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wonustars · 5 months ago

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how do i- how- i-

coming back to the text post cuz i hit the 30 tag limit but i could go on about this story for hours it’s not even funny. there’s so many things i just want to unpack here but ill refrain because im severely sleep deprived and i should probably get sleep before i go to work . but jess, this was amazing, thank you for writing this i absolutely loved it (as a huge wonwoorideul). i’m gonna listen to take a chance w me by niki and call it a night because im going to need 3-5 business days to recover from this masterpiece. thank u for letting me read this for free i’m so happy now 💕

edit: there are many many typos pls jus pretend u can decipher my anna language 😭😭🫶

34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | jww

(your latest assignment has you jetting off to argentina hoping to finally catch the infamous art thief that's escaped your agency one too many times already. you know what's at stake if you lose your focus. enter the beautiful stranger that has you questioning everything you know.)

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f.reader genre: strangers to lovers, (kinda, v light) enemies to lovers | smut, fluff, angst rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: ~22.8k (idk what happened) warnings: art thief!wonwoo, secret agent!reader, brief mentions of death & bloody past (again, reader is a secret agent), mentions of past violence, mentions of weapons, food, drinking, VERY ambiguous ending smut warnings: multiple smut scenes, multiple positions, unprotected sex (don't do this), slightly rough sex, mild dom!wonwoo?, fingering, oral sex, choking, spanking, multiple orgasms, squirting, light marking, semi-public sex, food play (whipped cream, chocolate), i think that's it

a/n: this is for @svthub's world tour collab (check out the other fics here). i had so much fun writing this even if it got away from me a bit. thanks to @effortandmore for lending me her art brain. thanks to @highvern for constantly listening to me and @multi-kpop-fanfics for fit inspo. and as always, thank you to my bby @wongyuseokie for the banner & divider.

tag list: @wonustars, @minisugakoobies, @crepecakeu, @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @amoryeonjun, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizoon, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @naajaeminsgf, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @vanishingboots, @babybae-shisui, @pyeonghongrie-main, @nuttywastelandmentality, @writingbarnes, @tomodachiii, @gyuhao365, @jjin-kun, @sdoulc, @wonwootakemyheart, @divinityyyy, @nightshadeinmoonlight, @imma-queencard, @jelly-n

“We’ll be landing in about 45 minutes, according to the pilot,” a voice says, interrupting your laser-like focus.

You look up from your tablet and blink at him for a second. It takes you a moment or two to register he’s even standing there. Another moment to register what he actually said to you a second ago. In the meantime, you switch the program open on your tablet.

“Oh, thanks,” you say in response.

He sits down in the seat opposite you and fixes you with a smile. “Must be a good book, you’ve barely looked up for the entire flight.”

“Guilty,” you say with a practiced smile.

Chan, you think that’s his name, seems nice enough. A little overeager and too ready to agree to something when his bosses tell him what to do. There’s that real thirst to prove himself. But, at least from what you hear, he’s got a bright future. He’s done well with what he’s been given so far, which are increasingly difficult assignments. You can see why. He’s easy on the eyes and he’s got that soft smile down. The kind of unassuming smile that makes people want to trust him. If he can keep it up, he’ll go far.

“Thanks again for letting me catch a ride,” you say to fill some of the space between you.

Chan only shrugs. “Any friend of Mr. Choi’s is always welcome. Plus, nobody really says no when the boss says something.”

A lesser person would have probably laughed at that. Hearing him referred to as Mr. Choi and the boss is a little comical to you. Not that it isn’t true because he is definitely Chan’s boss. It’s just, well, it’s a little more complicated than that.

“Honestly I don’t really even understand what Cheol does,” you lie and turn on a little bit of the charm. It’s always good to practice on people that are trained to be charming themselves.

“Do you call him that?” Chan wonders.

“Call him what? Cheol?” you ask and Chan nods, eyes a little wide. It catches him just off guard enough. “Yeah, but I’ve known him for years. What do you call him?”

“Sir, usually,” Chan answers too quickly. You can’t fully fight the smile that answer brings to your lips. “Glad to see I entertained you.”

“He’s not nearly as bad as I’m sure he seems at work,” you say like you’re sharing a secret.

The truth is that you’ve been hearing about this new agent that Seungcheol is personally training for over a year now. So, you know that eventually, you’re going to all be laughing at this conversation in hindsight and he’ll also be calling his boss Cheol. For now, though, things are a little bit different.

“He mentioned that you were heading down to do some research?” he asks and you nod.

This part has always been a little tedious to you, the part where you come up with a cover story that you even have to feed to other people within the same organization. It’s been this way for your entire career. You were recruited at 18 years old and went through special training along with obtaining a degree. The Agency had two divisions, but you only ever learned about the second one if you were recruited to work there. It was that second division you joined right away.

Training had been grueling. If it wasn’t some kind of physical endurance training, it was sitting in a windowless room studying history or a foreign language. Or it was combat training with whatever weapon was on deck that day. Or working to blend into any situation. You quickly learned that did not mean not being memorable. At least not in every situation. Sometimes that meant looking at ease in your surroundings even if eyes were on you. Thankfully, the charm seemed to come naturally to you and that was one less thing you had to worry about learning.

The Agency officially works in maintaining international relationships between countries. That can mean a number of different things. Sometimes it involves an agent or team heading out to a location as official representatives. They can help with negotiation, security concerns, smoothing out issues, anything really. Unofficially, it often involves going undercover on a mission. That can involve either division, depending on the sensitivity of the mission. If it’s simpler, then someone like Chan gets sent out to work his way into a situation and influence the outcome so that everything stays calm. In fact, he’s here to charm a wealthy heiress that’s getting a little too close to revealing confidential information on government contracts.

You, on the other hand, are officially here to study Argentinian culture and immerse yourself in local traditions. Chan doesn’t know that you work for The Agency as well. He doesn’t know that Seungcheol is like a boss to you. It’s not his preference. Seungcheol misses the days when he was by your side in the field instead of stuck in the office behind a desk. Unfortunately, several years ago he suffered a severe injury that just made field work impossible for him. It took a lot of convincing, most of which fell on your shoulders as the person closest to him, to get him to transition to his current role. Where you had never set foot in the main offices, he had been there periodically. He was known to people there. And he was so insanely smart that you pointed out he would be bored trying to assimilate into regular life. Why not get to do one of his other favorite things and tell younger agents (or even older ones) what to do? That had been the biggest selling point because he was good at being in charge. It had been a bit of a rocky transition at first, but now it’s smooth sailing.

Unofficially, you’re here tracking one of the most infamous art thieves in the world. This is the kind of thing that has to be handled with the utmost secrecy. Other agencies and your own have tried to track him down and apprehend him only to have him slip into the wind. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d assume that there had been leaks during the previous attempts. You’ve also considered that he’s just really good at making a mark and blending into his surroundings. This is one of the most secretive missions you’ve ever been sent on despite seeming relatively innocuous. How much harm can an art thief really cause, right? Except, The Agency is largely funded by private investors and several of those investors have been victims and had art stolen. Despite that, the only people that know you’re making this attempt now are Seungcheol and the head of covert operations. His counterpart doesn’t know that you’re handling it, or even who you are. Instead, the main division of The Agency has a team headed to Amsterdam thinking that they’re after the notorious thief.

Although it seems like it should be straight forward, this thief has been working in the shadows for years without anyone really knowing what he looks like beyond him being a man. The reports about what he actually looks like vary so greatly that nobody really knows what to believe. You and Seungcheol have spent months trying to put together a profile that seems most realistic and you feel as comfortable as you can. His appearance seems a little elusive, but the information that he’s going to be in Buenos Aires is the best lead you’ve gotten. It comes from someone that you worked with on a previous mission. You had been studying your profiles when Chan came over and quickly exited to a different application.

“I am. I’m working on understanding the history of Argentinian culture through the eyes of Buenos Aires for a project,” you say with all the affection of someone who was actually going to be doing that. “I’m going to spend most of my time just out talking to people, learning their stories, that kind of thing.”

“Do you, uh, speak Spanish?” Chan wonders with clear apprehension.

“I do,” you say with a light laugh. “Be a bit awkward if I didn’t, right?”

“That’s impressive,” he says.

“I speak several languages,” you say nonchalantly and then make a show of catching his eye. “I studied language and culture in university.”

“You’re not what I’d imagine for one of my boss’s friends,” Chan admits. “Especially one close enough to get added to the manifest.”

You shrug. “I’ve known him for a long time.”

“He doesn’t strike me as someone with a lot of time for friendships or someone that you can ever really know,” Chan presses and you laugh.

“Married to the job, right?” you agree. “I’m a low maintenance friend. I spend a lot of time out of town for research, immersed in local culture. We’ve probably got more in common that you’d think.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” he concedes, seeming to easily buy your cover. He stands up. “I’ll let you get back to your reading.”

The rest of the flight goes smoothly and you say your goodbyes to Chan and the others from the flight once you get off the plane. As is the plan, you take your suitcases to a local taxi and head to your hotel, checking in under one of the many fake names you used when on a mission. The room is nice, too, even if it’s nothing all that extravagant. It’s just another part of the cover.

Since it’s been a long day, you figure that you might as well just order room service and settle in for the night. It’ll give you the chance to start getting your body used to the local timezone. Not that your body really has a home timezone anymore with how you’re constantly on the move. But, you still don’t mind the idea of resting for the night.

You’re incredibly thankful to be in Buenos Aires in July since it’s the coolest month. It makes it easier for you to just walk everywhere. Before leaving your room for your first full day in your new city, you double check your messenger bag to make sure everything is in there: camera, multiple lenses, journal, tablet and keyboard, sunglasses, wallet, and all your little bits to make it look like a bag you wear all the time. You smile at the receptionist on your way out, letting her know that you’re going off to explore what the city has to offer. She seems happy to see that you look better rested than after your long travel day. Even if heading out is mostly a cover for your mission, it’s also a little true. This city has been on your bucket list to visit for years and you’re not going to waste what might be your only opportunity to explore. It might even make it more believable as you’re trying to blend into the crowds around you.

After spending several hours wandering around and taking in everything you could, you find yourself at a local cafe in the early afternoon to have a cup of coffee and a light lunch. The whole morning flew by in a rush of colors and culture. It’s so easy to be interested in everything that’s before you because it’s just so vibrant. So full of life. Such a juxtaposition of history, tradition, and new influences. It’s one of the first times you’ve been somewhere and had to remind yourself that you are actually on a mission. You’re not just there to sightsee and fall in love.

There are a lot of tourists in the cafe, which doesn’t really surprise you. Most places in Buenos Aires stay open during the afternoon for tourism, but you know that cafes in smaller towns would close. You figure that most locals probably avoid shops during this time of day as well. It feels lucky when you spot an open table in the corner until another patron moves and you see there’s actually someone sitting in one of the seats. It’s an uncharacteristically awkward moment for you, especially given how confident you are with everything else, that he catches you mid-decision. His eyes meet yours before looking at the coffee in one hand and the plate in the other. When he looks back down at the table, it clicks into place before you can turn around.

“You, uh, can sit…” he starts with deliberate slowness that shouldn’t be throwing you off even more.

You shake your head to clear it and smile. “It’s fine, I don’t just speak Spanish.”

“Oh,” he says with a breath of relief. “Well, you can sit here.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” you say and go to turn around.

“It’s busy. Are you going to just eat standing up?” he asks with a challenging raise of his eyebrow.

“Well,” you start.

“I probably won’t be here much longer anyway,” he offers.

Reluctantly, you move to sit down with him. It’s kind of insane the way he’s thrown you off your game by just existing. Usually, you’re the one that’s disarming strangers with your charm, not the other way around. As soon as you sit down, he looks back at the book he has open in front of him. It gives you a chance to figure out if he’s actually that attractive that it’s thrown you off or if you’re still just jet-lagged.

His glasses slide down a nearly too perfect nose and he pushes them up without missing a beat. His black hair is a little messy and a little long, falling carelessly around his face as he gets lost in whatever book he has open in front of him. His clothes make him look a little too fancy to be sitting in a cafe overrun with tourists like this. Somehow, he makes a cardigan over a dress shirt with nice, pressed slacks work without looking like he’s trying too hard. Everything about him just exudes calm, confident energy. Like the kind of person you would assume comes from old money. Unassuming, yet standing out without even meaning to. It reminds you of some of the landmarks you saw that morning, like rich history perfectly combined with modern needs.

Thankfully, at least some of your training kicks back in and you manage to keep it from being too obvious that you’re one step away from fully checking him out. Your new tablemate seems content to sit in silence, though, so you pick at your food while going through some of the pictures on your camera. Today is about getting the lay of the land as much as anything else. It’s not like you can just find your infamous art thief without knowing where to look.

“I’m sure you got some great shots,” he says, drawing your attention again. When you look up, his eyes are on your camera.

“Oh, yeah, it’s so hard to really capture the feeling of something through a camera, but I definitely try,” you say.

“I saw you at The Obelisk and I thought, I’ve never seen someone so focused in my entire life,” he says, except now he’s looking at you.

“There must have been thousands of people there. How did you pick me out?” you ask with a laugh.

The mystery man shrugs. “Like I said, you were focused. And not in the way a lot of influencers who travel for the perfect picture are. I knew that it was more than that for you.”

“It is,” you agree. “I’m studying the history and the culture down here. Just got in last night.”

“Can I see the picture you landed on?” he ventures.

You hesitate. Your pictures are good, sure, but you’re not actually doing anything that serious when you’re down here. Since it’s supposed to be part of your cover, you should feel confident. After a moment, you hand your camera over to him with your favorite picture in the display window.

“Be kind. My focus is language and history first, not photography,” you toss out. Another layer to the cover. It’s convenient, though. Not that you expected to be talking to someone like him about photography.

“This is amazing,” he says and seems earnest. “Can I look through the rest?”

Again, you pretend to consider. This time it’s for the sake of the persona you’re committing to. It’s not like there’s anything on there from before today since it’s a fresh SD card.

“I promise to be kind,” he presses and you roll your eyes.

“Fine,” you say and he smiles.

It’s hard not to notice the amount of care he uses while handling your camera. Maybe he knows something about photography and realizes it’s an expensive model. Or maybe he’s just gentle with something that clearly means a lot to someone else. It’s also easier to feel like you can appreciate things about him when his attention is somewhere else. Like he won’t notice the way your eyes map his features, noting the furrow in his brows or how smooth his skin is. Or the way his hair seems absolutely perfect without any product in it. None of it seems fair that he should just get to walk around looking like that.

“I’m surprised not to find a picture of myself on here,” he starts and it pulls you from your thoughts. There’s a moment where you wonder if he’s secretly self-centered, until you meet his eyes and see the glint there. “You know, with how you’ve been studying me.”

“I appreciate beauty wherever I see it,” you answer, trying to channel more boldness than you feel.

“Are you saying I’m beautiful?” he questions, entirely too at-ease.

“I don’t think you need confirmation on that,” you scoff and look out the window. “Besides, it wasn’t me that noticed you earlier.”

“A shame for me,” he muses. “I appreciate beautiful things as well.”

He hands your camera back with his eyes locked on you. It makes your skin feel a little flushed and you hate it. Hate that you’re always able to keep your cool in any situation and still so completely disarmed by this man. Hate that it’s him that breaks the moment, too, when he looks down at the expensive watch on his wrist with a sigh.

“Late for something?” you venture.

“Something like that,” he agrees and puts his book away in a bag you hadn’t noticed. “I’m glad you sat down though.”

“Me too,” you admit a little too quickly as he’s standing up.

“Enjoy your afternoon, beautiful stranger,” he says and you twist around.

“Wait, I didn’t get your name,” you call and he stops by the door. The smile he throws your way sends a tingle down your spine.

“I hope we’ll run into each other again, then,” he says.

And just like that, he’s gone. Slips into the crowd like he wasn’t even there in the first place. It makes you wonder, just for a second, if the entire exchange actually happened. Until you look back at the table and see the cup of coffee he had been drinking. Beside it, you notice a small piece of paper advertising a new installation at one of the local art museums. Not entirely out of the question, you think, for someone visiting this city and also interested in seeing your camera.

It’s then that you remind yourself why you’re actually here. You shake your head to clear it of any thoughts of the stranger, knowing you can’t make any effort to run into him again. The mission is the only thing that matters. Getting close to someone that could distract you in that way is not part of the plan. So, you can appreciate the banter and get back on track.

The next few days pass relatively uneventfully. You continue to explore the city while always keeping your eyes and ears open for any indication of the art thief. It’s a little frustrating to not have much to go on, but you’re also one of the most patient agents and you know it’ll pay off eventually. Seungcheol keeps in regular contact, sending along each new nugget of information he’s able to find. Even if they’re seemingly insignificant, you file them all away, appreciating how hard you know he’s working given how few people know about the mission. He has to pull the relevant pieces to send to you without tipping off the team in Amsterdam.

You’re also splitting your days. Making sure to get out to experience the local culture to maintain your cover, while spending just as much time locked away in your room so that you can do your own research. Everything points to him already being in the city as well. It also seems like this next heist might be two-fold for him. It appears that he’s got a client that wants a specific piece of art and that he’s also going to steal some pieces for himself to sell at later dates. It’s a bit unusual, from what you’ve been able to tell. He usually likes to keep each job simple to reduce the likelihood of getting caught. Then again, he’s been active for years and doing just fine.

Today you decide to go to check out a museum that you’ve been putting off. It’s silly, but you didn’t want to show up there the day after that cafe since it seemed a little convenient to leave behind. You have to familiarize yourself with all the museums in the city, though, and it seems like this one could be your thief’s target. It has just the right amount of traffic. Just the right combination of popular pieces with lesser known artists.

Once you’re there, you immediately move away from the popular sections. That’s not the kind of art you’re after because it’s not the kind of art the thief ever steals. It’s too recognizable. Too hard to move. Just too risky. Once you’re in a quieter part of the museum, you fight off any feelings of being a fraud. Art has never really been your strong suit. If it weren’t for this mission being so sensitive, you definitely would not be the first agent anyone would choose. But, it is sensitive and so you have to rely on your training to carry you through any conversations that might pop up. You have to rely on the hours spent pouring over lectures about the different styles and influences, the different periods, different techniques. Hopefully your talent at rote memorization will serve you well.

“It’s a shame they keep one of the best artists tucked away in a corner like this,” a voice says from your side, pulling you from your thoughts.

You answer without even thinking much about the voice or even turning to see the person who appeared next to you nearly soundlessly. “Makes it easier to appreciate in peace, though.”

“You like surrealism, then?” he asks and it’s only then that you notice something familiar about the voice or the manner of speaking. Or the fact that he’s not speaking to you in Spanish.

Before you even turn to your side, you know who you’re going to find. He’s looking just as put together and at-ease as he did several days ago in the cafe. His hands rest in his pockets, but his eyes on you are sharp. There’s something a little hard to read about him, you think.

The smile you give him is practiced, designed to seem genuine. “I like Leonor Fini.”

“You’ve got good taste,” he says and turns back to the piece.

“I do like surrealism,” you carry on, turning back to the piece yourself as well, “but, with her work, I really appreciate the way she used female subjects through a female lens. Too many artists…”

You trail off, pretending you’re unsure if you should continue. He falls into the setup easily. “Men could only show female subjects through their own eyes, but women look different through the eyes of other women.”

“Exactly,” you say and smile at him before turning back to the painting again. “There’s something so captivating about the work she did.”

“I agree. That’s why this is my favorite piece here and in my favorite section of works,” he says confidently.

“You already have a favorite?” you joke.

“Well, I’ve been here every day for the past several days,” he shares.

This makes you turn to him fully. “Because you love this section and this work so much?”

This mysterious man actually looks down like he’s embarrassed to admit whatever he’s about to tell you. Like he’s gotten shy for a moment. “I do, but I was actually hoping to run into you.”

That catches you a bit off guard and it takes your brain a minute to remember, once again, you’re here on a mission. “It would have been easier to run into me if you just asked for my number.”

“Kind of ruins this whole mysterious thing I have going on, though,” he shrugs.

You roll your eyes and extend your hand, giving him your fake name for the mission. His eyes sparkle for a second before he takes your hand.

“Wonwoo,” he answers.

“Nice to finally get your name,” you tease.

“I figured you’d come check out the museum when I left the card there at the cafe,” Wonwoo says.

“I knew that was on purpose,” you mumble.

“Yet you didn’t come until today,” he observes.

“I wasn’t trying to make it easy on you,” you throw out quickly.

“Okay, time to switch tactics, then,” he says. “Can I take you to dinner tonight?”

“I’m not sure, can you?” you ask.

“Please let me take you to dinner,” he says.

It’s a bad idea and you know it. Everything about him screams distraction. This isn’t what you’re in Buenos Aires to do. Yet, there’s something about him that has you curious. There’s also the fact that this museum seems to be the most likely target for the art thief and this man admitted he’s been here every day. A small part of your brain is sending up alarm signals to keep an eye on him. He doesn’t seem like a secret art thief, but hasn’t your training taught you how to hide in plain sight? It’s entirely possible he’s doing the same.

Your brain goes into overdrive as it often does on missions. There are a million little details in the pages of your profile on the art thief. They come flooding back to you. The profile so thoughtfully pieced together by The Agency says he’s probably unassuming. The kind of man that fits into any situation in the same way as you do, like he’s not trying to fit in and it means he doesn’t stand out as not belonging. The profile suggests that he’s confident. That he would appear calm. Most importantly, he’s the kind of person that would absolutely look at home in the midst of art. So, whether it’s a good idea or not, you know you’re going to say yes. He must see the answer in your eyes before you voice it because he smirks.

“What time?”

Wonwoo offers to pick you up at your hotel, but you insist that you’ll meet him at the restaurant. It’s safer that way, after all, being a woman traveling alone. At least that’s what you tell him. Not that anything about Wonwoo seems that threatening and you’re better equipped to handle yourself than most. You just don’t need him anywhere near your room even with everything put away. After going back to get ready, you made time to pour over the information you have. The more you consider it, the more it seems plausible that he could be exactly who you’re looking for. There’s only one issue: he asked you out. Everything you have suggests that he made agents in the past and slipped into the wind. You’re not cocky enough to think you’re too good to fall victim to the same fate. You keep your update to Seungcheol vague in case the lead doesn’t pan out.

Surprisingly, Wonwoo picks a nice place off the beaten path for dinner. It’s not overrun with tourists and it’s not too expensive. Like him, it’s unassuming but quietly impressive. You try not to let your heart skip a beat when you see him in a simple white dress shirt and black dress pants. He stands to pull your seat out for you and then settles back into his seat across from you. This is for the sake of the mission. Either he’s the person you’re looking for or you’ll have enjoyed a free and tasty meal. Nothing more to it.

His Spanish, it turns out, isn’t that great and so you help him through ordering since it’s definitely a place more for the locals. Or maybe it’s just an excuse to get your help. You’re not really sure you mind either way. He makes suggestions about which wines he prefers, but ultimately lets you pick, insisting that he will take care of whatever you land on. Once you get through ordering and all the small talk, it gives you a chance to really get to know him.

“Have you been here before?” you ask.

“This restaurant or this city?” he asks.

“Either,” you shrug.

“No to both,” he answers. “Clearly, my Spanish is a bit rusty. I’m so lucky that I found someone who’s so fluent.”

“I’m not sure I believe you can’t speak the language,” you muse.

“I can speak enough Spanish to get by, but it’s not that good,” he assures you.

“Interesting place to visit, then,” you observe.

“I’d miss out on a lot of beauty if I only went where I spoke the language fluently,” he retorts and you smile genuinely at that. He’s right.

“Like the art in the museum?” you suggest.

“Or a charming stranger,” he counters. You’re impressed. “I do like the art as well, though.”

“What other beautiful places have you visited?” you ask.

“Oh, I hardly think it’s that interesting,” he dismisses.

“Humor me,” you say.

There’s a moment where he’s careful in listing off places. Like he’s weighing something that you can’t really place. He ends up listing some places that catch your attention. Each of them has some wonderful art museums and it piques your curiosity. You try to look just politely interested, commenting on how he’s lucky to be able to travel as extensively as he seems to. He plays it off with a vague comment about being fortunate with help from his family. It’s the kind of thing that you know passes on a first date. It’s not appropriate to mention money on a first date. So, that would be fine, if it didn’t also make you curious about who this man really was. After all, your art thief being well connected through family would definitely make sense.

Throughout the rest of the dinner, you try to enjoy it. Not that it’s hard to do. Wonwoo is actually a lot of fun to be around. The conversation flows easily and you’re able to connect on a lot of shared interests. At least, interests that you pretend to have for the sake of this mission. But, it feels like he might also be pretending on some of his interests. He’s just a little too calm and put together. A little too quick with his answers. A little too rehearsed with his comments. Maybe you wouldn’t think twice if you weren’t doing the same.

By the time you finish the main course, you’re pretty sure that you managed to stumble into a date with the exact person that you’re here looking for based on his stories. It may have been a guess before. It feels nearly for sure now. He mentions how you have to visit Japan when the cherry blossoms are blooming, which sounds stunning. He mentions Oktoberfest in Munich and how he barely remembers anything from that trip. Then there's the ice festival in China, Nordlysfestivalen in Norway, and a few other locations that sound beautiful. They also have one thing in common. Each place is also on your list for stolen art around the time of the events.

Once you finish dessert, you’re making a decision that you know you should really clear with someone else before making. Sure, you’re pretty sure that Wonwoo is the art thief. And yes, it’s true that keeping an eye on him is in your best interest. One way to do that is to continue with the date. Yet, you’re not stopping to check in with Seungcheol. You’re not analyzing the pros and cons of doing this. After giving Seungcheol a vague update about a lead and promising you’ll have more information later on, he should be the first person you call. He’s not swept up in the atmosphere of a foreign city with a gorgeous stranger. No, you don’t do any of that. You’re just agreeing to go back to his room with him without a second thought. He’s painfully hot and you’re incredibly attracted to him, which is wildly unprofessional. But, you’re not sure you care. At least for the night. You can figure it all out later.

Wonwoo is quietly confident without being cocky. His gaze is so penetrating that it feels like he’s undressing you without it being slimy. He can hold a conversation about seemingly anything, but he’s also just as interested in what you have to say. In fact, you have his attention the whole night, regardless of anything else going on. It’s a little overwhelming to have someone so focused on you. But, when it feels a little overwhelming, he makes a perfectly timed, slightly sarcastic joke that makes you laugh harder than you should. The smile you wear all throughout the date is genuine. You’re actually enjoying yourself so much that you’re not sure you want it to end. Life has never felt so simultaneously complicated and easy.

Wonwoo’s lips are hot on yours as he cages you against the door of his hotel room. That intensity you saw all dinner reappears and you feel like you might burn under his touch. He’s so in control. You’re still not entirely sure how you wound up here, but you’re not really trying to think too hard about it. The fact that he’s almost definitely the art thief becomes an issue for future-you the second he kisses you like it’s your last day on Earth. It’s not like he knows you’re tracking his movements and it isn’t exactly a bad thing to keep a closer eye on him. Nor is it the first time you’ve done something like this. It is the first time you’ve done it without thought, though, and genuinely been interested in the man you let seduce you.

He has his body pressed against yours with his arms on either side of you so there really is nowhere to go. It’s kind of hot and you’re not even pretending to be turned on. A definite bonus. Your hands quickly undo his belt so that you can pull the edges of his shirt out. The moment your hands make contact with his skin, he pulls away and hisses. They’re likely cold, not that you care. It gives you the chance to catch his lower lip between your teeth. You watch his eyes darken with lust as you run your hands up his back, scratching down lightly.

“Just who do you think is in control here, baby?” His voice is so low in your ear that it makes you swallow hard. Everything about the endearment sounds sarcastic and it shouldn’t work, but you’re only human. Then he nips at your earlobe and you actually moan.

“What are you going to do about it?” you challenge. It feels like a lot of heat between you. If your head were clearer, you might consider that it feels like two people who know they shouldn’t be fucking. Almost like he’s punishing you a little, which he might want to, given why you’re here.

“That’s a dangerous question,” he warns you.

“Afraid I can’t handle it?” you ask and watch the way it nearly breaks his composure. You press forward into him, pulling him down so his ear is by your mouth now. Barely raise your voice above a whisper. “I’m not that fragile. I can handle a little pain.”

That seems to set him off. You’re worried for a second when he pulls away, but that disappears as you watch his nimble fingers rapidly undoing the buttons on his shirt. He casts it aside and looks back at you.

“I want you stripped naked and on the bed,” he commands.

You’re not typically in the habit of taking commands but something about him makes you want to listen. Even if you want to challenge him a little. He turns his back and you do strip down. Mostly. You climb onto the bed wearing only your panties, legs spread open and waiting for him. When he turns around, you miss the flare of his nostrils at your defiance looking at his muscles. For someone so unassuming, he was certainly in good shape.

“Is this your idea of naked?” he questions.

It’s funny, since he’s still got his boxer briefs on, though they leave little to the imagination. You can already see that he’s getting hard from the lead up.

“I thought I’d leave that honor for you,” you say, injecting as much innocence as you can muster into every word.

Wonwoo looks at you for another long second before climbing onto the bed and getting between your legs. He pushes them further open and you bite down on your lip.

“You don’t get to muffle those moans from me, sweetheart,” he teases, running a hand up the inside of your thigh.

“Or what?” you challenge again.

He raises an eyebrow at you and pulls his hand away from your thigh. You’re about to whine when he brings it back in a sharp slap.

“Shit,” you hiss.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asks. You nod with big eyes. “Use your words.”

“Fuck, yes, I liked it,” you rush out the second his finger traces a light line up your clothed cunt.

“I can tell,” he snarks. “Just tell me if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be,” you insist. He pulls his hand away and looks at you surprisingly soft for a second.

“Tell me if it is,” he repeats.

“I will,” you promise.

“Good,” he says and hooks his fingers inside the band of your panties, pulling them down your legs and casting them aside in one motion. “That’s better.”

In another surprise, Wonwoo doesn’t dive right into your cunt the way you expect him to given how frenzied everything has been so far. Instead, he trails kisses from your knee up your inner thigh. Pausing occasionally to nip into the skin before running his tongue over the mark to soothe it. You’re writhing on the bed by the time his breath ghosts across your cunt. The chuckle is low and deep as you squirm when he moves to your other thigh. You’re going to die before he even touches you.

“Jesus fuck, Wonwoo, if you don’t start eating me out…” you start, a hand winding into his hair.

He pops up and glares at you. “You’ll what? Did you already forget who’s in charge?”

“I’ll…” you start, before cutting off with a sharp, “FUCK!”

He’s still got his eyes on you when his thumb runs quickly through your folds to press against your clit. There’s barely any movement but it anchors you in place. “That’s what I thought.”

His kisses up your other thigh are much sloppier with a thumb still in place. It only makes you squirm more, searching for some kind of relief. When he finally gets to your lips, you expect he’s going to tease you again. You’re wrong. Again. His tongue dives into your pussy while his other hand keeps you spread open. This man knows what he’s doing and it’s immediately more than you’re expecting. You can’t stop your legs from snapping closed to box him in. That is, until he pulls his hands off you to spread your legs wide again, giving him the best access to you. It’s clear that he’s in charge and he wants you to know it.

It’s everything you can do not to thrash around, but Wonwoo seems to be ready to help there. He’s got a hand on your stomach anchoring you down to the bed. You’re not even sure how he’s got enough hands to move them along your body the way he seems to. Without warning, he moves his mouth up to pay attention to your clit. And he doesn’t give you a break, sliding two fingers into you and immediately scissoring them open. He sets a brutal pace, curling his fingers to hit you where he seems to know you need him on some of the passes.

“Fuck, Wonwoo, oh my god, fuck,” you scream out.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he sneers at you from between your legs.

“Yes, fuck,” you moan. “Your fingers, oh my god.”

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans.

In the next moment, you’re coming so hard you squirt over those amazing fingers of his. Your vision whites out around the edges and your toes are curling. It’s all you can do to catch your breath as Wonwoo’s fingers pump through the high.

“I don’t remember the last time I came that hard,” you admit.

“We’re not done yet,” he shares and the tone of his voice has you nearly clenching your legs together. “Turn over. Get on your hands and knees.”

“So bossy,” you say with a roll of your eyes. You turn over anyway, though, and put your ass in the air.

“This is a really good fucking view,” he says. You feel the bed dip when he gets back in place after removing his boxers.

Wonwoo has one hand on your hip and the other is running up your back to press you down further. To help you get that perfect arch of your back. You wiggle your ass at him and are rewarded with a stinging smack. Your moan is muffled by the pillow, so you turn your head to the side. Already know he wants to hear you. When he smacks your other ass check, you nearly scream out.

“That’s it, I want to hear you,” he encourages.

“Please, Wonwoo, just fuck me already,” you beg.

“One orgasm wasn’t enough?” he asks and you can hear the cockiness in his voice. Bringing a ringing smack down on your ass again. You scream out at the sting.

“No, I want you to split me open,” you whine. In any other situation you might be embarrassed by the admission, but not now. Not with him. Not when it’s so clearly turning him on.

“Greedy little thing,” he comments. His fingers press into your cunt again and you nearly yelp.

There’s no time to adjust when Wonwoo removes his fingers and immediately lines himself up at your entrance. With one snap of his hips, he’s fully inside you and you’re hissing. He’s bigger than you were guessing, even with the outline in his boxers. And he doesn’t give you a break as he starts fucking you hard. All you can hear is the sound of his skin slapping against yours and the mingled moans from both of you. You’re sensitive from both the pace and the earlier orgasm. Your legs feel like they would collapse under you if they could.

As if the pace isn’t enough, Wonwoo snakes an arm around you to reach for your clit, rubbing circles into it at the same pace as his thrusts. You can tell he’s nowhere near close, but you’re about to lose control again and you’re not sure how to stop it.

“Fuck, Wonwoo, slower, I’m going to - fuck!” you whine out.

“You gonna come again? So soon, baby?” he taunts.

“I can’t - fuck, please,” you beg. “I’m so close.”

“I want you to make a mess of my dick the same way you made a mess of my fingers,” Wonwoo directs.

“But you haven’t…” you start and Wonwoo removes his hand from your clit. You cry out at the loss until his other hand grabs your hair to yank you back against his chest. When it’s clear you’re not going to move, his hand moves from your hair to your throat.

“I want you to come for me. Right now. Show me how good I feel inside that tight pussy,” he directs.

It’s one of the most surprising reactions, the way your body immediately responds to him. He’s got you coming just as hard as the first time and he doesn’t give you a chance to second guess any of it. As the shocks rip through your body, you notice that Wonwoo does slow down his thrusts. Doesn’t pull out of you, though. You collapse forward and arch your back again so it’s easier to meet Wonwoo’s continued pace.

“You’re so good at listening,” he praises.

“Not usually,” you mumble into the pillow through the haze.

“I must be special,” he says as he lazily fucks into you.

“Jesus Wonwoo, you can fuck me. I know you haven’t finished yet,” you grumble.

“In a rush to go somewhere?” he teases.

“No, but it must be…well, I don’t know. Hard for you,” you mumble into the sheets.

“I’ve got excellent control,” Wonwoo says, all confidence. “I’m not in a rush to end this.”

Despite your instance, he continues to lazily snap his hips into you. It’s so slow, way too slow. He reaches down to pull you up against his chest again, still keeping the pace. His hands are on your breasts, squeezing them to anchor you to him. He rolls one of your nipples roughly between his fingers to see what he gets as a reaction. Your moan seems to spur him on further. Each time pain shoots through some part of your body, it only seems to turn you on more. It’s easy to forget why you agreed to this in the first place.

For all the demands, Wonwoo is actually very attentive as well. He peppers kisses from behind your ear all the way down your shoulder and back, paying special attention to the areas that seem to get the best response from you. He’s also careful with where he nips you, never biting hard enough to leave a mark somewhere that couldn’t be easily hidden. The entire experience has been so all-consuming that there isn’t space for any other thoughts in your head. It’s just him and this hotel room that’s entirely too fancy.

He must feel that you’re starting to get worked up because he pushes you back down into the bed. His pace finally picks up again, which is good because you’re sprinting towards being too sore to actually enjoy it anymore. The pace gets much faster again, not nearly as rhythmic as before. His fingers dig into your hips as he thrusts. It’s the first time it actually feels like he’s losing control.

“Oh my god,” you cry out. “I’m gonna come again. Oh my god!”

“Me too,” he groans through a stuttered breath. “Fuck, where can I come?”

“I don’t care,” you cry out. You’re about to have your third orgasm. “On my back, on my ass, I don’t fucking care, just come with me.”

You press a finger to your clit to try and help you over that last bit to tumble over the edge so that Wonwoo can chase his own relief. The second your body starts shaking, you feel him pull out. He must pump his cock a few times because there’s a slight delay before you feel something hit your back. You feel a little proud with how much cum you feel on your skin, like maybe he was a little more affected by you than he wanted to let on.

As soon as Wonwoo lays down next to you on the bed, you also collapse onto your side. The bed is soft, but your knees are still a little sore from spending so much time on them. Wonwoo immediately pulls you into him so that he can kiss you breathless. His hand is behind your head, keeping you from pulling away. The chemistry between the two of you is intense. Not something you were prepared for. It’s clear that if one of you doesn’t stop, then you’ll be fucking him again. And your body needs a break.

“I should get cleaned up,” you say when you pull back, more than slightly breathless.

“Let me just get cleaned up a little and then you can take a shower,” he says.

He presses a kiss to your temple and then gets up off the bed. There’s no point in pretending you aren’t watching him as he walks to the bathroom. He’s all lean lines and unexpected muscles. Nobody should be allowed to look the way he does, to look so good that Greek gods would be jealous. And yet here he is.

A few minutes later, he emerges from the bathroom and arches an eyebrow at you. There’s a towel slung low around his hips in a way that should be a sin. “You’re going to make me think that you want more.”

“I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to stand,” you joke as an answer.

It surprises you a little when he comes over to the bed and helps you up. That is, until you see the way his eyes take you in. There’s nothing soft there, only predatory. Like you’re a meal he wants to return to. Your brain still feels a little slow to catch up, but registers something like he’s analyzing you. Still, he helps you get to the bathroom, points out the toiletries, and then disappears back into the room.

By the time you’re clean and wrapped in the softest bathrobe you’ve ever worn, Wonwoo is sitting at the table wearing shorts and his glasses with nothing else. He’s scrolling absently through his phone and picking at some snacks that hadn’t been there when you had gone to shower. You didn’t think you’d been in there long, so it’s surprising he was able to get something up so quickly. When he notices you’re out of the bathroom, he indicates the food.

“I ordered us some snacks and they were happy to get them up here quickly,” he says.

You take a seat across from him a little apprehensively. This is the part that you hadn’t really considered. How do you excuse yourself from the situation in a way that ensures you’ll see him again? It’s not that you want to have a repeat, though there’s part of your brain that is not opposed like you should be. It’s just…well with the room and the toiletries and the fast room service, you’re sure that this is the man you’re looking for. Which, admittedly, might make things a little complicated. But, you do have a job to do.

“I guess I am hungry,” you admit and reach for something.

“Glad you’re not going to make me eat alone,” he muses.

“You already paid for dinner and drinks, I wasn’t expecting more treats,” you admit.

“Seems fitting after the mindblowing sex,” he says and watches you, a clear glint to his eyes. “I can’t get over how insanely hot it was to watch you squirt for me.”

Your cheeks redden without your permission. He’s so free with admitting it even with the moment having passed. Maybe he’s more trouble than you realized.

“Seems like I wasn’t the only one to enjoy myself if my back is any indication,” you toss out.

“I really enjoyed the way you told me I could come on your back,” he shares.

“And my ass,” you remind him.

“I got that too,” he reminds you. “And what a nice ass it is.”

“Careful or I’ll ask you to blow my back out again,” you say, voice slightly betraying that you’re affected by his very presence.

“That makes me think you were going to head out and never see me again,” Wonwoo ventures.

“I haven’t decided yet,” you say, trying to be coy.

Wonwoo fixes you with a stare that you can’t quite decipher. It nearly makes you squirm under the intensity. Is he just like that? The kind of person that does everything with that burning look in his eyes.

“Let me ask you something, Agent,” he begins and your mouth runs dry. You do everything you can not to let him know that you’re a second away from losing it. “Do you fuck all your targets? Or am I special?”

The way he smirks at you lets you know that he knows he’s onto something. Knows exactly who you are. Or maybe who you work for, at least. He’s made you and you’re not entirely sure you’re safe anymore. You’re also not entirely sure what the best move is. Probably take half a second too long to decide if his face is any indication.

“Agent? Target?” you laugh out. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?” he presses. “Really, we shouldn’t be lying to each other so early in the relationship.”

“I’m here doing…” you start.

“Research, yes. That’s what you said. And you almost had me when it took so long to run into you again. Your Spanish is flawless. It doesn’t sound like someone that learned at some secret agency. You’re much better at languages than any of the other agents that have come after me. And waiting so long to meet me again, genius. It really had me second guessing who you were,” he says. “But then, you made a mistake. Do you know what it was?”

“Going on a date with someone that’s clearly a little delusional?” you ventured. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do,” he says, confident. “I’ll tell you where you fucked up. It was dinner tonight. No, not something you said or did because you were shockingly smooth with it. It’s that you agreed to it at all. I suggested a place no researcher would ever go to. Because it used to be the site of a religious monument, but it fell into disrepair. A local crime family took it over. Only locals bother going there, but no researcher ever would.”

Your heart sinks. Through all your research and all your planning, you knew that you would never be able to get everything. There just wasn’t the time. So, you had to hope that the person you were chasing wouldn’t notice any small missteps. Or would write them off with your cover story. What you had not planned for was this. In all your careful consideration, you had not planned to go on a date with the art thief himself. He had you and he knew it. It’s hard to see the right path out of this.

It had been a gamble to get close to him the way you had. A gamble that you questioned taking and took anyway. A gamble you took without clearing it with Seungcheol. Usually, getting close to a target this way, you talk to him to make sure that he thinks it’s a good idea too. Make sure that this kind of move will fit the profile for the person that you’re chasing. This time, you’re flying blind. You had gotten a little ahead of yourself. A little sloppy. This isn’t the type of work you’re known for. It’s not the reason that you were sent down to Buenos Aires to chase him on a secret mission.

“One mistake,” you sigh with a shake of your head.

“Yeah, just the one,” he agrees.

“So why did you invite me back here?” you ask.

Wonwoo shrugs. “I’m curious about you.”

“Curious? You risked inviting me back to your actual hotel room over curiosity?” you ask, looking around.

“Who’s to say this is actually my room?” he says with another casual shrug. You clock it on his face as soon as he says it.

“No, it is your actual room. The comfort, the speed of the room service, the way things are laid out. It’s not staged. This is just where you’re staying,” you observe. That makes him smile in a way you’re not expecting.

“Good eye,” he agrees. “Now for my question. Do you fuck all your targets?”

“No,” you say shortly.

“Why even agree to go on a date with me, then?” he presses.

You sigh and sit further back into your chair. Take a piece of fruit from the table to buy yourself some time. “I don’t know. It wasn’t a good decision, obviously. I wasn’t even sure you were my target. There was just…something about you.”

“So you’ve never fucked a target before? I’m special?” he asks with a smirk.

“I didn’t say that,” you respond. “I just don’t usually fuck a target without clearing it first.”

“Who knows you’re here with me?” he asks.

“Nobody,” you answer. It’s too honest.

You’re not sure if you should have admitted that and even less sure if he’ll believe you. It is the truth, though. Nobody in the world knows where you are right now. It’s kind of a crossroads for you because Wonwoo isn’t dangerous. He’s never been violent, as far as your information shows. Despite being physically separated from your bag, you’re not exactly unarmed. And yes, he does look like he’s in shape, but you’re still confident that you can take him if it comes to that. Once again, your mind is running through a million calculations a second as you realize you definitely should have talked to Seungcheol.

“I’m trying to figure you out,” he admits.

“How’s that going?” you ask sarcastically.

“Not as well as it would normally,” he says. It’s something else that’s honest between the two of you. More honest than you’re expecting. “Most people are too easy to figure out. It’s boring. Nothing about you makes sense to me.”

“And what about me is so difficult for you to figure out?” you ask, still lacing your words with sarcasm.

“You know, despite me figuring out that you’re after me, you’re actually the best agent that they’ve ever sent. You fit into your role seamlessly. You’re just the right amount of charming. You blend into your surroundings because you don’t try to do anything to dull yourself. Against my better judgment, I am impressed. And yet, you still decided to come on the date. You’re clearly the best they have and you’re still here,” he says, gaze soft but analytical on you.

“I’m going to keep my mouth shut,” you say carefully.

“Why?” he asks.

“You disarm me,” you admit. “I know so much about you and yet, here I am. Unwilling to leave even though you know what I’m here to do.”

“Do you still want to turn me in?” he asks.

“Are you going to disappear into the wind the second I walk out that door?” you counter.

He regards you for a moment. A moment too long, really. It makes you squirm in your seat. This isn’t going at all how you would have imagined. “No.”

“Why?” you ask.

“Because I’m waiting to see how this whole thing plays out. You haven’t said that you want to turn me in. I can see you’re conflicted about it. So, I’m going to see how this plays out,” he answers. He holds up a hand when you open your mouth. Seems to predict you’re going to ask why again. “Because…okay, look. I know this is really weird. I know you’re here to try and find me. But, you’re actually interesting and that sex was fucking good. So, I don’t know, call me cocky. I’m not ready to let you walk away just yet.”

“If I can walk at all,” you grumble.

“You were walking just fine from the bathroom. Maybe I need to really make sure you can’t walk,” he muses.

The eye contact is too much and you turn your head away. You’re positive he’s onto you, especially when you carefully cross your legs. It’s just that he’s right, isn’t he? You can sit here and pretend that you only slept with him to keep him close while you tried to figure him out. Can say that it was all just part of the job and you didn’t enjoy it. Can say that you wanted to take a different approach since nobody else has been able to catch him.

That’s also very clearly a lie.

Seungcheol likes to know what his agents are up to, particularly when it comes to agents like you that deal with secret missions. Since you started as friends before he had to retire to his desk, he’s also very protective of you. He hates it when you suggest using your charm on a target like this. So, no, this isn’t just another target. This is something else entirely. You have to admit that you actually enjoyed it. That you would like to do it again. That you actually don’t even want to leave his room because you’re not convinced you’ll ever see him again. Which is really stupid, isn’t it? You should not care if you never see him again. Unless it means that you failed your mission. That’s not why you’re worrying about never seeing him again, though.

Just as you’re about to open your mouth and say something else, your phone chirps from your bag. It’s a sign. You know it is. The sound is tied to Seungcheol. Which means he’s looking for a check-in. Which means you’re late, something that never happens with you. You’re standing up to get your phone before even realizing it. Wonwoo’s eyes track your movements.

Cheol: hope you’re enjoying your trip! Send pictures when you can

It’s code. Sent through a normal message so that it doesn’t look suspicious. And so that it gives you the chance to ignore it if you’re not in a place where you can answer him. You don’t even hear Wonwoo approach as you’re mentally calculating how to respond to this.

“Is that code?” he asks and you nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of his low voice by your ear. God, nobody should have a voice like his.

“It’s my handler, I guess you could say,” you answer.

“Are you going to call him?” he asks.

“He’ll worry if I don’t,” you say and realize it’s true.

Wonwoo steps around you to grab his own phone and then returns to his position at the table. “I’ll be quiet if you want to call.”

There’s something kind of hot about how he says it. Like he doesn’t actually want to let you leave. Or like it’s an order to stay. You’re not sure if you’re reading too much into it. When you look over at him, his eyes are on his phone, but his lips turn up in a smile. He knows your eyes are on him and he’s still playing a game. A game that you just might lose, for the first time in your life.

With a sigh, you shake your head and just fire off a text in response. You don’t have it in you to call Seungcheol and you also aren’t exactly sure what to say. He’s always been able to read your tone like it’s his own. After telling him you might have a lead, he’s going to know something is wrong. This is going to be a problem.

You: it’s been amazing, i’m loving each new thing i get to see in person. I’ll have some pictures to show you tomorrow!

It’s a signal that you’re not going to have anything new to share with him tonight and not to contact you again until you check in the next day. You’re not really sure if this is the right decision, but you need time to clear your head. This is the only way that you can see getting that. It’s too hard to think about making a decision when Wonwoo is still half naked and looking at you like you’re prey. At least you can assume that you could take him if you needed to. Thankfully, he’s not really looking at you like that kind of prey.

“I’ll call him tomorrow,” you say.

“And what will you do tonight?” Wonwoo asks, looking up at you.

“I’m all yours, at least for tonight,” you say.

You’re surprised the look he gives you doesn’t melt you into the floor. “I can work with that.”

The next day brings more confusion than the night before. At least you’re back in your own hotel room and out of the intoxicating orbit of Wonwoo. The downside is that you couldn’t leave his bed without agreeing to lunch plans with him. Both of you wanted to get breakfast together, but hadn’t been able to get out of bed in time for that. You turned down his offer to just buy you new clothes so you wouldn’t have to leave his sight. Thankfully, he does seem to understand that you need a minute to process everything in the last 24 hours. It’s been a bit of a whirlwind.

That’s not what you need to focus on right now, though. You don’t have any more messages from Seungcheol, which is what you expected. Still, you need to call him before he doesn’t something to check on you. Like sending Chan to your hotel with some made up story. You don’t want to put anyone in that position. You also don’t really know what you’re going to say. When you left Wonwoo’s hotel room, he made it clear: the choice was yours. He wants to see you again and he also knows that he’s asking a lot. Too much, probably. So, he’s giving you a choice. If you show up at lunch to meet him, then you’re at least willing to get to know him a little more before deciding anything. If you stand him up, then he’ll know you can’t agree to that. It’s a major gamble for him because you know what he looks like and his real name. You have more than you need to put an end to years of his hard work.

Nothing in your life has prepared you for this. Not really. Sure, you train for missions and you perfect your skills. But, emotions have never been part of it. It’s always been so easy to separate your humanity from your job. Kind of like you just switch of anything that makes you normal and go into mission-mode. You once compared it to being an actor because you’re just playing a part. None of it is real and none of it is really your decision. This is uncharted territory for you.

Once you catch your breath, you pull a device out of the secret pocket in your bag so that you can connect it to your phone. It’ll scramble the signals and make the line secure so that you can call Seungcheol. It’s a bit of normalcy that you’re craving in the madness around you.

“Finally, I’ve been worried,” Seungcheol answers.

“I answered you right away,” you point out.

“Yes, to say that you would not be calling me,” Seungcheol presses and you sigh.

“Because I don’t have anything new to report,” you say without even realizing when you made the decision. The lie flows so easily. “I’ve been cataloging everything on everyone I see at the museums and galleries. Cross checking the names coming into the country. Surveying anyone that sticks out as I check things out.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Seungcheol cuts in.

“I’m here to find him, though,” you point out. You’re not sure why you’re doing this.

“I know,” he says. “But, I’d rather you be safe.”

“I’m always safe,” you lie. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to pick up on it.

“I know, but I also know you’re competitive,” he says. “Remember, we’ve already sent no less than 6 teams to find him and they’ve all failed.”

“I don’t fail, though. That’s why you sent me,” you say. You’re not even sure why you’re arguing with him.

“Just be careful. What happened with that lead you thought you had?” he asks.

“A dead end,” you say with a practiced sigh. “Does the intelligence say he’s still in the city?”

“I can’t imagine he’d leave without taking anything,” Seungcheol says.

“Good point,” you say. “I’ll keep looking.”

“Do you want me to send back-up?” he asks.

“It’s your mission,” you say noncommittally. “If you think it’ll help and we can still fly under the radar, then by all means.”

“I was thinking of Chan since he’s still kind of in the area,” he says.

“Ah, yeah, I’m not sure,” you admit.

“You’re right, I know. I do want you to formally meet him soon, though. But, definitely not mid-mission,” he agrees. “Just be careful and keep me updated. If it goes on too long, we’ll just pull you. Maybe he got spooked.”

“Yeah, that works,” you agree.

“See you when you’re back,” he says.

“See you,” you answer and hang up.

It feels awful to lie to him, of all people. He’s one of the only people that you’ve ever trusted in your life. The only one that knows exactly who you are, knows all your demons, and still accepts you. He knows just how many people are six feet under because of you, knows the ways you’ve had to use your body, knows the lies you’ve told and the people you’ve hurt, both physically and emotionally. He knows all your scars and he accepts it. Because you know all his scars, too. It sucks to lie to him.

Sometimes they say that indecision is still a decision. That’s where you are now. You can say that you haven’t made a decision about what you’re going to do with Wonwoo. You can say that you’re waiting for more information. But, in a way, you’ve made at least one decision in his favor. You didn’t tell Seungcheol that your lead turned out to be the art thief himself. No. Instead, you’re showering and getting ready to meet him again, about to make yet another decision. Maybe you were always going to agree to lunch rather than stand him up. He’s got a lot to lose here too. It’s far more complicated than it should be.

Your head is a little in the clouds by the time you leave your room to head down to the lobby and out into the comfortable winter air. If you spend a little more time than strictly necessary making sure you look nice, well that’s your business. The only drawback is that you don’t have Wonwoo’s phone number, at your own insistence, and so he may think you decided to stand him up. That worry lasts as long as it takes for you to reach the lobby. That’s where you see him, sitting casually in an armchair with his eyes locked on you. There’s no reason for the way your heart skips over such a simple outfit. It’s just a t-shirt and a leather jacket. Why are you nearly losing your mind?

“What are you doing here?” you ask and he gives you the most charming smile you’ve ever seen. It probably even puts your own smile to shame.

“I took a chance that you would decide in my favor,” he says and stands up.

“Confident,” you say, “but still, I was supposed to meet you at the restaurant since I hadn’t decided.”

“It’s a date. I’m picking you up,” he says and surprises you by placing a gentle kiss on your cheek .

“Isn’t that chivalrous of you,” you comment while trying to convince your heart to stop beating out of your chest.

“Shall we?” he asks and motions for you to walk ahead of him.

The chivalry doesn’t stop at picking you up at your hotel, unfortunately for you. He opens the door and then gently takes your hand. There’s a hand on your back when you step around him. He puts himself between you and any traffic. It’s the best anyone has ever treated you and you hate that you’re even noticing that. Now, you’re thinking that you should have stood him up for an entirely different reason.

Lunch feels like the most normal thing in the world. The real reason for being in this beautiful city doesn’t come up at all. Instead, you talk about life and interests. The type of music and food that you like. What you do in your free time. It’s exactly what you imagine first or second dates to be like. Not that you have much experience with actually dating.

It only gets deeper from there with Wonwoo telling you more about himself. Not about how he really makes money, but it certainly helps you understand how he got involved and how he stays under the radar. As it turns out, he comes from a lot of money. He doesn’t say it in a way that sounds like he’s bragging. It makes sense, though. Everything about him screams old money, which fits the profile you put together. The way he carries himself, the way he speaks, the way he dresses. It doesn’t feel like someone that’s made his money from stealing art. You learn that he’s involved in a lot of charities, which surprises you a bit. You also learn that he sponsors students in a video game design program in his home country. There’s so much more to him than stealing art. In fact, that seems to be such a small part of who he is. It’s more than a little surprising, which is odd since it’s usually so hard to surprise you. It’s clear that he’s grown up around art. All this time and he’s just been hiding in plain sight.

The two of you sit at lunch for so long that the servers finally, very politely, indicate that it’s time to leave. It’s never been this easy to sit with someone in your entire life. It’s a level of comfort that you should absolutely not feel with someone like Wonwoo. But, you can’t help it. You can’t help the way you feel around him. Can’t really fight the feelings that keep threatening to bubble up.

The roads aren’t nearly as busy when you walk back towards your hotel. Even though it’s a tourist city, it still quiets down in the mid-afternoon when the local businesses close down. The tourists seem to use the time to also relax or take advantage of certain monuments being quieter. It lends itself to the comfortable silence that settles around you and Wonwoo on the walk.

When you reach the lobby, you turn to face Wonwoo and your breath catches a little. The sun in July isn’t as strong, but it still provides a backlight like he’s some sort of dark angel. Which sounds insane, even if your head. There have been so many beautiful people in your life, yet this is the one that has you forgetting how to put words together. It’s like he knows exactly what you’re thinking when he steps into your space and takes your face in his hands. He kisses you so fiercely that you forget your name. It’s the kind of kiss that doesn’t look like much from the outside, but changes your entire world on the inside.

“Well how am I supposed to go back to my room and leave you now?” you ask against his lips when he pulls back. You can feel the smile on his own lips when he kisses you again.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he whispers.

“No,” you whisper back and kiss him again.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” he says.

That makes you pull back sharply so that you can search his face. Does he realize how that sounds? It makes you wonder if he means more than just tonight. What is he trying to do to you? How many ways can one man make you reconsider everything you stand for? Nothing about his face looks smug or even insincere. In fact, he looks the way you imagine you feel. A little smitten and a lot unsure of what to do next.

“And what would I do instead?” you ask, though you have an idea where he’s going.

“Go pack a bag of some of your things and come stay with me for the next few days,” he requests. It’s just bordering on a demand, even though it’s clearly your call.

“Are you crazy? We barely know each other,” you protest without much heat.

“What better way to get to know each other?” he counters. He grabs your hips, pulling you close to his body so he can wrap his arms around you. “And think about it. I can see you’re still not sure what you want to do. If you’re with me, you’ll know where I am at all times. I can’t get into any trouble while you’re still deciding.”

“I suppose you do make a point,” you concede.

“I have never done anything this reckless in my life. So, I’m just asking for a chance,” he shares.

It’s a little insane for him to say this is the most reckless thing he’s done in his life. Surely, stealing art is crazier than this. Which would make you lean towards not believing him if it weren’t for the voice in the back of your head. That little voice that agrees with him. You’ve put your life in danger more times than you can count, but saying yes to the man in front of you feels like the most dangerous idea yet. Maybe it’s because you know it’s not your body you’re putting on the line, but your heart. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what he means too. That he’s never taken the chance to chase someone like this. Or maybe you just want to believe that you might be special.

All you can do is nod at him and watch the smile that breaks across his face. It’s honest, unguarded. It’s real. There’s nothing behind it except genuine happiness that you agreed to spend the next few days with him. Before you can second guess your decision, you give him one more kiss and nearly run up to your room.

Being separated from him gives you the chance to actually catch your breath. To focus on what you need to bring with you. Since, apparently, you’re not going to reconsider if this is actually a good idea or not. You know you should. You know that this is another one of those moments that you chalk up to indecision when your actual decision could not be any louder. Again, you’re reminded of what you’re doing here. What you’re supposed to be doing here. This man is your enemy. He’s the person you’re supposed to be arresting and bringing into The Agency to face sentencing. You’re a good agent. You always put the mission ahead of yourself, your thoughts, your beliefs, or even your relationships. This isn’t a version of yourself that you recognize and it should stop you in your tracks.

Instead, you decide which dress to pack away and what pair of shoes looks best. For the first time in your life, you’re diving in first and asking questions later. Or never.

It shouldn’t be surprising that you end up naked in Wonwoo’s bed minutes after crossing the threshold to his hotel room. Not with how things have gone so far for the two of you. Yet, what is surprising is that the sex is even better than the night before. You’re catching your breath, tucked into Wonwoo’s side, body tacky with sweat but so impossibly happy. His hand that’s around you absently traces patterns into your skin. It’s honestly like you’ve known him for years. It’s insane to realize how comfortable you feel when that’s not something you ever experience. Not like this.

It’s also shocking to you how much this man wants to share with you. He carries on your chats from lunch as if he hadn’t just fucked you into his mattress yet again. Like this means more than some dirty sex holed up in a hotel in a foreign city. Makes you feel like you might actually mean something to him, which is a very dangerous feeling to have. Both of you know that this can’t mean more than what it is. At least, you think you know that and you think he might too. But, there’s a clear understanding that you won’t talk about it. Not now, at least.

Wonwoo decides that he wants to take you somewhere fancy for dinner. The type of place that you would never consider going to while on a mission. Though, you’re always prepared for anything. When you were packing up your things in your hotel room, you even grabbed a couple nicer dresses. All they needed was a quick steam, which the hotel staff had been only too happy to accommodate. Any protests about it being too much fell on deaf ears. He was set and the two of you were going to a famous restaurant. All you had to do was shower and get ready. Your dress would be ready by the time you needed it.

It’s clear you don’t really understand the limits to Wonwoo’s wealth, if there even are any, when you arrive at the restaurant. It’s the kind of place where you usually need reservations well in advance. It’s not the kind of place you can just show up at. Despite that, the host leads you back to a semi-private area where you’re tucked into a corner booth. It’s clearly one of the nicest tables in the place. You think you catch Wonwoo sliding the host something when he shakes their hand before he turns back to you. All thoughts go out the window when he slides in right next to you, not leaving any space.

Wonwoo’s Spanish really is very remedial and so you help him decipher the menu and order. It gives you pause when there aren’t prices anywhere on the menu, but he’s quick to wave off any concerns. Insists that it’s his treat. You don’t want to think that’s something you could get used to. It isn’t like you have any real trouble affording nice things. Your salary is high and you don’t have much to spend money on. This is a different level, though. It’s even different from the times you’ve gone on a mission and charmed your target. That always feels temporary. Like you’re something of an imposter. You don’t get those feelings here with Wonwoo.

Letting him pick out which outfit you wore may have been a mistake. You discover this once you get your drinks and the waiter leaves you alone. His hand rests possessively on your thigh, against the bare skin of your leg exposed by the slit in your dress. His body is angled towards you and he’s encouraging you to continue telling your story. But, he has to know he’s distracting, too, with the way his hand slides further up your thigh. What started as arguably innocent ventures quickly into dangerous territory.

“You were saying?” he prompts. His hand is inside the fabric of your dress now, keeping you from pressing your thighs together like you want to.

“I, uh…” you stutter as he digs his hand into the soft flesh there. “Wonwoo, aren’t you worried?”

“About what?” he asks innocently.

“Getting caught,” you hiss and look down at your lap.

“No, sweetheart, I’m not worried,” he says and you glare at him, “because you’re going to be good for me and be quiet.”

“I don’t know…” you start and stop as soon as his pinky grazes along your entrance through your panties. “Fuck.”

“Doesn’t seem like you actually want me to stop,” he points out.

“I, fuck, you know I don’t but there are people,” you say softly.

“I paid good money for this table. I don’t think we’ll be disturbed,” he tells you.

“I…” you start. When he pulls his finger away, you nearly whine.

“I need to hear you say you want it,” he says.

“What?” you ask, a little louder than you intended.

“Use your words,” he directs and you glare.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, earning a chuckle out of him.

“Not yet,” he retorts.

“Fine, yes. I want your fingers inside me here in this damn restaurant,” you say.

He’s expecting this answer. It’s written all over his face. This time, he doesn’t tease you. Doesn’t waste any time because you may not have much of it. He simply pushes your panties to the side and slides his first finger into you. The angle doesn’t make it easy but his fingers are long and slender, like they were built for something like this. It’s hard to keep from making a sound, so you try to do anything to distract yourself from the way he pumps into you. Or the way he adds a second finger so quickly.

When you pick up your drink to take a sip from the straw, you watch his eyes on you. They seem to darken the second that you wrap your lips around the straw. His fingers pump into you even faster. And his lips are demanding on yours when you set the drink back down. You moan softly into his mouth without really considering if anyone is paying attention or if they can hear you. His tongue tangles with yours frantically while he tries to get you off right in that booth.

This is new for you. You definitely didn’t think you would get so turned on by the fact that anyone could walk back over to see what you were doing. Anyone could hear the noises you’re making. Anyone could figure it out. When he feels that your pussy clenching around his fingers, he pulls away from the kiss. Leans his forehead against yours so that he can whisper filthy things in the space between you. Tells you how good you feel and how he loves watching you when you’re about to come. Moans about how tight you are. How pliant you are for him. Reminds you to be quiet. Tells you he can’t wait to taste you on his fingers. That’s what finally pushes you over the edge.

Your fingers grip the edge of the booth underneath you as you come hard and fast. He lazily guides you through it and then follows through by bringing his fingers to his lips. It’s so hot that you consider asking if you can just leave and go back to the room to be fucked properly. But, then your stomach rumbles and you think better of it. It’s only another few minutes before the first course arrives with a slightly knowing look from the waiter. After that first course, you excuse yourself to the bathroom to clean up, at least a little. You deem your panties ruined and just remove them, tucking them away into your bag. You’ll have to be a little more careful the rest of the night.

This dinner is somehow even better than the first and it has nothing to do with the place being expensive, though the food is definitely amazing. You also don’t think it really has anything to do with the way Wonwoo fingered you under the table. That’s definitely a first for you. Exhibitionism hasn’t been your thing before, but maybe he’s got you learning new things about yourself. It had only taken him a minute to realize that you weren’t wearing underwear anymore. It definitely took him another minute to regain his composure.

The thing that actually makes this dinner better than the first is the man across from you. With his walls down, the entire night just feels that much more. It’s one of the only times you’ve ever felt your own guard come down. It’s not smart and you don’t care. You think you probably look a little punch drunk to anyone that can see your table. Then, you meet Wonwoo’s eyes again and think he probably looks the same. You never really have the chance to enjoy dates, but even if you did, this would still probably top them all. It’s all the little things. The way Wonwoo carefully brushes a strand of hair out of your face. The way he offers you a bite off his own plate when you say it looks good. The way he brings your knuckles up to his lips and presses feather light kisses to them.

“Are you going to insist on ordering dessert here too?” you ask after the main course.

“I was thinking we might have dessert back in our room,” he says and you raise an eyebrow.

“Our room?” you question.

“Don’t test me,” he cautions.

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say and lean into him to press a slow kiss to his cheek. Your hand brushes over his lap as a way to get closer.

“Is this you not testing me?” he asks when your hand brushes across his lap again.

“What? You can make me come on your fingers but I can’t tease you a little?” you ask innocently.

Wonwoo grabs your hand and anchors it on your own thigh. “We’re getting out of here and then you can show your appreciation however you want. We don’t need to give them more of a show.”

It seems like it takes an eternity to pay the bill (which Wonwoo doesn’t let you see) and get a cab back to the hotel. The promise of something else simmers between you the entire time. Wonwoo keeps a hand on you the entire time. A hand on your lower back out of the restaurant, fingers intertwined with yours in the cab, an arm around you walking into the hotel. When you get into the elevator, he pulls you back against his chest as more people join. He masks it as affection and presses a kiss to your cheek, but you feel the desire beneath it.

The moment you cross into the room, you slip out of your shoes and turn around to press a kiss to Wonwoo’s lips. The tension between the two of you is thick and it’s hard to remind yourself to come up for a breath. He overwhelms every one of your senses. There’s nothing but him in every corner of your brain when he kisses you like that.

It’s almost embarrassing when he breaks the kiss and you chase his lips. “How about dessert?”

“I thought that was just your way of saying…” you start and he directs your attention to the table. There’s an assortment of fruit, whipped cream, and melted chocolate there.

You’re a little hesitant when he starts to walk to the table. It just feels incredibly intimate, which is true for a lot of what's happened with Wonwoo. But, this still feels different. It feels like more, once again. Wonwoo realizes that you’re not behind him and turns back to you. He closes the space between you yet again and places a hand on your cheek, impossibly soft.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he asks.

“I’ve never done…this,” you say softly into the quiet between you and him.

“Pretty sure we’ve already fucked several times,” Wonwoo says to lighten the mood.

“No, I mean, this…I don’t know. The desserts and the whipped cream and chocolate. It just feels, I don’t know, intimate,” you admit.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he assures you.

It’s absolutely insane that you’re hesitating. It doesn’t have to be some super intimate thing. It’s not like Wonwoo hasn’t already seen every inch of you and gotten to know your body better than anyone should in that period of time. But, this is far beyond the point where you can convince yourself any part of this is for the mission anymore. This isn’t just to keep him close. This is no longer indecision, as much as you want to pretend that it is.

“Is this your go-to move, then? Have a bunch of sweets delivered to the hotel room and seduce people with being all gentle?” you ask.

“I’ve definitely never done this before,” he says and it’s too honest.

Instead of answering him you just kiss him because it’s the only answer you can think of. Somehow, knowing that this is different for him too makes it feel less overwhelming for you. You drag him back towards the table until you’re leaning against it. Your back arches into him as he licks into your mouth. His hands wrap around you to keep you tight against his body. He pulls away again and you’re ready for it this time.

Wonwoo reaches an arm behind you and dips a strawberry in some of the chocolate. He brings it to your lips and watches intently as you get your mouth around it. The first bite sends a little bit of juice and chocolate over your lips. Just as you’re about to wipe it away, Wonwoo pulls the remainder of the strawberry back and kisses it away. It’s like that one action unlocks any hang ups you have. You twist around to scoop up some whipped cream with your finger. Your eyes lock on Wonwoo as you slowly lick it off. With it still in your mouth, you kiss him hard, enjoying the way your tongues dance and the tastes.

The two of you take turns dipping fruit and feeding it to each other. The kisses become more and more desperate in between feeding each other. It’s a little messy, though, so you unbutton Wonwoo’s shirt and slide it off his arms. He undoes your dress to slide it off your body, removing your bra along the way. You rid him of his pants and briefs as well so that you’re not the only one standing there naked.

When you reach back to get more fruit, Wonwoo grabs your hand to stop you. There’s a question in your eyes that he leaves unanswered as he moves things out of the way behind you. Then, he’s sitting you on the edge of the table and reaching for the whipped cream, which also answers your question. He puts some of the topping on your breast and sucks into your skin to lick it off you. Your legs part on their own as you lean back on the table to encourage him to get closer. He swirls his tongue around your nipple before softly nipping at your skin. Without warning, he bites into the flesh of your breast and laves over the spot to soothe you.

Food should not be this sexy. Maybe it’s just that it’s Wonwoo tempting you, but you’ve never been this turned on. His tongue is everywhere across your breasts and your stomach. Covering you in kisses while also licking the whipped cream or chocolate off of you. Your nails scratch down his back each time he nips into your skin. Somehow the sensations are everywhere all at once. You wrap your legs around his waist to anchor him closer to you.

“I need you inside me,” you whine out with Wonwoo kissing along your neck.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” he asks into your skin.

“Feel for yourself,” you encourage.

Wonwoo pulls away from your neck and looks at you with lust. He presses his fingers to your mouth and you suck them in without even thinking about it. They’re sweet as you swirl your tongue around them. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

As if it’s confirmation, he ruts against you, seemingly hard just from all the making out and the food. You pull his fingers from your mouth and guide them to your already dripping pussy. He’s not the only one that’s gotten insanely turned on. As soon as you guide his fingers through your folds he groans again.

Neither one of you is in the mood to wait and he doesn’t waste any time angling his hand so he can pump his fingers inside you. Just presses two fingers right in and adds a third to try and open you up. It makes you scream out, praising his fingers with how quickly they work you over. He removes his hand entirely too quickly and you’re whining at the loss. Wonwoo runs a hand along his cock, pumping a couple times and catching some of the precum to spread it along his length. It’s not enough, but you don’t really care right now.

“Please, Wonwoo, I need you,” you beg.

“Feeling a little desperate, princess?” he teases, that cocky smirk back on him.

“Just fuck me already,” you whine.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything else, just lines himself up and presses his tip into you. It stretches you out and you’re a little surprised that he goes so slowly. Then, you realize that it feels like more when he’s inching into you like this. His eyes watch you for any signs of discomfort. He leans forward and catches your lips in the neediest kiss of the night when he bottoms out in you. You lean back onto your elbows, bringing him along with you. The kisses get sloppier as he starts to thrust into you.

He pulls away from you to reposition and presses your leg up so that he can get deeper. You let your leg fall over his arm so that you don’t have to hold it up. The moans between the two of you are loud enough to drown out the sound of skin on skin as he fucks into you hard. You can’t help it, though, and you throw your head back in pleasure.

“Look at me,” he directs roughly.

You moan in response but tilt your head back towards him. It feels like a chore and that’s when it occurs to you. Taking hold of his free hand, you move it to your throat. For a second, his eyes go wide and his pace slows. He’s searching your face for a clue before he grabs your throat a little more forcefully.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes, fuck,” you groan out. “I’ll tap you if it’s too much.”

“You’re so fucking hot,” he utters, flexing his fingers on your throat.

Somehow, Wonwoo seems to know the perfect amount of pressure. It’s just tight enough that it makes it a little harder to breathe, but not so much that it’s actually choking you. He seems more comfortable than when he did it the first time. It also makes it easier to keep your eyes on him the way he wants. Everything feels heightened and it’s entirely too soon that you’re rushing to your high. You clench your walls around Wonwoo and he fucks you harder, groaning at the increased tightness.

“Gonna come all over my dick again?” he asks and you moan.

You can’t really say anything and you don’t want to. This is all you need. Your hand winds down your body and you look at Wonwoo with a question in your eyes.

“Go ahead, baby, touch yourself,” he directs you.

Asking for permission to do anything is unlike you, but there’s something about wanting to please this man that drives you to all sorts of new things. You rub your clit in time with his thrusts and it seems like only moments pass before you’re tipping over that edge.

Heavy breaths eventually subside to find Wonwoo slowly, almost lazily, fucking into you. His hands are now both on your hips as he waits for you to come down. You sit up with him still inside you and kiss him, slow and full of all sorts of unspoken things.

“You really are fucking amazing,” you say, voice a little hoarse. “You can move faster.”

“I was thinking we might need to get into the shower,” he says with a smirk, pressing a finger to your skin. You’re about to object when you watch him pull it away and it sticks.

“Maybe I can take care of you in there, then,” you say and kiss him softly.

His eyes seem to light up a little at that. He slides out of you gently and walks slowly into the bathroom. You meant what you said. Shower sex is definitely not your thing because it’s never as sexy as people make it out to be. It can be slippery and there aren’t really any good positions. That doesn’t mean you can’t help him out a little.

Wonwoo has other ideas first, it seems. Once the water is warm enough, both of you get in and he lathers up a loofah to gently wash all the stickiness from your body. It’s gentle in a way you’re not expecting and impossibly thoughtful. You relax against his back with his arms around you while he makes sure all the remnants are gone.

When you’re clean, you turn around to face him and kiss him hard. The water falling on your back creates the perfect sensation with the heat between the two of you. He gathers you against his body, hands sliding down to grip your ass. It’s all you can do not to melt right on the spot. You think that you could probably kiss this man for the rest of your life and never get bored. Or never fully prepare yourself for the way it makes you feel.

You drop to your knees and take his cock in your hand. He leans back against the wall of the shower as he looks down on you. It’s crazy to you how turned on this man gets (or stays) just from kissing or skin contact. No matter what, his body always seems to be ready for you. You run your tongue along his length and swirl your tongue around the tip. You’re impatient and you know he’s been waiting, so you don’t waste any time before you suck him into your mouth. You relax your throat and swallow as much of his cock as you’re able to, alternating between bobbing and hollowing out your cheeks.

“You look so good looking up at me like that,” he groans.

You hum around his dick and Wonwoo grabs the back of your head to anchor you there. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes before he releases you and you can get a breath. Even in this position, you can tell that you actually have control over this man. It’s a great feeling since he’s been in control every other time. His hips buck when you suck him back into you. It’s definitely a powerful feeling. The groans also tell you what you already know, you’re good at this. He’s putty in your hands.

With a few more bobs, he’s coming down your throat and then slumping back against the shower wall. It doesn’t stop him from helping you up off your knees. You pepper light kisses along his collarbones before he surprises you and pulls you into another kiss. It’s never been your experience that a man wants to kiss you like that, but he doesn’t shy away.

“We better get out of this shower before we run through all the hot water,” he says between kisses.

“You’re right,” you say with a sigh.

The two of you step out of the shower and Wonwoo is quick to wrap you up in a towel. It takes everything in you to tell your heart to calm down. You know Wonwoo feels all the same things you do. Even if he's not free with vocalizing his emotions, his actions tell you exactly what he’s thinking. If you know where to look, that is. You’re realizing that you definitely know where to work.

Twenty minutes later, your skin care routine is done and you’re curled up in bed in one of Wonwoo’s oversized t-shirts. You know your alarm is going to be too early tomorrow since you need to check in with Seungcheol, but all you want to do tonight is curl up and talk more with this incredibly interesting man.

Something seems to shift now that you’re holed up in Wonwoo’s hotel room with him for the next however many days. Before, he seemed hesitant to talk about the real reason you two crossed paths. You’re not sure what causes the change or why he trusts that you’re not going to just turn around and burn him. Maybe it’s just that you haven’t done it yet.

“What made you want to start stealing art?” you ask while the two of you are sitting outside on the balcony. This room really is too nice. It almost makes it hard to leave and explore.

“I don’t know if it was that I wanted to steal art,” he chuckles.

“Okay, how did you start, then?” you ask with an affectionate eye roll.

“It’s going to sound stupid,” he says with an uncharacteristic shyness. “I guess, I don’t know, I grew up in this house where nobody ever seemed to care what I was doing. I stole the first piece from my parents and sold it off to someone I’d met at this underground club. I figured my parents would catch me and then at least I’d have their attention for a minute.”

“I’m guessing they didn’t catch you,” you comment.

“They didn’t even notice it was gone,” he says with a chuckle. “How old were you?” you ask.

“16,” he answers immediately.

“So you’ve been doing this…?” you start, doing the math in your head.

“12 years, yeah,” he says. “It took awhile to get to the point I’m at now. I think for a while I was figuring that my parents would somehow catch on and give a shit about my life. By the time I was 19, I was really good at it and I’d made a lot of contacts. I still moved in all those circles so I never looked out of place at a gallery or a museum. Nobody looked twice at me.”

“Did it ever get lonely?” you ask and Wonwoo regards you for a moment. “I just mean that you were still part of all these circles. You still went to all these parties and it seems like none of them knew you at all. You were hiding in plain sight because nobody knew you well enough to see it.”

“I had the networks of people that I sold to or accepted jobs from,” he says.

“But everything I’ve ever seen says that you rarely met with those people in person. It was always online contact and leaving pieces somewhere after the money had been wired,” you share.

“I guess your agency got a few things right,” he mumbles.

“It sounds loney,” you say sympathetically.

“I wish you were a little less observant,” he says like he’s trying for a joking tone.

It’s immediately obvious that he’s a little tired and definitely lonely. You can’t really imagine that type of life. Sure, you’ve been working on your own or with a single partner for your entire adult life. But, you’ve still been part of an organization. There are people that know you at your core. There are people that you can turn to when everything in life feels like it sucks. No matter how bad things get, you know there are people out there who can support you.

Almost involuntarily, a series of images pop into your head. Wonwoo in a suit at a charity gala, the type of person that everyone wants to approach. You can imagine people whispering behind their hands about going to speak to him or ask him to dance. Maybe trying to approach him at the bar. Then you see him just as clearly at home afterwards, alone and sitting on his couch with a drink in hand. You see him perusing a museum to get the lay of the land so that he can steal it later. Once again, alone. You see how he probably sits at home communicating with all his potential buyers.

Wonwoo reads the look on your face and assures you that it’s probably not as bad as you’re imagining things. Yes, he admits that he’s lonely sometimes and that he’s alone more than he’s with other people. It’s hard for him to let anyone in. He doesn’t want to have to account for his time or trust that they won’t blow his cover. There’s nobody in his life that he can be totally himself with, at least not until meeting you. But, he insists that it hasn’t been so bad. Mostly, he prefers to be on his own anyway. He likes the quiet and the solitude. Likes to be able to enjoy his down time however he likes. He gets enough socialization when he goes to events as he’s expected to.

Which brings up a question. After over a decade of doing everything solo, why has he trusted you with all of this now? His answer comes more immediately than you would expect, yet it makes sense. You have something to lose here, too. Possibly even more than he does. After all, there have been a lot of teams that have been close to unraveling his mysterious identity. You, on the other hand, are supposed to be tracking him down. Not spending time locked away in his hotel room with him. That brings you up a little short because he’s right and you’re not planning on going anywhere.

He admits that you intrigue him. All his life, Wonwoo has appreciated a good puzzle or a good challenge. You present both to him, though it hasn’t been as much of a challenge to get you to give him a chance as he expected. It is a challenge to try and unravel you. To try and figure out what made you say yes to the date and what makes you stay now. You also meet him on a level that nobody ever has before. You nearly blush at the way he describes your intelligence and how he feels more turned on by your brain than anyone before. Normally something like that would make you cringe. But, somehow Wonwoo makes it sound both sexy and endearing. You’re just as challenged by him, too, so maybe you get it.

It also brings up some very conflicting feelings in you because it’s a reminder that you have a life entirely separate from him. You have a life that doesn’t allow you to account for this time. At some point, you have to make a final choice. It’s way too late to just turn Wonwoo in without any sort of repercussion. It’s too late to act like this is all just in the name of bringing down one of the most difficult targets you’ve had to track. In the name of getting to know Wonwoo better, you’ve also shared a lot about yourself. A lot that someone like Seungcheol would be able to clock immediately as being true. Every moment you stay with Wonwoo makes your future more complicated. Things are already too hazy.

“Okay enough heavy stuff,” you declare and stand. “Let’s go do something.”

“Such as?” he prompts.

“We’re in a beautiful city, let’s go see some of it,” you suggest.

Wonwoo wants to take a minute to actually plan something, but you veto that. He’s definitely not the spontaneous type, which you figured out before you were even sure who he was. It makes more sense now, knowing who he is. So it feels like more of a win that he relents and agrees to just go with the flow. It’s not as if you’ll be flying totally blind anyway. You did a lot of research before coming down for the mission and you know a lot of the places to see, both tourist places and some that are off the beaten path.

Once you’re outside of the hotel room, things feel different in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. Everything in the hotel room feels real in the sense of getting to know each other. The conversations can be heavy and there’s that constant need to rip each other’s clothes off. Being outside exploring a foreign city feels real in an entirely different way. None of the conversations are heavy since you’re just appreciating the sights. But, you and Wonwoo trade off in taking pictures of each other (or even snap some together) and it feels like a glimpse at another life. It isn’t a fantasy world because it does feel real, but it doesn’t feel like an actual reality either. It almost feels like a mission you’re on where you and him would pretend to be a couple. You have to remind yourself this is actually a mission and you’re running around with your target because Wonwoo isn’t your partner.

When you’re in Plaza de Mayo, you take a step back to allow Wonwoo to purchase something to eat. It’s too cute to watch him stumble through his Spanish, constantly looking over at you as if asking for help. All you can do is smile as he mixes up hombre and hambre. The older woman putting the food together only smiles softly. There’s something incredibly cute about watching this stoic man get flushed over ordering in another language.

The next few days follow mostly the same pattern. You wake up earlier than Wonwoo so that you can pretend to work on the mission and actually check in with Seungcheol. Wonwoo pretends that he’s still asleep sometimes. Other times, he gets up and works on his own things. It’s cute that he’ll do anything to make it seem like you have privacy. Breakfast in the room always comes next because it’s an easy way to get ready for the day.

The days themselves are all a little bit different. You see the Piramide de Mayo, the Floralis Generica, the monuments to Juana Azurduy and General Jose de San Martin, Teatro Colon, the planetarium and several other interesting sights. The planetarium is a personal favorite of yours because it’s just kind of weird in an affectionate way. It’s hard to truly pick a favorite though because each new stop teaches you more about the local culture. It’s the kind of place that just makes you want to fall in love with it. There’s so much beauty and so much to appreciate. Each new stop also seems to involve learning something new about Wonwoo and somehow him trying his hand at Spanish again, only to fail. You’re wondering if he does it just to entertain you.

While you’re seeing all the tourist spots, you take time to see the things the locals recommend as well. Sometimes that’s hole-in-the-wall food places or stands that someone mentions. Other times it’s a park that’s too out of the way for tourists. Even other times still, it’s a hidden access point to the beach. Thankfully, it’s still cool out and getting Wonwoo to agree to the beach isn’t difficult. You idly wonder what it would be like to try and get him to visit the beach in January when it’s the dead of summer.

You want to try as many local dishes as you can while you’re there, too. Given his way, Wonwoo would probably eat in the hotel room just as much as out of it, but you don’t know when you’re going to get this chance again. So, even though he’s worn out from spending so much time around people, he lets you drag him out again every night. He even seems to enjoy himself.

At the start of whatever this is, it was always you asking Wonwoo all the questions and trying to volunteer as little about yourself as possible. You’re still an agent and you’re still supposed to be after him. The least you can do, while you’re totally ignoring your mission, is try to better understand Wonwoo and his motivations. Even if you don’t end up turning him in, it's an invaluable experience to get to look into the mind of a criminal. When will you get another chance like this? When will you be this close to someone to ask personal questions? No part of you even considers that he’s lying to you. You’re positive that he answers everything truthfully.

Somewhere along the line, it shifts. Maybe because you know everything you want to know about the man across from you. Or maybe because you genuinely feel comfortable about him. Either way, he’s the one that’s asking you questions now. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t want to know anything about your work. He doesn’t seem to care about any of that. There’s a nagging thought that thinks he might just be trying to make you comfortable. You try to quickly brush it away, though, and just answer any of the personal questions he asks. Wonwoo wants to know the simple things like where you grew up, what your family was like, and what you wanted to do when you were younger. The things that allow him to really know you. It’s terrifying.

By the time you get back to the hotel that night, you’re exhausted. It feels like it’s been a never ending span of days in the best way. You collapse on the bed without changing. All you manage to do is take off your shoes. Wonwoo leans over you and kisses you, softly at first. But, like every other kiss with him, it leaves you gasping for air after a minute.

It’s amazing how he seems to take your breath away and even more amazing how he always seems like he’s ready to tear your clothes off. You’ve never had someone like him in your life. But, that also brings you back to reality. Wonwoo asked you to give him a few days staying in his hotel room. It’s definitely been longer than that without either of you seeming to notice. There’s a level of comfort that neither of you talk about given that this all has an expiration date. And that expiration date is rapidly approaching.

Staying with Wonwoo turns out to be longer than either of you planned and neither of you has a complaint about it. You’ve been checking in with Seungcheol every morning and Wonwoo pretends not to listen. It’s been like living in a little bubble where reality isn’t a concern.

That’s just the thing, though, isn’t it? This isn’t real life, not for you. This isn’t something that lasts long term or that you can even sustain. The reality is still there. Wonwoo is one of the most infamous art thieves to ever live and you work for a secret agency tasked with bringing criminals like him to justice. You’re not exactly sure what the last however many days have been. All you know is this is just a break from reality. A brief glimpse into an alternate life that can never be. It’s been amazing and something you won’t ever forget. You’re hoping that you’re both on the same page about that, at least.

“I should probably go back to my hotel today,” you say.

Wonwoo looks up from across the room where he’s reading while you pretend to work on your case. It helps to at least log in to the system. “To get more stuff?”

“I can’t stay here forever,” you point out.

“No, I expect at some point we’ll leave and head to the next place,” he agrees with a shrug.

“We?” you ask, eyebrows flying up.

“Yes, we,” he says like suddenly you’re slow on the uptake. “I’ve got a few places in mind that I’d love to take you, but it’s really up to you.”

“Wonwoo,” you start and your heart sinks.

You are definitely not on the same page. Probably not even in the same book, if you’re honest. Everything over the past days with him has been amazing. The perfect little escape from your reality. But, that’s all it’s been: an escape. Or maybe that’s all you’ve let yourself think it was. Anything else seems like entirely too much. His face drops as he watches you.

“You’re not coming with me,” he realizes.

“I didn’t even know you would want me to!” you state, too loud for the space.

“How could you not? I’ve been telling you all the places that I wanted you to see,” he says and that hits you harder than a physical blow. He’s been giving you all the signs that this isn’t just a bubble.

“I didn’t think you were serious,” you point out.

“Clearly,” he says, voice thick with disappointment.

“Wonwoo, come on. It’s not like I can just, what? Run away?” you say.

“Oh, no, there’s a whole life waiting for you back at your precious agency,” he says with derision.

“It’s all I’ve ever known,” you plead.

“And I’ve shown you that there’s more to life than whatever this is for you,” he counters.

“I can’t just leave them,” you say with a shake of your head.

That seems to make Wonwoo angrier than you expect. “No, of course not. How silly of me. You have to get back to your handler that so clearly loves you.”

“Seungcheol does not love me. We’re friends, sure, but that’s it,” you disagree.

“Let’s pretend that’s true and it’s normal for a handler to speak to you the way he does. Or that it’s normal for him to worry so much about your safety. Who are you going back to apart from him? Who’s waiting for you?” Wonwoo asks.

The questions wash over you like acid rain. Painful and harsh and unrelenting. The worst part is that he’s right. You have wondered if there are some feelings there from Seungcheol. You also don’t have anyone waiting for you. It’s really a half-life, if you’re being honest. Less than a half-life, probably. The past few days with Wonwoo are the most alive you’ve felt since you were a child, before joining the agency.

“I can’t just…this is my job, Wonwoo. And you’re an art thief. A very famous one and…” you start.

“Have I stolen anything here?” he asks and that brings you up short.

“Well, no, of course not. You’ve been with me,” you say simply.

“And I will leave this city without stealing. I will switch careers entirely if it’s that important, though it doesn’t seem like it is since you haven’t turned me in,” he says and it’s almost like he’s talking to himself. “I’ve been all over the globe trying to feel something. Trying for anything. I started stealing because I could. I wanted to get the attention my parents never gave me. I kept going because I was looking for a challenge, which it is, at least sometimes. I was looking for someone, I think. Then, I find you and you’re everything I didn’t know to ask for. But, you’re telling me some job where you can’t even have a life is more important than this? That my job, which I’m completely willing to give up, is too much of a barrier?”

“I have a life,” you scoff.

“Really?” Wonwoo challenges and folds his arms. “When was the last time you went on a real date? Not with a target, but a real date just with someone you wanted to know? When’s the last time you let yourself just breathe and explore a city? When’s the last time you did something just because you wanted to?”

“Plenty of people are married to their jobs,” you begin.

“I thought you were brave, you know,” Wonwoo muses. “I thought you were someone who would realize how rare this is. It’s not like everyone is lucky enough to meet a person that completes them like this. I guess I was wrong. I guess all I was really good for was fucking you and that’s all it was.”

“Of course that’s not all it was,” you disagree. There are tears threatening to spill over. This isn’t at all how you imagined it going. You weren’t prepared for him to try to fight for you. “The last few days with you have been everything I never thought I’d experience. But, it hasn’t been real, Wonwoo. It can’t be real. Life doesn’t work that way.”

“Why can’t it?” he fires at you.

“Because I don’t deserve it!” you scream, tears finally streaming down your face. “Because you don’t know my scars. You don’t know the things I’ve done. You don’t know the mistakes I’ve made. You don’t know that I have demons that are constantly chasing me.”

“I’m a fucking criminal,” he points out. “Who am I to judge?”

“Exactly,” you agree but rush to finish your thought before Wonwoo can interject. “You don’t…question the decisions you’ve made. You stand on everything you’ve done. But, you also do so much good with charities and helping students and just giving back. Plus, I’ve looked at your crimes. You only ever stole from the rich to sell to other rich people.”

“Yet you still were sent to chase me,” he points out.

“Yeah, who do you think pays our salaries?” you ask flatly. “My point is that…I don’t know. I’m standing here across from you and I feel like I’m the infinitely worse person in this situation.”

“It really can’t be that bad,” he reasons.

“I’ve taken lives, Wonwoo. More than I can count. And without even questioning if our reasoning was solid for taking them out. I’ve used my body in ways that I may never recover from, thinking it was my choice at the time. I’ve done what I was told and I’ve been good at it. Too good, maybe,” you say. You’re talking to yourself more than him at this point. “I’m the one they send when they don’t want a record. I’m the one they send when nobody else can do it. I’ve spent the last 10 years of my life training and doing what I was told. It’s given me scars that you can’t see and won’t ever heal. All I know is this. They’re not just going to let me go. And even if they did, you don’t deserve all the baggage that I come with. You’re not a bad guy.”

“And you think you are? A bad guy?” he asks.

“I know I am,” you say.

“That’s all you are if that’s all you see, but I see so much more,” he argues.

“I still can’t just ask them to walk away,” you press.

“I wasn’t suggesting that you ask,” he says. “You deserve a chance to start fresh. To see what you can be without the weight of the world hanging over your head.”

“I don’t deserve anything more than what I have now,” you disagree.

“What about love? Do you deserve that?” he asks, changing directions.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“And me? Do I deserve love?” he asks.

“Yes, without question,” you answer immediately.

“So give me the chance to experience love,” he begs. “I never thought I’d love anyone and I’ve never taken this kind of chance on anyone. But, I’m asking you for a chance. Just one more.”

There’s so much tension in the air between you. So many things still left unsaid and so much emotion. The air between you and him seems to crackle. A storm brews behind his eyes as he waits for you to answer him. It seems insane to think that he could feel that for you after such a short time. But, really, what do you know? You have unquestionably never been in love before, not really. There’s never been the time or space for it in your line of work. Relationships never seem to get deeper because you’re always keeping secrets. Can’t ever tell them what you really do for work. And then there’s Wonwoo. He knows so much about you already and even though it’s barely scratched the surface, it’s still more honest than you’ve ever been. He doesn’t want to run away and that scares you more than any mission you’ve ever had.

It’s just…it’s too much to decide now. You spend your whole life having to make split second decisions, yet can’t about this. Don’t have the data that you have on missions. Don’t know the pros and cons. It’s uncharted territory. It’s scary in a way you’ve never experienced. You’ve stared down the barrel of too many guns and this still feels infinitely more terrifying. Maybe he can love you after such a short amount of time because he seems to realize what you’re going to say before you say it.

“Don’t,” he says softly when you open your mouth. “I’m going to leave the day after tomorrow. I’m going to set the flight to leave at 1 in the afternoon. That gives you time to change your mind.”

“And if I don’t reach you before then?” you ask softly.

“Don’t ever expect to find me again,” he says with a finality that surprises you. When you meet his gaze, it’s harder than you’re expecting. “I really care about you and I’d love you to come with me. But I know how stubborn you are. It’s part of why I love you so much. So I’m leaving my heart open until the day after tomorrow. Then it’s over.”

“You’re an amazing person, Wonwoo,” you say and press a kiss to his cheek. “You’ve challenged a lot of my ideas about right and wrong. I’ll never forget that.”

“I’m not accepting this as goodbye. I’ll still hope to see you before I leave,” he says and presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead.

Your throat is too tight to say anything in response to that. All you can do is gather up your things and head out of the hotel room. Everything in your body feels tired from the unexpected heaviness of the conversation. It hurts to see Wonwoo looking so hurt. As crazy as it sounds, you do mean that he deserves the absolute best. You also meant it that made you rethink a lot of your preconceived notions. You actually questioned things for the first time in your adult life. Despite all of that, you still walk right out of the hotel room.

You spend nearly every minute after walking out of Wonwoo’s hotel room considering his offer. Go as far as scheduling your flight out of Buenos Aires for the same time as his. Genuinely, you’re not sure what you want to do. At least Seungcheol understood failing the mission. Somehow, he still sees it as a win that nothing was stolen from anywhere in the city while you were there. He assumes that your presence somehow spooked the notorious art thief. Thankfully he doesn’t realize just how right he is.

The biggest surprise is that Chan, the slightly overeager agent from the flight down, will be meeting you when you get on the plane. He’s only wrapping up a second mission that popped up in the area. The Agency is sending him along so that you can debrief about your actual mission and start looping him in going forward. Apparently, as great as you are and as (almost) perfect as your record is, the agency still wants to have someone for you to work with when you need them. Since that can’t be Seungcheol, he’s recommending a promising younger agent. This apparently also includes you being the one to tell him all of this yourself.

The airport is busy when you get there, an unsurprising side effect of planning flights during the afternoon. There’s also the fact that private planes have to leave from the international airport, which is always somewhat packed. Getting through customs and security is surprisingly smooth and soon you’re going to have to face your literal crossroads.

In one direction is the familiar. Nothing about working for The Agency is easy. There’s a sense of routine to it, though. A sense of generally knowing what your days or weeks or even months will look like. You know how to make coffee in the shitty break room when you’re actually on site (a rarity). You know how to play nice with the other agents. You know how all the tech works. And you’re good at the missions themselves. That’s just to say you don’t have to learn anything new. You’re lucky enough to have a semi-boss that you get along with. There’s a sense of routine to everything from mission briefings to flights to the missions themselves. There’s comfort in knowing you don’t really have to make the decisions. Sure, you have to figure out which course to take on the ground with a mission. But, that usually only means picking option A or B. All of the possible courses of action come in the briefing. You just have to evaluate the factors and figure out which pre-determined option fits best. It’s easy. As fucked up as it might be to admit, you like doing something that you know you’re good at. It’s nice to get praised for constantly succeeding. It’s the easy decision.

And in the other direction…well, it’s the unknown. Being with Wonwoo has been nothing short of the best feeling of your life. The most alive you’ve ever felt. It’s kind of crazy but part of you thinks you may love him. Can see how the whole future plays out, even if it’s not crystal clear. The two of you could start over somewhere new where he doesn’t have to steal art and you don’t have to chase criminals with questionable methods. Both of you have the funds (even if he’s better set up) to start over. Both of you clearly have the skills to disappear into the wind, too. It’s not like your legal name exists anywhere anymore. Very few people even know it, not that you would go back to it.

It’s easy to get lost in the daydream. As much as you love the sun of Buenos Aires, you can’t imagine Wonwoo in a place like that during the actual summer. Everything about him makes you think of somewhere cooler, somewhere that you’re not constantly sweating. That would let you take breaks to sunnier weather. Places where you could soak up the sun while he took refuge under an umbrella, watching you with all the affection in the world. Actually, you can picture visiting a lot of places with him. He would be the perfect travel partner to see all the beautiful corners of the world that you’ve never been able to appreciate. It’s like going somewhere for a business trip. You’re there working, not to appreciate everything around you.

There’s something kind of poetic about being at an airport as an actual crossroads in your life. It’s like you can get on a plane going anywhere. Quite literally, since you’re not sure where Wonwoo’s plane is going. Not that it really matters. If that’s the path you pick, then it’s for him rather than the destination.

The only question left is whether you’re ready to leave your entire life behind. Are you ready to say goodbye to the agency that saved you? Are you ready to cut yourself off from the few people who actually know you and accept you as you are? Can you live without having any closure on that part of your life? Would you feel guilty that Seungcheol would be left with a million questions about what happened to you? Or would it hurt you to know that he would blame himself for your disappearance somehow? Then again, maybe he would know, on some level, that you just finally reached the point of needing to walk away. That’s something you and him have talked about before, in the early hours of the morning after too much to drink. What would you do if you could walk away from this life? What would life after The Agency look like?

With a deep breath, you pick your path and you don’t look back. That’s the only way you know you’ll have the strength in your decision.

i hope you all enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it! please reblog or comment and let me know 💕

#wonustars ✧ ﾟ. {fic recs}#wonustars ✧ ﾟ. {mutuals: jess ♡}#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo smut #i will literally cry #i was just reminded by jake from b99 and the pontiac bandit idk why hehe #also can we just talk about this story for a minute #***spoilers ahead if anyone is actually read this***#wonwoo’s speech trying to convince her to go along with him omfg #why was horknee and had at the same time like the amount of emotions i felt while reading this #i let out the loudest gasp when he asked if all he was good for is fucking her 😭😭😭#i feel sick #I WANTED TO COMFORT HIM SO BAD #THIS IS WONWOO WERE TAKIING ABT #IF HE TOLD ME TO SIT ID SIT #IF HE TOLD ME TO GO W HIM I WOULD #but i also understand her #and her reasons for being so conflicted #IN MY HEAD SHE WENT W HKM AND THEY LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER.#jess i hope you know how much this wrecked me it’s 4am (once again) (yes i have terrible sleeping habits)#(i’m pretty sure ive mentioned this before but yeah)#i have work in the morning and i’m up thinking about how down bad wonwoo is for her #they way he confided in her #the way he was trying to take a chance with her #god i will cry this isn’t funny #the part where he alrdy knew that she was an angent that really gagged me i’ll tell you that #i loved this sosososoosooooo much #ill tell this to you over and over again but im so happy you got wonwoo for the collab #you write him in a way i can’t explain #in the best way

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tteokdoroki · 11 months ago

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IF IT’S ONLY A TOUCH…AITA? - satoru gojo.

✩ — about. “but one day, she just grew up…and i haven’t been able to look at her the same.” satoru gojo never meant to fuck his best friend’s little sister. he never meant to make her fall in love him. he never meant to fall in love with her. satoru doesn’t want anyone to know, suguru has no idea and she wants to tell the whole world…does that make him the asshole? … ( 46.5K )

✩ — warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, angst with a bittersweet ending. college!au, age gaps ( reader is 22, satoru gojo is 27 ), forbidden romance, toxic relationships, situationships, co-dependency ( on suguru geto ), controlling older brother, panic attacks, violence, fight scenes, arguments, alcohol mentions, smoking weed, manipulation, gaslighting, three smut scenes, spit, praise, dumbification, fingering (f!receiving), hand jobs (m!receiving), pussy jobs, dry humping, hold the moan, light!choking, light!oral-fixation, public sex, bathroom sex, clothed sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f + m!receiving), overstimulation, orgasm control, multiple orgasms, creampies, adopted geto!reader, fem!reader.

✩ — things to note. my entry for @ohkento ‘s reddit collab ! i’d like to thank everyone for their patience with this labour of love. it was first a silly idea that blossomed into something more complex and beautiful. i love this fic so much and i hope you do too!! special thanks to @todorosie for beta reading n all your encouragement!! and to @rinhaler for the sukuna reference hehe <3 - m.list ⋆ playlist ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ ⊹

AITA (27M) FOR FUCKING MY BEST FRIEND'S (26M) LITTLE SISTER (22F)? hey reddit. i’ll get straight into it. i met my best friend, we’ll call him S, when we were kids, as young as five i guess, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. he was there for me at my lowest, and right by my side at my highest. i’ve never been the greatest person…but there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for me and vice versa. that’s why i feel so bad. he’s got this younger sister, i used to find her so annoying, but one day… she just grew up and i haven’t been able to look at her the same. we started fooling around two years ago around the time she’d settled into college but decided to keep it a secret from her brother. now she’s graduated from college and wants to take the next step… TLDR: we’ve been fucking around for two years but now she’s graduated and is ready to be more serious with our relationship. she wants to tell her brother — i’m unsure. AITA?

coming back home after four years of brutal education, late nights studying and heavy textbooks feels… almost comforting.

sure, you’ve been home for the holidays before, and sometimes between semesters when things got a little bit rough. but this time around, being home feels more like a relief — an aura of permanency surrounding the occasion. at home, there’s home cooked meals instead of stale take-out and the house you’ve been raised in smells of warm spices rather than the unpleasant combination of old beer and dorm parties.

there’s peace in being at home instead of college after four long years. it’s rewarding almost, to know that you’re welcomed back into the arms of the people who love you most after years of blood, sweat and tears. you’ve made it. you’re on the other side. you’ve got a degree under your belt and a bright, prosperous future ahead of you.

letting out a determined huff, you throw your suitcases down onto the end of your bed — pushed up against the window of your childhood bedroom. the walls are a colour you no longer like (lime green… what were you thinking?) plastered with posters from groups you no longer listen to and movies you would only watch for comfort now that you’re a little bit older. nostalgia is warm under your skin as you look around at your teenage safe space, until your big doe eyes land on your sticker covered closet.

being home for just the weekend, you thought you’d kill two birds with one stone. unpack the clothes you no longer need at your college dorm whilst joining your parents for a celebration. they had wanted you to come down from your university town in order to commemorate the end of your degree, since they’ll be abroad on business for your graduation ceremony in a few months time. not to mention, the outstanding job offer you’d received not long after being awarded your final marks.

your brother, suguru, would be joining you for the weekend as well. temporarily taking up space in his own childhood bedroom just across the hall — the keep out sign with black and yellow restricted tape still hanging from the white wooden door. geto had long since moved out of your parents place, what with him being five years older than you. he now had a job in the city as a big shot lawyer with hardly any time for his little sister anymore. so the fact that he was making the trip down just to celebrate you meant more than you could put into words.

he hadn’t arrived yet, however, and your parents were busy downstairs sorting out your favourite home cooked dinner (oxtail, a favourite) to care about what you were up to — leaving you to unpack in comfortable solitude. you decide to start with your night clothes, the darkness of the winter’s evening starting to bleed into the purple painted sky. you’ll be sleepy soon, no doubt.

turning your back on the window, you move to set your toiletries and a fresh pair of pyjamas on the back of your desk chair — hardly noticing the way the window panes creak open, accompanied by the chill of a light december breeze. the gentle tread of footsteps across your carpeted floor go without attention as well, you’re too occupied with sorting through your things to pay attention to anything. not until it’s too late.

“boo!”

large and possessive hands on your hips make you jump in fright, relaxing only when you hear the familiar teasing baritone against the shell of your ear. “did you miss me?” gojo purrs, using his hold on the flesh at your waist to spin you around to face him. your palms settle on the broad spread of his sturdy shoulders while his fingers dip into the back pocket of your low-waist jeans — leaving very little room between your bodies.

“satoru!” you exhale sincerely with the wisps of a smile spreading across your lips and twitching at the corner of your mouth. “what are you doing here? when did you get back?” like butter in a heated pan, you melt into the man’s arms, those same arms wrapping around your waist fully to pull you further into him. you feel dumb and lovestruck, tucked into the plushness of gojo’s chest as if you’d never left.

“i couldn't miss my special girl’s special weekend, now could i?” the toothy smirk satoru gives you is enough to make your knees knock and you’re reminded that you’re lucky enough to be held up in his arms. happiness simmers hotly through your veins at the thought. a million and one girls would kill to be in your position, to have a man as handsome as the satoru gojo in their bedroom, all alone, sapphire blue eyes honed in on you and only you.

he’s unlike any man you’ve ever met before. he’s so beautiful, not just anyone will do if it ever came to replacing him. he’s tall enough to tower over you, and make you feel small in a way that isn’t terrible at all. his hair is as white as winter frosts and unfairly soft for someone who probably doesn’t take as much care for it as he should. his lashes flutter against your forehead, long and to die for. satoru gojo is a beauty if you ever saw one — and you find yourself grateful to keep him all to yourself. in this moment. of course.

the look he gives you itself is enough to keep you alive, make your cheeks tingle with heat just under the skin, make you feel like a schoolgirl about to give a note to her crush. but a million and one girls don’t have to hide their crushes or keep them secret, their relationships probably aren’t as complex or confusing as your own with the man before you.

things with gojo have always been weird…ever since you were young. he found you annoying and whiny, back then, he along with your adoptive brother would pick on you until your eyes were big and shiny and your nose a little snotty. in those times, suguru (who babied you too much for your own good on occasion) often followed his best friend’s lead, maybe because satoru was older (despite them both being five years ahead of you in age) and the more dominating personality of the two best friends. it was easy to think that he might have even despised you then, or to imagine that suguru would grow up adoring you. yet, for satoru, it all changed one summer after your eighteenth birthday, when you just… shot up. you filled out, your demeanour changed, you became everything that he ever wanted.

satoru was spoilt. he always had been, even from childhood. the gojo clan had built an empire and he was right at the heart of it as soon as he left college. the white haired man with the dazzling rows of perfect teeth had all the money and power in the world — right in the palm of his dangerous hands. obtaining what he wanted was as easy as snapping his fingers, and in an instant he could have all the booze and babes he desired. whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. the issue with being a man of satoru gojo’s calibre is the difficulty in drawing a line in the sand and knowing when to stop. men like him have everything, but only desire what they can’t have.

he only desires you.

see, early on in his friendship with your brother, suguru had given satoru one plain and simple rule. one that he could never break so long as he walked god’s green earth and breathed fresh air into his lungs.

suguru had made him promise never to go near you, sexually or romantically.

they’d known one another their entire lives, been together through thick and thin, ups and downs. if anyone knew what the real satoru gojo was really like… it would be your brother. he had seen every arc of gojo like the phases of the moon up above. satoru was a partier, he drank until his veins were 50% alcohol and poured the bourbon until all of his organs were burned black. he smoked away his burdens, numbing his brain with whatever he could get his hands on. people, back in college, were just as disposable to gojo as his father’s income and even now, with his position at the heart of Gojo Corporations — satoru was no more stable than a drowning child, struggling to keep his head above the water and air in his scarred lungs.

he was in no position to look out for you like suguru did. to the older geto, you were a prized possession and a treasure to be cherished. his innocent baby sister who was too sweet for the hard liquor gojo drank by the gallons and the papers that knew to tear him apart by name. you needed someone to rely on, someone to look out for you when the world gets tough and the rose tinted glass ceiling shatters down on you. suguru had tried his hardest to shield to growing up, becoming partly responsible for your dependence on him.

he learned how to braid your hair and cook the foods you liked before moving to japan for your adoption. when he wasn’t being mean to you along with satoru, suguru cared for you deeply. he was a good adoptive brother.

so, it was a wonder how you even managed to get into and go to university all on your own — without your older brother’s watchful eye to keep you safe from the dangers of men, sex and money.

and gojo, being gojo, was never a stickler for the rules. he’d innocently reached out to you once you’d settled into college, under the guise of checking on his best friend’s little sister. much to his amusement, you’d already broken out of the safety net your brother had cast over you — you were more brazen and adventurous, sleeping around between study sessions and partying when you’d told your family you were tired from the week’s work.

before anyone knew it, you’d become the college girl who liked to be wined and dined by older men — presenting the perfect opportunity for satoru to sweep you off your feet.

texts to check on you every once in a while became calls to ask about your day and wish each other good morning and good night. these little things, as sweet as they might have seemed, snowballed into something bigger. something more. at least to you. you were falling in love with satoru gojo, and fast. it was the first time you’d ever felt like that towards someone, and he’d gotten you right where he wanted you.

it wasn’t long before you were paying off your dorm mates to keep quiet about having an older man over, no less gojo. you were naive but not stupid, it wouldn’t take an idiot to know that geto had people keeping an eye on you nor that money was what made the world go round — people would do anything for a hefty price or designer bag. they kept their lips sealed each and every time gojo swung by your dorm to pin your knees to your ears and fuck you raw until your voice was hoarse and there was a dent in your wall from the force of his thrusts against the bed frame.

satoru had been the one to take your virginity, of course. suguru would have had an aneurism if he ever found out.

and while you loved the thrill of sneaking around with someone older, someone who seemed to know the world better than you ever could, someone who excited you — there were times where you wished your heart hadn’t chosen the enigma that is satoru gojo. your relationship with him ruined the little time you had to explore yourself in college. he knew all of your friends, he knew all of the boys in your classes and the ones that dared to hang out with you outside of them. he sometimes paid them off to break your heart or cheat on you just so that you’d go running back into his arms — bleary eyed and emotionally drained.

satoru knew about your every move — the parties you went to and the socials you attended. you were never able to mess around with people, not with the tabs he had on you. silly little you, don’t you know? you’re satoru’s property.

the worst thing he could have done to you is fail to put a label on your relationship. you were never his girlfriend and he would always dance around the question like he was avoiding a bullet to the chest. ‘what are we?’ you would ask, and like always, satoru would grin lazily and slowly — in the way that brews a hazy fog over your mind and respond with. ‘whatever you want me to be.’

what you wanted was something official. not to be satoru’s little pet, hidden away from the rest of the world while in private he promises you that you’re the only girl he’s ever loved. it hit hardest whenever you would go to visit him, noting another’s car in the driveway that wasn’t yours or satoru’s. you knew that you never meant much…but in actuality it was slowly killing you now. he gave you comfort, gave you warmth but whenever you woke, he was gone by the morning. that’s how it always was.

a piece of you threatened to crumble each and every time your lover was plastered over the tabloids and gossip magazines with another heiress. you wanted to tell the world that you were his and he was yours. you wanted suguru to know too.

oftentimes, satoru would ease your worries with a simple toe curling and mind numbing kiss to your butter-glossed lips, uttering the words ‘but, wouldn’t that ruin our little secret?’

the very secret made you feel dirty and used.

if satoru didn’t let you, then you could never bring yourself to tell suguru. it would break his heart, his entire soul to know that his angelic little sister was taking her eyes off of the very expensive prize of her university degree. and so, the track of your fragmented relationship (situationship?) with your mischievous white haired lover replays over and over again like a broken record — scratched and scathed.

satoru comes over, you fight or cry, and he ends up balls deep inside of you — creaming your little cunt in a hotel off campus or paying off your friends to spend your night in your dorm again.

when you finally graduated, you remember one of said friends asking. ‘will you ever go public with that… guy you’re always fucking? i mean… he practically lives with you.’

at the time, you’d pressed your lips into a thin and telling line. you couldn’t. you wouldn’t. they’d laughed about it then and you knew what conclusions were running through their minds. what a dumb, naive little rich girl, for thinking she was anything more than a sidechick.

if only you could just show them the lengths satoru would go to be with you in the secrecy of your own little bubble.

like right now.

“sweetheart, where’d you go?” cocking his head down at you, satoru’s sugarcoated, sickly sweet coo runs through your ears like molten sugar and drags you from the depths of deep thought. he clicks his teeth, using a thumb and forefinger to tilt your head up in order to face him — positioning you like his own marionette doll. “came all this way to see you, only for you to get lost in that pretty little head of yours.”

it’s patronising, the way he speaks to you as if you’re a child — but it’s all you’ve ever known. being babied by your lover and even your brother. “s-sorry! i was just… thinking…” you supply as a meek excuse, shuddering when gojo slips a thumb over the slightly cracked skin of your bottom lip. the impending winter’s cold had been nipping at it in his place.

“about me?”

you scoff playfully, begrudgingly pulling yourself from satoru’s grip before he makes your brain too overcast to even focus about unpacking. “about graduation. i can’t believe it’s all over.”

returning to unfolding some casual wear left in your bag, your mind begins to wander if satoru misses you as much as you miss him whenever you’re not touching. your skin feels alive, teaming with life, whenever he’s nearby — as if two magnets that couldn’t be more different have attracted one another instead of repelling. it’s like you need to be near him in order to breathe, to feel, to exist.

your…boyfriend? makes himself comfortable on your bed, trailing his index finger over the pink patterned sheets. you realise then, that you’ll never truly understand what’s going on in his head.

“i am proud of you, yanno.” gojo comments casually. he man-spreads across the edge of your bed, leaning back against his elbows as if to draw your eyes to the treasure between his thick jean-clad thighs. “not every day my pretty baby graduates with honours. such a smart little girl, hm?” it’s cruel really, how dumb he makes you out to be — but in a way, it makes your insides twist and a flutter make its way up to your chest.

you shrug as if it’s nothing, hanging your clothes up in the closet before you return to the bedside. “it’s a wonder i managed, ‘toru. you were always distracting me,” memories of your illicit activities on nights before papers were due or exams were to be taken flash behind his vibrant azure eyes, and satoru grins mischievously as his strong arms snake around your waist — his head pressed against your smooth tummy. “i have to unpack.” you remind him gently.

but then he looks up at you, like a sweet pet that begs for food, dragging you into the shining blue pools of his eyes that you can never seem to escape. and before you know it, you’re drowning in gojo’s attention once again.

“did you miss me?”

satoru let’s his fingers slide under your loose top and gives your hips a possessive squeeze, watching you with baited breath.

“‘toru, you’ve asked me that already.”

he squeezes again, harder, the rough pads of his fingers sinking into your mid-section, all needy like. he’s desperate to know that you haven’t found anyone else. “i missed you,” satoru quips in place of your silence. “i hate being away from you for so long, work sucks.”

as if he ever did any real work. satoru was just the pretty poster boy for his dad’s company — it worked out well though, you’d seen the amount of zeros in his bank account yourself. “i’ll be getting a job too, did you know that? at that big fashion editorial. you know the one, Heavenly Pact magazine. it’ll be in the city too so we can be closer together. it’s why suguru is taking us to dinner.”

satoru finds your gushing adorable, pulling you to stand between his legs as you go on and on.

“and where d’ya think suguru got that idea from?” he coos. “i had him set up a reservation at that place you like… yanno, the one where we spent our two years. something about the sushi there. you liked it.”

satoru talks about the day as if you were really dating. two years. seven hundred and thirty days spent fawning over him and chasing the white haired male like a lost puppy. you couldn’t even call it an anniversary, not when you weren’t official. though, he’d taken the time to spoil you — he dressed you in diamonds and designer, picked you up in a fancy car that probably cost more than your rent, booked out the whole restaurant and filled it with your favourite flowers. gojo had made you feel like you were special, something special to him, and as usual you fell for the smoke screens and mirrors that masked how he truly felt.

how he wanted to own every part of you.

you’d wanted to celebrate two years being tied to one another and he let you, because in order to take — you have to give a little.

gojo somehow feels closer than before, his lips treading lightly over your supple stomach while his thumbs trace circles over your hips. you preen into his touch, love bristling in your chest and replacing the heaviness that weighs it down. “you’re coming?”

“wouldn’t miss it for the world, baby.” comes his husky, breathy whisper — uttered against your warm skin like a promise of love and support. satoru presses a wet kiss just above your navel all while slyly tugging your shirt further up, distracting you from the task at hand (folding clothes).

something stirs within your lower tummy, a blistering hot sensation spreads from your core to your chest, your mind and all four of your limbs as if someone’s thrown gasoline onto a fire. gojo’s curious silver tongue travels further — tracing over the saltine droplets of sweat on your skin while he licks up to your rib cage. every twist of his pink muscle against you makes your breath catch in the ridges of your throat and your entire body wrack with a case of the shakes.

still, you continue to unpack, struggling with the items in your grip as large palms claw up your back and force you down into satoru’s widespread lap, not that you mind — being pressed up all against him. “oooh, that’s cute,” satoru taunts you playfully, pulling back from the love marks he’s painted where your breasts meet your ribs. he blinks over at the article of clothing between your nimble fingers, white flashes tickling your skin as he does so.

his scent is so overwhelming you can’t even think, not at all what one would expect. it’s fresh, almost cold to inhale, like peppermint, pine and cool air from the highest peak of the mountain.

you look down at gojo dumbly, earning yourself the sound of his melodious laughter. in response, he juts his head in the direction of your hand. “your bra, you gonna wear that for me?”

shifting your gaze over to the baby blue lace, you grin and toss it aside — using your free hands to push satoru back against your sheets.

“maybe, if you’re lucky.”

he growls in reply, predatory and playful all at once, lifting his head, with his pool of silver-moon hair rising from your bed, to capture your lips in a slow, spit-swapping kiss. he allows you to pin his wrists above his head, barely putting up a fight as you swallow him down and devour him whole — your tongues clash for dominance, slipping and sliding over one another while your hands do the same to the silver roots of his hair.

one of your hands travel down to cup his cheek, tilting gojo’s head up just a tad more so that you can pour more of your passion into him. the kiss becomes, in the only way that you can describe it, hurried and hungry — the more of yourself you give to him, the more satoru becomes filled with your love and innermost parts of your soul. you give and give and give until his glass is full to the brim.

you grow weaker by the second, falling victim to the predatory, hot mouth of your lover and your grip on his wrists loosen just enough for his calloused fingertips to fluidly cascade down your body — finding purchase in the loops of your pesky jeans, tugging them away from your marred flesh and soft ass. once he’s bored with toying with your clothes, the silver haired man uses his reach on your ass to push you closer, kiss you harder, grind his swelling erection into the gap between your plush thighs.

the two of you can’t be closer, noses knocking against one another clumsily and breath becoming scarce as your lungs ache and burn for a fresh in-take of oxygen between drooly lip locks. it’s messy, you’re both messy — your relationship always has been. but in this very moment, you can’t find it in yourself to care, addicted to the weight of gojo’s tongue in your mouth and the way his smooth, glossy lips feel against your own. both of your chests heave, your bodies growing hotter and tenser each time you swirl your hips down onto him or he bucks up into you.

“baby,” satoru sighs airily, twitching underneath you — all restless and impatient. “you’re so pretty like this, on’top’a me,” his crystal blue eyes have darkened to a midnight blue, almost black with a list that makes his pupils blow wide. you’ve seen this change too many times to be unfamiliar with what satoru wants. that very thing being you. “smoke with me a little?” his plea barely covers up the low moan that escapes him as your hips jerk against him. his touch scorches through the all-too-tight denim hugging your waist, leaving burn marks at your tail bone. he’s desperate for this, desperate for you.

how can you say no.

your face splits into an angelic, agreeable grin. just what satoru likes to see. “c’mon then, where’s your stash?” in reply, he lifts his hips higher from the bed — nudging the thick outline of his cock against your sensitive clothed pussy.

“sorry.” he lies easily. “back pocket.”

moving to dig around in said pocket, you pull out gojo’s tiny baggy of weed — noting the joints he’d probably rolled up prior to coming here. sometimes, you had the nagging thought that your man always loved you better when you were a little bit high. you gloss over the idea, however, reaching into your nightstand nearby for your sanrio lighter while you toss gojo the bag. he picks out a blunt for you to share and you trigger the flame.

you take the joint between your lips, plumped up from all the kissing you’ve been doing, and let satoru wrap a bulky arm around your middle — pinning you to his larger-than-yours frame. his chest is plush, warm, and you can feel your heartbeats beginning to sync up beneath your clothes. you hold the lighter to one end, bambi eyes reflecting the orange yellow flame that sets the wrapper alight and hum in content whilst you inhale.

you hold. exhale. and when the smoke clears, gojo is looking up at you as if you hold the entire universe in your gaze.

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

that sweet giggle of yours rings out into the night air. you take a hit before you press your mouth to satoru’s — breathing the smoke into his lungs.

you’re spoiling him. he knows you don’t really like to smoke, but you’re always sweetest when he gets you a little fucked up.

“so you’ve said, ‘toru.”

he swipes the blunt from your grip and takes a drag for himself, tapping the ashes out against your sheets as he picks up the salacious motions of his hips again. and like the obedient little thing you are, you grind against him, mewling into his milky skin that’s illuminated by the shy slither of moonlight that peeks on you both through your curtains.

“i mean it, sweet thing,” another hit, his voice even huskier from the aromatic fumes — even as he gripes lowly into the shell of your ear. “fuck, you’re so perfect like this. grinding on my lap like a needy little girl, hm?”

whining out for him, you let satoru stick the blunt back in your mouth and sit up — bucking down on his hard, heavy erection as if you’re riding his cock like you usually do. “satoru,” you purr while the weed begins to take residence over your brain, take its effect. you recognise that the supply is from sukuna, the older brother of a boy you knew from college. yuuji itadori, was it? you’d always found him cute but he had a girlfriend and gojo told you to stop worrying about him a long time ago. the very thought sparks something in the back of your mind — at war with giving into satoru’s touch and how it makes its way underneath your clothes to thumb at your pebbling nipples. “‘toru…when are you going to tell sugu about us?”

the mention of your brother should be enough to kill the mood, but you’ve been away from gojo far too long. he’s already got his sights set on ruining you for some fun tonight, pushing his luck by slipping his fingers past your tight waistband in order to mess with your slick pussy folds against your panties.

“do i need to?” he drawls, laughs a little, voice breaking through the thick barrier of ardour built up in his throat. “s’not that important. telling him. we’re having fun, right? things are good the way they are.” gojo sticks his tongue out in concentration, fumbling between layers of clothes for your cute little clit and grinning ear to ear when he finds it — watching you quiver and fail to hold yourself up above him as he presses down on the nub, hard. “what good would it do, telling him?”

you could think of a million reasons why, but all of them fail to rush to the forefront of your mind — blocked by desire and the lingering weed in your system. “i…i want to mean somethin’ to you,” comes your babyish voice, hurt and whiny through your pout. satoru takes the blunt from you, rubbing your cunt through your words as they catch in your throat. “wanna be serious with you. want something more. i-i’m a proper adult now… i deserve — oh fuck!”

you don’t even know why you bring the fact up. that you’re an adult, that you’re grown now. because you’re still a naive little thing who wants so much more from someone older and more experienced. because you’re still suguru’s younger sister to satoru, not his girlfriend. just his forbidden plaything.

satoru smiles wickedly again as you fail to express yourself, becoming a pliant sticky mess all over his fingers while their tips graze your clit over and over again in rough circles. “‘m sure you are, my big girl yeah?” he’s so cruel to you, talking down on you while he plays your sopping mound like a fiddle. pinching and pulling at your folds and your poor little clit. “you’re so close, aren’t you? think you might cum from a couple’a fingers ‘n a bit of weed…”

heat brews under the surface of your skin, most hot at the centre of your face where you start to feel humiliated and embarrassed. even more so because you like it, when the silver haired man is mean to you like this. “satoru…t-that’s not what i meant—“ you try, gushing and crying. “s-satoru i’m g-gonna—!”

knock, knock, knock.

“hey little one, i’m home!”

the pair of you jump apart at the smooth sound of suguru’s calm and timbre voice.

it’s like a shock to your system, like being doused with cold water or waking up from a hangover after one too many shots. with wild eyes you look from your half-hard boyfriend to the open window — immediately shoving up and pulling his hands from your pants. “g-get up!” you seethe, teeth and tongue, all of your syllables rushed.

“was that suguru?” gojo asks, voice elevated with panic while he puts the blunt out against your windowsill.

you nod vigorously, using your shaky limbs to push satoru back out the way he came. “yes! now go!”

“hey, little one? it’s me, suguru..”

he scrambles to climb back out the window and you lean over the edge to watch him go — accepting the chaste kiss he gives you on the way out. the second that gojo is out of view, you chuck the half-smoked joint into your trash can and kick the rest of sukuna’s supply underneath your bed to cover up the evidence.

“c-come in!” you finally squeak, putting on your best smile for your adoptive older brother.

your bedroom door swings open, revealing a tired suguru with tousled clothes and sleepy dark eyes. he looks older, maturer, but he’s still the same brother you love and grew up with. “there’s my little princess,” he cheers, tying back the dark tresses of his (much) longer hair before he opens his arms wide to give you a hug.

you quickly accept, nuzzling your cheek against suguru’s firm shoulder (also wiping your tears on him). “sugu! when did you get back?”

“not too long ago. i tried calling, but you didn’t pick up.” his voice is laced with suspicion and you swear you hear him sniff the air from above your head — close to catching the traces of weed on you.

“i was… unpacking!” stepping back, you stumble over to your toiletries that you’d begun to unpack earlier and eagerly (a little too eagerly) spritz some of your expensive perfume into the air. “s-sorry! i’m the thinking of wearing this scent to dinner on sunday…any thoughts?”

you swear you hear gojo groan from outside, no doubt listening in on your conversation with his best friend and your older brother — no doubt finding your excuse flimsily and unbelievable. suguru, despite it all, takes the bait or chooses not to bite any further — his eyes no longer narrowed and his face relaxed.

“speaking of things to wear for sunday night…” he begins, digging deep into his left pocket for a small red velvet box. “i got you a little something, as…congrats for all of your hard work recently.”

suguru reaches forward to take your hand in his, turning it over so that he can place the box in the centre of your palm. you glance up at your older brother hesitantly, but he only gives you a warm reassuring smile — gesturing for you to open it.

you do we told, the box creaking open at his hinges to reveal a real diamond necklace with a beautiful, dazzling sapphire pendant at its centre. just by looking it at it, you know that the sapphire and silver combination will contrast decadently against the deep, sun-kissed tones of your skin.

“o-oh sugu, you shouldn’t have!”

“but i did, think of it as my parting gift to you.” the older geto sibling explains kindly. “you’re going out into the world to do something special, to help people. you deserve to be spoiled before you get there.” his gentle hands close the box for you, setting it aside on your dresser before suguru links your fingers — staring down at you wistfully. “everything out there is dangerous. people will try to take advantage of you and your kindness. but like gem stone in hard shell rock, you must preserve that little shine of yours…” you let him brush at a dry tear mark on your cheek, your fingers slipping down to his wrist to hold them tight. “i will always be here to look out for you, no matter what. but i won’t always be able to be by your side.”

the seriousness of the conversation overwhelms you with a weighty guilt. suguru has always looked after you and done his best to keep you away from any harm. you imagine that satoru would be right in how destroyed your brother would feel after finding out you ran into the arms of the biggest danger of all.

his best friend.

so you suck it up, mask your guilt and press a kiss to your brother’s cheek — hoping that he’ll forgive you if the truth ever surfaces.

“i know, thank you sugu,” comes your simple, appreciative reply. “i’ll always have you, and satoru too.”

he laughs and kisses your forehead “that you will. but don’t get too close to him okay? he’s trouble. i wouldn’t want him to mess things up for you.”

“i know, suguru.”

the exchange is left at that, with suguru patting your shoulder as he bids you a goodnight. your entire body sags with relief once he’s gone, similar to that of a snake shedding its skin. you can’t keep lying to him like this but you don’t want to break his heart. maybe satoru was right. maybe you were wrong. either way, you feel conflicted and torn between two.

when you go to close the window, satoru is still waiting for you — safely on the ground below. his blue eyes beg to come back inside, to be with you, but you’ve danced with the devil too much tonight. gojo won’t take you seriously. he might ruin things for you, just like your brother said.

“call me when you get home safe, okay?” you murmur to him in order to make sure you don’t get caught.

you latch your window closed right after, not even bothering to wait for gojo’s reply.

either you’ll keep sneaking around with him or you’ll eventually give him up, but for tonight — you decide that you’ll just shut the silver snake out.

“i’ve never known you to like the colour blue so much.”

the day before your fancy and celebratory dinner — suguru geto decided that his spoiled little sister isn't quite spoiled enough. growing up, he’d bring you toys from his shitty part time job at the department store on weekends or food from the chef’s at satoru’s place after hanging out with that loser all day.

in college, it would be magnets or posters or big, surprisingly well-made hoodies from the campus gift shop because suguru would always tell you that his little one would be going to university too — that you’d do him proud and achieve big things. you were destined for so much more and had every ounce of support in your corner. from your brother, your parents…there’s always been a pressure on your shoulder to make something of yourself, become someone worthy of their support.

by the time suguru had graduated and landed his own job — the little gifts he’d gotten you became pricier and more luxurious. your brother had called them items of encouragement, a taste of what was to come once you made it out into the real world. not that he would actually ever let you spend a dime of your own, big brothers were supposed to be there for sweet little sisters like you to fall back on. he wanted you to know that he would always have you covered, have you spoiled with everything you’d ever wanted — mostly to keep your standards high, ensuring that you never settled for anything less than what your older sibling could provide you with.

that’s how days like today first came about — you called it sibling bonding time.

first on the agenda was breakfast at the humble little bakery your parents often treated you both to after a batch of good grades at school. it wasn’t too far from the house and you use the walk to catch up, bouncing excitedly by your brother’s side while he gushed to you about highly classified information from his line of work. there was always something to admire about suguru, how dedicated he was to keeping you safe and making a name for himself outside of the shelter of your home.

in some ways, you wanted to be just like him. it could've been that you admired suguru too much or leaned on him even more. interdependency as some would call it.

that didn’t matter to you though, your relationship with your brother has always been precious to you and that’s all that matters.

the rest of your early morning was spent with a pampering session, manicures, and pedicures and makeup testing — even a trip to the hair stylist who happily braided your bountiful curls into your favourite look.

next, was a late afternoon shopping spree. suguru drives you into the fanciest mall he can think of to spend the day. the elitist of the elite. designer stores were plotted at every corner, stocked to the brim with luxury goods that wouldn’t even put a dent in your brother’s salary nowadays. if you wanted it, you got it — without a word or question against you. suguru let you fill your basket with a purse and bag for the evening ahead, and right now, the last thing on your agenda would be the perfect dress to wear to your dinner.

that’s what had brought you to this very moment, the one where you completely blank on your brother because he’s noticed something different about you.

something akin to a nuisance of a crush on gojo satoru.

blinking once, you turn on your heel to face suguru and snap out of your distant thoughts. “i-i’m sorry, what was that?”

the older, raven haired man smiles at you as if you’re being silly — as though there aren’t any thoughts up in that pretty little head of yours. “i said, you’ve grown awfully fond of the colour blue recently.” he keeps his voice soft and comforting while speaking to you, avoiding any accusatory tones that might set his sensitive younger sister off. “it’s not even your favourite colour.” geto adds, approaching you by the clothes rack in what seems to be your fifth designer fashion store.

you may be spoilt but at least you have taste — the number of zeroes on the price tag was never an issue for your brother anyway.

he gestures down at the items folded over your crossed arms — the ones you wanted to take to the back and try on. heat flashes under the surface of your skin when you realise suguru is in fact right. there’s a plethora of fabric bundled in your arms with only one thing in common.

they all share the shade of a baby powder blue.

it’s the type of blue that reminds you of the sky on days where the weather is just right — when the sun is able to pierce through the veil of fluffy white clouds and shine down on you. the type of blue that hides behind lilac and orange when the sun rises at dawn. the type of blue that sometimes reminds you of clear winter skies after snowfall and drawing shapes in your condensed breath on the glass.

it’s the type of blue akin to satoru gojo’s brilliant eyes — the ones that look as though they hold unseen stars or undiscovered galaxies, the secrets of the universe yet to be known by mankind. oh those eyes, they’re so dreamy that you could get lost in them for a milenia and never be bored.

to anyone who knows about the two of you — it would make sense for blue to have become one of your favourite colours. it is the embodiment of satoru, everything down to loving him is blue, and bleak and beautiful all at once.

yet, suguru could never know that. it would ruin everything.

“i just…i just think it’s pretty!” internally, you feel yourself cringe and the weak excuse — threading your fingers through the dresses in your hold. “don’t you think the colour would like nice on me, sugu? if not, i can put them back—“

your older brother grabs at your wrist before you can even think to commit such an action — stopping you from putting anything back onto the clothes rack. “you’d look pretty in anything you wore, little one.” he lets out a nervous chuckle, moving to pet your head softly. “i just imagined you in something a little more—“

“blue. it’s perfect — isn’t it? it matches my pendant too…” spinning around to face your brother, you hold a beautiful cupcake styled tulle dress to suguru’s gaze, and dawn over its gemstone sweetheart necklace that has a twinkle bright enough to rival satoru’s eyes. you wonder how he’ll look at you once he sees it on you, contrasting perfectly with your warm complexion. a secret, not so innocent part of you hopes that satoru will just rip it off of you. the other, wishes you’d calm down and behave.

suguru offers you a wavering smile, before relenting. “if that’s what you want, sweetheart.” he hums, gesturing towards the fitting rooms. “how about you try it on, see how it looks?”

nodding your head, you shove your discarded choices into his arms and disappear into a booth — excited to see how the article of clothing looks on you. you strip easily, kicking off your jeans while suguru wanders around impatiently outside.

“so…is it a boy that you’re wearing this for?” comes his deep voice through the curtains, lifted in tone only by its teasing lilt.

when you were younger, you would always gush to suguru about your crushes — whether he cared or not, your excited and love-struck musings always struck his ear. you remember being in his room while he studied or gamed, tucked into his side or braiding his luscious black hair while telling him all about how much you loved this one boy in your class. suguru would tell you to mind your heart and keep her safe, a boy who couldn’t buy you diamonds and make you laugh wasn’t the right boy for you.

you would hate to hear what he thinks about gojo then. a man who buys you diamonds, makes you laugh, fucks you good and breaks your heart all at once.

hugging your discarded t-shirt to your chest as if to protect the beating organ, you frown. “it isn’t! why would i dress pretty for some boy?”

“good. boys are dangerous,” clothing ruffles over the sound of suguru’s voice as he reminds you of the lesson he’s taught you many times over the years. trust no man, except for your brother. “i won’t always be here to keep an eye on you or keep you out of said danger. so just…focus on making a name for yourself. especially after you’ve worked so hard to graduate from uni.”

you scoff and grab the dress — debating whether or not you should step into it or pull it over your head. “i’m not a child anymore, sugu. i don’t need you to watch out for me… i’m old enough to make my own choices. i’m responsible too.”

he watches your feet peek out from under the curtains as you mess with the dress and attempt to pull it on. geto’s senses jump to high alert listening to you struggle and shuffle to pull it over your head, resisting the urge to jump in and help you. “don’t pull it over your head when you’ve just gotten your hair done,” he grumbles in light annoyance. “step into it, little one.”

“yeah, i got it!” comes your snappy voice in return while you readjust and try again.

suguru leans against the nearest wall, crossing his arms over his chest — he slips into silence as you slip into your dress. “i know you do, you’re a smart girl.” you get the feeling he’s not talking about how you try it on anymore, and your stomach turns as you adjust the skirts. “but that doesn’t mean i don’t worry. once you lose your focus, everything comes crashing down. that’s what happened to satoru. i wouldn’t want you to end up like him.”

again, your tummy lurches in the worst of ways at the mention of gojo and how much geto hates the idea of the two of you ever getting together. sure, satoru was childish and irresponsible — refuting the orders of the higher ups in his family… he could be disappointing at times too, with questionable loyalty. yet sometimes… sometimes satoru could be so good and stable, oftentimes reminding you of why you wanted to be with him in the first place.

he is special to you, in so many ways that is beyond the web of human comprehension. you love satoru gojo so much that your lungs burn with the need for air whenever he’s not around for you to breathe in.

the idea of not having him around often because of your brother is like oxygen deprivation itself.

“satoru isn’t that bad.” you counter, toying with the beading at your neckline while you inspect yourself in the mirror. he would love it on you. “don’t you think you’re being a little harsh on him? he is your best friend after all.” it takes your all not to bust out and tell your brother all about your relationship with said best friend, even if it kills him and ruins the rose tinted glass above his head.

pushing the curtains open you step out just as geto starts to scold you again. “satoru gojo is lazy and hardly competent, he wouldn’t be right for you and you know that— oh.”

he stops speaking when you step out to show him the dress, your eye bright and doe-like, almost pleading — while the fabric sticks to all the right curves, making you look stunning. making you appear more mature. “help me do the zip f’me, suguru? i can’t reach.”

“come here, i’ve got you,�� suguru whispers in quiet awe, turning you gently by the shoulders to do the honours of zipping you in at the low back of the dress. “you look perfect, give me a twirl, hm, little one?”

twirling as told, suguru watches proudly as your skirts flail about the place — it’s sparkle catching on the UV light up above. you’re the perfect angelic picture of his little sister…he doesn’t know how he’ll ever let you go.

there’s still a pout on your lips undoubtedly from what he’s said about gojo and as much as suguru finds your defensiveness for him weird — he hates seeing you upset just as much. “hey, how about we go pay for your dress…” he calls your name and you tilt your head up just a touch, giving your brother your attention unwillingly. “and since we’re here at the shopping centre, we might as well get dinner. my treat? i’ll get you some of your favourites. perhaps boba and we’ll stop by the stuffed animal store on the way out—“ suguru trails off to see if you’ve taken his snare and got stuck in his trap, he knows you can’t resist being spoiled at the end of the day.

you nod faster than your pretty little head can catch up. “sounds like a plan, sugu!”

“i knew you’d say yes,” he snickers proudly, petting your head softly for the second time that late afternoon. then, geto carefully nudges you back into the changing room, patiently waiting for you to remove the dress so he can pay for it while you switch clothes. “i think you made a good choice today. with the dress,” he adds, drawing the curtains for you kindly. “who knows, maybe satoru will even take his head out of his ass to pay you a compliment, admire the colour. he’ll like it for sure.”

you flinch behind the curtains when they close, trying to keep your voice even. “i-i can’t say i’m hoping for it!” to which suguru laughs heartily, accepting the dress as you chuck it out to him.

but what you’re really hoping for, is for him to not connect the dots.

to not find out about yourself and gojo until you’re ready for him too.

the first rule of a situationship, is to never answer the phone after the first ring. that's rule number one for satoru gojo.

it gives the girl the impression that you’re interested in something more than just fooling around, that you want more than the benefits of a relationship while sticking to the talking stage.

but gojo has never been one to follow the rules, not even ones he sets for himself…because when you call, he answers in a heartbeat — just to hear your sweet little voice relaying his name over your tongue and the way you giggle like a darling when he compliments you.

satoru gojo likes you a lot more than he lets on, he misses you even more so. that’s why he answers on the first ring, practically kicking his feet in his king sized bed — he hasn’t heard you say his name since the night you kicked him out, and for good reasons too.

hiding his presence from suguru.

“hi ‘toru.”

“hi gorgeous,” you can practically hear your lover’s smile through the crackling static over the line. “missed you,” gojo slurs lightly, of course, is high by no means other than sukuna’s supply of the good stuff — inhaling it leisurely through a nicely rolled joint while he listens to you call out for him. your voice is so inviting… so angelic… and if satoru shuts his pretty eyes and tries hard enough, he can just about imagine the way you’d sigh for him as his fingers slip right inside of your sweet little pussy—

“i almost told sugu about us today.”

that makes satoru jump upright, choking on a deep inhale of cannabis tainted smoke. his lungs ache from trying to recover and the pain spreads to his toned thighs when he’s realised that he’s dropped the roll up in shock, the lit end burning through the grey sweatpants he wears. “fuck. shit… that hurts. idiot.” the silver haired man curses to himself, forgetting you’re still on the line.

“who me?” you simper a little on the sad side, seemingly shifting in your own bed.

satoru instantly picks up on the pouty twinge to your voice and if he hadn’t been burning to death (dramatic much?) he knows that his cock would have twitched to life between his legs at the dulcet sound. “fuck baby, no not you,” he says, words rushing from his mouth as he reassures you. “why would you tell him? did he figure us out?”

you hesitate with your next words. “w-well, um…not exactly…”

“come on baby, you can say it. s’just me, satoru,” gojo goads you with a condescending echo to each of his words, not putting too much pressure on your sweet and empty little head. “don’t think too much. just be good and tell me.”

while he waits, the man fumbles his way out of bed and stands — somehow managing to tuck his splif between slightly chapped and pale pink lips. he tugs off his shirt, suddenly feeling too hot under the collar, and stalks his way over to his large, wide windows — looking down onto the bustling city below.

it’s kind of funny, how noisy it is down there, creating almost as much of a ruckus as the racing thoughts in satoru’s brain.

“i wanted to tell him…because suguru doesn’t think that you deserve me.” you finally say, submissively telling gojo what’s on your mind. it hurts like a bitch to hear, it stings at every unresolved trauma and open wound that he has — not because it’s a lie, but because gojo doesn’t want to accept that reality.

a reality where he can’t have you, because he could never be someone who meets his best friend’s standards and expectations for you.

be someone that you deserve.

gojo exhales the smoke through his nose, letting it sting at his nostrils while he decays from the inside out. if this were any other drug he’d have smokers lungs by age twenty-seven. “well ain’t that the truth.” he mumbles, grim.

“now satoru, why would you say that?” you sound like you’re about to cry.

“because, it’s not far off is it?” gojo really doesn’t mean to snap. after all, he is high, and this topic could have him spiralling into a really bad trip — but it’s not your fault that you love him, that you want him so bad you’d deny all of your brother’s wishes. that’s on him — he made you that way, and these are simply the consequences of his own action. “fuck… baby. sweetheart, you know you shouldn’t even be with me,” he starts, tucking his blunt between two fingers while running the same hand through his moonlight-kissed hair. “i’m way older than you, i’m hardly ever serious about you when i should be like you want…and hell, your brother sure as fuck doesn’t want me near you. you deserve better, and that’s the truth.”

he hates saying all that shit to you, projecting his insecurities and inability to properly love someone onto the girl he loves…but gojo does it anyway, as if he can’t control the acid in his stomach — throwing it up everywhere or otherwise it’ll burn him from the inside out.

“but i don’t want better…i want you.” comes your quiet sob, so tiny and pathetic. satoru resents himself for making you that way — pale white lashes fluttering shut and locking away his murky ocean blue eyes. he tries to picture you happier, instead of crying over the call like you are right now.

“i want… i want you too.”

“then…then let’s tell him! together! he’s my brother… and you’re his best best friend. he might understand, if you prove to him that this is what you want. that i’m what you want.” you're perkier when you speak again, and satoru (still high as a kite) wonders if he’d said that just to appease you or if he really meant it.

a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts.

except gojo isn’t drunk.

he will admit, he’s pictured the day where you both come clean to the older geto sibling almost a million times. in his mind, satoru’s seen every reaction and emotion possible play out of his best friend’s face — he’s seen them in real life too. yet, the only prevalent expression on suguru geto’s face when anyone ever spoke of you in a nasty manner.. was red hot rage.

suguru would become another man, one who wasn’t afraid of murder, whenever it came down to you. countless individuals over the years had tried and failed at winning your favour from suguru — as if you were a princess in a castle. each one of them would regret trying for the rest of their lives.

and each time you remained none the wiser to how bad suguru really was and the lengths he’d go to keep you his innocent little sister.

gojo didn’t want that for himself, to face the wrath of his best friend.

but maybe he could try to withstand it, for you.

the girl he might actually love, after all.

“we can try…i’ll try for you.” he mutters quietly over the line after sometime. satoru sounds neither hopeful or hopeless, but either way it does the trick for you. you laugh for him, airily and bubbly, it makes the man smile around the blunt resting between his rows of perfect teeth. your happiness is enough to be his happiness.

he wished he allowed himself to feel that way about you more.

“and i for you, ‘toru. we’ll be together openly someday.” you gush.

the two of you chat for a little while longer until you adorably fall asleep on gojo and his blunt finally ends…but by the end of it, he can’t help but get this sinking feeling. where anxiety fills the cavity in satoru’s chest and drowns his optimistic heart in worry — slowing down its steady beat.

things won’t be as happy as he wants them to be.

and he doesn’t quite have the heart or guts to tell you that.

satoru gojo has always been afraid of love.

it’s not an emotion that comes easy to him — like the second nature of most human beings. there’s no innate need to love someone for satoru, there’s no urge to be tender or to hold someone in high regard because of the way he feels about them. love is not something that’s bound to his DNA or feeling he’s known since his very conception. or perhaps it was the environment in which he was raised, the way that his father was never home and his mother was always crying — her choked sobs only increasing in severity when she cast her gaze upon her only child.

that white hair and those blue eyes reminded her way too much of the man who couldn’t love her back.

perhaps that’s why he’s afraid to open up his heart, bordering up with layers of concrete and brick to protect it from the harsh reality of the world. the organ beats, it pumps blood around his body and keeps satoru alive — but it doesn’t carry an ounce of love. it’s as if he’s incapable. all he feels is resentment, towards his father and towards his mother — towards the people who did nothing but try to show him that he was worthy of warmth and intimacy.

he hates them because he doesn’t deserve it. satoru is nothing but a cold husk of a human being, a shell long since abandoned by its owner or inhabitant. there’s nothing to care for behind the walls of human flesh and tissue, no open heart to hold between one’s fingers with the promise of keeping it safe. satoru gojo doesn’t love because he’s afraid and it makes him feel like he can’t.

the people who love you always leave. to gojo, that’s a proven fact. his memories tied the emotion are never fond — his mother left him for a better life and better family with another man. his father left him for the company and late nights at work, a glass of brandy in his right hand. all satoru knew growing up was the cold, empty silence of his childhood home that should have been filled with happiness, laughter and warmth.

the people who love you are supposed to come back. for gojo, no one ever did. no one cradled him when he cried, no one held his hand through the scariest moments of his life. no one came back for him.

how could a man like that ever learn to love someone outside of himself?

how could a man like him make anyone happy?

satoru thinks that he would be a miserable addition to anyone’s life, a thick smog that hides the brightness from the world and blocks out any sunshine. no one around him deserves to be happy, it’s why he so selfishly and recklessly tears them apart in front of the media or acts rebellious to tarnish his family’s infamous reputation. his actions have no consequences, he hurts no one he loves because he loves no one.

no one except for…

“master satoru,” the matured voice of his personal driver interrupts the deep pool of thoughts gojo drowns in. “we may be slightly late for dinner with the getos. with your permission, perhaps i can make a detour? it’s not the safest route in town but it would get us there faster—“

no one except for you.

satoru sits up straight in the back seat of his expensive, sleek black car as if he’s been hit with the realisation that you exist. that you’re still here and still made to be loved. the man doesn’t believe in soulmates, or red strings of fate or happily ever after’s, yet — in the short two years that he’s been fooling around with you, satoru has somehow managed to fall deeply and irrevocably in love with you.

by all means, it doesn’t show — hell, you probably don’t even know how satoru really feels about you. he’s terrible at being genuine and hides behind a porcelain mask that only shows you the worst parts of him, that the entire world takes pleasure in seeing…but it’s true. he loves you. against all odds, the very feeling has managed to take root in the white haired rich boy’s chest, like the smallest flower blooming in the harshest of tundras. there’s something satoru didn’t know, that love has resistance, and no matter how hard he tries to act like he doesn’t — it will always find a way to thrive.

satoru might love you so much it makes him physically sick — one look at you and he’s rendered weak in the knees and short of breath. you’ve got a smile full of sunshine that warms satoru even with the bone chilling air outside. your eyes are enticing, deep pools of chocolate and hazel notes that drag him in like a fish on a line. your lashes are always soft against his skin, long enough to rival his even though you comment about how much you adore his every time you’re together.

you’ve got the man under a fucking spell and he’s not sure he ever wants it to be broken. at first, you were just something sweet to snack on, someone that gojo couldn’t have which only made him want you more. you’d be his pet — nothing more. he’d keep you at arms length until he was bored and could toss you away. however, over time, gojo’s want grew to love and even now, you’ve no clue how much you affect him, he regrets not showing that to you more.

he still treats you like you’re a child, a naive little thing because he’s terrified of opening up to you, frightened by the mere thought of you running for the high hills once you see what the man who loves you is really like.

satoru takes to adjusting his tie as the car switches lanes into a less polluted route — avoiding the evening traffic so that he can get to the destination faster. for some reason, anxiety spikes gojo’s blood stream with nervous hormones clinging to each red cell. the car becomes too enclosed, too compacted and the dark night outside doesn’t help him much either — it’s as if he’s lost in the void of space trapped with his own feelings.

his tongue darts out to wet the seal of his pink lips and his twitching fingers pull at the stupid necktie his PA had picked out for him tonight. there’s one thing that he’s forgetting, one thing that’s worse than loving you — a guilt that sneaks up on gojo when he’s truly alone with his riveting thoughts.

the man lets out a shuddering breath. “fuck. me.” he says quietly, the two words colourful on his tongue.

there’s suguru too.

and the betrayal he’ll feel when he finally realises that satoru gojo is fucking his little sister.

gojo loves getou. though it’s a different kind of love in comparison to what he wants to share with you. it’s brotherly. friendly. and it goes back years beyond the situationship the white haired man has trapped you in. it would absolutely kill your brother if he ever found out, ruining the supposedly unbreakable bond they’ve developed over the time that they’ve known each other.

a flash of pain flashes across gojo’s chest as if he’s been slashed with a knife — he grips the car handle tight, his knuckles turning white with how forceful his grip is. you and suguru are all that he has. the only family who ever truly cared for him and treated him like their own. of course his selfish actions and self-centred mindset would find a way to come between you both. he would be sure to kill the delicate sibling bond you have, satoru is an asshole like that.

it’s why he can never tell suguru about the fooling around you’ve done over the last two years — he would lose his one and only best friend. in the same breath, he could lose you too. you’re a smart girl, you’ll learn to leave him eventually and spread your own wings with pride.

the both of you were better off without him.

satoru was nothing but a chaotic storm that left nothing but wreck and destruction in its wake. it was an absolute guarantee that he would tear the two of you apart, create more than surface level crack in the crust of the world you two have created together. he’s just no good, nothing good ever comes of him.

but the love he has for you, building in slow stacks between the gaps in his rib cage, is addictive — much like that buzz from weed or the stale taste of a cigarette on his tongue. he’ll never have enough of you, and that very fact is what makes satoru gojo the most vile human he’s ever known.

he’d rather die than give you up. rather tear you apart from your brother than let you go.

the admission to himself makes the play boy’s stomach turn and twist wrongly, the air in his lungs turning bitter and clogging up his throat. gojo’s hand slams against the door of his car, fumbling to wind down the window and feel the cool bite of cold against his skin.

“p-pull over,” satoru whispers, more so to himself in the back of the vehicle than to anyone else. his nails dig into the rough skin on his palms, and the blood rushes through his ears — louder and louder. painfully so.

the driver looks to his master in the rear view mirror — concern sketched upon his features. “but master satoru, we’re just a few minutes away—“

“i said, fucking pull over!” gojo damn near screams in reply, throwing a piercing blue gaze at his poor driver. his head throbs heavily with guilt so by the time the car comes to a screeching halt, satoru’s close to throwing up on the sidewalk. “s-shit.”

the bile tastes like soured guilt in his mouth — but nothing comes. he’s sure he looks like a fool, half hanging out of his mercedes, pale as the silvering moon with the indication that he’s going to be sick.

“satoru,” his driver speaks to him tenderly, like a loving father would to his child. a comfort gojo never had the luxury of. “it’s not too late to go back home, i can have one of the maids ring suguru to let him know you won’t be in attendance. you don’t look your best.”

the white haired man’s ragged breaths as he stands hands on knees in the middle of the road accompany the late night ambience — rushing cars and sirens, heels clattering against concrete pavement and groups of people laughing away. the sounds ring loud in his ear, overloading gojo and his guilty conscience until there’s a warm hand on his shoulder.

his driver, reassuring him once again.

“it’s okay, satoru. just breathe.”

the statement somehow brings him back to present day, along with a heavy breath of frosty air. his driver rubs his back in smooth circles until satoru is able to stand to his full height — less queasy looking than he was before.

“i’d like to go,” he clears his throat, replacing his woozy expression with his signature bright eyed, sparkly-white toothy grin. “i made a promise, to the people i love.”

with a firm nod and gentle smile, satoru’s driver gives his employer one last firm pat on the back before returning to his position behind the wheel — ready to make the rest of the commute to the restaurant.

it takes a moment for satoru to slip back into the car — and during that time, he reflects. he may be selfish, he may be an asshole, he may be sick and twisted right down to the core. but at the centre of all that, is his compassionate love for you and he would do anything to prove it.

even if it means losing it all, just to be with you in the way you’ve always wanted.

satoru gojo is not as brave as he thought.

the rest of his car ride to the restaurant is uneventful — aside from the silver haired playboy’s random musings. the pep talk he gives to himself while tugging at the tight loop of his neck tie. everything will be okay.

it’s just dinner with you, and dinner with the getos. an event that he’s attended dozens of times over the years because suguru is his best friend and your parents love him.

except this isn’t just dinner.

this is make or break.

should he choose to make things official with you, it would shatter the very foundation of his relationship with suguru. the same if satoru chooses to ignore what you’re asking of him.

the nerves unload on satoru as he jogs up the smooth marbled steps at the forefront of the restaurant — hesitating when the concierge on duty holds open the mahogany framed and glass panelled door. he can’t bring himself to go inside and face the consequences of his own actions over the last two years.

just as he spins on his heels to run away, chelsea boots clicking against with every step — the sky starts to rumble and unleashes its heavenly tears upon the land below. rain.

gojo’s car has long since vacated the fancy premises — leaving him with no true escape home. he could just call a cab, call his driver, but duty and respect for his family away from family, for you, roots him to his spot outside of the restaurant.

he spends the next twenty minutes with a rolled up joint between his ever glossy, plush pink lips.

the weed does nothing to mollify gale force winds and torrential downpour set heavy over gojo’s mind. his entire body is tense with apprehension, spreading cold from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. the weather itself causes gojo’s fingers to go stiff as he inhales the addictive fumes, a burnt amber crowning the other end of his blunt.

“since when did you smoke, satoru?”

satoru coughs and the smoke goes down wrong, he looks up at his intruder with bleary eyes that soften once his gaze lands. “started two years ago,” he says to suguru as his smile turns wistful. “couldn’t find a real reason to quit.”

the reality of his words are masked by the sound of heavy rain hitting the ground, the tops of cars and the restaurant’s outer steps. it’s you, that satoru can’t seem to quit.

if he dares to stop, he’ll go mad with withdrawals and a nicotine patch won’t fix him.

“you really should stop getting addicted to the things that are bad for you.” suguru scolds his best friend, sidling up beside him.

like you, his sister?

satoru doesn’t deserve the aura of his warmth as they stand with one another. “yeah? no shit.”

the younger of the pair holds his hand out for the joint, which gojo passes easily. the city bustle fills up the silence between them — occupying every particle of air that buzzes with kinetic energy in that very same space. silences shared between gojo and geto were not uncommon, they were the type of friends who could communicate a million words to one another in a blink of an eye. but tonight’s soundlessness feels tense, thick with an uncomfortable awkwardness that neither of them know the source of.

be that as it may, satoru has always been able to mask his true feelings from the world and so he turns to his old friend slyly, giving him a casual punch to the shoulder while they smoke their worries away.

“what’s got you so wound up, suguru?” satoru asks, playing coy and covering up.

beady, blackened and tired eyes settle on his taller frame — trying to read the small print that codes each and every one of satoru gojo’s actions and behaviours. to the untrained eye (or anyone who hadn’t been practically raised by his side) gojo’s being his normal and cocky, maybe even obnoxious, self. though, to suguru — a man who’s been beside gojo through it all… there’s something missing.

a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit.

suguru plays along, moving his chess piece along the board of the game satoru is playing. he’ll figure it out eventually.

letting out a puff of glacier grey fumes — the older geto sibling shrugs and taps the ashes onto the floor. narrowly missing gojo’s expensive patent boots.

“she’s grown up so fast,” he admits slowly, with a husky chuckle — probably from the smoke. “i’m scared she won’t need me anymore.” suguru’s voice is usually so full of endearment and pride when he speaks of you but this time, all dazzling and pure emotion seems to be lost on him.

the very notion scares satoru.

he swipes the splif back to relieve the queasy feeling stirring deep in his gut once again. “she can take care of herself.” gojo mutters, coolly.

“i know that.” suguru replies, smoothly and icily. “but if she doesn’t need me anymore, she won’t listen to me anymore. there’ll be no one to warn her of the people who’ll take advantage of that. her ability to care for herself. i set a high standard for her, i don’t want anyone to claim they can do a better job than me.”

your brother is protective above all things, he’d rather kill a man than let you get hurt. satoru finds the sentiment both admirable and terrifying all at once.

“you’ve done enough, man, how about you let her go?”

suguru turns snarky in response, teeth bared like a wild animal protecting its young. “maybe you’ll never understand the fickle connections of love…but adopted or not she is my little sister.” he asserts, glaring daggers into satoru’s skull as he smokes with a hand covering his mouth nonchalantly. hiding the quiver of his lip that shows how much he cares about this. about possibly screwing your life up. “i’d rip the heavens apart for her if she asked, i love her that much. i often wonder if any person would do the same for her.”

little does suguru know…satoru would do the absolute same for you and more. he would kill, he would die, he would destroy all for you. until he was bloody and raw. anything it took for you to keep on smiling up at him like that, he would do. and suguru would never know, because he’d end the world if he knew it was satoru that had defiled you.

satoru is such a coward.

neither of the men most important in your life speak after that, though, they continue sharing the joint until it’s nothing but burt orange ashes and fumes laying across their minds. the concierge does butt in at some point, kindly (and with a tight lipped smile) pointing out that the restaurant is three michelin stars and that smoking isn’t preferred.

satoru hates rules, so he spits on the steps and chucks the blunt to the floor — stomping it out.

suguru only chuckles at his best friend’s antics, smacking him upside the head as he jogs up to the grand entrance — gojo’s hands in his pockets, his once crisp tuxedo messy with burnt ash and rain water. gojo stops just shy at of the sleek, pearlescent moulded handles and throws his mop of silver hair back over his shoulder.

“are we doing this thing or what, suguru?”

they share a familiar, all knowing smile.

“yeah, satoru. let’s do this.”

without even knowing, that everything is about to change.

you’ve always been a little nervous, especially without a grounding presence beside you.

for many years… your brother, suguru, was that presence. he knew all the best ways to keep you calm — like that little tune he taught you to tap onto your desk during quiet exam hauls, or that method of breathing so your lungs were so full of air and you stopped holding it before public speaking. suguru always knew best.

but nowadays, you don’t find yourself seeking serenity in him. as if you were at a crossroads, your head always turns in the direction of someone you love with almost every corner of your heart. that someone being satoru. he may use you, he may fuck you and fling you to the side when he’s done but he grounds you. even when he isn’t trying to. in the subtle way that he toys with the beads braided into the ends of your hair while you sleep over at his place, or grabs at your waist in public spaces so that you don’t get lost or bullied by paparazzi. in the way that gojo makes you breakfast after bruising you and breaking your back beyond belief the night before — just to make it up to you.

satoru cares, even if it doesn’t look like it, he does.

and it almost makes you sick to your stomach — the thought of you craving his attention to that level.

your dainty fingers and blush-tone acrylic nails toy with the heavy pendant draped around your neck — the one that suguru gifted you. he had told you it shines under every light at every angle possible and you’re sure with the crystal chandeliers above, it’s blinding.

“stop that,” your mother scolds you warmly, in her own charming way of easing your nerves. “you’ll break that big expensive gift from your brother.” you cast a glance upwards from its fixation on the pearl white tablecloths and glinting silver table settings to focus on your parents. as per usual, your father is too engrossed in reading every detail of the menu to notice your discomfort and nerves, while your mother can’t seem to look away. reading you to filth, much like suguru does.

her efforts do nothing to help calm you down.

your hand shifts, taking to twirling the cutlery instead. she sighs, and you shrink in on yourself — trying to take up as little space as possible. “‘m sorry,” comes your hushed little bleat.

“never you mind.” she comments, giving you a once over before digging through her purse for a napkin — no doubt to dab at the corner of your mouth like a mother usually does. “i don’t know why you’re so skittish. your exams are over and you’ve graduated! tonight is about celebrating you! it’s just your brother, his friend, and us.”

that’s just it. it’s your brother and his friend. neither of them are aware of what might go down tonight.

you wished you hadn’t told satoru that you want his commitment — maybe then you wouldn’t be scared shitless in a tight dress at an upscale restaurant downtown. maybe then you wouldn’t be dreading satoru’s decision or suguru’s reaction to that decision.

you only wished you weren’t so selfish, to crave love from more than one person in two completely different ways.

the love from your brother should be enough, he’s only gone and done so much for you.

but it isn’t. and that makes you feel sick.

you want to be loved in the way that plays out in movies. where the guy chases the girl through an airport just to confess how much he needs her. or stands in the thunderous rain to tell her how sorry he is.

you want that from satoru. deep down, you know he wants it too.

the only thing that stands in your way is the affection that radiates so strongly off of your brother — like an umbrella protecting you from heaven’s downpours.

it’s been almost twenty minutes since your brother left his seat at your side to retrieve satoru from…well, wherever he is — like a stray cat picked up by a caring and kind-hearted stranger. you don’t know how’ll act when you see them together, side by side but you do know that ever second ticks by has you angstier and angstier.

the waiter has come by at least four times, asking if you’re ready to order, ready for drinks, ready to be served. “no,” you mumble politely on his fifth return — anxious to the point where your grip on your sterling silver fork has your knuckles turning white. “we’re waiting for two others, we’re waiting for—“

“there you two are! we were starting to think the wind had swept you up!” your mother coos as she always does whenever she sets her sights on her favourite two boys. she stands, immediately moving to wrap her arms around suguru’s taller, broad frame as if she hasn’t seen him in a millennia. “suguru! you had your poor family worried sick.”

your father doesn’t look up from the menu and you’re sure that you look a frazzled mess — but all your brother does is offer up his signature, delightful closed-eye smile, squeezing your mother back in reply. “sorry, ma. i got caught up with looking for this one.” he says warmly, jabbing a thumb into satoru’s side.

satoru hasn’t looked away from you since he’d arrived at the table. his gaze even follows you as you stand.

he can’t help it, you’re beautiful.

the dress that you wear hugs every dip and curve of your body, the satin material of your corset and tulle of your skirt in a shade of baby blue to rival his eyes contrasting perfectly against your deep skin. you’ve done your hair in the way that he likes, curled the ends of your braids with loose ones framing the roundness of your youthful face. if you were the last thing satoru gojo ever saw, surrounded by angelic light, he would be happy. he would be content.

for you, satoru looks like a god amongst mankind. even though his clothes are askew and lightly washed with rain, he’s still perfect to you. pearlescent droplets coat is luxurious white lashes as they flutter against his pale ivory cheeks. his air, all the same, is pushed back from his forehead — exposing those dreamy eyes to you. they hold so much love, interwoven between each greyish-navy fleck dotted against his pupils. love that is all saved up for you.

a bright and angelic grin breaks out across your hot chocolate fenty glossed lips — almost blinding to the regular man but the most beautiful thing to satoru. the waiter prompts you, asking if you’re ready to order once more, to which you respond without looking “yes, thank you.” in a breathy, wispy tone.

jumping between both yours and gojo’s line of sight, your mother pops the bubble that you’re both in. “satoru gojo! is that you?” she squeals with a fond tone. “why do you look so skinny? have you been eating properly?”

your lover squirms like a child being picked apart as your mother reaches up to pinch his cheeks.

“leave the boy alone, dear, i’m sure he’s been eating just fine.” comes your dad’s uninterested quip. “satoru my boy, how have you been?”

you sink back into your seat patiently while satoru greets your parents — the charm rolling off of him in radiating heat waves. “i’ve been eating ma, though i think you’d have a fit if you saw what i was eating,” he kisses your mother’s cheek softly while she laughs so hard you think she might pop, and sets a firm hand on your father’s shoulder. “i’m good old man, thanks for askin’! hope you’re cutting back on the liquor.”

“oh son, you know i don’t do any of that anymore!”

satoru scoffs kittenishly, gesturing between your dad and himself. “yeah, and i’ve stopped being the family disappointment!”

your parents love satoru. you can tell by the way they helplessly fall for his bravado and charisma. he’s magnetising — it’s hard not to fall for satoru in all of the ways possible to mankind. if he wasn’t so afraid of taking you seriously, you can’t help but think that he’d fit right into your family unit of four. it would be perfect, he would be perfect…as your boyfriend. your man. always by your side without hiding in and calling for you from the shadows.

if only you weren’t such a coward.

if only he weren’t so afraid.

if only…

suguru clears his throat in faux annoyance, pushing his best friend down by his wide-spanning into an unoccupied seat at the round table so that he’ll stop making a scene — despite how cheery it is. “behave yourself satoru! at least until i order the drinks.” your brother laughs, ruffling the moonlight locs on gojo’s head. he turns to you, face so bright and full of love. “any preferences, little sister?”

“moscato!” you nod without hesitation. you like things on the sweeter side.

“i knew you’d say that,” suguru affirms, taking his leave from the table. “i’ll see if the staff have anything special for you in the back.”

if only suguru wasn’t your older brother.

maybe then you wouldn’t feel such nauseating levels of guilt as gojo swaps chairs to be one closer to you. maybe then you wouldn’t have to keep your face plain and your body rigid as familiar, pale and slender fingers danced up the inner thigh of your dress — beneath the cupcake skirt, to settle comfortingly and dangerously on it’s apex. maybe then you wouldn’t have to try so hard to control yourself around satoru and especially in front of your parents — who have taken to digging through the fancy menu together while the buzz of the table dies down in suguru’s absence.

you’re so nervous that you fear someone might hear the loud thump of your heart against its cage and the blood rushing through your ears — you don’t even want to look at satoru because you know that with how close he is, you’ll fall apart the minute that you do.

but then he squeezes your thigh, in a tender and affectionate gesture — tracing a heart over the blistering hot patch of your beautiful brown skin just to calm you down. because satoru gojo knows you like no other man. better than anyone, better than your brother even.

“you look…” he starts, his usually husky voice barely above a whisper. the words coagulate in his throat — held back by tethers of spinelessness and debilitating fear. “you’re stunning, sweetheart.” gojo compliments you quietly, the sweet string of words nipping at your ears softly — his long, lavish lashes tickling at the crown of your head from how close he’s gotten by leaning down.

if you turn your head now, you might even kiss him and every fibre of your being prickles with anticipation — desperate to do so. “you’re not so bad yourself, satoru.”

his laugh fills your lower tummy with warmth. your heart rate picks up too.

“i mean it,” gojo reiterates. he’s desperate for you to look at him, for you to touch him. instead you bury your nose in an à la cart menu that you’re not even truly reading because the circumstances don’t allow for kissing, and holding and touching. not until satoru grows a pair and tells suguru the truth about your relationship and his feelings for you. “i’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.”

you can feel the heat from his breath coast across the surface of your cheek like a condensed mist over the warmed layer of seawater. it caresses you softly, sending shivers down your spine. “you look rather handsome too, satoru.” you joke, poking the hungry bear in its den by tilting your head ever so slightly in his direction.

he smiles like he always does right before he kisses you, slow and sexy, but the sweet moment is interrupted by the sound of heavy glass borderline slammed on the table — right into the crevice between yourself and gojo.

you dart apart, hearts racing and mind frazzled, only to find that suguru has returned with the wine he requested specifically for you. his face is hard set when you look up at him, his obsidian eyes darkened with suspicion and fear strikes you in the chest — he knows something, he suspects even more.

“sugu what are you—!”

your older brother lifts his chin with narrowed, cat like eyes. “i want to make a toast.” he announces, slicing through your words with a butcher's knife so sharp it makes both you and gojo squirm uncontrollably. like children being scolded for breaking the rules.

both of your parents put down their menus, excited, happy to be with the children they raised (including gojo) — they mistake your brother’s interruption for enthusiasm to celebrate your achievements.

“suguru, we’ve hardly ordered anything!”

“it’s never too late to start the festivities, ma.” he responds with a sly tone and slips into gojo’s previously empty seat to open the bottle of pink moscato. the cork popping makes you jump skittishly, and gojo’s hand slips away from your thigh underneath the table.

the loss of his touch reminds you that as long as your brother is around, you’ll never be anything more than a little secret to satoru.

liquid gold in the shade of dusted rose pink is passed around the table in crystal glasses — raised in honour of you. suguru says your name, the bulk of his voice full of pride.

“a toast to you, my little sister.”

you smile, tight lipped but warm — the guilt rushing back you.

but then gojo’s hand returns to the apex of your thigh, smoothing over the skin under your dress to calm you down once more.

“and everything that you have achieved. congrats on graduating, squirt.” satoru finishes suguru’s toast lovingly, approved by your parents who break out into a round of applause before flagging down a waiter to get the real celebrations underway. they tell you to order whatever you would like, but you take to downing the crisp, sweet flavours of your wine first.

you chug the beverage like it’s cheaply made beer from the college parties you’d been to — the ones satoru stopped you from going to, the ones that you avoided out of loyalty to him where you sought out the commitment he wasn’t ready to give you, a light buzz simmers over your brain, dulling down your high-alert senses and you hope that the alcohol makes you feel anything but present in the moment so that you miss the tense look that gojo and geto share beside you.

suguru is politely seething and satoru is playing pretend — acting as if there’s nothing wrong or nothing between you. your lover swirls his wine around in his glass, the pink tinted elixir sloshing over its edges before he takes a casual slip, ignoring your brother’s obvious dissatisfaction with satoru’s little addition to his toast.

“satoru.”

you gulp and fixate your gaze on other happenings deeper into the restaurant. your parents make their order. satoru squeezes your thigh once more.

“suguru.”

could this be it? the moment that gojo tells the truth and the moment that your eldest sibling accepts what you have with his best friend? you twitch in your seat as the confrontation brews and the thunder of their clashing personalities and morals begin to strike. all suguru has to do is ask if he suspects something, and all satoru has to do is confirm the truth. say that he loves you, that you’re his girlfriend while your brother accepts it and is happy for you.

you wish. that would be an ideal world.

“you’re in my seat, satoru,” is what geto settles on, the crescendo of their confrontation falling flat — missing a key note. “you’re sitting next to my sister. i was supposed to sit there.”

“really?” all satoru does is grin, and if you looked close enough, you could see the mischief dancing between the navy flecks in his stunning eyes.

the waiter comes to take yours, your brother’s and your lover’s orders (after tending to your parents for most of the interaction) — not giving suguru any time to protest his best friend’s faux confusion.

gojo takes to swirling his moscato once more — daring to look your brother in his eye over the rim of his crystal glass.

“i hadn’t even noticed.”

the rest of the actual dinner seems to go smoothly after that.

your boys tone down their bickering in favour for scaring down tiny Michelin star starters — micro herbs and all. they’re still so childish, even as they sit either side of you, picking from one another’s plates in the same way that they did back when you were kids. you find yourself relaxing as the night progresses too — maybe this isn’t so bad and things could work out between the three of you. suguru and satoru have been joined at the hip for as long as you can remember, a girl (one that they both knew), let alone suguru’s sister wouldn’t come between the bond that they had.

by the time the main dishes are served, you have enough alcohol in your system to feel nothing but a pleasant buzz in place of the nerves that once contaminated your bloodstream. you had nothing to be worried about, everyone was getting along, laughing and smiling while your parents indulged the three of you in drunken repeats of famed moments from your childhood.

you do your best to listen in, though the story about how suguru and satoru pulled out one of your wobbly teeth in third grade is one that you’ve heard too many times to count. it’s sweet though, that your parents are able to reminisce like this while you’re all together…especially since suguru works long hours so far from home and you’ll be off to a new city by the time the month ends.

even just having satoru there makes the night feel complete. there’s so much love to go around.

there would be even more love if suguru knew about how you and satoru truly felt for one another.

you’re only sucked back into the bustling conversation when geto pinches your side — jutting his head in the direction of your mother so that you can give your attention to her next story. “oh honey!” she coos and you cringe, chugging back your latest glass of wine in order to prepare yourself for whatever embarrassment is about to come next. “do you remember when your poor brother threw his white laundry in with those cute red undies you brought — suguru was wearing pink for months!”

the whole table bursts into obnoxious laughter, and you sink down into your seat.

“mom! oh my god!”

“i remember that,” your brother comments casually, gaze slinking over to his best friend in amusement. “satoru wouldn’t let me hear the end of it, told me i looked like a barbie doll. what were you even doing with underwear like that anyways.”

“sugu, not you too!”

“now i remember the pink shirts but… the underwear? i would have loved to see the culprit.” safely says with a voice as sultry as it is silky smooth — sending a jolt of electricity down your spine until it fizzles out at your tailbone. he gets scolded by your parents (more so by mom) and earns himself a harmless glare from geto who’s been loosened up by alcohol but from you — you’re furiously humiliated.

under the table, you lift a foot to stamp down hard on his own with your heel, but gojo is quick to react — instead dragging his foot up the length of your calf, inciting you to join him in an enticing game of footsie.

you slam your hands down on the table in surprise causing everyone to look your way before you sheepishly wave them off. “stop it, gojo.” you snarl through the cage of your gritted teeth.

he clicks his tongue, delighted by how flustered you are. “i’m not doing anything, pretty girl,” he purrs shallowly into your ear. “c’mon now, pay attention to the story.”

“it was a frilly little thing, far too inappropriate for someone her age.” your dad chimes in and gojo nods — lifting his foot higher and higher until you’re shuddering all over. you don’t even think to stop him.

“mom, dad. please stop before i end it all.” you struggle to place your words in the correct order, distracted by gojo’s touch. you place your hands under your thighs, keen on controlling your squirming as they squish together ever so slightly. you just know that satoru is enjoying this and if you looked at him you’d see satisfaction evident all over his stupidly handsome face. he likes knowing how much of an effect he has on you, that it’s easy to make you writhe all for him.

“sorry sweetheart, but they really were cute! i know you were just trying out new things. starting to act mature for your age.”

satoru chimes in again, leaning in a little closer so that his breath just tickles the shell of your ear. “bet they looked even cuter on her.”

squeaking in embarrassment, you kick your chair back until it screeches loudly across the floor in a weak attempt to put some distance between yourself and the man who’s practically torturing you. of course, your escape plan doesn’t work, because satoru keeps a strong grip on the bottom of your seat — dragging it forward, back under the table, and closer to him, that same hand now resting on the wooden frame beneath your locked knees.

coughing to cut up the tension growing between the two of you, suguru cuts in. “not as cute as her diaper phase!” from there, everyone is distracted by gushing over even more embarrassing childhood memories of you as a baby. obviously, leading to some tears from your parents’ end — you’ve grown so much, come so far. it’s only natural that they’d be emotional on a night like this, one meant to celebrate your achievements.

what isn’t natural, is the fact that you’re three seconds away from jumping satoru gojo’s bones right in front of them.

god, he drives you fucking insane. just from messing with you under expensive linen tablecloths too — his thumbs brush over your knees, your feet tangled together and if he leans over you anymore you might just turn your head and kiss him.

you fight that urge to do so by grasping at the cool silver pendant around your neck — tapping your acrylic jelly nails against the fat sapphire gem at its centre. the jewellery feels like ice against the temperate surface of your skin, a dirty need starting to bubble and brew beneath it hotly. one that can only be satisfied by satoru gojo.

the heat spreads to the back of your neck and under the collar of your dress, even warming the chain that hangs loosely around it. it could just be the alcohol, but you know it’s something more. it’s an itch you can’t scratch on your own and a fire you can’t put out without help. suddenly the metal of your pendent is warm to the touch and slippery between your fingers whilst you continue to play with it in newfound sweaty hands.

a subtle gasp slips past your chocolate glossed lips when the chain snaps somewhere and the rest of the metal slides between your buttery fingers, your pendant gathers at your bosom before dropping to the floor with a clatter. feeling around your neck for your precious gift, you let out a louder whine upon realising where it’s gone. suguru spares you a moment of his attention, concern drawn against the gentle slopes of his features.

“you okay, little one?”

“y-yeah,” you exhale slowly, trying to calm the anxiety that fires across your neurons. “i think i um… i dropped my necklace under the table.”

an award winning beam slots itself perfectly on your brother’s lips as he chuckles under his breath. “you’re so clumsy, need my help?”

“just keep mom and dad distracted for me? it’s just under the table, i’ll be back for their next story before anyone notices.” you attempt to joke in order to appease him, you don’t need suguru to get a closer look at how wildly turned on you are nor the fact that gojo is sitting comfortably with his hand between your knees — inches away from where you need him most, where he’s been so many times behind your brother’s back.

not to mention the fact that you’re still fucking playing footsie.

suguru shrugs and drops the subject, tuning back into your father’s rendition of your first skatepark experience. the one where you’d tried to copy satoru and suguru and attempted a trick on your chunky bratz scooter and went flying off the ramp. ouch.

you dip beneath the table cloth like you’re diving back under the surface of water, fishing around for your lost and precious pirate’s treasure. you can’t tell if satoru’s moved his hand, you don’t feel it slyly ghosting over the insides of your thighs while you lean forward and search for your necklace… not that it should matter, it’d be far from appropriate to have his long, slender fingers brushing up against your panties from under your skirts. it wouldn’t be right for that to escalate, for said fingers to push past your entrance and brush up against the spot satoru knows is guaranteed to make you scream. it would be immoral for you to even think about him sliding his cock into your wet, needy cunt too. somewhere secret, somewhere—

oh!

you giggle with triumph when your fingertips graze the cold metal decor of your necklace… however, when you move to grab it, you touch something else. something warmer. you touch him.

with baited breath, you let your bambi eyes carefully trail up to gojo’s face — drinking in the hazy look that he gives you, the swirl of desire taking a flame in his brilliant, cerulean eyes. just by being under his gaze you feel as though you’re drowning and burning alive all at once. satoru is the one who moves first, taking your smaller hand in his large one before he turns it over — palm facing the sky and places your sapphire pendant inside of it.

then, one by one, he closes your fingers around your brother’s gift and then brings your closed fist up to his plush lips, pressing a wet kiss to your knuckles as you gasp. “quiet, baby. wouldn’t want anyone to know what you’re up to down here…”

his words die off, licking his lips slowly, stare predatory while it trails all over your body. “but ‘toru,” you mewl enticingly, keeping your tones hushed under the table. the sweet, dulcet sound makes his eyes flutter shut and body quiver with a wave of hunger, his sexual appetite for you growing by a tenth fold . “i need you.” you never make this easy for him. if someone were to take a peek beneath the table cloth, they would see the tension brewing between you both and put two and two together.

you’d be discovered before having the chance to tell everyone yourself.

time is ticking, your guests might start to grow suspicious if you don’t make a move and goad satoru into solving the ache between your thighs. so you jump the gun, grabbing his collar and tug him forward for a sly, sloppy yet quick kiss. “i won’t say it again after this, ‘toru,” comes your cheeky pant. “i need you.”

satoru chokes.

with that, you withdraw from your scared little bubble below the table and stand straight up — a dazzling and guiltless gin on display for your entire family to see. “i’m going to the bathroom,” you explain sweetly. “need to fix my pendant ‘n powder my nose. i’ll be back.”

your family stops chattering briefly to acknowledge your wish, but as you leave — suguru stands too and grabs your wrist. “need me to help? i know the clasp can be finicky. i should have gotten you something easier to use—“

god bless suguru, your loveable brother, ever the cockblock.

“that’s alright man, i’ve got her covered,” satoru suddenly appears behind you, the sweltering heat of his heaving chest singeing through the fabric of your dress. he places a hand on the small of your back, grinning with a charming spark to his eyes — deliberately masking “you should keep an eye on your parents, you know how they get when they’ve had too much to drink.”

now, it’s not that geto doesn’t trust his best friend… after all, gojo has been a constant presence in your life ever since the three of you were kids. it’s just that sometimes, a feeling of unease stirs within suguru at the mere thought of you being alone together — it’s like one of those gut feelings you get before something goes terribly wrong.

yet, as usual, satoru is right. if no one keeps an eye on geto’s parents, who knows what trouble they’ll get into on their own.

“alright, fine. just don’t take too long, there’s only so many stories they can tell before dessert.” suguru reminds you plainly, as if not to assume the worst. he gives you both an approving nod, before letting you go. “and satoru, wait outside for her?”

the white haired man snickers, a languid and jeering smirk slowly tugging on the corners of his mouth. “you got it, suguru!”

he even adds a salute for effect, allowing you to lead him away from the table and towards your gateway of sin.

the uneasy feeling in suguru’s stomach intensifies as he watches you both walk further and further away.

they say that a mirror is the window to your soul, reflecting how you truly feel on the inside.

the girl staring back at you in the squeaky clean glass looks nothing like the little girl suguru helped to raise. her soul is impure, blackened by sin and the dark desire for human contact — the salacious dance and ritual between scorching hot bodies and saliva tainted tongues. she laughs at you over rushing tap water from the bathroom sink and calls to you like a siren’s song, inviting you to give into her — let her take the lead on the temptations plaguing your mind.

why did you even suggest this?

you’d been bold, hinted to satoru that you wanted him to devour you, ruin you in the bathroom of the restaurant your loving, kind older brother had picked especially to celebrate you. you knew better than this, you wanted better than this. you no longer wanted to be just a quick fuck to satoru gojo.

you wanted to be his girlfriend.

that’s what you’d asked him to do tonight. to make you his in front of everyone who loved you. but here you were, slutting yourself out for him like you always do.

over the water pouring down the drain, you pick up on the sound of knocking at the bathroom door — prompting you to twist the tap and cut off the flow of water. unlike the flow of lustful hormones that shoot through your bloodstream and straight to your clit.

a new kind of excitement blossoms in your chest once you turn around to unlock the door — suguru would hate to see you so thrilled at the concept of doing something so wrong. you return to your position in front of the bathroom sink before your lover enters, toying with the silver chain on your pendant again — ignoring the burning feeling you get as it weighs down your palm.

the burn of underlying guilt.

“i can help with that.”

satoru purrs seductively as he enters the bathroom, gesturing to your pendant. you don’t turn to look at him but keep your eyes trained in his movements in the mirror. even when he isn’t touching you, you feel like you can’t breathe. his presence overshadows your own, shrinking you down into a tiny toy that sings oh so pretty for him whenever he wants.

you hear the lock click shut behind you. anticipation hums through the air like an electric current.

“the clasp is a little tricky,” comes your dreamy sigh, high pitched and needy — earning you a choked groan from your lover. “i can’t do it on my own, not without help.”

the next time gojo speaks, he’s right behind you — chest pressed to your back, arms either side of your hips and large hands on the bathroom counter, his head practically nestled into the junction between your shoulder and your neck. wisps of snowfall like hair tickle at your bare skin while warm breath causes goosebumps to rise across its surface.

“then let me fix it for you,” satoru suggests enticingly — keeping up this little act, pretending to be raunchy strangers, while your fingers brush against one another and he takes the jewellery from you. you straighten your back, hold your breath and nod cautiously as he brings it up to your neck from behind. your eyes catch each other’s in the mirror, his darkened with devoir all while he offers you a enthralling, toothy smirk. “relax, pretty girl. i don’t bite…”

except he does. if satoru is a hunter, a lion, then you are nothing but a sacrificial lamb that serves to be his prey. if he really wanted you, he could take your dainty neck between his vicious jaws and snap it — you wouldn’t even mind…because you’d let satoru do anything to you so long as it meant having all his focus be on you.

“lift your chin for me.” he commands you huskily, nipping at the shell of your ear. “good girl.” satoru continues to drawl, extending the ‘o’ sound in his words when you follow his instructions obediently — tilting your head back so that he can adjust your necklace to sit perfectly in place. “such a good girl f’me.”

when his fingers fix the clasp and touch teasingly at the nape of your neck — you find yourself instinctively pushing back against gojo’s lap, the curve of your fleshy ass sweeping over the slight tent beginning to form in his expensive designer slacks. slacks that you know you’re going to destroy before the night meets its end.

“t-there we go,” gojo doesn’t dare step back after finishing up with your necklace, enjoying the sight of you slightly bent over the counter as you grind your hips back on him painfully slow — testing the waters. “fuck lil’ lady…what’s this all about, hm? tryna thank me for doin’ such a good job, helpin’ you out?” his hands slip over your own as they rest by the sink, lacing your fingers together while satoru puts some weight on you — looming over you as he starts to rut forward and meet you in the middle of this raunchy bump and grind. “s-shit…keep…keep throwin’ it back on me like that.”

“we don’t…we don’t have long, satoru. hah, fuck!” you sigh breathlessly, rocking back and forth on your man eagerly and clenching around nothing when his erection catches on your budding clit. satoru’s lips ascend on your neck with careful thought, using their plumpness to shift the strap of your dress to the side and reveal more of you to his greedy, deep blue eyes. they’re wet on your skin, perhaps he’s been licking them in anticipation, hot at the very tip of your cervical spine — but he can’t leave marks, not unless he wants your brother to see.

satoru trembles behind you, lazily dragging his tongue to the sweet spot just behind your ear — leaving a shimmering trail of possession across your skin. “i know baby, i know,” he says almost instantly, delayed by tasting you on his tongue. suddenly, you feel a wetness against your cunt that isn’t your own — you’re already so wet that the seat of your panties are practically glued to your fonts, but this… this is satoru. his dick dribbles pathetically with precum, gearing up to fuck. to breed. satoru grows angstier by the second, one hand letting go of yours to manhandle you back onto his stiff hard on, his breath much heavier against you than before. “but it feels so good doesn’t it? just wanna keep…my cock…nestled against you like this.”

pride flutters through all four chambers of your heart simply because you know that you’re the only one who can get satoru gojo to act like such a slut. he’s so desperate for your pussy it doesn’t even matter how he takes it, just as long as it’s his.

only you get to reduce gojo to a needy mess, soft pink fanning across his nose and cheeks as he humps you from behind like a wet, mangy dog in rut. he circles his hips, pushing them forward so that his throbbing length meets your sticky, fat panty clad folds in a constant motion — his needy moans like music to your ears.

“i wanna fuck you,” you huff impatiently, using your strength to push gojo away from you just long enough to turn around. he follows your lead, hiking you up to sit on the bathroom counter before you wrap your legs around his tiny waist and squeeze him close. “gonna fuck me, ‘toru? or do i have to — fuck…do it myself.”

now that you’re facing each other, you can see just how wrecked the man is. his eyelids grow heavy, long and lavish white lashes weighed down by mirth. gojo pants, his tongue doused with spit lolled over his bottom lip with a hankering urge to kiss you. “jeez,” he simpers in awe, impressed with how controlling you’re being this time around — squeezing your hips to control the flow of you grinding back and forth on him. “at least kiss a guy first.”

grinning, your fingers surge upwards from the counter and into the depths of white rooted hair. you tug gojo down to meet you halfway and before he can even register it — your lips are roughly slotted together, bruisingly close and your tongue laps tracks into the hot cavern of his mouth. the kiss quickly turns sloppy, needy, spit is easily exchanged between synchronised moving lips while your noses become neighbours and your lungs burn from how desperately they need oxygen.

you don’t want it, you think. you don’t need it, you say to yourself — hardly pulling away from gojo as you both suck in a much needed breath. you’re back on one another in a heartbeat, drowning in one another while his practised hands traverse up the curves and dips of your body. they settle at your throat, a thumb gently pushing against its centre just to test you. a dark chuckle reverberates in satoru’s chest when you whine, back arching up to meet him and your eyes growing misty.

“how’s that for a kiss?” you whine against his wet mouth, yanking at gojo’s roots again. the action earns you a grunt in response — blissful, low and predatory. his hips jump up too, tucking his swelling cock into the snug pocket of your puffy folds.

“think i want another,” he muses out loud, the chocolaty octaves of satoru’s voice making you shudder — liquid gold beginning to gather between your ravaged pussy lips. using his grip on your throat, the silver haired man pulls you closer — his perfect white teeth sinking into the delicious swell of your bottom lip before he tugs it away from you salaciously. it’s barely enough to quell the spark of hunger spreading throughout all four limbs of his body, hardly calming down the blood that rushes to his achingly hard dick as he rubs it against your increasingly soaked mound.

when your lips find each other again, they’re swollen, cherry red and raw — smacking against one another loudly over the sound of rustling clothes while you buck into one another. everything is so hot and heavy, you’re so wet and so sticky for satoru and your little rendezvous has barely begun. the way he sucks on your tongue, let’s you push it down his throat while his clothed seedy tip nudges your clit over and over again has you bouncing off the walls in your mind. you can’t think without thinking of all the ways to fuck satoru gojo.

he’s on your mind all the time and you’re not sure if you want that to change.

“can…oh man—can feel how wet you are through your fuckin’ clothes…” satoru hums in astonishment, releasing you from the prison of his lip lock with pretty pink swollen lips, allowing his head to drop to your shoulder in favour for sucking on it to pacify himself. he keeps his tip on your pleasure bud, revelling in the way you keenly pulse at the sensation. “oh fuck…so sticky.”

your pussy flutters at his observation, even more so with how cute satoru sounds when he’s so needy for you. “satoru…” you mewl, stroking back tufts of his sweaty pale hair — though it hardly distracts him from feverishly fucking you over layers of fabric. “wanna suck you off, gojo. can i? wanna have you in my mouth.”

satoru pauses, his breathing uneven and pulls away from his safe spot in your neck. “fuck…really? now?”

you nod, tiny hands forcing their way between your heated bodies to toy with his belt, unbuckling it with practised ease. “right now.”

“okay…fuck, okay.” satoru steps back and uses a grip on your hips to help you down onto your feet, watching with pride as you slowly descend to your knees in front of him. “oh baby. you’re so dirty. such a dirty little girl, mmm?” he grins, a little twisted. “show me how pretty you look on your knees for me.”

you sit back on your haunches as satoru adjusts himself to lean back on the counter — looking up at him with sweet shiny eyes which occasionally shoot down to his throbbing hard cock as he manspreads in place. the sight makes your mouth water and

“you’re staring, baby. go ahead and open your present.” he tilts his head with an air of condescension about him — teasing and taunting you through a faux pout, making you simper out for satoru. “come on now, what happened to my brave little girl? you wanted to suck me off so bad, where’s all that big talk now, huh?” satoru continues to leer down at you, his eyes darkening malignantly — the sapphire shine within them dimming with a raging storm cloud as if to block out the sun. “open that cute little mouth, lemme see it. don’t disappoint.” he cups your cheek, entire body bristling with joy and underlying pleasure when you keen into satoru’s touch like a good girl.

obediently, your lips part and mouth falls open — revealing ropes of saliva that tie your tongue to the roof of your mouth. it does something to satoru, it’s like a power trip to have you on your knees for him. you’ve got love in your eyes taking the form of heart-shaped pupils, as you admire him like he’s your god. and you want that god’s cock stuffed into your waiting, drooling mouth.

you shouldn’t adore satoru, treat him as if he’s your lifeline. he’s the whole reason your family might fall apart, he keeps you hidden as if you’re a treasure only he is worthy of seeing. he doesn’t show you off, he chooses to use you for his own gain, he chooses you when there’s no one else left to turn to. your relationship with satoru has never been stable, but even now when he’s hanging above you — rosy cheeked and starry eyed about to fuck you in some bathroom, you still want him. you still love him.

“don’t get lost in that pretty little head of yours baby,” gojo leans forward and brushes his thumb under the well of your wet lips and over your Cupid’s bow — smudging what's left of your gloss. “‘m gonna need you to think for a little while. only ‘bout me ‘n my cock. yeah?” his free hand that once had been abandoned on the countertop takes yours — guiding it over the bulge in his crisp dress pants, hissing when you start to rub at it on your own, your mouth still wide open for him. “you’re so pretty. feel that? you make me so hard that it hurts.”

you find yourself dazed and enchanted — panting, chest heaving as your hunger for him grows. “feel it, want you, ‘toru.” satoru thinks you’re so cute, cupcake dress poofing up against the cold floor as your tiny hand paws at him back and forth, back and forth and the little smile you give him when he pulsates beneath your talented little fingertips would be nearly enough to make him explode.

“of course you do, baby. you want your reward.” gojo relents, giving in to you. he swoops down to give you one last kiss, barely ghosting his lips over your swollen ones to keep you on the edge — craving just a little bit more. he dangles the static pleasure of a kiss that you get over your brain in front of you like a carrot in front of a horse. he knows that if he keeps you that way, you’ll stay desperately in love with him, malleable into the perfect girl for him.

it’s selfish and both of you know that.

you rub harder and harder at the outline of satoru’s shaft and scoot closer to rest your chubby cheek on his firm thigh. he sees the way your own squeeze together from under your dress, probably in an attempt to keep your arousal at bay while your hole slicks itself up — but he can smell you, sweet and potent like a flower in bloom. if he were to pull you up to his height and take you now, satoru is sure your panties would be soiled, ass cheeks and pussy lips coated in a layer of your opaque, honey-like arousal while it oozes directly from you.

that’s just how you are, a candied little mess for satoru gojo. it’s almost a fact and the very notion should be humiliating for you, should be shameful to you. if your brother were to ever find out how weak your resolve is when it comes to satoru, how you fall to your knees so easily for him — then you might never be able to look him in the eye again.

but isn’t that what you want?

to have suguru know just how badly you’d fallen for his best friend?

how you might fail to live without him?

all night all you’ve been thinking about is satoru telling your brother the truth — but here you are, locked in a bathroom ready to worship this man while you hide from your entire family. from reality.

because you’re happiest in this bubble with gojo and you’re sure he is too — he can have you in all the ways he’s ever wanted and you’d let him do it all to you too. yet again, you remain entirely unaware that from gojo’s point of view, you’re more than a pretty girl about to suck his pretty cock. you’re everything to him.

“come on baby, stop playin’ with me. baby please.” satoru whines petulantly into the sex tainted air that fizzles with suspense. his skin buzzes with every touch you give and a wicked chuckle resonates deep within his chest when you scoot closer on your knees — dragging the tip of your tongue over his dick print hesitantly. though the sound is cut short when you give his hard-on a tentative squeeze to text the waters, opaque and runny white smearing against the inside of satoru’s underwear.

you adore how much he trembles, gripping your shoulder to steady himself since knows that you don’t like the idea of your head being pushed down on. even if it’s torture for him to be so patient — he’d never do anything you didn’t like.

but it really is killing him, and you’re fully aware. he deserves to be punished like this, after everything he’s put you through — it doesn’t mean you’re not suffering yourself. circling your hips into the cold bathroom floor to get some friction yourself, beyond turned on at the sight of a breathless satoru gojo above you.

“say that again.” you moan.

gojo’s head drops and he lets out a shaky breath as if he’s about to cry. “w-what?”

“beg me again, then i’ll suck your cock.” you sneer up at your silver haired lover evilly just as your mouth meets his sticky clothed cockhead, the spit and heat from your mouth seeping through the layers of fabric in your way. “i wanna hear you moan for me, ‘toru. like you love me.” you press, switching to taking the man’s zipper between the rows of your teeth.

satoru gojo has never been a stickler for the rules, whatever he does is usually for his own personal gain…but when you command him like that, he can’t help but to blindly stumble after you, hanging onto your every sugar-coated word. “fucking hell, please baby. need to feel your mouth on me…fuck, your tongue,” gojo rambles on weakly. “please, please, want it so bad i might fucking die.” he does some of the work for you, shedding his belt and causing it’s buckle to clink satisfyingly against your ears.

satoru’s eagerness sends a shockwave of pleasure straight to your clit. your patience seems to be wearing thinner than his, for you jump forward like a cat on the prowl and peel back the remaining layers of satoru’s clothes without mercy for any of the fabrics. his gasps and muttered pleas coax you into the dark, addictive enigma that is satoru gojo — clouding your mind whilst setting your body on fire with hell flames.

you kiss at satoru’s slender hips the more his pants and boxers come down, twirling your tongue into the tufts of silver hair that form his happy trail too. a soft, honeysuckle chuckle from you resounds in the bathroom’s echoing chamber when you finally reveal enough of gojo’s cock for it to spring free — twitching as it’s exposed to fresh air. satoru is longer where he might lack thickness, though he’s chubby enough to keep you plugged full of his cum usually. his balls are plump and pink, heavy with a load that’s just waiting to be spent on you — evidence of his arousal taking the form of opaque pearls set at the tip of his dick.

speaking of, gojo’s cockhead burns bright red and shines as if it’s glossed and sticky like your lips — blue pulsating veins spiral around his flushed shaft, rivalling the shade of his eyes as he observes your next moves. you’re sure to make your touch tender as you take his entire length between your fingers, smoothing the supple pad of your thumb over his sensitive tip and rubbing the precum into it sweetly.

he smells so good, the musky scent of satoru’s cock and his arousal act like the fumes of a drug you know all too well — it takes over your consciousness and stream of thought, controlling your actions from then on. you feel everything all at once, your tongue writhing in place at the bottom of your mouth, satoru’s thighs trembling lightly and his cock throbbing while blood rushes through it. a haughty moan scratches at the ridges in his throat when you finally grip him properly — soft little hands dwarfed by his sheer length, palm brushing over the flushed forked veins that separate at the base. “j-jesus, beautiful,” satoru hisses, lips between his sharp white teeth. “you gotta give a little…drivin’ me insane with these little touches. please just suck it…please i’m beggin’ you—“

the air in his lungs grows thin like that at the peak of a mountain when you finally give in, dragging your lips over the cream gathering at his mushroomed cockhead before kitten-licking through its seedy slit in order to tease him a little more. opening up your mouth, you prepare to swallow satoru down, just as you have done many times before. you know everything he likes, what makes him tick, what has him cumming in seconds…however, just as your warm breath coasts along his shaft — he pulls back from your hold.

“wait,” he says through a shudder. “you wanna smoke?” satoru pulls a joint from his crumpled pocket, licking his lips as he searches for its partner in crime — a lighter.

you frown, choosing to palm him instead of taking him into your mouth just yet. his cock jumps at the simple movement, leaking milky white against your knuckles, tainting your skin. “we’ll get into trouble, ‘toru.” you state like it’s obvious, speaking over the slick sound of your hand gently pumping satoru. your movements are aided by just how wet his cock is, fingers slipping and sliding up and down his girth whilst being guided by the thick globs of precum beading at his tip.

“s-since when did you care about the rules? you’re fucking me here, aren’t you?” his breathing falters as he shakily attempts to set the end of his joint alight. you don’t dare stop pleasuring your brother's best friend, even if there’s a nagging voice at the back of your head telling you that this is bad, that it’s all too much. “help me out for a sec, beautiful? hold this in your mouth while i light it.” satoru’s voice drops an octave as he shoves the splif between your arousal glossed lips (replacing the fenty that once spread their shine across them) — he stares you down through his long, white lashes as he flicks the lighter at the end, setting fire to the rizzler. “thank you, little one.”

the pet name makes your skin crawl and the weed in your mouth only amplifies that voice in your head. you should quit while you still can, you might be able to cope with the withdrawals then, and spend the rest of your life making it up to suguru for leading him astray. little one. the nickname he’d so fondly called you quickly becomes something you hate. it’s meaning changed easily by none other than satoru gojo.

his power over you is still so strong despite his cock being at the mercy of your feather light grip and plush lips. once you set a steady rhythm to jerking gojo off and the joint burns dangerously close to your nose, he takes it from you and lovingly pats your cheek — placing it between his own lips before blowing a ring of smoke into the humid air.

satoru’s head collapses back against the mirror, his moonshine hair perfectly tousled despite being out of place. his locks stick to the icy surface of the glass, brought on by the cold sweat from your temperate mouth. the pair of you share a harmonious tune of wet whimpers and gargled gripes when you take your lover down your throat, sinking down on him until your nose nudges the prickliness of his happy trail.

you flex your tongue, letting it swirl around satoru’s girth from the base to the tip. “o-oh fuck, baby!” he exclaims through a hybrid sound, a cross mix between a raspy chuckle and high pitched moan. shakily; satoru takes a puff of his joint as if to calm himself down. he looks down at you with a lustful, love laden gaze, dropping a hand to the top of your head — careful not to push on it as you work your mouth down on him. “don’t worry… ‘m not gonna fuck your mouth. know you don’t like that, just wanna…touch you.” it nearly kills him as well, the way you look up, with shiny eyes and full cheeks. “god, you take it so well, huh?”

of course, satoru had been the one to teach you how to suck dick back when you first started messing around two years ago. he’d coaxed you through it, teaching you step by step so you could get him off just how he liked. he made it so that you wouldn’t ever want to please a man the same way you pleased him — rewiring all the nerves in your brain to make sure it was only gojo that you wanted to deep throat.

so you nod diligently in reply, swallowing down on gojo and letting out a gentle hum that causes dopamine to crackle along the insides of his skull. hollowing your cheeks, your throat contracts around his thick length until you feel his bulbous tip dragging over your uvula — testing your own talented mouth. he’s so glad that he taught you how to do that, you down on your knees, entrapping him in the searing heat of your hellfire mouth. if suguru could see you now, he’d only be able to picture the spawn of the devil and it’s cruel how you don’t even care. after everything he’s done for you.

your eyes flutter shut at the heaviness of satoru’s dick on your tongue, forcing you to taste the viscous precum that oozes down your throat in slow waves. the flavour is just as addictive as the scent of weed tangling with sex in the air — you don’t see yourself going to rehab either.

eventually, you decide to pull off of satoru with a lewd pop, filling your lungs with the oxygen they so dearly missed. you find yourself light headed for deep-throating him for that long but you also find it to be completely worth it — especially because of the look of pride satoru gives you. “such a pretty little cockslut,” he sucks his teeth, petting your head and brushing his hand over the square partings of your braids. “you look so happy sucking on my cock, baby. didn’t think you were gonna come up for air.”

in place of your mouth, your palm starts to stroke satoru at a steady pace — slickening up the centre of your hand. he’s so big between your hands you can only imagine how he’ll feel stretching you out later tonight, causing drool to pool in your mouth like a hot flash flood as you catch your breath. vivid azure eyes flutter at the salacious mix of pain and pleasure when you give satoru’s shaft a teasing squeeze, using your other hand to give the same treatment to his plump, sore balls.

somehow, he manages to continue on muttering taunting you. “cause i’m the only thing you need, right? who needs air to breathe when you have me feeding my cock into that hot, wet open mouth.” he drags a thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down as he looms over you — breathing a cloud of cannabis smoke into you. shot-gunning you while you continue to jerk him off, it tastes of him and the alcohol in his breath and the weed on his tongue. he looks so good above you like this, hooded eyes and rose tinted cheeks. satoru is the perfect picture of god’s work and you’d be foolish to pretend that the sight of him didn’t make your cunt throb and a familiar feeling begin to stem in the pit of your stomach. “good fucking girl.”

he thrusts shallowly through your closed fist matching his rhythm to the tune in which you flick your wrist. you waste no time in working up a pace fast enough to have your lover melting like putty in your hands — literally. you miss his cock in your mouth, how heavy it makes your tongue feel and paw at his spit slicked erection like a puppy begging for treats.

“when you t-touch me like that…” satoru drawls, notes of praise layered over his whiny voice makes your own juices gather at the crotch of your panties, makes your head spin but that might just be the weed. “i could fucking cum, baby.”

sweat beads in large, fat droplets at gojo’s hairline, darkening the bright colour of his hair. the liquid soaks through his white shirt too, showcasing how fucked out he truly is. he thrusts again, and again, and again, chasing the high your hand gives his creamy aching cock. “then let me make you cum,” you giggle, dropping your head slightly to make out with the sloppy tip of satoru’s dick, lapping happily at whatever he gives you. “let me taste you.”

a dirty laugh rings in the buzzing air and gojo throws the burly arm that holds his joint over his wet face, wiping it clean of all the sweat. in the next moment, he cups the youthful roundness to your pretty face — calloused fingertips digging into your baby fat cheeks and sun-kissed skin. “that’s cute, but i’m not quite done with you yet, gorgeous.” still hunched over you, gojo finds the milky trail his cock has left over the seam of your lips and kisses you — dangerously slow. he simpers at the taste of himself on your lips, tangling with the plastic-like taste from the remainders of your gloss. he licks the sweat from your Cupid’s bow as well.

he sucks the precum from your tongue and licks harsh stripes into your mouth — reaching further back to cup the back of your head, keeping you pressed against him. the both of you moan like idiots into one another’s mouths, drinking down the song of blissful laments and greedy gripes. the kiss seems to last forever, going on and on until you wince at the slight burn of satoru’s joint against your cheek, but you never stop jerking him off — slick and dewy sounds of skin meeting skin providing the adlibs to your nasty, sex song.

only then does satoru let you go, though, his hips continue to dart forward and ram into your closed fist — they contradict with his words. while gojo wants so much more, they chase his innate desire to cum. paint your pretty face or your talented tongue. their rhythm is assaulting and aberrant.

“but you’re so close…” you tempt him with your silky voice, dipping your head and bobbing it once more to encompass his lengthy girth into your heated mouth again. dopamine sparks like explosions across the synapses in his brain when he witnesses your cheek bulge from the force of taking his tip in, his slit rubbing deliciously against the soft epithelium there. gojo doesn’t know how he’ll survive after tonight, when you force him to confess to your family and everything blows up in his face.

oh how he’ll miss your cute little mouth sucking down his cock like your life depends on it.

“you’re right, shit…you’re right, princess,” satoru pants avidly, taking another drag of the joint nestled between his shaky fingers — he throws his head back as the grey smoke hits the fresh hair, tainting it with the scents and flavours from the kiss he’d given to your sinful mouth. “i think i might…ohhhh ohhh. i really wanna—“ he throws his head back and you can tell that your lover is really trying to stave off his orgasm to make this last forever.

you still in surprise when he jams a boot between your soaked thighs from underneath your dress. “‘toru!” comes your little gasp, grinding down on the cold leather if his shoe instinctively. he used the toe of his chelsea boot to pull back the hood of your clit, pressing down on the swollen bud to stimulate you. w-what are you doing?”

“g-gotta make you cum before i do,” he offers as a weak explanation all while spreading your puffy pussy lips apart.

you lavishly run your tongue through the opening of satoru’s cockhead, moaning at the taste and texture but continuing to hump his foot happily. “s’a bit late for that, baby.” you say with a sultry voice, low and sexy. “you can just eat me out afterwards.”

“do we even…? o-oh, okay. ‘m there… i-i’m close,” he trips and stumbles through his words, losing control of his taut hips that batter your poor, dripping fist while you spit down onto him. the frothy mix slides down and catches on the prominent veins spiralling around his dick to the base. which you give a squeeze. “do we even have time for that?” gojo asks, struggling to breathe through the smoke from his joint.

“i guess you’ll just have to hurry up ‘n cum for me. be quick, and we’ll see.” you glance up at him, so debauched yet so innocent. like a pretty flower tended to and cared for (by suguru) except you have prickly, threatening thorns.

gojo’s release starts to sneak up on him, senses heightened by the recreational drug coursing through the healthy blood in his veins. “y-you’re so bad. h-how the fuck did i get involved with you?” he laughs loud and menacingly, whilst looking completely and utterly deranged. gojo doesn’t let up on stimulating your pussy, humming around the spliff tucked between his perfect lips when you gush in response to him. dirty, depraved little girl. “g’na cum. g’na cum! let me cum. fuck, where do you want it?”

“i can swallow, satoru. give it to me.” your mouth and wrist begin to hurt — but you find it all worth it to have satoru collapse above you, lose to the snap of the thin thread of his sanity. he grabs ahold of his own dick, taking over from you, and smiles brilliantly when you stick out your tongue just for him. it rolls over your pretty lower lip, cherry red from your ministrations and slightly swollen from it all.

one. two. three.

he taps his soiled cockhead against the slobbery palette of your tongue — feeding you the last stream of his precum right before his big release. you press a hand to gojo’s tummy, feeling it fight and contact against your touch. he can’t hold back anymore, everything is too hot and too tight and too much. the roll up of weed between his teeth is gone, his beautiful eyes are hidden away from the world and before either of you know it — his high is hitting him like a tonne of bricks.

just like that, gojo loses the steady stream of his hips and his orgasm rips through him, warm and viscous seed floods your mouth — even seeping out at the corner of your bruised lips. it spurts copiously from his ravaged cock, painting your throat a shade of white too.

“h-holy shit!” satoru cries out loudly, tears springing to his eyes and gathering in his lashes. you don’t stop pumping at his dick until he’s done cumming, catching any misfires of his arousal with your tongue. you swallow in satisfaction and take to leaving small kisses against his tummy and hip bones until he stops trembling and returns to earth from the bright, silver moon that blessed his hair.

he quickly abandons his joint.

even though his legs are shaky and he can hardly breathe, static ringing loudly in his ears — satoru finds the strength within himself to pick you up from the floor and manhandles you against the bathroom door. a streak of excitement courses through you while you set your palms flat on the surface, allowing satoru to squish your left cheek against it too.

you’re barely able to turn your head back to look at him, a shy and coy smile spreading across your lips when you catch a glimpse of the dark expression coasting over satoru’s handsome features. “oh? what’s gotten into you?”

“you think i’m just gonna let you make me cum like that, and i’m not gonna get you off?” he answers your question with a question, growling out the syllables of each word impatiently. “i wish i could just rip this damn dress off’a you. it’s such a shame we have to go out there and say hi to your family afterwards.” using his foot, gojo kicks your ankles apart so that you’re nice and spread open for him — he inhales nastily while pushing your skirts up to sit at your hips, breathing in the scent of your gooey cunt as it cries for him. cries to be filled up by him. if asked, he could recognise the sweet aroma from your sex like a bloodhound chasing after a target. he’s got you committed to memory, he loves you that much.

the tulle of your dress rivals the colour of his eyes even when darkened with debauchery — it turns him on to know you wear his colour so proudly even in front of suguru. his hands shake as he messes with the fabric and you can just tell he’s fighting off the urge to tear it away from your body. if only you had the time. if only you were the only two people in the world.

without suguru, he could love up on you for hours with no issues. without suguru, you could perhaps be together without having to hide. without suguru — well, you hate yourself for even thinking that way. he’s your brother… and you need him. but clearly not as much as you need satoru to fill you up with something — tongue, fingers, cock. you’d take it all right now. take all of him.

you’re distracted by the feel of your lover’s searing lips against your naked shoulders, swooping down to place kisses on them tenderly. they’re more fluid, softer as satoru’s fingertips trickle over your breasts and pinch your pebbling nipples from over the bust of your dress. they cascade down to your waist next and suddenly your dress feels all too tight around your hips. your panties too sticky between your folds. you want them both off, and fast.

“s-satoru,” you murmur needily, arching your back into his broad chest — shivering at the roughness of his shirt on your skin. “satoru, please.” you add, hissing when his curious fingers delve beneath your skirts to press into the seam of your underwear, getting a feel for your wetness and how ready you are for him.

he shifts his fingers upwards, working them up to massage your clit in warm and rough circles — distracting you from giving gojo a proper answer so he can play with you a little more. “hmm?” comes gojo’s lazy reply. his head drops to your neck again and his tongue leaves a snails trail of saliva over the path of kisses he’s left on your skin “what’s the matter, baby? what do you need?” he mumbles in a lower octave right into your ear, tufts of white hair tickle your skin, only causing goosebumps to rise across it in a ripple effect.

pouting, your hips rise enough for him to possibly stick his hands down your panties to touch you properly — but satoru chooses to be mean, moving up to rub your tummy teasingly. “for you to… mph, please.”

“come on now little one. what is it that you’re after?” he scolds you playfully, toying with the little ribbon on the scalloped edge of your panties. you hate that him teasing you only serves to make you hush and turn you on more, a small trickle of your arousal running down your inner thigh. “use your words, be my good little girl,” pinging your waistband against your stomach, satoru adds to the seed of desire growing there — helping it to grow and nurturing it. “my fingers? my tongue?”

“t-tongue!” you squeal at the painful sting, not in pain — because you like it when gojo hurts you a little bit. it’s like a punishment for betraying your older brother.

“thank you for telling me, baby, your wish is my command.” at first, satoru doesn’t make a move to eat you out — instead, forces his hand deep into your panties to touch your clit, nice and raw. the silver haired man grins at the way you clench around nothing as he circles your tight little entrance and squirt small dribbles of your juices for him. “fuck, you’re so fucking wet for me, even now. even after sucking my cock and grinding on my shoe. if only suguru could see how nasty you are right now.” he could, at any moment geto could knock on that door and see you dripping on his best friend’s hand. the sentiment shouldn’t make you more aroused, you should make you feel horrified.

but as gojo dips a finger into your greedy little pussy, you realise that you’re just as depraved as him and that in the moment — you really don’t care.

because all you feel is ecstasy.

pushing back onto the sole finger squirming about against your squishy insides, you decide that you’ll deal with geto and the consequences of fucking his best friend later — rather, choosing to focus on how satoru immediately finds your g-spot because he knows your gummy, rippling walls like the backs of his masterful hands. the same hands and digits that skilfully trace the letters of his name into your pulsating clit.

“mmph… oh fuck. f-fuck you!” reaching between your soiled thighs and underneath a plethora of tulle, you grip gojo’s wrist to keep him in place, locked between your legs with his fingers stuffed in your cunt.

“fuck me, baby?” he coos to you in a patronising tone. “oh, sweetheart. i’m about to fuck you. gonna make you cum so hard. make you see stars…no, galaxies.” satoru pulls his finger out and nudges your sticky thighs apart again just to make sure that he has the space, enough room to cup the entirety of your sopping mound from over the fabric. so hot and filthy and sappy for him. satoru laments in satisfaction, yanking your panties down in one fail swoop and watching with perverted cobalt eyes as strings of your slick tie your honeyed sex to the material.

sniffling, you turn your head back as far as it’ll go to stare down your boyfriend with big, wet eyes and a blubbering voice. “please... i can’t wait anymore…” you hiccup like a petulant child who had their favourite toy stolen. pleading for something, anything to alleviate the unbearable yearning twisting in your gut.

your lover tsks in response, slowly descending to his knees behind you while his fingers coated in your succulent nectar grasp and knead at your fleshy ass — streaking it with clear marks. “okay, okay…poor baby.” gojo says airly in an attempt to console you like a mother would her crying infant. “you’re so needy, pretty girl. if anyone walking by could hear you, they’d think i weren’t fucking you right.” that’s far from true and the both of you know it, satoru is the only one who could appease you, take care of all your sexual needs — outside of that…you’re not so sure. you’re then reminded that suguru wouldn’t want satoru taking care of you ever. it makes your stomach flip with a confusing mix of lust and guilt.

“you want it that bad, don’t ya? you wanna feel good.” the man purrs from behind you, salacious voice a breath’s width away from your cunt while he licks a trail up your inner thigh. the vibrations reverberate through your skin, dancing right up to your swollen, unattended clit. “promise i’ll make you feel so, so good.” you’re almost embarrassed at how much you throb against gojo’s lips when he shoves his face into your pussy from behind, nudging his nose over your pleasure bud in circles until you open up for him like a flower in bloom.

you grind back against him passionately, rubbing your luscious and drenched folds all over his handsome face in an attempt to tame the itch of bliss that spreads through each and every one of your limbs. you’re tempting him but your sweet little whimpers and circling hips hardly coax satoru away from what he’s planning. his tongue doesn’t fuck it’s way past your quivering entrance like he’d said, but instead is replaced by a heavy hand smacking down hard on your pussy.

“satoru!” you cry out in an awful mix of delight and shock, sounding a little unhinged. “y-you promised!”

“yeah, yeah. i know… couldn’t help it. i just love it when you cry for me.” juices run down his forearm as if he’s bitten into a ripened peach and satoru gets the perfect view of your juicy ass jiggling for him too. he amorously slurps up the trail, leaning forward with an appetite to eat you out for real this time and nestled his tongue between your twitching, titillating folds.

he repeats the process again and again and again, smacking your poor pussy until you really are crying — chest heaving while you sob from both ends, tears ruining your perfect baby blue eyeshadow for the night. not having gojo’s mouth on you is like hell on earth, being spanked until you’re raw is torture too, especially when you’ve been holding back an orgasm for at least fifteen minutes. nevertheless, it all feels so fucking heavenly.

you search for a vice, something you can ground yourself with and settle for scraping your nails along the doors. satoru chuckles, tapping your sticky ass lovingly and even going as far as to kiss you there. “alright, i’ve had my fun and i’m done messing with you baby,” he hums sweetly, “lean back for me, put it on me baby. let your man eat you out.”

wrapping a strong arm around your middle, gojo pulls you back onto his awaiting, eager mouth. the first thing he does is slot his mouth against the entirety of your soaked slit, moaning loud and tugging at your heartstrings while the vibrations send you spiralling. the very tip of his tongue slips past your entrance with slight resistance from how thick it is, wriggling about in order to search for that special spot that makes you see stars. he press kisses, wet and sloppy, miscalculated, between your swollen folds and slurps up whatever you leak as if you’re drooling valuable liquid gold.

not a drop can be or will be wasted on satoru gojo.

keenly, your hips canter back onto gojo’s face — your plush ass cheeks jiggle with each thrust onto his tongue as though you’re reverse riding his cock. it fills you up just as nice too, warm and slippery against ecstasy inducing pinpoints along the ridges of your sluice walls. he can’t help but whine loudly at every roll of your pussy over his face, you taste so fucking good and he’ll drink you in as though you’re a tall glass of water. between sucks and slurps, your lover kitten licks at your core animalistically — lascivious sounds from between your thighs topping off the air in the bathroom.

your cute little clit, prominent and hard because of blood rush and it’s burning desire, is next on satoru’s bucket list. the sharpness of his teeth latch onto it, rolling it between their two sets roughly until you’re clawing at your own throat for air — trying your hardest not to scream and frighten the poor passers by. you’ve become such a mess and it pleases the white haired man, to see you gushing like a fruitful stream straight into his thirsty mouth, down his chin and cheeks — even over his bobbing adam’s apple.

your hands leave a track of sweat as they slip down the door you’re plastered on and your chest rises and falls rapidly while you’re tongue fucked by your boyfriend. there’s no room to breathe or to cope, satoru’s tongue pinned to your clit like a moth to candle flame — drawing rough shapes on your clit before sweeping downwards just beneath your clenching hole to catch what oozes from it before it can hit the ground. oh, if only you could see him, his bright blue eyes just as watery and lovesick as your own and his face pink with a sun-burn type of blush from how hot he is for you.

if you tried hard enough, to listen in over the sounds of your wet pussy being sucked on for dear life as well as satoru’s content gripes and laments — you can just about make out the vehement and delectable noises of him avariciously jerking off his pre-cum flowing cock while he prepares it to fuck you later on.

“y-yeah…oh my god, satoru. satoru don’t stop!” the words feel tacky in your mouth as you try to get them out, communicate to gojo how good he makes you feel. he likes it when you’re vocal with him, and you the same, it makes you both feel heard and happy to know that you’re pleasing your partner. though, it’s a little difficult for you, when you’re so dizzy you don’t know what’s up or down and you can’t help but to cream around the base of gojo’s tongue while it twists against your lush and gushy inner walls.

briefly, your brother’s best friend pulls away from your cunt — remaining connected to you by a rope of clear elixir leaked from your tight hole. “wouldn’t dream of it, pretty girl. god… i just wanna fuck you up. make you scream a little more…” he snarls like a beast, his big hands roughly grabbing your ass as he spreads them — watching the webs of arousal form while he peels each cheek away from one another. “fucking hell… you’re drenched. but we can’t be too loud, don’t want someone to hear.” there’s a higher pitched lilt to gojo’s sacchariferous mithers as he delves back under your skirts, bobbing his entire head to drag his tongue between your fat pussy folds.

jolting at the sensation, which provides a welcome distraction from the fact that your family…your brother, are waiting obviously just metres away, your hips begin to chase the high you’ve been holding back for what seems like hours now. viciously, you ride satoru’s tongue like it’s a perfectly plump cock made to plug you full. “uhuh, oh…fuck yeah. ride it for me, pretty girl, ride my t-tongue. m-make yourself feel good. fuck my face…please, please, please.” gojo begs you, even though most of his speech is muffled and you’re the one at his mercy.

shame should be running through you, not hunger for gojo, you shouldn’t want to drive your hips down onto his face so hard that his nose prods your clit over and over again. you’re so dirty, filthy and nasty for doing this…here of all places. but you can’t help the way gojo fucks you nor the way gojo feels. you don’t think you want to give that up for your brother. even if it costs you.

you can’t imagine a life without hearing satoru’s needy groans between your legs, the ones that set fireworks off at your tailbone — where all of that unreleased pleasure builds up.

“you’re gonna cum…” he sighs dreamily. “want you to cum for me. let it go, let it all out f’me.” gojo adds and from then on — his mouth stays married to your needy cunt, focused on working you right to the edge and pushing you over. he licks you up and down, anchors you to his face with that same arm snaking its way around your waist again — mostly to hold you up because you’re so shaky from the ecstasy in your veins that you can’t do it on your own.

the whole ordeal is sickening and beautiful all at the same time — no one knows your body like satoru does. no other man has any idea how to please you in the way that he does. they don’t know that you like it when he flicks his tongue against your sluice and sweet sex with an open mouth just so you can hear him eat you out. they have no idea about how sensitive you are when you’re close, that brushing up against your g-spot with the tip of gojo’s tongue is enough to have you spewing a fresh wave of your essence from your pathetic hole.

the delirium and rapture that mounts within you, like bricks stacked in bricks, becomes too much for you to bear — some of your release already starting to trickle out of you in clear streams. “‘m cumming, ‘toru!” you warn him in a high pitched squeal before it’s too late, white noise filling your ears as you succumb to a powerful orgasm.

satoru gojo thinks that if he died right here, right now, he would be happy — he wouldn’t even care. what, with the way you gush into his mouth like tidal waves of a wild tsunami, guilt flushed out of your system by tonnes of arousal. you clamp down on his tongue and practically suffocate the man, humping weakly at gojo’s face until your entire body is limp and you have absolutely nothing left to give.

once you’ve made it through the aftershocks of your high, satoru slowly retreats from between your thighs and makes his way to your body, spinning you around and capturing your lips in a delicately placed kiss before your brain has the sense to wake up. the night should end here, you should push him away and fix yourself up in a good enough state to return to suguru and the rest of your family to enjoy dinner…stop the guilt from bubbling up.

but satoru has always had a way about charming you.

“we’re not finished yet…” he whispers to you passionately, his own hips pinning you to the bathroom door so you can feel his second erection rub against your tummy. “there’s more of you to ruin.” he continued to lament, his lips stained with your arousal grazing your own before he licks into your mouth so you can taste what he tastes too. automatically, your body bows into his — ready to have what he’s got waiting for you.

perhaps your mind is still lagging, because you feel it before you see it — the tacky love taps of your lover’s cock against your stimulated sex, the lewd squelch that comes from gojo’s cockhead poised and ready to jut forward past your fluttering entrance. “i want you so fucking badly, i gotta… need to be inside you…” he moves to hike your thigh up against his slender hips — preparing to bottom out inside of you, but you stop him just before then with your nails digging into his sweat laden dress shirt.

“can i ride you?” you ask him hazily.

“what?” gojo bleats, confused and enamoured all at once.

swallowing thickly, you repeat your words — leisurely rolling your hips back and forth in a premature pussy job. being sure to rub yourself back and forth against the length of satoru. “can i ride you?”

“fuck me,” he sniggers breathlessly and says your name. “aren’t you just full of surprises tonight? you can do whatever you want to me, baby. i can take it.”

with his permission, you undo the last of gojo’s buttons and smooth over the expanse of his place flesh, thumb at his budding pink nipples and then, form a necklace around his unmarred throat with your hands. he coughs and splutters in surprise but allows you to walk him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the toilet and he topples onto its seat in a sitting position.

your hand moves swiftly to cup gojo’s jaw as you look above him and stand between his thighs that instantly manspread to make room for his pretty little baby between them. one of your perfectly manicured nails drags down his bottom lip, then becomes a finger that delves deep into the heat of his mouth. “you’re… you’re beautiful,” he gargles around the digit, staring deep into your soulful brown eyes. “and i adore you.” it’s true. you’re the most perfect thing he’s ever seen even if your braids are askew and your dress is ruffled and your makeup is almost entirely gone.

even when you have satoru gojo in a choke hold like this you’re still stunning to him. not one thing could tarnish such rare beauty that you posses. if the end of his life came in this moment, he wouldn’t even mind. he wonders if you’re aware of that fact or still believe the little voice in your mind telling you that he’s just using you.

gojo was bad with words, he knows that. he often got timings wrong and said things at the wrong time (like now when he tries to tell you that he loves you but in his own words, hence ‘adore’) but he always means them. he can tell that you’re getting in your head right now, standing above him — trying to decipher if he’s telling the truth. if he wanted you, you wished he’d say he wanted you. explicitly.

he wished that he could tell you explicitly, but he’s so fucked up in the head that he struggles.

so instead, satoru takes your hand in his (the one in his mouth) and moves it far back enough so that he can kiss your knuckles sweetly. a gesture to prove his truth to you. one to prove how much he loves you.

the hard expression on your face softens and you drop to satoru’s lap — straddling him so that his girth presses directly against your juicy cunt like before and your thighs are either side of his. “then make love to me,” you goad him, circling your hips and chasing the delicious burn of his dick pressing into you — a feeling that you miss all the time but can never get used to. “love me like you mean it.”

it’s not long before satoru is at your neck again, leaving a trail of gentle kisses along its plaines. “i can do that. i can give that to you. do you think you’ll be able to take it?” he questions lightly, a large hand splaying across your back — prepared to guide your movements.

“y-yeah… ‘m ready.” you exhale carefully, your mind pleasantly fuzzy as gojo grabs onto your ass and encourages you to raise your hips for him. the other hand now holds onto his dripping dick to position it at your entrance — he runs it through your soaked folds a couple times and dips in and out of your hole. you make such a cute little noise when satoru starts to push into you, sucking him in so well and clenching around the circumference of his bulbous tip as if to trap him inside before you’ve managed to sink down on him. it continues like that for a little while, satoru holding you up by your ass or your thighs while he patiently waits for you to take him the rest of the way.

he fucks you gently with the tip at first, getting you used to the delicious stretch to your pussy — despite the resistance he meets from how tight you are.

“there you go baby…you can take over now. sink down on me when you’re able to, kay?” satoru peppers your face in amusement while he watches you try to stabilise your breathing. there’s a long way to go and you’re still so sensitive from your last orgasm. “hm, you’re so fuckin’ cute.” he muses, nipping at your cheek without any real bite.

“s-shut up,” you state through a pout, controlling your tears which only make your love snort affectionately. crescent moons from your nails take their shape in satoru’s milky shoulders, leaving pink indents in place as you slide further down his cock, taking inch by inch until you’re comfortably nestled at his balls. “satoru…why’s there so much of you?” in reality, you’re not actually complaining — content with your ribbed walls kissing the prominent veins on his shaft. you clench around him experimentally, sending a ripple of desire through the man at your mercy and finally let him bottom out inside of you as your juices run down him.

he does nothing but smile lazily up at you, taking your wrists and coordinating them to rest on his chest for you to use as more comfortable leverage. as much as you like the way he’s pressed up against your insides — you find the strength to peel your hips away from satoru’s clothed thighs and thrust back down with a resounding, wet slap that echoes throughout the restaurant bathroom.

it should be criminal, maybe even illegal, how warm, tight and wet you are — as if you’re a virgin who’s never been fucked before. he splutters and stammers as his overstimulated cockhead nudges against your silken walls and they quiver around him feverishly. he could charge you with a life sentence, keeping him jailed in your pretty pussy for life. “i know i said i’d let you ride me but god,” he whispers, trailing his fingers up the front of your dress. just as ice cold and ringed fingers circle your areolas from over the fabric, satoru thrusts up into you — driven insane by lust and desire, his eyes disappear onto the dark night of his skull. “cant help it… i wanna make you feel good. wanna fuck you.”

there’s no time for you to respond, no chance to wrack your brain for a witty comeback because you’re too busy focusing on trying to keep yourself seated in gojo’s lap. your eyes become misty and satoru’s voice becomes murky, breaths of exertion coasting over your lips and your skin as he sets a constant, almost bullying, pace to his slender hips as they barrage into your sex. it’s hard enough to pull squelching sounds from your messy pussy, and enough for the sound of his breeder’s balls to reverberate between your working bodies.

in this position, satoru is able to hit deep — churn your gummy insides up and hit every pleasure spot your tiny fingers can’t reach. you’re a slumped and helpless mess in his lap, pathetic, since you were the one who wanted to be on top in the first place. but neither of you mind it, satoru likes being able to take care of you like this, watch every contortion of your angelic face and twitch of your lips and flutter of your lashes as he pounds into you from below.

“that’s it… that’s it pretty girl,” he coos to you so softly, glancing up at you with massive silvery-blue eyes holding pure fixation for you. “you want it so bad, letting me have you like this. i love it, i love yo—” he cuts himself off with a deep growl and reaches around the meat at your waist, your soft tummy as well as your plentiful skirts to graze your clit as arousal pearls over it — each brush at the swelling nub is calculated and catered exactly how you like, especially after falling into sheets with him so many times over the last two years. his touch treads softly on your body while he takes it slow, passionately ruining your insides.

you hiccup and a light sparks behind the sapphire frame of your lover’s eyes. he repeats the action, only this time pinching your clit before he carefully pulls you close and angles his hips into your g-spot a little more — worshipping your body like a queen on her throne. “listen to that baby, your pussy sounds so pretty taking all of me.” gojo punctuates his words with deep, purposeful movements that have his achingly hot cock repeatedly jamming against that one particular spot. “you need it like this, need me to always take the lead, hm? you act like you’re such a big girl, but really you’re just my needy little one.”

satoru feeds you a mix of praise and light condescending remarks, keeping you under his spell just like always has. as if he were a pied piper using his darling moans to draw you in. he keeps you pacified like a baby with languid thrusts and sloppy kisses all over — barely giving you a moment to think independently. the hand wrapped around your waist keeps you anchored to gojo, teaching you dance in a sensual sticky grind that only lovers know how to do.

dropping your forehead to rest against his, you let out a blissful whimper. “s’not fair, you always… ah f-fuck! you always take control from me,” you’re supposed to be the one using satoru. using him to take your mind off of suguru while you remind the man of all the reasons he should love you openly and publicly. but, like always, you fall victim to the touch which causes you to blossom above satoru and the candied voice he uses that make sweet nectar pour from your abused little hole.

“it’s cause you adore me,” gojo tells you in a rough voice. states it like it’s fact written in a history book for lovers. you can’t and don’t have time to deny him — managing a weak whine of annoyance when his lips attach to the cliffs of your collar bones. his tongue rolls saliva over the area where he can’t leave a physical mark, knowing that the white hot sensation will stick with you all night — making it just as good as any other forbidden hickey or stolen love bite. “you love me, don’t you?”

“g-god yes!” neither of you have any idea what exactly it is you’re saying yes to — whether it be the way he pounds at your puffy, swollen mound or saying that you love him, it doesn’t really matter. you’re both too far gone. you finally start to grind down on him again, using all of your strength to push past your overstimulation and match satoru’s toe-curling stream of thrusts, syncing up your cantering hips. every stroke of his cock within the depths of your silken, pulsating cunt earns you a muffled whine from him.

a fresh red tint begins to glow under the surface of your lover’s pale skin, the blood coursing through his veins and coagulating at his cheeks is dotted with love and lust hormones just like your own. the fact that he’s barely able to pull out of your selfish pussy means that there’s a shine to his polyester clad thighs from your juices — the glisten barely catching under the artificial light in the bathroom.

everything overwhelms you, you feel like you’re drowning. fat beads of precum between your sore thighs begin to form because you’re clenching down on gojo so hard, his cock even fights it’s way to pull out of your addictive heat. you can’t let him go, your body won’t let him go, dragging him into the routine of crazy intense and creamy sex — bulbous and purpling cockhead consistently digging into your g-spot. everything is so wrong but it feels so right — it doesn’t make any sense but you feel so nice.

“yanno…” satoru slurs over the heavy weight of saliva spreading through his mouth while he runs it. “‘m so fucking lucky… to be the only man who gets to see you like this. whining so sweetly, legs all shaky, pussy so fucking wet.” appreciatively, his cruel cerulean gaze drops to where his milky cock disappears into your fat pussy and his digits move from your clit to spread your netherlips apart, putting the glaze of your essence that coats his rock hard girth on display.

gojo truly is so very lucky, to be the only man with the pleasure of jackhammering into you to his hearts content. he’s so lucky that there isn’t anyone else you want aside from him, that all you want his for him to be better for you. he really should work on that. especially if he wants to be the only one who lives and breathes you for the rest of forever. on the contrary, you hate that he only sees your worth to him while fucking you — it makes bitterness simmer underneath the absolute depraved ecstasy you feel.

but you’re not giving satoru gojo up. not in this lifetime.

taking advantage of your hands planted firmly against gojo’s broad chest — you peel your sweaty thighs away from gojo’s trembling ones, his cock being tugged away from the snugness of your oozing, sopping mound. an incredulous gasp lays wet on the seam of the silver haired man’s lips. he misses you. he wants you so bad and there’s no greater relief than when you slam back down onto his cock, hips cantering down so fast that he easily hits your womb. the force makes you both drool and you throw yourself forward to capture gojo in a messianic kiss between two lovers.

euphoria chillingly slips into your veins while you rock yourself against gojo feverishly, both of your chests heaving erratically from your love making. “you…you talk too much,” you mumble into his mouth, tongue rolling over his as if to swipe the words from his tongue. if he says anymore you won’t last any longer. you lick the salt from his lips, an obsessive glint in your eye — because satoru gojo is all that you want. “talk way too much…just love me, just fuck me.”

satoru wants to love you, it’s like he’s genetically coded to. he can’t imagine being this in love with anyone else aside from you — but there’s a selfish mental block on his mind that stops him from giving you the commitment you need. right now, in this moment, he’ll give you the pieces of himself that he can. he’ll make love to you, he’ll make you see stars and galaxies, he’ll do whatever he can to make you happy right here, right now.

sweat from the exertion of rutting into you pins his silvering locks to his forehead — it drips down the side of gojo’s face which you lovingly lick. your lover wraps both of his arms around your waist and pulls you in so that you nestle on his chest — giving you the leverage you need to pound yourself on curve of his cock, seeping viscous honey down his shaft. the scene is obscene, but there’s love and adoration buzzing between your tangled limbs.

hearts sprinkle themselves amongst the flecks in your eyes as you look up at gojo and your pupils dilate at the chorus of skin slapping on skin, the pap pap pap of your swollen mound while your lover buries himself deep in your warmth — pulling unholy sounds from your angelic body. the toilet he sits on creaks beneath the force of your ministrations, threatening to break just like you might on top of your lover.

“i’d do anything for you, a-anything you wanted,” gojo counters, quivering beneath you with his hair sticking to your sweltering skin. it’s true, he’d rip stars from the sky and skyscrapers to the ground. his heart chases after your every desire. between frenzied bucks and mismatched smooches, the man swipes his fingertips over your pulsating clit — rubbing fat droplets of creamy precum into your folds and the sensitive nub. the whole time, he keeps you stuffed full of his cock, hardly pulling out each time you lift and drop yourself on his dick.

mewling like a pornstar, your hands shoot upwards and wring themselves in moonlight hair — a tell tale sign that you’re getting closer and closer to reaching cloud nine. “y-yeah? then make me cum, l-let me make a mess on your cock. please.” you plead, the back and forth of your cunt over gojo’s lap tampering with your system by sending orgasmic shockwaves through you.

“i gotcha, anything for you, beautiful. s-shit!” using his free hand, gojo grabs at the fat of your ass and pulls you up and down on his girth — giving him the room to pummel your pussy hard and fast. “you squeeze me real tight when i act all desperate for you.”

“a-aren’t you? o-oh ‘toru, right there!” you exclaim and ask all at once in one high pitched moan, failing to press for an answer while gojo bullies his way through your walls and right up to your womb. your clit smears over his hipbone, painting him with tube dulcet juices.

gojo builds up momentum inside of you, dragging his seedy tip along your ravaged walls from how deep he’s able to get inside of you. “i am… only god knows that i am. fuck, i wanna be yours, want this to last forever,” white starts to froth at the base of his dick, streaking all over your soiled folds as your cunt squirts copious amounts of essence each time his balls clap against you. “think i’m gonna fuckin’ cum, might be inside.”

“satoru please…” your hips stutter above his, choking out gojo’s cock for fear life in an attempt to get him to fill you up to the brim with his seed. you tear up and he barely lets you off his twitching erection.

“i know baby, i fucking know — i’m right there with you. hold onto me. my fucking baby.” with the last of his energy, satoru assaults your pussy with a barrage of desperate thrusts, jerking you about in his lap. that’s all either of you need before you’re thrown over the edge, rendering you limp, cum soaked messes in one another’s arms. the ropes in your lower tummy, that have been burning this entire time, finally begins to unravel.

the world around you blurs, your brain fucking lags and you actually fucking squirt. a scream rips through you and burns at the edges of your voice, following through your uncontrollable shakes. clear streams of arousal shoot from your sloppy, dirty cunt and pool in satoru’s dress pants — soaking him to the bone.

“that’s it baby, give it to me. all of it, make a mess — want it all over me.” satoru goads hoarsely, losing control of his thrusts until they become uncoordinated and lackadaisical. “a-ah! oh! holy shit, mmm ‘m cumming baby. f-for you…” the aftershocks of your high and little twitches from your heavenly hole trigger the white haired man’s orgasm. right before his release, his hand reaches up from toying with your sex to grab at your sapphire pendant — using the chain to yank you up into a sensual lip lock that seals his fate, practically pulling it off of you while you make out through his high.

hot, sticky and thick ropes of white seed spill into you — there’s even so much of it that it overflows from your tiny entrance and oozes against your raw mound. you’re still cumming, forcing satoru out of you while he continues to flood your womb — what doesn’t make it is left to smear over your thighs and poofy dress, glazing you in viscous cum.

still releasing in spurts, satoru carefully pulls out of you and leans back against the cool tile of the bathroom wall so that you slump against his chest — relaxed. warm content simmers in the air between your maze of limbs and you leak against one another sweetly.

“so much for fixing your necklace,” satoru jests over the static itching at your brain while you come down from your earth-shattering high.

you offer him up a dopey smile, all of the tension from earlier on in the night melting away when you look at him. “we’ll have to hide it from suguru, so he doesn’t notice. we’ve been gone for a while too.” no matter what gojo puts you through, it’s always worth it for the way he makes you feel after sex.

warm, cherished and cared for.

just like suguru would want you to be.

“well, whose fault is that, little one?” a chaste kiss is pressed against your hairline as satoru helps you to sit up in his lap — drawing back slightly to give you a once over and mirroring the way you grin at him with a toothy smirk. “little miss ‘we don’t have time.’ — i’ll have to fix your make up, can’t have you walking back out there like i’ve just rocked your shit.”

despite his crude words, satoru’s gesture makes your chest bristle with happiness. “you’re an idiot, satoru gojo.”

“an idiot that you adore. an idiot who you like way too much,” he fires back childishly. “c’mere, let me get rid of the mess i made of you.”

you do, like him too much, a little too much for your own good.

it’s twisted, the mere fact that satoru has such a hold on your heart that you can’t seem to escape no matter how hard you try— and it only worsens when he’s good to you like this. so good with the way he helps you clean up, tends to your ruffled dress, redoes your smudged makeup and jokes with you while he dries his sex stained pants under the hand drier before you go back out to meet your family.

you’re a love sick fool when it comes to him.

and you have no idea how much that’s going to change.

suguru geto was not an idiot.

his numerous academic accolades are enough evidence of that. in highschol he graduated with a GPA of 4.0% which only escalated by the time he got to college — which was like a breeze to him. by the time he’d finished his four year degree, there was an industry opportunity waiting for geto on the other side of all of his hard work and efforts.

it pleased him to know that people thought highly of his skills, appreciated the knit and grit and blood, sweat and tears he put into his work. he had a passion for seeking the truth, discovering the reasons and meanings for people’s actions — it was suguru’s calling. that’s why he became a criminal defence lawyer.

why do people do what they do? why do people lie? why do people run and hide?

with all of suguru geto’s smarts and analytical skills — his ability it to think critically, you would think he’d have it all figured out by now.

suguru geto was not stupid.

so why is it that he can’t figure out what’s wrong with you? why you’ve been so skittish and why this entire night? he knows you, his baby sister, like you were his own flesh and blood. like you were the back of his slightly calloused and hard working hand. you may have been adopted, you may not share the same DNA but suguru has lived with you and been raised with you long enough to know how your genetic code reacts to certain pressures and scenarios and situations.

you’re his little sister for christ’s sake.

as you make your way back to your family’s designated table, weaving between pedigree bred children and their families, waiters and waitresses working tired on their feet — he notices how the tension you’d been experiencing the whole night has suddenly dissipated from your body as if it were never there. your shoulders have dropped, your movements flow as loosely as your baby blue cupcake dress does, your eyes are bright and full of an energy suguru has only seen once in someone else.

another soul he’s grown up with.

the very idea makes him feel ill, the food on his plate suddenly becoming unappealing and bitter against the insides of his mouth. you’re not… you would never…

“hi,” you greet the table tentatively, the corners of your cocoa painted lips quirking up into a small smile. “did i miss anything?”

suguru forgoes answering you to ask his own question. “where have you been?”

the chatter at your table dies down only just as your parents register your presence with the group once more — joining in on your conversation with your brother like a car merging lanes.

“oh! i was just in the bathroom… you know, girl stuff. powdering my nose.” you offer up as an excuse, twirling the end of your curled braids between your gentle fingers. a habit your brother knows you’ve picked up when you’re shy, yet, content. “you know how it goes.”

his dark eyes sweep over your face. suguru doesn’t know much about make-up, just that you like doing it. he had been the one to get you your first eyeshadow palette in your teen years but that’s as far as he goes. everything seems to be in place, perfect, you’re beautiful as you always have been.

but there’s a slight smudge to your lip combo that bleeds just past the curve of your cupid’s bow — out of place enough for geto to notice. the colour is different too. black instead of brown, as if you’ve mixed up the lipsticks in a rush.

suguru tries not to dwell. he really does. dropping the topic and retreating to his dinner plate while you idly chat to your parents about your new job but something in his gut stirs — he remembers something.

gojo is nowhere to be seen and your pendent is missing.

you can’t. you’d never…

as if on cue, the moonlight man returns to the party, loudly pulling out his seat and taking his place next to you once again. gojo’s hair is a mess, much messier than it was before… as if someone had roughed it up with desperate fingers. your chocolaty lip colour is smeared along his neck in deconstructed lip prints as if he’d tried to wash them away, dotted along the collar of his crisp white shirt too. the contrast of the colours make it blatantly obvious what’s been going on too. the silver chain of your necklace hangs freely from his pocket.

“did i miss anything?” he asks casually, despite how not-put-together he looks — much less in comparison to you, who’d returned to dinner first.

it makes geto’s skin itch and crawl, the similarity between your words and gojo’s. he can’t even think to reply, yet the words come tumbling out before he can stop them.

“wouldn’t you like to know,” suguru snaps callously. “where have you been?”

“wanted to see if the little miss made it back to the table alright.” gojo lies smoothly, resting a large hand on your shoulder. geto notes the way he strokes your neck with his thumb. “you know how she is, clueless without suguru, right?”

your parents and gojo burst out into charmed laughter, adding to the bustle and ambience of the restaurant. suguru’s face only sours as your father chime’s in next. “this one probably raised her better than i did. he was so excited to have a little sister, wouldn’t go anywhere without her.” it’s the alcohol that causes your father to blurt out the embarrassing memory — it’s sweet and cherished, but does nothing to help ease your brother’s boiling fury as he’s patted on the back by his dad.

pet like a dog getting a treat.

a reward for taking care of you all these years.

“yeah, raised her to be smart and proper. that’s why she’s a graduate and not mooching off of us anymore.” geto seethes from your left.

from your right, satoru reaches for his crystal glass for a drink — only to realise that it’s empty. he next reaches for the bottle of moscato ordered for the table, and pours some for himself until it levels out at the rim of his glass. “ouch suguru, way to hit a man where it hurts,” your ‘boyfriend’ whines petulantly, sipping the surface of his drink. “you know i work for dad now, you’d be so proud. still making money, not mooching off of his.”

you fiddle with your cutlery, the silverware awkwardly clattering against your plate while you finish off the steak you’d ordered. then, your mother breaks the tension.

“does anybody want to order dessert?”

satoru is quick to jump on her distraction train — enthusiastically nodding his head with silver locks flying about the place. “oh you know me, ma. i love a sweet lil’ thing, got a huge sweet tooth.” satoru chirps excitedly — as chipper as can be.

“that you do dear boy, pick out anything you’d like.” your dad says in turn.

the silver haired stray at your table pretends to ponder before clapping his hands together — causing both you and geto to jerk at the sound.

“daifuku!”

“oh, that’s been a recent favourite of our little girl’s, hasn't it darling?” mum gushes proudly. “reminds me so much of her.”

the anxiety in the back of your mind spikes to an all time high as your dragged into the conversation once more — suguru hot on your trail, close to uncovering it all. you shrink under the burning gazes of everyone at the table — your lover, your parents and your brother. satoru, of course, takes amusement in knowing you crave his favourite sweet even when you’re apart. geto is less than impressed.

you nod and gojo lets out a laugh that sets your soul alight and sends a shiver down your spine. “that’s right, our girl is just the sweetest little thing.” he praises you, resting his cheek on a closed fist, gojo’s elbow sitting comfortably on the table while he stares over at you dreamily.

suguru geto was not a fool.

he could see right through the happenings before his very eyes. the way you looked up at satoru, your expression docile and pure, dark eyes glimmering and brimming with so much idolisation and worship for satoru, it was a look suguru had seen many times before. it was a look previously saved only for him — from little sister to older brother.

you stare up at gojo like he holds all of the world’s secrets, like he could keep you safe from any and all types of harm, like you love him.

“i’ll have what he’s having,” geto hears you murmuring airily, but there’s static ringing in his ears and red flashing before his eyes — he’s that pissed off at his sudden realisation.

it’s only when his gaze flits to his best friend, his one and only, satoru gojo that the dam breaks and all of suguru’s emotions and epiphanies from the night come bursting out in shades of white hot fury. because satoru matches your expression, his blue ocean eyes drown you in love and he looks as though he’s won the fucking lottery. hazily and smugly grinning at you while the table discusses desserts.

the final puzzle piece that suguru has been looking for clicks into place.

it all hits him like a truck.

“oh you slick motherfucker…” suguru growls slowly, his words fighting through their prison of his gritted pearly white teeth. the syllables and their sound contrast heavily with the abrupt way in which your darker haired sibling stands from his chair — almost sending it flying to the floor as he slams a fist down onto the table. his other hand points accusingly towards your lover, and everyone’s attention falls on him.

“suguru what are you—?”

“you fucked her. didn’t you?”

expressions of incredulousness morph on the faces of your dinner guests ( yourself included ), shocked by geto’s bellowing voice and stone cold glare. not to mention the callousness of his words. he knows. and it’s like you’ve been doused in a bucket of ice water. he knows what you and satoru have been up to, the smoke has cleared and you can no longer hide from him.

“suguru geto, mind your manners!” one of your parents snaps, but you can’t quite place the voice — every sound in the restaurant blurs into one and your head swims with a dangerous mix of panic and alcohol. he knows. your mind screams, the pink and squishy organ dully thumping against it’s calcium cage — your skull.

“fuck manners,” he barks, suguru’s mouth beginning to froth like a dog rabid with rabies. his face hardens as if it’s been set in stone, while a storm clouds geto’s previously welcoming eyes. “answer my question, satoru.”

innocently, yet with an air of confidence and patronisation, gojo tilts his head to the side like that of a puppy — his bright white teeth put on display as he smiles slow and softly as if to diffuse the situation with his charm. “i don’t know what you’re talking about—“

“bullshit!” suguru fires back, his wrath beginning to boil over the edge like the restaurant’s signature slow cooked stew. he begins to roll up the white sleeves of his dress shirt — as if he’s preparing for a fight. one with his best friend. once the material is snug around the bulge in his bicep, your brother slams his hands down on the table once again, causing heads to turn and cutlery to clatter about the place. “that’s fucking bullshit satoru and you know it. i can see it on you. i can smell it on you.”

in all your years of living with the geto family, becoming a part of it and finding your sense of belonging with them — you’ve never seen your brother this angry, let alone see such red hot rage directed at someone he cares about. someone you care about too.

“sugu,” you whimper and stand, trying to direct his attention away from your lover boy. “suguru it’s okay. it’s not what it looks like—!”

another slam of his hands on the table slices through your meek words — causing you to jump out of your skin.

swirling black eyes hideous with anger and upset switch their attention to you — tearing you apart underneath their judgemental gaze. suguru has never looked at you like that. he’s always been so good to you, never been mad at you without cause or at least let you seen so. that was until today.

“i wasn’t fucking talking to you. sit down and keep quiet. let your big brother handle this.” geto spits, the pain of his worded venom shooting painfully to your heart — causing tears to sting at your waterline.

“don’t fucking talk to her like that.” satoru keeps his voice low, in a tone you’ve only ever heard him use with the guys hitting on you at college. it’s dark and threatening, but most of all, protective. protective over you. you never thought it would be thrown at suguru. he stands up too while you sink back down, catching a glimpse of your parents’ worried stares from across the table.

onlookers in the restaurant are no different.

“so, you think you can speak for her now? since when did you two get so close, hm? did you two fuck? did i hit a sore spot, gojo? ” a rich, sarcastic laugh reverberates from geto’s vocal chords. the whole scenario is…entertaining to him. his best friend, his brother of all people, fucking with his little sister — knowing how it would make him feel.

there’s a beat of silence across the dinner table, consisting of nothing but death glares and heaving chests.

but then all of a sudden, satoru leans forward with his palms pressed flat against the table’s surface — a sick smile twisting on his ever-soft and glossy pink lips as he jeers back at the younger male, taunting suguru.

“oh i’ve been hitting her spots alright.”

you feel like you’ve been doused in cold once again, the blood that had been flushing to your face, now freezing in your veins. the fact that satoru would reveal intimate details of your love or sex life to the light of day (let alone your older brother) should make you fall ill. yet, in some sick and twisted way it makes butterflies flap their dainty wings in your lower tummy.

because he’s admitting it, that he wants to be with you, to suguru’s face.

“we’ve been closer than you could have ever imagined, suguru. nice and close, she outta have been swallowing me down.” satoru doubles down, because once he starts running his mouth, he can never stop.

stopping them both now would be futile. but your parents are watching, other guests and staff are watching. it’s humiliating. having the two men you care about most go at each other like this. “satoru!” you squeal, desperate.

“oh you nasty motherfucker. so you did sleep with my sister.” geto growls before turning to you, furious. “how long? and don’t you dare lie to me.”

“s-sugu, please. not here.” you start with a trembling voice, tears slipping down your cheeks freely while you look between the two men.

“i said how long!”

the way your brother raises his voice at you causes you to flinch back into your shell and for satoru to push his way between you both protectively. he would never let you get hurt, he had promised you that. even if he had done so himself. he wasn’t about to let suguru wound you too.

“y’got cotton between your ears or something, suguru?” satoru makes himself tall and intimidating, towering over suguru. it was something that worked with everyone, scared them off from the person that was his and the one that he loved — you. but suguru wasn’t buying that act. “i said. stop. fucking. talking to her like that.” each of his menacing words are punctuated by a shove to your brother’s chest, each one taking a swing at your heart. you hate to see them hurting each other, you hate being in the middle of it all. suguru takes it all, as if he’s numb from the news, staggering back into another family’s table — causing their glasses and dishes to collide and clatter about until it stops and gojo grabs at the collar of geto’s shirt. “if you’re gonna be mad and yell at someone, be mad at me.”

satoru adjusts his grip on your brother, but his blue eyes beg for him to let it go. for you to all go home and figure this out somewhere else.

suguru just can’t. his mind can’t wrap around the idea that you’ve been leaning on someone else this whole time — using someone else. sleeping with his best friend all this time. it’s not in his nature to be violent, geto has been perfect all his life and never veered from the correct path. he would never hit anyone. he’s never felt the urge to put his hands on someone, unlike satoru. but in that moment, looking at his best friend and feeling the blood pour from the open wound in his chest.

exasperated by the stab wound to the back, from both you and satoru.

“you’re right,” the words taste like acid on suguru’s tongue as he grasps at gojo’s own collar with his green hand. never in a million years did he picture himself hating someone he loved with his whole heart. it physically pains him to even think about resenting you. it makes his vision shake and bleed with a dark red, he feels so irrevocably angry that he might hurt someone. “it’s you i should be pissed with.”

geto moves without thinking, every fibre of his being reverting back to man’s natural instinct as his fist connects harshly with the underside of gojo’s chin. the taller of the two stumbles back in shock — thick and temperate scarlet coating his pearly white teeth from where he’s bitten down on his tongue along with the force. satoru barely has time to react not before suguru is on him again; landing another punch square in his face — accompanied by a sickening crack.

your brother grabs at your lover, shaking him by the lapels of his now bloodied suit and you scream loud enough to lower the temperature of the dining hall and fill it with chills because suguru has always told you to look away from violence. and this time you couldn’t.

you couldn’t bare to look away from those beautiful blue eyes as they took a hit for you.

satoru sways backwards and forwards, clearly stunned at the force behind his best friend’s fists. he damn near collapses into the table behind him, causing the onlookers to yelp and cry out at his injured state. he’s got a busted lip, bruised cheeks and nose and he’s still the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

“fuck, suguru!” gojo’s voice wobbles, he sounds wounded. both inside and out. “what the fuck?” eventually, he grounds himself, tongue darting out to lick the patch of crimson at the corner of his lip. he swipes his bloody nose on the back of his hand too — steeling his already hard, azure eyes.

“you deserved it. pulling this shit with my sister? are you fucking insane? you could have had anyone else—“ suguru cracks his knuckles, shaking them out.

you feel as though you’re in the middle of a battle — one for your honour. words that leave battle scars are thrown from both gojo and geto on each side, swords of male ego clash at the centre and you’re nothing but a defenceless damsel in distress. what could you possibly do against the both of them? you think to throw yourself in between the two men as gojo stalks his way over to your brother in three scarily short strides…but your mother quickly wraps her arms around your shoulders and hugs you to her chest — keeping you away from the fight.

your father takes a stance in front of you both — he would interfere, but he’s not as young and as agile as he used to be. he’d get his teeth knocked in if he did.

“stop it! p-please! satoru don’t—!” you screech and wail to him over the commotion of the gathering crowds. he ignores your calls, acting on his free will as satoru’s throws his own punch — another scream tears through the chamber of your chest just from witnessing suguru’s head snap to the side from its power. “suguru!”

“fuck. you, gojo.” your brother slurs, wiping his own bleeding nose on the sleeve of his white shirt.

“fuck you right back, geto.”

you did this. you caused this. if you had just heeded your brother’s advice, he wouldn’t be losing a friend. you wouldn’t be losing someone you loved. you should have stayed away, you should have—

“i should have never trusted you!” comes your brother’s vicious snarl, somehow managing to squirm free of satoru’s grip and using the last of his strength to push the silver haired male to the smooth marble.

satoru doesn’t move, just barely managing to protect his head from the fall. he’s still bleeding, light headed but powered by his desire to protect you. kill for you. “i know! but we couldn’t help it! it just happened!”

suguru turns to you. “did he take advantage of you? ever? how long has this been a thing?”

“n-no! never! s-satoru would never!” you gulp back a choked sob, hoping to put an end to the madness. stop the shattered glass and the people staring and the punches being thrown. you’re a terrible liar, geto knows that. he can see right through your thinly veiled lies — satoru isn’t the type to just want someone. it comes with a price, the pieces of your heart worth more than gold to your brother. of course… at first it had been that way, satoru took what he wanted. but nowadays it feels different. feels like more.

“t-two years. it was…it was all me. i-im the one who said i liked him first. i always have.” you continue slowly, hoping for the smallest twinkle of mercy in geto’s eyes. “please sugu…please. this… this is enough. just leave him alone. i’ll never talk to him again just…stop.”

throughout your whole speech, tears and all, suguru remains towering over your boyfriend with both of their chests heaving, both of their shirts ripped and bloody. you think, for a moment, he might leave it at that — suguru will take your hand, lead you out of the restaurant and that’ll be it. satoru will be spared and you’ll have sacrificed your feelings for him to save their friendship.

however, the tears that drip down the apples if your cheeks and streak through your makeup aren’t enough. they’re not enough to provide a barrier to gojo’s selfishness — even at his lowest, quite literally (lying weakly underneath suguru), he still thinks he can have it all. both you and his friend.

“t-that shit’s not true. she was a game to me at first—“ he begins to say, causing hurt to flash across your chest and for you to fall to your knees despite being in your mother’s unsteady grip.

he doesn’t get to finish for geto takes the opportunity to straddle gojo — unleashing hit after hit on him like a meteor shower of pain. you don’t think he’ll stop until his knuckles are split.

“suguru! s-stop it!” you cry.

people scream just like you but don’t interfere. you don’t even care that they’re staring, you don’t care what they think, all you care about are their well-being.

to your relief, satoru finds an interval — latching onto his ‘ex’ best friend’s wrists with the last of his energy, effectively stopping him from landing anymore punches. “c-christ suguru, let me fucking finish,” satoru gargles on the blood pooling in his perfect, chatty mouth — using his grasp on suguru to push him into sitting on the floor too. “maybe if you did, you wouldn’t have missed this part,” the older of the two, gojo, spits the nasty mix of spit and blood at the younger’s feet — using a second to regain his breath. he spares a second to look at you, shaking on your knees desperate to touch him and see if he’s okay. you don’t know. you still don’t know just how much satoru gojo is willing to sacrifice for you. you have no idea how much he loves you. so he says it. profoundly and loudly.

“… missed the part where i fell in love with her. hard and fast. couldn’t even tell i was falling.”

geto slumps back on his knees, dropping his bruised and cut up knuckles between them with defeat. your entire body sags in relief, until you’re a mess of crumpled clothes, bones and tears.

he’s never told you that before. that he loves you.

“god, satoru…fuck!” suguru exclaims, clearly exasperated. his rage has simmered to a stop, with only angst and anguish filling the air in his lungs. he’s realised now what this means. he’ll never look at you or the satoru the same. the two people he loves most on this god forsaken earth. “she’s my little sister!”

he sounds like he’s about to cry.

“i know.”

“you watched her grow up! we grew up together!”

“i know.”

“you’re five years older than her!”

“i know, goddamn it!” satoru finally breaks the loop, his voice heavy with pain and exhaustion. “but i love her and i can’t help that. neither of us can.”

in the moment of silence that passes, where the audience calms down and suguru steps away from a bloody and beaten satoru — you rush to his side, sliding across the marble floor in your pretty dress to help your lover sit up properly. suguru looks down at you in desolation, his brows creased in the centre of his forehead unhappily. the expression makes you hug gojo’s head to your shoulder tightly in your own protective stance — crimson bleeding across blue fabric like ink in water, forming a hollow shade of purple.

“she’s my little sister…” geto repeats solemnly, as if he’s watching your child-like innocence fade away in real time. he’s been looking out for you for so long that he’s failed to see what an adult you’ve become. it doesn’t make the betrayal hurt any less, though. “she’s…she’s still a kid.” he adds, swallowing the lump in his throat. “and now you’re fucking her?”

satoru shakes his head, easing himself from your grip as though to show you that he’s strong. strong enough for the both of you. “it’s not like that, and she’s not a kid anymore. she’s twenty two, suguru! she doesn’t need you watching over her like some fucking hawk anymore. she can fuck me or whoever the fuck she wants.”

and even though satoru is right — you hate that they both talk about you as if you’re not even there or autonomous enough to defend yourself.

“but you know better.” geto goes on, his own defence becoming weaker and weaker — disintegrating like paper in water.

“we both do!” finally finding your voice, you stand up from your position on the floor cradling satoru and move to stand in front of your brother — grabbing his hands with pleading doe eyes and tears on your cheeks. “w-we’re both adults who made the mistake of getting involved with each other behind your back. but we don’t have to fight this out like children…please just give us a chance, sugu. talk to him. talk to me. y-your little sister…”

geto sags again, he looks tired, but accepts your affection without a trace of doubt or hatred. he thumbs the backs of your hands, dark obsidian eyes gazing into your soul like a galaxy of black holes. your deep chocolatey eyes are met with a stare full of trust and admiration — something familiar, something that fills you with temporary relief.

you like to think that you know suguru geto.

he’s the smartest and most rational man you’ve ever met. your brother has always been kind and tender, takes the time to really listen to people and think things through step by step. he never acts on instinct or brashness. those are all things you know about him.

you like to think that your older sibling knows you too.

that he would look at you and see your truth, how much you care for gojo and how you didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.

clearly, neither of you know each other as well as you once thought.

he sees gojo from over your shoulder, and the same sense of white hot betrayal washes over the dark haired man like an acid bath. he rips his hands away from yours as if he’s touched molten lava and you’ve scalded the palms of his hands in which he used to love you, care for you and raise you.

a pained sound gargles in your throat as geto pulls away from you — his own mature, handsome face, equally as distraught. “i can’t,” he mumbles quietly. “not right now. i’m sorry.” his warmth is gone before you know it and he’s grabbing his belongings from your dinner table, bowing in apology to guests and staff and your parents.

“suguru!” you gasp, tears stinging at your eyes once again. “suguru wait!”

geto presses his thick, black leather wallet to your mother’s chest as he passes your parents, his suit coat half slung over his shoulder. “use the black card to cover the bill for dinner and pay for the meals of the families who’s tables we destroyed. i’ll take care of any damages too — the owner was a client of mine.” he tells her softly, kissing her forehead.

“suguru— your sister!”

he doesn’t turn back as he pushes his way through the crowd in order to reach the exit. “she’s old enough to look after herself, right?”

“suguru please.”

you will yourself to chase after him, every cell in your body screaming at you to move while your heart and mind long for you to stay by satoru’s side.

you’re conflicted, you don’t know who to choose.

and maybe it’s satoru’s selfishness, maybe he’s the one to blame for the rift in yours and suguru’s relationship — because when he succumbs to the bleeding and the injuries, and someone aside from you screams for an ambulance, you can’t bring yourself to leave him.

like a bird in a cage, you’re trapped by satoru’s love.

or perhaps he was just taking advantage of your weak little heart like always.

being at home is supposed to bring you comfort, there’s nothing like it.

your home is like a safe, full of precious memories locked away with a key that only you possess. if you push through the door you’re met with a gust of nostalgia — the sounds of childlike laughter as undertones to scolding parental voices. as you drift down the halls there’s works of art made with crayola ink on the walls, and sometimes there’s tears in that one little spot at the top of your stairs.

spices from your favourite home cooked meal burning on the stove top usually waft throughout the place, calming you down and filling you with warmth. you can’t remember a time where the smells and aromatics of your home have failed to bring you back down to earth. they trigger waves of fondness and flashbulb memories of your father teaching you and suguru as siblings how to cook whenever your mother fell ill.

your home not only hosts heartfelt conversations between four people who love each other, but it speaks too. it would creak and groan and squeak with every step you took deeper inside, with each time you ran through it while being chased by your brother.

every single one of these moments, these sounds and scents they’re all part of a precious network that make up the foundation of your home. plaster made of love and bricks born from happiness, all glued together by layers of forgiveness in the form of concrete. it’s a house full of happiness, your home is. made by your parents, suguru and you.

but right now you feel as if the roof of your home has caved in.

you’ve been sitting outside of suguru’s bedroom for hours now. your pretty dress soaked in blood and your face in your own tears. you can hear him on the other side of the door — he’s talking to someone, no doubt looking for last minute flights or begging for one of his client’s private jets. and you’re terrified because if he leaves like this you might never speak to one another again.

you don’t want that, you can’t have that.

you wonder where he might go — if it’ll be some place you always planned to visit together when you were old enough. a trip abroad was something geto had promised you if you graduated. now here you were. graduated but without your big brother by your side. Paris, London, New York — all places you were meant to explore with your eldest sibling by your side.

though at this very moment, he was all the way on the other side of a door he had no intention of opening.

it’s like the entire world has collapsed and caved in on you — there’s a hole starting to form in your heart that only suguru can fill and until today, as he begins to pull away from you, you hadn’t realised how much space in your life he had occupied. you leaned heavily on your brother, he shielded you from experiences like this time and time again, and all you could do in return is fuck his best friend.

some grateful little sister you are.

your face burns with a fresh set of tears, hot at the centre and underneath the fat of your eye bags. you’re so dependent on him, you wonder how you’ll cope when you move cities and start a real life outside of the shelter your brother had worked so hard to build for you. the very idea makes your insides twist and stomach turn. you’re not even sure if geto will want to keep in touch with you once either of you are gone.

leaning against his door, you paw at your wet face — hoping and praying that he’ll hear you out. that he won’t leave you, because without suguru you have no one.

wait… that’s not true.

there’s still satoru. if he even wants you after all of this. if you even want him.

why is it that he chose this way to confess his love for you? why is it that he dragged you away from a family dinner to fuck you instead of just being honest? why was satoru so selfish?

he hurt you over and over again — left mental scars on you and treated them like open wounds, adding salt and citrus and whatever would sting just to make sure you kept on needing him and only him. he hurt you to make sure you loved him back and you’re sure he had no idea. there’s an underlying guilt coursing through the blood in your system — guilt in letting satoru take all of the blame for falling out with suguru. especially when he defended you against your brother’s switch up and acidic, toxic words. especially when he’s posted up in a hospital bed for his battle wounds — split lip, possible concussion, bruised eye sockets.

your white haired lover had tried to be brave for you when you’d left him at the hospital to come home and change. there was terror evident in each dark blue fleck in his baby blue eyes, anxiety wrapping around his heart at the idea of you just leaving him there. he thought you would be leaving him forever.

fuck. gojo was good to you, in so many bad ways. you wished that you’d never met him, that you’d never fallen for him either.

before your mind is fully able to slip away to your lover boy, the door to suguru’s bedroom clicks open softly — forcing you to scoot away from him so that he has room to step out. neither of you move — frozen in time like marble statues carved millennia ago. you look a mess and suguru looks like a clean slate. where your dress is blood and snot stained, your makeup smeared and eyes puffy — your older brother has been washed free of tonight’s grime, his cuts are plastered over and his knuckles bandaged. not a single dark, obsidian tendril of his hair is out of place either — perfectly tied back into his signature bun.

most importantly, there’s not a trace of bitterness on his face — almost as if the events of tonight never even happened.

as if you never ruined his friendship with gojo or ruined his perception of you — his little sister.

yet, there’s a glum sort of gleam to his dark eyes, he’s tired — he’s been thinking too hard, going through every step over and over again trying to piece together what he missed. why would you hide this from him? you hate how lost suguru looks. that you did this to him too.

he doesn’t want to fight, not with you. not after satoru.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, shifting to sit on your knees in front of him — as if you’re about to bow for geto’s forgiveness. “i should have never… i didn’t mean to—“ you pick at stray pieces of skin by the bed of your nails, flailing for words as you slip under the surface of your painstaking emotions. “i’m…i’m…”

geto crouches down to your height, using one hand to wipe the tears from your big bambi eyes and another to tilt your chin up towards him gently. “sorry.” he finishes for you, flashing you his classic, loving smile. “it’s okay…just give me time.”

you nod shortly, your features twitching as you fight back the urge to cry again.

the older male clicks his tongue and shakes his head, the pad of his thumb swiping under your eyes gently. “oh no, none of that, don’t cry for me.” as always, suguru comforts you and tends to you like a flower in need of nurture. “i’m sorry too, little one.”

“a-are you leaving?”

“for a little while.”

your face crumples once again. “suguru—“ comes your childish huff as he stands — but before the elder geto can get very far, you latch onto his wrist in one last clingy attempt.

suguru shakes his head one more time, more vigorously as if he’s trying to get rid of his own tears — knowing that if he lets you continue and beg him to stay, he won’t have the chance he needs to heal. “i can’t. i need time,” your brother says firmly, almost as if he’s scolding you. “you can’t expect me to get over it just like that. it’s not fair.”

you’re fully aware of that, selfishly choosing to ignore the fact — just like satoru would. life isn’t fair, so you suppose this is life’s own way of punishing you for hurting your brother and causing him grief.

“sugu, please don’t go.”

“give me a few weeks, a few months even, and i’ll come back. i promise.” he sighs in response, practically begging you at this point. it kills him to leave his younger sibling just as much as it kills you to see him go. however, every time suguru lays his eyes upon you, all he feels is betrayal and loss. all he can see is his best friend’s hands ruining you. corrupting you. it almost makes suguru resent you, for taking a bite of an apple from the snake he’d warned you about. hating you is the last thing suguru wants. “i can do that for you because you’re my little sister. because i love you and deep down, you’re everything to me. but i just need to get over this first.”

it’s because you’re his little sister that he’s even able to look at you. if you were anyone else, if you were satoru, dinner would have been it.

“‘m sorry,” you whimper for the millionth time, in defeat, weakly allowing suguru to help you onto your feet. every fibre of your being tingles with the need to hug him, soothe him in the ways he would do for you — though you know better. that’s not what he needs right now. geto needs you to let him go.

“i know,” geto hums sadly. he tucks your braids behind your ear, thumbing your cheek affectionately “you should go to bed, it’s getting late.”

he presses a lingering kiss into the baby hairs on the crown of your head as he softly grips your arms — using them to rotate you both until his back is to the door and yours is to the looming hallway.

“goodnight,” you sniff meaningfully. a nostalgic feeling rushes over you, a sense of déjà vu — reminding you of the time when suguru first left for college.

suguru smiles again, disappearing into his room with a whispered. “goodnight, little one.”

and with that, he’s gone.

you only hope that he’ll make good on his promise, forgive you and come back.

because as the saying goes — if you love someone let them go.

and if they come back to you, then they’re yours.

after a hot shower, you find yourself taking heed of suguru’s advice and retreat back to the confines of your bedroom.

childlike walls covered in ugly green no longer make you laugh or provide you with an uplifting and evocative solace. instead, you feel more cold and alone, desperate to leave this life behind and move on to bigger and better things.

things that suguru had helped you to achieve.

while the scalding hot water had washed away any bloody stains from the night, any tears left on your cheeks — it did nothing to get rid of the slimy, gross feeling that you couldn’t seem to reach. it spread underneath the surface of your skin like wildfire through a forest, over each crack and crevice in your mind, slipped through the gaps in your rib cage to target your lungs like a respiratory attack. it was the shame, the guilt and the grief for someone you’d lost who was still alive. all three emotions plagued you.

once safely behind your own bedroom door, shutting out your feelings about the night (after only half of them had swirled down the drain), you rest against its wooden frame — watching the droplets that were clinging to your supple skin drop to the ground as if they were the tears you didn’t feel like crying anymore.

the towel around your exhausted frame drops to your ankles as you lethargically search your dresser for your favourite cocoa butter moisturiser. you work in silence, soothing the night’s wounds as you prepare for bed like your bother had said. you slip on a set of pyjamas, tie your braids back with silk scrunchies and just as you hit the lights — there’s a knock at your window.

you don’t move, waiting to see if it’s your imagination or your mind playing tricks on you again.

but then, there’s another dull thud and you whip around from your dresser to meet a pair of clear-sky blue eyes that catch light under the shining moon does enough to illuminate every curve and slope to his dainty features. gojo looks a little compared to when you left him in the hospital — whatever fluids they’ve given him have helped with the hollow, purple-ish dark circles under his eyes. a few cuts still litter the angelic curve to satoru’s face,

clutching the centre of your chest from under your sweatshirt (in an attempt to calm your beating heart) — you rush towards the source of the noise, tugging the latches of your window open. “satoru,” you breathe, your entire body going lax once you realise who it is.

“hey you,” he grins, holding onto the upper body panel of the window while he waits for your permission to come in. even though your room is dark, painted with tendrils of pitch black, the silvering moon does enough to highlight each cut or slash across his pretty face. “missed you.”

slowly, you reach out to touch him. a single fingertip slides across gojo’s sharp jaw, so sharp that it could cut diamonds, before you angle his head from side to side — inspecting the injuries that hardly do anything to dampen his beauty.

“can i come inside?” gojo asks cautiously. “it’s kinda cold out here.”

blinking, you snap out of your reverie and shift backwards on your bed to make space for satoru to come through. he crawls into your room quietly like he’s done many times before, sneaking over to see you during your breaks from university, and shuts the window behind him.

the both of you stand still in the dark, hardly able to see each other, hardly able to tell what the other is thinking. satoru wonders if you hate him, if this is it for you and he. should he touch you? would you let him?

and as for you, you’re stuck between a rock and hard place. your body, as always, calls for gojo — yearns to be near him as if you haven’t seen one another in a millennia. you know that he’s right there, you can hear his shallow and ragged breathing (probably from climbing up to your window) just centimetres away. he’s done so much to hurt you, ruin you… and yet you can’t seem to resist him or stay away from him when you know that you should.

“i figured you’d want this back, that’s why i came.” gojo mumbles, dangling the chain of your necklace in front of you. you reach out to take it and your boyfriend lets go, but the jewellery hits the ground and you ignore it’s metallic clatter.

“satoru gojo…” you whimper, instead, taking a step forward into the void — your hands touch on his tiny waist before travelling upwards over his creased button up shirt to settle at the silver haired man’s broad shoulders. he groans low at the feeling of your nails raking across them from over the fabric, reaching higher to scratch at his scalp through the baby hairs on his neck. even though satoru remains stiff and hesitant at first, it’s an intimate moment, you’re hardly able to see each other while being pressed so close together — desperate and longing. gojo finally relaxes and grabs the fat at your waist, pulling your hips flush against his own.

you stand on your tiptoes and use your grip on his hair to tug gojo down to your height — your lips a breath’s width away from each other. he’s so close that you can feel his breath coast along the seams of your lips.

“what have you done to me?” you finish, whispering.

god, satoru wishes that he knew. he has no idea himself, the kind of power and hold that he has over you. “i don’t fucking know,” he finds himself saying, meeting you the rest of the way as he leans down to capture your mouth in a messy, searing hot kiss. “i don’t wanna know. just let me kiss you.”

“mhm,” you all but whine in reply, wrapping your arms around satoru’s neck as he feverishly licks into the hot, wet cavern of your mouth. he feeds you his moans, one by one, pouring his apologies and unspoken words past your lips and into your soul. gojo can’t speak with your tongue in his mouth, he’s spent all night plagued by thoughts of you — wondering if he’d done the right thing by telling suguru, if he should have kept his mouth shut and his hands off you. if he should have done it properly.

he fucks everything up — especially the things that he loves. gojo wouldn’t be surprised if you were done with his bullshit now. he’d make the most of what you’re willing to give him for the moment.

your lips grow sticky with the layers of spit swapped between you and you can taste him on you. in your mouth, on your tongue. he tastes like cold peppermint and wisps of pink wine. he feels like heaven under your fingers, his hair soft like the feathers of god’s favourite angel. you inhale the hint of his aftershave from his clothes, let it drift over your mind as well. he’s toxic, bad for your lungs like a vape or the chemicals from something else addictive. perhaps you’re smelling gasoline, the kind that satoru uses to start a fire in your lower belly.

you shouldn’t be doing this, not again, not here, not with suguru across the hall about to leave you. but you can’t help it, satoru’s become your everything and you feel that you might not be able to live without him too. “satoru,” your arm shoots to wrap around his neck, hardly allowing the man to pull away from you and breathe. your movements are so fast that gojo stumbles and holds you tighter to catch his balance. though it might be because he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “satoru, satoru, satoru please…”

you’ve no idea what you’re even begging for, just chanting his name between bruising kisses, his tongue sloppily gliding over yours while he fights to pull away from your intoxicating lip locks. “don’t beg, baby,” he grunts hot and heavy, dragging a thumb over your swollen lips. “god, please don’t fuckin’ beg. you have no idea what it does to me.”

“but i need you,” closing your lips around the tip of his thumb, you suck gently and it causes satoru to grow weak in the knees — dizzy from the sensation. “and i love you…”

“fuck, i—“ gojo swallows thickly, watching you like a hawk as you suck on him salaciously. “i’m right here…love you too. now jump for me, baby.” comes his loving command, pulling the digit from the prison of your hot mouth. if he could, he’d take a life sentence to stay between your lips.

following gojo’s lead, you leap upwards into his hold — allowing satoru to grope at your fleshy ass as he hoists you up. a pathetic bleat escapes his saliva laden lips when your thighs wrap securely around his waist, pussy slotting against satoru’s crotch while he carries you to sit on your dresser.

after setting you down, satoru places a palm on the mirror above your head, steadying himself as lust and love for you and only you overwhelms him until he’s nothing but a shaky mess. a man that could be brought to his knees with just one look from you. his head drops to your neck, breath balmy against the surface of your skin, long white lashes tickling you there too.

he grows enchanted by your steady pulse, pulled in my each of your little whimpers. a mop of silver hair descends upon your flesh, the taste buds on satoru’s pink, eager tongue mapping out your taste to commit to memory. he wants to remember your flavour forever — treating this as if it’s the last time he’ll ever touch you.

“you…you asked me what it is that i’ve done to you. ‘n i told you that i… fuck, that i didn’t know,” gojo pants, a rosy blush spreading across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. one “but i can tell you exactly what it is that you do to me...” your lover looks down at you like a man drunk or high, facing an addiction he won’t be able to quit. it does something to you, drags crazed sex hormones from your brain right down to your pulsating clit.

the temperature in the room rises, boiling and bubbling — the particles in the air teaming with so much desire, buzzing around with an equal amount of kinetic energy. “you’ve ruined me,” he mumbles wistfully, a man charmed. gojo leaves a wet trail over your pulse point, slowly sinking his teeth into the area. there’s a gentleness to the way that he leaves his mark on you — panting like a wet dog as he does so. “you make me want to take care of you. you’ve got me so fucked up that i can’t tell what’s up or down….” he moans into the sweltering ambience of the room.

satoru forces himself against you and you gasp, head hitting the mirror because you can feel how hard he is against the crotch of your night shorts. “i want to be your everything,” his selfish tendencies seep through into his actions, love bites gojo works against your neck become more prominent and harsher — as if to get his point across or through your head. he wants you to know how much he wants you. “just like i know that i’m yours.”

it’s true. he is.

the very phrase make your hips buck up into his, a wave of slick pooling between your folds as they catch on the print of gojo’s dick. “f-fuck…” the tail end of your words end in a lost whine, too turned on by gojo’s desperation for you. only you.

“i love you,” he whispers, voice silky smooth while continuing to ravish your neck and collar bones with shades of deep purple and blue. gojo’s large hands sneak down to your waistband to pull your shorts off and on instinct, you do the same — a nagging craving for more of him taking over you once again. “like no one before. dunno why i didn’t say it earlier, don’t know why i didn’t wanna show you off.”

satoru tugs your panties to one side, wedging them behind your swollen pussy lips and exposing your quivering mound to the night air. even though the room is dark, he can still see the glisten of your arousal and whines wildly from deep within his chest at the sight — urging you to yank down his boxers too.

circling your hips up to meet his, the both of you hiss in unison as your leaky, sopping sexes come into contact for the second time that night. it feels right. just having the length of gojo’s heavy shaft nestled between your sticky folds — it’s natural, as if you’re made for one another despite fate not wanting you to be together. his tip spurts early traces of precum against your slit in another form of marking, hot and creamy against you while the scent of sex begins to waft through the air.

it’ll never matter how much you try to resist satoru, for as long as he’s around, you’ll fall into this twisted little routine — a repeat offence of betraying your brother. your nails come up to dig crescent moons into his milky toned and strong arms, gritting your teeth at the pleasure beginning to wash over and drown you. “s-shit baby—“ gojo mewls through a pout, finally giving up on biting and sucking at your neck to rest his sweaty forehead against your own. “just wanna be good to you…wanna be enough for you. p-promise i’ll give my everything just t��be the one takin’ care of you.”

satoru slurs his words but the very promise sounds like a dream for you. it’ll be everything you’ve ever wanted out of the man, all you’ve ever asked for in all these two years of fucking around. to be equals, to be his partner for the world to see. although, a tiny seed of doubt begins to sprout in the back of your mind — you’re not even sure if it’s true, if satoru’s just making empty promises to get you like this, to manipulate you into staying after messing everything up with your brother.

could he take care of you like suguru did? could you trust him to do that?

your jaw goes slack as gojo drags his hips back and forth, back and forth, the pretty blue veins wrapped around his cock running over your clit — stimulating you into a weakened stupor. milky droplets of pre glaze the length of your dripping cunt, satoru rubbing it in the more he grinds into you.

the dance of your bodies is toxic and never ending, the way you rock into each other in perfect harmony causing your dresser to delicately thud against your bedroom walls. “d-do you promise, ‘toru?” you gasp, biting down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood, as though to stop yourself from crying out loud from the electric current of pleasure he gives you. “y-you have to promise me.”

silvery white brows knit together in the centre of satoru’s forehead, making him look pathetic. his hand forces it’s way between both of your tight and tangled limbs to grab hold of his bright red an, bulbous cockhead and circle it against your pulsating clit — dragging it up and down until it grazes your hole.

he damn near chokes on a glob of spit when you unconsciously clench around him — a loud simper bubbling up on the edge of his pretty pink lips. you’re quick to lean forward, practically slamming a hand over satoru’s eager mouth to keep him quiet.

“p-promise me.” you repeat wetly, panting out the syllables as his dick slots perfectly against your wetness — both of you move with vigour and hushed whimpers and moans, satoru chasing after your soused sex like a hungry animal. you feel like you’re going fucking insane beneath him, watching as his tie to sanity starts to dissolve into thin air just from the way your pissy drips all over him with treacle-like juices.

no one on this earth could make satoru gojo give this up. give you up. not your parents, not his, not your brother. he’d rather die than let another person have you in the way that he does right now, where you rut your hips into his in one fluid motion. even if his heart breaks and his muscles ache — he can’t…he won’t stop giving you his all, won’t stop making you see fucking stars.

a pressure begins to build just above your pelvis — brought forth by gojo bullying your pleasure nub with his sopping dick. it’s obvious how close you’re getting, your puckered hole gushing all over him and clenching on nothing. but it’s not like the man above you is in a better state — you’ve wrecked gojo, sent the man to high heavens and brought him back down to earth all at once. you’ve shown satoru that he’s worthy of being loved, that he’s capable of doing the same. the realisation only adds to the intensity of your sinful movements underneath the watchful eye of the moon.

tears spring to his brilliant blue eyes, another clamorous sob breaking free from your hands over his mouth — making you clasp him tighter. everything is so intense and emotional, pleasure mounting like bricks for both of you. you’re shaky in one another’s hold, sticky against each other while your arousals lube everything up and make the whole ordeal wetter. it really does feel like a crescendo, the highest point of an orchestra’s song — where your bodies are the instruments played by one another.

“satoru,” you repeat his name, warning him, begging him to focus through the thick fog of love, lust and desire clouding his brain.

“i-i—“ gojo chokes down his feelings, slamming his other hand on the dresser behind you to trap you in underneath him — his hips never let up, however, roughly snapping into yours. “i promise. i promise, baby — always will, fuckin’ swear it.” he mumbles under his breath against the palm of your hand.

and that’s all either of you need to hear for the dam to break.

gojo’s rhythm falters, his hips stuttering as he succumbs to you and he hits his high. he lets out a cry of your name so genuine it pulls at your heart strings and you slip under the surface of ecstasy’s ocean — letting it fill your lungs as you cum too. you screw your eyes shut with the white light that blinds you through your orgasm — afraid of what may lie on the other side of this world-ending sensation. you don’t want the reality that awaits you. you don’t want to have to wake up from this little dream you’ve created with satoru.

speaking of, the white haired man collapses over you in a fit of shakes and shivers — ropes of his white seed coating your aching mound. there’s so much for it, all caused by and for you. he doesn’t stop rutting into you, even though it’s sensitive, but wraps his arms around your head just to comfort you through it. hugging you to him while you both come down.

he’s good to you, so good in this moment, but you have no idea if this will translate past tonight.

“can i fuck you?” he asks through ragged breathing. “just a little bit, won’t be long. just wanna make you feel good again, you’re so pretty when you’re moaning and feeling so fucking good on my cock.”

you wince with overstimulation as satoru starts to rub his shaft against you all over again, working it up to another ripe and pulsating erection just for you. earlier, you had wished the night would last a little longer, so you could love him a little harder and here satoru gojo was — making all but one of your dreams come true. “h-hurry,” you whinge into his shoulder, your teeth sinking into the milky flesh as though to keep yourself quiet. “don’t make me wait.”

“never baby, you’re too pretty for me to be patient,” in one fail swoop, satoru nudges his tip inside of you — instantly filling you to the brim with sticky, sloppy cock and drawing a needy gasp from you. “yanno, you’re so cute when you take my dick, such a beautiful baby. no one compares to you.”

you know that he might just be running his mouth to fuck you sweet again, telling you all of the things you want to hear — but you can’t help but want gojo closer and wrap your legs around his waist, using the heels of your feet to push him closer to the point where his cum-covered cockhead is brushing against your womb.

with fluttering eyelashes, your mouth falls into an ‘o’ shape and a silent mewl escapes you — it doesn’t take long for your partner to fall into the perfect pace, fuelled by his desire to make you both cum again and his need to chase the stinging, delicious pain he gets from chasing overstimulation. “d-did you get tighter baby? you’re fuckin’ choking me out here,” satoru grunts against your sweaty hairline, ramming his hips into your clenching cunt that practically squirts a crude mix of your remaining orgasms. “you gonna milk me? make me fill you up again?”

“y-yes! please satoru…don’t stop!” you whine in harmony with his moans as they rise in pitch — higher and higher until they’re whistle tone, scratching tigers marks down his muscled back. the touch drives gojo insane, activating something primal in him to the point where you once again have to cover his mouth with wet kisses. if he didn’t love you, then the simple gesture wouldn’t cause him lose his tether to the real world fucking you like this.

if it was only a touch, why did it ruin him?

juices and thick waves of cum that had once coated your throbbing cunt now slosh over your dresser that dully thuds against your bedroom wall — over and over again the faster gojo’s hips pound into yours. the sound of skin on skin overwhelms all of your senses, you’re stimulated beyond belief and you’re crying from multiple places…it’s almost too much for your poor ravaged body to handle.

“i’ll n-never stop…fuuuck baby, as long as i’ve got you. ‘m never stoppin’…never stoppin’… n-never—“ your man chants, crying into your mouth and the hot lustful buzzing hair between you when grab his ass so that he can fuck you deeper. the slit at his cockhead is overloaded with viscous precum, smearing it along your inner and gushing ribbed walls — claiming your insides for the second time that night.

your hips run from the pleasure that you crave and that satoru gives to you — cross eyed and panting from above you like a wet dog. there’s no need for him to run from you though, you won’t let him, not when he needs to be loved by you. someone who cares for satoru gojo despite all of his mistakes.

a creamy ring begins to form at the base of satoru’s swelling cock, all white and frothy from where he’s been churning your guts up lovingly — pounding his earlier orgasm inside of you as if to make it stick. your clit grinds against his smooth pelvis, dragging you by the ankle to another world-altering orgasm and his balls slap wetly against the curve of your fleshy ass.

satoru adjusts your body against the dresser so that the curve of your spine rests on the table and he’s able to hike your legs over his shoulders so he can bully that one special spot only he can reach. your knees meet your chest, breasts bouncing beneath them from the force of the white haired man’s chest. “g-god, you’re…you’re fucking me too good,” you gargle, hands in his sweaty mass of silver hair as you tug gojo implausibly closer. “i wanna cum…are you there? c-can i cum, ‘toru?”

pressing his forehead to yours, satoru nods feverishly. “right behind you, baby. where do you want it?” there’s a fluid roll to your man’s hips, his cock dipping in and out of your fluttering entrance so fast and so good that you’re sure you’re about to lose consciousness. “how about inside? how ‘bout you lemme leave somethin’ with you?” clear, thick strings tie your clenching pussy to satoru’s cum glazed shaft — glistening under the night’s natural light. you can’t wait for there to be more of him inside you. “touch your clit for me baby, make yourself cum on my dick.”

you do as your told, fumbling between your salt-licked entangled limbs for the little nub between your swollen folds. immediately pressing down on it, you find yourself tightening around gojo while he grinds harshly against your g-spot and moans breathily against your Cupid’s bow since your foreheads are still pressed together.

“s-sa…satoru! ‘m…i’m cumming!” one look at him, completely destroyed by you, is all it takes to send you flying to cloud nine — your stomach lurches and your eyes roll back into the dark depths of your skull as you cum one more time for your lover. clear streams of your essence squirt steadily from your cunt, bathing satoru in your orgasm while you succumb to overstimulation.

his tummy and thighs are doused in your precious liquid as you quietly scream his name — all of these senses serve to trigger his own orgasm. “c’mon, that’s it little one. give it to me, i gotcha. want it all over me,” gojo smirks against your lips, peppering them with soft kisses while he wrecks and bullies your insides in an attempt to cum himself. “oooh, fuck. i love you, i love you, i love you.”

just like he promised, satoru gives you another hot load — failing to stop fucking you through either of your highs. he loses control of his hips, allowing them to languidly and uncoordinatedly rut into you — pushing his seed further up your silken walls until your cunt is covered in a layer of white. there’s so much of it that white drips his balls and inner thighs, as well as down to your puckered asshole. maybe it’s a little crude if him, but satoru’s lengthy fingers gather what you leak and smears it against your lips — kissing you there, sucking your mixed flavours from your eager mouth.

it’s only while you calm down from your orgasms that things start to change…drastically.

even as satoru kisses your hairline and whispers praises against it, rocking you back and forth as you twitch with the aftershocks of your orgasm — the fear comes rushing back.

the post-orgasmic clarity hits.

the tears start flowing once more and you realise that you’re so, so tired of it all.

yellow and artificial light from down the hall seeps through the gap underneath your door, accompanied by footsteps. you’ve no doubt that someone in your home is awake, maybe your mum going for her late night glass of water, your dad for the loo or maybe even suguru. for his flight. the light is glaring and illuminates your room — highlighting the night’s mistake. satoru.

when the footsteps recede and the light dims down, you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding — your silent tears blooming into quiet hiccups that you have no control over. “h-hey,” he cups your face, wiping at your eyes just like your brother had done before shutting you out. “hey pretty girl, what’s the matter? did i hurt you? was that too much—?”

slicing through gojo’s words, you find the strength to speak even if it hurts to reveal the truth. it’s like ripping off a bandaid, “how do i know that you really mean all this? that you’re going to keep your promise, ‘toru?”

“w-what?”

“i can’t do this!” you snap as loudly as your voice will allow you to. you don’t want to wake anyone else up nor get caught by your brother with your pants down for the man who betrayed his trust. not to mention, nearly getting him to hate you. “you promised to take care of me. just like suguru would, while we were basically having sex — how am i supposed to trust that?” it sounds crazy coming from your mouth, doubting satoru even after the intimate moments that you’ve just shared. however, you’ve been around this block with him too many times, you know the signs off by heart, you’ve memorised the cracks in his resolve as if they’re those in the pavement. the ones people tell you not to step on to avoid bad luck.

you feel unlucky, you feel played and naive. you saw all the warnings and wilfully ignored them because you liked the way satoru loved before he knew the weight of the word. “how am i supposed to trust you?” you add, voice wavering.

satoru can’t seem to find an excuse — maybe because his brain is too fucked out or maybe because he’s shocked that you’re not just blindly trusting him anymore. he always thought things would be easy with you, that this nightmare would be over quick… and you’d take him back just like that. perhaps the dinner was your wake up call. “i don’t… i don’t know, i just…” he selfishly expects you to believe him. “you know me. you love me and i love you, can’t that be enough?”

“you’ve never given me enough, satoru! it’s only now that you’re realising you want me as more than just your… your plaything! when i’m all you have left and suguru is gone with the wind!” you want to push him away but satoru is rooted in front of you, his presence sturdy unlike before. “you say that you love me, and i think i believe it…but it’s so hard to trust you. to not think that this is just an impulse.”

“i’d wanna be with you even if suguru stayed, i always do. it kills me to be away from you!” satoru fires back, scrambling for something…anything that’ll make you see just how badly he means it when he says he loves you and wants you. that it’s not because he’s afraid of being alone. “i fucked this up, with you and with suguru. but i’ve known for a long time that i’ve wanted you, needed you to be mine and more than just a fling!”

you look away, face twisting with pain. “i…i don’t believe that.”

“then let me prove it,” the words rush right out of gojo’s mouth, faster than his brain can catch up — his anxiety spiking at the thought of you abandoning what you have together. abandoning him. “move in with me, come with me. i’ll get us a place in the city where your new job is, i’ll get my dad to transfer me to a closer branch of Gojo Corp… just let me show you how much i want to make this work — even if it means losing suguru.”

satoru grabs your chin and tilts your gaze back over to him — but you can’t even look him in the eye.

instead, your face burns, hot as your vision swims with another wave of tears. “i need your honesty, satoru. no more empty promises, no more false hopes.” he can see it in you now, how exhausted you are with the game of cat and mouse you’ve been playing all this time. you just want to be loved without constraint and satoru comes with so much baggage he’ll only weigh you down when you try to fly from the nest. it wouldn’t be fair. “i need you to choose. would you really give it all up for me? your reputation, your lifestyle, your best friend?”

satoru’s wants to be selfish, desperately so. it’s all he’s ever known. taking and taking until his partner at the time is nothing but a husk of the person they once were. the difference this time is that he actually loves you, cares for you and would kill for you. he’s already taken so much from your youthful bright eyes.

he would hate to take your spark too.

so satoru gojo decides to weigh up his options.

either lose it all and keep you as his or lose you while the wounds he’s inflicted on everyone else heal.

if you love someone, then let them go. if they come back to you, they’re yours.

“then… then i’m sorry. for not being more honest. you’re right in every sense of the word…i can’t give this up,” gojo says simply, watching the light and hope in your eyes die out. “i think it’s best if we end it here and i let you go.”

so reddit, AITA?

UPDATE - AITA (27M) FOR FUCKING MY BEST FRIEND'S (26M) LITTLE SISTER (22F)? hey reddit. long time no see, i got a lot of attention on this post and undoubtedly you all decided that i was the asshole. i’ve done some work on myself and now i see that i was 100% in the wrong. i’ll spare you the boring details, because i know that’s not what you’re here for. i didn't want to leave anyone hanging, so here’s a quick update on where the three of us are at, one year later. i’ll start by saying — we broke up. i made the call so now she’s seeing someone else, and it’s serious.

in another lifetime, satoru would have chosen to be with you.

he’s certain that in another wonderfully weird and wacky universe — nothing would have stopped you from being that happy couple you wanted to be so badly. suguru might have even accepted your relationship, or maybe he would have died and his final wish would have been for the white haired man to make you happy.

that is something satoru will never know. the idea comforts him whenever he’s left alone with his thoughts for a little too long.

however, this isn’t another lifetime. this isn’t a different universe. this is the reality where satoru gojo had broken up with you right after your graduation.

he did it so that he wouldn’t come off as selfish — so that you had a chance to fix things with his ex best friend (and your brother) before it was too late. it was the least he could do after taking advantage of you, corrupting you against all of suguru’s wishes — but that didn’t make gojo any better of a man nor a knight in shining armour. he was still a shifty guy.

still selfish, though, the decision was made with satoru still in mind.

the night he’d broken up with you obviously ended in tears. to you, it was the end of your life — losing your first love, and you couldn’t even be blamed. you were only twenty two, your reaction was justified. suguru had been right in that sense, you were innocent and your heart needed to be protected, satoru had definitely taken advantage of that.

you were kind enough to let your then ex stay the night — as long as he was back in the hospital and gone by the morning. satoru never knew what transpired the next day, as you were quick to block him on everything, and you had every right.

he made his choice and his bed, now he had to lie in it too.

geto did leave, gojo knows that much, having seen his best friend take up work at a law firm in the US. geto had since been low contact with him. as did the rest of your family. again, it was for the best — even if it did hurt and cause gojo to bury himself within his father’s company, working himself to the bone every day just as a distraction.

through the grapevine of CEOs and higher ups, satoru learns that you’ve followed in your brother’s footsteps and made your way over to the land of the free. the magazine you worked for, Heavenly Pact, was getting ready to start an american edition and word had travelled that you were going to be the head of their new office on that side of the pond. gojo was proud, excited for you — you were excelling in your career all on your own, he was glad that he hadn’t ruined that for you too.

being in the states from time to time, satoru often wondered if there would ever be a time where he ran into you. would you be happy to see him? would you even want to talk? what would he even say?

‘i’m sorry for fucking you for fun and fumbling the bag — almost destroying your relationship with your brother when i caught feelings’ wouldn’t exactly fly well with you, he was sure.

it didn’t end up mattering anyways, because when gojo does eventually bump into you during business hours — he almost doesn’t recognise you. he’s in New York for some big, fancy corporate meeting about mergers and acquisitions, whatever his father had put into the file gojo was skim reading on his phone at the last minute, right before making his way up to the conference room.

the elevator taking him there stood about six floors shy of satoru’s destination and a young woman enters like a hurricane — bringing with her a whirlwind of paperwork and notebooks. “i-i’m sorry.” the young woman stutters from behind her pile of belongings, out of breath from seemingly running for the elevator. “could you press the button for my floor? i would do it myself, but…”

there’s a strain in her voice that makes gojo chuckle to himself, reaching past her so that his fingertips brush over the cool and luminous buttons for each floor. “are you going up?”

“down actually… you?”

“up ‘m afraid, but headed to the top floor. so this elevator’s probably going to head straight down to wherever you need to be afterwards.” he offers up apologetically. he swears the tonation to her voice sounds familiar, it’s soft and sugarcoated notes stirring up a warm feeling in gojo’s tummy.

“that’s fine by me, i’m running ahead of schedule anyway. floor eleven for me, please.”

gojo does as he’s told, pressing the button for the eleventh floor — he has to reach past the woman in order to do so. his vigilant blue eyes catch a glimpse of the fashion photography stacked in her arms amongst sketches and other designs while the scent of her perfume strikes a dizzying recognition within the white haired man. undertones of vanilla with subtle floral scents make gojo’s stomach turn and light bulb memories of those precious two years flash behind tired cerulean eyes.

he knows you, he thinks, all too well.

he says your name under his breath as though he’s keeping a secret and you freeze — no longer sorting through the papers flying about the place. when you look up and your eyes meet, you feel like the world has stopped spinning and that it’s just the two of you, frozen in time.

“satoru,” you breathe and quite plainly, as if you’re holding back any emotion you feel towards your ex…but then you smile, and it’s so vibrant satoru feels like he might go blind. not a trace of resentment in those big, beautiful brown eyes. “it’s been a while.”

you’ve changed a lot in only a year. while your face still holds its youthful innocence, except your eyes reflect growth and maturity — perhaps a little bit of exhaustion from how hard you’ve been working on your new job. you’re still as beautiful as the day gojo left you, but perhaps even more so. your light glows instead of dulls, most likely because you’re free. he’s no longer holding you back with a jail sentence of his selfishness. you’ve been able to live your life properly, just as someone your age should.

it would be wrong for him to interfere with your newfound happiness.

turning on his heel, satoru faces forward and avoids your gaze — continually repeating the mantra ‘she’d be better off without you.’ to stop himself from reaching out and touching you like he so desperately wants to. he misses you, that much is a fact, but that doesn’t mean he no longer craves to be with you, breathe you in, be by our side.

satoru had let you go three-hundred and sixty-five days ago with the hopes of you coming back to him.

maybe this was it.

you don’t take kindly to being ignored, leaning forward with your papers and files tucked securely against your chest in order to garner his attention. satoru adjusts his dress shirt, plays with his cuffs, inspects his surroundings — anything to avoid you and make a fool out of himself. or worse, mess everything up for you. his therapist had called his previous and past behaviours a self-destructive tornado — destroying everything in its path without regard.

he couldn’t go back to that.

“gojo, don’t pretend like i don’t exist,” you pout in annoyance — reminding your ex all too much of the times you spent together at your dorms. “i see you and you see me. we’re adults, surely you can handle a conversation.” it’s your teasing tone that finally makes gojo cave, sparing you a starry, blue eyed glance.

he can’t help the cocky chuckle that escapes him, almost slipping back into his old and familiar ways with you. “you wanna talk to me that bad, huh? did you miss me or somethin’?” it’s a condescending and patronising thing to say — almost as if he’s treating you like a child.

that makes you stand up right, heat rising to your cheeks at the familiar feeling — you’re not mad though. “i see you’re still as full of yourself as ever.”

it’s satoru’s turn to pout this time, shifting his focus to a corner of the rising elevator . “h-hey! i’m working on it!” you’ve never seen him so nervous, not in your entire life of knowing him…but you suppose a lot can change in a year. you’re sure he’s different, just like you are. “yanno…therapy ‘n stuff. it helps. helped.”

“oh yeah?” you hum curiously, knowing that he’s making reference to your break up, losing suguru. you don’t dare to press further, though. “me too.” the pair of you fall silent for a moment, sitting with the unaddressed awkwardness, the tension and unresolved feelings. “how…how are you? how’s things?”

he’s surprised that you’ve even asked, let alone want to talk to him after everything he’d put you through. it’s weird but also clear that you’d been working on healing too — what’s a conversation between two adults then? “good,” satoru starts, though he’s being far from honest. he misses you. “i’ve been working to finally take over dad’s company. old man’s retiring, so i thought i’d play my part and be responsible for once.”

you grin warmly at the news. “it sounds like you’re doing well, toru.” he nearly jumps at the familiar nickname, choosing not to respond. “not that you asked, but i’m kind of in the same boat? they’re putting me at a deputy manager’s position for my magazine’s new branch. i’m excited.”

“i’ve heard,” the words rush from satoru’s mouth before he can stop them, feeling sheepish as you raise a brow at him. “not that i’ve been stalking you or anything! you hear things when you’re at the top!”

“yeah, sure.” you tease, enjoying watching gojo squirm.

a question he’s not sure he’s allowed to ask sits on the tip of his tongue and satoru pushes it around in his mouth hesitantly. “how…how’s suguru?”

you perk up, tentatively choosing what to say next. “o-oh…he’s good? we’re…our relationship is better now. it took a lot of work, but he’s healthy and happy. i… i think he misses you sometimes but, he’s still not ready yet.”

gojo nods once and chooses not to press about his ex best friend further. “and how are you?”

“m-me? i thought we’d just went over that—“

your ex turns to face you fully, a pleading look on his face that shocks you out of your casual stance. you can still see how much he adores you and cares for you, as if it never left his nature to want the best for you.

“are you happy?”

he asks the loaded question like it’s easy to answer and you do have to think about it. are you happy? you’ve been putting in the work to feel like that again, after breaking it off with satoru you were low. almost rock bottom. it was your first ever break up and it hit hard — not to mention you didn’t have your older brother to fall back on at the time. you knew it was time to stop depending on others, it was time to grow your own spine. you took to therapy, you learned your triggers and icks and red flags. it took time and patience with yourself, but here you were, a year later and a little happier than when you saw satoru last.

“yeah,” you confirm with a shy nod, taking interest in your feet while you hide your smile. “i’m happy. with myself, my work and my partner—“

partner?

“—you’re dating someone?” gojo quips as the elevator dings for the floor just before his.

“ahh yes! it’s still new but… he makes me happy. yuuta okkotsu, you might have seen him around? i hear his family’s company and yours have done some work together.” you seem bashful as you talk about yuuta, someone you met through work, someone your age. a sense of pride in being together taking over you. you show him off and boast about him in a way that you wished gojo would have done for you.

the revelation nearly kills satoru — it’s like a bullet to the chest or a knife to his heart. envy bleeds from the open wound, pours down his front and taints his blood stream. it fucking hurts to know that you’ve moved on to someone who treats you better than he ever could…but you deserve it. you were so good to him and to the world that it would seem like a crime for you to end up with someone who didn’t love and appreciate you in the ways that they should.

that doesn’t make him feel any better though, it makes him feel as though he might die.

when the elevator reaches the gojo’s floor — he falters in stepping out without saying goodbye or replying to you. he would be doing it to hurt you, and to be spiteful or petty. just like back then.

there’s still so much that he wants to say to you — so many things he wants to fix but he can’t shake the feeling that this was it. this was closure for the both of you.

as he exits, he whirls around with enough time to spare before the doors close on you, and this chapter of both of your lives — just catching your bewildered expression. “thank you, for everything,” gojo calls to you fondly, watching your previous expressions morph into something soft and appreciative. “i…i really did love you, and if i could go back and do those two years over again. i’d be better, for you. i’d love you, properly.”

the doors to the elevator slowly begin to close and satoru steps forward at the same time as you — it feels like you’re sharing one last goodbye.

“i know,” you say without a trace of malice, a wistfulness in your voice. “i’m thankful to have been with you, because you taught me so much in such little time. i’d do it again, if we were better.”

a sad smile tugs at the corner’s of gojo’s pink lips. “in another life?”

“in another life.” you confirm, mirroring his smile as the elevator finally seals itself shut — leaving him with his reflection on it’s cool, metal doors.

it’s a shame that you only have one life, and that there aren’t any do overs. that way, everyone could live a life without regret — because gojo has his regrets, where he wishes that he loved you better, harder, more…so that you’d come back to him and you would be his.

always.

so redditors and other losers lurking on this thread. that’s my update. i already know a lot of you are going to say that i deserve this — and i do. but i’m happy for her, for both of them and i wish them both all the best. whaddya say, am i still the asshole?

END.

9K notes · View notes

rinhaler · 1 year ago

Text

𝐀𝐌 𝐈 (𝟐𝟓𝐅) 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 (𝟐𝟖𝐌)

i know it sounds bad but we got high and he's hot!!

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ ⁭plug!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

Genre: porn with a plot Notes: thank u 2 @chososdoll for beta reading for me!! this is part of @ohkento's reddit-inspired collab! (ps this isnt a true form fic i just think he looks SEXY IN THAT PIC HNNNNGN) Warnings: 18+, dubcon, mean dom!sukuna, sub!reader, cheating, hate sex ♡, drug taking, weed smoking, blowbacks/shotgunning, heavy degradation, slight praise, fingering ♡, vaginal sex, sixty-nineing ♡, face sitting, squirting ♡, pussy spanking, noncon filming, coercion, manipulation, daddy!kink, creampie, cervix fucking. Words: 10.6k

“I’ve heard about you.” Yuuji starts, turning his head from looking up at the stars to facing you. Your mind feels cloudy, but you return his stare. He thinks your pearly smile belongs in the sky; a permanent constellation to remind him of this moment. “How come this is my first time meeting you?”

You sigh, reaching over as he hands a lit spliff to you. The bonfire rages in front of you both, the smoke burning your eyes until they fill with water.

At least you have the perfect cover if you burst into tears.

“Things got… hard.” you tell him, not really wanting to elaborate. But golden-brown puppy dog eyes will you to continue. It’s stupid, really, how cliché people become when they smoke. You’re no exception. The intoxication and the setting make you feel as though you’re in an indie movie, longing to share your scars and become closer to the one attractive boy giving you his attention. “My ex, he cheated on me. I was with him for two years so it hurt.” you confess, taking a thick drag before passing it back to him, he tuts as he takes it from you.

“I’m really sorry,” he expresses, holding eye contact while he smokes. The feeling rushes straight to his head and through his blood. He laughs a little as he gets comfortable in his seat. “Sorry… I’m not laughing at you.” he clarifies, laughing again.

You start to laugh too, leaning over to grab the spliff from his hand before he sets the back garden on fire with it. Both of your attention is pulled from each other as you hear a scream from inside. The party is still going on indoors, and the scream soon turns into a girly laugh.

No doubt one of your friends flirting with one of the other guys.

“It’s okay.” you assure him, getting just as comfortable in your own seat as you smoke the remainder of the joint. You wrap yourself in the blanket you brought outside and turn your body slightly to face him. “It was with my best friend, too.” you continue, your deepest wound not seeming so scarring as you allow the high to expose your secrets on your behalf.

“Shit.” he shakes his head.

“I’ve been doing therapy and stuff so I’m better. I just wasn’t in the mood to see people…” you explain, jolting upright a little as you realise you’re oversharing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get so deep and make you feel uncomfortable.” you tell him.

“I’m fine, I’m the one who asked.” he chuckles, getting comfier under his own blanket as he turns to look at you.

His warm eyes make you feel relaxed, safe. And you hate it. You hate how much of a cliché you really are becoming and you hate that you can’t help it. This moment feels so much bigger than anything, but deep down, you’re paranoid, because you’re sure it’s the drugs talking.

You’ve heard about Yuuji, too.

You’ve heard about how sweet he is and how he doesn’t have a bad bone in his body. He has a sports scholarship of some kind, and after a quick stalk of his socials you noted how reflected this is in the form of his chiseled body. Could he really be so nice? He seems, perfect.

And apparently he, gives the best head.

“I have a secret.” he tells you, quietly. His voice almost drowned out by the crackling bonfire beside you. You aren’t sure what makes you heat up so quickly. The implication of his words or the way he said them. A lustful look in his eyes as the fire dances wildly beside you both.

“Yeah?” you tell him, cheeks fill with warmth as you try to ignore how fucking hot it is in pursuit of looking cool. And that makes you giggle, for some reason. Yuuji isn’t the one making you flush with heat, it’s the fire, idiot. “T-Tell me.” you encourage him, throwing off your blanket and fanning yourself dramatically.

So much for looking cool.

He grins, almost coyly, as he leans across the arm of his chair. And for some reason, you instinctively mirror him. Is it so secret that you need to be close? He might whisper it to you.

He tilts his head, smirking. His eyes flit from your eyes to your lips a few times. Enough times that you make a note of it. And your heart is fucking racing with each flicker of his gaze. You think you know what’s coming. But you stay still, watching him, waiting for him to make the first move.

“… I really wanna kiss you.” he admits. And if you weren’t hot before, you certainly are now. You try, and likely fail, to keep it cool. A wide grin spreads across your face and you burst into giggles. But your eyes meet his again, and you see a smile just as wide as yours on his face as he observes you.

“Yeah?” you ask, dumbly.

“Yeah.” he nods.

You gulp, shallowly, leaning in closer to him and letting your eyes fall closed. He smirks, again, leaning in until your lips meet. It’s sweet and passionate, until he pulls away. It surprises you a little. Worries you, even. Are you a bad kisser? Maybe you are when you’re high. But worry turns to astonishment as he pulls your chair closer to until the arms of both of your seats touch. He smirks, again, wrapping his arm around your neck as he leans in to kiss you.

And now, you really do hate yourself.

You moan into it.

You aren’t even sure where it came from. Was that really you? He grins, nonetheless, a feeling of pride swelling in his chest as his tongue meets yours in a more than welcome manner. You pull away, a string of spit connecting you both. A kiss infused daze covers your features as you look at him under heavy eyelids, and you pant, deeply.

“I have another secret.” he whispers, stealing another sweet kiss from your raw lips. Gloss smeared over your lip line and a dewiness transferred to his.

“Is it as good as the first?” you tease, giggling as his hand cups your face. You mewl, melting into his touch as his thumb strokes your cheek delicately. Your eyes widen. A look of curiosity replaces the majority of the lust, though you both know it’s still lurking.

“Well,” he starts, his eyes begin to wander. You observe him as his vision roams from the sky to the flames beside you. He takes his time, the anticipation of his words runs rampant through your bloodstream. Until, finally, he blesses you with his gaze once more. “I want to stay with you until the sun comes up. I want you to sit on my lap, with my cock inside you, under our blankets. All night.”

You’d hoped once he told you that your anxiety would have diminished. Though you’re sure with the way his eyes are fixated on your lips, your heart is surely surveying an escape route from your slack-jawed mouth as it pumps hard and violently through you. He doesn’t seem worried that you haven’t said a word, and his gaze doesn’t falter.

“Okay.” you nod.

It excites you. You haven’t been with anyone since your ex. And it might be a bad idea, but it doesn’t stop you. It’s not like you’re rushing into being with someone. It’s been months since things ended with your cheating ex-boyfriend. You stand up, bringing your blanket as you stand over Yuuji, and he holds your hips gently.

He feels under your skirt, smiling when he feels how soaked your panties are but he doesn’t comment. He moves them into the crease of your thigh and encourages you to straddle him.

You do.

Hovering slightly as he pulls down his joggers and his semi springs free. It’s big and pretty, like him. You kiss him as he jerks himself until he’s aching. He’s desperate to bury it inside of your gummy walls, his cock catches against your eager hole with every purposeful stroke.

He throws his head back as you sink down on him, and your hips stutter slightly from the stretch. You’re trying to focus on concealing your bodies with the fuzzy blanket wrapped around you, but your lips fly to his in a bid to silence yourself as he sheaths himself fully.

“Fuck, you’re tight… so wet, too.” he mumbles, hips rolling ever so slightly as he enjoys the feeling of being inside of you raw.

You jolt, panicked, as you hear a knock from the kitchen window. Both of your attention is stolen to see the origin, and you spot a group of partygoers hollering from inside. Two of his friends and one of yours, they all cheer and whoop as they can only assume what’s going on under the blanket.

Yuuji smiles, shaking his head before turning back to capture your lips in another soft kiss. You’re too distracted to notice him flip them off until they disappear.

“Do I remember the night the most perfect woman in the world let me hit her raw after a few minutes of talking under the stars? Yes, baby, I remember the best night of my life, why?” Yuuji asks after you recall that first night you met. “Very cool of you, by the way. I didn’t think you were gonna say yes.”

You giggle, punching his arm softly as you curl into his side in bed. And you sigh, dreamily, thinking about it again. It’s been over a year since that night and you feel just as hazy around him as you did then. You were worried about him thinking of you as a one night stand. Worried that you’d just given in to this stranger for no real reason only to get your feelings hurt again.

But as the sun began to rise and wake you both up in that horrendously uncomfortable chair, he kissed your forehead and held you tightly against his chest. He stroked your hair until you managed to blink the blurriness from your eyes and see his in a new light. The crackle of the orange and white flames had gone from them. Instead, they were honeyed and soft. The kindest eyes you’d ever seen.

“The McDonald’s breakfast in the carpark was better than the sex in the garden, by the way.” you tease him, earning a tickle attack into your sides.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s why you were begging me to fuck you in the backseat afterwards.” he laughs, stopping his assault as you begin to scream. You cuddle into him again, his fingers tracing over the flesh of your upper arm. “It was good though, really good. Should we order hash browns?”

“Yes.” you nod, excitedly.

He sits up and reaches over to his bedside cabinet to grab his phone. He sighs as he checks his notifications. You sigh, too, watching him as he gets out of your warm bed in search of his clothes.

So much for hash browns.

“Yuuji…” you start.

“Don’t start, please, I don’t wanna leave in a bad mood.” he tells you. He smirks when he realises you’re checking out his abs, only focusing on him again as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. “I don’t want to rush moving in just because you feel sorry for me.”

“I’m not rushing you, and I don’t feel sorry for you!” you tell him, shuffling onto your knees and crawling across the bed until you’re kneeling beside the edge of the mattress. “I hate your brother. He’s a creep and he treats you like shit. I have plenty of room here… you can move in here and have your own space and—”

“I know he’s a dick.” he agrees, pulling on his socks and slipping his feet into his sneakers. “But he’s my only family. I’m not just gonna ditch him. Why don’t you move in with me?” he wonders.

“Um… I live in a townhouse instead of an apartment and it’s better, it’s in a better neighbourhood and your brother isn’t here.” you smile, smugly, and it earns a chuckle from him.

“Okay, you’re right about that. Speaking of which though I can’t stay tonight but you can come over if you want. I’ll order those hash browns for you tomorrow when I’m on my to the gym. I’m booked with PT sessions my entire shift.”

“I’m not waking up at 6am to eat hash browns alone, Yuuji.” you roll your eyes.

“You can text me when you wake up and I’ll order them for you. Pleeeeease?” he flutters his eyelashes dramatically before kissing your forehead. “Good girl.”

“I didn’t say yes?” you respond, flabbergasted. “Is Sukuna gonna be there?”

“Well, yeah. He lives there.” Yuuji tells you, earning an eye roll from you. He is in complete agreement on how much his older brother sucks. He understands why you hate him. He’s irritating, he’s crass and seems to have no concept of personal space or privacy. Yuuji doesn’t care for his brother in the least, and he has no doubt the feeling is mutual. There is love there, of course, but only out of necessity. “You don’t seem to mind him when the family discount applies for weed, though. Interesting.” he says with faux suspicion.

“Okay, that is literally the only thing he’s good for.” you remind him. He laughs, agreeing.

He kisses your lips chastely, hurrying to grab his backpack to hurry home to his expectant brother. The only two reasons he ever leaves you in haste are for work, or for Sukuna. Today was meant to be a day you could spend together since you both have the day off.

But of course, Sukuna ruins everything.

YUUJI: FORGOT TO ASK YUUJI: ARE WE SMOKING TONIGHT? YOU: DUH! YUUJI: BETTER BE NICE TO SUKUNA FOR THAT FAMILY DISCOUNT THEN 😉

You stand outside of your boyfriends apartment complex, shivering, waiting for somebody to answer the door. He ordered a taxi for you since he knows you always worry about your car getting broken into when you visit, his own car suffering numerous break-ins in the span of your relationship.

And really, you don’t want somebody to answer the door. You want it to be Yuuji, specifically, the thought of Sukuna answering the door and tormenting you until you get to the safety of Yuuji’s room is entirely too much to handle. Your nerves are already shredded by being here, the thought of having a battle of words with Sukuna will surely tip you over the edge.

“Oh, hey, I didn’t think you’d get here so quickly.” you hear a voice from behind you. You turn around to see Yuuji. Fuck. You see the hallway light flicker on from under the crack of the front door to his apartment and you realise too late that a demon has been summoned. “I went and got cookie ingredients, I thought we could bake some before we smoke later.”

“Sounds fun.” you smile, his sweet idea assuages the tension you feel, albeit briefly, before his elder brother swings open the front door. Yuuji pulls his lips into a thin line when you can barely contain the scoff that scratches through your throat. Sukuna rolls his eyes, moving aside to let you both in. He peaks inside the bag Yuuji is holding before his little brother smacks his hand away. “Do not touch or I will kill you.” Yuuji warns him, carrying the ingredients to the kitchen before putting them away.

You decide to help, hoping it will go quicker if you pitch in and you can escape his brother’s intimidating stare faster. Sukuna approaches, leaning over a counter as he watches you both.

“Nice of you to grace us with your presence, princess. It’s been a while.” Sukuna taunts, but you ignore him. He clacks his fingernails against the countertop, and the sound is jarring. He smirks when you shoot him a pointedly aggravated stare, giving him reason to do it more. “What do we owe the pleasure?”

You sigh, nostrils flaring as you put two bars of chocolate in the fridge.

“We’re just hanging out, gonna bake these cookies and smoke.” Yuuji answers for you. So you smile, falsely, and rest your back against the wall once you’re done. “Oh, speaking of which… family discount?”

“I’m busy now.” Sukuna looks at you and then back at his brother. “Ask me later.” he expresses, red eyes fixed on you for a moment before he turns to leave.

It’s like you can finally breathe again when you hear him go to his room and close the door. You kick yourself away from the wall and into Yuuji’s open arms. He smooths his heavy hand over your hair, hoping you’ll relax a little. He spends some time figuring out what you can do to pass some time, knowing you’ll need a distraction.

“Let’s just bake the cookies.” you speak, words muffled as you talk into his shirt. You pull away as he looks down at you so that you can speak to him clearly. “I just wanna stay in your room all night…”

“Sure, baby, whatever you want.” he nods. “Okay, lets get all of the ingredients out again.”

He takes his time trying to remember where everything is. You, on the other hand, are rushing to gather them all. Sukuna has a way of making your anxiety spike. He’s too… commandeering. He has a way of forcing everyone’s attention to remain solely on him whether you try to ignore him or not.

You’re intimidated by him, he’s more muscular than your boyfriend and he’s a drug dealer for fuck sake.

It brings shame to you when Yuuji has to snap his fingers to get you out of your trance as you think about his brother. You start cutting up the chocolate bars while he puts ingredients in the stand mixer.

And your mind wanders, again. It’s not like you’re scared of Sukuna. Well, you are, terrified would be more apt. But you know he wouldn’t do anything to you. He’d risk losing Yuuji. And as much as they don’t really get along, they’re extremely co-dependent. Especially Sukuna. He likes the presence of his little sibling and has a slight superiority complex due to being older.

The reality is, you think Sukuna would be lost without Yuuji. Lonely, even. And having Yuuji’s steady income is a nice sense of security for him. He makes plenty of money being a dealer, of course, but he knows it’s a fools game. It’s not reliable and it’s risky.

You put the chocolate chunks into the mixer and watch him as he masterfully fills the ingredients into the bowl. Your thoughts calm for a moment as you can do nought but watch the whisk whir.

“You know I wanna move in with you eventually, right?” Yuuji tells you, and it fully breaks you from your train of thought. You look at him, staying silent so that he can feel free to continue speaking. He leans against the counter as the ingredients continue to mix. “I wanna live with you… marry you… all that.”

His talk of marriage makes your cheeks fill with heat, though you’ve gotten better at playing things cool since your first encounter. You just smile, and nod, as you drink in the delicious information.

“I’m just worried about him.” he tilts his head, indicating he is referring to his elder brother. You nod in understanding, though you don’t have much sympathy for your future brother-in-law. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. “We aren’t like you, we don’t have a big family. It’s just us.”

“Well my family isn’t that—” you stop yourself, looking into Yuuji’s disappointed eyes. It’s foolish to pretend you aren’t blessed with an adoring family. You’re your parents only child, though. You can’t imagine what it’s like to have a sibling. And, of course, you’re spoilt rotten. The reality is that if you didn’t come from privilege, you and Yuuji could have been neighbours. But your parents weren’t about to let you live in a dangerous neighbourhood when they can easily afford to subsidise you. “It must be tough, baby. I know you feel guilty for wanting to leave him.” you rub your hand up and down his arm as a show of comfort.

“Yeah…”

“But…” you start, his eyes locking with yours again. “He’s a grown man, Yuuji. You’ve lived the same life and look at you now… You’re nothing like him.”

You’re right. He knows you are, that’s why you’re standing in silence until the timer goes off and he checks the ingredient bowl. It’s sticky. He scoops a little on his finger and dots it on your nose. The kitchen fills with laughter as you try to retaliate. He’s too fast for you, though.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry…” he tells you as the situation calms. He licks the chocolatey dough from your nose and presses a gentle kiss onto the tip. And dammit you can’t help but smile.

You begin rolling the dough into balls on a tray. The silence has dissipated, but your thoughts still run rampant. Should Sukuna really be Yuuji’s responsibility? No, of course not. But Yuuji won’t see it that way. He’s sensitive and caring. God, he cares so much.

It makes you dizzy as you watch him smile and walk with the cookies to the oven. They smell so great already, you could have eaten them raw. But they’ll be even better when they’re baked to perfection.

You’ve made these cookies so many times now. The pair of you have process committed to memory. They’re so good. Especially with a tall glass of milk. You always tease Yuuji when you do this since he’s always left with a milk moustache after devouring his plate of cookies.

The sound of the timer rings through the kitchen again. You clap excitedly as Yuuji covers his hands with some oven mitts. The chocolatey smell hits you both like a train, the pair of you moaning involuntarily as you inhale it. He brings them over to the countertop, setting them down to cool.

Sukuna smells it, too. He loves it when you bake cookies because he knows neither of you will deny him one. He’s been smoking and playing video games since he retreated to his room. He’s thoroughly stoned and would very much enjoy a sweet treat right about now. He pauses his game, and the sound of his door opening and closing brings back all of the tension to your body.

“Here.” Sukuna speaks as he enters the kitchen. He tosses a baggie onto the counter and looks at his brother expectantly. Yuuji nods, reaching into his pocket for his wallet so he can pay him. Sukuna’s eyes are fixed on you in the meantime. And as you go to grab the weed, he places his hand over it and pulls it back towards himself.

“Thanks, man.” Yuuji smiles, handing the cash to his brother who pockets it without even checking it’s right. Though Sukuna’s stare doesn’t waver, you find yourself looking down at his hand covering the weed and then turning away completely. He internally beams with pride at that, thrilled to know it’s still so easy to intimidate you. But on the outside it’s simply portrayed as a slight curve of the corner of his mouth. “Is something wrong?” Yuuji wonders.

“Yeah, actually,” Sukuna speaks, finding your eyes again before he looks into Yuuji’s. “I want a cookie, call it family tax.”

“Take two.” you tell him, sternly, a new ferocity in your eyes he hasn’t seen before. You walk over to them and place two cookies on a little plate for him. You go to hand it to him, but as he reaches out to grab them you place them down on the counter. “Let them cool.” you smile, sarcastically.

“Aren’t you sweet.” Sukuna snarls, teeth bared as he slides the plate towards himself. “Sweet enough for your turn. Pay up, you know what I want.” he chuckles. He turns his head and taps his finger against his cheek.

“C’mon, dude…” Yuuji tries to interject. You know Yuuji is furious, deep down. But he won’t call him out on it. Last time he did he wouldn’t give either of you any weed for two weeks. It wouldn’t be a problem if you knew anyone else you could buy from. And the shit Sukuna gets is good. Yuuji has given up on trying to be a dominating presence when it comes to living with his brother. Sukuna is always one step ahead and Yuuji can’t quite keep up.

You go to him, reluctantly, and plant a soft kiss to his cheek. It makes your skin crawl. He makes your skin crawl. And despite your sense of urgency to flee the scene, you can’t. His hand grabs your wrist, and Yuuji is ready to spring to action. Sukuna’s face is unbearably close to yours. His red eyes piercing your own as he does all he can to make you feel small and pathetic.

“That’s a good girl.” he sneers, placing the baggie on the top of your hand after releasing your wrist. He chuckles, darkly, as he walks away with his plate of cookies, taking a bite out of one before he disappears. He kicks his bedroom door shut behind himself, the sound of laughter and guns shooting loudly from his TV are the only thing either of you can hear.

“I’ll bring the cookies and clean up.” Yuuji sighs as he ventures to the sink. “Go and get comfy and pick a movie.”

You don’t say anything, leaving your boyfriend to tidy up in silence. You’re seething with rage. This isn’t right. He does this every single time you’re here and you buy a deal from him. And Yuuji just lets him. You know you neither of you have much choice if you want the access and ability to smoke. But it’s getting to you, badly.

Around fifteen minutes pass after you left the kitchen. You’ve since gotten into your sweatpants and comfortable vest. Shorts would have been preferable, since there’s still an uncomfortable sizzle to the November air, but you’ve learnt your lesson about what you wear when you visit the Itadori household. You’ve had Sukuna leer at your thighs more times than you can count. And it’s never subtle, his eyes lingering for a moment too long to have it potentially be an accident. It’s always so lecherous and purposeful.

You decide to watch Clueless, again. You’re sure Yuuji will be defeated when he sees your choice, he’s lost count of how many times you’ve watched it recently. It’s been a comfort movie to you, for some reason, since Halloween.

“Hey.” Yuuji smiles as he enters the room, somehow managing to carry two glasses of milk and two plates of cookies. “What are we watching?” he asks, looking at the TV. You rush to grab a plate and a glass from his hands to ease his load, putting them on your bedside cabinet as he does the same with his own.

“Clueless.” you smile, happily. “Her step-brother has been hitting really different for me, lately.”

He closes his eyes and stifles a sigh. You can see a laugh desperate to break free as his mouth shakes through a smile. But to his credit, he manages to compose himself, eyes opening again once the reality has set in. Clueless. Again!

“Sounds great baby.”

It’s been a week since you last got to spent time with Yuuji. Your work schedules have been clashing, it feels like a lifetime since you got to spend any time together.

You enjoyed your hash browns in bed after he ordered them for you when you stayed over at his place. Though he ended up ordering Sukuna breakfast, too, leading to uncomfortable extended time with him that you prefer to avoid at all costs. He tried to make conversation with you, he often does, but you took it upon yourself to go back to bed with your hash browns. You tried to enjoy them. You tried to relax. But it’s near impossible when you’re under the same roof as someone you loathe. You watched a Youtube video on your phone while you ate, and then quickly got ready and booked a taxi home.

You’d hoped next time you got to see your boyfriend it would be at your house and away from Sukuna. But, alas, that was not the case. You received a text from him at 10am asking you to come over ASAP.

YOU: is something wrong??

YUUJI: no

YUUJI: just stressed

YUUJI: pls can u come? I’m working tomorrow so I cant stay over ☹️

YOU: okay ☹️ omw 💖

You’ve never had a text like this from him before, and it scared you. Something was telling you that he was downplaying how he was feeling. It took you barely any time to get ready. Forgoing makeup and making an effort in favour of rushing to your boyfriend’s side. Maybe something had happened at work.

Maybe he cheated on you.

He could be dying!

“Shut up…” you whisper to yourself as you pack your toothbrush into its travel case and throw it into your overnight bag. You pick up your car keys, not wanting to waste time waiting for a taxi.

You throw your bag on the passenger seat and speedily drive off. Your anxiety and the adrenaline was getting to you, you knew you’d have to calm down or you’d end up getting into an accident. As you focused on getting to your destination in one piece, you took several deep, slow breaths.

You’re safe.

You park up your car and lock it up. With your bag in tow, you rush to your boyfriend’s apartment. Your left foot taps impatiently after you knock on the door.

No answer.

You knock a little louder.

No answer.

And then you find yourself knocking louder, repeatedly, while you wait for your boyfriend to answer the door. He knew you were coming. He said it was urgent. So why are you waiting here, freezing, for him to answer the door? You’re filled with relief when you see his figure obscuring the light trickling through the cracks of the door. Your teeth chatter, and you begin stepping from foot to foot in a bid to warm through.

But your blood runs cold as the wrong Itadori opens the door.

“Heh. What do you want?” he asks, a cocky grin permeating his features.

“Move.” you demand, barging past him with your bag so that you can hurry to Yuuji’s side. Maybe something is wrong. He could be sick and resting in bed.

“He’s not here.” Sukuna informs you, halting you in your tracks. You turn to face him, a scowl that could kill adorning your face. Did he do something to him? All fear you’ve ever felt from him dies as you approach him, setting down your bag so that you can hit or punch or scratch him if needs be. “Relax.” he tells you.

“Where is he?”

“At work. I thought you had your entire relationship on a Google calendar, you didn’t know?” he laughs, angling his body so that he can bypass you in the skinny hallway. You huff a little, picking up your bag again so that you can follow him.

“But he asked me to come over, he said it was urgent.” you explain, though he doesn’t stop walking. You hurry after him, grabbing his arm until he stops. And he does, his eyes slowly dart down to where your hand holds onto his bicep until you awkwardly let go. “S-Sorry. I’m just confused. Why would he text me if he’s not even here?”

“Sweetheart, I’m not his PA. I don’t fucking know.” he turns away from you again, opening his bedroom door. You huff, again, utterly defeated as you try and decide what to do. You look towards his bedroom door and then to the entrance. You suppose you could go home until he finishes work. Or you could go to the gym he works at and find out what’s happening. You head towards the front door, thinking you’ll decide once you start driving. Sukuna hasn’t fully retreated into his room yet, leaning against his door frame as he calls out to you. “I’m making a bucket, want one?”

Your eyebrows knot as you turn to face him, another involuntary scoff turning to laughter as you look at him in disbelief. He’s got some nerve. You don’t even want to respond, opting to carry on your journey towards the entrance before you look at him again.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? I don’t want to smoke with you.” you roll your eyes.

“Awe, why not, princess? I won’t even add any tax.” he smirks, already heading towards the kitchen as if you’ve given him the answer he clearly wants to hear. And you hate him with your whole heart, because fuck, if you aren’t intrigued. It’s been a while since you’ve had a gravity bong. “Excellent choice, good girl.” he winks as he sees you out of the corner of his eye, as he grabs an empty one litre water bottle from beneath the sink.

You don’t say anything, leaning over the island counter as he prepares the bong for you both. It’s embarrassing, after some time, that you find yourself having to avert your gaze as realise you’ve been staring at his defined back muscles. He’d decided to forgo any form of clothing to cover his torso, only wearing a low riding pair of grey sweatpants, though they’re a darker grey than yours.

It isn’t much better as he whistles, tilting his head for you to join him by the sink. You’d close your eyes if it didn’t make you look like a complete freak, only to hide them from his flexing abs and his juicy pecs. The tattoos aren’t helping, either. It only serves as a reminder that you’re hopelessly trying not to ogle your boyfriends, older, larger, and scarier brother. He’s behaving interestingly, though. He’s never been like this before. He’s dismissive and almost uninterested in you.

“C’mere.” he orders you, dragging you closer to him as he lights the weed in the bowl. You gulp, a little intimidated. Gravity bongs are something you don’t partake in often, you can’t even remember the last time you did one. He moves his finger from the hole he’d poked into the bottle and the water begins to drain from it. Smoke fills the bottle in it’s wake, and when empty, he screws the lid off for you. “Quickly.”

You begin to inhale everything. Not caring how fucked up you feel in the least. You show no signs of stopping, and it impresses him. Your fingers hook around the kitchen counter as you finish, knowing when your bones feel like jelly that you’ve had too much.

“Atta girl,” he comments before repeating the process for himself. He pays you no mind as you wander towards the corner counter space, lifting yourself up like you’re the queen of the kitchen taking her throne.

He continues to ignore your presence as he smokes, inhaling and entirely draining the smoke that had filled the bottle. He tosses it into the sink, walking by you to grab a bag of ice from the freezer, filling two glasses to the brim with the frozen cubes. He fills them with water, sliding one to you.

“Drink.” he commands, and you do, not realising how thirsty you’d become. Your throat burning and eyes flooded with red veins. You drink the water and immediately need to refill. He shows you a kindness, though, handing you his glass to drink before filling your own again. “You’re a real lightweight, huh?”

“Oh shut up. I’m just gonna go.” you tell him, jumping down from the counter and going to collect your bag again.

“You can’t, you’re high.” he reminds you, and in your stoned state the sentence makes you burst into laughter. “You’ll end up crashing your car. Fool.” he gives you another glass of water, refilling his own for a second time before turning to leave the kitchen.

“Great, so I’m stuck here with you and nothing to do?” you pout, opening the fridge to see if there’s anything to eat. “Why did we not make cookies?” you mumble to yourself.

“I have snacks in my room.” Sukuna looks over his shoulder at you, like a snake offering an apple in the garden of Eden. You’re tempted. God, you’re tempted. What else are you going to do until Yuuji gets home? He grins, widely, as he hears your feet follow after him as he walks into his bedroom.

You’ve never been in here before. It’s quite tidy, all things considered. It’s very tidy, actually. You’d expected it to be some dimly lit shit hole. It smells nice, save for the weed, the windows are open wide and the sheets smell fresh as you sit on his bed.

He throws a sleeve of Oreos at you and you turn into a giddy child. The two of you kick off your shoes, not caring for where they land as you both get comfortable on his bed. You’re above the duvet, sitting adjacent to him but angled away with your legs crossed. He gets under the covers, though, picking up his Xbox controller as he mindlessly plays GTA V.

You spend far too much time licking the cream of your first Oreo, utterly entranced by the characters, the plot and the violence of the game he’s playing. He doesn’t seem to mind when you ask him a million questions about it, either. He’s more amused that you’re so clueless.

“Here,” he tosses the controller at you. “Go for a drive, it’s fun when you’re stoned.” he tells you.

You’ve played video games before, you aren’t a total idiot. Though he had expected you to ask for more help when he gave you the controller. He thinks it’s cute that you try to obey the speed limits and stop at every red light.

He reaches into his bedside cabinet, pulling out a joint. It’s ignited quickly, his eyes squinting as he inhales and watches the screen to make sure you’re not getting him into trouble on his game.

“You’re not bad when you’re high.” you tell him, passing the controller back to him. He takes it from you, saving his progress before reaching out to smoke again. He sits upright, and you barely react when he pulls you away from where you were sitting until you're facing him. “U-Um…”

He’s giving you a look. That look. The look Yuuji gave you when he told you he had a secret. God, they could be fucking twins if Sukuna wasn’t covered in tattoos, it’s scary. But he doesn’t say he has a secret; he doesn’t say a word. He simply watches you with a pondering stare, but an aim behind his eyes nonetheless.

Your own eyes shift when you see him bring the spliff from his ashtray to his lips. The cherry end of it igniting holds your focus before your eyes are on his again, enraptured by the moment and what he’s thinking. He sucks the smoke deep down into his lungs, and you can’t help but watch the way his chest moves from his heavy breath.

You gasp, softly, as he snatches your stare once again. His thumb and forefinger grasp your chin and tug downwards until your jaw is lowered. His face is barely a centimetre from yours, you know he’s going to kiss you. But why are you about to let him? His lips ghost yours, and you’re taken aback as you feel a plume of smoke invade your mouth. He’s impressed when you breathe it in, though, but smirks wildly as you begin to cough it up.

“You taste like cookies and cream.” he whispers into your ear, the sensation of his words rushes straight to your heat. But your sense comes back, pushing him away from you as you look sternly into his eyes.

“I didn’t say you could do that.” you remind him, preparing to move back to where you were sitting prior. But he stops you, easily, pushing your body down until your head is in his lap but over the duvet cover. “Sukuna…” you sigh, your head and your limbs feel too heavy to move on their own anymore.

“Mm?”

“I’m wi- I’m with Yuuji… I’m with your brother.” you remind him, you move your head a little so that you can look up at him. He doesn’t look at you, though, still focused on his game. You can hear dialogue again, and guns, you’re not as exciting in comparison to that, you suppose.

“I know.” he speaks, his jawline bulging as he swallows and clenches his teeth slightly. “Don’t tell me you thought I was gonna kiss you. Silly girl.” he speaks, still not bothering to grant you with the eye contact you’re so desperately craving for some reason.

But your body betrays you as a whimper escapes from your throat. And that does get his attention. His game pauses, and he looks down at you. But you hide your face, scrunching your eyes shut so he can’t read your expression. But your shy little display tells him all he needs to know.

“Oh? You minx,” he torments you further, and you want to scream. You can’t hide your face anymore, your cheeks becoming too warm and your entire body sizzling with heat. You’re panting, uncomfortably as you try and cool down. “You wanted me to kiss you. You’re with Yuuji, remember?”

“I didn’t! I- I- would never. I love Yuuji, I’m in love with him! I’d never kiss you. Yuck.” you fib, if you weren’t high, you know you’d never be in this predicament. You know you’d never have agreed to hang out with him. But really, it’s a lie. You weren’t high when he asked if you wanted to do buckets. He intrigued you, and you’re a fool, because you fell for it. Hook, line and sinker.

“Hm…” he hums, his spliff resting between his lips as his eyes linger on your cleavage before roaming down your body to your sweatpants. He places the blunt back in the ashtray, his eyes setting their sights on your hands. He moves one with ease above your head, though you instinctively pull it back. But it’s too late, the other one joins, a singular hand of his pin both of your wrists down above your head. You wriggle against him, but you don’t pose a challenge in the least.

“S-Sukuna?” you question as his fingers breach the waistline of your sweatpants. A sadistic smirk sprawls across his face as he realises in your haste to be here you’d not bothered putting on panties. You mewl, desperately, as his fingers find your petalled flesh. He doesn’t do much, simply feeling your slick and teasing your folds as he examines your facial expressions.

“You didn’t want me to kiss you?” he asks again. He drags two fingers up your slippery slit until he finds your clit, rubbing targeted circles around it slowly. The tension makes your hips buck, but his face is stern as he watches you keen for him. “Then why is this cunt soaked?”

His words almost bring you to tears, and he can tell. The way they fill with water so rapidly and your face becomes sweaty. You’re ashamed. You’re embarrassed. He’s humiliating you, but you’re too turned on to tell him to stop. You don’t want him to stop.

“I hate you!” you tell him, and there is certainly venom behind it. Because you mean it, you really fucking mean it. He’s the absolute worst. You’re so in love with Yuuji, but he’s ruined everything, now. You should have known this would happen. He’s been flirting and teasing and bothering you throughout your entire relationship with Yuuji. But you never thought it would come to this, ever. Especially after what you’ve been through, you’d never want to inflict that same agonising betrayal onto Yuuji.

“I know. You think I’m so beneath you, yeah?” he grins, and your mouth falls open in surprise, though his circling touch doesn’t stop. “I’m a drug dealer, I’m a bastard, I’m a piece of shit. But, sweetheart, me ‘n Yuuji didn’t grow up with daddy’s bank account like you. But look at you, princess. You hate me and you’re still letting me play with your sloppy cunt.”

“Fuck you.”

“You can, I know you want that. You’re drenched. My fuckin’ fingers are pruning.” he laughs, you want nothing more than to cover your face in shame, but you can’t while Sukuna’s heavy hand trap your wrists. “Awe, you’re cute when you’re embarrassed. Much cuter than when you’re trying to be tough f’me.” his rubbing halts, though the sense of abandonment is short lived as he plunges two thick fingers into you tight hole, his thumb rubbing circles into your clit again.

“O-Oh, fuck, hnng—” you groan, eyes meeting his as he pleasures you. And he drinks in the sight. Your tongue lolled from your mouth as you accommodate his touch, the pads of his fingers batter your g-spot again and again until your back arches. “Sukuna, s-stop, we can’t.” you warn him.

He smirks, ignoring you, opting to do the opposite. He increases the pace in which his fingers torment you, his cock leaks when he sees a few tears spill from your eyes. He’s that good, huh? Maybe his little brother isn’t as talented.

“You’re fucking tight. You’re gonna cum, aren’tcha?” he taunts you, you attempt to clamp your thighs around his hand, but it only spurs him on more. His fingers sink deeper. Your mind and rationale become lost to him. “You’re gonna cum for a bastard like me? Your boyfriends brother, too. Gonna cum in your pants like a virgin just for me? Pathetic little girl.”

“Oh FUCK, GOD!” you cry out, thighs trembling around his hand as you orgasm. Your chest heaves, and he doesn’t fail to notice how your nipples have began to poke through your vest. “C-Christ, okay, lets just forget—”

“I’m not done with you.” he speaks, it cuts through you as he lets your hands go. You massage them quickly, before he pushes his full weight on top of you as you lie flat against the mattress atop the sheets. He holds your jaw, roughly, and kisses you.

He humps his clothed, hard cock against your soaked sweatpants, your slick dampening them with each roll of his hips. He breathes heavily as you kiss. An exchange of saliva and clashing teeth as you moan and break away before licking at each other’s tongues again and again.

You shudder when you feel him put his hands down your pants again, collecting the dewiness at the apex of your thighs before forcing it onto your tongue. And you suck, gratefully, replacing the loss of his lips with his monstrously thick fingers. You can hardly believe he fingered you so easily.

Your lips wrap around his digits beautifully. He moans as he watches your little hands in comparison to his own hold it in place so you can bob your head up and down the length, your tongue licks and laves until there isn’t a trace of your dewiness left.

So he kisses you, again, tongues tangling as he dry fucks his cock into your clothed core. His hands roam and pinch and squeeze every inch of your body that he can grab. He yanks your sweatpants down, tossing them aside with little care to where they might land. And he surprises you, again, when he manoeuvres you seamlessly so that you’re straddling him.

He thinks it’s cute as you look around, unsure of how you got into this position. But he brings you back to him when he humps up into you so that you fall forwards. You kiss him again, but he breaks it to speak.

“Let me taste you, baby. Sit on my face.” he tells you. You’re nervous, but you move yourself so that you’re hovering above him. He pushes a finger into your hole and you throw your head back in satisfaction. “I said sit. I wanna know what a slutty princess cunt tastes like, so fucking sit.” he orders, his arms hooking around your thighs and forcing you down until you smother him with your heat.

“FUCK,” you moan, loudly, as his nose nudges against your throbbing clit. You aren’t sure what to do with so much freedom to move. The way he slurps and feasts on your dripping flesh sends wave after wave of embarrassment through you. And he’s loud he’s so fucking noisy as he moans into your heat and drinks every drop that your heavenly cunt has to offer. “J-Jesus… ah—!” you yelp, feeling his palm come down hard to strike your behind.

You begin to roll your hips, rubbing your pussy up and down over his face and stimulating your clit with his nose. He reaches under your vest, tweaking your nipple as you hump his face. He spanks you again, quickly, as you stop moving. You’re too gone, completely lost in the moment as you use him for your pleasure. You’d never have expected this from him.

He relinquishes your nipple to free his cock from it’s material prison. You heard the sticky sound of it ring through the room as he jerks himself off. His moaning becomes louder. The divine taste of your cunt and the ability to stroke himself goes straight to his head. You’re gone, you’re fucking gone. But he’s right behind you. The way you’re smothering him makes him lightheaded, but he’s not letting you go until he’s ready.

You see the pink silhouette of his cock as you look over your shoulder, but you’re desperate to get a better view. He groans, so loudly that you think he might have came, as you tug on his pink hair. Using it to your advantage as you ride his face into your next toe-curling orgasm. And at that, you do collapse. Practically singing his name as you cum in his mouth, only when you’ve reached your high does he let up on you.

He admires the view of your tits as you back up to look down at him, throwing your vest over your head as carelessly as he’s discarded your pants. His face is shimmering with your juices, and you feel another searing tidal wave of embarrassment as the reality sets in that you’ve done this to him. And you’re still cheating on your boyfriend. But you’re past the point of no return, you think. Yuuji is barely on your mind, all of your attention is on his brother, now.

And he’s still not through with you yet.

“Do you need some cock?” he asks.

“Y-Yes.” you nod, pathetically.

“Look at it, then. Look at my cock and beg for it.” he tells you.

You adjust your position so that you’re hovering above his face again but facing his cock perfectly. It’s beautiful, you think. More defined than Yuuji’s but around the same size and width. His cockhead is more prominent and the veins are unmissable. You’d have begged without even being asked if you’d gotten the chance to see it earlier.

“Go on,” he starts. You feel his hands between your shoulder blades and he pushes you down roughly. “Beg for my cock, whore.”

“Please, please Sukuna. I need you to fuck me.” you start, completely reduced to tears as you look at it as your mouth waters. You hold him with both hands, and you’re still unable to hold the entire length of it. “Wanna cum on you. W-Want you to b-bruise my cervix. Need to feel you inside, please, please please.” you’re practically sobbing as you continue.

“Kiss it.” he demands. “Worship my cock, and I’ll decide if your slutty cunt is worthy.” he tells you. Your eyes widen, but you kiss his tip without question. It’s so sweet and affectionate despite how sordid and lewd it is. But you can’t help it. It’s worthy of worship. You’re sure it’ll hurt, but you’ll take it. You don’t mind in the least.

You lick your tongue across his slit, poking your tongue into it slightly and relishing in how he hisses from the sensation. He buries his face in your cunt again, moaning into your soaking folds as you please him.

His length is freed from one of your hands, making the decision to cup his balls as your kiss down his shaft towards his pubis. His head is thrown back as you make contact with his balls, the grunt he releases is ethereal, you’d never have known such beautiful sounds could from him.

You scream, slightly, as he spanks your ass. It encourages you to take him down your throat and ignore your gag reflex and you bob and suck and run your tongue along each vein it can detect. He can barely focus on eating you out, too bewildered with your near pornographic performance.

“Such a good little cocksucker. No wonder Yuuji likes you.” he spanks you again. “Think he’d still like you if I told him I’ve been balls deep down your throat, slut? I’m not so sure. But I like you, a lot more now.”

“S-Shut up.” you tell him, defiantly. You silence him as you lower your pussy to his lips again, distracting him momentarily with your sweet taste.

You feel his cock flexing in your hand, like he’s ready to blow his load right down your willing throat. Even though you don’t want him to cum like this, you wouldn’t mind. You’ll swallow every last drop for him.

He stops you, though, shoving you away from him so that he doesn’t cum prematurely.

“Hands and knees, now.” he speaks coldly. He admires your face quickly before you get into the position he wants you in. It’s glistening with sweat, tears, spit, and his precum. “Good fucking girl.” he spanks you as you arch your back and wait patiently for him. Your legs spread apart and your cunt pulses in anticipation for him to slot himself inside.

He doesn’t though, not right away. Instead, he leans over to his beside table and pulls his phone off charge. He kneels behind you as he pulls up the camera app and swiping to video mode. His sweatpants are shoved down his thighs and rest at his knees. He takes a few photos of your glittering, pulsating cunt, spreading it open as his fingers dig into one of your ass cheeks.

“Pretty fuckin’ princess pussy…” he moans, and you mirror him, following it with a giggle. You feel a sense of pride at his praise, arching your back deeper. “Ohhh there she is, good girl, good little slut.”

He drags his cockhead through your shimmering folds, gasping each time it catches against your hole.

“P-Please fuck me, daddy, n-eed it.” you whine, earning another hard slap against your ass. He’s happy, of course. He didn’t expect you to be such a slut, he’d never have expected you to utter such a filthy title for him of all people. He’s certainly never heard you refer to Yuuji as daddy whenever he hears you fucking through the thin walls.

“You’ve got good manners, for a whore.” he speaks, your hole flutters with each word, but he sees how hard you clench as he degrades you. A new understanding of what your body likes. He’d only been doing it for his benefit, but now, he knows you like it too. “Do you like being a whore for daddy, hm?”

“Y-Yes,” you pant, “Love bein’ a whore for you, daddy…”

“Cute. I’ll give you my cock, then.” he pushes the tip in before pulling out completely again, chuckling at how whiny you are from the loss. “But you know, princess, good whores like to be cummed in. You’ll let me, won’t you?”

“Please… please cum inside. W-Want you to fill me up!” you tell him, and it’s enough. It’s more than enough to have him bullying his cock into your desperate cunt. You moan, boisterously from the stretch. You’re sure their neighbours won’t be happy if they’re home, the whole complex probably heard you. But you don’t care, and neither does he.

He’s glad that you said he could cum inside.

It’s not like you had a choice, though.

“Do you still want me to bruise your cervix?” he asks, angling the phone in his hand to capture how fucking deep he is inside of you. Your ass pressed flush against him as you swallow his cock hungrily. You nod, dumbly, yelping again when you feel a stinging slap against your cushioned ass. “Words.”

“Want you to br-uuise my c-cervix, daddy.” you wince.

“You’re such a good fuck toy, aren’t you?” he laughs.

He begins to pound into you, his brute strength and weight behind every aggressive pummel of his hips. It hurts, God, it fucking hurts as his tip nudges against your cervix. But you don’t care, you’re sure you will when you’re sober and your logical train of thought returns.

But now, in this moment, you truly are Sukuna’s fuck toy.

And it feels fucking sublime.

He captures on film the way that you moan and gasp and plead for something you aren’t even aware of. The way your hands grip into his pristine white sheets. But is favourite part is watching how your pussy stretches open as you swallow his coke can cock. And the way your ass ripples with each pulverizing thrust into you.

“F-Fuck,” he moans, “You’re fucking suffocating me.” he speaks, barely able to contain himself as he feels heady with lust. He doesn’t stop, though, he doesn’t care if you cum anymore. He’ll finger you again to finish you off if needs be, but for now, he needs to be selfish. Thoughts of filling you up and flooding your unprotected womb make him feral.

“Sukuna! S-Stop!” you warn him.

“Huh?” he responds, showing no intention of stopping or slowing as he rams his cock into you repeatedly. The only thing on his mind is finishing, he couldn’t care less about your change of heart or guilty conscience.

“F-Feels funny, I- I can’t! Hnnng—!” you finish, cunt squirting and gushing like a fountain all over him. “Oh my god…” you pant, burying your face in the pillows as you hide your shame from him.

“Holy fuck,” he responds, thrilled that he’d captured the moment on film. You show no signs of stopping either. You squirt as much as a backed-up teenager getting his first handjob. He spanks your pussy and rubs his hand all over it, making a complete mess of the two of you and the sheets below. “Dirty little squirter, hah? Fuck, you’re like a pornstar.” he tells you, chuckling again.

You don’t dare show your face, but you mewl into the pillows as you ride out the rest of your high as he shoves his cock back into you.

“Do it again, on my cock.” he demands.

“C-Can’t, can’t cum anymore.” you tell him, utterly spent and defeated as you allow him to use your body for his own benefit.

“Brat. You’ll cum on daddy’s cock and be grateful that I’ve been so good to you.” he explains. And true to his word, he manages to build it up in you again, somehow, as he continuously batters his length into your g-spot until your vision turns white.

He’s not doing much better, either, still enraptured by the sight of your dripping wet pussy and soiled sheets. It’s something he needs to see again, a sight he will treasure ‘til the day he fucking dies.

“Cum, slut. Make a fucking mess.” he speaks through gritted teeth.

“Mmmnf, hah, aaaah—!” you moan, granting his wish. The sight helps him topple over into his own bliss. His cum flooding your ruined walls, he fucks it further into you, but pulls out eventually to see his sperm dripping from your filthy cunt.

“Are you embarrassed, brat? You sprayed yourself again.” he snickers, spreading your pussy open with two fingers to see the mixture of his cum and your release spill from your twitching hole. “Has Yuuji ever made you do that? No… I’m sure he doesn’t know you’re this much of a dirty whore. But I do, I know now.”

The mere mention of the man you’ve betrayed has you bursting into tears. The sex was mind-blowing, yes, but at what cost? You’ve been begging him to move in. Hell, he was talking about marrying you. But you can’t have that with him, now, not after this.

You sobered up a little after a shower, making sure to keep the door locked as you washed yourself of your indiscretion. You even waited in there until you dried off to get changed, not wanting to risk Sukuna seeing you naked again. The damage is done, of course, but you at least want to be able to proudly say it was a mistake that will never happen again.

Maybe Yuuji will forgive you.

There’s no way you can keep it from him. Not after what you went through. It’ll break his heart, of course it will. But you can’t hide it, it’ll just get worse over time when it eventually comes out, because it will. Whether you tell him or Sukuna does through a weed induced stupor, the truth will come out.

You’ve been checking the time on your phone repeatedly to see if Yuuji has finished work yet. Eager and filled with fear and anxiety so that you can tell him, honestly, what happened. He’s going to hate you. There’s no way he won’t hate you after this. But you owe it to him and you owe it to yourself to be truthful.

You tense up as you hear a knock at the door. Yuuji wouldn’t knock, so you know who it is.

“Go away.” you warn him, but it doesn’t deter him.

“Aw, don’t talk to daddy like that.” he smiles, a shit eating grin that you want to smash against concrete.

“You’ve ruined my life, get out of here.” you tell him, crossing your legs as you check the time on your phone again. You sigh, throwing it further down the bed so that it’s out of reach. You’d missed how he shrugged his shoulders with a laugh as he turned to leave. But you stop him. “Don’t tell Yuuji, please. I want to be the one to tell him.”

“Tell him… what?”

You look at him, bewildered, unable to process if he’s being serious or not.

“That we fucked.” you remind him, deciding you aren’t about to spend all day trying to decipher his tone. “I need to be the one to tell him, so don’t say anything.”

“Oh, tell him that?” he questions, laughing again as he realises he knows something you don’t know.

“It’s not fucking funny, Sukuna!”

“Yeah, it is, you’re a little slow on the uptake.” he laughs some more, sitting on the edge of the bed. His ruby red eyes piercing into yours intimidatingly despite the smile on his face. “You don’t need to tell Yuuji anything.”

“Yeah, I d—”

“Yuuji knows.” he laughs, louder, almost bursting into hysterics as he sees the astonished look on your face.

“W-What?” you sigh, looking around the room in horror.

“Yeah… I mean, c’mon.” he smirks. “Why else would he text you to come over, when he wasn’t even home?”

11K notes · View notes

iamred-iamyellow · 3 months ago

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Strawberry Shortcake

♥ masterlist | request rules

♥ pairing: oscar piastri x fem!baker!reader

♥ synopsis: your mother owned a bakery in australia and oscar, your childhood best friend was your favorite regular until he had to move away for his racing career. you've since become head chef and people are beginning to wonder where or who oscar got his impeccable baking skills from.

♥ smau + written - fc: women on pinterest - as always none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing and suggestive jokes !!!

♥ a/n: literal tooth rotting fluff

-Australia, 2024-

liked by user26, user7, user14, and 18,302 more

y/n.pastries getting ready for spring with some new cupcakes <3

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user14 looks yummy 😋

yoursister do I get a family discount?

yourusername no 🥰

user7 face card is insane

user21 looks good! i’ll stop by and pick up some things soon 😊

user25 you’re gorgeous

user23 your cupcakes never miss

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Webs Most Searched Questions-

"Is Lando Norris..." he peeled off the thin white strip. "Related to Chuck Norris?"

"Yes," Lando jokingly admitted, gazing straight into the camera as Oscar tossed the card aside.

The team walked up to the two men and handed Lando another card of questions to ask his teammate.

"Does Oscar Piastri... really like pastries? I dunno, do you Oscar?"

"I do like pastries," Oscar nodded. "I like making them more, though."

"You know how to bake?" Lando questioned.

"An old friend taught me." he admitted.

"You’ll have to bring some treats in for the team one day, then."

"Maybe one day I will. Cupcakes are my specialty."

"Oh are they?" Lando raised a brow. "I'm gonna need some proof of that."

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by landonorris, mclarenracingf1, logansargeant, and 1,482,053 more

oscarpiastri made some cupcakes for the team like i promised

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user2 oh he cooked 😮‍💨

user1 the piping >>>

user3 i’m not surprised that he’s good at piping

user7 he can pipe me any day

user10 OSCAR CAN THROW DOWN

user6 no bc why do those look so good

landonorris i expect you to bring these every day now

user4 now whom exactly did he learn this from

user8 flavor?

oscarpiastri vanilla cupcake with buttercream, some with a lemon custard filling and some without for varied pallets

user9 get this man on a baking show asap

user11 and then Oscar opened a cupcake shop and him and Charles did a Collab birthday cake ice cream

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Your Bakery, March 12-

The golden bell on your bakery’s door chimed late in the afternoon as you swept, getting ready for closing.

Your back was facing the entrance as you spoke up, “Perfect timing. I was just about to lock the door. What can I get for ya?”

“A strawberry shortcake.”

You spun around, recognizing the man’s voice instantly.

It was Oscar.

You hadn’t seen him in about a decade, but you still occasionally took time to follow his racing. You were hoping that one day he’d find his way back to you.

“Hi,” you greeted him with a warm smile.

“Hi.”

“It’s been a while.”

“It has,” he responded, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You reached down to grab the small cake from the cold display case, “You know, your mum reached out to me.”

“She did? What’d she say?”

“Just how she wants us to reconnect and all. She visits me pretty often.”

Oscar hummed, as you set the cake on the counter.

“…To-go?” you asked.

He shook his head no, “Would you like to sit down with me?”

You nodded, plating the treat and walking out from behind the check out. You locked the door and he grabbed two small pink forks, handing one to you as you took a seat across from him.

“My mum, she would uhm…” he stabbed the utensil into the cake. “At every race she got to see in person she’d bring me a pastry from here. She’d make sure to tell me it was made by you and how your business was doing and all. I always performed better when she brought me them, too. It was always nice to know a piece of you was with me everywhere I went.“

You practically melted at the confession.

“That’s really sweet,” you dragged the tongs of your fork through some of the icing.

“I see that you’ve made a name for yourself in the Formula 1 baking community.” you both laughed.

“I had a great teacher.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, both taking bites from the cake.

“I’m sorry i didn’t visit sooner,” Oscar apologized.

“I’m just glad you’re here now.”

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 23,847 more

y/n.pastries race weekend

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oscarpiastri ferrari cookies really?

y/n.pastries i’m making mclaren ones too relax

charles_leclerc @/oscarpiastri is that any way to treat your father’s team?

user4 spectacular give me 14 more of em right now

user6 take my money 💳

landonorris so THIS is who taught @/oscarpiastri how to cook 🔥

y/n.pastries perhaps

user3 guys she’s so pretty

user1 @/nicolepiastri what’s the lore here

user8 obsesseddd

user10 hear me out she should sell these at the melbourne circuit

user7 this !!!

liked by oscarpiastri, arthur_leclerc, landonorris, and 100,583 more

nicolepiastri it was about time you two reconnected

tagged; @/oscarpiastri @/y/n.pastries

view comments

oscarpiastri mummm

y/n.pastries 😅

landonorris what's up with that second picture

oscarpiastri no comment

user7 the amount of times i've seen f1 drivers dressed as nintendo characters is uncanny

user4 paul aaron and dino core

user1 AWWWW

user8 this is so cute

logansargeant @/oscarpiastri how come i’ve never heard of this? don't tell me you fumbled this bad

oscarpiastri 😐

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Australian Grand Prix-

At your bakery Oscar insisted that you attend this year’s Australian Grand Prix. You finally got the privilege of meeting so many amazing people such as Leo the famous paddock puppy and none other than Oscar’s best friend, Logan.

You stood in the Mclaren garage with Oscar’s parents as the team prepped for the race. You brought some cookies for Lando to which he complained that he wouldn’t be able to eat them until after the podium ceremony.

The two made their way back to you a few hours later, Lando in p3 and Oscar in p4. Lando snatched the tin of cookies from your hands.

“You know you’re supposed to share that?” you said as he took a seat, devouring the treats, but he just waved you off.

You gave Oscar a hug and he pulled you off to the side.

“So I was thinking… maybe I could take you on a proper date tomorrow?

You smiled, “That sounds great.”

liked by landonorris, logansargeant, georgerussell63, and 1,394,623 more

oscarpiastri morning

view comments

user1 you don’t have to soft launch we all know you’re with y/n

user2 there’s only one person who can make those croissants and it’s y/n

user5 the third picture 😨

user3 she’s so lucky 😭

user4 @/yourusername how does it feel to live MY dream?

georgerussell63 @/alex_albon who takes all the shirtless pictures now

alexalbon still you mate

-F1 Winter Break-

liked by pierregasly, oscarpiastri, f1, and 1,492,053 more

y/n.pastries I am very pleased to announce three new limited additions to the bakery’s menu! Carlos Sainz’ pancakes, Yuki Tsunoda’s Fruit Sando, and the LEC Vanillove ice cream sandwich.

The fans have been dying to try my boyfriend Oscar’s (basic) vanilla buttercream cupcakes, so I’ll be keeping them as a year round pastry.

It has been an honor to work with the four of you <3

tagged; @/carlossainz55 @/yukitsunoda0511 @/charles_leclefc @/oscarpiastri

view comments

oscarpiastri im so proud of you ❤️

y/n.pastries i love you osc

oscarpiastri i love you too

oscarpiastri also my signature cupcake is not “basic”

y/n.pastries whatever you say 😉

user1 guys yuki is slowly starting to accomplish his restaurant dreams

pierregasly no creds?

y/n.pastries for?

pierregasly helping yuki

y/n.pastries yea… no

pierregasly helping charles?

y/n.pastries 😐

user2 yukierre and piarles are so back

user7 the childhood friends to lovers is melting my heart 😩

user8 theyre so adorable it makes me physically ill

user3 i’m pretty sure nicole is jumping up and down right now

oscarpiastri oh don’t worry she is

1K notes · View notes

highvern · 4 months ago

Text

When in Rome

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x f!reader

Genre: fluff, smut, angst

warnings: alcohol consumption, cheating, nudity, mentions of drug use, explicit sexual acts (unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral, swallowing)

Length: ~24k

Note: excited to have this for the @svthub world tour collab! thank u to @gyuswhore for helping, @wonuvs for fact checking my shitty italian, @the-boy-meets-evil for making sure i actually finished this fic bc i live to torture her and everyone else who contributed to this over the months it took me to finally write it!

this is from cheol's pov which was a new challenge but i loved it (i will never do it again). i'll be out of town when this goes up but can't wait to read everyone's feed back!!!

Summary: After months of no contact, Seungcheol isn't sure what to expect when he sees you again at Jeonghan's wedding. He's prepared to apologize, to grovel, to bear the weight of a cold shoulder. Whatever it takes to have you back, his best friend since diapers; or whatever will ensure the last third of your trio has the best day of his life. But when he overhears the most recent development in your relationship, he must come to terms with something he was never prepared for, or risk losing you for good.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

There are fewer places Seungcheol hates more than airports. Dentist offices, his grandparents’ house during the holidays when they ask about grandkids, and even the time he ran into his elementary school science teacher the first time he was buying condoms at the pharmacy, all were more favorable than the hustle and bustle of an international airport.

Seungcheol likes to be straightforward and direct. Something that becomes seemingly at odds with the average person traveling because at the one place everyone has somewhere to be, they act as if they have all the time in the world.

But the simple thought that it's all temporary, that his personal ninth circle of hell is the only thing standing between him and a week in Italy is enough to grin and bear it.

On the other side of the terminal, his best friends are waiting for him. It’s not as if they haven’t seen each other for long; Jeonghan and Sofie were at bar trivia last week as their last hurrah before tying the knot. As usual they wiped the floor with everyone, rousing several allegations of cheating that Jeonghan deserved. But Seungcheol is about to watch them get married and it makes him a little misty around the eyes because he loves his friends more than anything.

The only concern, which is less of a concern and more of a titanic size anchor sinking in his gut, is that you’re one of Sofie’s bridesmaids. And you haven’t spoken to him since New Years when you revealed you were moving to New York with your boyfriend, Johnny.

Another place Seungcheol dreads, right next to the airport, is anywhere Johnny happens to be. He’s everything you aren’t: abrasive, arrogant, catty, disorganized. And those are just the traits at the front of the alphabet.

You had a plan. A list of criteria he had to listen to over and over again after each failed date. Even the guys Seungcheol set you up with after carefully vetting didn’t seem to make the mark. It was respectable, commendable. You wouldn’t settle for anything less than “perfect.” Whatever that meant to you.

At a bar, three years ago, Johnny approached you. Seungcheol watched from across the table as you mentally ran over your checklist. Johnny met the physical ones: tall, good hygiene, well kept appearance. The other things would need more investigation. What did he do for work? Was he close with his family? Kids? Opinions on cheating at bar trivia?

The more Seungcheol learned about Johnny after your detailed debrief from a few dates the more confused he became. Johnny worked in banking. You hated finance bros and called them scum of the dating pool. He was an only child and only talked to his parents on holidays and birthdays. You had grand dreams of close grandparents and houses full of cousins. He didn’t want kids. You did. He didn’t think bar trivia was that serious. Seungcheol watched you threaten Jeonghan’s life on more than one occasion over the use of Shazam during the music round. Johnny was everything you said you didn’t want.

And then you followed him across the country after two years of dating cut with three breakups.

It didn’t make sense.

When Seungcheol pulled you aside after you announced you’d be moving, trying to figure why you thought living with the man who once asked if you really needed to wash bath towels if you only use them when you’re already clean, you told him to mind his business. Later that night, after enough drinks to make everything blurry, you two got into a screaming match on the sidewalk with your shared friends attempting to play referee. It was the last time you two spoke.

In over twenty five years of friendship, founded on the backs of elementary school shenanigans under a reign of terror of one Jeonghan Yoon, you and Seungcheol’s real fights can be counted on one hand.

The sixth grade field trip where you and Jeonghan left him out, senior year of highschool when the girl Seungcheol took to prom argued about his parents taking more pictures with you than her, and junior year of college when Seungcheol caught you making out with his frat brother after ditching him under the guise of having a stomach bug. That was it. Three fights, all of which were resolved within a week because as stubborn as you both are, you’re best friends.

Five and a half months of not speaking, except when you called Seungcheol in the middle of the night without leaving a message and when he tried calling you back in the morning you didn’t answer. Not until a month later when he finally swallowed his pride and texted a half hearted apology to which you responded with a quarter of forgiveness. That was it.

But Seungcheol won’t dwell. He refuses to make things awkward for Jeonghan and Sofie during the most special week of their lives. Knowing you, you’ve probably already come to the same resolution. The only person you’re closer to than Seungcheol is Jeonghan with Sofie a close second. If there is anyone you two will agree to put aside an argument for, it's them.

The sun has already begun setting when he makes it through customs and out towards the Arrivals, painting everything in buttery yellow.

“SEUNGCHEOOOOOOOOOLLLLLL!” Sofie screams, hands cupped around her mouth.

She’s half outside the cherry red sports car. An Intermeccanica Italia Spyder because Seungcheol knows three things in life: expensive watches, expensive whiskey, and expensive cars. Sofie’s family happened to have plenty of the last and Seungcheol assumed the first two as well.

When Sofie became his study partner in law school she ended up following him on Instagram. He assumed from the way she carried herself, perfect posture with tailored clothes and an ‘air of society’ as you called it, that she was well off. But then, during a late night gossip session, you and he did a deep dive and found out Sofie wasn’t just well off. Her family had more money than God.

But everything on the surface was a contrast to who Sofie really was. Heiress to a fortune but studied more than anyone in their class just to graduate second. Perfect posture and tailored clothes are a stark contrast to her favorite bar where she’d outdrink anyone, and cheer when the prize for trivia was cheap plastic margarita glasses.

Or right now, where she belts Seungcheol’s name again like some drunk frat boy while sitting in a car worth more than his life.

Seungcheol jogs to where she waits, already smiling.

“I would have brought a ‘Welcome back from rehab’ sign but my mom thought you’d be embarrassed,” Sofie says as she hugs him over the console.

“At least make it ‘welcome home from prison’ so people won’t walk in my way.”

“I’ll make sure Jeonghan remembers you have a preference,” she calls over the wind.

Technically, the house (which is really a mansion) is almost an hour from the airport. With Sofie’s driving it only takes twenty minutes in which Seungcheol thinks he might need to start going to church.

The pebbled driveway crunches underneath the tires as they approach the imposing building he’d call home for the weekend.

In the evening light, the house is more daunting. An imposing stone facade rises from the ground, akin to a small castle than an actual home. Smooth stone with detailed carvings, windows with huge shutters, and on the top floor, a balcony, fenced with wrought iron, juts out.

Even after years of seeing pictures, Seungcheol still can’t believe his friend grew up here. He can’t believe it actually exists and isn’t some set from a historical drama.

Sofie throws the car in park right in front of the door before jumping out.

“By the way, there were some issues with one of the rooms.” Sofie drops her voice, “My aunt and uncle are fighting again, so I hope you don’t mind sharing?”

Seungcheol knows most of the guys coming to the wedding. Worst case scenario he’s stuck in a twin size bunk bed with a weird cousin. And with how busy he’ll be as best man, his room will be for sleep and not much else. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Perfect! Just leave your stuff, everyones out back.” Sofie pushes him as hard as she can manage which isn’t much at all given she’s five foot nothing.

The garden is filled with bodies upon bodies crowded together, some old, some young. Seungcheol recognizes a few faces in the mix: Soonyoung, Joshua, Seungkwan. More friends from law school. Jeonghan’s sister waves from across the way. Everyone seems to be paying attention to whatever is happening at the iron garden table.

And then, like a scene in a movie, everyone parts for a second and time freezes.

Seungcheol would recognize you anywhere. Even if he can’t see your face, he knows it's you. The curve of your shoulders, the tilt of your head. The bark of laughter as your chin drops forward. He knows it's you and the weight in his stomach lightens and leadens in an odd cycle.

He missed you.

Then everything comes back into real time. Wine and cards. Then he sees the chips on the table, your stack to the side significantly higher than anyone else's.

Months of ruminating over what he’d do when reunited fly out the window. Seungcheol doesn’t waste a minute as he approaches, hand on the back of your chair as he peeks over your head to sneak a glance at your hand.

“Who let you talk them into poker?”

You’re already smiling when you tilt back to look at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oh, how he missed you.

“She said she didn’t know how to play,” an old man grumbles from the side.

Seungcheol doesn’t recognize him but he’s got the same expression as all the people you’ve sharked before: mildly impressed and slightly murderous. Two other guys sit at the table, one old enough to be his grandfather looks almost proud. Seokmin fills that last seat, head in his hands at being swindled so easily.

“I said,” you start, throwing your gaze to him. “I hadn’t played in a while.”

You look back up at Seungcheol for some kind of support. Eyes round and innocent in a way you both know you’re not. Pool, cards, darts, any game a man a few drinks in could beat you at was easy fodder for your con. Usually it ended with free drinks, sometimes money, but mostly it’s Seungcheol playing referee for the disillusioned guys you swindled while wearing a bright grin.

Tossing a few chips towards the three men at table with a smart ‘don’t spend it all in one place,’ you rise and throw your arms around Seungcheol like everything is normal.

“Hi,” you whisper into his neck.

Seungcheol’s hands are already curled around your waist, pulling you in tight. “Hi.”

“I missed you.”

Seungcheol doesn’t think to question the sudden rush of familiarity after months of silence. Every fight in your long friendship ended this way; you both stew and stew until one day things snap back to normal. It’s how it’s always been.

“I see that you can’t even greet your best friend.” Jeonghan coughs from the side.

Seungcheol squeezes you tighter at the jab. It’s Jeonghan’s wedding but Seungcheol saw him last week when dropping the couple off at the airport to come here. He’s far more interested in dragging out his reunion with you as long as possible. “I’m in the middle of that actually.”

He scoffs in response, walking away. “Whatever, I see too much of you anyway.”

There’s glasses of wine waiting when you break apart. Seungcheol keeps closeby, not that you seem eager to go anywhere. His staring is obvious but he doesn’t care. You’re really here and the cold shoulder he expected to find is nowhere to be found.

Another two hours of celebrating, filled with drunken toasts and more card games with Sofie’s family that only end with you digging into their pockets even deeper, fly by before the exhaustion of a day starting in one continent and ending in another catches up to him. You’re too busy arguing over if Jeonghan cheated in the last round to notice Seungcheol slipping away from the table and towards the door leading inside.

Sofie is in the kitchen just beyond, another bottle of wine sloshing in hand as she talks animatedly on the phone. “Okay, look. I am on vacation. I’m about to get married. I literally left notes for everything I'm not working on during my wedding week. Figure it out. Bye.”

She hangs up without response, tossing her phone on the counter before taking a swig straight from the bottle.

“Good?” Seungcheol asks.

“Oh, you know, just the usual. I leave and suddenly no one knows how to do their job.” Sofie rolls her eyes. “What’s up? Need another glass?”

She raises the same bottle and the thought of more wine nearly turns his stomach.

Seungcheol brushes her off, moving to the sink and rinsing his glass with finality. “I think I’m gonna crash for the night.”

“Really?” she asks. “But the party just started!”

“For you maybe, some of us have been cramped on a plane all day.” He feels it. In his back and knees. The cramp in his neck from passing out halfway through and waking up bent at ninety degrees. And the hours he spent agonizing through emails with the inflight WiFi because even on vacation he can’t sit still for more than one minute. But now it’s a ticking time bomb before he curls up in a chair and passes out until morning.

Sofie snatches his glass before shooing him away from the sink and taking his place. “I forgot you’re an old man now.”

“You’re the same age as me?”

“Anyway,” she sings. “I know we promised you’d have your own room but—”

“That’s fine. I really don’t mind rooming with one of the guys.”

“Well… you and Y/N were the only ones not sharing and she said she wouldn’t mind for the weekend.”

“Huh?”

“I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal! Seokmin and Kwan agreed to share and room with Josh so things are pretty tight but I can see if we can switch things around and—”

“No, if she’s okay with it then it's fine.” Seungcheol says. “We just haven’t talked since, you know?”

Sofie seems to soften at that. “I know. But it looked like everything was fine outside.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol sighs. “I missed her.”

“I know she missed you too.”

“She said that?”

“Oh please, neither of you have to say anything, you’re both pathetic,” she says while pouring another glass. “But I think this weekend will be good for you guys! Like old times.”

Old times. Before the fight. Before you moved away.

“Yeah, just like old times… At least we aren’t sharing a bed, right?” He jokes.

“Actually,” Sofie grimaces.

The one solace Seungcheol is gifted is the bed is massive. Almost the entire room is dominated by the plush mattress, a dresser, and a chair in the corner. He considers sleeping in that instead for all of a minute before realizing you probably wouldn’t let him and the absolute torture it’ll do to his neck.

At least the forced proximity won’t be awkward since you’ve silently agreed to leave the past behind you. He can’t imagine Sofie would consider this solution if you were still mad at him, even if it was her wedding week. The realization lightens the weight on his shoulders an ounce more.

Seungcheol throws his bag down at the foot of the bed. It’s no big deal; sharing a room with you. Childhood sleepovers had been the norm, a few nights in college you’d shared a clunky old twin bed when you both were too drunk to find your ways home separately. Your first apartment together, when you two had to share a mattress on the floor for the first weeks because all your money went into paying rent, flash in his head. Old times.

Thirty minutes later, freshly showered and in clean clothes, Seungcheol heads back downstairs for a glass of water before bed.

He remembers where the kitchen is after Sofie’s short tour, trapezing through the huge house easily. Behind different closed doors he catches glimpses of pre-sleep conversations: couples spitting harsh whispers to each other, a few cartoonish voices reading bedtime stories to an audience of childish giggles. But when he reaches the threshold of his destination Seungcheol stumbles into an entirely different atmosphere.

“You haven’t told him yet?”

“No. I didn’t feel like the kind of thing to say over text,” you whisper.

“Well you could have called him!”

“And say what? ‘Hey Cheol, I know we haven’t talked in months because we got into a huge fight about my boyfriend but Johnny and I–’”

Seungcheol strains his ears to hear the rest of your sentence but fails to decipher anything before Jeonghan’s voice cuts in. Whatever ‘it’ is, you seem keen on keeping it a secret.

“Just tell him.” Jeonghan says through a mouthful of something. “I’m sure he’ll be happy.”

His mind races with a million possibilities, all related to Johnny, all things you wouldn’t have told your best friend of over twenty years because of some stupid fight. Something you don’t know how to tell him over the phone, something you need to tell in person.

The realization strikes like lightning.

You and Johnny are engaged.

Thirst forgotten, Seungcheol turns back the way he came. He thinks through the new information as he stumbles up the stairs.

How could you not tell him? How could he make you feel like you couldn’t tell him? How long have you been hiding this? And why did Jeonghan and Sofie know before he did? Was everyone in on the secret and he was the odd man out?

You and Johnny weren’t even that serious when you moved away; or, that's what Seungcheol thought. In all honesty he fully believed it was some joke when you told him. A drunken practical joke taken too far but you didn’t laugh when he did. There was no punchline to share. The boxes were packed away and then the moving truck came and you left with it.

Everything else hits him in the seclusion of the bedroom. Your shared room. He doesn’t even have the luxury of coming to terms with your latest surprise in private.

Seungcheol isn’t happy. He is, but because you’re you, argument aside. The past few months are the longest you’ve ever gone without each other and seeing you again lifted a weight off his chest he’d come accustomed to in months of silence.

It’s an easy decision. If Johnny makes you happy enough to tie your lives together then Seungcheol can bite his tongue. You’re his best friend and by default he’d never think anyone was good enough for you but if you loved Johnny, if you were this serious about him, then Seungcheol would support you.

Even if it meant there would always be a Johnny sized ravine between you.

Seungcheol wakes far before the sun breaches the horizon. The room still washed in the shadows of early dawn grants him some peace to think over his own conflicts with the news, your quiet snores a backing track from across the bed.

On your side facing him, Seungcheol gets the first good look at you in what feels like forever. Even with the size of the bed barely a foot of space separates your bodies. You hand twisted in the hem of his shirt like even in your sleep you can’t stand to be apart more than necessary.

You look ridiculous; hair a mess and limbs splayed. But your face is soft in sleep, eyelashes fanned on your cheeks and lips in a pout.

There’s an odd flutter in his stomach. He wasn't lying when he said he missed you. But now things are complicated.

He hadn’t slept at all last night; mind constantly replaying the conversation he heard in the kitchen, formulating his reaction when you finally let him in on the ‘surprise.’

Perhaps under different circumstances he wouldn’t struggle with news. Seungcheol wants you to be happy. Johnny is the problem in the scenario. They never got along, barely spoke outside of the few times forced circumstances required them to. Seungcheol was polite. Johnny was polite.

Seungcheol wanted to kill him and he’s certain Johnny felt the same.

Relationships naturally take priority over time but Johnny seemed to creep in and choke Seungcheol out of all the places he’d been firmly planted for years. Another reason he isn’t happy.

Monday night Bachelor? Canceled, because Johnny plays beer league softball with his friends and you started going to that.

No more sleepovers at Seungcheol’s after a night out because ‘it makes Johnny uncomfortable.’ Fair complaint. Seungcheol wouldn’t appreciate his girlfriend sleeping over at a guy's house after drinking if the roles were reversed. But Seungcheol isn’t some guy and you were his best friend before you were Johnny’s girlfriend.

Traditions at Christmas felt hollow without you. The first one you spent meeting Johnny’s family in Minnesota you texted Seungcheol the entire time about how cold it was, how they were a 5k on a holiday type family despite the fact there was three feet of snow outside.

All small details that mean everything to Seungcheol, never meant as much to you.

And that’s why he doesn’t like Johnny. Because he made Seungcheol realize that.

It’s not that you and Johnny didn’t work. Seungcheol just couldn’t wrap his head around why you wanted to overlook all the glaring differences to make it work.

But pointing that out left him with a cold shoulder lasting six months so he plans to keep his mouth shut.

You tried talking to him before bed but gave up when he pretended to be asleep. It took everything he had not to give in and talk into the early morning. Six months was more than enough ground to cover for you two to catch up; he was promoted, you had an entirely new life in another city that he wanted to hear all about. His insane neighbor from across the hall, who you both are sure sells drugs, is actually a preschool teacher (mysteries of the universe). And he knows you probably have kooky neighbors of your own in New York.

But, in all honesty, he didn’t want to hear stories with Johnny’s name attached. Wasn’t ready to hear you say you’re engaged. It’s one thing to know it. But the second the words leave your lips then it’s real. Then Johnny is here to stay and it's only a matter of time before you two are arguing again.

Especially when everything said months ago was still fresh in his mind. Words he’d stand by no matter what. But Seungcheol has figured out that there are conversations he’s allowed to have with you and ones that should never see the light of day if your friendship is to survive. Johnny is one, the other is a memory from college that remains vivid no matter how hard he tries to forget.

But this weekend wasn’t about you and him, it's about Sofie and Jeonghan. If Seungcheol can dive into focusing on them, maybe he’ll survive.

Today is the one day reserved for sightseeing before ‘the inevitably disorganized shit show of an Italian wedding’ as Sofie puts it.

Seungcheol has already seen some of the big things thanks to his study abroad in undergrad: the Colosseum, the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon. So for today, he'll stick by whatever you want to do. You’re the building nerd architect.

When he finally finds the willpower to roll away, carefully extracting your grip on him before ducking from the sheets, you stir enough to release a sleepy whine in protest before burying back under the blanket.

It’s odd but he notices you’re not wearing a ring. Seungcheol looked closely if you took it off before bed but nothing stands out in the bathroom or on the dresser. He assumes you took it off to make the weekend about Sofie and Jeonghan rather than yourself. It’s something you would do. Or maybe it’s at the jeweler’s for repairs. Maybe Johnny had gaudy taste and bought a ring so flashy you refused to wear it.

Seungcheol doesn’t know but it strikes him as strange.

The kitchen is already bustling with life even at such an early hour. Family and friends trickle in one by one, joining Seungcheol at the table with cups of coffee and munching on fruit and biscuits as their hangovers ebb. Quickly, the peace he preserved in the early quiet melts into loud laughter and a million buzzing conversations.

You melt into the chair beside him, eyes barely open as you snag his cup and scowl after finding it already drained.

“Coffee?” you mumble.

Seungcheol pushes his plate of unfinished fruit and a half finished pastry you way. “Sofie’s mom is brewing more. But it’s strong.”

“Oh trust me, I know,” you say around a mouthful of jam and dough. “I drank a full cup the first day I got here and felt like Sonic.”

“That’s how you know it’s good.”

“You’re insane.”

“What are your plans for today?”

“So there's this church, the Santa Maria Sopra della Minerva. It’s near the Pantheon!” you ramble, peeling another orange. “It’s just beautiful and it's got a statue by Michelangelo next to the altar and the design is incredible.”

Seungcheol can’t help but laugh at your enthusiasm. A city filled with ancient buildings and history is right up your alley.

He remembers how you pouted when he came back from his trip in college after yours to Venice was canceled due to ‘not enough student interest.’ The only thing that managed to quell your anger was all the pictures Seungcheol took with you in mind. Close ups of the tiniest details about ancient designs tour guides pointed out to disinterested business majors but he knew you’d care if you’d been there. If you were there then you’d probably be leading the tour yourself whether the guide liked it or not.

“Mind if I come with?” he asks over his fresh cup of coffee.

“Duh,” you roll your eyes with a smile. “I waited for you to get here to go.”

Sofie’s uncle, the one not under threat of murder by his wife, agrees to drive you both out. He drives at full speed from the second he hits the gas pedal. With the windows down. The breeze is as nice as a wind tunnel and cuts off everything Zio Berto tries to point out except for his screams at other drivers.

On the other side of the back seat, you’re turning green. Seungcheol is glad the window is already down because if you get sick, he will too. And Sofie would refuse any payment for the cleaning fee, Seungcheol is morally opposed to ruining such a nice car with vomit.

The city whips past outside the windows, cobblestone streets slowly growing more crowded as the car edges closer to the center city. Berto finally slows down to avoid pedestrians and mopeds but only by a fraction. He doesn’t seem to share Seungcheol’s concern about body fluids clashing with the car design.

Finally, after what feels like a century, the car jerks to a stop. You don’t even pretend to be polite and exit immediately, hands on your knees while dry heaving for air.

“I’ll be around. Have fun!” Berto calls from the driver's seat. “Call me when you’re ready to head back.”

Seungcheol waves him off and when he turns back where you were standing, you’re already gone; circling the elephant obelisk in the center of the cobblestone courtyard.

“Isn’t it so cool?” You gush, snapping photos.

The exterior of the building is unassuming. Flat sandstone brick without much detail but you see the things that are important. In a few minutes you’ll be in tour guide mode, pointing out the smallest crack no one would see unless they already studied the church's history in depth.

“Soooo cool,” he jests. He appraises the statue with you, turning his head this way and that.

You slap his shoulder, “Don’t be a jerk!”

“Okay, okay. Give me the tour.”

“It was built on the ruins of a temple of Isis.”

“Okay, and why the elephant?”

“The obelisk was taken from the Church of San Stefano del Cacco down that way,” you point. “It's originally from Sais in Egypt but got moved all the way here. The elephant was commissioned by the pope to display it based on a book that was popular at the time.”

“Interesting.”

You point at the inscription on the plinth before continuing, “that’s from the book.”

Sapientis Aegypti insculptas obelisco figuras ab elephanto, belluarum fortissima, gestari quisquis hic vides, documentum intellege robustae mentis esse solidam sapientiam sustinere.

“Whoever you are, who sees here the figures of the Egyptian wise man carved on the obelisk carried by the elephant, the strongest of wild animals, understand the symbolism to be that a strong mind supports firm wisdom,” you translate.

“I didn’t know you read latin.”

“I don’t. It’s in English on the other side,” you laugh. “But I do know, the guy who designed the statue made it look like it's farting because the pope told him to change the design from what he originally wanted.”

“Really?”

“Yep. He said having it stand on four legs was dangerous so the sculptor added the saddle and a cube at the base, but he also made its butt face the convent so the friars would have to see its ass every time they came out.”

“Wow.”

Seungcheol circles the statue and sure enough the tail is angled to look like it's blowing wind.

“I’m pretty sure it’s a lie but I’d like to think people were that petty hundreds of years ago. Now all people do is subtweet and post vague Instagram stories. I want someone to hate me so much they design an entire statue just to minorly inconvenience me each morning.”

You’re fully of facts Seungcheol would never know. It’s one of the best parts of visiting places with you. It’s not just some building or some random statue. You give the architecture a new life.

Seungcheol’s mind flashes back to the first time he accompanied you and Johnny to a monument back home. In the five minutes you’d been there, he realized Johnny truly did not care about your interests.

The look on your face that day told him you realized Johnny didn’t care either.

It’s the same pact everyone that moves to D.C. makes to visit all the museums and monuments and landmarks. Good intentions with zero realistic goals. Except you’re stubborn and the drive to say you did something means Seungcheol has tagged along to thirty out of the one hundred and fifteen on your list. Johnny missed most either from work trips or some other excuse and the one Seungcheol missed had been the only one Johnny came to because of the flu.

Safe to say the first time visiting together was a shit show. Johnny didn’t pretend to evaluate the ‘important’ parts, didn’t ask questions or bother reading the placards detailing events of significance, raced through the entire thing to leave you and Seungcheol behind. It’s not like you or Seungcheol were overwhelmed with beauty and needed hours but Johnny finished his round after less than thirty minutes and told you to text him when you were done.

So Seungcheol did the only thing he could to get back at Johnny without upsetting you: walked as slow as possible, pointing out things he knew you’d know more about, and dragging things out so Johnny was stuck waiting in the frigid winter wind outside to suffer.

You knew what he was doing, obvious from the way you hook your arm through his and give an affection squeeze. Your smile didn’t reach your eyes but you both pushed through.

Thank whatever powers be that Johnny wasn’t here now.

“See the windows?” you ask, pointing to the three different sized circular windows hanging over the main doorways.

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Well you can’t tell from here but they’re rose tinted.”

Seungcheol tries to see what you’re talking about but the windows are dark and covered in some kind of lacquer that makes them look gray and dusty rather than pink.

“And why is that important, Professor Y/L/N?”

“Because it’s the only medieval church in Rome like that!”

You continue rambling off facts, talking a mile a minute as your point at different things and walk Seungcheol around the exterior. A few other people's ears perk up as you go on about how the details had been done over and over; first Romanesque, then Gothic then, some guy named Carlo Maderno added Baroque designs inside, and friars who put in stained glass windows.

By the time you take a breath, the crowd has taken a closer interest in the windows and the elephant statue due to your brief history. A few look at the flood plaques which are some of the best preserved records the city has.

Seungcheol hangs onto every word. He doesn’t care about the old church, it’s an interesting bit of history sure but he could be outside any church in Rome and have the same reaction. He cares about the church because you care. And your passion about old windows and flood markers make it the most interesting place in the world right now.

“Go stand on the steps so I can take your picture,” you demand.

“Do I have to?” Seungcheol jokingly complains.

“Just go.”

Seungcheol poses as you direct, flashing a few silly poses you laugh at. He manages to wrangle you into taking a few photos as well. Ones that will probably be sent to your mom and never see the light of day other than her Facebook. Your Instagram is reserved for, in order: buildings, animals, food, and the rare picture of you with friends at some sort of occasion (wedding, graduation, the time Jeonghan broke his leg drunk on a city scooter and ended up in the ER).

You’re in the middle of pretending to hold the Leaning Tower of Pisa when someone approaches Seungcheol.

“Would you like us to take your photo?” an elderly woman asks. She is a quintessential tourist: fanny pack, camera around her neck, sun burnt around the ears. A man in a matching shirt approaches with her, donning the same gear and pink tinge. Seungcheol recognizes them from a few minutes prior when you gave your lecture about elephant butts and petty sculptors.

“Sure, thank you.”

He hands over his phone and joins you on the steps. You both pose like normal adults, smiles plastered on your face while Seungcheol gives you bunny ears and you pull his hair.

“Beautiful couple!”

“Oh, we’re not…” You both object.

“We’re on our second honeymoon.” The man croons at his wife, chuffed when she rolls her eyes and focuses on the camera screen. “You two?”

“We’re here for a wedding.”

“Wow! Married in Rome,” the wife gasps. “How romantic.”

It isn’t the first time you two have been mistaken for a couple. Anytime you’re with him or Jeonghan someone assumes you’re dating. Occasionally, you’d play it up, make an entire story about how you met, how long you’ve been together, biting your tongues the entire time as each detail is more ludicrous than the last.

Jeonghan takes the cake as the most ridiculous. Two tornado chasers that ran into each other ten years ago and never let go. Him and Seungcheol, not you. Which really threw the waitress off. Never mind the fact you all were sophomores in college, high as kites and stuffing yourselves full of hashbrowns in a greasy spoon diner for Seungcheol’s birthday.

“Did you two meet here?” the husband asks.

“Oh no, we actually met in a competitive bowling league,” you fib, wrapping your arm through Seungcheol’s.

What the hell?

“Romantic!” The wife belts like she actually believes nothing could inspire love like sharing shoes with countless strangers and cheap beer.

Seungcheol would take the piss under any other circumstances. Except this time you’re actually engaged and the last time you two pretend to be a couple was when you fake proposed to him in a fancy restaurant to score free champagne and dessert to celebrate the end of law school.

“Would you mind taking a few of us?” the man asks.

You snap a few pictures on the wife’s phone and after more coos of ‘romantic!’ and a few thank yous they melt into the crowd.

“Alright, let's go inside.”

“Lead the way.” Seungcheol feels more awkward than before, cheeks red but not from the sun beating down

Upon entering the church, he discovers the inside is much more interesting than the outside. Holy water stoups are held up by marble. Two statues flank the entrance. There’s more things to see than Seungcheol’s brain can handle but he follows behind you, mind lingering on the scene outside.

“‘My husband’?” Seungcheol asks.

“What? We won’t see them again. Who cares?”

Probably your own fiancé but just as Seungcheol opens his mouth a priest silences him with a sharp, “SHH!”

Passing through a high stone archway, you enter the nave. The ceiling, cobalt and gold with motifs of biblical figures and cherubs, rises high above.

“Look!” you whisper. “Isn’t it cool?”

Your point at a marble Jesus wearing a bronze loin cloth.

Cool isn’t the word he’d choose but he goes with it.

“Michelangelo started it but two other people had to finish it for him.”

“Oh.”

“But people still call it Michelangelo’s statue because it’s more impressive. Besides, he did most of it before his apprentice took over.”

He observes the paintings and statues, the stone work that bulges from the walls like they’re trying to come alive and escape their immortal capture. There’s even a tomb and shrine with incredible detail.

It takes two hours to see everything and another thirty minutes to make your way out of the church because you both keep catching missed signs or there's some tiny piece of the ceiling with an odd detail.

He missed this.

Outside, you open your phone and look at the message from Sofie. She made the recommendation to come down here and gave an extensive list of everything else to be done in the area. There’s so many options it would take at least a week to see half of them.

“This hotel has a rooftop restaurant that’s supposed to have a good view of St. Peters,” you say.

The restaurant would have a great view of the city, if it wasn’t shut down for renovations. The staff don’t even let you near the elevator before you’re both swept outside and back on the street.

“Well…” Seungcheol starts.

“Should we call Berto?”

He doesn’t want to. Partially because Berto’s driving might kill him and also because he doesn’t want to end his time with you just yet. One of the things he missed about you living in the same city was weekends in museums for hours. Now that he has it again, he hesitates to cut the time short.

“Wait, I think we’re near one of the parks we visited when I came in college.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp sarcastically. “Did you study abroad? I never knew!”

“Shut up.”

Seungcheol pulls out his phone and dials Berto’s number. “Hey, Berto. No, we're good, everything is fine. But I was wondering how far away is Villa Borghese from us? Oh really? Would you be able to come drop us off? Awesome. Thanks man.”

“Well?”

“He’ll be here in five.”

Five minutes turns into fifteen and in that time Seungcheol burns out. Jetlag and the dull thrums of city streets make him sleepy. You sit in front of him on a bench outside the church. He thought he was better at hiding it but he’s pretty sure if he sits down, he’ll fall asleep.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask once Berto arrives. “We can go back to the house if you want.”

There’s an unofficial official itinerary for today.

Anything before four is fair game. After that there is a welcome cocktail party at a fancy restaurant in the city one of the De Luca’s family friends own.

If Seungcheol doesn’t go home now then it’ll be a close call to nap and shower in time. Not that Sofie is exceptionally punctual about things like that but Seungcheol is.

“I don’t want you not to see stuff just because I’m tired.”

“Cheol, I’ve been here all week with Sofie and Han. I promise this was the only thing left on my list of stuff to do. Anything else would have been a bonus.”

“Only if you're sure.”

“We can always come back again. I’m pretty sure Sofie’s mom is decorating a room for me.”

Yeah, because most men are fine with their fiancée taking international trips with another man. Not that you’d listen or Johnny has the balls to say something about it. But Seungcheol knows the chances of coming back here together, like this, are slim to nonexistent.

“Alright. But you can’t bring it up in an argument.”

“I can and I will.” The corner of you mouth twitches as your head shakes before opening the back seat for him. “Now get in the car, old-timer.”

Seungcheol falls asleep on your shoulder in a blink. Berto is quiet (or the open windows drown him out enough that Seungcheol can pretend) and the heat of your body next to his lulls his heart. It’s not a peaceful rest and his neck is killing him by the time Berto pulls into the driveway, but it’s nice.

Seungcheol beelines for the bathroom while you slip into the kitchen. Something about centerpieces or napkins or tablecloths; he isn’t really sure but Sofie’s mom says it's urgent so he goes upstairs alone, showers in record time, and dives under the covers.

His dreams are filled with blue and gold elephants, He wakes to the sound of your voice blended with the sound of water.

You’re singing. More so humming some off key melody that bounces off the shower tiles and echoes straight into his brain. It drags him in that liminal space between waking and dreaming where anything is possible. Maybe he’s still dreaming. Of you and him, back when you shared an apartment and things weren’t so complicated. When there weren’t secrets and omissions and he didn’t have to bite his tongue.

His eyes stay closed, refusing to budge until the last minute.

The shower turns off but the humming continues, louder now that you’re out of the bathroom and collecting your things.

You must think Seungcheol is still asleep because when his eyes slit open, only enough to decipher your hazy silhouette, you’re in nothing but a towel. A very very tiny towel that hides nothing but the necessary bits and even then only barely.

He can’t wake up now. Not when you bend over to look in your suitcase for Seungcheol closed his eyes just in time. But it doesn’t stop his brain from latching on to every sound in the quiet of the room; the humming tickling across your lips, the wet thump! of your towel on the ground. Oh god, now you’re not even wearing a towel.

Seungcheol won’t be that friend. He never has. Or has always tried not to be. But teenage hormones make a young boy’s brain untamable so it’d be a lie to say he’s never thought of you like that. But despite his feelings, Seungcheol has made sure they never became a factor in your friendship.

Even though there is a peace of his soul that will always belong to you.

So he pretends to be asleep, forcibly controlling his breathing while you shuffle around the room none the wiser to his rising predicament.

Finally, you disappear back into the bathroom to change and Seungcheol’s lungs stretch with air until they burn.

You look pretty. Objectively. You glow in the late afternoon sun pouring in from the window, a ditsy floral print dress of orange and cream that hugging your figure; delicate collar bones on display under the flimsy straps and the column of your neck bare save for the necklace you’ve worn everyday since your parents bought it for your sixteenth birthday.

“C’mon sleepy head,” you whisper.

Seungcheol is thrilled his gawking is easily disguised as jetlag.

He changes in the bathroom. Taking a moment to grip the sink, his reflection stares back in the mirror. It’s the exhaustion and dehydration making his brain muddle. Nothing to do with you or him.

It’s fine. Everything is perfectly fine.

The downstairs foyer is in complete chaos but Sofie commands the room like she always does from the top of the stairway.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen. Are you ready?” She yells like a WWE announcer.

Cheers rise up from the gaggle of adults. Cousins, friends, parents, aunts and uncles. Most of them Seungcheol has never seen before and is pretty sure neither have Jeonghan or Sofie but it’s fine. The more the merrier.

Except when different cars end up filled to the brim and you end up sitting on Seungcheol’s lap instead of a seat.

His heart leaps with every bump, yo

ur hair flying into his face and leaving the sweet smell of perfume to flood his senses. Seungcheol can’t even think about that because Sofie’s Zia Linda puts her husband's driving to shame.

At some point you nearly fly out the open window–Why does no one believe in keeping the windows up?– and Seungcheol is forced to wrap an arm around your waist to keep you from ending up a part of the cobblestone road.

“Sorry,” you say. The squeeze at his arm tells him your thankful at least something is stopping you from becoming roadkill.

“It’s fine.”

If you notice his strained breath, you don’t say anything.

The rooftop restaurant is gigantic but with everyone it feels small and crowded. Below, all of Rome spreads out. Lights twinkle in the distance and the moon is heavy overhead, ready for a night of revelry. It’s a welcome party so things are casual, finger foods and drinks flow heavily while everyone mingles.

Sofie and Jeonghan laugh at their own table, holding court with family and friends that flood in and out with congratulations. They’re good at it. Jeonghan ventures on the more introverted side but Sofie could have a meaningful conversation with a pile of rocks.

You're off at another table, talking with Soonyoung and Seungkwan, a second glass of wine in hand. Laughter rings out and he feels drawn to it like a siren call. It was foolish to worry that the scar from Johnny wouldn’t heal over eventually. All you two needed was time.

Seungcheol barely leaves your side during the party. You dance and drink and dance some more until you’re both left in a heap at the same table by the dance floor. Soonyoung and Seokmin provide ample distraction, taking to the floor to do…something Seungcheol hesitates to call dancing because it resembles a child's idea of a circus.

Dancing, food, and wine leave him feeling loose and sleepy. You’re not much better, head on his shoulder and hand tangled with his across your knees.

“Cheol?”

“Yeah?”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

His shirt is unbuttoned, sleeves rolled high. In the back of the car on the ride home, you trace the muscle of his forearms draped over your waist until it lulls him to sleep.

Back at the house, you, Sofie, Jeonghan, and Seungcheol throw out sleepy goodnights and I love you’s before retreating to your separate corners of the house. Jeonghan is technically staying in a room in the same wing as you two (Sofie’s house is big enough to have an east and west wing which still shocks him). Something about family tradition and bad luck for the wedding but Jeonghan follows his fiancée like a shadow to her room at the opposite end of the house without theatrics.

And then there’s just you two.

You lean on each other the entire walk up, like you need the other support or you’ll crumble to the floor and sleep there. Honestly, it’s not a bad idea. Seungcheol has slept in worse places.

The stairs present their own challenges. You go first, Seungcheol right behind in case you fall backwards which has happened enough times that it’s become a habit to walk this way when alcohol is involved. But it doesn’t solve the issue of you tripping up.

Which you do with an effortless lack of grace on the last step.

“Oh, shit!” you giggle.

Seungcheol laughs so hard his knees buckle and he flops on the floor next to you like a dying fish.

“Shhh!” you slur, finger pressed to his lips. “People are sleeping.”

But you're cackling now and he can’t breathe from the painful quaking laughter rooting in his belly. He’s on his back, and you prop up on your arm to loom over him. Twin smiles breaking your faces, eyes watering with drunken mirth.

You go silent first, tracing his features silently like they must be committed to memory. Seungcheol does the same. You’re exactly the same as the day you left. Except for the vacation glow from being here for the past week. He recognizes all the parts of you he’s known for a lifetime. The silver scar on your chin from learning to ride a bike and crashing into a tree. The color of your eyes. The blush of your mouth.

The finger pressed to his lips traces along the plump flesh, then his chin, then it circles the back of his head and you’re ducking down.

Alarms go off in Seungcheol’s head screaming:

DANGER! DANGER! THIS IS NOT WHAT FRIENDS DO! DANGER!

“Wow, it’s late,” he laughs horsley as he rolls away and to his feet.

You jump away, dazed for a second before laughing as well. “Yeah, let’s um…let’s go to bed.”

He can’t quite read your expression. Several emotions swirl across your face but Seungcheol can barely look at you without feeling his face heat so he doesn’t linger.

Seungcheol takes the bathroom after you finish, rushing through his night time routine in sober silence.

You're drunk. That’s the only reason you’re trying to kiss him. Or he had something on his mouth and you can’t find the words to tell him. It was a mistake. A momentary lapse of judgment that didn’t mean anything.

It wasn’t even a fraction of an almost kiss. Your noses barely touched, it doesn’t count.

When he comes back into the room, you’re curled up on the bed in your pajamas asleep.

Seungcheol circles to the other side, slipping under the covers and getting comfortable. The room feels smaller after what just happened. But it wasn’t a big deal. Nothing happened. You both were drunk and missed each other. You never would have kissed him.

Despite the fact the first, and only, time you two kissed was in very similar circumstances.

Rolling over, you find him and cuddle into his chest. Seungcheol opens his arms for you on instinct.

“Did you have fun today?” you ask into his collarbone. The vibration of your voice tickles but it’s dulled from Seungcheol’s heart thudding wildly.

“Yeah.”

His hand smooths the back of your hair, down your back. You readjust, throwing a leg over his own and pulling him in tight.

“Good,” you say around a yawn. “Me too.”

Seungcheol tamps down the piece of him that wants to indulge in this. Just holding you, pretending things outside the door don’t exist and it’s just you and him and no one else.

But he can’t do that.

“You know,” he starts. “I’m happy for you no matter what, right? You and Johnny…I’m happy for you.”

Seungcheol waits for a response that will never come because you’re out cold, snoring against his chest.

You’re still asleep when Seungcheol wakes around noon. Sometime in the night you shifted to the far side of the bed, taking the blanket with you. He doesn’t try to wake you, still confused at exactly what happened last night.

Seungcheol isn’t naive. He knows what women look like when they want to be kissed, when they're thinking about how his mouth will feel against theirs. Usually he revels in it; loves the flare to his ego, the chance to tease before giving in.

But to see the expression on your face sent him into a panic. He’s seen it once before, indulged in it, and it ruined his life for the better part of college. Lips parted, eyes glassy as you stared. All the telltale signs were there: the lift of your chin, hands twisted in his shirt, eyes drooped low.

And the worst part was you did all that despite having a fiance waiting back home none the wiser. Even if Seungcheol couldn’t stand Johnny, he’d never do that. Never allow you to do that.

Even if he wanted nothing more than to feel your lips on his.

He heads as far away as he can. Turns out it’s down stairs for breakfast. Sofie is at the kitchen table, typing on her laptop.

“Morning,” Seungcheol croaks.

“You look like shit. Wild night?”

“Just some old timers thinking they’re twenty one again.”

“What assholes.” She laughs. “How's Y/N?”

Seungcheol freezes like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. Sofie couldn’t know what almost but certainly didn’t happen in the hallway last night. “She’ll probably need an exorcism but she’ll survive.”

“By the way, I meant to give her this last night but everything was crazy. Can you pass it off? Jeonghan and I have to take my grandma to lunch and she’s already called twice sooooo…”

“Yeah, go. Have fun.”

Sofie is up and out before he can blink, a tiny piece of cardstock left in her place.

Kira Long

Artisan Jeweler

Her social media and number are at the bottom but Seungcheol doesn’t need more information.

He hides around the villa most of the day. Catching up with the guys around the pool, feigning fatigue when you come out to join. The gardens are big enough for him to disappear into for a few hours before he needs to go and get ready.

Unfortunately, that also means you are getting ready.

A leg.

That’s all Seungcheol sees when he opens the door.

Your leg specifically, propped on the dresser while you apply lotion in nothing but that damn skimpy towel designed to torture him.

“AH!” you shriek, shocked by his sudden entrance.

“I’m sorry!” he shouts.

The fabric unravels around your chest and suddenly you're naked and Seungcheol is not looking.

“What the fuck? Have you ever heard of knocking?”

He’s not.

“Why are you naked?”

The ceiling is very interesting.

“Because I wanted to scare you.” you scream sarcastically. The door to the hallway is still open. Seungcheol either stays in with you or goes back out because it can’t stay open much longer. He makes the fatal mistake of locking himself inside with you. “Because I thought you’d knock, you fucker! Jesus fucking Christ, turn around.”

Seungcheol saw you naked.

He hides in the bathroom like a wimp until it’s time to leave.

—

It’s a short walk to the church down the street for the rehearsal ceremony. It’s all a blur given the million and one things flying through his brain; most of them you. You in your towel. The fact you’re engaged. You looking at him like you’re dying to be kissed. The fact you’re engaged. How everyone has assumed you’re a couple this entire weekend and you’ve played along. The fact you are engaged to a man that isn’t him and Seungcheol can’t help but feel bitter about it for a completely different reason than he ever thought he would be.

Luckily, the ceremony is only planned to last less than an hour. He knows he isn’t subtle but he tries to grin and bear it for his friends. He can see the same sentiment in you. Your smile doesn’t quite fit but Seungcheol can’t think about what it could be about.

“Do you take this man…”

Was it his rejection? It wouldn’t make sense if it was. You’re his best friend but not even that dictates cheating. You weren’t the type; in your own words cheating was more pathetic than ghosting someone as a form of break up.

He doesn’t get it.

“I always love you even though you sleep like a princess, my love,” Sofie gushes.

“And I’ll forgive you for snoring like an old man, love of my life.” Jeonghan fires back.

They’re saving their real vows, the one Seungcheol helped Jeonghan with, for the ceremony. Even with all the confusion swirling in his head, he can’t wait for Sofie to hear what Jeonghan has in store.

The priest is less than impressed but moves forward like he can’t wait to have them out of his congregation as fast as possible.

“Okay, and you two leave and the wedding party follows…”

Seungcheol offers his arm to the Maid of Honor, Maria, guiding her back down the aisle where Jeonghan and Sofie bicker. You follow with Seokmin, break away the second it's polite with some excuse about needing the bathroom before you dissolve into the crowd.

The dinner is back at the house. The outside is lined with chairs crowded around tables covered in exploding bouquets and candles. Family members and friends weave to and fro, drinks and food flowing heavily.

You’re talking to Seokmin in the corner of the courtyard, a glass of wine already in your hand as you laugh along to whatever the other man said.

“So Sofie said you’re a lawyer?” Maria asks.

“Yeah, that’s how we became friends. I actually was the one who introduced her and Jeonghan.”

“Wow, so you’re a lawyer and a matchmaker.”

Seungcheol laughs at the compliment. Introducing Sofie and Jeonghan had been a complete accident with unintended consequences. “I wouldn’t say that. I thought Sofie would strangle him the first time they met.”

“Oh, I heard all about that. When Sofie told me they started dating I thought she must’ve meant a different Jeonghan.”

Maria makes good company through the first rounds of drinks before dinner is served. She takes his focus away from you, how your leg presses against his under the table. She grew up down the road, went to school with Sofie all the way through undergrad. Her boyfriend, Jihoon, is a surgeon back in Seattle while she works in marketing. Unfortunately getting time off for a second year resident verges on impossible so he couldn’t come to the wedding.

“You two are so cute together, how long have you been dating?” Maria asks before taking a swig of her drink.

“Oh we’re not together,” Seungcheol corrects swiftly.

You give a tense nod of agreement.

“Really?”

“Yep. We grew up together. She’s like my sister.”

He sounds like an asshole. The words are bile but there can be no room for incorrect interpretations. This weekend had been nothing but confusing so far. Seungcheol needs to set himself straight on where he stands with you.

“Oh,” Maria nods. “Okay. So Y/N, are you dating anyone?”

“Actually I—”

Your response fizzles out because Jeonghan’s dad rises from his seat for a speech.

“I want to take a moment to express my deepest appreciation to everyone here this weekend to celebrate Sofie and Jeonghan. I remember the first time he told us about her, how happy he was and thought ‘oh this poor girl doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into’.” There’s a smatter of laughter throughout the room. Sofie leans into Jeonghan’s shoulder and he places a kiss on her temple. “But then I met Sofie and I can say, without a doubt, there are very few people more perfect for each other than those two. Sofie, welcome to our family.”

Dinner passes, course after course and more wine until Seungcheol physically can’t have any more. You and Maria hit it off, rambling about Jihoon’s two cats and the abandoned kitten that hangs out around his work he’s trying to bribe into coming home. You barely look at him during the conversation but he prefers it.

Dessert comes with coffee and then everyone dissolves. Some stay around the tables to chat and drink and laugh, others help clean up. But Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and the groom's party head for the back gardens, Seungkwan already queueing up the song for one last practice.

It’s tradition, in southern Italy at least, for the groom to serenade his bride-to-be the night before their wedding. Seungcheol couldn’t believe Jeonghan was planning to go through with such tradition but he’s seen the man do more for Sofie than he thought he was capable of so it shouldn’t come as a shock.

The warm summer air does good for his mood, as does laughing with the guys when Soonyoung and Seungkwan get into a wrestling match after debating if they step-shuffle for three or four counts. But they all agree with four because it’s easier to remember.

The top floor balcony at the front of the house turns out to be Sofie’s room. The light floods out of the open doors, and two sets of giggles pour down to where they stand.

Jeonghan cups his hands around his mouth and calls, “Juliet, Juliet! Let down your hair!”

“That’s not the saying.” Seungcheol corrects.

“Shut up, I’m talking to my wife.”

“That’s not the saying!” Sofie laughs from above.

You and Sofie peek over the side of the iron terrace, grins already splitting your faces. You knew what was happening. It’s why you whisked Sofie away with whatever distraction you could think of while the men gathered outside for a quick last minute dry run. Something about broken heels and needing to borrow a pair of shoes.

“Sofie Cosima De Luca, you are the love of my life.” Jeonghan yells. He’s drunk on love (and a lot of champagne). “I can’t wait to marry you tomorrow. I just hope after this you still want to marry me. Hit it!”

The obscenely large speaker Seungcheol carried out starts humming the instrumental to Sofie and Jeonghan’s song. The very one Jeonghan drunkenly serenaded her with in a dingy bar, back when she didn’t believe he could handle a serious relationship and he was hopelessly wrapped around her finger.

“I’ve got sunshineeeeeeee on a cloudy day…” Jeonghan croons.

“Oh my god,” Sofie cackles.

Everyone else joins in, harmonizing in the back along with the choreo Seungkwan and Soonyoung came up with. A simple side step with occasional jazz hands (much to Soonyoung’s tipsy dismay). “I guess you’d say what can make me feel this way?”

“MY GIRL,” Jeonghan belts his line, smiling dumbly.

You’re watching the shenanigans unfold, smiling as well. But while you're looking at everyone else, the only person Seungcheol can look at is you; the way your eyes gleam in the moonlight, your chin tipping back to laugh when Jeonghan’s voice cracks. You’re breathtaking. For a brief moment, barely a passing thought in the roaring river of his brain focused on his cue to sing and side step when needed, Seungcheol imagines what it would be like if you two were the only ones around.

Chalking it up to the moment, Seungcheol thinks about anything else as they finish the performance.

The music dwindles away and all that's left is Jeonghan staring up at his future wife as the rest of the group takes exaggerated bows. Other guest peek from windows or the edge of the drive way, cheering loudly.

“Bravi! Bravissimi!” Sofie cries as you both clap. “Can I make a request?”

Jeonghan nods like an eager puppy in response.

“Sing the Thong Song!” you both request through giggles.

“That's for after the wedding.” Jeonghan winks.

Time for Seungcheol to do his best man duties and prevent Jeonghan from making a complete ass of himself. "Alright Casanova, let’s go.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Jeonghan calls over his shoulder, fighting against everyone ushering him away.

“Don’t be late!” Sofie demands.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

After returning Jeonghan to his room for the night, Seungcheol heads back to his completely unprepared to see you again. Too many feelings swirl in his head. Feelings he thought he finally left back in college.

He remembers only a few key events of his early childhood. When he lost his first tooth, when he broke his arm for the first time, and his soccer game at four years old when Jeonghan and he rubbed dirt in each other's faces and rolled in the grass instead of playing. But other than that, his life has been distinctly divided into two parts: before you, and after you. He remembers when you marched into the first day of second grade with a sparkly blue bookbag much too big for your little body. You went to the front of the class, introduced yourself loud and proud, and then looked around the room like you were daring anyone to say something back.

And like any other childhood friendship is made, you sat at Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s table and asked if they wanted to be your friend. Without even considering the options, they both agreed. From then on out you’d always been Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and YN. Friends in elementary school, all through middle school, and even into the far reaches of highschool when Seungcheol played sports all year while you and Jeonghan did theater. It never occurred to any of you to be apart. Until Jeonghan stayed home to attend university in your hometown. And then it was Seungcheol and YN. Jeonghan came to visit when he could and vice versa. But at university it was you two against the world.

The first time Seungcheol realized he liked you was in third grade after you dumped chocolate milk on Jeonghan’s head because he put a bug in your lunchbox. He married you on the playground and made mud pies to celebrate. And then in high school when Seungcheol realized you weren’t just a girl but a pretty girl and the hormones of his teenage body latched onto that fact and plagued his dreams with the information.

And he never did anything about that crush because he knew it wasn’t worth losing you to act on those silly notions. They passed just like he thought, melted away as time went on and you both dated other people.

But that night freshman year of college…

It doesn’t matter.

Because you have a fiancé and Seungcheol is happy for you.

The sound of running water echoes from the bathroom as Seungcheol enters your shared room. At least it delays the inevitable awkwardness.

Or he thought it would.

“Hey, Cheol?” you call from the door.

“Yeah?”

“I forgot my clothes. Can you bring them to me?”

“Ugh, yeah.” Seungcheol scrambles for the pile of clean pajamas at the corner of the bed, snatching them up and stepping closer to the door that separates you. “Here.”

Mind caught on other things – like not remember that he caught a glimpse of you make last night, barely a second, no real detail except creamy skin and details his brained filled in on its own accord to his own chagrin – Seungcheol trips over his own feet and slams into the piece of wood head first.

The only thing stopping the door from flying straight into the wall is you.

“Shit!” you exclaim following a ricocheting ‘thump.’ “What the fuck, Cheol?”

Clutching his forehead, Seungcheol is oblivious to the tangle of limbs you’ve both collapsed into.

“Fuck, sorry.” He blinks against the stark brightness of the overhead light. You’re clutching at your face, hands cupped around your nose and eyes filled with tears. “Here let me see.”

Your eyes crack open enough to glare at him, narrow and rimmed red. As if he didn’t feel awful enough.

Without a second thought, he strokes across the curve of your knee soothingly. “I won’t touch it, I just wanna make sure it isn’t broken.”

A hand shakenly falls away to unveil your perfectly fine nose. Seungcheol tips your chin up, moving in for a closer look just in case. But everything is fine. You’re not even bleeding, just a runny nose that definitely hurts worse than it looks.

The initial rush of panic ebbs only to be replaced with awareness. Seungcheol is kneeling between your legs, your towel is definitely too short, and the beads of water caught on your collarbone are down right taunting him. He needs to get away.

Now.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, moving back.

Your face morphs into horror at his tone. “What?”

“You’ve got a huge bat in the cave.” Seungcheol rises to his feet, offering you a hand up while ignoring the way your chest struggles against the tie of the towel as you come to your feet as well.

“Fuck you,” you laugh, pushing him away. “Give me my clothes and get the fuck out.”

Seungcheol does just that. As the lock latches back he’s left alone with nothing but thoughts of you.

He remembers. That night you two have never spoken about. And probably would never discuss even under the threat of life and limb. A drunk kiss, in the stuffy bar that didn’t care if your IDs were fake as long as you had money.

Seungcheol remembers the way you felt in his lap, the taste of your mouth, the breathy whine against his lips when he first pulled away from the kiss. Maybe that last detail was a hallucination but it felt real. The heat of your body haunted Seungcheol for the week after it happened.

Not even Jeonghan knew about it.

And he’d rather die than open that can of worms. The first time Seungcheol had a crush on you in high school, he swallowed those feelings and never let them see the light of day. Because you’re his best friend, his longest friend, and if it was between the risk of losing you from his feelings (that he was certain would fade eventually despite the fact they never have) or keeping you in his life, then he’d stay silent if it killed him.

It’s your turn to disappear the next morning. You’re side of the bed is long cooled by the time Seungcheol’s alarm goes off, a piece of him gone with it.

His dreams hadn’t helped. A faceless woman, not even sounds or sights or tangible things he could identify. But he knows the feeling. That alluring warmth of a body firm against his own, the kind that leaves him aching when he wants up. Seungcheol knows it's you. It’s the same images that have plagued his subconscious since adolescence when he’d wake up to messy boxers and the inability to look you in the face for days after.

Feelings he’s long suppressed came out last night. Seeing you in the window, in the bathroom, it’s all too much. And now it chases him into sleep; the one place he thought he might have peace.

Luckily your absence means there's no awkward explanation of why he’s hard. The trip to the bathroom is more of dejected desperation than eager need. Seungcheol hops into the shower and takes care of it, careful to keep his thought as abstract as possible or risk you popping up in his fantasy. Dreaming about you is damning enough. He doesn’t need to add to the guilt weighing on his conscience.

The rhythm of the water lulls his brain into a cycle. He can’t do this. He can’t go another minute

He can’t even survive Jeonghan’s wedding. How he will sit through yours with a grin will be a true test of his acting ability.

But that is future Seungcheol’s problem. Right now he needs to get through today and then tomorrow and after that he’ll be on a plane back home where he can ruminate in the isolated confines of his apartment.

He just needs to focus on one thing at a time.

Right now, it’s getting downstairs in the next ten minutes or risk losing tee time with Jeonghan and the other groomsmen.

There’s only two people he’d ever turn to in a time like this, except he can’t talk to either of them because one is the problem and the other is getting married in a few hours. The last thing Jeonghan needs is to hear about an issue between his two best friends.

Which is why he’s the first to pick up Seungcheol’s mood.

“You look like shit,” Jeonghan greets.

The other mill about the kitchen, snagging leftover pastries and fruit. Usually Seungcheol is the first to show up, not the last. But Soonyoung still seems to be missing.

“Thanks.”

“Rough night?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Well if you’re tired you can always join the girls at the spa.” Jeonghan offers. “Sofie said they’re doing mud baths.”

The wedding isn’t until this afternoon leaving the entire morning free. So the boys play golf while the girls go soak in mud.

“That sounds…horrible.”

“I know,” Jeonghan nods. “Alright gentlemen, let's head out.”

Seungcheol eats shit the entire morning. He usually scores around seventy five but he’s destined to break well over a hundred today and even Jeonghan pretends he doesn’t notice.

“Do you ever think about why nothing happened between you and Y/N?” Jeonghan asks right as Seungcheol prepares to swing.

Kicking a man when he’s down is more of a guideline for his best friend rather than something to avoid.

Seungcheol’s shot flies wide, straight into a fairway bunker a good thirty yards behind everyone else’s ball. He watches for another solid minute, deflating. “No.”

“If you’re gonna lie, at least make it believable.” Jeonghan chides, setting up his own tee.

“I’m not lying.”

“Humor me. It’s my wedding day and I’m trying not to freak out.”

“You’re freaked out?”

“Dude, of course I’m freaked out. We’ve never gone more than a few hours without talking since we started dating and I haven’t seen her since last night. So just let me focus on something else,” Jeonghan sighs.

Seungcheol thinks about his next words wisely. Jeonghan can smell bullshit a thousand miles away, and playing mind games right now feels a little unfair. “I don’t wonder why nothing happened anymore.”

“Lying again but whatever.” Jeonghan grabs for his drive and lines up the shot.

“Why are you asking?”

“I don’t know. Everyone thought you two would end up together eventually and then you didn’t. I’ve got a lot of people asking and I wanted an official response because you’re not exactly subtle and she isn’t stupid.”

Jeonghan’s shot lands square on the first cut, fifty yards ahead of Seungcheol’s ball.

“Yeah, well.” Seungcheol huffs. “If she noticed, she never said anything.”

“Okay but did you ever say anything?”

Jeonghan hands his club over to his catty before they start towards their respective zones. Seungcheol and his friend trailing behind.

Seungcheol argues. “You just said I wasn’t subtle?”

“You aren’t,” Jeonghan snorts. “But Y/N is about as impressionable as rock.”

“Did you think something was gonna happen?”

Seungcheol reaches his ball first. All the other guys are further ahead but Jeonghan sticks by.

“No.” Jeonghan says. “But I know you kissed her.”

Seungcheol turns to the other man, mouth gaped in shock. “How the fuck did you know that? Did she tell you?”

“I KNEW IT.” Jeonghan points at him like a little kid tattling on his friend. “ I fucking knew it! Sofie owes me fifty bucks.”

“What?”

“Y/N is a better liar than you, I’ll give her that but I knew something was off that first week I came to visit. I knew you didn’t have the balls to sleep with her so I must have been something else.”

Jeonghan asked you if you remember the kiss. Jeonghan and Sofie know you kissed. You remember the kiss. But you never said anything. If that doesn’t solidify Seungcheol firmly in the friendzone then nothing else would.

“You made a bet with your fiancée on whether your best friends kissed or not?” Seungcheol shakes his head in disbelief.

“You’ll understand when you have a successful relationship.” Jeonghan touts.

The catty hands over Seungcheol’s driver. He looks about Seungcheol’s age, maybe younger, and by the look on his face he’s trying very hard to pretend he isn’t listening to the unfolding drama.

Another person to witness how hopeless he is. Great.

“It doesn’t matter. It was a mistake.”

“You never know,” Jeonghan shrugs, following his catty further up the fairway and ending the conversation.

Back at the house, you’re nowhere to be seen while Seungcheol showers and changes. It’s for the best. No sleep, a horrible golf game, and now all the feelings that returned over the weekend have left him with nothing but a foul mood.

Every step is dragged out so he doesn’t have to pretend you two are fine. He can’t afford another blow out right now because today is meant to be for Jeonghan and Sofie. Even if Jeonghan thought he should talk about it, Seungcheol couldn’t do it anymore. He wouldn’t do it anymore. But the time it takes leaves his head spinning out of control.

You’re pretending nothing is wrong. Cuddling up to him, calling him your husband. You nearly kissed him. You would’ve if he didn’t stop you. You always said cheating was worse than heartbreak but now here you are, capitalizing on his feelings for whatever satisfaction you selfishly crave; using Seungcheol to hurt your fiancé in secret. Who you seem dedicated to pretending doesn’t exist.

It’s a nasty cycle. Feeling used, disbelief of who you’ve turned into in months away, that piece of him that always craved something more with you flowering only to wilt because it’s not real.

You don’t want Seungcheol.

You never have.

The wedding party gathers outside the church. Sofie is tucked away in a private room until her grand entrance. She wanted everyone to be surprised, leaving her bridesmaids to mingle with the groomsmen until it was time to for the ceremony to start.

The lavender bridesmaid dress is nothing special. A tie at the top keeps the entire thing up, the front void of any details. The open back adds a flash of skin but other than that there isn’t much to it. But you’re wearing it and Seungcheol can feel his heart jerk as the fabric flows around your curves. The universe is taunting him with what he’ll never have.

He doesn’t stare despite the fact that every time he blinks his gaze automatically searches for you. It’s hard to ignore the only person he sees in a crowded room. Even if he’s pissed at you.

You excuse yourself from Seokmin, creeping over to where Seungcheol stands with a grin. “You clean up nice.”

“Thanks,” he nods.

“Is something wrong?’

A shot of annoyance flashes through him. Now is not the place. Last time he felt like this, you two got in a screaming match on a snowy sidewalk. “No.”

You shake your head, hand coming to rest on his arm in an act of comfort. “Are you sure? Because you’ve been acting weird.”

Betrayed by his own body. Half of him wants to get on the next flight home and block your number so he can forget all of this. It wouldn’t work. The times tried anything remotely of the sort only leave him in circling thoughts day and night.

The other half of him wants to wrap you in his arms and take whatever you're willing to give him. The half that could act like Johnny didn’t exist, at least not in this little bubble where nothing else exists but you and him. Because he's selfish and he’s been in love with you for years and he would never expect something in return for his feelings but he can’t take it any more.

But he can’t pretend anymore.

Pretending he’s never been jealous of your boyfriends, and that the night in college when you kissed meant nothing. That it didn’t flood his brain everytime he looked at you; that it didn’t leave more questions than answers. He’s been pretending everything has been fine, that seeing you asleep on his chest doesn’t make his heart hurt, and that he was stronger than the temptation to kiss you last night.

He remembers that night with clarity despite how drunk he was. Thought it meant you felt the same way he had for years.

“Cheers to finally being adults!” you scream, tequila shot raised over head.

Seungcheol laughs. Nothing is that funny but he’s nineteen and drunk in a dingy college bar with his best friend . “Adults!”

Someone passes by and knocks you forward, straight into Seungcheol's chest where you keep laughing as you look up at him.

You’re close. Closer than ever before. He could count all your eyelashes if there weren’t four of you floating in his vision. But Seungcheol doesn’t need to see clearly. Not when you’re already kissing him.

He’s kissing you.

It’s sloppy and drunk but his brain doesn’t think in big picture. It’s all feeling. Your hand in his shirt, a sweet sigh against his chin when you break away for a second just to come right back. Your mouth tastes like alcohol and lime and he’s never had anything better sweep across his tongue.

Thank god for the booth because you’re in his lap now, grinding against the seam of his jeans until he’s hard and when you finally realize you say his name.

And then Seungcheol pulls away, turns his head, and vomits before blacking out.

He hates that he thinks about it. He thinks about it all the time. What if? But there’s no more what ifs. There's only right now. Just you and him and the widening space in between that's become unnavigable.

“I’m acting weird? I’m not the one rubbing herself all over me, calling me her husband to strangers, and trying to kiss me.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I can’t believe you would do something like this. Why would you put me in this position? Do you think it’s funny?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m happy for you, really. I just think it’s best if we don’t talk for a while. I think you need to sort things out with your fiance.”

Now that seems to get your attention. “Seungcheol, what—”

The music swells from the organ inside, cueing the ceremony and effectively silencing your questions.

Good. It’s better that way. Seungcheol is weak for you in all the ways that matter and he knows if he had to stand there for another minute then your hurt expression is all it would take for him to fold and pretend he never said anything.

You join the other bridesmaids and Seungcheol ducks inside the church after the wedding planner opens the doors. One by one the other groomsmen walk in: Joshua, Seungkwan, Soonyoung, and finally Seokmin. Each line up further down Jeonghan’s side. Then the bridesmaids follow.

Sofie’s cousin, who Seungcheol met once, glides down the aisle followed by another taller cousin who looks nearly identical. Then it’s Sofie’s roommate from college, Mona who Josh had been trying to get with all weekend.

You walk up the aisle, a smile plastered on your face but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You won’t look in his direction.

Everything is slipping through his fingers and you both have to pretend they aren’t.

Everyone turns to watch Maria, and then Sofie. But the only person Seungcheol is paying attention to is you.

The ceremony flies by. Sofie cries, Jeonghan cries.

Sofie cries even harder when Jeonghan recites his vows in Italian. It’s odd, watching his two friends who usually are the couple laughing in the corner, be so vulnerable. Declaring their love for each other in front of a few hundred people.

“Sofie, sin dal primo momento in cui ti ho incontrata, sapevo che ti avrei voluta nella mia vita per sempre. Che tu mi amassi o odiassi, per me andava bene, perché significava che avresti pensato a me tanto quanto io pensavo a te. Mi hai dato il privilegio di chiamarti mia, e non posso aspettare di farlo per il resto delle nostre vite.”

Six months of using Seungcheol as practice, along with Sofie’s cousin, and he sounds decent. Jeonghan wouldn’t win any awards for his language skills but everyone’s faces melt around the room. Even the people that don’t know a word of what he’s say can feel the earnest dedication he has to Sofie. Even Seungcheol gets misty eyed.

“Io, Jeonghan, prendo te, Sofie, come mia sposa e prometto di esserti fedele sempre, nella gioia e nel dolore, nella salute e nella malattia, e di amarti e onorarti tutti i giorni della mia vita.”

“I, Sofie, take you, Jeonghan, as my husband and promise to be faithful to you always, in joy and in pain, in health and in sickness, and to love you and every day honor you, for the rest of my life.”

Then they kiss and Sofie screams something along the lines of “we’re married, bitches!” much to the priest demise before exiting the church.

From there it’s chaos.

The entire wedding party is corralled for endless pictures while everyone else heads back to the villa for the reception. You don’t look at him and Seungcheol refuses to acknowledge you until your parents are forcing you two together for awkward pictures like its high school prom.

By the time it’s over and he gets to the reception, the party is in full swing and the sun is setting.

Dinner is a blur. He makes his toast, short and sweet like Jeonghan told him to. The night progresses and people flood the cleared area serving as a makeshift dance floor in the center of the courtyard.

Seungcheol sips his wine. Three glasses in an hour because he isn’t sure what to do with his hands when his obligatory dance with Maria is over and he’s avoided being dragged on the floor by one of Sofie’s more zealous aunts because she herself demands a dance.

“How does it feel to be Mrs. Yoon?”

Sofie turns to watch Jeonghan twirls her great grandmother. Or more like Nonna Cosima leads him. She’s surprisingly spry for someone pushing triple digits. “I think he’s gonna be a great first husband.”

His gaze settles on you, Seokmin leading you across the floor in a ridiculous fashion. The younger man is trying hard to make you laugh and it seems to be working.

“She thinks you’re mad at her,” Sofie says.

“Maybe I am.”

“Care to share with the class?” She prods but Seungcheol doesn’t break, using the ending of the song to find a table at the edge of the makeshift dance floor. “Fine, but I feel like if you’re gonna pout at my wedding I should at least know why. Especially because I owe Han fifty bucks because you can’t lie to save your life.”

Seungcheol is mad. But mostly at himself. For tricking himself into thinking maybe, just maybe, there could be something more. That in all the improbable universes you returned his feelings, this would be one.

And he did all that knowing you’re dedicated to someone else who is so entirely wrong for you.

“What did she tell you?” Seungcheol asks.

“That’s not how this works. No pay, no play.”

He studies Sofie for a minute. She’s good at keeping her cards close but she knows about you and Johnny. It wouldn’t be a far leep to assume she knows about everything else.

“God, you sound like Jeonghan.”

“Have you and Y/N talked? Like, really talked, since you got here?” There's a weight at the end of that sentence but Sofie doesn’t elaborate.

“Care to be more specific?” he asks, grabbing for another glass.

“I’ll take that as a no then.” Sofie takes the seat beside him.

His chest tightens. This is it.

“About her and Johnny?”

“So she did say something…” Sofie fishes.

“No she didn’t. But I heard you guys in the kitchen the night I got in.”

“You did?” she gasps. “And you didn’t say anything to her about it?”

His jaw ticks in annoyance. “What’s there to say? ‘Congrats on your engagement, you’re too good for him’? I don’t think that's what she’d wa—”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Sofie throws her hands up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. All around the party continues. “You think Y/N is engaged? To who?”

“Johnny! Who else?”

Her drink sloshes over the sides of her wine glass, narrowly missing the white gown and falling to the cobblestone. “Oh my god, you’re an idiot!”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s not engaged, you dipshit,” she goes on. “Oh my god, you’re both so stupid. I told Han, I told him we should’ve said something.”

“What?” he says quietly.

Sofie continues as if Seungcheol hasn’t spoken at all, “I can’t believe she hasn’t told you.”

“Told me what?”

“She broke up with him!”

She broke up with him. She (you) broke up with him (Johnny). You and Johnny are done. It’s like he’s hearing the news from underwater.

“She broke up with him.” He repeats dumbly.

Someone cheers and then applause follows but Seungcheol is lost in his mind. You and Johnny aren’t engaged. You two aren’t even dating. Haven’t been.

“When?”

Sofie’s face softens. She knows. The first time he introduced you to Sofie she assumed you two were dating. She didn’t like Johnny for a lot of the same reasons Seungcheol did, but also because she thought you two were meant to be together. “A week after she moved.”

That phone call the week after you moved. It must’ve been something to do with you and Johnny. But why didn’t you answer messages the next morning? Why would you break up with Johnny and then refuse to tell him? Why would you let Seungcheol think he was being used as the other man?

“So this entire week…”

“She was supposed to tell you. I told her to tell you months ago but does she listen to me? Nope.”

“Do you know why?”

“Now that is something she needs to tell you.” Seungcheol looks where you're dancing with Seokmin. Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes but you laugh when the man dips you almost to the floor and struggles to lift you back up. “But first you need to apologize.”

“Is it that bad?”

“When I imagined someone crying at my wedding it wasn’t because of you.”

Seungcheol winces, “She cried?”

“Yep. You owe me a nice ass wedding gift for that one.”

“Sofie, I’m sorry I—” he tries to apologize.

“Cheol, don’t worry about it.” She pats his arm. “It was actually a nice distraction from the insanity this week.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“It really is.” Sofie rises from the table, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing tray. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my husband owes me a dance. And Cheol?”

“Yeah?”

“You should tell her how you feel.”

Seungcheol takes his chance at Sofie’s departure. With the change in music Seokmin bows out and you're left on the dance floor alone. Cast in the soft glow of garden lights and candles, you’re tragically beautiful. Soft around the edges in a dreamy haze. Seungcheol feels like he’s intruding by approaching you but he needs to apologize before you both return to your separate corners of the country tomorrow night.

“Hey,” he greets.

You look at him apprehensively, eyes dark, before speaking. “Hi.”

You’re just as petty as Seungcheol so he knows if you’re speaking to him then there's some kind of hope he hasn’t completely ruined your friendship. But it could also mean you’re about to rip him a new one in front of everyone for not the first time in his life.

Hopefully, it’s the former.

“Mind a walk?”

“We’re at a wedding.”

Jeonghan and Sofie curl tightly around each other at the center of the courtyard. It’s clear from the way both their faces soften, lax grins reaching their ears, that the world has stopped spinning just for them.

“I’m pretty sure we could light them on fire right now and they wouldn’t notice. Besides, Sofie gave me her blessing,” he jokes but you don’t laugh.

“Fine,” you say before stalking towards one of the paths leading to more secluded parts of the house.

People drape across different parts of the villa as you two walk in silence to find some privacy. The gardens are full of chatting elders, kids running around in the dark or falling asleep in some adults' holds. After ten minutes with no luck at seclusion, Seungcheol has half a mind to go back to your room and talk it out but he doesn’t. The idea itself freezes his blood.

It’s not until you're deeper into the maze of shrubs and bushes that the voices and music fade. The silence is so tense he might shatter under the pressure.

You whip around to face him, still five paces ahead.

“What did you want to talk about?” you deadpan.

Seungcheol thought through every thing he wanted to say, all the questions and whys and what ifs he’d collected during this trip but they abandoned him now that they have the chance to be answered. Instead, all that comes out of him is a shaky, “I’m sorry.”

You wait for him to elaborate but he doesn’t. He’s apologizing for more than he could put in words and he’d list them off until the sun comes up if he starts now.

“Okay. Is that all?” you ask.

“Sofie told me about Johnny.”

You blanche. “She did?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“What did she tell you?” your arms draw tightly around your center. Like you’re holding your heart from spilling out your chest.

Seungcheol regurgitates the limited facts Sofie shared, which is that Johnny hasn’t been in the picture for months and you never deemed him worthy of that information.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I tried. But you didn’t answer your phone and I felt so stupid afterwards and… I just couldn’t do it.”

It hits a nerve deep in his heart. How could it have been easier to spend months pretending he didn’t exist then tell him your relationship ended? More anger slips through. The nasty kind that makes him say things he doesn’t mean but Seungcheol tries to reign it in.

“So you just ignored me and thought that’d solve all our problems?”

“No!’

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I moved cities for a guy I didn’t even like that much! I changed my entire life for him just to prove a point. Because you were right about him and I was wrong and only took a fucking week to realize that after I screwed everything up. I should have listened to you but—”

“So you lied to me because you didn't want me to say ‘I told you so’?” Seungcheol fumes. “Are you serious?”

“I didn’t lie to you!” you object.

“Yes you did! You stopped talking to me for months! Months. I can’t even remember we went a week without talking but you dropped off the face of the planet,” he rants. “I thought you were happy in New York with Johnny but apparently I’m the last to know anything. If you had just told me I wouldn’t have said anything. I would have gone up there and moved you back home myself.”

“I don’t want you to fix my mistakes!”

“Then what do you want? Because from where I’m standing I have no idea. All week you’ve been acting weird and because you didn’t tell me I thought you were using me to cheat on your boyfriend. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I didn’t mean to. Things just kept happening and I got swept up before I could tell you.”

Seungcheol was nothing more than a meaningless distraction, a rebound.

“So it didn’t mean anything to you?” he asks.

“No!” you cry. “I was just distracted.”

“Distracted? Are you serious?”

“You know what? Forget it. You don’t want to listen to me, you just want to be mad and yell.”

You’re right. Seungcheol does want to be mad and yell and pull his own hair out because what you’re saying isn’t helping untangle the knotted mess of his brain. It’s making it worse. Your confessions are watering that seed of hope in his chest despite the fact he knows nothing will ever happen. Even with Johnny out of the picture.

“Why did you break up with Johnny?”

“I—” Your eyes close. Pulled tight like you’re finding the courage to tell Seungcheol some dark secret. “He…” you swallow. “I broke up with him because…”

Seungcheol tenses, prepared for the absolute worst. You moved your entire life for the guy and broke up with him a handful of days later. There had to be a reason. “Because why? Did he do something?”

“No!” you correct. “I wish he did, I probably wouldn’t have felt like such a bitch but he didn’t do anything at all. I just realized we didn’t work.”

“You didn’t ‘work’?”

I told you so, indeed.

“Yeah. It’s kinda difficult to be with someone when you're in love with someone else,” you reply.

Suddenly, Seungcheol wishes he never brought it up. Another guy. One that isn’t him. Again. He’s the other man. Those gut feelings, the nagging voice at the back of his head that reminded him time and time again you couldn’t feel the same has its own ‘I told you so’ moment.

But that’s not what makes him feel horrible. He’d suffer from overthinking as long as needed just so you wouldn’t look so ashamed.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Seugncheol waits for you to elaborate. More silence except for the crunch of your shoes across the stone walkway. A bench comes into view and you slip into one of the spots before speaking again.

“I…I always wondered why those dates never worked out. Like, I would like someone but then they didn’t want the same things or they’d want the same things but I didn’t want them. And I guess Johnny was my last ditch effort because maybe if I knew from the beginning things weren’t gonna work out then I’d never be disappointed.”

Seungcheol isn’t sure what to say so he stays quiet.

“And I thought I could just live with it. Knowing I didn’t have what Jeonghan and Sofie have. Like who actually gets that in their life? But…”

“But?”

“But then I realized that there was only one guy my whole life that’s actually been everything I wanted and I was comparing everyone to him.”

“Who?”

“You.”

Him. You’ve compared every guy you’ve dated to him. He’s the person you want, the man you’ve measured everyone up to and found them wanting.

You’re in love with Seungcheol. You broke up with your boyfriend for Seungcheol.

You love him back.

“It’s fine, if you don’t feel that way about me. I’m okay with it. I wasn’t planning to tell you because I expected anything. I just… part of the reason I didn’t say anything is I know you don’t think about me like that but this week I thought— I don’t know what I thought. But I didn’t want to lie to you anymore.”

“You…what?”

“Let’s just agree to pretend this never happened, okay? We should get back to the party.” You move to rush past him but Seungcheol hooks an arm around your torso, light enough you could break through if you really wanted to but you stop all the same.

There is no way in hell you drop that bomb on him and leave him to deal with the aftermath alone.

His voice is unrecognizable to his own ears. “You broke up with Johnny because of me?”

“Yeah,” you swallow. You refuse to look at him, focusing on the neatly clipped grass your heels sink into.

“Because you’re in love with me.”

You flounder. It isn’t a question. It’s a fact.

“How long?” Seungcheol presses.

“What?”

“How long have you been in love with me?”

“It's always been you.”

Seungcheol’s heart detonates into a million pieces.

“You?” His pulse is sprinting. You’re in love with him. Have been. Maybe as long as he’s been in love with. Impossible for it to be longer because there's no moment in time when Seungcheol didn’t carry his feelings for you like an old friend. “You didn’t say anything.”

Your eyes are wet again, more tears he wants to brush away but he can’t do anything but stare. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“You wouldn’t have,” he whispers back.

“What's supposed to mean?”

Your nose brushes along his, eyes soft as you glance at his mouth.

Seungcheol won’t let himself kiss you yet. He can’t. The first time he feels your lips on his in years has to be in private because he shakes at the idea of it, a part of him chips away from just imagining even the most chaste brush. But mostly because he’s terrified that once he starts, he knows he won’t be able to stop.

“Do you remember that night in college?” he asks. You’re stunned speechless by the abrupt shift in topic but the words fall out of his mouth before he can think of a better way to say what needs to be said. He continues, “when we did a million shots and you kissed me?”

You snap back, slapping a hand on his chest and nearly teetering to the ground. “You bitch! You kissed me!”

“So you do remember!”

“Of course I remember,” you declare. “I thought you didn’t remember.”

You remember. You remember how his mouth tasted, how you ground into his lap, the feeling of his hands on your ass. All of it sticks with you like it stuck to him.

“Trust me, I remember.”

“Well, why didn’t you say anything?” you huff.

“I was going to but you told me you started dating whatever-his-name before I could.”

“Because I thought you didn’t like me back!”

“I’ve liked you since the first day I met you.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“You should’ve said something.” The admonishment means nothing. Not with the way you smile at him. It makes his heart soar, hope bursting at the seams.

“I didn’t even know you realized I was a dude until college, why would I say something?”

“Trust me, I knew you were a guy way before college.”

“And we’re back to the original question: why didn’t you say anything?”

It's ridiculous. Utterly comical and unimportant of who said what when because they’re being said now and Seungcheol never has to pretend he isn’t hopelessly in love with you ever again.

You cozy up into his chest, fingers tracing the collar of his shirt. “Wow, barely five minutes we’re already fighting.”

“We’re not fighting.” His lips burn the word into your hairline, arms wrapping around your frame so his fingers can finally, finally, trace the bared skin of your back.

“Oh really?” You laugh. “Then what are we doing, oh wise one?”

“We’re having a spirited conversation over the fact you kissed me and never said anything.”

“And now we’re fighting over whether or not we’re fighting.”

“We’re not fighting.”

“You’re exhausting.” Your eyes roll. He can’t see it, not with how you duck into his neck, but he knows you did it. Because Seungcheol knows you better than anyone else.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“And you kissed me.”

“Well then there's only one way to settle this.”

“Which is?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer. If Jeonghan could be lit on fire and not think of anyone but his wife, then the world could fall to dust and the only thing on Seungcheol’s mind is the way your mouth feels against his.

It’s light at first. Airy because you’re both still laughing over arguing if you’re fighting or not. But then Seungcheol loses his balance and you help by curling a hand around his shoulder but refuse to stop kissing him and the world blinks out of existence for a second.

All the cliches start making sense. Two halves of a whole, puzzle pieces slipping together, all the things poets could say in a million more eloquent ways than him.

But Seungcheol feels at home for the first time in his life.

It’s not easy maneuvering a full grown woman up and into his lap. It’s especially not easy because you’re you and you’re more stubborn than anyone he’s met in his life which means you object to every step, huff and puff at a brief second of broken contact, but the second he spins you around and drags over his lap you melt.

Your tongue glides along his, sending a tsunami of want through his bones. You whimper. Or maybe he does. Seungcheol can’t tell what's up and what's down right now. He finds the open back of your dress and relishes in the arch of your spine, the choppy breath he can feel beneath his palms.

The silk bow holding your dress up teases his hand as Seungcheol traces the notches of your spine. No one would see. No one except him and the moon and the stars who’ve all stopped to watch. He wants to. God, he wants to but he doesn’t.

You tug at his hair and your name floods his tongue like a curse.

Draped across his lap in nothing but thin satin, you can feel all of him. How his cock hardens against the back of your thighs, shaky breathes in his lungs wrecking into your own chest. You're not wearing a bra. None of that tape or the sticky thing you’d leave hanging in the bathroom when you lived together. Seungcheol knows because he thumbs over the soft swell of your chest and you respond with a rock of hips that leaves his mouth watering.

The last time he kissed you, that fateful night freshman year of college, Seungcheol thought about it every night for months. He thought about it in the shower, in his bed. His mind would wander towards the memory during class and when he walked around campus.

Now he’ll think about this for the rest of his life.

A shrieking laugh almost sends you to the ground in haste to break away, but Seungcheol catches you in time.

“Um…” you choke. Your lips are swollen, eyes a little dazed.

“We should go back inside.”

“Yeah.”

“Just, give me a minute.”

“Why?” Your smile grows steadily as you press more firmly into his predicament.

“I have an issue right now.”

“What kind of issue, Cheolie?” you stare at him through your lashes, finger tracing down the front of his shirt until you reach the button of his pants.

“Oh God,” he grunts as the heel of your hand rocks into him. “You’re actually evil.”

Your lips trace over his jaw, sucking and nipping at the lobe of his ear until he shudders. “Don’t you want me?”

“I do,” he breaths. “Shit.”

His hand squeezes across your ass, your breasts, mindful of how much freedom you’re giving him. To feel you like this, to touch you the way he’s wanted to for years.

“Then have me,” you moan.

“Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to fuck you right here.”

“But I do want you to fuck me.” Your hand is in his pants. “Right.” A tight squeeze on his cock. “Here.” He ruts into the next one.

His insides spark with a hot kind of electricity at the idea of you jerking him off where anyone could see. But he wants to touch you. And that he doesn’t want anyone else to even imagine. He’s shared you enough with the world.

Seungcheol wants a piece of you that's just for him right now.

“Fuck, okay. Stop.”

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re going back inside.”

“Oh?”

Seungcheol doesn’t give into your obvious goading. It’ll just waste more time. Give you another chance to wring him out to dry and he knows if you get his pants down far enough it’s game over for the both of you.

He rushes you through the garden, all but dragging you behind him in his haste to get you somewhere secluded. He’d settle for a broom closet at this point. Anywhere he can have you alone.

But you won’t go down without a fight.

You slow to a near stop, whining, “My feet hurt.”

Seungcheol leads you back over another stone bench, immediately kneeling and grabbing your ankle. The pebbles of the path dig into his knee but the slit of silk revealing your bare legs is a good distraction.

“Alright, Cinderella. Let’s get these off,” he jokes. The buckle is delicate and keeps slipping from between his fingers no thanks to your help.

“I can do it myself!”

You try to kick him off but Seungcheol catches your calf easily. Instead of focusing on the teasing stretch of skin, he watches the way your nose wrinkles indignantly after thwarting your attempt to catch him off guard. You’re cute. Probably because he’s in love with you and the rush from knowing you love him back has him feeling a million miles tall.

“Cheol?”

“Yeah?”

Pulling your foot into his lap, Seungcheol brushed his fingers against the knob of your ankle. The tiny buckle that refuses to come undone. Your shaking doesn’t help much.

“Cold?” he asks.

You nod furiously. Warmth hangs in the air but Seungcheol won’t assume your comfort; the silk you're wrapped in doesn’t provide much coverage against the elements. It doesn’t provide him any protection from a wild imagination fueled from years of pining. Without a thought, he shakes off his jacket and hands it to you before moving back to your shoe.

Looming over him, Seungcheol feels your breath hit his forehead. He wants to look up but you’re too close. Too tempting.

He finally undoes one shoe, then the other. But you don’t say anything and neither does he from his spot between your legs. It’d be easy. So easy to bunch your skirt around your waist, part your legs, and make you cum on his finger. Then his mouth. Then his cock.

You’re thinking the same thing. A hiccup of breath rustling the hair on his forehead, your hands stroking the muscles of his neck give you away.

But when he starts, he knows he won’t be able to start. He’ll want nothing less than all of you. Give all of himself to you. If you’ll have him.

But a hard stone bench isn’t the place to worship your body the way you deserve. He’d be a gentleman. Even if it killed him to wait any longer. You were worth waiting for. Seungcheol would wait a million more lifetimes if he got to feel like this again.

No shoes means he’s carrying you the rest of the way. He’s done it before and you’re not that heavy but he’s been drinking. And then there's the matter of all the blood in his body heading south, so he struggles more than usual.

“You’re sure you’ve got it?” you cling on for dear life when he nearly stumbles under the first step.

“Sorry, I haven’t been carrying a lot of full grown women around lately.”

“I thought you were looking a little small,” you goad.

“Small?” he objects.

“Yeah, small.” You squeeze over his biceps and his chest like you two aren’t sneaking around a packed mansion where anyone could stumble by. His resolve slips further out of reach at the dig of your nails. “Been skipping the gym lately?”

He feigns dropping you, laughing when you scramble for hold under threat of falling flat on your ass.

“Asshole!” you laugh.

Things fizzle back to comfortable silence. Your companions are far off laughs and the loud music from the courtyard. The garden is all but abandoned, not a single soul in sight. It makes it all too tempting to find another bench and take up what was interrupted earlier. The heat of your breath against his ear with each giggled whisper didn’t help. Neither did the warm weight of your thighs in his hold or the firm press of your chest against his back.

It’s a mistake to look over his shoulder. Your eyes shine in the moonlight as you stare back, a smile lifting the corner of your lips.

Seungcheol focuses back on the hallway, double checking for any passersby. There’s nothing indecent about a man giving a woman a tipsy piggy back ride.

But there is something entirely inappropriate about how hard he is while doing so.

And Seungcheol knows you know. Or if you don’t then the universe has a personal investment in his suffering. Every step is more difficult than the last because your thighs squeeze around his torso, and your hands find their way down his chest, and then there’s the giggling every time he back tracks because a drunken guest stumbles by on the way to their own room.

You’re sneaking around like two idiot teenagers and it might kill him from lack of blood to his brain.

But Seungcheol wouldn’t have it any other way.

He pauses at the last staircase to catch his breath. There’s no reason you’re still on his back other than the fact he doesn’t want to let you go and the position is the only reason he hasn’t found a dark corner to do whatever you please yet.

“Awww poor Seungcheol, tired already,” you coo.

Your teasing tone makes his blood boil, worse how you readjust your hold with more squeeze and stretching that leaves him with nothing but horribly inappropriate thoughts of what you’ll do after he gets up the stairs.

Finally, the hallway housing your room appears and he can’t get through the door fast enough.

You're pressed flat between the door and his body in a blink, fully at Seungcheol’s mercy as he kisses you again.

“Wait,” you mutter.

Seungcheol sucks along your bottom lip. You pull him closer, arching into his chest. Your stomach is soft against the gentle grinds of his cock. He doesn’t want to wait anymore.

“We—hmmm,” you sigh. “Need to talk about this.”

Seungcheol pulls away from your mouth, trailing scorching kisses down your neck that leave you shivering. “What about it? I love you, you love me. Feels like that's all there is to it.”

The second he says it, Seungcheol knows he’s wrong. But he doesn’t want to think about the fine details. He’s never done long distance but you’re only a train ride away.

“Cheol.” You prod a finger into his collarbone until he dips back.

“I mean it’ll suck being in different cities but it’s not forever right? We’ll figure it out.”

You dip your chin. “I’m not staying in New York.”

“Oh. That’s—” he cups your cheek, pulling your gaze to his. “I’ll go wherever you need me.”

You smile up at him and everything goes blank. In that moment, he vows to do anything you ever ask if it means you’ll keep looking at him like that.

“I’m moving back to D.C.” You kiss the words into his palm, eyes never leaving his.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You smile. “Sofie’s friend needed a roommate and my job agreed to let me go remote so…”

“When do you move back?”

“Two months. They want to wait until the busy season is over.”

“But then you’re back. For good?”

“For good.”

It feels like you're promising a whole lot more..

You have Seungcheol for good too. As long as you want him, he’s yours. Probably for long after too.

He’s so happy, it burns across his skin. It can’t be contained. This is all real. He fights the urge to pinch himself because not even in the wildest of his dreams did he think this was possible.

"When you come back home.” Home he thinks. Home with him. Where you belong. “We're going on a date. And you're going to let me pay, and woo you, and take care of you because I love you. Okay?”

Your hands twine around his shoulders before you respond with a nod, “Okay.”

In the privacy of your room, you’re the one that tugs the knot holding your dress up. The silk slips down your chest revealing inch after inch of what he’s only dreamed off. When it pools around your waist, Seungcheol almost falls to his knees.

You shiver in the cool bedroom air. His eyes drink in the way your nipples peek under his gaze. Every inhale shakes in your lungs and he thinks this might just be enough for him to die peacefully. The silk trickles like water down your figure until you're left standing in nothing but skimpy panties.

“Fuck,” he curses.

Your hands flash to cover your chest, “What?”

“No, don’t,” Seungcheol reassures. His hands find yours, tracing along your thumb. “You’re just…”

“Just?” you ask.

“Wow.”

“I’m wow?” you laugh.

Seungcheol takes another step into your space. And then another and another, your dress crumbling to the floor and leaving behind nothing but the thin band of your underwear for him to remove. Your knees hit the mattress and he follows you down into the cushion.

You're soft and warm like afternoon sunlight on a winter day under his wandering hands.

“You’re wow,” he responds, angling your chin so your mouth can meet his, noses grazing against one another.

You don’t have the patience to hear Seungcheol ramble about how perfect you are. Instead, you drag him into a desperate kiss, tongue teasing his. He’ll wax poetically later. Right now he wants to give you whatever you demand.

More kissing, the prickle of your teeth along his lip, and Seungcheol is pretty sure he’s never been harder in his life. It’s humbling and exhilarating all at once. Ready to crumble into nothing from some light petting.

He takes his revenge on the curve of your shoulder and it turns out to be extra sensitive. Every nip and suck along your collarbone leaves you panting, hands scratching up his back for some relief. He wonders what else is sensitive.

He laves against your nipple in maddening slowness. You torture him as well, ankles locking at the base of his spine while you grind against him and make more noises he’ll commit to memory forever.

“God,” you whine when Seungcheol finally breaks and rocks down into the tempting heat of your core.

He needs more.

“Do you think about this?” he grunts with another torturous press. He could come like this. You could come from this. Two adults, reduced to dry humping like horny teenagers.

“I think about you all the time,” you gasp.

“What do you think about?”

“You.”

Seungcheol snickers, “More specific.”

“Touching me, kissing me. Anywhere. Everywhere.”

A swell of neanderthal pride blooms in his heart. The image of you, touching yourself with his name on your lips breaks another piece of his self control that wants to savor this.

“Here?” he kisses the swell of your breast, waiting for a nod to move on.

“Here?” A suck on your nipple again until the bed sheets threaten to rip from your hold.

“Here?” A bite at your hip bone.

His fingers part your core, wet at first contact even over your panties. “What about here?”

“Everywhere. I’ve thought about you touching me everywhere.” You sound like you might start crying if he doesn’t fulfill that fantasy soon.

But he’s dying to know every little thought you’ve ever had about him. If you think about him a fraction as much as he thinks about you. Not just like this, but when he sees a building he’d never think twice about and know you’d have something to say about the construction of the window arches, or when he walks through the park and sees two dogs meeting for the first time and can hear your voice whisper ‘best friends!’ like you’re right beside him. You’re in everything. Every part of who he is.

Your panties come off and he licks between your legs slowly, savoring every part he can while you twitch and curl beneath him.

“Cheol,” you whine.

There's no need to elaborate. He feels it too.

Your back bows under his touch, and Seungcheol watches you touch yourself with rapt attention. You grab your breasts and squeeze, nipples visible between fingers.

He sucks your clit, tongue lashing at the sensitive nub. A million times Seungcheol thought about doing this and never did his brain imagine the sounds you’d make, the way you taste, the rough tub at his hair. You're hot and wet under his mouth and all Seungcheol wants is more, more, more.

“Tell me how it feels.”

“So good—fuck—it’s so good,” you gasps as he fucks your opening with his tongue, collection your flavor.

His finger wedges inside your tight walls. You angle your hips, sinking them deeper. Seungcheol pauses for only a moment before giving you a second one. The sting across his scalp from your frantic tugging leaves him straining against the zipper of his slacks.

He cups your ass, dragging you closer to the edge of the bed where he kneels. Your legs spread wider to grant him the space to savor the pink of your folds under his tongue without obstruction.

Your pitch rises, moaning through a third finger joining the mix and a rough lap of his tongue that has you kicking the sheets.. He can feel it; your end just over the hill. A few vulgar flicks of his tongue and its release in long waves that make you keen his name horsley.

You melt into a boneless heap. Occasional twitches of muscles flooding with pleasure the only sign of life.

Seungcheol mouths up your stomach, sucking a nipple between his teeth for a second before moving on to your mouth. If all you want to do tonight is kiss and let Seungcheol worship your pussy, then he’ll oblige. But the way pull at his clothes hints at what you want. He draws you back into his lap, your body hot against his, mouth coaxing yours open.

“Good?”

You giggle against his mouth. “I can’t feel my toes.”

He can’t stop touching you. Probably won’t ever stop now that he knows what it means to call you his. To know your body. You’re no better. Your hands rake through his hair, goosebumps erupting as you tug him exactly where you want.

The soft lines of your throat, the intoxicating taste of sweat and perfume flooding his tongue. It’s better than anything his sorry excuse for an imagination could come up with.

You tug at his shirt, up and up until it’s forgotten on the floor. Your bare chest against his lights an inferno of want. Seungcheol pushes apart your limp thighs, making space for himself to grind against your sensitive core through his own trousers.

Seungcheol remembers a crucial fact as you slip a hand in his pants and tease his leaking cock.

“Wait,” he mutters into your jaw.

You don’t stop, slowly jerking him off, teeth cutting into the vein on his neck. “What?’

Seungcheol savors your touch before responding, thrusting through your first with blind want. “I don’t have condoms.”

“Oh.”

“I can go and try to find some but I—” he rambles.

“Cheol.”

“—everyone is probably still at the party so—”

You shut him up with a hand over his mouth, “I’m on birth control and I’m clean.”

“Oh.”

Oh. Seungcheol’s brain swims with lewd imagination; you stuffed with his cum, pussy stretched and worn from his cock. Feeling you raw, again and again until your helpless sweaty messes.

“Unless you want to use them then that's fine!” you hastily supply.

He cups your face, smiling as you ramble about how okay you are with using condoms. Your face is warm, eyes avoidant while you enthusiastically declare you want to do whatever makes him comfortable. Which is an entirely new problem because if your goal is to make him comfortable, then neither of you will be leaving this bed for the foreseeable future and at some point people will start looking for you.

Seungcheol rolls over. You take advantage of the opportunity for free command of his lap, forcing his pants down until he’s as bare as you. He preens under your wide eye stare, ego flaring under your wide eye stare. Leaning back on his palms, he grows cocky from your silence.

“Like what you see?” Seungcheol goads.

Your gaze cuts to his, eyebrows arched in your own challenge. A flare of fear zaps up his spine.

He loves it.

Seungcheol is accustomed to taking the lead in bed. Some girls want him to be domineering, others prefer to sit back while he naturally takes the reins.

But you’ve butt heads with him in every aspect of life, hopefully this would be no different. He’s hoping you might even try telling him exactly how you want him.

“You’re so hard for me,” you whisper. Your hand reaches out, thumbing at the leaking head of his cock with seductive confidence.

Seungcheol nods in agreement at a loss of words under your touch.

Your head cocks to the side curiously, empty hand slipping between your thighs, making space for the head of his cock to nudge against your clit. “Do you wanna fuck me?”

He nods again.

“Good,” you smile. You hide in his neck, nosing along the tense muscles straining to break out from his skin. “I thought about you fucking me like this. When we were in high school. I thought—I wanted you to be the first.”

“Really?” he asked dazedly.

Your first. Not Stoner Ricky from Calculus. But him. You wanted Seungcheol to have you first, possible be the only one for each other. It’s a lie if he didn’t think of you in the back of his mom’s car while Tiffany Something took his virginity. Your lips, your voice instead of her nasally pornographic sounds, when he came it was only because he closed his eyes and thought of you.

He tells you that and earns a deep bite on his shoulder.

You continue, “I’d watch porn or read those smut books, and I always pictured it was you.”

“God.”

You sink on his cock, pussy stretched on his length, stars flaring across your vision. There's not enough air in the room to breathe through the tight squeeze wrecking your guts. You’re in the position of control but Seungcheol can already see submission gaining control. You won’t admit you can handle his cock but pride warms his veins at how much energy it takes for your stunted rhythm.

“Fuck,” you curse.

“Yeah? Feels good having your pussy stuff with my cock?” Your nails bite into his chest in response. Pink lines flare in their wake, one he hopes are still there tomorrow.

Seungcheol drags you into a kiss, a dirty culmination of teeth and tongue and your satisfied sighs and his needy grunts. You suck at his lips, focused on that rather than riding him.

“Taping out already?”

You ignore the dig. It takes the barest twinge of his arm and you’re rolling on your back, legs spread in invitation. He sinks into the space reserved just for him, sliding deeper than before. Now he’s the one that needs a moment. Squeezed to death between your walls is the sweet torture he’s ever experienced, the wet sloppy drag of your cunt, bare for him and him alone.

It’s an act of bravery to pull out for the sake of thrusting back in. If he was confident enough you could get off without his hips sinking deeper then he’d never do it, content to keep his cock wedge inside you and play with your clit and tits until you cry from the pleasure. But he really wants to fuck you.

“God, feels so good.” You break. He keeps his pace steady, building you up until you muster a way to squeeze him tighter and his skins on fire.

He hoists your leg up, a deeper stretch that leaves him muttering about how good you feel. The wet slap of your cunt grows louder, sloppy clashes of his pelvis against yours.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, stomach caving. The urge to cum is nipping at his heels but Seungcheol is better than that. Better than a quick fuck, at least for this first time. He wants to hear more of your sounds, fold you in every position he can imagine.

“More,” you grunt. “Fuck me harder, baby.”

He gives you what you ask for; plowing you into the mattress until the headboard slaps against the wall. “You like that?”

“Love it—shit. I love it.” You prop yourself up, shoving a hand between your bodies to swipe messy strokes across your clit. Seungcheol collects more sounds from the back of your throat, rough growls and stuttered squeaks. His cock is heavy in your guts, soaked with your arousal and his cum.

Your mouth finds his. Panting breath and loose tangles of lips. It’s a race against time with his vision bleached white. Your stomach caves with effort to meet each stroke with one of your own.

“I love you,” he groans.

You clench at his words, growing wetter if possible. Flailing against the bed, he hooks your other knee under his elbow and presses flat, pinning you down under his mercy. “I love you,” you whine back. “I-I—”

Your orgasm floods your veins, brain fuzzy and disconnected from anything beyond Seungcheol. He takes over the circles around your clit. Calloused fingers providing sick friction until you can’t take anymore.

“Wanna feel you come, Cheolie. Please,” you beg.

Something snaps and he’s rushing to pull out, jerking off over your stomach with your hand to help.

Rope after rope shines in the dim moonlight. He can’t even try to pretend the thrill of cumming inside isn’t on the forefront of his mind as the drips of his spend stare back at him. But you look like a fantasy come true cover in his cum, skinned flushed, eyes glazed and chest heaving. His own Venus come to life.

He pushes back in, spent cock sensitive to the squeeze of your cunt. Seungcheol doesn't want to be anywhere else. Now that he has you, he can't imagine a moment without you.

Sinking the weight of his hips, your legs lock him in. A combination of cum, sweat, arousal, and a few tears sticks between your sweltering bodies. Neither of you care, too enamored with cataloguing every bare inch of skin with in reach of your mouths.

‘Ugh,'' you groan. “I need a shower.”

In the bathroom, where so many horrible dangerous thoughts have plagued Seungcheol since the start of this trip, it’s peaceful. The thrum of the shower drowns out any sound beyond your sleepy huffs and his hums of content.

As the water heats you press him into the edge of the sink, kissing him as if there's all the time in the world to do just that. That seed of need that has been growing steadily in his gut since he kissed you in the garden comes alive again. You seem to ignore the prod at your thigh though so Seungcheol ignores it too and shepherds you into the stall.

He washes your back with soapy hands and you coif his hair into a shampoo mohawk and it’s feel right no matter how ridiculous he probably looks. You twist every time he touches your waist, shrieking in laughter because you hate being tickled.

Seungcheol is happy. It floods his veins, shoots through the tips of his fingers tracing your hip, forcing a content grin on his lips despite the fatigue of the day. He rests his forehead against your own and takes his first deep breath since New Years.

“I don’t want this to change anything."

“What?” you pull away.

“No!” Seugncehol shouts, wincing at the voluming. “Not—I didn’t mean that I just meant…I-I want you to feel like you can tell me anything. No more secrets. Okay? No matter what changes between us you're still my best friend. If I'm acting like an ass I want you to tell me. If you change your mind then-"

You watch him, features softening. “I won't."

You distract him with your own touches; it’s nice at first. Then it’s nothing short of blissful agony. Teasing nails across his stomach and sides, firm against his body in a way that leaves him weak and wanting. His heart thuds sporadically under your lips as his cock swells against your stomach.

“Y/N,” he sighs.

You kneel in front of him, smirking at how easy he is. You rub his cock with a slick grip. Your mouth comes into play slowly; kissing his hip, then his thigh, your tongue drags up the side until you suck the head between your lips and Seungcheol almost collapses.

You hold his thighs, guiding him further down your throat until there's no more space and you gag. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands but it doesn’t matter because he’s cumming. Fast.

Without missing a beat, you swallow everything he gives you.

“Oh god—fuck.”

“Good?” you ask, still licking against the head of his cock.

Rather than answer the obvious, he pulls you to your feet with a gentle kiss to your forehead. He’ll make it up to you back in bed. For right now, you curl into his chest, tracing shapes into his collarbone as the water slowly turns cold.

He pats you dry, ruffling your hair in the humid bathroom with all the time in the world before dragging you back to bed. You snuggle under the covers, still naked. Seungcheol joins immediately, rolling on top of you and caging his arms on either side of your head.

“Hi,” you smile from underneath him.

He can’t help but grin back. “Hi.”

You make love slowly this time. Your back to his chest, Seungcheol curled around you like a second skin, whispering his adoration in your ear until you lurch and cum with a cry. Then he does it again. And one more time because nothing is better than the taste of his name on your tongue.

This time, when Seungcheol finishes, it’s inside you. And when he tries to pull out, you protest with a sleepy threat before slipping into the land of dreams.

“Well, well, well,” Jeonghan tsks from the foot of the bed. “What do we have here?”

You’re still curled in Seungcheol’s arms, bare skin on bare skin only obscured by the blanket he had half a mind to drag over your two in the early hours of the morning. He’s still inside you for Christ Sake.

And yet Jeonghan and Sofie stand like two cats who caught the canary; unperturbed by the state of things. More like they’re delighted.

It might go down as the shortest honeymoon in history because Seungcheol is going to murder them.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a boat in Greece somewhere?” Seungcheol croaks, pulling you closer and forcing the blanket overhead. Maybe if he ignores them long enough they’ll go away.

“We were just leaving and wanted to say goodbye since some people decided to ditch our wedding. Now I see why.”

“Jeonghan,” you croak.

Jeonghan preens smugly. “Yes, whore?”

“Get out or I’ll show Sofie that video of you from Halloween.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“What video from Halloween?” Sofie asks.

“Jeonghan,” you warn. You’ll do it. The video of Jeonghan sobbing in a party city wig about how much he liked Sofie before they started dating is one of the few pieces of blackmail against him.

“Fine. But when I’m back next month I want an explanation.”

“What video from Halloween?” She asks again as Jeonghan pushes her out the door.

“I hate him,” you say.

Seungcheol hums his agreement against your shoulder, tracing the skin with his lips until you shiver. “Me too.”

“Now, are you gonna do something about that,” you rock back into his pelvis, a tight squeeze around his cock he bucks into. “Or can I get up?”

“Roll over.”

Seungcheol fucks you for the nth time in so few hours. You whine and whimper and melt into the mattress under his weight, face buried in the pillows in an effort to stay quiet. He doesn’t care that the sun is heavy in the sky and half the house must be able to hear the way he groans around the syllables of your name.

He doesn’t care one bit.

Seungcheol has seen you in plenty of relationships, been in several of his own, but he’s never been in a relationship with you.

Turns out all the daydreaming and what-ifs couldn't come close to reality.

It’s better.

Most things are still the same. You two still bicker about everything. He finds your hair all over his apartment. His clothes magically disappear from his closet only to turn up at your place. You call him a stubborn jackass and he calls you a drama queen (both in regards to how he loads the dishwasher).

And he loves that even while dating you two refuse to change.

But Seungcheol also loves all the new things. The firsts you get to share.

The first time you visit home as a couple, your mom spots him kissing along your knuckles as you approach the house and she starts crying. Loudly. He spots his dad hand his mom twenty bucks but not before your dad hands over another ten.

Apparently, everyone was waiting for this to happen.

His dad claps him on the shoulder and your dad shakes his hand and suddenly he’s no longer Seungcheol, childhood best friend who lived down the street. He is Seungcheol, boyfriend. He’s known your parents since he was in elementary school and his mom texts you more frequently than her own son.

But none that matters because, at the ripe age of thirty, you two are banned from sleeping over during the visit for the first time in your lives.

He’s got a suspicion it’s because none of them know how to handle their kids finally dating. You and Seungcheol have never been normal but they’re trying.

Even if he sneaks out like he’s a teenager and climbs into your window in the dead of night. Now that's a fantasy come to life.

Back in the city Seungcheol discovers more ways things have changed.

You spend almost every night at Seungcheol’s apartment. When your sublease ends after four months there isn’t a big production about moving in with him. You had a key since he moved into the place years ago. Your stuff ends up in his spare room, which becomes ‘your’ room but you both call it the guest room and it's a new level of domesticity he’s never had.

In the mornings, you find him in the bathroom if he forgot to drop a good morning kiss on your forehead (something he’s started doing on purpose because you totter in with your eyes still closed and pajamas wrinkled, diving straight into his chest and grumbling incoherently until he gives in). It’s enough to make his heart squeeze even after the hundredth time).

Or how you constantly find a reason to touch him. Curled around his back while he makes dinner, shimmying under his arm when he’s reading case files on the couch. A hand through his hair while you cuddle in bed. Your shared bed, in your shared apartment. Which he is embarrassingly giddy about but you are too and that makes him feel better. You meet for lunch, at either of your offices, and he can see the instinct to drop into his lap making your fingers twitch but only because his own flex with the urge to pull you in first.

The first time you go to a baseball game together and end up on the kiss cam and he doesn’t have to pretend to not notice or awkwardly wait for the cameraman to catch the hint, because you’re kissing him until his ears grow hot and the crowd hoots wildly.

In the best way possible it’s weird. He doesn’t know how to date someone he’s been in love with for as long as he can remember. A lot of it feels like being friends. Like whatever was there before is the bones and all the new things filled in the empty space between.

There isn’t really a guide or set timeline but you’re figuring it out.

And Jeonghan helps. In his own Jeonghan way.

“You guys have been softcore dating since highschool. Just think of it like dogs. You’ve dated for a year now, right? That's like seven years for your guys.”

Seungcheol will tell you later tonight, after you’ve said yes, how the last part of your trio gave his blessing. How Sofie helped him pick the ring (which was really Seungcheol picking the ring and her providing moral support via muzzling her husband).

But for right now, he watches you across the table, laughing at something the waiter said, the weight of the velvet box burning a hole in his pocket.

And he knows the next first you have together will be the best one yet.

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