#and host connected a little too much with me

[reefsys-alt]

im a spencer reid fictive who absolutely hates his source and i fucking hate it

[eupheme]

— trouble will find me

[part ii | masterlist]

bodyguard!logan x mobster’s daughter!reader

rated e - 3k

tags: 70s era, dofp/bonedaddy!logan, bodyguard!logan, reader is the daughter of a mobster, reader is shorter than Logan, club setting, use of alcohol, cigar smoking, mutual pining, flirting, light brat taming!logan, references to violence, competence kink, semi-public vaginal fingering, kissing, forbidden relationship

a/n: I can’t stop thinking about dofp!logan sleeping with the girl he’s guarding, this is inspired by that scene! huge thank you to @pr0ximamidnight who let me chit chat about this little idea. you are amazing! 💖💕

His eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip, “‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.

“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You hum, “But what if I want a little in me?”

You can feel his eyes follow you.

Which shouldn’t really be surprising. It's his job, of course. Keep an eye on you, keep you safe.

But there’s something in the way he watches.

A curl of smoke from a lit cigar. Fingers tracing the rim of a half-downed whisky, a worn leather jacket thrown over a broad shoulder. The tilt of his chin when your eyes meet his - dark and narrowed, missing nothing. Slipping over you like the soft silk of your dress.

Indulging, almost. Unashamed.

You might have a crush.

You're trying not to think about it too much.

Tonight, you're just trying to enjoy the after-party.

It's all bright lights.

The room is bathed in pinks and yellows and flashing red. Disco club music pumped through the speakers, the panels of the floor flickering to the beat. You've been here for two hours already. Nursing tequila sunrises and pink squirrels. Sweat sticking to the nape of your neck, as the minutes tick by, bleeding past midnight.

He's not going to stop you, just yet. You can have your fun tonight - sway to the beat of the music - as long as you play by the rules.

Logan is so different from the ones before him.

Tripping over their feet to check on you. Breathing down your neck, with their padded-shoulder suits smelling like cigarettes and cheap cologne. Too afraid for themselves, of your father, to actually do a good job of protecting you.

Stifling and all too willing to tell you yes to anything.

It was exhausting.

Logan had come recommended - an acquaintance of a friend. He'd 'get the job done' from what you heard. Motivated. Needed the cash and would listen, no questions asked.

Just the type your father thought he could sway - a half-wild guard dog, his salary a leash. Heeling at the click of a tongue, the snap of fingers.

It's not how you saw him, though.

His silence was not obedience. There was nothing bought about this man - watching you from the line of leather booths along the wall.

You've wondered if maybe - you're just desperate to find some form of kindred spirit in someone. Too used to feeling like an accessory instead of a person. Your appearance at your father's events drove home his image. The good, family man who was oh so generous with his time and money.

Articles were written weekly about how philanthropic he was.

You had no idea if anything ever came from the numerous events you hosted - an attempt at doing something with your education. How much was skimmed off your blood, sweat, and tears, funneled back into what he did best.

Maybe you both saw through the bullshit.

He'll last longer than the others, at least.

More than once you've been halfway out the door, headed off to East Village or SoHo, only for him to catch you by the scruff of your sweater - whisking you back inside or into the Lincoln Town Car before you realized what happened.

An angry fist connecting with the nose of a man who had gotten too close at a gala last week. Cornering you in the coat room. Logan, charging in like a snarling beast when you had whimpered his name - red dripping down to stain the pressed white collar as the man was hauled away.

You’ve been thinking about that for days.

There was no sucking up. No flashing of a holster under his arm, some grandiose promise that you don't need to worry. You've never even seen Logan near a weapon but somehow, you feel more safe with him than you ever have with anyone else.

But this bit of internal tenderness that has sprouted, paired with his competency, has been seriously cramping your style.

It’s been enough that he's been hard to get out of your mind. Two weeks of teasing and poking at the limits set. Never giving you much, with that glare - thick arms crossed over his chest. A little thrill rippling up your spine, when his voice goes low and gruff.

The lights go dim, as the music begins to slow.

With the way your eyes wander, you know he sees you when you pick up a partner.

A man that moves with you, peeling off to crowd your space after your hips swivel with the hustle. His hand dipping low from where it rests on the small of your back.

Bold, when he bends to ask you 'if you'd like to get out of there'.

You meet Logan's eyes when you tell him yes.

Telling yourself that it's just to forget him. Definitely not because you're desperate to see the look on his face. To hear that tone he takes when he's pissed off.

A way to ascertain if you've taken root in his mind, even for just a moment.

There's zero chance Logan heard you from across the room. But it doesn't stop him from moving. Pushing to his feet, cutting straight through the crowd to wrap a hand around your bicep the second you start peeling off with the stranger - heading towards the side door.

"No fucking chance." It's gritted out, as he yanks you to him. Your shoulder collides against his chest as he steps between you and the man.

A sloppy hand pushes against his arm. The man's eyes are hazy under the neon lights as he makes a grab for you.

"Come on, man. I saw her first."

Logan pivots you away with a snarl, "She ain't leaving with you, bub."

Another sloppy shove, glancing off the brown leather jacket.

"You're really starting to piss me off." Logan's tone drips with warning, with knowing, "Gonna regret starting something in a room full of people like this."

And it's now that he takes in how big Logan is. The flex of splayed-wide fingers, knuckles curling into a clenched fist. A look in his eye that says that punches won't be pulled - not tonight.

The stranger takes a step back. It's enough.

You're already getting hauled away before they can answer. Guided into one of the many VIP rooms. A snarled "get the fuck out of here" to the attendant, before Logan's crowding you against the bar - hands bracing on his hips.

Fuming, you push yourself up to sit on the top - an attempt to get closer to his height.

"What was that about?" Your chin lifts, as your arms cross.

His eyes flash - a curl of his lip, "Can't you make my job easy, kid?"

Kid. It always makes you bristle. So far from that, and it's the way he says it. That dripping edge, like he knows something you don't.

"Maybe he was a friend." You deadpan.

"Yeah. Real friendly," He scoffs, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose, "You think your daddy is gonna like you going home with a piece of shit like that?"

That makes your teeth clench - a glare sent his way, "I don't think it's any of your business."

"It's literally my business, sweetheart." Logan huffs. His hands curl around the edge of the bar, braced on either side of your knees.

Your breathing hitches, for just a second. The soft name is ground out between his teeth, but it still shoots straight to your pussy.

You haven't been this close to him before. Enough to see the bleed of brown to green in his hazel eyes. The sharp mark between his brows that you want to press your thumb against.

The shorn-down hair at his chin, before it grows thick across his cheeks. Handsome in a way that makes you ache, your fingers curling into fists to keep from touching him.

There's been moments alone - car rides, lounging in the armchair in the corner of your room when he barks at you to hurry up.

But it hasn't been like this.

Maybe it's the opportunity. Maybe it's the amber glitter of tequila in your veins, but you let your palms press against the shining wood. Your knees inch a little further apart, the hem of your dress riding up your thighs.  

"That the only reason you whisked me away?” Your eyebrow lifts, "Kidnapping, if I recall, is one of the things you're supposed to be keeping me safe from."

"You are safe." He deflects, "'s not kidnapping when it's me.”

Those eyes are still on yours. Not dropping to where his hips nearly press against the edge of the bar top.

You break the eye contact first.

“Well, it’s fine.” You sniff - as if his actions had been your idea, “I didn’t want him anyways.”

Logan grunts. There’s the slightest brush - the flex of his thumb at your thigh, where your dress rides up. A long look before he’s pushing back to step away, but your fingers reach out, catching on his white shirt.

“Are you going to ask me what I do want?”

There’s the slightest twitch of his nose. Lips parting to show the peek of a tongue, caught between teeth. The briefest dip of his eyes. Down to the shadow between your breasts, pressed together as you lean forward to catch him.

“I know what you want, sweetheart.” He rasps, “Not gonna happen.”

The rejection stings, and you pout, “What isn’t?”

A sigh, and he’s stepping back into your space. Your hand flattens against his stomach, hard muscles beneath as his head tilts.

“You want a man to take you home. Treat you nice.” Logan’s eyes burn into you. Wide hands curving around your knees, thumbs pressing into flesh, “I’m not that guy.”

You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. How it thunders to the beat of the music muted outside this room. Dropping down to pulse between your thighs.

Wondering if he’s thought about you, the way you have him. How he could both see and miss so much at once.

“You’re wrong,” Your head shakes, “I don’t want that.”

A breath, before you’re confessing, ”I want you.”

Logan's eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip.

“‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.

“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You echo, “But what if I want a little trouble in me?”

The smile you give him is sweet, a tilt of your head as he catches your hand. Thick fingers curl at your wrist, holding your hand in place. A thumb pressed up against your pulse.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me.” He rasps, voice low.

You’re undeterred.

“Could get on my knees.” You coo, “You could show me. Would you like that?”

Logan’s jaw grits. His grip loosens just long enough to feel your wrist flex - before he guides your hands, pressing your palms flat against the polished wood.

“It’s not going like that,” He husks. The tone is the same as when he’s ordering you around, one that makes your back go straight, “Those are staying right there. Got that, honey?”

All you can do is nod, as his hands skate up your thighs. Fingers massaging into flesh, soft and smooth as he eases them wider apart. Fitting himself closer between them.

The way he looks at you now is the way he did before.

Focused, as your dress inches higher. The fabric pooling at your hips as they tilt toward him, the pretty lace between your thighs now on display.

“Look at you,” His tongue clucks. A finger tracing the elastic edge, as you clench in anticipation, “Need this, don’t you?”

Drifting across, a thumb pressing against the fabric. It sends a jolt through you, your fingers almost reaching for him before you remember.

“Good girl.” He muses, as your hands flatten again.

The slightest pressure as the pad of his thumb slips up. Nudging against your clothed clit, as you inhale a sharp breath.

Pressing, and circling. It’s agonizingly slow, his eyes flicking up to watch the way you bite back a whimper. Your hips flexing into his touch, aching for more.

It lifts, so he can see how the fabric has dampened. Clinging to your skin, his knuckle tracing your seam.

“Making a mess.”

You can only whine in reply. Afraid that he’ll stop if you make too much noise. If you move - he’s made it clear he’s in charge here, and for once you’re willing to follow.

The pad of his thumb pulling back, a faint shine in the neon-bathed room.

“That for me?”

Your head nods, “Logan, please-”

There’s a sharp flash of teeth. Fingers pressing low, fitting against you, “You want me here?”

“Yes.”

You need him. Need anything he’ll give you, the sharp pinch in your palms where your nails bite into flesh.

“Ask me.” He coos.

“Please put use your fingers,” It comes in a rush, “Want you in me-”

Logan smirks, as his fingers slip beneath the waistband. Air sucked through clenched teeth when he meets slick, soaked skin. A teasing swirl against your clit before he’s parting you.

The tip of his middle finger tracing your hole, before it dips inside. His hips flex against the wooden edge, when you clench around him immediately. Trying to draw him deeper, as he works himself further in.

His fingers are much thicker than yours. A second already tracing where he opens you up. Teasing the tip in as his hand flexes, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.

Your head tips forward. Each breath growing shorter, as you’re stretched around him. That slight ache unfurling into pleasure. Panting, as the pump of his fingers grow louder - the muffled cadence of skin against skin each time his palm collides with your cunt.

The fabric strains against his hand, his knuckles pressed against the soaked fabric.

Something bright burns in your belly, as your knees press into his hips. It makes you break the rules - a hand grasping at his arm. Anchoring yourself with your grip.

“I wanna watch. Let me see you.”

He lets you. A tap against your hip so you can lift. Carefully pulling your underwear down, easing them over the heels of your boots.

The lace disappears into his jacket pocket. His palms against your inner thighs, spreading you open. A throaty groan when he sees you, one that he can't quite manage to bite back - the rough sound shooting straight through you.

You both watch, when his fingers fit inside you this time. Two sinking down to the knuckle, slick and shining.

Unable to bite back the moan this time, though he does not shush you. His eyes fixed on your face instead, watching how your brow pinches when his fingers crook deep inside you. Searching.

The way you go jolt and then go tense when he finds it, a soft cry loosening.

“You been fucked like this before?” Logan growls, his fingers dragging against that soft spot inside you with his emphasis.

Your head shakes, when he does it again. Eyes dropping to watch his how hand looks, how you wrap around his fingers. The slick shine as they pump a little faster.

His other hand taps against your thigh.

“Words, sweetheart.”

“No,” It comes out hushed. Needy. “Never.”

His lips part with his groan, baring his teeth. With the way he touches you - his thumb moving to rub circles against your clit - it’s not long before he has you close.

A swiftly building pressure in your belly. That space between you eases as your knees close around his hips. His head tilting until his nose ghosts against your cheek.

Breath hot against your neck, as he inhales you. The slightest scrape of teeth that makes you bear down on his fingers - so careful not to leave a mark behind.

“Logan,” You pant. “That feels, ah, I think I’m gonna come-”

He groans against your skin, keeping the same pace. Feeling how you forget yourself - grasping at him, arching into his touch. Your muscles going tight as your breath grows short - panting.

“Give it to me,” Logan growls, “Come on my fucking fingers, baby.”

It’s impossible not to listen. You come, with his thumb pressing against your clit. His fingers notched deep inside you, as he feels your pulse racing beneath his lips.

The moan that rips from you pitches up, and then goes silent.

It leaves you breathless. Deep waves throbbing inside you, as you dampen his palm. Washing over and pulling you under, as your vision darkens.

“That’s fucking it. Come on, honey.” He coos, “Just look at you, so fucking pretty.”

The pump of his fingers goes still, the tips still crooking, as the tight pulses wane. The air comes rushing back into your lungs as you come back to yourself, your hands fisted in his jacket.

His chest heaves. Eyes hungry, when he slips from you. Slick clinging to them, webbing between his fingers as he pulls them up to the light.

Before he’s focusing on you again, his other hand thumbing at your lip.

“Open.”

They part automatically. Closing around the fingers he feeds you. The salt of his skin pairing with the sweet tang of your release, too blissed out to do anything but suck them clean.

“Good girl.”

It’s soft, as his fingers press down. Spreading, until you’ve cleaned yourself from them. Only when they slip from you, does his head dip.

A soft sound as his mouth presses against yours. There’s the sweep of his tongue against your lip, needy and insistent. You part for him, swallowing the moan as he tastes you. Teeth and tongue - deepening the kiss as his hands grip at your waist.

Letting your hands grasp at his shoulders. Tug at his hair until you’re pulled flush against him, your tits crushed against his chest.

Hungry, threatening to devour you, until you mumble his name.

Bringing him back to himself. Sharing a breath, Logan’s forehead pressed to yours when he pulls back. Those spit-slick fingers dropping down.

Palming himself roughly, where his cock strains - thick and hard against his jeans. A bitten-back groan, the word “fuck” rumbling deep in his chest as his hips flex into his hand.

“You going to listen now? Get that out of your system?” It comes out ragged, and you’re nodding.

All your sharp edges smoothed down. Blissfully complacent, as his fingers get a better grip on your waist. Bringing you down to the floor with wobbly legs, his hand coming to grasp at your upper arm.

“Good.” He growls, “Come on.”

A sharp tug, and you almost trip over yourself to follow.

“I’m taking you home.”

ahh I had the idea for this and had to jot it down! and I do know he goes by james/jimmy in the 70s because it’s pre-weapon-x, but I'll be keeping it as logan for this. (And I am thinking this will be a two-shot - give her a chance to get what she wants 😏💖)

[the-boy-meets-evil]

building blocks | yjh

(agreeing to be the teaching assistant is the last thing you want in a semester where you're already swamped with work. but, you need a letter of recommendation from the professor and you're out of other options. enter jeonghan, the menace who signs up for the class seemingly on a whim and disrupts your entire routine.)

pairing: master's student!jeonghan x TA!f!reader genre: university!au, strangers to loveres | fluff, minor angst, attempt at humor, smut rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: 19.7k (idk what to say atp) warnings: mentions of eating and drinking, jeonghan briefly drives a motorcycle, they're both engineering students but i don't claim to know engineering, the angst is minor because there's some miscommunication smut warnings: lots of kissing, hand job, fingering, slight voyeurism? (jeonghan watches reader finger herself), kind of loser!jeonghan, missionary sex, nothing really crazy all things considered

a/n: this is for the TA collab hosted by the amazing @camandemstudios. those two have been working so hard on this and i can't wait to read all the fics. but go easy on me because i know next to nothing about structural engineering. credit to @caelesjjk for this banner, it's so amazing 🥰 also thank you to everyone that helped me brainstorm along the way @ugh-yoongi @haologram @highvern and of course to @wqnwoos for letting me borrow her name.

note 2: this isn’t proofread. i had something come up irl and wanted to get it posted, so i’m sorry for any errors! i’ll come back to it next week when i have a minute.

(tag list at the end)

Your entire academic (and professional, for that matter) career has been a battle. A fight to be taken seriously. A fight to get the right classes. A fight to make the right connections. A fight for every inch that you’ve gotten. There are times that you wonder if it’s all worth it, wonder if anything should be as hard as this. But, all you’ve ever wanted was to be an engineer. To be able to leave your mark in some sort of meaningful way, even if that’s also a little conceited. It’s all you want and you’re so close to getting some much needed room to breathe. 

Except…

You have to make it through one last semester of this damn Master’s program. You managed to find a sponsor to allow you to commit to a final semester full time, with only part time research work. That’ll put you in a good position to carry on for your PhD, with your dissertation topic already picked and funded. Things had been going entirely too smoothly, in hindsight. You should have known. Everything about your application to the upcoming program is perfect. Except for the final recommendation. And, of course, the professor to give that recommendation won’t just give it to you to recognize the years you’ve put into this. No. He implies that there’s something he needs from you.

Nothing really awful, in the grand scheme of things. Not for someone that does want to return as a lecturer at some point down the road. It’s just that you didn’t really want to be forced into a teaching assistant position for Professor Choi’s introductory structural engineering course. It’s the course that weeds out who’s actually going to carry on with the civil engineering branch of the Master’s program from those who may switch out to something that better suits them. Which, again, isn’t a huge deal, except that you remember how burnt out the TA looked from when you took the course and it’s the last thing you need during your final semester. It’s hard to know that some portion of your future hinges on doing this. It’s also hard to forget another friend of yours admitting Professor Choi had given him a recommendation without the hoops.

Whatever.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that. 

So you schedule your regular meetings with the professor, make a separate email folder for all course related communication, jot down the important dates, and figure out which lessons you have to help plan. First up is going to be the introductory class. Professor Choi comes in and introduces himself while you distribute the syllabus, an odd task when everything is available online through the portal, but he likes things in hard copy. Once he’s done his introduction, he leaves the rest of the first class to you, as he had with the TA in your course during your first semester. For a moment, you consider pointing out that this is a Master’s level course and you don’t really need to do the typical introductions. Most of these people have busy lives and, even though they’ll have to work together on projects, can manage without syllabus week. But, Choi is old school and you know it. You also need his letter, so what’s the point in trying to change his system? You’re not here to do anything other than fill a spot that he was having trouble filling, get your letter, and go. 

When you scan the roster before the first day, nobody particularly sticks out. There are a couple of relatively familiar names, though you’re not sure you can place faces to them, but most of the students seem to be in their first semester of the program. It only takes getting to the introductions for someone in the course to stick out, though.

“Well, I’ve always been good at building Legos. I figure, how different can it really be?” one student answers.

It takes everything in you to school your face back into a politely interested expression when the rest of the class bursts out laughing. Your initial reaction had been incredulity. Surely he couldn’t be serious. There’s no way someone just wandered into this program because he liked building Legos. The laughter from the rest of the class dies down and you keep your attention on him.

“Why did you really join the program?” you ask. That’s what every student was supposed to be sharing. A problem for this student, apparently.

“That is why I joined,” he says with an infuriating smirk. 

“What did you say your name was?” you ask.

“Jeonghan,” he answers without anything else.

You consult the roster in front of you and put a star by his name. This is someone you know you’re going to have to keep an eye on. 

“Did I get a star already?” he prompts, earning another few chuckles from his classmates.

“Something like that,” you say and then turn to the person next to him. “And why did you join?”

Nothing else grabs your attention during the remainder of the introductions. Several students volunteer what they’re hoping to get out of the program. One brave student says she’s heard that Professor Choi is tough before asking for your opinion. Although you give a neutral answer, you make a note to speak to her privately to address her (very valid) concerns. 

When it comes time for you to return to speaking about the rest of the semester, you expect Jeonghan to interrupt in some way. He gives the impression of someone that likes causing a little bit of chaos or bringing attention to himself. Instead, he simply listens, notes something down occasionally, and gazes at you so intently that you nearly feel yourself flush. It would be a lot easier to ignore him if he didn’t look like some kind of model, though. You catch yourself looking at him more than once when other students are sharing answers. His nearly black hair falls in longer layers around his face, not quite reaching his collar in the back. There’s something almost delicate about his nose, about all of his face, really. His features are soft in a sort of beautiful way. It’s only when he catches you looking that you shake any consideration of his features from your mind. 

Once there’s only a few minutes left, you dismiss the class with a reminder that your email is beneath Professor Choi’s on the syllabus and you’re always around to help them. This class, you share, can be daunting and you’re here to help them get through it in one piece. That part comes out genuine because you do mean it. None of these students are to blame for the position you’re in. It’s not their fault that they have a TA that doesn’t really want to be in the position. So, you’re not going to make them suffer. You’re going to help them just as the TA for your class helped you. You make a note to reach out to him and ask for some advice.

Jeonghan’s eyes linger on you as the other students get out of their seats and begin talking, mostly about what they’re most excited for in the coming semester. You have to break first and look down to collect some papers from the desk. It also helps to remind yourself this is the same student who said he joined the class because he likes Legos. Ridiculous. When you look back up at the class, you’re half expecting to see his attention is still on you. It’s not. He’s joined a few classmates and is leaving the room without a backward glance. 

Legos, you remind yourself, and return to gathering your things. 

The one good thing about all this is that it’s an evening course, designed for people that have to work during the day. When the class is over, you get to go straight home to eat dinner and meld into the couch with your roommate, who also happens to be your best friend. 

You: i’m tired, want me to pick up food on the way home?

Bestie boo: i already called in an order from that one place you like so you can pick it up on the way home 

You: wow who are you and what have you done with my best friend?

Bestie boo: i didn’t pay for it

You let out a snort because that’s exactly the friend you know and love. He has to cover up ordering your favorite food from your favorite restaurant, which is sweet, by reminding you he’s still a giant pain in the ass. The gesture is enough for you to ignore it and just let him have this win. Maybe you’re off your game, but you’re a little tired.

“You should watch where you’re going.” 

The comment nearly makes you jump out of your skin. Sure, you scare easily as it is. But it’s worse when the voice comes out of seemingly nowhere. Of course it’s Jeonghan from your class, leaning against the wall just outside the building. His eyes glint at your reaction, like he’s enjoying it. Maybe he is. A second later, he pushes off from the wall to come closer. 

“And you shouldn’t scare people like that,” you retort when your heart slows a bit. He’s looking at you conspiratorially. “Did you have a question from the class?” 

“No,” he answers easily. 

“So…” you start. 

“Do you memorize the faces of all your students so quickly?” he wonders, continuing when you give him an odd look. “Or am I special?” 

“You made an impression,” you say neutrally.

“A positive one?” he presses.

“I didn’t say that,” you counter.

“But, still, you remembered me. Unless you learn all your students' faces before class as TA duties,” he says.

You sigh and decide to give him a partial truth, one that’s less likely to bite you than admitting his face is one of the only ones you remember. “I haven’t been a TA before so I don’t have a manual for how I’m going to approach it.” 

“Happy I get to be your first, then,” he says and turns to walk away. He turns back over his shoulder with a wicked smile and calls, “see you next class!” 

Your mind is preoccupied all the way to the restaurant to pick up the food and all the way back to your apartment. It’s only been one day of class and you can already feel that this student is going to be a menace. Worse than that, he seems like he knows he’s getting under your skin and wants to press it even further. Realistically, you just have to get through any of the classes that you lead. Otherwise, he’ll be the professor’s issue. 

Seungkwan is waiting on the couch, aimlessly scrolling on his phone when you walk into the living room, takeout containers in hand. It’s relatively familiar, though you know that he also likes to be out whenever he can. A perpetual social butterfly. 

“Today was already fucking annoying,” you moan when you set the boxes down and flop onto the couch.

Seungkwan gives you a sympathetic look. “At least you’re one step closer to getting what you need from that idiot.”

You’re confused for a moment because you hadn’t been thinking of Professor Choi at all. “Oh, yeah, no. I wasn’t talking about Choi.” 

“What was the issue then?” Seungkwan asks as he leans forward to get his food.

“There’s this guy in the class and I don’t know. I can’t figure him out,” you offer. “He’s so annoying. Like who signs up for a structural engineering class just because he likes building Legos? And that smirk. Ugh. I hate him.”

“Sure sounds like it,” Seungkwan quips. 

“Fuck off, I do,” you double down. 

“What’s he look like? Is he cute?” he wonders.

“Does it matter?” you ask.

“No. You answered anyway,” Seungkwan says with a grin.

“Fine, yes he is attractive because for some reason I’ve been cursed. Why do all you annoying people in my life also have to be hot?” you whine, casting a look at your roommate.

“Did you just call me hot?” he barks through a laugh. 

“Fuck off, just pick a show. It’s your turn,” you say with a push on his arm. 

You make it through the first few classes as a TA without much to report. Jeonghan tries your patience, but there’s not much he can do during the class and he doesn’t linger afterwards. That’s usually when Professor Choi wants to debrief on the course material and make sure the next class is ready. The class is also just starting to get into the real material and away from the foundational information. 

But, now the course is well and truly underway, which means you have to announce that you’ll be starting to hold your own office hours every week. Of course, Choi also has office hours and students could take advantage of those. Probably would, if not for the fact that he encourages the class to go to you first to try and resolve anything. Something about how he’s very busy and that’s why he has a TA. It’s exhausting and just another obstacle in getting what you need. 

After getting feedback from the class, you decide to set two different times for office hours, one during the late afternoon and one during the early evening to accommodate schedules. A few students show up right at the start of your first office hours session with similar concerns. So, you invite them in and start to work through a few practice problems to illustrate the point that they’re struggling to understand. It’s actually surprisingly easy to work in this way. You would never admit it to Professor Choi, but it’s actually kind of enjoyable. There’s value in helping someone understand a difficult concept. It’s also really rewarding to watch the comprehension dawn on the faces around you as each of them seems to grasp what you’re saying. 

Honestly, you can’t imagine your first office hours going any better when you’re already an hour into it and you’ve been working with the same three students. Of course, just as they’re gathering their things to head out, feeling more confident than when they showed up, Jeonghan appears in the doorway. He doesn’t even say anything at first, just looks around at the other students. They seem oblivious to what’s happening around them.

“Thanks again,” one student says as he’s standing up.

Another student catches sight of Jeonghan and she smiles. “Oh, sorry Jeonghan. We didn’t know you were having trouble with any of the concepts or we would have asked you to join us.” 

“That’s fine,” he says easily. “I was busy until just now anyway.” 

“Do you all feel confident with the topics? Or would you like to stay and go over something now that Jeonghan is here?” you ask, trying not to appear hopeful. (And failing at that pretty miserably.)

“Oh no, we’re definitely set. And we had plans,” the first student says with a look over at Jeonghan.

The three of them exchange goodbyes with Jeonghan and head out, allowing Jeonghan to close the door behind them before plopping into a seat at the table in your office. He’s directly across from you, which makes it hard to avoid his eyes. When you do meet his eye, though, he’s got a sneaky, all-knowing look on his face. You don’t like the loot of it one bit.

“What’s with the look?” you ask.

“What do you mean?” he retorts quickly.

“You’re making a face,” you say.

“Are you saying you don’t like my face?” Jeonghan asks, pretending to be offended. 

“Why are you here, Jeonghan?” you ask to switch tactics. 

“These are your office hours. I’m here to ask questions about the material,” he says. 

“You don’t need any help with the material so far. I’ve graded your problem sets and the answers have been perfect,” you admit. 

“Impressive, isn’t it?” he muses. 

“I’m not answering that. It brings me back to my question, though. If you don’t need help, why are you here?” you press.

“Why does it seem like you don’t like me?” he asks.

“I don’t have any feelings about you either way,” you deflect.

“Now, that’s not true,” he disagrees. 

“You’re determined to get under my skin,” you say, half as a joke. 

“Determined to figure you out,” he corrects. “It doesn’t seem like you’re all that excited about being a TA.”

“That’s because I was forced into it,” you blurt out and immediately clap a hand over your mouth. That’s the last thing you meant to say. “I didn’t mean…”

“Now we’re getting somewhere in this relationship,” he says, sitting back into his seat with a satisfied smile. 

You heave another heavy sigh, a common occurrence around this man. “Why are you so determined to figure me out? Why do you care how I feel about you?”

“Because everyone seems to like me right off the bat,” he says. 

“I can see why,” you deadpan. 

“So can I stay? Or do you have very important things to do?” he asks.

“It’s my office hours, so I’m here to help students until the two hours are up,” you admit.

“Perfect.”

The next few times that you hold office hours feature Jeonghan showing up for the second half. It seems deliberate that he doesn’t show up right when they start, especially because you always have at least one other student in your office. If there’s another student there, he joins in to ask questions along with whoever else is there. When it’s just him, his questions are much more personal. It’s obvious that he wants to know you. Know your likes and dislikes, know the things that make you tick, know who you are when you’re not at school. Seems very convinced that the version of you outside the walls of the engineering building is very different from the one he sees. Jeonghan doesn’t seem to realize that he’s slowly getting more and more of a peek into who you really are. Thankfully, he doesn’t bring up your slip about being forced into being a TA. 

It doesn’t make it any easier to be around him.

It should. You should be able to get used to his particular brand of torture. Yet, with each new piece of information you learn, you unlock even more questions. It’s like you can’t ever really figure him out. Or maybe that he doesn’t want you to. He’s very careful to give vague answers about the serious things, while he goes on and on about the things that don’t matter. He’ll spend a solid five minutes talking about the latest Lego he’s building, but then breeze past the few questions you ask about him personally. It usually includes some sort of quip about how he’s wearing you down and how you clearly want to know him better. 

“Bet you thought you were escaping me today,” a voice says, startling you out of your thoughts. 

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp. Your heart beats a mile a minute as you look up to glare at the intruder. 

“No, Yoon Jeonghan. I can see the confusion, though,” he says and you sigh heavily. 

“Office hours are almost over,” you point out. 

“Not for 20 more minutes,” he counters. 

“Right, but I was in the middle of grading something,” you say, indicating the design plans in front of you. He glances over at them.

“Hm,” he says.

“What, Jeonghan?” you ask with exasperation.

“Just doesn’t look like mine is all,” he says and plops into the chair across from you.

“Well obviously,” you say. “Can’t exactly grade your project with you sitting here.” 

For some reason, that makes him break out into a wicked grin. “So you aren’t grading my assignment because you were hoping I’d show up.” 

Ah, yes. Now you see your mistake. Should have definitely seen that coming, too. “You’ve come to every other session. I wasn’t hoping you’d show up again, but it was a fair assumption that you might.” 

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” he says placatingly.  “D’you have a question?” you ask. The tension headache you associate with Jeonghan’s presence in your life is threatening to make an appearance. 

“Nope,” he says, popping the last syllable. 

A notification on your phone stops you from responding to him and you unlock it immediately. It seems that Professor Choi needs to give you a stack of assignments and instead of just walking a few doors down the hall, he had to send a message. You drop your phone back on the desk with the message still open and take a calming breath. 

“Everything good?” Jeonghan asks with more care than you’re used to.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back. Have to go pick something up from Professor Choi’s office,” you say, already on your feet and heading towards the door. 

It only takes a minute or two for you to go and come back. For once, you’re thankful for Jeonghan because it gives you the ready-made excuse that you’re just wrapping up office hours with a student waiting for you to return. He doesn’t need to know that student hasn’t ever asked you a class related question without another student present. You’ll take the wins where you can get them. The pain in ass in question is still sitting exactly where he was when you left him. 

He looks up at you as you walk back in, set the folders on the corner of your desk, and sit back down. “You really hate Professor Choi.” 

“I didn’t say that,” you counter quickly. Probably too quickly. 

“You didn’t have to. Sometimes you have a really expressive face,” he comments and looks back down at his phone. 

“Only sometimes?” you wonder. Jeonghan looks back up to regard you.

“It’s always expressive, but you work a little harder to control it in class than you do outside of it,” he decides. “You mentioned something about being forced into this. Why be a TA if you hate it?” 

“I don’t actually hate being a TA,” you clarify. He seems to accept this at face value. “It’s just…I didn’t…no. Why am I doing this with you?”

“Because I’m asking?” he offers. 

“I had never considered being a TA. I wasn’t opposed to it, I just hadn’t really fit it into my schedule. It has been a lot of fun, though,” you say. It’s the first time you’ve noticed how much attention Jeonghan gives you. The way his eyes are on you and it seems like he tunes out any other distractions. 

“How did you end up here, then?” he asks. Any teasing or lightness is gone from his tone. 

“Please don’t make me regret giving you the honest answer,” you say warily. “But, I’m applying for my PhD program. I have everything that I need…except for a final letter of recommendation.”

“Oh, you’re joking,” he says and actually does look offended on your behalf. “He’s making you TA for him in exchange for the letter? That’s why you said you were forced into it?”

“Yup,” you respond, popping the end of the word like he had done earlier.. 

“Well, that’s definitely shitty but I’m still counting myself lucky that you ended up with this class,” he says.

“I can’t figure you out,” you admit. 

“I know.” 

That should be annoying, the way he says that he knows you can’t figure him out. It’s like he’s not even trying to hide that he’s making it difficult to get to know him. Yet, he’s not making it a secret that he wants to get to know you better. There’s just something about him that prompts you to share things you wouldn’t with anyone else. No, that’s dramatic. It’s just easier to share with him than it usually is with someone else that you barely know. 

Despite asking again if Jeonghan has any questions, he insists that he’s fine with just sitting there to keep you company while you have to wait to see if any student comes by in the last minutes of your office hours. For a change, he doesn’t ask any personal questions. Doesn’t try to press you into admitting things that you usually wouldn’t. He just takes out his laptop to make it look like you’re actually helping him in the event that anyone checks in on you. 

Nobody does. The last few minutes pass quickly with you returning to grading the assignment you had been working on. The two of you gather up your things in relative silence and Jeonghan walks with you out to your car so that you can head home. You’re expecting something else or something different, but that’s all there is. Just a walk to your car, a smile with a goodbye, and him heading off in another direction. It’s somehow the strangest and most normal interaction you’ve had with him. It makes you pause to wonder if this is the real version of him. A little quiet, a little reserved. Not being a menace to anything and anyone in his path.

It’s not until you’re back home, sitting on the couch with a glass of wine while watching some variety show with Seungkwan that you realize it wasn’t quite the normal interaction you thought it was. 

Jeonghan: i appreciated you telling me the truth about the class today

The message lights up your screen and all you can do is stare at it without being able to believe it. How are you getting a message from Jeonghan with his contact information saved? You’re racking your brain trying to figure out if you gave him your number, or saved his, and just didn’t remember. 

“What’s with your face?” Seungkwan asks.

“Wow, that was nice,” you retort.

He looks over at your phone where the notification still shows a message from Jeonghan. “Finally gave him your number, huh?”

“No, I -” you start when another message comes in.

Jeonghan: you left your phone unlocked when you went to Choi’s office and I figured it was time for us to exchange numbers

Seungkwan, now more invested in your messages than in the show in the background, lets out a low whistle of appreciation. “Wow, he’s good. I see why you like him.”

“I don’t like him, Kwan,” you sigh.

“Sure,” he says dismissively. 

As if to prove something, you make a show of moving your phone over to the end table and turning it over. Seungkwan gives you a Look that plainly says he’s not buying whatever it is you’re trying to sell. Otherwise, he lets you go back to the show that you’re watching without bringing it up again. 

The text thread with Jeonghan seems to haunt you every time you open your messages, at least until there are enough conversations to push it out of your view. Surprisingly, you don’t get any more texts from him when you don’t answer. He also doesn’t show up to your next office hours, which is a bit odd to you. And you can’t vent to Seungkwan about it because he’s still very convinced that it’s only a matter of time before you end up sleeping with Jeonghan. Ridiculous, honestly. Like you would waste your time on someone you’re not even sure you like. 

That carries you through to your next class. It’s a slightly more complicated lecture that Choi does every semester to try and scare students off this path. He claims it’s so that everyone knows what they would be getting into. You suspect that it’s his way of reminding everyone just how smart he is. Not exactly the most flattering trait, but you suppose that he probably doesn’t care about that. Doesn’t need to. He’s been teaching so long that his job is guaranteed at this point. 

The good thing, though, about knowing Choi won’t need you during the entirety of the class is that you get to just sit at the back of the class and do some work. It gives you the chance to get through grading some of the assignments for the class without having to take time away from something else. Let’s you get absorbed into that to tune out the grating sound of Choi’s monotonous voice as he tries his best to warn students off the path. You’re so absorbed that you don’t notice the way that Jeonghan periodically glances over his shoulder to where you’re sitting, trying to catch your attention even for a moment. 

When the class comes to an end, you make your way up to the front as you would any other time. It’s a little irritating to have to check if there’s anything Professor Choi needs like you’re his personal assistant, but you’re also resigned. What you’re not prepared for, though, is that he calls Jeonghan up to the front of the room.

“Yes, Professor?” he says with so much respect and deference that it almost feels real, if you didn’t know how he feels. One of the only personal things you actually know about this mystery of a man.. 

“I really enjoyed your proposal for the final project using Legos,” Choi starts. “Every few semesters, I get someone that seems to think being good at using plastic building blocks means they’d make a good engineer. But, you’ve actually been doing wonderfully in the class. So, I want you to work with my TA here to refine the idea a little bit. I don’t think you’re meeting your full potential with it yet.” 

“Oh, well Professor Choi…” you start and he waves a hand. 

“Surely it isn’t a problem to help foster the best student in my class, is it?” he challenges.

“No, of course not,” you concede. 

Professor Choi wears a triumphant smile. “Good. I’ll leave the two of you to coordinate your schedules. See you next class, Mr. Yoon.” 

The formality of calling students by their family names nearly makes you roll your eyes. It’s only when you note the glint in Jeonghan’s eyes that you catch yourself. The two of you say your goodbyes and a silence settles in Choi’s absence.

“Should I just stop by your office hours tomorrow?” he asks when it’s clear you aren’t going to say anything. 

“Sure, that works,” you say. “You stop by most of them anyway.” 

“Does it bother you that I do?” he asks, a note of something you can’t detect in his tone. Maybe vulnerability. 

That makes you soften. “No, of course not.”

“I can back off if it’s making you uncomfortable,” he says with a forced smile. “Maybe it was too much adding my number to your phone.” 

“We can talk about boundaries when I see you during office hours tomorrow,” you joke. At least it seems to bring a real smile back to his face. 

In a strange turn of events, Jeonghan shows up to your office hours only two minutes after they start. You haven’t even gotten yourself fully unpacked because you weren’t expecting him to show up at the beginning. Not when he seems to show up in the latter half every other time. 

The differences continue as you settle into the work the professor assigned the two of you. Jeonghan pulls out his proposal, something you hadn’t actually seen yet, and talks you through his ideas. His idea had been to submit a design for a brand new structure built to scale entirely using Legos. It’s ambitious in a way because the blocks only come in certain shapes and sizes. You can’t just cut something down to fit the size that you need. It requires a good amount of forethought. But, for someone like Jeonghan who’s taken to the course like a fish to water, it doesn’t seem like it’s quite enough. You can see why the professor asked you to help him work through it a little bit more. It needs to be fleshed out a little further. 

As the two of you go back and forth with ideas about how to give it an element that makes it more impressive, you’re stuck by how easy it is to work side-by-side with him. How well the two of you work together. It’s like every visit before this has been building up to the level of comfort you have now, even if you’re still pretending that you don’t really know him. Maybe you don’t, though. It’s not like he ever gives you real answers to your questions.

“Why Legos?” you ask as the two of you are feeling stuck on where to go to expand on the proposal. 

“Because it’s funny to see how annoyed you get when I bring it up, so I figured it would be funny to imagine you grading my final project that has to do with Legos,” he says with that same look.

“Be serious for once, Jeonghan,” you sigh. “I’m trying to help you with this. It’s the least you could do.” 

“Sorry,” he says after a moment and shifts in his seat. “It’s, well, it’s just always been the way that I zone out and reset. At first, it was just when I needed a break from dealing with people because I had to focus on the instructions. Then, I started to think about how impressive it was that they were able to form these insane shapes with building blocks. Then, it started to get more elaborate with me testing out what worked and what didn’t when I built my own designs.” 

It’s one of the first truly real and truly honest things he’s said to you. Not hiding behind a joke or brushing off an answer. It’s just him and you feel like that one response helps you know him better than all the hours he’s spent in your office up until that point. It also helps you realize what the proposal was missing in the first place: something personal from him. 

Ultimately, what is going to make this project stand out is something that makes it personal. A structural engineer doesn’t really need to design a building or a bridge or any other structure. They do need to design and analyze any of the support systems, though, which can be a dull job at times. Adding something more human will make it stand out. So, you suggest that Jeonghan take it a step further than just modeling a structural support system from Legos. You suggest that he set it up almost like instructions for an established set. But, instead of simple drawings to make it step by step, you suggest that he include little snippets about his previous experiences with using Legos, how he tests it to make sure he structure will hold, and any calculations he does for load capacity and gravity. 

Initially, he seems a little unsure. It’s easy to see that talking about things that are more personal to him, especially for a final project, is uncomfortable. After a lot of reassurances that nobody but you and Professor Choi will see it if he doesn’t want them to, he finally agrees that it’s a good idea. It does seem like he’s at least excited about the prospect now, though. 

While he’s rewriting his proposal to submit to the professor, you get back to what you had planned to do during the first part of your office hours before he showed up: grading assignments. Once again, his isn’t on the stack to be graded. Out of habit, you always grade his first and some time when he’s guaranteed to not be around. It’s oddly comfortable to work like this, grading papers while he types away on his laptop across from you. 

Once he gets through typing up a new proposal, he asks if you would be willing to read it over. You’re just about to suggest that he email it to you, when he just hands his laptop over. Seems unconcerned about having you his laptop. Although he watches you carefully as your eyes scan through the words, it feels like his only concern is what you think about it. Which doesn’t need to be a concern at all. It’s perfect, as far as you’re concerned. 

You tell him as much when you look up with a smile. “I love it.”

“Don’t be nice to me now,” he says nervously as you hand the laptop back over. 

“What?” you ask. 

“You don’t need to spare my feelings now when you’ve been ignoring my texts,” he says like he’s trying to protect himself. 

“So much to unpack there and we’ll return to the texts,” you say, a little exasperated. “But, I’m not being nice about the proposal. It’s perfect and I genuinely can’t find a single thing I’d change. Choi’s going to love it.” 

“Ah, well, he was right in getting your help. I wouldn’t have gotten here on my own,” he admits and it does actually make you smile again. 

“Still your idea,” you say to encourage him.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” he says and you know it’s the real him for a moment. 

“Okay, but back to the texting,” you say to shift.

“The boundaries chat, wonderful,” Jeonghan says, returning to his previous mask of being a menace. 

“You really shouldn’t be going through a stranger’s phone and adding your number,” you chastise. 

“We’re not strangers though, are we?” he challenges. “And I didn’t go through your phone.”

“No?” you ask with an eyebrow raised.

“Your phone was still lit up when you left so I called myself quickly and then created a new contact, and then locked your phone and put it back,” he says like it’s the most normal sentence in the world.

“That’s insane?” you state with a level of shock.

“I really wasn’t trying to cross some sort of line,” he admits with a shocking level of sincerity. “I just really like getting to know you and I figured you’d feel weird about giving a student in your class your number, even though you’re still a student as well. So, I just wanted to make it easier. If you don’t want me to have it, you can delete it right out of my phone.”

Jeonghan holds his unlocked phone out to you and it’s open to your contact. For some insane reason, you do actually believe what he said. It’s easy to see how he might want to befriend you and be hesitant on how to do that. He strikes you as the kind of person that can put on a mask of liking to be social, but really would much rather be at home or in a small setting like in your office with you. And you do actually enjoy having him around, even if you keep trying to pretend that he’s basically a stranger to you. He’s not wrong, either. You would have felt weird about exchanging numbers with him. You’ll never admit that to him. 

He must see the hesitation on your face because he retracts his hand. Waits for you to say something, though. “I guess it’s not the worst thing that you have my number.” 

“That’s almost a positive,” he jokes. “You could give a guy false hope that you actually might be starting to like me.”

“Oh, now I wouldn’t go that far,” you quickly tack on. “Wouldn’t want you to get a big head.”

“Have you seen the grades I’m getting? I already know I’m doing something right,” he brags. 

“I have seen your grades since I’m usually the one grading them,” you remind him. “So, I have to balance it out.”

“You just wanna break my heart over and over again,” he whines.

“You’ll survive,” you deadpan. 

Everything seems to carry on as it always does. You have to make sure you’re keeping up with all of your actual classes for your degree. Grade assignments when Professor Choi hands them off to you. Give feedback on the upcoming topics. Most importantly, you find  plenty of time to disengage from all the hustle of classes. To enjoy time with friends where you can let your brain just wander onto things that don’t matter nearly as much. 

Even though you don’t ever text Jeonghan first, it doesn’t seem deterred because you do always answer the messages that he sends to you. Some of them are idle thoughts throughout the day. Others are questions that he wants answers to and seems to think he’s more likely to get them over text than during the hours he spends in your office. Your favorites, though, are when he texts you some wildly out of pocket statement and then gets you to debate him on it because it’s always something completely inane. Something meaningless. It gets you so fired up, though. 

“He’s so infuriating,” you complain as you forcely set your phone down on the couch next to you. 

“I’m guessing we’re talking about Jeonghan,” Seungkwan says from his position on the other end of the couch.

“Why would you immediately jump to Jeonghan?” you ask. 

“Bestie, we haven’t talked about anyone else but Jeonghan all semester,” he says. You fling a pillow at your roommate.

“First, you’re being dramatic. And second, yes I talk about him a lot. He’s infuriating,” you say.

“Whatever you say,” Seungkwan says dismissively.

“I might hate him,” you say.

“They say hate sex is the best sex,” he says without taking his eyes off his phone.

“And they say killing your nosey roommate isn’t actually a crime,” you retort. 

Seungkwan looks up at you and smiles. “Let’s do it baby. I know the law.” 

“You’ve been spending too much time around Vernon,” you scoff. 

“Maybe, but if you kill me, who’s going to lend their ear to you and listen to your troubles?” he asks.

“Van Gogh,” you answer immediately.

“He’s dead,” Seungkwan says with an arched eyebrow, carefully avoiding the more obvious retort.

“And so are you to me right now,” you say flatly. 

“Touche,” he says with a light laugh. “What’s he done this time that’s got you all pissy?”

“He’s spent the last 20 minutes debating with me over whether or not a hotdog is a sandwich,” you say, expecting Seungkwan to think it’s just as ridiculous as you. 

What you’re not expecting, though you should be, is for him to pick up Jeonghan’s side in the debate and make you rehash everything you’ve already talked about. It sounds like such an innocuous topic. Something so outlandish that it could possibly spark debate for more than a few minutes. Yet, here you are, having the same debate all over again. It makes you even more heated despite not having a stake or opinion before Jeonghan asked you. In fact, you had never even considered the question. It was one of the most effective he had posed since he started sending you random questions or opinions like this. 

Somehow, though, your biggest mistake is telling Jeonghan that your roommate got just as invested as he had about the topic. Worse when you told Jeonghan that Seungkwan was on his side. It made it immediately obvious that you could not ever let those two meet. It would spell an instant demise for any remaining sanity you had left. The realization that they would be instant best friends is terrifying. 

The debate about whether or not hotdogs are sandwiches lasts all the way until the next day when Jeonghan shows up at your office hours, right at the start. The look on his face tells him that he’s about to carry on the text conversation. But, thankfully, he falls silent when you say that you actually want to get some grading done unless he actually has a question about the course material. It makes him soften, actually, and he agrees that he’ll sit at the little table and work on some of his own homework. It doesn’t really give the impression that he’s asking you for help, though you’re sure that you could sell it if you needed to. 

Normally, it’s not all that distracting to have Jeonghan in your space. Probably because he’s there so often that you’re kind of used to him by now. That’s a thought you don’t allow yourself to dwell on too long. It’s easier to maintain the idea that you kind of hate him than to consider what your real feelings might be. Yet, those thoughts seem to be swirling in your head just by him existing in the same space as you. If he’s equally affected, then you can’t tell. His fingers seem to fly across his keyboard as he works steadily on something. 

Without warning, his voice interrupts the rhythm you finally find. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You’ve never asked permission before,” you note, but don’t look up.

“I wasn’t sure if it was an office hours question,” he says with a little hesitation. 

That does get you to look over at him. “Is it about the course material?”

“No,” he says.

“Shocking,” you sigh. “Well, whatever it is, let’s have it.”

“Do you want to go out and get dinner sometime?” he asks, looking more vulnerable than usual.

It’s enough to make your heart both constrict and threaten to beat out of your chest. Does he know that you’ve been sitting here internally debating what your actual feelings towards him are? Has it been that obvious on your face? 

“With you?” you ask to buy yourself time. 

“That would be the idea, yes,” he says with a nervous chuckle.

“I don’t know…” you start.

“You don’t know because you’re trying to spare my feelings? Or you’re not sure for some reason?” he asks to clarify.

That’s such a crossroads kind of question. You’re not actually sure what the answer is yourself. All you know is that you feel immediate panic at the thought of one of the professors, especially Professor Choi, seeing you out with him. It’s not that there are any rules about TAs and students dating. After all, TAs are just students themselves. But, since you’re doing most of the grading, setting some of the assignments, and even leading some of the classes, it’s frowned upon. It could give the student actually in the class some kind of perceived advantage. The thoughts just go rapidly flying through your brain as you look over at Jeonghan’s expectant face.

You decide on some version of the truth: that it doesn’t matter what you think, it’s not a good idea for you to blur that line. That if someone from the university saw you out, that it could possibly jeopardize everything you’ve spent years working on. That Professor Choi seems even more old school than most of the other professors. You’ve already sacrificed so much. It’s just not a risk you think you can take. 

What you don’t say: that the question actually confuses you. That you can see yourself saying yes to finally figure out what exactly it is that’s going on with you and Jeonghan. You wonder what type of place he would pick. Wonder what he’s like when it’s really just the two of you without the risk of someone else butting in. You wonder if maybe he’ll answer all those personal questions that he’s so fond of dodging when he’s sitting in your office. It actually makes you wonder if saying yes is worth taking a risk when you’ve been so careful with everything in your entire academic career. It’s the kind of thought that really terrifies you even more. This is a man that you can’t even figure out your feelings towards and yet you’re considering taking a massive risk. 

It’s one of the most intense office hours you hold and you’re left with more questions than answers. 

It’s been another exhausting day between your own classes, research, and doing work as a TA. Sure, there are definite upsides to your schedule. It helps you feel like you have a complete grasp on the material. It also helps you feel like you might be well suited to being a lecturer or even a professor yourself down the line. You also know that you’re giving more to your time as a TA than you need to. It’s just that you don’t want to leave anything to chance. The stronger the recommendation from Choi, the better. 

When you get to your apartment, Seungkwan is in the kitchen with Vernon and Chan. Which should be a concerning sight, since none of them are exactly great cooks, but you’re too tired to really care. You’re also kind of starving and whatever they’re making smells good. What’s the worst that could happen? So you call out quick greetings before heading into your room to drop off your things and change. You reemerge to the sounds of them bickering back and forth.

“Hey, do you want to try some of what we’re making?” Chan calls.

“She’s going to say no,” Seungkwan says.

“I’m starving. I’m down to try whatever it is,” you disagree. 

“Looks like Chan wins this one,” Vernon teases. 

A beep from your phone distracts you from engaging in the bickering back and forth. It’s the last thing you’re expecting, though it shouldn’t be. Ever since Jeonghan managed to get your number, and heard your half-hearted chat about boundaries, he’s been bothering you whenever he feels like it. 

Jeonghan: have you thought about what I asked? You: no Jeonghan: don’t believe you You: my answer hasn’t changed Jeonghan: that it's not a good idea? You: exactly Jeonghan: that’s not a no You: isn’t it? Jeonghan: listen, I respect you and if you tell me no, I won’t ask again Jeonghan: the only thing I’m going to ask if you actually think about it before saying no You: fine

“Hello? Are you there?” Seungkwan asks, snapping his fingers in front of your face. 

“Huh?” you ask.

“Oh, she’s gone girl,” Chan says with a laugh.

“Who were you texting?” Seungkwan asks. He gives you a look that screams he’s about to tease the shit out of you if you’re honest.

“Oh, nobody important. Just a friend,” you say dismissively. 

“Are we calling Jeonghan a friend now?” Seungkwan teases. 

“It wasn’t Jeonghan,” you say with an eye roll.

“Who’s Jeonghan?” Vernon asks.

“I think he’s that guy we’ve been betting on when she’s gonna finally give in and sleep with him,” Chan says in an undertone to Vernon.

“I’m not going to sleep with…hang on. What the fuck?” you ask, wheeling around on Seungkwan. “Have you been betting on me again?” 

“Only when you’re being an idiot,” Seungkwan says with a shrug. 

“Wait, again?” Vernon asks.

“Bro, we have been involved in other bets,” Chan says.

“I need new friends,” you grumble.

From there, it devolves into the usual bickering that you associate with your friend group. Sometimes you wonder how you even got so sucked into this friend group where they’re two or three years younger than you. You’re incredibly thankful for them, though, even in moments like this where you want to strangle them. 

Dinner moves into watching something and playing a game. It always goes the same way. Chan or Vernon take care of picking what to watch since they watch more TV and movies than you and Seungkwan. Conversely, Seungkwan usually picks the game, which is never a good idea because he always picks something that he’s good at. It doesn’t really matter to you, at least. Your brain tends to be fried from classes and research and all that. It’s nice to let them just make the decisions and chime in when you have something to say.

Thankfully, the conversations quickly move past your friends and their complete conviction that you have feelings for Jeonghan to much less serious topics. Sitting there, though, you feel an overwhelming sense of peace even in the chaos. Even when you say that you need new friends, you know that you wouldn’t trade these friends for the world. 

It’s been just over a week since you promised to give Jeonghan’s question actual thought. You’re still not entirely sure why you agreed. It’s not like you’re actually going to say anything other than no. It’s been a little weird, though, because Jeonghan hasn’t brought it up again, either. It’s like he’s actually been true to his word. He even skipped your office hours when he would usually show up just to bother you and pretend to ask questions. 

Since your workload has been a little light, you agree to go out for drinks with Seungkwan and some friends. It’s a much needed night to unwind and just not think about any of the issues that plague you during the week. It’s a night of ridiculous conversations while you all give each other a hard time about nothing that really matters. Eventually, as is always the way it goes, Seungkwan gets up and kicks off some karaoke. It’s a blessing and a curse. He’s got an amazing voice and you feel like you should be paying to hear someone sing that well. But, then he wants other people to join him and none of you are that keen to embarrass yourselves by following him. 

Casting your eyes around the bar, they land on someone in a leather jacket. As you watch, he shrugs it off and sets it on the back of his chair. There’s something compellingly beautiful about him. He runs a hair through his short, perfectly textured black hair and turns his face slightly to the side. You’re appreciating his profile for a second before it hits you. This isn’t some stranger. It’s Jeonghan. It’s just that he’s clearly cut his hair and styled it differently. You quickly return your eyes to your group and only can hope that he hasn’t noticed you yet. Then again, Seungkwan has been loud and singing before returning to your table. Most people seem to have noticed him. Still, since Jeonghan hasn’t texted you or come over to say anything, you figure that maybe he hasn’t seen you. No matter what, you down another drink to forget about checking him out. 

By the time it’s your turn to go up to the bar and get another round of drinks, you’ve mostly pushed the thought of Jeonghan out of your mind. With your back to his table, it’s been much easier to act like he doesn’t exist. Once you’re at the bar, it’s a little more difficult. Your eyes find his table without even meaning to. His jacket is still there, but he’s not. 

“Looking for me?” a soft voice asks from just beside you. 

It makes you jump a little to realize that he’s somehow right next to you. You try your hardest to act like you’re unaffected when you turn to face him. Try to act like you didn’t realize he was there. Kind of fail at that, honestly, because you’re one drink past the point of being able to pull it off. “Hey, Jeonghan. How long have you been here?”

He smiles that mischievous smile that always makes him look like he knows something that you don’t. “I saw you looking over at my table. You knew I was here.”

“I almost don’t recognize you with the new haircut and that leather jacket,” you say and only realize your mistake a second too late. 

“The leather jacket back at my table?” he asks, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “I saw you checking your phone too.” 

“Were you watching me?” you challenge.

“Yes,” he admits freely. “You’re nice to look at.” 

“Oh, well that’s not…I didn’t mean,” you stutter out, saved by the bartender setting a small tray down of drinks for you and your friends. 

Somehow, though, because life isn’t fair (and neither is Seungkwan), your best friend picks that moment to waltz over claiming he wants to help with drinks. What he really seems to want is to introduce himself to Jeonghan. Even goes as far as pretending he hasn’t heard Jeonghan’s name before. Seungkwan manages to sell it better too and you think it would probably pass with anyone else that wasn’t paying such sharp attention. It’s only then that you notice Jeonghan doesn’t have a drink in hand. Doesn’t really seem the slightest bit drunk. Which is fine until Seungkwan manages to make it even worse by inviting Jeonghan and his friends to come join your group. 

Then, something else that’s kind of weird happens. Jeonghan, who has spent the entirety of the semester up until about a week ago terrorizing you, barely says anything to you at all. He talks about his favorite artists with Seungkwan. Asks Chan for suggestions on some movies that he’s recently seen. Even laughs about random ass memes with Vernon. His friends, whose names you can’t even remember, fit in just as seamlessly. It’s a little…well, uncomfortable. It’s giving you entirely too much time to think and you don’t like it.

So, you do the only reasonable thing and you keep getting drinks. Stay just on the right side of drunk so that you’re aware of your surroundings, but not sober. It makes it easier to deal with everything happening around you.

As the night continues on, your merged groups seem to ebb and flow. Some people wander over, drawn in by the fact that it seems like a fun place to be. Other times, some wander off to make new friends or have new conversations. This is especially true of Seungkwan, which you’re used to. Your roommate is one of the most social people that you know. And then people start to make their excuses to leave as it gets later. How you end up outlasting Chan is a mystery, since he seems to have endless energy. It’s fine, though. You still have your roommate.

Well, until he tells you, without nearly the amount of shame that he should have, that he’s going to be bringing someone home that he got to talking to about karaoke. It’s a little unlike him, at least until you realize that the person isn’t a stranger. They’re definitely someone that Seungkwan has talked to before. It still leaves you a little lost on what to do or where to go.

“I never ask you for anything,” Seungkwan pleads. It’s patently false. He’s always asking you for things, just never things like this. 

“I could text Chan or Vernon to see if they’ll let me crash on their couch,” you say, trying to quickly clear the cloudiness from your brain. 

“Don’t they put their phones into DND as soon as they get home?” Seungkwan asks.

“My only other option is to just go home and put headphones on,” you say.

“You could come crash at my place. My roommate won’t be back from a trip til tomorrow,” Jeonghan offers. 

“Perfect! Thank you!” Seungkwan rushes out.

“Um? Seungkwan? You can’t just send me to some stranger's house?” you protest.

“He’s not a stranger. He’s been in your class all semester and at your office hours nearly every day,” Seungkwan says with an eye roll. Jeonghan looks vindicated hearing this piece of information. “You’re so dramatic.” 

“It’ll be fine. I can sleep in his room and you can sleep in mine. I’ll even make sure you have fresh sheets if you’re worried,” he says. 

This is definitely a bad idea. Even though you’re not drunk, you’re definitely not sober enough to pretend you’re not at least a little bit interested in Jeonghan. Everything about him seems to be a study in contrasts. Confident but not in some toxic masculinity type of way. Chaotic but serious at the same time. Silly to where he would say he joined a class because he’s good at Legos but also genuinely smart. And beautiful in a way so few men seem to be. He’s just something entirely his own.

You shake your head because you realize you’re spacing out. This is a terrible idea and one you probably wouldn’t agree to if you were sober. It’s not like he’s actually a stranger, though. Jeonghan seems to have realized the conclusion before you open your mouth. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Dangerous question,” Jeonghan says with a glint in his eyes. 

“I love you,” Seungkwan says and wraps you up in a hug before skipping off. 

“Are you ready to leave, then?” Jeonghan asks when it’s just the two of you.

“Yeah, might as well,” you say. He nods, looking a little unsure for the first time since you’ve known him and turns to grab his jacket. Says a quick goodbye to his friends and you try to ignore the looks they cast over at you. 

“Let’s go,” he says a minute later.

“Are we calling an Uber or something?” you ask.

“I’m sober because I rode my bike here,” he says as he leads the way outside.

“I’m sorry, you rode your what?” you ask, brain slow to catch up with what he’s saying. It’s then that you notice he didn’t just grab his jacket. He’s got a helmet as well. 

“Bike,” he says and indicates a motorcycle parked outside the bar. 

That brings you up a little short. It’s the last thing you would have expected when you thought of this man. Though, maybe it shouldn’t have been. After all, you said he was a study in contrasts. Isn’t this just another one of those? 

Somehow, the more you look, the more it seems to suit him. It’s not some big, clunky bike. Not what you typically think of when you think of a motorcycle. It’s sharp and beautiful, just like he is, even if you can only admit that in your head. He pulls open a compartment that seems to be under the backseat and hands over a helmet. 

“Promise I won’t go too fast,” he says with a softer smile than you’ve seen on him before. Like he’s actually trying to reassure you. 

Sure, it’s not the first time you’ve been on a bike. It’s just that of all the ways you could have seen this night ending, this wasn’t one of them. At least you’re not feeling too self conscious as you slide onto the bike behind Jeonghan and wrap your arms around his waist. You miss the way his breath stutters as you settle in close to him. Miss the way his heart starts to beat out of his chest because you’re too focused on getting comfortable. Don’t even think twice about clinging to his lean frame. But, even with the drinks, it’s hard to ignore the way that your body slots perfectly against his. Or the way your thighs squeeze against his hips. Maybe there’s a lot more to whatever has been happening than you’ve been admitting to yourself. 

Once you reach Jeonghan’s apartment, he carefully helps you off the bike and then puts a bit of distance between you again. It’s the first time that you notice he seems nervous, like maybe, you think, he might be reconsidering if this was a good idea. There’s not really much you can do about that now. You promised Seungkwan that he could have some privacy in the apartment and you’re already here. It can’t possibly be so bad that you really regret coming here. It could even help you sort through the very complicated feelings that are making their presence known. 

Inside the apartment it’s incredibly cozy. Not at all like you imagine two single guys would live while they’re in school. It’s not overly cluttered, but it doesn’t feel cold either. Jeonghan disappears as soon as you both have your shoes off, which lets you look around at some of the decorations. He returns with a spare t-shirt and shorts for you to change into. Despite your insistence that it’s fine, he just presses them to you and indicates where the bathroom is for you to change. 

It feels oddly…comfortable. Like this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him outside of class or your office. It also makes you take a little longer to change because you have to process whatever you’re feeling. Since you’re not sure exactly what to do after you change, you peek your head out into the living area. Jeonghan is setting some snacks and water out with the TV on in the background. You take it as a sign that you’re supposed to come out and join him. Momentarily, he disappears into his room and reappears also wearing more comfortable clothes. 

The confusion only gets even worse from there. Maybe it’s just that Seungkwan’s gotten into your head. Since you’re finally processing that you might be interested in being something a little more with Jeonghan, you expect things to go a certain way. Seungkwan, and your other friends, for that matter, seem to think it’s only a matter of time before you cross over into being more than friends. Subconsciously, your brain must have latched onto that. Even wanted it, a little. But, now you’re here, and Jeonghan doesn’t do anything. He’s not the smooth, confident person that you’ve gotten to know over the course of the semester. He doesn’t try to pull any moves on you. Just makes sure that you’re comfortable, that you like the snacks, and that you like the show he has on.

It all feels like it’s a little too much and so Jeonghan shows you the way to his bedroom. Your nerves feel frayed because surely, this is the moment where things finally shift. Surely this is when he makes whatever move he’s held off on making up until this point. Quickly, you brush off the need to change the sheets. It’s not like it’s that big of a deal if something else happens. Without giving your brain a chance to overthink it, you lean in to give him a hug. His whole body tenses for a second and you’re about to pull away, when he finally relaxes and wraps his arms around you.

“You know, you can just sleep in your own bed,” you offer carefully.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he says through an emotion that you can’t place. 

“I won’t be. Plus, I’d hate to force you into your roommate’s bed,” you suggest again, meeting his eye to reinforce the point.

“Oh, well, it’s…” he starts, eyes avoiding your gaze.

“Really, Jeonghan, it’s fine. Your bed is big,” you say.

“Okay,” he agrees and walks to the other side of the bed.

It’s confusing, to say the least. He slides into the opposite side of the bed without meeting your eyes again. You’re not exactly sure how to give him another sign that you want something else to happen without making it too obvious, especially because it’s not clear if he wants that. The guy constantly in your office was just on the right side of flirty. Always trying to wear you down. This Jeonghan in his apartment is much quieter, more reserved. Like he’s not really sure what happens now that he’s gotten you outside of school like he claims he’s wanted. 

“D’you usually sleep with the TV on?” he asks and you pull a face.

“I’m not a psycho,” you snort. 

“Good to know after I let you into my apartment,” he jokes back and turns on the TV anyway. “I’ll set a timer just in case we both fall asleep.” 

Confusing. You’re laying in bed with this person that up until tonight you referred to as basically a stranger and there’s just…nothing happening. The two of you are plenty close enough that you could brush up against him, yet not touching at all. His attention seems to stay forward on the TV. Occasionally, he shifts to get more comfortable, but he doesn’t get onto his phone or even really look over at you. 

Thankfully, the bed is comfortable and without even realizing it, you drift off to sleep laying on your side, facing Jeonghan. The last thing you remember is looking up at his face. Appreciating the cut of his jaw and the way the light from the TV threw his features into contrast. Then nothing but the easiest sleep you’ve had after a night of drinking.

In the morning, when it’s too early to wake up after a late night but late enough that the sun seeps through the curtains, you have a momentary panic wondering where you are. Slowly, the night before settles back into your brain and you relax into the bed. It’s only when you feel a weight around your middle that you wonder if everything is coming back. It is, though. You think back to the last things you remember before falling asleep. Jeonghan was safely on his side of the bed. Now, his arm is draped over your waist and he’s breathing rhythmically like he’s still fast asleep. For once, instead of overthinking it, you just slow your brain back down and drift back into sleep. After all, this is one the right path to what you wanted the night before. 

The sun is fully up when you wake up again if the light streaming around the curtains is any indication. That’s not the only difference, either. There’s no weight around your waist and, when you look over your shoulder, the other side of the bed is empty. Which isn’t entirely surprising when your phone tells you that it’s nearly noon. It’s very unlike you to sleep in that late, but it makes sense. You’re just thankful that Jeonghan insisted on giving you so much water and something to make sure you didn’t wake up with a headache. Even though you’re still a little tired, you’re not hungover and that feels like a miracle. 

But, what do you do now? Nothing happened last night, despite genuinely feeling like Jeonghan had some level of interest in you. But, then he did share the bed with you and curl up to you during the night. Maybe that was his subconscious way of showing what he couldn’t say. You’re out of the bed and nearly out the bedroom door when you hear voices drifting in from somewhere else in the apartment. Voices, plural. One is clearly Jeonghan, but the other sounds female and that stops you in your tracks. 

The decision is immediate once you hear the second voice laughing at something Jeonghan says. You open your group chat with Seungkwan, Chan, and Vernon to ask if any of them are around to pick you up. Chan is the first, and fastest, to respond, saying to drop your location and he’ll be out the door to get you in a minute without any questions asked. That’s more than you’re expecting and you’re incredibly thankful. Makes it feel like one weight has been lighted as you quickly and quietly get dressed back into the clothes you wore the night before. 

Chan texts you to let you know he’s only a few minutes out. That’s your queue to actually leave the bedroom and make an appearance out in the rest of the apartment. Jeonghan’s back is to you and it looks like he’s got a cup of coffee next to him. The other person you heard from the bedroom is, in fact, a woman. She’s stunning in an effortless way that actually makes your head hurt a little bit. It has absolutely nothing to do with the drinks the night before, either. Her eyes land on you and there’s a smile you can’t place. It could be saying that she knows she won, despite whatever effort you made. Something on her face must tip Jeonghan off because he turns around.

And it’s worse than you thought, immediately. The smile on his face is both welcoming and soft, like he’s actually happy to see you. It only makes the whole thing more confusing. Why is he looking at you like that with one of the most beautiful people sitting across from him? 

“You’re awake,” he says, still smiling. “I hope Hana here didn’t make too much noise.” 

“Sorry, babe, I only have one volume setting,” she, Hana, apparently, says with another smile you can’t place. 

“Do you want coffee? Something to eat?” Jeonghan says and starts to get out of his chair.

“No, no, it’s fine. My friend is almost here to pick me up. Thanks for letting me crash last night,” you say without fully meeting Jeonghan’s eyes. It means you miss the confusion that settles in there.

Without a backward glance, you’re out the door and down the elevator. It’s only another minute or so before Chan pulls up, shockingly by himself, and smiles softly at you as you get into his car. All he asks is if you’re hungry and then starts navigating to your favorite place to get breakfast food that’s open at least into the early afternoon. It’s exactly what you need right now. 

Chan lets you just be in your head while he drives with music playing softly in the background. It might be a dangerous decision, honestly. All you can think about are reasons for that person, Hana, your brain supplies automatically, to be in Jeonghan’s apartment like that. His roommate wasn’t home, to the best of your knowledge, so that means she was there for Jeonghan. Was that his girlfriend? Was that why he was so reluctant to do anything the night before? On some level, you do know that’s probably not the right answer. The rational part of your brain knows that he wouldn’t be so calm if that was his girlfriend. There’s no space in your brain for rationality right now, though. So, you’re going to stew in the feelings that she could be dating someone. 

“Do you wanna talk about whatever happened last night?” Chan asks once you’re sitting opposite of each other in a booth. 

“Not really,” you say. “Nothing happened last night, though. So, you don’t have to worry about whoever wins the bet.” 

“I’m not worried about some stupid bet. I’m worried about you,” he says. 

You shrug. “I think I might actually like him.”

“No shit,” Chan says with a knowing smile.

“You didn’t let me finish. I think I might like him and I don’t think it matters,” you say.

“Start at the beginning and we’ll figure this out together.” 

It’s been a week since whatever happened at Jeonghan’s apartment and you haven’t spoken a word to him since leaving. Not that he hasn’t tried to speak to you. After breakfast with Chan, you realized you had both texts and missed calls from Jeonghan trying to figure out what went wrong. Those stay unanswered. Even if you’re being stupid, you can’t really bring yourself to behave in a different way. When the next class comes around, you avoid his eyes as much as possible. The one or two times you do look over at him, he looks incredibly hurt and confused. It’s funny, you think, how he’s the one that’s acting put out by this whole situation when you’re the one who had to wake up to some other woman in his apartment without understanding anything. 

That leads to your first office hours. Thankfully, Jeonghan doesn’t show up to those like he normally would. The office feels a lot quieter, even though other students stop by to ask questions. It just all feels very professional and detached. Not comfortable in the way it does when he drops by. It’s hard to admit, even to yourself, that you had gotten used to having him around. That you even looked forward to it. Somehow, you’re not really sure how, Jeonghan became one of your favorite parts of every day you saw him. That realization makes you want to crawl into your bed and hide forever. No matter what, it doesn’t feel like you’ll have the option to go back to that. It sucks to realize it just took you too long to come to the very obvious conclusion. 

Now, at least, it’s the weekend again so you have a short reprieve from all things school related. Well, all things Jeonghan related because you still have your own homework to handle, assignments to grade, and a new week to prepare for. At the very least, you deserve a little bit of a treat. Texting the group chat makes you realize, though, that a lot of your friends seem to have their own things going on. 

Seungkwan is out spending the day with the same person that he brought home last weekend. They seem like they’re really enjoying getting to know each other, which you’re rooting for wholeheartedly. You want your roommate and best friend to be happy. Vernon is kind of vague saying that he’s got other plans. With anyone else, you might think that he’s also seeing someone. You just know that he tends to be a little spacy when it comes to sharing plans. Knowing Vernon, he’s probably just off with some friend of his. Once again, Chan comes through and says that he could really use a coffee. Apparently, there’s some new cafe by him that he’s been wanting to try out. It feels like an excuse because Chan will absolutely go anywhere by himself, but you take it all the same. He’s actually probably the easiest of your friends to speak to about this, even if he’s younger than you are. 

One sip into your drink proves that this is the best decision for a Saturday afternoon. Chan chatters away about the things that have been going on in his life. He’s taking more dance classes in every free moment he has and it’s nice to see the way his face lights up talking about it. He certainly seems happier than any time you see him talking about his actual classes. Think about suggesting he give up one thing to pursue something else that would truly make him happy. His face is different when he’s happy like this. It makes it obvious how strained he feels with everything else.

A laugh pierces through the crowd and it gives you the worst sense of deja vu. Suddenly, you’re back in Jeonghan’s apartment. Which is crazy, right? What are the odds that he and the mystery woman are in this same coffee shop at the same time as you and Chan?

Not impossible, apparently. Well, at least in part. Your eyes cast around for the source of the laugh when they land on the mystery woman sitting with someone else that you don’t recognize. Your brain tries to stutter over the name before it forces you to think, Hana. Just as you’re about to look away, her eyes find yours like she could sense someone looking at her. She flashes a smile, which you try to return, before looking back at Chan and whatever story he’s sharing. 

That should be it. Except, when she appears by your side a moment later, you realize it’s not. She has someone else you’ve never seen in tow behind her. Chan, not always as quick on the uptake, looks up at her in confusion.

“Hey, I wasn’t sure if you remembered me…” she begins and you’re quick to answer.

“I do, yeah. Sorry about the other day,” you say. Chan’s face has a look of dawning comprehension. 

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m sorry if I did something to offend you. I didn’t even catch your name,” Hana says and you open your mouth to share before she cuts you off with a wave of her hand. “No, Jeonghan told me. He’s done nothing but speak about you for weeks now.”

“And I thought I could be annoying,” the mystery person says from behind Hana.

“Oh, I’m so rude. This is my boyfriend, Joshua,” Hana introduces and your brain short circuits. What? Boyfriend?

“And Jeonghan’s roommate. I hit traffic coming back last weekend or I would’ve been there to meet you as well. Make the morning even more awkward,” he jokes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, rapidly trying to make your brain connect. “You two are dating?”

“Yup!” Hana says with a smile and then notices your face. “Wait, what did you think? That I was dating Jeonghan?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know. I just thought…it was still early-ish in the day and…” you stumble awkwardly. 

“Babe, no. Jeonghan is very single. I was just early getting there because Joshua hit traffic and I was excited to see him,” she says. “He will kill me for saying this, but he hasn’t talked about anyone but you since the class started.”

“Please note that I had no part in spilling the beans. I have to live with him,” Joshua jokes. 

“And just so there’s no more confusion, I’m one of her closest friends, Chan. Not a boyfriend or date or anything like that,” Chan says. 

“Oh!” Hana says and turns to Joshua. “Jeonghan was mentioning him, remember? There was a movie we were supposed to watch.” 

“Yeah, he did mention that,” Joshua agrees.

“Anyway, I’m sure you have lots to think about, but I’m nosy and I figured I’d say hi. Have a good weekend!” Hana says, full of more energy than anyone should have on the weekend. Joshua gives a smile and follows her out of the shop.

As soon as they’re out of sight, you drop your head into your hands. All that worrying and you could have just talked to him. Could have avoided this whole idiotic situation. 

“Feeling kinda dumb right now?” Chan asks. You raise your head to glare at him. “I did say it didn’t seem like he was seeing someone.” 

“Not the time, Chan,” you say.

“It’s completely the time. Look, yeah you fucked up by not just talking to him. But, you admitted that you liked him. He clearly likes you. Just talk to him. I’m sure you can fix it,” he says. 

“I don’t know,” you start. “I was such an asshole.” 

“I mean, yeah, you kind of were. But, he spent that whole night after Seungkwan invited them over getting to know your friends. Genuinely interested in everything we said. He’s not doing that just to make more friends. He wants to show you that he can fit into your life without anything really having to change,” Chan reasons and it brings you up short.

“When did you get so smart?” you question.

“I’ve always been smart, you just treat me like a baby,” he says with an eye roll.

“You are the baby in this friend group,” you point out. 

“Just go figure out how to make it up to him,” Chan says. 

Even though you know it was a terrible miscommunication, you’re not sure how to approach Jeonghan for the rest of the weekend. You’re also not sure how the conversation will go. So, despite knowing better, you decide to just take your time. Get yourself completely set for the coming week and figure that you’ll see Jeonghan during the next class. As much as you want resolution, you don’t feel like it would be enough for you to text him and ask to talk. That could also be taken wildly out of context.

So, you prepare for the next class. Make sure you look a little cuter than you normally would for class. Go over what you’re going to say with both Seungkwan and Chan, who’s gotten incredibly invested in the whole situation. It’s another class where you’ll just be sitting in the back and listening, which might also make it easier. You’re a little early getting there so that you can set all your things down. 

But, then the class starts to fill in and you don’t see Jeonghan. Professor Choi closes the door, doesn’t comment on Jeonghan’s absence, and just starts teaching. It’s unusual. He normally takes attendance. Instead, he does a head count of the students and gets on with teaching. Everyone else is there. Jeonghan is the only one missing. You figure that maybe he reached out about missing the class. It leaves a weird feeling in your stomach, though, because you wonder if he’s okay. What if something happened to him? 

At the end of class, you join Choi at the front as you do on every other occasion. The answer comes immediately when Choi looks up at you. “Mr. Yoon emailed me before the class to say that he was feeling very sick and wouldn’t be able to make it. I assured him you would send over some notes on the subject matter today.” 

You try to avoid any relief that you feel at knowing it’s at least nothing that serious. It sucks that he’s sick, but at least he wasn’t in an accident or anything. You need to stop going to the worst case scenario, honestly. “Oh, sure. I’m sure he’s already ahead on the material, but I’ll send it over.”

“He’s such a good student,” Choi agrees. “Thank you for helping him with the proposal. I’m not sure if you read it over, but it’s exactly what I was looking for.”

“I did read it because he wrote it during my office hours. But, it was all him,” you say. 

Professor Choi looks up at you like he knows that’s not entirely true. “I can feel your influence on it. In a good way, of course. You have a habit of helping people get to their best results.”

“Thank you,” you say earnestly. It’s the most genuine compliment he’s ever given you. He reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a folder to hand to you. “Did I miss picking up an assignment to grade?”

“No,” he says with a smile you’re not used to seeing. “This is your letter for the recommendation packet. I already sent it in, but I thought you might like to see a copy.”

“Thank you so much, Professor Choi,” you say with a relieved sigh. 

“You’re incredibly bright, probably one of the brightest students I’ve ever taught,” he says and it takes you completely by surprise. “I know it’s probably seemed like I’ve been hard on you because I have been. I knew there was even more potential in you waiting to be coaxed out. I also know I made it much easier on John to ask for a recommendation. But, between you and I, your letter is much more complimentary and personal than his was. I can’t wait to see what you accomplish.” 

It all suddenly makes sense. Everything that Choi has put you through since asking for his letter. It almost makes you laugh. “I’m sorry for doubting your motives for asking me to TA this class.”

Now, Professor Choi does actually laugh. “Oh, no need to apologize for that. It’s much easier to get the most out of a student when they think they have something to prove.”

“You may be onto something,” you agree.

“I’ll see you next class,” he says and closes up his briefcase to head off.

With that bit of good news, you feel a lot lighter. You almost don’t even need to read the letter (though, you definitely will later). It’s enough to know that your entire future is still open ahead of you. It makes all of the miscommunication with Jeonghan feel incredibly silly. It also makes you feel a little bolder. So, you figure that you still have the location for Jeonghan’s apartment dropped in a group chat. Why not get him some food and medicine to help him feel better? It’ll give you a chance to apologize for how you’ve handled everything up until this point. 

That idea seems a little poorly thought out when you show up at Jeonghan’s apartment with soup and medication. He answers the door, looking completely fine healthwise and confused to see you standing on the other side of the door. 

“Professor Choi said you were really sick so I figured I’d bring some soup to help you feel better,” you offer, holding up the bag to show him. 

“Why are you here?” he asks. There’s none of the normal warmth.

“I was worried about you,” you admit.

He sighs and leans against the doorframe without letting you in. “I can’t do these mind games.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say immediately. “I know I messed up really badly. I owe you an apology.” 

“You might as well come in,” Jeonghan says and steps aside. “Soup does also sound good. It’s cold out.” 

“Right, here,” you say and hand it over to him.

“Is there enough for you to eat with me?” he asks and takes the bag. “Oh, it looks like it. Wanna join me? And you can try to explain what’s been going on?” 

“Sure,” you agree.

It’s mostly silent as Jeonghan heats up the soup and puts it into two bowls for you to enjoy it with him. He sets the bowls at the kitchen table and also sets some drinks down for you. The two of you take a few sips first before you venture to explain what’s been going on.

“I’m really sorry, Jeonghan,” you say.

“So you’ve said,” he comments. He’s not going to make this easy on you.

“That whole night when I stayed here wasn’t exactly what I signed up for,” you admit. He opens his mouth, but you wave him off. “Let me try to get this out. You were so kind and caring to me when you brought me back here. Then, I was kind of expecting something to happen and nothing did…”

“Because you had been drinking. I wasn’t just gonna be like hey, let’s jump into bed when your mind wasn’t fully clear,” he says with a scoff. 

“That’s fair. I get that,” you acknowledge. “Then, I don’t know. I saw Hana sitting out here with you the next day and I just kinda freaked out. I had realized that I might actually like you and here’s this beautiful person in your apartment for who knows what reason. I worried she was your girlfriend or something.”

He snorts a little derisively at that. “That would be kinda shitty to share a bed with you and then let you walk out to find me with a girlfriend. She’s not, by the way. She’s my roommate Joshua’s girlfriend.”

“Yeah, I know. I ran into her and Joshua while I was getting coffee over the weekend,” you admit sheepishly. This seems to surprise him.

“You met Joshua?” he asks. 

“They didn’t tell you?” you ask in return and he shakes his head. “Probably because Hana told me that I’m the only one you’ve talked about since starting the class.” 

“I wouldn’t have even cared if I had an answer to why you started ignoring me,” he says. 

“I got a bit scared,” you say softly. 

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t just speak to me,” he insists.

“I know that. I really am sorry, that’s all I can say,” you offer. 

“Well that and you can tell me that you do actually like me. Not that you might like me or something else vague,” he says with a glint to his eyes. 

“You are…infuriating,” you say with a laugh. “You’re beautiful and smart and funny and impossibly kind. You make me want to pull out my hair at least once a day…”

“Don’t do that. You have nice hair,” he interjects.

“But, yes, I’m trying not to be scared anymore. So yeah, I do like you,” you say.

“What about being the TA for my class?” he asks and you shrug. 

“The class will end eventually,” you say. 

“Does this count as our first date, then?” he asks like the true demon he is. 

“Only if you plan something else for our second date,” you concede.

“Deal,” he agrees. 

Everything feels a little bit easier after that. A little bit lighter. Like you actually can breathe for the first time all semester. You tell Jeonghan about the letter and he suggests that you read it right then with him. It makes sense, in a way. Working with Jeonghan has brought out exactly the side to you that Choi wanted to see. It feels like this is kind of his win as well, even though he didn’t realize it. It also feels a little less overwhelming to read it with him by your side. (It’s a rave. Way better than anything you could have dared to hope for and better than any other letter written by him that you’ve read. Everything feels worth it and like it falls into place.)

Now that the awkwardness is out of the way, Jeonghan shares that he wasn’t actually sick, which you already know. It’s obvious looking at him that he feels fine. It does surprise you a bit that he admits to avoiding you to give himself time to process, though. Then he moves onto talking about Joshua and Hana, grumbling that they hadn’t told him about running into you after you relay the entire conversation. Even goes as far as to say that he would have come to class so that you could have figured all of this out. Instead, he admits telling Joshua about the plan to skip. That’s why Joshua isn’t there, though. He claimed he was going to give Jeonghan his space to work through whatever he was feeling and spend the night at Hana’s. You make a mental note to thank Joshua for that. 

“How early is your day tomorrow? Do you want to stay and watch a movie or something?” he asks a little awkwardly when you finish your soup.

“Not that early,” you answer easily. “A movie sounds good, but can we watch something in your room? I feel like laying in bed and being lazy.”

“Oh, uh, sure,” he says.

“We don’t have to,” you say quickly.

“Can I say something that’s really gonna make me look…not cool?” he asks. 

“Sure,” you say curiously.

“You make me a little nervous,” he admits. 

That completely surprises you. Nothing about Jeonghan really seems anything short of confident in everything that he does. It’s kind of nice to see him falter. All you do is hold out a hand to him. “It’s okay, there’s nothing to be nervous about.”

He takes your hand easily and lets you lead him into his own bedroom. Seems very content to let you just set the pace of what’s happening. So, you settle on top of his covers and he hands you the remote. It’s nice to get to control what’s on the TV for a change, even if you’re not really paying much attention to it. Jeonghan is a little stiff against his headboard as you try to settle into his body. 

“Is it okay if I lean against you like this?” you ask, suddenly worrying this is too much.

“Of course,” he says after a moment. 

“You can tell me if…” you start.

“No,” he says firmly. “No, I’ve been thinking about this since the last time I had you in my bed.”

“Just since then?” you tease.

“No, it was definitely before then, but I’ve already lost a lot of cool points,” he says.

“I don’t want to possibly misread the signs, but are you okay with…” you start, once again, before he cuts you off.

“I am fine with absolutely anything you want to give me,” he says and you wish you could see his face. Wonder if he’s blushing.

“And if that’s just a cuddle?” you test.

“Fine,” he says.

“Or if it’s a kiss?” you ask and feel the breath he takes. “Or what about if it’s a lot more than a kiss?” 

He takes another beat. His voice sounds a bit strained when he speaks. “Definitely more than just fine.” 

That’s really all the confirmation that you need. Making sure you’re on the same page is important and getting this kind of consent makes it easier to relax. You settle further back into his chest and pull his arm around you, let one of your own arms drape across his lap. It feels like it might be easier for him to settle that way. So that you can’t see his face and he doesn’t have to worry about losing any more cool points. Not that those really matter with you anyway. More than anything, it’s entertaining to see the way this constantly confident, perpetual pain in the ass gets so tongue-tied now that he’s getting what he wants. 

The more time goes by, the more he seems to relax a little more into what’s happening around him. His fingers absently run along your arm, raising goosebumps in their wake. He leans his head down to meet yours and you could swear his lips press the lightest kiss into your hair. His entire presence is a little overwhelming. And he smells amazing. It’s such a unique scent that you can’t place. Something light, airy, and delicate. Something that seems to perfectly suit him. It might be your new favorite scent. 

Nothing about the TV show is keeping your attention. It feels like little more than a precursor to what you both know is coming. But, Jeonghan doesn’t make the first move beyond the contact his fingers make with your arm. The first actual move seems like it might belong to you, which is actually kind of exciting. It’s a bit thrilling to know that you’re going to be in charge with this man who’s done nothing but send every one of your senses into overdrive. It’s nice to know that he doesn’t need to be in control of everything. 

Almost as if you’re testing the water, you run your hand across his lap, careful to go slowly. He stops breathing for a second as he seems to wait to see what you’ll do next. It prompts you to run your hand back and forth a few more times, not bothering to move on from the subtle imprint of his dick through his sweatpants. Everything about him stills: his hand freezes on your arm, he doesn’t fidget, and his breathing is incredibly shallow. He starts to get noticeably harder underneath your hand while you keep your eyes trained forward, even though you have no idea what’s going on in whatever show you picked as background noise. There’s something strangely intimate about this in the way it feels a little innocent. 

Finally, when he starts to moan a little with each motion, you pull your hand away. Delight in the way he actually whimpers at the loss of contact. It’s time to actually face him so that you can see what you’re doing to him. Repositioning yourself, you see the look on his face. He’s a little flushed just from the attention and his eyes are wide. Waiting. All he’s doing is waiting to let you set what happens next, like he can’t really believe that this is happening after so much time. It is, though. 

You run a hand through his hair and marvel at how soft it is when it looks perfectly styled. Either his hair just looks like that or he’s got the best products in the world. Neither feels fair when he’s already this stunningly beautiful. Gently, you lean forward to press your lips against his. Let your hand tangle in his hair as you anchor yourself to him. The kiss is at complete odds with you slowly rubbing him through his pants. There’s a little bit of desperation and you’re not even sure which of you it’s coming from. All you know for sure is that his lips are so soft that they feel like clouds and he doesn’t even fight you for control when you slide your tongue into his mouth. Just meets whatever pace you set. He really is happy with whatever you give him. 

Your free hand winds down his body and doesn’t waste any time slipping into the waistband of his pants. When your hand wraps around his cock, he tries to pull away from the kiss, but you don’t let him. The moan that comes from you running your thumb over his tip gets caught up in your lips. You pull your hand out just long enough to spit into your palm and return it to the inside of his pants. Jeonghan does break the kiss when your hand wraps around his cock and strokes the first time, a hiss coming out of his mouth. 

“Are you still sure you’re okay?” you ask, but it’s almost more of a tease. 

“Fuck,” he hisses out. “Please don’t stop. Please.”

Hearing him nearly begging like that is the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. Never could you have imagined you would have this man like putty beneath your hands. It’s going to your head a little bit and then it hits you. You wonder if you can make him come just like this. Wonder how that would feel to have that kind of power over him. 

So, you do the only logical thing, and decide to test it out. You kiss him again, fierce and messy and desperate. Keep a steady rhythm of stroking him. He’s a squirming, writhing mess under your touch and it’s like he doesn’t even remember what to do with his hands. It’s actually turning you on as well to know that he wants you this bad. That nothing more than your lips and his touch are going to send him over the edge. It’s obvious when he starts getting close because he works harder to break the kiss. Can’t seem to catch his breath. You take a little pity on him and kiss across his jaw. Even pull away to watch him as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“You’re gonna make me come,” he whimpers.

“So come,” you direct.

“I can’t come in my pants like a fucking teenager,” he protests. “Please, I’m begging…”

“I want you to come for me, Jeonghan. Right now. Exactly like this. Come for me and show me how desperate you’ve been to have my hands on your cock,” you instruct.

“Fuck,” he draws out. “Fuck, I can’t…I’m gonna…”

His release comes almost out of nowhere, so hard and heavy that it coats your hand as you continue to stroke him through the release, coaxing every last bit from him. Once he’s spent, he collapses back against the headboard of the bed and you see any tension drain from his body. You pull your hand from inside his pants and wipe it off on them. Thankfully, he doesn’t even seem to protest. 

While his breathing steadies, you shift and get off of the bed. He slowly opens his eyes and tracks your movement. Only swallows a little hard when you start to undress without taking your eyes off him. Sometimes, this part makes you a little self conscious. It’s much easier now, though, knowing you had just made Jeonghan come in his pants. That’s an ego boost you never expected to get. His breath stutters when you even remove your bra and panties, leaving yourself completely exposed before him. His eyes go somehow even wider when you get back onto the bed and position yourself in front of him. He reaches out to touch you, but you slap his hand away.

“Oh, no, no,” you chastise softly. “No, my little demon, you are going to watch now.”

“Watch?” he asks. 

“Yes, watch,” you confirm and study his face. “Don’t you want to watch me get myself off? Don’t you want to watch me show you exactly what it is that I like?” 

“F-fuck that’s…wow,” he stutters out. 

You lean back, using one hand behind you on the bed to brace yourself. You spread your legs open to show him the way your pussy already glistens a little. The kissing and the feel of bringing him over the edge like that really turned you on. It’s a little bit of a first for you. Running a finger up your entrance, you collect some of the wetness there. Do it once more for good measure. And then, still emboldened by what’s happened so far, you reach forward to hold your finger out to Jeonghan. Let it run along his lip until he takes it into his mouth and tastes you. 

“Fuck, you’re so…just, fuck,” he hisses. “Can I…”

“No,” you say and cut him off, pulling your finger back. 

Now that you’ve had a taste of him begging for something, you want to drive him to that again. Want to get him so turned on that he can’t even see straight. You slowly tease at your entrance and watch the way his eyes track each movement. When you use your free hand to play with one of your nipples, he seems like he can’t really figure out where to look. Then, you slide one finger into your pussy and it’s like he can’t see to take his eyes off the motion. You moan, even though it’s nowhere near enough of a stretch, and increase the rhythm. Quickly add another finger and start to fuck yourself just the way you like. Just the way you would when you want to draw out your release a little more than using a toy. You slide your free hand down your body and use it to rub small circles on your clit. Somewhere, the thought of Jeonghan watching you becomes a little secondary. It’s incredibly sexy to know that he’s just watching, but you’re also invested in your own high. You want to do this for yourself as much as to show Jeonghan. Can’t possibly realize that Jeonghan is even more turned on knowing that you’re so lost to your own passion. 

The orgasm washes over you more suddenly than you’re expecting and it takes a moment to catch your breath. It takes another moment to realize that Jeonghan has undressed himself while you were lost in your own world. He isn’t touching himself though and you can’t figure out if he’s still sensitive or just waiting for your permission. It’s hard to avoid the realization that every part of him is beautiful. His body is all lean lines, not overly muscular, yet still looks strong. Even his cock is kind of beautiful in a way, which isn’t fair. It’s not surprising, though. 

“That was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen,” he admits, a little breathless. 

“D’you think you can make me come as well?” you tease. “Want to feel my pussy squeeze around you?” 

He nods immediately and it makes you laugh a little. “I know I can. I want…” 

“To taste me?” you offer and his eyes go dark with lust. 

“Can I?” he asks. “Can I actually get a taste? Just your finger wasn’t really enough.” 

“I want to see what that mouth can do when it’s not talking a mile a minute,” you say. “I hope you’re just as good with your tongue.”

It’s obvious that this catches him a little off guard that you’re so confident now with him. So easily fall into telling him exactly what you want him to do. But, you’re very curious to see what his skills are like. The two of you reposition so that he can settle between your legs. His eyes find yours, searching, Maybe asking permission. You nod and he uses his fingers to spread your lips open. He licks up your core and mutters a quiet fuck under his breath at your lingering wetness. The breath against your core sends a slight shiver through your body. 

After all the build up and everything, you don’t really have the patience for him to go slow. So, you tangle your hand into his hair and press his head further into your cunt. Force his nose to brush against your clit. Don’t really stop to consider if it’s too much for him. His moans into you seem to show that they’re not, though. It’s nice to just take what you need and know that he’s enjoying it just as much as you are. When you ask him (read: tell him) to add a finger, he does it without question. For someone that always seems to have a retort for everything, he’s surprisingly quiet now. Nothing piercing the quiet of the room apart from the constant stream of moans from both of you and curses from you as you get closer to your second orgasm. 

The second one hits a lot harder than the first, a fact that you wouldn’t really want to admit to Jeonghan. It’s too obvious to hide, though. You don’t even care. Jeonghan’s tongue is far better than anything you could have dreamed about. Not that you were dreaming about it. (And not that you ever got yourself off in the shower or in your bed, late at night, thinking of the annoying guy who wouldn’t ever seem to leave you alone. Absolutely not.) When you open your eyes again, you find Jeonghan looking at you with awe. There’s nothing smug about his look. It makes your insides go even a little mushier. It’s definitely not the time for those kinds of emotions. 

“Wow,” is all Jeonghan says. 

“Yeah,” you agree. 

“Do you still want to…? I mean, can we still…” he starts.

“Jeonghan, do I make you feel that nervous?” you joke. “You just ate me out and made me come all over your face.” 

He shrugs. “I just don’t wanna press my luck.” 

“Maybe we just stop here then,” you say with a return shrug. “I’m not sure you want it enough.”

“Oh, no, I definitely want it,” he disagrees.

“Are you sure?” you taunt. “Sure you can handle it?” 

That unleashes a side of Jeonghan you haven’t fully seen yet. The next moment, he’s begging you for your pussy. Begging you to show you how much he still wants you. Begging to make up for the fake that he came in his pants just at your touch. Just begging for anything and everything. He even goes as far as to say that he’ll do all the work. It shouldn’t be working for you. It’s kind of lame, the way he just can’t seem to stop himself from running his mouth. And, unfortunately, it’s working for you. You kiss him just to make him stop. 

The kiss immediately turns into something desperate, but you’re not sure which one of you takes it there first. Every new bit of him you get only makes you want even more of him. It’s kind of insane to think you weren’t even sure you liked him when it’s been so easy to fall into this. Jeonghan breaks the kiss and reaches over into his nightstand for a condom. Somehow, he manages to get it on in nearly record speed, despite his nerves about everything else. He doesn’t waste any time in positioning himself, either. You lie back when he spreads your legs open and seems a little drunk on the sight of you. You tap his side with your foot and he shakes his head clear of whatever he was thinking. 

Jeonghan lines himself up at your entrance and presses his tip in. You arch your back, moaning at the initial stretch. It’s immediately better than either of your fingers or his tongue. You wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in and it makes him snap into you in one swift movement. All you wanted was to be full and you squeeze your walls around him. Direct him to move. The two of you work together to figure out the right pace, knowing that neither of you is likely to last all that long. You’re both a little sensitive from everything in the lead up to this moment. Still, you revel in the way that Jeonghan rolls his hips into you. Appreciate the way that he nearly pulls all the way out before snapping back into you. Moan into the sloppy kiss when your mouths crash together. It’s hard to tell where your own whines start and his moans begin. The sounds all kind of blend together into some kind of weird harmony. 

Where Jeonghan was incredibly vocal when he was begging, he doesn’t seem to have a coherent thought to share now. Yet, his eyes never leave you. Like he’s trying to map each part of your body. It’s too fast for him to learn what you actually like. That’s not what you need, not right now. What you need is to have another release, one that comes at the same time as his own. And that’s exactly what you get when you come hard again just as you feel his thrusts stutter. A moment later, he’s coming into the condom and eventually stilling inside of you. 

The last thing you want is to feel the loss of him inside of you, but you understand that he has to pull out. His breathing is heavy when he rolls over onto his back. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to get out of bed. That it’s a struggle. But, he gets up to dispose of the condom and you hear water running in the distance. He returns a moment later with a wet cloth and starts gently washing you without even asking. He tosses the cloth on his dresser and then collapses back on the bed next to you. Pulls you into his body without a second thought.

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” you say softly while you’re nestled into him. 

“Like I would let you leave,” he says just as softly.

“Oh, the man that begs for my pussy is going to force me to stay?” you challenge. 

You feel the way his chest slightly rumbles with laughter. “I was hoping you’d let me live for a second.”

“After you not letting me live since we met? Fat chance,” you answer.

“I suppose I deserved that,” he says.

“I really don’t want to leave tonight, though, so hopefully you have more clothes to lend me,” you say.

“You’re gonna have to let me move for that,” he says in return.

“Worst offer I’ve gotten all day, but fine,” you agree and allow him to disentangle from you. 

Once he offers you some clothes, you also get up from the bed to get dressed. Try not to ogle Jeonghan too much as he does the same. He catches you, because of course he does, but surprisingly doesn’t say anything. Only smiles back at you. You help him remake the bed before the two of you go back out into the living area. It occurs to you that you didn’t exactly let your roommate know what you were up to before just heading straight over to see Jeonghan.

A fact that is immediately obvious when you see the texts and missed calls on your phone. Oop.

“Hey,” you call out to Jeonghan. “My roommate, I’m sure you remember him…”

“Yeah, Seungkwan, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, he’s freaking out because I forgot to say I was coming over here,” you say. “I’m just gonna call him really quick to let him know I’m fine and I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“Do you want privacy?” he asks and you just laugh lightly.

“Not sure I need it,” you say and the phone is already ringing. Seungkwan answers nearly immediately.

“What the fuck? Are you okay?” he asks instead of saying hello.

“Chill, Kwan, I’m fine,” you answer. 

“Where are you? Your class ended hours ago,” he says.

“Has it been hours?” you ask with some amount of surprise. 

“Wait, where are you?” he asks again, sounding calm but skeptical now. 

“I just…just don’t worry about me for the night, okay? I’ll be home tomorrow,” you say. 

“Switch to video, you whore,” Seungkwan says skeptically.

“Don’t be a weirdo,” you retort.

“Come on! Turn on your camera!” he yells and you pull the phone away from your ear.

“Fucking fine,” you grumble and press the button on your phone before holding it back up to your face.

“I KNEW IT!” he shrieks gleefully. “Who’s shirt is that?”

“Oh, well, it’s…” you stall and look over at Jeonghan. He’s already moving toward you.

“Well?” Seungkwan prompts as Jeonghan leans over behind you so his face shows in the camera.

“It’s mine,” Jeonghan answers and Seungkwan looks like Christmas came early.

“Well, hello Jeonghan,” he says. 

“I promise to take good care of her and send her back in one piece,” Jeonghan says and Seungkwan can’t contain his grin.

“Keep her as long as you like. I’m about to be so rich,” he says, far happier than he should be.

“Goodbye Seungkwan. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say and hang up before he can say anything. 

Once you hang up, Jeonghan gives you an odd look. Like he’s trying to figure out what Seungkwan just said.

“Do I…want to ask?” he finally asks.

You sigh. “Seungkwan started placing and taking bets about me sleeping with you as soon as I mentioned you.” 

“And when was that?” he asks, seemingly not even surprised by the bets. You internally curse.

“After the very first class when you mentioned you joined because you like Legos,” you admit. 

“We could have saved so much time,” he whines and you just shake your head.

“This is exactly how it was supposed to go,” you disagree.

“Maybe,” he concedes. “Should we get some sleep? We can figure everything else out in the light of day.”

“Sounds perfect,” you agree and follow him to bed. 

It’s far easier than it should be to settle into bed with him. Like you’ve done it a million times before. Maybe it’s okay to allow yourself to have the things you want. Maybe this can all be as easy as attaching one block to another until you have something amazing. 

i hope you liked it! and like i said, i'll be back to fix any spelling/grammar errors after the weekend.

taglist: @newjihoonie, @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizon, @klecksstorys, @sunflowergyeomie, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @vanishingboots, @babybae-shisui, @harry-the-pottypus, @okiedokrie-main, @nuttywastelandmentality, @writingbarnes, @gyuhao365, @jjin-kun, @divinityyy, @dibidibidismynameisleeknow, @jelly-n , @christinewithluv, @hipsdofangirl, @sana-is-ms-rmty, @lllucere, @vixensss, @soffiyuhh @aidanjoon, @hanniebub, @stormy1408, @lilifiedeans, @hyucksrealm, @joshuaslv, @tinkerbell460 (strikethrough means can't tag)

[shegetsburned]

❝ sensory night ❞ w. gyōmei himejima ੈ✩‧₊˚

.nsfw.smut.

underrated character collab entry !!

• — synopsis. himejima carries you to bed when you’re sleepy and tipsy after a gathering. one thing leads to another when you help him explore his other senses. • — a/n. it’s hereeeee. here’s my piece for the underrated character collab hosted by @honeybleed! ty again for letting me be a part of this. always love writing for my man gyōmei. • — wc. 3,7k

how long has it been? five? six years? you hadn’t had this much time to relax for years. you and anyone included at this small gathering. some hashiras gathered on the terrace, and some slayers gathered inside. for once, you were all decompressing and having fun. including yourself. you had drank enough booze to see blurred whenever you tried to get up from where you were sitting, words meddling themselves into your mouth. 

the stone hashira was watching you, as much as he could. when himejima heard your shiny laughter from the other room, he knew you were safe, it’s when it stopped that his brows connected in concern. he had to go take a look. 

sliding the wooden door to the adjacent room where some of your colleagues were gathered, he felt the pressure of the floor change when your back met the mat. it wasn’t long before the slayers made way for himejima’s giant stature to come over and gently pick you up, wrapping his arm under your back and knees. you were sound asleep. pretty little snores escaping your mouth. a warm chuckle made its way out of his lips when he heard how peaceful you felt between his hands. “i think it’s time for bed, precious one.”

the others laughed in unison before agreeing that your time at this gathering was over. your bed was waiting for you. 

gyōmei had been watching over you for years now. and you were certainly grateful for his presence. the wisest and strongest hashira looking out for you? you couldn’t have been more safe. 

but it wasn’t all innocent and you knew it. 

he couldn’t quite discern your facial expression when he was dreamingly staring a little too long. or how gently his words landed in your ears when he reassured you after a mission. or your blushing figure when he was standing always so close to you. 

oh. you were so grateful.

tuk 

the flask you had been carrying between your fingers made contact with the floor when your weight was lifted by his strong hands. leading you to your chamber was an easy task for the hashira. nevertheless, he wasn’t sure if he should leave or stay by your side. would you need more help later when you awoke? would you still be tipsy and unable to stand? 

why was it harder to make a quick decision when it came to you than on the terrain?

deep in his thoughts, gyōmei hadn't realized you had just woken up, still in his arms. it’s your giggle that alerted him. a soft and sweet giggle that could’ve warmed his heart if it wasn’t already so full of love for you. 

“gyōmei.” your sleepy voice reached him as he walked into the corridor leading to your room. you still weren’t on first-name bases after all these years so hearing it coming from you made his heart skip a beat., but his face stayed composed, as strong as ever.

“gyōmei, gyōmei-” you insisted, lingering on his name. you couldn’t quite figure out why you were in his arms in the first place but it seemed to not bother you when you searched for contact, placing a hand on his cheek with an impudent smile. “gyōmei. look at you, gyōmei.” your left thumb trailed his jaw before you extended your whole right hand around his other cheek. “your face is so soft, gyōmei..” 

you jiggled with his cheek, pinching his skin but he did not flinch. he wasn’t bothered, wearing his usual stoic demeanour, as he kept his gaze straight towards the door that was coming to your left. “you’re tired, small one. you should sleep.” if you had his perfect sense of hearing, you could’ve heard his strong heart beat faster ever since you laid your fingers on his face. 

he opened the door, with you still comfortably tucked into his arms before delicately setting you down on the squishy bed. you whined, now cold without the warmth of his body as you only wore that kimono that was barely holding on around your shoulders, revealing parts of your cleavage.

his eyes flickered when he heard a ruffle coming from your sheets where he had left you. he was standing on two knees beside your bed now, and you could’ve sworn he was taller than anyone you knew even when in this position. 

“gyōmei.”

“yes. what is it?”

he was always so patient with you. so composed and polite. so, was the moment right? was it right for you to continue your sentence and express these buried feelings you had felt for so long? 

“don’t you sometimes wonder...” 

hesitation drawn in your eyes– it was a good thing he couldn’t see.

“don’t you sometimes wonder what i feel like?” 

your words were followed by your hands wrapping around his wrist, slowly lifting his arm towards your face. 

he let himself be handled with apprehension and silence when he realized you were leading his hand closer and closer to your mouth. there was no resistance on his part when you moved it further, landing on your face. 

his hand was warm, scarred and calloused but it felt so soft against your skin. he was hesitant at first, all of his senses aleterted when he felt your body shiver against his touch. it was the first time he could allow himself to touch you so intimately. his hand cupped your jaw before slowly making its way towards your mouth. he pressed his thumb against your lips. it was such a comfortable gesture when he started caressing your upper lip, slightly opening your mouth with its movement. 

you couldn’t help but stare at him. the concentrated gaze he wore when he tried to memorize every inch of your lips made you nervously exhale. your hands were still wrapped around his enormous forearm as he took the lead from you.

the idea that gyōmei had of you was constructed only by the sound your voice made, by the wind caressing his face whenever you moved and by the musical chant of your laughter reaching his ears. all of it was enough for him to favour you. 

he didn’t only favour you, he longed for you. longed for more. longed for touch. he wanted to memorize the shape of your figure, the taste of your skin, the weight of your body, the sound of your moans-

he wanted to explore all of his senses with you. and maybe this time you’d be able to help him.

you couldn’t help but realize that he was completely silent when he moved his thumb past your lips without resistance. feeling your tongue and teeth was a whole new experience for him. a slight pressure applied with your teeth made him nervously inhale, but all you could hear was a deep groan when your tongue made contact with his finger.

while he inspected the interior of your mouth, you kept drawing small circles with your thumb still tightly gripping his forearm. you wanted gyōmei to feel welcome and not hesitate to feel more parts of you. 

you showed him by releasing your teeth around his thumb and sucking on it. he could feel his heartbeat all the way to his hands when you started to move your mouth. it was all so new and all so sudden, he didn’t know how to react to your invitation. he felt like losing himself. he wanted to lose control. 

you took your time, imprinting your lips around his thumb before letting him go with a sloppy pop. now that gyōmei had a taste of your saliva on him, he wanted more. as soon as you stopped, thinking he’d be too hesitant to continue, the gentle giant raised himself on one knee, leaning his whole figure on top of you and wrapping his hand around the back of your head. it was his turn to get a taste.

he started at the beginning of your neck, covering it with kisses and bites. It was slow and measured. he made sure he could remember every spot by heart before moving on to the next. his lips made you quiver as you uncontrollably let your head fall back with your eyes closed so you could get the whole experience. timid moans that he could hear so clearly hurried him to move downward to your exposed chest. 

you had never seen gyōmei like this. so imprudent. so eager to explore every single one of his senses with you without minding the consequences. he was already too deep.

when he shifted downward, you could feel his hand run across your whole body, tightly gripping and touching your shoulders, your waist, your hips. his breathing made the most sound when he opened your kimono, meticulously unwrapping the decorative obi string that kept the tissues together without even thinking about it.

gyōmei was so skilled with his hands, you had just now realized, and you too were excited to see what more he could do. under his strong and passive exterior, you knew he’d surprise you with his hunger. 

he started attacking your belly with his mouth when your upper body was naked, moving his hands further up so that he’d reach your breasts. his hands were huge when they grazed your nipples. he used one of his palms, slightly rubbing his skin against your pointy nipple. feeling a new part of you made his heart skip a beat. you were so small and frail under him. he could cup both of your boobs with one hand, but he waited. he waited patiently until a small whimper came out of your lips to play with you. 

he couldn’t hide it, the sole purpose for his next move was to hear more of these sounds you made that reassembled the most beautiful melody.

one hand firmly grasping one of your breasts provoked another sound before he rubbed his thumb on the tip of your nipple. at his touch, gyōmei could feel your body tense under him while he continued to make circles, taking care of one of your nipples, while his mouth did the work on the other. again, he was deliberately steady and torturous. with his tongue now flat against your nipple, he spread his drool around it. it was wet and sweaty and he loved it. he loved how it made you feel and loved how lucky he was to be able to explore your body like this. when his lips squeezed the tip, you reached for his head, planting your fingers on his scalp. he was immovable but it was mostly for you, so that he wouldn’t leave this perfect spot. 

when he finished working on your breasts both with his hands and mouth, he placed a last kiss under your right boob before moving his whole weight again. at the sudden stop, you lifted your upper body to have a view of his next actions and when you realized he was heading between your legs, panic settled in. 

“g-gyōmei.” half-drunk you tried calling to him. 

“it’s alright, sweet one..” 

even when he was whispering you could hear the power in his voice. you could feel his hand clutch around one of your hips and his exposed chest graze your pelvis when he lowered himself even more. one of his hands always stayed put on your chest but the other ran from your hip to your thigh. “let me rediscover myself with you.” 

and you let him. you were at a loss for words under gyōmei. even now, nothing about him was stiff. he was as tranquil as all the other times you had seen him, but something differed and you could feel it by the way he took care of you. he was lustful and stimulated. his giant figure towering over you earlier had undoubtedly made you flustered. you never expected to be so overwhelmed by all the attention he could give, but here you were, squirming under his large hands when he separated your legs. 

the mix of your sweat and body odour agitated his nose. it made him feel euphoric. he had no problem guiding himself to your naked pussy with one finger trailing along your skin to the interior of your thigh until he could feel your pussy.  when he did, his thumb played with your lips. feeling every curve by dragging his finger delicately, until he was satisfied. 

he waited a couple of seconds at your entrance before inserting his index in. feeling the wetness of your folds tightening around his finger made him flinch but he went deeper when he heard you yelp. one finger was already enough for you, you thought. it almost filled you and you couldn’t comprehend how he was so huge inside of you. 

you tried to close your legs but were unsuccessful under his strong hold. there was no way you’d be able to control your reactions now. grasping the sheets with one hand and your kimono in the other, the only thing you could try to do was hold onto something. unfortunately, gyōmei hadn’t had enough of your sweet sounds and started exploring your insides, fingering your pussy so perfectly. his hot breath against your skin only made your pussy pulsate around him more.

he felt everything around his finger, from the gummy interior to the slimy fluid that drenched his finger. without wasting any more time, he moved around which provoked a sudden cry. you couldn’t believe gyōmei was actually going there. you couldn’t believe that he was between your legs, working his way through your folds while you couldn’t do anything but stare at the silent man. 

despise his quietude, the feeling was exhilarating and he wanted more. soon enough you felt another one of his fingers enter your fleshy folds, making its way past your inner lips and joining the index, moving along with it. it made your back arch with pleasure when his fingers filled you entirely. his large digits made their way in and out in unison, searching for the spot that would make you twitch out of delight.

gyōmei took his time when he felt his fingers squeeze every time he went past that ring of muscle. he could intelligibly feel and hear the effect he had on you which made his hand clench around your thigh. 

while his fingers took care of the inside, he shifted his thumb landing perfectly on your clit. you could’ve sworn he had done this before but his eagerness made you think otherwise. he could perceive your positioning so distinctly. he knew when you closed your eyes, when you tried to silence your moans with a hand on your mouth and when you placed the other on top of his, towards your inner thigh. he could also sense that you were already so close to finishing with how he worked his way against your clit and how he had stretched you out easily with two of his fingers. 

your body tensed up as you tried to restrain yourself from completely letting go of the little control you had over your own body. thighs clenching, with your hand tightly wrapped around gyōmei’s, but he had little to no regard for your current state. 

he only wanted you to let go. but these sensations you both felt needed to last so that they’d left an imprint- so that he’d remember it.

“himejima-san.. please.” you begged when you squeezed the hand he had planted between your legs. you felt yourself so close to cumming, but the sudden switch to proper naming frustrated him and you felt him get rougher with his fingers. he knew it would cause discomfort if he tried to insert another one of his digits, so he maximized the hold he had on you. 

when gyōmei finally felt your body twitch with anticipation, he completely stopped his movement and felt moans of complaint through his ears. your head peaked up, brows connected in confusion. “h-himejima? why did you-“ 

he still wore a concentrated gaze when he took his fingers out, letting your plump pussy wrap them one last time, feeling every little inch of your walls against his skin. slimy fluid covering him and dripping out of your swollen and demanding hole.

gyōmei’s euphoric-like state sent shivers down your spine. his mouth was slightly agape like an idea had just blossomed in his mind. nevertheless, you could see that he was still captivated by the unique feeling you had procured him. his fingers were still grazing your skin when you felt a low grunt coming from the man as his breath tickled your skin once more.

you called his name once more but a sudden movement interrupted your words.

gyōmei lowered himself even more onto the bed, wrapping his strong arms around your thighs in a tight hold, easily moving your lower body along with him, until his mouth faced your empty pussy. 

when he was correctly positioned, he placed a trail of kisses along your right thigh, eventually sucking on the inner part and stopping towards your swollen lips as his warm breath landed on your skin.

“please. allow me, little one.”

his next words were followed by his hungry mouth against your wet cunt as you yelped out of surprise. flustered, with both hands on your mouth, you tried and muffled the next moans that were bound to come out, but gyōmei couldn’t allow it. he couldn’t allow you to silence the noises that made him feel all kinds of ways- that made him so hard. as a result, he extended one of his arms, effortlessly grabbing onto your wrists and pulling your hands down against your chest, before he continued to devour you any further.

it was when he parted your lips with his tongue that you let out your whimpers and it was like music to his ears. his mouth extended to the outside of your cunt, so he could easily suck on your nub before going back inside with his tongue. he had a large mouth that took such good care of you.

the taste couldn’t be described. this new mix of savour and odour was heavenly. it gave gyōmei a good idea of who you were and how you felt.  he was drinking out your soft and tired movements when you pushed your pelvis against his mouth. you let a long-ish moan when he lingered on your clit, a soft touch of teeth before completely engulfing it with his lips. sucking until he felt confident enough to shift to your spit-covered lips. 

to get a better grip, he pulled your legs further so they could rest on his broad shoulders. eating you out was like a dream come true. he could taste everything he had felt with his fingers minutes earlier. it awakened his senses and brought a whole new meaning to pleasure. his olfactory glands and taste buds were so stimulated that you felt deep groans and moans vibrating against your entrance that made you flutter. to hear such a composed and collected man lose his mind over you only pulled you closer to your orgasm.

a few minutes in and he had already explored every inch of your cunt, and you finally felt yourself coming. not wanting to make a mess and way too agitated to cum on gyōmei’s mouth, you tried to voice your concerns, tangling words mixed with pretty moans.

“g-gyōmei, w-wait-” 

he hummed against you, as if to approve. as if to tell you that you had the right to release yourself upon him. 

so when you gave up on containing yourself and with gyōmei’s encouragement you let out a long yelp, cumming all over his lips.

he drank you up, tightening his grip on your thighs while he enjoyed the sweet taste of your seed on his tongue. 

he stayed stationed between your legs for a while, properly sampling this new exquisite liquid and taking his time to savour it. he exhaled loudly before parting with your cunt, pressing soft kisses over your lips.

after a while, gyōmei finally decided to pull back completely, sucking at your inner thigh’s skin and taking in a final deep breath before lifting his gaze towards your face, with your sweet cum wetting his lips. he couldn’t see the state you were in, but could guess you’d be a mess.

sweating and trying to catch your breath, you had completely relaxed your body against him. your head lazily tilting back against the pillow, you had never felt more at peace. 

your orgasm had left your cunt pulsating, but the only thing you recognized was gyōmei’s fingers rubbing against your palm.

“thank you.” 

when you had enough strength to realize that he had thanked you, the sudden gratitude startled you. you lifted your upper body with one of your arms against the sheet while the other was still tightly gripped around his hand.

“you’re thanking me? himejima, why.. why are you thanking me?”

he raised his body with ease, all the way up so that he could stand above your naked figure, facing you. 

“sweet one. you taught me how to see without my eyes.” he murmured, as he moved his hand to wrap yours entirely.

“your touch, scent and sound have changed me. I have been waiting to explore these with you.”

his confession warmed your heart and you couldn’t help but stare at his face. he was still drunk on you but he spoke genuine words that made you uncontrollably blush. a cheeky smile appeared on your smile, fully surrendering to a hypnotic whirl of happiness.

that night, after a well-deserved break, gyōmei himejima had explored and reinvented the meaning of senses with your help; when you moaned into his ears, when he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, when he tasted every part of you and when your elated scent almost brought him to tears. 

although.. he did promise you he’d need more than one lesson to perfect his technique.

© shegetsburned 2024. Please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

[krossan]

A Brief AU Explanation

I noticed that there are a lot of new followers that do know Danny Phantom, and others that the know very little. I am also aware that I haven't fully explained - maybe NOT in too much detail - the "story" and plots of my AU. You only have the ideas that I've been telling of this story through illustrations.

This AU is all about reconnecting with one self, with Jazz and Dan as the main two of this particular game.

Jazz remains as the same character that is portrayed through the OG show. She has always been the psychology enthusiast of the group, the one that cares for others and help with whatever she can. For her, others come first. First being her family.

On the other hand, we have Dan, an alternate entity of Danny’s ghost half and Vlad’s. A new form of entity that lost his humanity. For him to show any form of emotion is null.

Jazz involvement in this has to do with her putting everyone else first and then herself, and being keen to the study of the human-psyche, and now ghost-psyche, she secretly partakes to the role of Dan’s therapist. This was kept in secret from the rest of her friends and Danny until she can gain more control over Dan.

This, of course, prove to be a VERY difficult task. With her having to hide her constant fears when facing that “particular someone”: he could go on a rampage, have uncontrollable outbursts, cause havoc, and that he could turn against her any day/time without any remorse. She knows this, but she also knows that deep down, her little brother is still there. She’s looking to rekindle that part of him again. Of course, never knowing at what extent this could go.

And this, apparently started to bear fruit, although at a slow pace. As Jazz stood closer and closer to him, she understood that he stayed alone his entire life, and after losing everyone he cared, his violent actions were his significance of showing the world "hurting". The hurt he have been caring so many years. Now he has that second chance. To “live” a new life and Jazz wants to help him out.

With this new information, each time Jazz got close to him, Dan, instead of seeing her as an obnoxious-human-parasite, he slowly starts bonding with her. His interest increasing each day he is with her and grows more comfortable being around her (something Dan originally despised).

***

Part of this AU, enrolls on a particular context that the ghost of a halfa is sentient. The original show as proven this*. When Danny’s ghost has been separated, his ghost has a mind of his own, but when staying together, human-ghost, the consciousness of the halfa acts as one. *Episodes in question: What You Want, Identity Crisis, The Ultimate Enemy

This part that the ghost plays on the known halfas is a mayor plot point from this AU. Let me explain my concept briefly:

This roll that the ghost is part of the halfa is the one that caries the power of the wielder (human). The human can transform into the ghost and vice versa. The ghost powers remain within the ghost half. The human half acts as a vessel/host to the ghost half.

All living things have the instinct of survival. And on this case, the ghosts would do ANYTHING to keep their host safe as they are the means of a linked connection human-ghost. Not unlike the rest of non-halfa- ghosts that their link/host relies on the Ghost Zone -since they no longer have a corporeal body, the vessel for their survival is ectoplasmic energy, the one that emanates from the GZ.

***

Since Dan is no longer connected to a human, he became a full-ghost. An entity that merged from two ghost halfas. He can sustain himself alone, but strangely enough, he building a bond with Jazz, it rekindled what Jazz intended, but in an unusual way. Jazz intention was to try and reconnect Dan with his long-lost humanity. Even if he didn’t have a human half, both his ghosts may have some little information stored deep within of what that used to feel like. And even though that started to give results, the ghost also retained that of his original purpose: Protect the host.

And as the bond Dan and Jazz grew more and more, unknown to them, it caused a physical manifestation: a white streak formed in Jazz’s hair. And even if this came up as a surprise to Jazz, she later discovered that this manifestation was much more than just physical.

Dan rekindled his humanity but he, unknowingly, intertwined Jasmine’s humanity to his. Her humanity is part of him. Jasmine’s emotions have an impact on him. Whatever she feels, he can sense it, let them be good or bad ones.

They both are this new form of halfa, both human and ghost are separate life forms, but from the ghost side -Dan’s perspective- Jazz is acting as his human half. His host. That’s is why his instincts respond to protect her at all costs.

No. This new form of a halfa representation doesn't mean Jazz has ghost powers. The one with that power is Dan. This bond is more of a psychic link.

 (i.e. In European folklore, you “could” say Dan is Jasmine’s "familiar", although Jazz is not considered to be a witch, but imagine the possibilities of this small plot causing people or ghosts to think Jazz is a witch… idk… random ideas)

This is why Dan is more sympathetic towards Jazz and why their bond is very important.

______________

It's worth pointing out that I don't have a specific name for this AU, like many people do when they create these stories. And NO. Please refrain from saying this is a romantic relationship. It is a sibling/platonic relationship.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

kinktober: caught in public

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, topper gets traumatized bc of course he does, p in v sex, hot tub sex

you know you’re not actually in private, but this section of the yard is so quiet you wouldn’t even be able to tell that there’s a party going on. your head is rested against rafes should, hand absentmindedly stroking his thigh under the water, glad that he turned the temperature of the hot tub down so you could stay in longer.

“baby…” rafe says, tugging at your bikini top, not trying to loosen the string, but wanting to tease you.

“hm?” you pick your head up, looking at rafe with a soft smile on your face. you were both slightly buzzed, just having a couple of drinks before sneaking off to the hot tub to be alone.

“come sit on my lap, i miss you.” rafe says, making you laugh gently.

“how can you miss me, we've been together all night?” but you slot one leg over his lap, pressing your chests together as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. 

“mmm, just have.” rafe says, hands rubbing up and down your back. “you smell so good.” he breathes in your hair, even as it’s tied up to avoid getting the ends wet.

you smile and turn your head to kiss at rafes neck, taking his earlobe into your mouth and giving it a little tug. rafe groans and drops his hand to your bum, feeling how little of it is covered by your swimsuit.

“there’s no one around…” rafe says, glancing behind him. “we could…” you usually would shut rafe down, you think that’s what he’s expecting, but it truly has been quiet. you can hear the crowd of the party over on the patio, but you’re around the corner of the house, and you’re not sure who even knows the hot tub is back here besides maybe topper, who is the host of the party.

“okay, but we have to be quiet.” you say, sitting back so you could look rafe in the eye, glad that the water is clear so you can look down, seeing his abs pressed together from his seated position. you bite your lip and run your hand down his torso, all the way to the band of his underwear. you rub your hand over where his cock is starting to swell, eyes flicking back up to rafes face as his jaw becomes slack, mouth dropping open but not making a sound.

“feels so good, baby.” rafe says, bringing a hand to your breast and playing with your nipple through the fabric of your swimsuit, not wanting to pull it to the side and expose you but still wanting to give you some stimulation.

“touch here.” you say, taking his hand in yours and bringing it into the warm water, right to your pussy. rafe understands what you mean by this, you don’t want to take too long or do too much foreplay since this is risky.

rafe rubs over your clit, making you let out a soft moan. when you work rafes swim shorts down his thighs to pull his cock out, you connect your lips in a kiss, hoping it will help both of you stay quiet as you begin to stroke him to full hardness.

“let me just sit on it for a second, mkay?” you tell rafe when you pull away from the kiss, knowing that without him opening you up with his fingers at first that you always need a minute. rafe nods and you tug your bikini bottoms to the side, lining yourself up with rafes cock before sinking down. 

“that feels so good, baby.” rafe praises you as you sit fully down, leaning forward and resting your forehead against rafes, eyes closing as your pussy stretches to accommodate his size. 

“just… one more second.” you say, placing your hands on rafes shoulders.

“it’s okay, take your time.” rafe says, but you feel ready so you begin to slowly move your hips up and down, slowly building up a rhythm.

“there you go.” rafe praises, grabbing your hips with his hands but letting you keep control. you continue to glance over rafes shoulder, checking to see if someone was coming. it makes you excited to think someone could walk up and find out what you’re doing, especially if that someone is one of the girls that used to flirt with rafe before you started to date him.

you begin to bounce faster now, smirking when rafes eyes drop to your tits as they bounce right at the top of the water. you giggle and lean forward to give him a quick peck on the lips before returning to your position, grinding your hips down against him.

“fuck, baby, this is gonna be quick if you keep that up.” rafe says, hands now starting to help you move as you begin to tire out.

“want you to cum anyways.” you tell rafe, giving him another kiss. you get lost in the way your lips slide over each others, moaning into his mouth as he begins to thrust his hips up to meet yours, bringing you down against him, causing the water to splash around you.

“you gotta cum first princess.” rafe says, rubbing one hand over your clit. you press your lips against his jaw to avoid moaning, having to drop your head onto his shoulder as he flicks over your sensitive skin.

“hey guys!” you pick your head up when you hear toppers voice, heading towards the hot tub with just his swim shorts on. you react quickly, reaching to turn the jets on, causing the water to stir instantly and bubbles to cloud the top of the water, disguising what is happening below the surface.

“hey top.” you say as he gets into the hot tub, sitting on the opposite side of you and rafe.

you widen your eyes once topper can’t see your face, still fully sat on rafes cock. you go to get off, but rafe stops you, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“aren’t you supposed to be hosting this party topper?” rafe asks, thumbs rubbing over your hips.

“mmm, it’s fine. needed a break for a minute anyways.” topper says, leaning his head back against the rim of the hot tub, letting the jets massage him.

you go to pull off again, not wanting to be sitting on rafes cock with topper so close. rafe lets you pull off, but when you go to sit down next to him, he pulls you back on his lap, making you sink down on his cock again, just facing topper this time.

you lean back with your back against rafes chest, hoping topper doesn’t notice your movements too much or look under the water too closely.

“rafe…” you whisper, turning your head to skim your teeth over his jaw.

“shh.” rafe says, fingers moving back to your pussy. you grip his wrist under the water but don’t pull it away, letting him rub two fingers over your clit, moving easily over your skin in the water.

“so…” topper begins, picking his head up and looking at you, which you give him a quick smile before trying to control the emotions on your face. “were you not enjoying the party?” “oh, no.” you shake your head, trying to keep your upper body still as rafe begins to push his hips up against yours, his cock sliding in and out of your pussy by only inches. “we were having fun, just decided to get away from the noise a bit, right rafe?” “right.” rafe says, but his voice sounds strained, making topper furrow his brow and look closer.

“holy shit!” topper shouts, standing up in the hot tub, spilling water over the sides from his sudden movements. “you two are fucking right now!” “what? top! no!” you laugh it off, but rafes hands come to your hips, giving you a bounce as he’s unable to sit still any longer.

“oh my god, you’re actually disgusting.” topper climbs out of the hot tub, stomping back towards the party as you begin to move faster, rafes hips snapping up into yours.

“do not fucking get cum in the hot tub!” topper yells.

“don’t worry, i always cum inside!” rafe yells back with a laugh, making you clench your pussy tightly around him in disapproval, halting movement for only a minute before his fingers rub faster against your clit, making you too desperate to stop as you start to bounce again.

“rafe!” you shout out, arching your back as you move faster. “i’m close!” “close?” rafe asks with a dark chuckle. “did getting caught turn you on that much?” “fuck, fuck, just go harder.” you beg, and rafe quickly moves, switching positions so you’re kneeling on the seat of the hot tub while he stands in the center, thrusting his hips into you, not caring who sees at this point.

“god, yes!” you shout, holding your hand over rafes that rubs your clit, keeping it in place.

“fuck, baby, i’m cumming!” rafe warns, water splashing out of the hot tub as he thrusts into you as fast as he can possibly go, moaning and bending over your body as he cums, pushing it all deep inside you. upon feeling his release, your orgasm also rolls through your body. rafe keeps moving gently as you come down from your high, sinking back into the water as he pulls out, covering your pussy up with your swimsuit and tucking himself back into his shorts.

“come here.” rafe says, opening his arms, which you quickly accept and sit on his lap, resting your head against his bicep as you curl up into him.

“i think we scarred topper for life.” you giggle, thinking about the look on his face when he realized what was happening.

“tops a big boy, he’ll get over it.”

[pedroscowgirl]

summer secrets

hugh jackman x female!reader

part 1 /part 2 here (you can read it seperatly) MASTERLIST

Warnings: smut!! minors dni!

oral! f receiving, p in v , creampie (wrap it up), edging, age gap (reader is 20s hugh is 55), lmk if i forgot something

Summary: you and hugh are at a bbq organised by ryan and blake

words: 8.1k (yeah ... i went insane idk what to tell you)

A/N: can u believe it took me so long to find a good pic for this cuz he looks so young in all his pics. i tried to proofread as good as i can but it's 5am here so bear w me pls

You were thrilled to receive an invitation to Ryan and Blake's barbecue, an intimate gathering they were hosting at their home. The guest list was small, limited to a close-knit group of friends, including Hugh and a few other familiar faces. As you read the invitation, a mix of emotions washed over you. On the one hand, you were excited to spend time with Ryan and Blake, who had always treated you with warmth and kindness. They saw you as a close friend and respected colleague of Hugh, and they had no idea about the secret that you and Hugh were carefully guarding.

Your relationship with Hugh had grown deeper over time, evolving from a casual friendship into something much more meaningful and intense. Despite the undeniable connection between the two of you, you had decided to keep your relationship private. The significant age gap between you and Hugh was something you knew others might not easily accept or understand. This was especially true in the circles you moved in, where appearances and reputations were scrutinized closely.

As the day of the barbecue approached, you couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy. Being invited to this get-together felt strange because, on the surface, it was just a casual social event, but beneath it all, it carried the weight of your hidden relationship. You knew that keeping up the facade of being just friends in front of Ryan, Blake, and the others would be challenging, especially as you and Hugh had grown so close.

Still, you were determined to enjoy the day, focusing on the company of good friends and the relaxing atmosphere that Ryan and Blake were known for creating. You trusted that Hugh, ever composed and discreet, would help maintain the illusion of you just being friends. While it felt odd to be so near him yet unable to openly show your feelings, you reassured yourself that the secret was necessary, for now. After all, the bond you shared with Hugh was something precious, something worth protecting, even if it meant enduring a little discomfort at events like these.

The sun blazed overhead on what felt like one of the hottest days of summer, casting a golden glow over everything it touched. As you stood in front of your closet, you debated what to wear for Ryan and Blake’s barbecue. The air was thick with heat, making anything too heavy or restrictive out of the question. After a moment of consideration, you reached for a short, bodycon dress adorned with delicate floral patterns. The fabric was light and breathable, perfect for the weather, and the dress hugged your figure in all the right places, offering both comfort and a touch of elegance.

As you slipped into the dress, you couldn't help but smirk at the thought of Hugh’s reaction when he saw you. The dress, while chosen primarily for comfort, was also undeniably flattering, accentuating your curves and bringing out the vibrant colours of the floral design. You knew it would drive Hugh absolutely insane—his eyes would darken with that unmistakable mix of admiration and longing that always sent a thrill through you. But you were careful to keep this thought tucked away in the back of your mind. Today, you had to play it cool, keeping up the pretence of being just another guest at the barbecue.

You and Hugh had agreed to arrive at Ryan and Blake’s home separately, a necessary precaution to avoid drawing any unwanted attention to your relationship. Hugh had a closer bond with Ryan and Blake, having known them for years, and had offered to come early to help with the preparations. True to his nature, Hugh had slipped into the role of a perfect gentleman, lending a hand with the barbecue setup, arranging the seating, and making sure everything was in order before the other guests arrived.

By the time you arrived, the gathering was already in full swing. Laughter and the smell of grilling food filled the air, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere. You spotted Hugh across the yard, effortlessly charming everyone with his easy going nature and genuine smile. It was a scene you had witnessed countless times, yet it never failed to stir something deep within you.

Ryan and Blake’s kids were particularly fond of Hugh, and today was no exception. No sooner had you arrived than you noticed the children begging him to perform his famous routine from The Greatest Showman, a request he had apparently fulfilled countless times before. Without missing a beat, Hugh obliged, launching into his well-practiced performance with enthusiasm and flair. The kids gathered around the television, wide-eyed and mesmerized as Hugh sang and danced, bringing the movie to life once again.

It was a sight to behold, and you couldn’t help but feel a sting of affection as you watched him entertain the little ones for what must have been the hundredth time. The way he could effortlessly switch from being the life of the party to a beloved performer for the kids was one of the many things you admired about him. Yet, as you stood there in your floral dress, sipping on a cold drink and watching Hugh interact with everyone, you were acutely aware of the secret you were both hiding.

Throughout the afternoon, Hugh managed to steal subtle glances in your direction whenever he thought no one was looking. There were moments when his gaze would linger a little longer than necessary, a brief exchange of looks across the yard that spoke volumes without a single word being uttered. Occasionally, he would find a reason to drift closer to you, making casual conversation as if nothing were out of the ordinary. But despite these fleeting interactions, there was no opportunity for the two of you to be alone—not until everyone eventually settled at the long, wooden table set up in the shade for the meal.

As luck would have it, you ended up sitting next to Hugh. The air was thick with the mingled scents of grilled food, fresh flowers, and the tang of sunscreen, creating a heady atmosphere that only intensified the tension between the two of you. Your heart raced as you tried to focus on the casual conversations happening around the table, but all you could think about was how close he was, the warmth of his body just inches from yours.

At one point, Hugh leaned back in his chair, glancing around the table before he got up. "I need to grab something from the kitchen," he announced casually, but then he turned his gaze to you, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. "Do you want to join me?" he asked, his voice smooth and inviting.

You hesitated for only a fraction of a second before nodding. There was something in his eyes, a look that made it clear this was about more than just fetching something from the kitchen. As you followed him inside, your heart pounded in your chest, anticipation bubbling up as you wondered what was about to happen.

Once inside the cool, quiet kitchen, Hugh paused for a moment, glancing out the window to ensure no one was watching. Satisfied that you were alone, he turned to you with a sneaky look that made your breath catch. Before you could say a word, he reached out and grabbed your waist, pulling you close until your bodies were pressed together. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine.

"Gosh, you look so gorgeous in that dress," he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. His eyes roamed over your figure, taking in the way the floral fabric clung to your curves. "It's almost too cute to rip it off your beautiful body."

His words sent a wave of heat through you, and you felt a familiar dampness growing between your legs. Your cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and excitement as your body was responding to the raw intensity of his gaze and the sultry promise in his voice. Before you could even process the full extent of your arousal, Hugh closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was long and full of passion.

The kiss was everything you had been craving and more. His lips were firm and insistent against yours, moving with a hunger that matched your own. You melted into him, the world outside the kitchen fading away as your senses were overwhelmed by the taste of him, the scent of his cologne mingling with the heady aroma of summer. Hugh's big hand cradled the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, tilting your head to the side to allow him better access.

Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his shirt as if to anchor yourself in the moment. The kiss seemed to go on forever, a perfect blend of urgency and tenderness, leaving you breathless and longing for more. The sensation of his lips moving against yours, the way he held you so possessively, made it clear just how much he had been holding back all day.

Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, Hugh pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath. His eyes were dark with desire, the usual calmness replaced by something much more primal.

"You're driving me crazy, you know that?" he whispered, his voice rough and barely above a murmur. You could see the effort it took for him to restrain himself, to not let things go any further in the middle of Ryan and Blake’s house. But the intensity of the moment, the unspoken promise in his gaze, told you that this was far from over.

With a final, lingering kiss on your lips, he reluctantly stepped back, his hand sliding away from your waist. He glanced out the window once more, ensuring that your absence hadn’t been noticed before giving you a mischievous grin. "We should probably head back out before anyone gets suspicious," he said, though the lingering heat in his voice hinted at how difficult it was for him to let go of you.

You nodded, still trying to steady your racing heart and the fluttering feeling in your stomach. As you both made your way back to the table, it was impossible to ignore the tingling sensation left by his touch or the way your body still hummed with the aftermath of that kiss. The rest of the world had returned, but the memory of what had just transpired in the kitchen was seared into your mind.

As you and Hugh made your way back to the table, the atmosphere between you was thick with the electricity of what had just happened. Your lips still tingled from his kiss, and your mind raced with thoughts of what it all meant. The brief interlude in the kitchen had only heightened the tension between you two, making it even more challenging to act normal in front of everyone else.

Hugh, ever the master of composure, seemed to slip effortlessly back into the role of charming guest as you both rejoined the gathering. He held the door open for you with a polite smile, his fingers lightly brushing your lower back as you walked past him, a subtle but deliberate touch that sent another shiver down your spine. You returned to your seat, trying to focus on the conversations around you, but the awareness of Hugh’s presence next to you made it almost impossible to concentrate.

As everyone began to dig into their plates, you caught Hugh stealing another glance at you, this one quick and loaded with meaning. His eyes held a promise of more to come, a silent acknowledgment that what had happened in the kitchen was only a prelude. You knew that he was just as affected as you were, despite the cool, collected exterior he presented to the others.

Ryan, ever the attentive host, began recounting a funny story from a recent project, his animated gestures drawing the group’s attention. The table erupted in laughter, and for a moment, you found yourself caught up in the light-heartedness of the scene, the warmth of the summer day, and the companionship shared among friends. But the laughter also provided a perfect cover for the way Hugh subtly leaned closer to you under the disguise of reaching for something on the table.

A few minutes passed as you tried to engage in small talk, but Hugh was far from done with you. Under the table, where no one could see, his knee brushed against yours again, this time with more purpose. You felt the familiar jolt of electricity shoot through your body, and you had to bite your lip to keep your reaction in check. It was a simple touch, yet it carried all the weight of the unspoken desire simmering between you.

As the conversation around the table continued, you felt Hugh’s hand slowly make its way to your thigh, his fingers ghosting over your skin with deliberate slowness. The heat of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of your dress, making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Your breath hitched involuntarily as his hand inched higher, his fingertips tracing a path that left a trail of fire in their wake.

He leaned in closer, pretending to reach for something across the table, but his hand didn’t stop its upward journey. His fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You glanced around nervously, but everyone was still engrossed in their own conversations, oblivious to the secret touches happening beneath the table.

Hugh’s hand slid further up, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as he reached the edge of your panties. You tried to maintain a steady expression, but when his fingers finally grazed your core, you couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped your lips. The fabric of your panties was already damp with arousal, and Hugh’s touch sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body.

He paused for a moment, just long enough for you to catch your breath, before he gently pressed his fingers against the soaked fabric. The pressure was light, almost teasing, but it was enough to make your hips involuntarily shift toward his hand, craving more.

Hugh’s breath was warm against your ear as he leaned in, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re so wet,” he murmured, his tone a mix of amusement and desire. “I knew that dress would drive you crazy, but I didn’t realize just how much.”

His words, spoken so close to your ear that only you could hear them, sent a rush of blood to your cheeks. You felt the heat pooling between your legs intensify as he continued to tease you with the slightest pressure of his fingers, still hidden from view beneath the table. Your breathing grew shallow, and it took every ounce of willpower not to react too obviously, not to let on that anything out of the ordinary was happening.

Hugh’s fingers began to move in slow, deliberate circles, rubbing against your core with just enough force to keep you on the edge of losing control. Your grip on the edge of the table tightened as you fought to maintain composure, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of his touch and the thrill of being so close to getting caught. Every nerve in your body was focused on the secret, sinful pleasure he was giving you, even as you struggled to keep up the pretence of casual conversation.

“Do you like this?” Hugh whispered, his voice low and filled with a dark, teasing edge. “I can feel how much you want it, how much you’re enjoying this.” His words were a wicked reminder of how exposed you were, how easily anyone could discover what he was doing to you, and that thought only heightened your arousal.

You swallowed hard, unable to form a coherent response, your mind fogged by the haze of desire. All you could manage was a slight nod, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as his fingers pressed harder against your aching core. The friction was maddeningly perfect, and you knew you were close to losing control entirely.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, Hugh’s fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your panties, finally touching your slick folds directly. The sensation was almost too much, and your entire body tensed in response. You bit down hard on your lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape when suddenly , Hugh abruptly withdrew his fingers, leaving you breathless and aching with need.

Your eyes flew open in surprise, and you turned to look at him, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you tried to understand why he had stopped. The ghost of a smirk played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of his control over your body and the pleasure he had just denied you. You bit back a frustrated whimper, trying to regain your composure even as your body throbbed with unfulfilled desire.

At that exact moment, Blake appeared from the kitchen, carrying a tray piled high with slices of her famous pies, topped with generous dollops of whipped cream. The children cheered in excitement as she set the tray down in the center of the table, oblivious to the charged atmosphere between you and Hugh.

As everyone eagerly reached for the desserts, you struggled to focus on anything other than the way your body still hummed with the need for release. You watched, heart pounding, as Hugh casually leaned forward, his demeanour cool and composed as he joined the others in serving himself a slice of pie. But then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he dipped his finger into a small dollop of whipped cream that had spilled onto the table.

Your breath hitched as you watched in stunned silence, realizing exactly what he was about to do. With a deliberate slowness that seemed designed to drive you wild, Hugh brought his finger to his lips, the very finger that had just been inside you, coated with both your arousal and the sweet cream from the dessert.

His eyes met yours as he slipped the finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it to savour the taste. The look in his eyes was dark, almost predatory, as he held your gaze, a silent reminder of the power he held over you. The sight of him licking your juices mixed with the whipped cream off his finger sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, and you had to press your thighs together under the table to keep from squirming.

The whole scene was over in a matter of seconds, but it felt like an eternity. No one else at the table seemed to notice the intimate, charged exchange happening between you two, too engrossed in their desserts and conversations. But you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Hugh, the knowledge that he had just tasted both the sweetness of the dessert and the evidence of your arousal making your pulse race.

Hugh finally withdrew his finger from his mouth with a satisfied hum, a wicked glint in his eyes as he reached for his fork to dig into his slice of pie. He was the picture of nonchalance, as if he hadn’t just left you trembling with desire under the table, your body aching for the release he had so cruelly withheld.

You attempted to collect your thoughts while reaching for your own dessert with hands that were slightly unsteady. But the taste of the pie was bland compared to the lingering heat in your body, the aching emptiness that only Hugh could fill. Every bite was a reminder of what had just happened, and what hadn’t, leaving you both frustrated and desperate for more.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere became even more relaxed, with guests gradually drifting away from the dinner table and settling into comfortable spots around the house. Some gathered in the living room, chatting softly over glasses of wine, while others lingered on the patio, enjoying the cool evening air. The kids were tucked away in a separate room, lost in their own world as they watched a movie, their laughter and shouts of excitement occasionally filtering through the house.

The shift in the evening’s tone provided the perfect cover for you and Hugh. The subtle touches and heated glances exchanged throughout the night had built up an almost unbearable tension between you two. With everyone now scattered and deeply engaged in their own conversations, the opportunity to slip away unnoticed was too tempting to resist.

You caught Hugh’s eye across the room, and the silent understanding passed between you. He gave you a slight nod, and your heart skipped a beat in anticipation. With a casual stretch and a smile, you excused yourself from the group you were chatting with, mentioning something about needing a moment to yourself. No one paid you much mind as you walked through the house, your footsteps quiet on the hardwood floors.

Your pulse quickened as you headed towards a guest room at the far end of the hallway, a room that you knew would be empty and offer the privacy you both craved. The house was quiet here, the distant hum of conversation from the other rooms fading into the background as you reached for the door. You slipped inside, your heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nerves as you waited, the door clicking softly shut behind you.

The look in his eyes was intense, filled with the same desire that had been simmering between you all evening. Without a word, he crossed the room, his hands reaching for you the moment he was close enough.

In an instant, his lips were on yours, the kiss filled with all the passion and longing that had been building up between you. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you tightly against him as the kiss deepened, his body pressing into yours with a need that matched your own. The world outside that room ceased to exist. All that mattered was the feel of his lips, the heat of his body, and the way his hands roamed over your curves as if he couldn’t get enough.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” Hugh murmured against your lips, his voice husky with desire. “That dress... the way you looked at me... I’ve been counting the minutes until I could get you alone.”

You gasped as his hands slid down to your thighs, lifting the hem of your dress as he pressed his body even closer to yours. The heat between you was undeniable, the electricity in the air almost tangible as his touch sent shivers down your spine. His hands moved with purpose, sliding up your thighs, brushing against your hips, and finally slipping beneath your panties.

His fingers found you easily, the wetness there a clear sign of how much you had wanted this. You couldn’t stifle the small moan that escaped your lips as he teased you, his touch light and maddeningly slow. The sensation was almost too much, and you gripped his shoulders for support, your body trembling with the intensity of your need.

“Still so wet,” Hugh’s voice dropped to a husky whisper as he leaned in, his breath hot against the sensitive skin of your ear. His words sent a shiver down your spine, the promise they held making your pulse race. “I knew you’d be thinking about what we started.”

His fingers moved with a practiced skill, tracing delicate patterns that left your skin tingling with anticipation. The intensity of his touch heightened every sensation, your breath catching as he expertly drew you closer and closer to that sweet edge. Your heart pounded, and your body responded eagerly, arching into his touch, desperate for more.

But just as you felt the brink of release approaching, Hugh’s hand stilled again. He pulled away with infuriating calm, leaving you breathless and aching once more . A tear fell from your eye and a low moan of protest escaped your lips as the tension in your body remained agonizingly unfulfilled.

“Not yet,” he murmured, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest. The sound was thick with amusement and control, a clear indication that he was enjoying the power he held over your pleasure. His voice, smooth and taunting, sent another wave of heat coursing through you, only adding to the frustration and longing he had expertly built up within you.

Before you could even begin to voice your protest, Hugh stepped back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, watching every flicker of emotion that played across your face. The intensity in his gaze was almost overwhelming—a dark hunger that matched the desire burning inside you. His eyes glittered with a primal need, yet there was a patience there, a determination to savour every moment, to make you wait until he decided it was time.

He leaned in once more, capturing your lips in a deep, searing kiss that stole your breath away. His lips were insistent, claiming you with a passion that made your knees weak. The kiss deepened, his tongue tangling with yours in a dance that left you dizzy with want. His hands were everywhere, tracing the curves of your body, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand the distance between you.

As he guided you towards the bed in the center of the room, everything else faded into the background. The distant murmur of the party, the music, and laughter were nothing but a muffled hum, a world away from the intoxicating bubble that had enveloped the two of you. It was as if time itself had slowed, every touch and every whispered word heightening your senses, making you crave him more with each passing second.

With a growl that reverberated deep in his chest, Hugh grabbed you, his hands firm as he effortlessly lifted you off the ground. His strength took your breath away, his movements rough yet controlled as he set you down on the edge of the dresser in the guest room. The force of it made something on the dresser topple over, the sharp sound of breaking glass cutting through the air as the vase shattered on the floor. But neither of you cared, too lost in the heat of the moment to spare even a glance at the mess you’d made.

“I’ll find an excuse for that,” Hugh murmured against your mouth, his voice rough with desire as he cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your lips. The proximity of his body, the scent of him, sent your mind spiraling into a haze of lust. As his hands moved down to grip your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh, you could feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained hunger that radiated off him in waves.

“Fuck, that dress is really too cute to rip off of you,” he muttered, his voice thick with both frustration and admiration. His eyes roved over your body, taking in every inch of you as you sat perched on the edge of the dresser, legs spread just enough to hint at what lay beneath the fabric of your dress. “And I can’t let you go out naked after this,” he added with a dark chuckle, his gaze flicking back up to meet yours, filled with a mix of amusement and raw desire.

You bit your lip, a shiver running through you at the way his words and his touch made your heart race. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the air around you crackling with the electricity of what was about to happen. Your fingers gripped the edge of the dresser, bracing yourself for whatever he had planned next.

Without warning, Hugh’s hands left your thighs, and he dropped to his knees before you. The sudden movement made your breath hitch, and before you could process what was happening, his hands were on you again, this time sliding up your legs, pushing your dress up higher and higher until it bunched around your waist. He took off your panties and the cool air of the room hit your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Hugh’s breath against your core.

He didn’t waste a second. As if he were a man starved, Hugh leaned in and latched onto you with a fervour that left you gasping. His tongue worked against you in long, deliberate strokes, his lips sealing around your most sensitive spot as he devoured you with a hunger that was both primal and relentless. Every movement of his mouth sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, your head falling back as your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, gripping tight as you moaned his name.

Everything felt so right in that moment. It was just you and Hugh, the dresser beneath you, and the growing tension in your belly as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. Your legs trembled around him, your body shaking on the brink of release as the intensity of his actions overwhelmed your senses. Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, when you were right on the cusp of falling apart, Hugh’s mouth left your core, and in its place, you felt the sudden intrusion of his fingers.

Three of them, thick and skilled, plunged into you without warning, stretching you in a way that made you cry out, your back arching as your grip on the dresser tightened. The combination of his mouth and his fingers, the way he filled you and sucked on your clit, sent you spiralling into a release so intense it felt like your body was shattering into a million pieces. “Fuck!” you screamed, your voice echoing in the small room as you came hard, the pleasure ripping through you like a tidal wave.

Hugh didn’t let up, his mouth flew to you again, working you through your orgasm, drawing every last bit of pleasure from you until you were left trembling and breathless, slumped against the dresser as your body came down from the high. When he finally pulled back, your thighs were shaking, your skin flushed with the aftermath of your release.

He stood up, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “You’re not so quiet now, are you, baby girl?” he whispered, his voice low and teasing, the words sending another shiver down your spine. His face was still flushed, his hair tousled from where your fingers had gripped it, and his lips glistened with evidence of what he’d just done to you.

Your eyes, still wide with the aftershocks of pleasure, slowly travelled down his body, taking in the sight of him standing before you. When your gaze reached his pants, you noticed the way they strained against his obvious arousal, the fabric pulled tight over the hardness that pressed against it. The sight of it made your pulse quicken again, desire flaring back to life even as you struggled to catch your breath.

Hugh followed your gaze, a dark chuckle escaping him as he watched you take in the evidence of his need. “Seems like we’re just getting started,” he murmured, his voice thick with promise as he reached down to unbuckle his belt, the sound of the leather sliding through the loops making your heart skip a beat.

Hugh's belt came undone with a swift motion, the clink of the buckle loud in the quiet room, a stark contrast to the sounds of the party that were now a distant hum beyond the closed door. His eyes were locked on yours, dark with a need that mirrored the heat still simmering inside you. With each second that passed, the tension in the room grew, thick and palpable, as he slowly slid the belt from his pants, letting it drop to the floor with a soft thud.

The way he looked at you made your breath hitch, anticipation coiling tightly in your stomach. He took his time, every movement deliberate, as if he was savouring the moment, drawing out the anticipation until it was almost unbearable. His fingers worked at the button of his pants, the sound of the zipper being pulled down sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

Your heart raced as you watched him, your body still tingling from the aftershocks of your recent orgasm, but already, the fire within you was reigniting, fuelled by the sight of him standing before you, his desire for you barely contained. When he finally pushed his pants down, freeing himself from the confines of the fabric, your breath caught in your throat.

He was so hard, his length thick and pulsing with need, the sight of it making your mouth water and your core clench with anticipation. You bit your lip, the desire to feel him inside you, to be filled by him, overwhelming. But Hugh wasn’t in a hurry. He stood there for a moment, letting you take him in, the smirk on his lips growing as he saw the effect he had on you.

“Like what you see?” he asked, his voice dripping with confidence, yet there was a teasing edge to it, as if he already knew the answer.

You nodded, unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Yes,” you breathed, the word coming out more like a whimper, your body aching with the need to feel him against you, inside you.

You smirked to yourself as you slid off the dresser, your legs still shaky from the intensity of your climax. But there was still an edge of desire lingering, a hunger that hadn’t been fully sated. As you landed on your feet, you felt Hugh’s eyes on you, heavy with anticipation, wondering what you were planning next.

As you turned around, you reached down, gripping the hem of your dress and pulling it back up over your waist, exposing your bare ass to him. You could hear his breath hitch as you bent slightly, pushing your hips back, your wet cunt brushing against his still-hard cock. The sensation of his length pressing against you sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but moan softly, rocking your hips to increase the friction.

Hugh’s hands quickly found your hips again, his fingers gripping you firmly as he groaned, the sound deep and filled with renewed desire. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he held himself back, his self-control slipping with every second you teased him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust as he let one hand slide down to cup your ass, squeezing it before trailing his fingers teasingly over your slick folds. The gentle touch was almost maddening, your body aching for more, for him to fill you again.

But just as you began to push back harder, desperate for him to take you, Hugh’s fingers stilled on your pussy. His other hand moved to your lower back, pressing you gently forward, making you arch your back even more, exposing yourself fully to him.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against the nape of your neck as he whispered, “Hmm, no, baby. Turn around. I wanna see your pretty face when I fuck you.”

The command in his voice sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your heart racing as you straightened up and turned to face him. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire as he watched you with a gaze that made you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

You bit your lip, your body already responding to his words as you reached for him, your hands sliding up his chest before wrapping around his neck. Hugh’s hands found your waist again, pulling you flush against him, his cock brushing against your inner thigh, sending a jolt of anticipation through you.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was hungry and possessive, his tongue claiming your mouth as his hands roamed over your body. The kiss deepened, becoming more intense, and when he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, his breathing heavy as he looked down at you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice rough but filled with a softness that made your heart flutter.

Hugh picked you up again and as he set you down on the soft sheets, you felt the cool fabric against your back, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your skin. Hugh stood at the edge of the bed, his naked body on full display, the sight of him making your breath catch in your throat. His cock was still hard, throbbing with need, and the desire in his gaze was almost palpable as he looked down at you.

Your dress, still bunched around your waist, clung to you in a way that accentuated every curve. One of the thin straps had slipped off your shoulder, exposing one breast, the soft fabric clinging to the other as your chest heaved with each breath. Hugh’s eyes darkened with lust as he took in the sight, his gaze lingering on the way your nipple hardened under his scrutiny.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire as he climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and you couldn’t help but shiver in anticipation as he ran his hands up your thighs, spreading them wide.

Hugh leaned in, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, down to your exposed breast. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You arched your back, a soft moan escaping your lips as you threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.

His hands continued to roam over your body, one sliding up to cup your other breast, still covered by your dress, while the other slipped between your thighs, his fingers teasing your entrance, already slick and ready for him. He groaned against your skin, the sound vibrating through your chest as he felt how wet you were, his cock twitching in response.

“Hugh,” you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper as you rocked your hips up, desperate to feel him inside you again.

“Patience, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his voice laced with a teasing edge as he pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting yours. “I want to take my time with you. Remember?”

But the need between you was too intense, too overwhelming, for either of you to wait any longer. With a growl of barely restrained desire, Hugh positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock brushing against your slick folds. He looked into your eyes, his expression filled with raw hunger, and then he thrust into you in one smooth, powerful motion.

You gasped, your back arching off the bed as he filled you completely, the sensation of him stretching you almost too much, yet exactly what you craved. Hugh groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he began to move, each thrust deep and deliberate, the rhythm slow at first, as if he was savouring the feeling of being inside you.

One of your hands slid down his back, your nails digging into his skin as you urged him on, needing more, needing him to go faster, harder. “Please, Hugh,” you moaned, your voice trembling with the intensity of the pleasure building inside you.

He didn’t need to be told twice. With a low growl, he picked up the pace, his hips slamming into yours with a force that made the bed shake beneath you. Each thrust drove him deeper inside you, the headboard knocking rhythmically against the wall, but the sound was drowned out by the moans , gasps and sweet words that filled the room. “Gosh you are literally made for me” Hugh groaned as he threw his head back in pleasure.

One of the straps of your dress slipped further down your arm, fully exposing your other breast. Hugh’s eyes flickered with something dark and primal as he watched you writhe beneath him, your body completely at his mercy, the sight of your exposed chest only fuelling his desire.

“You look so fucking perfect like this,” he groaned, his voice rough and breathless as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth with the same intensity as his thrusts.

You kissed him back with equal fervour, your hands roaming over his body, feeling the muscles in his back tense with each powerful movement. The friction between your bodies, the way he filled you so completely, pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“Hugh,” you gasped against his mouth, your body trembling with the intensity of the pleasure building inside you. “I’m so close.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with a hunger that mirrored your own. “I want to see you come for me, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he angled his hips slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside you with each thrust.

That was all it took. With a cry of his name, you tumbled over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you breathless. Your body tightened around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

Hugh groaned, his pace becoming erratic as he chased his own release, the feeling of you tightening around him pushing him closer and closer. With one final, powerful thrust, he came, his body tensing as he spilled inside you, a low growl escaping his lips as he rode out the waves of his orgasm.

For a moment, the two of you stayed like that, his body pressed against yours, both of you breathing hard as you came down from the high. Hugh’s forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he slowly regained his composure.

When he finally pulled back, he looked down at you with a satisfied smirk, his eyes still dark with the remnants of desire. The strap of your dress was still hanging off your shoulder, your chest rising and falling with each heavy breath, and the sight made his smirk widen.

“You’re absolutely stunning,” he whispered, his voice rough but filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips, his hands brushing over your skin as if committing every inch of you to memory.

You smiled up at him, your body still trembling slightly from the intensity of what had just happened. “So are you,” you whispered back, your voice laced with exhaustion but also with deep satisfaction.

Hugh chuckled softly, his hands sliding up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks. “We should do this more often,” he teased, his lips quirking up into a playful grin.

You laughed softly, the sound light and filled with contentment. “I wouldn’t mind that, it’s very thrilling” you admitted, leaning in to press another soft kiss to his lips.

As you and Hugh made your way back down the hallway, the sounds of the party grew louder, a stark contrast to the intimate moments you had just shared. Your pulse was still racing, your skin tingling from where his hands had been. Despite the flush in your cheeks, you couldn't help but tease him, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Do you think they would’ve noticed that we were gone?” you asked, your voice soft but filled with amusement as you looked up at him. Hugh smirked, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back, guiding you with a confidence that made your heart skip a beat.

“We did spend a long time in there,” he replied, his tone rich with a knowing edge that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. The memory of his hands on your body, the way he had claimed you with such fervour, was still vivid in your mind, and you bit your lip to keep a satisfied smile from spreading across your face.

As you reached the door leading back to the main living area, you paused for just a moment, your hand resting on the doorknob. The noise from the party, laughter, music, the clinking of glasses,reminded you that you'd have to face everyone again. You took a deep breath, hoping your slightly dishevelled appearance wouldn’t give away the passionate encounter you’d just shared.

When you finally opened the door and stepped back into the room, your eyes immediately met Blake’s across the crowded space. Her eyes were sharp, and a slight, knowing smirk played on her lips as she took in the sight of you and Hugh rejoining the group. Blake, ever perceptive, clearly had an idea of what had kept the two of you away for so long. The way her gaze lingered on you sent a flush of warmth to your cheeks, and you quickly looked away, busying yourself by smoothing down your dress.

Hugh’s hand gave your back a reassuring squeeze before he reluctantly stepped away, moving across the room to join Ryan, who was standing near the bar. You could feel Blake’s gaze still on you, her expression amused but understanding, almost as if she was silently saying, I won’t tell a soul, but I know.

You tried to shake off the feeling of being watched and focused on Hugh, who had reached Ryan and was immediately greeted with a hearty slap on the back.

“There he is!” Ryan exclaimed with a grin, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Where’d you disappear to, mate? We were starting to think you both got lost.” he said in his best Australian accent.

Hugh laughed, his expression easy and confident despite the tension you could see in his eyes. “Just needed a bit of fresh air,” he said smoothly, but the slight curve of his lips hinted at more. You could tell he was trying to play it cool, though there was a flicker of something else behind his smile.

Ryan wasn’t buying it, though. He narrowed his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he took a sip of his drink. But then his gaze shifted slightly, landing on you, and his eyes narrowed in on something at your neck.

“Hold on,” Ryan said, his voice laced with amusement as he set his glass down with a soft clink. His eyes locked onto the side of your neck, and a mischievous grin spread across his face. “Be honest, Hugh, did you do that, you beast?”

Confused, you instinctively reached up to touch your neck. The moment your fingers brushed over the tender spot, your heart sank. You remembered how Hugh’s mouth had lingered there, how he’d sucked on your skin until you moaned. The realization that he’d left a mark—a very visible hickey—made your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Hugh’s eyes widened slightly as he realized what Ryan was talking about, and for a split second, you saw the nervousness in his eyes. But then he let out a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at you with a guilty smile. “Uh… yeah, I might have gotten a little carried away,” he admitted, his tone both apologetic and playful.

Ryan burst out laughing, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You’ve got some nerve, man,” he teased, clapping Hugh on the shoulder. “Next time, try not to leave evidence.”

Your face was on fire, and you quickly looked away, trying to hide your embarrassment. But Hugh, ever the charmer, quickly changed the subject, leaning in to say something to Ryan that made him chuckle and shift his attention away from you. But even as the two of them continued their banter, you couldn’t shake the awareness of the hickey on your neck, a physical reminder of the heated passion you and Hugh had shared just moments before.

The party continued on as if nothing had happened, with everyone else seemingly oblivious to the charged undercurrent between you and Hugh. But with every glance, every casual brush of his hand against yours, it was impossible to ignore the unspoken connection that lingered between you. The memory of what had just transpired was still fresh, the desire far from sated

taglist (dm if u wanna be added): @ermlady @elloredef @haytchee @melaninjoys @megangovier @blue2jay @hearts4suri @narniabusinessbitch @jadenlyday25 @getmeoutofhell @rockytheluver @stark-ironman

[harryslittlefreakk]

the pact

summary: you and harry made a childhood pact to marry if you were both still single when he reached 30. now that his big birthday is approaching, you find out whether your friendship (and your pact) have stood the test of time

warnings: mostly fluff, some smut :)

wordcount: 6k

a/n: i actually really like this one. it’s not proofread yet as i was so eager to get it up lol. hope you enjoy!

my masterlist can be found here! happy reading 🫶🏼

From the second you’d received the invitation, you were buzzing with a giddy nervousness. It had been years since you’d seen Harry, though Anne and Gemma were always so quick to share what he was up to. You’d followed his career silently for 13 years, still bumping into him every few years when Anne hosted Boxing Day, or he happened to be in town for your family’s annual summer barbecues. In your mind, he was still the cheeky, dimpled little lad you’d hide under the dining room table with, imagining you were explorers of far away lands.

But Harry wasn’t the young boy you’d chased after in your childhood anymore, the teenager you looked out for when you stuck your head over the garden fence to call your sister home. He wasn’t the handsome young man you’d spent countless hours swooning over with your friends in the bakery after school. Harry was a global sensation, the world’s sweetheart. You weren’t sure he’d even recognise you, a forgotten reminder of much simpler days.

Growing up next door to Harry hadn’t come without its challenges. You’d lost your childhood best friend seemingly overnight once One Direction formed, his life suddenly busy with meetings, tours and interviews. Anne still welcomed you with open arms, but her house felt a little too cold for you with his presence haunting the walls, memories etched into every surface of the house. You’d still hang out in his bedroom sometimes, his band posters and drawings left collecting dust in a lifeless room. When girls from school learned of your connection to him, they’d befriend you and treat you like the hottest new thing until you refused to give over any information. He was your Harry, your long-gone games and silly memories something you held close to your heart. It soon seemed easier to let him go altogether, move on to a new chapter, stop waiting for your best friend to appear again.

Still, you were glad to be able to support Gemma on one of her biggest days. She’d become such a regular feature in your household, she felt like family herself. Your parents had been more overjoyed at the news of her impending nuptials than any of yours or your sister’s recent achievements. They loved Gemma like their own, their ‘extra daughter’, as your dad called her. You knew this was as big a moment for them as it was for Anne, having watched Gemma grow from the tiny dark-haired girl your sister had raved about on her first day of school, to a woman about to become a wife.

Standing outside of the venue now, a beautiful old church overlooking the peaceful tides below, yours and Harry’s childhood pact suddenly hit you. You were laying on a blanket in your garden, tops of your heads pressed together as you made out shapes in the clouds above. “I will never get married,” you told Harry. Your parents had had their wedding album out that day, sharing stories with Anne and Robin. You squirmed and grimaced every time they spoke about it, never understanding how any girl would willingly share their life with a boy. “Yuck,” he squeaked from next to you. “Me either. I don’t ever want to live with a stinky girl!” You giggled together, the cool evening breeze washing over you. “Maybe, maybe I might one day though. When I’m really old and lonely.”

“Old like my parents?” you asked him. “Even olderer than that. Like 30.” You gasped, quickly trying to count on your fingers. “That’s really really old. Maybe we can be married when we’re 30.” Harry ran inside when you said this, leaving you chasing after him once again. He grabbed a napkin from the kitchen counter and scribbled on it in felt tip,

‘I ____ will marry Harry when we’re really super old’

“You have to put your name on that line or it’s not real,” Harry told you, handing the blue felt tip to you. You both signed your initials underneath, and proudly went to show your parents. They’d fallen about in laughter when you told them, promising to hold you to your pact. You hadn’t seen the napkin since that day, and you were sure it was long forgotten by everybody, especially Harry. You felt a small twinge in your chest at this, suddenly wishing you were anywhere but here.

“Hey Boo, you okay? Anne wants to get some pictures of us all together before the ceremony,” your dad told you, leading you through the crowd of guests. Boo was the only nickname that had ever stuck for you, starting when you and Harry decided to go as Boo and Sully from Monsters Inc. one Halloween. You’d originally wanted to be Mike, but with your big brown eyes shielded by little bangs and your signature pigtails, everyone persuaded you to be Boo. You’d outgrown almost everything else from childhood, but Boo was stuck with you for life.

“Oh Y/N, you look lovely darling,” Anne cooed as you came into her sight. She pulled you in for a hug, kissing your cheek as she pulled away. You had to admit, you did scrub up well. It was a long time since you’d really made the effort to look properly nice, still caught in the comfort of your pandemic wardrobe of leggings and sweatshirts. The olive-green maxi dress you’d settled on hugged your body in all the right places, a thick band of material draping over your chest and the tops of your arms, showcasing your toned shoulders. You’d always weirdly liked your shoulders and neck, an odd area to be proud of but it was by far your favourite part of your body. Your hair was scraped back in a sleek bun, tiny wisps framing your fresh face. “Gem and Sophia are still inside, they’ll be out in a minute. Gem’s so excited to see you, it’s been so long since we’ve all been together,” Anne gushed, running a hand up the outside of your arm.

She had such a delicate, warm presence, it was no wonder she’d raised two children as incredible as Harry and Gemma. Anne had been an extension of your own mum as you grew up, small traces of her as much as part of you as they were her own kids. She’d talked you through boys and heartbreaks, been there to wave you off to your school prom, one of the proudest faces in the crowd when you graduated university. She’d been stationed on the garden patio alongside your mum at every birthday party, the two women nattering away as they guarded the wine.

Gemma stepped out of the door, pulling you out of your daydream down memory lane. Your jaw went slack when you saw her, she was positively radiant. Her dress was a dainty satin, huge bishop sleeves adorning her arms and a beautiful full skirt, flowing around her petite frame in the gentle seaside breeze. Your mum rushed over to her first, smoothing a loving hand down the front of her skirt. “You look beautiful Gem,” she told her, tears glistening on her bottom eyelashes. Hugs and pleasantries were exchanged throughout the group, shoulders bumping gaily as you moved around. One thing was still missing though - Harry. You knew he’d never miss his sisters wedding, though he was absolutely nowhere to be seen. Just as you were about to ask, you saw him. With a deep brown suit jacket draped across his body, matching slacks hanging loose on his muscular thighs. A white vest hung low on his chest, his inked swallows sitting pretty on tanned skin.

You knew how good he looked these days, of course. Your tiktok had been full of videos of him performing, Anne’s house littered with framed photos. But seeing him in real life lit a fire in your belly. He’d always been pretty, green eyes and curls enough to charm any woman, but now he was hot. A great, big hunk of sexy man. He approached your parents first, laughing as your dad chose to forgo Harry’s outstretched hand, pulling him into a hug instead. “Here’s our not-so-little superstar,” he smiled, ruffling Harry’s messy curls. Harry pressed a kiss into your mums cheek, exchanging a quick but heartfelt hello. His eyes caught on yours as he glanced across the courtyard, your brown eyes still crinkled as you smiled, in exactly the same way they had when you were younger. “Little Boo!” he chuckled, striding towards you. His strong arms wrapped you into a firm cuddle, his musky scent spilling into your pores. “You look incredible,” he whispered into your ear, voice raspy and low. It wasn’t long before Anne was ushering you all into place to take some pictures, cutting yours and Harry’s catch up short. “Come and find me later,” he told you as you beamed for the camera.

—

With the ceremony long-finished, the party had spilled out of the church hall and onto the grounds outside. You’d danced, mingled and laughed for as long as you could before needing a minute of quiet. Brushing your hand across your mum’s back, you told her you were going for a little walk and would be back soon. You slipped out of the open doors, yanking your heels off in search of some quick relief. You spotted a little wooden bench overlooking the sea, a little way away from the other guests. A great oak tree shielded it from the warm evening sun, providing you just the right amount of peace.

“Thought you were gonna find me,” a voice suddenly came from behind you. You turned around to see Harry approaching your private spot, a sparkling glass in each hand. “Hey,” you smiled. “Just needed a little bit of quiet. Come sit,” you patted the bench beside you. Harry handed you one of the glasses as he sat down, murmuring, “saw you heading over here. Thought I’d bring you a little tipple.” You cheersed, the clinking of glasses cutting through a heavy silence. “How have you been?” he asked you, shifting his body slightly to face you.

“Been good, H. Thank you for asking. Work’s going well, was a bit slow with the pandemic and all but life’s been kind to me recently. I don’t really need to ask you, do I?” you laughed, suddenly shy in his presence. “No, I guess not,” he answered, smiling kindly at you. You settled back into an uncomfortable silence, not really sure how to talk to one another anymore.

“Mum told me you moved to London,” Harry said, seemingly desperate to pierce the awkwardness hanging over you both. “Yeah, I did,” you told him, explaining how Holmes Chapel had started to feel just a little too small, a little too cut off from the rest of the world. “I can understand that,” he told you, chuckling. You ran through the usual questions, telling him about your work as an illustrator, your little flat off of Finchley high road, the couple of girls from school you’d kept in touch with. “I can’t believe you live so close to me,” he gasped. “Mum could never remember what area you lived in, if I’d known you were only down the road we could have reconnected long before now,” Harry told you. You let out an involuntary scoff at this, telling him, “you know where to find me, H. You know your mum has my number, you know where I’ll be every Christmas and birthday. If you really wanted to reconnect it would have happened long before now.” Your words tumbled out, years of one-sided hurt and rejection suddenly pushing to the surface. Harry took a big sip of his drink, placing his hand over yours. “I’ve been shit, I know. Got caught up in everything and barely looked back. Wanted to reach out a long time before now but I couldn’t bring myself,” he told you. “Felt so bad for how I just disappeared and didn’t want to face it.”

You looked at him with sad eyes, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. “I get it, H. I’m really happy for you, I am. You had all your dreams come true, it’s amazing,” you set your glass down beside you and held your other hand over his. “Just feel sad that I lost my best friend overnight.” Your eyes welled up as you spoke, a combination of the free-flowing prosecco, the beautiful ceremony, and facing your hurt with the man who caused it. “Never had a friend who got me like you did,” you chuckled bitterly. Harry pulled his hands from yours and snaked an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side. “I’m sorry, little Boo, I swear.”

The pair of you stayed that way for a while, soaking in each other’s words and the idyllic setting. Just being close to each other for the first time in almost a decade, having said what you both needed to, was bliss. “I thought about you a lot, y’know,” Harry told you suddenly, the words bursting out as if he’d been biting them back for a while. “Yeah?” you asked him, sitting up straighter to look at him again. He nodded, cheeks twinged slightly pink. You weren’t sure if it was the booze or his confession. “All my big moments, always wished you were there.”

“You know I would’ve been if I knew you wanted me to, Harry.”

“I know,” he mumbled, watching his own trainer-clad feet kicking little rocks around. “My mum and dad went to a few of your shows with Anne, watched the Brits and the Grammys every year you were nominated.” You swallowed thickly, before continuing, “I’m really proud of you, we all are.”

Harry turned his head slightly to the sound of music blaring from inside, before asking you, “dance with me?” He extended a hand to help you up, placing his glass down before wrapping an arm around your waist. You stepped together slowly, bodies moving in unison with your head rested softly against his chest. The skies had gotten gradually darker as you’d spoken, closing in around you until only a faint glow seeped out from the open church doors. Harry pushed you out, spinning you around before tugging you back into him. You smacked against his chest with a little ‘umph’, the wind knocked out of you. Your eyes met his, a little dazed, and all you could do was stare.

It felt like a betrayal of your childhood self to find him so attractive now. He was your best friend, your first friend, the only one to ever understand you fully. He’d guided you through your awkward pre-teen stage, the extra years he had on you put to good use when he showed you cool bands and songs to make boys like you. But now, you wanted him to be the boy that liked you. You were so flustered under his gaze, heat tearing through your body. “Let’s head back in,” you told Harry, words shaky. He kept an arm tight around your shoulder, shaking you about as you approached the church. ‘I’ve got my little Boo back’ he laughed in a sing-song tune. You could feel the happiness radiating off his body, knowing without even looking that his toothy grin would be firmly nestled between two deep dimples.

Your parents were sat around a table with Anne, Michal and Gemma still doing the rounds. You could tell they were drunk from a mile away - your dads cheeks stained red with merriment and Anne’s hands gesturing wildly as your mum roared with laughter. You’d missed this. You still went home as often as you could, never missing an opportunity to enjoy time with your loved ones, but before seeing Harry today it always felt different. Gemma, your sister, and Harry had all moved on, never fully present. But being the youngest, you were the one left behind. Harry pulled around two chairs for you both, plopping down between you and his mum. She draped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. “My special boy, where have you been?” she slurred.

“Been catching up,” Harry told her, a blush creeping up his cheeks as she looked between the two of you before winking at him. She was far from subtle before getting wine drunk, so now her entire head moved with her wink. She highlighted it with a loud “wink, wink” in Harry’s direction. “Anne!” you spluttered, choking out a laugh. Your dad reached over to snatch the two empty glasses from in front of you and Harry, promising to fill them to the brim so you could ‘get on their bloody level’.

The evening continued like that, the 5 of you drinking and laughing, reminiscing on your younger days. Your parents and Anne managing to bring up enough embarrassing stories about you both to put you off ever speaking to them again. “I think it’s time we all go to bed,” Harry started, holding his hands up. “Because we’re all fucking PISSED!”, he continued, yelling at the table. You banged on the table in hysterics, eyes screwed up tight as you and Anne fell into each other in laughter. Most of the venue had cleared out by now, guests dropping by your table to congratulate Anne on their way out. You’d barely seen Gemma all night, so content in her little love bubble that she’d spent the majority of the evening alone with Michal, feeding each other cake and slow-dancing.

“Come on, you big lump,” you tugged at your dad’s wrists who in turn pulled at your mum to stand up. Your dad swung his arms around you both, Harry and Anne joining onto the end, and you stumbled towards the exit in a fit of laughter. Harry tried to start a can-can line, kicking one big foot up into the air, but the 5 of you put together had far less coordination than even one sober person, so the idea was quickly abandoned.

The church had a converted barn outside, with rooms purpose-built for immediate family and friends to stay in. You hugged and kissed your goodnights to your parents and Anne, making sure they all got into bed without mischief. Now it was only you and Harry left, buzzed but significantly less drunk than your elders. “Care for one last round?” Harry asked you, slipping a little hip flask out from his blazer pocket. You knew this was a bad idea, a drunken evening alone with the man you’d been lusting after all day. But you certainly wouldn’t make the first move, and you were almost sure he didn’t think of you as anything other than the little girl who used to run around with him.

You followed him into his room, laughing to drown out the alarm bells ringing in your head. Once you saw the empty bed in front of you, you couldn’t help but just flop down on it, suddenly needing to be as comfortable as you could. The room was aged and rustic, but the bed was far more comfortable than it looked. Harry sat against the pillows beside you, long legs stretched out before him as he took a swig from the flask.

For the first time that day, the silence around you was peaceful. Just two old friends enjoying each others presence. Harry watched you as you took the flask from him, grimacing as the liquor went down with a burn. His green eyes were studying every little line on your face, every freckle dotted across your bare shoulders. There was so much new about you, so many little details and marks you’d gained as you grew older, all the little telltale signs of the years he’d missed. What he’d said to you earlier was true, he’d missed you with his whole heart from the second he’d left you behind, spent so many lonely nights wishing he had you by his side. He thought he’d outgrown you, his new-found fame taking precedence over the little girl he’d shared his dreams and aspirations with. But sitting here now with you, he knew you’d grown with him, no matter how far removed your life had become from his. “‘M nearly 30, you know,” he drawled, voice hoarse from the singing and the sting of alcohol in his throat.

“Huh?” you turned to him confused. “I’m 30 next year,” he told you. “Yeah I know, H. What does that have to do with anything?” you laughed, poking at the side of his head. “Means we have to get married next year,” he grinned. You gasped, remembering the pact you’d thought about earlier in the day, “you didn’t forget!” you laughed, sitting up against the soft pillows.

“Can’t do it next year though, two weddings in a year would send our parents insane,” you told him. “‘M finished with my tour now. Got nothing on next year,” Harry shrugged, a familiar cheeky smirk sitting pretty between his dimpled cheeks. You felt something shift in the air as he spoke, and he seemed to feel it too, edging closer to you until his face was only centimetres away from yours. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?” he cooed, one hand coming up to cup your cheek. His touch shot electricity through your core, a tingling sensation starting where his fingers touched you before washing over your whole body. You shook your head lightly, eyes fixed on him. He leaned in at this, his parted lips meeting yours. The beginnings of a moustache tickled your upper lip, his hot breath flowing into your mouth with every lick of his tongue. You shifted your body towards him as the kiss deepened, four legs and the now-crumpled duvet tangling together as you rushed to close the distance between your bodies. Harry licked into your mouth with the passion of a million years of unspoken longing, his movements saying more than he ever could with words. It was the kind of kiss you’d expect from someone who’d loved you for a lifetime, who wanted to love you for a lifetime, your tongues working alongside each other like this was routine, like you’d done it a thousand times before.

“Harry,” you whispered, hands pushing his blazer from his shoulders. He let you pull it off him, then stroked a hand up your thigh as you admired his upper body. One arm was littered in patchwork tattoos, though all you could focus on was his muscles, illuminated beautifully in the evening light. “Let me get you out of this,” he rasped, twisting your shoulders around to access the zip running down the back of your dress. He smoothed his fingers down your waist and to your hips before unzipping you, your body dwarfed by his strong hands. Harry pressed a kiss into the top of your back, then kissed up and down your spine, hungry for a taste of you as he unveiled more of your skin. You stood up to help him pull your dress down, resting one hand on his shoulder to steady yourself as you stepped out of it, leaving it discarded on the floor. “Matches my eyes,” he smiled. His gaze trailed from your toes, up to your knees, to where your panties wrapped around your hips, and higher still. Up your tanned abdomen to your bare breasts where your rosebud nipples sat perky, to your neck, and finally his gaze rested on your eyes. “Y’so beautiful,” he groaned, running a soft touch along the curve of your neck.

Harry pulled his tank top over his head, stepping out of his slacks as they collapsed at his feet. His body was unbelievable. So tanned and toned, firm in all the right places yet soft in the best ones. You could see the outline of his hard shaft through the thin fabric of his boxers, an almost silent moan slipping out as you took in the sight before you.

He stepped closer to you, backing you up until the side of the bed hit the back of your knees, then held a hand to your back to guide you down onto it. His hot, drunken breath washed over you as he climbed on top of you, one hand balancing his body as the other explored you. His fingers groped your breast firmly, mouth finding the opposite nipple, sucking it into his lips in one quick movement. Your back arched off the bed, pleasure so built up that it only took one touch to send you into a frenzy. Harry licked a circle around your areola, chuckling against your skin as you writhed under his touch. “Barely even started yet, little Boo,” he drawled, moving upwards to kiss along your clenched jaw.

His fingers danced down your body, smoothing over your mound as you gasped and groaned. They slipped under the soft material of your panties, blissfully cold against the heat of your entrance. You were already soaked through, much to his surprise, so he swiped a finger through your folds to collect your juices before landing straight on your clit. Harry rubbed you in circles, the friction leaving you a panting mess under him, head jutting out to press open-mouthed kisses on his throat.

He pulled your panties down your thighs tenderly, kissing every inch of skin they passed over. In the dim light of the room, mouth moving up and down your body, he’d never looked so handsome. His cock brushed against you as he moved back up your body to focus again on your folds, your juices spread across your mound in a mess. Two long fingers dived straight in, his rings leaving a harsh chill against your sensitive skin. The stretch of his fingers alone had you panting, a familiar burning starting in your core. Harry found your sweet spot insanely fast, fingers moving in a perfect beckoning motion just as you liked. He navigated your body like you’d done this before, like the muscle memory just guided him to what he knew made you feel good. “I want more, want you inside of me,” you whined, hips bucking towards Harry’s groin as he silenced you with a deep kiss. “Got to get you ready for me first, Boo”, he told you. You winced as he used your nickname, knowing you’d never be able to hear your dad call you that without thinking of this night.

Harry’s mouth found your breast again, sucking deep purple bruises onto the gentle skin as you whimpered beneath him. He smacked at your pussy as your moans got louder, causing your eyes to shoot up to meet his. “Gotta keep the noise down, sweet girl.” You nodded in response, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip to keep yourself as quiet as you could be. The second his tongue found your nipple, you felt your orgasm bubbling up in your core. Harry noticed the way your head lulled back, slipping a third finger inside of you and using his thumb to brush against your clit. It was like the holy trinity of foreplay, his skilled tongue and fingers hitting your three most pleasurable zones at once. Your climax hit quickly, walls tightening around his digits as you clamped your forearm across your mouth, desperately trying not to scream his name. He peppered kisses down your throat as his fingers rode you through your high, only pulling them away when you went limp under him. Harry held his fingers to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick off every trace of your creamy come.

He backed off you to kick his boxers down his legs, stroking his erection as it oozed precum. He found his wallet, pulling out a condom and rolling it down the length of his cock. “How do you want me, sweet girl?” he asked you, cock twitching in his hand. “Wanna go on top,” you told him, suddenly eager to impress. If his cock was anywhere near as good to you as his hands and mouth had been, you couldn’t only have him once. You needed to show him how good your pretty pussy could take him, make him want to come back for more.

Harry rolled onto the centre of the bed, hands guiding your hips down over his groin. His hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you towards him for a sloppy kiss. His mouth tasted of you, the familiar tingle of juices on his tongue. You stroked his member up and down quickly, before lining it up with your entrance and pushing yourself down onto his tip. “Fuck, H. You’re so big,” you whined, thighs burning as you hovered above him. He used his hands to move you up, then down, down, down, helping you to take him fully. The burn was like nothing you’d experienced before, his girthy cock crammed into every corner of your pussy. You stilled for a moment, hands resting against his butterfly tattoo, chest rising and falling quickly as you tried to push past the ache. He held a thumb under your chin, tilting your head to look at him. “You ok, pet?” he asked, needing to be sure before you continued. You nodded, moving one arm to pull his finger into your mouth. You licked circles around his fingertip, sucking it in down to his knuckle before releasing with it a pop.

Harry’s hands guided your hips to grind against him, helping you until you found your rhythm. He pulled them away, one landing with a loud smack on your ass cheek as the other crept up the front of your body, resting at your throat. He squeezed lightly, the sensation only spurring you on to bounce up and down on him, the combination of your juices squelching as your cheeks slapped against his groin. It was the kind of hot, dirty sex you’d only ever dreamed of, and it had you falling apart on top of him. You cried out a strangled moan, expletives falling out of both of your mouths. “Feel so good around me,” Harry groaned, “so fucking wet. S’that all for me?”

“All for you, H. M’all yours,” you whimpered. His hips bucked against you as you told him you were his, fingers pulling away from your supple ass. He spat on them before dancing them back across your asscheek and smoothing the spit around your second hole, eyes fixed on your pussy bouncing on his cock. “Can I?” he asked you. “Please, H.”

He pushed a finger into your tightness, filling you up so well. You felt so full you could burst. His eyes were clouded over with lust, tiny hairs slick to his forehead with sweat. He looked feral, and you loved it. He repositioned his feet to where they were flat against the bed, hips knocking into you as you moved up and down his cock, his thrusts sending him deeper and deeper inside of you. You were both panting now, barely able to contain your highs for a second longer. “Come with me, come with me please,” you begged him, your second orgasm of the night starting to rise through your core. His thrusts got faster and sloppier, obscene sounds echoing around the room, a clear sign of what you were doing to anyone who could hear you right now. Your orgasm crept up on you quickly, thanks to Harry tightening his grip around your neck and pushing his finger further into your tight hole. Your head was thrown back as you came, back arched making his cock feel as though it could burst through your belly button. Harry moaned loudly, hips jutting one last time as he flooded the condom with his come. You collapsed in a sweaty heap, totally unable to hold yourself up any longer.

“Took me so well, angel girl,” Harry drawled as he pulled out of you, padding across the room to toss the condom and rinse his hands. You lay there in total bliss, comfortable in the knowledge that your friendship was long gone.

—

“Let me go first and you can come after,” you told Harry, holding a finger up to shush him when he started to laugh. “We’re grown adults, Y/N, it doesn’t matter if anyone sees us come out together.”

“I don’t write songs about sex and drugs. My body is still untouched in my parents eyes,” you told him, hand slipping from the doorknob as he pulled you in for another kiss. “Just don’t come until you hear me leaving.”

You crept out of the room as silently as you could, heels and dress bundled under one arm. You’d heard Anne, your parents and Gemma head out to the courtyard already, so there was no danger of being caught by prying eyes - or so you thought. As you were padding across the hallway to your room, Anne appeared round the corner. “I was just coming to see if you were awake,” she told you, eyes sparkling with glee. “No wonder your mum said your bed was untouched.” She knocked on Harry’s door with a tight-lipped smile lighting up her face. He opened the door wide-eyed as Anne pulled him into a firm hug, pressing a sticky lipgloss kiss to his cheek. “I always hoped you two would get together.” She disappeared back down the hall as quickly as she appeared, leaving you and Harry blushing.

You decided to make your way outside together, knowing it wouldn’t be long before your parents put two and two together anyway. Plus, you knew Anne wouldn’t be able to resist telling your mum and Gemma what she saw.

—

You decided to spend the day on the beach, you and Harry with your parents and Anne, since Gemma and Michal had already left for their honeymoon. It was a perfect summers day, the sun warm enough to enjoy but not hot enough to irritate you, the gentle sea breeze cooling you down as it washed over you. Your mum and Anne were sprawled across a linen blanket, two bottles of wine stood in the sand next to their feet. They called you over, instant dread washing over you as Anne excitedly shouted your name. “Do you have anything to tell us?” she asked you, and you were sure there would be mischief glinting in her eyes under her big sunglasses. They sat up and scooted over on their blanket, leaving space for you to slot in between. “Nothing that I’m sure you don’t already know,” you smirked, a deep blush creeping up your cheeks. Your mum looked between Anne and you, gasping as she swatted at your leg. “So it’s true! You dirty little minx.”

You held your head in your hands, mortified that your parents knew you’d slept with Harry. “Oh relax,” your mum told you. “It’s nothing we haven’t done before,” she smirked, throwing herself towards Anne as they howled in laughter. Anne stopped suddenly, her hand tapping at your mum’s thigh incessantly. “If they get married, we’ll be real family!” she gasped, face pink with joy. “Well, the pact is what got us there in the first place,” Harry told them, sitting down next to you and snaking a hand around your waist.

“I forgot all about that,” your mum’s jaw went slack. “Do you still have it?” she asked Anne. “Of course I do. Kept it safe to show them when they found their way back to each other, always knew this day would come.”

part two

taglist: @sleutherclaw @harrysolaf @slutforcoffein

[mrsdesade]

What about some Homelander x needy fem reader smut? He made her cry and then he goes soft on her? :)

Say no more anon, here's something for you! It will definitely be something long because I liked the idea so much!

Afterparty;

Pairing: Homelander x fem!super (Ophera as usual) TW: NSFW, mention of drugs, teasing, smut, fluff, aftercare Words count: 2,6k

You and Homelander are attending a night party hosted by Vought, a grand event where the company's high-profile visitors and staff gather to mingle and celebrate.

Was as extravagant as ever, with celebrities, influencers, investors, and a few lucky civilians gathered together in an opulent ballroom. Laughter and music filled the air as people mingled around, engaging in small talk and celebrating.

You've had plenty of conversations, meetings with executives and public appearances with Homelander. By the looks of it, you've both done your part to keep up the public image that Vought has made of you two.

Exausting.

As the night starts slowly to wind down, you find yourselves with a brief moment alone. Homelander looks at you with a mix of tiredness and relief, as if he can finally let his guard down now that you two are out of the spotlight.

"Goddamn, these parties are a pain. I know they're important for the image, but dealing with all those people trying to win my favor… it's starting to wear me down."

He lets out a frustrated huff, his eyes flitting over the crowd around you.

"I swear I could snap the neck of the next person who comes up to me asking for an autograph or a selfie..."

You simply let out a little laugh, but your eyes are wandering around, and your arms are crossed at your stomach, you seem distracted.

Homelander notices the hint of something amiss in your laughter, his sharp senses picking up on the fact that you're not quite comfortable.

"Hey, you alright? You're not your usual self tonight."

''I think I drank too much, I've been feeling strange ever since the party began...but I only drank two glasses of champagne, alcohol usually doesn't cause me problems.''

It's clear that something is wrong, the more he looks at you, the more the signs of your discomfort are visible. Under the beautiful make-up that has been done on you, your cheeks are red, and a few small drops of sweat slide down your temple. Quite strange, since it's December, outside is snowing.

"Two glasses of champagne shouldn't have that kind of effect on you. You're a damn superhero, and a strong one. Are you seriously getting ill from some champagne? I was waiting for a more epic weakness, you know? Something like kryptonite, I don't know."

''If you're here to make fun of me you can go back to the party. Fuck, they must have mixed some kind of drug in my drink. Maybe something that would kill a human has that effect on me. That's the only explanation I have..."

''Someone was stupid enough to drug you? I should find whoever did it and rip their damn head off."

''You're not helping me.''

Your look of disapproval is eloquent, you would like to explain the situation to him better, but you can't do it explicitly. He seems really stupid to you right now. You're holding your chest tight with your arms, your legs are shaking slightly and for the first time you're struggling to stand on your heels.

"What do you want me to do, hold your hand and comfort you? I'm not exactly known for my tender side, you know."

Despite his words, he comes closer to support you with a hands on your back, it seems like you could fall to your knees at any moment.

But immediately he can feel your skin unnaturally warm to the touch. It's at that moment that he starts to notice something unusual, a change in your demeanor. Your breathing is rapid and shallow, and your eyes have a glassy look.

Homelander's eyes widen in realization, as he finally connects the dots.

''...those bastards. They have put an aphrodisiac in your drink.''

''Wow, It took you a while to understand, men never think about these things, I honestly envy you.''

The situation is quite embarrassing for you, but you still manage to want to make fun of him. You have found a stable and comfortable position holding on to his arm, everything seems normal to the people around you, but you know that you will be able to control yourself only for a short time.

He notices the change in your behavior, feeling your hand gripping tighter onto his arm, and the proximity of your body next to his. He clears his throat, trying to maintain his composure.

"Yeah, laugh it up. But you're the one who's struggling to stand still. How the hell did they pull something like this off? I thought Vought security was supposed to prevent something like this from happening."

It's clear that you're not listening to him, you feel the warm from your legs coming up to your throat. You bite your lower lip trying to think as little as possible, but your gaze falls on his hands, causing your mind to drift to absolutely less pure thoughts.

"What are you looking so intently at my hands?''

You lean in a bit closer to him, your playful demeanor turns more tempting, and your voice lowers to a sultry tone, his right hand still holding onto your waist and your running up on his fingers.

''Can't you imagine?''

Homelander tries to maintain his cool demeanor, but he's failing miserably.

Your fingers continue to softly caress his hand, tracing circles on his knuckles, adding to the tension between you two. You take a small step closer, your body now almost pressed against his, and look up at him through your eyelashes, a sly smile on your lips.

"All the things I'm holding myself back from asking you to do to me right now."

His mind suddenly fills with images of what you're hinting at. But he remained silent, faking a smile to the guest who are still walking around the room.

''Come on Homelander, let's get away from this party. I need you. I crave your touch. On me. In me.''

Your lips ghost along his jawline, pressing the promise of a kiss near his ear. You know exactly what to say to convince him, even If your mind is not completely clear, you know what you want and how to get it.

"Please, I'm begging you."

His self-control is about to snap.

''Fine, let's get out of here before I lose my damn mind. Follow my lead and act natural."

He starts guiding you towards the exit, with a certain urgency, casually nodding to guests and saying brief goodbyes as you make your way out of the room.

As you make your way through the crowd, you try your best to act normal and compose yourself, but it's becoming increasingly difficult to keep up the facade. Finally, he finds a secluded corridor and leads you into an empty room, shutting the door behind him.

The moment the door closes, the illusion of control shatters. The tension that have been building up between you two throughout the night reach their peak, and he takes a step forward but you are the first to close the distance and kiss him. Your body wants nothing more than him, the effect of the drug is getting worse and although you haven't said anything, your body language is more than eloquent.

The sight and feel of you, craving for him so openly, is intoxicating.

"God, you're too damn beautiful, Ophera. I've never saw you so messy and needy... only for me.''

''Oh, just for one time, could you just shut up and use your hands for something useful?''

"Eager, aren't we? Don't worry, I'll gladly indulge you.''

He wastes no time in doing as you demand. Your sparkling red dress falls to the floor, but the heat you feel continues to increase, you feel his hands descend on you, and his fierce kisses forbid you to breathe.

He pushes your legs apart with one hand, then he starts caressing you, making you release a sudden moaned whimper. The feel of his leather clad fingers moving so slowly it immediately brings you closer to the edge.

Ridiculous, how is this possible? You think. Ah, yes, that's right, the aphrodisiac, this sensation is like nothing you've ever felt. But it feels so freaking good.

His two fingers slides inside of you, he's enjoying the idea of torturing you. He can feel himself hardening more with every wet sound and moan from you, but driving you insane is going to be way more fun for him than sharing a temporary pleasure.

''...look at you, so needy just for my fucking fingers. You are truly shameless.''

Back against a cold wall, hands on his shoulders, balancing precariously on your heels while your legs tremble and your mind doesn't think clearly, this time he's in control. He's the one in charge.

Time begins to pass. Half an hour, an hour, two, three.

You're whining, you're moaning, and it sounds gorgeous.

What you don't know, is that from the exact moment he saw tears appear in your eyes, he wants to see you cry in his arms. He want to see you desperate for pleasure. You're nearly scream his name.

''You're making such a good show for me, keep going. Keep going...''

He’s enjoying how you’re desperately thrusting against him. Begging him do not stop. Ah yes, sxx between superheroes, durability is the key word to having an extreme fun. Or extreme pleasure. Y'know.

At a certain point you feel his hand move away a little, perhaps his intention was to move on to something more substantial, more thicker. But you immediately block him by grabbing his wrist. Your eyes meet again, and you really are a beautiful mess.

''Don't you dare...to stop...''

''You’ve had thirty orgasms. I'm at zero. How greedy you are.''

Bastard. He’s been keeping count.

''I don't care...touch me again, only one more time. Please...''

Your mind, now overwhelmed by ecstasy, having now the most intense moment of your life. It seems like you can't get enough, and here's his chance to get what he wants. He wants to see you cry.

''Then beg for it.''

His hand that he had leaning against the wall now comes violently wrapped around your neck. Since he can't satisfy himself, he decides that he will have fun in another way. Can't have the pleasure? Then he will have violence. Both are perfect.

Your legs are shaking again and your breath becoming more shallow. You murmur his name in short moans, begging him as he ordered, eyes closed as your makeup slowly begins to run on your cheeks, accompanied by a few small tears.

He is extremely fascinated by you in that moment, you're so lost in pleasure, so desperate for his touch to the point of crying.

''Homelander...''

You cried out as your body finally release, another orgasm coming down hard from your desperate wait. Your body shudders as your walls squeeze tighter around his fingers.

Then he pause, fingers slip out, he stopped for a second looking at you, still lost in the pleasure aftershocks.

Your body is drained of energy, your breathing ragged. You are too tired to speak, the intense moments you’ve experienced leaving you breathless. Your body feels weary and heavy, the afterglow of your passionate encounter still lingering in your core. And then your legs give out, and you stumble, risking falling, but the fact that he is in front of you, saves you.

''Hey-- you feel good? It was too much?''

He asked a bit worried, his arm wrapped securely around you.

A small, weary smile curves your lips, acknowledging his unexpected concern.

''Are you serious? It was...incredible. I assure you I'm fine, more than fine. Just a bit tired.''

He holds you firmly against him, his strong arms encircling your trembling body. He notices your exhaustion and the way your legs give out, nearly toppling over.

''Don't lie to me, tell me If there's something wrong.''

''Dear, I'm being more than sincere right now, do I seem regretful or unsatisfied? I don't think so.''

You laughed, taking him off guards with your spontaneity.

''Well--uhm, yeah okay, good. Now, let's get back to my apartment. The effect of the aphrodisiac has worn off, and soon you will feel cold with only this fancy dress on.''

''Sure...let's get back to the 99 floor.''

You try to move away from him a little, just a little to walk to the door, but you feel the balance missing and you fall back with your hands resting on his shoulders. Your expression is tired but amused, you find funny even a moment like this.

''Where do you think you're going? Come here, you tired diva. You don't have to walk, I'll carry you.''

He lifts you in his arms carrying you as you weigh nothing, and then he let out a short phrase whispered with kindness.

''I'll take care of you.''

He pauses for a moment, realizing the unfamiliar words that just slipped out of his lips. He clears his throat, trying to cover up the unexpected softness in his voice.

Your reaction is one of mild surprise mixed with a hint of amusement. You look at him with a sly smile, raising an eyebrow. Knowing damn well that he's not used to doing such things.

''Oh, what happened to the tough, domineering Homelander? Suddenly, you're acting all caring and loving.''

"Listen, why do you have to be so annoying?"

Homelander rolls his eyes in response to your playful remark. He knows you caught him in a moment of unexpected tenderness.

''Don't get used to it, doll. This is a one-time exception.''

You let out a small, satisfied laugh at his response, knowing you got under his skin again, like usual.

''Oh come on, lighten up. It's quite charming, you know. You playing the concerned and gentle lover.''

''Concerned and gentle lover, that's not really my thing, if you didn't notice.''

He watches you with a hint of skepticism, waiting for your next smart answer.

''So why did you put your cloak around my shoulders when you lifted me up? It was a spontaneous gesture and you didn't even notice it.''

Homelander froze for a moment, caught off guard by your observation. It was true, he had subconsciously done that without even thinking. He lets out a defeated sigh, realizing that you know that he cares, no matter how much he tries to deny it.

''Fine, you win. I didn't like seeing you shivering. And maybe because I…care.''

"Aww, who would have thought? The great Homelander, soft? For me? How unexpected. Maybe I should thank the one who put the drugs in my drink, without his intervention I would never have discovered this side of you.''

You smile warmly, teasingly caressing his hair with your hand while he's walking outside the room, It's now late at night and there's no one one around. Only the silence and the neon lights of the big Vought tower.

You hug him, staying close to him, safe in his arms, enjoying that moment of kindness that you don't know if it will ever return. But for tonight that's fine. You give him a gentle kiss on the cheek and let him carry you to his room.

''Damn you for making me say things like that.''

He whispered, after after gently placing you on the bed, where you will sleep together that night. You sink into the soft bed, a soft smile on your lips. You look up at him in the dim light, waiting for him. That smile will be his downfall, or yours, who knows.

He's secretly pleased by all of your lovely reaction, and he adores you so damn much, but he will never admit it.

-------

Thanks again for the request, it was really entertaining to write, hope you like it! Kisses <3

[stvolanis]

Farleigh with an innocence kink for Felix’s friend that he brings home for the summer?

love this sm. I made Farleigh kinda a perv sorry😭 (not sorry) reader is naive and too innocent‼️

Farleigh Start! Who didn’t think much of it when Felix mentioned bringing someone home with them for the summer, and quite honestly didn’t care. till he seen you.

Farleigh Start! Who’s thoughts were only filled of doing vile things to you as he shook your hand, Felix introducing the two of you. The skirt you wore when you first met while forever be engraved into his dirty mind; a lace baby pink with small flower designs on the frill, but what he remembers the most, was the way it barely covered your ass.

Farleigh Start! Who thought you knew what you were doing when you’d suck on your little cherry lollipops everyday, or when you’d lick your popsicles from the base to the tip to prevent the juices running down. Hell, he almost confronted you when you bent over in front of him while wearing your thin bikini that left little to the imagination; but you were truly oblivious.

Farleigh Start! Whos dick hardened at the way you blushed profusely, trying to avoid eye contact the day in the meadow when they were all naked. His eyes had zoned in on how you squeezed your thighs together when you glanced at his body. Of course, you were the only fully clothed one there. Farleigh made sure of that. No one was ever going to get to see you naked but him.

Farleigh Start! Who shares a bathroom with you; the both of your rooms connected. He’ll quietly crack the door open, just enough to see you undress and take your place in your rose petal filled bath. God, it smelled heavenly to him.

Farleigh Start! Who makes dirty jokes around you, only to grip his cock through his pants discreetly when you either give him a look of confusion, or embarrassment. Or, when you sit next to dinner he’ll rest his hand on the plush of your thigh, telling you it was just a “friendly gesture” as he squeezed. And of course, you’d believe him, why wouldn’t you? Farleighs an amazing friend!

Farleigh Start! Who keeps you close to him and scares off drunken men, and even a few women, who tried to hit on you at one of the many parties they hosted throughout the summer. Acting as your own body guard, even going as far as beating one man to a pulp for grazing his hand over your ass.

Farleigh Start! Who you beg to tell you about sex one day, seeing as you were the closest to him, and he sees this as his opportunity to finally taint the dainty aura of innocence you head floating around your pretty little mind.

Farleigh Start! Who reluctantly sits you down on your bed, watching as you clutched your stuffed bunny to your chest; peering up at him through lashes as the filthiest words slipped past your strawberry lips. “What’s masturbate?” You asked with a tilt of you head. He inhaled deeply. “Masturbation.” He corrected you.

Farleigh Start! Who merely said, “let me show you.” As he, right then and there, whipped out his throbbing member, standing tall against his lean stomach. He watched as you dropped to your knees unknowingly in front of him with awestruck eyes. “What’s this?” You asked. “S’my cock. It likes you.” He chuckled out as he watched your brows furrow when it twitched.

Farleigh Start! Who gave you the okay to touch his cock, letting you play around with it for a little bit. He hissed when your finger skimmed over his weeping tip. “I’m sorry.” You rushed out. He groaned. “That’s alright, didn’t hurt me. Felt real good, baby.” He reassured with a smile.

Farleigh Start! Who instructed you how to give your first hand job. “Tighten your fist, sweetheart. Juuusstt like thattt..” he bit out as you stroked up and down his shaft with a tightened fist. He gripped the pink sheets beneath him, trying to restrain himself from forcing his cock into your mouth and down your throat.

Farleigh Start! Who was losing his self control as you’d look up at him with blown-out, lust filled eyes. The fact that you had no idea just how amazing you were making him feel had him close to the edge. His groans getting more louder as he grew breathless.

Farleigh Start! Who painted your face white when you batted your lashes up at him with the hesitant question of, “Am I doing a good job, Farleigh?” Your lost little puppy dog eyes had him folding. You flinched in surprise as what you learned was his cum, landed on your cheeks, nose, and mouth.

Farleigh Start! Who instructed you to open your mouth, scooping up the cum on your face before shoving it into your mouth. Your oral fixation kicked in as you sucked around his thumb. “Good girl, baby. Made me feel so fuckin’ good. My best girl.” He said as he kissed your head.

“Now, let’s take care of that little ache you have down there, hm, Princess?”

don’t be shy, ask to be a part of the tag list and request things!!

TAG LIST: @elvisalltheway101 @epthedream69 @claire-elvisgirl @elvisrealgf @littlehoneyposts @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @luxuriouslokistan-3 @foxevxid @parkbabyj

[hxltic]

“YOU’VE NEVER SQUIRTED?” KENMA

part 1 | part 2

It was actually a really awkward conversation in the kitchen of his apartment. The fresh toast sizzled against your fingers as you removed it from the toaster, the sun shined bright through his black curtains without quit, and because it was in his disposition to be up ungodly hours, you incorrectly assumed he’d hibernate in his room so you planned to head to your friend’s house for breakfast in a full face and clothes you never wore. Or technically, a full face and clothes you only wore out to places you cared about. Otherwise, you didn’t really dress to impress.

500 FOLLOWERS?!

Footsteps sounded from afar and you retrieved the jelly from the fridge mindlessly.

“Where we going?”

Kenma taunted from his seat found on the island stool. You assumed he’d just woken up, accompanied with doing his daily hygiene because his soft voice still had the slightest rasp to it.

“We?” You jokingly snapped back. Kenma scoffed lightheartedly at you. The refrigerator door closed with a slight push, and Kenma sighed to where he could ask again. Some almost fully black stands came to fall in front of his face as he leaned forward on the cold, stone counter and his hair was pulled into a small ponytail, nothing left of the noticeable blonde but disproportional ends that fall into his large hoodie.

“Where are you going?”

You grab the plate but forget the juice for the morning. Back you go to the fridge almost in a rush.

“I’m going to a friend’s for breakfast, it’s this party thing she hosts every year,” you explain. “Almost like a friendsgiving. She takes it suuuuper serious.”

The juice is in one hand, a random cup in another. You twist around to pour the liquid on the island instead of the main countertop so you could engage in quick conversation with Kenma. As he got older he’s become more expressive and outgoing, just willingly reserved. He has, however, become a handful; and having lived with him, you’ve seen him take shots like a champ. You see his aloofness dissolve, his eyebrow coming up the slightest bit.

“And you’re eating breakfast before going to eat breakfast?” He slowed the pace of his words around the end of the sentence like he was judging you.

“I have to eat in the morning still, or I’ll pass out before I even get there Kenma! I’m kinda a little late though so you can heckle me when I get back.”

“Uhuh…”

Kenma hummed in response with an inconspicuous smirk on his face. You wouldn’t have even seen it if it weren’t for you waiting to see his reaction of your flawless vocabulary. He was however, changing his position to leaning back in the chair, already staring you incredulously. It was somewhat close to a manspread, his hands were tucked into the hoodie pockets, and the sight was way too much for you to handle this early in the morning.

So, you turned around to tend to your idle plate with jelly-less toast on it. You didn’t like Kenma specifically, persay, you would’ve liked it if any boy looked at you like that. Yeah. Don’t think too much about it.

Anyway, with the slide of a drawer you withdrew the knife and got to work. Unbeknownst to you, Kenma had not taken his eyes off your body. Your hair was still slightly wet but it made it easier for you to style. It was up. The backless halter top you wore was connected only by a string at your nape, and it left skin between that and your skinny jeans that fell down to your open toe, clear strap heels. You were dressed perfect for the summer occasion of a girls day out. And he was absolutely sulking in it.

“You look good.”

You hate the slight pause in your actions. You hate the way you had to question if he was talking to you or not, even if you were the only one in the house. You hate that you refuse to turn around to him. You hate the giddy smile that decorated your face. You hate that you had to cover up how everything you hated affected you, so you say “Thank you; flatter me more.”

He just outwardly chuckled, and ended with a “Maybe.” He starts again, “Hey is this who you were on the phone with last night? Who’s at the party I mean.”

“Hm?” Your chin did lead over your shoulder at this. “Yes actually, I’m surprised I’m up as early as I am considering she kept me up all night.” You resume.

“Tell her I said she should break up with him.”

You agree, “I will; she definitely needs to hear it.”

…

Suddenly, you snap your head back around quick enough to give you whiplash. You don’t get embarrassed easily, but you had to be blushing like a bitch.

This time Kenma’s smirk was very noticeable. You blink warily at him.

“Ken… how much did you hear?” Your voice was soft with curiosity mixed and thrown into fear. He just shrugged casually and quickly switched to an innocent façade. One thing you learned about him over the years: he has a badass poker face. And he’s a dick.

Such a dick, in fact, that after reassuring “I wasn’t eavesdropping so I didn’t hear much,” he let you take deep breaths of relief and turn back around to lather your second piece of toast. You felt the golden, low, cat-like eyes burning through the back of your head—so with indecision and obscurity—you looked over your shoulder again. He wore a shit eating grin.

You pointed the butterknife at him accusingly.

“You fucking liar! You heard all of it!!”

Kenma just smiled menacingly.

“I did hear all of it actually; but pushing that aside, why do I feel like I’ve never heard you say some of the words you said?” He tilts his head to the side, completely dismissing you.

“Kenma!?”

“Say pussy.”

This made you stop. You found him unbelievable, and you’d never admit what hearing him say pussy does to your mind, but his head was sideways in pure amusement like he was waiting on you to do it.

“Kenma. What.”

“Say it.”

You just stared at each other.

“Pussy,” you finally repeated. After lingering in the air a bit Kenma’s eyes went wide and he threw his head back to diminish into laughter.

“Kenmaaa.” You groaned loudly. He only laughed harder. “What all did you hear? Seriously!”

He calmed down to just a grin and ushered you to be as well with the palm of his hand.

“Okay okay—mainly the part where she explains how she hates the guy because she feels like he ignores her and has never made her cum—plus some other stuff, blah blah, that’s basically it,” He rambles.

It was your turn for your eyes to run wide, so in astonishment that your body couldn’t even address the other words that rolled out his mouth so easy. “I don’t want basically, I want all of it,” you declare.

“There’s not much more unless you’re including all the other dumb shit he did? Like how he told his friends she did something even if she didn’t, and she felt invalidated about it. I have amazing input on these types of situations by the way.”

Kenma was saying all this without any negative emotion, relaying it to you with normalcy. “The only thing after that was about yourself.”

You roll your eyes, but bingo. So he did hear it. He heard what you didn’t want him to. Your face may have dropped a tiny bit.

“…What was it? About how…I have—“

“—never squirted?” He finishes. Your chest tightened a little, and your face was red with what was anger transforming into something else. His ordinary apathetic gaze was locked on yours for a tiny moment, so you made it your responsibility to look away and grab your food.

“Gotta go now, I’m already late.” You swiftly unhooked the keys from the wall and opened the door. It wasn’t his fault he heard (because to be honest you two weren’t the quietest last night during your girl talk), but just now the fact that he knew upset you. Your best friend made it seem so easy, like she does it all the time, and it just made you seem like you were missing out how she explained it.

However, on your way out, Kenma did call for you from the kitchen. “Not everyone can do it,” He said. It was reassurance, you assume, but it didn’t really come off as such. He then says (more to himself you also assume), “Not everyone can make you do it either.”

This sat with you the whole breakfast/brunch party, champagne being passed around like candy but nothing could stop you from thinking about it. Of course it being a whole room of the closest friends, she re-explained last night’s gossip, the effects hitting you again as your friends chimed in on the situation. Was it really as good as they say?

——•——

You unlocked the house door, the apartment dim and quiet. It was around four now, you weren’t completely sober, and your heels clacked along the tile.

Dropping your arm to sit your purse on the counter and hang the keys, you undo a single strap and slip the shoes off. You carry them in your hand for the journey to your room.

Of course before you can reach your door, there’s Kenma’s slightly cracked open one to remind you of what he said. Not everyone can make you do it either.

What does that even mean; can’t you do it alone? Do you need someone else for it?

You weren’t dumb and at least knew what he was implying. It was an offer. Or maybe it wasn’t, and you’re just horny. Either way you find yourself stopped in front of the entrance to his room. You don’t bother to knock, it falls open with a slight push of your free hand.

Kenma resides at his setup, on his phone, the mic wrapped around his neck. The few moving lights in his room softly radiated from his pc, making him appear to be different strong shades of red and orange depending on when you looked. He didn’t seem to be streaming. Or he could be—he isn’t the nicest to his viewers.

He casts you a glance past his hair but dismisses your presence. You don’t really ever come into his room except to just grab something and go, usually a hair product.

You take a few steps inside. Then, you leisurely drop the heels at his bedside so he finally acknowledges your company.

“Ken?” Your delicate voice breaks the silence of the outside, completely unsure if there was music running through his headphones.

He clicks his phone off so you have his full attention.

“What’s up? How was it?”

You continued taking slow steps forward, with only one thing on your mind. And it wasn’t the party. “It was okay.”

Kenma surveys how you have yet to halt, inching closer and closer to him. It only took a slight examination of your face to see the solemnity. Blankness. He stands up from his seat and removes the headset from himself in concern before you can get any closer.

“You sure? You don’t look—”

“—Kenma. What did you say earlier?” You whisper. He was now directly in front of you.

He pauses for a second and his face converts to disbelief. “Are we still talking about the squirt thing?” He smiles mischievously, “I was just letting you know not to worry about it so much.”

You hate that word. It’s so gross sounding, so vulgar. But you can’t bring yourself to get him to stop saying it.

“Well I have been, so what happens now?” You peer strangely at each other, both acutely aware of where this was going.

“And you’re coming to me for this, why?” The ravenette taunts. He knew exactly why you were in his room right now, the curiosity having ate away at you all day. Like an itch that won’t go. You’ve gotta give in if this’ll go anywhere.

“Well you seem to know a lot about it…” you fumble with your bracelet nervously. You’ve gotten this far. “Could you…maybe help me?”

Kenma makes no sudden movements. He scans you suspiciously. A slight flush of red may have spread across your cheeks, but the darkness around you was protective. Hearing it actually come out of your mouth was a whole different story than imagining it.

“You want me to make you squirt?” He confirmed.

You may have physically cringed at that sentence because his hands find his sweat pockets in a ‘you said it not me’ manner.

“Yes.”

He scanned you again for good measure.

“Alright.”

With this he turned on his heel, stepped away, and sat in his gaming chair again. You stood there blankly, unaware of what to do. “Come here.”

You follow him to his setup. He sighs because he could see how uncomfortable you were.

“What usually do you do to get off?” He questions. He twists you around by your hips, your back facing him.

“Uh…It’s just kinda alone in my room I guess. I use my fingers usually.” You tried to keep your voice low enough to cure your embarrassment. Kenma, however, seemed to be doing this with ease. In fact, as he was asking you questions, he massaged your hips and waist soothingly.

“Is that it? You don’t watch or think about anything?”

You turn your head, “No. Am I supposed to?”

“I mean it’s not mandatory but you gotta think about something.”

“Whatever. Jeez, Kenma just say you think about me already.” You quip. Whatever he was doing was working, you were loosening up.

“Only when I’m about to cum. How do you like to be talked to?”

What?

You weren’t even going to ask about it. It was probably a joke anyway.

A moment of processing silence passed. “I don’t really know how I like to be talked to. Guys have tried to praise or degrade me but it never worked, so I just assumed I didn’t like the talk at all.”

He tugs on the shirt string at your neck. He watches you tense up at the action, so he rubs your trap in slow, circular motions instead. “If I say I like to be praised, all they do is say ‘good girl’ over and over. Gets kinda boring you know?” Is this you venting to Kenma about your boring sex life? Of course. You mess with your nails as you face away from him. Not for long though, because he turns you around.

“This is what I meant by not everyone can make you do it. Only you can guarantee yourself the highest pleasure 100% of the time,” Kenma drags you by your belt loops so you fall into the chair against him, “and me.”

He was so close now, your knees sliding under the chair arm. His breath could be felt on your skin and his hands were still pawing at your waist to glide up your back. You couldn’t bring yourself to put your full weight on him. However, he pulls you down anyway, and manually places your hands along his clothed chest so you could calm down. That was all he wanted from you right now. To relax and to take deep breaths.

“Warnings would be great Ken.”

“Yeah, but you said you don’t like to talk.”

“I don’t.”

“So should I warn you about how hard you make me dressed up like that?”

You moderately gasped at the comment placed right into your collarbone. You pressed down a tiny bit farther to see if you could feel it. You could. His breath fanned against your body and airy kisses lead.

You wonder where all of Kenma’s shyness over the years went because now you would never have guessed him to be like this. The friction fuels him to push you more.

Kenma could go on and on about these random intrusive thoughts he only gets at night—the only time where you seem to engulf his brain. Living with you over the years has been fine with zero temptation, but recently, it’s been like a hormone specifically for you snapped in his body. He feels the way you roll your hips the smallest bit for yourself. You liked the talk, just not the guys.

Soft fingers pull on a single string near your hair, releasing your breasts from the top as the fabric folded downwards between the two of you.

©️ hxltic

[vagabond-umlaut]

'til our fingers decompose, keep my hand in yours

then her eyes look at me, love breaks my bones and I laugh

gojo satoru x wife!reader; 18+ content so mdni; mostly tooth-rotting domestic fluff w mild smut; baby-making stuff [it's breeding, y'all- but not written in a very spicy way... i'm too shy; wht's my fault in tht]; satoru & you're a bit too much in love w each other; not toxic tho... js a teeny-tiny amt too much– haha; satoru calls you cookie and minx; too many kisses written to count [and 1 mention of the words 'cum' and 'cunt' each– i said right, i'm too shy :))]; loserboy loverboy 'toru; tw: talks on conceiving; 2.6k wc

the fic title and summary don't rly hv a very strong connection to the fic plot— except the fact they fit satoru's character here to a tee ^_^

belongs to the series 'you make my heart flutter and fibrillate' but can be read as a stand-alone fic if you wanna

fic title from everywhere, everything by noah kahan // fic summary from a poem by charles bukowski // header frm pinterest // divider by @/benkeibear // jjk isn't mine

Gojo Satoru is in love with you. Entirely, utterly, whole-heartedly—

Simply put, the man adores you.

Reveres you even; your existence in both this world and his: one that has morphed to fit the shape and size of your form, your smiles, your frowns– Your husband believes he cannot be any more enchanted by you, any more ensnared by you than he already is...

Only to be proven wrong when you ask something of him.

The sweet croon of the music seems to dissipate away, as well as the quiet murmurs of the crowds, when Gojo sees you lift your head from where it lay on his chest. Eyes briefly flicking to where you both are in a gentle sway on the dance floor, amongst other couples; before they return to the shades on his face.

Growing an endearing quality of coyness as you gaze at him, features becoming suffused with warmth and hues before you repeat your ask to him; voice softening, trembling. Even more this time.

"'Toru," you say, fingers flexing from where they are looped around his neck, around his existence. Your smile is shaky, right at the corners of your mouth, before you take a deep breath to force them to stabilise– somehow, your husband realises.

He watches you draw in yet another deep breath, and ask, "You'll give me anything I want from you... won't you?"

He will.

Of course, he will.

Ask him to pluck the waxing gibbous from the night sky, to make you a pretty little pendant out of it— he will.

Ask him to burn this city to the ground, just so you've enough ash for your innumerable pots of cacti— he will.

Ask him to do anything and everything: whatever your heart desires– be it for a moment or for years— Gojo will do it for you, no matter the consequences he must face for it— for what bears any consequence to the sorcerer's life, if not your happiness and well-being??

He drags a hand from where it rested on your lower back, up the side, to your cheek, gently cupping the soft flesh there. Letting loose a tiny smile, fond, unguarded, true, when you lean into his touch.

"Ask away, cookie. Tell your 'Toru what you want."

"I..." you start. Voice soft and timid. Gaze darting away a second time, this time to the slowing pace of your and your husband's dance steps on the floor...

Before you raise your eyes, a mesmerising flurry of many feelings, to his concealed ones.

And Gojo swears, there's surely something different in you, making something different in him as well, when you look at him that way–

"I want to have your babies, 'Toru."

The first response you words elicit in him is a static— Noisy. Buzzing. Something that renders him dumb. Deaf and blind to everything and everyone except his wife, for a moment perhaps a tad too long...

The second response is him, very obviously, nearly dragging you off the dance floor, and having offered a bullshit explanation for leaving early to the party host, pulling you out into the toasty summer night.

Gojo teleports before the doors to the hall have been closed behind you both, not even for three whole seconds.

And bends down to smash his lips onto yours, the instant the familiar comforting feel of your home settles on his shoulders... seeps into his body, immediately setting him at ease... yet not at all at ease...

Especially because of these stupid fucking cockblocking trousers—

A loud pop! sounds through the living room, bouncing off its walls.

Soon followed by a mishmash of an aggrieved whine and an annoyed grunt from your husband, at the loss of contact with one of your best physical features to him—

it all melts away though when Gojo opens his eyes to find you looking at him with a slight sheen in your big round eyes and the tremor from before in your lips.

You push him away gently by the pads of your fingers— but the effort lasts only for a beat. Teeth biting down onto your lower lip, your small fingers let only a brief moment pass before twisting into the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer. Almost as if they're scared he might turn into smoke, if their hold is loosened even a pinch.

Gojo thinks you sound terribly puny when you finally break the thick silence layering over the entire flat–

Much too puny than he would like to hear his precious little wife be.

"Do you really want kids with me, 'Toru? You're not doing this just for me– just 'cause I want a family with you— you aren't, are you?"

"Do you..." Gojo starts then pauses for a bit to curb the chuckle nearly spilling forth his mouth, before resuming. The amusement in his tone can be reduced only so much, though— despite, or maybe due to the worry marking your pretty features.

Very unnecessary worry marking your very, very pretty features.

"Do you really think I'm that selfless– that good-hearted– cookie?"

Your brows furrow for a beat— before flattening in a look of complete sincere honesty. "You always think of me before yourself, 'Toru– don't want to pressurise you into doing anything you don't want to, is all."

"Oh, is it so?" he hums, mouth curving into a leisurely grin as he trails his fingertips from where they're entangled in your hair, dancing over the side of your neck until they reach the base of your throat– A faint pressure on the flesh there.

The ensuing hitch in your breath makes his grin sharpen, his trousers tighten. He lets his voice fall to an unhurried husk of a whisper.

"So you think I don't wanna have a family with you, hm?"

"Ah, it's not that," Gojo notes you waste not one moment to breathe back. He pulls you flush to himself by the other hand clutching your lower back, fingers digging in when you stutter, "I-I was j-just–"

"What will you do if I say I don't want kids, cookie?" He interrupts, still maintaining the low cadence of his tone.

Your fingers let go of his coat, soon followed by the re-emergence of that damn shaky smile of yours. Your husband doesn't like it one bit, but says nothing to hear your answer instead...

Albeit he knows what it will be, knowing just how much of a fool you never fail to turn into when it comes to matters involving him– a fact he usually loves about you, his pride and ego adore about you; but in this specific moment... Not so much.

Your soft mumble disrupts his internal groan, "I will never bring this topic up ever again in that case, Satoru. I promise you, I won't."

"And what if I say I wanna knock you up nice and good?"

You'll short circuit, is what Gojo predicts before the last word is even out of his mouth— and he's proven right, amazingly so, in less than a beat, when you do:

Eyes enlarging. Cheeks warming. Mouth opening and closing: once, twice then thrice... As if you're an adorable fish gasping for air in the onslaught of his simple [yet cruel– he knows you deem him so right now– how can you be so cute...] inquiry.

Deciding to grant his poor wife some much-needed mercy, the man bends down to whisper into your ear, lightly grazing the earlobe with his teeth, "If saying it out loud is too much, why don't you show your 'Toru instead what you will do, hm? I'm sure that will be easier."

"I..." you hesitate, the word still a wisp of your breath, until your hands return to the front of his coat. And you lean back a smidgen, features lighting up as you ask. Slowly. Carefully. Hopefully.

A knot, your husband never knew existed, loosens in the middle of his chest at the sight of your strengthening smile.

"Can I take this as your 'yes' then?"

"You can."

And that's the only reply Gojo finds he has to give to have your lips on his... Not too soft yet so very tender in the way they move against his own... Almost as if you're scared of hurting him... Terrified of causing even a pinch of pain to him.

Something between a moan and a squeak rips itself from your throat when the sorcerer bullies his tongue into the warm welcoming space of your mouth, simultaneously hooking his arms under your thighs to lift you. Mouths never leaving each other, not even for one second, as he kicks his shoes off, hearing you do the same, heels hitting the floor with a sharp clack!— And he finally, fucking finally, takes a step into–

"Bedroom, 'Toru!" Pulling away, you exclaim hastily, breathlessly, "Not the sofa or the kitchen counter this time, please."

"Too demanding, aren't we?" Gojo coos, licking his lips then stealing a small taste of the angry swollen redness of your pretty lips– Choosing to concede when you pout up at him, "Alright, fine— Can't really deny my amazing wife anything, can I?"

"No!" You giggle back cheekily—

And you're correct.

Extremely correct, your husband reckons, smiling softly as he moves out of you; out of the embrace of your wet, warm, maddening walls— A sharp hiss escapes through between his teeth, brows scrunching in momentary discomfort whilst he faintly registers your weak whimper.

Wasting no time to scoop back the load of creamy white cum leaking out your sore cunt, Gojo lifts your hips to keep a pillow beneath them. And stuffs his fingers into his mouth— exaggeratedly moaning with a smirk when he catches your cute little face of mortification.

"You're horrible," you mutter visibly exasperated, what with that huge roll of eyes you do when the sorcerer groans out yet again around his fingers in appreciation, shifting to lie beside you.

He removes his fingers with a loud pop!. Grinning like a Cheshire Cat when your eyes stay on them a bit too long for someone who sees it as horrible... Before they skitter away to reach his face.

He wraps an arm round you, dragging you closer until your boobs are squished against his pecs. A shiver of thrill runs down his spine at the wonderful– no, absolutely heavenly feeling.

"I'm in love, cookie," he offers besides a noisy lovestruck sigh in reply.

You, as usual, as expected, take only one or two moments before the not-too-annoyed scowl on your face gives way to a tender smile.

Wrapping an arm around him in return, you nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck. He feels your lips on his skin more than hears your words they shape. Whispered into the comfortable darkness of your shared bedroom.

"Love is a force to be reckoned with, huh?"

Just love? Maybe... Maybe not... Truth be told, Gojo has no idea. And he has never been too keen on forming an idea either.

But your love?

It surely is, your husband muses to himself with no small amounts of delight or adoration, It did change the trajectory of his life, did it not?

He is supposed to be by himself— The Strongest, yes, but one with a solitary existence. He is supposed to be in this bed, awake and quiet, staring up at the ceiling whilst his senses easily fall prey to the heavy weights of his past, his mistakes, his unpardonable sins— vanishing long after the first rays of the sun have broken through the curtains...

Yet... with the love you've so obstinately kept safe for him throughout the years... here he is now.

Still awake– a bit restless, in fact– but the farthest from being alone.

The love of his life, safe, sated and smiling in his careful hold. Whilst his senses tingle in smug joy and content as his eyes, all six of them, rove over the innumerable proofs of his insatiable hunger, boundless ardour for you.

Starting from your kiss-bitten lips; to the multiple splotches of purple dotting the expanse of your neck, your chest, your stomach, down to the delectable inner aspect of your thighs; to the angry red nip marks left nearly all over your body, wherever he could get access, wherever you wouldn't gently push his mouth away from with a whine—

To, of course, your belly: Flat now but won't remain so for a long time. Becoming swollen and round with your babies– his babies– A perfect mixture of you and him. A perfect result of your mutual feelings...

An impossibly anxious gasp disturbs his smooth stream of thoughts, as well as the steady downwards flow of his blood...

He looks down to find you wrenching yourself away from his arms to get hold of the long-forgotten pillow— Ah. It's the pillow.

"It's too easy to get you worried over the smallest of things, y'know?" Gojo tuts, still moves to help you stuff the pillow to elevate your hips on noticing your wince on shifting.

You throw him a cross glare, which soon changes into an upset pout.

"Shut up, Satoru. This is not a small thing, this is a huge thing! What will happen if my chances of conceiving fall because of this mistake, 'Toru?" you suddenly erupt into an anguished screech.

Gojo feels his heart threatening to burst at the seams, just from how utterly cute you look. He knocks his forehead lightly against yours.

"Wanna go for another round, cookie?"

"Huh!?!?" you exclaim, eyes growing round and cheeks flaring up yet once more— Your husband intervenes however, before you return to your struggling-to-breathe-fish form, "Don't be so embarrassed, you little minx; you were spouting all sorts of debauched stuff some time back–"

He pauses for a beat, thinking if he should quote everything you said. Then deciding against it, so as to not have you short circuit yet again, repeats, amusement lacing his tone, "Tell me, do you wanna?"

"I'm not a minx," you mumble back.

And the sorcerer almost believes you, mind being swayed by the light glimmer in your gorgeous eyes, the plush flesh of your lower lip jutted out just the right amount, the enticing manner your eyelashes appear to be batting themselves at him in the faint moonlight streaming into the room via the light curtains...

Only for the slowly, steadily enveloping bubble to be popped.

By the feel of something soft and warm– your foot– travelling up the skin of his calf; the same moment he watches your fingers trail over his chest and the planes of his stomach. Tongue peeking out for less than an instant when your gaze drops to his fingers– the very fingers he was sucking on not even five minutes back—

Pushing the pillow away, Gojo climbs back atop you. A knee wedged to part your thighs while he bends down, face angled to swallow that endearing surprised squeak of yours with his insistent, impatient lips.

You were right.

Love is, for real, a force to be reckoned with.

But Gojo Satoru— No, his cookie's 'Toru in love with her– And now, in love with the idea of having a huge happy family with her as well...

That's a force only you know how to put a leash on.

[Not that you will ever—

You're as hopeless a goner for him as he is for you!]

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

[the-boy-meets-evil]

building blocks | yjh (teaser)

(agreeing to be the teaching assistant is the last thing you want in a semester where you're already swamped with work. but, you need a letter of recommendation from the professor and you're out of other options. enter jeonghan, the menace who signs up for the class seemingly on a whim and disrupts your entire routine.)

pairing: master's student!jeonghan x TA!f!reader genre: university!au, strangers to ?? | fluff, some angst, smut rating: explicit, minors DNI (for the full fic) word count: 842 for the teaser (est. 12-14k) warnings: none for the teaser (full fic: smut, drinking, eating, etc.) full fic: september 13th!

a/n: i wanted to drop a teaser of my fic for the TA collab hosted by the amazing @camandemstudios. those two have been working so hard on this and i can't wait to read all the fics. but go easy on me because i know next to nothing about structural engineering. credit to @caelesjjk for this banner, it's so amazing 🥰

join my taglist here or leave a comment to be tagged in the full fic!

Your entire academic (and professional, for that matter) career has been a battle. A fight to be taken seriously. A fight to get the right classes. A fight to make the right connections. A fight for every inch that you’ve gotten. There are times that you wonder if it’s all worth it, wonder if anything should be as hard as this. But, all you’ve ever wanted was to be an engineer. To be able to leave your mark in some sort of meaningful way, even if that’s also a little conceited. It’s all you want and you’re so close to getting some much needed room to breathe. 

Except…

You have to make it through one last semester of this damn Master’s program. You had been able to find a sponsor to allow you to commit to a final semester full time, with only part time research work. That’ll put you in a good position to carry on for your Ph.D, with your dissertation topic already picked and funded. Things had been going entirely too smoothly, in hindsight. You should have known. Everything about your application to the upcoming program is perfect. Except for the final recommendation. And, of course, the professor to give that recommendation won’t just give it to you to recognize the years you’ve put into this. No. He implies that there’s something he needs from you.

Nothing really awful, in the grand scheme of things. Not for someone that does want to return as a lecturer at some point down the road. It’s just that you didn’t really want to be forced into a teaching assistant position for Professor Choi’s introductory structural engineering course. It’s the course that weeds out who’s actually going to carry on with the civil engineer branch of the Master’s program from those who may switch out to something that better suits them. Which, again, isn’t a huge deal, except that you remember how burnt out the TA looked from when you took the course and it’s the last thing you need during your last semester. It’s also hard to know that some portion of your future hinges on doing this. It’s also hard to forget another friend of yours admitting Professor Choi had given him a recommendation without the hoops.

Whatever.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and all that. 

So you schedule your regular meetings with the professor, make a separate email folder for all course related communication, jot down the important dates, and figure out which lessons you have to help plan. First up is going to be the introductory class. Professor Choi comes in and introduces himself while you distribute the syllabus, an odd task when everything is available online through the portal, but he likes things in hard copy. Once he’s done his introduction, he leaves the rest of the first class to you, as he had with the TA in your course during your first semester. For a moment, you consider pointing out that this is a Master’s level course and you don’t really need to do the typical introductions. Most of these people have busy lives and, even though they’ll have to work together on projects, can manage without syllabus week. But, Choi is old school and you know it. You also need his letter, so what’s the point in trying to change his system? You’re not here to do anything other than fill a spot that he was having trouble filling, get your letter, and go. 

When you scan the roster before the first day, nobody particularly sticks out. There are a couple of relatively familiar names, though you’re not sure you can place faces to them, but most of the students seem to be in their first semester of the program. It only takes getting to the introductions for someone in the course to stick out.

“Well, I’ve always been good at building Legos. I figure, how different can it really be?” one student answers.

It takes everything in you to school your face back into a politely interested expression when the rest of the class bursts out laughing. Your initial reaction had been incredulity. Surely he couldn’t be serious. There’s no way someone just wandered into this program because he liked building Legos. The laughter from the rest of the class dies down and you keep your attention on him.

“Why did you really join the program?” you ask. That’s what every student was supposed to be sharing. A problem for this student, apparently.

“That is why I joined,�� he says with an infuriating smirk. 

“What did you say your name was?” you ask.

“Jeonghan,” he answers without anything else.

You consult the roster in front of you and put a star by his name. This is someone you know you’re going to have to keep an eye on. 

“Did I get a star already?” he prompts, earning another few chuckles from his classmates.

“Something like that,” you say and then turn to the person next to him. “And why did you join?”

i hope you enjoyed it! and less than a week til the full fic is posted 🫣

taglist: @newjihoonie, @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizon, @klecksstorys, @sunflowergyeomie, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @vanishingboots, @babybae-shisui, @harry-the-pottypus, @okiedokrie-main, @nuttywastelandmentality, @writingbarnes, @gyuhao365, @jjin-kun, @divinityyy, @dibidibidismynameisleeknow, @jelly-n (strikethrough means can't tag)

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 3)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3147

(Part 1) (Part 2)

_________________________________________

Rhysand’s face hurts.

His hands do, too, but the scrapes and splits in the skin of his knuckles have nothing on the cut in his lip, which currently stings from the rush of alcohol that passes over his lips.

It’s cold, crisp, and free, so it’s the best beer he’s had all night.

Hell, his cheek is bruised too. It’s not a Picasso of mottled yellows, greens, and purples yet—curtesy of the time he spent poking and prodding the knotted bump in one of the locker room mirrors, post shower.

The only thing that isn’t bruised is his ego because he more than won that fight against the Penguin’s center, Kallias Winterborough. He fucking wiped the ice with him and then proceeded to use the rest of his team to clean house.

Somewhere in the Hockey House—aptly named for the number of players that reside in the five-bedroom, two-story craftsman—you and his cousin meander around, violet Solo Cups in hand because the red ones are so overrated. Plus, one of their biggest rivals—the Foxes—wear crimson, and no one at Velaris University would ever be caught repping that team at one of his parties.

It's a move he’s regretting a little too much right now, unable to revel in the Bat’s big win with his lip split in two. Fucker got him good, he can admit, but never aloud. Cassian would never let him live it down and Azriel would shoot him a scathing glare at the mere mention of another school’s team under their roof.

Az takes his superstitions seriously.

“Rhys, dude.” Cassian stumbles in through the square arch connecting the spacious living room to the cozy kitchen. It’s the only thing Rhysand doesn’t like about the Hockey House: no open floorplan. That means, when he plays host as he so often does because he can’t afford a hangover from hell following most mornings, he can’t see what’s going on in the kitchen if he’s in the living room or vice versa.

He can’t see people sneaking up the stairs, and even though he keeps his room locked at all times following the Cassian Incident™ that included two leggy blondes and the Frozen Four first place trophy—announcing the next afternoon that blondes do, in fact, have more fun—he still doesn’t trust a horde of university students on a high from their win not to do anything stupid.

Speaking of stupid…Cassian slides to a halt beside him. He’s so eager to share whatever the hell with Rhys that he overshoots, slamming his hip into the counter. His friend howls, and much unto Rhys’ surprise, others join in, like it’s some kind of victory cry and not one that says ‘I just bashed my hip in, somebody help me, please.’

Rhysand is in no mood to help.

“What’s up, Cass?” Rhys sighs, frowning when he tips his bottle back to his mouth only to find it empty. He hadn’t realized how much he drank; thought he was nursing it with the way his lip burns.

Cassian’s face contorts from pain back to amused like a flick of a switch and the pain was long forgotten. His nose is permanently crooked from the number of times he’s broken it during fights both on and off the ice, and he’d be missing one of his pearly whites if he hadn’t just gotten it fixed earlier this week. Thankfully, his moustache has been shaved off for tonight, showing off his plump, pink lips. His brunet hair is the longest on the team, just brushing the tops of his massive shoulders, and thankfully. On one side, it’s tucked tightly behind his ear, showing off the gold ring he punched through it on a dare at their first party freshman year.

Cassian’s hazel eyes have a spark in them that 1: Rhys has seen too many times, and 2: never means anything good.

Rhysand narrows his own, breaking that eager contact to scour the kitchen for another beer because goddammit, he’s going to need it with the way his friend is all but shaking with excitement.

“Have you found your nurse yet?” Cassian asks, trailing him around the marble slab counter.

“My what?” Rhysand side-steps a couple making out so hard that they go crashing into the first thing that isn’t each other: the wall. The petite girl with bright blue hair whimpers loudly, and the noise is swallowed up by the guy that’s sticking his tongue straight down her windpipe.

It looks grosser than it seems, Rhys defends when a pang of want slaps him right in the chest.

“Your nurse, dude,” Cassian whines. He slips on a rogue wet patch on the obsidian floor tiles and now Rhysand has another thing to dislike in this house. All he needs is someone cracking their skull open on his kitchen floor or the couple to fall and have his teeth through her lips from the impact. “You know, cause you’re all injured.” He waves flippantly towards Rhysand’s wounds.

“I don’t need a nurse,” Rhys answers, confused. He pulls open the fridge and snags two beers off of the shelf Cassian and two of his other roommates have dedicated it to. He hands one to his friend, who pops the top off with his teeth, and Rhys raises an unimpressed brow. “I didn’t get that hurt.” Plus, he’s already been to see the team trainer for his shiners.

He busies himself with the beer opener that’s stuck to the side of the fridge, then grabs the roll of paper towels from their holder to wipe up the mess Cassian’s leaving footprints with. Well, he unrolls a few and tosses them onto the spill, anyway.

“No, I mean like a lady nurse.” Cassian waggles his brows. “Someone who can kiss you better, maybe even give you a hand—”

And, well, that might just help his mood.

“Hey.” Azriel breezes into the kitchen like he’s still on his skates. He has his own cup in hand, filled with water. Rhys know this because he’s never seen Azriel drink anything other than water and the occasional coffee. He takes his training more seriously than half of the team, which bodes well for Rhys because he always has a gym buddy, but sometimes, he wishes his friend would let loose, even if it meant seeing a girl. Or sleeping with one. “Heads up.”

The warning has Rhys standing straighter, ready to abandon his beer on the counter to play his role as captain and the one in charge of the party. His roommates naturally defer to him in house affairs because they’re used to it, but really, Rhys doesn’t have much more room in his packed schedule for warding off drunk students and stopping fights.

The last thing he needs tonight is to find himself in the middle of a fight.

“Rhys!” A perky blonde squeals, and his shoulders drop for a second only to tense right back up when his cousin throws herself into his arms.

He catches her with an oof, spitting out her wild locks that somehow always end up everywhere. He loves his cousin dearly, like a sister, but why is she here right now?

He doesn’t see you following your roommate into the kitchen, jaw slack like it’s been since you first saw the Hockey House lit up in all of its glory. The place is absolutely massive, it looks like it could rival one of the houses on Greek row.

The kitchen is moody yet warm. The dark tiles match the onyx-stained flat arch you just walked through. The lighter gray marble countertop brightens the room, and the deep blue cabinets paired with the soft lighting paints the room in perfect synchrony.

It’s absolutely stunning.

Neither of you see the other at first. Rhys because he’s still trying to blink Mor’s hair from his eyes and you because you’re entranced by the interior design of the home. There’s no way five boys could possibly live here, let alone five hockey players. It’s a bit of a mess with the party raging around you, yes, but you haven’t seen one hole in the drywall, not one forgotten dish nor a pair of boxers left of the bathroom floor—you checked.

Because you were using the restroom of course, you weren’t looking for that specific reason.

“Hey, Mor,” Rhys greets when she finally detaches herself from him. She doesn’t go far, only stepping back enough to introduce you to him. “What are you doing here?”

Violet eyes clash with yours, drawing your heart to a standstill. He looks just as good as he did when you were sprawled out on his chest: dark hair clean and mussed through, red lips parted as if the words he wants to say are stuck in his throat.

The only thing different about him now is that cut in his lip and the redness to his cheek from his fight on the ice that you bore witness to.

The memory replays in your mind again, awakening tingles in your body that shouldn’t be. And just how you’re praying for them not to, they converge right between your thighs, settling in nice and hot and begging for attention as the sight of him with burning violet eyes as he decks his opposition across the jaw replays.

It really shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, and he himself shouldn’t be as hot as he is, either.

You hold yourself still, focusing eighty percent on your attention on trying to calm your eager bits down and the other twenty percent on making sure you don’t look constipated while doing so.

Rhys blinks at you and you return his blank stare, watching, waiting to see if he recognizes you, too.

Oh, he does.

“We came to see your game tonight,” she says, as if it isn’t obvious from your attire. The attire that Rhys is currently dragging his eyes down, drinking in every inch—all four of them—of the jersey your roommate forced you into tonight. You watch his eyes flare as he reads the number across your chest. His number, you’re just now realizing.

Heat floods your cheeks but you’re unable to bolt like you so desperately want to. Your heart is beating three times as fast in your chest as he slowly, slowly, rakes his gaze up from your legs that are glued to the floor, all the way to your eyes, that are glued to his face.

“This is (Y/N),” Mor announces, gesturing to you with a flourish. When you make no move forward to greet them, her red nails curl around the hem of your jersey and yank.

You stumble forward, and the trance is broken. Unfortunately, so is your face, because you slip in something on the tiles and are plummeting face-first into the ground. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, lips parted to scream or groan, whichever your mind catches up to first—

The impact never comes. Strong hands grip your arms, stopping you from eating tile. You’re too stunned to speak, even when you’re planted back on your feet and staring into the chest you were lying on only this afternoon.

Rhysand Cunningham.

Jesus, you’re really going to have to stop saying his full name like that. It’s creepy.

“Easy now,” Rhys says, making sure you’re steady. You somehow find the courage to look him in the eyes, hastily tamping down the mortification that threatens to consume you.

As soon as your eyes lock, it’s like magic.

There’s no other way to describe whatever is happening between the two of you right now. His light touch is searing, and so are his eyes as he scans your face, making sure you’re not hurt.

Rhys’ abandoned beer sits precariously close to the edge of the counter, and Cassian accidentally knocks it off with his elbow when he dodges a playful swat Mor tosses his way. It goes crashing to the floor, startling you and Rhys from your trance.

You jump, gaze following the noise. Rhys’ hands slip from your body and you shiver at the cold that replaces him, even though it’s stifling in this house with the number of bodies packed into it. You manage one large step back that he doesn’t seem to notice because he’s already snatching the paper towels from where he put them last and barking at passerby to “be fucking careful.”

“I, uh,” you stutter, and holyfuckingshit, he’s leaning over to clean up the mess. You get a full view of that toned ass; despite the jeans he’s wearing. It’s perfect, round like an apple, juicy like one too, you bet. The sudden urge to lean over and sink your teeth into it hits you like a semi— “I need to use the bathroom.”

You scurry away from your roommate and her cousin like it’s your ass that’s just been bitten into.

Rhys grumbles the entire time he cleans up the spilt beer. Cassian tried to help, his chocolate eyes wide and sad, spouting off apologies like he did something much worse than break a fucking bottle, but hissed when he cut his thumb on a sharp edge. Rhys had pushed him away from the scene immediately after that.

He wonders if Cassian is going to bound off into the living room and find himself a nurse of his own, now.

“Hey, where did your friend go?” Rhys asks Mor who’s chewing on a cherry stem. He grimaces, not even knowing where those came from.

“Roommate,” Mor answers pointedly, serving him a harsh look that only confuses the hockey player.

“Okay…where did your roommate go?” He clarifies, eyes sweeping the room for you. Disappointment prickles at his skin just as much as the look his cousin is shooting him. He’d gotten his look at you alright, but he’s suddenly feeling like the single up-down he gave you was not nearly enough.

“To the bathroom,” she answers, rounding the counter, eyeing all of the opened bottles of liquor on top. She must not see anything she likes, because he doesn’t reach for anything. “Why?”

Why? Because you brought her here and I want to be nice? Rhys thinks. I want to get to know her, maybe somewhere private—

“I didn’t really get to introduce myself.” Is what he goes with.

Mor snorts, rolling her eyes because she is not falling for that one. “She’s off limits.”

“Then why did you bring her here?” Rhys blurts, unable to stifle the words before they slip out. Damn beer.

“Because we wanted to see your game,” Mor replies, watching her cousin closely.

If you wanted to see my game, you shouldn’t have warned me against your roommate, he thinks, and then cringes.

“Well, thanks for coming, cuz,” he offers, because there’s no good rhyme or reason to start arguing with her. Especially when both of their parents are just phone calls away.

He’d rather be getting the third degree from Mor than his mother, anyway.

Rhys swiftly changes the subject. “Hope you enjoyed me kicking some ass.”

Mor’s tight face melts into amusement. She laughs, tossing her head back on her shoulders. “Yeah, I really did enjoy that, actually.”

It’s at that exact moment that Rhys catches sight of you again. You’re caught halfway in the archway of the kitchen, presumably on your way back from the bathroom. Your lips are pulled into a smile as you giggle, and he wishes he could hear it over the gods-awful music. Your eyes are bright and he watches you brush a strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks pinkening with a blush that makes him wonder just who’s putting that look on your face.

Rhys takes one step to the left and his entire body begins boiling with heat when he catches sight of one of his players speaking to you.

If she’s off limits to me, then my players are off limits to her.

And that’s exactly what they are, too, players. Mor’s right, he can’t end up letting one of his teammates fuck around with you, not when you’re so close to his cousin. She’d be devastated if you got hurt, and fuck it, he would too. He’d kill one of his guys if they broke your heart.

Rhys doesn’t talk sense into himself as he stalks your way, doesn’t think about the repercussions or his actions when he slides up to your side, all rigid muscles and sharp looks.

“What do we have here?” he asks, drawing you away from the friendly conversation you were having with the handsome hockey player about the types of tapes and casts that can be used when treating different injuries.

It’s James Attor, from your Athletic Training Techniques class. You’d recognized him, but didn’t know he played for the Velaris hockey team. He’s a sophomore like you, and more interested in the injuries part of his sport than the actual scoring.

“Oh, hey, Cap,” James greets, shrinking under the scrutinizing gaze of his team leader. He knows that look, it’s the one Rhys gets before he’s about to lose his mind on the ice. “I was just talking to (Y/N) about—”

“About nothing,” Rhys finishes for him, and you frown. What the hell is his problem?

“James, wait,” you call, but it’s too late, he’s already slipped into the crowd of people dancing in the middle of the living room, and you don’t have supervision to see through them.

Whirling around on your heel, you glare up at Rhys. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Rhys asks, striding back towards the kitchen. You decide that playing stupid doesn’t look good on him. And neither does that split lip.

You can’t believe you wanted to get closer. For a better look at his wounds, of course.

“That!” You exclaim, throwing your arm out and pointing where you were just standing. It serves no purpose because Rhys isn’t facing you, which only stokes your anger further. “I was talking to him!”

“Yeah,” he rounds on his feet so fast you don’t even see it coming and for the second time today, you run smack dab into the middle of his chest.

This time, you don’t tumble into a pile of limbs.

You blink, dumbfounded.

“And I’d prefer it if you don’t,” Rhys finishes, chest tight. He feels on edge at the way your body pressed up against his, like lightning in his veins. He grits his teeth, willing the feeling to go away.

“Yeah,” you scoff, tossing him your best glare. You cross your arms over your chest for effect, but all it does is make that skimpy shirt you’re wearing ride up more, and both Rhys’ eyes and throat catch at the sight of your creamy skin. Your word sounds like a threat when you say, “Unlikely.”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd

[taffywabbit]

"why not just make your own website?"

with the announcement of cohost's death and amidst all the other tumultuous shit currently going on with social media as a concept (i am AMAZED twitter has survived this long given the circumstances), one suggestion that i've been hearing a lot is "we should just go back to the good old days of personal websites. let's all just make neocities pages!!"

(this is gonna be a long one sorry)

and like. idk! it's certainly something i've considered, i think it would be a fun thing to have, but it also feels like the equivalent of "capitalism sucks so let's all just run off into the woods and live in a cabin outside of society" to me. like it would be nice, it would be fun, but it doesn't ultimately solve the actual problems that are present with the modern internet, it just evades them. more importantly in my case and many others, it does not really help people who rely on the modern internet and the connections they're able to make there for their income. sure i can make a website and host my art and blog posts there, but who's going to see it? i can't build a consistent audience and make a living off of random passersby who peek at my website once, say "huh, neat!" and MAYBE add it to an RSS feed or whatever if they really like it. there's minimal potential for meeting and impressing new people outside my existing circles if i don't ALSO still have some manner of social media platform to promote the website on.

a lot of the "solutions" i see people proposing for the slow, painful decline of social media as a user experience keep coming back to old-fashioned, more isolated/insular systems. we miss forums, we miss personal webpages, we miss newsletters, etc etc. but like... those things were ideal in the "old web" because the old web was more about sharing hobbies and interests with whoever happened to pass by and check them out, and even just USING the internet was a niche hobby in and of itself for a lot of people. if you wanna be kinda cynical about it (and not unjustifiably so), web 2.0 is much more blatantly business-oriented, and its algorithms and carefully crafted UX's are primarily meant to funnel you towards viewing ads and spending money on products. looking at it that way, it sure does suck and Everything Was Better Before! but the modern web is ALSO more powerful than anything before it for just like. connecting people. spreading information and news. showing your art/music/writing/thoughts/etc to strangers who never knew you existed an hour ago. putting the tools to reach out to someone and tell them you think they're cool right there on the same website where their art is hosted, just a comment or a message away.

if you're able to avoid patterns of engagement-bait and obsessing over follower counts as a measure of self-worth (a big "if", i realize, but i view it like installing an adblocker - it's just kind of a basic prerequisite for modern internet safety and survival), a lot of these systems can genuinely be really positive and life-changing in ways that were simply not possible 20 years ago! almost all of my current closest friends are people I met through sharing our art on platforms like Twitter who were complete strangers at the time. all of the art clients that regularly pay my bills and support my work came from places like that too! the "social" part of "social media" is really what makes it ultimately worth keeping around in any form, and makes the pursuit of a Good social media platform still valuable.

there's a lot to love about the old web - its aesthetics, simplicity and freedom for personal expression - but every time someone says "just delete your socials and make a personal website" i am forced to confront the fact that i could never do what i currently do or be the person i am on the old web. if i was stuck hanging out in my own little space and only ever interacting with people who openly and loudly share my interests, i couldn't support myself with art full-time, i probably would never have met the kind and quiet strangers who are now my best friends and have made me who i am, and i'd just generally get a lot less insight into the vast range of experiences and perspectives that exist outside of my own. my life would be on a fundamentally different trajectory in countless ways without the advent of web 2.0.

and that's not to say "well twitter and facebook and tumblr all suck but you kinda still have to hand it to them" cuz you don't, obviously. they're corporations, and their job is to take the personalities and thoughts and art of the people who use their products and try to scrunch it all into something uninform and marketable that generates profit and pleases their shareholders. but like, you CAN still make a good thing out of them! these websites are tools just as much as geocities or myspace or IRC used to be. and the one thing these newer tools are pretty much all REALLY good at is discoverability. if you're just a hobbyist at the things you wanna share on the internet, then you likely don't have a lot of use for those tools, and perhaps you WOULD genuinely be happier just keeping a personal blog site or hanging out in private groupchats or sticking to specialized federated Mastodon instances or whatever. it just isn't feasible for me, and there are a LOT of people in my same situation. my entire industry of online freelance artists barely existed 20 years ago, and the web culture of that era is largely incompatible with my continued survival in the mid-2020s. i would LOVE to run off and live in the woods in concept, but all my survival skills are adapted for city living and i would just eat the wrong berry and die out there. i want- i NEED people to try and improve the spaces we're in, and support better forms of social media (like what cohost was trying and largely succeeding to do!) instead of just complaining that it all sucks, everything was better when we were kids, and digging ourselves little holes to hide in. much like all the other problems and frustrations and systemic issues of the world we live in, the modern web isn't going to go away if you just ignore it, so we may as well try to make it better for everyone.

anyways tl;dr i probably WILL make a neocities at some point. it could be fun, even if it doesn't help my career stability or whatever. but i do also need ALL THE SOCIAL PLATFORMS I USE FOR MY JOB TO STOP EXPLODING PRETTY PLEASE, and failing that, some actual half-decent alternatives that aren't going to fizzle out in a month would also be great thanks ✌

[for-a-longlongtime]

Guilty Pleasure (6/7) - dbf!Joel Miller x reader

An open bar and Joel in a tailored black outfit mean trouble at your father's garden party. Enough reason to do something you haven't done before.

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only, mdni 🔞🔥 Series warnings (tba): Age gap (reader is 22, Joel is 43), masturbation (f), use of sex toys, oral sex, PiV, anal, hair pulling, dirty talk, getting caught, playful use of 'daddy', outrageous flirting, groping, reference to m/m, Joel's arms should always come with a warning. No outbreak!AU. Word count: 3.4K A/N: I finished writing the final chapter last night and y'all, I'm giddy as fuck. Big BIG thanks to @milla-frenchy and @reallyrallyauthor for your support and reading Part 6 and 7 early to make sure this hits juuust right!

< part 5 | series masterlist | main masterlist

There are too many people in your backyard. Mingling, chatting, networking, kissing ass - all accompanied by canapés that are too fancy, beer that is so painfully hip and micro-brewed that you don’t even want to try it, and outfits intended to seem semi-casual yet also upstage everybody. You hate these gatherings. It’s far from the first time you’ve had to endure them because of your father’s work, though. Even your grandmother liked reminding you when you were little that your grandfather also hosted affairs like this. “It’s important to build connections.”

You don’t care. All you give a damn about tonight - or maybe these days, if you are honest with yourself - was Joel, dressed like a fucking vision. Well fitting black pants, that you suspect are tailored, an ever better fitting black dress shirt which is absolutely tailored, and matching black boots. His hair, usually curly and messy, now looks so sharp that you wonder if he got a haircut this morning; it’s a little shorter, definitely neater, and brushed back a little.

But what your eyes keep going back to the most are the few buttons on his shirt that are undone, showing off his tanned skin and a smattering of freckles you had barely noticed before. It makes you want to trace every single one with your tongue and find out if he would whine when you'd suck a hickey on his neck.

He’s at the bar, waiting for his drink, so you slide in right next to him and bump against his arm. “Hey. Don’t tell me you’re drinking those craft beers?”

“Jesus. No, of course not.” 

The expression on his face is one of instant disgust, and you can’t help but laugh at the candid response. “Wow, didn’t think there’d be someone else who’d hate them as much as I do.”

Joel grumbles something, then gives the bartender a nod as he takes a glass of whiskey from him. When the guy turns to you to take your order, you point at Joel’s glass. “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

The guy gives you a doubtful look. “Can I see some ID?”

“Yes, you can. It’s called ‘I’m the daughter of the guy who is paying your salary tonight’ and I’m twenty two. Thanks for making that drink now.” You stare at him, daring him to push back against you - you are NOT in the mood for this tonight, especially not in front of Joel. After a few moments, the bartender sighs and shrugs as he turns around, reaching for a glass and some ice. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you, so you turn towards him to give him a similar look. “What? Go ahead. Say it.”

“Say what?”

“That I’m being a brat.”

“Nah.” Joel shakes his head as he sips from his whiskey. “You’d just get off on that. That’s not brattiness - you’re actually being rude,” he says, then wanders off to go talk to someone nearby.

You stare at him with an open mouth, anger starting to creep into you. How the fuck does he dare to just say something like that to you? It hurts, and most of all it gives you a pang of concern that maybe you’ve ruined your chances with him - between this and the way he responded at the pool a few days ago.

“Oh honey, forget about it.” The bartender gives you a look that’s bordering on pity and disdain, his inflection drastically different all of a sudden as he pushes a glass towards you. “That man ain’t into you. Wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole. Why don’t you go find somebody of your own age to play with, hmmm?”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”, you snap at him as you grab the glass and stalk off, his words feeling like claws that have sunk into your skin and won’t let go of you. The burn of the liquor doesn’t help you in the way you’d hoped for, and you find yourself craving something stronger, sweeter. Anything that’ll help you take the edge off.

Anything, in this case, turns out to be 6’3”, blond, looks like a jock and is named… Brady? Brody? Brad. Ben. Blake. Something like that, you can’t remember, but it’s unimportant after having chatted with him for all of ten minutes. What matters is that he’s not a bad kisser, smells fine - not woodsy like Joel unfortunately - and his hands are large as well as eager, pressing you with your back against the solid wood of the pergola. 

If it wouldn’t ruin the mood for him, you probably would’ve laughed at the irony of making out with Blaine - Brandon? Brayden? No. Bruno. Bruce. Barry. Maybe it was Chad after all - right against the pergola that Joel had built over the past couple of days. 

You’d been watching Joel from your bay window, his muscles straining in the sun, while he grunted the way you had memorized from his Instagram videos. And for all of those three days, you’d had several orgasms as you’d watched him. Some of them were thanks to your fingers, others due to toys - varying from the small bullet vibe to the thrusting rabbit vibrator you used for longer sessions. But in the end, all of this had been going on for too long. The flirting, the way you’d feel him look at you regularly, the build up of tension; it had you feral by now, and you just wanted Joel.

You are gonna get him. Soon. Even if it means needing to make him jealous.

“Should we- should we go inside?” Jock guy pauses his kisses, leaning his forehead against yours as he runs his hands down your body, and you can feel him press hot and heavy against your thigh. Fuck, he is hung. “We’ll have some more privacy, and…”

“No, this is fine,” you say quickly, your eyes scanning the crowd of people across the yard. Most of them are unaware of your makeout session, and your glance slides right past them, but suddenly you detect Joel not too far away from where you are. He is staring right at you, gripping his whiskey glass in your hand, and when the guy next to him says something, he only shakes his head, not breaking his glance with you.

“Are you…”

“I said this is fine,” you said sharply to the guy with his hands on your hips. A frown plays over his face, and in a gesture of good will you let your hand brush over the crotch of his pants, tracing the outline of his dick. “Nobody is watching.”

He groans, his lips finding yours again as he pushes himself against your hand. You kiss him back eagerly this time, your arms around him as you turn him just the slightest bit so you can keep your view of Joel. He’s talking to the guy next to him now, a back and forth conversation, but every now and then his eyes slide back to you, and then there’s a nod he gives you that makes you shiver.

Baxter, or Bart, Bobby, or whatever the hell his name is, slips his hand under your skirt, and you moan when his fingertips trace your lacy underwear. You hear how he sucks in air for a second, then his chest almost puffs up in pride at how wet he finds you. Silly guy. He thinks it’s because of him, that his not-too-bad kisses have riled you up so much. Has no damn clue how Joel’s eyes are back on you again.

“Touch me,” you breathe at him, and then hold your breath when he does so. Thick fingers - though not as thick as Joel’s - slipping under the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side while your eyes remain locked on Joel. You’re trying to merge the touches with your fantasies and the visual of Joel right in front of you, conjuring up his voice. You think of the way he’d tease you with slow, playful strokes over your pussy, each time a little more focused on your clit, making you delirious with need before he’d even consider sliding a finger into your soaked cunt.

But reality seems more than unwilling to blend with your fantasies. While initially the guy seemed to smell fine, you’re now noticing the overwhelming amount of generic fuck boy cologne he’s wearing, the scent unsettling and clearly something Joel would never even wear. He doesn’t smell like a hard day’s work on Joel does and his hands are too smooth, too well taken care of. No roughness from manual labor whatsoever, no finesse to tease you, and definitely not much muscle memory on how to properly get a woman going. 

Instead he’s just clumsy, perhaps because all the blood has rushed to his cock that’s pressing insistently against you. Substitute-Joel’s fingers slide over your folds only one disappointing time, clearly not even attempting to find your clit. He fumbles around as his own breathing grows heavy, then suddenly tries to push two fingers inside of you - without any further prep or even checking if that’s okay with you. 

It abruptly ruins the horny spell you’d been under several minutes ago, and you swear as you grab his hand to stop him, your pussy strongly objecting to his fingers trying to invade you. 

“Hey! Fucking hell,” you hiss, pulling his hand out of your underwear before he can go any further. “You always fingerbang girls without properly prepping them?”

“What? You’re practically dripping on me,” he hisses back as he looks confused. But you’re not about to end up in a discussion about how being wet doesn’t mean he can just shove his fingers inside of you - let alone without any warning.

“Never mind,” you say as you push him away from you, then straighten your clothes as you move away from the pergola. “Let’s just forget this happened, okay? I’ve gotta go say hi to someone.”

“Bitch,” he mutters at you, adjusting his tie and the collar of his shirt. On most days you would’ve gladly torn him a new asshole for that, but you’re just not in the mood to further engage with him. So you start to head into Joel’s direction, but then see that he seems to have moved elsewhere, leaving you to look around in confusion.

You look up when you hear a group of men laugh, and see your father shake some hands as he offers his audience a few more words. Joel is there too, you realize, still with a drink in his hand. Your father gives him a friendly pat on his arm, which is returned with Joel’s signature nod, as he then heads over to some other people who look more than eager to greet him. It makes your skin crawl to see him acting like some kind of politician, eager to make a good impression on everyone, and you quickly turn away from him to look back at Joel - who is now looking straight at you again, without saying anything.

It’s not until you’re back at the bar for another whiskey - you’ve lost track of how many you’ve had - that he shows up next to you, giving you a gentle nudge like you had done to him earlier. “D’you eat anything recently?”, he asks, absentmindedly playing with a coaster on the bar. You can smell the smokey alcohol on his breath, see that the buttons on his shirt are just a little more opened than they were a little while ago, and it just makes you ache for him.

“Shut up, Joel,” you mutter, but he doesn’t follow your suggestion - instead he picks up the whiskey that the bartender slides over to you and takes a sip of it.

“A water for her, please?”, he asks, then covers the liquor glass with his hand when you try to reach for it. “No. You’re done.”

You’re starting to seethe at this point. “Who the fuck you think you are telling me how much I can drink?,” you snap at him. His eyes are infuriatingly calm, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips makes it clear he’s a lot more amused than you are.

“Easy, darling. Just looking out for you, okay?” He pushes the glass of ice water on the counter over to you, but you have half a mind to throw it at him.

“Why are you bothering me?”

His eyebrows raise at the word ‘bothering’, but he doesn’t quite respond to it. “Just have some water and food,” he says softly. “You’ll feel like shit if you don’t.” 

“You’re drunk too.”

Joel rolls his eyes at you. “Yeah, well… have to get through this all somehow, don’t I? Been drinking water too, though.” He gives you a look as he takes another sip of whiskey, sighing.

“I don’t get why you’re here.” Your head is spinning a little, but at this point you’re not sure if it’s the booze or proximity to Joel that’s getting to you. The memory of that jock guy’s cologne is far from your mind by now, replaced now by that smell that you crave - the cologne you would recognize anywhere, layered with Joel’s own scent. And it’s driving you mad. “Nobody is making you, unlike they’re doing with me.” 

A smile plays over Joel’s face and he shrugs. “Your mom asked me.”

You can’t help but laugh. “My— what? And that’s why you’re voluntarily subjecting yourself to all of this?” You gesture around the yard, the groups of stuffy people, pretentious bite sized food and music that makes you desperately want to connect your phone to the speaker system. “I’ve been to so many of these. It’s awful, every single time.”

You’re waiting for him to tell you it’s not that bad, or even that you should suck it up. But instead he simply doesn’t respond, and only gives you a raised eyebrow as he has some more whiskey. When he puts the glass down on the bar, you impulsively swipe it and drain it before he can interfere, waiting for an actual retort this time. 

A frown slides onto his face and you grin almost triumphantly at the reaction, pushing the empty glass back towards him, only ice cubes remaining in it now. “I think you like dramatic,” you then blurt out, and see how he blushes slightly, the red flush creeping up from his chest to his neck.

“That what you think?” His eyes flick over you, and you nod, poking him in the chest with your finger. 

“Yeah. You’re… practical. Proper. Maybe kinda boring. You got your routine.” You really should stop talking with all that liquor in your system, but you refuse to admit he was right about you needing to sober up. “Maybe getting close to a midlife crisis? Working your job and then all the reno on your house. Don’t see you chill a whole lot.” 

You run your finger a little down his chest, then place your full hand against his shirt as you lean over to his ear. “I think you want some fun,” you whisper in his ear, barely audible due to the music playing at the party. “Somebody who shakes things up. Brings a little drama and excitement.”

Joel’s eyes are slightly unfocused from the whiskey, just like yours probably are, and you can tell that his guard is down in ways that you haven’t experienced before. “Old, huh? Boring, old, and close to a midlife crisis,” he says after a moment, a smirk on his face as he shakes his head. “But you would shake things up? Why would you bother with an old man?”

“Maybe I’m into that.” You bite your lip as you hesitate for a moment. “The whole DILF thing. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you watching me.”

His smirk widens into an actual grin now as he laughs, looking away at some commotion or a gathering that’s happening at the party. When he looks back at you, his eyes are darker than usual, and you can’t help but feel a shiver run down your spine.

“Little girl. You are in over your head.” His words are measured and quiet as he seems to pick them carefully, his hand now reaching for yours that’s still resting against his chest, and he gently pulls it off his shirt. “ Y’don’t even have a clue of what you’re playing with, darling. What are you gonna do? Rock my world? At your father’s party?”

“I don’t give a shit about his party,” you say sharply, but he shakes his head, interrupting you.

“But that’s the thing. You do,” he murmurs. “Y’couldn’t be more thrilled than to do so here, just to make a scene. Like you did with that guy.”

You feel victorious hearing him confirm that he had been watching you, and together with his ‘little girl’ comment it’s enough to make you soak your panties on the spot. “Were you jealous?”, you ask him challengingly.

He chuckles again, this time getting up from the barstool, and you take in his physique, admiring the way those tailored pants fit around his thighs. “Have some more water. And food,” he tells you, and in the split second you have before he turns away, you make up your mind. Perhaps it’s more like instinct, to do what you’ve been stopping yourself from doing for a while now. 

You grope him. 

Fingers quick as you cup him through his pants, closing around his balls and a part of his dick. It takes effort to bite back a whimper at finally feeling him, thick and hot and heavy in your hand, after all those weeks that you’ve been here and tried to figure out what the right move was. You hold his eyes defiantly, lips parted as you’d like to use your words but they all seem stuck in your throat.

His surprised intake of air when you grab him is immediate, and he looks frazzled as he shakes his head, tugging your hand abruptly away from his cock. “You out of your damn mind?”, he hisses, looking more than just a little flustered. “In front of everyfuckingbody?”

“So come insi—” The words die on your tongue when you suddenly see your mom approaching from a couple of feet behind Joel, unaware of what’s happening between the two of you, but apparently in search of you as she calls your name. Joel and you immediately step away from each other, him leaning against the bar as he seems to need a moment to compose himself. You have even less time to plaster a smile on your face for your mother, so you just nod enthusiastically as she rambles at you about some person’s son you should come meet. Your heart feels like it’s hammering out of your chest as you force yourself to tell her that you’d love to meet them, bringing a smile to your mom’s face.

Just as you’re about to join her to meet this person, your mom pauses at the bar and puts her hand on Joel’s shoulder. “By the way, he said that he could use your help with moving that thing, if you have time? Think he’s inside, couldn’t find you,” she said, and Joel nods while humming something affirmatively. His eyes flit to you for a split second before he looks down at the bar again, and he seems to wait until the two of you have moved away until he goes inside.    

You’re in a mild daze as you follow your mom through the crowd, performing the role you’re expected to play, while the moment that you grabbed Joel plays on repeat in your head. The gasp that spilled from his lips, the way he didn’t say “no” - just “in front of everybody?”, which was an entirely different thing, and frankly… he wasn’t wrong.

You can wait. Just that little bit longer. It’ll be so worth it.

Joel's outfit at the party (as a dress shirt and pants instead of a jumpsuit):

series masterlist | main masterlist

Thank you for reading, commenting or reblogging - I appreciate it so very much 🙏

🚨 Follow @longlongtime-updates + turn on notifs to see when the finale drops later this week!