this.

“we partner with a lot of their official events, mostly volunteering to do some of the grunt work. actually, wait, let me find a pamphlet for you from the hospital, i know i’ve got it here somewhere…”

lauren begins rummaging around in her backpack, and poppy takes a moment to drink her coffee and absorb this; a man in a cardigan opens a door that poppy had thought for staff only. the barista looks up, smiling for the first time that she’s seen, and passes the man a prepped to-go cup. the man in the cardigan beams, takes it, and uses his other hand to pull the barista in for a quick kiss.

poppy finds herself staring as the barista leans against the counter; they speak in quiet undertones, cautious not to let any of their words float to the rest of the café—poppy thinks she might be the only one watching, though. the locals don’t seem to care, as if this is a common enough occurrence, and the lingering chilton students are either deep in conversation with each other or scrolling on their phones or laptops with their airpods in.

what a town, where these people can kiss and no one even thinks to comment upon it.

poppy wonders if that’s what life is like outside of the mcmaster household. to be free of a world where every little thing is commented upon.

“here you go,” lauren says cheerfully, passing it over. “even if you don’t join the clairs, i hope you look into this. it’s a really great cause.”

“sure,” poppy says automatically, taking it and tucking it carefully into her bag, then, “do you really not care if i join the clairs or not?”

lauren blinks. “how do you mean?”

“like,” poppy says, gesturing vaguely. “this. this wasn’t some recruitment tactic?”

“oh!” lauren says. “i mean—not formally. i just invited you because…”

“because?” poppy prompts, eyes narrowing.

“because i really do think that we need to stick together,” lauren says. “both in terms of being journalism girls, sure, but also because i think women in general should stick together. i do want you in the clairs, but not because of the fact that you’re a mcmaster or i think you’re going to be really successful some day—which you will—but because i like you.”

poppy blinks. “you like me?”

“sure, i like you!” lauren says. “i think you’re really good at journalism and design. i like that you decided you wanted a feature and went after it. i like that you’re teaming up with logan and dee, even though dee’s kind of out there, because you recognize everyone’s talent, instead of only yours, which i think is way too common in a place like chilton. and i think you’re funny.”

poppy absorbs this for a moment. funny is not a word typically used to describe her. like is not a word typically used to describe her. she sets this aside—the words sure i like you! echoing in her mind nonetheless—and progresses.

“do you think i’d be a good clair?”

“i think you’d be a great member of any sorority,” lauren says. “but, yes—i think you’d be a great clair. you’re driven, you’re smart, you’re so focused on your own goals that i don’t think you’d care that any other clairs’ life path is a little unorthodox.”

“is that common?” poppy says, setting aside the errant thought that unorthodox might have been an invitation to pun. poppy does not pun, but enough people at her synagogue do that it feels near-instinctual to recognize the opportunity and let it float away. “unorthodox life paths, i mean.”

“very,” lauren says honestly. “i mean—my indecision aside. i know that a lot of us don’t fit the chilton mold. girls who are religious outside of christianity, girls who aren’t religious at all, girls who don’t want what society sets out for the path of a “good”—” here she uses air quotes, “chilton girl. like—liv is already setting up to be a professional bridesmaid starting in college, and that’s all she’s ever professed a desire to do, professionally speaking. bella’s thinking about going off the grid entirely and living off the land. soph leads ghost tours on the weekends with the intent of landing a rich eccentric to spouse up with. scarlet doesn’t want to go to college at all, she thinks chilton is scamming her parents.“

yes. those are certainly all off the path of approved post-chilton career paths, which mostly seem to split between “corporate,” “lawyer,” “doctor,” “professor,” or “otherwise professionally or academically outstanding so that we may brag upon our alumni.”

“yeah, you’d be a good clair.”

“oh,” poppy says. “that’s… good. but. i mean. do you think i’d… fit in, as a clair?”

“i think that’s the beauty of the clairs,” lauren says thoughtfully. “none of us fit in. but we manage to fit in with each other. if that makes any sense?”

it does, poppy thinks, stirring her drink with her straw, thinking of hattie, thinking of the barista, thinking of a future where she won’t have to bow to someone’s every whim, but one where she is instead offered mentorship and volunteer opportunities to further her future, without ulterior motive.

“it really does.”

⁂

seline: ALERT.

francie: You know how much I hate it when you start a text message with a vague message instead of getting right to the point.

seline: right, sorry.

francie: And learn punctuation.

seline: anyway i stuck around in the middle of nowhere right after the gathering to get some coffee, and i saw mcmaster coming into the café

francie: Poppy McMaster?

seline: she’s that really intense freshman right

francie: WAY too intense.

seline: and loud. and also i think she might be a robot, she never just. STOPS. ykwim

francie: She comes from a long line of us, though.

seline: ugh. i hate nepotism.

francie: Rich of you to say. It makes the world go ‘round.

francie: Anway, I should care about this, beyond McMaster being insanely intense and coming from a long line of Puffs because…?

seline: right! so i stuck around in the middle of nowhere right after the gathering to get some coffee, and i saw mcmaster coming into the café

francie: Get to a point, please.

seline: and she sat with lauren whatever her name is. seline: …and asking her a lot about the clairosophic society.

francie: What?! francie: But her family’s fully puffed!!!

seline: except her cousin.

francie: Who cares about her freaky cousin? A voluntary defector!!! There hasn’t been one in at least ten years, and even then, that was forgiven when she got suspended for troublemaking!!!

seline: maybe i heard her wrong, bc i was listening to that stupid video mr. gardiner keeps saying i should listen to to “improve my understanding of calculus,” but that’s what i think i heard her say.

francie: We absolutely cannot have this.

⁂

“if katy fincher’s mom tries to butt in on coaching the cheer squad one more time, i’m going to scream,” sasha says, her face buried in her arms where they rest on the desk of their mutual english class.

they currently have quiet time to work on their papers, which means everyone is talking in quiet voices and absolutely not working on their papers. most are instead online shopping on their laptops or texting other people on the sly.

“mood, retweet, same,” roman says, sticking a post-it in the latest poetry compendium he’s reading. he thinks logan will like this one, even if it is a bit more avant-garde that logan’s usual tastes.

“like, we get it, you were a cheerleader here fifty years ago or whatever, that doesn’t mean you get to just steamroller over our actual coach,” sasha continues, scowling. “it’s enough that she has somehow managed to nepotize katy into a flyer position, now she wants to choreograph routines to bring them back to how they were? no, thank you.”

“she wants to do what,” roman says, looking up from his poetry book. “since when?”

“i don’t even know, but joanna posner texted me that mrs. fincher has some suggestions for practice tomorrow, apparently.”

“the routines are great the way they are! we’re nearly done with the basketball season already, what’s the point of doing it now? is coach actually going to hear her out?”

sasha looks up just enough to shrug and give roman a look at her excellent cut-crease eyeshadow look today—all silvery sparkles and stark, dramatic gunmetal gray—before dropping her forehead back onto her arms.

“this means she’s probably going to put herkies in it,” sasha whines. “i hate herkies.”

“i also hate herkies,” roman says. it’s true, it’s probably his least-favorite cheer-specific jump, which is something, because he usually loves leaps and jumps. it’s like someone ferociously messed up an attitude leap and decided to just rename it instead of facing up to the fact that they did it wrong.

“if any parent should come in to choreograph a new routine, it’s your mom,” sasha says, rolling so her cheek is resting on her arms now, not her forehead. “your mom rules at teaching routines.”

roman smiles. it’s true. his mom does rule at teaching and also at everything else.

“it was really cool to see her teach and stuff last weekend,” sasha continues. “it makes me wish i actually went to a studio to do ballet instead of trying to teach myself from barbie movies.”

“barbie’s nutcracker and twelve dancing princesses are an integral part of my ballet dancer lore,” roman says, “but yeah, she’s the best. and you did, in fact, miss out on the best dance teacher of all time.”

“not that you’re biased.”

“of course not,” roman agrees, amused. “i’m the least biased in the world.”

the bell rings; there’s a great scraping of chairs and desks as everyone gets up to go to lunch, their teacher calling out reminders on the deadline for the paper maybe two of them were actually working on.

roman tucks his book into his backpack, slings it over his shoulder, and asks, “sit with me?”

“sure,” sasha says, and so they set off for the cafeteria, briefly interrupted by a conversation with brick davis about if either of them know anything about arranging carpool arrangements—they don’t, but roman gives brick logan’s phone number because he probably will know—before they find a decent table away from the herd of people who probably sprinted here to get to the microwaves first.

elliott finds them all not long after that, sitting down beside sasha.

“hi,” they say, before peeking curiously at the contents of sasha’s lunchbox. “that looks really good.”

“thanks!” sasha says brightly, already drizzling tzatziki over the innards of her wrap. “i’d heat it up if the lines weren’t so bad today, but souvlaki’s okay cold. even if might be blasphemous to my ancestors, whatever, they never had to deal with microwave lines.”

elliott sighs a little, glumly removing a ziplock bag with what looks like a very sad sandwich inside. they examine it for a minute.

“erm,” roman says, briefly glancing up from his chicken caesar salad. “what is that?”

“i… am not really sure,” elliott says. they open it, sniff a little, and hastily reseal it, but not before the scent of heavy mayonnaise reaches roman. “and i am not entirely sure i trust that this is vegetarian, so. what’s on the hot lunch menu today?”

“umm, i think it’s spaghetti? but don’t quote me on that.” sasha adds hastily.

“sold,” elliott says immediately, scooping up their sad, mayo-infused sandwich to dump in the nearest trash can. “be right back.”

sasha, likely reveling in the fact that one of her dad’s favorite hobbies is remaking and gently tweaking family recipes until they match his elusive childhood memories of summers spent in katerini, looks on sympathetically as elliott shuffles their way in line.

“i’d bring them a spare lunch if they ever asked,” she says with a shake of her head. “i think this is the third time in two weeks that elliott’s had to buy a hot lunch because they weren’t sure if their mom remembered to pack something vegetarian.”

“ditto,” roman says, unsuccessfully attempting to spear a crouton. “my mom’s pretty good about meal prep, and even then, i live, like, right next door to virgil. he’d pack them a lunch without a doubt.”

“it’s like they don’t know they’ve got prime food access just by virtue of us,” sasha says.

“we should hint that to them. delicately.”

“for sure,” sasha agrees. “if it’s not mayo, it’s ham. if it’s not ham, it’s, like, really sad pb&js that are half-smushed inside a ziploc bag.”

“you’d think it would get better once chad graduated,” he says, then, “right, right, you’re new. chad is elliott’s older brother.”

“mm,” sasha says, nose wrinkling. “is he, like, a nice chad, or—”

“no. quintessential chad. whatever you’re picturing, you’ve probably got it.”

sasha’s nose wrinkles further, and she and roman distract themselves with eating as much of their lunches as they can until elliott comes back.

lunch breaks aren’t exactly leisurely at sideshire high. ergo, the sprint to form lines at the microwave; the faster it’s warm, the faster you can eat, the faster you can get to talking to your friends, or visiting your favorite teacher, or stopping by your locker, or what have you.

roman’s pretty sure they aren’t leisurely at chilton, either, but roman bets the students there are a bit less social and a bit more studious with their spare time during lunch breaks.

after a few minutes, elliott drops down at their table and they, too, promptly begin inhaling their spaghetti with marinara sauce and garlic bread on the side.

“we ran into brick earlier, do you know anything about carpooling to the debutante ball?” sasha asks elliott.

they shake their head and make noise of denial.

“that’s a good idea, though,” they mumble.

“yeah, someone should get on that,” sasha says, then, “wait, duh, i know a quick way to get an answer on this.”

she pulls out her phone and sends a text; roman sees his phone screen light up from where he has it stashed in a backpack pocket, in the sideshire debutantes group chat.

“oh, obviously,” roman says. “why didn’t i think of that?”

“just say your brain’s fried from whatever amount of planning happened this weekend, we’d forgive you,” sasha advises. “it was a really big production, does your mom do that kind of thing a lot?”

“well, she hosts a lot of town meetings,” roman muses. “and, i mean, we teach a lot of classes, but—nothing like that.”

“no, this is a pretty unique situation,” elliott says between bites. “your mom’s still really scary, by the way, it did not get better just because i took a class with her like you said it would.”

“i know, isn’t she the best?” roman beams.

elliott makes a nervous mmmmm sound as sasha says “yes absolutely she is.”

“like, hey, look,” roman says, displaying his salad. “i said i was craving caesar, and look! caesar. with plenty to spare, if anyone ever asked me to bring any spare food to anywhere for any reason, plus, like, really close access to the best restaurant in town.”

“subtle,” sasha mouths at him, and roman just shrugs.

hey, he can be a lot of things—dramatic, ostentatious, confident—and none of those are exactly synonyms for subtle.

“yeah, speaking of virgil,” elliott says, digging out their phone. “look at my suit! dress? suit-dress?”

“swess,” sasha says, leaning over to peer at elliott’s phone screen.

“druit,” roman says, doing the same.

it looks, frankly, really cool; half perfect tux, half old-fashioned, regency-esque white dress.

“elliott, that’s gonna look so good,” sasha gushes happily.

roman says, delighted, “wow, elliott, it turned out great, i can’t wait to see it in person!”

“thanks,” elliott says, ducking their head. “i’m, um, i’m really happy with it, actually. i was really nervous.”

“what are you gonna do with shoes and stuff?” sasha says curiously. “oh, i could totally help you do a half-and-half look, just say the word!”

“would you really?” elliott says, looking surprised. “thanks, sasha, that would be really—really great, actually. i mostly just,” and gestures to their dark eyeshadow. “y’know. not exactly intricate stuff.”

sasha squeals happily, clapping her hands.

“i love having models to do makeup on!” she says. “my sisters are getting so tired of me bursting into their rooms when they’re trying to do homework, let me tell you. ooh, ellie, this is gonna be great! we should probably carpool then, right, if i’m your makeup artist?”

“sure!” elliott says. “we can text other people to see if there’s room in the car, or if you’ve got yours, or—”

“totally,” sasha says. “sorry, can i just take a picture of your face, real quick? i want to make sure i have a reference for foundation matching.”

“um, sure?” elliott says, and they try their best to offer a neutral expression to the camera.

quickly afterward, not even leaning over to peek at the picture sasha got, elliott turns to roman. “how about you? i don’t think i’ve seen your dress.”

roman grins. “it’s a surprise, darlings.”

“aw, not even one hint?” sasha teases.

roman, faux-thoughtfully, taps his finger against his chin.

“well,” he says with a smile at elliott, “you won’t be the only one doing an avant-garde makeup look, how about that?”

“oh, nice,” elliott says. “i mean—not that you won’t do a great job, sasha, it’s just also nice to know i won’t be the only one.”

“i don’t think you were ever going to be the only one,” sasha says cheerfully. “it’s a ton of people smashing gender norms, interesting fashion and makeup kind of goes hand-in-hand with all of that.”

“interesting fashion seems like a theme with those chilton kids for sure,” elliott says. “i mean, wasn’t that friend of logan’s wearing a cape?”

roman scowls, more out of instinct than anything.

“uh-oh,” sasha says. “we don’t like logan’s friend? what’s their name?”

“dee,” roman grumbles, “and no, we do not like him. he’s competing with logan too hard for valedictorian, which should be logan’s in any sane world, he lied to me for the sake of his own amusement, he pokes his nose in everyone’s business, he—”

“okay, we don’t like him,” sasha says, cutting him off. “got it.”

elliott makes another mm noise.

“what?” roman says, lowering his fork.

elliott jerks their shoulders up and down in a shrug.

“no, really, what?”

“wellll,” elliott says, drawing out the word, dragging their fork through the pasta. “does he… really suck?”

“yes, he sucks,” roman says fervently. “he, for sure, really, absolutely sucks.”

“do i detect jealousy?” sasha says, a hint of intrigue on her voice.

“you absolutely do not,” roman says fervently. “no. no way. i am not jealous of that—that jason vorhees wannabe!”

elliott’s head tilts, and their mouth pulls to one side.

“what was that face?” roman says. “i’m not!”

“weeeeellllll,” elliott says in a high-pitched voice.

“oh, go on, elliott, you know i’m new,” sasha urges. “you know all this history, i’m at a disadvantage.”

elliott shrugs, lifting a noodle on their fork, letting it drop back down into the tray. “i mean, you and logan have practically been together since kindergarten.”

“not true,” roman mutters petulantly. “if we had been together that long, i could have saved myself a lot of longing staring and yearning angst throughout the years.”

“not necessarily romantically,” elliott adds to sasha, as if roman isn’t even there. “just, like. it was always roman-and-logan, logan-and-roman, you know?”

they say it very quickly, like they’re used to saying their names as all one word; romanandlogan, loganandroman. roman fights the urge to be sappy about that.

“if one was there, the other wasn’t far behind. they’ve always been,” elliott says, and twines their fingers together, using the gesture to finish their sentence.

“ohhh,” sasha says, in a great gusting sigh of realization. “i see. logan moved, met this guy, and now this is a whole another person might be becoming important to the person who’s important to me thing.”

“it is not that thing, okay, first of all,” roman says, “he’s evil.”

“evil?!” sasha says, on the edge of a laugh. “he’s a prep wearing a cape, roman, i don’t know if it’s that serious.”

“it is that serious,” roman says vehemently, “he manipulated someone into punching logan, so—!”

“wait, what?” elliott says, and so roman has to catch them all up on the dastardy of dee slange.

this takes the rest of lunch break; they split off for their respective lockers and afternoon classes, roman slightly vindicated by the looks on their faces as they realize that dee slange is heinous.

“but if he did all that—” sasha begins, then breaks it off, her brow furrowing.

“what?” roman says, distracted by the sound of their class bell, putting his phone back into the perfectly sized pocket of his backpack.

elliott and sasha exchange another look.

“well,” sasha says. “i guess i don’t know him as well as either of you do, but… logan seems like a really smart guy. if dee really did all of that—then why is logan bothering to hang out with him?”

roman sets his jaw, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

“that’s what i can’t figure out, either,” roman says, and he goes on his way to his next class before either of them can start brainstorming and come up answers that make dee even more abominable than he already is..

or, even worse—

answers that will make roman start to consider dee as logan’s misunderstood confidante.

⁂

“uh-huh. well, that’s good, at least.”

patton makes eye contact with virgil and nods as virgil speaks into the landline; virgil nods back with a little distracted smile on his face as he continues listening intently on the phone. patton contents himself with attempting to guess who’s on the phone based on the half of the conversation he’s walked into the middle of.

“yeah, it’s all going pretty well, we had a big get-together with a lot of the kids so they all know how it’s gonna go down… probably, yeah, i’m up to my armpits in tulle, but i think i’ve gotten all the last of the last-minute folks in, so i can at least narrow it down…”

okay, someone who is interested in how the debutante ball is going, which means not someone with a strict business relationship based mostly on virgil ordering ingredients and supplies.

“...bit longer, but shouldn’t be much. you know how things get with the seasons, i’ve got a bit more downtime here and there…”

hm. virgil’s tone makes it almost like he’s talking to his mom, which would fit, except virgil’s probably talked to meredith recently enough that she’d know about the timeline, and someone else who knows about how restaurant levels vary. which leaves…

“okay. yeah, see you soon… i will, i will, he’d probably like that… thanks. bye.”

virgil hangs up the landline; if there’s one thing about landlines patton misses, it’s probably that sense of concrete finality that comes from hanging up a phone. smartphones just mean pressing a screen. no theatricality of clicking buttons, no twirling the line around a finger.

lot more convenient to carry, though. and little smartphone games! patton loves little smartphone games.

“bud or maisie?” patton asks, as virgil, smiling, leans forward, elbows on the counter. “i’m guessing maisie.”

“maisie.”

“ha! i got it!” patton crows, before leaning forward; virgil, who he is maybe in the midst of accidentally pavlov’ing, leans the rest of the way to give patton a little greeting kiss.

“maisie wants me to bring my handsome young man back over pretty soon,” virgil says.

patton grins. he likes bud and maisie quite a bit; he’s pretty pleased that they like him back.

“she and bud say hello.”

“well, i say hello back,” patton declares, despite the fact that virgil would probably have to call them back to pass on this news. it’s in the spirit of the thing.

“how was work?”

“oh, same old, same old,” patton says vaguely, “except i think one of the kid guests is trying to smuggle one of our squirrels into the hotel so they can smuggle it back home in their luggage.”

virgil considers this. “i don’t know what to do with that.”

“yeah, me either,” patton agrees. “logan never really got into the let’s adopt this animal phase beyond, like, frogs.”

“ah, i remember reptile phase,” virgil says. “made it a lot easier that you lived by their natural habitat, though. i don’t think this girl can do that unless she convinces her parents to move here.”

“i don’t blame her, though. we’ve got a pretty good squirrel population. very fuzzy, very fat, very prone to posing for pictures.”

“true,” virgil says. “we have very handsome squirrels here. good representatives to stick on a wildlife brochure. i don’t know how taylor is behind this, but i think taylor is behind this.”

“you and logan think taylor’s behind everything.”

“he is, but continue.”

“well—i don’t think tipping off the parents that their child is planning to abduct the local wildlife is really in my job description, considering she’s been pretty vocal about our squirrels, but i told the landscapers to keep an eye out for it.”

“probably for the best,” virgil agrees.

“speaking of photogenic,” patton says, and he waggles his eyebrows. “do you have your fancy black tail outfit all sorted out?”

virgil groans—half joke, half real disdain for the stuffy uncomfortableness of it all—and rests his elbows on the counter, leaning forward. “do i have to?”

“probably not,” patton says, practical, “considering all the kids are flouting dress codes anyway.”

virgil freezes.

patton grins. “did i just now bring that to your attention?” this strikes patton as particularly ironic, considering virgil’s outfit today; a dark, silky purple button-down tucked into a breezy black maxi skirt, his eyes rimmed with black and his lips painted with burgundy to match.

virgil drops his forehead onto his arms, whining “i could have just not bought a fancy suit?!” into the counter.

“aw, poor virgil,” patton says, running his fingers through his impressively silky hair, then, “...how fancy?”

“very!” virgil grumbles, not moving. “i bought a tailored coat with and without tails because i couldn’t remember which i needed, patton! i have two fancy suit coats i don’t need now!”

“how many fancy suit coats did you have before?” patton says, curious; he thinks he’s only ever seen virgil in suits at weddings, exclusively. photographs of virgil’s siblings’ weddings—patton only ever attended one of the three, though wyatt’s triad is rapidly approaching common law marriage length of relationship had their home state allowed such—and weddings of the general townsfolk, who frequently invite him to fancy events like that since virgil’s the face and name of a town staple and all.

“one!” virgil wails. “i’ve tripled my fancy suit coat collection! how often am i going to be wearing fancy suits?!”

“well—”

“the dry cleaning is a nightmare, patton. i never remember to drop things off at dry cleaning, and then i never remember to pick them up.”

“that i know,” patton says, amused, carding his fingers this way and that through virgil’s hair. “i’m surprised you only had one suit.”

“you have to do business-y things more than me,” virgil says.

“that’s true,” patton says. in addition to weddings—the inn being a popular venue, and patton also being part of a town staple—patton also has much more frequent meetings, bank conferences, the occasional conference for inn owners that maria usually enthuses about, and general tasks that he has to do for his business degree (so close to finishing! patton really does not enjoy studying macro or microeconomics!)

virgil, on the other hand, usually only has bank meetings on the roster. suits in a diner kitchen kind of seemed like a nightmare waiting to happen.

“besides, you’ve got some fancy events coming up other than this, it’ll be nice to have spares,” patton points out—the boys’ graduation within the next couple of years, a fancy dinner or party that patton’s certain his parents will take them both to at one point or another, not to mention the Big Deal Life Events of virgil’s many nieces and nephews.

just off the top of his head, patton’s pretty sure both wes and mikey are approaching graduation from middle school, and little baby red has had murmurs of a formal christening (primarily moira’s side of the family; silas has never struck patton as particularly religious).

patton mentions this, and virgil only sighs.

“are we done sulking?” patton says, a little amused. “can i see that handsome face, partner of mine?”

“dunno,” virgil mumbles into his arms. “the scratching feels really nice. i could stay here all day.”

patton laughs, scratches a little firmer for emphasis, and says, “we could at least take this to a couch so that you can nod off while i’m doing this, i know you’ve been staying up late with dress alterations lately.”

virgil lets out a sigh of longing, which makes patton giggle, but virgil stands upright.

“there he is,” patton coos, and virgil ducks his head—not quite blushing, but certainly smiling in that shy, bashful way patton loves.

“do you have a suit?”

“oh, my mom referred me to a tailor way back when we first got the dress,” patton says with a little laugh. “i just have to pick it up.”

“probably should have guessed that,” virgil says. “of course your mom would have a tailor on speed dial.”

a tailor. with the way that his mother has her exacting specifications for anything and everything, but especially shopping and appearances in general, coupled with her tendency to immediately fire anyone who displeases her? virgil’s adorable.

“at least i only had to get the cummerbund and coat,” patton reasons, and virgil lets out a great big gust of air.

“can we revisit that whole i lay down on the couch while you scratch through my hair idea?” virgil says. “i’ll bring dinner and the hair. you’ve got couch and the hands.”

“well, how could anyone refuse that offer? it’s a date.” patton beams, and virgil leans over, pressing an imprint of burgundy lipstick into patton’s lips.

patton refuses to wipe it off.

⁂

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Design edits for debutante spread

I appreciate your very prompt response in getting your designs on the flashdrive and down to the journalism lab! I’ve have a few minor edits notated on the PDF attached—mostly to switch from HEX to RGB color codes and adjustments to the margin width to best fit printing standards.

Very well done on the infographic design work—especially for a freshman! I think you may be able to progress to a more advanced course under my tutelage in your sophomore year, considering I anticipate you won’t need much help figuring out Adobe programs. I might need to ask you for pointers!

Best,

Mel Kramschissel, PhD.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Story edits for debutante spread

I’ve attached the story edits from myself and James for your convenience after our meeting earlier today. Very compelling throughline—I would like the transcripts of your interviews as soon as you can get them to me, so that we can work on ensuring it’s fact- and quality-checked before it goes to print. I appreciate your work—I’m unsure if your future goals involve journalism, but I think you have a very bright future in storycraft regardless, no matter which form it takes.

Best,

Mel Kramschissel, PhD.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Column edits for debutante spread

From: [email protected]

I’ve attached the column edits from myself and James for your convenience after our meeting earlier today. They’re mostly line edits, though I wonder if you can fit in a graph about your or Dee’s personal connections to this project, to give the story a personalized “human” element. I appreciate the citation section of the report—very thorough!—and, barring the transcript, can tell you that your work’s fact- and quality-checking is about finished. Is this how things are done at the Courant? I must commend whichever editor has instilled this habit within you, as it’s saved a great deal of time.

Lauren’s told me some about the things she’s seen as she’s been photographer of the project, and her review of the way yourself and Dee work together has been glowing. I’ll admit I was a little hesitant about the prospect of the pair of you teaming up, given the debacle last semester, but I’m pleased to see such talented minds find common ground.

I hope to see more works that you accomplish together, in whatever capacity (though I certainly would appreciate if they were for the Franklin!)

Best,

Mel Kramschissel, PhD.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]; [email protected]; [email protected]; [email protected]

Subject: Re: Debutante Spread

Hi all!

Attached is a rough draft of Poppy’s design layout with the pictures Kram and I picked included. Comments and notes appreciated. I wanted to thank you three again for having me tag along—really fun photography opportunity AND a really interesting story for the paper! Definitely sign me up if you’ve got any more ideas.

—Lauren

To: [email protected]; [email protected]; [email protected]; [email protected]

Subject: Potential meeting for spread tweaks

I think all the individual aspects of what the spread is so far are very promising. Would the four of you be free to meet before or after school in the coming week so that we can coordinate on reviewing final edits and the plan to cover the event itself?

Please let me know what works best on timing. Color me impressed by what you all have put together so far! The Franklin has a very bright future ahead of it with all of you taking turns manning the helm.

Best,

Mel Kramschissel, PhD.

⁂

the day starts off simply enough: wake up, brush his teeth and comb his hair, get dressed, go to the diner with dad and virgil, get ahead on some of his daily readings on the bus, walk to his locker to swap out some of his heavy textbooks to the other, then swing by mel’s desk to see if there’s anything else needed for their spread.

at least, he intends to swing by mel’s desk.

instead, logan enters the lab hallway to chaos.

it does not seem to be an exaggeration to state such a thing. francie, of puff fame, nearly knocks him off the stairs at the speed at which she’s storming past him; as he’s rounding the corner on the landing, someone is hastily shoving a copy of the jefferson into his chest then continuing their run to the nearest person with an empty hand; as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, hattie has an arm around summer, also of puff fame, murmuring to her in soft, comforting tones as she cries loudly into hattie’s shoulder.

in the midst of the lab hallway that logan was originally intending to traverse to swing by mel’s desk. there is a crowd the likes of which logan only sees at pep rallies or mandatory assemblies, many of them clutching matching copies of the jefferson, many of them elbowing each other and craning their necks to try and get a look at what lies within the great crush of people.

logan, despite his better judgment, cannot resist his own curiosity; he does not keep walking and ignoring it all. instead, he lingers, because he’s fairly certain nothing will get done in the journalism lab; the crowd’s chatter is slightly subdued, but that is because, logan thinks, in the middle of it all, there is a great deal of yelling.

“—oh, now he’s a CAVEMAN! What were you planning to do, knock me on the back of a head with a club then drag me back to your porsche—?!”

“—BROKEN UP, do you hear me—?!”

“NEVER—in all my years as headmaster—!”

logan blinks, startled, then shuffles vaguely, integrating himself into the great cloud of his navy-plaid-and-gray clad peers, so he can get some impression of what’s going on, then—

“shame,” janus says in a casual, flat tone, appearing suddenly at logan’s side as though summoned by logan’s sheer confusion. logan refuses to jump or startle.

“what is—?”

but then, as the trio shuffles forward, a parting in the crowd, and—

there’s a car.

there’s a car. blue. a honda accord, if he isn’t mistaken. sensible. reliable.

one he’s usually accustomed to seeing in the parking lot, not in the middle of the lab hallway.

in the basement of the school. granted, logan doesn’t know much about cars, but he is 100% certain that the doorways are not wide enough to allow this, let alone the presence of stairs.

logan turns to janus. “how—?”

“why do you assume i know?” janus scoffs, adjusting his cape. logan still isn’t certain how he isn’t getting daily uniform infringements; logan finds himself touching the knot of his own tie, just to ensure he’s in dress code.

“you’ve been here longer than i have, i just got here,” logan points out. “wait—doesn’t the jefferson usually publish on mondays…?”

“both true,” janus says, then, “shh, charleston might go full thermobaric. he’s been due to blow his top for ages.”

logan barely even has time to mentally recall the meaning of thermobaric—containing a charge of fuel designed to ignite and combine with oxygen present in the atmosphere to produce a prolonged explosion—before charleston resumes his rant.

“—that is IT, that’s IT! I’VE HAD IT! RIGHT TO MY OFFICE, YOU THREE, AND YOU’D BETTER PRAY THAT YOUR PARENTS ARRIVE WITH SUFFICIENT EXPLANATIONS TO KEEP YOU FROM BEING EXPELLED!”

a gasp doesn’t quite suffuse its way through the crowd, but certainly a few of the more excitable members of the student population do, and—

“OUT OF MY WAY!”

a column of students shuffles awkwardly to part the navy sea, lest they get bowled over by the headmaster (and likely given a detention for it, given the foul mood he’s in), and logan beholds

ah. unsurprising.

of course it’s tristan, duncan, and bowman at the scene of the crime.

“and that’s military school for dugray,” janus murmurs into his ear. not quietly enough; tristan’s eyes dart right to janus, glaring, clearly about to say something before charleston’s “MOVE!” gets him into motion.

“military school?” logan repeats.

“oh, sure,” janus says. “ever since the three of them got caught breaking into a locked safe of bowman senior’s, mr. dugray’s been dying for any excuse. i guess he wanted to go out with a bang.”

janus’ comment is caught by the crowd, but not by many. logan isn’t unique, it seems, for turning to the nearest familiar face to discuss the whole affair. logan hears words like cheater and plagiarism and the jefferson said flying around like a murmuration of starlings, the allegations shifting and shape-changing as easily as any flock.

logan is almost certain that, with the proliferation of gossip, the involvement of the jefferson, and the sheer number of witnesses that the number of new rumors that will crop up over the course of the school week will be dizzying in both number and any lack of logic.

mel clears her throat, loudly, from where she’s located at the end of the hallway.

“all right, everyone, show’s over!” she declares. “get to your first period, the bell’s going to ring in five minutes.”

the crowd, very slowly, begins to disperse, breaking off into duos and trios, all of them with their heads bent together, all of them talking very intently.

well-timed, logan supposes, for this meltdown to happen on the same day that the national honors society meets before school; well-timed for charleston to catch word right as the flood of early birds (most of the chilton population) were sure to hear the fallout and come along to see the fuss themselves; well-timed that this all imploded the day that tristan and his posse decided to do something stupid.

yes, logan thinks, his eyes drifting to where janus is standing, staring, at the crying girl and the one comforting her. hattie glances up from where she’s smoothing back summer’s hair, as if feeling janus’ stare.

it’s all very well-timed indeed.

hattie and janus lock eyes.

for a moment, just a moment, but logan can’t help but think—

perhaps, there’s something more than a last-minute debutante escort assignment there.

and then hattie is earnestly making a case to mel, asking for a late pass so she can escort summer to the nurse—”she can’t pay attention to class in this condition, doctor kramschissel, look at her—” and the moment almost fades.

almost.

even as he awkwardly tells mel that he’ll come back at study hall, rushes to his locker, stuffing his copy of the jefferson inside for later perusal, and makes it to his desk just in the nick of time, logan can’t quite shake the feeling that there was a bit more happening than an extremely ostentatious prank carried out with no thought to consequences.

(deep into the witching hour, janus drums his fingers idly against his desk, eyes roving over the password-protected folder hidden in the depths of his laptop, scrolling through a list of transgressions with a deeply bored expression on his face, drag-and-dropping attachments. he examines the note again, written in hattie’s elegant, sloping script.)

(“way past time i did this,” janus mutters, and resumes narrowing down his list of infractions to the most infuriating offenders, dropping each into folders labeled for summer, beth, jessica, kate, claire, kathy, mary, mr. dugray, mr. charleston, mrs. fischer, olivia who is “rumored” to be the current editor of the jefferson, and, just for the hell of it, tristan’s grandfather’s business email, scheduling them all to send should his plan a fail.)

(it does not fail. it’s embarrassingly easy to plant plots into bowman and duncan’s thick skulls.)

(janus sends a number of them from various burner accounts anyway, aided by a world-class vpn and a lack of presence in the hallways at school as he slips forgeries into their lockers, knowing that either bowman or duncan would be eager to claim credit for chaos.)

⁂

hattie: Splashy.

Dee: i’m sure i don’t know what you mean.

hattie: I guess I don’t either. hattie: It’s good that Summer found out in cold, hard proof. hattie: Even if she maybe hasn’t been iron-clad in monogamy either.

dee: scandal!

hattie: Maybe. hattie: Old news now, anyway. hattie: You might tell your new freshie friend that she’s about to have a redhead hot on her tail.

dee: oh?

hattie: Tradition. You know how it gets.

dee: that i do.

hattie: Do you have a ride to the ball? Mother’s insisting I get there early to stake out the best spot in the dressing room.

dee: yes, that’s handled. do they know?

hattie: My parents? They know some. I already had a formal debut last year, I think they’re just pleased I’m not pulling a Libby Dotie.

dee: debut number five this year, isn’t it?

hattie: Poor thing went right after Pukey last time. Shame that Eileen couldn’t hold her booze.

dee: a real shame indeed. midori sour is a real choice for her first blackout.

hattie: Her chances of living that down are absolutely nonexistent.

dee: you can say that again

hattie: Any chance you’ll send me some of that interesting info that didn’t make the cut for some fun reading right before the escorting…? Since we’re talking about nonexistent.

dee: i’m sure i don’t know what you’re implying about nonexistence dee: how IS dear “beau” anyway?

hattie: See you thereeee

⁂

“oh, wow!”

“i guess they paid a mechanic to do it,” logan says, “which makes a great deal of sense—none of them strike me as the sort to gain any sort of practical knowledge.”

“yeah, i’d bet,” patton says, then, shaking his head, “wow. never in all my days at chilton did someone pull a prank that elaborate. so—did it ever come out what the punishment is?!”

“tristan’s dad pulled him out of school and put him into military school, effective immediately.”

“wow.”

“—i think duncan and bowman got away with suspension, which makes sense. they’re not exactly mastermind sorts. if you passed by charleston’s office at any point that morning, though, you could definitely hear a lot of parental yelling, so i’m sure that it’ll be an extended punishment. maybe another entry for military school—apparently the three of them already broke into a safe of mr. bowman’s, so he was very loudly angry.”

“gosh, i couldn’t imagine,” patton tsks, shaking his head. he glances to make sure no one is waiting on them at this stop sign—they aren’t—and reaches over to squeeze logan’s arm. “have i told you how lucky i am to have you as a kid lately?”

“yes,” logan mutters.

“well, i am,” patton says, pressing on the gas pedal and trundling along. “never has the thought of military school ever had to cross my mind. at least i know that whenever you get up to trouble, it’s good trouble that i can be proud of, like this deal with helping out dee—”

“dad,” logan complains, looking quietly, shyly pleased nonetheless.

“oh, wait!” patton realizes, half-turning to look at him. “all three of them were in the debutante deal, are they—?”

“all kicked out,” logan says firmly. “if not by the society, then probably by their parents, and definitely by dee and i. we’re hunting for last-minute debutantes for some of the escorts—we’re going to have to see how that goes, or maybe just scrap their involvement.”

“it’s a shame that three of the girls won’t be able to join in because their classmates were knuckleheads,” patton says, then, quickly, “don’t tell anyone i called them that.”

“knuckleheads?” logan says, arching an eyebrow. “i think we’re safe from any scandal there. there are several demonstrably worse things you could have said—they’d know, they probably got a lot of them screamed at them from a combination of parents, teachers, and girls tristan has apparently wronged.”

“still,” patton says, as he pulls into the driveway of the elder sanders’ manor. “gosh. poor mr. mccaffey.”

“he’s taken next week for vacation, dee says.”

“he deserves to—his car just got stolen, practically!—grandma might ask you about it, she’s bridge buddies with bitty charleston.”

“i’m sure it was the cause of a great deal of conversation,” logan agrees, unbuckling his seatbelt. “it certainly has been for the student body.”

“a car,” patton repeats. “how long did it take them to, y’know—?”

patton mimes unscrewing a bolt in the air.

“parts of it are still there.”

patton stifles his laughter as they approach the front door and knock.

the first words out of his mother’s mouth are “you simply must tell me this business about the car, logan!”

“told you,” patton says in an undertone, then, “hi, mom, it’s great to see you too!”

“oh, hush,” emily says dismissively, stepping aside and waving them in. “you’ve had three days to hear all the sordid details secondhand.”

“firsthand,” logan says quietly.

“what was that?” emily says, already leading them to the drink cart.

“firsthand,” logan says, slightly louder. “i missed the beginning of it, but i was there.”

“oh, excellent,” emily says gleefully, then, “richard, put down the paper, logan’s here and he saw the car!”

“what car?” richard says mildly, folding down a corner of the paper, then, “ah, logan, patton! wonderful to see you, won’t you sit?”

“hi, dad,” patton says, settling onto his usual spot on the couch. “how was frankfurt? any sightseeing?”

“i stayed in a conference room a mile from the airport the whole time,” richard says ruefully. “i could have been in new york or shanghai, and i wouldn't have known the difference.”

“wine, soda,” emily says, pushing a glass into patton’s hands (“oh!”) and then logan’s with a sort of fervor typically reserved for new collections from her favorite fashion designers, rushing to sit at her typical place and eagerly smoothing her skirt over her knees.

she leans forward, eyes bright with gossip she could use to lord over fellow chilton grandmothers. “now, logan, tell me everything, bitty was being quite coy with the details.”

“what details?” richard says, and emily scoffs.

“oh, richard, i told you this earlier! the situation with bertram’s boy—?”

“oh—a transfer to military school in north carolina, wasn’t it?” richard says with a general air of puzzlement.

“men,” emily tuts. “none of you remember the most pressing details. that trait’s certainly skipped a couple generations for our resident journalist—from the beginning now, logan, if you please.”

logan’s straightened up slightly at the mention of our resident journalist, and he clears his throat.

“i missed the beginning, of course,” he says, “though i’d imagine everyone except for bowman, duncan, tristan, and the mechanic they’d hired did too, considering they did most of it under the cover of night…”

even if patton didn’t have the general sense of this logan’s entire life since he’d learn to read and write, he reflects, it’s always wonderful to receive a reminder that logan was, first and foremost, a gifted storyteller, and two, that he was wholeheartedly chasing after a career that he loved—and three, that those things overlapped.

patton had gotten the general rundown over the past couple days, it was true, but it was one thing to hear the ebb and flow of various reports (procured primarily from dee, who had quite an ear for that kind of thing, it seemed) and another to hear it as one smooth, cohesive narrative with a rapt audience.

though patton and his parents have, obviously, had some difficulties, he can never find fault with how much they adore and treasure logan. this is all the more apparent in how they handle listening to logan’s tale: they gasp in all the right places; they come in with “no!”s and “well, i never!” at all the points that call for it; richard even digs for a pen and paper so he can jot down questions he has as logan talks, ticking them off as logan continues the story.

it carries them all the way through the salad course, logan seeming to enjoy his enthralled audience, painstakingly accurate, citing sources where he can, and even dipping into what is, perhaps, a real-life journalistic no-no but something patton has seen in countless tv shows and movies: “now, this is off the record, of course, and unconfirmed at that, but dee heard…”

this also means that some of the details that logan had either glazed over or patton must have missed take place in a new sort of limelight; the car, the breakups, the expulsion, all of it painted in lurid, scandalous detail (much to the delight of his mother who will, patton knows, be gossiping about this with her bridge group next week.)

and—though patton’s pretty sure most chilton parents aren’t supposed to know about its existence unless they, like him, are alums—logan doesn’t mention the coincidental social explosion ignited by the special edition of the jefferson’s publication to his grandparents, but he had mentioned it to patton.

coincidentally, all of this on the same day.

“wow,” patton says, casual, as he stabs at the endives with a fork. “seems like a pretty big blowout to happen all on coincidence, huh?”

logan glances up at him. patton twists his mouth to one side: you don’t think it’s a coincidence, do you? he tries to impart.

“no one knows for sure,” logan says, noncommittal in tone, but meeting patton’s eyes.

“seems like those boys weren’t very careful with not getting caught,” patton says, a lift of the shoulder, an even more significant look: unless someone tipped the scales against them?

“it seems like it, but. no one knows for sure,” logan repeats, with a slight twitch of his eyebrow that reads, to patton, as but i sure have my suspicions.

“huh,” patton says lightly, arching his eyebrows at logan in a way that he hopes imparts i certainly have some guesses too.

“regardless,” logan says swiftly, “rest assured, grandma, that if the dar doesn’t have them taken out of the debutante ball for their behavior, the rest of us will.”

“as you should,” his grandmother says with a firm nod in logan’s direction. “no room for hooliganism in the dar.”

patton hides a laugh as a cough into his napkin.

“the dar?” richard says mildly. “logan, what’s all this about the debutante ball? are you escorting a young lady?”

patton swivels to look at emily.

“oh, goodness, i did forget to tell you in all the excitement,” emily says. “richard, logan and dee slange have taken it upon themselves to do a demonstration at the debutante ball this year.”

“a young lady is escorting me,” logan clarifies, then, glancing between his grandparents, “i don’t suppose you know the mcmasters? their daughter poppy is my escort.”

“poppy, poppy…” richard says, frowning.

“coppelia,” logan elaborates.

“is it really?” emily says, blinking. “that’s… unique.”

“you see why she goes by poppy,” logan says. “she’s a freshman this year.”

“oh, yes,” emily says. “we certainly know the mcmasters. richard, you remember…”

“oh?” he says, then eyes widening, “oh. yes, i remember the mcmasters. their daughter is… ah…”

he looks to emily for help.

“poppy is very driven,” logan says diplomatically. “she’s already gunning for an editorial position at the paper. we’re all doing a feature spread in the franklin together for the event, as a matter of fact—myself, dee, and poppy, i mean, along with the help of a junior.”

“are you really!” emily says.

“dr. kramschissel said the franklin has a very bright future ahead of it with the three of them manning the helm,” patton says proudly, then, leaning forward, “you know, she’s implied that logan’s first in line for editor in chief senior year.”

“dad,” logan complains, a little smile on the face nonetheless.

“well, of course he is!” emily declares. “a very fine show of initiative. she’d be a fool not to pick you, given your long history. you probably have the most experience in a newsroom of anyone your age who’s gone through the chilton journalism system.”

“you’ll make sure we get a copy or two of that edition,” richard says firmly.

“of course,” logan says, smiling. “we put in final edits just today—i’ll bring it next week.”

“a demonstration, you said?” richard says.

“oh, sure,” logan says, in a very casual tone. “grandma’s very generously given me what was to be dad’s debutante dress. a great deal of us boys are going to be debuted into society.”

richard puts his fork down. patton waits with bated breath.

“debuted?”

“yes,” logan says.

“how many of you?” richard says.

“current count—well, it was 46 before the car debacle, but it might be 43 now. or 40, depending.”

“40 young men in fluffy white dresses are to descend on the dar?”

“well,” logan says, frankly, “about twenty young men. there are some nonbinary people too. and roughly the other half of them are girls in suits.”

richard stares. and stares.

logan tilts up his chin.

and then richard breaks into chuckles.

“a hostile takeover of the debutante!” he hoots. “oh, i wondered if a crop of mischief would pop up in you, young man! some of my fondest memories of my time at yale are banding together with my friends to cause some trouble. well, that and performing with the whiffenpoofs, of course. these things make your high school and collegiate experience, you know.”

“they do?” logan says blankly.

“you’re young and full of energy!” richard exclaims. “this is your time—it certainly was for me. every day was at yale an adventure, no challenge was too great. we wanted to change the world. i have some experience with clothes-based protest too, you know.”

patton’s never heard about this. “you have?”

“certainly,” richard says. “i, and a group of like-minded young men decided to protest the new dress code—oh, it was my sophomore year at yale. we wore silk ties and nothing else.”

patton squeaks, trying not to cover his ears with his hands like a child.

“we were written up by the dean of admissions and threatened with expulsion. we were also suddenly very popular with the ladies.”

patton has the sudden and horrifying realization that one of those ladies might have been either his almost-mother, pennilyn lott, or had an equal chance of being his actual mother.

“ah, yes.” emily huffs. “this is exactly the kind of conversation I had hoped we would have with our son and grandson. what a pleasant family dinner conversation!”

“i was naked for an entire month,” richard says to logan. “a night full of men in dresses does not come near as close, of course, but i’d argue the amount of red tape you had to cut and the number of participants might push you over the top of that particular stunt!”

“wow,” logan says, blinking.

patton understands how he feels. his business-loving father, whose grand excitements seemed to be traveling for work, reading the newspaper, and undertaking new deals, a prankster. would wonders never cease.

(there is a small part of him that wonders if maybe—just maybe—if he had been born a boy, if richard would have been much more forgiving for patton’s own wild teenaged transgressions.)

“this roommate of mine in sophomore year at yale—we absolutely hated him,” richard says, leaning back in his chair, clearly lost in memory. “he was a complete nincompoop. so one night, we tied him between two mattresses and threw him out the window.”

“dad!” patton says, horrified.

“oh, he was fine,” richard says dismissively. “he went to sleep, woke up in the morning, and picked up right where he left off.”

patton puts his face in his hands.

“we wound up throwing him out the window every night for a month, and then he transferred.”

“well, do you think you guys tossing him out the window on a regular basis had something to do with that decision?” patton says, incredulous.

“well, it crossed our minds, yes.”

“so you guys have tickets for entry to the event, yes?” logan intercedes, looking to emily.

“it’s one way to see my descendants debut,” emily says.

patton shrugs, not rising to any bait. “it’ll be nice to escort him.”

“not christopher?” emily asks, but she’s cut off as richard says “ah! you’re in on it?” at the same time.

“a lot of the parents are,” patton says, “then, well, a lot of the sideshire parents are. i’m not quite as close with the chilton parents, of course.”

“we wouldn’t miss it for the world,” richard declares, then, with a big, goofy smile, “my grandson, the mastermind!”

“co-mastermind, really,” logan says. “dee slange was involved too.”

richard blinks, this time setting down his fork. “julian is in on this?”

“well,” logan hedges, higher-pitched. “define ‘in on this.’”

“he fully knows what’s going on, and he agreed?” richard says.

“oh,” logan says. “erm—no.”

“definitely not as much as me, at the very least,” patton says.

“gutsy,” richard comments.

“maybe you could help talk him over,” patton says delicately. “from what i remember of julian, he wasn’t exactly… jokey.”

“no.”

“certainly not,” emily says, almost overlapping her husband.

“maybe you could intercede?” patton says. “point out all the good a bit of trouble does for a boy their age. uh—after the event, of course. don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“yes,” richard says thoughtfully. “yes, perhaps i will. it’s about time julian cut loose.”

that’s one way to put it, patton thinks.

“i can’t wait to see the looks on everyone’s faces,” richard says, perhaps the most excited that patton’s ever seen him for an event put on by the daughters of the american revolution.

well, patton thinks. this is probably the best way that richard could have taken it.

even if it does mean that logan, patton, and emily spend the rest of dinner hearing richard monologue about The Good Old Days back at yale, and patton learns a bit more about his father’s particular brand of young-adult mischief that he, perhaps, shouldn’t have ever heard in the first place.

⁂

roman’s elbow-deep into rearranging his travel makeup bag. it is, generally speaking, where he keeps a lot of his makeup storage, so it’s kind of a mess after spending a lot of time simply dumping the products back in there because he’s running late, only sparing time to remove and wash his brushes and sponges.

it is very much a mess.

he hears a gentle tap against the door.

he glances up; though it’s barely past eight, his mother is already dressed for bed. her hair is damp, still drying from the post-lessons shower she’d taken, free from its typical bun. she’s in an old, too-big t-shirt advertising the ballets russes (from dimitri, probably) and a pair of sweatpants cut into shorts. she completes the ensemble with a pair of fuzzy socks and her feet in a pair of orthopedic-friendly slippers (his mother is, understandably, very conscious of foot health).

his mother is deeply devoted to her rituals and routines; he knows what she’ll ask even before she says it.

“tea?”

“yes, please,” roman decides, setting aside two different bottles of foundation to be decided later, picking up a few press-on nails, his own pair of fuzzy socks, and a tub of aquaphor, and plods after his mother, heading for the kitchen.

his mother goes about filling up the kettle (an old-style bright red one, the kind you set on a stove, not like the sleek black electric one that virgil has) and turning the stove on as roman pulls out two mugs. he decides on a large, maroon stoneware mug for her, speckled with white, and an equally gigantic ceramic red mug for himself.

“which would you like?” his mother asks, accepting the mug that he hands to her. she’s already pulled out her favored loose leaf herbal chamomile, beginning to scoop it into a infuser; roman notes that it’s the one he got her for mother’s day a couple years ago. he scoots around her to peruse his options.

his mother’s tea supply surpasses remy’s café in terms of selection and variety; roman thinks tea might be the only thing he’s ever seen his mother spontaneously shop for in the same way roman shops for clothes, or makeup, or jewelry, or little treats, or—

“this one,” he decides, pulling out a blend that promotes good sleep—spearmint, lemongrass, chamomile.

roman hops onto one of the barstools, opening up his tub of aquaphor and doing as his mother almost certainly has: absolutely slathering his feet in healing ointment. he’s aggressively earned these dancer’s calluses, but dang it, he can lessen some of the effects; therefore, absorbing aquaphor overnight, with the aid of fuzzy socks.

“how are your hamstrings?” she asks. “less tight?”

“definitely,” roman says, shifting his barstool so he’s able to more easily multitask between keeping eye contact with his mother and caring for his feet. “typical cure—”

“stretch and hydrate,” they say simultaneously.

“very good,” his mother continues. “hot and cold therapy?”

“i used the heated blanket a little bit,” roman says. roman and his mother love those things; roman simply plugs it in and becomes the warmest burrito of his dreams. bigger than a traditional heating pad and more flexible, which means he can just wrap it around whatever body part that needs heat. roman’s pretty sure they have six between them. he could probably just mummify himself on a day where he was really achy.

“be sure to rest this weekend after the ball,” his mother says. “i don’t want you straining anything.”

“i will,” roman promises, pulling on one sock and setting about massaging ointment into the other foot. he should probably start making a dent in that english essay anyway; even though he’d definitely prefer to spend the rest of his weekend reading something that he’s interested in, not something assigned to him.

his mother nods.

“a lot of your classmates are going too,” she notes.

roman smiles a bit, despite himself. on the whole, his gaggle of classmates at the prince family studio were what he imagined it to be like to have a flock of sisters: chatty, hogging the bathroom, annoying and endearing in equal measure, occasionally awkward, but fierce and funny and beautiful, all of them clever in their own ways, all of them deeply capable dancers.

not that he’d know what it was like to have a sister, of course. roman had contented himself with being an only child long ago.

“it’ll be fun,” roman says. “at the very least, we know who’ll be hogging the dance floor all night.”

they share a smile. his mother had chaperoned the sideshire homecoming in the fall, and she’d spent a 33% of the night fielding hi, ms. prince!s from her students, 33% watching in vague bemusement as they danced to trends she’d lost track of long ago, 33% feeling proud as all of them had monopolized the innermost circle of the dance floor with the confidence she strove to teach them, and 1% fighting the urge to go over and correct their form.

roman gestures with his chin toward the three packs of press-on nails: a classic french manicure, white nails with a red floral design, and a bright blue chrome.

“help me pick? i’ve been driving myself nuts over it. all of them would work, but i just need to decide and go for it.”

his mother hums, examining them. “remind me of the makeup you settled on?”

“classic eighties, to match the dress,” he says. “bright blue eyeshadow, red lip, generally very sparkly and,” he makes a pow! i’m here! hand gesture.

“well, french manicures are very classic,” his mother says thoughtfully, “but—” the kettle begins to whistle. roman, hastily, pulls on his other sock and goes to wash the excess aquaphor off of his hands before he does anything else.

they are waylaid by the pouring of boiling, steaming water, the distribution of milk and/or honey, the procurement of snacks (his mother favors savory foods more often than not, so she puts together a plate of crackers, cheese, and deli meats; roman slices a couple apples with a ramekin of peanut butter for himself, with the intent to steal a bite or two from her plate) and relocating to the living room.

roman sits himself on the ground, setting his snacks on the coffee table; his mother does the same, folding her legs to butterfly position, pressing her hands down onto her knees to stretch.

he considers his options before he just decides to mimic his mother, feeling the familiar stretch through his hips. he settles his elbows on his knees, bending slightly forward and blowing on his tea.

his mother examines the nails again. “can you match these?” she asks, touching the blue chrome.

roman tilts his head, mentally calling up the exact shades of blue in his several eyeshadow palettes. “if not exactly, then close enough to look intentional.”

“i know red is your signature,” she says. roman looks at his fuzzy socks—cherry red—and hers—wine red. in the prince family, red is a neutral that goes with everything.

“but,” she continues, “they fit a certain level of garishness that matches your dress.”

roman nods, setting them aside; he’ll glue them on in the morning. honestly, he’s a bit pleased he can keep the floral red for another occasion. a fancy date with logan, maybe?

“is that the last detail handled?” his mother says.

“it should be,” he says. “well—i was sorting through my makeup bag, but it’s more of an organization thing than anything else.”

“dress packed?” his mother checks. “shoes, accessories, wig and hair supplies?”

“yes, yes, yes,” roman says dutifully.

“then—that’s your last of prep for tomorrow?”

“just about,” roman says.

“good,” she says. “i suppose many of the last-minute details shall be left to logan and dee.”

roman’s lip curls reflexively. the thought of logan and dee, working together, agreeing on things, brainstorming together and coordinating any last minute hiccups. as if they were a team.

“what was that face,” his mother says. her voice is flat, with no edge of scolding or reproach. just genuine curiosity.

roman’s lips twist as he removes the infuser out of his tea, deeming it well-enough steeped. he stirs his cup absently.

“i just…” roman gesticulates vaguely. “what did you think of dee?”

if his mother thinks that’s an odd response, she doesn’t let on. she stacks her makeshift charcuterie—club cracker, slice of cheddar, sliced chicken from the deli—and sets it aside before she goes about formulating other sandwiches. club cracker, mozzarella, turkey breast.

“i didn’t have much opportunity to speak to him,” she says. cracker, cheddar, turkey.

“yeah, but you guys had a look,” roman says. “i saw it.”

“i suppose he seemed… a touch stand-offish,” his mother says. cracker, mozzarella, chicken.

“yes,” roman says, his and??? going unspoken.

“and, perhaps,” his mother says, then, frowning, “well, i didn’t know. that’s the troubling part.”

“dee’s very good at that,” roman mutters resentfully. “presenting himself one way, when he’s really actually the other. the thing is, logan has seen that he’s really actually the other, and yet—here they are!”

“that’s very unlike him,” his mother says, frowning. “logan has a very sound sense of judgment.”

“he does.”

“but if logan’s deemed him appropriate to plan alongside—”

roman drops his forehead to the floor, groaning.

“oh,” his mother says, awkward. roman hears crunching.

“i don’t know why!” bursts out of him.

“why… what?”

“why logan’s teaming up with him!” roman says. he looks up in time to see his mother washing down her snack with a swallow of tea.

“...roman,” she begins. “it’s entirely understandable to… feel a certain way if your boyfriend is spending time with another—”

“oh my god, i’m not jealous!” roman snaps. “why does everyone think that?!”

his mother doesn’t lecture him about volume, which is nice.

“well,” his mother says, “what is it, then?”

this is also nice—his mother, ever straightforward, ever blunt.

roman rubs his hand wearily across his forehead. “did i tell you, last fall, about logan getting punched in the face?”

“yes,” his mother says, her expression darkening; some of that remnant of anger of someone laying hands on his boyfriend roars to life in his chest again.

“i know,” roman says.

“was it that boy?”

his mother isn’t a particularly expressive person, but even any given passerby would categorize that look on her face as thunderous. his mother is very fond of logan—she’d actually told logan so—and roman knows that, over the years, logan’s courtesy and good grades and general support of roman had endeared him to her time and time and time again.

which—obviously. roman’s of the opinion that his boyfriend is one of the best people in the world. of course everyone should recognize that—feel that same protective fire pop up in their chests at any sign of anything going wrong for him, because logan deserves the world.

roman scowls, looking away. “not—technically. but!” he says hastily, “but, he’s the one who started it all. he got a detention for it and everything! louise probably never would have hit logan if he hadn’t been there urging her on!”

“why on earth…?” his mother says, sounding baffled.

“i don’t know!” roman wails. “that’s what’s getting me—i don’t get it! one second, logan’s telling me all about this terrible boy at school, and then his grandmother invites him and his grandma to lunch and apparently that’s super awkward, and then there’s the punching, and then he’s at the stuffed up birthday party logan’s grandparents threw for him, and then logan’s confronting dee and making sure he doesn’t rain on our parade at the winter dance, the next, they’re teaming up together to say ‘screw you’ to the patriarchy! i don’t know why on earth!”

his mother considers this, then pushes the plate of apples toward him, then piles the empty space on the plate with three of the charcuterie sandwiches she’s concocted. roman, grumpily, dips an apple slice in peanut butter and crunches a bit more loudly than he would in any other circumstance.

mother—much like virgil—believed very heartily in proper nutrients fueling every activity. outbursts took energy, which meant that roman should eat carbs, fats, and proteins to replenish that energy, with bonus points for foods that were particularly vitamin- or fiber-rich. roman has been told this for most of his life, only with things like dance lessons or exams or being a pain, this does not mean you’re getting a second soda, pick something substantial swapped in for outbursts as applicable.

“that makes very little sense.”

“exactly!” roman says, gesticulating at her. “thank you!”

“chew your food with your mouth closed,” she says, some automatic motherly impulse, then, “well, what’s changed?”

before roman can answer, she says, “i know you don’t know. but something must have. logan’s a very intelligent young man, and he isn’t fickle—not him, not any of his parental figures that could have persuaded him.”

patton, virgil, and probably her, roman figures. he doesn’t know much about christopher, but his reasoning definitely wouldn’t override those three.

“do you think it could be on a needs-must basis?”

roman’s mouth twists as he swallows. “maybe,” he hedges.

“but you don’t think so.”

“no,” roman says. “if it was just unavoidable, some sort of grudging alliance, he would have complained about it.” to me, he thinks.

and logan hasn’t.

“could there have been some kind of change?”

roman narrows his eyes, setting aside his honey-sweet tea. “i’m not following.”

“logan’s always struck me as very pragmatic,” she says. “ergo, there could have been some kind of event that would put more weight in dee’s favor.”

“it would have to be a pretty big change,” roman says, mind churning. as it is, that’s the likeliest of answers outside of forced partnership.

“you could ask him.”

roman sighs. “i think the fact that he hasn’t mentioned it to me already…”

“could mean nothing,” his mother says, with a shrug of a shoulder.

“big change,” he reminds her. “big.”

they both consider this, sipping their tea and eating, silent in rumination.

“have you ever dealt with something like this?” roman says, despairing. “like—some dancing partner of yours teaming up with a rival? or—?”

dad, he almost says, but he discards it as soon as the idea comes to mind. no. all he’s heard of his father is that he could be prone to his own flights of whimsy, true, but he’d always been achingly steadfast in partnership with his mother and, to a slightly lesser extent, with virgil.

she seems to see the thought flash across his face, though. her eyes flit—almost unconsciously—to an old photo of the pair of them on the wall behind him.

roman knows the one without having to look: his mother, stunning and sharp in tutu and pointe-shoed glory, clearly in the middle of telling him off about something; his father, muddy for some reason and in ripped clothes, arm thrown around her shoulder, grinning and giving a thumbs up to the camera, a slight wince on his face the only sign of whatever lecture she’d given.

but, roman thinks. but. people hadn’t necessarily liked his father. even virgil had cautioned him at how strange his father had been, that he’d done things full of mischief and occasional rebellious wrong-doing, that he’d been acquired taste. a bit like…

no. roman shakes the thought without finishing it. no way.

his mother detects it anyway.

“how have you been sleeping?” she asks delicately.

“fine,” roman mutters. he knows what she’s about to ask without her asking it, too.

whatever mental illness his father had had, the only sign of odd or strange thoughts that has ever remotely recurred in roman have been odd, vivid dreams, veering into the occasional night terror.

he has been sleeping fine, though. fitful, sure, and maybe a bit less than his mother would like, but he’s been sleeping fine. no dreams at all to speak of.

“all right,” she says placatingly.

roman stirs his tea a bit more vigorously than necessary, the spoon clanking against his mug. his mother smiles a bit.

“you didn’t answer,” roman says. “have you had a situation like this?”

“you know i haven’t,” his mother says.

“well—i know, not exactly like this,” roman says. he’s known his mother’s aromantic and asexual since he was old enough to learn the words and absorb that that’s what those little flag barrettes she wore during pride meant. no significant romantic partner of his mother’s has ever caused her strife, because she’s never had a significant romantic partner. “but—dimitri teaming up with someone and he didn’t tell you why. or something.”

his mother pauses to think. then:

“no.”

roman sighs, perhaps a bit more loudly than necessary, and dips another apple slice.

“virgil might’ve,” she says thoughtfully.

roman pauses from where he’s trying to scoop extra peanut butter onto his apple.

“yeah?”

“yes,” his mother says. “you remember silas.”

ugh.

“don’t make that face,” she scolds gently. “but—as it happens, i wouldn’t be surprised if either of them didn’t have a moment exactly like this. virgil with some friends of his, silas with your father.”

“how did that go?” roman asks.

his mother smiles. “i believe they talked about it.”

“traitor,” roman grumbles, half-joking. “i can’t believe either of you invented mind-reading technology for me to use in this specific moment.”

“you could just ask.”

“you’ve said that already.” roman says. “does no one in this apartment appreciate the fine-tuning of the delicate art that is teenaged angst and overthinking?”

“you live here,” his mother points out. “you have sufficient appreciation for the both of us.”

roman huffs. his mother tilts his head.

roman scratches his thumb against the mug.

“dee’s very charming,” he mumbles. “i mean—he managed to charm me at logan’s fancy birthday party before i knew who he was. if he’d just started off with that, instead of leading straight into villainy then pulling a 180, then i guess i’d get it a bit more. but as it is—why him? why that guy? logan likes rule-following. he likes that kind of thing. is it a ‘keep your enemies close’ thing? no,” he answers himself, “logan wouldn’t do that, he has no patience for duplicity. which makes it even more confusing, because dee seems to love duplicity, exhibit a, him being charming at emily and richard’s party—erm, mr. and mrs. sanders’ party, i mean.”

his mother hums.

“and—i don’t know. he’s off at chilton, doing great, and i’m happy he’s making friends, i seriously am, i’m not jealous, but it just. suddenly, both of us in different schools means we spend less time together, and that’s making me think about college, and, unless miracle of miracles happens and i find the perfect ivy league that has a combo of the perfect dance program and the perfect journalism program that will accept both of us that’s close to new york, we’re going to spend even less time together, and that sucks.”

his mother nods sagely, placing her right foot against her left knee, stretching to grasp her own socked foot.

“and it’s, like. why that guy? if you’re going to hang out with someone outside of school out of preference and not obligation, why the one i’ve heard the most negative things about? why the one who’s in direct competition with you? why the one that would probably have sabotaged him, given the chance? why?”

his mother remains quiet.

“say something,” roman requests desperately. “i’m asking questions here, they’re not hypotheticals.”

his mother blinks. “you were doing a good job of talking it out to yourself.”

“well, sure, but,” he gestures between them, “input. it’s mother-son time.”

there’s a pause.

“this isn’t like you,” she decides.

“what?”

“this,” she gestures at him. “indecision about what to do. it’s unlike you.”

“it’s unlike logan to consort with ne’er-do-wells,” roman sniffs.

his mother simply arches an eyebrow. roman sighs, picking up his mug, savoring the warmth it seeps against his palms.

“i don’t know,” roman says quietly. “it just—it is different for logan, to… consort with someone like this. there’s some big reason why, and i don’t know what it is, and it’s just… it’s driving me a little crazy.”

his mother politely does not say anything along the lines of i can see that or obviously.

instead, she says, “does the concept of talking to logan about this make you nervous or anxious?”

“what? no.” roman scoffs.

“it’s all right if it does,” his mother says. “i won’t think less of you or logan. it’s very normal to be a bit worried about having a big conversation in any relationship, much less one that’s been weighing heavily on your mind.”

“i’m not—”

his mother arches her eyebrows at him, and yeah, okay, roman can see how saying i’m not worried when he’s dominated the conversation obsessing over why that guy would probably come off… not great.

roman sighs, slumping his shoulders.

“fine,” he mutters. “yeah, i’m worried.”

“perfectly natural,” she says. she switches positions, placing her left foot against right knee, stretching.

“i know,” he grumbles. “i just—i don’t want to come off as that kind of boyfriend, you know what i mean?”

“no.”

fair.

“like,” roman says, drawing himself up. “why are you hanging out with that guy? hang out with this person instead, not that guy. you’re not allowed to see him. you know? like—jealous. possessive. whatever. i mean—logan was so understanding with jess. so understanding! they didn’t have a ton in common, but logan was still polite and everything.

“and i don’t want to turn right around and be like, hey, i don’t like that guy, what’s up with that? or insult his intelligence—’cause he’s way book-smarter than me—by being like, i think that guy might be manipulating his way into your life. thoughts?”

“do you think—?”

“what other explanation is there?!” roman whines, drawing there into, like, five syllables.

“and we’re back to square one,” his mother says. “all right. i see.”

roman goes about polishing off the last of the snacks.

“i still think you should talk to him,” she says. “i know you’re worried—that’s understandable. but logan isn’t going to go into this thinking the worst of you. he ought to know that you only have his best interests at heart.”

roman sighs after swallowing a mouthful of charcuterie. “i guess.”

his mother smiles slightly.

“you’re so very much our son,” she says, and roman ducks his head, trying not to flush.

“remus got any sense of propriety or caution surgically removed, to hear some tell it. and i probably wouldn’t have figured out such a careful way to put it: i probably wouldn’t have said anything at all until it got pressing. it’s difficult, i know, but i’m proud of the middle ground that you walk.”

“yeah, yeah,” roman mumbles, still pleased. our son. he felt so divided, sometimes: the face of his father, the skill of his mother, the rest of anything else him, from nowhere at all.

“you don’t have to go into it unplanned, of course,” his mother says. “text him your thoughts if that’s easier. put a pen to paper to figure out what to say and how to say it.”

“true,” roman admits.

his mother drains the last of her tea and stands.

“well,” she says. “it’s probably best for you to talk to him tonight. or early tomorrow morning, if you care to sleep on it. may as well clear the air before the ball. i’ll leave you to your thoughts?”

“sure,” he says, slowly drinks the rest of his tea, thinking. then, quietly, “thanks, mom.”

he hears his mother placing the dishes in the dishwasher, shutting off the lights in the kitchen, ensuring everything is in its proper place, before she journeys back to the main room and shuts off all the lights except for the one closest to his room—he’ll turn that off when he goes to bed.

he watches her achieve the rest of the good night routine: she plugs her phone in to charge, she nudges her shoes so they’re in line with his at the door, and then…

she detours. she walks back to him, where he still sits on their rug.

she leans over to smooth her hand over his hair.

“goodnight, mijo. dulces sueños.”

“dulces sueños, mami,” he says.

and then she just… goes to her room.

she’s left the front door unlocked. she’d simply nodded to him, went to her room, and closed the door, almost like…

wait.

does she…?

no. there’s no way.

his curfew-issuing, sleep-adoring, routine-oriented-to-a-fault mother? roman would have gotten grounded, like, ten years ago for ten years if she actually knew how often he snuck out to the gazebo to talk to logan.

yeah. no way she knows that he sneaks out.

⁂

“hey.”

“hey! sorry if i responded late—we were squaring away escorts for the ladies. turns out some sideshire kids decided to join last-minute, so we should be all even. no idea what they’re doing for dresses, but it’s in their hands now, i suppose.”

“no, that’s all good—c’mere, it’s still a bit chilly out.”

“of course.”

…

“so, what did you want to talk about?”

“oh, right. um—may as well just come out and say it, i guess.”

“...sure?”

“what’s up with teaming up with dee?”

“...ah.”

“i mean—i guess i just don’t really get it? i’ve been trying to figure it out, and i can’t. like—one second, he’s getting someone to punch you in the face, the next, you guys are architecting this plot to go after the daughters of the american revolution.”

“no, i—i understand. it must seem jarring from the outside.”

“...so?”

“...”

“um. admittedly, i find your renewed and increased friendship with dee very confusing. the things i’ve heard about him have, generally, been pretty bad—for example, the punching incident, your birthday party at your grandparents’, and the winter formal. ”

“...are those notes…?”

“shh. you’ve never particularly struck me as the kind of person to simply be friends with someone for the sake of making life easier: my mom says you’ve always struck her as very pragmatic, and i agree. it makes me think that something in your relationship with dee has changed, because otherwise, i find myself… well, deeply confused and honestly a little worried that dee might be up to something again.”

“you talked about this with your mom?”

“well—i didn’t, like, set out to do that, but yeah. she suggested that i just talk to you about it, since you’d know that i have your best interests at heart, and that you have your reasons ‘cause you’re so smart, and also maybe write down what i wanted to say so i didn’t come off like a huge controlling jackass.”

“she said that?”

“not that last bit—i’m editorializing.”

“that’s—huh. okay… um. how do i phrase this.”

“…”

“i’m sorry, i’m walking an awkward line of secrecy here.”

“how secret? secret, like, jo posner’s first kiss, or secret, like, secret-secret.”

“secret-secret.”

“...oh.”

“but i still want to—communicate.”

“right. um… is there a little loophole you can thread here?”

“like what?”

“like… i dunno. i know they aren’t your strong suit, but a metaphor? or a comparison to something else that’s happened in our general lives?”

“like what?”

“well, i don’t know, logan. that’s kind of why we’re here.”

“right. yes. um… let me think.”

“sure. take your time. if it’s secret-secret, i promise i’ll keep it, but even then, i get not wanting to say anything. like—”

“oh! oh, i remember!”

“...remember…?”

“back in eighth grade, when you had elliott over to that sleepover, and elliott told you about how they were feeling regarding their identity, but to keep it secret double-pinky-promise even from me?”

“yeah, of course.”

“and they didn’t come out until the middle of last year?”

“right.”

“...i find a lot of parallels to then.”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

“oh—okay. i see.”

“it’s not one-to-one. as a matter of fact, there’s more to it. this is the part i feel most comfortable disclosing, since that part is generally a jo posner’s first kiss level of open secret at chilton.”

“sure.”

“but—”

“i get it. there’s more. okay. that… huh. okay.”

“right.”

“i guess i can see it. the cape should have tipped me off. have you told… anyone else? about the things outside the parallels?”

“no—no one. not even dad.”

“really?”

“really. well—he might know part of it, so maybe that doesn’t count, or dee might have told him more, but. really. not even dad.”

“...you said…. even more?”

“i’m very glad no one in our lives has parallelism to this that i can apply here.”

“...me too, i guess?”

“trust me—you are.”

“okay. i will. i do trust you. you know that, right?”

“of course i do. i trust you too.”

“okay. good. good. i didn’t want it to come off like i didn’t trust your judgment or something. you were so understanding with jess, i wanted to extend the same thing—”

“—we’re not—”

“—i know it’s not a one-to-one. trust me, we’d have a lot more to talk about if it was any kind of romantic scenario. there’d be yelling. i know it’s not. i’m just saying: you and jess didn’t have a lot in common, but you were still decent to him because you knew i wanted to… associate with him. i want to do the same for you.”

“right. of course. i—well, frankly, i hadn’t really considered your point of view. i can see how it would be strange from the outside perspective. i’m sorry i didn’t think of it.”

“you’ve had a lot going on.”

“sure, but still. i should have looped you in as much as i could.”

“well, i appreciate that. thank you.”

“and thank you for bringing it up.”

“this is very mature of us.”

“i know.”

“for teenagers, and all.”

“and for my first romantic relationship.”

“i’m more used to bickering. this is weird.”

“definitely.”

“...wanna make out?”

“say no more.”

find the next half of this chapter here!

#my fic #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #debutante #wyliwf!verse #the sideshire files

19 notes · View notes

azurexsnake · 1 year ago

Text

“The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.”

Thinking about how much found family Vash has, compared to the forced family Kni creates.

#and I mean family in loose terms but if you could maybe kinda look it it that way if you really wanted to #legato does love him #elendira loves him a lot as well #I think???#I actually haven’t been able to decide if #because she was created using Kni’s genetics #if she has ties to his consciousness or not #to explain why she got so weirdly emotional over vash in july #similar to the almalgamtion of plants knives created in trimax that were all tied together despite maintaining their individual sentience #hmm #idk #fun to think about tho #color: blue 🎨#trigun stampede

14 notes · View notes

poppyseed799 · 5 months ago

Text

Stalking a ship tag on ao3 to always be aware if there’s ever new fics for it but the number just goes down instead 😭

#I wonder which one disappeared… I probably won’t be able to tell… it’s not like I memorized all 22 fics before there were 21…#I’ve been stalking it since the number was 14 tho so TECHNICALLY it’s been good these past months #eh you know what I’ll look and see if I can figure out which one disappeared in case it’s one I read #edit: OH I THINK I KNOW WHICH ONE DISAPPEARED it was a oneshots fic that didn’t have any actual oneshots yet #wonder if they just deleted it. or maybe they decided to remove the ship tag.#edit edit: and apparently I do know every 21 fics. I just haven’t READ them all. but I look at them ig.

3 notes · View notes

fulokis · 7 months ago

Text

One of the chefs claims there should be a next promotion up In a certain spot which makes sense it’s specifically that promotion up but what the fuck am I supposed to think when they’re scheduling me for these shifts despite having enough people for them

#I swear to god if I look at my schedule and there’s a thrift one of those I’m going to have issues #they already decided to not actually listen to the bid I put in and decided that I’d have Monday as my only day off on the next drop rather #than Sunday being the actual one #and I swear if this messes up hang time with coworkers that I haven’t been able to hand with for moths I’m going to cause issues

0 notes

roberteospeedwagon · 1 year ago

Text

trying to find posts from various different websites from when holly jolly secrets 2 was airing and jesus christ the internet’s horribly archived wtf

if anyone has any screencaps/advice feel free to tell/show me cuz i rlly wanna see what ppl were saying when the ep first came out

#adventure time #tumblr used to have a way to check what was in tags on certain dates via unix time #but the geniuses at staff decided hmmmm this is bad i guess. and dumped it #alternatively it’s broken #but regardless #haven’t been able to find any /co/ archives on the date the ep aired #haven’t been able to find much of anything on twitter tho tbf i basically just used google for that maybe twt’s on-site filters would #be better #the most well-archived source i could find was actually reddit which checks out #i haven’t touched youtube w a 10 ft pole cuz its filtering system is shit #wayback machine hasn’t been helpful either #aughhhh

1 note · View note

flippedorbit · 1 year ago

Text

yeah sure mom, yell at me for stupid fucking reasons like you always do

#Rasp Rambles #like my bad for yelling in anger because i have a headache because i haven’t been able to eat today since my stomach decided it doesn’t #want to properly digest food and the dogs barking isn’t fucking help and the cat trying to eat the only food i’ve attempted to eat today #is helping me feel better so fucking much. not like i struggle to get myself to fucking eat most days. not like i have any way of #getting my stomach to stop hurting or my headache to go away with all this loud noise and food i can’t fucking eat even when i can actually #digest shit. not like i’m actively struggling every day to continue living because my body and my mind are constantly tag teaming to #fucking kill me every god damn day.#ask to tag

1 note · View note

likeumeanit9497 · 6 months ago

Text

the re-do | m.s. |

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: y/n participates in the triplets' "dirty q&a" video, where she accidentally infers that her experience losing her virginity to matt back in high school had been mediocre. instead of taking offence, matt makes it his mission to show her just how much he has improved since then.

warnings: SMUT; established friendship; m/f oral; unprotected p in v; dirty talk; 18+

notes: hi guys! this is my first ever one shot so pls be gentle with me (i'm genuinely so terrified to post this). it has absolutely NOT been proof read forgive me, but i hope you all enjoy <333

“Guys why am I actually nervous to film this?” Nick proclaimed from his place in the backseat of the car beside me. “No I am genuinely so scared right now.” Replied Chris from the seat in front of me as he began passing out our respective orders from McDonalds.

“We can’t act nervous or else the fans are gonna go even crazier than they already will.” Added Nick as Matt adjusted the camera on the dash. “You’re sure you’re gonna be able to handle the inevitable shit talking that’s gonna come from all this?” Matt asked as he turned to face me in the back. I took a deep breath but nodded. “The more they see me the more desensitized they’ll be. They’ll have to eventually get over it.”

As one of the triplet’s closest girl friends, I had been on the receiving end of a fair amount of hate from their fangirls on the internet. Because I had known them since elementary school, I had been a part of many of their earlier videos when their fans had still been pretty chill about our friendship. But over the past year, a new wave of younger fans had found the videos and had made it their life mission to publicly bash me any chance that they could. It became too much when, a few months ago, one of them decided to spread a rumour that Chris and I had slept together based on nothing other than strategically edited clips of us smiling at each other. It was then that the guys and I had made the decision to keep me as out of the public eye as possible.

However, the guys had sat me down last week to explain how fed up they were with how restricted they felt they had been in their content. They wanted to make an attempt at reclaiming a fandom built primarily of viewers closer to our age, and they thought that the best way to try that was to ignore the petty complaints and make content that they wanted to make. So, since I had been staying with them in Los Angeles for the month, I had agreed to not only be in one of their regular videos, but I had agreed to be in their ‘dirty q&a’ video. I couldn’t lie, I was a bit nervous, but mostly I was excited that my friends were finally confident enough to make videos with more extreme topics.

“Alright guys, ya’ll ready?” Chris asked, intaking a sharp breath while his hand hovered over the record button on the camera. We all responded with a falsely enthusiastic “ready!”, and the camera was turned on.

“Alright, first question,” Nick began after his long-winded introduction filled with disclaimers and explanations for their change in content. “How many people have you slept with?” Already with the first question, it was obvious that the guys were tentative about answering. “Bro I don’t know, next question.” Chris responded, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands. “What do you mean by ‘I don’t know’ Chris?” Asked Matt tauntingly. “I mean I haven’t fucking kept track of everyone I’ve slept with.” He responded bluntly, before realizing how bad that had sounded. We all, however, erupted into laughter immediately. “Okay okay it’s not that bad guys I swear, I just have a bad memory is all.” He attempted to remedy his previous answer, but all three of us continued to laugh.

“Matt, how about you?” Asked Nick, to which Matt simply held up five fingers to the camera. “Same with me.” Nick agreed before turning to me. “Y/n? Spill it.” I rolled my eyes before answering truthfully. “Seven.” I shrugged, and I caught Matt’s smiley eyes through the rear view mirror.

“Alright next question is…” Chris was scrolling through the responses to their Instagram threads. “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

“Sixteen” We all responded in unison, and immediately buckled over in laughter. “Not all at once though ya’ll.” Nick explained through his laughter, while mine and Matt’s eyes flew open and Chris’ laugh turned into hysterics. “Well…” Chris began before he was cut short by the three of us telling him to shut up. “I’m definitely gonna have to cut that one out. Sorry you two fools, I kind of set him up there.” Nick rolled his eyes as he looked between Matt and I.

Ironically enough, the fans had been half right in their rumour about Chris and I sleeping together. I had slept with one of the triplets before, but it wasn’t Chris.

When we were sixteen, Matt and I had decided that we wanted to lose our virginities to each other. It had been a no-strings-attached decision, and our friendship thankfully never wavered after it was done. Both Nick and Chris had already lost theirs that same year, and we had both just kind of wanted to get it over with. Obviously, this piece of information was known only by Matt and I, and of course Chris and Nick since they had barged into the room while we were in bed together. Even though the vindictive side of me would love to have the fans know this piece of information and shatter their dreams, I knew that the fallout would be an absolute nightmare.

“Okay let’s see…” I had been handed Nick’s phone to choose a question to answer and was scrolling through my options. “Here’s a simple one. Favourite position? Mine’s speed bump for sure.” I placed the phone down, satisfied with my confident answer, only to be met with multiple pairs of confused eyes. “I beg your pardon? The fuck is speed bump?” Asked Nick as he took his phone back. “The one where you’re kinda just lying flat on your stomach with the guy behind you. Trust me it’s chef’s kiss.” I responded simply. Chris’ facial expression turned from confusion to one of understanding. “Ohhh yeah that’s a good one.” He replied as he dapped me up. “Great, gonna have to edit that out too unless you want the rumours to get really bad again.” Nick said as he rolled his eyes. “Shit, sorry Nick.” Chris said, giggling slightly.

“Let’s just move on.” Matt said as he began scrolling on his own phone. “Best and worst sexual experiences.” He read off of his screen. There was a moment of silence while we all thought of our answers. “I had a girl throw up on my dick once. The problem is I don’t know if that makes it the worst or the best though.” Said Chris, earning a loud groan from each of us. “You’re sick.” Replied Matt, giving his brother a disgusted look.

“I mean I guess the worst sex would probably be my first time right? Like that makes sense right?” Asked Nick in an attempt to steer the conversation away from Chris’ confession, to which I nodded in agreed response without thinking. I caught Matt’s eyes in the rearview mirror again, this time seeing them filled with a pleading expression. Realizing what I had done, I silently prayed to the universe that my action would go unnoticed by the others. Unfortunately and unsurprisingly, my head nod didn’t make it past Chris, which was made incredibly clear when he mumbled to Nick behind his hand that was hiding his smiling mouth from the camera.

“Did you see that?” He asked, and Nick looked confused so he continued, “Y/n agreed with you about her first time.” He managed to get out before erupting into laughter at the expense of his brother. Matt threw his hands up in the air once Nick joined Chris in his giggling, and I winced from my place in the backseat; also mouthing an apology to Matt’s reflection in the mirror.

“Bro come on it was my first time! I guarantee you were trash your first time too.” Matt said in an attempt to repair his ego as he threw his empty cup at Chris. “Maybe so, but I don’t have the girl who I lost it to here in the car to confirm it.” Chris snarked back, playfully nudging Matt’s shoulder. “We all gotta start somewhere dude.” He added when Matt didn’t respond. As Nick continued choking on his own laughter, Matt crossed his arms and stared out the window, very clearly wishing he was anywhere but there in that moment.

“Okay okay,” Nick began catching his breath. “We need to cool it because 90% of that what we just filmed is completely unusable. Let’s please just try to make it through this video without exposing Matt and Y/n’s bumpy sexual history again.” He pleaded as he began scrolling through his phone to find new questions.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

“God, that was rough.” Said Chris as we all climbed out of the parked car. We had finally finished the video. It took us an hour to film, and would still be edited down to just twenty minutes of content where we weren’t exposing big secrets or directly fuelling past rumours.

“At least it’s done. It might be a while before I ever want to do that again.” Nick responded as he opened the garage door leading into their house. “Agreed.” Added Matt from behind me as we climbed the stairs to the main level. We all walked over to the fridge to grab drinks, as if the beverages would clean our dirty mouths.

“Alright,” Chris began after a hefty chug from his Pepsi, “I’m going to my room. Matt, Nick, get on Fortnite with me.” He began descending the stairs. “I’ll get on once I shower Chris. I have a desperate need to scrub this FILTH off of my body.” Replied Nick, and he began walking towards the stairs leading to his bedroom. “Y/n, come upstairs whenever you want to go to sleep and I’ll get off the game.” He called over his shoulder as he disappeared at the top of the stairs.

Matt and I were left alone in the kitchen, him sitting at the table and me sitting on top of the counter in between the stove and the fridge. Swinging my legs carelessly, I decided to break the silence first. “I’m really sorry about all of that in the car Matt. I didn’t mean it.” He looked up at me and chuckled. “Yes you did, and it’s not a big deal. I know I wasn’t great back then.” He responded before taking a drink from his can. I smiled softly at his response but decided to leave it be. There was no use in trying to deny it. The sex was just boring, short, and awkward; the way that most first times are. At least he didn’t take any offence to it.

“You know,” He began after a few moments of silence, his eyes shooting to mine as he stood up from his place at the kitchen table. “I’ve gotten much better.” A playful smirk travelled to his lips as he began walking towards my frozen figure on the counter. He stopped just a few short centimetres away from me, so close that I could reach out and touch any part of him that I wanted. I couldn’t tell if he was fucking with me, until I felt his early signs of arousal press lightly against my knee.

My throat was dry, and I felt like a deer in headlights. Even though Matt and I had slept together when we were younger, the dynamic was much different than now. The proposition came about awkwardly, and we were a fumbling mess with very little understanding of how it felt to be aroused. But in this moment, I was very very aroused just from this conversation.

In my silence, he placed a firm hand on my hip, rubbing his thumb across it gently. “I can do just about anything. Just let me know how you want it and I can give it to you.” My stomach did a somersault at his words, and I felt my panties dampen. He used his free hand to push my legs apart so that he could stand in between them, and my limp hands subconsciously moved up to grab onto his shoulders. At the first sign of my willingness, Matt quickly leaned forward and peppered soft, teasingly slow kisses along my neck. His lips travelled up to my ear, where he bit the lobe playfully before whispering, “Well, tell me. How do you want me Y/n?”

His words caused me to clench on nothing and I nearly moaned from the anticipation. With him still waiting on my response I whispered back, “You can do anything you want to me, Matty.”

Without missing a beat, he attacked my lips with his own and I melted from the immediate relief. I moved my hands from his shoulders up to the base of his head, and as his tongue danced along with mine I pulled gently at his messy hair; my own mouth filling with a moan falling from his lips. His right hand traveled up my grey hoodie to find that I had nothing on underneath, and he lightly brushed the bottom of my left tit with his thumb. Suddenly his hands moved from under my shirt and gripped my ass as he effortlessly lifted me off the counter and into his arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he stumbled towards his bedroom.

Once inside the undisturbed room, he placed me down on his desk, my ass hitting the mouse and causing the computer to turn on; casting a light on the otherwise dark room. He wasted no time in removing my hoodie, leaning me back slightly so he could easily twirl his tongue along each nipple. I hummed in pleasure from the warm, wet sensation of his mouth connecting to my skin, and brought my hand down in between our bodies to softly run my hand up and down his clothed hardness. After a few moments, he pushed my hand away and dropped to his knees in between my legs.

Pulling my grey sweats off my body and pushing my thong to the side in one quick motion, Matt took a moment to relish in my swollen, dripping hole. “I don’t remember you being this wet for me last time.” He smirked as he looked up at me with blown out pupils. “Let’s see if you taste the same.” My eyes rolled to the back of my head at his filthy words, and a moan slipped from between my lips as his mouth made sloppy contact with my sensitive bud. I subconsciously grabbed onto the back of his head, suffocating him with my heat as he continued to suck and kiss my clit. As his tongue worked on my nerves, he released a guttural moan that vibrated against my heat, causing my back to arch at the intense feeling.

When we had done this all of those years before, Matt’s movements were lacking in confidence. He had fumbled around my clit blindly, and had ate me out cautiously as if he was afraid of hurting me. Now, this Matt had clearly gained experience, as my stomach was already beginning to fill with the familiar pressure from the build up of an orgasm once I watched him find all of my most sensitive spots; his eyes blissfully closed.

Suddenly, he pulled his mouth away from my heat and I groaned at the loss of contact. He straightened his body back up to my level and brought his face so close to mine that our noses were touching. “Kiss me. I want you to know how good you taste.” He whispered through his glistening bright red lips. More on fire than I had ever been in my life, I immediately attached my open mouth to his, moaning at the distinct taste of my sweet arousal on his tongue. As we deepened the kiss, his fingers found my heat and he ran two of them up and down my folds to collect my wetness before slamming them into my cunt; finding my spongey g-spot on the first pump with his curled fingers.

My head rolled back, lost in the euphoric feeling of his fingers filling me up, and he watched my facial expressions intently as the wet sounds of my upcoming orgasm filled the space between us. “Holy fuck, Matt.” I slurred, my voice coming out choppy as his fingers continued to relentlessly pound into me; never losing contact with that one spot that drove me crazy. “I-I’m gonna-” I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the very beginning of my orgasm roll over my body.

Suddenly, all of his movements stopped and my eyes shot open out of frustration. In the time since my eyes had screwed shut, his own had darkened in arousal. My body trembled from the sudden halt in its pleasure, and he smirked at me. “You want to cum, sweetheart?” He asked, his kind words a harsh paradox to his sinister expression. Still, I nodded eagerly to which he pulled his fingers out of me completely before leaning up and placing his wet mouth right against my ear.

“You’re gonna fucking wait for me.”

I attempted to squeeze my legs together to take some pressure off of my throbbing, unsatisfied core as his vulgar words scrambled my brain, before he pulled me off the desk and pushed my head down so that I was now the one on my knees. Confused, I looked up to find him gazing down at me. He gestured towards his clothed member. “Go ahead.” I grinned slyly.

My turn.

I had made an attempt at giving him head the first time we had sex. Just like him, I had struggled with confidence due to the sole fact that I had no clue what I was doing. Since then, I had had plenty of practice, and I was excited to now be the one to show him my improvements.

I grabbed onto the waist band of his pyjama pants and pulled them down to his knees. With only his tight red boxer shorts covering it now, the outline of his thick cock and the small wet spot at its tip from his pre-cum made my mouth water. I brought my mouth up to the skin on his lower stomach, right above the Calvin Klein logo on his boxers, and began peppering excruciatingly slow kisses along the light sprinkling of hair there. I glanced up at him through my eyelashes to find him peering down at me with curious lust, his mouth open slightly and his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

After a short while, I grabbed his boxers and pulled them down to meet his pants at his knees. His hardened cock smacked his stomach on its release from the tight material, where it left a wet patch from his pre-cum. Grabbing it with my left hand, I collected a pool of saliva in my mouth and stared up at him as I let it all drip down his swollen member. After pumping my hand for a few strokes, I placed only the tip in my mouth as I watched his eyes dilate. I swirled my tongue teasingly along the swollen tip, tasting the the saltiness of his fluid. Eventually, I began pumping my hand up and down his shaft in rhythm with my head bobbing along the top half of his cock. He shifted on his feet at the new sensation and let his head fall back. I kept my pace agonizingly lazy, knowing that it would drive him crazy.

With my tongue, I licked a strip from the base of his ball sack, up his shaft, and to his tip, earning a hushed whimper from his lethargic mouth before he grabbed my hair and shifted his hips. Looking down at me and holding my head firmly in place, he began thrusting his hips as he kept me still. He started slow, but when he realized that I could take more his pace began to pick up and his cock began to hit deep in my throat. I looked up at him through my tear-filled eyes, and saliva began to drip down my chin. “Fuck you look so good with my cock in your mouth.” He grunted out through each thrust. I lifted my hand to cup his balls, giving them gentle squeezes that seemed to send him towards his climax.

As a moan fell from his lips, he pulled my head back so that his dripping cock sprung free before he got the chance to fill my mouth with his cum. He stood there for a moment with his eyes closed taking deep breaths as if he was fighting the urge to finish right then, before he opened his eyes and gazed down at me. “Get on the bed.”

I pulled myself up off the ground and, on shaky legs, walked over to his bed with him following close behind. Once I reached the edge of the bed he stopped me, turning me around to face him and pushing me down so I would sit. “Put your feet on the bed and pull your knees up to your chest.” He commanded, and I did as I was told, albeit I was a bit confused. “Good girl.” He praised me as he pulled me right up to the edge of the bed before pushing my legs further apart.

Placing one of his knees on the bed beside me, he lined his cock up with my entrance; rubbing it tantalizingly along my wetness. Placing one arm around my waist to brace my body, he slowly pushed his cock inside of me right there on the edge of the bed. His trusts were slow but harsh, and the position he had placed us in made it so that my cervix was barrelled into each time his hips met mine. He placed his sweat-coated forehead against my collar bone and released small breathless grunts with each deep thrust. “So fucking good Matt. Oh god.” I whined as his pace began to increase in speed. He planted his teeth into my shoulder as we fell back onto the bed; his body now completely on top of mine as he continued to drive into me.

He lifted his head and looked fixedly at my fucked out face, his eyes glossed over in erotic pleasure. With this visual, I was brought back to the first time we had fucked, in a position so similar to this one. His rhythm was slower and much more tentative, and we were both certainly much less pleasing to the other, but still I suddenly got hit with a wave of recognition in how much we had both grown since then.

I was pulled out of my trance by Matt’s commanding voice. “Move back real quick and get on your stomach.” I did as I was told, feeling the emptiness that came from his dick sliding out of my soaking wet pussy. Assuming he wanted me in doggy, I got on my knees and arched my back; my head and shoulders pressed firmly against the soft mattress. I felt the bed move as he climbed on all the way, and in a moment of animalistic desperation I pushed my needy cunt subconsciously back to meet heat of his cock.

“No.” He stated simply, his veiny hands massaging my ass. Confused, I looked over my shoulder as I waited for him to explain. He had an ominous smile as he moved his gaze from my fully exposed cunt to my face. “I wanna see if your favourite position is really worth the hype.” He used his hands on my ass to push it down flat to the bed before adjusting himself so that he could line up correctly. Still looking over my shoulder with glazed eyes, I watched his expression as his cock sunk into my core once again. His jaw was clenched tightly and his eyelashes fluttered slightly from the new sensation that the position gave him as he bottomed out. “Oh fuck.” His eyes were fully shut now as he stayed still for a moment. Small beads of sweat traveled down his stomach as I took in the beauty of the man who was making me feel so so good.

Getting turned on even more just from Matt’s visual pleasure, my walls clenched subconsciously and I whined, “Please keep going Matty.” His eyes snapped open and landed on mine, before he leaned forward — one hand beside my head and the other planted firmly to the small of my back — and began pounding into me relentlessly.

The depth of this position allowed me to feel every inch of his cock, and it became impossible to keep the moans and strings of profanity from escaping my lips. This seemed to be the case for Matt too, as over the sounds of my own moans and the wet sounds of our bodies connecting, I could hear the gruff throaty moans of his own pleasure. “Fuck. You’re so fucking tight Y/n.” Even though I was aware that we were both making far too much noise that Chris and Nick would definitely hear, I couldn’t get myself to bring it to Matt’s attention, as the animalistic vocalization of his indulgence was bringing me closer and closer to my climax.

“I-I need to cum Matty.” I managed to vocalize as my nerves began to unravel. “Hold it. Want you to cum with me.” He responded, leaning even further forward so that his body was practically lying on top of mine. He took a free hand and wrapped it around my throat, lightly squeezing the sides as my pleasure became dangerously close to bubbling over.

“P-Please cum for me. I can’t hold it anymore.” I begged, digging my nails into his silk bedsheets and feeling my walls quiver each time he drove his cock into my cervix. His breathing became hitched in my ear and his movements became sloppier. Biting my ear, he asked, “Where do you want me to cum, Y/n?”

Without wasting time, I moaned my response. “Cum in me please. Want you to fill me with it.” At that, Matt slammed his twitching cock into me a few more times before finally telling me what I so desperately needed him to.

“Okay sweetheart. Go ahead and make a mess for me.” Even before his words fully left his dirty mouth, I gave into the overbearing pressure in my stomach and felt my intense orgasm over-take me. Practically screaming his name, my pussy convulsed uncontrollably. I felt the immediate relief and heard the gush as I squirted along his cock and down his legs. “Jesus.” He moaned out as his body suddenly stilled. As my legs shook, I could feel his cock twitching inside of me; painting my walls with his cum.

After we both came down from our highs, catching our breath and reconnecting with our minds, Matt slowly pulled his dick — freshly bathed in my own juices — out of my swollen core. With a satisfied sigh, he threw his body onto the bed beside mine. Both of us laid there for a moment, facing one another with glazed over expressions, before a shameless smile crept onto Matt’s face.

“Well you definitely didn’t squirt the last time we slept together.” He chuckled proudly, and I knew his ego had been inflated. I rolled my eyes. “Well, you didn’t whimper the last time we fucked either.” It was my turn to smile as he covered his face bashfully. We laid there in silence for a moment, both of us lethargic and fucked out.

“If that was anything like when ya’ll lost your virginities then I am extremely impressed.”

Matt and I both shot our heads up and looked around the room for the origin of that familiar voice. We were alone, but my eyes focused on the lit-up computer. On the screen, Matt’s Discord was open to the group with Nick and Chris. I turned to look at Matt, who had also clearly made the same discovery that I had, and whispered, “Did you for real leave the channel unmuted?” He tucked his lips together and shrugged apprehensively, before climbing off the bed and over to the computer.

“Chris, how much of that did you hear?” He asked into his headset. I heard a laugh through the mic. “Oh Matt, I heard it all. Good work. I’m a proud brother.” I covered my face in embarrassment as Matt rolled his eyes. “Fuck off. You’re a perv.” He mumbled to his brother, but I caught the small smile that tried to creep to his lips.

“I’m gonna need a fucking lobotomy to get over the trauma that I was just put through.” I heard Nick’s voice now through the mic and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Bro you could have just left the server, you act like I forced you to listen to the entire thing.” Matt argued with his older brother. “You think I stayed and listened to the ENTIRE thing? What are you crazy?” I was full out laughing now, despite the embarrassment. “I left as soon as I figured out what was happening, but I still heard waaaay too much.” Matt laughed now and muted his mic — perhaps a bit too late — then walked back to where I was on the bed, propped up on my forearms.

“Whoops.” He simply said as he pulled his boxers back up. I shook my head and smiled shyly. “We are literally never going to be able to live that down.” I replied as he draped his body along the bed beside me again. Rubbing his eyes awkwardly, he shrugged softly. “Well, at least they’re gonna have to stop teasing me about my skills.” I smacked his arm playfully and he responded by grabbing me swiftly and pulling me to his side.

“You were impressed, weren’t you?” He asked teasingly, as he held me close. I closed my eyes and sighed, “I was, Matt. Really, really, impressed.” He giggled into my neck at my truthful response and I swatted him once again.

“I’m glad we got our re-do. I’d been wanting that for a while.” He said after a moment. I looked at him with a smile and ruffled his hair. “Me too, honestly. I always knew you had some potential in you.” I teased.

“Well, if you don’t want to have to face Nick right now, you’re welcome to sleep in here tonight.” He offered and I sighed in relief. “That would be great, actually.” I said as I began to sit up. “Let’s get cleaned up first though.” He began as he got up and grabbed us both towels from his closet, “You’re not allowed to get under my sheets until you wash my children off your thighs.” My eyes shot open at his disgusting choice of words and I quickly covered myself with my towel. “Matthew Bernard you are sick!” I exclaimed as we both headed towards his bathroom. “Sure am. But so are you.”

He pulled me into a hug while we stood in the bathroom waiting for the shower to warm up. As he rubbed circles on my back with his hand, I sighed. “I think this is the secret to good friendship.” He chuckled before asking, “What is?” Playfully, I smacked his ass over his boxers. “Fucking the shit out of each other once in a while.” He laughed and pulled away from the hug before getting into the shower; leaving the glass door open so that I could follow him. “Shut your weird ass up and get in the shower with me, friend.”

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x you

4K notes · View notes

littlebirdy0301 · 1 year ago

Text

I have officially entered my nerdiest dorkiest era yet so far

#I’ve been hyperfixating on dimension 20 (dnd actual play) for the past 2 weeks #& today my dnd group was finally able to meet again #& after having watched a couple series now I felt like much less of a beginner! It was much easier to play :))#And shortly ago I was scrolling through the ig of The Fantasy Tavern & boppin to their improvised shanties #& now I’ve got other shanties playing from my music app cause I was like “yo I haven’t listened to sea shanties in awhile they slap”#I feel I may have entered nerd overload #This is the new me. Hyperfixation has decided to turn me into the biggest dork for the foreseeable future

1 note · View note

vnti-vntiety-recs · 6 months ago

Text

LEARNING CURVES (M)

★ PAIRING: 00 line x Reader (ft.Mark)

☆ WORD COUNT: 23k

★ GENRE(S): Pure Smut

☆ SUMMARY: After a negative sexual encounter in high school, fear and reluctance hold you back from exploring new experiences. However, a friend offers advice that shifts your perspective, suggesting that perhaps all you need is some practice to improve and feel more confident in trying new things outside of your comfort zone. You would need a lot of practice.

★ ☆ WARNINGS: Multiple sexual acts, unprotected sex, orgy, cursing, choking. Literally just sex.☆★ NOTES: I had some fun writing this, shout out to my friend for literally living this life. You made dreams come true.

You loved being able to catch up with your friends; it was rare you got to see them nowadays with your conflicting schedules and new adult responsibilities. By now, you were all grown up, having traded in your sibling-shared rooms for an open loft and independence. You lived alone, and while at times it can feel lonely, you really enjoyed the time to yourself. Spending time alone would allow you to learn more about yourself.

Today, after debriefing with your friends about their sex lives, you discovered that yours is about as dry as the Nevada desert.

Your friends occupy the living room space of your new loft. You had been in your new home for about a month when they decided to come over for a housewarming party. With Jisung's tall, lean frame stretched out on the couch, everyone else had to make room on the floor. Being a lightweight. He ended up knocking out before anyone else. Your friends Chenle, Yang Yang, Yuna, and Mia surround you on the floor. Your not sure how the conversation got started, but everyone was recounting embarrassing sexcapades from the past.

“And then he fell asleep on top of me after finishing. He was practically crushing me; I thought I was gonna die,” Yuna laughs hysterically at the memory.

The idea of your friend experiencing that makes you shudder. Your other friends laugh along easily. The empty alcohol bottles that decorate your carpet and countertops can only indicate one thing: everyone was off their ass drunk. There was easy conversation, unceasing laughter, and smiles so big they hurt your cheeks.

The stories continue on, and you’re enjoying the time you get to spend together. Yanyang tells you about some girl he went home with after class one day and how she could only get off if he was wearing a cat headband.

“So you pretended to be her kitten the whole time?” Mia asked with a laugh. You could tell she was getting a kick from the mental image of Yangyang purring like a kitten.

“It was hot, actually!” He protests.

"Well, I thought this story was supposed to be embarrassing? You’re in to petplay, big whoop?” You chime in.

"Well, it only got weird when she started calling me Mr. Whiskers,” he groans out of anguish at the memory.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but you were practically weeping at this point. “MR.WHISKERS??”

“There's no way! Tell me you left!” Chenle adds,

“I had to see it through” Yang Yang shakes his head before shrugging. “What about you, miss lonely? Any stories? Don't think we haven't noticed how quiet you are” Yang Yang targets you.

You feel a chill down your spine, like a bucket of ice water was just dumped over you. Although they were more of the second-hand variety, your friends did have some embarrassing stories. They weren't the ones that embarrassed themselves, and that intimidated you a little from telling your own story. Yours had been so embarrassing that you refused to try anything sexual since then. You felt like they wouldn't understand.

"Well, I haven’t really done much.” You say. You wanted to avoid the conversation.

“Oh come on, what about Doyoung? You two didn’t do anything?” Yuna asks.

“No, Well, not really” You could feel your cheeks heating in embarrassment. This was why you didnt want to talk about it. Your lack of sexual experience was probably the reason he broke up with you.

“I've only ever given head, and it was really bad,” you finally admit.

"Well, come on. It was your first time; you can’t beat yourself up about it,” Yuna encourages.

It was back in high school; you had been dating Doyoung for a few months, and you were both ready to take the next step in the relationship. You were too afraid to go too far, so you offered to just give him head.

You should have known better than to try to sneak away at school, but you were young and foolish. Things took a turn for the worse after you and Doyoung slipped into a supply closet in between classes.

You were both really inexperienced and only knew sex from porn. You were overly cocky in your abilities, and so was he. When you first put him in your mouth, you didn't mind your teeth at all. You used too much saliva, making everything too messy. He couldn't get hard at all, so it was hard to stroke it, and so you were just awkwardly flailing your wrist on his length. He wasn't that big, and you thought that maybe if you took him farther down your throat, he would feel better. Big mistake.

You swore it barely touched the back of your throat, but you had just finished lunch like 30 minutes prior, and honestly, the unfamiliar taste of his precum was making your stomach turn a little. The next thing you know, your throwing up on his shoes.

“And then the janitor walked in, and he had to help clean up my throw up” You finish your story, hands cringing at your sides.

Your friends had listened intently through the whole story without interrupting once. You finally look up from your lap to scam their reactions.

Chenle was biting his lip, holding back a laugh for his dear life. Yuna was trying her hardest to look serious as she nodded her head in understanding, but you could see the tears in her eyes that threatened to fall from how hard she wanted to laugh. Yangyang and Mia were fully turned around; all you could see was their shoulders shaking.

“THIS IS SERIOUS!” you whine in aggravation. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. The previous silent laughter turned to full-blown cackling. They were so loud, it made Jisung stir on the sofa.

You pout and cross your arms, trying to shrink yourself away. Thinking back on it after all these years, it was funny now, but it had really taken a toll on your self-confidence. You couldn't even get Doyoung hard, and after he broke up with you, you found it hard to try again. You had dated a few other guys here and there, but the moment they tried to get more physical, you got cold feet. You were a virgin, but if you wanted to be technical, you lost your virginity to a fence in the 5th grade while trying to climb a fence. You had slipped and fallen hard on the fence. You didn't realize it at the time, but the blood in your underwear that day was caused by your hymen breaking, not a deep cut from the fence you couldn't find.

Your friends finally calm down after they see you not laughing along. "Hey, we're sorry,” Mia apologizes “Does it still bother you?”

"Yes,” you say

"Jeez, its been years; you really haven’t had any better experience than that?” Chenle says

“You always know exactly what to say,” you say dryly.

“What he meant to say was you were young and that was a long time ago; you shouldnt beat yourself up about it.” Mia glares at Chenle.

“I guess,” you shrug unimpressed

"Well, practice makes perfect so your not gonna get better if you do nothing,” chenle says

This time, you shoot him a glare at his brutal honesty.

That's how you find yourself downloading Tinder. You had thought about it over the next few days. Your friends were all grown up and living their best lives, and you were still stuck on something that happened in your freshman year of high school. Years had passed, and you needed to move on. Maybe Lele was right? Maybe all you needed was to go out and keep falling until you could stand up on your own. Clearly, they had had their fair share of embarrassing stories, and it had helped them grow. You had a lot of growing to do if you were going to make up for the last few years.

You make your profile very simple. You add a few cute photos; nothing risky because you’re still afraid you might run into one of your friends on the app, and you would just die if they found your account.

You add the description of “just looking for fun” and hope you can cast your net wide enough to catch someone promising.

You swipe for about half an hour until you get tired. You had a lot of planning to do. Chenle probably didn't mean it literally, but that's how you were going to take it.

You knew nothing about being intimate or physical with someone, but you were quite bookish. Instead of love and companionship, you were drawn towards studies and literature.

If there was something you didn't know, you would just crack it open and study its insides. That is how you would approach this; you would treat it as an equation that, with a little bit of study, you could solve.

Practice makes perfect...

Practicing math makes you a mathematician

Practicing science makes you a scientist

Practicing law makes you a lawyer

So technically speaking, if we follow the trend, if we recognize the pattern...

Practicing sex makes you a sexist?

Ok no, but you get the point. With practice, you should improve.

Your phone dings, and you smile at the message you got “What kind of fun are you looking for?”

Renjun was his name, and you had made plans to meet with him this weekend. In between classes and work, you made time to prepare yourself to meet Renjun. You had spoken to him briefly through text. You had told him that you were inexperienced and were only comfortable with giving head. He told you not to worry and that he was more than okay with that.

First things first: you had to deal with your first bully if you wanted to move past your past and loosen its hold on you. The thing that made you insecure, the thing that kept you up at night, you had to overcome.

THE BLOWJOB

You had prepared for this day all week. You read article after article of different techniques to try. You had gone through a whole 18 pack of popsicles, and by the 10th one, you had finally managed not to gag when you reached the last color. You couldn't quite pat yourself on the back yet; you weren't sure if you were getting better or if you had just frozen your tonsils. Today, you would find out, though.

You nervously clutch your phone as you shoot him a text letting him know you were outside. He buzzes you in, and you make your way up to apartment 0323 on the third floor. When he opens the door, you can't help but return his smile. You shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but this cover was really pretty.

Renjun just had a welcoming aura that made you feel comfortable. When you come inside, he asks if you want anything to drink, and he shows you where his bathroom is in case you need it, making you feel at home. After he does a short walk through, he leads you back to the living room, and you both sit on his couch.

“This is a really nice place,” you comment, awkwardly unsure of what to say “Do you have roommates?” His apartment was very large; you noticed it was on the nicer side of town, and you saw at least 4 bedrooms.

“Yeah, but I kicked them out tonight,” he says before eyeing you up and down “I want to take my time with you”

Your skin instantly heated up at his bold words. The kind man who had smiled and welcomed you into his house might have been a fox.

“I've only ever done this once before, and I'm not really sure if I’ll be any good,” you say, unable to hold his eye contact.

“Its ok baby; I’ll teach you everything you need to know,” he says softly “You wanna sit closer so I can see your pretty face?” He says it gently.

You scoot closer so that your thighs are touching. “There's my girl,” he says, and you can feel your heart rate pick up at the praise. He doesn’t look away from you once; his piercing stare makes you feel shy.

Your eyes are glued to your hands, folded politely in your lap, and when he reaches out to intertwine his with yours, you wonder if he can feel the way your hands tremble in his grasp.

“Are you scared? Why are you shaking baby?” he asks sweetly, using his other hand to caress your cheek soothingly. “Don’t be afraid, baby we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do” He strokes your face for a bit longer before lightly gripping your chin and pulling you to finally face him “Do you want to do this, baby? Let me hear your pretty voice”

His compliments twist at your heart again, and it feels like you’re under his spell. He spoke to you in a way that was sweet like honey; it made you want to comply with everything he asked of you.

He smiles at the dopey look on your face when he calls you pretty “You like it when I talk to you like that? Hmm pretty?” Still not brave enough to take a full sip from you without your permission, he pecks the corner of your mouth. "You have to answer me, or we can't have fun."

You nod lazily, and you try to chase his lips when he pulls away.

he pulls back "words," and his eyes look glazed over as he stares at your lips.

“Yes, I want this,” you whisper breathlessly

He kisses you gently, barely allowing you to savor his taste, before he pulls away again. “Let's take it slow, ok? I got you; just follow my lead,” he says, inches away from your mouth. You nod impatiently and surge forward again, claiming his lips against yours.

You were really eager; you didn't realize how touch-starved you were until tonight. You were pressed heavily against his side as you worked your lips over his. It was a very sloppy kiss, but you loved every second of it. His lips were so soft, you couldn't help but groan against them.

You felt a rough hand against your sternum until it traced up towards your neck. His finger tips barely grazed the skin of your neck. He caressed you there for a moment before his grip turned firm, and he pushed you back just enough to get your attention. You whine in disappointment, and he kisses the pout on your lips.

“I said slow, baby I’m not going anywhere,” he says softly. He tries to keep things light so you don't become discouraged. “You taste so good; I want to savor it,” he soothes with praise.

He spoke in a way that made your stomach do backflips. You nod and take a deep breath. You wait patiently for him to lean in and allow him to take the lead. He kisses you slowly and sensually. You can fully understand what he meant earlier when he said he wanted to savor it. There was something about his slow, almost lazy kisses that had you gripping his thigh. He slips his tongue inside your mouth and strokes against yours. You gently suck on his tongue, matching his energy. When he pulls away, you have trouble catching your breath.

“like that, ok? you try now”

You lean in and kiss him, copying all the things he did to you before pulling away.

Your eyes were completely glazed over at this point. Your body was loose, all tension from before evaporating. His kisses were like liquor.

“Good baby,” he says.

You were ready for more, so you sank off the couch until you were situated between his legs. He doesn't say a word while you buckle his belt, holding your eye contact as you discard it to the side. He helps you by pulling his pants down his thighs before pulling himself out of his briefs. He stood in front of you completely hard, and your heart feels light.

You did it! He was hard, and all you did was kiss. first obstacle overcome! You smile dopely at him, and he returns the look with a soft smile before caressing your cheek.

“What are you so happy for, baby? Want it that bad?” He says this, stroking himself languidly.

With your new-found confidence, you shoo his hand away and grip the base.

step one… firm grip

step two… pump and suck

or was it suck then pump?

You tried to remember the articles you had read, but it was like your brain was short-circuiting.

“Relax, baby, don't think about it.” He pats the top of your head soothingly “Open your mouth,” he guides. You do as he says and wait for the next command, “stick your tongue out”

You stick out your tongue and slap the length lightly against your fat tongue before pulling it off and licking from the base to the tip again.

You lick at the underside of his tip before kissing it. “Is this ok?” you ask shakily. From the way his breath picks up slightly, you suppose your off to a good start.

"Baby, you are doing so good for me. "Just like I taught you, take it slow," he says, panting a little.

You give him a nod, then glance back at his lovely pink tip. You suck on the tip experimentally, being extra cautious of your teeth. When you pulled up, you massaged the head with your tongue. You get comfortable, and soon your ready to take more. You slip down further on his length and stroke what you cannot fit in your mouth. His cock had a slight curve to it, and you were hesitant to go deeper. You didn't account for that with the straight popsicles you would suck. You stay within your comfort zone and work him as best you can. You start twisting your wrist at his base, and when you come up for air, you drag your hand up, chasing your mouth, to twist your wrist at his tip. This causes him to let out a moan.

“Just like that, baby, you’re doing so good”

The praise goes to your head, and before you can second-guess yourself, you suck one of his balls gently into your mouth. the way his hips jerk up suddenly scares you. you think you did something wrong but he immediately encouraged you.

“Keep your eyes on me, baby; im close”

You kiss your way back up the shaft until you take it back into your mouth. you moan around his length and he shudders.

“That's right, baby, almost there,” he says, his voice thick with arousal. You feel his hand at the back of your neck as it gently guides you up and down. “do you trust me?” he asks

You nod subtly, trying not to scrape him with your teeth. “Breathe in deep,” he tells you as he lifts you off his length.

You take a deep breath, and you know what is coming. You practiced for this. You were ready.

He guides you back down his length. Slowly sinking you down, forcing you to take more of him as he hits the back of your throat. Your eyes tear up immediately, and your hands move to grip at his thighs. Your nose is tucked into his abdomen as you deep-throat him.

Yes! You were doing it! This wasnt so-

You cough violently after a few seconds of having him down your throat, and he pulls you up immediately. You catch your breath, trying to contain your harsh coughing fit. Renjun is stroking himself in front of you, and you open your mouth again, letting him stroke over your tongue.

Without warning, he finishes all over your lips and face. You lick at your lips, tasting the mess. It tasted salty and bitter

It was a long day; you didn't have any courses today, but you'd just finished a lengthy shift and wanted to relax. Soft music fills your home while you give yourself the princess treatment. You really needed to relax, so you lit a few candles.

When you get home, you take a hot bath. You had filled the tub with bubbles, which reached your neck as you sank down into it.

Only when there was a knock did you realize there was a body in the doorway. You nearly leap out of your skin, only to discover it was Chenle.

“What are you doing in my house” you heave in a breath, trying to calm your heart.

With a playful hop onto your countertop, he mocks you, "Spare key." You feel at ease in his company despite being nude; Chenle was more like a brother to you. The bubbles were pretty dense, so you doubted he could see anything. “Had to do a welfare check; you werent texting back in the groupchat”

“I've been busy,” you say hesitantly. You hadnt told your friends about your escapades. You were too nervous, and you definitely knew they wouldn't like the idea of you meeting up with strangers in the middle of the night.

“Your hiding something,” he said, narrowing his eyes at you

"Well, I am in the middle of taking a bath,” you joke.

“Not what I mean,” he says, rolling his eyes “what have you been up to, you sneak”

You gave a deep, heavy sigh. Lele was the kind of person who would dig until he found the truth, so it was best to just tell him. You spare the two of you the hassle.

“I took your advice.”

“My advice?”

“Yeah, on practicing... you said I should practice if I wanted to get better.”

“I was wondering why you had three twelve packs of bombpops in your freezer” Lele tilted his head with a nod.

“So I did, and... I hooked up with someone” You sink further into the tub until only your eyes are visible above the bubbles.

“Tell me everything; I want every detail.” A Cheshire grin spreads across his face as he smiles at you, crossing his arms over his chest.

Honestly, you have been dying to talk to someone about this. You tell him how you met Renjun through Tinder, how sweet he was, and how comfortable he made you. Chenle is leaning forward, nodding along with everything you say, fully immersed in your story. It wasn't until you finished that he let out a shocked chuckle.

"Wow, baby bird has finally left the nest,” he jokes, “so whats next? You're going to keep seeing this guy?”

You liked Renjun, but you weren't ready for a relationship just yet, especially after only swallowing his dick. You aren't done with your expirations yet. You still had to find your other test subjects. You reasoned that including a variable would help you assess how much you were progressing and if you were truly improving. Renjun was nice, but it was almost time for someone new.

“Maybe. I dont know. Im not really ready for a relationship”

“Are you just looking for something fun?”

Precisely

Although he told you a thousand times that you did an amazing job, you still weren't satisfied. You could hardly take him down your throat. You would need more practice if you were going to be able to take on something bigger one day.

You had been training your gag reflex lately; this would decide if you were ready to move on to the next stage. You had looked up somewhere that practicing on a banana might get you used to the natural curve of a penis, but when it broke off into your throat and you almost choked on it, you decided to play it safe and stick to your ice pops. At least those would melt before you choked and died. You could stand proud the next time you see Renjun.

He buzzed you up like last time, and your steps were a little lighter as you bound up his stairs for the second time.

“Hey pretty, are you ready for another lesson?”

This time, as he brings you in, he takes you directly to his bedroom. You get a little nervous; you weren't ready for that yet. He notices your tense shoulder and laughs softly. “Calm down; we’re not doing anything like that. I just wanted you to be comfortable,” he explains

You relax and follow him as he crawls into his bed. His room was very... Renjun, or at least what you thought Renjun to be like. Ambient mood lighting casts a gentle golden glow throughout his space. He was very clean and ordered, and his room had an overall calm and cozy vibe to it.

He got comfortable against his headboard, and as you positioned yourself in between his legs on your stomach. His bed sheets smelled like fresh laundry, and it was like you were lying on a cloud. You prop yourself up on your elbows and begin working. You are grateful that things with Renjun were strictly business. You hated small talk, and this dynamic would make things less awkward in the long run. You reach forward and are about to pull him out of his shorts when he stops your wrists short.

“You gotta work me up, baby, not yet,” he explains.

Slow, steady, and sensual. That's how Renjun liked to move. You were getting better at understanding him. He liked it slow, and he liked it when you teased him.

You trailed your hand up and down his thighs; he was only in some sleep shorts, so you teasingly trailed your hand under the fabric and stroked high on his skin. You pushed up the other leg of his shorts as you laid hot kisses against the skin there. You kissed up his thigh and over his bulge that was starting to strain against his shorts. He was bare under, and just the thought alone had your mouth watering. You had to remind yourself to take it slow.

You trail your hand even higher under the fabric of his shorts until you softly grip his length. You kiss him through the fabric as you softly stroke his hard cock. It was right in front of you, and he was refusing you. You had to squeeze your thighs together as you pictured the way you would finally get to shove his cock down your throat. Your grip tightens at the thought, and his soft moans that now flow from his lips tell you that he's ready for more.

You finally slip him out of his shorts and take him into your mouth. You rest the tip against your tongue as you lazily lick him up. You hold his eye contact as you take more and more of him into your mouth. You hum around him in pleasure as his face twists in pleasure.

"Fuck, mmm so pretty. so fucking pretty with your mouth full,” he moans "I could watch you all day, just like that baby, just like that”

You could feel that familiar sense clouding your head; you were sinking again. Your thoughts traveled to that special place, and his words alone made you feel drunk.

Fuck going slow; you needed him down your throat. You pull up to take a deep breath in through your nose and sink down on him again. You take all of him and settle at his base. You look up at him from your position, and you can see his mouth drop open in a silent moan.

He heaves a breath and grips the sheets as you slurp loudly on your way up. You work at his base with a tight fist before sinking back down again. You repeat the motion a few times before you feel his hands collecting your hair up into a ponytail. He uses the makeshift ponytail as a handle to guide you up and down his length. The next time you come down, he holds you still for a few seconds, and you can feel his hips shyly cant up, fucking your throat. You cough hard and smack at his thigh for air. He draws you up, and your wet, tearful eyes meet his. However, a fox returned the stare. The fox he had hidden beneath his sheep's skin was finally showing his teeth.

“Back down, baby, we're going to make you learn tonight,” he says “Open your mouth”

You obey, and he grips your jaw with one hand while the other brushes his length on your lips before lowering you flush against his pelvis. “Come on, take it. Its all yours pretty,” he grunts, fucking your face until he feels your throat tighten again and he pulls you up. “Breathe, come on, baby we got to get that throat fucked out”

And your down again. He pulls you up and holds your head in place as he thrusts shallowly into your mouth and over your tongue. “Hands off, I got you," was another command.

You snake one of your hands down your front as he uses your throat for his own pleasure. He was so deep down your throat that you never wanted him to pull out. You circle your clit a few times as you get lost in your own pleasure.

“Almost there, look at me,” he cries as his hips begin to stutter so close to release. He brings you down again, and his thighs shake. He was about to pull you up, no doubt to finish on your face, but you refused to pull off. You force him to cum deep down your throat.

You pull off swallowing quickly before you start coughing again. You help him ride it out with a few weak pumps of his cock. You watch him catch his breath as he looks at you with nothing but disbelief in his eyes.

“How was that? Was that okay? Was I going to fast-”

He sits up and pushes you back onto the bed. He kisses you deeply and moans at the lingering taste of himself on your tongue.

“How about I show you?” He kisses down your body over your clothes until hes settled between your legs. “Let me show you how that felt, please. Let me make you feel good,” he begs

The look he gives you makes you ruin your panties all over again. You had never had anyone touch you like that before but you trusted him.

“Show me”

You conquered the blowjob and then the blowjob conquered you. After passing out in his room, you snuck out the next morning before his roommates woke up. You didn't plan on seeing him again after this and that left you feeling a bit down. There was no time to dwell on it, though. It made you wonder if Renjun was correct in saying you were moving too fast, since after two positive experiences, you were already thinking about exploring further.

Who would be your next target?

RIDING

Renjun was right. Renjun was 100% right. You needed to slow down.

You wanted to move things along; you were eager to learn more about your own body, so you opted to start small. Well, as little as a 7-inch dildo could be. Although you had never used a toy like this before, you were no stranger to an orgasm. You definitely made yourself come before but you used some shoddy vibrator you got when you were 18 from the back of some edgey store in the mall that had a small adult section.

You had ordered this toy offline and didn't think it would be as big as it was until you got it in the mail. It wasn't super grithy but the stretch still scared you. Maybe you should have listened to the online forums and started small with 4 inches but at the time, 4 inches didn't sound like a lot. That was less than a five-dollar footlong at subway and you were always still hungry after eating one of those. No matter how much lube you used, no matter how aroused you were, you couldn't take it. You will have to try again later.

You had effectively scared yourself back into a corner. You decided to take a break from your “studies” and focus on school and work. Maybe you just weren't ready to leave your comfort zone yet.

Your life returns to normal for a bit; you work, come home, then sleep. You wake up early for class, go to work, then come home and sleep. You wake up early for class, go out with your friends, come home, and then sleep. It was a constant rinse and repeat of the same things. You had hobbies but none of them were as interesting as the one thing plaguing your mind recently.

You needed dick, bad.

Against your better judgement, you eventually hit Renjun up again and you guys meet up a few more times. He'd come over to your house the last few times because he complained about not being able to get his roommates out of the house. You loved pleasing Renjun and he loved pleasing you but his tongue and fingers weren't enough for your greedy pussy anymore. You needed more.

You lay in bed one night after Renjun left, having finished another session with you and even though he had made you cum your pussy was still throbbing for more. You knew if you had asked, he would have given it to you, but you wanted to investigate on your own and conduct your own research before diving headfirst into something like that.

You reach down into your soaked panties and rub at your clit lazily. You squeeze your legs together as your pussy clamps down around nothing. You try to mimic the way Renjun had his fingers shoved knuckles deep in you earlier; you trace at your slit and work in a finger curling it the same way he did. It wasn't enough. You add another one and work yourself up, pumping your fingers pathetically inside and grinding the palm of your hand against your clit. It still wasn't enough, and even adding a third finger still didn't satisfy you. You needed something bigger. You shudder at the thought but pull your fingers out of your dripping cunt. You reach under your bed for your box and set it on your bed before pulling out your new toy.

“Take it slow; just like I taught you,” you repeat his words to yourself.

You line the toy up to your entrance and coat it in your juices. Your about to push it inside when you decide to play it safe and add more lube. Now that the toy is fully coated, you can get comfortable on your back and ease it inside. Your a lot more relaxed this time than when you first tried. Renjun had already made you cum earlier, and you thank him for his services. You slid the tip in and took more and more until it was at least 2/3 inside. You didn't particularly like the rubbery feel of the dildo; you bet Renjun would feel better nuzzled deep inside you. You imagine him inside of you and its like your body opens up and your able to take the rest.

You kick your legs open further, spreading them wider. You don't move for a few seconds, getting used to something being this deep inside of you. You found it hard to pull the toy out, your insatiable core clamping down tight onto it. Your able to find a small, shallow rhythm, barely able to pull it out, your back arching as you fuck yourself. You wriggle as you shove the toy in farther—suddenly, seven inches was not enough. Deeper, that is what you wanted. You would need to find something bigger. You grow close but you can't quite take yourself over the edge. You reached down with your free hand and rubbed at your clit. Your essence coats the toy as you topple over and spill all over it. Your bones are tired and you pray that you can wake up on time in the morning. You drag yourself to the bathroom, clean yourself up, and know that when you finally crawl into bed, you will sleep through all of your alarms.

You spend the following few days getting to know your body. You eventually part with your old toy and get a new vibrator—you choose a wand. Toys are expensive; you had no idea till you went shopping for them. There were a ton of beautiful ones. You ordered a gorgeous pink glass one, for which you were really excited.

The sensation of having something tucked away deep inside you had grown on you, but you still craved more. You could never get over the fact that you were fucking a toy, no matter how lifelike it seemed. You were getting off to plastic when you had already had the real thing at your fingertips once. You were ready for more.

Swiping. You swiped all day long, but no one genuinely intriguing drew your attention. You came to the realization that Renjun was a true blessing. Just as you were about to give up, a promising-looking message appeared on your phone.

The most gorgeous lips you had ever seen were the first thing you noticed. You knew right away that you needed them all over your body; they looked so soft. Although his profile picture was basic, it did not matter because his face was the main attraction. He had very dear-like features and you noticed the moles that dotted his tan skin. Haechan was definitely someone you wanted to get to know.

“I think theres something wrong with my phone”

“???”

“Your number’s not in it”

"Cornball, your getting blocked.”

“Give me a chance!”

His face demanded that you at least give him a chance to speak, and you did. After talking to him for a minute longer, he was charming. You noticed his quick wit and that immediately drew you to him. He was different from Renjun. He was cocky but not in an arrogant way. He had confidence and thats exactly what you needed. You needed someone to talk you through it and teach you how they liked it and haechan seemed like the guy. You give him the same speech you gave Renjun, about you being inexperienced and looking for someone to learn from. Someone to study. You tell him what you want to improve on, and he texts back shortly after

“I’ll have you riding like a pro in no time, trust me”

You trusted him.

He was late and you were growing impatient. You were waiting patiently in your living room for a text from haechan. He was supposed to be coming over tonight; normally, you prefer going to them because you really dont like letting strangers know where you live but it turns out he went to the same university as you so that made you feel a tad bit better. You had dressed in something simple but effective: your favorite lace camI and matching silk shorts. You even took the time to prep yourself before he got there. On the bright side, if he didn't show up, you could finally try out the pink glass dildo that came in the mail a few days ago. A knock at the door shakes you from your thoughts.

Although you were just complaining, now that he's here, you start to get a bit nervous. This was the first time you would be having penetrative sex with anyone. You shuffle over to the door in your house shoes and look through your peep hole. Messy black hair was peeking out from under a hoodie as the figure in front of your door scrolled through their phone. You tentatively open your door, not taking the chain off until you can clearly see his face. He looks up at the sound of the door opening and sends you a grin.

“I don’t bite”

“Thats exactly what someone who bites would say”

“Then you would be right”

You shut the door and take the chain off the hook before opening it fully again and letting him in.

He eyes you up and down, drinking in your figure. You do the same and under the light of your living room, you see him in all his glory. You send a quick prayer up to the tinder gods for blessing you again. He was dressed in grey sweats with a black hoodie pulled over his head but boy was he handsome. You take a daring step forward and push the hoodie off his head before wrapping your arms around his neck. Long black bangs fall into his eyes and the way he pears down at you through them has your legs feeling weak already.

“You gonna be mine for tonight?” he asks sultry

“Just for tonight?” he licks his lips at that.

“Your right, gotta teach you how to fuck me.”

“That could take a while,” you tease.

“Use me for how ever long you need, I’m all yours,” he says

You pull him down, claiming his lips with yours. You pull his hoodie up and he pulls it the rest of the way off before his hands are creeping up your sides.

In all the ways Renjun poured over you, slow and thick, engulfing you whole like honey, Haechan was brisk and jagged, pulling you every which way rapidly like a river as he flowed through you.

You tried to use what Renjun taught you but that wasn't going to fly with Haechan. You had to learn to adapt to Haechan. He didn't like it slow; he liked to move at a quick pace. If you pull away, he is on you, chasing your lips for another taste. If you stumble back, he's gripping you tight and pulling you closer. Haechan had almost a desperate kind of love.

You’re finally able to peel off of him and catch your breath and he wastes no time in moving down your body to your neck, kissing and leaving marks for you to find in the morning. His hands slide down your back and grip your ass. He kneads your plush ass before pulling you closer, your front flush to his. He had backed you up into a wall at this point and you suddenly felt him nudge his leg between yours.

"Are you ready for your first lesson?” He says that as he moves one hand back to your hip, he uses his grip to pull you over his thigh. He grinds you down into the muscle and you shudder at the feeling. ”Just like that baby, that's it.”

You follow his lead and weakly grind your hips into his thick thighs. You could feel everything between the thin fabric of your silk shorts, the fabric dampening at the front and the cold press of the cloth against your clit makes you shiver.

“Like you mean it, come on,” he coos

You pout but grind down harder. You were looking for that praise that Renjun gave you so easily; Haechan was going to make you work for it.

“There we go bear, just like that, thats my girl,” he says, helping you along until you whine for more. You needed more; you loved his thighs but you brought him here to learn how to ride a dick.

"Ready for you to bite," you declare, rolling your hips with assurance.

He tilts his head with a scoff, tongue in cheek. "Suddenly, you can handle it?”

You reach out and pull him to your lips again to shut him up. He continues to grind you down until a patch of your wetness forms against his thigh, until your hips tire and your legs shake.

He can feel your movements grow weaker and he nudges your forehead with his when you drop your head.

“Not so tough are we baby? Gotta work on that stamina,” he grins devishly. you send him a fleeting glare. Oh, he was going to work you out. “fix your face; you asked for this, you wanna learn; you better listen”

You want to argue back but all you can do is slump against his thigh and throw your head back against the wall to catch your breath. Haechan pulls away from you and has to catch you before your legs give out from under you. He leads you over to your couch and sits down. legs spread wide, sitting you on his lap. You straddle his waist and your thighs cramp up.

You groan out and move off to spread your legs out over his thighs, sitting on the couch instead. He snickers at you but works the kink out of your thighs.

"Are you ready to listen now?” he asks and you nod shamfully. “It may look easy but it takes a lot of stamina to ride. You gotta pace yourself, baby.”

You nod and let out a yawn. He had already tired you out and you hadn't even started.

“Don't tap out on me yet; come on just a little more and I'll let you rest,” he urges you back on top of him after properly easing out the tension on your thighs. You reluctantly get back on top and relax into his hold. With a mischievous grin, he sits you squarely on top of his bulge.

“If you can hold out long enough to make me cum, next time I'll let you ride it,” he says, kissing your lips before leaning back against the couch, waiting for your next move. You whine and try to lean forward against his chest. You were tired and if you were going to do this, you needed a clutch but he could see right through you.

“Nu-uh, sit up; you got this.”

You send him a frown but you start to move your hips none the less. You find a rhythm and pace yourself like he instructed. His hands rest on your hips uselessly, making you do all the work. You brace one hand on his shoulder and the other on his knee as you roll your hips into his. He felt so good pressed up against your center. His eyes were hidden behind his bangs and the sight of him leaning up against the sofa, his head resting confidently on the back of the couch, while a lazy smile played at his lips was making you dizzy. You swivel your hips and his breath picks up. You think he's close with the way he grips your hips loosely now. He's biting his lip, urging you to ride faster and push past the pace you set for yourself. He bounces you in his lap shallowly as he fucks up into you.

He has to be so close. He has to be because your thighs are starting to feel that familiar but unfamiliar burn as you lose your momentum again.

“Don't stop, fuck,” he groans.

He was close; you could see it in the way his back arched off the couch slightly, his breath hitched and his eyebrows pinched, but he didn't finish because you collapsed before he could.

Your breathing is heavy. your heaving chest from exhaustion against his heaving chest from exasperation. You had just unknowingly edged him.

“I cant, please,” you cry.

He strokes your back soothingly “You did great today, baby. We have all the time in the world for you to get it right,” he reassures.

and you feel better because he was right

You didn't expect Haechan to take his job so seriously. He was committed to having you ride like a pro by the end of the month at the latest. He sent you exercises to help you build stamina and strength while on top. You did your own research as well and found some good stretches to try because you did not want to cramp up again. You did plenty of at-home exercises and you were feeling really good about your improvements.

You didn't expect the large package that arrived at your door one evening. You surely don't remember ordering anything and when you pull it inside and open the box, your pleasantly surprised. Inside the box sat a teddy bear. The box could barely contain the bear and when you struggled to pull it out, you understood why. The bear was at least 5 feet tall when you laid it out. Deep inside the bottom of the box lies a single card.

For practice <3

—sunny boy

You roll your eyes and dial “sunny boy.” The phone rings and then a voice answers. “Did you get your present?”

“You cant be serious; this thing must have cost a fortune! I appreciate the enthusiasm but you really dont have to do this”

“Friends help friends”

“Do you not get pussy or something?”

“Wierd way of saying thanks but your welcome. Besides, I promised you I’d have you riding in no time,” he says over the line, “FaceTime me; I need to judge your progress”

“Sure you do, pervert”

You send over the FaceTime request and soon you’re looking at the top half of Haechan's face in what you assume to be his bedroom? Aside from his forhead being lit by his phone's light, it was too dark for you to see anything.

“Let me see your pretty face,” you coo

He whines and shifts the camera down more. He was so pretty and you would never get tired of looking at his face. You wish he would stop hiding from you.

“Enough talking, let's see what you got” Straight forward as always. Oh, how you adore him.

"Ok, hold up” You put him in your pocket as you haul the giant teddy to your room and drag it up into your bed. You spend the next few minutes setting up your phone and getting the right angle. You were wearing boy shorts and a tank top, which was nearly identical to what you had on when you first met him.

You suddenly feel shy under the gaze of the camera. You had the front camera facing you so you could still see haechans face and you mounted the teddy and you imagined it was him there under you. You hold his gaze through the lens as you grind down into the toy firmly. You roll your hips sharply and suck in a breath. He watches you intently; you see him rustling about on the screen; you could only imagine what he was doing.

You never thought you could be the dominant type, but when you rode, something clicked, and you loved it. You loved being in control. It felt good to be in charge every once in a while. It was all about you when you were riding.

Your hands travel up the teddy until they wrap around the bear's neck. You held it down in place as you rode it, taking it slow, saving your energy like he taught you. There was no rush when you rode; you controlled the pace. You could hear Haechans muffled moans through the phone and it made your ride a little rougher. Your eyes glaze over as you picture your hands around his pretty neck. You wonder if he would make those pretty noises for you or if he would hide them. Your hips don't stop for a second and you whine at the lack of heat against your skin. Nothing was more satisfying than feeling Haechan's warm body against yours and inhaling his scent. The thought alone had you sticking to your shorts.

“Show me what your doing,” You dont know what overcame you; you could barely recognize the person who spoke those words, even though they came out of your mouth.

A delicious moan tumbles from his lips as he angles his camera down to show his hand working furiously over himself. He angles it so far down that his face is no longer visible, and you instantly miss the sight of his plump lips trapped between his teeth. “Let me see you, baby. All of you”

He tilts the camera back up and the dazed look he sends you has you clenching around nothing. The way his hips thrust into his palm pathetically has you curling over the stuffed animal as you fuck into it repeatedly. Haechan's head falls back as his mouth hangs open in heavy breaths. He finishes over himself with a shudder. You watch him, sitting up a little straighter and slowing down your hips as you catch your breath.

“How was that?” you ask with a smirk

“5 stars”

You were in a good mood, and nothing could stop the excited skip in your step as you walked. Even your friends took notice of your happy demeanor; they didn’t know what had gotten into you but they hoped it was dick. Well, Lele knew and honestly, you were surprised he hadn't gone mouthing off to the others.

You are out running errands with Yuna when you get a call from him. You pick up the call in the middle of the grocery store, following behind Yuna and her buggy.

“Are you ready to hear the best news of your life?” he starts when you answer

You put him on speaker, nudging Yuna to pay attention. She raises a brow, asking who it is without saying a word. "Lele,” you mouth.

“I'm scared,” you finally reply to him. You were in the pet supplies aisle and luckily no one was around. You never knew what could come out of this man's mouth.

“I got you a date with that cute cashier; turns out he's Jisung’s cousin!”

Yuna sends you a shocked look. She grabs the phone from you excitedly “are you talking about the guy who checked us out last week at that thrift store?” she gushes

You and a couple of your friends went thrifting last week, and when it came time to pay, the cutest guy was there to cash you out. You remember looking at his name tag and remembering his name was Mark. Your friends swore he was checking you out, but you ignored them all. The poor guy was probably just trying to do his job, so you left without asking for his phone number.

“Yuna? Are you guys out right now? No invite, wow,” you hear him pouting on the other line

“You want to help Yuna put up twenty bags of groceries? Be my guest,” you complain.

Yuna hated going shopping alone, and choosing who to drag out shopping with her next was like playing Russian roulette.

“Dont change the subject!”

“What? but you did—”

“I gave mark your number and he said he was going to text you so be on the look out!”

You want to be happy. Mark was really cute and he looked so sweet but you still had a hard time connecting with people like that. Before you could answer, Yuna beat you too it.

“Dont worry, I'll be on the look out”

Chenle says something about being late and that he would call later for updates before ending the call. Just when you were giving him props, you should have known he was up to something.

"So, mark huh?” Yuna coos

“I dont know, Yuna, its been awhile since Ive been on a date; i’m really not looking for a relationship right now,” you groan. Your head was spinning with the news. You had a thousand things going through your mind. More stress was not what you needed. You definitely didn't have any time for anyone right now with your studies (not the academic kind) going on.

“Oh please, this iexactlyly what you need! Who said anything about a relationship? Why not just have some fun?”

Funny, it was like those words that started all of this.

You and Mark have been texting on and off for a few days now. He was one of the most down-to-earth people you had ever met, and you had even visited him at work, feigning looking for some scrap fabric for a project for class. You guys had gone on that date that he promised and ever since then, you have grown close with Mark. You wanted to grow closer to him so close that his body was on top of yours.

You weren't ready yet, though; you still had a few things you wanted to learn. You did end up going on a few more dates with him and one night after a few drinks, things got a little handsy. Nothing explicit happened and ultimately you told him you weren't looking for anything serious at the time. He took it surprisingly well and you two have been chill since. He has broached the topic of friends with benefits with you and you had told him you would be down but you haven't brought it up since. You need more time. When you finally have Mark, you want to give him everything and more. You need everything to be perfect.

You would not mess this up, not again.

Haechan was coming over and you were excited that you could finally take him for a test run. You would think you were training for a marathon rather than sex the way he was training you. Unlike last time, he got there perfectly on time. You had made sure to stretch before hand and when he walked through your door, you could barely get a “hi” in before he was picking you up and wrapping your legs around him.

“I've been waiting for you,” he mumbles, his lips pressed against yours. He kicks your door closed and pins you up against it.

“Let me make it worth your while then,” you call back and wrap your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair.

Haechan's kisses make you feel like you were drowning; he stole your breath like water replaces air in your lungs. It was like how waves rocked you peacefully in their embrace until you realized you needed to come up for air. You never wanted to come up for air.

Soon you were on your back, spread out in your bed with him on top of you. His hands were everywhere and he finally took pity on you and pulled away, letting fresh air fill your burning lungs. His kisses move to your neck as skilled hands undress you. You were getting lost in his touch and when you felt your mind slip into that place you sometimes went, that submissive headspace, you knew you had to snap out of it. Tonight was supposed to be your rodeo, not his. You were almost completely naked, save for your panties and he was still fully clothed. You raise yourself onto your elbows, watching him as he kisses you down your body. He kisses your navel before peeking up at you. You grab hold of his hair, pulling him back up to reconnect your lips. You use your lips to distract him before you push him down and flip your positions.

You straddle his waist and brace yourself on his chest. You smile in victory but all Haechan does is adjust the pillow behind his head before resting his hands beneath it. That stubborn smirk—let's see how long it takes you to whip that grin off his face.

“Im ready when you are sweetheart”

The first roll off your hips speaks for itself. Slow and firm. You wanted to make him feel it. You can feel him pressing heavily through the fabric of his sweats and you can feel yourself clenching at the thought of him filling you up later. You grind your clothed pussy against him, gripping his shirt in your fist as you work your hips over top of him. The smirk falters a bit as he huffs out a breathy sigh. He's good at taking what you give him; he just lies there and lets you use him, just like you used the stuffed animal he gave you.

“How am I doing so far?”

“So good,” he says off-handedly, more focused on the way your hips move. You smiled; it was time to give him more.

You slid off of him and he groans at the loss of heat. You help him out of his clothes and he lies before you naked. Your eyes examine his body and you moan at the sight of him. His dick was almost as pretty as his face. You had enough waiting; you wanted him inside. You mount his hips again and line him up with your entrance, coating the tip in your slick.

“Keep your hands right there; I don't need your help.” You instruct him to keep his hands gripped in the sheets. You wanted to show him you could ride it all by yourself.

“Fuck me,” he moans impatiently, his hips pushing up slightly, trying to slip through your folds.

"Are you sure there are no other tips you want to give me?” you tease

“I'm trying to give you mine if you would sit down,” he groans.

You grab the base of his length and sink down on top of him. You were so wet, he slipped in easily. You were flush against him—hips against hips. You had to take a few moments to collect your thoughts. He felt so good inside of you. You had never felt so full before; no toy could ever match the feeling of having Haechan stuffed inside of you. You were going to use him until he broke. You steady yourself over his chest again and lift your hips slowly, savoring the drag of him against your walls. You look into his eyes and his brows furrow at the feeling. You drop back down on him harshly. Your thighs tingled in the pleasure but they didn't burn; the exercises had paid off. You set a brutal pace on top of him as you use him. You had practically forgotten he was even there for a second until his loud moans filled the room. You had grabbed a hold of his cheeks, pushing his face into the pillow. You felt an upkick at your hips and you looked down to see his hips thrusting up into yours. You caught his rhythm and matched his pace, giving him everything he gave you in return. You let up on him and gave him space to breathe. His hands are at your waist the next moment and he's gripping tight, helping you fuck onto him.

“Don't stop, please. Let me do this; I need it,” he begs before his feet are planted on the bed and he's using all his force to pound into you from below. Your mouth drops open and you have to brace yourself on his chest again so you don't fall off. Your hands slip up a little farther and they encompass his neck beautifully. He lay under you, moans tumbling out of his mouth, his hair messy on his forehead, his tan skin damp with sweat and when your hands grip his neck, you think the image it creates against him should be a painting.

Your eyes daze and your mind slips but this time you don't go to that place that makes you want to give everything up to your last breath. This place is different. This place makes you feel bold and makes you want to take and take until Haechan trembles. This place makes you feel powerful.

“Fu-fuck baby, please,” he gasps, his eyes rolling to the back of his head breathlessly “Give it to me; fucking use me. Hurt me,” he whimpers the last part. You completely snapped. You don't know who you are; you don't know what this headspace is but it craves the tears that fall down Haechan's face pathetically.

“Hold still,” you say, pushing at his knees and motioning for him to lay back down flat. You wanted complete control. Your grip tightens and your hips roll sharply over his. So deep, everything feels so much; you feel everything at once and you’re certain your soaking Haechan’s lap. Only now do your thighs burn but now the ache adds to the pleasure. Your so focused on your own pleasure that your grip loosens and as the air rushes back into Haechan's lungs, he feels a high like no other and his orgasm crashes into him. His thighs shake and he orgasms deep inside of you. After a few more harsh flicks of your hips, you cum hard, sending a shiver down your spine.

You had previously discussed it because he would be the first person you would have inside of you. You had already been on birth control for some time and you had both been checked. You wanted to stay protected. Your not sure if he took your virginity or if you took his with how dazed he looked under you.

"Look who couldn't handle it” you brag smugly.

“Of course, your amazing. I taught you.”

“So you like being used? You smile, lying down next to him to catch your breath “intersting”

“Don't push your luck; I'll still fuck you better. Make you forget your name.” you core clenches at the thought and you remind yourself to take him up on that eventually

You pack your things, signaling the end of your English lecture. You exit the class with a yawn, having almost fallen asleep during the last half of the class. your walking across campus when you hear a voice call your name. You see Mark a few yards behind you. It turns out Mark also attended your college but only part time so you rarely saw him on campus. You return his smile and you are about to walk over to him when you see another figure moving towards you.

Renjun? you hadnt seen him in awhile; you had been keeping it casual with him. He goes here too?? Just when you think it can't get any worse, Haechan rounds a corner and spots you too. You had ghosted him after the last time you two hooked up. you did not want to confront him right now.

There is absolutely no way you just ran into all your hoes at the same time.

You turn around and flee the scene before anyone can approach you further. You’re speed-walking in the opposite direction now when you run into Chenle and Yuna. “Ask questions later for now, run!” you say, pulling them along.

You don't stop dragging them until you make it to your car. Safe and sound inside, you lock the door and catch your breath. “What the hell was that about you? You looked like you saw a ghost” Chenle tries to calm his breathing, adjusting his signiture shades back into place.

“Was it Mark? I thought I saw him over there. Did something happen between you two?” Yuna asks, letting the passenger seat fall back to lay down and settle her own breaths.

You wish there was something going on between you and Mark, but nothing has happened since the last time you saw him.

“No, not mark, it was something else…or someones else”

“someones?” she questions

You hated keeping things from your friends; you hadn't meant to keep it from them for this long but you had gotten so caught up in everything that you barely had the time to catch them up to speed. You explain everything. From Renjun to Haechan and to the new guy you recently found, Jaemin. You had moved study subjects already and you felt a little bad for ghosting Haechan like you did after all the effort he put into teaching you but with Mark as your end goal, you were really impatient to get to him.

The car is silent for a few moments, mainly from Yuna’s shock, before she finally decides to speak up. “How in the world did you go from being scared of the thought of dick to getting more dick than me?”

“That's what your worried about!”

“If you don’t want them, give them to me”

“YUNA!”

“Joking! I’m joking”

You feel a weight lifted from your shoulders now that you were able to tell Yuna how your life has really been going and what you’ve really been doing. Honeslty, you were getting really sick of replying with “nothing” anytime anyone would ask.

“Wait, why aren't you surprised” Yuna asks Chenle suspiciously.

oh my—

“You did not tell him before me!” Yuna narrows her eyes at you.

“She definitely did,” Chenle smiles.

“You traitor!”

“You know how he is! He practically threatened my family,” you say in defense.

You had no tint on your windows so to any onlookers, it probably looked like you guys were having a really heated argument. Everyone was talking at once and fingers were being pointed. The three of you continue to bicker until you hear a knock at your window and the car goes silent as everyone turns to look out the window.

Mark is standing outside your car nervously. “Is everything okay?” His muffled voice barely carries into the car. You roll your window down with a forced smile. This was perfect.

“How can I help you, officer?” You joke.

“I’m sorry, you just ran off earlier and I just wanted to, like, make sure you were ok.” he says, scratching at his face nervously.

“We’ll let you two talk,” Yuna says with a fake smile. Her and Chenle exit the car but not before she sends you a glare that says this isn't over.

After they left, you offered Mark a seat in your car. “Im sorry, I didn't like... interrupt. Did I?” he says awkwardly.

“Oh no, your fine. I’m sorry for earlier; I just realized I had forgotten something in my car. I needed it for my next class” You lie.

“Okay, thats good to hear. I thought you were like avoiding me for a second,” he laughs. “Your really cool and I don’t want what I said about being friends with benefits to ruin our relationship. We dont have to do anything if it makes you uncomfortable ”

“That's not it at all! I really like you, mark I've just been a little...busy lately. I like the idea of being friends with benefits. Just give me some more time. I can’t really explain now,” you say.

Out of all the conversations you wanted to avoid, this was definitely the one you wanted to avoid the most. You had no idea how to navigate this conversation. You wanted Mark so badly that it was driving you crazy but you just needed time. You were so close to the finish line that you couldn’t give up now.

“That’s cool, I get it.” He gives you a nod of understanding and he gets ready to leave, moving to open the door with a quick bye, probably needing to get to his next class. You wanted to leave him with something. You had to do something to hold you both over so you didn’t stop the next words that came out of your mouth.

“Before you go, can I have a kiss?” you ask sweetly. Mark just smiles at you and shakes his head fondly before leaning in and sealing your lips with his.

THE HANDJOB

It was probably a little too late in the game for you to be trying this but somehow your quick pecks turned into heavy petting. Now you had Mark’s dick in your hands. Mark was kissing hotly into your nouth as you stroked him slowly. You twist your hand at the base of his cock, focusing most of your attention there. After a few moments, you feel Mark’s hips shift and buck into your grasp. His hand joins yours and guides your hand higher.

“Don't tease. Please, I need you,” he breathes into your mouth.

When you sucked dick, your hand typically pumped the base. You would concentrate your attention on the areas that your mouth couldn’t reach. Without your mouth focused on the tip, you would have to make up for the lack of contact. You appreciate the information; every moment is a learning opportunity for you. Even now, you were able to gather data for your research.

You follow his lead and stroke the length of his length, twisting your wrist when you get to his tip. Mark's head falls back and rests against the headrest of the car. You pray no one's eyes wander to your small sedan because, from the faces Mark was pulling, they would no doubt know what was going on.

Mark's face scrunches up in pleasure and after a few more firm strokes over his cock, he cums. His seed pours messily over your fist. By the end of it, your arm was a little tired but it was definitely worth it.

He gives you a shy smile and apologizes. You reach over with your clean hand and get some napkins from your glove compartment. You assure him one last time that you definitely want to be more than just friends with him and that you will let him know when you’re ready. He left the car with a smile and your glad to have taken care of that because you were late to go meet Jaemin. There was still more you wanted to learn. There were more things you needed to experiment with.

SIZE

You had actually met Jaemin at a cafe. He sat at the table in front of you, glasses pushed up on his nose as he typed away at his computer. His white hair made him stand out and gave him a soft, rabbit-like appearance but there was something about his face that made him look devastly charming and boyish but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. He quickly stops typing and you notice that he is staring back at you. He sends you a smile and you return it awkwardly.

Fumbling the bag—I repeat, you are FUMBLING the bag.

You try your best to avoid his gaze again until you finish your own classwork and collect your things. Your leaving the cafe when you notice him in your peripheral vision, trying to get your attention. You thought he was going to tell you off for staring like some creep but he handed you his number instead. Fast forward; now you have a dick appointment.

After some talking and explaining, you give him your usual spiel. You were supposed to meet up with him today right after class but a few setbacks made you late. You finally arrive at the location he had specified, and you are immediately perplexed.

This was Renjun's apartment.

You walk up the familiar steps and hesitantly knock on the door. Your so used to Renjun opening the door that when Jaemin opens it, your slightly taken aback. What the hell was going on?

“Hey, come on in,” he says as you stand there stiff as a board. You shake yourself out of it and step through the door.

“I'm sorry I was late. Something came up,” you apologize.

“Its fine, my roomates are going to be out for the night so we have the house to ourselves for awhile,” he smiles at you. Just looking at that dazzling smile makes you forget about your internal dilemma.

You would worry about that later; tonight it was just you and this handsome stranger you met.

He leads you to his bedroom and you can't help but notice his room is directly across from Renjuns. You would definitely need a list of his roommates because you refused to find yourself in this situation again. The thought slips from your mind as Jaemin pulls you into his room and shuts the door.

“Are you okay, angel? You look a little shaken up?” he asks attentively.

"No, its ok, im just stressed about classes. I’m hoping you could help me relax?” you lie smoothly.

He gives you a sly smile and you hold your breath as he leans down to whisper in your ear. “You wont be able to think straight when I’m done with you”

You suck in a breath and your body completely opens up to him as his hands tentatively trail up your waist. He strokes your sides teasingly as he kisses the sides of your mouth before trailing his lips down your neck. His touch was light and soft, like you were a porcelain doll. You try to reach up and hold on to him but he just pulls away slightly and shakes his head.

"Nu-uh, baby hands to yourself until I say otherwise,” he corrects you.

You pout and open your mouth to protest but he grabs your face and holds you in his grasp. “Big girls don’t talk back. Fix your face,” he commands

You swallow nervously and nod your head. He kisses your lips once “Thats my girl”

He took his time mapping out your body with his hands. He was in no rush at all and you had to bite your tongue to hold back your whines. His hands gripped your ass, squeezed your hips, traced your spine and palmed your chest. He examined you with the same curiosity that a child does with a new toy or a scientist does with a new test subject. The tables had been turned. You weren't the one with the magnifying glass now; he was.

He helped you out of your clothes and you stood in front of him in only your underwear. He turns you away from him before pulling you back against him, your back to his chest. He hooks his chin over your shoulder and you can feel him bulging against his sweatpants. He was huge and the smirk you felt against your neck told you he knew how to use it. A shiver runs down your spine at the thought and when his hands return to your skin, you let out a moan. His hands spread out over your stomach; they were cold to the touch. You arch against him, pushing your hips backwards into his. He sucks in a breath and grips your hips. He holds them firmly before he pushes his clothed length into your ass, grinding against you from behind with a groan. You feel your panties soak up the feeling. You weren't sure if you could take something that big but you would sure put up a fight trying.

One hand travels down over your panties stroking you through the fabric. He coos at you as he feels how wet you are. He pats against the seat of your panites and sure enough, you’re wet enough that your panties make a soft, wet noise upon contact.

“Is that for me, angel? "Are gonna drip down my cock when I split you open?” he asks with a lazy smile. The things that came out of his mouth never matched the look on his face. He would say the most toe-curling thing so casually with a smile that you would think he was telling you about the weather. Your chest is heaving at this point. You had never played like this before. Was this what he meant when he said he was a dom?

“Answer me when I'm talking to you, baby. You wanna be my good girl, right?” You whine and nod pathetically. You would do anything for his praise. “Then speak up”

“Its all yours,” you say breathlessly, hoping that's what he wanted to hear.

He dips his hand past the waistband of your panties and circles your clit while his other hand holds firmly onto your hips. You throw your head back against his shoulder. He strokes over your slit teasingly before slipping two fingers inside, one after another. Your hips immediately buck up against his palm, or at least they try to but he has you pinned effectively against his hips.

“Dont fucking move; dont fucking make a sound. Just take it,” he rummbles in your ear “Take it”

His knuckles-deep and all you can do is bend yourself forward, trying to escape his grasp but he follows and fucks into you faster. You cry out, your thighs shaking as he curls an arm under your shoulder, using his leverage to pull you back against his firm chest. “Come on baby, if you can’t handle this, you won’t be able to take me,” he says sweetly.

He hooked his fingers cruelly and you collapsed against him, orgasm whracking through your body. He held your trembling form up like it was nothing. He picks you up and throws you on the bed. You were still in shock as you lay there, catching your breath, your legs still shivering. He held your eye contact form where he stood at the foot of the bed and grabbed the back of his shirt before pulling it over his head swiftly. As he stood in front of you, you saw him for what he really was: he was no rabbit, he was a demon, and you were a fool. He didn't treat you like a porcelain doll; that was just the calm before the storm.

He puts one knee on the bed, starting off towards you and you subconsciously scoot backwards. He sends you that devilish smile and grabs your ankle, pulling you back down the bed until your thighs bracket his hips.

“Where you running to, angel?” he says

You try to close your legs around him; the press of his hips against yours is already to much.

“Open your legs,” he says patiently. You shake your head defiantly, even though the command makes you even wetter.

He runs a hand through his hair and breathes an exhausted sigh. He pries your legs open, pinning them down as he leans forward over you. He uses a hand to grip your face and pushes his hips deep into yours, pinning them down from squirming. “I don’t like playing with brats so your either going to listen the first time I tell you to do something or I’m going to have to break you in,” he warns.

Your heart was beating out of your chest at his words. This was definitely not the same guy with the nerdy glasses you met in a cafe.

You nod your head in understanding.

“Use your big girl words,” he says with a peck of your lips.

“Yes sir,” you say. A pleased smile dances on his lips.

“You learn fast,” he praises. That you do.

He captures your lips in the first real kiss of the night and you moan into his mouth as his tongue snakes its way past your lips. You roll your hips up into his and he allows it as he shoves his tongue down your throat. The kiss was messy and lazy. You pull back to plead, “Please, I need to touch you. Please let me touch you”

He waits a moment, like hes thinking about it but he nods and pulls you back into another heated kiss. Being with Jaemin was extremely intimate; he worshiped your body as if it were his only purpose in life. His kisses were dangerous and claiming. He marked your body like you belonged to him and tonight you did.

You rake your hands down his spine, nails digging into his skin as your back arches against him. It was too much yet not enough at the same time. “I need you,” you beg.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been good for you.”

“Thats right, baby, you have been really good,” he nuzzles at your neck affectialanty “but I need you to be sure”

“Im positive, I want you”

Jaemin kisses you assuringly and pulls down the sweatpants that still clung to his hips. He must not have been wearing any underwear because the heavy sound of his length slapping against his abdomen fills the room.

Your eyes trail down his body until they reach the sight in between his legs. You take in the leaking tip of his pretty pink cock and the veins that adorn the sides. That thing was supposed to fit inside you. Never in a million years would you have imagined that death by dick could be an option in your life.

“Don't worry baby, we’ll make it fit,” he says. He grips the base of his cock and strokes it a few times before lining it up over the top of your belly. It nudged over your navel tauntingly. "I'm going to fill you up until I get here." he says, tapping the length of his cock on your stomach.

No amount of study could have prepared you for this. You came up completely blank on the idea of how this would even possibly fit. He notices the nervous look on your face and kisses your forehead. “Relax, I got you.”

The tension in your shoulders relaxes a little at the comment. Jaemin seemed like he knew what he was doing. You trusted him enough.

He gives you a moment to collect your thoughts as he pulls away from you, going to retrieve a condom from his bedside table. You take the moment to steady your beating heart and prepare yourself. When he comes back to you, he has a bottle of lube and a condom already wrapped around his cock.

“Are you ready?” he asks finally

"Yes,” you breath nervously.

He uncaps the lube and takes your hand, pouring some in your palm and then some over his length. He guides your hand to his length and you stroke the cold substance over him. You coat him in the lube and your grateful for the quick lesson you had with Mark earlier. You know just how to twist your wrist to get a reaction out of him. He groans softly and lets you have your fun before he pulls your hand away. He lines his cockhead up to your entrance and traces through your folds, nudging at your clit in the process. You moan impatiently. He sends you a frigid look through the fringe of his white bangs, instantly putting you in your place.

You pout but wait patiently as he eases his tip through your folds. Ok, this was fine. This was good. He fucks you with his tip pulling out before pushing his way back in. He fists his cock, coating it in the slick that drips from your cunt. You relax under his ministrations, completely letting him take the lead as he works you up with just the head of his dick. You can tell he must be holding back and you appreciate it.

He continues like this for a while before slyly slipping more and more inside of you each time. You’re at the two-thirds mark before you notice the stretch. You face pinching up in pain and your hands immediately find purchase on his hips, a plea for mercy. Jaemin stills inside of you and takes your hands into his own. His touch was delicate and he brought your hands to his lips. He kisses your fingertips before he kisses your palm. He was giving you whiplash with how gentle yet rough he could be sometimes. He kisses down your arm and up your shoulder. He presses kisses into your neck and over your lips. When he finally pulls away,looking down at you with a smile, you realize that somewhere between his barrage of kisses, he slipped the rest of the way inside.

“Look at you, wasn’t that easy”

You just stare back up at him in shock. That was not as bad as you thought it would be; you could still feel a slight lingering discomfort from the stretch but that was soon melting away.

He kisses the confused wrinkle in your brow “just relax baby. Now that the hard part is over, leave the rest up to me”

He pulls his hips back and works them forward experimentally. You shift at the stretch but you handle it well. He massages your thighs as he thrusts into you at a lazy pace, taking it easy and giving you enough time to fully accommodate his length. He hit so deeply inside that you could hardly catch a breath. Your body was hyperaware of every drag against your core and every nuge against your cervix and it craved more. You wrap your legs tight around his waist as you urge him to give you more.

Jaemin ignores your pleas and continues the rythme that he has created so far. You roll your hips, impatiently clawing down his chest in retaliation.

“I'm trying to stay nice angel. Take what I give you” What he was giving you wasnt enough and if he thought you were dumb enough to not notice him holding himself back, he was wrong.

“Don’t fuck me like that”

“Careful angel”

“I can handle it”

"Behave,” he says, gripping your face. He pulls out until only his tip remains and thrusts back in harshly. You scream in pleasure at the snap of his hips. That was what you were looking for; you needed to be broken in. If you wanted to get what you wanted, you needed to disobey.

“Fuck you,” you spit

“Watch your mouth,” one final warning.

“Fuck.You,” you say slowly, making sure he hears every syllable.

Something takes over him. You can see it through the dark gaze in his eyes. Rough hands pull you halfway off the bed, suspended hips held tight in his grasp as he pounds into you. You can’t even scream; your voice is caught in your throat as he uses the grip he has on your hips to slam you onto his cock. Each brutal thrust of his hips sounds off with a harsh clap of skin. Your back arches dangerously off the bed and you almost slip the rest of the way off if it weren't for one of his hands pushing down on your sternum, pinning you to the bed.

“Is this what you want? You wanted it so fucking bad.”

He pulls out and your body compulses at the lack of contact. Your being manhandled off the bed, legs almost giving out from under you but Jaemin swiftly turns you, bending you over before pushing you flat on your stomach. He kicks your legs open further, opening you up for him before he finds your entrance again. You are grateful for this position because when the tears fall from your eyes and your saliva soaks his sheets, you dont have to worry about him seeing how pathetic you look. You hide your face in the sheets, crying out in pleasure. Your body cant keep up and overstimulation kicks in. You’re vibrating, literally, as you tremble in your spot under him.

His body leans over your back and you feel the heat of his body press into you as he continues to pound you into the mattress. His hand slips under you and circles your clit gently, knowing its already too much for you and just wanting to add a little extra to take you over the edge. You can't help the scream that bubbles out of your throat as you cum hard. Everything is black for a little bit and when you finally come to, all you can feel is your own wetness and release sticking to your thighs. Your empty and when you turn to look over your shoulder, Jaemin is stroking over your ass and soon that too is covered in cum.

You could hardly hold your head up anymore as it fell back down limply on the bed. You feel a rag clean you up but you refuse to open your eyes. You hear the sounds of a bath being run, and the next thing you know, your sitting in Jaemin's lap in the tub as he cleans the two of you. Your head laying lazily on his shoulder as he soaped you up and wiped you down. You know he lays you down in his sheets and when your head hits the pillow, you fall asleep.

When you wake up, the sun shines in your eyes as you roll on your side groggily. Your body was sore all over and you felt like you had died and come back to life. Maybe you should have stretched before testing Jaemin's patience. Speaking of which, you notice the oversized shirt adorning your body as you shift to get out of bed. You look around and notice your clothes have been neatly folded on his dresser. You stand and it takes every fiber in your body not to wince every time you take a step. You can still feel his phantom touch as the events of the night before replay in your mind. It was so worth it. You finally make it over to your clothes and notice the note sitting on top of them.

Had to leave for class. Grab breakfast on the way out ;)

One word kept replaying in your head. out. Somehow, you had to navigate your way out of this godforsaken wolves den without running into Renjun or any of his other roomates. You hoped and hoped that they didn’t make it back yet or that they had some class to go to, but when you hold your breath and press your ear up against the door, you can hear a few muffled voices. You could make out the voices of two people; one was Renjun for sure and the other was familiar but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

You were so fucked

You contemplate scaling the window but after looking at the 3-story drop, you decide against it. You try to wait it out, gambling on them just going back to their rooms but it sounds like they started up a videogame in the living room. Your pacing Jaemin’s room, completely forgetting about the ache between your legs. Your about to finally pull Jaemin’s shirt from over your head and put your own clothes back on when you have an idea. You pull open his closet and snag one of his hoodies off of a hanger. You find a pair of matching sweats in one of his drawers and tug those on as well. They didn't fit your frame well but that worked in your favor, with the baggy fabric helping to hide your shape. You pull up the hood and grab your things. If you move fast enough, they shouldn't be able to recognize you; they would no doubt see you, but at least they would just lump you in with any other random girl Jaemin brought home.

1…2…3

You pull open the door and peek your head out into the hall. The coast was clear; you held on tight to the sweatpants slowly falling off your hips and booked it to the front door. You pass the kitchen on your way out and your stomach almost growls at the food Jaemin had left out for you. You have half the mind to swoop in and snatch it but you keep trucking. You pass the living room in a heart beat. You quickly unlock the door, letting yourself out. The last thing you heard before the door closed behind you was, “What the fuck was that? Did you just see that?”

STAMINA

Maybe this was your karma. You had evaded Mark for another week and Chenle wouldn’t let you hear the end of how much Mark had looked like a “kicked puppy.”. You liked Mark, and you really did want to get closer to him in more ways than one, but that was why you had to do this. The last guy you really liked up and left you because you didn’t know how to suck dick... and threw up on him, but thats besides the point. The point is that you didn't want to lose Mark; you were scared to lose Mark, even over something as trivial as this. So you went back on the hunt.

The tinder gods were not looking down on you anymore because every match that came back just didn't make the cut. There were so many weirdos on the app that you were surprised you even got as far as you did. You would have to do the search by foot.

You would scout the courtyards and hallways in between classes, hoping to find your next target, but it was difficult to find what you were looking for. You were searching for stamina, not something that could be seen with the naked eye. Haechan's training helped you a lot, but you were looking for the kind of stamina that would carry you through multiple rounds. You needed someone to practice cum control with.

It was hot outside, and you were exhausted. You were almost late for your last class when someone ran into you. "Sorry, excuse me," the girl replied before scurrying away again.

"Wait!” you call out to her. She had dropped something—a keychain—from her gym bag. “You dropped this,” you say. She turns around and jogs back over.

She quickly thanks you for the keychain and says, "Sorry, I’m in a hurry. I didn’t mean to bump into you. I’m late for track." She then jogs over to the track and field facility. Your about to brush off the interaction when an idea suddenly comes to your head.

Who has more stamina than a long-distance track star?

You find a seat in the stands and observe the combined practices of the men's and women's track teams. You watched as they stretched and did warm ups and you finally found him. In his track suit, he was tall and slender. Although his waist was delicate, it only accentuated his broad shoulders and well-defined biceps. His short, dark hair was cropped close and clung to his forehead from perspiration.

"Jeno, You’re up on the 200-yard dash," yells one of the coaches. and all of a sudden, your mystery man is making his way to the starting blocks. So his name was Jeno.

You head down the stands, happy with your findings, when you hear someone talking about a party that will take place after today's track meet. You didn't know how but you would find a way to that party. Luckily for you, you knew someone who happened to know just about everyone.

“Please Jisung, I need to get into that party!” you beg your friend.

“Then go by yourself,” your friend huffs in annoyance.

You have been friends with Jisung for awhile now. Jisung just had the type of personality that allowed him to fit into any friend group. Everyone adored him. You had to be a nobody if you didn't know Park Jisung. Even though his reputation precedes him, he's actually really laid-back and easy to talk to.

“I don’t know anyone there!” you whine from your seat perched up on his desk in his dorm room.

“Then why do you even want to go” Chenle interjects from his spot on his bed as he scrolls through his phone, playing videos out loud obnoxiously like an old man.

“Its for science,” you state.

“Funny, because thats what im trying to study for,” jisung says sarcastically, “I need to finish my assignments. I dont have time to go out”

A beat of silence passes while you contemplate your next bargaining chip. “I'll do it for you”

Jisungs head snaps up from his textbook “Uh?”

“Come on, I’m like a genius. I’ll finish it for you if you come with me tonight,” you bargain

“This science you speak of doesn't have anything to do with your little outings, does it” Chenle says. He didn't have to specify which outings for you to get it.

“What outings?” Jisung peeks over at his roommate.

“Deal or no deal?” You hurry and try to change the subject; you didn't need poor Jisung to find out you were fucking around to eventually fuck his cousin. Everything leading up to that would probably just end up confusing him.

Pushing back from his desk and letting you take over, he said, "Knock yourself out." You knew those years of drowning your self in your studies to get over heart break would not be in vain

You arrive at a house a little ways off campus. The party was already raging and you were a little upset that you didn’t come to get absolutely wasted. Jisung parked his car on an off-street and walked beside you as you approached the house.

“I might disappear for a little bit tonight but don’t leave without me,” you advise him.

He bemoans, "Make sure you keep your ringer on; you never answer." He hated it when people split up from him at parties, but he was prepared. Chenle told him that you were trying to meet someone tonight.

Once inside, you waste no time in finding the kitchen. You weren't planning on getting wasted, but you at least needed a little liquid courage if you were going to talk to the Greek god you saw earlier. You and Jisung knock a few shots back until you start to feel the buzz. You stick to his side as he introduces you to a few of his friends, and you engage in small talk until you finally see Jeno walk through the front door.

Jeno had finally shown up and he looked even more delectable outside of his track uniform. He was wearing an open flannel over a dark shirt, adorned with a silver necklace. He wore some light-washed jeans that had a few rips and holes in them. He was like he jumped straight out of a boyfriend pin board. You felt a little creepy watching him over the rim of your red solo cup. You finish off your drink and part ways with your small group. Hes walking into the kitchen and you follow behind him.

“Hey, your Jeno, right?” you call out to him. He looks up from the drink he's pouring and sends you a friendly smile. You don’t miss the way his eyes look you up and down.

“Whats up?” he replies, taking a swig from the mixture he poured.

“I watched your track practice today; did you run the 200? Your really good,” you say honestly

“Thank you; do you run too?” he asks, keeping the conversation flowing.

Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was your impatience but you can’t find it in you to care about easing your way into the question. “I don’t actually, but i’m actually doing a study on endurance and stamina I was hoping you could help me with that”

“Oh yea? What class is the project for?”

“No class, just my own personal studies”

“On endurance and stamina?”

“Yes”

It takes a moment for the gears in his head to start spinning

“Oh…oh!”

"I can give you my number; just text me if you’re interested," you say, pulling out a piece of paper with your phone number on it. You had written it down earlier, knowing that a pen would be impossible to find at a college party.

He takes it from you and stares you down for a moment, his heavily lidded eyes raking over your frame again. "I'll let you know." You don't need to look to know that he's staring at your ass when you turn to walk away.

He texts you before the night is even over but you don't respond until the morning. You let him know the exact details of the “stamina training” you had in mind and he agreed to your terms and conditions. You plan to hook up the following day; this was the last thing you needed to perfect, and you were excited. That day had come in no time and now you were fresh out of the shower, waiting for the fateful knock on your door.

You had no time to prepare for this session, and you honestly didn’t know how to. How does one develop a resistance to pleasure, and how does one avoid the one thing you seek when satisfying oneself? Hopefully Jeno had the answers, and if he didn't, hopefully he helped you find them.

Your fixing your hair and making sure everything is laid neatly when you hear a faint knock on your door. You look at yourself one last time in the mirror before going to open your front door. Jeno stands infront of your door with a small smile and you let him in. At this point, you were used to the awkward small talk and embarrassing attempts at flirting. You wasted no time in pulling him towards you. His hands instantly find your waist. You’re so close, you notice the cute mole he has under his eye. He stares back at you, his eyes round like puppy dogs. You pull him back into a slow kiss. Today there was no rush; it was all about resistance.

Once you get your fill of his lips, you pull away again and lead him to your bedroom. You kick your door closed and pull him down on top of you on your bed. “No matter how much I beg, dont let me cum,” you warn him

“Who says I was going to let you cum?” he teases back before he meets your lips again.

You smiled into the kiss; you were going to like this one. You wondered what type of role he would play when darkness wrapped around you both in its cool, sensual embrace. Would he let you take control like you did with Haechan? Would he be as strict as Jaemin, keeping you in your place or would he be laid back like Renjun? Guiding you and willing to relent some of the control to you if you ask. His firm body pins you down under him, and he kisses you hotly before ghosting his lips down your neck teasingly. His hands snake their way up your shirt and he explores the skin exposed there before pushing it up and over your chest. He lays sweet kisses over the top of your breast, not yet ready to part with the image of you wrapped in the lace that was your bra. Your impatient so you sit up on your elbows to help him get you out of your shirt. You pull your shirt over your head, and you scoot a little out of his embrace to pull down your shorts. Jeno takes the hint and strips himself bare, except for his briefs. When your done, he pulls you back under him and gets you settled again. You can feel him pressing hot against your skin. You had barely just met him, but something about the way Jeno kissed you and touched you—the way he paid attention to your body—was so intimate. The little sounds you would make when he nips at your skin. The way you bite your lips when he licks your sweat-prickled skin unabashedly. He watches it all, doing his own little research to learn just what you like. You weren't sure at first, but Jeno was a lover boy. Even though you weren’t his, he would love you like you were.

Hes already slipping his hands into your underwear and the moans that slip out of your lips are sinful. He rubs your clit in soothing circles, spreading your juices so he can slip inside and open you up. His other hand slips behind your back and finally removes your bra so he can suckle on your nipples and massage your chest.

“Fuck Jen, I need more, please,” you whine

“You better be able to take what you ask for,” He warns.

He finally slips 2 fingers inside of you and begins to pump them leisurely. You grip the hair at the back of his neck and pull him back to your lips. You needed to drown out the sounds you were about to make when you felt his thick fingers stretch you out. His hands were warm; they warmed your entire body as they worked in tandem to bring you high. Deeply curled fingers had your back arching as you moaned in to his open mouth. He swallowed down all your sounds as he huffed his own into your mouth. He was grinding down shallowly into one of your thighs as he lay on top of you. The length of him rubbing against you gave you a good idea of what you would be working with tonight and you were happy for your lessons with Jaemin because Jeno was definitely going to split you in two. That thought alone had your thighs clamping against his wrist and your hands gripping on to him, anywhere you could reach.

“You there, baby? Fight through it. You got it. Come on,” he said, speaking with a soft bass in his voice.

“Im gonna cum,” you choke out every part of your body, lighting up with pleasure that you can't snuff out.

His fingers slow but they don't stop completely. He lets up, willing you to calm down. You feel your orgasm slowly slip away and the feeling that was left afterwards was something close to desperation. Your legs are spread wide as you roll your hips up onto his fingers, urging him deeper. You pull him impossible closer to your body. His fingers pick up their pace again and it feels like you have grown 100 times more sensitive because this time it takes little to no time for the waves that crash against you and lap at your stomach to finally drown you out. Jeno can feel the way you tense up in his hold and he pulls away completely this time.

“No, please, this is driving me crazy,” you cry

“Come on, baby your doing so good,” he says, kissing your pout

Your body is still tingling with the traces of your lost orgasm but you manage to calm down as Jeno passes his hands against your skin soothingly. Stroking your sides and stomach lazily until you settle.

“What if we try something else?” he suggests after another minute of gazing at you.

“Like what?”

"Well, if you find it difficult to hold back your orgasm, why not just let it go?”

“I'm not following. Doesn’t that defeat the whole point?” you quirk a brow at him

“Im saying what if you build your endurance to last multiple rounds. Find a way to keep going through multiple orgasms.

The thought turned your entire view upside down. You had never thought of it that way. You weigh the options in your head. The burning desire and desperation that edging leaves you with or the overwhelming sensations that overstimulation was sure to make you writhe with. Maybe this question was best asked when you weren’t horny and wound up from an orgasm denial because all you could think about was cuming.

“Lets try that”

Jeno kisses down your body until he lays between your legs. He shifts one leg over his shoulder and kisses your clit softly while holding eye contact. Your hips already twitch with need. “Hands behind your back” was his whispered command.

You fold your arms, bending each at the elbow, neatly behind your back. You rest against them as you breathe deeply through your nose. Jeno licks a flat strip against your folds. Your folds were already soaked, practically dripping onto the sheets and he just cleaned it all up. He licks a pointed strip now through your folds, parting them on his way up until hes teasing at your clit again, He wraps his lips against it and suckles gently. He slips his fingers back inside as he gets lost in making out with your pussy. It takes every fibre in your being to hold still; you needed to focus on lasting as long as you could. You decided you would scum but you at least wanted to see how long you could last. Jeno just hums against you, lost in his own thoughts and his own world. His eyes were closed now but his eyebrows were furrowed up like he was concentrating.

He parts his fingers inside of you, stretching them out to make room for his tongue, He licks inside of you over and over and you truly do go crazy. Your thighs attempt to clamp close, but Jeno’s free arm pins one of them open, forcing his face back into your heat. He fucks his fingers ruthlessly now, determined to throw you over into the current, and he does. Your orgasm leaves you feeling sleepy and heavy. The only thing that brings you back down to earth is Jeno’s slick mouth sliding into place over yours as he kisses you deeply.

“3 times. Can you handle that? 3 times?” he asks

You take his words into consideration; you feel yourself throbbing, but you think you could manage two more rounds. You send him a nod and he kisses you again as he shoves off the last piece of his clothing. You can feel him stroke against your slick folds, teasing the head of his cock inside before pulling back out to slap it against your wetness.

“You ready?”

You nod and he pushes inside of you. You were right; he was splitting you open. Once he was sitting all the way inside, you let out a small whimper, and he instantly soothed you.

“You’re ok. I'm gonna make you feel really good,” he shushes into your ear as he caresses you.

His voice is so soft and smooth that you relax against his hold. You wrap your arms around his neck and peck his lips before sending him a nod. You couldn't bring up enough energy to speak. You barely had enough to cum again but you would fight through the drowsiness.

“Let me know if you want to stop, ok?” he offers gently before pulling his hips back slowly to thrust deep inside of you again.

It was like he was hypnotizing you—the way his hips moved as he fucked you, the way his slim waist looked with your legs wrapped around it, the way his arms flexed when he went a little harder. You could get used to being under Jeno. You would take however many rounds he gave you. If it meant you could prolong this sensation, you would endure each and every one of them. You loved the way he filled you up and split you open over and over again as he pounded into you. You loved his noises you had to strain to listen for, you loved the way his face would scrunch up in pleasure when you clamped down tight around him.

Your bodies compliment each other's movements as you chase his hips with your own. You were wound up too tight; you needed release. His hands snake down between your legs and circle your clit skillfully. You cum again, this time around his length. He fucks you through it and settles deep inside of you, holding still until your breathing evens again. You didn't know how he did it. He hadn't come once since you started, which must have taken an ungodly amount of will. You knew you wouldn't be able to do that, at least not for a long time. You would have to settle for fighting through the overstimulation for now. You weakly thrust your hips up again, signaling for him to start again.

“Last one baby, I think I'll be a little more selfish this time,” he says before pressing a kiss into your shoulder.

You don't get to ask what he means before he manhandles you into the next position. He lips your hips before swiftly placing a pillow underneath you, angling your hips up. He grips your thighs, forcing them off of his hips and pressing them deep into your chest, your knees bracing your head. He shoves back in deep, fucking you into the mattress in a mating press. He didn't care if you could cum again because he was going to rip it from you. Puppydog eyes no longer stare back at you; they hadn't since he laid you down on the mattress, but this time something else swims behind his eyes. It was pure hunger, like that of a wolf. You realized that, although he was good at holding back, once the gate was open, nothing could stop what rushed through. It was like the final leg of a race, where you see the finish line and sprint for it. He was pent up, and he was going to let you have it.

Over and over again, his hips pounded harshly into yours. They were sure to bruise by morning, joining the others that probably adorn your body from all your other late-night activities. He hadn't mentioned them but you knew he had noticed because he focused most of his kisses there, like he wanted to paint over the others work.

Empty, there was nothing going on inside your head. Just his name repeating on loop until it filled up your thoughts so much that it had no choice but to spill from your lips. His own pathetic moans fill the air as he thrusts, getting sloppy, less sharp and less precise, and he finishes deep inside of you. You’re almost there and you’re grateful that he fights through his own overstimulation to keep fucking into you lazily. You cum around him and your body goes limp against your sheets.

“You were able to keep up with me; you were amazing,” he says around his heavy breathing. You just look over to him and smile, far too exhausted to speak

When you wake up the next morning, you are not expecting to see jeno still lying next to you. You were sure you made it clear to him this wouldnt be a long-term thing. You shake him awake and he stirs in this sleep before cracking an eye open. He looks at you, then rolls over like you were bothering him.

"Jen, get up. You have to go,” you say, shaking his shoulder again

"Hngm,” he groans, pulling more of your cover over him.

You just stare at him incredulously. You slap his shoulder hard and he finally sits up fully. He looks more alert now as he takes in your appearance and then the time on the bedside table.

“Fuck! Im going to be late for practice,” is all he says before rushing to grab his clothes and phone off your nightstand.

You just watch him in amusement as he scrambles around the room. He's halfway through the door before he stops in his tracks. He turns around and strides back to you before leaning over to plant a sweet kiss on your lips. This kiss was short, but you sensed something in it. He pulled away and stepped out the door fully this time, saying a quick goodbye. Jeno was a track star; he’d make it. As you hear your front door close with a heavy slam, one thought runs through your head.

Jeno the track star, and Jeno, the lover boy, was attached to you. In what ways, you didn’t know, but you could not find out.

Navigating across your college campus was already difficult when you had to regularly avoid crowds of students. Now that you were practically a wanted fugitive, it was even harder to slip between the halls and walk from class to class.

Jeno had texted you a few times since he left your house that one day. Haechan never stopped asking around for you, Renjun was pretty cool about everything so it was only a little awkward when you passed him in the halls, and Jaemin... Boy, if Jaemin got his hands on you, it was so over.

There was only one person you wanted to see and that was Mark. He was the only one who hadn't tried to hit you up. It was like he had vanished from the face of the earth. You had practically begged Jisung for any updates but even he hadn't seen him around. It wasn't until you walked into the library one day and saw Mark cuddle up with some girl that your questions were answered. You were devastated. You had spent so much time trying to be perfect for him and he had used that time to move on to another girl. You couldn't exactly blame him; you had been blowing him off for awhile in favor of your "studies.”.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You hated life. Life always has a sick way of turning you on your head. What was this all for without Mark? Not to say you went on this whole sexual exploration just for him but he was the end goal. He was the final boss. It was like putting in hours on a videogame just to have it shut down before you could save. Yes, you play it for fun, but you also play for the sense of accomplishment that comes with completing it and winning.

What was that saying? Play stupid games,win stupid prizes?

You were out sipping smoothies and pouring your heart out to your friend group. You told them everything. Some were more shocked than others.

“You were trying to fuck my cousin!?” Jisung says this in horror as he almost chokes on his smoothie.

“Sorry, Jisung, I cant explain that one” You send him an apologetic smile.

“I just knew something was up! You had that glowy look,” your friend Yangyang says

“Yeah, that post-sex glow!” Mia chimes in

“Will you two quiet down?” You shush them; you did not need the entire establishment knowing you “glow” after sex, making it sound like you had some type of radioactive pussy.

“I cant believe you fucked them; thats bold even for you,” jisung adds

“I dont need your judgment, jisung”

“No, im not judging; its just that they all-”

“Can we please drop it, I dont want to talk about this anymore; people are starting to stare” The old couple that sat across from your table sneaked glances at you and your friends.

"Well, if you want to get over Mark, you should get under someone else,” chenle says

“Its your advice that got me here in the first place,” you remind him as you finish your smooth sucking down the last drop.

You needed to just spend some time alone, collect yourself and get over mark. Honestly, your kind of happy that this happened sooner rather than later, before you developed more intimate feelings for him. You had already been on your way down that path and it had scared you a little. Maybe this was for the best since you weren't yet ready to face your feelings.

You were supposed to be the reasonable friend. You were supposed to be the friend who told everyone else when they were making stupid decisions, but now that you were making dumb decisions, there was no one there to stop you. You shouldn't listen to Chenle, especially not after the first time but it was like there was a devil-shaped Chenle on your shoulder, egging you on.

You texted Renjun; it has been weeks since you last spoke to him and you hoped there were no hurt feelings between you. You had told him you wanted to meet up and that you had a lot of things on your mind that you wanted to forget, even if just for one night. He said he wasn't upset about you ghosting him; he said that was what the app was all about and that if you ever needed a distraction, you were always welcome over.

You were so grateful to Renjun; he always made you feel safe and welcome. You were thankful that he was your first sexual encounter after your past failed attempts.

You know the way to his house like the back of your hand at this point. You were excited to see Renjun again. You hoped that you could build a relationship outside of just sex; he seemed like a really cool dude. You knock on the door, and it swings open a second later.

It wasn't Renjun.

“Sorry, my roomates were just leaving,” the man you were here to meet says, popping up from behind Haechan, who had answered the door. The blood drained from your face. "Haechan, let her in”

Haechan doesn't take his eyes off of you once. When he eventually shifts to the side to let you through the door, you expect him to walk out, but he simply closes it behind you.

You walk into the living room, and 2 other pairs of eyes lock onto you. Confused looks were exchanged between everyone in the room except Renjun, who still had no idea what was going on.

“These are my roomates, Jeno and Jaemin, oh and thats Haechan” Jeno and Jaemin were sitting on the couch in the living room, dressed to go out and Haechan was still standing in the small walkway that led from the living room to the front door.

“We know each other,” haechan says. Jeno, Jaemin, and Renjun all give him a confused look after he makes the comment.

“So do we,” Jeno and Jaemin say in unison before quickly looking at each other, even more confused.

“I actually forgot I think I have an assignment due, I need to turn it in before 12 so I think I'll leave,” you say with a sheepish, akward smile.

You turn to run away but Haechan blocks your path. “Where are you running to babe? You’ve been avoiding me for weeks I think we should have a little chat.

“I really need to turn in that assignment” You try again

“Sit down, princess,” jaemins stern voice calls from the couch, He moves over and pats the space next to him.

Fuck.

“Wait, don't tell me,” Renjun says, finally putting all the pieces together. “Did we all fuck her?”

“Yes! I fucked all of you,” you grumble as you plop down on the couch sandwiched between Jeno and Jaemin. You were caught either way, so you might as well fess up. You can't bring yourself to look at Jeno; you knew there would be hurt in his eyes. “In my defense, I had no idea you were all roomates”

“No judgment over here love. I just wish you would have come to me instead of Renjun if you wanted to fuck tonight,” haechan smirked

You cross your arms against your chest and huff. its not like you were in trouble; you were all grown consenting adults but it sure felt like you were.

“That's what you were gonna do, right? Use everything I taught you to go fuck him?” Jaemin says, his piercing stare seeing right through you.

You were annoyed, you hated being on the hot seat, you had come here to escape your worries and not be confronted by 4/5ths of them. Maybe that is why you lash out a little. “Yes, Jaemin, I'm going to fuck your roomate and make him scream loud enough for the rest of you to hear”

“And where did you learn how to do that?”

“From you, of course”

The room grows silent and that annoys you more. You couldn't understand why no one was ripping you out of your clothes yet. “Is someone going to fuck me, or do I have to find someone else to do it”

“Are you ok with Renjun sharing you?” haechan suggests

“I think I can handle it; can you” you say to the room.

“Wouldnt be the first time we shared,” jaemin says

You finally turn to face jeno. He looks at you, then at your lips, and finally speaks. “I want you… I need you so bad” You had a feeling his words had a deeper meaning than that

You didnt have time to worry about him; you already had so much on your mind but you did spare him the slightest mercy and lean into him first. You kiss him, pulling him into a heated kiss and you can feel warm hands under your shirt as Jaemin kisses your neck. Suddenly, you were being pulled away from the kiss and hauled off the couch. Renjun stood in front of you and said, “lets go to my room; I have the most space”

The trail of clothes that is left behind in the hallway was the only evidence you left behind as the door to Renjuns room closed behind you. You crawl into the bed, and Jaemin crawls in behind you. Renjun takes it upon himself to have you first. He claims your lips in a kiss before he trails his hot mouth down your body. He sucks at your chest before continuing down. Jaemin grabs a hold of them from behind, massaging them in Renjun's wake. Haechan props himself up beside you and kisses you, his hand drawing mindless circles against the skin at your stomach as Renjun caresses your thighs as he prys them open. He lays between them and for once, he doesn't wait. He dives in, immeditaly pressing his hot tongue all over you, spreading your juices as he sucks and licks at your cunt. Your hips fuck up on to his tongue and into his face, and he doesn't stop you. He doesn't stop you when you grab ahold of his hair to grind against his face messily. From beside you, Haechan sits up, dick pressing against your lips and urging you to open your mouth. You do your best to suck him off, lazily closing your mouth around him, too focused on how Renjun feels between your legs than about properly sucking him off. Jaemin strokes your hair away from your face, gripping it in a makeshift ponytail for you as he watches you suck off Haechan. You can feel him pressing up against your lower back, and you can't help the new wave of slick that gushes out at the thought of him feeling you up again. You had missed him—all of them, really. The thought pulls your mind back to Jeno, who sat silently on your other side. You reach out blindly until you feel for him. He takes your hand in his and guides it down his body. His hand covers yours as you palm him through his boxers. Soft groans leave his mouth, and you manage to pull him from his confines. You grip firmly and stroke him as best you can from your angle. He seems to appreciate it because, in no time, he's fucking up into your fist.

You feel Haechan tense in your mouth and you think he's going to spill but he pulls out instead. He takes up camp next to Renjun, forcing the other to scoot over. They both lap at your fold messily and you don't miss the way their tongues swirl together, tasting each other. You are ripped away from the beautiful sight between your legs when Jaemin grips your hair and makes you take Jeno into your mouth next. He guides your movements, pulling you up and down the jenos cock, making it hit the back of your throat. Your training really paid off because you only gag slightly until you are in control of the reflex again.

Fingers slip between your folds; your not sure who they belong to, but their curving deep, fucking into you ruthlessly. The way they sissor you open has you moaning around Jeno, causing his hips to stutter. You feel a pair of lips sucking cruelly on your clit and you come undone violently. Jeno cums deep down your throat, making you choke a little. He pulls out, laying limply next to you. You don’t miss the way his eyes shine at you.

The grasp in your hair forces your head back and you turn over your shoulder to kiss Jaemin. You were positive he could taste Jeno on your tongue but that didn't stop him from shoving his wet muscle down your throat and chasing the taste. Sometime during your distracted haze, Renjun pushes inside of you and you moan into your kiss with Jaemin. Renjun fucks you fast and deep. Hold on tight to your hips. Haechan busies himself with your chest, sucking on your nipples before pulling back to steal you away from Jaemin's kisses. Haechan kisses you messily, just like the way he ate you out and swallowed your moans. Renjun's pace turns sloppy and he finishes against your stomach. With how neat and tidy he likes to keep his things, you were surprised at how messy he could get in the heat of the moment. He pulls out and flops down beside you. Haechan quickly takes his place and you thank Jeno for his help in preparing you for this moment.

Haechan pushes inside of you easily, your greedy pussy completely swallowing him whole. He wastes no time in driving into you over and over again. He used your body to get off, pressing quick circles into your clit. You swipe some of Renjun’s cum off your stomach and shove your soiled finger into Haechan’s mouth. Your fingers rest against his tongue as he licks them clean with a groan. You slip your hand free, smearing some of his spit across his mouth in the process. You didn’t know what it was about Haechan, but he just got you so worked up. Maybe it was how nasty he was, licking up another man's cum, and how he would probably lick you clean after this. You couln'tt stop your hips as they bucked up into his. You chase your highs and you use each other. After a few quick thrusts, you're cuming all over his length and leaking onto the covers, adding even more fluid to the mess. Haechan doesn’t pull out. He comes deep inside you, stuffing you full before he pulls out to watch it drip from your hole.

“Get on your hands and knees for me, baby,” Jaemin whispers in your ear. He had waited patiently for everyone else to get done with you because he wanted your full attention. Jaemin was going to show you that he was all you needed.

You don't even get a chance to move before he moves you into position himself. He takes one of the pillows from the head of the bed and instructs you to lay your head on it. You think hes being nice, worried about your neck cramping, until he says, “bite it”

He wouldn't go easy on you this time, not with how pent-up he has been. A hand grips your head, shoving your face into the pillow as he slips inside. This time, there is zero resistance. With all the slick spilling out of your hole, he was able to lube up before slipping inside.

“Fuck, look at that. Taking it so well,” Jeno says from his spot on the bed. A few moans follow and you assume they are all touching themselves at the sight.

Jaemin forces your head up and makes you look at Renjun, Haechan, and Jeno, all beating their dicks. “You think they can fuck you like I do? No ones got you like I do baby and i’m gonna prove it”

Your pushed back into the pillow, your screams muffled as he snaps his hips into your ass. Crude clapping fills the room as your skin makes contact from his long, deep strokes. Your moans are instead replaced with Haechan's as they fill the room alongside Renjun and Jenos. Jaemin doesn't let up, grabbing one of your arms and pinning it to your back. Renjun's pillow was soaked with your tears as you cried in pleasure at the way Jaemin fucked you. Your thighs grow weak and you can’t hold yourself up anymore but that's ok because Jaemin's strong grip keeps you up as he holds you in place, pounding into you from behind.

“Fuck, im gonna cum” Haechan moans

You’re about to as well when your thighs start to tremble and your body starts to thrash as you try to escape the onslaught of pleasure.

“Stay right there, princess. You got it,” Jaemin grunts into your ear. His chest is pressed against your back, and his biceps curl around your throat, pulling you away from the pillow and successfully trapping you in a chokehold. You scream out load finally, and your orgasm wracks through you. Your tight grip on Jaemin's cock has him cumming deep inside of you with a groan.

Everyone was exhausted and sprawled across Renjun's bed. Renjun, followed by Haechan, Jeno, You, and Jaemin. That was how you were all laid out. Someone went to grab a towel and whipped you clean before wrapping strong arms around you. Through your drowsiness, you looked up to see Jeno nuzzled into your side, embracing you. You had resolved most of your problems except for one.

You shake the thought from your head—not tonight. Tonight, you would just be his and enjoy this moment. You would face him in the morning. You didn't know him well but maybe you could change that.

a/n: I hope you enjoyed reading this. There will be no Part 2 anytime soon or maybe even ever. Maybe a spin-off could happen but probably far down the road in the future. This is literally just porn with no plot. I seriously have no idea where I would take this story. Comment and leave feedback if you want to; it is always appreciated.

a/n: Fun fact i actually did lose my virginity to a fence, it is completely possible to break your hymen through injury. That shit hurt so bad lmaooo. Some of these events in the fic are pulled from real life. See if you can guess which ones lol.

2K notes · View notes

helaintoloki · 3 months ago

Text

The Unbearable Truth

pairing: Five Hargreeves x reader

warnings: angst with no happy ending, spoilers

notes: so i actually hated this storyline in the show but i also recognize angst potential when i see it so here’s this

summary: after getting lost in the subway system, Five comes to a grave realization

Five Hargreeves doesn’t love you anymore, and you’re completely oblivious to the fact.

You’re in the kitchen of Lila’s home baking holiday treats with your niece while awaiting the arrival of the rest of your family to begin the festivities. You smell of cinnamon and pinecones, and for the first time in years you actually feel content and happy with where your life is now. Sure, there’s technically a looming apocalypse hanging over you right now, but it’s nothing you haven’t handled before. You’re actually part of a family now with a man who adores you, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“Alright, Grace, would you like to do the honors of putting the gumdrop buttons on the gingerbread men while I check on the sugar cookies?”

“Yes, aunt y/n!” The girl exclaims cheerfully before immediately diving into the candy bowl. You laugh at her eagerness and turn towards the oven only to be met with the sight of Five in the kitchen doorway. He looks disheveled and unnerved, but you’re too engrossed in your own joy filled bubble to pick up on it right away and instead mistake him for being tired and overwhelmed with the situation surrounding Ben and Jennifer.

“Hey, you made it!” You say with a smile as you press a chaste kiss to his cheek before turning your attention to the sugar cookies. Five can only stand there stiffly as he clings onto the ghost of your lips against his skin. He had hoped that by seeing you again, by being in your presence and showered in your love for him, the feelings he once held for you would return.

But as he stands there in the middle of the kitchen watching you run about, he realizes that he feels absolutely nothing.

Initially, he had wanted nothing more than to return home to you and his siblings. Five had fought tooth and nail trying to figure out a way to get out of that damned subway system so he could have you in his arms again and tell you how much he missed you even if for you he had only been gone a couple hours. But a man could only take eating so many subway rats and being shot at so many times. He had grown tired, weary, and depressed. For a moment it seemed they’d be stuck there forever, and so he decided that maybe it was time to make the most of it.

What he didn’t expect was to fall in love with his brother’s wife.

A woman he had once hated with his entire being now was his sole companion, and whether it was due to some sick twist of fate or a moment of weakness, he had begun to look at her the way he once looked at you. With complete adoration and care as well as a fierce need to protect her and keep her safe. He knew the chances of ever seeing you again were highly unlikely, and the next logical step would be to move on. So he did.

But now here he is, back in his original timeline left to deal with the aftermath of his decisions.

In what was seven years for Five and three hours for you, the boy has fallen out of love with you. Your smile still may be as beautiful as ever and your scent of red berry plum and jasmine may be intoxicating to any other man, but he feels absolutely nothing when he looks at you. The spark is gone, and unbeknownst to you your relationship is about to fall apart.

“Where did you run off to?” You ask him after setting the freshly baked sugar cookies onto the cooling rack nearby.

“I had an… errand to run,” he utters carefully, growing stiff when you wrap your arms around his torso and rest your head upon his shoulder. Calculatingly, Five hesitantly rests a hand on your back while the other comes to comb his fingers through your hair. It’s a familiar motion that he is easily able to replicate in order to portray himself as the same doting partner you know and love. Lila had sworn him to secrecy, but he wasn’t sure just how to break it off with you without telling the truth. So for now he would go through the motions and hope to god you didn’t pick up on the fact that something was completely wrong.

“I’m happy you’re here,” you profess earnestly, peering up at him with fluttering lashes and a devoted smile. “I love you, Five.”

His chest tightens in agony at your words, his hold on you tightening in an attempt to ground himself as he harshly swallows down his discomfort. He meets your adoring gaze and smiles, carefully tilting your chin upwards to meet his lips in a tender kiss. It’s believable enough to keep you feeling secure and oblivious to his detachment, and he hopes that maybe if he keeps this up he can forget all about Lila and go back to normal.

Even if it means he’s just playing a part.

Pulling away, he meets your loving stare and offers you a small smile. Hesitating, as if he has to force the words out of him, Five murmurs out a quiet, “I love you, too.”

And you believe him.

#the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #number five #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #number five x reader #number five imagine #tua #tua x reader #tua imagine #tua spoilers #angst

1K notes · View notes

giuliettagaltieri · 3 months ago

Text

His Girl

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Childhood friend!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Featherless birds fall with a splat

Warning: Angst, cursing

Word Count: 4532

Part 1 • Part 2

You aren’t exactly certain how you’d feel with Rafe walking out on you like that.

Partly, you were glad that you somehow managed to face him without breaking but the way his eyes bore on you, it was just awful, like you were physically causing him pain.

And perhaps you were.

JJ saw how your mood has switched after you got your drinks. Your eyes were all blank and you were spacing out. He made the decision for you both to head back and meet with your other friends.

You are sitting with your girlfriends, and JJ decided to join you for the rest of the night. He was entertaining everybody with his overly exaggerated wild stories, trying to get you to focus on him, but your eyes are wandering on a certain someone.

Rafe was gulping down beer, cup after cup. It was too much, even for him.

You understand he’s got an extremely high alcohol tolerance but this is just sad to look at. His face was all red and his shirt was clinging to his back, soaked with sweat.

“You know, I really thought I could finally catch your attention with Cameron all gone.” JJ suddenly leans on the sofa next to you. You sigh, giving a quick smile without looking at him. “But I guess it was stupid of me to swoop in when you are literally in love with him.”

Pursing your lips together, you look away from Rafe to glance at the man beside you. JJ was looking sullen but a trace of smirk is still on his lips, never really looking utterly hopeless. Sometimes you wonder how he was able to master such a carefree façade.

“I really had fun hanging out with you.” You say sadly. “You’re a good friend.”

He scrunches his face. “Good friend. Yeah.”

“JJ, come on.” You laugh at his blatant display of dislike at being called a “friend” but he breaks into a smile. “I really enjoyed being with you. It’s just I don’t…It’s too soon and Rafe-”

“I know.” He cuts you off, his eyes wandering to the man. “He looks like shit.” He mutters and you look over to see just in time Rafe doubling over, looking like he is seconds away from ruining the carpet.

Your back immediately leaves the sofa and you sit up straighter, ready to move whenever Rafe needs you.

“Y/N, he’s not a baby. Let him take care of himself.” JJ chuckles, making you bite your lip, still anxiously watching.

Rafe looks like he’s about to collapse, he was clutching his head and grimacing in pain. Soon enough, he was shoving people away and heading to the bathroom.

“I don’t know, J. I haven’t seen him that drunk since…” You squint at Rafe’ direction in the dark, trying to find a memory to match. “I haven’t seen him that drunk.”

JJ’s brows slowly rise. “Really? Not even when his father found out he did drugs?”

You shake your head. “No, not even then.” You slowly rise from the couch and JJ lets you go.

“Well, I suppose he can’t be left alone, can he?” JJ smiles somberly and you return it apologetically, still thankful that he’s supporting you right now.

Your girlfriends however were not so keen on the idea.

“Y/N, where do you think you’re going?”

“Ladies.” JJ starts, throwing you a wink. “Have I ever told you about that time we fought actual gators?”

You take your time, heading to the bathroom. Your usual caregiver spirit when Rafe is in need has been dampened and you’re not sure she’s making a recovery soon.

The music gets muffled the deeper you go into the dark hallway. The entire house is still buzzing from the music of course but you no longer feel like the speaker’s up your eardrums. And with every step you take, the more you hear. You are careful where you step, making sure your feet don’t step on any creaky floorboards.

You stand there, face to face with the bathroom door, hearing Rafe being absolutely wasted. And is he crying? You bite on your knuckle, brows meeting just a little as you try to listen.

Quietly, you twist the knob open. He was retching, big arms hugging the tiny toilet, his head almost all the way in. You stand there, watching his shoulders shake. His sobs sounded almost hysterical, ripping from his throat.

What has happened to you, Rafe?

“Rafe?” You gently call his name and he turns to you. His hand absentmindedly tried to flush the contents of the toilet, missing it multiple times. You watch him sag, his entire body sitting on his ankles as he looks up to you helplessly.

“Hey.” He drawls. “Wha... wha' are you doin' here?” He asks casually in a coarse voice he got after barfing his guts out. His heavy-lidded eyes look up at you, watching you hesitantly walk towards him. “Shouldn’t be here.” He shakes his head, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“Rafe.” You say his name so gently, he closes his eyes. He’d pay just to hear you say his name again and again. “Are you alright?” You ask and he looks up at you dumbly, mouth slightly parted before nodding slowly.

“Yes.”

You fish out your own handkerchief and run the tap over it, just enough to dampen the fabric. “You don’t look like you’re alright.” You smile, a hint of teasing on your voice and he scoffs.

“Why ask when you don’…don’t believe me anyway?” He gestured stupidly with his hand and he stills when you grab the said hand. He looks up at you as you wipe the sick off his arm.

“You drank too much.” You mumble as you start to step closer to him, your hand cupping his cheek to wipe at the corner of his lips.

“No, shit.” He wanted to say but the words are stuck on his throat as he just stared at you, taking care of him, touching him, just looking at him again. He drops his hands and his limp fingers rest on the cold bathroom floor. He is feeling too much, how your ankles brush on his thighs, the warmth of your fingers, and the soft dampness of the fabric gliding on his chin.

Have you always been like this to him?

Rafe wonders if he just sat still while you tended to him before, would he have this sight of you all those times. Was he so stupid he missed all opportunities to look at you like this?

“Come back.”

You pause. “What?”

He shakes his head before looking at the pinstriped polo you are wearing. His brows creased, teeth clenching in annoyance as he pinched the fabric. “This…this is mine. You’re wearin’ MY clothes while you’re kissin’ other guys!” He fumes, hands clumsily tugging at your clothes that your knees almost buckle, your hand finding purchase on his shoulder so as to not fall. “That’s fucking un…unacceptable! You like ME! You can’t go ‘round kissin’ other guys when y’ like me!” He suddenly yells and your eye twitches.

Your finger jabs at his chest. “Fuck you!”

Rafe’s glassy eyes widen as his breath gets caught in his throat. Did you just…did you just curse at him?

“Fuck you, Rafe!” You repeat in annoyance. Blood boiling within seconds as you angrily run a hand on your hair, scoffing at the sheer audacity of this man to say those things to you.

You glare at him again and he actually flinches. “Don’t tell me what to do. You have no right to decide for me.” You angrily strip off the pinstriped polo, his head following your wild motion before you crumple it in a ball. “This is your polo?” You raise it and he nods hesitantly, still in shock at your outburst. “Here!” You throw it at his face and you watch it cover his head, his hands are sluggish as he slowly pulls it off.

You’re heaving in frustration both hands on your hips as you look at his crestfallen face, bunching the fabric in his large hands.

“Then I can go kiss other guys now, huh?” You say out of anger and you watch his shoulders sag as he brings his hands to the floor again, fingers twisting the fabric.

He looked absolutely wrecked and your heart starts to feel heavy again. You cross your arms, leaning on the wall as you watch him stare at the floor.

“Why shouldn’t I be allowed to kiss other guys? You made it clear that you don’t like me.” His head shoots up when you say that. “I’m not waiting for you forever.”

Rafe presses the heel of his palms against his eyes before he looks at you in agony, face all red, his bottom lip jutting out just the slightest.

“Y/N, please.” He moves to you, still on his knees as he loosely wraps an arm around your thighs. You looked up at the ceiling when he stared up to you desperately. “’m sorry, please. Don’t leave me ‘gain, please.”

You attempt to push him off but he hugs your thighs tighter, his head pressing on your stomach. “Rafe, let go!”

“No!” He sobbed, his shoulders shaking. “You’re mine! You like me! Not sharing you with that…that fucking pogue-”

“Rafe!”

He flinches again but he doesn’t respond, only hugging you impossibly tight.

“You have to let me go.” You say more calmly, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

He shakes his head against your stomach. You lean further against the wall, trusting it to hold you up as you surrender, sighing out your frustration as you rub his back, letting him cry on your stomach.

Perhaps JJ was wrong, about Rafe not being a baby. You truly feel like you are calming down an overgrown toddler. A toddler that fed on steroids instead of milk. His arms are tightly wrapped around you, just allowing you to breathe and aside from that, you can’t do anything else. Your free hand that didn’t get caught in his trapping hold, tried to soothe him, trying to tell him that you’re there, with him.

You run your fingers through his buzzed hair, feeling the heat and sweat cling on your fingers.

“You’re a mess.” You mumble, a small smile playing on your lips when his shoulders eventually start to stop shaking. “You got snot all over my belly, ugh.”

Rafe loosens his arms around you and wipes his nose, his eyes glaring at you for a moment. You smile at him smugly as he gathers himself. He clears his throat as he stands in front of you, eyes kept on the polo that he crumpled on his hand like a ball.

“Wanna wash your face?” You giggle.

He glares at you again but actually does what you told him to and takes the mouthwash you casually hands him. You nudge him with your shoulder to get him to scoot over so you can wash your handkerchief. Rafe watches your hands get under the faucet, just calmly watching the water glide over your skin, delicate fingers wringing the fabric that you so gently wiped on his face a while ago.

“’m sorry.” He slurred as he watched you tidying up. “Was so stupid. Sayin’ things that I don’t mean.” He continues, eyes starting to get desperate as you just rifle through your bag, not even looking at him. “Sorry for causing you trouble all the time.” He follows you like a puppy when you move past him to head to the door. “Please, don’t leave me again.”

You grip the doorknob tightly before it loosens in defeat. Rafe’s eyes brighten up when you turn to look at him.

“Why do you boys suddenly become the most honest people when you’re drunk?” You ask exasperatedly, also remembering JJ’s confession on the porch. “But then again, you could just be spouting nonsense.” You open the door this time but he puts a hand against it to close it again.

“I’m not. Please!” Rafe almost begs, his entire frame caging you against the door, his respect for personal space long forgotten as there’s nothing else in his head but to try and get you to understand, to believe. His tongue is heavy and his head is murky due to intoxication, which made him all the more frustrated.

You press your lips together, startled eyes boring into him. You have known that Rafe has an extreme and overwhelming side to him, his entire presence just smothering you in the best ways you can imagine. But with you trying to hold on to the fragile thread of anger and stability, you decide to push him by his chest. “Why don’t we uh…grab coffee? Let you sober up?”

He runs a hand on his face, it’s becoming a habit of his when he’s around you. “Fine. But don’t disregard everything I said just because I’m ‘drunk’. Please.” He said the last word with emphasis, his eyes offering no bargaining, prompting you to nod.

“Alright.”

Rafe looks into your eyes for a couple more seconds, making you understand that he is not willing to accept a half-assed response and you need to take him seriously. He slowly backs up, hands shoving into his pockets while you tongue your cheek, hesitantly opening the door for the both of you.

The blasting music thrums in your ear the deeper you get into the party, maneuvering your way in the sea of hormonal teens. A hand wraps on your wrist and you stop to look who it was.

It was JJ, heaving. He probably ran the moment he saw you. “Hold on, you’re leaving?”

Rafe was quick to pull your hand away from JJ’s hold, immediately squaring up. His chin was titled in a challenge as he eyed the flowers and bows decorating the band-aid on JJ’s chin.

“Rafe, please.” You beg, arms circling on his bicep to stop him from doing anything to JJ, who didn’t look the least bit afraid. In fact, he was looking at Rafe in pure entertainment. “JJ, I’m sorry. I’ll just talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“No, you won’t!” Rafe seethes but you only roll your eyes at him.

Kissing his teeth, JJ nods. “Yeah, sure. Let me know if you need anything.” He eyes Rafe one more time and smiles at you in his usual relaxed manner. “I’ll tell your friends you left early.”

When you finally made it out of the crammed up beach house, you closed your eyes at the nipping sea breeze. You can’t believe you’re leaving the party with the person you have been trying to avoid for weeks.

“Keys.” You mutter and Rafe hastily digs through his pocket, his hooded eyes blinking as he tries to locate his keys.

Your deadpanned eyes watch him for a few more seconds before he finally passes it to you, along with the pinstriped polo, which you hesitantly take.

He felt weird, having to take the passenger seat, especially when it’s you with him. Rafe gets in the car, his eyes on you the entire time you drive. You’re not exactly acknowledging his presence in the car with you, despite his entire body twisted to face you, his head that is leaning back on the chair never turned to any direction but yours. He didn’t even know you arrived until you were taking off your seatbelt.

Rafe follows you quickly, nearly tripping on his way out. But he plays it cool, pulling his shirt down when it rode up. He meets your eyes briefly in embarrassment. This entire experience is ruining alcohol for him.

Even thinking about the mess he made in the bathroom, with you witnessing, made him want to smash every bottle that will ever grace his eyes again. That shit’s evil. Rafe blinks at the brightly lit convenience store, not yet able to process the colors of the different flavors of ramen and chips. He closes his eyes tightly, nearly driven to overstimulation and seeks out a chair, collapsing on it as he attempts to massage away the bounding pulse on his temple.

He feels you place a hand on his shoulder and the scent of coffee fills his lungs. Rafe looks at you briefly and the swirling liquid placed in front of him. You sat yourself on the chair opposite his and your glossed lips wrap on a straw, sipping on your tall cup of slushie.

After muttering a quick thanks, Rafe picks up the coffee, tentatively blowing on it and watching the steam blow off in your direction before taking a sip.

Your cheeks heat up at the groan he lets out when he takes more sips. His shoulders are slightly hunched and you quietly admire his physique as you continuously slurp, watching his intoxication being masked by caffeine with every gulp he takes.

Realizing that you’re staring, your eyes slowly shift outside the glass, cheeks all warmed up. Rafe sets down his coffee and just takes his time to look at you. He does not know if it’s still the lingering effects of alcohol in his blood or the overly bright lighting in this rundown convenience store, but you look like you’re glowing.

“Y/N.” He attempts to speak but you shake your head.

“Give it time, please. Coffee doesn’t magically cure intoxication, you know.” You smile softly to reassure him.

Rafe smiles back before taking another sip. He watches you turn to the road outside again. There you were, in front of him again after weeks of not seeing each other, just sipping on sugar and ice as you swung your feet that were clad in babydoll heels, with pretty straps that he always found cute and alluring. Despite the cozy choice of clothing, you never go without a statement piece.

He steals another glance at your clothes, along with the pinstriped polo you decided to wear again. He takes another sip of coffee. “It looks better on you.”

You look down on your clothes, lips pressing together before giving him a curt smile. “…Thanks.”

“Sure.” He nods. Both of you look at each other for a while, not quite certain what to do with the still tense atmosphere before simultaneously looking away, like a couple for teenager going on a first date, it’s fucking ridiculous.

Time passed with not a single word being uttered between you. Rafe watches how the coffee stained a line on the cup every time he takes a sip, the liquid now cooled, and your slushie cup was starting to sweat and leave trails of water everytime you move it. His eyes were starting to focus again and once he was confident in being able to speak without slurring, he cleared his throat to garner your attention.

“Listen.” He begins but the words lodge themselves in his throat the moment your curious eyes flit to him, perhaps this was a bad idea. He never knew what to say. Rafe doesn’t know if he can last one conversation without offending you somehow. “I know I hurt you. And I know it wasn’t just that time at the party.” He presses a knuckle on his lips to gather his thoughts. “I always take you for granted, when all you ever did was take care of me.”

You cross your arms in an attempt to make yourself feel protected as you lean back, eyes avoiding him.

“Your kindness and efforts. Your…feelings. They were so easy to overlook when you gave them to me every single day without fail.” He tries to reach out to you but stops midway and drops his hands on the table. “I never knew what I had until you decided to take everything away.”

Your eyes sharpen and he winces at his careless mistake.

“I mean, until I finally succeeded in pushing you away.” He reworded his sentence, making sure to pin the blame on himself instead of you. He hated how hurt he made you feel. He felt like shit. He never cared when people called him an asshole or a psycho, but after what he did to you, he felt like every label given to him was all real, and this time, it hurt.

He had girls before, and all the wanting he can associate with them is the feeling of fleeting euphoria when they’re under him, that is all. Rafe never missed anyone, or anything about anyone. Until you came along.

Rafe found himself in the middle of the night, missing you calling him by his name. He missed your smile and scent. His cheeks suddenly go wild red when he remembers the mess he made out of himself when he got your shirt, one you accidentally left in his room, up his nose during those nights when the longing just beats him up.

“I regret everything I said and done.” He says, trying to get back on track to apologizing. “And if you want to be my…friend again…” He takes a deep sigh. “I’ll do better.”

You chew on your bottom lip, eyes shyly meeting his, and you uncross your arms slowly.

“You promise?”

Rafe nods quickly, a small smile appearing on his lips as his hand darts out to hold yours. “Yes, I promise! Just don’t shut me out again.”

Gently, you shift your hand to wrap around his and he gladly holds yours back securely.

“I’ll try to be less…controlling too.” You look away. “I won’t bother you as much and I won’t cling to you in parties or wherever-”

“I thought we’re okay already?” Rafe was dumbfounded.

“We are.” You say, equal confusion in your eyes.

“Then why are you still staying away from me after this?” He asks in frustration.

Your lips part, trying to form words but his statement just muddles everything up.

“I…I just didn’t want you to get fed up again.” You say quietly and he grabs both your hands this time, pulling them to his chest.

“Baby, I don’t care, just come back to me, alright?” He says quickly, you don’t think he realized what he called you just now. “I don’t care if you call me six times a day to argue that raisins do not belong in bread or if you hold my hand in every party we go to.”

The heat in your cheeks slowly travels to your neck. “Rafe.”

“You can have me drive you around the island when you get hungry at three in the morning.” He beams in a surge of confidence and affection. “I’ll let you fix my clothes as it pleases you so much, slap as many hello kitty bandaids on my face as you want.” He laughs, making you smile too. “I-I don’t even know what I’m saying right now, just please let’s go back to how we were before, yeah?” He presses a kiss on your knuckles. “I don’t want to hear any of this plan you have. I just want you with me again.”

At this point, there really is nothing you can say and you can only nod. You are glad that Rafe is satisfied with that response.

After a few more minutes of you catching your breath in silence, you decide to call it a night. Rafe, now sobered up, decided to drive, and let you enjoy the passenger seat like you always do.

Despite the conversation you had in the convenience store, both of you can’t shake off the feeling that you’re forgetting something. Like there is something you are purposefully holding back from each other, and it visibly makes you antsy, Rafe more than you.

He taps his finger on the wheel, tugging at the seatbelt every now and then as you continuously shift your eyes from the road and back to the car interior.

When he finally pulls over in front of your gate, neither of you want to move, still waiting for that something to happen. But as another moment passes, you realize that perhaps it’s time to leave it here for now, to take things slowly, see where it takes you. But he isn’t sure if he wants that, to see you slip away again, like the finest sand between his fingers.

“Uhm…thanks for the ride.” You make a move to open the door but Rafe was quick to lock it, making your brows meet in a soft frown. “Rafe-”

He cuts you off by clumsily pulling his seatbelt off, cupping both your cheeks to smash his lips on yours. It wasn’t careful nor romantic, just pure unadulterated need and impulse. You can feel the tremble in each other’s lips, the fear that one of you might pull away, the fear of what comes next, the fear of not having the other’s love returned in the same intensity.

But as your breath mixes, your tears soaking each other’s cheeks, your body slowly melts into each other’s arms. He was desperate, biting and sucking your lips, everything in his kiss wanted to possess you, making your chest tighten in having everything you ever desired at this moment.

Rafe pulls away abruptly, a thin line of spit still connecting your lips when he looks deep into your eyes. “Tell me you still love me.” He begs while he cradles your face.

“Rafe.” You push him away gently but he presses his forehead against yours, his shoulders shaking.

“Tell me, please.” He squeezed his eyes, not knowing what response he would be receiving. He knows he’d die if you reject him, with his soul open and bared to you in its most vulnerable form.

His eyes slowly open when he feels a soft caress on his arm and you’re smiling at him with your tears cascading down your face.

“I love you.”

It felt like Rafe had winter melting in the palm of his hand, giving birth to spring. Whatever doubt and fear is replaced with nothing else but sweet sweet warmth. He is being shrouded with undeniable assurance that made him feel invulnerable yet ironically, impossibly vulnerable. He had nothing moments ago, and suddenly he got a taste of everything, all at once. He has you. Just as you have him.

He laughs and kisses you breathlessly. “God, Y/N, I love you. I love you, I love you.” He litters your face with wet kisses, making you laugh, before he kisses your lips once more, his teeth nibbling on your kiss-swollen lip. “Mmmh, did you get a new lip balm?”

You gently pry his hands from your face as you continue to laugh. He meets your eyes with sheer adoration, head still trying to wrap around the fact that you are his girl. His girl. His girl.

God, he’d gladly die if you told him to, just to prove his dedication.

“I love you.” He whispers gently, intimately, vulnerably.

And with equal passion, you reply, “I love you too.”

Rafe has never felt this kind of happiness in his life, not once. You are his natural high, the ecstasy he’s been chasing. And now that he has you in his arms, he’ll fight tooth and nail to keep you there with him.

Not Your Girl • Not Her Man

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe angst #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe obx #rafe cameron outer banks #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey #rafe cameron obx #childhood friend!reader #outerbanks rafe

1K notes · View notes