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julietsf1 · 6 months ago

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The Idiot I Call Mine - Lando Norris x BestFriend! Reader

summary: best friends are supposed to share laughs, inside jokes, fries and the occasional late-night drive. what they’re not supposed to do is flirt like it’s a competitive sport or make you question every unspoken rule of friendship. at least, unless your name is Lando Norris apparently. (7.1k words)

content: fluff! friends to lovers; flirty dynamic; mutual pining

an: whaaat? a fic about another driver? yes loves. this is me coming forward as a secret Lando fan. I hope you'll enjoy as much as I did writing this :)

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Lando Norris has this annoying habit of always being right. It’s not even about anything important—it’s just little things. Like the time he guessed exactly how long it would take before I caved and ordered dessert, or when he said I’d end up watching a rom-com tonight even though I claimed I wanted “something deep and meaningful.”

“See?” he said smugly, leaning back on the couch as the opening credits of The Holiday played. “I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Hardly,” I shot back, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. “You just know I have a weak spot for Jude Law. That doesn’t make you psychic.”

“No, but it does make me an excellent best friend.” He winked, plucking the popcorn off his lap and popping it into his mouth like the show-off he was.

I rolled my eyes, pretending I wasn’t fighting a grin. Lando and I had been inseparable for years, the kind of best friends who finished each other’s sentences and shared a borderline unhealthy obsession with late-night McDonald’s runs. But lately, something had been… different.

Not bad, exactly. Just different. Maybe? I wasn’t even sure to be honest.

“You’re staring again,” Lando said, breaking into my thoughts. He was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest in a way that felt entirely too casual and yet completely deliberate. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, and his smirk was the kind that could make even the most confident person question their sanity.

“I wasn’t staring,” I lied, grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoving it in my mouth for good measure.

“You were absolutely staring,” he teased, leaning closer. “What’s on your mind, hmm? Thinking about how devastatingly handsome I am? It’s okay—you can admit it.”

“You’re such a joke,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed but failing miserably. “Devastatingly handsome? Please. You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Exactly,” he said, flashing a grin. “And yet, here you are, spending your Friday night with me. Interesting choice.”

“I’m here for the popcorn,” I deadpanned, though even I didn’t believe myself. “And because you begged me.”

“I didn’t beg,” he protested. “I suggested strongly. There’s a difference.”

This was us—lighthearted insults, jokes at each other’s expense, and an ease in our conversations that felt like home. If there was something different lately, I told myself it was just my imagination running wild.

“Speaking of choices,” I said, leaning back against the couch. “What’s the deal with you and your phone wallpaper?”

“What about it?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“Oh, come on, Lando,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You really expect me to believe you just happened to pick a picture of me for your wallpaper?”

“It’s a great photo,” he said with a shrug. “You look happy. And let’s not pretend your wallpaper isn’t me.”

I froze, caught. He was right—my wallpaper was him, but that wasn’t the point.

“That’s different,” I said quickly. “You look stupid in yours. It’s funny.”

“Ah, so I’m your personal clown now?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock offense. “Good to know my humiliation brings you joy.”

“Always,” I said sweetly, tossing another piece of popcorn his way.

The movie played on in the background, but neither of us was really paying attention. We were too busy pushing each other’s buttons, like always.

“Hey,” Lando said after a while, his tone a little softer. “You’re coming to dinner at Mum’s next weekend, right?”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “She’s already planning the menu. Something with pasta, probably. You know how she gets when you’re coming over.”

I smiled despite myself. His family had always treated me like one of their own, and his mum had a knack for making me feel special in ways that were both comforting and overwhelming.

“Well, in that case,” I said, pretending to think it over. “I guess I can clear my schedule.”

“Good,” he said, nudging me with his elbow. “I’d be bored without you there.”

It was moments like this—simple and familiar—that stuck with me longer than they should. The way he said things so casually, as if they didn’t carry any weight, even when they somehow did.

“You’ve got something on your face,” I said suddenly, trying to distract myself.

“Where?” he asked, leaning closer.

“Right there,” I said, tapping the corner of my mouth.

He smirked, deliberately licking the spot where I’d pointed. “Better?”

“Ugh, you’re insufferable,” I said, shoving him away. But I was laughing, and so was he.

“You love it,” he said, and for once, I didn’t argue. Because maybe I did.

As the night went on, the teasing continued, each remark more loaded than the last. By the time the credits rolled, I wasn’t sure if it was the movie or Lando’s lingering glances that had me feeling so off-kilter.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” he said, breaking the silence as he stood to clean up the popcorn bowl. “Something on your mind?”

“Just thinking,” I said vaguely, not meeting his gaze.

“About?” he pressed, leaning against the counter with a smirk that said he already knew the answer.

“Nothing important,” I said, grabbing my phone and pretending to scroll.

“Liar,” he said, his voice playful but probing. “You’re terrible at hiding things, you know that?”

I glanced up at him, my heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it had been doing lately. He was standing there like he had all the time in the world, his green eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

“Goodnight, Lando,” I said finally, brushing past him on my way to the couch.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he called after me, his voice laced with amusement.

…

“You know, for someone who claims to be an athlete, you spend an alarming amount of time eating,” I said, glancing at Lando over the top of my menu.

“Carbs are fuel,” he replied, flashing me a grin. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand that we could’ve gone somewhere normal instead of whatever this place is,” I said, gesturing to the overly fancy restaurant. The kind of place where the wine glasses sparkled brighter than the chandeliers, and the menu was full of words I couldn’t pronounce.

“You’re so ungrateful,” he teased, leaning back in his chair. “Do you know how hard it was to get a table here? I had to name-drop myself.”

“Wow,” I said dryly. “The struggle.”

“Exactly. And now you’re here, about to enjoy the finest pasta in town, thanks to me. A little gratitude wouldn’t kill you.”

“Gratitude? You dragged me here under false pretenses. You said this was a ‘low-key spot.’”

“It is low-key,” he argued, gesturing around. “For Monte Carlo standards.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto my face. This was just how things were with Lando—effortless, easy, and borderline ridiculous.

“Alright, what are you getting?” Lando asked, lowering his menu.

“Fettuccine Alfredo,” I said without hesitation.

“Of course you are,” he said, smirking. “Predictable.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I shot back. “What are you getting, then? Something groundbreaking? Life-changing? Revolutionary?”

“Tagliatelle al tartufo,” he said with a mockingly posh accent.

“Wow,” I said, feigning awe. “Truffle pasta. You’re really pushing the boundaries, Norris.”

“Don’t be jealous just because I have sophisticated taste,” he replied, the smirk never leaving his face.

“‘Sophisticated’ is one way to put it,” I muttered, pretending to study the menu again. “Another is ‘pretentious.’”

“You’ll be begging for a bite,” he said confidently, setting the menu down.

“Please,” I said, scoffing. “You’ll be stealing mine before the plates even hit the table.”

He leaned forward, his grin widening. “You know me so well.”

The food arrived soon after, and, as predicted, we switched plates halfway through without even discussing it. It was second nature by now, like so many other things about us.

“You know,” Lando said, twirling a forkful of fettuccine, “if this whole racing thing doesn’t work out, I could be a food critic.”

“Sure,” I said, deadpan. “Because people are dying to know what Lando Norris thinks about pasta.”

“They would be,” he said, undeterred. “My palate is unparalleled.”

“Your palate consists of pizza, chicken nuggets, and whatever I’m eating,” I shot back.

“And yet, here we are,” he said, gesturing to the table. “Me, enjoying this culinary masterpiece, and you, enjoying my company. Life is good.”

It was shaping up to be another night of easy conversation and mindless teasing until a voice interrupted us.

“Lando?”

I looked up to see two women standing at the edge of our table. They were both tall, blonde, and effortlessly elegant, the kind of women who looked like they belonged in a magazine spread rather than real life.

“Oh, hey!” Lando said, his face lighting up in recognition.

I glanced at him, watching as his entire demeanor shifted ever so slightly. He straightened up, his grin widening just enough to make my stomach twist.

“We haven’t seen you in forever,” one of the women said, her smile bright and practiced.

“I know,” Lando said, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. “It’s been a while.”

“You look great,” one of them said, her smile bright as she leaned in a little too close.

“So do you,” Lando replied, his tone polite but just warm enough to make me suddenly very interested in my water glass. The conversation floated around me, full of laughter and inside jokes I didn’t understand.

“And who’s this?” one of them finally asked, her gaze flicking to me with polite curiosity.

“This is Y/N,” Lando said, gesturing toward me with a casualness that felt too deliberate. “My best friend.”

Best friend. There it was again.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“Likewise,” she replied, her tone perfectly pleasant.

They didn’t linger much longer—just enough to leave their mark before excusing themselves with a wave and a promise to “catch up soon.”

“Old friends of yours?” I asked once they were gone, my voice light but with a slight edge.

“Something like that,” Lando said, taking a sip of his water.

“Something like that?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, his smirk returning. “They’re sisters. I, uh… may have had a thing with both of them. At different times, obviously.”

My fork froze midair. “Both of them?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, laughing. “It’s not that weird.”

“It’s incredibly weird,” I said, shaking my head.

“I mean, it didn’t overlap or anything,” he added, as if that somehow made it better. “But yeah… sisters.”

I stared at him, equal parts amused and horrified. “That’s… impressive? I guess?”

“Thank you,” he said, grinning like he’d just been handed an award. “Think I should call them again?”

“Sure,” I forced a laugh, stabbing at my pasta. “And then ask if they have any other sisters you might’ve missed.”

He chuckled, clearly oblivious to the sarcasm in my tone. “Good idea. Always room for a hat trick.”

My stomach churned uncomfortably, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I focused on my plate, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way my mood had shifted.

…

The paddock was its usual chaotic self—teams rushing to prepare for practice sessions, fans peering over barriers for a glimpse of their favorite drivers, and media personnel darting between interviews. I decided to escape the madness for a bit, heading toward the staff catering building for a much-needed coffee.

The line was mercifully short, but as I joined it, I noticed someone already waiting near the front. Tall, dark-haired, and wearing a Ferrari polo with his name—Marco—stitched neatly on the chest. He turned slightly, catching my eye and offering a polite smile.

“Busy morning?” he asked, his tone warm and conversational.

“Something like that,” I replied with a small smile. “You?”

“Always,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But coffee makes it manageable, no?”

I nodded. “A universal truth.”

Marco stepped aside to let me order, a gesture so casual it almost went unnoticed. As I gave my order to the barista, I felt him glance at me again—not invasive, just curious.

“So, not Ferrari,” he said after I stepped back to wait for my coffee.

“Is it that obvious?” I joked.

“A little,” he admitted, his grin widening. “You’re far too relaxed to be one of us.”

“Should I be offended or flattered?” I asked, tilting my head playfully.

“Flattered,” he said easily. “Relaxed is a good thing.”

We fell into an easy rhythm as we waited. Marco was effortlessly charming, asking questions without prying and tossing in a few self-deprecating remarks about Ferrari’s chaos.

“You’re here with a team?” he asked eventually.

“A friend,” I said vaguely.

“Lucky friend,” he said, his tone light but genuine.

I laughed softly. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

Marco opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a familiar voice cut through the hum of conversation.

“There you are.”

I turned to see Lando approaching, his expression relaxed but his eyes sharper than usual.

“Hey,” I said, surprised. “I thought you were doing media.”

“Finished early,” he said, stepping closer. His gaze flicked briefly to Marco, who stood quietly by my side. “And I figured I’d find you here.”

“Good instincts,” I said lightly, though something about his sudden appearance felt… deliberate.

Marco offered his hand to Lando, ever polite. “Marco. Ferrari engineering.”

“Lando,” he replied, shaking his hand. “McLaren driving.”

Marco chuckled. “I know who you are. Good to meet you.”

“You too,” Lando said, his tone friendly but with an edge I couldn’t quite place.

The barista called my name, and I turned to grab my coffee, giving them a moment to exchange polite words. By the time I returned, Marco was stepping away with his own drink.

“Enjoy the rest of your day,” he said, offering me a small wave before disappearing into the crowd.

Lando watched him go before turning back to me. “Who was that?”

“Marco,” I said simply.

“And what was Marco talking to you about?” he asked, his tone too casual to be entirely innocent.

I raised an eyebrow. “Coffee, mostly. Why?”

“No reason,” he said quickly, taking a sip of my drink.

I studied him for a moment, noting the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird,” he said defensively.

“You’re definitely acting weird.”

Lando sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, fine. I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, genuinely baffled.

“He was flirting,” Lando said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I blinked. “He was being nice.”

“Nice,” Lando repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. “Sure. That’s one way to put it.”

“Lando, he’s just a guy who works for Ferrari,” I said, shaking my head.

“Exactly,” he said, as if that proved his point.

There was a beat of silence as I processed his words.

“You sound jealous,” I said finally, testing the waters.

“Jealous?” he scoffed, though the flicker of something in his eyes gave him away. “Hardly. I just think you can do way better than some guy who chats you up in the coffee line.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” he asked, smirking now.

“Yes,” I said firmly, though the warmth in my chest betrayed me.

We walked back toward the McLaren garage, his mood lightening with every step. By the time we arrived, he was back to his usual self—chatting with the mechanics and laughing at some joke I’d already missed.

But his words stayed with me, replaying in my mind as I sat down with my coffee. My coffee which Lando had somehow already drank half of.

…

The McLaren lounge was a rare oasis of calm in the chaos of a race weekend. Engineers hustled past the windows, radios crackled with updates, and somewhere in the distance, an engine roared to life. But in here, it was all plush couches, soft lighting, and a distinct lack of urgency.

I was curled up on one end of the couch, flipping through a magazine, while Oscar and Lando lounged on the other side. Lando, as usual, couldn’t sit still. He was draped sideways over the armrest, absently spinning a water bottle in his hands.

“Alright,” Lando announced, breaking the comfortable silence. “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses?”

I looked up from my magazine, narrowing my eyes. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“It’s an important question,” he insisted, his grin wide and mischievous.

I pretended to ponder for a moment. “One horse-sized duck. Definitely.”

Lando gaped at me like I’d just declared something outrageous. “Terrible answer. Absolutely terrible.”

“It’s the smart answer,” I shot back, sitting up straighter. “You outmaneuver one big target instead of exhausting yourself trying to wrangle a hundred tiny ones.”

“Do you even know how terrifying a horse-sized duck would be?” Lando asked, his voice rising in mock disbelief.

“And do you know how terrifying a hundred duck-sized horses would be?” I countered, raising an eyebrow.

Lando leaned forward, his grin widening. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me you’d rather face one giant, angry duck with a wingspan bigger than this couch?”

“Absolutely,” I said confidently. “Ducks aren’t that scary.”

“They can bite, you know,” he shot back, gesturing dramatically. “One snap, and you’re done for.”

I smirked, leaning closer. “I think I’d survive. Besides, I have a secret weapon.”

“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing playfully.

“You,” I said, deadpan. “I’ll just toss you in its path and run.”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. “Wow. That’s cold, Y/N. I thought we were a team.”

“We are,” I said, grinning. “But only if you pick the right answer next time.”

For a moment, he was quiet, his grin faltering just slightly as he met my gaze. It wasn’t much, just a flicker of something softer beneath the banter. But it was enough to make my stomach do that annoying little flip I’d been trying to ignore.

“Lando,” Oscar interjected, his tone casual but pointed. “You’re staring.”

“I am not,” Lando said quickly, his ears turning the faintest shade of pink as he looked away.

“You are,” Oscar said, leaning back with a smirk.

“You’re imagining things,” Lando muttered, crossing his arms.

Oscar snorted but didn’t press the issue, instead grabbing his phone and scrolling through it idly. But the look he shot Lando wasn’t lost on me—or Lando, for that matter.

As the banter settled into silence, I decided to grab a drink from the catering area, leaving the two of them alone.

The moment the door swung shut behind me, Oscar struck. “Mate, you’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

“About what?” Lando asked, feigning innocence as he fidgeted with the water bottle.

Oscar didn’t even look up from his phone. “About Y/N.”

“What about her?”

Oscar set his phone down, leveling Lando with a knowing look. “You’re acting like a lovesick puppy every time she’s around.”

Lando scoffed, though the tips of his ears betrayed him again. “That’s ridiculous. We’re just friends.”

“Sure,” Oscar said, dragging out the word like he was savoring it. “That’s why you light up like a Christmas tree whenever she walks in the room.”

“I do not,” Lando said defensively, but his voice lacked conviction.

“You do,” Oscar replied, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “Mate, you’re glaring holes into the back of her head every time she talks to someone else. And don’t even get me started on how you were watching her during the duck-and-horse debate like she’d just solved world peace.”

“That’s—” Lando started, then stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not like that.”

“Right,” Oscar said, his smirk firmly in place. “It’s exactly like that, but go off.”

Lando opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly searching for the right words. “It’s… we’ve known each other forever. It’s Y/N.”

Oscar nodded, as if that made sense, but his smirk didn’t waver. “Don’t you think it would be time to change that soon? You two are exhausting.”

Lando shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it.

“I’m just saying,” Oscar said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You’re completely gone for her. Admit it already.”

Lando groaned, leaning back against the couch and running a hand through his hair. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said, grinning now. “But I’m right.”

Lando didn’t respond, his gaze drifting to the door where I’d just left. And for the first time, he let himself wonder if maybe—just maybe—Oscar was onto something.

…

The moment we walked into George’s celebration, the energy hit like a wave. The room was packed with familiar faces—drivers, engineers, and friends—dressed to the nines in that effortless way people in motorsport always seemed to manage. String lights twinkled across the ceiling, soft jazz played over the speakers, and a steady hum of conversation filled the air.

“You’re going to owe me for this,” I teased, glancing at Lando. “Dragging me here after wasting twenty minutes deciding between two identical shirts.”

“They weren’t identical,” Lando replied with a roll of his eyes, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back as we weaved through the crowd. “One had a darker stitch.”

“Completely life-changing,” I said dryly, though I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

“See? You get it,” he shot back with a grin, steering us toward a booth near the bar.

The way his hand lingered, warm and steady, was something I tried not to think too much about. It was just Lando being Lando—playful, touchy, and completely oblivious to the little flips my stomach insisted on doing whenever he leaned too close.

We found our way to a booth not far from the bar, where Alexandra and Charles were already seated. Charles was gesturing animatedly about something, while Alexandra sat with her usual poised grace, sipping champagne. When she saw us, her face lit up.

“Enfin, vous êtes là !” Alexandra exclaimed, waving us over. (Finally, you’re here!)

“Lando a changé de chemise trois fois,” I replied, throwing him a look. (Lando changed his shirt three times.)

Charles chuckled, leaning back with a smirk. “Toujours dramatique, hein ?” (Always dramatic, huh?)

“English,” Lando whined as we slid into the booth. “You’re ganging up on me in French. It’s not fair.”

“Pauvre bébé,” I teased, patting his arm lightly. (Poor baby.)

“Whatever that means,” he muttered, though the grin tugging at his lips made it clear he wasn’t upset.

The conversation flowed easily between the four of us. Lando, of course, dominated the chatter, weaving an elaborate story about George’s awkward rookie days. His expressions were so animated, his gestures so over-the-top, that even Charles—usually the calm and composed one—was cracking up by the end.

“That’s not true,” I said, nudging Lando with my elbow. “You’re exaggerating again.”

“I’m not!” he protested, his green eyes wide with mock innocence. “It’s all true. Every word.”

“Sure it is,” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Back me up here!” he said, turning to Charles.

Charles raised a brow, taking a deliberate sip of his drink. “I wasn’t there, but… I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Alexandra laughed softly, glancing at me. “Toujours l’acteur dramatique, ce Lando.” (Always the drama actor, that Lando.)

“Hey,” Lando said, pointing at her. “I know that wasn’t a compliment.”

I smirked, leaning closer. “It absolutely wasn’t.”

He gasped dramatically, his hand over his chest. “Betrayed by my own friends. I’ll never recover.”

“You’ll survive,” I said, brushing him off, though the warmth in his gaze lingered just a beat too long.

Lando eventually excused himself to grab drinks, leaving me to chat with Alexandra and Charles. As soon as he was out of earshot, Alexandra leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Il est tellement évident qu’il a un faible pour toi,” she said softly, her voice full of amusement. (It’s so obvious he has a thing for you.)

“Quoi?” I asked, my cheeks heating instantly. (What?)

“Ouvre les yeux,” she said, smirking. (Open your eyes.)

Charles chuckled, sipping his drink as he watched the exchange. “C’est écrit partout sur son visage.” (It’s written all over his face.)

“Stop,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re imagining things.”

Alexandra raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, her expression saying everything her words didn’t.

At the bar, Lando was cornered by Carlos, who leaned casually against the counter, his expression smug.

“You know,” Carlos said, his tone casual, “you’re not very subtle.”

“What are you talking about?” Lando asked, though his focus kept drifting toward the booth where I was sitting.

Carlos raised his drink, gesturing toward me. “You’ve been staring at her all night, hermano. Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

Lando stiffened, his grin faltering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just tell her,” Carlos said, swirling his drink lazily.

“It’s not that simple,” Lando replied, his voice quieter now.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because if I mess this up, I lose her,” Lando admitted, glancing toward our booth.

Carlos tilted his head, studying him. “You’re scared. That’s what this is.”

“Of course I’m scared,” Lando muttered, running a hand through his hair. “She’s my best friend. If it doesn’t work—”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Carlos interrupted, his voice softer now. “But you’d better do something soon.”

Carlos’s smirk softened slightly, but before Lando could reply, Liam Lawson appeared at the bar.

“Who’s the girl with Charles and Alexandra?” Liam asked, nodding toward the booth. “She single?”

Carlos grinned mischievously. “Yeah, she is—go for it.”

Lando’s head snapped toward Carlos, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Carlos.”

“What?” Carlos said, feigning innocence. “Just giving the kid a shot.”

…

Liam approached with the kind of confidence that only a Red Bull driver could pull off.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from me. “You’re Y/N, right?”

I blinked, momentarily surprised but recovering quickly. “That’s me. And you are?”

“Liam Lawson,” he said, extending a hand.

I shook it, his grip firm but not overbearing. “Nice to meet you.”

“How do you know George?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table as if he had all the time in the world.

“Through Lando,” I replied, keeping my tone polite but measured. His easy demeanor was almost disarming, but there was something about the way he looked at me that made me hyper-aware of my surroundings.

“Ah, Lando,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Lucky guy. You two seem pretty close.”

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” I said simply, taking a sip of my drink and trying not to overthink his comment.

“Well,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “his loss if he hasn’t made a move yet.”

That caught me off guard. My gaze flicked to his, searching for any hint of a joke, but he was entirely serious—or at least good at pretending to be.

“Excuse me?” I asked, my voice betraying my surprise.

Liam grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Just saying. If I were him, I wouldn’t be sitting over there, letting someone else steal your attention.”

The comment was bold, and I didn’t quite know how to respond. My thoughts were a mess of confusion, flattery, and something else I didn’t want to name. Before I could formulate a response, the familiar sound of Lando’s voice cut through the air.

“Liam,” he said smoothly, stepping up to the table. His tone was calm, but his green eyes held a sharpness that made me sit up a little straighter.

Liam glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Christian’s looking for you,” Lando said, his tone casual but firm. “Something about debrief notes.”

Liam frowned, clearly reluctant. “Now?”

“Yeah,” Lando said, nodding. “He seemed pretty keen.”

Liam hesitated, his gaze flicking between me and Lando like he was weighing his options. Finally, he sighed, pushing himself to his feet. “Alright. Nice meeting you, Y/N.”

“You too,” I replied, watching him leave with a mixture of relief and something I couldn’t quite pin down.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Lando lingered for a moment, his hands shoved into his pockets as he avoided my gaze.

“That,” Charles said, his tone thick with amusement, “was the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Lando shot him a glare, his ears turning faintly red. “Mind your own business, Charles.”

Charles just smirked, raising his glass in mock surrender. “Whatever you say.”

I didn’t say anything, but a flicker of suspicion settled in the back of my mind.

Had Lando just…? No. That would be ridiculous. Wouldn’t it?

“Let’s get a drink,” Alexandra said, pulling me to my feet.

…

As Alexandra and I made our way back toward the booth, she nudged me gently, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

“Lando looked like he was about to breathe fire earlier,” she said casually, sipping her drink.

I laughed softly, trying to deflect. “He’s always protective. It’s nothing.”

“Protective?” Alexandra repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That was not protective, chérie. That was jealousy.”

I opened my mouth to respond but stopped short as we neared the booth, Lando and Charles’s voices filtering through the hum of the room.

“It will just be awkward, mate,” Lando said, his tone low and almost resigned.

“Just talk about it,” Charles replied simply.

“It’s not that simple,” Lando muttered. “She will never be more than just a friend.”

The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. My chest tightened, and the air around me seemed to still. Alexandra’s hand touched my arm gently, but I barely noticed.

“I— I need some air,” I managed, turning away before she could respond.

The ache in my chest grew with every step I took, his words echoing in my head.

She will never be more than just a friend.

And just like that, everything I thought I’d imagined felt painfully real.

…

I turned my phone face down on the table at Gigi’s, willing myself not to glance at the screen again. The missed calls from Lando were piling up, his name lighting up my notifications every half hour like clockwork. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to him—I did. But every time I thought about his voice, his laugh, his damn words, the ache in my chest tightened.

She will never be more than just a friend.

I shook my head, forcing the thought away as the waiter arrived with my order. The smell of rich, cheesy pasta wafted up, comforting in the way only food could be. I twirled a forkful absentmindedly, hoping the carbs would somehow fill the space that had been hollowed out the night before.

The familiar growl of an engine outside pulled my attention from my plate. I glanced toward the window and froze.

The unmistakable silhouette of Lando’s Miura parked just outside, sleek and shining even under the soft glow of streetlights. A moment later, the door opened, and there he was, stepping out effortless as usual—but his expression wasn’t the easygoing grin I was used to. He looked… worried.

Before I could decide what to do, he spotted me through the window, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. He pushed through the door, his eyes locking onto mine immediately.

“There you are,” he said, relief evident in his tone as he approached my table.

I blinked, caught off guard. “Lando? What are you doing here?”

He pulled out the chair across from me, sitting down without asking. “Looking for you.”

My heart twisted. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been ignoring me all day,” he said, his voice quieter now.

I looked away, focusing on my fork. “I had my phone off that’s all.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

“I knew I’d find you here,” he said finally, his voice softer but steady.

I glanced up, frowning. “What?”

“You always turn to cheesy Italian food when you’re upset,” he said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s your thing.”

The casual observation caught me off guard, a mix of warmth and frustration bubbling in my chest.

“So what?” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. “You’re some kind of expert on me now?”

He sighed, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Y/N, I know you better than anyone. And I know something’s wrong.”

I didn’t answer, twisting my fork in the pasta and pretending to be engrossed in my meal. But the usual comfort it brought was absent, replaced by the uncomfortable weight of his gaze.

“You’re not yourself,” Lando said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, my tone clipped.

“Don’t lie to me,” he replied, his tone more serious than I was used to.

I set my fork down, the clink of metal against porcelain louder than it should have been. “Maybe I just don’t feel like talking.”

His eyes softened, his frustration giving way to concern. “Y/N…”

“Lando, I’m fine,” I interrupted, though the words felt hollow.

He didn’t push further, but I could see the gears turning in his head. He sat back, glancing down at my half-finished plate of pasta before gesturing to the waiter.

“Can we get the check, please?” he asked, pulling out his wallet.

I frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Paying,” he said simply, standing as the waiter approached.

“For me?”

“Yes,” he said, looking down at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “Come on.”

“Come on where?” I asked, my brow furrowing.

“You’ll see,” he said, extending a hand.

I hesitated for a moment before letting him pull me to my feet.

The warm night air hit us as we stepped out of Gigi’s, the soft sound of waves in the distance mingling with the faint hum of the city. Lando didn’t say anything, his grip on my hand firm but gentle as he led me toward Larvotto Beach, just a short walk away.

“Lando, seriously,” I said as we reached the sand. “What’s going on?”

He stopped, turning to face me, his green eyes brighter under the moonlight.

“We need to talk.” he said simply.

And just like that, my heart started racing, even though I had no idea what he was going to say.

The beach stretched out before us, quiet except for the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore. The city lights glittered faintly in the distance, their reflection dancing on the dark water. Lando walked beside me, his shoulders tense, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

For once, I didn’t fill the silence. I didn’t trust myself to. My thoughts were a whirlwind—last night’s overheard words still fresh in my mind, colliding with the unexpected intensity of this moment.

We walked like that for a while, the sand soft beneath our feet, until Lando came to a sudden stop. He turned to face me, his green eyes catching the moonlight in a way that made my stomach twist.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

I crossed my arms, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. “Try the beginning.”

He huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “The beginning’s too far back. I’d be here all night.”

“Good thing I don’t have anywhere else to be,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

For a moment, he just looked at me, his expression softening. “Y/N, I have a lot of friends. Like, a lot of friends.”

I blinked, confused. “Okay?”

“But none of them get to me the way you do,” he said, his voice dropping.

I stared at him, my breath catching. “What are you saying?”

He glanced out at the water, like he was searching for courage in the rolling waves. “I mean… you’re not just anyone to me. You never have been. You’re the first person I think of when something happens—good or bad. And the idea of upsetting you? It’s unbearable.”

My throat tightened as his words sank in.

“Like today,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “You ignored my calls, and I couldn’t stop thinking about whether I’d done something wrong. Whether I hurt you somehow. Because if I did…” He stopped, exhaling sharply, and shook his head. “I can’t stand the thought of you being upset because of me.”

I didn’t respond, too caught up in the flood of emotions his words were pulling from me.

“When you’re upset, it breaks my heart,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “And when you laugh… it’s like my entire day gets brighter. When you’re sad, it feels like my world’s falling apart.”

“Lando,” I started, but he held up a hand, shaking his head.

“I’m not done,” he said, his words tumbling out now, faster and more frantic. “I’ve been feeling like this for so long, and I thought I could just push it aside or pretend it didn’t matter, but it does. It matters so much. And if I messed up—if I’ve ruined this somehow—I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You didn’t—”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted, his eyes locking onto mine. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now, but I’ve been too scared to admit it. And I know this might change everything, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

I froze, his confession slamming into me with the force of a tidal wave.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know if this makes sense. I just… I can’t lose you, Y/N.”

Without thinking, I stepped closer, grabbed his face, and kissed him.

For a second, he was completely still, caught off guard. But then he kissed me back, his hands slipping to my waist as he pulled me closer. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it deepened quickly, making the world around me disappear.

When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us catching our breath.

“So… I’m guessing you feel the same?” he asked, a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re so slow sometimes,” I murmured, shaking my head with a laugh.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes,” I said, smiling.

The relief on his face was almost comical. He pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me tightly like he never wanted to let go.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,” he murmured into my hair.

“And I’ve wanted to hear it,” I admitted, my voice muffled against his chest.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “But… yesterday. Did I say something? Did I—”

I hesitated, my stomach twisting. “I overheard you talking to Charles.”

His face paled. “Oh.”

“You said I’d never be more than a friend,” I said, my voice wavering.

Lando winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “God, Y/N, that’s not how I meant it at all. I said that because I thought I didn’t stand a chance. Like… you’re so important to me, and I didn’t want to mess up what we already had by wanting something I thought I could never have.”

He looked at me with a mix of regret and hope. “I’m an idiot. It wasn’t because I didn’t want more—it’s because I didn’t think I could have it.”

“You are an idiot,” I said, my lips twitching into a small smile. “But you’re my idiot.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Yours, huh? Bold claim.”

I tilted my head, my grin widening. “Think you can find someone else to deal with you the way I do?”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Deal with me? You mean worship my charm and tolerate my perfection?”

“Oh, please,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “The only thing I’m worshipping is the patience I’ve built up putting up with you.”

His hands slid to my waist, pulling me slightly closer, his smirk turning more mischievous. “You love me. Admit it.”

“Not a chance,” I said, even as my pulse quickened.

His gaze dropped to my lips for the briefest moment before meeting my eyes again, his voice softening but still teasing. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

Before I could respond, he closed the gap, kissing me again with a fierceness that took me by surprise. This wasn’t the hesitant, nervous kiss from before. It was confident, teasing, like everything we’d been holding back had finally snapped into place.

I kissed him back, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. His hands tightened on my waist, grounding me as he smiled against my lips, murmuring, “Still denying it?”

I broke the kiss just long enough to catch my breath, raising an eyebrow. “You think one kiss is going to make me fold?”

“Two,” he said smugly, leaning in for another without waiting for an answer.

I rolled my eyes but didn’t stop him, meeting him halfway this time. His lips curved into a grin mid-kiss, and I could feel his stupid, insufferable smugness radiating off him.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” I asked when we pulled apart, my voice laced with mock annoyance.

“Unbelievably,” he replied, his grin widening as he rested his forehead against mine. “And don’t pretend you’re not.”

“Maybe I am,” I admitted, smirking. “But if you keep talking, I might start regretting it.”

He laughed, pulling me closer. “Alright, no more talking. For now.”

“Good,” I said, leaning in again, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore fading into the background as everything else fell away.

The weight of everything unsaid was gone, replaced by the warmth of realizing we’d both been fighting our way toward the same truth: we’d always belonged to each other.

When we broke apart, Lando’s grin turned mischievous, and I immediately knew he was up to something. Before I could react, he scooped me up effortlessly and started toward the water.

“Lando! Don’t you dare!” I shrieked, squirming in his arms as laughter bubbled out of me.

“Payback for all those times you called me an idiot,” he teased, stopping just as the waves lapped at his shoes.

He finally set me down, his smirk smug and unapologetic. “Admit it. You love me anyway.”

Figures. I’m in love with someone who steals my fries and once confidently argued that dolphins were just “sea dogs.” I wouldn’t have it any other way though.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #lando x you #lando norris one shot #lando norris imagine #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine

2K notes · View notes

tyunningism · 18 days ago

Text

Fuck me like you mean it !!

── .✦ pairing: h.k x reader

Browsing an adult dating app is the last thing you should be doing when you’re failing your college classes, but who’s to blame you when you’ve got your eye caught on an anonymous user with a hot bod, apart from the nerdy guy in your chem class who’s tutoring you? xx

╰┈➤MDNI - NSFW content ahead... …or in simple words… ɴᴇʀᴅ!ᴋᴀɪ x ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᝰ.ᐟ wc - 12.2k words

warnings!! and mentions!! switch!reader, blowjob, sex in public but enclosed space, vulgar language, reader’s a bit mean, stomach bulge, riding, cunnilingus, masturbation, sexting, slight nipple play, fleshlight use, big dick!kai agenda, lots of sex mention but overall quite mild i think !! Might’ve missed some things

tyunningism’s note: I seriously wasn’t planning on getting this done until like early July but every time I have time on my hands I end up coming back to finish off parts of this fic !?? Need to go on a whole course on how to write smut better bc I genuinely feel deenergised + decided to make reader filthy rich as well to add a bit more to her character !!??

“9 assignments Miss L/N.”

Fuck. Literally who decided to make the deadlines for chemistry so short?!! 4 months is barely anything- like- you have a life outside of college too you know?

“Thermodynamics study. Due 4 months ago. Submitted, nothing.

Kinetics research. Due 6 months ago. Submitted, nothing.”

The sound of pages flicking like your professor’s reading a whole criminal case log irritates you, it’s not like you didn’t complete anything?!

“Reactions thesis. Due 7 months ago. Submitted a video of yourself opening up a pair of Louboutins.”

“In my defense professor you didn’t tell me I submitted that video on accident until two days after it was due!”

“And I haven’t received a single updated document from you over the last seven months for that assignment.”

“Touché.” You dust off your pencil skirt too bored out of your mind to spare your babbling professor an ear, admiring the new manicure you got done when you were out in LA during finals last week.

“Ahem. Are you listening Miss L/N? I said at this rate you’re headed towards failing and needing to retake.”

Failing??

Ohmygosh failing!!!

“No you can’t do that Peter! My father’s going to kill me if you fail me this year!! And I need that credit card- so please? Can’t you just let me sneak in to second year?” Seems like batting your eyelashes is too old school now even for your ageing professor.

“It’s Jenkins, Professor Jenkins- remain professional will you? If I permit you to go ahead in to your second year what will I say to the board when they question why you’re lacking behind the rest of the class?”

God, this is unbelievable.

You roll your eyes and slide your manicured hands along his desk to flick to the gradebook with your nail, scanning your eyes along masses of F, F, F, F and oh- a D!!

Grinning like you’ve beat the stupid system you point at the D right next to your name,

“See? A D! That’s enough to get me a spot for next year right?”

“If you’re looking to apply for mopping the hallways of the Chemistry lecture halls then sure, but your grade has consistently failed to meet a pass in both semesters. I can’t figure why you qualified for this course when you show no skills nor interest in studying Chemistry.” He raises his eyebrows for your answer but all you can focus on is the huge zit between the wrinkles lining up on his forehead..gross.

Well, you don’t really know why you picked Chemistry because your brain can’t even handle the easiest topics apart from getting the mclaren you wanted for you birthday if you went ahead with it. Your father can’t blame you if you’re ass at the course can he?

You chew on the fat of your bottom lip, eyes squinting to observe your professor’s physiognomy: wrinkles carved in to his dehydrated skin, the coriander loosely hanging in between his teeth as he speaks and a balding head with hedgerows of graying hair sticking out measly. No way in hell are you sleeping with him for some stupid grade- at least save it for Professor Duncan who’ll fabricate a top grade in your Politics class if you send him some pictures (Haven’t tested the theory yet, but Momo’s sister said it worked and she graduated just fine).

By the looks of it you can’t fake your grades with a bit of daddy’s money like you did in Highschool to get you where you’re at right now, the Cartier watch that released this summer is glistening around his wrist and of course you can’t help but admire !! If the rumours are true he probably got it from his sugar mommy half his age, yeah..better to keep those emergency funds for the new collection miu miu’s dropping.

“This is serious Miss, staring at my face isn’t going to cut it.”

Fuck, now your old bum of a professor thinks you were checking him out. Even if he was the last man on earth you wouldn’t spare him a look..

“So, I’ve set you up with the top student for some tutoring sessions over the next couple of weeks, and an exam at the end of summer which will decide whether I can give you a pass in to next year. Take this as a warning, make use of Taehyun as best as you-“

Burning sensations sting in your palms which now laid slammed on to the mahogany of the wooden lectern. Taehyun? As in Kang Taehyun who you gave a wedgie to in 5th grade? What makes this old fart think that nerd won’t try to sabotage you instead of tutoring you?

“No! I’m not being tutored by that freak!” Steam is blowing from your nose as you utter the insulting words with defiance.

“I don’t see the issue with a well qualified student like Tae-“

“I’m sure the headmaster won’t see an issue when I show her the Venezuelan model you’ve been seeing on campus grounds either.”

It’s so rewarding to see him swallow his next words and close the gradebook in defeat.

Guess the rumours are true after all,

“Fine. I’ll ask Kai if he’s up for some extra credit.”

Except this time the name doesn’t ring a bell, hell- was there ever a Kai in your lecture hall? Sounds like he’s been celibate his whole life!

Shit, he’s been celibate his whole life.

The endless tapping of your pen starts to become monotonous in the silence of the library. If only your father didn’t threaten to freeze your card if you didn’t attempt to try and learn for once then you wouldn’t even think of showing up in a place like this. Megan was supposed to be bringing her hot brother to lunch today too..

The timid male doesn’t seem to speak much either, he keeps to himself and talks strictly in whispers as he goes over what he’ll be tutoring with you over the next week, dumb chemical reactions and what not..can’t you just graduate, get a degree and leave the actual work to people like Kai instead?

Kai’s some silent guy who sits at the very front of the lecture hall. Always clad in something loose like a hoodie even when it’s sweltering in Summer and religiously reserved to himself although he usually sits next to, gag, Taehyun.

Anyone else would say they see the back of his head more than they see his face and it applies to you too, always sat at the very back in your designated seats with your friends and scrolling Instagram, or better even, gossiping about the new hidden gem you guys found out about a couple weeks ago.

“Let’s arrange a meeting every..hm.. Tuesday?” His voice is hushed and gentle, barely above a whisper.

You lean across the small desk space offered to you with your hands intertwined and nestled below your chin.

“Say Kai, do you have Winkchat?”

Pretty amusing to watch him gulp and look down at his feet at the mention, a nerd like him probably has an insta feed filled with philosophical quotes or some shit, let alone an account on an 18+ dating app.

A hand leaves its spot from under your chin to brush the hair covering his eyes away; what’s the point of having those thickly framed glasses if he’s going to have his hair covering his eyes anyway?

But seems like your hospitality hasn’t grown on him at all because he flinches back so cartoonishly even if your finger is miles away from his face.

“S-Sorry!!! I was just startled, uhm..no I don’t have it.”

“Pfft, you don’t have to be tense with me Kai, promise I don’t bite.”

“Yeah..I know.”

If only you could see how he’s beating himself up over being so awkward right now. Of course he knows you, besides Taehyun’s never ending rants about the time you lied about having a crush on him in middle school upon piles and piles of other stories, Kai has known you for longer than you think.

The college’s princess, you and your friends are always walking around the campus with everyone spun and weaved around your finger like marionettes. There’s always a trail of the college’s varsity team trailing behind with their tongues panting at the sway of your hips and the stretch of your signature pink miniskirt your father shipped from Italy saddled on it. Heaps of shopping bags worth five times his tuition clung to their biceps; following you mindlessly like brain-dead zombies to load them in to the back of your sports car among countless others he can’t name.

You live a glamorous life in your tiny 6 inch heels and perfectly styled curls, dainty sunglasses buried pristinely on top of the crown of your head like embedded jewels that could feed a whole country if you ever bothered to auction them.

But he’s known of your prima donna life since he first started volunteering at a nearby animal shelter in high school, watching discreetly behind the shelves of donated food as you squat down to coo at a siamese the shelter’s been homing for years. Every Sunday he would wait for you patiently to enter through the double doors with your black Hermès handbag, all to drop it off in the volunteer room to change in to a poorly weaved ‘volunteer’ apron so you could help clean the cubicles and cages.

Kai doubts anyone else on campus has seen you more authentically than he has. After he stopped volunteering there he would take the longer route on his walk back to his apartment, walking past the shelter just to peep if your flashy sports car was still parked there as usual on Sunday. He doesn’t know when he pushed the whole ‘puppy love’ agenda by having a fat crush on you, he doubts you even notice him among the list of all the other guys head over heels for you.

”My friend Momo told me you’re a genius isn’t that like so crazy? Can’t believe people like you really exist and aren’t some super duper realistic robots made to only study maths and science. Oh my God- do you watch shows? Do you like..know who Rihanna is?”

His mouth drops absurdly in confusion; did he really seem that out of touch and abnormal to you?

“I do..maybe it doesn’t seem that way.”

What comes next is not what he was expecting because you’re clutching on to your stomach howling in laughter which only makes him frantic and wave his hands about to quiet you down before you both get kicked out of the library.

“Ahah- awhh, you’re so adorable Kai. I was only joking~ don’t get your panties in a twist over it.” Something please swallow him whole right now so you can’t see the beet red starting to grow on his face.

“Psst! Come on Y/N!! Sunghoon’s gonna take us carpooling downtown, don’t cancel on us now.”

An ecstatic Sullyoon rocks against the metal frame of the balcony above the library, beckoning you to join her and your other friends in to skipping classes again.

“Wait! I’m coming give me a second!” Packing the blank-paged note book and pens in to your bag you lock eyes with the strands of hair still blocking his,

“Sorry Kai! I know this isn’t ideal but I need to go like really really desperately so I’ll text you the details for the next session yeah?” A phone slides right in front of him on complete brightness which makes him wince, an empty contact page. The second he types in his phone number you hurry off in to the distance, the six inch heels strutting away still rings in his head minutes after you leave the library, still giddy he finally got to talk to you.

Out on the college parking lot is Sunghoon’s parked Cadillac convertible with a couple of girls including Sullyoon and Momo leaning against it while they conversed with him.

“Hey princess.” The taller male whistles at you with an all-too recognisable girl sweetly attached to his arm.

“Why call me over if you’ve got company? I don’t carpool if I’m not in the passenger seat.” Your hand digs in to your handbag for a pack of tissues which you offer to Rue, who’s still clinging on to Sunghoon’s arm.

“You’re starting to sweat on your nose beautiful, we don’t want that in your car do we Hoon?” A voice so alluring could make Sunghoon sign off to enlist his whole life serving in your name, triggering Sullyoon and Momo in to boisterous laughter when he shakes Rue off him slightly too aggressively to save her any face.

“Quick, hop in losers!” Sullyoon beckons.

“Ugh fuck!” The discarded girl watches as you buckle yourself in to the front seat of the leather-back rest as a slender hand tussles through your hair to frame your face in harmony with the sun.

“Oh, and tell your brother thanks for the manicure by the way~ Ask him if my cunt tasted good.” With that, Sunghoon presses down on the accelerator which carries you out of campus grounds and on to the high way with dangerous ease.

“Wooo!! You’re such a bitch Y/N don’t get me wet now.” Momo leans forward and swings her arms around you with a beer can loosely held in her hand, a smile forms on your face watching Sullyoon drag her back in to the back seat before they got fined for not having seatbelts on at this speed.

“What else can you expect of our college princess? That bitch really has some nerve trying to climb in to our circle through Hoon, and you horny fucker let her!” An aggravated Sullyoon kicks the back of Sunghoon’s seat playfully all the while recording the blocks of apartments and houses flash by in laughter.

“I think she’s quite cute is she not? Still pales in comparison next to you though.” Additional warmth from Sunghoon’s hand resting on your thigh triggers you to open your mouth again,

“Gross, you’re like a brother to me Hoon.”

“Oh really? Sunghoon told us he fucked you stupid at the birthday party he threw for you.”

And this is why you should’ve kept your loud mouth shut.

A questioning eye burns through Sunghoon’s conscience,

“Hoon!! Why would you tell them that?! And for clarification I fucked him stupid, not the other way round and it sucked.”

Sunghoon chuckles but with an underlying tone; like he’s pissed off by your bold accusation (the truth) because it hurt his fragile masculinity by a mile.

“Sounds like someone needs to get laid.”

“Yeah, I’m aware, thanks Hoon.”

“Didn’t I tell you to try out Winkchat?” Just hearing the words come out of Sullyoon’s mouth makes you groan in frustration.

“I have standards baby, I’m not going to fuck the first guy I see on my recommended because his limp dick flashed me when I opened up the goddamn app.”

“But the moment you hit gold like Sullyoon did with her man you’ll be addicted literally.”

Fine. You’ll give the stupid sexting app another chance.

Unlocking your phone you swipe among hundreds of other apps to tap on to the pink icon, thousands of message requests and notifications flooding your account with just a photo of your face and an a-line shirt is enough to drive any man crazy in this day and age.

As you expected to see on the explore page, another tiny weiner pic. No chance.

Some gym bro in Manhattan who spent all his effort in his arms and no where else and now looks top heavy, laughable.

And a man who dresses like we’re stuck in the 1800s.. what great luck do you have.

Just as you’re about to swipe off the app and delete the tab your thumb accidentally swipes to the next profile.

A subtle picture of a hand discreetly lifting up a band tee, teasing, revealing only a fraction of dimly shaded but defined abs under neath from a low angle, a long etched dragon tattoo running between the ridges of muscle and painted with a slight beauty mark.

There’s no face in any of the profile’s slides at all but it’s enough to captivate your eye, ranging only from pictures of his abs to a video of him playing guitar, a freshly made account by the looks it with nothing else in the bio except his age and the city you were also in. Jack pot, a straight friend request to user ‘kkh.txt’.

An arm reaches to snatch your phone away out of your hands. “You’ve been silent this whole time because you’re back on Winkchat tut-tut, knew you’d be hooked. And hey who is this!! He’s got a hot bod, shame you can’t see what he looks like.” Momo snatches the phone off Sullyoon to inspect the same montage of abs, tattoos and guitar playing videos.

“I can tell he’s hot just by looking at the posts, he’s not pushy with it or flashing his shit, he knows he’s sexy as hell geez.”

“Not that I care about what he looks like, that tattoo on his stomach fuckk come my way!” You snatch your phone back and take a couple of screenshots of his profile to save for..later. But Sunghoon has other plans,

“Let’s head to the tattoo shop actually I’ve been wanting to-“

“Don’t even think about it Hoon. I’d actually retch on the spot if you came out with one of those tacky poorly coloured rose tattoos.” Momo jokes, which sparks more anger in Sunghoon’s already fuming head.

“Ah! I forgot I was going to ask, how’s that nerd who’s tutoring you? Is he not super sweaty in that hoodie?”

How were you supposed to know Sullyoon?!!

“Hmm, he’s a bit awkward and all over the place. But he’s quite cute actually, in the sense that he’s entertaining to watch because he flinches at everything.” The events of trying to brush away his hair replays in your mind again, yeah he’s probably never felt a woman’s touch before.

“So would you fuck him?” Sunghoon mutters through gritted teeth like he’ll explode if you said something he didn’t like.

But honestly? Yeah you’d fuck a nerd. It’s the ego boost that really gets you going and the way they practically yearn for a bit of action on their virgin dicks, exactly your type really as much as you’d hate to admit.

“Why not, he’s got pretty lips and he’s tall.”

“Eww!! The bar is in hell girl.” Momo sticks two fingers in her mouth and retches a fake gag.

“Watch it be the next new trend to fuck nerds the moment word gets out that she does, that’s so fucking hilarious!”

All the talk about it being gross doesn’t put you off though, in fact it only intrigues you further, what if Kai could eat pussy like a champ? It’s not like it’s a crime to try is it?

“I can’t believe her.” Taehyun scowls through his bared canines. He jabs his cutlet with a plastic fork from the campus’ canteen and lifts it on to Kai’s plate.

“Hearing her name is enough to ruin my appetite.”

Kai, who gladly accepts the cutlet, pays no mind to the start of what’s going to be another of those ‘Taehyun’ rants about you that never end. Instead his eyes are glued to his faint reflection in the glass behind his best friend.

“I think she’s quite nice. Better than what you’d expect from how devilish you describe her.”

“Because she is the devil Kai! Have you not been listening to all those traumatic sufferings I’ve had to deal with since 5th grade because of her?” Taehyun pushes up the round thick glasses back up his nose, the outdated kind you’d expect to see in a retirement home and not someone in their early 20s.

“I think you’re being dramatic Tyun.”

“You think I’m being dramatic? That spawn from heck freaking ditched you thirty minutes early today! She treats people like they’re insects.”

Not that Kai would mind if you treated him like an insect, he’s already over the moon that you acknowledged he exists today.

“Do you think I should get a haircut?”

The suddenness of the question knocks the air out Taehyun’s lungs, causing him to cough and spit all over his (and Kai’s) food, a hand quickly grasping for water which only makes it worse.

“W-what?! Since when did you care so much about how you looked Kai..I thought you liked it long!”

He does like it long, but he also wants to prevents another woeful incident where he flinches away simply because you wanted to move the hair out of his face.

“I do it’s just more..convenient? I might ask Beomgyu if he can take me to his uncle’s barber shop later once he finishes Chess Society after lunch.”

The answer is straight from the heart and sincere so of course Taehyun can’t say no! Not to an angel like Kai who people pleases everyone at the chance.

That’s when he sees it, a small ping!- that lights up his phone to reveal a lock screen of some anime character you for sure wouldn’t be able to name.

‘y/n.553 sent you a chat request, chat back to her now ❤️🔥’

His eyes nearly jump out of his head. It can’t be, right? Just someone with the same name, just a mere coincidence.

“I’ll catch you later Taehyun I need to go submit in something.”

Regardless of the other man’s bewildered cries, he leaves in a hurry with his phone clutched tight in his clammy hands and right in to the men’s bathrooms. Not the greatest place he could hide his screen right now but it’s all that came to mind.

Defintely you. He can’t mistake that face for anyone else. Your profile isn’t even completed, only filling two out of three slides with a selfie and a beach photo that you also posted to your instagram, but the flame next to your name suggests you’re receiving loads of requests and a hot topic anywhere, even on dating apps.

Originally, he created an account to boost his confidence about the abs he worked on all through last summer after being stuck on gym propaganda while Beomgyu was crashing at his apartment; except Beomgyu’s motivation to become the bulky ‘jock’ and not a neek he aspired to be died within the first week of training.

It’s what pitched Kai to get a tattoo in the first place when he realised how big of a turn on it was for women who started to flood his profile with messages. Nothing more nothing less than a side practice to keep his confidence up a bit when he was basically invisible to the rest of his peers in real life.

Though this, this is different. Something more electrifying, experimental and dangerous if he had the guts to reply back; a shaky index lightly hovers over the ‘message’ button next to your icon, shit he’s doing it.

y/n.553: Youre hot. Where did u get the tattoo frm

Truth be told Kai doesn’t know how to make an impression on you, all he knows is that as long as you’re unaware it’s him, he can make as bold of a persona as he likes.

You: Downtown at Ink-lution. Heard of it before pretty?

y/n.553: No but it sounds niche thats so hot

y/n.553: thats the equivalent of buying me a necklace and choosing Chopard

All the names you’re throwing at him are cryptic in his mind, still thinking of what to respond without letting his awkwardness seep through as he leans an arm against the stall door.

you: yeah I wasnt gonna get it at first but im glad I did.

y/n.553: Asking for a friend do you have more ab pics x

Ab pics? Now? He infers you must’ve liked the profile he’d meticulously picked out if you were asking not so secretly for more pictures of his abdomen. Kai’s not going to say no to you though, he’s more enthusiastic than he ever has been to lift up the entirety of his hoodie just below his nipples and test a couple of angles and lighting. Must’ve kept you waiting with how long it took for him to decide on which to send out of the billions he took, but he settles on a simple photo, leaned back against the stall door and a full shot of his abs only on surface level, but if your eyes wandered you’d spot the purposely unzipped fly of his jeans to reveal a pair of black Calvin Klein boxer briefs.

When he hit send he expected a quick thank you or something commenting on the photo, but after 5 minutes there was nothing on your end making him doubt in all the decisions he made in taking the photo or even the way he texted you since the start.

Yet through the screen he can’t see the sweat beading down your forehead nor the hand snug between your thighs. Your back arches like a sculpture from the comfort of your mattress as your fingers naïvely dance around your core, flicking and rubbing mindlessly at a sore clit you just can’t seem to get the pleasure out of to orgasm!!

There’s no way in telling whether the unzipped fly was intentional or not but the subtle naughtiness of it makes your mouth drool at the thought. Whoever this was you needed to fuck, now, like real bad.

Stained fingers are wiped along the bare of your chest as you swipe off the photo to send a voice message, needy and dripping with want.

“Can you..please say something crazy, fuck I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Kai jumps from how breathy you sound, instinctively turning down the volume just so he could hear your voice. He thinks he’s going to go insane from how desperate you sound through breathless panting; you’re touching yourself to his photos and that’s enough to make his knees buckle in and tighten his boxer briefs.

He checks to make sure no one else is within earshot of him before he says the most humiliating line in his decades of living; something completely stolen from a crappy porn site he found himself on a couple days ago. He nervously presses down on the record button and hushes his voice an octave lower than usual,

“Be a good girl and cum for me.”

Looks as if you couldn’t decipher that the voice belonged to him because you only respond with a photo of your dripping cunt, leaking your juices on to your bed sheets where two manicured fingers spread open your gaping hole.

y/n.553: want you to fill it up, pls?

Slight confession though- Kai’s never touched let alone sexted a woman before, he’s still vaguely new to the whole sending nudes thing; but the ache in his pants and the lewd material enveloping his brain only increases his blood pressure by gallons directly headed towards his dick.

He remembers watching a guy do a whole step to step tutorial on how to jerk off extra good, having to lubricate his hand with a glob of his own spit and giving himself a couple of beginner strokes. Whenever his hand lightly rubs along one of the sensitive veins that grows thicker towards the base of his cock he hisses, having to pause or else he’ll cum on the spot just from imagining you.

[kkh.txt sent you an attachment]

Your jaw fucking drops is an understatement.

Withdrawing from your attempts at a second orgasm and sitting up straight on your bed to analyse the dick pic the anonymous user had sent was a new experience for sure.

He’s huge. God he’s monstrous even. Coke can girth you’d only expect to see on those heavily edited porn thumbnails and curved with a bulbous tip which sits prettily above the bulging veins leading to it. A pearl-like bead of pre-cum emerging from his pink dusted tip!! <3

There’s pretty much hearts in your eyes as you rush towards your wardrobe of your secret stash of sex toys hidden in a glittery pink box below your handbag collection; a couple of handcuffs and vibrators are strewn against the carpet in the process but you eventually find what you were looking for.

A 7.2 inch silicone dildo you stupidly assumed you could handle when you bought it six months ago, but the stretch of it was so insane you couldn’t think properly as you tried to sink down on it, and now when you compare it to the picture the anonymous tattoo guy had sent you can immediately tell the flimsy piece of silicone was no match for him.

y/n.553: ❤️

y/n.553: how big r u? looks huge

Kai gulps because he genuinely doesn’t know, he’s never thought of himself as huge even if he knew he definitely wasn’t small down there either. If he was attempting to measure with his hand which isn’t too far off the size of his dick then he guesses it would be around 8 inches.

kkh.txt: Uhm, never rlly measured but im guessing 8 inches.

8 inches?!! You’d have to make a trip to the ER if you ever let that thing inside of you!

You crawl to the full length mirror and spread your knees apart to sit back down on your legs, the dildo placed in the gap between as you watched where it reached in the mirror to quickly snap a photo.

y/n.553: This is only 7 inches..imagine how full youd make me feel with 8..

Kai’s face burns as he observes the way your hand points at where you’d feel him in your stomach, there’s something so sexy in the way you talk that makes Kai feel light headed and drunk on your sex energy. All he can think of is how he’d absolutely break you if he ever got too harsh with you and if that’s the case he’s fine with paying any medical fees !!

Over the past week you’ve dedicated all your time you usually would spend on shopping or getting your hair styled has been directly spent on messaging the hot tattoo guy on WinkChat. Momo’s right- the moment you’re hooked it’s impossible to stop.

Except one thing that’s frustrating you out of your mind and the sole reason for the graying hairs ready to pop out of your scalp any moment now; you seriously know nothing about the guy and it doesn’t sound like he’ll ever share anything about him or his whereabouts before you could even get a taste of the big dick heaven that should be awaiting you.

Which is why you’re complaining to Momo over the phone right now with a bowl of acai in your hands,

“I’m telling you girl he’s got the biggest dick I’ve ever seen in my life. Oh my god I sounded like a virgin there didn’t I?!”

“Whatt? Even bigger than San in business?” Momo queries, you can hear the soft buzz of tv in the background of her audio; what a bitch! Is your dilemma not entertaining enough for her or something?

“Ehh, San’s big but he’s got no flair to it you know? Feels more like a stone pillar fucking me rather than a monster cock.”

A line of laughter erupts from the other end of the phone at your joke but Momo doubts a faceless guy blessed in the below will be any different to San.

“Ugh it completely skipped over my head that I have tutoring today! The moment my dad sets foot on the soil of this country again I’m going to complain.”

“Tell the nerd guy you’re seeing to tutor you at your house instead of the library, the college princess caught in that stink chamber? No thanks.”

Groaning, you end the call in annoyance, walking up to the pink double doors that led to the marble tile of your walk in closet. Not feeling the miniskirt today you nimbly waiver your hands over the racks of unnecessary clothing starting to build up as clutter.

A light pink baby tee? You wore something similar last week- can’t do that.

Pair of Ed Hardy jeans? It’s way too warm to be wearing those.

Milkmaid tops you’ve never worn in your life? Possibly could work but you’re sure there’s something better, something that would make Kai convulse and foam at the mouth if he saw you.

Got it.

Where were you? Kai’s been sat patiently at the study table he’s reserved for the tutoring session for at least 20 minutes and you still haven’t appeared strutting through the doors. Perhaps you were sick and just forgot to tell him? Or you overslept on accident all the way to 12:45 in the afternoon? It’s okay, he’ll just finish off his thermodynamics extended project in the mean time.

“So sorry Kai! I know I’m late I just had to go to the drugstore it’s super urgent- my favourite La Mer lipgloss ran out and I can’t live without it!”

But Kai can barely register a word you’re saying when you walk in through the doors dressed like this; a blue cropped button-up top which is tied just below your chest to reveal a smidge of your white-laced bra and a pair of light denim shorts branded with diamonds that spelled ‘hot’ across the globe of your ass. Your stomach is on full display which only makes Kai oggle harder retracing to the conversation a couple nights before.

He indirectly measures with his eye how far he would really go if he entered you and believe it or not he doesn’t think it’s humanely possible.

“Still have time to stare through those bangs of yours?” You chuckle loudly at him watching as the timid male be in denial so quickly about you catching him staring, not that you minded or anything if he really was.

“I-I didn’t mean to stare it’s just..don’t you get d-dresscoded for wearing that?”

Shoving his laptop and a couple of loose sheets in to his backpack for him you lean down over the table to try and meet his gaze despite the hair being a barrier,

“Honey, have you seen the art majors? I doubt the college board cares and plus I wanna sit at that table over there, not here.”

Kai can’t even retort back to you even if he’s worried that someone’s reserved the desk for later, distressingly following behind you as you guided him to the very back of the library even he didn’t know about!!

Turns out if you wandered far enough behind the foreign language books that not many people ever think to visit you’d find a small table with cushioned benches to study on.

“Woah..how do you know about this place?”

“My dad donated the chairs and tables for the library so this is the spot my friends and I used to use when we wanted to skip classes, isn’t it sweet?” A sleekly glazed wooden table becomes racked with Kai’s study materials and your once again empty note book and pen within seconds.

The pen in your hand taps lightly against your lip in a rhythmic motion, suddenly deep in thought about something as you made yourself comfortable on the benches.

“I don’t know the answer Kai.”

A confused male looks up from his laptop screen to gaze at you, tilting his head befuddledlby at your strange statement.

“Wha..what? I haven’t asked any questions yet..”

A new set of fresh acrylics tap gently at the pop quiz sheet Kai had constructed to see where you were at in your basically non-existent knowledge of chemistry.

“I don’t know anything on that sheet Kai, we’re going to have to go basics.” You jut your lip out in to a pout and play with the loose thread emerging from Kai’s sage cotton sweater at the wrists,

“Can we start off slow?~ I don’t think I can handle all of it.”

It’s like a massive lump has just blocked his ability to speak since your effect on him is so strong, he’s unsure of whether you know how teasing your words can sound in a different context or if you’re just really empty-headed and all-over-the place.

“Uhm..y-yeah. Should we start off with atomic structure then?” His stutters become more prominent the more he feels under pressure from your sly gaze; brewing something scandalous in your irises as you take the image of a nervous Kai as your key ingredient.

“Okay so..uhm there’s quite a lot of note taking in this part so if I go uh..too fast just let me know.”

The bubbling curiosity within you is distracting yourself from the familiarity of his voice you can’t quite put your finger on, all too focused on wanting to see the eyes of the bashful nerd you’ve got on your hands for the next hour.

“So the basics are that the atom consists of protons and neutrons in the nucleus and- nghh.”

One hand flies straight up to slap against his mouth, completely in utter shock at the explicit moan that sounded through his lips, another hand holding strictly against the flat of your heel which was pressed directly over his crotch to restrict it from moving any further.

His mouth is open wide in shock and quivering like he’ll bust if you moved your foot a single inch,

“I didn’t get the rest of that Kai, can you repeat it?”

Kai looks over with near tears in his eyes, there’s no way this is happening right- did you finally figure out kkh.txt was him? His whole world is flipping upside down as the growing erection in his sweats becomes more unbearable by the second; he can already see the headlines of college gossip coming after him- ‘pervert nerd gets hard in the library over a heel’. Fuck he’s doomed.

“U-uhm. So..” His voice can’t seem to pick back up on the information dump he was spouting seconds before, quivering lips and a shaky voice like he’s about to start crying.

“The electrons..are fuck, they’re in fixed energy s-shells we learnt that in middle s-school.” The grip on your heel is tight, but all that you need is to slip your foot out of the restraints, dragging down the flexing muscles in his thigh from how stiff he’s becoming, it’s cute really.

“Are we..are we really going to do this here?” His voice cracks as he shivers from your touch,

“Well, do you want me to continue Kai? No one will spot us back here~”

No words come out of him with the exception of a hum and a weak nod.

“Kai, I need words, will you let me make you feel good?”

There’s tears awaiting to spill from his eyes because he’s so embarrassed that this is how his first time is headed, but he would sell his soul for you to touch him just once, so hard in his sweats he might come undone from your gaze alone.

“Please..want it” In a voice so meek and timid all you can do is coo at him, turning around the table to stand up in front of him with a finger glamourised with rings that felt cold and bared against the clammy warmth of his cheek and it’s like he doesn’t even try to breathe when you’re in front of him.

In one swift motion you lift up the soft trenches of hair covering his eyes to reveal a set of soft brown irises; endearing and fucking gorgeous?!! Kai’s inherited the kind of eyes that make men go to war with how soft and pleading they are; beautifully adorned with glistening tears from how desperate he is for release adjourned with the rosy speckles dusting his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The whole sight is everything you want in a man- weak, pining and tearful just for you !! ><

The absolute control you have over his lust only dampens your victoria’s secret panties you’re sure to gift Kai later for how good he’s being for you right now, leaning down to give him a quick peck he’s scrambling all the depths of his mind to figure out how to respond to.

“God you’re so adorable I fucking crave for cute nerds like you Kai, wanna see what you’ve got under the-“

“C-can I keep the sweater on?” Kai questions in a soft tone, but seriously? Fucking in a library with a sweater on? Whatever, he’s probably just over complicating things or doubting his frame but you could care less about any of it right now; especially when you’ve become engrossed with the natural-born pleading face this man just comes with!!

You give him a quick nod before removing the headband from your head and brushing back his bangs with it gently,

“Wanna see your face when I make you feel good okay pretty boy?” Shit. Kai could cum untouched right now with how you’re making his mind spin with the compliments, his thought process is lagging behind ten times its normal rate when you lean down to pull down his sweats with a hooked finger.

But in that tiny head of yours you couldn’t imagine Kai to be any bigger than around 4 inches assuming that he’s never been able to reach a girl with it. Likewise, you even prepared to ruin him with your throat alone; he looks as if he’d be so easy to excruciate pleasure out a tiny dick, he’d probably cum within seconds <3

But for Kai to be about 8- no, more than that with how it’s still growing in your hand, probably 8.2 inches and thick enough to tear your mouth if he really wanted to..

All colour drains from your face as you admire in both shock and fear..honestly you don’t even know if you can even handle a monster like this, the thought of it entering you sending shivers down your spine. You don’t even realise you’re drooling on to the floor from staring at the way your hand can barely wrap around the circumference of it. Who knew a nerd packing all of this would’ve slipped right under your nose?

Kai’s not keeping up well either, clenching down on his teeth and gripping the edge of the bench as best as he can to prevent himself from leaking anymore trails of precum from his painfully red tip. He just can’t help himself when he sees you on your knees all laid out prettily for him as your eyes sparkle every single time he twitches when your finger runs along his vein. His breathing fastens when he locks his eyes on the slight curve of your chest as you admire him so openly- boosting his ego to the moon.

“Kai..you’re- you’re fucking huge. I don’t know if I can take it.” You whine and point a dainty finger at your throat with a pout, brows in panic from imagining the stretch like you’re telling him he’s too big for you to handle, too big for you to fit all of him in and Kai has to hold back from releasing all over your face if he deeps your words again too much.

Nonetheless you’re still begging to get a taste of him now that you know his true potential. Giving sweet little kitten licks around his flushed tip, using two fingers to lightly squeeze around it for another glob of precum to leak out of his slit.

“Taste so good pretty, just be good for me okay?”

Your unoccupied hand reaches to fondle Kai’s balls as your pop his tip fully in to your mouth, lapping your tongue around in a swirling motion which makes him shut close his eyes and dig his fingernails in to the cushion of the bench even further.

Pulling off of him with a pop!- A glob of spit lands in your hand, the strings of saliva still connected to your lip as you lube his cock with your fluids, preparing yourself before hand so you have a better attempt of taking him all in !! <3

The heaviness of his cock twitches uncontrollably as you twist your wrist along his shaft, the receptors in his veins pulsing and sending waves of pleasure in to his blood stream every time you squeezed a bit too hard around one of them.

“P-please ah! Don’t tease..” Poor boy has tear stains around his eyes from how hard he’s constraining himself, his thighs are flexed so hard they’re seconds away from cramping and his lips are on the verge of drawing blood if he bites down any harder.

“Mmhm.” You hum around him as you start to take him in deeper, not even half way when you have to stop to let your throat adjust, suctioning around him so tightly he’d rather die than let you go. The moment you feel your throat retract you push further down past half way until it physically felt impossible for you to reach or deepthroat, using your hand to jerk whatever length you couldn’t reach.

The usual neatness of your hair comes apart in seconds the moment you start to pick up the pace, head bobbing up and down as you tie your hair with your other hand in to a makeshift ponytail. Occasionally, you’d gag whenever you felt his hips start to buck in to your throat with need, the extra unexpected length pushing you to tears.

The obscenity of the lewd noises of fluids and spit, whenever you lips detached from it to lick long stripes along the curve of his cock, mascara starting to collect at your undereye from tears caused by the stretch of him in your throat.

Kai believes he’s on a completely different universe by now. There’s no thoughts in his head apart from how pretty you looked and how close he was to cumming down your throat, the scene so erotic it’s more addicting than any other variation of porn or hentai he’s ever watched in the sanctity of his apartment- fuck it’s more than that, he wants to burn this image of you in to his mind forever so that he can use it for later.

“Shit Y/N nghh! I’m going to cum you need to augh!- wait..” The blissed male attempts to pry you off of him with screwed shut eyes fearful he was going to cum down your throat, but you do anything but that. Instead you nuzzle your chin all the way down to the furthest point you can reach and jerk him off; waiting for the warmth of his cum to shoot far down your throat for you to swallow.

“W-wait!! I really am going to cum, fuck mmh!~ I-is it really okay?” Whatever he’s pleading doesn’t matter because the next thing you know he’s splurging the thickest load you’ve ever had to swallow, dragging down your throat with high viscosity. Some of it drips down the corner of your lips as he smears his sensitive tip along your beaming smile.

“You did so well for me baby, you’ll have to let me do this more often- wanna see how far I can really go.” Opening up a pack of makeup wipes you clean up the mascara stains and pack your things up, leaving Kai speechless, hot and bothered and also another tutoring session gone to waste.

“I need to see results. Going to tutoring and coming back with no notes is never going to stick in your brain.” The bellow of your father’s voice echoes through the halls of your empty house- he’s come back from his annual business trip and what do you have to show you’ve been working? Absolutely nil, zero nothing.

Groaning, you call over a nanny to set up the plates, you’re not going to sit down for dinner with a father who’s going to moan at you all day for making you choose a course you can’t do!

“I am working !! We went over like electrons and proteins and stuff of that sort.”

“By working you mean pressuring someone in to telling you all the information while you post all sorts of stupid photos!”

“It’s instagram you old fart! The version of like facebook or something for your millennia! Anyways I need to go because Megan’s calling me to go shopping with her at the night plaza asap.” Earrings and hoops among other clattering items like studded belts and heels ring behind you as you start to walk off in the same clacky-heels you always wear.

“I’ve suspended all of your bank accounts.”

“Nice try father, stores still use cash nowadays.”

“The maids found your cash stack in the small compartment below your vanity.”

That’s your breaking point.

“Father!! You can’t just let them go snooping in my room like that!” Oh you’re fuming- what’s going to happen next? They find your secret sex toy collection and then your father’s going to have to take away your closet?

“Tell the boy who tutors you to come around next Friday for dinner, I want to see that you’re at least trying to learn.”

“Fine! But only if you hand me back everything after.” Boiling with rage you shove past the maids by the door and up the cold marble stairs, if you weren’t aiming for more hair growth this summer you would’ve definitely ripped out more than a couple strands by now.

Reaching your bedroom you finally slump on top of a pile of eiderdown pillows, whipping out your phone to message Kai about the arrangement.

Speaking of Kai, you think you’ve gone insane.

Ever since you left the library that day you couldn’t forget the imprint of his dick in your throat and the needy look in his eye. His moans were literal heaven to your ears, so sensitive and breathy you seriously couldn’t get enough of it!! However the downside now is that you can’t even get off your fingers anymore because now all that you desire is Kai, like he’s drugged you with some sort of addictive attraction towards him that only pushes you to want for more.

A quick dial to your ex fuck buddy Soobin should get him off your mind right? He’s got that same yearning face in him although less intense than Kai and you can bet your whole LV collection on him that he’ll show up to your door in less than 5 minutes if you really needed him to.

“Hello?”

“Hey Binnie, can you come over? I got in to an argument with father.” You mewl a little to make yourself seem as pitiable as you can.

“So, let me get this right. You’re asking to fuck?”

“Bingo! You got it Binnie so can you like please come over in five?”

The long and weighted sigh on the other end of the line does not sound like good news.

“Can’t, sorry princess I’m out of the country right now. Goodbye.”

Soobin ends the phone call without another word which only makes you dead pan at the white contact screen again.

“Ugh fuck you Choi Soobin! Couldn’t he be a little bit more considerate?” You turn to lay on your back and open up WinkChat, not even needing to scroll down to find his username at the top of the chats.

you: send me a vid of u masturbating now.

kkh.txt: now??? im at a friend’s apartment.

you: please??

Quickly snapping a photo of your exposed boob barely covered by the padding of your finger is all the anonymous user needs to take his sweet time in recording what you wanted.

“Hey..Taehyun I’m gonna use the shower okay?”

Taehyun scribbles away a couple of notes while watching a league of legends game play at the same time, only having the brain power to send Kai a quick thumbs up before he disappears behind the doors of his apartment bathroom.

Kai’s fucking hard. Every single photo of you tortures him internally when all he can think about is the feeling of your tongue wrapped so prettily around him. He zooms in to the photo eagerly to peek at the swell of your tit, instinctively looking around to see if anyone was around despite being isolated in a bathroom out of shame for being so dirty.

A nosebleed is going to come flowing down his nose any second now was he turns on the shower, letting the pitter-patter of water hopefully drown out the sounds of his moans as he sets up his camera directly facing his naked self sat on the toilet lid but cut off from revealing his face.

The camera starts recording and he’s already lost on what to do, spotting what he thinks is Taehyun’s body lotion that he uses like his life depends on it for his eczema; Kai prays it isn’t expensive as he loads a sample of it on to his palm before lazily stroking down his aching cock.

He wasn’t supposed to bring this with him today, but he was planning on asking you to go on video call later when Taehyun went for his night shift leaving him alone, a fleshlight being pulled straight out of his bag he was intending to use that he bought on a whim.

He starts off guiding the sex toy down his lubed dick, groaning in pleasure at how tight the mound of silicone flesh is around him; he imagines it’s your walls wrapped around him, thought he hopes it would be warmer in side of you than the chill of the bathroom.

“Shit.” Kai picks up the pace and squeezes the fleshlight harder around the tip, his hands moving in a vertical movement as he slides the silicone down the ridges of his cock, squelching Taehyun’s lotion in an explicitly sexual sound which formed a ring of white around the base.

Doesn’t even think to slow down to catch his breath, he completely is just aiming towards chasing the same high you gave him, wrist starting to become lazy as he whimpers whenever the stimulation around his leaking tip gets too much!! Fundamentally he’s fucking up in to the fleshlight now, hips jerking upward whenever the toy would squeeze too hard around his vein with a plethora of whimpers flooding out of his mouth with no restriction. The flitter of the shower starts to steam up around him which only fogs up Kai’s head even more, still thinking about how deliciously your pussy would nestle around him, how you’d leave a pool of slick below him from just how wet you are!! <3

Kai’s knuckles are starting to show the white of his bone from how hard he’s squeezing the moment he feels the same anticipation of release, unable to keep his moans quiet as he spurts ropes of white all over his lap, his chest heaves rapidly while he snaps out of his trance, making sure to leave a taunting message at the end of the video,

“I’d fuck you so good if you let me.” Sent! Straight to your shared chat together,

Sure enough you send him floods of praise, particularly around the flex of his abs around his tattoo when he came.

Just when Kai’s about to properly head in to his unusually ‘longer’ shower a notification rings on his phone.

Y/N^u^: Can you come to my house for tutoring on Friday? Shellsby Manor, XXX-XXX, arrive before 6 k?

Sounds like Professor Jenkins idea considering you two haven’t done any proper tutoring over the last two weeks, but Kai’s more than happy to accept.

”I’m telling you that new VS pushup bra is all the craze right now!! I heard it made Carly’s B cup look like double D’s like what the fuck!?” Sullyoon’s browsing on her phone on her go-to shopping website again. Momo on the other hand has Jake Sim’s head resting between her thighs as she plays with his nest of hair, yikes..

“Stop being a bore I can’t believe I’m actually seeing you study for once.”

“Shut up Jake I need it if I want my card back ugh!!” All the words and key terminology for the up coming assessment is just mumble and letters, at this rate you’re never going to pass without Kai’s help!!!

“Just sleep with him, that’s what all girls do.” Jake replies nonchalantly but the statement rubs you the wrong way- even if you did consider it...is he calling all girls whores?!!

Before you can even do it Momo slaps him away from her,

“Ugh Jake you’re so vile get away!” Sullyoon shrieks and giggles, playfully kicking at the baseball captain which ends up landing at his nuts.

“All of you shut up for a moment I need to focus!” You complain before putting all of your weight on to the arm behind you on the field of grass, you’ve only just finished consolidating chemical reactions but you doubt you’ll remember or properly understand it like this.

“What? Is she going to see that small-dick geek again?” Fuckass Jake didn’t get his balls kicked hard enough because he still has the energy to retort.

“I’m not joking he’s like twice the size of yours.” You snicker before pinching your fingers together to mock an irritated Jake already feeling your work ethic coming to a halt.

“Well maybe if you’d actually let me bang you then you’d know. Because by the looks of it you let every other guy in between those legs.” Jake spits.

Way to ruin your mood Sim Jaeyun.

You pack up your laptop and belongings and spin on your heel to strut all the way down towards the canteen where you know you’d find Taehyun, and therefore him too.

Right in the corner behind the pillar where they can’t be seen spot the same head of blonde hair and an agitating brunette who’s immediately sending warning signals to Kai the moment you head towards their way.

“Hi Tyunnie! Miss me?” You blow Taehyun a kiss before rustling his oddly styled hair gently- eco gel..and jesus christ a whole lot of it.

“Freak off, we don’t want you here.” Taehyun speaks as monotonously as ever, refusing to show any sort of amusement as he swats your hand away from cooing him any further.

That’s when you realise you haven’t greeted Kai yet, turning your head around to see..eyes?

The blonde is rocking a completely different hair cut now, bangs messily trimmed to give him style but also a cleaner look and with more volume than he ever has- it suits him really well you must admit, like the hotties you’d see in the skate parks, except his innocently charming eyes really are the cherry on top.

“Wow Kai new haircut?! Awhh stop you look so adorable!!! You finally got rid of those overgrown bangs.” He attempts to hold back a bashful grin in front of a discerned Taehyun, waving it off as something he’s wanted to try forever when really he knows it’s because of you.

“Well Tyunnie-boo let me borrow Kai for the rest of today okay? Thanks a million!!”

You drag Kai and his belongings with you and straight in to the parking lot where your porsche you haven’t used in ages was parked.

“No lectures later right? I know it’s a bit earlier than scheduled but I might as well take you home with me now right?”

The still timid male looks away from you when he speaks in case his mind wanders off to a bunch of other naughty thoughts again.

“That’s fine..just means we get more tutoring time in.”

Yeah, tutoring time.

Accelerating down the road and in to the hills of where the richest sector of people in your city resided in was a complete shock for Kai, watching people live in these castles they’d call ‘home’ as you speed down in to your own pearly-gated manor.

Kai regrets wearing something so baggy now at a place like this, but there’s not much in his closet if he’s still keen on covering that tattoo he stupidly got with his cousin Yeonjun on his 18th birthday.

“My father may look intimidating but trust me it’s just a habit he’s picked up on from trying to be professional everywhere he goes.” Even the keys to your house is made of some sort of alloy of gold, inside revealing a couple of servants who welcome the two of you towards your father’s office.

Knocking gently you pry, “Father, I’ve got my little tutor friend you wanted to see so bad.”

There’s no response that you can hear from the room nor any sign to come in. A working servant comes over to inform you that he’s at a business meeting that won’t end until late. Great, so he’s not even here.

“I-It’s okay, let’s just get started first!” Kai suggests, which you’re not going to object to because you were planning on it anyways, leading him to your bedroom upstairs down hallways of art and antiques.

This is it, the bedroom you’re always sending photos to him, well, kkh.txt in. The same mirror where it all started lays in the same spot as before as he follows your foot steps towards your couch and social table.

“Real talk Kai, I’m actually going to listen this time because it’s my last shot over the next few weeks to get this down in time if I wanna pass and get my credit card back okay?”

“Should I recap what you’ve done in your own time to see if it’s consolidated yet?” And fuck his voice sounds so hot when he’s concentrated..right, focus!!

By the time both of you are confident you’ve covered most of the heavy content you’re exhausted and so is Kai. Hours of back and forth questions for concepts you couldn’t understand finally stuck in your brain a bit better to the point you could answer most of the simple and intermediate questions. Looking at the time it’s already 7 meaning that you’ve been tutored for 5 hours straight with Kai non-stop, and you feel proud of the hard work too! And a bit smarter, still not his level though.

“I’m going to take a quick bathroom break, when I’m back we’ll move on to more complicated topics and we’ll wrap it up for today!” A tired Kai limps towards your bathroom but in a more comfortable mood than earlier- even his stuttering has calmed down!

And if you were being true to yourself, Kai is exactly your type, the standard really. He’s gentle with you even when you’re frustrated, always offering to make time for you and help, and plus he’s got that begging look and monster cock combination which messes with your head so good!!

Good enough to compel you to swipe on to WinkChat to message your favourite user kkh.txt, thinking of what to type.

‘Sorry, don’t wanna use this app anymore?’

‘Think it’s best we stop this?’

None of it flows off your tongue smoothly but you settle with a short and simple ‘sorry.’ message to him, preparing to delete the app when you hear a ping!- coming from Kai’s phone.

And of course you’re curious! Who else could be messaging the nerd except Taehyun?-

Your eyes bat hardly at the notification,

‘y/n.553 sent a message! Click to chat with her now! ❤️🔥’

Your heart sinks down to your stomach, Kai..the nerd you gave a blow job to in the middle of the library is kkh.txt ?!!!

“Hope I didn’t take too long-“

Seems like it’s a universal thing for everyone’s heart to drop now because Kai’s throat runs dry as he watches the bewildered expression on your face with his phone in your hand. It couldn’t be-

“Kai. You’re…kkh.txt?!!!” No point in lying now is there?

“Uhm wait.. I-I can explain I didn’t mean to hide it from-“

“The tattoo. Show me it.” You walk towards the stiffened Kai who can’t move an inch from where he’s at by the door right now without the interception of you pushing him on to mattress of your bed.

“Go on, that dragon tattoo you have, take off the hoodie and let me see.” He’s never heard your voice drip with so much authority; hell he can’t even understand if you’re angry at him or not for hiding it from you!! The hoodie is discarded of somewhere in the corner of your room, and there it is- the damn dragon tattoo you’ve been craving for ever since you saw it.

Now that you can see his full frame you can understand that everything about Kai is big; he’s towering in height, his shoulders are so broad it’s impossible to not notice now that you’ve seen it even with his hoodie on, the defined muscles that runs down his abdomen and the absolute beast he doesn’t know how to use, but you’re craving it real bad.

“What are you waiting for? Fuck me like you mean it.” Nimble hands hurry to unclasp your bra and remove your tank top, revealing your chest in front of a nervous Kai who now can’t find the strength in him to answer you without moaning.

“W-what?”

“That video you sent. Fuck me like you mean it.”

Memories rack through Kai’s head which makes him mentally face palm at the recollection of his bold statement when he in fact does not know how to fuck nor make you feel good apart from a couple of porn videos he’s seen. He swallows the lump in his throat before looking up to you again with pleading eyes,

“Can I try eat you out?”

Remember when you said a nerd like Kai could probably eat pussy like a champ two weeks ago? Bullseye because the man is fixated between your thighs, lapping at everything you have to offer.

Swear he had no experience at all with cunnilingus yet he’s having no problems in sucking and flicking at your swollen clit with the flat of his tongue, moaning in to your folds repeatedly, every now and then having to put in some sort of comment about how good you taste with tears in his eyes; such a pussy drunk loser it’s adorable.

At some points you’re afraid he’s going to die of suffocation from how hard he’s pressing down on your thighs to keep you in place as you sit directly on top of his face, the weight of you completely over his saliva covered mouth but even when you meekly ask if he can breathe just fine all he does is press his tongue in to your further; swirling his tongue around your entrance and even finding the confidence to enter it.

“Mmh!! Kai fuck!! You can-hah-touch me up here too.”

A wandering hand reaches to clasp on to Kai’s to direct him to your chest, begging him to stimulate your perked and neglected nipples.

“Fuck fuck fuck! Such a good boy, making me cum so good!”

Juices are spilling from your cunt all over a dazed Kai’s face, still shocked from the effect of tasting you on his tongue for the first time, and if he wasn’t eating you out like a starved man this time you shouldn’t even start to imagine how insanely he’d try to eat you out after he’s become addicted to your taste.

A symphony of your heavy breathing and the pulsing of your folds as you catch your breath from being given the best head you’ve ever received from a complete amateur is laughable, looking up to Kai with exhausted but fluttering eyes.

“I haven’t made you cum yet Kai, hah, come on, rest against the pillows over there.”

Stunned and beyond words all he can do is follow your every command like a lost puppy, his hard-on longing for your touch as it twitches hungrily in his briefs.

“N-no condom?”

“Sit back and relax for me okay pretty? No more questions, I’ll do all the work.” Even if you’ve been eaten out by Kai you doubt you can adjust to the stretch of his cock in one go, slightly hesitating and knowing you were going to fuck yourself dumb the moment you started struggling to even fit in just the tip!!

“You’re so big Kai, scared it might rip me.” Pain starts to overwhelm you as you sink down inch by inch on to his cock, whimpers falling out of your mouth in a mantra as you hold on to his shoulders for stability. Kai’s completely silent with his mouth wide open; brows knitted together as he watches the way his cock disappears between your glistening folds, you’re going to fucking destroy him and he knows it, god.

Finally taking in the last couple of inches you rest for a bit, sighing as the initial pain converts in to pleasure from how full you felt, his tip poking right in to your cervix.

“Look Kai, this is how full you make me feel.” His hand reaches to brush against the imprint of the curve of his dick in your stomach, inflicting you to moan when he presses his finger against it,

“Ngh, don’t do that baby, I might cum too quick if you do.” The pet name only makes him twitch inside of you which erupts another moan from the sudden jerk, finally finding the energy in you to lift yourself off of him only to slam yourself right back down.

The sensation of your walls clenching around his as you lifted your hips felt like bliss- better than anything he’s seen in those x-rated movies, watching as you bounced on top of him in swift motions, the base of his cock disappearing and reappearing with every cycle of thrusts as you rode him.

A string of slick connected between your cunt and his pelvis made him moan at how lewd it was, eyes rolling back as he aids your movement with his hands- biceps flexing from hard he’s gripping on to your waist.

“Am I agh!- Better than your fleshlight hm?”

Ten times, no. A thousand times better than whatever he has rotting in his drawers right now, the warmth of your pussy sucking him in is probably the hottest thing he’s ever seen accompanied by the way your tongue starts to loll out automatically whenever his tip slams way too hard past your cervix, completely filled to the brim yet your greedy cunt still yearns for more.

Kai’s expressions are just as you’d imagine, strands of hair messily stuck to his forehead from sweat, his mouth cutely open and unable to form any other sound except mewls and whimpers and the same usual fat tears that roll down to his reddened cheeks whenever the pleasure feels too good! <3 His eyes struggle to keep open as he furrows his brows whenever he feels the heat of your walls clench around him, you really don’t know how badly he wants to just stay buried inside of you forever! ><

Your tits bounce in sync with your pace right above his eyes, watching as they’d swing back up before you slammed down on his aching cock. Kai bites his lip as he slides a hand down to your waist, so lost in the illusion of your pussy he can’t even verbalise how good he feels, instead only being able to claw at the swell of your ass as you continue to fuck yourself dumb on his cock.

Usually you’d never think of yourself as someone who loses dominance with any of your sex partners but the way Kai’s dick turns your brain in to mush needs to be studied because you’re drooling as you continue to ride him sloppier than before.

“Kaii! Shit I feel so full I’m gonna come!”

The continuous slamming of his cockhead against the bundle of nerves the curve of his cock keeps pressing against sends shockwaves through your core, unable to keep your posture up right as you limp on to Kai’s shoulder, biting on the penetrable skin to keep your moans in while you let him buck his hips in to you at a new angle where you can feel everything deeper, more stimulating and more raw.

“Ohh fuck, w-where do I cum? shit-“ Kai continues to ram in to the same sensitive bundle of nerves relentlessly to chase his own orgasm, frantically desperate to get that burning sensation of needing to release again.

“I- I’m on the pill Kai just cum inside please!! Wanna feel full!” Within seconds Kai’s unleashing his seed right in to your cunt, still thrusting to keep it from leaking out despite overstimulating himself in the process- you follow not too long after, unwinding and gushing over him, hot breath fanning on to his neck as you attempted to regain your energy after coming down your high.

“Did I make you feel good?” Kai asks with lustful eyes. His skin is completely flushed pink and sweating, struggling to focus his eyes on anything after the initial haze of such a strong orgasm.

Oh there’s no doubt about that.

Professor Jenkins should be pleased to see that you’re going to ace your summer qualifying exam, because you’ll be visiting this nerd all summer <3

A/N: I had to concise it down A LOT more because I genuinely think would’ve dragged on forever if I let it, but hopefully everything lives up to the hype surrounding it esp with the teaser!!

taglist: @whoisgami , @bingsoob , @1eatlasagna , @pengningie , @angelgraphica , @sanscupid , @cutehoons02 , @cheekycountesschoi , @soupersaldz , @bamtor1sss , @strawberryshoujosundae , @gyutaepie , @bambiihee

#txt #txt fanfic #kpop #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #hueningkai smut #Hueningkai x reader #tyunningism writes!!#beomgyu #soobin #yeonjun #taehyun #hueningkai

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delilahsturniolo · 4 months ago

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— ୨୧ it’s ok i’m ok . . . m.s

in which . . . your best friend matt helps you get over your ex boyfriend.

warnings . . . SMUTTY, unprotected sex, degradation, use of pet names, fingering, kissing, oral, (fem!recieving) breast play, wall sex, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, edging, teasing, dom!matt, veryyy brief (barely) handjob, reader grinds on matt’s face, ummm lemme know if i forgot anything?

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

SO CLOSE TO WHAT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #11

“i don’t wanna talk about it,” you say softly, stretching your arms out, letting your head tilt back. you hear him exhale, and then, after a few moments, you feel him. the heat of matt near you as you both stood in his room. not trapping, not overwhelming…just there. solid. present. your boyfriend of 1 year had broken up with you a few days ago, and you didn’t know how to feel. you were honestly happy…but also pretty upset. you just wanted to get away from your ex, to forget about him.

“you sure?” matt’s voice is low, rough at the edges, the kind that sends a shiver down your spine. you nod, and when you look up, his eyes are already on you, watching. studying. like he’s trying to figure you out, even though he knows you better than anyone. “i’m okay,” you murmur, a little softer now, and it’s true. maybe it wasn’t earlier. maybe you were spiraling, feeling like everything was slipping through your fingers. but here, with him, with the way his fingertips skim against your bare shoulder, you feel grounded.

he leans down, just a little, his breath fanning against your skin. “you don’t have to be, i’m honestly surprised you aren’t a sobbing mess right now.” matt shrugged. your chest tightens, but not in a bad way, not in the way that makes it hard to breathe. but in the way that makes you aware of him, of how close he is, how easy it would be to turn and close the space between you. and god, you want to.

“i just wanna feel good,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. and that’s all it takes. matt’s lips brush against your shoulder first, slow and deliberate, like he’s asking for permission. then, higher…your neck, just below your jaw, where he knows you’re sensitive. his hands find your waist, pulling you back against him, fitting you together like you belong there.

“then let me make you feel good.”

his words send a heat through you, a slow-burning fire that ignites at your core. you turn in his hold, pressing your hands to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. matt’s eyes flicker down to your lips, and you don’t even hesitate. you close the distance, sinking into him, into the way he tastes, the way he moves against you, like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have. his hands slide down, gripping your hips, pulling you even closer. the rest of the world fades away, the night, the noise, everything but the feeling of him. your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, and the low sound he makes in response sends another shiver down your spine.

matt is on you in an instant, strong arms hauling you against his muscular chest. his mouth crashes against yours in a bruising kiss, tongue delving deep to claim you. you moan into him, fingers tangling in his dark hair as he walks you backwards until your ass hits the wall. he pins you there with his hard body, one hand gripping your wrists above your head while the other squeezes your boobs through your shirt. mmm, let me make you feel good, let me make you forget about that asshole." he growls against your lips, hips grinding into yours. you can feel his erection straining against his jeans, the thick ridge pressing insistently against your core. "please," you pant, arching into him.

with a quick flick of his fingers, he unhooks your bra and tugs it off, letting your breasts spill free. he palms them roughly, thumbs circling your nipples until they harden under his touch. "oh fuck," you cry out, head falling back against the wall as he pinches and tugs at the sensitive buds. his mouth descends on one breast, sucking the nipple into his hot mouth. he bites down gently before swirling his tongue around the sensitive flesh, sending sparks of pleasure through you. "matt.." you whimper, hips bucking against his. matt chuckles darkly.

his other hand undoes your pants, shoving them down along with your panties. he finds your dripping folds, stroking through the slick heat. "so fucking wet already," he purrs, circling your clit with a teasing touch. "you're a needy little slut, aren't you?" you whimper, trying to push your hips into his hand for more pressure. "that's it, grind on my fingers pretty girl.." matt taunts, plunging two digits into your tight pussy. he pumps them hard and fast, finger-fucking you brutally. his thumb rubs tight circles on your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

"cum for me," he demands, fingers thrusting deeper. "cum on my fingers." your orgasm crashes over you, back arching off the wall as you spasm around his invading digits. matt fucks you through it, drawing out your pleasure until you're boneless and trembling. as you come down, he pulls his fingers from your pussy, bringing them to his lips to lick your juices off. "you taste so fucking good," he groans, lapping at his digits. he drops to his knees in front of you, spreading your legs wide. "now it's my turn to eat this sweet cunt."

he buries his face between your thighs, tongue diving into your soaked folds. he licks and sucks at your pussy, alternating between long strokes and hard flicks of his tongue on your clit. you grip his hair, holding him in place as you grind shamelessly against his face. matt drives two fingers into your tight pussy, curling them just right to hit that perfect spot inside you. "fuck, just like that," you moan, walls fluttering around his invading digits. he pumps them faster, tongue lashing your clit as he finger-fucks you hard and deep.

"i'm gonna cum," you pant, thighs trembling. he doubles his efforts, sucking your clit into his hot mouth as he fucks you with his fingers. your orgasm slams into you, making you scream as pleasure explodes through every nerve ending. he keeps licking and sucking, drawing out your release until you collapse against the wall, absolutely spent. he stands, face glistening with your juices. "you're so pretty when you come undone," he says huskily, kissing you deeply so you can taste yourself on his tongue. you return the kiss hungrily, hands fumbling to undo his jeans and free his throbbing erection.

you wrap your hand around his length, stroking slowly from base to tip. matt groans into your mouth, hips rolling into your touch. "i need to be inside you," he pants, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. you line him up with your entrance, feeling the broad head of his cock nudge against your slick folds. "fuck me," you demand, sinking down onto his thick length in one smooth motion. he bottoms out inside you, stretching you. "oh god yes," you moan out, clenching around him. matt grips your hips hard as he starts to move, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in.

the force of his thrusts rocks you against the wall, his cock driving deep into your pussy with each snap of his hips. you hold on tight, nails digging into his shoulders as he pounds into you relentlessly. "ah, oh my gosh matt" you cry out, head thudding back against the wall. he smiles, fucking you so hard the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. "take my cock," he grunts, slamming up into you brutally. "fucking take it." your pussy spasms around him, drawing him deeper. "yes, just like that," you pant, feeling another orgasm building. he angles his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.

"i'm gonna fill this pretty pussy up," matt growls, one hand snaking between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit. "gonna make you full of my cum." the dirty words push you over the edge and you cum with a scream, your pussy clamping down on his cock. he follows shortly after with a loud groan, burying himself to the hilt as he explodes inside you. you feel his hot seed painting your walls, filling you up just like he promised. he rocks into you a few more times, drawing out both your pleasure until you're boneless and sated.

matt holds you against the wall, panting heavily as you both come down from the high of your shared climax. "holy shit," he says finally, giving you a lopsided grin. "you feel better now?" you can only nod as you stupidly smile, still lost in the haze of pleasure.

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100vern · 2 months ago

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in the zone | ksy

what do you do when it feels like your entire life is falling apart? you spend the last of your inheritance on a beach house for the summer, of course. sure, the listing was suspiciously cheap, and there’s a massive waterpark right outside the bedroom window, but you just need to get away, so it’ll have to do. besides, it’s not like your entire world can get turned upside down in three months… right?

⟡ pairing: hoshi x f. reader ⟡ genre: strangers to lovers, (accidental) roommates; smut, fluff, lite angst ⟡ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ⟡ warnings: bestie minghao. lots of talk about wasted potential, dead-end jobs, fear of change, job-based insecurity, self-doubt (no this is NOT a self-insert why do you ask!!). mentions of grief and mourning a loved one but nothing super heavy. alcohol and weed use. swearing. mentions of food/eating. pet names (baby, pretty girl). two down bad losers who are disgustingly into one another after a concerningly short amount of time, which is the beauty and entire point of fanfiction. please suspend any and all disbelief, thank u! ⟡ smut warnings: kissing. grinding/dry humping. public indecency but not public sex. hair pulling. dirty talk & praise. oral sex (f. receiving, mentions of m. receiving). protected vaginal sex. everyone orgasms. ⟡ wordcount: 20.2k ⟡ credits: bee (@imnotshua) and jess (@starlightkyeom) for reading this over for me, as always. i was in a time crunch and we're under a tornado watch so this is unedited and any mistakes are my own. if there's anything glaring i will fix it at a later date. :') ⟡ written for: the carat bay collab, hosted by @camandemstudios! thank you both for letting me participate. please make sure to check out the rest of the fics! ♡ ⟡ author's note: this is based entirely on the beach town i spent all my summers at as a kid, so there's a lot of nostalgia here. i wasn't sure i was gonna get this done on time, but with the power of god and anime vyvanse on my side, we managed to pull through... even if we had to pivot bc my original plan would've tripled the length. i hope you enjoy it!

Fate is not something you believe in, but if you did, you think it’d feel a lot like this.

“It’s not fate,” Minghao comments unhelpfully from his side of the lunch table, “it’s suspicious. It’s also highly concerning that they look the same to you.”

You frown. Spear a piece of near-wilted spinach on the end of your fork, sending a bead of salad dressing onto your phone that you don’t notice and consequently smear all over your screen when you scroll through the rental listing with your other hand. “Do the horrors ever cease?” Minghao stares blankly at you. You sigh at his lack of humor. “Are you saying you don’t think I should go?”

“No,” he’s quick to say, handing over a napkin. “On the contrary, I think you need to get the fuck out of here. All I’m saying is I think you should go to a place that isn’t such an obvious scam.”

A scoff escapes you as you stare down at the listing again. Super Host Soonyoung stares back at you for the hundredth time today. If it were possible to judge someone’s character from a blurry internet picture the size of an ant, you think he’d seem very kind with his beaming smile and doughy cheeks, not to mention the stylish sunglasses sitting atop his head that seem like they were purchased from an actual store and not a military-grade infomercial.

Besides, he’s opening up his home to strangers. Shitty people don’t do that, do they?

“They do if they’re landlords,” Minghao deadpans.

You concede the point. Not that you’d argue, anyway—renting out your beach house for the entirety of the summer is near-textbook landlording—but the lunch room is starting to fill up, and the last thing you need (or want) is your coworkers asking questions.

Aside from Minghao, these people are not your friends. They’re people you offer that weird closed-mouth smile to when you meet at the coffee machine and awkwardly have to wait your turn, sharing fake laughs when one of you complains that, no matter what option you pick, it always comes out tasting like an ashtray. They’re people you sign birthday cards for and have no idea how old they’re turning. They’re people who tell you all about their families and show you pictures of spouses and kids you swore belonged to someone else.

They’re people whose names you can’t match to faces when you get office-wide emails congratulating them on anniversaries and accomplishments; celebrating retirements; regretfully announcing departures for bigger and better things. They’re people you swear at under your breath for microwaving something foul or not pulling their weight; for wearing too much cologne and kissing ass for promotions that’ll never be theirs.

These people are not your friends, but you’ve been here so long that it feels like they should be.

“I need to decide before everyone else gets the same idea and it gets booked up.” A loud cackle sounds from the table beside you. Deborah, one of the new hires. You’d been expecting a picture of a middle-aged woman when her introductory email had been sent out. Imagine your surprise when a baby-faced new grad was staring back at you. “Wanna get together after work and tell me all the reasons why this is a terrible idea?”

Minghao, the bastard that he is, pretends to check his calendar. “Hmm. Looks like I’m all booked on the ‘dispensing extremely valuable advice no one listens to’ front. I do, however, have an opening tomorrow. Mimosa-drunk at brunch or wine-drunk at a more socially acceptable hour. Your choice.”

A glance at your phone tells you you’ve got five minutes and three-quarters of your salad left before your mandatory unpaid lunch break is over. You stab at the mixed greens again and frown—you left it too long and now everything is all soggy and gross. “First of all, this is the worst salad I’ve made this year. Don’t let me try any more Pinterest recipes. Second of all, you never ask me to hang out on weekends.” You narrow your eyes at him. “What’re you doing tonight? Do you have a date?”

Deborah immediately stops shrieking, attention piqued by her eavesdropping. Of course, she tries to play this off by pretending to check her makeup in her phone camera, except you can see her screen—and that she accidentally opened her credit card app.

So far, she owes $2,927.43 for the month of January.

A bastard but not an idiot, Minghao shakes his head, aware of the eyes on him. “No,” he answers, and his voice is so solid and sure you nearly believe him. “Well, not like that. I’m meeting my parents for dinner.”

God, you can practically see the cartoon hearts floating above Deborah’s head.

“Well, wine-drunk sounds better to me,” you answer, ignoring the fact that Minghao’s parents are in Turks and Caicos this week for their anniversary. Which he told you three days ago. “Orange juice gives me heartburn.”

With a put-upon sign, Minghao stands from the table. Gathers his trash and drapes his cardigan over his shoulders in a way that looks fashionable and cool. “I have got to make plans with people my own age.”

You snort. “Well, you can always ask—“

He cuts you off with a very pointed, “Back to the grind,” even though he says that’s “stuff white people say, along with ‘another day in paradise!’—and if you ever ask a white person how they’re doing and they respond with ‘I’m alive,’ you need to take a half-day.”

Everyone in this place is so fake.

And it isn’t like your day gets any better. An hour before closing time, your manager pops up on the ledge of your cubicle. “Heeey,” she chimes, pretending to wince at what’s about to come out of her mouth next. All things considered, she’s nowhere near the worst person to work for: she’s trustworthy, didn’t hesitate to give you the time off you needed, sends funny memes in the team group chat. So your whole thing with her isn’t her fault, it’s just—she’s years younger than you, so it touches on all those old insecurities. “Glenn needed to take the rest of the day, and in true Glenn fashion he didn’t get those reports done before he left. I hate to ask, but could you maybe, possibly, perhaps stay a little late…?”

In the split-second since she appeared at your desk like a bad omen, you’ve made up your mind: that beach house will be yours for the entire summer, scam or not.

Because you hate Glenn as much as the next guy (which, on your team, is mostly everyone), but you hate this place as an institution even more. What it represents. The insecurities and inadequacies it picks at. How comfortable you’ve grown here and the convenient excuses that comfort provides.

So you agree before you can come to your senses, because saying no will look bad, and the only thing you’ve got going for you and having been here so long with barely anything to show for it is the amount of PTO you’ve racked up, so you can’t and won’t give anyone a reason to refuse your request.

With a few minutes left in the day, everyone starts packing up and discussing weekend plans: sports and TV series they’ll be watching, new coffee shops they’re checking out, hobbies they’ll be catching up on. Before you can up the volume in your headphones, your cubicle mate asks if you’re doing anything fun. “Ah, just trying that new winery tomorrow, I think,” you answer, and you hope she won’t remember this come Monday because you don’t know anything about wine and can’t think of many things worse than discussing it.

Five-thirty hits. Everyone trickles out while you stay seated, glued to your desk and receiving everyone’s sympathetic glances. It takes a half hour just to get into Glenn’s reports because, for reasons unknown to you and your manager, he password-protected them—and once you’re in you see why. Half-baked columns, wrong formulas used even though knowing and understanding Excel was a job requirement, numbers you can’t trace back to any of the provided data. At seven you’re ready to put your head through a concrete wall. By eight you finally hit the halfway mark.

At quarter to ten, you finally send off the reports and sit back in your chair. Sitting in thischair for so long has to be doing irreversible damage, so you make a mental note to schedule a massage for tomorrow afternoon before you meet up with Minghao. With a sigh, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to conjure up some moisture. Nearly five hours after the rest of your coworkers, you pack up your belongings, twisting your body as you stand and trying not to wince as your knees and back make some concerning sounds.

Then, before you shut down your computer and go home to rot in bed until you’re forced to socialize, you put in your PTO request for June 2nd through August 29th.

(It gets approved first thing Monday morning.)

Vacations (In Theory) are very different from Vacations (In Practice).

Here you are on May 30th, mentally preparing for another long night hunched over your desk. Not only do you need to work ahead as much as you can for your nearly three month absence, you also have to include a paper trail to prove you at least tried to problem-solve before dumping it on whoever’s unlucky enough to cover you.

Minghao waits for you. Plops his stuff on your desk, pulls up a chair, and scrolls through social media while you work, making offhand comments every now and then about people you don’t know and all their drama while you try not to comment on how weird it is. In all the years you’ve worked together and have been friends, he’s never stuck around while you worked late, but the excuse had been convenient: I have plans tomorrow and you’re leaving early on Sunday so let’s grab dinner after work was much easier to say than I’m not going to see you for three months so let’s grab dinner because I’ll miss you.

You hadn’t commented on that, either.

Nonetheless, you put your head down and focus. Minghao had made a seven-thirty reservation at a place more upscale than the two of you usually frequent, and you’ll need to hustle if you have any hope of getting out of here within the hour.

Time seems to fly after that. Not only at work, but at dinner, too. Despite your first impression of him (deeply serious with a cutting resting bitch face), you’ve always enjoyed spending time with Minghao. He’s funny, now that you’re acquainted with his sense of humor, and he’s both carefree and solid in ways you could only dream of being. All of his troubles seem to come and go like the tide, never sticking around for too long and overstaying their welcome. The thought of him no longer being there when you return is too much to bear, so you make him promise not to change jobs until you’re back.

He quirks an eyebrow and pulls a face. “First of all, you’re going on vacation, you’re not dying. Second, I’m not promising you that. I apply to twenty jobs a week at minimum. I don’t want to be—” He pauses. Seems to be aware of what was about to come out of his mouth.

I don’t want to be like you, working a dead-end job.

I don’t want to be like you, undervalued by every metric of the word.

I don’t want to be like you, latching onto something no good for me just because it’s comfortable and I’m terrified of change.

I don’t want to be like you.

Minghao flushes. Stumbles over apologies. “No need to apologize,” you assure him, plastering on a smile you know isn’t fooling anyone. Take a sip of your drink to feign normalcy. Take a bite of food that tastes like sawdust. Good thing you were almost done, anyway.

Because Minghao was right, and everyone knows it.

Saying goodbye is awkward at best and painful at worst. Deep down, you know Minghao is just embarrassed—you would be, too, in his shoes—but just like Vacations (In Theory) and Vacations (In Practice), what you logically know to be true is very different from what you internalize. Because it’s not just embarrassment, it’s also the reason you don’t go for team drinks; the reason you don’t have anything personal on your desk. You just don’t see the point in integrating yourself into a place you shouldn’t be to begin with.

But that’s the whole point of this vacation, isn’t it?

Three months without having to think about work. Three months to decompress and pretend you’re going to do all that philosophical shit, like six a.m. trips to the beach to stare at the waves, stick your toes in the sand, and “find yourself.” Whatever that means.

There’s not much to do around the apartment except making sure you eat whatever’s left in the fridge. Coming home to a bunch of rotten food and having to go back to work the next day? Absolutely not. You’d need to bypass your office and go straight to an institution instead. You spend the rest of the day doing laundry and packing. You stand in front of your shelves and deliberate for far too long over which books to bring and then you do the same with your music library as you stare down at an empty playlist.

It’s early when your alarm goes off—barely eight o’clock, the sun already high in the sky as it beams through your curtains, birds chirping. Feels like waking up on a holiday morning or the first day of school: giddy excitement on the surface, nerves simmering just below. Makes it easy to get up and make your bed, to get dressed and put on sunscreen, your sunglasses, when there’s no dread weighing you down. Makes it easy not to mind the hours-long drive. Makes it easy to drive with the windows down, music loud, the wind in your hair.

Makes it easy to feel like you’re driving towards something, rather than away from it.

Halfway there, you stop at a small cafe for lunch, the feeling almost transcendental as you eat outside and let the sun warm your skin. You order an iced coffee to-go and it sweats in the cupholder, nothing but melted ice by the time you pull off the highway and navigate the smaller back roads, some of them covered in sand. You take a deep breath and smile. Everything smells like the sea—salty and slightly sweet, the sulphur of low tide.

The town looks like a postcard.

In your excitement, you’ve looked at a lot of pictures over the last few months, but none of them can compare to reality. Ice cream shops with striped awnings. Sidewalks covered in chalk doodles. More seafood restaurants than you can count. Antique and surf shops. Wooden playgrounds next to fenced-in basketball and tennis courts. Families walking back from the beach, pushing sleeping kids in strollers, lugging chairs and coolers and boogie boards behind them.

That excitement creeps back in the closer you get, and at every red light you look around and marvel at all the houses. How uniform they are. How they’re all elevated with ground-floor garages. The porthole windows and porches wrapped in white railing. Front yards with pinwheels stuck in thin strips of grass. Colorful cruiser bicycles stashed in tiny alleyways behind the houses, some laying on their sides with the wheels still spinning. If you close your eyes you can hear laughter and bells.

You pull into the driveway at ten after three, surprised to find that this house doesn’t look like all the others. Where they had vinyl siding in neutral, inoffensive colors, this one is mint green, bright and vibrant, with white scalloping along the facade. It reminds you of ice cream—the flowers in the wooden boxes beneath the windows look like sprinkles, and with how close you are to the boardwalk, the smell of fried dough hanging in the air, it’s easy to pretend.

Out of the car, an older couple in matching windbreakers waves as they pass you on the sidewalk. Everything sounds so much closer: the waves crashing, delighted shrieks from people on rides, the men combing the beach, trying to sell drinks and popsicles, squawking seagulls in search of someone’s food. You can see the ocean from where you stand, peeking out from beneath the boards. This is exactly what I needed, you think. Feels like your smile is permanent.

Until you try to get into the house.

You’d been given a door code when you confirmed your reservation. It doesn’t work. No matter how many times you try, 0-5-2-5 gets you nothing but a blinking red light and an encroaching panic. Phone already in hand, you send a message to the rental host—Hi! I’m at the house, but the door code doesn’t seem to be working. Is there another one I can try? Thank you!—before sitting on the porch steps to await your fate.

What you expect: a response rife with apologies, both for the mix-up and the inconvenience.

What you get: someone stampeding down the stairs and pulling the door open.

Super Host Soonyoung stands in the doorway wearing a sheepish smile and red-tinged cheeks. Except for the sunglasses, he looks just like his picture (especially the doughy cheeks), so at least you know you’ve got the right place. Still, you ask, “Hi, are you Soonyoung?” just to confirm, and that seems to knock him out of his stupor, offering to grab your bags and give you a tour.

Which seems strange. You don’t really need a tour, do you? Surely you’ll be able to find your way around over the next few months, but Soonyoung is extremely apologetic and seems a little embarrassed so you don’t say anything. You do let him grab your bag, though—mostly because meeting new people is always difficult for you, so letting him take one bag while you take the other gives you something to do with your hands. Gives you something to comment on and laugh about when he pretends to strain taking it out of the trunk.

When you get inside, Soonyoung gives you the choice of three bedrooms. Two are upstairs. Of those, one has two large windows facing the street, rewarding you with a view of the boardwalk and the ocean, while the other also has beach views that are semi-obstructed by the waterpark. The third and final bedroom is downstairs, just off the kitchen. Soonyoung offers this one and says it might be “less awkward,” which also strikes you as strange, considering—

Wait.

“Bathroom-wise, it doesn’t really matter what one you pick. There are full bathrooms on both levels—”

Reality hits you like a truck, head-on and all at once. Maybe it’s less reality and more the obvious, because listening to Soonyoung explain where the bathrooms are and giving you a tour and being here in general puts a lot of things into perspective very quickly.

“I think I fucked up,” are the only words you’re able to muster. Soonyoung’s mouth snaps closed. “Or you did. Either way, one of us really, really fucked up.” Soonyoung pauses. Tilts his head to the side like a puppy, the confusion obvious, and you think he’s about to ask what you mean so you beat him to it. “The listing was for the entire house.”

That does it.

“I—what? Are you sure?”

The second question is rhetorical. You know it, Soonyoung knows it, everyone knows it, so you don’t answer, just nod and offer a sympathetic, closed-lipped smile and hope the ground will split apart and swallow you.

Horrifyingly, all you can think at this moment is that Minghao was right about this being a scam. You’ll have to tuck your tail between your legs and tell him, because you can’t stay here. Sharing a space—not only is it foreign to you, you’re not sure you even can. There’s an art to being a good roommate, and after living alone both during college and all your years as an adult, it’s not a skill you have.

And it takes a while, longer than you expected, for the disappointment to hit. For all that excitement and all the plans you had—sticking your toes in the cold, early morning sand; sunset walks up and down the boardwalk; eating so much fried food you’re sick of it within a week; waking up to the sound of waves crashing—to come crashing down around you. This was supposed to be a reset. A reward for dragging yourself this far and surviving. A balm for all the regrets you have about your life and a compass to find a new direction.

All of it—gone.

The tears are just as embarrassing as you thought they’d be.

To his credit, Soonyoung doesn’t panic. He doesn’t seem to flinch at all, which surprises you; he gently grabs your arm and helps you to the small table in the kitchen. Pulls out a chair and gestures for you to sit, and when you do and he can be sure you aren’t going to bolt straight out the door, he pours you a glass of water, sits across from you, and calmly says, “We can figure this out.”

Any other time you’d probably scoff and say something that belied just how hopeless you found this entire situation, but now, after experiencing a concerning number of mental breaks in a very short amount of time, you’re happy to let someone else take the reins and do the heavy lifting. Of course, you don’t know what that looks like in this case. Do you ask for a refund and try to find a hotel? Surely not: any reputable hotel would cost ten times what you spent on this place, not to mention they’ve probably been booked solid since last year. Do you ask for a refund, find a hotel, book as long of a stay as you can, and spend the rest of your summer having a staycation at home? That sounds miserable.

There are probably thousands of podcasts talking about what a horrible idea it’d be to live with a strange man for three months, and it’s your fault for idealizing this entire trip so much to begin with that makes any alternative seem like a fate worse than death, but you can’t stay… right? Even if it somehow wasn’t the stupidest idea of all time, that doesn’t even touch on the fact that it’s Soonyoung’s house, and who's to say he even wants you here, anyway?

“Since this was my second embarrassing fuck up of the day, I’ll just… go somewhere else while you’re here, and you can have the house to yourself.”

You blink. “For three months?”

His eyes widen for a brief second. You’re starting to think he wasn’t prepared for any scenario, let alone this one. “I—yeah, yeah, of course. Three months! Psh, that’s nothing, you know? Barely any time at all.”

“I mean, it’s a quarter of a year. That doesn’t seem insignificant.”

Those same wide eyes have begun twitching. “Riiight.” He follows this with a very long sip of water. “It’s really no trouble, though. I can sleep at the studio. There’s a couch and a bathroom there and everything.”

It definitely doesn’t seem like it’s no trouble. Soonyoung looks like he’d rather remove all of his teeth with very dull tools, and even if this was his (admittedly catastrophic) error, it doesn’t feel right putting him out of his own home—especially to a place where having a couch and a bathroom are considered an upside. Does the bathroom even have a shower? How would he cook? Is any of his stuff there? God, you can’t do that to someone.

So it’s with a little caution, a lot of stupidity, and an ill-advised desire to be more spontaneous and free-spirited as if you’re a character in an Elizabeth Gilbert novel that you ask, “Is it weird for you if you just… stay?”

For all of Soonyoung’s mismanagement, it’s clear he doesn’t want to inconvenience you further or make you uncomfortable. He’s insistent that he’ll leave, insistent that it really is no trouble and it’s the least he can do for fucking up the listing, and insistent that if you just give him some time to pack some clothes, he’ll be out of your hair in no more than thirty minutes. With a sigh, you go through your questions again.

Does the bathroom have a shower? No, but—

How would you cook? Maybe I could come over once a week to meal prep, if you wouldn’t mind? There’s a microwave, at least.

Is any of your stuff there? Like, an old pair of sneakers. And maybe a musty sweatshirt.

By the time you ask your follow-up questions, both of you know he isn’t going anywhere, and perhaps if he’d confirmed that you’re one-hundred-percent okay with this nineteen times instead of twenty you wouldn’t have gone for it, but he does so you do.

“I really don’t have to—” You wave him off. Ask him if there are any house rules he’d like you to abide by aside from the obvious. When he sends you a questioning look, you admit you’ve never been anyone’s roommate before. “Oh,” he responds. Takes a second to think. “I don’t think so? Sometimes I keep weird hours. Like, I have my regular jobs, but sometimes I’ll go to the studio if I’m restless or want to work on something, so I guess me going in and out in the middle of the night is something to be aware of. I’ll make sure to be quiet, though.”

“Is it like a regular nine-to-five? I don’t want to disturb you, either.”

Soonyoung screws up his face. “God, no. I—wow, I just realized you have no idea what I’m talking about. I run a dance studio for the local kids. Most of them take summers off to go on vacations or whatever, so once school’s out we only open two or three days a week, depending on how many of them sign up. This year there weren't many, so we decided on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“And your other job?”

He scratches at the back of his neck. “Ah, that one’s kind of embarrassing? I… work at the waterpark next door. Carat Bay.”

“Oh, that doesn’t seem so bad.”

He sighs. Runs his thumb vertically along the length of his glass and collects the condensation. “When I first opened the studio, I didn’t realize it wouldn’t be busy all the time, you know? I spent my summers here, so I figured everyone else did, too, and I needed to pick up a second job to cover the studio rent on top of a million bills for both here and there.”

You want to tell him you understand. Want to tell him it isn’t embarrassing to do what you have to do to make ends meet; that, if anything, it’s brave. That you’ve been there (and still are). That you’re a little embarrassed by your job, too. But then he continues. “It probably isn’t embarrassing for the high school and college kids, but I’m almost twenty-nine and I’m operating the splash zone. It definitely feels embarrassing.”

You hum. Look around Soonyoung’s kitchen. From the listing photos, you knew it didn’t look like every other rental beach house, with all the ocean motifs and white wicker furniture and seashells nailed to the wall. It’s not sparkling marble and stainless steel, either, but it’s nicer than your outdated kitchen. “You seem to be doing okay, though. I mean—you’ve got this nice house and a dance studio. That seems pretty good for someone our age.”

Soonyoung laughs, a little shy and self-conscious. “I inherited the house from my grandma. I could never afford anything like this.”

“Mm, no offense, but I put that together pretty much immediately.”

When Soonyoung laughs this time, it’s bright and open, reaches his eyes and brings his entire being to life. The two of you make small talk for a few more minutes until you’re unable to stifle a yawn, and then Soonyoung is up and heading for a cabinet drawer immediately, pulling out a stack of takeout menus and saying to take your pick, dinner’s on him tonight. After you try (and fail) to protest, you ask him what’s good and accept his answer of a taco spot not far, and he puts through the order. Asks if you’ve decided on a bedroom so he can carry your bags, so you choose the streetside one upstairs with the view of the water, and while he’s gone to pick up food, you take a quick shower and unpack.

Minghao [6:22pm]: everything ok? how’s the house? You [6:49pm]: It’s a long story I’m too exhausted to type out rn You [6:49pm]: But I think this is gonna be really good for me 🤞

When you wake up the next morning, you expect it to have followed a night of fitful sleep.

Being in a stranger’s house. Said stranger sleeping only a few feet away, door cracked, his soft snores drifting down the hall. An unfamiliar place. A beach town that, while picturesque and dreamy, seems to also be nocturnal. Once most of the town turned off their lights and locked their doors for the night, it’d taken on a second life—groups of friends walking to and from the bars and clubs, shrieks of laughter and heated arguments, the to-be-expected disregard of the time and basic decency that comes with being immature and on a group trip in your early twenties.

You’re surprised, then, that you feel refreshed when you wake up. That the last thing you remember is your head hitting the pillow. It’s the most restful sleep you’ve had in months, and you roll over to check the time feeling ready to take on the world.

8:37am

Spoiled for and overwhelmed by choice, you take your time getting out of bed and going about your routine. When you slip out of your room to brush your teeth, you notice Soonyoung’s bedroom door is wide open. Even though you’re curious, you don’t (and wouldn’t) peek—instead, you’re distracted by the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafting upstairs.

“Good morning,” Soonyoung greets you. He’s sitting on the couch, one leg crossed and tucked beneath him. “I made coffee if you want some. I also left out the bread. If you wanna let me know what you like, I can go grocery shopping later—”

You smile. “Sure, thanks.” Wander into the kitchen. Fill a mug with coffee, cream, a little sugar. Pop two slices of bread into the toaster and, once they pop back out, spread on a thin layer of butter.

And then you hesitate. Should you eat here? Would it be weird to join Soonyoung in the living room? Would it be rude if you didn’t? With a sigh, you compromise and meet in the middle. Place your plate on the newel cap of the staircase and wrap both hands around the mug, soaking in the warmth. Soonyoung has the television on. You don’t recognize what’s playing, but it seems to be a mid-season rerun of some sitcom—background noise, mostly, which is exactly what it seems to be now.

Neither of you are watching. Soonyoung’s scrolling through his phone and you’re content to stare out the bay window facing the street, watching people pass by on their way to the beach. Large straw hats, colorful umbrellas, excited toddlers waiting for an opening to dart away. The waves still crash. The seagulls still screech. “Do you have to work today?” you ask Soonyoung because you feel like you should make conversation.

“Not today, thankfully,” he answers. He sets his phone down and twists his body so he’s facing you. “Back to the studio tomorrow, and I’m scheduled for the waterpark Friday through Sunday.”

You nod. You’re tempted to ask if he wants to do something together and decide against it, not wanting him to feel obligated. If you’re being honest, you’re not entirely sure you want to hang out, still wrapping your head around the fact that the vacation you spent months idealizing will not come to fruition. Not fully. But there’s nothing stopping you from grabbing a book and sitting on the beach for a few hours.

Long enough to decompress—or start to.

“I’ll probably head to the beach.”

“Cool. Let me give you a beach tag.” What he hands over reminds you of an oversized bread clip: octagonal and neon red, 2025 SEASON printed in the center. You have never seen one of these in your life. “Are these not a thing where you’re from?”

“You have to pay to go on the beach?”

Soonyoung’s nose twitches as he bites back a laugh and nods. Explains that the money’s used to maintain the beach and the restrooms and pay the lifeguards and a whole bunch of other things. “Supposedly,” he tacks on conspiratorially.

“Did the mayor get a brand new Porsche?”

“I don’t even know who the mayor is.”

An hour later, after you changed and decided on a book, and Soonyoung not only gave you a beach pass but also his favorite chair (one of the nice ones that recline and have a drink holder) and his phone number (under the guise of you sending him your grocery list, to which you inexplicably offered to just go with him instead), you have to admit the beaches are impeccably maintained.

Touché, beach pass.

With your toes dug into the warm sand, you get through half of your book. Spend the rest of the time dozing off in Soonyoung’s chair, lulled into a half-sleep by the rhythm of the waves crashing and retreating, the conversations of the people around you that becomes a singular thrum, the shrill sound of the lifeguard’s whistle that jolts you awake every time someone goes out too far.

Soonyoung texts you around three, asking if you still want to go to the store with him. No worries if not, he tacks on, you can just send me your list. So you start packing up what little you brought, thankful your walk back to the house is short. You’re drowsy from the sun, warmed through to your bones, still in awed disbelief that this is what the entirety of your summer is going to consist of. That you won’t have to suffer like the poor kid running the mini golf course, nearly dead from either boredom or a hangover behind the ticket window. That your whims will be able to come and go like the tide.

You rinse the sand from your feet at the spigot in the backyard. Return Soonyoung’s chair to where he’d grabbed it from. Leave your sandals by the back door and do a final shake of your bag to get rid of anything that might track into the house. Now that you have the right code (0-5-2-6; Soonyoung had mistyped it in his original message), you let yourself in, surprised to find him bent over the kitchen table with an extremely long grocery list in front of him.

“Lucy, I’m home,” you joke.

He looks up at you with a lopsided smile. “How was the beach?” he asks, eyes returning to his list.

“Beach-y keen.”

There’s a beat of silence—one that’s long enough to have your cheeks warming from embarrassment over a very bad dad joke—before Soonyoung lets out a snort of laughter. “Terrible.”

“Definitely not my best,” you concede, mirroring his smile. Even though he can’t see it, you nod at the list. “What are you up to?”

“Grocery list.” He holds it up, unfurling it like a scroll. “Do you think this is enough?”

You move closer, eyes scanning over what he’s written down. Four different types of burgers and soft drinks. Regular and gluten-free bread; milk and non-dairy alternatives. Brown, white, cage-free, organic eggs. Enough snacks to fuel a youth athletic team for at least a month. Pasta, lunch meat with ???? written next to it, cereal, rice. “Are you planning on buying out the store?”

“I—no, I just didn’t know what you like.”

“May I?” you ask, gesturing for him to hand you the list. When he does, you flip it over and create separate sections: one for each meal, one for pantry items (staples and snacks), and one for drinks. “Do you usually meal plan?”

Soonyoung’s stare is blank. “No. I just go to the store and buy things I like and try to eat it all before it goes bad.” Thankfully, you’re able to keep your horror to yourself. “You do? You’re that organized?”

“I wouldn’t say organized.” You flip the list back over and put checkmarks next to the things you like. “Do the same thing, and then we can come up with some ideas so we aren’t going rogue and overspending.”

After a lot of back and forth, a little friendly ribbing—“Do you really need four boxes of fruit snacks?” you tease Soonyoung, to which he replies, “Sorry, grandma. Add another box of Fig Newtons to the list instead,” which causes you to promptly cross them off—and even more organization and assigning of duties, the two of you emerge triumphant over the shopping list. If your calculations are correct (which they should be, considering how long you’ve lived alone and have done this exact thing every week), this shop should last roughly two weeks. You also give yourselves two days a week to either order takeout or go to a restaurant, considering Soonyoung’s sporadic work schedule.

As you pile into your car, Soonyoung slides into the passenger seat. Covers his eyes with a pair of sunglasses and rolls the window down. Leans his head back against the seat and sighs, appearing to be the epitome of contentment and inner peace. “Thank god it was you I fucked up the listing for.” He says this like it’s nothing. As if it’s a completely normal thing to say and it doesn’t have you nearly swerving into a telephone pole, stunned by the sincerity in his voice. “Can you imagine if it was someone as bad as me?”

It’s his words, and not the hours you spent in the sun, that keep you warm through the chilly grocery store aisles.

The first two weeks of your vacation feel well-earned and restorative, with a slight sunburn.

After that, however, everything starts to feel… different. Like you’re living someone else’s life. An alternate reality where you wake up whenever you want to, stroll casually up and down the boardwalk with an iced coffee and no destination in mind; where all those things you’d stressed over months ago are nowhere to be found, dragged out to sea by the current.

It’s a slow, gradual process. A little awkward and jilted at first as you both grow used to one another and figure out what and where the boundaries are. As you’re both determined not to make it weird or overstep.

Nonetheless, the two of you fall into an easy routine. Most of your afternoons are spent at the beach or around town, and on the two days a week Soonyoung is at the dance studio, he always texts you right before his last class to check in about dinner: if you want him to cook, if you want to cook, if you want to go out or order something for delivery. Meals are now eaten on the couch so the two of you can commentate whatever’s on the television.

(Fridays are your favorite. Soonyoung stops at the liquor store on his way home from the waterpark and the two of you get drunk on beer and soju and watch wrestling. You share two styrofoam takeout containers of tacos, and the drunker Soonyoung gets, the more ridiculous his commentary becomes. By the time the six-pack is gone, he’s sideways on the couch, his head nearly in your lap, bowled over from the weight of his laughter.)

A two-week trial period is usually far too short for you to make friends—hell, you didn’t even talk to Minghao until you’d run into him at the coffee machine every morning for three straight months—but Soonyoung is easy to get along with. To livewith. He’s easy to like. So you’re not shocked when you reach the three-week mark and all those inhibitions seem to disappear. When he appears in the doorway of your bedroom and asks if you wanna swing by the waterpark later that afternoon and keep him company.

“It’s so boring,” he whines. “I just sit there and make sure people don’t pee or drown, which is nearly impossible, anyway. It’s a giant bucket that dumps water on you—how could someone drown.”

You laugh to yourself, thankful your back is turned to him. You’ve been trying to decide between the neon green bikini and the one-piece with the cut-out just below your chest for a good fifteen minutes and aren’t any closer to a decision. “An adult human can drown in as little as two inches of water, you know.”

“Yeah, if they’re an idiot, maybe,” Soonyoung fires back. “Wear the green one. That color will look really good on you. And then come to the waterpark. I’ll give you a free pass.”

When you turn to face him, he quickly pulls out all the stops: truly pathetic puppy dog eyes, plush bottom lip pushed out, hands clasped together like he’s about to start begging. Before this exact moment, you would’ve said your resolve was made of steel, that you were not a person susceptible to a grown man’s pouting, but you cave in a concerningly short amount of time. Huff, try to act like you’re very displeased by this turn of events, and say, “Fine, but this is a family establishment so I’m wearing the one-piece. You only said the bikini because you’re a pervert.”

He’s torn between defending himself and letting out a triumphant hurrah before settling on both. “Hey, I’m not denying it,” he says casually. “You’ll really come, though?”

You shrug. “Sure, so long as you leave me alone sometimes so I can read my book.”

Cue the triumphant hurrah. “Yes! Okay, I can do that. I’ll see if there are any cabanas open and reserve one for you.”

“Wow, I even get my own cabana boy?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes and starts down the hallway to his room. “And you called me a pervert,” he calls over his shoulder.

Well, if he didn’t bother denying it, you aren’t going to, either.

—

Not only is the heat relentless, the noise does not stop.

Luckily the first issue is largely solved by the cabana Soonyoung was able to nab you. It isn’t all that large, only enough space for two lounge chairs, and to your dismay there are no men in tiny swimsuits holding trays of colorful drinks with little umbrellas waiting for you to beckon them over, but at least it blocks out the sun. Shields you from the worst of it. There’s less to be done about the heat, but once the humidity becomes too stifling you wander over to Soonyoung—easily identifiable in his garish yellow shorts and matching visor—and wait for him to blow his whistle, alerting everyone to the giant bucket of water about to be dumped on them.

“Nice legs,” you tease, wolf-whistling as you approach.

Soonyoung pretends to be scandalized. Gasps. Twists sideways as if he’s trying to hide his skin from your lustful gaze. “In front of the children?” he accuses.

No kids are paying attention to your conversation when they’re about to get drenched, but you play along anyway, sliding your sunglasses down your nose. “Can’t help it. Those tiny little shorts and your pale thighs really get me going.” He scowls, pulling said shorts further down said thighs to hide the discrepancy in skin tone. “God, it’s loud here,” you change the subject, taking pity on him. “This is what you put up with the entire summer?”

“Just wait—it’ll get worse in a second.”

He’s right, unfortunately. From the second the bucket begins to tip and for at least three full minutes after it unleashes its gallons of water, all you hear is screaming. High-pitched, manic screaming loud enough to make your ears bleed, but the water is cold and you’re thankful for the reprieve from the heat, even if it doesn't last long before it evaporates.

“Ah, gotta love it,” he deadpans. “Only twenty-six minutes and fourteen seconds until the next one.”

You snort. Ask him if he wants anything from the snack bar because you need a drink—a very cold, very refreshing drink. All he requests is a bottle of water. Not a bad idea, considering you’re probably dangerously dehydrated from how much you’ve sweat, but you change your mind as soon as you reach the counter. You hear a chorus of angels. It feels like the light of divinity itself shines a spotlight on the part of the menu advertising non-alcoholic piña colada slushies.

You promptly order two—and a water.

When the kid behind the counter hands over your order, you can’t help the beaming smile that forms on your face, but it’s short-lived. Yes, your drinks come with colorful umbrellas and are topped with cherries, and Soonyoung’s water comes straight from a cooler, dripping ice-cold condensation all over your hand and the warped wood top of the counter, but it’s hard to feel victorious when the kid who hands them to you looks like he’s going to keel over and die from heat stroke.

“I—thanks,” you mutter, taking in his flushed cheeks and the hair adhered to his forehead with sweat. You stuff a few bills in the tip jar. “Sorry you have to work here.”

You’re surprised to find Soonyoung in one of your cabana chairs when you return. His visor is pulled over his eyes, his energy completely boneless, and if you weren’t in this weird limbo of maybe-friends you’d probably tease him a little. Call him Sleeping Beauty or flick some of the cold water on your hands at him.

Instead, you place all three drinks on the small, rickety table in between the chairs. “Special delivery.”

Soonyoung lifts his visor. Laughs softly when he sees what you’ve ordered. Asks, “Is one of those for me?” and reaches for one regardless of what your answer is.

“It”—you begin to answer, watching as he dangles a cherry by the stem—“wasn’t,” you finish after he pops it into his mouth.

“But I’m on break.” He pouts. “And it’s so hot outside and this drink is so cold.” He sticks the straw in his mouth and has to speak around it. “And if Chan’s running the snack bar today I bet he put alcohol in this.” He takes a sip. “No booze. Coward.”

“Do you often drink on company time? Also, that kid at the snack bar looked about ten minutes from death. Someone should probably check on him.”

Soonyoung waves you away. “I’ll do it after I clock back in.”

“When is that? Rigor mortis might set in by then.”

“An hour. Rigor mortis is when they go all stiff, right?” You hum in agreement. “Easier to move, then.” He sucks down the rest of the slushie, finishing with a loud slurp that draws some attention your way, finishing with an exaggerated ahh. “Wow, that was really good. Can you wake me up in forty-five minutes?”

You scoff. Tuck your legs beneath you and reach for your book. “Don’t you have your phone? Set an alarm.”

“Mm, don’t want to. What are you reading?”

You tell him the title. Explain that you’d picked it up for cheap in a secondhand shop in town while you were wandering around one afternoon just because you’d liked the cover. “It’s okay,” you say. “It’s not really grabbing me, but it’s well-written and not very long so it could be worse.”

“Do you read a lot?”

“Try to.” Realizing this is not a very satisfactory response, you add, “I’ve tried to read at least three books a month since I graduated college.”

“I’m not good at math, but that seems like a lot of books.”

You laugh. “I don’t always manage it, to be fair. I’m happy with thirty books a year.”

“I haven’t read one book a year in maybe… ever. Do you have a book job?”

The question is asked around a yawn, words and inflection steeped in exhaustion, which is just fine by you. Because it’s easier to glance over at him—arms crossed over his chest, rising and falling rhythmically, and towel covering his face to further block the sun—and say, “Okay, old man, nap time for you,” and laugh at his responding middle finger than it is to exhume all that ancient history. Easier than adopting that indifferent affect as you say, “No, no book job, just a desk in an office,” and wondering if your discontent is made of tissue paper. If it’s palpable.

If it is, Soonyoung doesn’t say anything.

So you don’t, either. You stay mum about the lifelong absence of a dream. How there were things you liked but nothing you could envision doing forever. How it made you aimless, drawn to whatever felt easy at the time, content to let the wind pick you up and take you wherever it wanted. How you had to swallow down that small bite of embarrassment every time someone asks what you do for a living or how much you make. That lethal combination of hopelessness, bitterness, and jealousy you feel when it seems like all of your friends, classmates, and old coworkers are lapping you.

Those things don’t matter here, you remind yourself. You focus your attention back on your book and set an alarm so you can wake up Soonyoung.

Minghao wants to visit you.

This, of course, poses a problem. While you’d alluded to it on your first day here, you and Minghao haven’t talked much beyond a few texts every few days, so you never got around to telling him the full story. That the man you thought you were renting an entire house from is still occupying it. That he sleeps a few feet down the hall and cooks meals alongside you. That, even when he’s at work or both of you retire for the night, your phone will light up with messages or DMs from him as he sends memes or links to places around town he thinks you might like—and that you always hope he’ll ask if you want to go together.

There’s no real reason to deny his request. Much to your dismay, Soonyoung doesn’t mind. Seems to light up at the possibility of meeting one of your friends, someone he only knows about from stories and anecdotes and late-night scrolls through your Instagram feed, where you and Minghao have made it a game to tag one another in the ugliest photos either of you have ever taken. He goes into planning mode almost immediately, and if you were less mature you’d probably pout at the way the “you” in his messages becomes “you and Minghao.”

Inexplicably, you care about disappointing Soonyoung far more than you care about disappointing Minghao, so you tell him to call you once he’s done work so the two of you can come up with a plan.

Your phone rings just after seven, screen lighting up with the only normal photo the two of you have ever taken together. It should bring you comfort, the reminder that this is Minghao and he’s your friend and can even look ugly sometimes when he puts effort into it. But he’s also got the demeanor and general vibe of a parent picking you up from the police station. Something about him just exudes disappointment.

You’ll have it in spades soon.

Minghao spends a few minutes catching you up on things back home, tells you about the goings-on at the office: a new girl in his department he suspects might be a nepotism hire, the creepy IT guy you’ve all complained about for months finally getting fired, a day last week the plumbing broke and everyone got sent home early. “I’m ready for a vacation,” he sighs into the phone.

You grimace, thankful Soonyoung isn’t around to watch this trainwreck occur in real time. It’s another late night for him at the studio as he prepares for the mid-summer recital, still not fully satisfied with the choreography. He’d done the same two days ago and didn’t come home until nearly midnight.

“Hello? Are you there?”

You sigh. Tell yourself it’s better to just rip off the bandage and not prolong it anymore, but you can hear Minghao in your head saying I told you so and it gives you agita. Makes your palms sweaty. You cannot, in good conscience, allow yourself to be patronized by someone younger than you.

“Yeah, so, about that…”

Just as you expected, Minghao is not particularly gentle in his response. “A scam is a scam,” he says. “Do you have any idea how stupid it was to stay there? You don’t know that guy! He could be a serial killer for all you know, or worse—a furry.”

“I’ll be surprised if he’s a furry,” you retort, picking at a bit of pilled fabric on the couch. “But also, it wasn’t entirely a scam, he just messed up the listing. It’s not like I got here and the house didn’t exist and some dude claiming to be a prince was laughing all the way to the bank with my money.”

“You’re hopeless.” You can practically hear the way he’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I am not. It’s really nice here, Hao. The town is nice and Soonyoung is nice and he owns a dance studio and works part-time at a waterpark that he gets me into for free sometimes.”

“Is the waterpark nice?”

You hesitate. “I, um—it’s not horrible. Sometimes Chan puts alcohol in the piña colada slushies.”

“That… sounds kind of good, actually. With the little umbrellas?”

“And a cherry,” you confirm.

This, more than anything else, seems to be what seals the decision for him. After confirming for the millionth time that Soonyoung doesn’t mind his company (and that he’s not a serial killer, to which you send him the link to Soonyoung’s Instagram and ask does this look like a serial killer to you? because his most recent post is a photo of him on a giant flamingo floatie in the pool, mouth stained orange from a bag of cheese puffs, to which Minghao reluctantly agrees it does not), he agrees to call out of work and make the drive Friday morning.

Which, of course, is the day the sky decides to crack open.

This is unfortunate for Minghao, who has to make the same hours-long drive you did. This is unfortunate for you, who was looking forward to trying a new brunch cafe on the boardwalk. This is not unfortunate for Soonyoung, who was scheduled from open to close at Carat Bay and now has the day off, which he’s spending preparing for Minghao’s arrival: fridge and pantry restocked, floors vacuumed and mopped, sheets washed and dried, downstairs bathroom stocked with fresh towels. Like the grocery shopping and cooking, you and Soonyoung had worked out a system early on, so on any other day all of this is stuff you’d be helping out with.

Except Xu Minghao must’ve either been a member of a spy network or a teenage girl in a past life.

Normally it’s to your benefit that Minghao can find anything on the internet. Unlike you, he’s not prone to or all that interested in gossip (so he says), but he’s receptive when you assign him a task, and over the time you’ve known each other, the partnership has served you well. Usually it’s just mundane work gossip: who’s sleeping together, who’s on job-hunting sites begging for leads, who got embarrassingly, shit-faced drunk over the weekend and overshared in their Instagram stories. Usually it doesn’t affect you all that much, forgotten soon after in the way mundane work gossip always is.

This time, however.

Although sending him Soonyoung’s Instagram had alleviated his fears that you’re shacking up with a serial killer, it revealed something far worse: you’re shacking up with a Gemini.

Again—not usually a problem, considering astrology isn’t really your thing. You’d be hard-pressed to differentiate a Gemini from a Cancer or whatever else, so when Minghao tells you this it’s met with a hum of acknowledgment and nothing else. It was only once he asked, “Did you guys do anything for his birthday?” that it all started to sink in and panic gripped at you.

Minghao can find anything on the internet because he doesn’t stop at the surface-level stuff. You’d sent him Soonyoung’s Instagram and he didn’t just scroll through the first few posts, he scrolled years back, almost to the beginning, and that’s where he’d found the post: Soonyoung surrounded by friends, their arms slung over his shoulders while he held a cake, two lit number candles perched on top. 25!!!! the caption read.

It was posted on June 15th.

Which was last Sunday. Nearly a week ago. Soonyoung hadn’t said anything, had gone about his day as usual—coffee and a breakfast sandwich eaten at the two-seater table on the front porch before he showered and got ready for work, and even after he got home and the two of you shared a pizza and watched baseball, he never mentioned it.

Hence why you aren’t helping Soonyoung with the cleaning. You’re at the grocery store ordering a birthday cake because if there’s one thing you cannot do it’s bake, even when it’s box mix and prepackaged frosting (and Soonyoung deserves a cake that’s both edible and stays upright). You move to the aisle with the party supplies and curse the lack of options.

A children’s cartoon character or plain red, edges yellowed from age. Tough choice.

You grab a few other things and stand in line to check out, checking your phone religiously. You’d gotten out of the house under the guise of a pilates class you “couldn’t cancel,” so anything longer than an hour will start looking suspicious, but the required 24-hour notice from the bakery had posed a problem. Soonyoung is scheduled at the waterpark tomorrow, and you can’t turn it down because he was kind enough to get you and Minghao another cabana (and Minghao really wants one of those slushies), and then he’s back at the studio on Sunday to put the finishing touches on the recital.

So, here you are. Arms full of items you can let overheat in the trunk of your car and a receipt for a small marble sheet cake, a request for Happy Birthday, Soonyoung! to be written on top in blue frosting, surrounded by confetti sprinkles.

—

Soonyoung and Minghao get on like a house on fire.

You aren’t surprised by this, considering you don’t think Soonyoung has ever met a stranger. He’s good at it—the small talk, navigating those awkward moments, making people feel comfortable. Minghao has only been in the house twenty minutes before he’s giggling and entirely charmed, made to feel right at home even though he’s dripping rainwater all over the freshly-mopped floors. Seems to forget he was supposed to be angry that the rain had ruined one day of his vacation.

Soonyoung insists on carrying on the Friday tradition of takeout, alcohol, and wrestling, which is not something Minghao would watch without outside influence. But he fits in seamlessly. Falls into step with Soonyoung’s chaos, taking over his ridiculous commentary when Soonyoung’s either too drunk or laughing too hard to finish his sentences. Polishes off two orders of tacos on his own. Assumes bartender duties and mixes your drinks to questionable ratios, but perfection nonetheless.

Not to mention he out-drinks both of you. Soonyoung is worse off, retiring to bed just after eleven, groaning about his head and worrying about how he’s going to get up for work as he ascends the stairs. Minghao laughs, watching him fondly. You get the impression there’s a lot he wants to say—and maybe he would if you weren’t seeing three of him—but as it stands he cleans up the living room and asks if you want a glass of water.

“No, I’m okay,” you answer. “I think.”

Still, you aren’t surprised to find water and painkillers on your nightstand when you wake up. Luckily you don’t need them, spared from the torture of spending hours at a waterpark with shrieking children with a hangover, so you send a double-text to Soonyoung—

You [9:37am]: Are you alive? You [9:37am]: Hao left me some water and painkillers if you need them

—to which he simply replies:

Soonyoung [9:50am]: p lease

With a laugh, you throw the duvet off of your legs and pad down the hall. Knock quietly on Soonyoung’s bedroom door and laugh again at the pitiful come in you receive in response. And he does look pitiful. When you walk in, he pops out from under the covers with dandelion hair, face puffy from the alcohol, cheeks ruddy. What little sleep he got must not have been great—he looks exhausted, so you move Minghao’s gifts to Soonyoung’s nightstand, whisper a little fighting!, and head downstairs to brew a pot of coffee.

Not long after, Soonyoung makes his way downstairs and collapses into one of the kitchen chairs. Face-plants onto the table and groans into the wood. Without a word, you grab the bread from the pantry and pop a few slices into the toaster, sliding them onto a plate and serving them to him plain once they’re done.

“This will help with the nausea. Do you think you can stomach coffee?”

He scoffs. “Sure hope so. What’s the point in living if I can’t?”

Minghao emerges halfway through Soonyoung’s third cup, looking fresh and well-rested in a way only the person who drank the most and isn’t suffering a hangover can do. He greets you and Soonyoung with cheerful good mornings and questions about how you slept and how you’re feeling. “Not as bad as him,” you answer, jerking a thumb in Soonyoung’s direction, who gives you both the finger before returning to his face-first position on the table.

Your friend looks at the plate of crumbs and the mug of coffee. He sends you a look that’s easier not to look at or acknowledge.

—

Somehow, Minghao is able to talk you into sharing a two-person tube and joining him on all of Carat Bay’s waterslides.

This is horrifying for many reasons (the height of the slides, seeing Minghao’s bare feet), but it also proves useful. At the top of the highest slide, just as you fit yourself in the front of the tube and screech when Minghao wiggles his painted toes at you, the worker responsible for pushing you towards your certain death asks, “Oh shit, aren’t you the one staying with Soonyoung?”

“I—yes.” You glance at his nametag. Mingyu, it says, and you think you vaguely recognize him from Soonyoung’s Instagram. Horrifying again, because he’s somehow even more attractive in real life and you’re squished into a two-person innertube with Minghao and his painted toes, but he’s friendly and charming and talks at you like you’re old friends.

“That’s cool,” he says, ignoring the impatient discontent and creative insults from the line of children behind you. “Soonyoung said he had someone staying with him and that you’d been here a few times, but I’m always stuck up here.” A child throws a tiny flip-flop at him. It hits him in the chest and falls to the ground. “Wow,” he deadpans, “lucky me.”

In an attempt to stifle his laughter, Minghao asks what time he gets done, telling him about the belated birthday party the two of you have schemed to surprise him with. Fuck me, you think, watching as Mingyu somehow becomes even more attractive as his eyes light up. Not only is he done two hours before Soonyoung, he’s going to invite more of his friends, too. They’ll pick up more food and more snacks and more alcohol. All you and Minghao have to do is pick up the cake and decorate, which last night’s drinking provides a convenient excuse for.

During Soonyoung’s break—which he once again spends napping on a lounge chair under the cabana—Minghao says the two of you will probably head back to the house soon. “I think the heat’s making her hangover worse,” he says, injecting a convincing amount of sympathy into his tone.

Just as you expected, Soonyoung buys it. Finishes up his break with a groan and says he’ll text you when he’s done to check in about dinner, and then there’s nothing but the thwack-thwack-thwack of his slides as he returns to his post at the splash zone.

Two and a half hours to go.

Minghao stays behind to start on the decorations while you go pick up the cake. It turns out better (and bigger) than you expected, and you thank the bakery profusely as you rush back toward the exit. Back at the house, streamers and balloons line the staircase bannister and hang from the light fixtures; a HAPPY BIRTHDAY! banner stretches across the doorway leading into the kitchen; the plates and napkins are both set out, sharing the same cartoon tiger.

Luckily, it gives you both enough time to shower and look presentable before everyone else arrives.

True to his word, Mingyu knocks on the door with his hands full: a case of beer, a pile of pizza boxes, bags of chips in various flavors. Behind him stands a group of people, only one of whom you recognize. Chan, alcoholic slushie barista extraordinaire, greets you with a wave and a large smile. You are wholly unsurprised to see he brought soju.

The next hour is met with more names and faces than you’ll ever be able to remember. Friends of Soonyoung’s, coworkers from Carat Bay, coworkers from the dance studio—all of them kind, making you and Minghao feel welcome and included. They shout in excitement when Soonyoung texts you saying he’s done work. Compliment your quick thinking when he asks what you and Minghao want to do for dinner and you tell him Minghao insists on cooking, and to just shoot you a text when he’s on his way back so he can put it in the oven. When that text comes through, they all hide in the kitchen out of sight and hold their breath, anticipating and waiting, the occasional giggle sneaking through.

You drape yourself across the couch. Minghao stays in the kitchen and, once you call out that the birthday boy is coming up the drive, pretends to chop vegetables to truly sell it.

And when Soonyoung comes through the door, looking just as exhausted as he had this morning and slightly more sunburnt, you almost feel guilty. Almost think he won’t be in the mood to host. Almost think you’ve made a horrible mistake. He asks, “Do you know what he’s making?” to which you shake your head.

“No idea. He won’t tell me—says it’s a surprise,” you respond, thankful your voice and expression both stay steady and neutral.

Soonyoung drops his bag at the door. “Hm. I’ll see if I can get it out of him,” he says, winking when he catches your eye, like it’s you and him against Minghao; like he’s solving this manufactured mystery for your benefit.

Then he walks into the kitchen.

There’s the expected shouts of SURPRISE!

And then there’s a few seconds of silence.

“What the fuck,” comes Soonyoung’s eventual response. You sidle up alongside him, laughing when he turns to look at you with a stunned expression. “What the fuck?” he repeats, quieter this time, meant only for you.

“Happy birthday.” You reach up to playfully pat his cheek. “Belatedly, anyway. Why didn’t you tell me?”

His cheeks go red. As he opens his mouth to answer, sheepish words biting at the back of his teeth, one of his friends interrupts. Slaps him on the back and puts a drink in his hand. Laughs and gives him shit, asking how he didn’t notice all the decorations.

Soonyoung steals a final glance in your direction as he’s pulled away.

Everyone eats, drinks, and laughs. You cut the cake before Soonyoung’s face can wind up in it, only for someone to grab a slice and smash it in his face anyway. Uproarious laughter follows. Someone snaps a picture: first, a close-up of Soonyoung’s face, covered in cake crumbs and enough frosting to stain his skin; then, a second photo of him washing it off in the sink, entire head stuck under the faucet.

It really shouldn’t strike you someplace deep. The memory should be enough, but you find yourself asking, “Do you guys want me to take a picture of all of you?” so you have something to remember it by, too, even if you’re behind the camera.

Minghao must notice, because he offers to take it instead, taking your phone from you and gesturing for you to join the group. They’ve all got their arms around Soonyoung again but they make room for you. Mingyu, heads taller than everyone, moves from Soonyoung’s right and to the back.

“Are you—is it on a timer?” Minghao shakes his head, clearly confused. “Well, put it on a timer and get over here.”

“Me?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Who else would I be talking to? Come on, it’s my birthday and you’re my friend, so get in the picture.” He coughs. “Please.”

Minghao laughs, but you can tell from the heat in his cheeks that he’s a little caught off-guard at Soonyoung wanting him in the picture, at declaring him his friend, so he fumbles with your phone. Can’t figure out how to set the timer. No one helps, of course—they give him shit and playfully boo him, flustering him more. Once he does figure it out, he sets the timer to the wrong length so the first few photos are candids, Minghao nothing but a streak across the frame. This earns him another round of boos that render him entirely useless, have him squatting beneath the weight of his laughter, but then he sets it correctly, thirty seconds, and there’s a smile on every single person’s face when you look at it later.

After that, it’s party time—within reason.

Someone connects to the small speaker in the living room and shuffles a playlist, upbeat with a low, thrumming bassline, perfect for a party. Minghao gets roped into a conversation with two people from Soonyoung’s studio, exchanging socials and numbers. Someone has left a pan of weed brownies on top of the stove, though no one takes credit for them.

That’s how Soonyoung approaches you some thirty minutes later, half of a brownie stuck between his teeth and chocolate clinging to the corners of his mouth. “Hellooo,” he greets you, each letter slurring together, eyes bloodshot. “Are you having fun?”

“I am,” you answer. “Are you?”

“Yes. D’you want the other half of this? I don’t think I should eat the whole thing.” Soonyoung offers the brownie to you, bottom lip slightly pouted. “I’m not a lightweight or anything,” he adds, as if it’s of the utmost importance to squash any thought you might’ve had about him being one. “And I didn’t stick the whole thing in my mouth. I broke it in half before I ate it, so there’s no spit on it.”

With a huff of laughter, you take the brownie from him and place it on a plate on the counter behind you. You also grab a napkin, turning to Soonyoung with what you intend to be stern, furrowed brows until he goes a little cross-eyed and it makes you laugh. “Why is your mouth always covered in something?”

You reach for him; he comes willingly and immediately.

“Ooh, are you gonna clean me up?” he quips, trying to wiggle his eyebrows. He winds up just squinting and un-squinting his eyes, heavy-lidded and getting redder by the second.

You ignore his teasing with a roll of your lips. Place your hand on his cheek to steady him, grounded by the warmth and softness of his skin. Soonyoung sucks in a breath when you touch him. Covers your hand with his own. Stares at you so intently you forget why you’re touching him at all, that there’s a party raging around you; forget that you’re surrounded by all of Soonyoung’s friends and their curious glances. You forget what the napkin in your hand is for, uselessly pinched between your fingers.

Everything narrows to the size of a pinhead. Soonyoung is all that exists in this moment, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Until now, you thought the banter had just been banter—innocent and fun but ultimately superficial. Until now, you could brush off his coy remarks and blame it on proximity and Soonyoung’s ability to flirt with a lamppost if he thought it’d flirt back. Until now, you thought the next two and a half months would be easy; that you’d be able to compartmentalize your attraction to him.

Because this isn’t about that.

You’d needed to get away—from your job, your apartment, your life. All of it. Needed a break from the constant what-ifs and self-doubt and the nasty, unrelenting feeling that you aren’t doing enough, aren’t living up to your potential. That what you are doing is walking down a dead-end street and foolishly trying to find an exit point. You needed to try to outrun everything you’ve pushed aside, knowing it’s long overdue for it to catch up.

You don’t want Soonyoung to be one of those things. Don’t want him added to your list of what-ifs, not realizing it’s already too late for that.

So, just for a moment, you let yourself indulge. You press the napkin to the corner of his mouth and wonder how it’d feel if it were your lips instead, how he’d react, what noises he’d make. If he’d gasp in surprise or suck in another breath through his teeth. If he’d push you away or move his hands to your hips to pull you closer. If he’d let you take your time and do what you wanted or if he’d take control. If everyone around you would be surprised or if they’d think oh, of course.

You don’t find out the answer to any of those questions.

Instead, you clean the stubborn chocolate from the corners of his mouth without a word. Your touch is far more tender and delicate than you think this moment calls for, but if Soonyoung agrees he doesn’t mention it. Keeps his gaze locked on you, eyes tracing every movement. His intensity surprises you, having been outshadowed by his larger-than-life personality, the way he makes you laugh without having to try. But the intensity of the moment surprises you, too, how it all feels amplified: how you can hear every hitch of his breath, even over the noise of the party; how you can not only feel the warmth of it on your skin, but also the tension. How it feels like a massive, tangible thing in the center of your chest.

“All done,” you manage to say, coughing to clear your throat, dry from nerves and the rest of the chaos swirling around in your head.

Soonyoung smiles. Sends a wink over his shoulder as he disappears into the crowd, and you feel his absence immediately and immensely.

Minghao calls you over and reintroduces you to the people he’s been talking to. They’re kind and funny and gracious with their time. Junhui tells you all about how he and Soonyoung met, about his time at his studio. Tells you all about the kids they teach and how much they love Soonyoung. All the gifts they make for him and how they watch him dance with wide, starry eyes, trying to replicate everything he does.

Which is exactly what you find yourself trying to do later on.

Soonyoung had found you in a half-hearted conversation with Chan and Mingyu and dragged you to the living room. “Dance with me,” he said, cackling brightly when you looked at him, bewildered, and said you didn’t know how. “I’ll show you. C’mon, it’s easy.”

Dancing with someone who does it for a living is not easy, but Soonyoung is a good teacher, full of praise and laughter and gentle corrections. It’s all in good fun, anyway, and that’s exactly how he makes it feel as he jokingly shakes his ass and twerks on his friends; as the room goes blurry when he takes your hand and twirls you around. And when the song switches to something slower, headier, more sensual, there’s an immediate spike of panic that Soonyoung snuffs out—he puts distance between the two of you but stays in your orbit, hovering, waiting for you to call the shots.

You know he’ll back off if you want him to. You know he’ll take it in stride and not allow things to get awkward. You also know this decision isn’t life or death, that this can just be harmless fun you blame on the alcohol and weed in the light of day when the sheepishness creeps in. And you have to admit that sounds enticing, because the two poles of your body are pulling you in opposite directions, warring with one another. Try as it might, your brain—with all its logic and reminders for you to use some common sense—is no match for the heat simmering beneath your skin.

It’s a split-second decision, you pulling him back in, letting him fit his hands to the curve of your waist, your eyes fluttering shut at the body heat that seeps into your skin. You watch as the corners of Soonyoung’s mouth lift infinitesimally before he straightens them again, like he doesn’t want to look cocky, doesn’t want this to look like a foregone conclusion, but you like it on him. He wears it well, and you’re taken by it in the same way you’d been taken by his intensity.

You know there are eyes on you—his friends’, Minghao’s—but you can’t find it in you to care. Every time Soonyoung touches you, it feels like you’re the only people left on earth, like you’re swimming through molasses, weighed down by the intoxication of it, the yearning, the need for more.

His hands move to your hips, his lips to just beneath your ear. “Is this okay?” he asks, words spoken so quietly against your skin you feel them more than you can hear them.

You nod. Still have no clue what you’re doing, feel awkward and too big in your own body, but you remind yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s okay to just enjoy the way Soonyoung is touching you. The way he moves his body, perfectly in sync with the beat of the song, purposeful and precise. The proximity to and closeness of another person.

It’s the same later on, long after all of Soonyoung’s friends have left. Only you and Soonyoung are left at the house, your crossfades providing a convenient excuse to stay behind. No one says anything, but you catch the look Minghao sends you on his way out the door, having accepted an invitation from Jun and Mingyu to check out some new club, wanting to make the most of his last full day in town—it’s discreet and sly, but it also says I hope you know what you’re doing, because you’ve been doing it all night.

You don’t.

You know it just as well as Minghao does, so you start cleaning up the kitchen to give yourself something else to focus on. Plates, cups, and napkins in the trash. Leftovers in the fridge or pantry. Icing wiped off the floor and counters. A massive garbage bag tied up and placed next to the back door to take outside. Time alone, room to breathe. Being around Soonyoung is starting to feel like the two magnets of your head and heart are repelling.

“Leave that for tomorrow.”

You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead. “I’m almost done,” you gently argue. “Besides, it is tomorrow. It’s almost two o’clock.”

Soonyoung just laughs, nodding his head in the direction of the door. “Come on.”

“Soonyoung, there’s still food everywhere, you’ll get bugs—”

“Do I have to drag you out there myself?”

He doesn’t, though you don’t think you’d be upset if he did. “Fine. At least take the trash out with you,” you compromise.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly isn’t for Soonyoung to lay on his back in the middle of the yard. No blanket, no towel—even if it’s mostly dried out from the previous day’s storm, you’re not exactly chomping at the bit to take the risk, but Soonyoung has no such reservations. He stretches out like he’s making a snow angel before he tucks his hands behind his head and sighs in content, though you’re not sure why. There’s far too much light pollution this close to the boardwalk to see anything in the sky, not to mention the noise.

Still, you either have to join him or stay standing and look like an idiot.

So you sit down beside him, arms stretched out behind you, your knee knocking into Soonyoung’s elbow. He rolls his head to the side and smiles, and you feel it behind your ribcage, sharp and hot like fireworks. “How did you know?” he asks. “About my birthday.”

Any other time you’d crack a joke, say something cheesy like ah, I have my ways, or that you’d paid an Etsy witch to find out, but in the middle of the night, sitting side-by-side in Soonyoung’s small, dewy strip of grass, it doesn’t feel right. Feels like a moment that requires sincerity. “It was Minghao, actually,” you admit. “He was there when I first saw the rental listing and told me it was a scam because of how cheap it was, so ever since then he’d sort of been convinced you were a serial killer or something. I had to come clean about us rooming together when he asked to visit and that only convinced him more.”

Soonyoung groans. “Damn. I wanna laugh but it’s not funny. Is it funny? He still came here after all that?”

“Well, luckily I’d already been to the waterpark with you by then and watched you nearly pass out when that kid fell and scraped her knee, so I knew there was no way you could kill someone—”

“Hey!”

“—and I sent him your Instagram. We both decided that, aside from the can’t handle blood thing, a serial killer probably wouldn’t post a picture of themselves with cheese dust all over their mouth.”

His jaw drops slightly. Looks like he wants to—and thinks he should—be offended before he snaps it shut and thinks it over. “Mm, that’s probably fair.”

“Yeah, so. As one does, he basically stalked your account until he saw one of your birthday posts from years ago and asked if we’d done anything fun for it this year, and I had to say no because someone didn’t tell me.”

Sheepish, Soonyoung apologizes. Says he didn’t have plans anyway and didn’t want you to feel obligated or make things weird. “It’d only been two weeks.” And when you move to protest, he rolls onto his side, head propped up by his elbow, and says, “I know now it was silly, and I’m still a little blown away the two of you threw all of this together. I—it just means a lot, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper. “I hope you and your friends had a good time.”

“I haven’t had a bad one since you got here.” Such a simple statement, but the honesty in his words steals the breath from your lungs. “I’d been having… a bad time. Before you got here. So yeah, it means a lot that you’d go through the trouble.”

It wasn’t any trouble, you want to say. Want to refute the notion that doing something nice, especially for him, was a bother, something only done out of a sense of obligation. Want to tell him you’ve been having a hard time, too, and doing something like this, celebrating someone else, helped ease that perpetual grief even a little bit. That feeling someone’s hands on you in the way his had been—selfish, wanting, longing—was a welcomed change from the hands clutching at your own, rubbing at your back, accompanied by waterlogged, sympathetic words. Apologies that only made you feel worse.

You want to tell him it was nice to be desired instead of pitied.

Instead, you say, “I’ve been having a bit of a hard time, too,” because the rest feels too honest. More words not meant for this moment.

And it seems you chose correctly, because Soonyoung’s brows quirk upwards. “Really?” he asks.

You nod. “I don’t want to dump on you, but my grandmother passed away last year. I used all of my PTO and the last of my inheritance to book the rental. It just sort of… felt like everything was starting to catch up with me, you know? The grief, the insecurities I’m feeling about my job. I needed to get away.”

Soonyoung frowns, and you brace yourself for more of the usual—I’m so sorry for your loss and other such sentiments you wish you could feel thankful for and don’t—but, as usual, he finds a way to surprise you. “Damn,” he mutters, sounding entirely convincing as he whistles, “I feel like I should give you a refund now. I scammed you out of your inheritance.”

A bubble of shocked laughter erupts from you and spreads to Soonyoung. Soon, both of you have dissolved into breathless, belly-aching laughter, trying desperately to shush one another so you don’t disturb the neighbors. And maybe you hadn’t been able to say all those other things, but this you are:

“Don’t you dare. I’d pay it every single time, a million times over.”

July arrives before you know it.

After Soonyoung’s party, things largely go back to normal. Minghao stays in touch, not only with you and Soonyoung, but also Junhui. Like clockwork, he texts you often for “updates.” He’s not interested in what books you’ve read or how many hours of sun you’ve soaked up at the beach. No, all he cares about are any updates in your relationship with Soonyoung—of which there have been none, so these days, understandably, your conversations don’t last all that long.

Additionally, you see Chan and Mingyu more often. Sometimes, when their shifts end at the same time, they swing by the house after work and join you for dinner… and shenanigans. A random Tuesday sees the four of you having a water balloon fight in the backyard. Soonyoung calls dibs on Mingyu, thinking his height will afford them some sort of advantage, but he underestimates Chan’s dodge and weave and that Mingyu’s height is nothing more than a giant target. Another weeknight has all of you nearly coming to blows over a game of poker.

Occasionally, on days they don't work, they join you at the beach. They rope you into boogie boarding and volleyball matches; they nap or mess around in the water while you read. Sometimes Soonyoung will stay behind and pester you with questions: what you’re reading, what it’s about, whether or not you like it, isn’t that similar to that one you read last week, what you think is going to happen.

And then Soonyoung gets a rare weekend off.

Friday, too, which is spent like all the previous ones. Takeout, cheap beer, watching wrestling and adopting silly voices. Even with all the time in the world, it’s not something either of you are willing to give up.

Saturday, though—

Instead of preparing for another hot, sticky afternoon at Carat Bay, Soonyoung appears in the doorway of your bedroom not long after noon. He’s still in his pajamas—nothing but a pair of black briefs you’re sure were created with the sole intent of torturing you—and his hair sticks up at odd angles. But he looks good. Looks like temptation itself with his golden skin, honeyed from the sun; the six pack of abs peeking out from beneath the waistband; his voice, deep and husky from sleep.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You try to swallow, not at all surprised to find your mouth has gone dry. “Sleep alright?”

Soonyoung hums. Crosses one arm across his body to scratch at his collar bone, which does nothing at all to alleviate your suffering. “You got anything on the agenda for today?” You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. “They’re doing fireworks on the beach tonight, if you wanna check it out? We can make a day of it and do the whole boardwalk thing.”

“Oh,” you manage to choke out. “Sure. That sounds fun.”

His responding smile is another arrow to your chest. “Cool. You’re good with rides, right? Or are you gonna puke on me if I drag you on a rollercoaster?”

I might puke on you if you don’t put a shirt on, you think. “No, I’m good,” you confirm instead. Then you actually give yourself a second to think of something that isn’t Soonyoung and his sculpted, insanity-inducing body and follow up with, “Except maybe that spaceship-looking thing that spins around really fast.”

Rookie mistake: you forget to put the teacups on your no-go list.

After getting your wristbands, it’s the first ride Soonyoung drags you on. “If you’re gonna puke, we might as well get it over with early,” he reasons. You’re too gobsmacked to argue or try to sneak out of line when he isn’t looking, so the next thing you know you’re being ushered into an empty cup by a minimum wage employee entirely indifferent to your plight, all hopes of a last-second escape dashed.

Soonyoung’s sinister grin fills you with dread.

Because you know exactly what he’s going to do.

“Soonyoung, don’t—”

It’s no use. As soon as the ride starts moving, Soonyoung’s grabbing onto the bar in the center and spinning your teacup as fast as he can. Aside from his wild cackles that slip through, you can barely hear anything over the sound of your own screaming, louder than even the small kids being spun around by their parents. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto the safety bar for dear life, filling your thoughts with anything that doesn’t require a barf bag.

(You obviously don’t know in the moment, but later on, Soonyoung digs his phone out of his pocket. Goes into his camera roll and thumbs until he finds what he’s looking for before holding it out to show you. And you’re a little stunned, is the thing, because there you are. Eyes shut, gripping onto the bar just like you remember, but it’s the way you’re smiling that takes you by surprise. You can’t remember the last time you looked so happy. Can’t remember the last time you felt it, either.

“Do you mind if I post it to my story?”

Feels nearly impossible to tear your eyes away from it, but you manage to nod. Say, “Sure, as long as you send it to me first,” and he does.

You [6:28pm]: [Attachment: 1 Image] You [6:28pm]: What do you think this means? Minghao [6:34pm]: that you’re fucked

A fresh wave of nausea hits you, because you don’t need Minghao to tell you that.

You already know.)

Somehow you survive, even though your first steps back on solid ground are a bit shaky. Soonyoung laughs and offers up a half-assed apology you know he doesn’t mean, but he lets you choose the next few rides to make up for it. Chivalrous, sure, but there are so many you don’t know where to begin. Anything upside-down is out of the question for now, given the state of your stomach, so you point at a dilapidated-looking ship and say, “What’s that?” even though it’s self-explanatory.

“Ghost Ship.”

The hesitation in his tone immediately piques your interest. Oh ho ho, you think, smiling to yourself—he should not have spun you dizzy on the teacups. “Oh. Is it scary?”

So subtle you nearly miss it, Soonyoung puffs out his chest and stands up straighter. Stares at the ride as if it offended him personally as he says, “I—no! Not really. No, it’s not.”

“Is it not scary or not really scary?”

“It’s not scary,” he clarifies, lying through his teeth. “Not to me, anyway.”

“Cool, let’s go on it, then.” You start walking towards the ride entrance, pretending not to know he isn’t following. “It’s eight tickets,” you say, keeping up the ruse. Soonyoung still hasn’t followed and your wristbands are loaded with unlimited ride tickets. “Do we have—Soonyoung? What’s wrong?” Checkmate. Soonyoung’s cheeks go pink as he shuffles a few feet closer. “Do you not want to go on it?”

“I do!” he insists. “It’s just—it’s just, uh. Doesn’t that rollercoaster look way more fun? Or… look! The log flume looks fun, too!”

“But then we’ll have to walk around in wet clothes.”

“That’s what the rollercoaster is for.” You stare blankly at him. “You know, for drying. ‘Cause it goes fast.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to go on that one,” you say, making sure to pout a little. There’s a very visible war waging inside of him. He either looks like a chicken on the ride or he looks like one by refusing to go on it at all. And that’s nothing a bit of bargaining can’t fix, so you say, “If you’re too scared, I can always hold your hand.”

You expect there to be at least a split-second of hesitation, but Soonyoung just says, “Deal!” and reaches for you. Laces your fingers together and doesn’t let go of you the entire time. Not while you wait in line, not while you’re on the ride (where he does scream his head off and grips your hand so tight you’re surprised it doesn’t cut the blood flow), and not after.

Soonyoung holds your hand as the two of you walk up and down the boards. As you duck into souvenir and t-shirt shops with crude sayings. As your stomach starts to rumble and he asks if you’ve ever had a deep-fried cannoli. As he somehow seems shocked when you say no and offers to buy you one, and when you jokingly ask if he’s trying to kill you, he squeezes your hand and says, “Never,” in a voice so soft it nearly makes you cry.

The only time he lets go is to pay for your food. He finds an empty table and sits on the same side as you, bodies pressed so close together your thighs touch. Takes another photo after he convinces you to try the cannoli. It’s far too sweet and far too rich, and you can’t stomach more than a couple bites, but Soonyoung wears a proud, beaming smile the entire time that helps it go down easier. He cleans the powdered sugar from the tip of your nose and, when he’s done, he stares at you so intently you think, this is it, he’s going to kiss me.

But he doesn’t.

Not yet, anyway.

There are things he wants to do first. More rides, more hand-holding, more obscene t-shirts he tries talking you into buying, more strange foods you can only find in a place like this. More people he wants to introduce you to, too, because he seems to know everyone. They all greet him warmly, like their day is better just by running into him, so by extension that warmth is also on offer for you. “Oh, hi! Who’s this?” they all ask, and Soonyoung introduces you by name each time.

He never says, Oh, she’s renting one of my spare rooms for the summer.

He never says, Oh, she’s just a friend.

He never says, Oh, no, it’s nothing serious, because it isn’t anything at all.

Not once does he shy away. Never seems embarrassed to be seen with you. Doesn’t seem fussed by his friends glancing down at your clasped hands and assuming you’re together, or watching the way he throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side. He doesn’t put a name to whatever is simmering between the two of you, but he doesn’t snuff it out, either.

Soonyoung gives you an answer to a question you haven’t dared to ask: does he feel it, does he want this, too?

A single spark of hope can be a dangerous thing. You know this as well as anyone. But it doesn’t feel so scary when, later on, the two of you see Chan manning one of the game booths, scrolling mindlessly through his phone as a young kid throws darts at a wall of colorful balloons. “Wow, great job,” he deadpans every time one pops, not bothering to check how many were taken out before handing over a giant stuffed animal.

“I’m gonna win you something,” Soonyoung declares. “Which one’s your favorite?”

You hum. Tap your finger against your chin as you pretend to mull it over. “The tiger,” you answer. “The really big one.”

Soonyoung pretends to push up sleeves that don’t exist. “Coming right up.” He approaches Chan. “Hello, sir. I’m here to win the giant tiger for the lovely lady.”

Chan ignores him and holds out his hand for the money. “Pay up, weirdo.”

As they argue, you wander into another souvenir shop. It’s mostly more of the same—tacky figurines of sea life and shot glasses featuring anatomically incorrect genitalia, skimboards and mugs with seashells for handles—but you pause in front of a rack of keychains. You’re not going to find Soonyoung’s name on any of these tiny surfboards. There are others, though: #1 Grandpa, Rock Star, Boy Mom, They Didn’t Have My Name. You laugh at the last one. Almost pick it up for Soonyoung until another one catches your eye.

Best Teacher

When you return to Chan’s game stall, Soonyoung is holding the tiger around the neck, grinning triumphantly as he rocks back on his heels like he hunted it himself.

“Welcome back! As you can see, I fought valiantly to win you your requested prize.”

He returns his arm to your shoulders, pulling you back into his side as he continues walking down the pier. From behind, Chan yells, “No he didn’t! He didn’t win shit, he grabbed it when I wasn’t looking! He’s a fraud!”

Naturally, Soonyoung ignores this. Pretends he doesn’t know Chan at all and asks what you’re going to name your new friend. “Probably nothing, if you keep carrying them like that. I think they’re turning purple. Or blue.”

Soonyoung gasps and adjusts his grip. Carries your new friend around their middle instead of their neck. “Okay, no attempted murder charges for me. One of my friends is on ferris wheel duty tonight—let’s see if he’ll let me use his locker.”

“Trying to get rid of my child already?”

“They’re heavy,” he whines.

You poke his bicep. “Are these just for show, then? God gives His biggest biceps to His most useless soldiers.”

“Did you forget I won this—”

“Stole,” you correct.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Did you forget I won this for you? How can that be useless?”

You’re poised for a response that’s cut off by someone shouting his name. A lanky, kind of tall man is leaning over the wrought-iron railing, waving his arms like one of those blow-up things outside car dealerships. He’s wearing a tie-dyed shirt and his nametag has two names on it. HANSOL is crossed out with VERNONwritten underneath in bigger, bolder letters, prompting you to ask Soonyoung what his name actually is.

“Both,” he answers. Then, to Hansol-Vernon, he asks, “Can I use your locker for this thing?”

“Just leave it here,” Hansol-Vernon says, pointing at the floor of his operating station. He cracks open a can of beer. “Y’all want some? The fireworks are gonna start soon so everyone bounced. No one’s wanted to ride this thing in fuckin’ hours.”

Surely this is in violation of at least fifteen different safety standards. No one else seems to care, though, so you’re not going to be the one to bring it up and be a wet blanket about it. “Sure.” You shrug, accepting two cans when he hands them over.

Soonyoung, on the other hand, seems to have other plans. “Can we watch the fireworks from this thing?”

“Probably. They’re doing them all the way down the beach, so I don’t think they’ll, like, hit you.”

Soonyoung looks at you. Asks a question with his eyes that you answer with a small nod. “Sick. Give us more of those”—he points to Hansol-Vernon’s beer stash—“and don’t bring us back down until I say so.”

“Dude, no. If you’re planning on fucking up there again don’t even—”

You choke on your beer, coughing violently as you try to prevent it from coming out of your nose. Hansol-Vernon slaps you on the back and asks politely if you can get it together because he can’t have a death on his hands, either. “Thanks, Hansol-Vernon,” you say, wheezing a little as you regain your voice.

“It’s just Hansol. Or Vernon.”

That doesn’t clear up much.

Still stuck on three sentences ago, Soonyoung scoffs, indignant, and crosses his arms over his chest. “First of all, that was Mingyu! Don’t blame me for his debauchery! Second of all…” He pauses. “No second of all, actually.” He turns to you. “Do you wanna watch the fireworks from up there? I promise I won’t try to fuck you.”

You choke again.

Regardless, you agree. Vernon (which you’ve settled on calling him due to his shirt, which doesn’t have much of a Hansol vibe) gets you two situated, shouting a very pointed, “Hands where I can see them at all times!” when you reach the top.

And the view is breathtaking.

Nearly the entire town is visible, flat and sprawling as it encroaches on the shoreline to your right and the bay to your left. Lit up bright, welcoming like a beacon, though you’re not sure what it’s luring you into. You watch the waves break against the shore. The ant-sized people moving in herds. All the other rides that are operating and flashing and playing stupid little songs. You watch two seagulls perch on the roof of the ticket booth and fight over a french fry.

Under no circumstances do you look at Soonyoung, even though you know he’s looking at you.

The weight of his gaze is overwhelming. Has fire needling beneath your skin, pricking at your most sensitive spots. Because not only are there implications in it, there are wants. Wants that you know would be mirrored in your own eyes. And that’s… is it smart to start something with a predetermined end date? Soonyoung isn’t an idiot, wouldn’t be going into this with eyes wide shut, but you’re not sure where you stand. If it’s a risk you’re willing to take and a hurt you’re willing to both endure and put someone else through.

Still.

A single spark of hope can be a dangerous thing, and Soonyoung’s looking at you like he wants to engulf you. Like he wants to take every broken part of you and piece them back together with gentle hands. He’s looking at you with no trepidation at all, and it’s no small thing to be looked at like that. Like there’s potential. Like whatever you have to offer is worthwhile.

It should be scary. You should be throwing out emergency flares, begging whoever comes to your rescue to make you think rationally. It’s only been a month. You’re leaving in two. Hours of distance separate the two of you. You barely know him. He barely knows you; might eventually uncover all the things you hate about yourself and find them ugly, too.

It should be scary.

But it’s not.

So here, at the top of a ferris wheel that might as well be the top of the world, is where you finally meet his eye and manage to say, “I want you to kiss me. When the fireworks start, I want you to kiss me.”

Soonyoung smiles so wide his cheeks dimple. Scooches forward to sit on the edge of the bench, so close his knees knock into yours, always touching now that he’s allowed to. So close you can smell the sea salt and the remnants of cologne that stick to his skin. So close you can see yourself reflected in his eyes, surrounded by stars.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asks, voice deep and molten, words nearly spoken into the crook of your neck. You almost have to look away again—almost have to call the whole thing off out of self-preservation—because that intensity is back. Has your breath hitching in your throat, sweat beading along your hairline.

Soonyoung cups your jaw. Runs his thumb over the seam of your lips. If you were any more coherent you’d nip at it with your teeth, soothe the sting with your tongue, show you can give as good as you get. You want Soonyoung just as affected as you, just as wanting. Just as gripped by the anticipation. Just as fucked up over the possibility of it all.

And it seems like he is, because he leans in impossibly closer. Uses his free hand to grip at the meat of your thigh, slide it higher until it’s nearly settling on your waist. He pinches the fabric of your shirt between his fingers like he’s trying to savor it, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. When he speaks this time, you actually do feel it against your skin. Feel the way his lips form around each word. Feel his warm breath every time he exhales. Feel your stomach somersault when he asks, “What if I don’t want to wait for the fireworks?” Feel your core throb when he continues, tone headier than you’ve ever heard it, “What if I just pulled you into my lap and kissed you right now?”

If you were any more coherent you’d tell him to do it. You’d smirk, press your tongue into the fat of your cheek, lean in just as close and watch the goosebumps rise on his arms when you tugged his earlobe between your teeth and said, “Why don’t you find out?” But you’re all out of sorts here on the top of the world, scared you’re going to come plummeting back to reality any second.

Because Soonyoung feels like a dream—not idealized or put on a pedestal, but realistic and attainable. Someone it’s easy to exist alongside of. Someone who shows you off without reservation and swindles his friends out of glorified carnival prizes just because you want one. Someone not afraid of or deterred by the liminal state of your relationship, before things became more solid and defined. Someone who knows when to push and when to be patient. Someone who looks at you and sees a future you could barely imagine—not because you didn’t want it, but because all those assumed barriers.

Grief so overpowering some days you could barely get out of bed. Salary, title, and job prospects not where or what you thought they’d be after graduating nearly a decade ago. Feeling trapped by both of these things. Knowing it’s pointless to tie your self-worth to numbers and degrees and prestige but being unable to help it. Being quietly dissatisfied with a simple, ordinary life.

But while those things are true, they aren’t what defines you.

You haven’t decided this thing with Soonyoung is worth pursuing because of his job—jobs. How much money he does or doesn’t make isn’t what you see when you look at him. What you see is his smile when he walks through the door on Friday evenings. The way his brows pinch and his tongue sticks out just so when he’s cooking dinner for the two of you. The look he wears when he shows up in the doorway of your room, half embarrassment and half mischief as he asks you to help him bleach his hair at some ungodly hour—that he trusts you to help even though you’ve never done it before. You see a man that, for the past month, has welcomed you into his home and his life.

All of those things are what makes it easy to plant your hands in the center of his chest and push him back against the bench. To crawl into his lap just like he’d teased, to nip at his skin just like you’d wanted, and whisper, “Maybe I don’t want to wait, either.”

Fate is not something you believe in, but if you did, you think it’d feel a lot like this: the first firework exploding as soon as Soonyoung grabs you by the back of the neck and draws you in for a searing, bruising kiss. The way he groans into your mouth and moves his hands to your waist, trying to erase space that doesn’t exist. You can tell he’s holding himself back, that he wants to thrust his hips, desperate for friction, but doesn’t want to risk making you uncomfortable, is letting you set the pace.

And the pace you want is just as frenzied.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung swears, hissing as you fully drop your weight onto him. When he tilts his head back, you move your lips to the column of his throat, delighting in the sounds spilling from him, the way he finally dares to roll his hips.

You moan, unable to help the sleazy smile that stretches across your face. “God,” you rasp, matching his thrusts, “you’re so hard.”

Soonyoung scoffs. Makes a sound like the air’s been punched out of him. “Do you know—shit—d’you know how long I’ve wa-wanted to kiss you? And have you seen yourself?”

“I have,” you snark, threading your fingers through his hair. “You could’ve, you know. Would’ve let you.”

“Pull it harder.” You do as you’re told, tightening your grip, staring down at the man beneath you. Lips parted, breathing labored, unsure what to do with his hands. You want to mess him up. Want to bring him close to the edge and make him suffer through having to wait. “Mm yeah, just like that, baby—make it hurt.”

Every word strikes you deep. Has you needy and clenching around nothing, unfazed by the world around you, that you’re in public. Fireworks continue to explode. So will you, soon, if Soonyoung doesn’t—

“Touch me,” you beg, unashamed of the need in your tone. He should hear it. He should know how affected you are by him, what he does to you. What you’ve been trying to ignore for weeks. “Soonyoung, please. Touch me, take me home, I don’t care, just—”

You’d be hard-pressed to say how you got here.

On your back in Soonyoung’s bed, his head between your legs. Panties pulled down only as far as they needed to be for him to get his mouth on you, and god is it good. Soonyoung’s made a trembling, gasping mess of you in record time. Has you clutching at his sheets every time he suctions his lips around your clit; every long, pointed stroke he makes with his tongue. Stars explode behind your eyelids every time he praises you, and you’d wanted him on the edge but you make it there first.

Soonyoung can tell. Sucks two fingers into his mouth and teases your entrance. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you, baby?” You nod, unable to muster actual words. Soonyoung grins, devilish and wicked, and presses his fingers inside. Crooks them immediately against your front wall as he returns his mouth to your cunt, sucking and licking, nipping at your skin.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Mhmm, let me feel it—that’s it, good girl. Taste so fuckin’ good; you drive me fucking crazy.”

You come with a shout, vision nearly whiting out, your hands back in Soonyoung’s hair to anchor you to this plane of existence. Wave after wave of euphoria hits you, and you almost beg him to keep going, to not go easy on you, make you come again, but you also just want him closer. Want to taste yourself on his lips. Want to hear his fractured intakes of breath as you grip his cock and touch him properly for the first time. Want the two of you to have to sleep in your bed because you make such a mess of his.

All he gives you is a few seconds to catch your breath. You know what you must look like, chest heaving and sweat-slick, and it makes you feel powerful. Sexy. Gives you the confidence to shrug off the last of your inhibitions and say, “C’mere, please,” and kiss the taste of your pussy off his lips, suck it off his tongue.

You skim your hands down his body—the expanse of soft, warm skin, chest to thigh. Grab at him over his briefs, rub your thumb across the wet patch you find there. Soonyoung curses when you suck that same thumb into your mouth and groan at the taste, the musk and hint of salt. One day you’ll return the favor and make him come with your mouth, have his muscles contracting as you swallow him down and let him fuck your throat, but right now you’re too impatient. Need him inside of you too badly.

There’s plenty of time for everything else.

Hand dipping beneath his briefs, you’re finally able to feel the weight of him. His velvety skin. Soonyoung hisses and tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. Watches you like a hawk, predator and prey, and it just spurns you on more. Has you circling and pumping his length, trying to figure out what he likes—which seems to be everything, judging by the way he hides his face in the crook of your neck and whines. “Baby,” he mewls. “God, you’re gonna feel so good around me, so tight and wet. Fuck, I’m never letting you out of this bed.”

“Yeah?” you tease, thumbing at his slit, collecting the pearls of pre-cum. “You wanna keep me forever?”

Another loud moan. “Please don’t say things like that,” he pleads, and you swear your heart stops, that your stomach drops through the mattress and onto the floor, before he follows it up with, “you’ll make me bust in my underwear like a virgin.”

You giggle, because that’s just how it is with Soonyoung: so easy to exist, to let go of your fear; so easy to laugh when everything starts feeling a bit too serious.

Easy to lob a truly terrible joke right back at him. “Come lose it, then.”

He barks a laugh. Leans over to fetch a condom from his nightstand. “Would you, the beautiful, incredible woman who I can’t believe is naked in my bed right now after I scammed her, like to do the honors?”

You would, actually, so you do.

Soonyoung kisses you as he slowly presses inside. As he fucks into you inch by inch. When he bottoms out, he gives you time to adjust; moves his hands to your waist and massages the skin just above your hip bones. “Okay?” he asks, and when you nod, tell him it’s okay to move, he presses another kiss to your forehead. “Good job, pretty girl; took me so well. I knew you’d feel like heaven.”

He fucks you slowly at first, measured and precise. Takes his time rolling his hips as his hands explore anything they can reach, like he can’t bear to not be touching you even though you’re connected in the most raw, sensual way two people can be. He waits he can feel you spasming around him, until your legs are locked behind his back, begging him to fuck you faster, harder, before he obliges. Before he puts all the power in his hips to good use. Before he rolls you onto your stomach and enters you from behind, both of you gasping at how much more intense it feels.

“Close,” you warn him, not at all surprised at how quickly your second release has snuck up on you.

With a final nip to the back of your neck, Soonyoung plants his knees against the mattress and grabs you by the hips, angling your body so he hits deeper, harder; so his balls slap against your clit every time he thrusts into you. You’re mindless with pleasure. Babbling nonsense as you beg him not to stop. Wouldn’t fuckin’ dream of it, he speaks through gritted teeth.

The coil of tension in your gut finally snaps. Again, you come with a shout, entire body pulling taut as Soonyoung continues to fuck you through it, his own undoing not far behind. Only a few more thrusts before he’s draping his body over yours and spilling into the condom, hands immediately reaching for yours to twine your fingers together.

It’s quiet in the immediate aftermath. Soonyoung rolls onto his side and presses his front against your back, arm secured around your middle. Kisses the top of your head and sighs. “I need to clean us up but I don’t think I can move.”

“Hm. At least take off the condom so your dick doesn’t get all pruney.”

Soonyoung startles, bolting upright. “Can that happen?”

“Dunno,” you respond, feeling sleep nipping at your heels, “but I’d rather you didn’t risk finding out. I happen to like your dick very much.”

He laughs. Rolls out of bed and playfully swats at your ass on his way to the bathroom. “Yeah, we’re not leaving this bed for a long time.”

In the morning, you wake up Soonyoung with your mouth and ride him until you’re both dizzy and breathless.

You fetch a book from your room and read while he dozes in and out of consciousness, content to just be next to him. You ignore the slew of texts from Minghao, who had heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that there had been a development in your and Soonyoung’s relationship the night before, but once your phone vibrates for the hundredth time that morning, you figure you might as well get it over with because you know Minghao—know he won’t relent until he gets what he’s looking for.

Minghao [11:03am]: ignore my actually important texts all you want, but at least look at this 🙄

What he’s sent you is a job listing.

You can hardly believe what you’re reading. Not only is it nearly your dream job, but it’s remote and triple your current salary—and, most importantly, you’re qualified.

You [11:12am]: Minghao what is this?? Minghao [11:12am]: a friend is a higher-up there. says we can use him as a reference but if your resume looks good it might as well be a done deal Minghao [11:13am]: i already sent yours to him btw You [11:14am]: Freak. Why do you have a copy of my resume?? Minghao [11:14am]: i don’t. i sent him your linkedin Minghao [11:14am]: your ugly ass headshot must not have scared him off bc he said he’ll be in touch soon

Now you’re breathless for an entirely different reason.

You’ll figure out a way to thank him later, ask if he’s making the switch with you because both of you deserve better. You won’t get your hopes up—not until it’s a done deal, and not until you talk to Soonyoung. Because whatever this is between you is heading down a path you want to follow; want to see through to the end, wherever that may be.

For now, though, you’re happy to exist alongside Soonyoung. Happy to listen to his quiet snores and let him cuddle into your side. Happy to be in this house in this little beach town that has already given you so much.

Perhaps fate is something you believe in, after all.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to show you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

#caratbaycollab #hoshi smut #hoshi x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #svt smut #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt fanfic #hoshi fanfic #hoshi imagines

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sapphirexsolarium · 2 months ago

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Cruel Universe

tw: angst, character death (reader), hurt/no comfort, sylus x non-mc reader, couldn't proof read through the tears :')

wc: 1.1k

a/n: i rewrote this 4 times with several different plot points and completely abandoned the original plot i had, this is inspired by a fic i read with a similar plot line but i can't find it ; A ; if any of you recognize it please let me know so i can give proper credit

The loud thumping is incessant. Your breathing is slowed and you realize that thumping noise is the sound of your raging heartbeat in your ears. It's so loud. Obnoxious even.

Through the haze of your blurred vision you see him and her running to you.

"Oh good, they're safe." You think to yourself. In the end at least you could give him this.

"Do you think I'm a cruel man?"

You give pause, "I think you're pretty ruthless but cruel?", thinking over your answer.

"That's good to know." He quietly chuckles, polishing his gun.

"She called you cruel didn't she?" You try not to laugh but his glare makes you burst out into laughter.

"It's a little unfounded don't you think? We were just acquainted and she's already made assumptions about me." Sylus tries to reason with you but your laughter drowns out all notions of him winning you over.

"So, reincarnation huh?"

"Something like that." He shrugs indifferently after revealing to you his big, great secret.

"Wow… I didn't think the universe would be so kind to give us another chance much less reunite with our soulmates." You look up at the sky, streaks of reds, orange and pinks bleeding into the night sky as the sun slowly starts to peek out from the horizon.

"It's actually a curse."

"If my curse was to find my soulmate again… I think I'd be okay with that." The cold dawn bites into your skin and you pull your jacket tighter around your body. "There's hope in your curse. You'll find her again." That stings your chest a bit when you say that.

"I didn't think you'd be so sentimental." He pokes at your forehead before placing his jacket over your shoulders.

"A girl can dream about a love that transcends space and time." You wave off his hand, eyes downcast as you try to memorize the scent of his jacket. It's warm, smokey and a little bit sweet. You stare off into the distance as day breaks. You'll hold onto these small moments now, you can't afford to hope for anything more. "I hope you find her."

"What will you do now that she remembers?"

"Love her for the rest of my days." He softly smiles, looking out at the city skyline. Part of you is happy that he's happy and the other part feels like your chest has been hollowed out. Miss Hunter is one lucky girl.

You're fiddling with your switch blade when he asks, "What do you dream of?"

Your brows furrow, "Like when I'm asleep?"

He lets out an exasperated sigh, "No, silly. What are your dreams? Your grand schemes? The big goal in life?"

"Probably the same as yours."

He's surprised by your answer, "What ever do you mean?"

You don't meet his eyes, you're afraid you'll give yourself away. Instead you stare up at the night sky, "Find my soulmate, tell them I love them and live out the rest of my days with them." You're not really sure if that's your dream though. Especially when the one person you wish it to be, fundamentally cannot be. He's not yours. Never was. The universe said so, right?

"Oh…" He tries searching your eyes for an answer but you refuse to look at him. Maybe that's the answer he was looking for.

"…Do you really think that there's one perfect person out there for everyone?" You quietly ask, looking down as you hug your knees tighter to your body.

"No." It was his turn to surprise you. "Even with my destiny… I still believe love, even perfect love can exist anywhere and everywhere."

You look up at him for a moment before your lips break out into a teasing grin, "I didn't think you'd be so sentimental."

He rolls his eyes but smiles down at you, patting your head. "I think I'm developing some bad habits."

"I wonder why." You look down as he pats your head, the bittersweet smile hidden from his view.

The roaring fire surrounding you brings you back to your senses. The bright lights and sounds of distant sirens cloud your mind but one thing is certain, Sylus was in front of you. Holding your hand, looking so concerned, so worried. You've never seen him like this. Usually he's so confident and sure of himself.

"We'll go to the islands."

You chuckle, sputtering blood between your pained coughs. "Yeah… The beach house right?"

"Right. We'll eat whatever you want." His fingers holding onto your hand so tightly, it momentarily distracts you from the pain.

"That new cafe that opened?" Your breathing begins to labor, you're slipping away.

"Yes… And… And dancing. We'll dance the night away." Sylus, for the first time sounds so unsure. "You'll be alright."

"Dancing…" You softly smile, the idea of dancing with him under the moonlight feels too generous. Like you don't deserve that kind of bliss. After all, you're pining after a man who's in love with someone else.

What kind of person does that? You should've moved on but part of you selfishly held on. You held onto those soft, warm, quiet memories and told yourself that it was enough. You didn't need more.

What was your big dream? Your grand scheme? To love him. To love him for all eternity. Selfishly and quietly.

"Sylus…?" You try to hold on for a little longer but you can't feel the warmth of his hands anymore. You wanted more time, just a little more. "I'm scared."

"You'll be alright. I'm right here."

It's slipping away too fast. Your mind is swimming, filled with only him. You love him. You love him so much. You're hopelessly, desperately and pathetically in love with him. You're so scared that you won't be able to say it.

You look up at him, your eyes pleading to the universe to give you this one thing. It's okay if you can't have him. You understand that, you do. But you're begging, pleading for the universe to give you this at least.

"I… I love…" You try to push the words out with your final breath but it falls short. You weren't given the chance. In the end, you were denied your greatest wish even in death. In the end those words will always remain unsaid.

"No, please…" He squeezes your hand harder, watching the light fade from your eyes before you can say those words to him. He cradles your body in his arms. You feel so much smaller like this. He's never held you like this before and he's ashamed that this is the first and only time.

"I'm sorry." He murmurs against your forehead before pressing a kiss to it.

Perhaps the universe is not as kind as you made it out to be.

And perhaps, he is cruel.

"I love you too..."

#lads angst #lads #love and deepspace #lads sylus #sylus angst #non mc reader #sylus x non mc reader #sylus x reader #sapphi writes

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elixara · 1 month ago

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what are their kinks?

featuring: jing yuan, dan heng, dr. ratio, gepard, phainon, mydei, gojo satoru, nanami kento, ryomen sukuna

content: nsfw, list of sexual kinks (bondage, blindfold, degradation, food play, marking, praise kink, role play), mentions of student and professor trope, consent is given, descriptive scenarios on their pov, fem!reader. mdni.

bondage : ropes, handcuffs, tie, shirt, and the like

⤷ nanami kento, ryomen sukuna, mydei, dr. ratio: they love seeing you all tied up and helpless against them. they can feel a sense of control and domination over you. they can do anything they want to do to you (with consent of course) and you have no choice but to take it. it turns them on if your hands are restricted to move by their shirt or yours, ropes if they’re feeling freaking or handcuffs, or for easier options for kento, he can use his tie. you badly wanna touch him? too bad, you can’t.

blindfold

⤷ gojo satoru: as someone who wears blindfolds on a daily basis, he’s obviously into this. he wants to make you sensitive by taking away your vision only to focus on your sense of touch or feeling whenever he’s making you feel good.

degradation

⤷ dr. ratio, mydei, phainon, ryomen sukuna: when consented, they would definitely degrade you. calls you slut, whore, bitch, etc. when they’re fucking you. they just get this sense of authority when they degrade you for so being eager to fuck yourself on their cock and they love it when you clench around them when they do so.

food play

⤷ mydei, phainon, dr. ratio: they’d probably do the whipped cream on your tits, nipples, or your pussy. they could also do their favorite drinks like pomegranate juice (mydei) or apple juice (coz veritas is a teacher they have apples this is canon). they love to eat you, that’s true. but it’s more fun when there’s food involved and they don’t wanna waste it.

marking

⤷ jing yuan, mydei, nanami kento: they just love marking you up for everyone to see. everyone has to see who you belong to. you’re just so beautiful that he has to remind everyone that you’re taken and he has to show it in a way he can. marks are littered across your body. their favorites are placing hickies on your neck and collarbones. they also love biting the flesh of your inner thighs and your breasts.

praise kink

⤷ dan heng, jing yuan, gepard, nanami kento: oh they adore praising you. for being such a good girl for taking their cock so well even though you always plead that you can’t handle their size or length. whenever they go fast and rough and you still manage to take them still, they’ll shower you with praise. “you’re doing a good job, angel. taking me so well.”

role play

⤷ jing yuan, dr. ratio, gepard, ryomen sukuna: they’d eat this up, i’m sure. general and rule breaker citizen with jing yuan and gepard? absolutely. gepard is a sweetie. you really have to convince him well to do this roleplay with you but both of you are gonna be so immersed in the role you’d forget that everything is fake. professor and college student with dr. ratio? you’re failing his class and you’re begging for extra credit to your hot professor and he has some terms for you to be able to pass his class. a king or an emperor and his favorite concubine with sukuna? please this roleplay is gonna be easy for him you’re his favorite woman and he’s a powerful curse. you’re at his mercy.

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the-californicationist · 1 year ago

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They Help You Practice

Task Force 141 asks you to be the bait for a secret assignment. So, they make you audition for the role. You end up getting gangbanged by the whole team and loving it!

TW: gangbang, vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex, gay sex, degradation, explicitly consensual, spit? please check AO3 link at bottom for full tag list

You let yourself into his office, shutting the door behind you, and stood before him at a sharp parade rest, waiting to be informed about your fate.

“Sergeant, thank you for coming. There is no need for formalities. This is just a chat.”

You moved to a more relaxed rest and nodded.

Price continued,

“This is going to be quite the ask. Would you be willing to perform duties which are…outside of your current scope?”

“Yes, sir,” you responded just as you should have, as you were trained to, but Price was hoping you would understand exactly what you would be getting yourself into.

“I need you to go undercover to a Konni restaurant cover in Minsk…as bait. Am I making myself clear?”

A pause. But, to your credit, you didn’t flinch. You did raise an eyebrow and ask a clarifying query,

“What kind of bait, sir?”

“Our next target, Dimitri Sokolov, will be at the Black Pearl bar in Minsk tomorrow, and we won’t get a better chance to lure him away from his bodyguards. He almost never makes public appearances, so he must be making an exception. Sokolov has,” he paused for a moment, trying to find the words, making general, suggestive motions over his own chest, “particular tastes in his women. You just so happen to have the right profile for the job. Again, this is not an order, Sergeant. I need to know if you’re willing to accept.”

“Yes, sir,” you tried to appear fully in control. You knew your breasts were large, but you had never been asked to use them as a weapon. There was a first time for everything, you supposed. You would do anything to help the team.

The captain loved your composure. He knew you would be perfect for the job.

“Good. Let's brief the team.”

Price walked with you down to the meeting room at the end of the hall and found Soap, Ghost, and Gaz sitting in the desk chairs every way except the way they were designed, lounging over the furniture like big cats, melting into the various surfaces they encountered. They fixed themselves when the captain walked in.

“Gentlemen,” Price opened, “this is our bait. Her code name is Rabbit. Rabbit, this is Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.”

You nodded politely and resumed a semi-formal rest position.

The men had noticed you around the base but hadn’t been formally introduced. You were a desk rider, but still, you were hard to miss. The baggy military clothing had almost managed to conceal a bounty of soft curves, but your lush body persisted beneath it, and the outlines of your feminine form made heinous suggestions in the fabric. Unfortunately for them, you didn’t hang around the gym or the common area enough for them to have generated a fully accurate image of your enticing body, but they were certain it was delicious. They watched you like peckish wolves. Waiting hungrily, shifting in their seats in anticipation. For what, you weren’t sure.

“Rabbit is going undercover for us to take down Sokolov, Vladimir Makarov’s new shipping controller. He has a particular penchant for,” Price paused just long enough for anyone to understand his true meaning, “certain types of women. Rabbit fits the mold, so all she needs is the gear and the training.”

Price cut open three large cardboard boxes to reveal slinky dresses and a number of questionable garments.

“I’ll need to try them on,” you offered, “Do you want me to get changed, Captain?”

“Sounds good. Come back in when you’re all set,” he smiled, enjoying the view as you left the room.

Ghost crossed his arms, clearly with quite a mouthful to share and but refusing to. Gaz stared down at the knife he was playing with, bashful. But Soap would not be cowed, and as soon as you left, he said,

“Feeding her to the sharks like bait, Captain? I dinnae ken any of us was so expendable.”

“Soap,” Price warned, “the sergeant is more than capable of handling -”

“I wasnae askin’ about the lassie’s capabilities. Send her in to slit his throat with a knife in her hand, for all I care. But to send her in unguarded, unarmed? No. It’s not right,” Soap crossed his arms.

“He’s got a point, Captain. Why take the risk of losing an operative?” Ghost spoke coldly.

Price furrowed his brow at their short-sightedness,

“And do what, exactly? Have the Russians scurry back underground at the first hint of an assassination attempt? We’ve failed that mission three times, boys. I’ll not have this go south again.”

“I’m sure she is capable, Captain. But, is Rabbit committed to this plan?” Gaz asked.

“Sure,” Price tried to sound reassuring, “we spoke in my office. She agreed to come down here. Besides, she’ll have you three as backup. You won’t let anything happen to her.”

Gaz did not seem convinced. All three soldiers wore a scowl on their faces, and even though Ghost’s was obscured by his mask, his body language communicated his displeasure. Price carefully ashed his cigar to renew the glowing tip, taking a long drag while they waited for you to return.

You were back without too much of a delay, but when you walked in, your colleagues were visibly stunned. They didn’t recognize you at first. A short black dress had replaced your camouflage fatigues, showing off miles and miles of smooth, shining skin. Your thick thighs stretched the silky fabric, and your ass threatened to escape from the edge of the dress with every step you took. Your new heels clacked sharply against the cold concrete, making your legs flex and tense, showing off your well-formed musculature. You did not miss squat day very often, apparently.

But, the assets you were trying to use for this particular mission were the real stars of the show. Your heavy breasts battled against the low dip of the dress, providing a deep display of cleavage, hinting at pink perky nipples hidden just below the line of the black silk. Your tits jiggled as you struck the floor with each careful step, making the room full of men breathe a little heavier at the sight.

Soap’s big mouth betrayed them all,

“Christ in Heaven. There you are, bonnie.”

Ghost backhanded him hard on the shoulder. Price glowered.

You had put on a little more makeup than might be socially acceptable in an office setting, making the suggestive outfit complete. Finally, as you stood at the head of the meeting table, you took out your task force regulation braid and pulled your fingers through your hair, breaking up your long waves as they spilled down your neck and back.

You smiled,

“Well, do I look the part?”

Price coughed, inhaling too much smoke on accident. Gaz hadn’t moved since you walked in the room. He just stood there, dumbfounded, arms held at an odd angle as if frozen in time. Ghost cleared his throat to save them,

“Yes, Rabbit. You clean up very nicely, don’t you?”

“Well,” you sighed, “this is sort of the raunchiest outfit I found in the box. I was going to go with something a bit more casual, but I thought I’d better be noticeable if we’re going to nail this asshole.”

Gaz finally came out of his locked state, aghast,

“Noticeable? Sweetheart, this is more than noticeable. Goddamn.”

“You think it’s too much? I don’t really know what would get his attention,” you shrugged, looking shy as you confessed, “I don’t get asked out very often.”

“You could go out with me, lassie,” Soap edged his way closer to her, slinking around the table, “We’d have a hell of a time, so we would.”

“Don’t listen to Johnny,” Ghost stood in front of him a bit, snaking an arm around your cinched waist, “He thinks takin’ his birds to the dog races is a good date idea.”

“Well, isn’t it?” Soap protested.

Gaz grabbed your hand tenderly, examining your fingers like they were a precious work of art,

“Maybe you could come with me to Berlin next weekend, babes. There’s a killer music festival going on, and we could have a really good time. How does that sound?”

“Boys,” Price interrupted, “I’m sure she has plenty of work to finish here; can’t just be galavanting off with you muppets. In fact, why don’t you stop by my office after this mission, bunny rabbit, and we can work on your projected shipment dates together? You know, I used to be a logistics man, myself.”

Ghost rolled his eyes at the Captain,

“Please, logistics? You drove a truck back and forth on base delivering food to the canteen twenty years ago. I’ve read your file.”

The men all started talking over each other, forgetting your presence in favor of coming out on top of the dog pile. You smiled to yourself, eager to push more of their buttons.

Slipping one skinny strap down your shoulder, you spoke through the din,

“You know, this dress can be strapless. Do you think Sokolov wants it up…” you locked eyes with Captain Price, seeing his throat swallow hard as he watched you in the silence you had created, “or down?”

The other soldiers were stunned, unable to look away as you slipped both straps off of your shoulders and tucked them into your dress. One strap was still partially visible, and Ghost slowly moved one gloved finger up your arm, tracing your skin lightly, and finished tucking it in for you. He lingered, caressing the side of your breast as he removed it.

“You gonna be able to seduce this Russian bastard, Sergeant? Or, do you need some practice?” Price asked with a low, threatening tone.

The whole room held its breath waiting for your answer. The four men towered over your short frame, casting shadows over you like black spells, hoping you would relinquish your control over them. All of their eyes watched as you slowly, achingly lifted a hand and traced it up Gaz’s canvas pant leg, stopping when you discovered the heavy head of his cock, hardening down toward his knee. With the back of your hand, you pet it like a skittish animal, reveling in its smoothness and warmth. Your eyes found his as they fluttered, blood rushing through his body in a panic,

“I think I could use some practice, Captain.”

You felt Gaz’s rod leap at your answer. He bent down to kiss your mouth, slanting his lips fiercely against you.

Soap came up behind you, gripping your ass through the silk of your dress roughly,

“We’ll help you, lass. We’ll help you practice, won’t we, boys? Jesus, you smell so good,” he buried his face in your neck and sucked against your skin.

Ghost found your other hand and held it tightly, using it to steady you from Soap and Gaz’s assault. Price moved Gaz out of the way, earning himself a glare, and peeled the dress off of you in one fell swoop, revealing the expanse of uncovered skin underneath.

“Holy shite,” the captain breathed, whispering his lament, “Sergeant, where are your knickers?”

“I guess I forgot them, Captain,” you blushed, batting your eyes up at him, doing actual damage to his psyche.

He didn’t have much time to savor the moment though because Ghost was shoving him out of the way to pick you up by the thighs to lay you on the table. The giant knelt between your legs, pulling you by the knees until your ass was hanging off of the low wooden planks. He lifted his mask just enough for you to see him lick his lips over sharp, white teeth before feasting on your wet folds, letting the cloth of the balaclava hide most of his efforts.

Ghost created a soothing, yet electrically wet warmth in your core which made you keen loudly, only to be muffled by Price’s smoky kiss. You could taste the burned tobacco on his tongue and your skin was scraped by his thick mustache.

Gaz’s voice got your attention. He had freed his cock from his pants and started to stroke it, standing by your side and playing with your breasts with his free hand as Price savaged your mouth. He tugged on your nipple and told you,

“You know, Rabbit, you’re going to have to really put yourself out there tomorrow. Show him these gorgeous tits of yours. Make him think you’re hungry for his cock,” Gaz rubbed his head, hard and hungry for you, “Can you do that? Let us see how good you can be, princess. We need you to ace this mission”

You felt Ghost dip his hard cock between your pussy lips, distracting you from Price’s tongue in your mouth. You broke the kiss and looked up at Ghost, dazed, into his masked face,

“I promise, sir. I’ll be good,” you looked around at all four of the men, reaching out to grab Soap’s cock that he was stroking for you, “Will you show me how?”

You didn’t give Soap time to answer. The Scot gasped as you devoured him, sucking him down into your throat, making yourself gag as he fucked your throat in and out in long thrusts. He tangled his fingers in your hair. Ghost matched his rhythm below you, pounding his cock into your wet hole. You thought you could feel something on his dick. Was he pierced? You could see your slick gleam on his lips and chin where his mask was still askew.

“Yeah,” Ghost smiled haughtily, “you like those piercings, don’tcha baby?”

You didn’t have a chance to respond. Price pulled your head away from Soap’s dick, kissing your mouth lewdly again before giving you an order,

“Open your mouth wide for me, love.”

You obeyed. Then, he spit onto your tongue, warm and bubbling, before shoving your face down onto his own fat rod. It made your lips burn with its cruel girth, even though it felt relatively soft, and you thought fleetingly that there was no way your poor little cunt was going to be able to take him, Ghost was big enough to be filling, but the captain was carrying around a true weapon.

He pulled your head off of him roughly, watching as the strings of drool connected your tongue to his cockhead, growling in short, lustful breaths.

“Alright, boys. Make sure she’s good and ready for me. You know the drill,” Price barked, and then he was gone.

The drill? You looked for him, confused, and only found Gaz, who was now slapping his long dick on your cheek, knocking for entrance. He let you take his head into your mouth, having a much easier time than you did with your captain. You bobbed your head up and down dutifully, not realizing just how long his cock was until he tried to force it into your throat. He held you down for a moment, moaning shamelessly, before releasing you to let you breathe.

“You alright, babes?” He laughed.

You nodded, moaning. Ghost took himself out of your wetness and pulled you off of the table. Soap hopped up to lay where you were, and you moved to ride him, making sure to get right to the edge with him to let Ghost back in. You’d never taken two men at once, much less four, but there was a first time for anything, and you were a quick learner.

Spearing yourself onto Soap felt like someone had created a warm, custom, living dildo just for you. He was a perfect fit, and you both cried out in pleasure from the sensation. Ghost slapped your ass, hard, and you screamed, clenching around Soap’s cock. Soap moaned darkly.

“Keep suckin’ that big cock, baby. Need to teach you how to multitask,” Ghost threatened as he bent to eat your asshole, wiggling his tongue into the tight rim to gain entrance.

He started to fuck you with it, his long wet muscle moving in and out as Soap thrust himself up into you, hitting your g-spot every single time like magic. You took Gaz back into your mouth and tried your best to take him deeper into your throat. Every time you did, you would gag, and your muscles would involuntarily clench, and the whole room would moan. You started to come, feeling yourself flood around Soap, whose mouth had latched onto one of your nipples, suckling like he was trying to feed from you.

You could see Price out of the corner of your eye. He had lit another cigar and was smoking it, stroking himself, still not at his full capacity. You were scared of him. He looked like some sort of demon, breathing fire, as big around as your forearm. He wasn’t as long as Gaz, nor as delightfully curved as Soap, but he made your legs shake without even touching you. When he did touch you, rising from his chair when he wanted to fondle you, pinching a nipple, pulling your hair, forcing your head down on Gaz, it lit you up like you were kerosene and he was the match.

Suddenly, Ghost’s tongue was gone, only to be replaced by his heavy head. He was going to fuck your ass, and there was nothing you could say to stop him. You’d only done anal once or twice before, and you knew it might hurt. He went so slowly that you could feel each and every piercing as he popped them into you, one by one. Then, as he pulled back out, you felt them pop as each one went through you again, raking himself in and out gently, as careful with you as he could be. When you were more pliant, he began to throw his weight into each thrust, and Soap started to groan below you from the sensation.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare, Johnny boy,” Price threatened, his voice full of stern warning.

You weren’t sure what he was warning him about until Soap pulled his cock out of you and came all over your stomach, Ghost’s thrusts making the fluid smear between you two, rubbing your bodies together. Ghost pulled out next, and you felt his hot, thick ropes spray onto your ass cheeks, melting down your thighs.

Gaz abandoned your mouth and took over for Soap, feeding himself inch by inch until he found your end, leaving some of his cock out in the cold. He fucked you faster than the others, not caring to move out of the way as Soap rolled off of the table, whining like a whore the whole time.

Captain Price came around to your face, holding your chin in his hand, looking down at you without pity,

“Garrick’s got a long cock, don’t he, love? You’re being so good for my men, such a good girl. Sweet little slut, hm? You’re going to do so well on this mission. Those areholes won’t know what hit ‘em.”

He grabbed your hair fiercely, hurting your scalp, forcing you to turn and look back at Gaz. Price took a long puff from his cigar, blowing it past your face,

“Baby, he could fuck you for a hundred years. He’s not gonna come until you scream his name.”

You heard Gaz moan louder at Price’s suggestion, so you did. You screamed for him over and over, not caring who might have heard you, begging for him to come in you.

“He’s not allowed to come in you, love,” Price kissed your open panting mouth, “But, don’t worry. It’s about to be my turn, and you’ll be feeling my fuckin’ come drip out of your cunt all night long.”

Price’s voice made your blood run cold with fear. He wasn’t making threats. Those were clearly promises. Predictions of the future. His cock was tucked back into the band of his pants, but it lay in wait there like a serpent, eager to strike.

Your heart pounded in your chest as Gaz pulled his long shaft all the way out of you, his come shooting onto your lips and ass, feeling him use his hand to rub it into your skin, making you sticky. Your captain gave him a warning look, and you realized they had done this sort of thing before. Perhaps many times before. As you watched Soap and Ghost comfort each other, breathing close together, touching themselves, you wondered if they ever fucked each other as well. Picturing the four of them rutting into each other made you hungry, deep in your belly, starving to witness such an act.

Finally, it was your captain’s turn. The look in his eyes made you tremble. You knew he wouldn’t be cruel, not on purpose anyway. He wasn’t a heartless man, but he wasn’t one to hold himself back from what he wanted either. You knew that he would fuck you the way he wanted to, as hard as he wanted to, no matter how much complaining you might do about how his cock would stretch you out - even to the point of pain.

“On your back, love. Legs up. Spread that pussy open for me,” he commanded.

You did as he told you, opening yourself up shamelessly, letting your folds spread wide.

He walked around the table to gaze upon your form, staring at your pink flesh like it was a hot meal, and he was starving. He moaned, rubbing his hand across your sticky mons,

“Mm, that’s my pretty little Rabbit. Now…” he paused for effect, sinking three fingers into your hole roughly but ever so slowly, twisting his arm as he did, corkscrewing his knuckles into you, “...I want you to understand that there’s a reason I’m last in line, love.”

You cried out from the pressure of his huge hand. It felt like you were going to tear. Then, after a few hard thrusts, he released you. The emptiness you felt was heartbreaking. You looked for him, pleading with your eyes for him to return to you. He pulled his cock free from his waistband, unable to connect his finger to his thumb as he wrapped around it. You whined involuntarily, something animal in you recognizing its fate.

“Shh, baby, I know,” he drug out his voice, “I know…”

He positioned the heavy shaft on top of your body, measuring himself from base to tip, reaching your navel. As he slapped it against you, it made a loud thudding noise, slamming into your muscles like a fist. Price was so heavy. You’d never even imagined a man could feel like he was pure, warm, thick marble. Your pussy seemed to understand the panic you were feeling, flooding itself, preparing for the upcoming invasion.

“I’m so fuckin’ eager for you, love,” he slapped you again, quick taps right to your swollen clit.

Then, he put his head inside of you, squeezing himself in. He left it inside of you and started to pump himself with his hand. Between the vibration from his fist and the fact that it felt like you were sitting on the end of a steel bat, you couldn’t hold back your keening, loud and high-pitched.

Price began the steady, slow march forward, swelling harder and harder by the moment, making your walls feel like they might break. It seemed as if all the blood in your body was rushing down your belly and up your legs, hurrying to your core.

Your eye were wild, full of your fear, tears forming at the corners of your eyes,

“I can’t, please! I can’t. It’s too big, fuck…”

Price didn’t stop. He just kept feeding himself in and pulling himself back out, wetting his cock’s skin with your soaking hole.

“You can, and you will, love,” the captain growled, “Now, shut that pretty mouth and take it.”

Your cheeks were wet and your eyes burned, he was so deep within you that it felt like he was thrusting into your throat. You couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly, Soap grabbed your hand, kissing your palm, using his tongue to lick your skin,

“It’s alright, bonnie. I’m here, lass. Breathe with me, lass.”

He bent down to kiss you, but he didn’t quite connect, letting his lips graze yours featherlight. Soap breathed in and breathed out in steady, measured beats. You felt yourself begin to relax. It had such an immediate effect that you heard Price groan, able to slip himself a bit deeper than he had done.

It was like a chain reaction, the more relaxed you became, breathing with Soap, feeling him suck and lick your nipples softly, the more Price was able to squeeze himself in.

Finally, you felt his hair at the base of his cock, thick and curled, and as he sighed, he settled inside of you, impossibly pressing against your whole body, making a clear outline of himself in your lower belly. He rubbed it, almost fondly, and you felt every inch of him throb against your walls, his head bullying your womb.

You cried out again from the strain. Ghost and Gaz joined Soap. Gaz began to suckle from your breast on your left side, fondling himself as he did so, getting hard again. Ghost was at your head on the end of the table, and he bent to kiss you, upside down, his tongue running all the way down your throat, long and slippery against your own.

He pulled away, petting your cheek as Price began to grind himself into you,

“You alright, Rabbit? You enjoying your captain’s cock, hm?”

“Mm hm,” you whispered, whimpering through your tears.

Ghost smiled, and his straight, white teeth looked menacing as he did, sharp, wolf-like,

“I know you are, babe. You’re doing so well. Look at him. You can see him inside of your cunt.”

He lifted your head by your hair, showing you the grotesque shadow of Price’s heavy rod as it shoved itself into you. You reached your hands down to it, feeling it through your skin. It was so unique. His size wasn’t like anything you’d ever experienced, and your body was sending confused signals of passion, your orgasms coming in shattered, broken waves. Feeling incomplete. Too powerful, and yet drawn out like the last note of a symphony.

As you touched him from the outside, Price moaned aloud for the first time. It shocked you. You looked up at him, managing to meet his eyes.

“Fuck,” you moaned, “You feel so good inside of me, Captain.”

“Mm, yeah?” He replied, using his hands to press yours down onto his cock, making you gasp, “You like it, baby? I’m gonna make sure you never want anybody else.”

Price reached down and grabbed you by the throat, scaring away Soap and Gaz. He lifted you up, making his dick fit inside of you that much tighter with the change of angle. Then, he began the true performance. He thrust himself in with fast, punishing strokes, slamming himself into you. You were sure you would bruise, and you felt dizzy, almost like you’d pass out.

Soap was at your side again, holding your hair away from your face,

“Look at you, lassie. Such a good girl for your captain. Takin’ that cock so damn well. Can’t wait to be back inside you, girl.”

He kissed your cheek, palm massaging his dick which was back to full mast, eager again.

“Alright, Johnny,” Price grinned, “Since you asked so nicely.”

Without any strain whatsoever, Price lifted you up by your hips and held you in the air as he fucked you, bringing you around the table so that Soap could position himself at your asshole. Ghost’s earlier efforts had made it ready for him, and you could very acutely feel how much he was throbbing to be inside of you, pulsing as he fit against Price.

“Ungh, fuck, lass,” Soap groaned as he began to thrust into you, pistoning with the captain, “He’s got you so tight for me.”

“Yeah? It feels so good. Mmm…” you whimpered, feeling more full than you’d ever been.

Johnny was holding your breasts as Price lifted you up, brutalizing your pussy. Every thrust felt like an electric pulse, making you cock-drunk and mindlessly pliant.

They worked in tandem for what felt like eons, pistoning in and out with each other. Eventually, after he had felt you come, Soap addressed his captain directly,

“Sir, I’m…please, sir, can I?”

“Can you what, soldier?” Price grunted through gritted teeth, testing his sergeant.

“Can I come, sir? Please, Cap…”

“Yeah, Johnny. C’mon, mate. Let her feel it.”

“F-fuck! Fuck…” Soap groaned, pushing himself flush against your asshole, pumping his come into you.

He caught his breath while he was still in you, kissing the nape of your neck, and then he pulled away slowly. He helped Gaz replace him, holding your ass wide apart so his comrade could position himself inside. And just when you thought your poor pussy would have room to breathe, Gaz’s incredibly long shaft was piercing your hole again.

You felt him sigh, his breath against your neck. He took over holding you up, and Price praised him,

“That’s it, Garrick. She’s all yours. Take it.”

Gaz reacted to his words in a way that made you rethink their entire dynamic. Then, you remembered how he had come when you said his name. He seemed to get harder and harder the more Price praised him, and you wanted to give him that same validation.

“Gaz,” you whispered, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder, “It’s so big, baby. It’s like I can feel you in my throat. Oh, Gaz. Gaz!”

“Mm,” Price put his mouth to your neck, groaning, “That’s it, love. Tell him how much you like that long cock.”

“So much, Gaz. It’s so good,” you added.

Then, Price took his left hand and wrapped it around the back of Gaz’s neck in a moment of surprising intimacy. As Price kissed the front of your throat, Gaz kissed your shoulder and nape. You felt like a peeled fruit being shared between them, a ripped rind, your juicy flesh being split in two; two halves of a ripe orange.

Gaz lasted longer than Soap had when he fucked your ass, but Price’s attention seemed to spur him on. His movements were slippery, and you could feel the remnants of Soap’s come frothing around your entrance, easing his efforts.

“Captain,” Gaz whined, desperate for more of that approval.

“C’mon, Kyle. She’s ready for you. Good lad.”

The use of his first name made Gaz thrust up into you with a feverish pace. He cried out as he came, hard, into you. Feeling him fall back out of you made you imagine the tendrils of a giant kraken, seeming to travel forever just to remove himself from your body, slithering out of you with a terrible squelching noise.

Gaz let Price hold you again, and you turned, expecting Ghost. Price laughed at you, chuckling softly,

“Missing your masked man already?”

You looked at Price, feeling raw and used, waiting for an explanation,

“He’s a little…preoccupied.”

Price laid you back on the table, letting you turn your head to see Ghost, buried in Soap’s asshole up to the hilt, furiously jacking him off, slamming into him a little too roughly for your liking. It was violent, but Soap seemed to be enjoying himself beyond measure.

Your pussy, though, disagreed with your assessment, clenching around Price’s cock while you watched Simon abuse his friend’s hole.

“Mm,” the captain moaned, feeling your muscles react, “You like that, love? You wanna be fucked rough like that?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. Price wrapped your legs beneath his chest in a full mating press and wrecked you, pounding into your body like a giant fist. You felt your bones shudder beneath his behemoth form. Just when you thought you might puke from how overstimulated you were, you felt him pause. Then, your pussy felt like it was leaking, and it was. Price’s come just kept milking its way out of you, his cock pulsing inside, making your walls throb.

When he finished, he kissed you on the mouth, almost lovingly, reverently. He started to slide out of you, being extremely careful, and you’d never felt so empty in your entire life. It was as if you’d never be full again. You found yourself whining, whimpering for Price to return.

“That’s right, pretty girl,” Price smiled, “Never gonna want anybody else, are ya?”

You smiled, shocked and in considerable discomfort. Gaz scooped you up off of the table, cradling you, sitting down with you in his lap in a large chair. He reached down for some water and handed it to you, helping you recover.

Price was standing with his hands on his hips, panting from his exertion. Ghost and Soap were connected like two hounds, locked together, the Scot cock warming his tall lover, groaning on every exhale.

“Well, what do you think, lads? Do we have a winner?” Price asked.

“Yeah, we fucking do, Cap,” Gaz pet your head, moving your sweaty hair out of your eyes.

“Fuck yeah, mate,” Ghost growled, pawing at Johnny again, rabid for him.

“Hear that, bonnie?” Soap managed to ask, still moaning in little breaths as he was being speared by Ghost, “Got yourself a new permanent assignment.”

Price walked over to you, grabbing you by the face and kissing you once more,

“You belong to us now, love. Perfect little slut.”

AO3 Link

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod #call of duty #tf 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #tf 141 #141 x reader #call of duty mwii #x female reader #x fem!reader #captain john price #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #the gang's all here

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ofstarsandvibranium · 3 months ago

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Charge My Card

Fandom: Marvel (Actor AU)

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x F!Reader

Summary: You see a TikTok of a woman who pays for DoorDash instead of her boyfriend and her boyfriend gets upset about because he usually pays for it. So you try the same thing with Joaquin…

A/N: Inspired by this TikTok.

You're happy that Joaquin is filming in LA because that means he doesn't need to be far from home. He spends a majority of his day filming and then comes home to you. It's all so domestic.

You thought moving in together would come with some difficulties, but Joaquin is very on top of everything. He's tidy, does chores without being told, and basically makes sure you don't have to lift a finger.

You must have done something good in your past life to end up with someone like him.

You and Joaquin are currently sitting on the couch together, scrolling through Yelp to see what you could order.

"Oh! That Korean place we went to with Kate delivers! Should we get that?"

"Oh hell yes. I've been thinking about their fried chicken for weeks!"

You nod and put in the order of food you wanted as well as the fried chicken Joaquin requested.

Joaquin gets up to grab his wallet from his work bag. He's rifling through his things until you speak up, "Okay, so it'll be here in about thirty minutes."

That's when Joaquin pauses, "Wait," he turns around to face you, "did you pay already?"

You nod, looking up from your phone, "Yeah. It'll be here in thirty minutes."

Joaquin holds up one of his credit cards, "Which card did you use?"

"Mine," you respond with a confused look.

He shakes his head, "Cancel the order."

"What? Why?"

"Because you're supposed to use my card," he reaches for your phone and pull it away from him.

"Says who?!" you ask as you slap his hand away.

"Says me! I always pay for our takeout!" You two begin to wrestle for your phone.

You can't help but laugh, "Joaquin, it's fine! I want to pay!" you try your best to keep your phone away from him.

He grunts as his arms wrap around you as he tries to grab for your phone. You continue to laugh. Throughout your relationship, Joaquin has very much always been more of the provider. He loves the idea of taking care of you, making sure you have everything you want and need.

Although you work and even pay half the rent of your shared home, he doesn't allow you to pay for anything else.

Slightly exasperated, he holds himself above you and pouts, "Baby, please cancel the order."

"No," you respond with a smirk and peck his lips, "I wanna pay every once in a while. I don't like feeling like I'm mooching off you."

He sighs and plops onto the couch beside you, "You're not mooching off me. You pay in half the rent and in your love and affection. You're smooching, not mooching"

You snort, "You're so dumb," you lightly slap his arm.

He grins at you, "You know a lot of people would love the idea of never having to pay for anything."

You shrug, "I know, I'm stubborn like that."

"Don't I know it," he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in his arms. He pats behind you for your phone and his brows furrow, "Where'd you put your phone?"

You mischievously grin at him, "In my pants."

He chuckles and smirks, "As if that would stop me," he pulls away and begins to at your jeans, causing you to squeal in laughter.

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres imagine #actor au #marvel au

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redhandedstag · 4 months ago

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005 , SPLASH OF RED

. . . dark, single muse template: 8 pages, includes magic ability info. has a title page, character basics and personality description on the second page, appearance description and personality notes on the third, appearance and magic notes on the fourth, a connections page to showcase characters they know, 2 pages for backstory and an extras page where you can pretty much put anything you want, so long as you keep the credit. this document is mobile friendly! the line colours are default ones. if you're using, please keep the credit and consider a like and reblog. goes a long way to help creators out! HOW TO USE this doc uses a few tables so i suggest having some knowledge on how they work if you plan on editing anything about the appearance of them. i also recommend keeping your text around the same number of lines as shown in the template. it prevents the doc from going all wonky! to edit the images, click the original image and select the "replace image" button. i suggest making sure the images you want to add are a similar style to the original - similar size or shape. the red star symbols/emojis are for inserting links. copy your link, highlight the star, click the little 'insert link' button, and insert your link - I like to change the colour of my stars once the link is filled in, but you don't have to. PC Once you have the document open, go to the top bar and click "file". There will be a "make a copy button" that appears third down from the list. Then you can name your version of the document and go from there! MOBILE Open the document in your standard browser and click the 'open in app' button. From there, click the "..." button at the top right corner and select "share & export" button. Then you can select "make a copy" at the bottom of the list and you can go from there! after that you should be good to go! if you have any questions or issues that arise, please let me know. keep in mind I'm not too active on this site, so if i haven't noticed your question, i'm not ignoring you! just haven't seen it. have fun!

#google docs #google docs template #roleplay #rp resources #rp template #rp doc template #muse template #templates #roleplay resources #free template #roleplay template #character template #roleplay blog #writing template #gdocs template #oc template #oc sheet

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winterscaptain · 3 months ago

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focus. (18+)

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: this is texting-as-foreplay, lets be real also, derek and emily being nosy is canon behavior. follow up tomorrow!!

beta'd by @ssaic-jareau who basically should be credited as a co-writer at this point.

words: 6.9k content advisories: language, sexual content, oral (m&f receiving), sexually explicit language, if ur grossed out by bjs (like haley lmao) go ahead and skip a lil bit of this, sexting

minors dni and i'm not kidding!!!

summary: “texting is a supremely secretive medium of communication - it's like passing a note - and this means we should be very careful what we use it for.” --lynne truss. november 14th, 2011.

Your finger traces your lip as you stare through your computer monitor, completely lost in the rather distracting and intrusive memory of about 10 hours ago. You haven’t moved, scrolled, or typed anything in eight minutes.

“That’s it, baby, let go. Let me see.” Aaron’s hand slides up your chest in the valley of your sternum and stops at the hollow of your throat. “You’re so pretty like this, so—“

Your phone buzzes. You jump and grab it.

Messages Alpha Bravo Hotel (1)

8:04am Hey. Focus.

You swallow, taking a breath and shaking yourself out of it. You can almost feel him watching you from his office.

8:04am I was focused.

8:04am Not on your work.

8:05am Focus is focus. 8:05am And what, did you want me to start writing a report about last night?

8:06am Depends. Are you citing sources? Quoting directly from the text?

Your lips press together, fighting a laugh as you reply, your thumbs flying.

8:07am You have a performance review coming up. There are team evals in there, you know. 8:07am You should be nicer to me.

8:08am Sweetheart, I know you don’t have any complaints about my performance.

Your stomach flips. Your pulse kicks up—so violently that you have to set your phone down and turn away from his window.

And that is exactly when Derek walks up, arms crossed, his eyes far too critical for this early in the morning. You can almost hear Aaron’s stupid little chuckle from your desk.

He’s probably so pleased with himself right now.

“Alright,” he says, tilting his head. “What’s going on?”

You school your face into something neutral. “What?”

“That.” He gestures to you, his eyes narrowing. “That little smug thing you’re doing.”

“I am not—”

Your phone buzzes on your desk.

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, no way. You’re texting someone. Someone who’s putting that look on your face.”

You pointedly pick up your pen instead. “No. I’m working.”

Upstairs, Aaron leans back in his chair, watching this unfold with entirely too much amusement.

Your phone buzzes again. You pick it up, ignoring and combatting Derek’s attempts to read it.

8:10am We really need to work on your poker face.

8:11am “Working.”

Your jaw tightens. You’ll just keep it in your hand.

Derek, watching way too closely, tips his head. “You sure about that?”

Another buzz.

8:11am You owe me an email, you know. We’re both in that thread with CARD.

You exhale through your nose.

Derek leans in. “Who is it?”

Your phone buzzes again.

8:12am Whatever you do, don’t glare at my office.

Your eyes flicker toward the window—before you can catch yourself.

8:12am Good catch! 8:12am You’re terrible at this. 8:12am :)

Before you can shut Derek down, Emily strolls in with her coffee. “What’s going on?”

Derek betrays you instantly.

“Oh, nothing, just that someone is texting us, making us smile like an idiot during business hours.”

The royal “we” is absurd.

Emily’s entire body perks up. “Oh my God, who?!”

You groan, pressing your fingers to your temples. “You are both insufferable.”

Derek smirks. “And you have a man.”

Emily gasps, delighted. “Is this the same man?”

Your phone buzzes.

You do not look at it.

Emily zeroes in. “You didn’t even check that. That means something. Who is it?”

Derek leans against your desk. “Wouldn’t say.”

Emily presses her hands together. “Who do we know?”

Your grip tightens around your pen.

Another buzz.

8:14am I’ll rescue you if you want. 8:14am But you’ll have to ask nicely.

You let out a slow breath. Jesus, Aaron.

Emily gasps, pointing at you. “Ohhh, it’s someone we know.”

Fuckin’ profilers.

Derek nods, arms crossing. “See? I knew it. It’s gotta be someone in the Bureau.”

Emily tilts her head. “Or adjacent. Task force? Military? Hill staffer?”

Derek rubs his chin. “Nah. She’s the one smiling. He’s gotta have the upper hand.”

Emily squints. “It’s an instructor.”

Derek snaps his fingers. “It’s totally an instructor.” He turns to you. “You have a teacher thing, right?”

You take a deep, steady breath. “I do not have a ‘teacher thing.’”

Bzzt

8:15am News to me.

If he makes me laugh right now, I swear…

Emily gasps again, her brain working overtime. “It’s an agent in another unit.”

Derek nods immediately. “That checks out. You like the brainy ones.”

Emily’s eyes widen. “Oh my God, it’s SWAT.”

Derek tilts his head. “You do have a type. Tactically competent control freaks, mostly.”

Your eye twitches. “Can you just? Go back to your office and work on something?”

Derek grins. “Are you working?”

“We’re just asking questions.” Emily sips her coffee, looking way too proud of herself.

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to stay calm. “I hate both of you.”

Derek pats your shoulder. “That’s love, baby.”

He and Emily do, in fact, make their way out of the bullpen, looking over their shoulders every couple of steps.

Your phone buzzes.

8:18am Enjoying yourself?

You reply.

8:18am Fuck. Off.

The reply is near instantaneous.

8:19am Make me.

You walked into that one. And you nearly, nearly start typing before you catch yourself. You drop your phone face down and lean back with a sigh that is, unfortunately, also a smile.

Bzzt

You turn to your computer and take a breath, replying to that thread Aaron mentioned, just for the bit.

Bzzt

It’s hard to keep a straight face, but you figure now is as good a time as any to practice your impression of Aaron. You make a point of responding with alarming efficiency to emails he and Derek are CC’d on, totally neutral.

Bzzt

...

Bzzt

Some case notes. Very clean, very crisp.

Bzzt

You glance at your phone, face down on the desk.

He really wants my attention…interesting.

Your email chimes.

FROM: Morgan, Derek F SSA <[email protected]> SUBJECT: I stand corrected So you actually are working?? — SSA Derek Morgan, JD, MS

You roll your eyes and reply.

Bzzt

You ignore it, your fingers flying.

TO: Morgan, Derek F SSA <[email protected]> BCC: Hotchner, Aaron B SSA <[email protected]> SUBJECT: I stand corrected I’m always working!! Xx :)

You answer another—this one actually from Aaron, with a deliverable, no less. You flick the finished attachment into the email and send it, sitting back in your chair, finally picking up your phone.

Messages Alpha Bravo Hotel (7)

Seven?!

You turn in your chair to look and find him minding his own damn business (for once), his right elbow resting on the desk, his jaw resting in his hand, his left hand on his mouse.

With a short little interested hum, you unlock your phone.

8:20am That face you’re making isn’t very professional. Do you need a break?

8:21am I looked over your notes from the CARD briefing. You missed a line in your summary.

You absolutely did not.

8:23am Probably distracted. Long night.

8:27am Be honest. Are you working, or are you writing a very detailed mental recap?

8:34am If you’re sore, you can blame me. But I don’t think you’re complaining.

Alright. Amping things up. You take an even breath through your nose and resist the urge to shift in your seat.

The effect he has on you really isn’t fair.

It’s never been fair, but now he knows.

The next set? Back to back.

8:41am You looked so sweet last night, your pussy holding onto me so tight. I almost felt bad making you cry. 8:41am If I sat you on my desk right now and spread your thighs, how wet would I find you?

And then—a laugh.

Sharp. Stunned. Shocked. Uncontained.

You slap a hand over your mouth and spin slightly in your chair, eyes wide—no one in earshot. No witnesses.

Thank God.

You exhale hard through your nose, heart pounding like he touched you, like he whispered that filth against your skin instead of wrote it, in front of God and everybody, on your phone.

You dare to glance up.

Aaron’s at his desk. Stoic. Unreadable. The very picture of professionalism.

Same posture: Left hand on his mouse. Right hand curled under his chin. Not even glancing your way.

Unmoved. Untouched.

Like he didn’t just send you… that.

You recover, returning to your work, and decide to ignore him.

+++

You answer emails.

Update a case file with some unsurprisingly salient notes from your conversation with the case officer yesterday.

Finish the interdepartmental CARD summary with irritating precision.

You sip your coffee. Adjust a typo.

You don’t look up.

Behind the glass, Aaron’s dying. Phone balanced on his knee. Seven messages and no reply.

Not a glance. Not a twitch. Not even a ghost of a smirk. A glassy lake, placid and serene.

You’re pretending he doesn’t exist.

And he’s pretending not to notice.

+++

You scroll through the messages again.

Each one, slowly.

Letting them settle. Letting them simmer.

Your jaw tightens. Your mouth twitches.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

It doesn’t work.

Your thumbs move fast.

8:56am Awfully big… ego you have up there, Agent Hotchner.

Send.

Delivered.

And then?

You set your phone down. Face-down. Spin back to your monitor. And get to work.

Like you didn’t just throw a match.

Like you’re not waiting for the smoke.

+++

His phone buzzes and he’s almost embarrassed by how quickly he picks it up and unlocks it.

Messages Second (1)

He shakes his head. Just one? You’re joking.

8:56am Awfully big… ego you have up there, Agent Hotchner.

He exhales hard through his nose.

A soundless laugh. A blink slower than the last.

His jaw ticks once, just enough. He checks on you.

Unmoved. Insane.

And it’s not even 9am.

+++

You continue to work.

Actually work.

You finish two emails. Format your draft for that consult follow-up. Review a request for cross-divisional resource hours.

You even refill your coffee.

It’s virtuous, really. Professional.

Except your phone stays face-down.

Not even a glance.

Just enough self-control to make him suffer.

Just enough to make yourself ache.

And then—conveniently, mercifully, maybe even a little cruelly—you remember the consult analysis. The really good, publishable one you both started in the spring before Pakistan, finally rounding out with your contributions.

You need his signature.

You could scan it later, you could wait until lunch, you could even pretend it’s not urgent—but the printer is right there, and you’re feeling generous.

Or reckless.

Or both.

You hit print.

The pages whirr out behind you.

You take your time walking it upstairs.

+++

He doesn’t look up right away.

His pen scratches against the page—form review, by the look of it. His brow is furrowed in that way it is when he tries to pretend he’s concentrated.

A legal pad open beside him, mug near-empty at his elbow, tie just a little crooked.

God, he’s trying to act normal. It’s absurd.

You knock your knuckle twice on the doorframe and step in, the file in your other hand.

“Need your signature on the consult analysis from the spring. Strauss is looking to publish.”

He looks up—slow, measured.

His gaze tracks from your face to the paper, then to your eyes.

And there’s a beat.

Just one.

One breath of awareness, of weight, of memory.

“Of course,” he says. Like it’s nothing.

You step forward, set the page in front of him.

He doesn’t touch it right away.

Doesn’t pick up the pen.

Just looks down, eyes catching on the line above his—your signature already there.

He stares at it.

Just for a second too long. He lets himself imagine for a moment—

Same page.

Same line of text.

Same name, different hands.

That’s enough of that.

You watch his eyes move—slow, reverent. Like the presence of your signature has undone him more than the texts ever could.

Then his pen moves.

He signs.

A flick of ink. A practiced stroke.

The crossbar of the A forming the crossbar of the H in a familiar, unbroken, almost star-like shape.

But it’s deliberate. Personal.

“You gonna read my section?” You almost hoped he would. It is, honestly, really good.

He shakes his head. “Don’t need to.” He pauses, his voice smooth, but tight. “Anything else?”

“Not right now,” you say, your voice just as even.

But when your fingers brush as you take the page back, his hand lingers.

And your pulse jumps.

+++

The ride home is quiet. Your car is “under recall” this week so you can drive in together in the mornings.

Jack is in the backseat, almost snoozing in his car seat after a full day of kindergarten.

The sky is soft with dusk. The traffic hums low and steady. Your hand finds his on the center console like it’s muscle memory. His fingers slide between yours without looking.

And that’s it. Nothing else.

Just that small point of contact—warm, grounding, maddening. His thumb strokes yours once, absentminded.

And the ache rolls through you like a swelling tide.

You know those fingers. You know that pressure.

You know how those fingers feel deep inside you.

How they move when he’s coaxing you open, when he’s making you come apart.

You know how those hands pin you to the mattress, cup your jaw, catch in your hair, press bruises into your hips and thighs.

But here, in the car, with Jack humming to himself in the backseat?

He’s just holding your hand. Like he’s done a thousand times. Like it’s innocent.

But it’s not. It’s excruciating. Every red light is a punishment.

Every slow turn another second of not kissing him.

You glance over once.

He’s watching the road, jaw tight, the tendons in his wrist shifting as he adjusts his grip on your hand.

“You okay?” You ask, voice low.

He nods. Swallows. “Yeah. You?”

“Fine,” you lie. Your thumb drags over the pulse point at his wrist.

It jumps.

Neither of you say anything else.

+++

You’re still shaking out of the tension when you walk through the door.

But Jack barrels ahead—backpack flying, shoes kicked off, jacket on the floor.

“Can we have quesadillas?”

Aaron looks at you. “What do you think?”

You’re a little touched he’s asking you at all. “I think that’s perfectly fine as long as they have a green friend.”

Jack groans. “Carrots aren’t green.”

“They are not,” you concede. “But lucky for you I think we have some buttery garlic broccoli.”

He pulls a face. Aaron smiles.

You pause, your brow crinkling as you study the little trail he’s made. “Shoes and jacket in their spots please! All items in this house have homes; let’s make sure they get there.”

+++

The kitchen is warm, lived-in, as the two of you work side by side

You dice peppers while Aaron taps butter into a pan. Jack sets the table and gets started on homework. You’ll have to re-set the table.

Aaron brushes past you once, then again, his hand grazing your back every time—like he can’t help himself.

“You’re in my space,” you murmur, sing-song.

He hums. “You like it.”

He’s got you there.

+++

Jack talks about a classmate’s science fair project and how his teacher said he was good at reading aloud.

Aaron listens like he doesn’t already know this—like he didn’t read the progress report that morning.

You keep one eye on the broccoli, one ear on the rhythm of their back-and-forth, and think, maybe, that this is easy.

Too easy, almost.

It’s not alarming.

Jack clears his plate without being asked. You rinse, Aaron dries and loads the dishwasher (incorrectly, but it’s fine).

When you pass him a glass, he takes it and kisses the side of your head without thinking.

You freeze, the dam broken.

Then you keep going.

+++

Jack brushes his teeth. You read the first few pages of Charlotte's Web while Aaron finishes an email on the couch.

Already dozing a little, Jack asks, “Will you be here in the morning?”

You lean down and kiss his forehead. “Yessir. That’s the plan. Dad and I will take you to school tomorrow if you’re okay with that.”

He nods.

You continue to read.

+++

The moment his son’s door clicks shut, the air shifts.

You don’t even make it halfway down the hallway before his hand catches yours—spinning you into his space like a secret.

You gasp, stumbling slightly, and then he’s right there. You let him pull you into his chest, hands flat, fingers spread across low across his abdomen, under his ribs, the heat of him radiating through the soft cotton of his t-shirt. He exhales slowly, but you can feel how tightly wound he is. You can feel it in the way he leans just enough to rest his forehead against yours, like he needs the contact to settle.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he says, voice low enough that it brushes against your collarbone. “That look you gave me in the office… you knew exactly what you were doing.”

You smile, slow and shameless. “Of course I did. And you started it.”

His hands slide down your back to your hips. He doesn’t grip hard, but the pressure is steady, heavy. “You have no idea what it did to me—watching you work, ignoring me, knowing you were doing it just to get under my skin.”

You tilt your head and kiss the corner of his mouth, gentle and facetious all at once. “I think I have some idea.”

He groans softly, then leans in to kiss you fully—deep, thorough, with the kind of patience that makes your knees weak. His mouth moves like he’s trying to make up for every minute he had to keep his distance. You feel his restraint thrumming beneath the surface, taut and barely holding.

“I watched you dice peppers,” he murmurs against your lips. “I stood beside you and tried to pretend it wasn’t killing me.”

“You’re very dramatic,” you whisper.

“You’re very mean,” he returns. His nose brushes yours. “And I love it.”

You laugh, quiet in the dark, and that’s when he crowds you, walking you backward until you hit the wall with a light thump, just enough to jar you. He doesn’t press—just stands close enough that your chest brushes his with every breath. He braces one of his hands on the wall by your head.

“We made dinner together,” you murmur, still breathless. “Cleaned up. Read bedtime stories.”

His eyes are darker now. “And I only touched you once.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

He grins, actually grins, and kisses you again, a little rougher now. His hand moves under your shirt, skimming your skin, reverent. His mouth wanders down, under your jaw, under your ear.

“I want you,” he says against your throat, almost like it hurts. “I want all of you. And I want to take my time.”

Your hand slides between you, drawing his face back to yours with a hand on his jaw. You kiss him back, and it’s messier this time. More honest. He’s pulling at your shirt and breathing hard and you’re already thinking about how fast you can get to the bedroom.

“You better,” you say between kisses. “I’ve been thinking about your hands since noon.”

He laughs into your mouth. “You want to start a list?”

“Already done.”

He presses his mouth to your neck, to the hollow behind your ear, and you feel the heat pulse between your legs like muscle memory. You could come undone right here, just from the promise in his voice.

“Bedroom?” you ask, already breathless.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“You’re not sleeping at your place tonight.”

“No,” you agree. “I’m really not.”

“Good.” His voice drops, lips brushing your cheek. “Because I plan on keeping you up.”

He kisses you like he’s nineteen again and never learned patience. You return the favor.

It’s messy.

Open-mouthed.

Teeth and tongue and lips that won’t stop moving.

His hands are under your shirt, on your hips, your ribs, your bra. He can’t decide where to land, just knows he needs skin. You’re already gasping against him, fisting the hem of his t-shirt, dragging your hands up his chest, raking through his still-long hair.

He palms your ass like he’s trying to memorize it.

You laugh breathlessly against his mouth. “You good?”

He shakes his head and kisses you again, harder this time. “Not even close.”

You tilt your head to deepen the kiss and he groans—actually groans, still quiet enough for the hallway—into your mouth, pressing you firmer against the wall. Your knees go soft, but he’s already there, already holding you up with a thigh between yours, grinding slow and heavy, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“You’ve got me,” you whisper, just to say it.

His breath catches.

“I know.”

He kisses you again, slower this time. Still messy, still hot—but with a kind of wonder that makes your chest ache.

You stay there like that—teenagers, idiots, completely obsessed—for another full minute before you both remember you have a perfectly good bed down the hall.

And then you’re leading him, taking him by the hand to his own bedroom while he walks behind you, a stupid grin on his face.

The door closes behind him.

You move quickly then.

Turn. Step into his space.

You crowd him back until his shoulders hit the closed door. Not hard. Not aggressive. Just enough to remind him who has the upper hand. Who’s in control.

And the shift is immediate.

He exhales—shaky. His jaw tightens. His eyes flick down to your mouth. His turn for muscle memory.

But this time?

He’s waiting on you.

You lean in, slow and certain, your voice soft and dangerous as it brushes against his lips.

”So,” you start. “Those sneaky little texts today.” You press your lips to his and he moves to reciprocate. You pull away. He chases. He runs out of leash. His eyes narrow.

“You think about laying me out on your desk and having your way with me?”

You tilt your head. Sweet. Mocking. A blade wrapped in silk.

“Hmm? Is that what gets you through? Thinking about how wet I’ve been, all day, just for you? Hm?”

And Aaron—

He dies.

His head tips back against the door with a dull thud, eyes fluttering shut for half a second like you’ve knocked the wind out of him. His breath leaves him like a man in freefall.

“Ahh, fuck—” he groans, a hand coming up to your waist, not to stop you, just to hold on. “I lose. It’s over.”

You giggle, dropping all flirt. “Was that even a question?”

Even after everything you’ve said—how sharp you were, how in control—you can see the shift in his expression as he lets it hit him all at once.

The humor. The heat. The play. The way you’ve been messing with him all damn day like it’s nothing.

You watch him grin, slow and helpless, that rare little huff of breath through his nose like he can’t believe his luck.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, his voice still rough from everything you’ve stirred up.

You raise your eyebrows. “I’m not the one who got flustered by a desk fantasy, Agent Hotchner.”

He shakes his head, full smile now. “You are endlessly adorable.”

You blink, taken off guard by the softness. “That was not the goal.”

His hands slide up your sides like he’s claiming territory. “Too bad. You’re also infuriating and smart and—” his fingers trace your jaw, his eyes drinking you in like he might never get another chance— “so precious to me.”

And it’s not a line. It’s not a play. It’s the truth.

You feel it settle in your chest like something warm and permanent.

You kiss him again, and this time it’s different.

Less teasing. Less push and pull.

More give. More yes.

You take his hand and back toward the bed, this time without the fire of a dare.

This is just you and him.

Falling.

And when he pulls you into bed, laughing softly into your neck, he says, “You’re trouble.”

You breathe, smiling against his mouth. “You love it.”

You kiss him with that same mischievous little smile you wore by the door—but he’s not laughing now.

Not when you sigh into his mouth.

Not when your hand drags up under his shirt.

Not when you lean into him, feeling his arousal through his jeans and he groans like he’s been holding it in all day.

Because he has.

He’s been hard since that text exchange.

Since 8:30am. 11 hours ago.

Since the second you looked at him across his desk like you knew what you were doing.

He rolls you under him with aching care, like you’re precious and breakable and his.

His lips find your neck. Your collarbone. Your jaw.

His hand finds the buttons on your pants and gives himself a little space to slide his hand between your legs.

He freezes for a second. “Wow.”

“I wasn’t kidding,” you tell him, your fingers tracing up his shoulders, into his hair. “All day.”

He kisses his way down your body like he’s mapping familiar territory, hands under your thighs as he lays you back and slides your pants down. The mattress dips with his weight, and he settles between your legs without a second thought—like it’s his rightful place.

His tongue parts you gently. He starts slow. Testing. Tasting. Worshiping. And then he finds your rhythm and locks in like a man with a mission.

You arch with a gasp, hips rolling against his mouth. Hands locking him in place by this hair.

“Jesus, Aaron—”

He hums. “Jesus isn’t here. Just me.”

You laugh and he retaliates.

His fingers curl under your knees, spreading you open just enough to angle deeper. He licks like he’s starving, tongue flicking fast, then slow, circling just right, pressure building in your spine. Your hands scramble for something—his hair, the sheets, your own chest—and then it crests, all-consuming. So fast you almost can’t enjoy it.

You fall apart in a gasp and a moan, thighs trembling around his ears. Your stomach clenches, chest rising in sharp waves, breath stuttering out of you.

He doesn’t stop until you twitch.

Only then does he sit up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, wearing the most satisfied smirk you’ve ever seen.

“Wow,” he says, voice warm and cruel all at once. “That was fast.”

You glare at him through half-lidded eyes, flushed and breathless. “You’re such an asshole.”

He grins and kisses your knee. “You’re welcome.”

You’re still catching your breath, panting softly through your nose, thighs twitching as you come down. Aaron’s weight shifts next to you, one hand trailing up your ribs as he slides up your body, the other smoothing a hand over your face like he can’t stop touching you.

You press a slow, messy kiss to his mouth. You can taste yourself there, warm and sweet and heady, and you hum against his lips, smug.

“Your turn,” you whisper, already pushing gently at his chest.

You ease him back against the pillows, straddling his thighs as you kiss a line down his stomach, your fingers dragging light as static. He’s been hard. Already warm in your hand. You stroke him once, twice—just to see him twitch. Just to hear the sound he makes when you squeeze gently at the base. You kiss his hip.

“Wait.” His voice is low, rough as he sits up on his elbows. “You don’t have to—”

You tilt your head and smile. “I want to.”

Maybe just for one second he’ll let himself enjoy something. Maybe.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he says. You can see it behind his eyes, the worry, the hesitation, the discomfort (you imagine) at being the sole object of your attention.

You look up at him with the most devastating set of doe eyes he’s ever seen , his cock resting against your cheek. “Then die grateful.”

You kiss the tip, letting his precum string from your lip to the head. You make sure he sees it.

“Let me show you something,” you say, lips brushing the tip.

He groans when your mouth wraps around him—hot, wet, patient—your tongue flicking the slit, collecting what’s left. You start slow, lips plush, hand curling at the base. You use your tongue like you’ve got time, hollow your cheeks until he hisses. His hand settles in your hair—not to guide, just to ground. But you want more than that.

You hum low in your throat and sink lower. The stretch burns behind your jaw. Your throat starts to resist. You fight through it.

You use that trick, where you tuck the thumb of your non-dominant hand into your palm, squeeze with your fingers. It works.

You breathe through your nose. Let your hand work the rest of him while you adjust your angle, relax your mouth, let gravity help.

And then you take him all the way.

The stretch is obscene. You choke. Just a little. Your eyes water immediately and you swallow around him, pulse pounding in your ears. His thighs tense under your palms. He makes a noise like he’s lost the ability to form words. You pull back with a slick gasp, drool catching on your lip—and then you go back down, slower this time, your hand moving in tandem.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice cracked. “Sweetheart…”

When you look up at him through your lashes, eyes glassy, mouth full of his cock, he swears under his breath. His hand scrabbles uselessly against the covers.

And then you grab his wrist. Guide him. Place his hand at the base of your skull and nod, pulling off with a pop. “Use my mouth, baby. Show me what you want.”

His breath catches. And then he does.

It’s gentle at first. Testing. You keep your eyes on his. Let him see how much you want it. Then he gets bolder—deeper, slower thrusts, like he’s watching every reaction, every tear tracing down your cheek, every stretch of your lips around him, every gag. His hands hold tighter, giving him a view.

When you moan around him, he actually believes you like this, thrusting into your mouth with a little less fear.

Not brutal, not fast. Just enough to make you choke a little, enough to make you drool, enough to have you making pretty noises every time he hits the back of your throat.

Your nose brushes the soft skin of his abdomen with every stroke. Your throat works, swallowing around him. You’re soaked to your thighs, your orgasm minutes ago complimenting the throbbing of your clit in time with your pulse. You keep one hand wrapped around him, jerking him off when you come up for air.

Your other hand slips between your legs, addressing the ache one orgasm hardly touched. Your sounds grow more desperate, turning up the temperature until he feels like he’s going to burn alive.

When he pulls you off, spit strings between your mouth and the head of his cock. You’re breathless, dazed, panting through parted lips.

He drags you up for a kiss—deep and messy, his fingers still tight, pulling your head where he wants it, his hand sliding between your legs. And when he finds how wet you are, he actually groans into your mouth.

“Are you seriously getting off from having my cock in your mouth?”

You nod, wordlessly, still catching your breath. He groans again, almost a disbelieving sound.

“I have to pick between fucking your mouth and filling you up?” he murmurs, breath shaky. “That’s cruel.”

“Then make a choice.”

He turns you around, rougher than usual, but careful in all the right places. You’re already on your knees, chest pressed to the sheets, back arched, when he guides himself to your entrance, running the head of his cock through the slick.

You gasp, pushing back. The hand on your hip leashes you, his tip dipping shallow. He can see the stretch already. You need him, right now.

“Aaron, please, I—“

“Yeah?” He grits out, his jaw tight. He’s playing like he’s in control but he is absolutely wrecked by this phenomenal image in front of him. “You want it that bad?”

“I want to feel you. I need you to fill me up—please.”

Since you asked so nicely…

He presses in further, still just the tip—and already you’re pulsing, clenching around him and squirming. Already, he’s in the trenches out here.

“You’re soaked,” he breathes, breath shaky.

You whine. “Aaron—please—I’m begging, I swear—I need—“

“I know. I know.” He smooths a hand down your spine and finally moves, dipping into you a little deeper each time. “I’ll get you so deep, you won’t be able to walk right until Monday.”

You whine again, gripping the sheets.

He slides into you until he bottoms out, a delicious pressure you can feel in your ribs. Slow. Intentional.

Then—he’s not slow anymore. He pulls out almost all the way and pulls you back, strong and fast, until your ass makes contact with his thighs, jolting you forward

You moan. It pulses through your body. You feel the stretch down to your toes, his hand gripping your hip as he pulls back, then thrusts again. Each push sends you forward on the mattress. Each snap of his hips sharp against your skin. The sound of it—slick and rhythmic—is filthy. His hand slides around your thigh, fingers finding your clit with practiced precision.

Your head turns. You’re shaking. You can’t stop shaking. You reach out behind you and he takes your hand, lacing your fingers with his over the small of your back.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he says, low and dark against your back. “Taking me that deep. Choking on it. Eyes all wet for me.”

You whimper. He growls.

“I know you wanted me to come in your mouth,” he mutters, voice fraying. “But I needed to be inside you. I needed this.”

He fucks you like he’s trying to reach your soul—deep, slow, relentless. His fingers never leave your clit. You break apart again, pulse throbbing through your cunt so hard it pulls him deeper, makes him swear again.

“Jesus—baby—keep squeezing me like that and I’m not gonna last.”

Your voice is ragged. “Then don’t.”

And when he finishes, he presses as deep as he can go, locked inside you, his hand still between your legs. Still stroking. Still touching. You relax around him, your shaking muscles spent.

You’re still trembling when he pulls out, slow and careful, like he’s trying not to spill a drop.

It doesn’t work.

You feel the rush of it, warm and slick, already falling down your thighs. Heat snaps from your clit to your chest as you feel his cum slide out of you. It should be messy, maybe even embarrassing, but it’s not. Not with him. Not when he groans like he’s the one overwhelmed by the very sight of it.

(He is.)

His hands stroke down your back, reverent, steadying you as you rise onto your elbows. He bends behind you, breath hot between your thighs, and then—

“Aaron—” you whisper, already overstimulated.

But his mouth is on you. His tongue lapping at the mess between your thighs, tasting you both. His hands slide up your back, gentle, worshipful, while his mouth devours you like prayer.

You gasp. “I—I don’t think—I can’t—”

“This isn’t for you,” he says, kissing the back of your thigh.

You laugh, breathless. “Oh.” Your newly freed hand drifts back, playing with his hair. “Excuse me, sir.”

“You’re excused.”

His tongue. Long, slow strokes, chasing the mess he left behind. He groans into you, hands spreading you open like he wants to see everything. (He does.) And then you feel it—his fingers sliding back inside, two at first, maybe three, and he’s careful, gentle.

Too gentle.

You’re already soaking, already stretched, but it doesn’t stop him from using what’s left of him inside you to ease the way. He pushes deep, tongue circling your clit with maddening patience, and your whole body shudders.

When you think you don’t have anything left, he always knows better.

“Aaron—” Your voice cracks.

He hums like he’s pleased with himself. One long, slow curl of his fingers inside you and you see stars. Pressure climbs so fast it knocks the breath from your lungs. You claw at the sheets, hips rocking back against his hand, desperate.

“I don’t think—” you try, but then his mouth closes over you again, and you surrender to the inevitability.

“Yeah, there it is. Yes, you can.” You can feel his words against your skin. It’s very distracting. “That’s it, sweetheart. You’re right there, aren’t you?”

His voice is quiet but firm, guiding you through it like he’s walking you across a threshold. You can feel it building in your belly, burning behind your ribs, your whole body tightening around the pressure.

“Don’t run from it. You’re doing so good—so good for me.”

His mouth doesn’t stop—tongue laving your clit just the way he knows you need, not fast, not frantic, but devastating in its precision as he speaks into your skin. His fingers keep stroking you inside, curling up into that spot that makes you see white.

“You’re close—I can feel you. Come on. Let go.”

You’re keening now, legs shaking, hands fisting the sheets, your body winding tighter and tighter. You fight to relax, knowing he can get you there without tension.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe. Just give it to me.”

He sounds like he’s begging now, but not because he needs it. Because you do. Because he wants you to fall apart, to feel everything he can give you.

“That’s my girl. Let me feel it. Come for me, come on—”

And when it hits—when the heat crests and your breath escapes in a broken moan—he doesn’t stop.

“That’s it. There she is.”

He groans as you pulse around his fingers, your thighs quivering. He keeps licking, kissing, letting you ride it out. Falling at your feet.

“Jesus, you’re beautiful when you come,” he murmurs, more breath than voice, his cheek brushing your thigh, his fingers still buried deep as aftershocks roll through you.

“I could watch you fall apart forever.”

When he finally pulls back, he kisses the small of your back. Soft. Grateful.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs. “You know that?”

You can’t answer yet. Your brain is static. All you can do is breathe, trembling and wrecked, hips twitching when he kisses the inside of your thigh. He guides your hips down, sliding one knee at a time back on the coverlet until you’re flat and relaxed.

It’s slow, and soft, and absolutely sticky with the afterglow. You’re still trembling a little—not quite shaking, but your limbs feel loose and jelly-warm, your muscles useless in that delicious, just-fucked way. You can’t stop smiling, which would be embarrassing if Aaron didn’t look so smug about it.

He kisses your forehead first, then your cheek, then your jaw—working his way back up until you turn your face into his and kiss him full. Sweet, unhurried, a little lazy. You can taste the both of you on his tongue and—

Maybe you did want him to finish in your mouth.

“Can you walk?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

You huff a laugh and roll your eyes. “Rude.”

“Valid question.”

“Some of us are still young and spry and very capable.”

He grins, presses another kiss to your temple. “Mhm. Tough talk.” He swats your ass and your breath chuffs with a little, exhausted noise. “Alright, my little baby deer. Up you go.”

You do your best to follow instructions, but your legs are indeed so shaky you have to hold onto the bed frame for stability.

You look over your shoulder. “I hate when you’re right.”

He looks awfully satisfied with himself as he saunters over to you, around the bed to your side.

You swat at him, but he tucks an arm under your back, another behind your knees, and carries you to the bathroom like the smug, post-orgasmic man he is. You nuzzle into his chest and mutter something about how absurdly hot it is that he can lift you like this after a rousing round of extracurriculars.

He helps you wash up—warm cloth, gentle hands, careful kisses to your shoulder as he towels both of you off. You brush your teeth together in companionable silence, bumping hips when you lean for the sink. You spit and catch his eye in the mirror.

He’s already looking at you.

“Staring,” you tease.

“Admiring,” he corrects. “I’m allowed.”

You narrow your eyes playfully and say, “Don’t make me kiss you again.”

He shrugs. “Make me.”

”That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Why don’t you do something about it, then?”

So you kiss him again, low and slow. He holds your face in his hands like you’re made of glass, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones.

By the time you finally crawl into bed, your body’s humming, your skin smells like his, and you’re wearing one of his old academy t-shirts. You curl into his side like it’s instinct. His arm hooks around your back. Your leg slides over his. And he exhales, like the day is finally over.

Like this is the part he was waiting for.

“You alright?” he asks quietly, mouth near your hairline.

You nod. “You?”

“Never better.”

You nuzzle into him and whisper, “I believe you.”

+++

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