#and very much enjoying him let loose in this moment

[virtueofsanityx]

"oh, i love being degraded, when there's a nice heavy cock in one of my holes, but any other time? absolutely the fuck not. no self respecting brat sub lets a man collar him without a little mouth about it." perhaps it's time to stop drinking, as ross is certainly tiptoeing into that dangerous slutty drunk territory he'd previously mentioned, and he knows that it's playing with fire to just openly admit something as lewd and personal as his preferences, but the conversaion flows so easily, and he doesn't feel embarrassed to admit any of this, surprising as that is to realize.

instead, he continues snagging bites of food between chatter, enjoying the warmth the alcohol is providing, and experiencing something like real joy at the feeling of making a connection with someone. maybe maksim isn't his friend, but it feels like he has a real one after so many years slogging through with half-friendships and acquaintences, never really feeling this comfortable with any of them.

maybe he's getting too ahead of himself. maybe he needs to just slow down on idealistic dreams about friendship or anything else.

an eyebrow lifts, and for a moment, ross considers pulling out his extensive toy collection to make a very pointed point about just how much he enjoys a big cock overstretching him, but even in his fuzzy state, that feels like maybe a step too far. instead, she shakes his head a little. "big wasn't the issue, thank you very much. i can take big, i have toys in there to prove it." bringing them up without showing them off, still maybe too far. but his loose tongue slips and he laughs it off. "the problem is big cocks with no power behind them. if you're gonna drive me into the mattress, i expect not to be able to walk the next morning. need one of those little donut pillows, you know?"

shrugging, ross reaches in to snatch some more of the nachos before maksim can inhale the entire plate, smirk on his face still playful as he rolls his eyes. "william golding is an author. he wrote lord of the flies, it's what the kids are reading in class right now." his hand gestures vaguely toward the folder still stuffed with papers he needs to grade. "and training is what the toybox is for."

the offer of a bet is an interesting one, and while ross knows that he should probably say no and discourage any kind of little games, perhaps the alcohol is making him a little more bold and playful about the whole thing. he nods, then nods again as if affirming the first nod. "alright, a bet it is. if your blind date is garbage, we'll go out to the club and i'll help you find the perfect bottom. and maybe i'll find the perfect top, too. it'll be a smashing success for the both of us. i'll even wear the stupid see-through top."

Ross is getting all shifty and silly from feeling the vodka. Recognizing as much pulls a deliciously devious grin across Maksim’s face, though he doesn’t call him out on it. That’s what the vodka was for, to grease the wheels of this conversation and keep things rolling smoothly. Not that their conversations were ever awkward or terribly strained... they had a knack for swinging wildly from laid-back teasing to absolute batshit behavior without missing a beat. Nonetheless, after that last phone call? Maksim had been a bit nervous about how to approach Ross. He’d already been branded a dangerous fuck up, and that much he could live with. Dangerous was part of the package, especially when you stacked him up against anyone Ross had ever known. But being an emotional fuck up? That was a different beast entirely, and while Maksim could more than handle the 'dangerous' label as it immediately formed boundaries, kept things in check, letting his more tender emotions trickle in? Was opening a door of way too much risk, of closeness no one outside his kind, or even his pack, had ever truly earned. It sounds snobbish as hell, and it was, but to Maksim, it was all about loyalty. Trusting Ross above those he held dear, or even so much as putting them on equal playing field? Would make him a disgrace of an Alpha. But, well, it wasn’t likely to become a problem anytime soon, now was it?

Luckily? ...The conversation takes a raunchy turn and stays there, and Maksim doesn't seem to really mind. He’s a damn apex predator, with probably the highest sex drive of them all. Of course his mind’s filthy as hell, and he’s experienced more than his share of equally lewd and enticing gossip. What’s starting to grate on him, though, is the way Ross keeps painting certain images in his head. For instance, there’s no reason he should be abruptly thinking about how pretty Ross’s ass might look while riding dick. None. But that isn’t about mutual attraction. No, it’s just the way Maksim’s mind and body are wired------- always ready to take a comment or stray detail and run wild with it. He reminds himself that Ross isn’t trying to provoke him, not like that. And even if he were, Maksim knows better than to go there with someone he could end up accidentally killing, after he swore protection.

"You? Into being degraded? With that fucking mouth?" Maksim snickers, his voice dripping with disbelief. There’s no way he’d let any man talk down to him, even in bed. Right? Right. (And surely Ross wouldn’t be crazy enough to take Maksim’s various threats to rip his throat out as some kind of fun, right? He’s not that insane.) But the next short story gives him some time to deliberate, humming lowly from the bottom of his chest and finally wiping off his mouth with a napkin. "Well, not every man has that 'Alpha Dom' thing in him, or whatever you call it. But, speaking from experience, it could've just been a bad match. I've known bottoms who get off on being overstretched more than anything----- and then there are the others, like yourself, who probably need something more average sized or smaller, that can hit the right spots." Maksim's smirk widens, taking on a comically evil edge as he imagines Ross struggling with anything bigger. And that's----- well, fucking funny, but also somewhat disappointing for an Alpha with a big cock and knot. But, you know what? He doesn't need to be bringing any of that up. No point in teasing Ross about their hypothetical sexual incompatibility------ it's obvious enough, after all. "...I do see your point, though. Just because it's big doesn't mean you sling it around without knowing who you're dealing with. But, yeah, pace yourself, little one."

He starts going for the nachos, easily clearing half the box of them within moments. Big wolf, big appetite, you know how it is. Doesn't look like Ross can keep up anyway (poor thing already getting too tipsy,) so he might as well put most of it away himself. "What's a William Golding?" Whatever. "Oh, yeah? You'd train them? I mean, I know how I would do it, but this I gotta hear. From the perspective of a bottom who probably only handles below average dick at best." Something dark flashes in Maksim's eye, and finally, he wipes his fingers clean, then folds his broad, beefy arms on the counter, locking eyes with the swaying fool in front of him. "...Fine, let's make a bet. I'll go on the stupid blind date, but if it fucking sucks? You have to introduce me to someone else instead. At the club." It's not just a ploy to get his boring ass out and slutty-drunk... but if that does happen? Well, Maksim's fully prepared to laugh it up, snap a few pictures, and keep them as blackmail material he’ll gleefully hold over Ross for the rest of his life.

[ehghtyseven]

he's a hand talker

[selfcarecap]

✧ Manipulative best friend!Logan with a corruption kink

warnings: smut 18+, this is not a dark fic, Logan isn’t truly manipulative but we have a very naive/innocent/inexperienced reader; first time masturbation, JOI, handjob, fingering (in front of a mirror), first kiss, pet names (bub, baby, my girl, good girl), Logan doesn’t always fully ask for consent but if he did reader would want it, so those are the type of vibes, Logan takes advantage of the situation but reader is into him too, it’s implied that reader is a mutant too but powers are not specified, mentions of alcohol, reader wears Logan’s (big) shirt, Logan is a bit gross 

This kind of got out of hand lmaoo it was just supposed to just be a short concept but I ended up writing 5.5k words lolll. It’s not a fully fleshed out fic (it’s in full sentences etc but still just kind of loosely written scenes) but I thought I’d still share <33 (gorgeous divider by @anitalenia <3)

Logan knows he wants you from the moment he meets you. He knows he needs you the second you come to the mansion and join the school. But you’re so shy and nervous that he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, so he tells himself he’ll wait for a bit and let you get used to your new life here first. 

What he isn’t expecting is that you become really good friends in the meantime. Yes, he still wants to fuck you but he also genuinely enjoys your company and cares about you. Logan has a big, fat crush on you and there’s not really anything he won’t do in order to be closer to you.

But the problem is that you’re so innocent and he can’t tell if it’s an act, if you just don’t like talking about sex in front of other people, or if you’re really like this. 

He hears you talking to Storm and Jean one night and Storm is trying to convince you to get a vibrator and you’re asking “what would I need that for? I don’t… y’know”. Storm says “you don’t what? Masturbate?”.

Logan knows exactly what shy expression you’re making even though he can’t see you, and you’re all like “oh my god, don’t say it that loud”. And he knows your pretty face must be getting all hot with embarrassment and the thought alone turns Logan on to no end. It’s quiet for a bit and Logan gathers that Jean reads your mind, and she confirms to Storm that you’re not lying.  

Logan can only hear the conversation because he’s in the kitchen and you’re all in the room next to it, but some students come in so he can’t keep eavesdropping, as much as he wants to. And he knows there’s no way you’re continuing the conversation if he’s in the room, so he has to give up for the night. He tries to ask Storm the next day about what you said and she just calls him a pervert and says to ask you himself if he wants to know so badly. 

But that’s kind of the thing. He’s become your best friend over the last few months, but there are still some things you’d never tell him just because he’s a guy, even if you don’t see him as more than a friend. Yet.

And Logan only gets more desperate when you’re drunk one evening after a girl’s night and you’re knocking at his door. It’s really late but Logan lets you in of course. You’re crying a bit and he makes you sit in his bed and takes off your shoes and slides off your jacket while you hiccup something unintelligible. 

He sits down with you and you can barely focus on what you’re saying, and then you get up mumbling about your uncomfortable tights and your skirt and suddenly you’re in front of him in just a top and panties. Logan has to gulp down a moan as he stares at the flesh of your thighs and the rolls on your belly and all he can think about is devouring you whole – until he hears you mention the conversation with Storm and Jean from the other day, “wait, what was that?”

You pout, “Well I was talking to them and turns out apparently I’m the only woman in the world that doesn’t masturbate and– and Jean went home to Scott, and Storm went home with someone she met at the bar and I’ve never even done anything with a guy, not even with myself. I just feel left behind.”

And Logan tells you something about how you’re just a late bloomer and there’s still time, because that’s what he thinks you want to hear, but you tell him it’s condescending. You don’t want to be a late bloomer, you just want to have sex. And oh– Logan can help you with that.

He has to do his absolute best to keep calm and not mount you immediately, but you’re drunk so that’s what’s stopping him. He might manipulate you a little to get what he wants but he’s not that bad. He asks “you don’t like touching yourself?” And you just shrug and say “dunno”. 

“You never feel an ache between your legs?” Logan asks, keeping so calm it’s painful. And he can practically feel the heat melting off your face at the question as your eyes dart around the room, “I don’t know, sometimes”.

 “And you don’t touch yourself?”

You shrug again, looking everywhere but at Logan, “I never really know what people mean when they say that. I, like, touch myself and it feels nice but that’s it.” 

Logan smiles, “how long do you touch yourself for?” 

“I don’t know, a few seconds.”

And he chuckles and says “it’s normal that you don’t get anywhere in a few seconds, bub.” 

“Oh. I didn’t know that,” you manage to meet his eyes briefly but look away again as you sit on your hands shyly.

“You ever watched porn?” Logan asks and your eyes go wide as if he’s just committed the worst sin known to womankind in front of you and you hug your legs and say “noo, I would never. I’m not, like, a pervert.”

Logan laughs, “Porn isn’t just for perverts. There’s more to it than choking and bondage, there’s tame stuff.” You just say “well I’ve never watched any.” 

“Maybe you should.”

“Maybe, I don’t know.” 

He can tell you’re getting a bit ashamed and while he would love to train that shame out of you when it comes to sex, now isn’t the time when you’re drunk in his bed at 2AM. 

“You wanna go to sleep?” He asks, failing to resist giving a small squeeze to your knee. Your eyes fly to his hand there, gaze lingering on his fingers even as he pulls them away. You nod after a few moments, and Logan reaches out to wipe away the remnants of your tears and says “you wanna sleep in my bed? We could cuddle”. 

You grin like a child who’s just tried ice cream for the first time at his suggestion and he gives you a bigger shirt of his so you don’t have to sleep in that small, tight top you’re wearing. You pull off your top without warning and then he’s looking at you in just your underwear and he feels like he’s died and ascended to heaven even though he’s probably more likely to go to hell with the thoughts he’s having about you right now. 

You cast a shy glance over your shoulder as you undo your bra and Logan wills himself to shut his eyes, putting his hand over them because he knows otherwise he’d look.

He only wants to fuck you more when he sees you in his shirt though, and he’ll definitely have to go to the bathroom to jerk off once you’ve fallen asleep. Except that you snuggle against his side so cutely, head resting on his shoulder with a leg thrown over his. 

You’re fast asleep before he can even say good night and when he moves to get up you move closer, and now he’s got your plush tits pressed up against his side and your arm over his waist. A tent has formed in his pants and he feels pathetic that he’s measuring the distance between your elbow and his crotch, silently willing you to move just a few inches. 

He’s so horny that he’d feel no moral qualms at jerking off right next to you. He’d cum so quickly with you pressed to his side, but he wouldn’t know how to explain it if you woke up. He doesn’t want to scare you away. So he pulls away to get up, and you wake up and whine when he stands up, telling you he just has to pee to which you grumble, and you grab his pillow to cuddle with instead. 

He jerks off shamelessly, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. His spit slicked-palm is starting to get loud as he strokes his cock to thoughts of you, but he doesn’t care if you hear. You probably wouldn’t know what he’s doing anyway with how innocent you are. 

He doesn’t even have to fantasise about any sexual scenario with you. Thinking about the pretty smile you have whenever you look at him is enough to have his fists drenched in his cum as he jerks himself off with both hands to stroke his entire length. 

He can’t hold back the small moan that spills over his lips when he cums, torn between hoping you heard and hoping you didn’t. Logan washes his hands and rejoins you in bed. 

He takes a moment before he slips under the covers, taking in the sight of you in his bed, imagining you’re his and that it’s the norm for you to sleep together rather than an exception. You stir as the mattress dips with his weight, swapping the pillow of his that was clutched between your arms for his bicep that you hold onto instead. You’re way too gone to have heard any of what he just did, and for a moment he feels dirty for thinking about you the way that he does. 

It doesn’t last long, of course, as he dreams of you most nights. He can’t feel bad about it though – he’ll take any dream over one of his nightmares (that he hasn’t had since he met you). And if he’s honest it turns him on how innocent and unsuspecting you are of what goes on in his head when he thinks of you. 

-

You wake up still wrapped around his body the next morning. You have a headache and Logan brings you something to soothe it, offering to massage your stiff neck too. You sigh in bliss as soon as Logan’s hands are on you, and he reminds himself that you must be touch-starved. You’ve never touched yourself, let alone felt the touch of another person that went beyond platonic or familial affection. 

He revels in the sounds he pulls from you with ease with the most basic massaging technique there is. He never wants to leave. He started off hovering over the back of your thighs, but he’s been making his way forwards and now his crotch is nestled right against the soft swell of your ass. You either don’t notice that he’s slowly moved or you don’t realise what exactly is pressing into your backside. 

It’s obvious that you’re enjoying his hands on the back of your neck and the top of your shoulders; he doubts there’s anything that could distract you from it. Except if he got hard maybe, but he’s got more self control since he jerked off in the bathroom again after waking up with morning wood and with you by his side, just before he brought you some painkillers. 

“You’re so good with your hands, Logan,” you tell him, voice all raspy, and he smirks at the innuendo you don’t realise you’re making. 

“It’s what my girl deserves,” he says, pulling a smile and a hum from your lips. 

“I’m your girl?” you ask shyly, eyes still closed as his knuckles drag over your skin. 

“O’course you are, bub.” He’s not sure in what way you interpret the pet name but he can tell you like it, hearing how your heartbeat speeds up just that little bit. You like being his, and he likes that. 

-

It’s during a particularly horny evening that Logan comes to your room. He’s jerked off twice today to pictures of you — pictures he’s snuck over the time he’s known you, you smiling as you laugh at a tv show, stretching on the sofa not realising that he’s got his phone out, or that one photo of you smiling all shyly on the day you first met him and he showed you around the mansion. Jean asked to take a picture to commemorate the day you joined them, and he remembers the way he slid his arm around the back of your waist and you placed your hand shyly on his back, smiling all adorably. 

He’s got a picture of you in a bikini from that one time you two went swimming but he keeps that for special occasions. Today was one of those special occasions, and he came all over his phone screen, cursing when he had to clean it afterwards; he even had to get the phone case off and all. 

But you still won’t leave his head for even just a second, so he decides it’s time for the next step. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you with anything, but he also just really wants you. Can’t help it. He’s a selfish man but any man would be if he knew you the way Logan did. He knocks at your door. “Yeah?” you call out. 

You grin when he steps in and closes the door behind himself. You stretch out your arms for a hug to greet him, even though you only saw him a few hours ago. He joins you where you’re sitting on your bed with your laptop. Logan turns the screen towards him, hoping to find something naughty but he should have known better. It’s just some video essay on a topic he’s never even heard of. He shuts the laptop. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” you tell him, genuinely focussed, “If I’m your girl then what are you to me? My boy sounds weird, and my man.. I don’t know.”

He almost forgot that he called you his girl to your face, and he smirks when he imagines you thinking about it these past few days. He lies down on his side, invading your space, almost touching you with how close he is next to you.

 “I can be anything you like, bub.” 

You shrug shyly, “Maybe you’re just my Logan.” 

He’s surprised at how much that turns him on. You being his, that’s one thing. But him being yours? Those two things go hand-in-hand, of course, but he thought you were still a long way off from liking him as much as he likes you. 

It encourages him to ask you what he’s been thinking about for days. He says it casually. “So, had any success touching yourself?” He uses that tame expression so that you’re less embarrassed.

Still, your eyes widen slightly and you immediately start playing with the hem of your oversized t-shirt. “What do you mean?” 

“You know what I mean,” he smirks, “Don’t gotta be embarrassed around me. We’ve been over this.” Although, for a second he wonders if you even remember the conversation. You were drunk after all, and he considers feeling bad, but then you smile. 

“I know, but… I haven’t tried it since. I’ve thought about it but I still don’t know what to do.” He’s got you right where he wants. 

“Y’know, I don’t mind showing you. You deserve to feel good.” 

You look away, “What would you even show me? And how? Guys are different down there.” Oh, you’re so innocent. He’s having so much fun. 

“I could touch you.” He watches you experience a multitude of emotions as you think about it. Shame, intrigue, resolve. 

“Wouldn’t that be weird for you?” 

“Not at all, don’t worry about me.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure, bub.” 

You look around you, putting your laptop and your phone on your nightstand, “What do I do?” you ask, playing with the blanket. 

“I’ll just touch you a bit, okay? Just get you used to the feeling,” he tells you, both of you sitting up and he pulls your legs around his waist, gently touching all over your inner thighs, squeezing the flesh.

You’re already arching your back, scooting closer to him, and he lifts your shirt up over your hip and sees the wet spot on your panties. He’s not sure if you notice how hard he is under his sweatpants but no one could blame him for that. You’re getting so worked up and he hasn’t even touched you anywhere near your pussy, you’re breathing so heavily and your heart is beating so fast.

“Y’want a kiss, bub?” Logan asks you all sweetly, and you lean in as soon as the words leave his mouth. Your lips on his are messy but eager, and Logan loves that he can feel that it’s your first kiss. You don’t know what you’re doing but you need it – need him. 

But he has to stop at some point because it’s getting harder to not fuck you, so he gently pulls away, and you grin shyly when the kiss is over. Logan leans in one more time for a quick kiss. He pushes you backwards a bit and looks between your spread thighs. You’re so wet. You’re squirming under his gaze.

“Can I take these off?” he asks, tugging at the waistband of your panties and your breathing gets shaky when his finger grazes your belly. You bite your lip and nod.

“Good girl,” he says, pulling your underwear down your thighs with one hand, eyes glued to your pussy. You’re so wet and sticky already, and your pussy looks even better than anything he’s imagined – and he’s imagined it a lot.

He wants nothing more than to fuck you, or eat you out at least, but he’s supposed to be showing you how to masturbate, so he lies down next to you.

“So, if you were alone, you might touch yourself like this.” He takes his hand between your thighs, softly touching your clit. You’re leaning into him, head against his shoulder as you watch his big hand between your thighs. It looks so right there. You look to your side and gaze up at Logan, and you can’t help but just kiss him again.

And while you’re kissing, Logan puts his palm on your pussy and starts rubbing you a bit rougher, and you become too distracted to keep kissing him.

“You like when I play with your clit?” he teases you and you nod, hiding your face in his neck. Logan moves down to fuck one of his fingers into you, then two, and you’re whimpering against his warm skin. With his palm still rubbing against your clit, you have your first ever orgasm with Logan and you hold onto him as the pleasure flows through your body.

He keeps going until you put your hand around his wrist to stop him and you shyly smile up at him. “Was that good, bub?” 

You answer with a weak “yeah”, your voice hoarse but you’re smiling and your skin is glowing. Logan pulls his hand away and shows you how your arousal sticks to his fingers, and your eyes search his because you’re not sure if this is a good or bad thing.

Your mouth opens when Logan takes his fingers into his mouth and sucks your taste off them. “Taste so fucking good, baby. You wanna taste yourself?” And he waits patiently until you’ve made your mind up but you nod and let him put one of his fingers into your warm, wet mouth. You suck on it for much longer than necessary and Logan tries to save the image in his brain for later.

He holds you for a bit as you comprehend that you’ve just had an orgasm for the first time in your life. You shyly thank him before he leaves and he makes you promise that you’ll try it again by yourself soon. That was the whole point of this, after all – nothing to do with Logan or anything.

-

Logan thought he’d be satisfied for a bit, but all it’s done is make him even needier for you. You’re so oblivious to all his flirting, and he’s sure you genuinely thought he just wanted to show you how to masturbate the other day. 

Of course, he could just ask you out, but it’s more fun this way. He likes watching you figure stuff out. He wonders how long it’ll take you to realise that he actually likes you, that teaching you how to jerk off maybe wasn’t only in your best interest but in his too.

He’s a bit pathetic when it comes to you at this point, though. As much as he’s teasing you, it’s also teasing him. It’s a bit of a low point, but he pretends to be in a bad mood to get your attention.

You come to his room in the late afternoon when you haven’t seen him all day, and you’re so kind and so caring and immediately worried when you see him sprawled in bed in his pyjamas that consist of grey sweatpants and a white shirt.

“You okay? What happened?” you close the door and sit on his bed immediately.

Logan fake sighs, suppressing a smile as he pouts exaggeratedly. “Nothing, bub. Don’t you worry about me.” He squeezes your knee to reassure you, and he watches you perk up at his touch.

“You know you can always talk to me,” you smile kindly, and he wants to kiss you so badly. He doesn’t usually talk about emotions and feelings all that much, but you’re always trying to get him to open up because it’s good for him, so he knows he’s got you with this.

“I’m just feeling a bit down today. That’s all. Don’t wanna bother you with my problems.”

“You’re not bothering me. I’m always here for you.”

He watches you gnawing on your lip as you think about what to say next, and Logan waits curiously. “Have you uh, jerked off today? I think an orgasm would cheer anyone up, if it feels as good as you made me feel the other day.”

And Logan’s all like “I’ve tried but it’s been so long since a woman touched me, and my own hand just isn’t doing it for me anymore.”

He gets hard immediately when you perk up, smiling with your sweet expression and saying, “I could help you! I hate seeing you so sad”.

And Logan pretends, saying “no, bub, I’d never ask that of you,” but you sit up on your knees and say “I really wouldn’t mind! And I owe you for last time anyway.”

“If you’re really sure?” 

You nod sweetly and brush your hair out of your face and ask, “where do you want me?”

And even just you asking that is something that will stay in his mind for a long time. He feels like you’d do anything he asked of you right now and it’s already driving him crazy. He says “just next to me here, bub. Yeah there is fine”. 

You lean in to kiss him and he only pulls away out of surprise, and you’re blinking back at him with wide eyes, apologising, “It’s just cause you kissed me last time, I thought— I thought it’s part of–”

“Yeah, baby, it is. Just didn’t know if you wanted to kiss me again.”

You give him a cheeky smile and nod, “of course I wanna kiss you. You’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you”. 

Logan grins and bites his lip and says “me too, bub”, and leans in and kisses you again, basically attacking you with his mouth. He can tell it’s getting a little much for you with the way he’s eating you alive so he stops himself and asks “was that too much?” 

You shake your head, “just don’t know how to kiss like that yet.” And he likes that. Yet. Maybe he can sneak in some kissing lessons at some point, just to show you how it’s done of course, no other reason. 

You look down at his lap then and it’s obvious how hard he is. “Y’wanna you touch it like this first?” he asks you, grabbing himself over his sweatpants, the outline becoming clearer.

And you nod so eagerly, but get a bit shy when you’re touching his cock, one of your knees pulled up to your chest as you palm him over his sweatpants. “It’s so big,” you marvel, oblivious to how much this is affecting Logan.

“You wanna see?”

You tell him yes and he pulls the waistband down, and you lean closer when he wraps a hand around his cock, stroking himself just a few times to relieve the pressure. 

You bring a finger to his mouth like he did for you the other day, and he chuckles, “that won’t be enough, bub”. Your cheeks burn when you say “oh”.

“Here,” he moves your hand so your open palm is facing him and he spits into it.

“Now do this,” Logan tells you, taking your hand and wrapping it around his cock, guiding you up and down with your spit-slicked palm. You watch in awe as you jerk him off, his hand never leaving the back of yours.

He could cum immediately like this, but he tries to savour the feeling a bit longer.

“Does it feel good?” you ask him.

“Yeah, doing so well, bub. Think you can do it by yourself?”

You shake your head with a smile. Yes, you could do it by yourself, but you like the feeling of him guiding you, setting the pace and intensity. He grins and continues, squeezing your hand tighter so that your grip on his cock tightens too.

Logan lets you jerk him off a bit longer before he gives in. He’s proud of you for not pulling away in surprise when he cums, coating your hand and his in his cum as ropes of white shoot over your skin and onto his shirt. He lets go of your hand to pull off his shirt and watches you examine your hand full of Logan’s cum.

“Can I taste it?” you ask in a quiet voice, and Logan just about gets hard again.

“Yeah,” he tells you, but pushes his own fingers into your mouth. Your lips wrap around his two fingers and suck the cum off, and Logan can’t help but push them further into your mouth, making you giggle. You pull his hand away after a bit, only to lick your own fingers. He uses the clean part of his shirt to dry your hand off after, and you lie down to cuddle him.

“Do you feel better?”

Logan chuckles, “Yeah, bub, I feel better. Thanks.”

“Good,” you grin, proud of yourself. Logan’s proud of you too.

-

It’s still the same day when you come to his room the next time. You left after a bit to go to sleep, but now there are knocks on Logan’s door that he recognises as yours before you say anything.

You enter his room in your pyjamas – a big shirt – and some fluffy socks, a plushie under your arm. You look so oh so innocent that he almost feels bad for corrupting you. You come in, close the door, and sit on his bed again, legs dangling off the side of it. He could really get used to you being in here.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks, but you ignore him, hugging your plushie for comfort.

 “I… can you maybe…” you let out a sigh, “I tried to masturbate but I can’t do it by myself. Can you show me again?” 

Maybe you’re not so innocent anymore. He chuckles and tells you of course, and he’s starting to wonder if you’ve caught on to the game that he’s playing, and if you’ve joined him, but he’d still bet money that you really are this naive. Logan pulls his full length mirror in front of his bed, not too close, but close enough that you can see yourself in it. 

He moves to lift your shirt to get your panties off, and his heart skips a beat as he’s greeted by the sight of your bare pussy, already glistening.

“It was easier to come with them already off,” you say, and he reaaally has to restrain himself so he doesn't bend you over and take you right here.

You drop your stuffed toy to the side of Logan’s bed as he sits you in front of the mirror, getting behind you, putting his legs either side of you.

“God, you’re so pretty.” He can’t stop himself from saying it as he makes you look at yourself in the mirror, legs spread.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Logan,” you say, shying away from looking in the mirror.

“You can do it, bub. I got you, okay?”

You’ve turned around to look at him better, and he chuckles when he gets it.

“Is this what you need?” he asks as he leans in to kiss you, and you moan yes into his mouth. He loves you so fucking much.

His dick is already so hard and he’s not sure if you can feel it pressing into your ass, but either way you’re not complaining. He takes your chin to make you face yourself in the mirror, and he can’t get enough of seeing you two in it together – the way he’s sitting behind you like this, imagining other positions you two could be in.

“Here,” he pushes his finger into your mouth, even though you’re already wet enough, watching you suck on it eagerly. His finger stays in your mouth much longer than necessary.

He starts gently rubbing your clit in circles, and you squirm in his arms that are around you, one on your waist, the other between your legs.

“I did that too, but it feels better when you do it,” you mumble after a while, clearly enjoying it but unsure what you were doing wrong when you did it yourself.

“Try it.” Logan takes your hand, and makes you do it yourself. You’re squirming with him watching you like this, but it is useful to sit in front of the mirror, copying how he played with your pussy just moments ago.

Logan’s not blind to how wet you are, at having him watching and guiding you, and he can’t help it as he reaches into his boxers to jerk off. He doesn’t get his cock out but he’s not hiding it. You can see the movement of his arm in the mirror and you might even be able to feel it at your back, as Logan’s fist grazes your shirt every now and then as he strokes himself.

But you’re so focussed on looking between your own legs that Logan is genuinely not sure if you’ve noticed him jerking off, and the sounds of your wet pussy are louder than his hand on his cock.

“I… I can’t,” you whine after a bit, taking your hand away from your pussy, but Logan is close, and he wants you to cum too.

He keeps jerking off, and he sees you noticing it, sitting up a bit taller but you don’t seem to mind. You’re smiling, biting your lip.

“Yeah, you can, baby. Here, we’ll do it together.” He keeps a hand on his cock, reaching around you to put your hand back between your legs, and then he pushes two of his fingers into your pussy, fucking you with them.

“You close, bub? I’m close,” he says, and the idea of cumming together with Logan makes your pussy squeeze around his fingers, so you do your best to recreate the pattern on your clit that Logan showed you, rubbing it in circles until you get the right angle.

“Good girl, that’s it. So tight around my fingers. Come on now.” Logan’s so close he has no idea how he’s still holding off, sloppily jerking his cock with one hand and fucking your pussy with his fingers on the other hand.

You lean your head back, landing on Logan’s shoulder, as your orgasm pulses through you. Logan can feel your pussy spasming around him, and he lets go too, cumming over his hand and his boxers.

You’re both out of breath for a while after, barely moving.

“Y’did it, bub,” he kisses the top of your head, and you smile at him through the mirror, turning to press a messy kiss to the side of his face. He won’t take that though, so he grabs your face, smearing some of his cum on your cheek, and pulls you to face him for a proper kiss. You smile against his mouth as you make out.

You sleep in his room again that night, but he can’t say it feels like you know that he likes you yet. He’ll have fun watching you figure it out soon.

-

✧ reblog and let me know your thoughts for Logan to appear in your dreams tonight <3

[carnalcrows]

russian roulette

genre: smut

pairing: salesman x male!reader

CW: unprotected sex, cum as lube, gunplay, slight-dubcon, blowjobs (reader receiving), anal, creampie, breeding, the salesman is a warning of his own, the term [y/n] is not used

word count: 1.6k

The dim light of the underground room cast long, jagged shadows across the walls. The metallic scent of oil and gunpowder clung to the air, mingling with the faint coppery tang of fear. You sat tied to a chair, your wrists bound tightly behind your back. The sharp edges of the ropes bite into your skin each time you so much as shifted.

Across from you, the Salesman leaned casually against the table, his signature smirk firmly in place. He toyed with the revolver in his hand, spinning the cylinder with a flick of his wrist. His eyes—dark, calculating, and endlessly amused—never left you.

“You know,” he said, his voice as smooth as silk, “most people wouldn’t agree to this game. It’s dangerous. Final. But then again...” He stepped closer, the gun dangling loosely from his fingers. “You’re not like most people, are you?”

“Guess I just enjoy living on the edge,” you shot back, refusing to let the tremor in your voice betray you.

He chuckled, a low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, you’re more than just that. You’re reckless. Stubborn. And,” he tilted his head, his smirk deepening, “you’re very, very intriguing.”

The gun clicked as he opened the cylinder, slipping a single bullet into one of the chambers. The sound echoed through the room, sharp and deliberate. He snapped it shut with a flourish, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“Let’s see how lucky you are today,” he murmured, stepping into your personal space.

You tensed as he crouched in front of you, the revolver resting loosely in his grip. His free hand reached out, brushing against your jaw to tilt your face upward. The touch was deceptively gentle, his thumb lingering for just a moment too long.

“Do you always get this close to people you’re threatening?” you asked, your voice laced with defiance.

“Only the ones worth the effort.” His smirk widened, but his eyes were sharp, dissecting you as though trying to unravel the very core of who you were.

He straightened, spinning the cylinder once more before pressing the cold barrel of the revolver against your temple. The pressure was light, almost playful, but the weight of what it symbolized made your heart pound.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, leaning down so that his lips were just inches from your ear. “Not so fearless now?”

You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze head-on. “Maybe I just don’t feel like giving you the satisfaction.”

His laugh was quiet, almost a hum. “Oh, you’ve already done that.” He pulled back slightly, shifting the revolver to your lips. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip as he tilted your head back further, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Open.”

The command sent a wave of heat through you, not from fear, but from something darker, more visceral. You parted your lips, the cold metal slipping inside, heavy against your tongue. The intimate nature of the act was suffocating, his hand steady as he watched you, unblinking.

“There it is,” he said softly, almost to himself. “That spark. That fire. You don’t want to lose, do you?” Click. The gun doesn’t go off.

You glared at him, your breath shallow around the barrel. His smirk softened into something more unreadable as he removed the gun, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw once more.

“No,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “You’re not afraid of death. You’re afraid of me.”

You clenched your fists behind your back, the ropes biting into your skin. “What do you want from me?”

He tilted his head, considering you for a moment. Then, with deliberate slowness, he lowered the revolver and crouched again, his face level with yours.

“Maybe I just like watching you squirm,” he said, though the words carried a weight that contradicted his playful tone. His hand came up to your face again, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “Or maybe... I just like you.”

The confession, if it could be called that, hung in the air between you, heavy and charged. He stood abruptly, spinning the revolver one last time before slipping it into the holster at his hip.

“Lucky for you,” he said, his smirk returning. But instead of stepping away, he lingered, his sharp gaze raking over you like a predator sizing up its prey.

The tension in the room thickened, the charged atmosphere pressing against your skin. You wanted to say something—maybe challenge him, maybe break the silence—but the words caught in your throat when he leaned down again, his gloved hand brushing against your cheek.

“You look like you have something to say,” he murmured, his tone low and laced with amusement.

“I was just wondering,” you began, voice steady despite the heat building between you, “if this is what you consider being generous.”

He chuckled, a dark, velvety sound that made your pulse spike. “Oh, you think I’m playing rough now?” His fingers trailed from your cheek to your jaw, the leather cool against your skin. “You don’t even know half of it.”

You swallowed hard, meeting his eyes even as your breath quickened. “Then why don’t you show me?”

The smirk on his lips faltered, replaced by something deeper, darker. For a moment, the mask of playful arrogance slipped, and you glimpsed the man beneath—the one who thrived on control, who relished in watching others unravel.

His hand moved lower, the tips of his fingers brushing against your neck. He tilted your head back, exposing your throat as his thumb pressed lightly against your pulse. “You’re bold,” he murmured, his voice a whisper against the shell of your ear. “I like that.”

His proximity was intoxicating, the scent of leather and faint cologne filling your senses. The room felt smaller, the air heavier, as he leaned in closer. His gloved hand slid to the back of your neck, his grip firm but not painful.

“I could make you beg,” he said, his words a dangerous promise. “But I think I’d enjoy hearing you defy me more.”

You met his gaze, the challenge clear in your eyes. “Maybe you should try.”

For a moment, the world held its breath. His smirk returned, slow and deliberate, as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth—not quite a kiss, but enough to make your heart race. His voice dropped to a near-growl.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, his breath warm against your skin.

“Good thing I like danger,” you shot back, your voice barely above a whisper.

His laugh was low and dark, sending a shiver down your spine. “Then let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”

He hooks his finger through the hem of your pants and slides it down slowly, along with your boxers. Your cock hardens with the sudden rush of cool air. He stares at it momentarily, before kneeling down to – put it in his mouth?

That was not what you had expected, but it wasn't like you were complaining. He slowly licked a stripe from the base to the hand, while his other hand brought out his gun from the holster at his hip. 

“S-stop teasing,” you whimpered, and before you could say another word, he had taken your cock till the hilt. You let out a strangled moan, head falling back.

He slowly bobbed his head on your length, while his other hand had placed the gun on the floor and was now trying to free his own cock from the constraint of his pants.

Soon enough, you were at your climax, but he pulled off, and finished with his hands. You came with a groan, all over the man’s face. He seemed to be enjoying it though.

As your breathing slows down, he lifts your legs up (while you are still tied to the chair). Before you can say anything, a cold object presses to the rim of your ass. When you look down, you realize that its the revolver.

Click

It doesn’t go off.

“Today might just be your lucky day,” the salesman chuckles, before slowly inserting the tip of the revolver into your ass before you could protest, using your own release as lube. The feeling on the cold revolver has you seeing stars, it’s a perfect mix of pleasure and pain.

As the gun keeps going in and out of you, the salesman utters what you think to be a mix of praise and degradation. 

“Such a pretty little whore for me, that’s it… Do you get off to this? Having a gun up your ass?” Before you could respond, he gets up, takes the gun out and slides his cock in its place. He doesn’t even wait for a moment, and takes you all the way to the hilt.

He rocks in and out of you slowly, pressing the gun to your temple. “Such a good boy f’me,” he says as he drags the gun down to your neck.

One particular hard thrust hits your sweet spot, sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Seeing this, he loses all form of self control, and stashes the gun, taking both of his hands to you hips before fucking into you like a wild animal.

“Fuck.. I’m gonna–,” he interrupts himself when he releases into you with a loud groan, throwing his head back. You too reach your second climax, painting both your stomachs pearly white.

After a few minutes, the man pulls out, cleans himself up takes his brief case and leaves with you still tied to the chair.

“Are you kidding me–”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my work as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.

[vampzity]

Reps and Sex | BC

“Heart is racing day and night, for you. Don’t hold back enjoy the ride and let it loose.” — railway, bangchan

pairing: trainer! bangchan x f! reader

you always make sure to keep things professional between you and your personal trainer due to the differences in genders. but he makes that hard to do when things take a hot and steamy turn.

[warnings]: MDNI 18+, unprotected sex, dom! bangchan x sub! reader, praise kink, pet names (baby, angel, slut), thigh riding, clit play, yn begs to stop but it’s not in a harmful way

word count: 2.1k

“Just like that. Give me one more set baby.”

Chan watched you intently on the vertical chest press as the stack of weights lifted slowly, but surely. You pushed as hard as you could while trying not to strain yourself. Your moans and small whimpers felt like music to his ears, making his heart beat faster as he struggled to stay focused.

Easier said than done.

The way you pushed against the force of the weights, letting deep breaths out as the stacks moved up and down. How concentrated your face was and the way your chest puffed out with every push. How your face glistened with sweat from how warm you were. It turned him on in ways he couldn’t describe, through this wasn’t the first time it did so. Oh no. It’s been like this for weeks.

Chan felt like a pervert for the way he observed your body; the way your clothes hugged your curves, how plump your ass was whenever you squatted in front of him. However, your determination was the most attractive to him. You were so eager to please him, to show him you could accomplish any set he had prepared for you. The way you fed off of his words of praise. It left him with a feeling of superiority. How you obeyed him so easily as long as you received your praises.

Little did he know he was right.

You loved the praise. It gave you a feeling that you couldn’t quite describe. The pet names, the small placements of his hands. You wanted to be better for him, stronger, you wanted to work harder to make him happy. You were high off his praises.

“Chan?”

He quickly snapped out of his thoughts, giving you a small smile as you finished up your last set. He handed you your bottle of water, watching the way your throat bobbed with every swallow.

“You did great baby. Better than last time, I’m very proud of you.”

You blushed softly, looking up at his low eyes. It made him shutter at the way you looked at him. How innocent you looked below him, how pretty you would look with your swollen lips around his—

“Are you even listening??”

He did it again. He can’t help himself; you’re roaming through his head every second and it’s only dirty thoughts. Nothing else but that. It was only you two in that very moment, and god was he lucky that this gym was in his basement. He wanted so badly to resist you, but something in his mind ached, begging to be in you.

You stood up, eyebrows laced with confusion. You placed your hand on his arm, squeezing it gently as you spoke words his mind couldn’t make out. He was far gone in thought at this point, his bulge only growing at feeling your warm touch. Chan couldn’t do it anymore, he needed you and needed you badly. His body yearned to feel you.

“Fuck I can’t do this anymore.”

He grabbed your chin, pulling you to him as he crashed his lips onto yours. His free hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him. You melted into his touch, your body heating up from the way he kissed you. There was so much passion, but it was so heated, like he wanted more.

He moved his head and laid small kisses against your neck, earning small whimpers from you. Chan didn’t expect you to give into him so easily, not like this. He felt the way you yearned for his touch, how your skin heated up with every inch that his lips moved.

“More.. please..”

Your voice trailed through his mind, making his cock twitch. What a whore, you wanted him just as bad as he wanted you and that’s exactly what Chan wanted.

He grabbed your arm, pulling you up the stairs until you reached the living room. Sitting on the couch, he pulled you to him all while pulling your shorts down leaving you with nothing but your panties on. He pulled you into his lap, kissing your arm softly with his other hand playing with your nipple. Your skin was so soft again his lips, making him groan softly as he inched his way further up your body.

You subconsciously grinded against his thigh, your juices soaking through your panties. His hands held onto your waist, moving with your motion as you let out small whimpers of pleasure.

“You’re so desperate baby. I didn’t realize how badly you wanted me.”

He wrapped his lips around your nipple, his tongue playing with it softly as you continued your movement. You were so close and you could feel it— how badly you wanted to let go all over his thigh. His lips went back to your neck, sucking on the skin while his thumb replaced his place on your nipple. Your back arched, your pace quickened as you felt your high getting closer.

“C’mon pretty, be a good girl and cum for me will you?”

You couldn’t hold it back anymore— between the way he pushed your hips harder against him and his thumb playing with your sensitive tip, it sent you over. The rush came fast, leaving you breathless. Your face heated up out of embarrassment, throwing your head back in relief while Chan admired the mess on his thigh.

You were getting ready to get off, but he held down your legs, digging his nails only slightly into them. You looked at him, watching face turn from soft to cold as he tilted his head. A small shiver flew up your spine, watching as he leaned over to your ear.

“You didn’t think we were done yet, did you?”

You nodded your head, feeling his hand slip down to your panties as he played with the hem. He began to tug at them slightly, signaling for you to take them completely off. In the midst of that, he too pulled his shorts down, leaving him in only his underwear. He held you by your waist, his eyes widening at your glistening cunt as it hovered above his legs.

You pulled at the underwear, pulling his cock out. Your eyes widened slightly at the sight, now fully aware of what you were about to get yourself into. At that point, you didn’t care, you were already so far along and there was no turning back now.

You held his cock in your hands, feeling it pulsate at your touch. Chan let out a small grown, his head falling back as he bucked his hips against you. He yearned for this— yearned for your touch. He weakly held your hand, pulling your body toward him.

“Brace yourself and take a seat baby.”

His statement was soft, but pleading. His eyes were dark and hooded, filled with lust as he reached to kiss your arm. His lips trailed up your body as you held him under your entrance. His tip grazed your opening, earning a small moan from him as you sat on him. You clenched around him, pausing to catch your breath as you struggled to take his girth. His lips reached your neck, making the hair stand up as his breath hit your skin with every inch that you let in.

You grinded against him slowly, feeling his tip hit your sweet spot. His hands held your waist as his head rested against your collarbone, struggling not to take bites out of your skin.

“Fuuuck, just like that.” he groaned.

His hips rolled against yours, the fabric of his underwear brushing against your clit harshly. You sucked your teeth in pleasure, whimpers escaping your mouth. Chan looked up at you, smirking at how worked up you were ontop of him. He held your chin, pulling your face to meet his gaze. Your face warmed up in his grip making you stop subtly.

“Don’t stop for me angel. Keep riding me like the slut you are.” His free hand moved your waist, forcing a steady rhythm back into you.

“Wanna see your eyes roll back baby.”

Chan’s force on your waist fastened, catching you off guard as his cock hit your sweet spot harder than before. He thrusted into you from under, pulling your chin to lock lips. He kissed you harshly, biting your lip as you whimpered. He grunted into your mouth with every time that you clenched around his length, nearly pushing him over the edge. He could feel your heart beat against his chest, your skin heating up against his.

This is exactly what he wanted— to have you wrapped around his finger.

“Chan..” you mumbled, aching for breath. “Gonna cum.”

You continued to whimper, your movements becoming restless against him as his cock rammed into you, repeatedly hitting that same spot.

“Look at you.” Chan tilted his head slightly, admiring your pleading cries. “You’re such a slut.”

He threw his head back onto the couch, feeling his tip grow swollen at the continuous pressure. He felt himself leaking, wanting so badly to spill into you but trying has hard to hold it in. He wasn’t going to let you think two times was enough, oh no.

He had rounds to go.

Your pace softened, feeling your climax coming you wanted to make it last as long as you could. Your mind was hazy as you rode him, but apart of you wanted to stay like this forever. Chan picked up on this, rolling his hips against yours as his nails dug into your soft skin.

“Don’t toy with me now. Ride me harder will you please baby?”

You gave him pleading eyes, wishing he would just let you ride out your high. Unlucky for you, he wasn’t going to go so easy on you.

His nails dug deeper into you. He leaned forward, his breath brushing against your ear.

“You heard me right baby? I hope you’re gonna do as I say.” he laid a soft kiss against your neck before going back up to your ear.

“Cause I’d hate to have to show you some discipline.”

He held tightly onto your waist, gradually fastening the pace. Your hands rested on his shoulders, squeezing them as you felt his tip brush against your sweet spot. Your back arched with every time he moved in and out of you, giving him a sense of pleasure in your whining, in all the moans he received from you.

“Fuck, Chan I can’t..”

The pressure built quickly, faster than you could prepare for. Your head fell back, riding out your high as he curved his hips upward. He knew what he was doing with this, he knew how much more pressure it gave feeling his curve inside of you. It was too much for you, but at the same time you wanted more. You wanted him, you needed him. Your juices spilled all over him, squeezing his cock as you let your climax wash over you.

“That’s it baby, cum for me.”

Chan admired you as you panted for air, as your whines grew louder. He felt his mouth drool at your state, his thumb coming up to caress your cheek as he watched you bounce on his cock. He kissed you sloppily, your moans mixing together as you got faster, harder, becoming more cock drunk on him.

He quickly put you on your back, the sudden change catching you off guard. He wrapped your legs around him as he pounded into you, his moans becoming low growls as you continuously clenched around his length.

“Yea, you like that?”

You moaned in pleasure, feeling your eyes roll to the back of your head as he fucked you roughly. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to lock eyes with him.

“Answer me when I’m talking to you.”

His cold tone sent shivers up your spine, making you whimper a small ‘yes’ as he continued to ram into you. Chan’s groans got louder with every thrust, each one harder than the last. He wanted so badly to fill you with his cum and watch as it dripped out of you. The thought made his cock twitch.

“Fuck, baby..” He whimpered as he felt his high approaching, smiling as his thrusts became delayed. “Gonna cum in this pretty pussy of yours.”

He pushed one last thrust into you, filling you with his warmth. He collapsed onto your body, kissing your neck softly as he slowly pumped into your cunt. He sat up, pulling his length out of you before quickly stuffing his fingers into you, catching you off guard. He fingered you softly, watching as drips of his cum spilled out of you. You held onto his wrist, begging him to stop while his fingers curled inside you.

“Aww, all tired out hm?” he pouted, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

He pulled his fingers out of you, flipping you around into your stomach. He stuck his swollen tip into you, holding it there while your entrance throbbed around him. He played with your clit, humming as your pleading whimpers filled his ears.

“Lucky for you, I have ways to go angel.”

a/n: i’m literally addicted to railway it’s so bad like it made its way to my top songs for 2024 within 2 weeks LMAO

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[choerypetal]

Silent Vengeance / Lee Myung-gi

summarize: Who would have thought that a man who sees himself as powerful could be reduced to selfishness by obsession, only for a knight in armor to heal a broken heart?

English isn't my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical errors, but I really hope you enjoy it! based on s2 squid game so spoilers ahead!

Thanos’s pride and the attention he commanded among the crowd stirred bitterness in some of the contestants—yours included. It baffled many that a retired rapper would stoop to participate in such brutal games, especially one that involved splashes of blood staining his clothes.

It wasn’t until after the Green Light, Red Light game that his focus shifted. He noticed a particular figure—a silhouette that intrigued him more than he cared to admit. The way you sprinted with precision, timing each step perfectly to freeze at the exact moment, or how you yanked another contestant’s hair to throw them off balance, was a calculated display of survival. That endurance, paired with your quiet defiance of the chaos around you—including his own—captivated Thanos from the very beginning.

While Thanos reveled in his lingering popularity, relishing how some followed his every move like sheep to a shepherd, he couldn’t ignore one undeniable truth: for once, he wasn’t the center of attention. That honor belonged to you.

And never in a thousand of years would he see you here. In flesh. Not after the break up.

Like many others, you had joined the Games with hopes of a better life—a seductive promise whispered by the Salesman. His grotesque smile lingered in your mind whenever you stole a moment to rest, though such moments were rare. Still, your demeanor betrayed none of the turmoil beneath. Your stony expression, coupled with your tendency to linger at the edges, observing the chaos with silent disdain, set you apart. To you, the Games were a grim spectacle—a macabre theater of desperation and misplaced hopes.

Despite this, a few contestants managed to draw you into sparse, fleeting conversations. Thanos, however, stood apart—not because you sought him out, but because he was the last person you’d have ever chosen to engage with. And yet, it fascinated him. Knowing your shared history, he found it almost poetic to see you here, standing as a quiet, untouchable force while his own magnetism faltered in your shadow.

“This prick is getting on my nerves,” someone muttered, their voice sharp enough to cut through the murmurs of the room. The words belonged to 333. His number stood out just as much as his presence as he slid into the seat beside you. You’d learned his name was Lee Myung-gi. He extended a hand toward you, his lips curling into a soft grin that hinted at practiced charm. You nodded slightly, mirroring the gesture out of courtesy. “Y/N,” you said plainly.

There was a pause before Myung-gi’s gaze flicked toward Thanos, his tone lowering conspiratorially. “I don’t mean to stir the pot or anything, but... word is, you and Thanos were a thing. He says you’re pretending not to remember him. And that’s why you—”

“333!”

Thanos’s voice cut through like a blade, silencing Myung-gi mid-sentence. Both of you turned your heads in unison, meeting Thanos’s unyielding stare. You recognized that look immediately—brows furrowed, his glare burning with thinly veiled fury. It was a warning, one that promised Myung-gi wouldn’t survive another word in your direction. The intensity of it could rival any of the Games themselves.

“You should go,” you said quietly, your tone flat but decisive. Your eyes barely glanced at Myung-gi, let alone at Thanos. Yet the weight of his gaze pressed heavily on you, and something inside you churned—a mix of unease, defiance, and something far harder to name.

You wanted to let loose a string of curses, every sharp word you could think of—but you stopped yourself. The memory of a promise lingered in the back of your mind.

Never speak to one another after the breakup.

It was a fragile vow, one you both had clung to out of pride or necessity. But deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before it shattered completely.

It wasn’t until the bathroom game that the tension reached its breaking point. Thanos never imagined he’d find himself mere feet away from you again, let alone in the confines of a separate room. Yet here he was, his determination undeterred, even as 333 hovered too close for his liking. Thanos wasn’t subtle about his intentions—he wouldn’t let anyone, least of all Myung-gi, encroach on what he still felt was his.

The image of you and 333 pressing X together during the last game still burned in Thanos’s mind, a fresh wound that refused to heal. It festered, replaying over and over like a mocking refrain, igniting a possessive anger he could no longer contain.

As he stepped into the bathroom hall, his focus zeroed in on Myung-gi, the irritation bubbling into something darker. “You’re getting all worked up. So there is something going on,” Thanos said, his voice low and edged with menace.

He stepped closer, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “If you press X again tomorrow...” Thanos leaned in, his words a venomous whisper, “I’ll cut off your finger and give it to her.”

Myung-gi’s jaw tightened at the threat, his discomfort evident. But what unsettled him more was the reason you’d pressed X with him in the first place. It wasn’t a calculated strategy or an empty gesture—it was a fleeting grasp at safety, something you rarely allowed yourself. While you were usually stoic, Myung-gi’s quiet acts of care had chipped away at your defenses, enough to make you question your own resolve.

Thanos couldn’t stand it. The rules of the Games were unambiguous, but what he thought he saw—the almost imperceptible closeness between you and Myung-gi, the way your lips hovered as if to kiss—was enough to set his blood ablaze. The possibility, imagined or not, was more than he could bear.

And that was the last straw. 

“And ask her out. She’ll love it.” 

“You asshole!” Thanos barely registered the punch before his jaw throbbed, the sharp sting waking something primal in him. His thumb brushed over his chin, checking for blood, before he retaliated with equal ferocity. “You motherfucker!” he snarled, his fist connecting with satisfying force.

Chaos erupted as their hands found each other’s throats, both grappling for dominance. Myung-gi’s back slammed against the bathroom stall, the sound echoing in the tight space. They crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs, fists flying without restraint. “Your money, your girl, your life—they’re all mine!” Thanos spat, driving his fist into Myung-gi’s cheek with enough force to make his knuckles ache.

But then, everything shifted. Thanos froze, his breath hitching as blood sprayed from his own mouth, splattering across Myung-gi’s face. The sudden realization of injury shocked him into silence. Without a word, he pulled back, retreating to the shadows of the stall, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

And yet, in that moment of pain and rage, his mind wasn’t on the fight—it was on you. Always you.

The bathroom games were over. The stalls were scrubbed clean of the chaos that had unfolded, leaving little trace of what had transpired. As you and Myung-gi stepped out, your eyes met briefly. The way he looked at you—earnest, searching—was impossible to ignore. The remaining contestants loitered nearby, their presence a quiet reminder of the fragile truce this space demanded. But Thanos was nowhere to be found. Somehow, the thought of his absence made your shoulders feel just a little lighter.

Despite the unspoken rule of no interactions before returning to the dorms, Myung-gi broke it without hesitation. He rushed toward you, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. For a moment, you froze, unsure. But your hands instinctively found his face, fingers brushing over the bruise already darkening on his cheek.

You couldn’t stop the flood of thoughts about Thanos—how he’d reacted to other men during your relationship, the jealousy that often burned too brightly. The memories made your stomach twist with dread. But as your thumb grazed Myung-gi’s cheek, his eyes fluttered shut, leaning into the comfort of your touch.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the tension lingering in the air.

He let out a quiet scoff, his lips curling into a faint, tired smile. “The prick’s finally getting what he deserves anyway.”

[forlix]

𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you. 

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere. 

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“God, I learned so much about you that day."

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Or is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time, Vector resemblance and all.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Park Jinyoung «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kim Kyeyoung «kyeyoungkim@snu.edu» To: Park Jinyoung «asiansoul_jyp@snu.edu» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kim Kyeyoung Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman. “No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he fibs. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?” 

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the season. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the mention of larceny. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to hit his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall. Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child. The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that. “What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation. 

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.” The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair. “You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class, I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Go on.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class. No fucking wonder he’s failing.

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath. 

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you. 

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle. 

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that.”

“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”

“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am. Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly. 

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.��

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.” 

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade. 

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you around.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment. 

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes. 

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting. 

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything  your schedule allows. 

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put up the volleyball nets before practice, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You spent more time in the gymnasium those ten days than you had your entire college career.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything. 

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation. 

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights. 

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.

Hyunjin spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes. The lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

His role model.

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he—he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before; does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?” You choke out, and you think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead. 

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?” 

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass. 

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know? 

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago. 

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes. 

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration. 

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky, and they’d be right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still talking to you?” 

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «ndaldello@pvm.com» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «cb97@snu.edu» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s our opponent today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. But only sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It really fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I’ll genuinely commit homicide if I have to do all this again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[kooyeux]

TRYNA SMOKE.

CW: weed, grinding, tits sucking, spit kink, cock-warming.

Little weed smoking and sex session with your fuck buddy jungkook in his lil’ studio.

© KOOYEUX 2024.

“Came t’see me?” Jungkook greats you, eyeing you up and down. From the door, on which you’re leaning, you send him a small grin.

Jungkook leans forward with his elbows, resting them on his upper knees as he watches you stroll around his decorated studio.

“How ya’ doing, Jeon?” You feel his eyes burning on you, gaze way too intense to go unnoticed. “Good, good..” He replies, tongue wetting down his lips.

You finally walk to Jungkook, standing in front of him and his hands immediately reach the back of your knees, caressing the tensing skin.

“Whatcha came here for, pretty?” He snuggles against your tummy, dragging his lips to cautiously leave a kiss on your clothed cunt. “...looking all dolled up.”

“Tryna smoke, put some jhené on.”

That’s how, Jungkook is now staring at you rolling a joint. His eyes are attentively watching you licking the paper to seal the masterpiece you’ve made.

“That’s hot.” He chuckles, fidgeting with the laces of his sweatpants, which are loose and hanging low on his tight waist.

His comment makes you laugh before carefully placing the joint between your lips, taking with you the lighter as you lit up the end of it.

At the same time, you move from your chair to Jungkook’s thighs, prettily sitting on them. The action makes him groan and he pulls you closer by your ass.

You drag a puff from the joint, holding the smoke in and instructing him to open his mouth as you blow the intoxicating gas in— taking it as an opportunity to slide your tongue too.

Jungkook hums, taking hold of your hips and pressing them down on himself. “Oh shit, gimme.” He grabs the cigarette and aspire from it.

Your fingers brush through his hair, down to his chest and lastly to his waistband— painfully slow you slip his cock out and play with the tip.

Meanwhile, your buddy continues on his smoke inhaling and exhaling, watching you through hooded eyes. Jungkook lets out low groans “Mhm, pretty girl..”

“Slip it in your pussy. Please.” He almost begs, blowing smoke to your face as you giggle. You obey, anyways; lifting up your mini skirt and revealing your mound.

It doesn’t take much for you to set your panties aside and slide his cock inside you, shaky breaths leaving your mouths.

Your gummy walls suck him in so good, they have him rolling his eyes at the very back of his globes. “Swallowing me so well, fuck.”

“Let’s just cock-warm, mh?”

He’s a shit-talker, a big one. He’s grinding in you so roughly not even five minutes after telling you to just cock-warm him.

Jhené songs still playing in the acoustic system, giving you that high type of vibe you need in this moment.

And the joint is still intact, not near being consumed as you drag a good amount of smoke into your lungs— you’re feeling so light-headed, full of herb and cock.

Too intensify, Jungkook pools your shirt over your breast as he eagerly dives into them. Sucking your swollen nubs and twisting ’em in his forefinger and thumb.

It makes your hips roll with more need, pushing his tip further deeper, if it’s even possible. “Jeon— shit, open your mouth” and he does.

You trace the outlines of his lips before erotically dropping a good amount of spit on his tongue. Jungkook swallows, and with his eyes he asks for more.

Everything feels so slow and unreal. The sex it’s sensual and maybe intimate, too. It’s so good— it keeps you both going for a while.

Smoking, Moaning, Grinding and after all Cumming. And Jungkook plays with the cream you both release, smearing it around your tits and licking them clean.

“You were just tryna smoke, huh?” He mocks you.

do not plagiarize: if you enjoy my work limit yourself on re-blogging. do not copy, steal or translate.

— © KOOYEUX 2024.

[pucksandpower]

Prince of Monaco

Charles Leclerc x Princess of Monaco

Summary: what better way for the honorary Prince of Monaco to celebrate finally winning his home race than with the Princess of Monaco?

Warnings: 18+ content

The roar of the crowd is deafening as Charles brings his Ferrari across the finish line, finally winning his home race after years of heartbreak. His mechanics swarm the barriers, nearly delirious with excitement, but Charles just leans back in his seat, letting the accomplishment sink in.

He’s done it. He’s conquered the streets that have taunted him for so long.

As he’s ushered up to the iconic podium, Charles looks out at the sea of fans cheering his name and spots you, radiant in a summery yellow dress, beaming up at him.

For a moment, time seems to stop as your eyes meet. You give him a little wave and he nearly stumbles on his way to the top step, feeling lightheaded.

When you step forward with the winner’s trophy, Charles’ heart starts pounding. Your fingers brush against his ever so slightly as you hand it over and he swears he can feel an electric current pass between you. The sleek lines of the trophy blur before his eyes as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Félicitations, Charles,” you say warmly, resting a hand on his arm.

Charles blinks rapidly as his cheeks start to burn. Up close, you look like an honest-to-god angel descended to earth. How does one even speak to heavenly beings?

“Th-thanks,” he stammers out, mentally kicking himself for sounding like such an idiot. He needs to get it together. “I mean, merci, Your Serene Highness.”

You laugh, the warm sound instantly putting him at ease. “Please, just call me Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeats dumbly. It’s easily the most beautiful combination of letters he’s ever heard.

“You should celebrate your big win tonight,” you say, a playful glint in your eyes. “But maybe don’t get too carried away with the champagne.”

Charles frowns in confusion. Is that a royal decree to take it easy on the partying?

“I was hoping you could pick me up tomorrow evening,” you continue blithely. “For our date.”

Our … date? Charles’ eyes go wide as his jaw drops open. Is the most beautiful woman in the world really asking him out right now? In front of millions of people?

“Uh, I … we … huh?” He sputters inelegantly.

You just smile that radiant smile and lean in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “We do now,” you murmur against his skin, sending tingles down his spine. “I’ll see you at eight?”

Before Charles can formulate any kind of response, you give him one last brilliant grin and turn to congratulate Oscar Piastri on second place. He blinks down at the trophy in his hands, wondering if he’s dreaming all of this.

The rest of the podium celebration passes by in a blur. He holds up his trophy and waves to the crowd like he’s supposed to, but his mind is elsewhere, utterly consumed by the feeling of your lips on his skin and the knowledge that he has an actual date with the woman of his dreams.

As soon as the ceremonies conclude, his team is all over him, shouting congratulations and patting his back enthusiastically. Normally he’d be caught up in the revelry, basking in his victory, but now all Charles wants is to get out of there. He needs to chug about a gallon of water and take a very cold shower.

“Party tonight, eh mate?” Carlos calls out with a playful elbow to the ribs. “Got any special plans to celebrate?”

Charles feels the blush creeping back up his cheeks as he thinks about you — your warm laughter, your gentle touch, the promises of a date in your sparkling eyes. His lips tug up in a helpless smile.

“You could say that,” he murmurs, already counting down the hours until he gets to see you again.

The post-race celebrations kick into high gear, with champagne flowing freely and music thumping from every corner. Charles goes through the motions, reveling in his hard-won triumph but unable to fully let loose and enjoy himself. Not when a much bigger prize is waiting for him tomorrow night.

The hours drag by interminably as he waits for an acceptable time to make his excuses and leave the party behind. His friends rib him relentlessly for his uncharacteristic restraint.

“What’s got you so distracted, Calamar?” Pierre teases. “This isn’t like you at all!”

“Yeah, our boy’s got his eyes on something else tonight! Or would it be more accurate to say someone else?” Joris chimes in with an exaggerated wink.

Charles flushes but doesn’t deny it, fighting back a smile. If only they knew ...

It’s nearly 2 am by the time he extricates himself from the club, pleading an early morning commitment. No one believes his excuse for a second, but they let him go with plenty of cheers and well-meaning shoves.

As soon as Charles makes it back to his apartment, he starts feverishly getting ready for tomorrow, picking out the perfect outfit and incessantly checking the time. After tossing and turning fruitlessly for a couple of hours, he finally gives up on sleep, instead spending his morning going for a long run to burn off excess energy.

The day drags on at an excruciatingly slow pace. Every minute feels like an hour as he wills the clocks to move faster. He triple checks the address, runs through conversation starters in his head, and showers for the third time. This date has to go perfectly.

At 7:55 pm, Charles pulls up outside the royal palace, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as he tries to control his nerves. He takes one last steadying breath before getting out of the car and smoothing down his shirt.

Like an angel from on high, you suddenly appear in the palace doorway, looking impossibly radiant in a gauzy pink sundress that matches your warm smile perfectly.

“Y/N,” Charles breathes out reverently, drinking in your beauty. Up close, his heart is pounding so loudly he’s sure you must be able to hear it. “You look … wow.”

Your smile grows even brighter as you move towards him. “Well, you clean up pretty nicely yourself.”

There’s a brief, charged silence as you stand face to face, just drinking each other in. Then, seeming to make up your mind about something, you grab his hand and tug him close.

“Come on,” you murmur, eyes sparkling mischievously. “I’ve got the perfect date night planned for us.”

With your hand in his, Charles would follow you straight into the depths of hell itself. He manages an eager nod, unable to tear his eyes away from your face.

Whatever you have planned, he knows it will be perfect. So long as he gets to spend the evening by your side, he couldn’t care less what you do.

You lace your fingers through his, shooting him one last brilliant smile, and lead the way to what is undoubtedly going to be the best night of Charles’s life.

***

Warm rays of morning sunlight filter through the sheer curtains, gently rousing Charles from the most blissful sleep of his life. He blinks slowly, taking in the lavish bedchamber with its soaring ceilings and intricate moldings. Plush rugs cover the marble floors and the bed he’s cocooned in is easily the most luxurious he’s ever experienced, with soft Egyptian cotton sheets caressing his skin.

For a delirious moment, Charles thinks he might still be dreaming. But then his eyes drift to you, sleeping peacefully beside him, and his heart stutters in his chest. It all comes rushing back in a torrent of sense memories — your radiant smile, your tinkling laugh, the feeling of your hand in his as you led him out on the most magical night of his life.

The two of you stroll hand-in-hand through the winding alleyways of Monaco, ducking down tiny side streets to places only locals know. Charles is enchanted as you show him hidden corners of your city that he’s never seen before, sharing fascinating stories and anecdotes all the while.

“This little trattoria has been run by the same family for nearly a century,” you explain as you lead him into a tiny, unassuming restaurant positively dripping with old world charm. The smiling owner greets you like a beloved daughter, embracing you warmly.

Over a seemingly endless parade of rustic Italian delicacies and a hearty red wine, you and Charles talk for hours about everything and nothing - childhoods and ambitions, favorite books and movies, embarrassing stories that have you both crying with laughter.

When the owner sends over a giant slice of homemade tiramisu with a wink, you steal the first bite right off Charles’ fork with a cheeky grin. A bit of mascarpone clings to the corner of your mouth and without thinking, Charles leans in to kiss it away, savoring the sweet taste of you mingled with the rich dessert.

You make a soft noise of surprise against his lips before melting into the kiss, cupping his face tenderly. When you finally part, both a little breathless, there’s a new burning heat in your eyes that makes Charles’ heart skip a beat.

“Shall we go for a walk?” You murmur, already sliding out of the booth. Your hand finds his and you lace your fingers together as you lead him back out into the night ...

Just thinking about last night’s date makes Charles’ heart feel fit to burst. You had taken him on a romantic tour of Monaco unlike anything he’s ever experienced, showing him secret nooks and hidden gems even he didn’t know. He had been so entranced just drinking in the city through your eyes, hanging on your every word.

But those heated looks you started sending his way after that first electrifying kiss had made it clear the real night was only just beginning ...

You stroll along the moon-dappled harbor, pointing out your favorite super-yachts and regaling Charles with scandalous stories of the jetset lives of their owners. He laughs delightedly at your wicked sense of humor, tucking you against his side as you wander the lamp-lit cobblestone streets.

When you lead him up a winding path to an old stone overlook, his breath catches in his throat. Twinkling lights from the city and harbor spread out as far as the eye can see, the tiny pinpricks glittering like a million stars. You come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you nuzzle against his back.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You murmur reverently. “This is my favorite view in all of Monaco.”

Charles turns in your embrace until you’re pressed flush together, hardly daring to breathe. “It is,” he rasps out, getting lost in the depths of your eyes. “But not as beautiful as you.”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes flicking down to his lips for a heated moment, before surging up on your tiptoes to capture his mouth in a searing kiss ...

Unbidden, a low groan slips from Charles’ throat as he remembers those heated kisses on the overlook, one thing inexorably leading to another in a heady rush of lust and longing until you were both feverishly tugging at clothes. He swallows hard, feeling himself start to stir beneath the sheets.

That was just the start of the longest, most incredible night of Charles’ life. Your romantic tour had eventually led you both back to the palace, where you scattered a trail of discarded garments across marble floors and lavish furnishings in your wake, completely consumed by your desire for one another.

You press Charles back against the door of your bedroom as soon as you stagger inside, hands roaming hungrily as you devour his mouth in a bruising kiss. Charles groans deeply, fingers tangling in your hair as he spins you both around to walk you back towards the bed ...

A warm weight suddenly drapes itself across Charles’ torso, jolting him from his reverie with a sharp intake of breath. You’re curled against his side, smiling at him with eyes still heavy-lidded from sleep. His heart kicks up a furious gallop as you scoot closer, trailing a path of featherlight kisses along his chest and shoulder.

“Good morning,” you murmur, voice still scratchy and deliciously rumpled sounding. Charles nearly swallows his tongue at the sound — not to mention the fact that he can now feel every luscious curve of your body pressed against his beneath the sheets.

“Morning,” he croaks out, throat gone instantly dry. How is it possible that you look even more beautiful than he remembers?

You laugh softly at his dazed expression as you work your way up the column of his neck, seemingly intent on covering every last inch of bare skin with those incredibly soft lips. “Sleep well?”

Charles manages a strangled noise of agreement just before you capture his mouth in a slow, smoldering kiss. He groans against your lips, looping an arm around your waist to pull you more fully on top of him. Every nerve-ending feels like it’s engulfed in flames.

When you finally break apart, you brace yourself up on your elbows, gazing down at him with bright, sparkling eyes. “Last night was incredible,” you say candidly, tracing the line of his cheekbone with a fingertip. “Thank you for such an amazing first date.”

A low rumble of laughter escapes Charles as he grins up at you, dizzy with happiness. “I should be thanking you. Last night was … just, wow.” He reaches up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear, marveling at how impossibly soft your skin is. “Have I mentioned yet how breathtakingly gorgeous you are?”

Your cheeks flush prettily even as you let out an adorably bashful little giggle that has Charles bewitched. “Charles Leclerc, you beautiful charmer,” you tease, dropping your head to nuzzle against the crook of his neck. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Mmm, I have a few ideas ...” Charles murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. He trails his fingertips up the delicate lines of your spine, reveling in the way it makes you shiver against him.

You lift your head again, pinning him with a look of pure want that steals the breath from Charles’ lungs. “Is that so?” You purr, rolling your hips ever so slightly against his in a way that has him biting back a groan.

“Oui,” he husks out, slipping a hand into your tousled hair to draw your mouth back to his. You melt against him instantly, the kiss rapidly becoming heated and desperate as you both come quickly undone.

With you pressed so tantalizingly close, Charles can feel the heat slowly building between you as he maps every inch of your body with eager hands. Your skin is so silky soft, he can scarcely believe you’re real. Last night’s passion comes roaring back in a tidal wave of desire so potent it nearly overwhelms him.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, clinging to him like a lifeline as you finally join your bodies in a fevered rush. Charles surges up to capture your lips again, unable to get enough of your addictive taste as you move together in perfect synchronicity. Slick skin sliding, breaths mingling, every sensation is heightened and electrified as you make love with an abandon unlike anything Charles has ever experienced ...

A strangled groan tears from Charles’ chest at the memory, his grip reflexively tightening on your hips and pulling you harder against him.

You let out a soft whimper against his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as you grind deliciously against him in response. Charles feels utterly intoxicated by you — your taste, your scent, the exquisite softness of your skin pressed so enticingly to his.

With one fluid motion, he rolls you both until he’s caging you beneath him on the luxurious sheets. You gaze up at him with eyes gone molten and dark, chests heaving in tandem. The ferocious want simmering between you is nearly tangible.

“You’re so beautiful,” Charles rasps out in reverence, brushing the backs of his fingers along the elegant curve of your jaw. He leans down to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, feeling your rapid pulse fluttering beneath his lips. “Perfect ...”

A soft keen escapes you as you tilt your head back to allow him better access. Every nerve in Charles’ body feels electrified, like his skin is humming with unreleased energy. He’s drunk on you, body and soul.

As his lips blaze a path lower, nuzzling between the delicious swell of your breasts, your back arches sharply up off the bed with a gasp of longing. Your fingers clutch almost painfully at his shoulders as you struggle to pull him even closer.

“Charles … please,” you whimper, voice pitched low and heady with naked yearning.

He slides a hand up your silken thigh in answer, molding his palm to the flare of your hip as you shift restlessly beneath him. You’re warm and pliant and bewitching like this, coming slowly undone under his attentions.

With a ragged groan, Charles surrenders to the inescapable gravitational pull between you, fusing your mouths back together in a searing kiss that instantly turns all-consuming ...

Your nails score lines of delicious fire down his back as he drives into you with deep, powerful strokes, hips snapping together in a primal rhythm. It’s all heat and friction and tangled limbs, the world narrowing down to nothing but the places where your bodies join so intimately.

You keen out his name like a prayer, the sound sending hot shockwaves of lust ricocheting through Charles’s core. Every nerve feels simultaneously set alight and yet thrumming with a paradoxical electric chill, sensations somehow magnified tenfold.

He’ll never get enough of this feeling — of being completely consumed by you, your passion, your overwhelming desire for each other burning so bright that everything else fades away into glorious insignificance ...

A guttural groan is torn from deep in Charles’ throat as your hips roll sensuously against his in wanton invitation. His head drops into the tempting curve of your neck, lips tracing maddeningly along your overheated skin as he struggles to maintain the barest thread of control.

“Y/N,” he rumbles out, your name laced with pure, undisguised reverence. “Mon ange ...”

You cup his face in your hands, forcing his heated gaze back to yours. For a crystalline moment, everything hangs in breathless suspension before you surge up to claim his mouth in a searing, all-consuming kiss.

Like a switch being flipped, the tenuous grip Charles had on his restraint abruptly snaps. A low groan tears from his very soul as he lets the irresistible tide finally pull him under, lost in the relentless thrall of your passion.

Your urgent cries spike higher as Charles’ hips drive forward in a smooth, powerful glide, joining your bodies with exquisite friction. You clutch at him wildly, nails raking lines of delicious fire across his back as the room narrows to nothing but scorching skin and thunderous heartbeats.

At last, the spiraling tension reaches a blinding crescendo, your release crashing over you in shattering waves of pure ecstasy. Charles’ own climax follows swiftly, torn from his very depths with a hoarse shout of your name.

He collapses bonelessly on top of you, lungs heaving like he’s just run a marathon as you both simply cling to each other through the sizzling aftershocks. Sparks still seem to crackle across his nerve endings from your earth-shattering joining.

After an endless stretch of languid moments, Charles finally gathers enough strength to ease himself to the side, gathering you in against his chest. You come willingly, draping yourself over him as he nuzzles into the top of your head and just breathes you in.

“Wow ...” you murmur at last when you’ve recovered enough to speak. A breathless giggle escapes as you press a soft kiss to the hollow of his throat. “And I thought last night was incredible.”

Charles rumbles out a deep chuckle, pressing his smile against your hair as his arms tighten reflexively around you. “Last night was just the warm up, mon cœur,” he husks out, voice still gloriously ragged from your shared passion.

You pull back just enough to gaze at him through heavy-lidded eyes, cheeks delightfully flushed and hair wildly tousled in a way that has Charles’ heart clenching near to bursting. Brushing a knuckle along his jaw, you give him a look rich with teasing promise.

“Well then ... if this is what I give you for winning Monaco,” you trail off meaningfully, letting the words hang suspended as your fingertips trail down the ridges of his abdomen. “I can’t even imagine what you’ll earn when you win the World Championship.”

The low, sultry purr of your tone sends delicious little licks of heat swirling through Charles’ veins despite his delightfully sated state. A wicked grin tugs at his lips as pulls you more fully on top of him again, glorying in your lush curves molded so perfectly against his own.

“Is that a challenge, Princesse?” He rumbles out, dipping his head to nibble along the elegant column of your throat. You let out the most deliciously breathy giggle that has his blood absolutely simmering.

“Mmm, maybe,” you hum out coyly, deft fingers trailing through the short hair at his nape in a way that makes his toes curl. “Although I suppose you’ll just have to win it and find out for yourself ...”

Charles feels a possessive growl rising up from deep within his chest as he abruptly flips you both, pinning your breathless laughter beneath him on the luxurious sheets. Gazing down at you with unbridled adoration blazing in his eyes, he steals another scorching kiss that leaves you both gasping for air.

“Oh, I fully intend to,” he vows fervently, reveling in the way your eyes have gone molten and dark with renewed desire. His hands map every inch of your body with fervent devotion as he leans down to murmur hotly against the shell of your ear.

“And when I do, Princesse … I’m never letting you go.”

[cuteandhughesy]

No Sex In The Elevator | Matt Rempe

summary: tension between you and attractive stranger grows as you end up trapped together in an elevator

7.6k

warnings: NSFW! confined spaces | suggestive dialogue + themes | kissing | smut | brief hand job | fingering | unprotected p in v intercourse | viewer discretion is advised

a/n: loosely based off this request! @remperoni-melt and I got the same request, so to save you guys from reading really similar works, I switched the vibe of mine up a little bit 🤍 make sure you go check theirs out and give some love ! they are very talented and I definitely recommend their work! hope you enjoy my take on this request 😏

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you try your phone again, blinking roughly to clear your eyesight—still teetering on tipsy. the dead battery flashes back at you, illuminating your flushed skin in the dim elevator.

you sigh, shoving the small device back into your purse. as you'd been leaving your friends apartment—much later than you intended to by the way—you'd been practically falling asleep, the collection of sangria you'd been sipping on all night slowly catching up to you.

you knew heading over to your best friends place on a weeknight wasn't the best idea—especially when she enticed you over with dinner and a wine night. you worked the next day, and being hungover while trying to deal with customers at the bank was never a combination you wanted to endure, but against your better judgment, you were calling a taxi right outside after your shift, giving the driver directions to her place.

so now here you are, nearing 10 at night with a 6 a.m. shift on the horizon, pouting about your dead phone while being tipsy and alone in a fancy elevator—a fancy elevator for a building that only your new york lawyer best friend can afford.

you watch the numbers on the digital screen slowly tick down, bring you closer towards the apartment lobby. you sigh gently, running a hand through your blown out hair. your strands get caught around some of your rings, catching and pulling uncomfortably.

"fucks sake." you hiss, awkwardly trying to untangle your hair from around the metal jewelry.

the elevator comes to a gentle stop, and before you can even react, the shiny polished doors slide open. quickly, your eyes flicker towards the screen—have you reached the lobby already?

no, you've barley made it half way down, the shiny 27th floor staring back at you. you swallow gently—still very much caught in your own hair—eyes flickering towards the open elevator doors.

there's a guy there—a extremely tall, muscular, cute guy at that. he looks younger, maybe a few years younger than you, with a soft complexion and brown hair tucked underneath a baseball cap. he's dressed relatively comfortable in a branded gray hoodie, paired with light wash jeans and sneakers.

he sends you a quick nod in greeting, stepping into the roomy elevator. out of the corner of your eye, you watch him step towards the button panel underneath the digital screen, but after a moment, he steps back—he must also be heading to the lobby.

you swallow gently, your face heating up like it always tends to do in the presence of an attractive man—it doesn't help that your still caught in your own hair.

the doors slide closed, a gentle click echoing in the quiet space. despite the embarrassment crawling up your chest, your resume in trying to unwrap your hair, tiny breathless curses falling from your wine stained lips.

"you good over there?"

the question has you freezing, gaze flickering back towards the giant on your right. you're sure you look insane, and you're once styled hair has turned into a tangled wreck.

you blink. "i'm stuck."

"I can see that." he chuckles. "do you want help?"

"maybe"

he laughs again, a deep rumble that sends tingles down to your toes. he takes the few steps towards you, and you feel his fingers over top of yours, beginning to un wind your hair.

you let him take over, dropping your hand with a shaky sigh. you're only able to look into the soft material covering the strangers torso, trying your best to stay still has he manoeuvres your fingers.

"so," he starts, tone full of amusement—but yet concentration. "how'd this happen?"

you exhale deeply, letting your eyes flicker upwards towards his face—you're met with the underside of his soft jaw, littered in growing stubble. "I honestly don't even know."

"twirling your hair or something?" he pulls back just enough to look into your glossy coated eyes, a teasing grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

somehow his clear comfortably has you breaking out of your timid shell, and you scoff a gentle laughter. "is that what you think girls do?"

the stranger laughs. "maybe drunk ones. are you drunk?"

"are you?"

"I wish." he chuckles. he tugs on a particularly tight strand of hair woven through your ring, and you hiss gently, jerking your head back—which only pulls at your scalp worse. "fuck, m'sorry..."

the man trails off expectantly, waiting for you to fill in the blank.

you sigh gently, "y/n."

"matt." he hums. "i've almost got it. don't move."

you sigh, definitely a little impatiently, but you don't find yourself caring—your arm is completely numb and tired, and your fingers feel swollen and you're ready to crash in bed.

finally you feel the hair detangle, falling back against your head it what no doubt will be a matted mess. you breathe an exaggerated sigh, shaking out your tingling limb. "thanks."

matt steps back, allowing you to once again look at him properly. "welcome."

there's a loud shriek that breaks through the elevator, similar to metal grinding on metal. you look around quickly, brows pulled in confusion.

matt's face mimics yours, and he glances at the digital screen quickly—the 16th floor indicator displayed begins to glitch.

"what the hell?" you question.

the elevator shifts wildly, the noise increasing like it was coming to a screeching halt. it's almost deafening, and it's definitely concerning. you grab onto the handlebars lining the metal box, clutching until your knuckles feel tight.

the dim lightning in the elevator flickers wildly for a moment before shutting completely off. there's a second of darkness before the red emergency light turns on, casting the inside of the elevator in a rose coloured glow.

you’re frozen, looking around the space anxiously. you watch though hooded eyes as matt quickly walks towards the panel, frantically pressing the call button. it's no use though, and the only sound that comes out of the tiny speaker is a loud buzzing noise—echoing in your ears.

"fuck." he curses, trying again.

you clear your throat. "is anyone there?"

matt shoots a quick, irritated glance over his shoulder in your direction, pausing his hard attack on the call button. "does it sound like anybodies there?"

"okay, well I don't know! you live here, you should know what this all means?" you say quickly—a mixture of stress and fear running through you.

"what makes you think I live here?" he questions. it seems for now he's giving up on pushing the useless button, turning back towards you with a frustrated pull to his eyebrows.

you laugh in disbelief, raising you arm before letting it fall back against your side in defeat. "great—so we both don't live here."

matt runs a hand over his face, another curse passing through his lips.

you drop the the floor, much less than graceful, shuffling back until your leaning against the cold metal wall. you cross your leg over the other, your pencil skirt tightening over your thighs. "what do we do?"

matt looks down at you, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "we will have to wait."

you groan, "and what if they don't know we're stuck in here? I can't be here long—I work in the morning."

"you think I want to be in here?" a breathes in disbelief, eyeing you roughly. he watches your face fall, blinking heavily before turning your face away. matt sighs, guilt lacing his face. "look," he starts gently, "this is a nice place—i'm sure it won't be long before they realize something is wrong."

you sniffle, eyes flickering back towards matt. "don't have to be so mean about it."

he laughs. "you're so drunk."

you shoot him a deadpanned, anger fuelled look—does he think you don't know that?

matt's hands shoot up in defensive, a gentle chuckle passing through his lips. you watch from the corner of your eye as matt moves towards you before inevitably sliding down the wall, taking a seat next to you.

his legs stretch out, extremely long but somehow not gangly—if anything, they're extremely well defined, and you can see that even through his jeans. as his leg grazes yours, you all but blush, subconsciously clenching your thighs together—screw your drunk brain for always being horny.

to distract your thoughts and all the butterfly feelings going on in your underwear, you clear your throat, glancing towards matt. "I may be a little tipsy."

"knew it." he chimes. "could smell the wine."

"oh god." you huff, covering your mouth with the palm of your hand—comically wide eyes still in matt's direction. "is it bad?"

he laughs gently at the sound of your frantic, muffled question. matt's eyes twinkle through the red casted light, shaking his head gently. "no, it's fine. you smell nice."

you bring your hand away from your mouth slowly, eyes squinting pointedly as you take in his words. "are you always this...friendly with strangers you meet in elevators?"

"only the ones who get their hair caught in their rings."

at the mention of that whole fiasco only a few minutes ago, your hand instinctively reaches up, brushing over the now frizzy side of your hair. "don't remind me."

he gently pushes your hands away from your hair, a boyish grin on his face. "alright leave it alone before you get stuck again."

"hey!" you laugh, "as long as you're here, i'm free to get as stuck as I want."

matt's brows raise suggestively. "that sounds like the start of a really bad porno."

you feel your skin flush, and you're clenching your legs together again. you practically squeak like a mouse, eyes glazed over with amusement (and a little lust but you hope he doesn't catch that). "are you even old enough to watch porn?"

one of his brows raise humorously, looking back at you like you've grown three heads. "how old do you think I am?"

you stutter, embarrassed. "I don't know! like 20?"

the side of his mouth shoots up in a grin. "22."

you hum thoughtfully. "you're young."

"are you like secretly 65 or something?" matt questions lightly. "how old are you?"

"you're never supposed to ask a girl her age, matt." you're not that much older than matt, but you're finding a lot of amusement in this teasing, cat and mouse game you're currently in with the handsome stranger.

he grins, head rolling away from you and towards the closed elevator doors. there's a few moments that pass, nothing but the silent hum of the broken down elevator between you.

matt shuffles, his jeans crinkling. "I spy..."

you look at him questionably. "huh?"

"we're playing I spy."

"oh," your brows raise, amused. "are we?"

he nods, continuing. "I spy with my little eye something that is red."

"everything is red."

that game only last about two more minutes, because like you've already told matt—everything is casted in the red light glow.

so matt quickly suggests other games to pass the time, and you're quickly finding yourself in a game of 21 questions—like you're damn teenagers.

honestly for somebody as attractive as matt, he seems to actually be a decent human being. which from your college experience of partying and messing around with frat boys who look like him...isn't common.

you watch him hum thoughtfully, going over questions in his head before he just spews one out. he's switched spots now, sitting across from you against the closed doors. you'd warned him when he first leaned against it—what if they opened and he fell?

but he didn't seem bothered, telling you the worst that would happen is falling backwards into a random apartment hallway.

"okay," he starts, "what's the worst date you've ever been on?"

the answer comes easily, and you cross your arms over your white linen button up—your gray blazer not long abandoned. "when I was in college, this guys from my psych class asked me out, and I said yes. he was on the football team and he was cute enough...so what could go wrong."

"a football dude? yikes." matt hisses, shaking his head in displeasure.

"anyways, he picked me up in his buddies car and the date was a suprise—so I had no idea where we were going, so understandably I was nervous." you take a small breath, already shuttering at the memory. "the night before he asked me what my favourite food was, and I said sushi. so I should've known he was going to bring me to a seafood place." your expression shifts, "but he'd never had seafood before."

matt groans, already sensing something wrong with the expression on your face. "oh god, I already hate where this is going."

"turns out," you laugh in disbelief, "he's allergic."

"no."

"yes." you groan. "and the very first second we walked out of that restaurant, he threw up the entire contents of his consumed seafood boil all over me."

"holy shit," matthew laughs, "that's a way better answer than what I expected! what did you do?"

"I broke down and cried." you admitted embarrassingly, head dropping into your manicured hands. "I didn't even know what else to do!"

"i'm assuming no second date? or are you still with football dude?" matt's tone is almost hopefully, eyeing you with an underlying curiosity.

you don't catch it, and you only shake your head—mind still reeling about the awful sushi date from a few years ago. "definitely no second date and no boyfriend period."

"huh," matt hums. you watch something flicker across his face this time, but before you can question it, the expression changes. "alright, your turn. ask me something good—ask me something dirty."

"oh my god." you groan, a gentle roll of your eyes following. your reaction is one matt was hoping for, and his face lights up in amusement, a small flurry of laughter passing his lips.

you pause in thought, trying to come up with a decently good question. if you were stuck in an elevator with this guy, you at least want it to be entertaining. still lingering with the affects of the sangria in your bloodstream, a smirk grows on your face. if he wanted dirty, you'd give him the opportunity to act on that.

"what's your secret sexual fantasy?"

matt looks surprised, like he wasn't expecting that sort of level of question from you.

you're almost embarrassed by the bluntness of your words, and you feel warmth creeping up your chest and warming your ears. but you're not backing down now, eyeing matt expectantly from the other side of the elevator.

he takes his ball cap off, running his hand through his floppy hair before securing the hockey branded hat back on his head. "well when I was in high school-"

"-so yesterday?" you interrupt cheekily.

matt laughs once. "when I was in high school," he repeats lightly, "I used to have this fantasy about fucking a teacher."

"oh my god," you sigh knowingly. "ever guy I knew and their dad had the exact same fantasy—what is it about a teacher that makes you want to fuck her?"

he brings his knees up, resting his forearms on his bent legs, the man spreading position doing unspeakable things to your head. matt sighs lightly, "something about their demeanour, I suppose. the almost teasing personality combined with the hair and the tight skirts and button up shirts...gets me every time."

you gulp nervously. matt's just described the business attire cloaking your body to a tea—when he walked into this elevator and saw you did he immediately think about his past fantasies?

without nothing what to say to that response, you clear your throat gently. "your turn."

you think an hour has passed since the elevator came to a malfunctioning stop, and both you and matt have tried to call button three separate times since then—still nothing but that damn high-pitched buzzing. at this point you're considering prying open the elevator doors yourself.

you're hot, tired and somehow turned on? you really need to get out of here.

it doesn't help that matt has become extremely flirtatious, sending you teasing smiles and asking your dirty questions for the rest of your 21 questions game. plus, he's ditched his hoodie and his hat, leaving him in a tight fitting black shirt—he's so fit you're practically drooling.

you've switched your seating position since then, and you're now lying flat on your back, feet up against the wall of the elevator. the worn out carpet is pressing against your back through your shirt uncomfortably, and your pencil skirt has slipped dangerously low on your hips—but you don't even care, especially with the predicament you're currently in.

"I need to pee." you mumble, eyes closing as you concentrate on controlling your small bladder.

matt's back is pressed to the same wall beside your propped up legs, his bicep grazing your knee as he turns slightly to look at you. "are you joking?"

"i'm really not."

he sighs. "okay, well you're going to have to hold it."

your eyes shoot open, looking towards matt like a crazy person. "hold it?" you question wildly. "you're asking the girl who's been downing sangria all night to hold her pee?"

"well there's no bathroom in here." matt states the obvious, looking back at you just as crazily. "want me to cup my hands so you can pee in them?"

your gaze turned pointed. "are you being serious?"

"absolutely not." he laughs loudly, looking at you with amusement.

another hour passes, and that's low-balling—it feels like you've been in here for a whole night. when you asked matt to call someone—someone to come and help—he'd told you his phones been dead for hours, and your small sliver of hope dissipated.

at this point you're feeling irritated—because in a building this expensive and fancy, they seriously haven't figure out the logistics of their broken down elevator.

you've gotten tired of sitting, and decided you're going to stand. you're slumped against the wall, the handle bar digging into your ass uncomfortably. you ditched your kitten heels so long ago that the thought of having to eventually (hopefully) put them back on is literally taxing.

you're just glad you'd spontaneously painted your toenails yesterday after work—because the last thing you needed in the presence of an attractive man was chipped toe polish.

"truth or dare?" you question gently, looking down at matt with a bored expression. the entire evening it's been matt coming up with ridiculous games in order to pass the time, but this time it's you.

his head lulls back against the wall, brows raised. matt's still on the floor, his tree trunk sized legs stretched out—so long he's almost touching your feet. "i'm kind of curious what dare you'll come up with." he admits smugly, looking at you with a boyish smile.

"I dare you...." you trail off, desperately racking your mind for a subtle dare. you honestly hadn't thought that far ahead, and this style of game was very limited in an elevator—a spacious, lush elevator, but still. an idea pops into your head, and although it's not the most creative, it works. "I dare you to try and beat me in a staring contest."

matt laughs. "oh, you're so on." he shifts his body, pushing up with his palms so he's more ridged—displaying a perfect posture. his tongue slowly passes through his lips, licking onto his bottom lip to moisten the already plump surface.

you watch in what can only look like awe, standing across the elevator like a fool. you really need to get yourself under control.

his brows shoot up in question, eyeing you up and down. "are you going to come over here and play? or just stand there and check me out?"

you scoff lightly, blushing at the embarrassment of getting called out. "don't be so egotistical—it's not attractive." despite your words, you make your way towards him, bare feet padding against the carpeted floor until your toes brush against the material of his jeans.

you drop down beside his spread thighs, your knees digging into the hard floor. your skirt pulls at the tension across your legs, and your stomach unattractively spills over the band of your skirt— immediately you regret your choice of position.

matt watches the entire thing, eyes hazy with a subtle smirk beginning to ghost across his lips. "so i'm attractive to begin with?"

your eyes flicker towards his and away from your skintight skirt. the way he's looking at you—drinking you in—has you feeling hot and bothered. what have you gotten yourself into here? you bite your lip gently, yet nervously, a gentle breath of laughter sneaking out. "i'm trying to have a staring contest here, matt. if you want to talk about looks, i'll just assume you're forfeiting."

"I don't forfeit." he mutters smugly, further turning his torso so he's facing your direction—well, as well as he can manage while sitting down.

"ah," you chime, "a competitor."

"a winner." matt corrects gently, "I always get what I want."

there's an underlying meaning with his words, one that has your belly spinning and toes curling. you gulp roughly, doing your best to keep holding onto the strong eye contact—the damn staring content hasn't even started yet and you're already faltering.

"we'll see about that." you don't mean to whisper, but you do, and that has matt's teasing grin widening. you clear your throat, blinking a few times. "alright, ready?"

"always." he nods. you don't see the way he watches your sporadic blinking with a soft expression, eyes littered with amusement and admiration as you ‘prepare’. "you gunna count us in?" matt asks.

"sure." you hum. your eyes flutter closed as you begin counting down from 3. your words are slow—deliberate—pacing yourself and taking the short amount of time to try and collect your erratic heart and scattered thoughts.

as you hit one, your eyes snap open, meeting the chocolate ones of matt. the silence is almost deafening, bouncing off the red tinted metal interior of the elevator around your still bodies.

you can practically see matt's smirk through his eyes—the way they slightly crinkle at the side giving him away. you squint pointedly, "what?"

"you're just really focused." he mutters quietly.

"I want to win." you admit, just as hushed.

"that's cute." he licks his lip. "but you won't."

you scoff out a laugh, your eyes beginning to burn around the edges, drying out. "cocky?"

"confident."

you snicker. "I think you're all talk." you're playing with fire here, you're well aware of that—but you need him to crack. your eyes are becoming drier by the second, and you won't be able to hold your blinks back for much longer. "i think you're secretly dying right now."

"nah," his tone is teasing. "but I can see the tears in your eyes, y/n. I know you want to blink."

"don't be fooled," you chime. in a moment of boldness, you shift forward, drawing your face closer to matt's—without blinking or breaking contact. "they’re tears of victory."

"tears of victory already?" matt questions playfully. he's not backing down, and from the suggestive tone lacing his words, you should've suspected the sensual turn of his next words. "but I haven't even touched you yet."

you blink in shock, flushing all over as matt cheers.

"damn it." you curse, wiping the tears pooling under your damp lashes. "that's not fair. you used words to trick me into blinking." you pull back, eyeing matt with humoured disbelief.

"It's so fair! you chose to get all flustered by that, all I did was say it." he reminds you cheekily, looking anything but innocent. matt bites down onto his bottom lip seductively, eyes lingering over your tight skirt and shirt like an animal. his gaze flickers back towards your face, and his playful expression increases.

you don't say anything—mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as you digest his words and deal with his hungry stare.

"so am I getting a chance to ask you now? or are you too flustered to continue?"

you really wish you didn't wear your emotions so easily on your face—because it makes things like this even more difficult to hide—and clearly matt has picked up on that.

you splutter momentary, a jumbled string of words leaving your lips in a stutter. eventually you collect yourself, muttering with a pointed expression. "just...go."

matt's smirk is almost infuriating, and the way he tongues his cheek to try and contain it, even more so. he ponders for only a moment, lips pursing in thought. a beat passes, "what's the sexiest thing a guy can say or do that always works on you?" matt questions. "like what's your biggest turn on—sexual or not."

your brow quirks up in amusement. "you know with all these sex related questions i'm beginning to think you're younger than you told me."

he laughs. "don't pretend like you're not enjoying this. I can tell by your eyes."

"oh, so you know my eyes do you?"

"I know more than you think." he tells you firmly—his eyes daring as if he's tempting you to challenge him. "answer the question, y/n. god, we don't have all night." matt teases you in a playful manner, knee shifting to the side and bumping against your bent one.

"on the contrary—I think we do have all night." he shoots you a deadpanned look, and you sigh gently. "okay, let me think."

you've had two boyfriends in your life—which isn't that unheard of or shocking. your first boyfriend was in high school, and you'd only started dating because your friends thought he was a cutie and said you'd be cute together. which looking back now, was not a reason to date someone. he was very sweet, but honestly he was too sweet, and kind of a push over. you felt like you had to be in charge of everything—it made you feel like someone you're not.

your second boyfriend was in college, and you dated for a few months before breaking it off. contrary to your high school boyfriend, this guy was the complete opposite of sweet. he was never that kind towards you, and he was overly protective. he claimed he was really manly—but was actually just an asshole who wants you to act like his mommy.

with those experiences, you grew to know what you're looking for in a man, especially when it comes to their personality, how they carry themselves and how they make you feel.

"someone who has goals." you start, "if they have aspirations and aren't shy about pursuing them I think that's really hot."

you continue. "also a man that makes me feel confident. like, a manly guy who's not afraid to praise me and love me—and show me off. that's super attractive."

matt looks at you then—really looks at you. his eyebrows pull together slightly, creating a tiny divet in the middle of his forehead. "has nobody ever treated you right or something? because that's the kind of shit that should be bare minimum."

you blink—you've never thought of it that way. but yeah, matt's right. that should be a bare minimum, because if you're boyfriends not treating you like he loves you or honestly, loves himself—he's not doing it right.

you shrug. "shitty boyfriends."

matt hums once, and his soft gaze doesn't leave yours—drinking you in like he's a starved man in desperate need of your water.

you're flushing again, but that's not a surprise—tingling all over like your nerves have gone completely off the rails. you gulp, "guess it's my turn."

"guess so." he smirks.

this time, you don't have to think of something, and your question comes quickly. "what was your first impression of me?"

"first impression?" matt parrots, to which you nod once, a low hum rumbling through you. "do you want me to be honest?"

you exhale shakily, core practically fluttering. "yes." you're practically sober now, so you're surprised at yourself for being so forward—seductive tones and suggestive words are not in your sober catalogue.

"I thought you were beautiful." he admits, unashamed. "the kind of beautiful that just alludes sexy—like you're smart and you know what you want."

"yeah?" you whisper.

"mhm." matt practically moans, licking onto his bottom lip. "and I could smell your perfume. it was like walking into a cloud of fresh flowers—enticing and intoxicating."

"and your hands." he continues, eyes fluttering briefly as he recalls a few hours back when he'd helped your untangle your hair. "they're so soft and so small...I couldn't help but picture them on my body, running over my skin."

you whine quietly. "matt."

the energy between you has completely shifted, and the tip toeing around you've been participating in all night has completely changed. it's raw now—it's a primal need that you've become completely enveloped in.

matt seems to have given up on the actual asking part of the game—looking at you through the red light swallowing the interior of the elevator and casting a rose glow over your skin. "I dare you to come here."

the gulp you emit practically echoes through the tension filled space, making the situation feel even more intense—more real.

with another nervous but excited swallow, you move. you push up onto your knee caps, your skirt immediately loosening around your thighs—your blood comes rushing back, and your legs immediately thank you. your eyes flicker to his, the smallest bit of hesitation in them.

you give him the opportunity to end this—tell you he's just fooling around. but as matt looks at you—nothing but pure want in his gaze—you move forward, throwing your leg over the expanse of matt's thighs.

automatically your skirt begins shifting higher up your body, and as you sink down to sit on matt's lap, the material almost completely rises, exposing the bottom of your ass, decorated in lace trim lining your panties.

matt exhales breathily, large palms gently sliding up the tops of your thighs—feeling and drinking in your soft skin. "shit," he curses so quietly and rushed, if you weren't sitting on his lap you probably wouldn't of heard it.

but you did hear it—and your core clenched around nothing. you've never been this turned on in your life—and the sangria isn't even an excuse anymore.

"how badly do you want to kiss me?" you ask matt, playing into the childish game of truth or dare that started this whole conversation. your hands—slightly shaky—run over matt's hard chest, feeling the ripple of muscle under your palms as your drag upwards.

you run over his collarbones and watch his adam's apple bob harshly, no doubt getting lost in the feeling of your hands—the hands he's been fantasizing about since he walked onto the elevator.

you push your hips down ever so slightly, feeling the semi-hard budge pushing against the seam of matt's jeans.

your eyes flicker back towards his face, looking into his glossed over eyes. matt's pupils dilate, and he looks anything but nervous. "I think you can feel just how bad."

he shifts, pressing his bulge into your covered core—bumping against your already sensitive clit. matt is growing harder—needier—by the second, and he's not sure how much longer he'll be able to contain himself.

you look so pretty on him, your mouth falling open in a daze like way—staggered breaths passing through your rosy lips. "please." you whine, face inching closer to his.

that's the only signal matt needs from you, closing the little distance between you and connecting your lips in a passionate kiss.

it's instantly taking your breath away, matt leading you in an exchange that is leaving you nothing short of lightheaded. his calloused hands move further up your thighs, following the natural direction around the backside of your hips, finding your ass. he pushes the gray material of your skirt further up and away from your hips, exposing your ass to the interior walls of the broken down elevator completely.

his fingers need the flesh expertly, pushing and pulling you against his jean covered bulge like his life depended on it.

matt continues his kiss on your mouth, suckling on your bottom lip, pulling it away from you before letting it go with a pop.

you can practically feel the arousal pooling in your underwear, and you huff pleasantly, leaning back in to capture matt's lips in a rough kiss. your mouths are slick with shared salvia, sliding over each others like you've don't it a million times before.

the slick sounds are intoxicating—turning you both on further. reluctantly, matt pulls back, away from your pursed, leaving just enough space for him to speak. "I dare you to let me fuck you." his swollen lips brush over yours as he says it, adding to the erotica of it all.

before you can logically think, your nodding, a breathy yes falling from your wet lips.

he smirks, sloped nose nudging against yours as he leans back in, catching your lips once again. you're already moaning into it, allowing matt to continue dragging your weeping core over his crotch. it's been so long since you've been handled the way matt is handling you right now—actually, you don't think you've ever been handled this way.

you're already a smaller person, but in matt's lap you're practically non-existent. he moves you easily and perfectly, muscles shifting and tightening in a way that under your finger tips, feels drool worthy.

you lift your hips slightly, and matt lets you—curious and too turned on to deny you. pulling away from his mouth, you let your warm forehead rest against his, and your eyes flicker down towards his hips—towards his dick.

the bulge is painfully hard, straining against his zipper. you let your one hand fall from his shoulder, shooting down to his jeans with shaky fingers. "wanna see you." you mumble, tugging open the metal button.

matt breathes a laugh, watching with lazy eyes as your nimble fingers tug at his zipper—roughly and quickly pulling it down to reveal his straining boxer briefs.

you bring your faces back together, bumping your noses as you interlock your lips again. while the kiss continues, you find your hand creeping under the elastic waist band of matt's underwear, moving through the space until you're grazing his most sensitive area.

he grunts against your lips, a curse whispered into your mouth. you smirk into it, hand wrapping around matt's fully hard dick. it's big—deliciously so, and your fingers barley brush as you fist him.

he pulls back. "holy fuck."

you bite the swollen skin of your bottom lip, eyes flickering over matt's blissed out expression as you continue pumping his dick—slowly but deliberately. "feel good?"

matt hums. "better than good."

you run your thumb over his oozing tip, spreading the streak of pre-cum over the surface. your thumb slides back into place, and you continue to pump him. he's growing hotter and heavier in your grip—he's close.

suddenly, his grip on your hips tightens, and he sits up straighter. matt holds you against him, and your hand slips of his dick at the fluid change in motion. gently, he lies you down, your back against the carpet once again tonight. your skirt is bunched around your torso, exposing your underwear completely.

but you're not even bothered by that—you're further turned on by it if anything. you reach towards matt's chest as he hovers over you, pawing at his shirt in a silent request.

thankfully, matt gets it, and a smirk pulls at his lips. he sit up on his knees before gripping the edge of his top, pulling it off in one swift motion.

your eyes glaze over as you watch his skin become exposed, muscles moving under his smooth skin—the red glow making the hard surface look more defined. he catches your stare, "see something you like?"

you take ahold of your lip between your teeth briefly. "see something I need." you correct seductively, eyes following matt as he crawls back over you.

your legs spread apart wider subconsciously, further inviting matt into your space.

"what else do you need?" matt whispers, fingers pushing your tangled hair off your flushed face. his hand trails off your face, down your neck and over your hallowed collarbone. you're too flustered to answer him, but your body reacts regardless—hips jerking up until your core bumps against his.

matt's hand finally finds your underwear, and he slowly drags two fingers over your slit. you're already worked up, the combination of matt's steady pressure and the material adding extra stimulation against you, has you moaning out. "please." you whimper.

"please what?" he smirks cheekily, still continuing the movements over your wet core.

if you weren't so turned on, you would've rolled your eyes. but, you're too horny to bite back. "please touch me."

"that's it." he praises quietly. matt hooks two fingers around the lace waistband of your underwear, swiftly pulling the material off you. you can feel your sticky arousal trail from your pussy to your underwear, the gooey substance stringy as your underwear leaves your body. matt practically finishes at the sight, "fuck, you're already soaking wet for me."

your underwear get tossed in one of the corners of the elevator, and you can't even process how disgusting that will be to deal with when this is all over—you don't care. "can't help myself." you mumble, "you've been working me up all night."

matt's eyes twinkle. "I know." before you have a chance to say anything about that remark, matt fingers circle your dripping entrance slowly, teasing you with his calloused pads. he doesn't make you wait very long before he slips into your hole, spreading you with his fingers.

your mouth falls open, eyes darting down to watch. he adjusts his positioning so that his palm bumps against your clit, continuing to thrust his fingers in and out of your pussy. "that feels so good." you mewl.

"yeah?" matt questions, a hint of teasing in his voice. "and what if I do this?" he changes his rhythm, and instead of the thrusting motion he'd been previously doing, he curls his fingers deeper, rubbing his palm over your bundle of nerves—hitting all your weak spots.

the wet sound is like music to his ears, and he can feel your juices gushing, leaking down his fingers and dripping onto the carpet.

you curse breathily, eyes fluttering closed as your head falls back—too weak to hold it up any longer. "i'm gunna cum."

your words have matt abruptly pulling his fingers out of your entrance, leaving you whining, shocked and your walls fluttering around nothing. your eyes shoot open, mouth falling in disbelief. "whyyyyyyy?"

"hey." he laughs in amusement. "relax." matt pushes his jeans down further, reaching just under his balls. his hand, still slick with your juices, reaches into his underwear, pulling out his dick.

he squeezes himself, a fluttering groan bubbling from his chest at the delicious pressure.

your irritation and remarks die on your tongue at the sight. his cock is just as big as it felt, thick with two prominent veins running up the underside—his tip an angry pink and leaking.

you can feel yourself dripping—at this point your practically a faucet. matt fists himself a couple times, lining his tip with your fluttering hole. "is this okay?" he questions heavily, eyes finding yours again.

you bite your lip, an attempt at containing your ridiculously wide grin. "more than." you nod your approval, and matt smiles at that, mirroring your expression.

but as he pushes his hard length into you, your smiles falter, pleasure laced moans and whimpers mixing between your bodies. he stretches you out perfectly, your walls hugging his slightly curved dick like your life depended on it.

"god, you feel so fucking good." matt huffs once he's fully sheathed inside your gooey pussy. his pelvis brushes against your clit, and a shock goes through you 

matt uses his free hand to push your leg against your chest, creating a more open angle which has him sliding in even further. "you're so deep." you whine, clenching over him. "please move, holy fuck."

matt groans at your request, but doesn't have to be told twice as he begins to pull out of you before thrusting his length back in. his pace quickly turns fast, rutting into you so perfectly and hitting all the spots you need him to.

you're a moaning, sloppy mess, withering under matt like you don't know how to act—you don't know how to act when you're getting fucked this good.

matt reaches towards your shirt, and in one quick movement he pops the buttons open, revealing your animal print bra. he doesn't waste a second before pulling down the cups roughly, revealing your puffy nipples. "you're so beautiful—fuck me."

he grabs onto your boob, squeezing the fleshy mound like his life depended on it. the stimulation is heavenly, and you're whimpering like a baby. "i'm close." you admit.

matt picks up his pace, pounding into your hole quicker and deeper than before. you’re practically scream, nails digging into matt's torso as your ground yourself. you feel like you're being bent in half—in the best way possible. his pelvis is smacking against your clit perfectly, and tugging into your hole expertly. "that's it, fuck, such a good girl."

he pinches your nipple once more before his hand comes up towards the side of your face. matt holds your cheek softly, leaning down to connect your lips in a munch needed kiss.

you kiss him back with just as much passion he's giving you, letting your mouths exchange dominant passes over one another. when matt hits your sentive spot with the tip of his dick, you pull away, struggling to stay focused on anything but his movements inside you.

"i'm cumming." you whimper, brows pulling together as you focus on the feeling of coming undone. "don't stop—oh my god, don't stop."

"come on baby." matt huffs, kissing your neck quickly. "let go for me."

and you do. your entire body tightens as your walls clamp down on him—like your pussy was trying to suck him in. your orgasm washes over your skin, making you feel light and tingly, and your body goes limp—a pornographic moan falling from your lips.

matt slows ever so slightly, letting you ride out your high on his throbbing cock. matt releases his hold on your leg, letting it fall back into its original spread position. "yeah...you're so good y/n."

you whine, eyes fluttering open to watch matt's dick continuing to slide in and out of your spent entrance. his pace begins to pick up again—close to his release. "where you want me to cum?"

you sigh pleasantly. "on 'm belly."

"yeah?" he questions, already beginning lifting your skirt to properly expose your lower tummy pudge. "right here?"

"mhmm." you moan. "so hot, matt."

matt's thrusts become sporadic, and his rhythm has gone out the window as he chases his own orgasm. and with three more pumps into your seeping hole before he fully pulls out, fisting his cock as his seed spurts over your stomach.

"fuck." matt splutters, pumping out the last few drops of cum. the hot and sticky liquid drips onto your stomach, adding to the already covered skin.

you breath a mixture of laughter and a moan, watching the mess pool on your body. "that's really hot."

matt meets your eyes, breathless as he grins. "you're really hot."

you giggle, covering your hot face with the palms of your hands.

"don't go shy on me now." matt laughs, gently tugging your hands away. you look like a hot mess—beat red even under the glow of the emergency light, with mascara smudged under your eyes and lips swollen—matt's never seen anything sexier.

you look at him timidly, but matt's grin doesn't waiver, leaning back into your space. "give me a kiss."

and you do, leaning up and pressing your lips to his in another kiss. this one is softer, more relaxed—but still laced with passion and need.

the loud buzz of the speaker has you pulling apart, surprising you both. a grainy voice begins to speak, "is anybody in this elevator?"

you and matt turn to look at one another, eyes wide. "fuck."

you can't help but laugh as matt scrambles off your body, half naked as he presses the call button, answering the lady on the other end.

and as you lay there, with the man who only a few hours ago was a stranger, sneaking a glance at you over his shoulder, you can't help be feel overjoyed for getting stuck in an elevator. and although you don’t really know that much about him other than his name and what he looks like naked—you can’t wait to learn.

[pboogerswbb]

LET IT SNOW

Paige Bueckers x reader In which Paige and reader spend a snowy day babysitting reader's niece and nephew (loosely based on a request i got weeks ago) Warnings: fluff, suggestiveish? very very very sweet, will make you sick (fluff is very hard for me to write ok be nice) Wordcount: 2.9K A/C: happy christmas eve everyone <3 this is my christmas present to y'all so enjoy this while i take some time to rest and spend time with my family :) unfortunately that means you gotta wait for chapter 2 of so it goes for a little longer but i want to take a break for a few days from writing over christmas! i hope you understand. everyone who celebrates christmas pls spend it eating, drinking (if you're of age), and don't kill your family pls (i know that's much to ask over the holidays let's be real). i'll return to writing so it goes post christmas! MERRY CHRISTMAS GUYS <3

-

“There’s a list of allergies on the fridge, if Mia throws a fit just put her in the stroller and walk her around for a bit, if she won’t calm down call me. Whatever you see in the fridge you can eat, and call me whenever! I’ll have my ringer up and-”

“Chloe-”

“and really call me whenever you need to! And have your ringer up too!”

“Chloe!”

Your aunt’s husband is pulling on her arm, trying to get her further than the front door but 10 minutes have already been spent going through everything for the day.

“Auntie Chlo we’ve babysat before. They’re in good hands,” you reassure, smiling brightly at her. She inhales deeply and chuckles when she realises how long she’s been rambling for.

“You’re right, the kids love you. Especially you Paige, they’ve missed you. Been showing them clips of your games!” Your aunt says, head tilting upwards to look at the blonde girl standing behind you, hands wrapped around your waist. 

You and Paige had been dating for over a year now, celebrating your first of what would be many anniversaries. In that short amount of time the blonde had made her way into the depths of your closest circle, becoming a part of your family. It happened effortlessly, the way she fit into your life, the way she clicked with your relatives. You swore they loved her more than you at this point. This was about to be the first Christmas she ever spent with your family, and just the idea of her with all your loved ones made your chest fill with warmth.

So when your aunt Chloe called you in a crisis on Christmas Eve, her babysitter getting sick at the last minute, you and Paige were quick to agree to look after your nearly 2-year-old niece Mia and 7-year-old nephew Leo. 

“Go! We got this aight,” Paige reassures, resting her chin on the top of your head as she does.

Pulled away by her husband, your auntie waves goodbye and closes the door, leaving you and Paige alone with the kids standing behind you. Before you can even react, Mia’s lower lip begins to quiver, the sight of her mother gone upsetting the small child. 

“Uh oh,” you mumble, Paige swiftly making her way to the little girl and picking her up, pouting her own lower lip to mirror the child.

“Are you sad because you miss mama? She’ll be back later, I promise,” Paige coos to Mia, rocking her in her arms. She’s wearing a white t-shirt despite the snow outside, for some reason she was always warm, and her biceps were growing more prominent as she held the child by her hip. The sight of Paige comforting your niece made your heart flutter, making it hard to tear your eyes away. watching Mia bury her face into the crook of Paige’s neck.

“We’ve got a really fun day planned for you!” You gleam at both of the children, ruffling Leo’s hair. He laughs but pushes your hand off, running to the kitchen.

“Can I have a cookie?” The boy asks, clearly taking advantage of the moment that his parents’ watchful eyes weren’t around.

“No-” you start but Paige is already following him to the kitchen. She was such a pushover, always had been with the kids. Just some pouting, eyes batting and she was ready to bend every which way for them.

“Paige!” You complain as the blonde easily reaches to the top shelf, grabbing a jar of chocolate chip cookies.

“What?” She asks unbothered by your scolding, handing a cookie to Leo, and taking a bite of one herself. “Wanted a cookie,” she mumbles, her mouth full.

“Cookie! Gimme!” Mia babbles, short hands reaching for the cookie your girlfriend is holding between her teeth.

“Oh good God…” you groan, rubbing your forehead, already knowing this was going to be a long day if the kids had the blonde wrapped around their finger this much already. But when Mia giggles as Paige feeds her a part of the cookie, you decide not to care. If there was a time to spoil the kids it was on Christmas Eve.

“C’mere,” Paige nods you over, grabbing another cookie. You scurry into the kitchen, grabbing Mia from her and kissing the little girl’s forehead. She giggles brightly, clearly in a much better mood. You nuzzle your nose into her soft cheek, eliciting more laughs from the baby. The whole time Paige can’t look away even for a second, her heart fluttering with affection. Paige was completely in love with you, and seeing you like this only made her feel it more.

“What are we gonna dooo all day?” Leo interrupts the moment, yanking on Paige’s shirt. She grins and ruffles his hair affectionately. Leo and Paige had bonded quickly the first time they met, and now they’re best friends. In fact Leo facetimes Paige weekly on your aunt’s phone.

“We’ve got some ideas.” The blonde says smirking.

-

The weather is perfect, the gentle winter sun not warming but making everything brighter as the rays reflect off the snow. Snowflakes fall softly from the sky, adding to the already covered ground as you walk behind Leo and Paige, holding Mia in your arms, trying to catch your breath as you climb on top of a hill.

“Isn’t this high enough?” You ask, glancing down, worrying that Leo would be too scared to get on the sled. Predictably so, the two in front of you look over their shoulders, immediately uttering the word “no” in unison

“Auntie Paigey and your big brother have gone cray cray,” you murmur to the babbling Mia, wrapped in her warmest winter gear. 

“Okay, here’s good!” Paige says, finally putting the sled she was carrying down, looking around the group.

“You wanna go first Leo?”

Suddenly the boy looks down, hesitating. It’s pretty steep, especially at first. You could tell he felt unsure, but Paige noticed it too.

“I’m actually lowkey scared, can we ride down together?” She asks, covering for the boy. For a moment your eyes meet with hers, wanting nothing more but to kiss her right now. Paige always had you weak in the knees, but the way she skillfully handled kids only made you love her more.

“Okay we can go together I guess,” Leo complains, deep down relieved. They sit down on the sled, Paige behind the boy, ready to steer.

“Wait!” She yelps, turning to you, blinking fast. “Kiss for good luck.”

Apparently she’d been feeling the same about the kiss.

Humming, you place Mia down on the ground to play with the snow, leaning close to Paige. Her warm lips press into yours, in a loving, gentle peck that let you know she wanted to do so much more, if it wasn’t for the company.

“Yuck!” Leo whines, making both of you giggle.

“Hey, have some respect for your auntie,” Paige grins and pushes the sled forward. Suddenly they’re riding down at such speed you can barely watch. Someone was bound to get hurt.

Both of them scream as the speed accelerates, the sounds echoing in the air. To your surprise they both make it all the way down safe and sound, Paige stopping the sled and jumping off.

“That was so fast!” Leo chuckles hysterically, making your girlfriend laugh too. You could hear them laughing all the way up where you were standing. 

“Ball,” Mia babbles, pointing at a pile of snow. Giggling, you sit down on the ground next to her, beginning to roll one snowball after the other and handing them to the girl. 

“Look Mia!” You gasp to get her attention. Her wide eyes turn to you, long eyelashes fluttering as she watches. You throw a snowball into the air, Mia’s eyes following as it crashes to the ground. Immediately she claps, a wide smile on her face to reward your efforts.

“Babe it’s your turn,” Paige’s voice says as she’s climbing up, trying to catch her breath.

You scoff, continuing to play with the snow for Mia. “Not happening P,”

“Oh you’re scared huh?” The blonde teases, a smug smirk spreading across her face.

Leo gasps. “It’s not scary at all! I was scared at first too!”

You roll your eyes, not falling for their games. 

“I’m playing with my girl here, you boys leave us alone,” you say, poking your tongue out at your girlfriend. She scoffs loud, walking over to you and wrapping her arms around your waist, lifting you up and throwing you over her shoulder with ease.

Leo laughs loud, pointing at the two of you. “Paige is not a boy!”

“Let me down!” You yelp, kicking your legs and arms but it’s no use. She’s much too strong, carrying you towards the sled. Your squeals make Mia laugh loudly, a wide smile spread on her face.

“Look after your sis for a bit, aight?” Paige tells Leo, placing you down on the sled. You’re still giggling, shaking your head.

“I’m not gonna! It’s scary!” You laugh, the blonde sitting snug behind you on the sled, wrapping her legs around you.

“Don’t be such a wuss,” she teases, her arms wrapping over your waist. Leaning in, you feel her hot air tickling against your ear as she whispers. “I gotchu ma, don’t worry.”

With that, Paige pushes off the snowy ground, holding onto you tight. Quickly the speed picks up, fluttering in the pit of your stomach. The freezing cold air tingles against your skin and your eyes water from the cold as you laugh.

“Ahhh P-“ you scream, turning your gaze backwards and finding that, to your shock, the blonde behind you is pushing on the ground to make you go even faster. “STOP!”

Paige giggles into your ear, her arms wrapping around you tight to hold you close. Soon it’s over as you reach the base of the hill, the speed finally slowing down and flutters in your abdomen disappearing.

“Told you it wasn’t so scary,” the blonde grins, helping you up.

“Uh yes it was,” you laugh, grabbing a handful of snow and throwing it at the girl in front of you. Some of it gets onto her face, making Paige pause.

Her mouth turns into a tight smile and her blue eyes widen. Immediately you know you’re in trouble.

“Oh it’s like that huh?” She says and you squeal, already beginning to run when she starts to throw the powdery snow all over you.

“No no no no please!” You can barely breathe, gasping for air and trying to run, the snowy ground making your steps heavy. Paige, being a D1 athlete, easily reaches you. 

“Oh so now you regret it!” She laughs, snow falling into your coat, down your neck, making you scream louder as the girl chasing you wraps her arms around your waist, spinning you in the air. 

“Stop! Paige!”

“Say please,” she orders, her tone lighthearted.

You roll your eyes, hating having to admit defeat, but knowing it must be done.

“Fine! Please, please stop Paige please,” you whine, batting your wide eyes at the girl. She looks at you, finally putting you down and kissing your forehead.

“Wanna hear you just like that later,” she whispers the dirty words into your ear, lips brushing against your skin, tingling. Before you can scoff or tell her off, Mia’s loud cry disrupts the moment.

Both you and Paige hurry up the hill, towards Leo who’s holding his sister, bouncing him gently to soothe the little girl.

“What happened?” You ask, swiftly scooping Mia from the boy and trying her cheeks to see if she was cold. Nope, perfectly toasty from all the layers.

“Nothing! She just started crying!”

But then, studying her face, you notice the redness of her eyes, her mittened hands trying to rub them desperately.

“Aw, she’s sleepy,” Paige says, like reading your mind, grabbing the sled. 

“We should probably head back, she needs to take a nap,” you murmur, trying to soothe the girl in your arms, ear-piercing screams and cries spilling from her mouth.

All four of you hurry to the car, but no attempts to calm Mia down help. She’s exhausted, plump bottom lip quivering as she keeps crying the whole drive home. You could feel yourself getting exhausted, the loud noise becoming overwhelming and stressful. Paige could see it too, the way you were sighing and taking deep breaths. So when you return to the house, she grabs your hand and kisses it before getting up from the car.

“I’ll take her to bed okay? You rest ma,” she murmurs. Relief spreads all over your chest and you smile affectionately.

“How’d I get so lucky?” You ask.

“Nah, I’m lucky. Got the best girl in the entire world.

-

After an hour of the faint sounds of Paige’s lullabies (off-key but she would never admit that) and trying to reason with the 2-year-old like that might help, the cries eventually quiet down. Leo is resting too, playing in his room. You’ve been in the kitchen, making spaghetti for all of you. Checking the clock you realise it’s been about 30 minutes since you last heard any sound from Mia, yet Paige still hadn’t returned downstairs.

Quietly, you sneak your way up the stairs, ever so carefully opening the door into the bedroom to not wake up Mia. But what you find makes your heart flutter - in the dimmed out room, Paige and Mia are both asleep, your girlfriend holding the little girl close. The blonde’s mouth is slightly ajar, soft snores escaping through. For a moment you just watch, allowing the love you felt for them both to spread. You walk over, make sure they’re both covered up by the blanket before sneaking back out, leaving them in bed.

“Leo, come eat dinner soon, ok?” You whisper to him in the other room. His eyes lighting up, the little boy gets up holding a toy dinosaur and follows you downstairs.

“Can I watch The Grinch while I eat? Please please please!” He begs, giving you puppy eyes.

“Mmkay, just this once,” you bend to his will, setting it all up for him. You can’t help but watch Leo getting snuggled up on the couch, a blanket around him, eyes wide staring at the TV. Leaning against the arch into the living room, you feel your body tired from the day, muscles aching and mind exhausted. But your insides are fluttering with warmth, no other word for the specific feeling but pure joy. Walking back into the kitchen you begin to make your own plate of food.

You let your mind wonder, and maybe it’s risky. It’s much too soon to be thinking anything close to it. But since it’s Christmas, you let yourself. Your mind comes up with vivid images of you and Paige, in a house of your own, decorating the tree - Paige the only one tall enough to place the star on top. You can see you two baking cookies and watching Christmas movies, hot chocolate in bed. 

And maybe, just maybe eventually, two children of your own. There are flutters in your heart thinking about building snowmen with your little family, roasting marshmallows in the fireplace, dressing them up in tiny costumes and sending family postcards to your relatives and friends. It felt so far away, yet you could see it so vividly. 

As if she had heard your thoughts, suddenly warm hands land on your waist, Paige’s reflection appearing in the window in front of you. Humming, her front presses flush to your back, fitting against you just right.

“I fell asleep,” she murmurs, burying her nose into your hair and inhaling. It’s like heaven, after a long day, to feel her like this again.

“I noticed,” you reply, beginning to make a plate for the girl as well. She watches closely, following every movement from behind you until her lips find your neck, beginning to press soft, loving kisses along the nape of it. 

Eyes fluttering shut, you hum, turning your head to face the blonde behind you. Hand reaching for your jaw, she pulls you into a gentle kiss, lips sliding against yours slowly. “Can’t wait to see you be a mom,” Paige whispers against your mouth, chest heaving.

A deep blush sets on your cheeks hearing the words, taking them in. The blonde watches your reaction, clearly trying to read you.

“I’m sorry if that’s too much to say this early but I-”

“No,” you shake your head with a smile. “I can’t wait for that either.”

Relief washes over your girlfriend, as she pecks your lips once more. 

“We’re gonna be so good ma, best parents in the world.”

Beaming with joy, both you and Paige walk into the living room where Leo is sitting, eyes glued to the movie.

“Yo! Scooch!” Paige tells the boy, who shuffles to the corner of the couch. Both you and your girlfriend sit in the opposite corner, holding your bowls of spaghetti and getting settled. The blonde quickly wraps an arm around you, pulling you to lean against her side. You’re snuggled up, feeding bites of food to each other and stealing kisses whenever the boy isn't watching.

“I love you,” Paige whispers into your ear, blue eyes sparkling with adoration.

“I love you too Paige,” you whisper back, cheeks rosy and heart fluttering from the perfect snowy day.

-

taglist: @xxloveralways14 @bueckersfive @sierrale8ne @thaatdigitaldiary @lovegalor333 @lupinqs @rosemariiaa @janaelalfysblunt @d3arapril @vamptizm

[misswynters]

Snowy logs

short drabble

featuring. leon s kennedy x pregnant!reader

just fluffy protective leon and that’s all

Leon had always been protective of you, but lately, since finding out you were pregnant, he’d taken it to a new level. Every time you even hinted at stepping outside, he’d insist on doing it for you. And now, with the safe haven up in the snowy mountains of Canada, surrounded by blankets of snow and icy air, he was even more adamant.

Bundled in a thick coat, Leon stood outside, splitting logs in the crisp air. His breath puffed out in soft clouds, and each swing of the axe echoed through the snowy landscape. From the warmth of the cabin, you could see the determined expression on his face. It was a mixture of focus and knowing how he was, genuine worry for you.

After watching him for a few minutes, you couldn’t help but feel the need to be with him. It was freezing outside, but the cabin felt too quiet, and besides, a little fresh air never hurt anyone. With some effort, you wrapped yourself up in your warmest coat, tugging your hat down over your ears and your scarf around your neck. Stepping outside, the cold air bit into your cheeks, but it felt refreshing.

As soon as Leon caught sight of you, he paused mid-swing. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he called, dropping the axe immediately. “What are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be inside, staying warm!”

You grinned at his exaggerated concern. “I just came to keep you company,” you said, walking carefully across the snowy ground towards him. “You look like you could use a little break.”

He put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “Babe, it’s freezing out here, and you’re five months pregnant. You’re not exactly built for chopping wood right now.”

“Maybe I’m not here to chop wood,” you replied, trying to stifle a laugh. “Maybe I just wanted to help a little, hold the logs for you or something.”

Leon’s eyes widened in horror. “Hold the logs? Absolutely not! I don’t need you holding anything out here in this cold.” He came over, gently guiding you back towards the porch. “Your only job right now is staying warm and taking care of yourself. And our baby,” he added with a soft smile, his hand resting protectively on your belly.

You placed your hand over his and looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with affection. “You worry way too much. I’m fine, really. It’s just some snow and fresh air.”

Leon sighed, tucking a loose strand of your hair back under your hat. “Fresh air can be enjoyed from the comfort of the porch,” he replied, but you could see the smile tugging at his lips. “Come on, I’m serious. Let me finish up here, and I’ll be right inside with you. I don’t want you getting sick or slipping out here. You know how clumsy you can get.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me, did you just call me clumsy?”

He let out a soft chuckle, rubbing his hands together to warm them. “I’m not saying it’s your fault,” he teased. “But you did manage to trip over that log just last week. And that was indoors.”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully nudged him. “Maybe you should be more careful where you leave things, then, Mr. Kennedy.”

Leon smiled, catching your hand in his as he pulled you closer. “See, this is why you should be inside right now. You’re too adorable out here, and it’s distracting me from my very important log-splitting duties.”

You shook your head but couldn’t hide your smile. “You’re ridiculous. It’s just wood, Leon. It’s not like you’re saving the world this time.”

He tilted his head, giving you a look. “I don’t know…feels like I’m keeping two of my favorite people safe right now. That’s pretty close.”

Your heart melted at that, and you hugged him, feeling the warmth of his arms around you even through your thick coats. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then another to your cheek, lingering for a moment before speaking softly. “Why don’t you go back inside, sit by the fire, and I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“Only if you promise to take a break,” you replied, giving him a stern look. “You’ve been at this all morning.”

Leon laughed, his breath warm against your skin. “Alright, deal. I’ll take a break as soon as I finish this stack. You have my word.”

As you walked back up the porch steps, Leon’s voice stopped you. “Wait, hold on,” he called, rushing over to catch you before you went inside. “Here,” he said, wrapping his scarf around your neck on top of your own. “I’ll grab another one for myself, but you keep this.”

You chuckled, adjusting the extra scarf. “Thank you, but now I look like I have three chins.”

He shrugged, grinning. “You look cute, that’s all I care about.”

With that, you went back inside, feeling warm not just from the extra scarf but from Leon’s attentiveness. Settling by the fire, you watched through the window as he got back to work, occasionally glancing at the cabin to make sure you were okay.

When he finally came inside, red-cheeked and breathless from the cold, he brushed the snow off his coat and plopped down next to you, taking his gloves off and warming his hands by the fire. “Alright, happy now?” he asked with a smirk.

“Yes,” you replied, leaning against him. “Though I still think you’re going a little overboard with all this protectiveness.”

Leon wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “You know, I never thought I’d get to do this,” he said, his voice softening. “Be out here with you, building a life together. I didn’t even think it was possible.”

You placed a hand over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath your palm. “I know. It still feels surreal sometimes, doesn’t it?”

He nodded, his eyes looking distant for a moment before he looked back at you with that soft, warm gaze you’d come to adore. “Yeah, but I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”

He paused, looking down at your belly, then back up at you. “I’m going to be the best husband and dad I can be. So, that means I might be a little…overprotective.”

You laughed, brushing your hand along his cheek. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” he replied, meeting your gaze intently.

“Let me come outside sometimes. I can’t be cooped up forever,” you said with a mischievous smile.

Leon chuckled, nodding. “Alright, but only if you wear two scarves, five coats, and let me carry you everywhere.”

“Oh, come on,” you groaned, laughing as he pulled you close and kissed your forehead. “I’d look like a snowman!”

“Then I’ll just have to love my adorable snowman,” he murmured, holding you tight, the warmth of the fire and his arms wrapping you up in a blanket of love and safety.

As the snow continued to fall outside and the fire crackled warmly in the hearth, you felt like you were exactly where you belonged. Being wrapped in Leon’s arms, safe, warm, and ready to face life as parents of a baby in the cold outskirts of Canada. Away from off the the ruckus that is the umbrella corp.

taglist: @writingwisterias

banners. @anitalenia

[nottswitch]

— if you’ve been nice, you get…

─────────────── 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐬. ──

summary: winter begins, and so do the winter blues. your boyfriend helps you through the melancholy in the best way possible.

pairing: theo nott x reader

cw: 18+ smut, established relationship, oral (f receiving), body worship, nipple play, praise, italian pet names

wc: 2k

a/n: the first installment of my christmas celebration from the nice list. hope you will enjoy and stick to the end of it <3

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; theo m.list ; kinkmas 2024

────────────────────────

The weather changed immediately, as if a light switch had been flipped on the night between November 30th and December 1st. You went to sleep to the sound of rain rattling against the surface of the Black Lake behind the window of the Slytherin dorm; you woke up to the sight of a thin layer of ice and snow covering its glassy surface. Winter came seamlessly, unnoticed yet so impactful on everyone around – someone immediately got a headache, the others got excited at the prospect of having fun in the snow rather soon. You? You got a bad case of winter blues.

It happened pretty much every winter – as soon as the page of the calendar turned, your mood went down, down, down, until it was coming out of the other side of the planet Earth and plummeting into space. This year was no different – ever since early morning you just couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning in bed didn’t help, so, despite it being the weekend and a perfect opportunity to sleep in, you sat up, letting out a quiet sigh and looking down at your boyfriend.

Theo was blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil, his eyes closed, his arm loosely draped around your waist and now fallen onto your lap thanks to your sitting position. His soft breathing was the only sound filling the otherwise silent space of the dorm. Not a single feature out of place – how could he remain so perfect even while being completely knocked out?

Reluctantly, you grabbed Theo’s wrist with a touch as gentle as a cloud of cotton, pulling his arm off your lap and onto the bed. In a moment, your feet were already on the floor, sliding into fuzzy brown slippers that instantly warmed up your freezing toes. The soft comforter covering your legs was now wrapped around your shoulders as you padded to the window, climbing onto the windowsill and tucking your knees under your chin.

You sat there for a while, staring into the dark waters of the lake that seemed to still, as if the very depths of it were frozen in anticipation of winter. You didn’t hear Theo stirring in the bed, a low, quiet whimper escaping him when his hand felt the cool silken sheets instead of your body’s warmth. He blinked, chasing away the sleep, and looked over his shoulder, noticing your bundled form perched up at the window. Immediately, a small frown tugged at his forehead, and he was up in an instant, running a hand through his messy bed curls as he walked up to where you were sitting.

"Can’t sleep?" he asked quietly, wrapping an arm around your middle while the other one came to rest on your blanket-covered thigh.

You nodded, turning your head to give him a small, weak smile. "Just the weather." You glanced towards the window, where the lake was unusually quiet, devoid of any life, any creatures that would normally swim by.

Theo looked up, noticing the change in the atmosphere, and hummed in understanding, returning his gaze to your face. He placed his chin on your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to your temple in hopes of making you smile some more, his hand giving your thigh gentle caresses. You leaned into him, straightening your legs along the windowsill, which gave Theo more access. It also gave him a foolproof idea about how to make your mood better – he didn’t like seeing you upset, even if the reason was nothing more than the cold gloom outside.

His hands slowly traveled up, grabbing the edges of the blanket and opening them up just a tiny bit to let your sleeping sweater show. You shivered as the chilly air inside the dorm brushed against your bare collarbones, but Theo quickly rectified the situation by nuzzling his face into your neck to warm it up with his breath. The shiver he gave you was much more pleasant than the one from before, goosebumps making the small hairs on the nape of your neck stand up. Theo started placing carefully dry kisses on your skin while his strong hands curled around your hips, turning your body around.

Your legs hung off the windowsill for a moment before instinctively wrapping around his waist. The warmth was now provided by the blanket still resting snugly on your shoulders and Theo’s body pressing up against your front. Sandwiched in the comfort of his presence and the softness of the fabric, you couldn’t help a quiet gasp leaving your mouth as you felt heat starting to pool between your legs. Theo quickly caught your gasp with his lips, the kiss short but enough to render you breathless for a few seconds. His hands were roaming your torso, slipping under the sweater, though without the addition of any type of discomfort – his touch was a pleasant fever, enveloping you in a blanket of its own.

"Let me take care of you, yeah?" Theo murmured, waiting for your nod before proceeding with his plan. Having received it, he kissed you once more, tracing a path from your lips down to your jawline and neck again. His hands slowly lifted up your sweater, his body not letting the chill get to you, as his fingers found the mounds of your breasts. Your shaky breath was the desired reaction, your nipples already stiff and perked up from the ever-growing arousal coursing through your form. Kneading your soft flesh, Theo bent down, his lips attaching to your left nipple, taking it into the wet warmth of his mouth. His tongue swirled a circle around it, your small moan encouraging him to go further. His right hand worked on your other breast as he gently sucked on the bud, a contrast to the roughness that often accompanied his actions.

When his lips moved to your right nipple, the grip of your hand on the windowsill tightened. Every single flick of his tongue was echoing right in your core, tingles running down and settling between your thighs. You pulled him closer, even though the space between you was already nonexistent, your fingers weaving into the curly crown on his head. Theo felt the pull deep in his gut, the scratch of your nails against his sensitive scalp causing him to moan against your skin. The need to taste you and simultaneously make you feel better was an ache he desperately craved to soothe. With one last flat lick at your nipple he started slowly crouching down, showering your stomach and sides with languid kisses, unwilling to let a single inch of you be left unattended and devoid of his love.

"So beautiful, amore… So perfect,” he whispered in between kisses, nuzzling his nose against you in an attempt to take in every molecule of your familiar scent. He made his way down, his knees finally landing on the wooden floor with a quiet thud.

Theo’s hands hooked under your thighs to pull them over his shoulders. He tugged you closer to the edge of the windowsill, making you slump against the glass, the coldness of it muffled by the blanket. With his help, you lifted up your hips, helping him slide off you pajama pants. He dropped them to the floor, his eyes immediately landing on your already glistening pussy. Looking down, you could see the undeniable hunger in his gaze, the only thing stopping him from devouring you on the spot being his desire to make this experience as soothing for you as possible. Barely holding back, Theo started placing kisses on your inner thighs, the soft skin heating up under the steady puffs of his breath. His own need was twitching between his legs, the fabric of his sweatpants straining around his rapidly hardening cock. One of his hands momentarily dipped down, tugging them down to free his erection; he wasn’t planning to focus on his pleasure, only wanting to relieve the pressure so that you would be the one to have the entirety of his attention.

When his mouth finally reached the place aching for it, you held your breath, the air coming out of you in a ragged exhale. Theo’s eyes briefly drifted up, his eyelashes doing nothing to hide the flame of desire mixed with tenderness at the sight of your parted lips and slightly widened eyes. A second later, he was already latched onto your center, his tongue drawing a flat line against your folds. The muscles of your thighs clenched at the contact, but your entire body seemed to relax just a moment later, as Theo started slowly lapping up and down. His hands rested delicately on your thighs, his thumbs rubbing small circles into the bare skin, the softness of it interrupted by the occasional wave of goosebumps rising up.

He was taking his time with you, as much as his already leaking cock was begging him to rush from below. Theo’s tongue started making his way to your slit, spreading the folds open by flicking from side to side. A low, quiet moan escaped your lips when he reached your clit, lingering there for a second before continuing to tease the area just below. That second was enough for your pussy to clench in anticipation of what was to come. Theo smirked faintly against you, relishing your reaction to his touch before finally swirling his tongue around your clit. Another quiet moan stuttered into a whimper on your lips, but it was strangely enough for him. Usually, Theo would bask in the knowledge that he could easily make you scream, but the sullen silence of the winter morning played its trick on him as well. He thought it comforting, to be able to have you so close he could feel each and every uneven breath you took, hear the smallest mewls barely breaking through the stillness of the atmosphere inside the dorm.

Theo’s mouth continued its deliberate work, switching between his tongue drawing shapes and his lips sucking and kneading at the bundle of nerves, each of them bare and responsive. His hands were skimming your thighs, soothing the pleasant ache his mouth was burning into your body. At the same time, his hips started moving subtly, rocking back and forth, as if trying to search for friction his hard member desperately needed. Theo didn’t let it get to his head, though, focused entirely on chasing your blues away.

"You taste so damn sweet, tesoro," he mumbled into your core, his voice muffled by your wetness. "So sweet…"

Your hand found its way into his hair, without any added pressure – you just needed something to hold on to as you felt your peak slowly creeping up, and the edge of the windowsill seemed to do a poor job. Theo hummed, sending vibrations up your body, his cock throbbing harder at the feeling of your fingers threading through his curls. He allowed himself to pick up the pace, the sounds of his loving feast mixing with your soft, needy whimpers.

Your orgasm reached you suddenly, built up from minutes and minutes Theo spent on his knees for you. It wasn’t the usual mind-blowing craze you were used to feeling with him, though not meaning it was any less satisfying – it felt like warmth consuming you from the inside, coursing through your entire body and coming out of your mouth with his name and a moan so sweet it could rival cotton candy drizzled with chocolate. Theo could barely hold back, lapping up your release, careful not to let a single drop go to waste. As he felt your body calming down, he slowly stood up, tracing his path up with his tongue sliding along your skin. The journey ended at your lips, your taste an intoxicating brew with the familiar taste of his mouth.

Gathering yourself back into one piece, you glanced down, where Theo’s cock was still as eager as before. You smiled, shifting your gaze back to his face, noticing how he tried to keep the pleading out of his expression, yet his eyes betrayed the need for you to reciprocate.

"Let me take care of you, yeah?" you murmured, mirroring his own words he said to you earlier. The relief washing over his features was obvious, turning your smile into a smirk as you pushed yourself off the windowsill. Theo’s own winter blues were about to be rendered nonexistent.

[tyunderella]

a warm embrace~

୨ৎ summary : you go for a cute trip to jeju with your boyfriend, and the stay in the hotel is definitely better!

୨ৎ word count: around 3,1k

୨ৎ warnings: smut and some fluff, f!reader, dom!taehyun, sub!reader, whiny and lowkey loud reader, needy sex because they love eachother so much, some praise, slight degradation, petnames and name calling.. (pretty, princess, cockslut), unprotected sex, creampie, i think that's all!

୨ৎ a/n: ummm it's my first fic… i feel like the smut part sucks and it definitely misses something >.< i also think that i repeated lots of words.. i'm half awake.. i promise to do better the next time! feedback is very appreciated! more under cut :)

the soft hum of the car’s engine dies as taehyun pulls into the small gravel parking lot overlooking the beach. his sunglasses slide down slightly on the bridge of his nose as he turns to you with a grin.

“we’re here!" he says, voice brimming with excitement. his eyes sparkle happily as they reach your face. “your first jeju trip with me—isn’t this special?”

you glance out the window, taking in the sight of the crystal-clear ocean stretched out before you, its waves sparkling under the midday sun. the salty sea breeze filters into the car, carrying the promise of a carefree day. smiling, you turn back to him.

“it’s already special because i’m with you.” you say, voice full of teasing but earnest. you look him up and down, eyes full of appreciation.

taehyun chuckles, his dimple deepening. “you’re getting good at sweet-talking me, huh? come on, let’s have some fun.”

you both step out of the car, and the warm sun immediately kisses your skin. taehyun grabs the small picnic bag from the trunk and slings it over his shoulder, his white button-up catching the sunlight. his casual outfit—a loose shirt and black shorts—suits him so perfectly it feels like a fashion designer tailored the look just for him.

he glances back, holding out a hand. he wiggles his fingers in your direction, raising a eyebrow. “ready?”

“ready.” you say, slipping your hand into his as you sigh contently. the feeling of being close to him makes you even more relaxed.

his touch is warm and familiar, and as you walk down the sandy path together, you can’t help but feel like this moment is pulled straight from a dream. the sound of the waves grows louder as the beach comes into view, the golden sand stretching endlessly ahead.

you pause at the edge of the shore, where the sand meets the water, and look up at taehyun. "it's beautiful.." you murmur, your voice almost lost in the gentle roar of the ocean.

taehyun, however, isn’t looking at the water. Instead, his gaze is fixed on you. "it is.” he replies, the words carrying a weight that makes your heart skip a beat.

when you notice his lingering stare, you playfully nudge his shoulder. "are you going to keep staring, or are we going to explore?" you grin a bit, trying not to giggle.

he laughs, the sound light and full of affection as he eyes you up and down, appreciating the way you look in your tank top. "alright, alright. let’s explore."

the two of you wander down the shore, your footprints leaving temporary marks in the soft sand. you stop every now and then to pick up interesting shells, taehyun occasionally tossing one back into the waves when he decides it’s not ‘worthy’ of the collection.

“look at this one!” you say, holding up a shell with intricate pink swirls. your eyes sparkle with excitement, voice soft and quiet. “this has to be the prettiest one yet..”

taehyun leans in to inspect it, his face so close to yours that you can feel his breath against your cheek. “not bad.” he says, grinning. “but i’ve got something prettier.”

you raise an eyebrow, a bit curious to see what he has on his mind. “oh? show me.” you put the shell down, putting your hands on your hips.

instead of picking up another shell, he points at you with a smile, poking your sides, enjoying the adorable giggle you let out. “found it.”

you squirm and try to step away, jokingly rolling your eyes, though your cheeks warm up at his words. “cheesy.”

“honest.” he counters, and the sincerity in his tone makes your heart flutter. he leans in closer, giving you a small peck and ruffling your hair.

the hours slip by as the two of you lose yourselves in the beauty of the beach. you chase each other across the sand, your laughter mingling with the sound of the waves. at one point, taehyun dares you to go into the water despite the chill.

“come on.” he says, already ankle-deep in the waves. he grins and beckons you with his finger to come closer. “it’s not that cold..!”

you cross your arms, skeptical. you're a bit cold now, even in your sweater, how come the water isn't cold? “says the guy who always complains about freezing practice rooms but walks into cold water..”

he smirks, stepping closer. he splashes some water on his face, running a hand through his now-wet hair. “what’s life without a little adventure?”

before you can protest and enjoy the view, he splashes you lightly, the cold droplets making you squeal.

“oh no, you don’t do that to me without any consequence!” you shout, running after him as he quickly tries to run away into deeper water.

the chase turns into a splash war, both of you soaked and breathless by the end of it. when you finally retreat to the shore, taehyun spreads out a blanket from the picnic bag and motions for you to sit.

“truce?” he asks, holding up his hands in mock surrender, enjoying the way your body looks in the soaked clothes as he looks at you again.

“truce.” you agree, laughing as you sit beside him. you rest your head against his shoulder , playing with his hair.

the two of you share snacks from the bag, the sun dipping lower on the horizon as the day stretches into the evening. taehyun feeds you a piece of a tangerine, his eyes crinkling with delight when you nod in approval.

“it’s really sweet!” you say, savoring the flavor of the fresh fruit on your tongue.

“but it's not as tasty as you.” he replies, leaning closer. His tone is light, but there’s a glint of mischief in his eyes that makes your breath hitch and thighs close.

as the sun sets, the sky turns into a masterpiece of colors—fiery oranges blending into soft pinks and purples. taehyun takes out his phone to capture the moment, but instead of focusing on the sunset, he turns the camera toward you.

“hey!” you protest, trying to cover your face. you giggle softly, trying to leave the frame.

“too late!” he says, laughing as he snaps the picture. he looks at the finished product and licks his lips. “you look perfect.”

you pout, though you can’t hide your smile. you try to glance at the picture, cheeks slightly flushed. “you’re impossible..”

“and you’re beautiful.” he says, his voice than softer usual. his words are sincere, just like always, but the scenery makes it way more romantic.

the sincerity in his words makes your chest tighten. you look at him, his face illuminated by the fading sunlight, and wonder how someone could make you feel so special.

when you return to the hotel later that night, the warmth of the day lingers in your heart. taehyun sets the picnic bag aside and stretches, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal a sliver of toned skin. you try not to stare, but he catches your gaze and smirks.

“like what you see?” he teases, lifting his shirt up so you can see more, flexing his muscles confidently.

“maybe.” you reply, trying to play it cool. you gulp and look down to his abs, feeling your panties slowly dampen.

he laughs, pulling you into a loose hug, patting your butt slowly. “i like what i see too.”

you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. it’s a simple moment, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“let’s just lay down and get comfortable, hmm?” he says after a while.

you nod, and soon the two of you are lounging on the hotel bed. the tv plays a random movie in the background, but neither of you is paying much attention to it.

the dim glow of the bedside lamps casts a soft warmth over the room. his arms encircle you, your head resting on his chest, and the steady rise and fall of his breathing is both comforting and intoxicating. his hand moves absentmindedly, tracing gentle circles on your back, and the sensation sends a subtle shiver through your body.

“are you cold?” he asks, his voice soft and deep, laced with concern. he knows that it might be his touch that made you react like that, but still wants to hear your words.

you shake your head, looking up at him with a small smile, trying to not giggle. “not at all.”

his gaze meets yours, and something in his expression shifts. the playfulness that usually lights his eyes is replaced by something deeper, more intense. his fingers still on your back, and you can feel the weight of the moment settling between you, like a secret only the two of you share.

“good..” he says quietly, his hand sliding up to cup your breast. “because i never want you to feel anything less than perfect when you’re with me.”

the sincerity in his voice makes your breath catch. or maybe it's his touch? you're not sure now.. he leans in slowly, your foreheads touching. when your lips finally meet, it’s like everything else fades away.

the kiss starts soft, his lips moving gently against yours, but it doesn’t take long for the intensity to build. his hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss. your fingers grip the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he responds by rolling slightly onto his side, his body pressing against yours.

you feel the warmth of his palm as it slides down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. his touch is both firm and gentle, as though he’s savoring every second, every inch of you.

when you pull back for air, his forehead rests against yours again, and his breath comes in soft, uneven puffs.

“you’re going to be the death of me..” he murmurs, his voice rough with affection and desire.

you laugh softly, your fingers brushing against his jawline. “i could say the same about you..”

he grins, his dimple appearing for a brief moment before his expression turns serious again. “come here.” he says, pulling you fully into his arms.

you shift so that you’re straddling him, your legs on either side of his hips. his hands settle on your waist, steadying you, and the heat of his touch seeps through the thin fabric of your sweater. his gaze roams your face, as though he’s memorizing every detail.

“you’re so beautiful..” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. he grazes his lips against your jawline.

you feel a blush rise to your cheeks, but before you can respond, he pulls you down into another kiss. this one is hungrier, more desperate, as though he’s pouring all of his unspoken feelings into it.

his hands slide up your back, slipping beneath the hem of your sweater to rest against your bare and warm skin. the sensation sends a jolt through you, and he pauses for a moment, searching your eyes for permission. when you nod, his touch becomes bolder, his fingers exploring the curve of your spine.

“mmm, taehyun..” you whisper, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer, lightly grinding against him.

he groans softly, the sound low and throaty, and it sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. his lips trail from your mouth to your jaw again, then down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. each kiss feels like a promise, and the warmth of his breath against your skin makes your heart race.

he shifts beneath you, sitting up slightly so that your bodies are pressed even closer together. one of his hands cups the back of your head, guiding you into another searing kiss, while the other rests on your thigh, his thumb brushing slow circles against your skin.

“you have no idea what you do to me..” he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with emotion.

the vulnerability and want in his tone makes your chest tighten, and you pull back just enough to look into his eyes. they’re dark and filled with a raw intensity that takes your breath away.

“i think i do.” you say softly, your hands framing his face as you feel his boner press against you. you press down on him, your wet panties brushing against the rough material of his shorts.

his lips curve into a small, almost shy smile, and for a moment, the tension eases. but then his gaze drops to your lips again, and the fire reignites.

the two of you lose yourselves in each other, the rest of the world fading away. his kisses grow deeper, his hands more daring, and every touch feels like a declaration of how much he wants you, how much he cares.

he slowly lifts up your skirt, one of his hands reaching down to rub your clit as you moan against his lips, unintentionally moving your hips as he slowly pulls away from the kiss.

“is my princess so needy already, huh? you want me to help you, don't you?” he slowly lifts you up, unbuttoning his shirt in a teasingly slow manner.

you bite your lip and nod, staring intently at his every move. the veins that decorate his hands, the slight silver of his abs make you even needier.

“taehyun, don't tease..!” you whine quietly, eager hands traveling down to his pants as you quickly unbutton them, opening the fly and pulling them down.

he smirks at your actions, taking his shirt off and putting his hands on your hips again, starting to grind you against him. “don't worry, i will help you.. you're so greedy that you couldn't even wait..”

you let out a moan, trying to speed up his movements, the fabric of your thin sweater falling down your shoulder. your soaked panties wet his boxers, making you feel all the veins on his cock as your eyes roll to the back of your head at the intense pleasure.

“did i tell you that you can move on your own? don't forget your rules, pretty..” he pulls your panties to the side with his middle finger, rubbing against your wet folds as he slides his boxers down.

you close your eyes, quickly positioning his cock at your entrance, looking into his eyes with a pleading look. “please, can i..?”

he bites his lip, nodding his head. he helps you slide down, his voice croaking when he feels your warm and wet walls swallow him. he pulls up your sweater, hands finding your hardened nipples in seconds.

the feeling makes you whimper softly, starting to slowly bounce up and down, breath hitching with every brush of his tip against your cervix. “a-ah, taehyun..!”

he pinches your right nipple, attaching his lips to the other one as he starts sucking, his own eyes closing. he feels his ego raise up knowing that he is the one to make you so bothered.

you pick up the rate of your movements, breasts bouncing against taehyun's face as you let out a soft moan every second, almost forgetting that you're not alone in this hotel.

his thrusts meet your movements as he pulls his mouth away from your chest, connected to your nipple with his saliva. “fuck, you're making me feel so good..” he lets out a low and breathy moan, pulling your head to him and kissing you.

you feel the knot tighten in your tummy embarrassingly fast, desperate to reach your climax as you kiss him desperately, tongues and teeth clashing together.

you both moan and grunt into eachother’s mouth, taehyun bites down on your bottom lip, enjoying the reaction he gets from you.

if your eyes were open, they would be definitely rolled to the back of your head, your brain turning into mush. all you can focus on is taehyun's fat cock hitting all your sweet spots deliciously.

he pulls away from the kiss, his head thrown back as it hits the headrest. his jaw drops lightly, his mouth open in a ‘o’ shape. “god, i'm so fucking close princess.. think you can take it? me filling you up s-so nicely?”

you nod your head, already dumb on his cock, mouth going dry as you close your eyes, letting out a low cry. “p-please, need it s-so much! g-give it to me, pleasepleaseplease!”

he flips you over suddenly, pounding into you so fast that you might start seeing starts. he nips at your neck, leaving small love bites in his way. “fuck, you're such a dumb cockslut..” your hand tries to reach his and he immediately holds it, connecting your hands. “shhh, yeah, i know, i know..”

you start to squirm under him, glistening out eyes looking up into his own dark ones. you feel more tears well up in your eyes, gripping onto his hand and shoulder as you reach your peak with a loud scream of his name. your shaking legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his back.

he grits his teeth, thrusting one more time as his own climax hits him hard, painting your inside white. his shaft throbs inside you breathing heavily and gasping. he stays like that for a few seconds, then starts to slowly move again.

you whine, feeling too sensitive now as your hands reach out to him. you let out a squeal with each thrust, your back arching almost uncomfortably. “n-no, too much tyunnie!”

he chuckles, wiping the sweat off of his forehead as he stops his movements, falling on top of you. “don't worry, i was just teasing you.. you look so pretty now, you know?”

he slowly pulls out, his eyes darken for a second as he looks at the creamy mess gushing out from your hole. he licks his lips, pushing it back inside you with his finger.

you close your eyes, wrapping your arms around him as you hug him. he licks his fingers and returns your embrace, closing his eyes.

“baby, i want to sleep now.. goodnight..” you mumble quietly, already starting to doze off. taehyun smiles softly, looking at your peaceful expression.

he waits until you fully fall asleep and gets up, grabbing a wet cloth as he cleans up the two of you, laying down on the bed again. he turns the lights off, relaxing in your comfortable presence.

the night goes on as you two rest mindlessy, not knowing about the noise complains you will receive in the morning from the other residents. but it doesn't care now, as long as taehyun has you wrapped around him and you enjoy his warmth everything is good.

@beomiracles here you gooooo :33

[mx-pastelwriting]

First Round

- 3K Follower Post Celebration! This fic is one of three! Thank you guys so much again for enjoying my writing! Definitely worth the long nights of tears and sleep deprivation! K LUV YOU BYE!!! NOW ENJOY THIS HUNK OF A MAN!

Vander x GN!Reader

Summary: With the last drop closed for the night, no one is in sight to witness you flirt with your longtime friend Vander, nor watch you straddle his lap, taking your relationship to the next level.

Warnings: Friends to Lovers, Smut, Flirting, Drinking, Lap Sitting, Booth Sex, Oral Sex (GN! Reader Receiving)

Minors do not interact!

Drink in hand, throat burning from the liquor held in it, paying close attention to one of Vander's stories. Though more focused on him than the story. Zoning out on his features, the way his lips stretched to a smile and brows furrowing along with the story, almost painting more of a picture than his words. A picture you were too distracted on the hunk of a man to see.

"Are you listening?" Vander's voice rips you from that thought. Coming back down to the booth chair, you two sat drinking away the night with no one around to witness your nightly ritual.

Smirking at the hunk of a man, looking down at your drink half finished. "What do you think? You shoot back before taking a sip, looking up, locking eyes with Vander. Watching as they flicker with understanding. It's going to be that kind of night.

"You just can't help yourself. Can you?" He says, flashing a smirk of his own while setting down his drink on the small side table.

"You know I can't. Look at you," you flirt back, tilting your head back, still keeping an eye on him with a smile staining your lips.

Laughing shyly, avoiding your eyes, knowing he would cave just by a glance, but just as the air started to loosen up, Vander's face dropped, looking at you with an uncomfortable seriousness.

"Why do we keep doing this? This never goes anywhere." He says, leaving the air in a piercing silence. He was right; your flirting and dancing around the bush for the past nights never went anywhere. As much fun as it was watching him squirm just by words alone, it was time to finally reward his patience.

Breaking that silence with the sound of your glass, almost throwing it down on the same side table, then throwing your leg over his lap. Sitting atop Vander's lap, looking down at his surprised face before kissing his lips.

Vander's eager hands cupped your face as his lips grew rough with hunger. Long heat moments, the only sounds being your rapid breath trying to find some ground in the kiss. Hands engulfed in his beard, hearing him groan as you lightly dug your nails into it.

Breaking the kiss, catching your breath, not ready to let him go loose without a bit of teasing first, "You just had to be patient," you tease, looking down at his hazed state. Quickly feeling his hands hold your hips, pressing them down, making you feel the outline of his cock that painfully pressed against his pants.

"Does that feel very patient to you, love?" he groans. Smiling widely, never having taken notice of the growing bulge that must have been staring back at you all those nights, waiting for you to cross the fine line that you danced around.

Kissing Vander's lips once again, rolling your hips against his clothed cock with fingers trailing into his hair, lightly tugging at the dark locks, pulling more moans from him. Feeling Vander's big hands squeeze and pull at your clothes, trailing up to your back, allowing him support to lay you down on the worn booth.

Quickly wrapping your legs around Vander's hips, locking him in for a long night. Kisses no longer on your lips, feeding your hunger, now dancing along your skin, having pulled your shirt up, loving the skin that it covered.

Vander's hands sparking contrast against your hot skin, the hands once feeling arms against your cheek now cold as they glided down to the hem of your pants. Moving quickly to undo them, almost ripping them from your body before throwing them to the floor. Hand on his head as feeling as Vander leans down, needing a taste of you while hushing the whines to escape from you, annoyed at his insistence on making you wait.

Moans crawl out of your throat, echoing throughout the bar as Vander's tongue works away at you, chipping away at the feral impatience that ate away at you. Hums of enjoyment vibrate against the wet skin that he sucked and licked, hands gripped onto Vander's hair as he explores every curve and crevice of you before he gets to happily stretch them to fit around his cock.

Finally satisfied, pulling away, leaving you feeling empty, but not for long, pulling you by the hips towards him with the growing mass in his pants staring back at you.

Swiftly undoing his own pants with a loud pop, groaning in relief, his cock finally freed. Drooling at the sight of him stroking his cock to harden it further, starting to sit up wanting to have a taste of your own, but gently he pushes you down, replacing your whines with moans as he enters you.

Nerves sparked through you like a flood, slowly working their way up your spine to the back of your head that dug into the booth's worn leather. Grabbing onto his arms, working through the slight discomfort, starting slow, hearing as he whispered praised encouragements.

"That's it." "Just a bit more. Fuck," he whispers, as his thighs slam against yours, slowly painting them red. Heat prickles across your skin, melting away every piece of your mind.

Taking the velvet moans that rippled from your throat as a sign to move faster. Quickly working off of each other's songs of pleasure, the booth rocked against the wooden floor. The sound of it competing with your harmonized moans, singing of all those nights of pent-up tension now being released in heated actions and moans. Stringing a long night for the both of you, with Vander after the first serving round after round.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI, or reposted on any other platform without permission.

♥ mx-pastelwriting does give consent to "reblog," sharing links to direct work, and being in recommend lists.

Taglist: @sophieissleepy @birbita @joretgasbf @committingcrimes

[ichxraaa]

𝘼 𝙎𝙄𝙈𝙋𝙇𝙀 𝙁𝘼𝙑𝙊𝙍

↪︎ featuring fake dating!megumi fushiguro x reader

warnings; mentions of asshole ex!boyfriend, tad bit of violence from megumi's part

thinking back, maybe asking megumi to help you pretending to be your boyfriend when meeting you ex, might not have been the best idea when tensions start running high

☰ reblogs and comments are widely appreciated!

Your fingertips tap on the empty table as you stare at Megumi. Are you gonna do it? You don’t wanna do it. You’d very much rather not have to do it.

You know you are staring but Megumi doesn’t seem to notice or doesn't really care as he passes the pages of his book in such a delicate manner that it feels religious. He is wearing a blank expression and his lips are almost a straight line, the only hint that he is enjoying his book is his focused gaze as his eyes devour the words in front of him.

There's a red cup at the table in front of him, whatever he is drinking is hot enough to emit a spiraling string of steam upwards. There are several loose strands on the sleeves of his fluffy green sweater and as usual, you end up wondering what it would be like to run your fingers across the fabric.

The almost empty room, except for the two of you, is chilly enough to remind you of the autumnal season and you sink into your jacket as you feel goosebumps rising on your arms. There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you and you feel almost guilty for disrupting it, but desperate times call for desperate measures. 

You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the fact that you are desperate, but after getting an apologetic text from Yuuji about not being able to help you out this time, you are left with no other options. 

It has to be him.

It’s nearly 6 O’ Clock and you’re still debating if you should change into a different outfit. The fit seems okay and you feel pretty on it, but the face of your ex inevitably comes to mind as you throw on your favorite jacket. You exhale a long sigh as you check your hair once again. This was a bad idea.

You’ve always known Megumi is handsome. You’ve known him for nearly a decade now and you’ve witnessed several attempts at getting a shot with him. He has those long lashes and deep eyes, he has the hair and the face, he is tall and carries himself in a quiet manner that is not enough to cover his presence. Yeah, you’ve always known and thought that he is very handsome but you’re not prepared for the experience of walking with him by your side as he holds your hand as the two of you advance through the streets of Roppongi. 

Heads turn as you pass by them, and you even catch a couple of jealous looks as you stop for a moment to wait for the green light. 

You double-check both sides of the road before advancing and Megumi tightens his hold of you as you walk among the crowd. You feel a bit dizzy and try to put in the back of your mind the little crush you used to have on him. Truth is if it weren’t for your ex you’d probably still pining over the dark-haired man. You shake your head, trying to get rid of the fluttering weight on your stomach because you don’t like feeling like an infatuated teenager again. As you near your final destination your stomach begins to feel heavy for different reasons.

You are very grateful for Megumi’s calmness at this moment because as soon as you reach the restaurant and you catch a glimpse of your friends through the large windows of the place you can feel your palms going sweaty.

“I’m sorry,” you quip while cleaning off the perspiration against the fabric of your jacket after rushing to free his hand from your grip. “I feel so stupid right now, maybe we should leave”.

You don’t really know it, but Megumi can see every spiraling thought that you’re having written on your features and it’s not about to let you dwell on it. He puts a stop to your myriad of thoughts while holding your hand once again and driving you inside the cozy atmosphere of the restaurant. 

This is the first time you see your ex since your nasty breakup. He is right at the head of the table laughing condescendingly at some harmless comment that he probably thought was too deep. How and why did you used to think he was smart is beyond your reasoning.

“Thanks again for doing this''. You quickly murmur as you reach your table. Megumi’s eyes immediately fall into your exes' eyes, an almost bored expression showing on his face that doesn’t falter as your ex tries to aggressively look into Megumi’s eyes.

But you know him too well, and you can see the displeasure in his eyes as he stares at the two of you together. You cozy up closer to Megumi, pressing to his side as you smile radiantly at your other friends at the table. As if you hadn’t cried for him for over a month after your break up.

“Hi guys! Sorry for being late, the train got delayed. By the way, this is Megumi Fushiguro”.

“So this is the mysterious new boyfriend!” Says Yuki, nearly squealing with excitement as she stands and introduces everyone to Megumi.  She has remained one of your closest friends from before your Jujutsu days and is always ready to have your back.

“Nice to meet you all”. Says Fushiguro, looking for a moment longer into your ex's eyes as he speaks.

“Oh! He has a good voice!” Quips Aki, another friend from middle school. 

“You went to the same school that y/n, right, Fushiguro-kun?” Asks Yuki, big brown eyes very attentive to Megumi’s answer. 

“Yes”.

The rest of the table remains quiet, probably waiting for a longer answer but Fushiguro limits himself to blink slowly, and you have to admire his seeming impassiveness at the very obvious curiosity in the penetrating gazes he is receiving.

Yuki, bless her heart, laughs unapologetically and claps her hands. “Okay, okay. I see you are very chatty, Fushiguro-kun! Guys, scoot over so they can sit, or are you planning on interrogating them standing?”

For a moment you are startled by the ease at his movement as he places his hand on the wider part of your hips, a firm hand leading you to your seats as if he’s done it a thousand times, and yet you move without giving it a second thought.

As the night passes you are no longer surprised by Megumi’s organic behavior, but by your own compliance. There hasn’t been a moment where you’ve felt uncomfortable, on the contrary, you’ve been easing more and more into the act:

Leaning into his chest as his arm hangs around your shoulders, whispering in his ears when the music and your friend's laughs get a bit too loud, face leaning into his touch as he fixes your hair for you. 

The night is going great, you can barely remember how nervous you were to ask for Megumi´s help, too afraid to not have Yuuji by your side and anxious as hell to see Ryotaro again.  

Actually, you haven't even had time to worry about him, too immersed in catching up with your old friends and too distracted by the heat on Megumi’s hand clasping your own.

“What kind of name is Megumi, anyway?”

The table goes quiet as Ryotaro spits his question in a tone that it’s not polite enough to completely cover his irritation. 

You sit tense now, back rigid and separating from your friend who seems unbothered by the question, and even pulling you closer to him by gently pressing you back into his chest again, green eyes looking at your ex with the same disgust one looks at a particularly ugly worm.

“It’s just a name”.

“Yeah, a woman’s name”.

 Blood travels to your face in a rush of heat produced by the surge of annoyance through your veins.

“Seriously, Ryotaro?”

“It’s just a question”, his hands go up in defense, but you perfectly distinguish the undertone of amusement behind his false apologetic tone. “You don’t have to get defensive over him”.

“Then you shouldn’t be such a jerk”.

“Gosh, do you always have to be so damn emotional?” He leans back in his chair, eyes piercing through you with that ugly frown of his that has a lump forming at your throat, “You’re gonna pop a vein over me asking a simple question”.

“Shut up”. The whole table that had been nervously watching the interaction goes completely quiet when Megumi speaks, voice so gelid that even you are taken aback.

“What did you just say, pretty girl?”

Megumi is unfazed by his comment once again,  but you still jump to stop him.

“That’s enough Ryotaro, grow up”. 

Ryotaro completely ignores your intervention, gaze fixed on Megumi’s impassive one and then on the space of your joined hands atop of the table.

“It’s a simple question, no need to be a bitch about it”.

You feel it before he moves, and as Megumi stands in a swift and strong movement you stand up with him, hands flying to his chest to keep him in place cause you can see his intent to jump.

This is a side of him you’ve only heard of in passing, about the delinquent Megumi that used to go beating around people he disliked, you’ve been on so many missions and have watched him remain calm in nearly impossible situations so this is new, and at the same time you can´t help but feel incredibly touched by his reaction.

Even when you have seen him push himself over the limit during a battle, it was that, a battle, justified and normal rage that  sometimes you need to get you through a desperate situation. But this feels raw, and the glint in his eyes, the one he gets prior to the first strike,  you know it too well, so you can see that he is eager to act.

You call his name but he doesn’t budge, and you can see his hands have turned into fists. You know Ryotaro doesn't think Megumi is gonna punch him, too used to being himself all bark and no bite, and suddenly it dawns on you how pathetic he really is.

And you start laughing, you don’t mean to, but you can’t stop, and that puts Megumi’s attention back on you, his stare clearly asking what is going through your mind.

Yuki has reached your side and is asking if you are okay, you can only nod cause your laughter has turned into a full on cackling, a waiter arrives and announces your tuna mayo sushi is ready and this time Megumi smiles with you.

“N-never mind Fushiguro, he is too- much of Tuna Mayo for you to care about him” you manage to wheeze and Megumi chuckles alongside you.

“The fuck are you talking about?!” Yells Ryotaro and Yuki has to tell him to settle down, but the lack of attention is getting to him, this is clearly not the answer he was expecting and that only makes your smile wider.

Megumi hasn’t stopped looking at you, so you are surprised when in a swift movement he puts you behind him and punches Ryota straight in the face.

“He is an idiot and might not be worth it, but I don’t care”. 

The whole table goes silent again after a collective gasp and you watch in nearly slow motion as he takes money out of his wallet and gives it to your friend Yuki, Ryotaro has fallen to his knees and Megumi addresses him one last time before taking your hand and dragging you out of the restaurant.

“That nose is broken, I would suggest going to the E.R. unless you wanna look as disgusting as you are inside on the outside”.

Fushiguro walks a couple of streets while practically dragging you behind him, he finally stops next to a tree, yellow and red covered branches so full and large they linger just barely above your heads.

“Next time you want to ask me to go on a date with you, I don’t want it to be because of that fucker”.