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tonycries · 1 month ago

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Cake or Fake - G.S.

Synopsis. The only birthday gift your brother’s best friend wants? You. And not just for fake-dating…

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, brother’s best friend! Gojo, annoyances to lovers, fake dating, PINING, jealousy (Gojo’s side), past Sukuna x Reader, matíng presses, vírgínity loss (Gojo), oraI (fem rec.), PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, size kínk, cervíx kíssing, he’s such a tease, cúmplay, p talking, making him WHÍMPER, sp��tting, pánty-steaIing, slight chokíng, reader is Geto’s sister, matchmaking, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 11.1k

A/N. In honor of my hubby’s birthday!!

“Wait, who’s coming to your party?”

“It’s not just a ‘party’, it’s my surprise party-”

“Satoru, it’s not a surprise party if you’re the one organizing the surp-” You’re cutting yourself off with a heaving sigh, massaging your throbbing temples. “Anyway- continue.”

Growing up, you didn’t suffer through years of endless torment from Gojo Satoru to hope that he’d ever use logic. No, of course not.

Instead, he’s brandishing the oversized birthday banner he’d bought himself, softly smacking the top of your head. “Besides- it’s not like everyone’s going to be there. Just our group, Nanami’s troupe, some Kyoto people, I invited Yaga but he kicked me out of his office- oh- and Sukuna.”

Ah, there it was.

The one person you didn’t want to see just as much as you didn’t want to be roped into your brother’s best friend’s “surprise” party planning for his own birthday. But, alas, here you were.

And here tumbled the next few words that would likely haunt you for the rest of your life.

“I need you to date me.”

“Oh? Okay.”

“Listen I know it’s stupid and I know-” Wait…what? Cutting yourself off with a choked-up wheeze- for the first time since he’d barged into your life, Gojo had truly and absolutely stumped you. “Wait- you agreed?”

He’s shrugging one broad deltoid, tinted glasses that you’d bought for his last birthday sliding down that high nose bridge of his. And the grin you’re graced with is blinding. “Well, I knew it was about time before you fell for my charms~” Before one strong arm swings its way around your shoulders, manhandling you against the thin black t-shirt wrapped around his sculpted body. He wiggles his cloudy brows, “What was it- the hair? The eyes? The body? Y’know I’ve been hitting the gym more-”

“Gojo Satoru.” you’re gritting out through tight lips. “I need you to date me- just for one night.”

“So it was the body-” he’s gasping dramatically, beefy arms frantically wrapping around your middle. You could feel the curves of his washboard abs against your palm. Purring voice pitching up into what almost sounded like a whine, “At least take me out to dinner first–! To think that you just want me for a one night stand-”

In a split-second, your palms slap over his nonsensical mouth - hard enough that you almost spy a stinging stamp of red on his skin.

And yet, Gojo doesn’t complain. Doesn’t display anything but a brazen gleam in his gaze that practically screamed out kinky~!

“Shut- up- my brother’s in the next room.” You’re hissing, eyes flickering behind Gojo’s toned figure and towards the kitchen door for any looming sign of Geto. “I need you to date me-” Your digits tighten over his mouth as soon as you feel it moving to prattle away once more. “-just for tonight- no, not as a one night stand, put that banner down- We just need to ah- pretend?”

Damn, it sounds more of a garbage idea out loud - and you didn’t even know that was possible.

At the question in his summer blue eyes, your hopefully explanatory words spill out a mile a minute. “S-so Sukuna has been getting around since our little break-up a few months ago- if you can even call it that…”

Ah, melding into such a big group with your brother’s friends and your own in university had always meant that there would be a few bumps along the way.

From explaining to an overeager Haibara that no, you and Gojo were definitely not dating, to making sure that your brother and his best friend didn’t make Nanami suffer from an aneurysm too early in life, to perhaps the biggest of them all - your fiery, yet short-lived fling with Ryomen Sukuna.

The most dramatic bump, according to Shoko.

Sukuna wasn’t a close friend, but it’d taken work to get over the worst of the awkwardness after he’d dumped you without a moment’s notice. And you weren’t exactly dreaming up a wedding with him…sort of, but you certainly did skip out on a few invitations to hang out if you knew that he’d show his smug face.

And right now it left you ironically wishing you’d heeded Gojo’s words when he’d first warned you that Sukuna “wasn’t right for you.”

Though, you think part of it came from his own unexplainable love-hate animosity with the man.

“-but I’ve still been painfully single since the last time I saw him, and you know how he is. I can’t face him like this.” You, in particular, knew too well. “You two still have that weird rivalry thing going on, right? So help me show him up just for tonight- then later we say it fizzled out and everything goes back to normal. It’s a win-win really if- eugh!”

You snatch your hand back as far as it would go the very second you feel the sodden drag of something against your palm. Staring in horror at your clammy skin…he licked you.

And Gojo almost winces at the loss of your touch - he almost drags your hand back himself.

But oh, it was worth it just to see the way your gorgeous features get scrunched up into an even more gorgeous glare - one that said if looks could kill, then he’d already be six feet under and having his surprise party thrown on his grave already.

Truly the way to a man’s heart, he swoons internally.

“Fine.”

And when has that particular tone from Gojo ever boded well for you?

“Fine?”

You find yourself gulping at the slight bob of his smooth Adam’s apple, the flex of his back muscles when he hunches downwards to crowd your space. Mere inches away. Somehow, he seemed too close and too far away at the same time. Too intoxicating with his cold, pinewood scent.

“Fine I’ll let you- heh, use me for my body.” Tone intentionally dipping into a low, rumbling territory. Gojo’s batting his long snowy lashes in a way you’d almost deem innocent - if it wasn’t for the next few words that tumble urgently from his mouth. “-only if you give me something back. A kiss.”

You jolt, “What?”

“I’m the birthday boy, and I say-”

Cutting him off with a thoroughly practiced scoff, “Well, I have common sense. And I say I should just ask Nanami instead-”

“Is the common sense in my five-star getaway cabin with us right now?”

“Okay! You two!” Geto’s roughened hands clap down on your shoulders with a little more force than necessary. His voice is patient - used to this. “Please try not to make this a funeral before we can make it a birthday party, Satoru’s decorations are non-refundable.”

Oh, shit.

How long had he been standing there?

Judging by Geto’s slight shake of your shoulders as if scrambling the practical part of your brain back into functionality - and the way he wasn’t lecturing your ear off just yet - you guessed that the two of you had been lucky this time.

Face burning, you pray you didn’t look as guilty as you were. Swatting your older brother’s well-meaning hands away. “Speaking of, for a busybody hosting his own surprise party, I’m shocked you didn’t want any gifts.” Quirking a brow, “Is there even anything you want? Anything else?”

Gojo knew what you meant - you weren’t just talking about the party anymore.

And, well…he avoids your eyes. Yes. Yes, there is .

You.

But, woe, even the utterly shameless Gojo Satoru couldn’t possibly say that out loud - especially in front of his best friend, and your brother - so he settles on an obnoxiously dragged-out, “Awww- Trynna make my birthday special f’me, sweetheart~?”

And even that was toeing the line.

He can’t help the way his rosy lips curl smugly at the edges when you’re hissing out a heated, “S-see if I try and have a civil conversation with you ever again, Gojo.”

“Ouch!” Gojo’s clutching dramatically at his heart with a willowy faint that leaves him hanging off of Geto’s shoulders - and it wasn’t too hard to fake with the way his heart lurches uncomfortably at the sound of his last name on your pretty tongue. “Right for the jugular- is this your way of throwing the towel on our truce?”

Truce…is that what he’s calling it?

You catch your own brother - that traitor - stifling a bout of laughter behind his hand when his towering best friend seems to cower in your mere presence. Because, really, who was Gojo Satoru against you?

Sighing with that slightly infuriated pout you haven’t lost since you were a whiny, teary-eyed brat meeting him at his Digimon-themed birthday party many, many years ago.

Gojo takes the moment to truly appreciate how you’ve grown since.

He hadn’t technically invited you back then - but what else was there to do when your older brother was off making friends in kindergarten already and being invited by his “new best friend”?

You’d been pouty the entire evening at that, he remembers, and his mother had gotten a ton of photos just of your bickering duo. A year younger and just barely an inch shorter than him, but to a freshly six-year-old Gojo that made all the superiority - enough to tease you badly enough that you’d left him with a tiny, throbbing pink handprint across his cheek, and his poor heart in your palm.

“No.” Your voice rips him out of his reverie, as it always seems to do these days. “So you better k-keep up your end of the truce, too.”

With you stomping your way back to your cabin suite, Gojo finds his twinkling eyes straying right after. Hot on your heels. Unable to tear away. You really have changed since then, all grown up - as is he - and yet-

“That’s after a truce?” Geto wonders out loud for the both of you.

Well, he’s eyeing his best friend. And Gojo was nothing if not a good- well, he was good at everything, quite frankly. Everything except for when it came to you. “Suguru, we might have to plan a surprise engagement party tonight instead of a surprise birthday party.”

“Huh?”

Because he still feels as much the bumbling six-year-old with his first-ever crush as he was back then.

---

“Matching colors?”

You sigh, “Check.”

“Matching backstories?”

“Check.”

“Kiss me?”

“Ch- wait not yet-” you’re managing to shrill out, fingers curling even tighter around where Gojo had insisted you latch onto his bicep. And you feel him flex boastfully under his velvety button-up, “And do we really need to make some grand entrance? You literally planned the entire party.”

He’s flicking your forehead - softly, you’ve seen Gojo roughhousing with your brother before and he didn’t use even half his strength on you. “Surprise party- the birthday boy has to make a dramatic entrance with his girlfriend. How else will we make a statement?”

You’re grumbling to yourself about why you needed to make a statement at all - but you can’t argue, this was your idea after all.

And Gojo seemed well and fully intent to excel in his role…perhaps too intent.

Now, you always knew that his family was disgustingly wealthy; but Gojo practically dragged you to the nearest high-end mall this morning. Insisting on the latest twinkling bracelets and bejewelled necklaces to match his fitted shirt. Cooing that you looked “absolutely gorgeous” in every single one.

Was this official girlfriend treatment from Gojo Satoru himself? You’ve never known him to have had a long-term relationship in all the years he’s been your brother’s friend but…but it was all so much for just one night of acting.

And when you’re twirling that flowy silken fabric of your dress around your fingers, you wonder if that’s all he was thinking.

“Hey?” The rounded pads of his fingers skim over your cheeks, “Nervous?”

“A little.” you admit, trying oh-so-desperately to escape from his blazing sapphire gaze.

And Gojo crushes you close to his body, one massive palm resting firmly on your hips, hardened front pressing up against yours. Warm. Steady. Voice so close now that you could catch every slight crack towards the end, the heat of Gojo’s feverish breath - practically burning - against your ear.

You wanted to feel his hands more - everywhere.

Woah. You’re shaking your head, thankful it simply looked like you were gathering your wits. Maybe you were more tired than you thought.

“We’ll be alright. Trust me, it’ll go smoothly.” Was- was Gojo Satoru comforting you? He’s cracking a smile, like the thought just occurred to him, too. “And if it doesn’t then I can beat up that b-”

SLAM!

“Why are you taking so lo- What. The. Fuck.”

Your first instinct is to wrench away from Gojo’s hold - but unluckily for you, his first instinct is the exact opposite. And you find his firm digits tensing to dig into the plush of your hips, both of your heads snapping towards that gravelly new voice.

Catching a jaw-dropped Shoko with her half-burnt cigarette dropped to the floor, she looked nowhere near even thinking of picking it back up. You could practically see the gears curdling around in her head.

“Ah-” You’re gasping out in what you hoped was believable scandal, fingers latching around Gojo’s own cold ones. Not to remove - no, Gojo almost has a heart attack when you intertwine them with yours. “Hope we’re not too late, Sa- Toru here wanted to go shopping.”

“Wait-” Shoko runs her hands through her silky locks like she was pleading to the skies above. “Wait wait wait- wait- when did this happen no-” She’s baring you with her most aghast look, “Why did this happen?”

Gojo comes to your rescue, face falling into the crook of your neck with a grin. “Told ya she would fall for my charms eventually~”

“Yes, but I didn’t think she was that stupid-”

Yes! You have to fight to hide your smile, despite the blatant insult. One down - if you could get everyone at this party to believe in your little act, then Sukuna would have to.

“Still here–” You’re deadpanning, hoping that your friends didn’t catch the slight tremors in your voice. Damn- why did Gojo have to be so warm. “-and uh- maybe we should head inside? After it is a certain someone’s-”

“Shhh! You’ll ruin my surprise.”

It all goes according to script - well, your entrance with Gojo and his entrance into the party.

As soon as your duo steps in, the dim lights flicker on and you’re deafened with the cheery yell of surprise! Blinking your startled gaze to adjust to the blinding decorations upon decorations that Gojo himself had put up, you can’t help but let out a chuckle at the smiling faces that meet you.

Geto and Haibara holding exploded party poppers, the rest of the group from Kyoto standing around a brightly lit cake you’d baked, Nanami the one turning on the lights - the farthest away from the birthday boy. Purposefully so, you imagine.

And there - in the center of it all - Sukuna.

Arms crossed, a pink brow raised as he drinks in the sight of you - all of you.

As was the rest of the room, eyes widening in true surprise.

Gojo’s clutching the front of his shirt with almost-frightening theatrics. “You guys- You did this all for me? You’re the absolute best-”

“Eugh.”

“What did you blackmail her with?”

“Congratulations on your relationship!”

Your eyes latch onto Geto - who only takes a long look at you and cackles.

Gojo’s huffing ever-so-slightly as he gets cut off, and that’s what it takes for you to realize that you still had his fingers looped undeniably with yours. In fact, he’s tugging you even close to wrap one heavy arm over your shoulder, the very picture of sappy devotion when he nuzzles his cheek into your own. “They’re bullying me~”

He was laying it on thick.

He’d barely steered you into the living room before you catch a flash of white and two firm arms curled around your neck - away from your supposed boyfriend.

“My lovely!” Utahime cries, cocktail abandoned somewhere to wrangle you free from Gojo’s treacherous grasp. She’s cupping your face with visible concern, “Is your head okay? Did you knock it somewhere? I know a good doctor that can help with-”

“Hey! She’s my lovely-”

“I’m fine, Utahime.” You’re subtly stepping on Gojo’s toes before things can escalate any further. Eyes meeting red ones from across the room, “-I promise. We’re just ah- giving it a go. It’s very new and we didn’t want to make such a big deal out of it, honestly.”

Lies. The entire point is to make a big deal out of it.

Shoko crosses over in a flash, droopy eyes flickering between you and a sheepish Gojo. “Giving it a-” Slicing their way over to the decorative blush on his cheeks, “-go…huh.”

And as you’re surrounded by the tittering crowd, you’ve never felt more like one of those cell samples that Shoko would dissect in medical school and proudly show your reluctant self pictures of.

Ogling everything from the weight of Gojo’s hand on your shoulders to that soppy smile on his face when he smushes his cheek into yours like some overgrown cat. And you can’t help but wear a grin of your own.

Can’t help but feel relief when she cracks a wicked smile, “Fucking finally.”

Haibara gathers your hands in his own, “I-I’m so proud of you two! Nanami and I have been hoping for this for the past five years-” Flitting his strangely wet eyes to a Nanami who couldn’t have looked more disinterested if he tried. “-isn’t that right Nanami?”

“No it’s not.” he’s rolling his eyes, but you catch the slightest hint of a twitch at the corners of his lips. And it hits you that he’s happy for you.

Really, truly happy.

“Right right!” Haibara plows on, and you have half the mind to wonder if the obliviousness was a skill. “It’s been more like the past seven years-”

Geto slaps! his hand on Gojo’s shoulder, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “So he finally grew the balls, huh?”

“Eh? I mean-” you’re strangling out at your brother’s sudden comment. “-I mean of course. Had to practically force it out of him though, y’know?”

Shoko nods, eyes far away like she’s remembering something you can’t. “Of course, you did- pining fool.” And in the corner of your eye, you sneak a glimpse at the way Gojo’s sharp jaw clenches. Grinding ever-so-lightly as she calls out, “Well, I was almost at my wit’s end with your horrible taste in men. No offense, Sukuna, not that this one’s any better- let me know if you ever need his balls chopped off in his sleep–”

Utahime’s narrowed glare stays locked on Gojo, “Hurt her and it’ll be more than your balls.”

Sukuna, notably, says nothing.

Gojo Satoru was a liar.

The guestlist for his birthday wasn’t simply your friends - it was damn near the entire campus by the time the cake had been cut and you’d all settled into your usual conversations.

Body after body filtering in through those towering mahogany doors of his. Invitation or not. Rapidly and steadily, it was growing into another one of Gojo’s famed parties. Honestly, you wouldn’t even be surprised if you’d actually bumped into Professor Yaga somewhere in there.

“Eheh- whoops.” His apologetic words hit hotly against your ear over the thumping music. Your body jostling precariously where you were sat all prettily in his lap on the overpriced living room couch. “I don’t even know half these people.”

And, yet, more than half the people seemed to know you - or, at least, your relationship with Gojo.

Sure, you were aware that your brother and his best friend were amongst some of the most popular students on campus, but this was ridiculous. You couldn’t pass two minutes without a few guests sauntering up to wish the two of you well and leaving Gojo with a “congratulations for finally growing the balls.”

“They sure know a lot about your balls, huh?” You’re raising a brow, back pressed up against the massaging ridges of his abs. And some part of you felt guilty for deceiving all of these people - they really did look curiously happy for the two of you.

Gojo’s bemoaning, “I can assure you that you are the only one allowed to talk about my b-”

“Ugh, couples.” Comes your brother’s voice to the side of you, the cushiony couch dips as he takes his seat. “Though, it is much better than having him mope around.”

“Suguru…” Gojo murmurs. Low.

“What? Scared I’ll embarrass you in front of your girlfriend?” Geto was such a provocateur despite that serene expression he’d constantly wear on the outside. Taking a long swig of his beer before musing, “Remember, she’s my sister, Satoru. And I think she should know about that book of pick-up lines you bought for her. And that picture in your-”

Immediately, two engulfing hands find their place on either side of your head, covering your ears so blatantly. Gojo’s strained screech is only slightly muted when he drags out, “W-we haven’t gotten to that stage yet!”

“Oh, I see I see-” And Haibara - dear, sweet Haibara - always chooses the worst times to pop up from behind the two of you. Ringing voice commanding the attention of about half of the room nearby when he’s humming, “So you two are still in the honeymoon phase, then? How romantic!”

“No.”

“Yes.”

There’s such dangerous possessiveness in Gojo’s limbs when they tangle in a mess with yours. One arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other gliding its lecherous pathway up and down your exposed thigh. Slowly. Savoring.

Gojo’s fingers twirl over the short hem of the dress he’d bought, lips pressed up against your throat as he mutters. “Aw, c’mon– no need to be shy, sweetheart.”

And you’re sure whatever strange little flip your heart did showed on your face - because immediately, you’re being showered with awww’s and squeals from all around you two- when did you even draw in a crowd?

“Then why dontcha give ‘er a pretty peck to prove it.”

But of course, Sukuna was in it, too.

“What?”

You try not to let your true feelings bleed into your words when you take a long look at that unchanged smirk, the way he’s tilting his tattooed neck in defiance. Shrugging up sculpted shoulders, “M’just saying. If you were my girl, I’d want to prove it to everyone here.”

Damn.

Geto nudges his best friend, and you grit your teeth - because proving it was exactly what Sukuna did when you two were dating. Often these parties found you sneaking away if he felt generous, and Sukuna’s lips hot against yours right on the dance floor if he didn’t.

All in front of a fuming Gojo.

And, hell, if he could be petty then so could you.

You’re ignoring the boiling in your veins to run a few stray fingers through Gojo’s angelic hair. Soft. It drags his steely gaze from Sukuna over to you with a gulp, “S’that okay, Toru–” Oh god, that nickname has Gojo wondering whether he’s in heaven. “-wouldn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“Tch, are you kiddin’ me-” He recovers quickly, and you didn’t know whether the raw awe in his voice was part of the acting or simply just Gojo being himself. “-provin’ to losers than I’m yours is the best birthday gift I could get.”

The last thing you see is that tiny, curvaceous dimple at the end of Gojo’s grin before he’s smashing his lips onto yours. It’s messy. Disorganized. The very beginnings of a sodden French kiss.

Sheer teeth and lips and need as he suckles lightly on your lower lip, pearly white canines sinking in ever-so-lightly until you keen. Lost into the wolf whistles erupting from the party-goers - it seems to knock some sense into you two.

And Gojo breaks the kiss with a panting pah! sugary sweet taste of his birthday cake lingering on your tongue - over as soon as it started. “Happy birthday to me.”

“You are so corny-” you’re croaking, more so because you didn’t know what to say than anything. Because all your mind was whirling with weren’t words - it was the feeling of wanting more more more-

Shit. Your eyes widen, peering down at Gojo’s half-drunken gaze - even though you’re sure his lightweight self hasn’t had a single drink tonight. You wanted to kiss him more.

“I-I think I’m going to get a drink.” you’re mumbling out, hastily standing on two unsteady feet. Mere moments away from stepping into the kitchen - from making your escape - before long digits clasp around your wrist. With a plastered smile, you turn to Gojo, gaze flickering down between his begging eyes and that vice-like grip of his. “You need anything, babe?”

“Ah-” Gojo lets you go as if your skin scorched him - as if he didn’t even realize that he’d been holding onto you this way. “No no, nothing for me- don’t take too long, m’kay~”

Every step you take, Gojo’s watching after you like it couldn’t be fast enough.

Because after that? That kiss that had him feeling like a pathetically melty puddle of teenage hormones? Shit, he’s almost on the verge of getting out of his seat and running after you like a maiden himself-

“So…ugh- was that part of the truce?”

“Huh?”

“Was that- dammit, Satoru fuckin’ look at me- she’s not even in your line of sight!”

“Oh- what?” Gojo’s veering his eyes over to his best friend, gaze still trailing after you like a lost puppy even when he registers the other man talking to him. Your little audience had mostly dissipated by now, leaving him to act as much of a fool as his idol-like persona on campus didn’t allow.

Geto lets him stew in the strobing silence of the party music for a little longer, before heaving out a sigh that was much too worldly for a young man of twenty-something. As a younger sister, you really did give him grief - and he finds himself almost wishing he hadn’t interrogated Gojo after overhearing your strange agreement earlier today. “Man, you really are stupid, huh?”

“I know.”

“And this charade of yours is even stupider.”

“...I know.”

“And you realize that you might just be helping her back into the arms of that Sukuna all over again, right?”

“WHAT?” He’s so desperately loud that a few guests in the vicinity jump. But Gojo didn’t care - he didn’t give a shit about anything other than grasping onto Geto’s collar, shaking him stupid. “Have you lost your mind- I’m supposed to be the nonsensical one in our duo-”

“I-I’m just saying.” Geto’s putting his hands up as if a shield, “Getting an ex-boyfriend jealous using the same man he was threatened over when they were dating? Sounds like the textbook recipe for jealousy sex if you ask me.”

Oh, Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone. Brows marrying together, he only wobbles his best friend harder. “B-but no- that can’t be- they hate each other, don’t they?”

And, ah, he hated how Geto always knew what to say.

Hated how he already knew by the devilish curve of Geto’s lips that nothing that was about to fall out of it was going to do his sanity any good.

Gojo flails, “No wait-”

“Don’t you two claim you ‘hate each other’? And yet, here you are.” Geto’s patting his best friend on the back as if consoling him, shaking his head with the patience of a mother with a few problem children. “There there, you complete imbecile. Now you might want to stay here sulking with a singleton like me, or- you might want to go over there and avenge the honor of your fake relationship, because I see an ex-boyfriend coming in hot.”

“What?”

He’s jerking his head around so urgently that Gojo’s vision blacks out for a bit - and that’s exactly the excuse he’ll use for years to come when he shoots up to his full height. Snatching a glass of liquid courage from Geto-

“Satoru, that’s-”

Knocking it back within seconds before storming off to just where he could just peak your beautiful self in the kitchen being crowded by Sukuna. That adorable furrow in between your brows betraying your thoughts, lips moving furiously with a frown.

“Do you think he knows that what he drank was just water and not alcohol…” Geto tilts his now-empty cup at a lounging Nanami nearby, head bowed like he couldn’t give a single fuck if this party burned with him in it.

“No.”

“Do you think he realized the ‘jealous sex’ was a bluff?”

“No.”

Geto lets out a slight huff of laughter, “And do you think he realizes that more than one person in our group knows it’s pretend?”

“No.” Nanami didn’t care if he risked sounding like a broken recorder, after spending almost a decade with you two dancing around each other, he thinks he’s owed that privilege at the very least. “I don’t think he realizes that had your sister so much as looked his way, let alone date his sorry self, then the entire campus would have been hearing about it for the past month.” For the first time since he’d found himself accidentally dragged into Geto’s conversation with him, Nanami raises his head to catch the tail end of Gojo’s lanky legs disappearing into the kitchen. “After all, Sukuna did break up with her because they were in love with each other. Just too stupid to see.”

Now, you might not exactly be his yet like he’s wished on every single birthday candle since he was six - but Gojo Satoru was to be damned if was going to let any other bastard steal his fake girlfriend.

“Sukuna-”

“Awww…what happened to ‘Kuna’, baby?”

You snort, arms crossing over each other while you fixate your glare on Sukuna’s leering form. God, the kitchen just seemed too small for the two of you. “I think you lost that privilege when you dumped me.” Attempting- failing - to sidestep, “Now if you’d excuse me, my boyfriend is-”

Scoffing, “Girl- what boyfriend?”

Sukuna looked to be on the very verge of laughter, and you were on the verge of breaking into a nervous sweat. He’s rasping out a rumbling snicker at that look on your pretty face, “Oh come on, now- you can’t really expect me to believe that sorry excuse of a kiss came from the same man that’s been wantin’ you for years, right?”

Shit.

Wait…years?

Your fingers curl tighter around the beer bottle, “I-I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

And you watch as Sukuna’s mouth drops - now fully laughing in your face. “Damn- not even a hint? You really did downgrade after me, ma. At least I was honest.”

“Honestly an asshole, that’s for sure.”

But the rest of your fire swims down the drain as he inches closer. And closer. Heat radiating off the rippling muscles of his body when a big, beefy arm of his cages you against the polished marble counter. Head inclining slightly towards the door, “Well- why don’t you and I-”

“Take your fuckin’ hands off my girlfriend.”

“Satoru?”

But the sight you’re met with seems anything but - gone is that softly teasing demeanor, vanquished is Gojo’s easy smile. His pretty features are twisted into such a feral snarl; and where his tone was ice-cool, his eyes were blazing with raw fury.

Gojo looked like he didn’t even hear you as he echoes, “I won’t say it again.”

“Well alright then, Mr. Boyfriend.” Sukuna lets go of the cool counter surface with a knowing chuckle, walking horrifically towards a seething Gojo himself. The two stand eye-to-eye, glare-to-glare. “Are ya sure you and your third-rate acting wasn’t interrupting anything between myself and my girlfriend?”

“Satoru, ignore him–” You’re pleading, trembly voice jolting Gojo out of his hypnotized stupor, and making him drag his heavy legs around to you. Fuck, that was close. You didn’t know what-

“That’s right. Comfort your friend the only way you know how- s’not like you can do anything other than pine for decades until the next one comes around to steal her away, anyway.”

CRASH!

In a split-second, Gojo has Sukuna pinned against the wooden cabinets by his cotton shirt. Ego and desperation wafting from the two men as his feet dangle a few centimeters off the floor. Gojo had his teeth bared - eyes wild, looking like he was seconds from foaming at the very mouth. And Sukuna’s own lips quirked upwards into a grin.

“You better watch your fucking mouth.” Gojo hisses.

“You wanna tell her or should I-”

“What is happening here-” Shoko’s sharp voice snaps the three of you from your little bubble of violence, and it’s like all of a sudden the music and the party comes pouring back into the kitchen. Strangers and friends alike hot on your heels to watch the drama unfold, being pushed back by a frantic Haibara. “You’re acting like children.”

Sukuna shoves the other man off of him, and makes his way out. “Well, I know one of us hasn’t grown up.”

And Gojo is just about to stride forwards- until you catch him with a hand hooked around his elbow. Feeling the washing sense of deja vu from not too long ago. Hastily spitting out, “N-now- oh! Look at that, let me get that bruise cleaned up-” There was no bruise, and there was no reason for you to drag Gojo from the kitchen as fast as you did. Yet, you did anyway. “We’ll be upstairs–”

“Man…Sukuna.” Geto whistles lowly, watching you lug his 6’3 mess of a clingy best friend up the stairs and into what he assumes to be Gojo’s bedroom. “I know you wanted to set them up together badly but wasn’t that a little much?”

“Oh shut up- I don’t give a shit if they get together or- or if she’s happy or not.” he gruffs, stalking off.

Yet, Geto guffaws at the angry rouge that colored the very tips of his ears, and the slight wobble in Sukuna’s lower lip when he stops to watch you two make your escape.

Yeah. “Didn’t give a shit” his ass.

“Ugh.” Utahime rolls her eyes, signalling at the DJ to raise the volume on the music just a tad louder. She had a dreading feeling they’d strangely need it. “Men.”

Ugh, men.

You roll your eyes, the soft pads of your fingers tracing over where Gojo’s knuckles were slightly reddening after knocking against the cabinets. You were only glad that it didn’t escalate into something even worse - damn this stupid idea.

“I’m sorry.”

Gojo breaks the thickened silence between you two, his sullen voice echoing across all four wide corners of the master bedroom. But all you can hear is the thundering of your own pulse when he blinks his eyes up at you, “I didn’t…didn’t think it would go this far.”

The two of you are sitting on the edge of his king-sized bed, practically sinking into the plush mattress. And you can’t help but notice how much the room smells like him.

“Ah, well- y’know…” you’re trailing off, and the way you look at him - so soft and raw will forever be etched into his honeyed mind. You were comforting him…what a night. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. B-beside- it’s over now, isn’t it?”

He can only nod.

And you feel your fingers twitch where they were cradled in his much larger ones. Fuck. Here goes nothing…

“So that means I have to hold up my end of the bargain now, doesn’t it?”

Oh.

Gojo blinks.

Oh.

“Wait- so was it the body or the char-”

“Unless you finish that sentence right now. In that case I’m never speaking to you again.”

And shit, if you knew that this was the way to shut Gojo Satoru up then you’d have been wielding this power much, much sooner. Breath hitching when his plump, pinkish lips instantly zip shut, and he’s scrambling off the bed to kneel in front of you.

Kneel.

Gojo was kneeling in front of you, knees clacking to the floor so hard that you think it must hurt. But all that he wears on his expectant face is the rosiest of blushes, and the slight pucker of his lips when he leans in. “I-I’ll shut up- but can I have my kiss now?”

You couldn’t gift an answer even if your dizzy mind could somehow conjure up one.

Because with the slightest nod of your head - barely motioning even a few millimeters - Gojo’s crashing his lips onto yours like he was starved.

Like he didn’t want to breathe - didn’t need to - when his mouth was meshing against yours. Addicted from that faux kiss downstairs. Keening out a low whine at the very back of his throat, he’s gulping in steady heavals of your essence. Greedy hands circling your body-

“O-oh shit.” he kisses, mouth parting from yours ever-so-slightly because fuck, he had to breathe. But he’s completely and utterly sure that he could die happy right here and right now, lips firmly pressed against yours.

You’re half-heartedly sputtering, “We should– the party–”

“D-don’t talk to me about a fuckin’ party, pretty.” His teeth pull lewdly on your lower lip, “One more- that was a practice run. O-one m-”

This time, it’s you cutting him off.

Swallowing up the rest of Gojo’s sentence and forcing his body to wreck with a sudden bolting of lightning. And Gojo swears he tastes heaven on your lips, thumbing open your jaw further to pry out your lolling tongue and suck.

You moan out what sounds like a slurring string of his name over and over - praying that these walls were as soundproofed as they looked.

Fingers nimbling their way over to the first few open buttons of his shirt - the very graze of your skin down his burning one sends shots of electricity down Gojo’s body. It makes him jolt. It makes him drag in a heaving lungful. It makes his heavy palm drop its way to the curve of your ass and squeeze.

“Wait-” he’s drunken. Seething. Silvery strings of rope snapping in the heady lack of space between you two when Gojo pulls away. “-what’s it that they say- one more for luck?”

One more. And another. Another. Another and another and it’s still not enough even when Gojo’s mouth was throbbingly red and raw from crashing against yours, whimpering at the slightest wet glide of your candied lips across his.

Meshing in a sodden pucker he’s trailing his plumpened lips down the splatters of dribble that’d made its way down the corner of your mouth.

As lazy as his hands were, long digits drawing circular massages up, up, up your thigh. You’re gasping when the fat curve of his thumb nudges in through your drenched panties, drawing a sopping wet line down your teary slit.

“I think…” Cutting himself off to let his tongue slide out and lick a languid stripe down your drivel. “...think I needa hah- kiss those other lips of yours for good measure, sweetheart.”

Oh.

Fuck.

He looked like he was seconds from drooling at the very thought. Nervous energy bleeding into his words, making them sound almost like a whimper. Gojo Satoru wasn’t asking - he was begging on his knees right before you to eat out your pretty cunt.

Sharp inhales being sucked through his drunkenly parted lips when you slide your fingers through his sweat-soaked hair and pull. “Th-then you better make it worth all the trouble, Toru.”

Oh, his head tumbles backwards at the sound of that nickname on your lips once more.

Chuckling - chuckling - all humorless and crazed. Bleary eyes locked on you and only you, he doesn’t move them a singular inch once all the while dipping his fingerpads into the hem of your panties and pulling. Dragging out the drenched excuse of your panties, they’re splotching a glistening coating of your sweet, sweet juices down your thighs.

And Gojo only turns to look once he brings them eye-level - up to his face and-

“Toru, you’re so nasty–”

“Ya think?” Gojo huffs out through the slicked-up fabric of your underwear, breathing in your essence like it was his favorite scent. And you swear you catch him sneaking in a few droplets of your syrupy juices that splatter onto his mouth. Groaning, “Oh, sweetheart- m’gonna make you realize just how nasty I really am.”

Without any apologies, without any warning, your thoroughly hypnotized self is being shoved down roughly onto the mattress. You bounce a few times against the navy sheets, legs hiking up on autopilot - exactly the way that Gojo wanted them.

You really were made for him.

Mewling, “Wh-what-”

“Shhh sh sh-” he’s whispering out in ragged rasps, still pressing a few pretty pecks against the mound of your translucently glossed panties. It was taking everything in him to part- to set them down…Well, perhaps not that far. Gojo stuffs your panties mindlessly into the back pocket of his pants, tongue swiping a moisturized coating over his lips when he takes back in the sight of you. “M’talking to her.”

All splayed out on the bed for him - it was like all his dreams materialized into real life.

Literally.

“Oh, look how wet she is–” His creamy fingertips push up your dress to make such a slurring mess all over your pursed lips. On purpose. Swirling the edge of his manicured thumb over and over in the tiniest of circles over your pulsing clit. And Gojo snickers at how greedy she was for his attention…how cute. “-whaddaya think she’s ngh- tellin’ me, pretty?”

Rubbing your fists over your eyes, you’re seeing stars when Gojo’s rude digits give your clit a sudden pinch. “I-I don’t know–”

“Awww- are you sure?” You’re being showcased the most innocent pout you’ve seen him plaster on his entire life, lower lip jutting out and looming so dangerously close to kiss the drizzling trail at your puffy folds. “Because she’s so talkative to me- might jus’ be nicer than you.”

You wish you could snap back as you usually would - oh, how you wish.

But you’re sure that any and every noise that showers out from your dazed mouth wouldn’t even be heard. Because for one infuriating time in your life, Gojo was right.

Those sugar-coated squelches from your dripping cunt replayed in your ears over and over. Every teasing pattern of Gojo’s fingertips has you rambling in a saturated song that sticks to your ears like cotton. And Gojo couldn’t get enough.

He couldn’t stop.

He couldn’t falter no matter how much he wanted to keep up this ever-cracking facade of being suave. Heeding to practically every word from your pretty pussy when his heated mouth gruffs closer and kisses you.

Slow. Filthy.

“T-Toru–” you’re whining, your fingers entangling with his snowy locks. And no matter how hard you tug, Gojo doesn’t move even an inch. “-make sure you ngh- b-breathe- fuck-”

“Don’t need to..don’t- don’t need it…” Gojo’s slurring out into your saccharine pussy lips, intentionally dragging out his words so that they vibrate all down your spine.

Button nose massaging against your ample clit, the decadent room rings! with a sultry squelch. And you’re peeking down at that sinful sight of Gojo’s tongue smearing your puffed-up pussy lips agape. Swiping around and around the circular hole of your entrance before plunging in-

Oh.

Gojo looked like he was so in bliss.

Eyes sliding all the way to the back of his head with one taste of your bawling cunt on his tongue- shit. Shit.

Shit shit shit. He’s out of control when he gasps, two hands curling under and around your thighs to haul you down the bed. Maw hanging ferally open when he’s gashing your poor pussy with the most sodden French kisses - Gojo’s never kissed a person like this before. And he doesn’t think he ever will - other than you.

Doesn’t think he’ll ever feel as feverish as he does right now when he’s craning his deft fingers into his mouth. Sucking. Tasting. Each and every one with a messy pop! pop! pop!

He really was nasty.

You gape at the way your slick hangs all down his lips and coats a sparkling glaze that drips down his chin and forms a little pool at his neck. His collarbones. Trickling down with pearly beads of sweat that sift between his perky pecs so mouthwateringly.

“F-fuuuuck-” Gojo’s hissing, brows scrunching together like he couldn’t even believe what he was seeing. “You jus’ got ngh- wetter. S-so much wetter…”

It’s said like a prayer.

Like a plea because your cunt was driving Gojo crazy.

“It’s all because of ah- you–” You squirm at the way that these were the words tumbling from your mouth. And you already know that Gojo was about to tease you for this for the next few years - if he even remembered, that is.

Because just about the only thing that he can do right now is twirl the edges of his fingers over your winking hole. Once. Twice. Before feeding you inch by long inch of his middle finger - in your lusty haze you think you manage to count about six inches from his staggering size.

And it only had you imagining his size down below.

“Don’t squeeze around m-me- fuck who am I kidding-” Gojo’s sleazy pumps of his hand has your cunt slobbering all down to his working wrist. Adding in one more, two. “-drool all over me- make a mess- hah- fuckin’ ruin me.” Mouth bumbling a mile a minute when his drives build up sloppily, swiveling around your gummy walls to nudge over all your tenderized sweet spots. “Yeah- heh- yeah suck me up like that. S-such a slutty girl, aren’t ya?”

“S-stop being so-”

So what?

Talkative with your cunt? So greedy when he shovels his face back in between your tottering thighs? So heated when he utters. Like a death sentence. All that he could. “I-I can’t stop- do you know how long I’ve ah- imagined this? Dreamt of this?”

Your palm constrict on his silky strands and Gojo’s so pliant when he lets himself be rummaged even deeper against your pussy. So ready to be used. “Th-think I like you better when you ngh- shut up–”

And even through it all, Gojo finds it in himself to roll his eyes - though, you think it’s a way to disguise the way he’s agonizingly swimming in euphoria more than anything. Chuckling out wetly, “Th-think I like it better when you’re ah- actually on m’tongue and n-not jus’ in my fuck- dreams when I have my cock in hand.”

Shit.

He’s so shameless.

Fingers jackhammering in and out in and out in and out-

“Where is it-” he’s spitting out into your squirming pussy, the lower half of your body being pinned to the mattress with one of his strong arms. You’re feeling the way his biceps bulge against your skin. Getting faster. Faster. “-where is it where is it where-”

“What are you even ngh- looking for, Toru?” you’re crying out - it was all so much now. So close.

But the only answer you get are your ankles being tugged to wrap around Gojo’s fervent head, pinned with one hand behind his back. “Lock it.” Keeping you held there until the ends of your feet knot as vice-like as possible to mash his face into your drooling cunt.

Gojo wraps his rose pink lips around your weepy clit and sucks through furrowed brows when his thorough digits surge upwards at a bruising pace into a bulbous magical spot. That spot.

“Found it.”

And you find yourself cumming with such a loud yelp of Gojo’s name - throat rubbing sore with every peak of your high. Your orgasm crashes into you over and over as he laps up every bead, every splatter, every drop that you’re giving.

And he’s still parched.

Spitting out a wet slew of saliva into your quavering hole, Gojo’s making such a mess of you. Absolutely ruined when he sucks up every wet smear that waterfalls from your cute cunt - so thirsty.

It’s only when your high has died down to a few tingles, when your limbs twitch with overstimulation, that Gojo finds himself pulling away. His lips stinging rawly, nose slicked and dripping with your sweet, sweet juices - you’re hearing the most pained grunt from between your legs as he pulls away.

It hurt him to.

“Oh, w-would ya look at that—”

You weren’t sure if you trusted him enough to look - already knowing that whatever it was would have your mind reeling.

But how could you not when Gojo’s fat fingertips squeeze your cheeks together into a pathetic pout, opening your glazed mouth just wide enough for him to salivate. A thick wad of spit hitting your lolling tastebuds, his thumb swipes over the stray slops that’d made their home on the corner of your slack jaw.

He grins, “I said look, sweetheart…”

Groaning, your eyes blink downwards - and you weren’t even sure what you were witnessing at first. Not even sure if you were daydreaming - because Gojo had his black dress pants unbuttoned. Shoved down until his thick, milky thighs just enough for you to witness his massive length.

Yeah, his fingers were definitely an indicator of something.

Because Gojo was so big that you felt nervous. His length swollen and thickened to an incredible girth. All pretty with a red, rotund ruby tip that blushes a cute strawberry pink all the way down, down, down until neatly trimmed tufts of white at his base. Saddling his tight, hefty balls that looked much too heavy.

He made your mouth water.

But that wasn’t all - no, what really catches your eye and snaps you from your orgasmic haze and into a half-lucid state were the creamy rings upon rings that laminated his shaft. Frosting-like dredges of cum sliding lazily down his angry cock, spurting out a few more from his weepy divot at the very end at your unwavering attention. Did he-

“Yes.” Gojo gasps out in a condensed puff, his voice sugary and embarrassed. Shit, did you just say that out loud? “I-I came just from…you’re just so-”

Damn, he curses his stupidly babbling mouth. So drunk on you that he can’t voice all the sinful thoughts sprinting through his melty head right now - all the thoughts that have been already for years now.

It was impossible - even for his big fat mouth.

So without another word, Gojo tuts as he’s rolling his shoulders as if on instinct to pop a few joints; in one, fluid motion your body is being sidled into such an easy princess carry.

Patting you down right into the cushiony middle of the bed, he looms over you - stalks over to you. And you can’t deny that the absolutely feral smile twisting his features makes your cunt twitch.

“Too many clothes.” Gojo tugs on your dress - that darkened glint in his eyes not boding well for you or-

RIP!

-for this dress.

At the sight of your jaw dropping in adorable surprise, he chuckles out a rough, “Don’t worry- I’ll buy ya that again. I’ll buy ya the ngh- whole fuckin’ store jus–” And oh with a few masterful flicks of his fingers on your bra, you’re left in nothing underneath him. Nothing to hide your perfect body away from the way he was fucking you with his half-lidded eyes. “-just let me f-fuck this cute cunt, please?”

It takes you a few sloppy seconds of Gojo nibbling down your neck for you to realize that he’s waiting for you. For anything.

Huffing, your shaky fingers clench around the glaringly open lapels of his button-up. “S’unfair th-that you’re the only one in clothes-”

And, well, who was Gojo Satoru against you?

You’re demandingly helping him shrug off that branded shirt, buttons hitting the ground, his pants hitting the floor-

“Whoops.” Gojo grins sheepishly when his pants and those tight boxers collapse onto the floor in a tatter of fabric and your panties. “Jus’ consider it a uh- birthday gift, pretty–”

No longer having his flaps of fabric to reel him in by, your fingernails dig neat little patterns of crescents on his heated skin as you drag him down to you. Heady breaths mingling with one another, “You said no gifts, remember? If you ngh- really want those panties- y-you’re gonna hafta earn it, Toru.”

And earn it he will.

Because as soon as the bulging spherical shape of his fat head swipes a sopping kiss down your pussy lips, you feel yourself already moan. He was so hot.

Already so pussydrunken when he says, “Hope ya don’t mind–” Teeth sinking into your tender earlobe, “-this is my first time.”

Fuck.

You barely even have the mindpower to register those words before you’re being split apart - gasping at the almost-unnatural feeling of being so thoroughly full. Of having our steamingly hot insides being fucked open with just the simple tip of Gojo’s staggering cock.

“C’mon- c’mon–” He’s lunging up in slow, mindless gyrations trying to force his thick length inside. Powerful arms keeping your wrangling legs spanned wide open for him, they barely even let you budge. Biting down on his lip in frustration, “F-fit inside- shit, your pussy’s so tight, sweetheart– s’it too big for you?”

Stubbornly, “No-”

And Gojo only has to glissade the curves of his palm down to that inflationary nudge of where he was drilling into your cunt. “No?”

“...no.”

Pressing down. Hard. “No?”

“Fuck- yes- you’re just too big-” And you meant it as a complaint - you really did. But those words only have every ounce of blood remaining in Gojo’s shivering body galloping down to his gluttonous cock. Pushing at the seams to make him expand even fatter, bigger- “Why are you getting bigger?”

Shit, you really needed to watch that mouth of yours.

Because it has Gojo’s hulking body falling onto two elbows on either side of your head, like a heavenly cage you didn’t ever want to get out of.

Sweat-simmered forehead bumping into yours, you feel his large fingers interlace dangerously on top of your head. “You need to-” He’s crashing his lips against yours in such a filthy open-mouthed kiss. “-s-stop talkin’ outta ya ngh- pussy. Leave that to her.”

Her.

And you’re so utterly distracted by all his little ministrations that you didn’t even realize the way he was snugly fitting himself into your cunt.

The stretch is impeccable when it hits you like a train at full speed, feeling the tiny nooks and crannies of your magical spots being brushed up against the thrumming upright curve of Gojo’s cock. He’s leaving no millimeter of your elastic walls unturned, unstretched. Untainted.

Gushing out a sweltering hot wave of buttery pre that sloshes all the way against your womb. “Oh- oh what the fuck-” Gojo hisses, chest heaving. And if you didn’t know any better you’d have wondered if he was in pain. “-what the fuck- th-this is what you feel like?”

Right - shit. In all the chaos, you’d forgotten those words he’d confessed just earlier - Gojo Satoru was a virgin. Because of course, he was. Don’t make him laugh, who else would he have ever wanted to see him like this other than you?

A virgin that was currently pacing his slender hips back and forth to instrument the most syrupy squelches from the very gooey bottom of your cunt. His drooling mouth spreading wider and wider with every sultry half-thrust.

You mewl, “H-how does it feel, Satoru?”

“I-I feels so- so–” But the words are failing him - the words are escaping him with every gummy squeeze of your walls like you wanted to swallow down more and more of his solid inches. And hand on your hips swirls your hips around ever-so-slightly to feel his sobbing tip paint tiny circles of gluey precum inside you. Gojo snaps his eyes open - wild. “-is it even l-legal to have ya cunt feel this good, sweetheart? This- oh! Heavenly?”

And he was sounding genuinely concerned. Genuinely worried for his sanity once Gojo manages to feed your needy cunt all of his length.

Now in.

Fully.

And it feels too good - too blissful to have almost every single prayer in his life finally answered that Gojo can’t help but scrunch his eyes shut and cum.

Loudly. Pathetically.

One hand dancing downwards to give your plump clit a punishing little squeeze as if it was your fault. The other curling around your throat to have you meshing your mouth with his panting one, you can feel it in the vibrations how his voice cracks at the very same second your gooey cunt is filled with such copious dumps of his seed.

There’s so much.

As if he’s cumming and cumming harder than he has in his entire life, every splatter of stifling hot cum managing to paint the bullseye of your g-spot in pure white. Ounces of his seed creaming around his hefty base, it smears and slide around your thighs as Gojo continues to fuck you into the mattress. Pound after pound that make him see overstimulated stars.

And it makes Gojo giggle - giggle - head lolling deliriously into the crook of your neck, now covered in a slather of his drool. Every slow ram into your splurging cunt has him grunting out the tiniest ah! ah! ah!

“Shit- fuckin’ embarrassing-” You hear him groan into your neck, licking a languid column from his tongue before biting. Hard. Hard enough that you’re wondering whether he’d draw blood, “Can ya believe- s-saved my virginity for the ngh- girl of my dreams n’ m’cumming already~?”

He leaves a few final pecks against your lips, “Th-this pussy’s got me too haaaah- addicted, pretty–” As he’s moving to part sloppy ways, you’re gasping at the splatter! of something warm. Wet. And only then do you register the literal tears crinkling at his eyes from overstimulation. Crying.

“A-are you okay– Satoru?” You’re whining, limp fingers skimming away the strands of white that cling to his prespired forehead.

“No.” Comes the answer, comes the heaving gasp when Gojo’s fatigued limbs force themselves through his trembling muscles to heave back upright. “One m-more. That was a practice run.” Throwing your legs over his broad shoulders, you feel his flexing deltoids underneath you when Gojo brings one ankle up to his mouth and kisses. Muttering - more to himself than anything. “B-but m’gonna make y’feel good- oh- fuck- m’gonna make you t-take this big cock.”

His words have you just as stupidly fucked as his fat shaft does.

Those lightning bolts of his veins thump down the upperside of your goopy channel, massaging your sweet spots over and over and-

“Th-think it was here-” Gojo’s palms feel everywhere and anywhere down your tummy for the vicious back and forth of him inside you. To feel that bulging opening, the way your snug channel clenches every time his bouncy tip recoils back from your cervix. Wanting more more more- “-or w-was it- here.”

“Fuck!” The entire expanse of your spine arches off of those thoroughly and filthily dampened sheets now, meshing up sluttily into Gojo’s body until his prespiry-glossed abs cushion your front, plush pecs so comfortably collapsing on top of you. “There- there there hngh- more-”

“More-” Gojo chuckles, hitting that precious spot over and over. His chubby head mashes in slurping soppy collisions until he was out of breath. Dizzy. “More she says- Greedy girl, wh-when you have me already ngh- dripping out of you. Shit- squeezin’ me so. Oh-”

And his vigorous fingers scoop up such lecherous volumes of his own milky cum, toying with the gushing waves of white your poor pussy leaks with every pound.

He’s bullying them between your lips - cerulean eyes dilating, mouth sagging unsealed when you eagerly suck on his digits. Tasting his candied self, tasting you. Somehow managing to muffle out, “M-m’not greedy.”

Gojo can only grin, “S-say that to me when this oh- cunt of yours isn’t sucking the fuckin’ soul outta me.”

And Gojo would love to tease you more for this - to mouth away for hours on end into your ear about how drenched you were getting and muse out loud whether you’d dreamt of this just as much as he has, too.

But instead, he’s pecking a flurry of lovely kisses all down your face. Gasping into your lips, “M-move that pretty hand f’me-” So rudely swatting those fingers of yours that’d snuck their way down to toy with your neglected clit, Gojo’s taking over himself to rub steady, methodical circles. Thumb peeking pressure on the hood of your clit just the way he’d read online. “-I’ve always w-wanted to ah- do this. To fuck you raw. T-to ruin you and ngh- fill you up-” As his words spill, so do a few ropey wads of pre. More. Frequent. “-a-and eat you out all over again. See how you taste like mine…”

“Y-you’re gonna-” You can’t even bring yourself to say it. “Again?”

“Of course, sweetheart- why? Scared I- oh.”

That’s when he does it - the mistake of peering his barely-open eyes down.

His weightily smacking balls that smooch against your ass with each thrust clench oh-so-painfully at the vision of your puffed-up pussy lips gaping around him. Drooling. Swallowing. Accommodating his ruthless cock for all you can, practically broken in half and still yearning for more.

Shit, the sight’s so hypnotic that Gojo doesn’t even realize when he’s letting his thoroughly overwhelmed body lock into yours like a puzzle piece. So hefty and sculpted.

His abs practically melting into your body, and his sloppy hips pistoning into you even deeper. Harsher. Every raring grind of Gojo’s lengthy shaft probes into your g-spot so hard. Like he wanted to leave widely battered bruises of his circumference on your sweetened spots, your cervix, anywhere and everywhere he could reach. Like he couldn’t stop.

Doesn’t even know the very word right about now in this filthy, filthy mating press. “C’mon- c’mon one more for ah- luck?” Whimpering, “My sweetheart, I-I’m gonna-”

Gojo sees white when he cums once more this night - and you do, too.

You’re not sure if it’s because of the violent streaks of electricity that run down your entire body, or because of the treacly spurts of cum that overspill from your poor cunt. But fuck- did it feel so good.

Your entire body tingles all the way down from your toes up to your bleary head - and the entire room feels like it’s fucking spinning at this point.

Black tinging your vision with ever overfilling thwack! of Gojo’s tight, cum-filled balls as they empty out, out, out into your depths. It’s coating your insides like a sticky second skin, leaving stringy drizzles of seed seeping from between your slit. Adding to the ever-growing puddle before.

You’re feeling it swashing around you with every drivel of his hips. Overstuffing your elastic walls until you felt like they were about to burst.

And all you can do is simply grapple your nails into the bulging muscles on Gojo’s back, whimpering out a broken, “T-Toru–”

“M’here I-I’m here–” Yet his voice sounds airy, hitching like he was on cloud nine. A beefy arm wraps around your body and manhandles you close to him like some sort of ragdoll, “M’here- shit-” His lips graze against yours in what you assume must be a kiss, too oversensitive to even perk his head up and peck you senseless like you knew he wanted to. “Never lettin’ ya go- haaah- never- ah-”

Whatever promises Gojo always imagined whispering into your ear can be said and done later.

Right now, the only thing he can streamline his body into doing for him is to search blindly for his discarded pants by the side of the bed. Searching for that bulge in the back pocket- no, not the panties he’d swiped right in front of you - instead, he’s feeling for the shape of his wallet.

Pulling your tired body back into his, Gojo’s carding it lazily open to show you that.

Exactly what they were talking about.

Splayed out proudly in the front and center of his wallet was a picture of the two of you. Years and years ago exactly on this date, the aged photograph showed a smiling Gojo Satoru in front of a candlelit birthday cake, tiny cheeks all pinkened. A small, surly you standing by his side - eyeing his Digimon hat more than you were eyeing the camera.

But that didn’t matter, because Gojo wasn’t looking at the camera, either.

He was looking at you - exactly the way he was right now.

Glowy eyes half-lidded, a mysterious little smile playing on his lips. Gojo nuzzles his face against yours and breathes out a tiny, “I…I might have loved you ever since then, y’know that?”

You’re gasping, eyes shining with…something. And Gojo’s heart stutters as he wants to find out. Wringing your hands to wrap around his broad chest, you’re coiling your legs together until you’re unsure where one ends and the other starts.

Whispering three lovely words into his ear - and three more into the honeyed air.

“Happy birthday, Satoru.”

---

Gojo’s one wish was to wake up next to you - like this. Under soft blankets, with your sleepy breath puffing softly into his collarbone, your body tucked safely into his.

And he never wants to let go - could never even dream of anything that could ruin this precious moment-

“Mind explaining who ordered wedding decor last night on MY account?”

Ah, that would do it.

Bleary blue eyes wrench open, taking Gojo every shred of will in his body to not jolt at the unwelcome greeting of Shoko peering down at him…while he was all wrapped up with his best friend’s sister in a bedroom that could almost be mistaken for a crime scene.

Would it really be too late of a birthday wish to hope that she hadn’t noticed your tattered clothes on the floor, the ruined state of the sheets, and the way that the bedframe sagged suspiciously on one side?

Gulping, he’s pressing your body even tighter into his, careful not to let you stir - well, at least it couldn’t get worse than this-

Footsteps.

Close.

And an unmistakable few voices - and laughter. “Is that my sist- SATORU, YOU BASTARD-”

“Eugh.”

“WHAT did you blackmail her with?”

“Woahhh- congratulations on your relationship!”

A/N. Lowkey has the spirit of a crackfic, I fear. This was SAUR fun.

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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asahicore · 6 months ago

Text

stupid in love - psh (m)

this work contains smut - minors please do not interact

pairing. best friend!sunghoon x fem!reader

synopsis. One night early on in your summer vacation, your best friend Sunghoon admits that his biggest anxiety about starting college is going there as a virgin - one thing leads to another, and you end up learning a few things from each other. The more time passes, the more obvious it becomes that your feelings for each other surpass friendship, but with the end of summer looming over your heads, it's hard to tell where these newfound emotions will lead you.

genre. best friends/childhood friends 2 lovers, summer au, lots of fluff and smut but also some angst to spice things up, when i say smut i mean LOTS of smut. like mostly smut lol (mutual first time, ice play, crazy stuff)

word count. 22.1k

a/n. bringing this one back from the pits of my google docs guys.. its been so long since i've posted anything and im not sure when the new hoon fic will be ready so i thought i'd repost an og asahicore fic!!! the title was originally 'hot like ice' but i changed it bc this is my blog and i do what i want <3 i'd also like to say that in terms of plot this is probably not something i would write nowadays, it's very smut-heavy and thats not what im about now idk i was crazy back then... but i rmb being happy w this fic and its reception when i first posted it so i'm happy to have it back on my blog and hope u guys will like it too <3 as always lmk what u think!!

It all started with a lollipop. Well, two, to be exact. One strawberry-flavored, one apple-flavored.

You stand in front of your friend, lollipops in hand. “Which one do you want, Hoon?”

“I don’t mind, just pick whichever one you like best,” he replies absent-mindedly, eyes on the TV as he tries to find a suitable movie for this late summer afternoon.

You plop down on the couch next to him and look at the two lollipops in your hands, unable to decide which flavor you like better. “I don’t know what I feel like right now,” you announce to an uninterested Sunghoon. “I’ll just try both.”

That seems to catch your best friend’s attention. He watches as you unwrap both candies, tasting each once, twice, then as you decide you want the apple-flavored lollipop and hand him the strawberry-flavored one. He doesn’t take his eyes off of your lips as you wrap them and swirl your tongue around the candy, letting its sweetness wash over your taste buds. You raise your eyebrows when you notice his staring and he blinks a couple times, trying to snap himself out of it. “Did you want the other one?” you ask, confused by his behavior.

“N-no, I like strawberry,” he stammers, turning his gaze back to the screen in front of you and settling for ‘When Harry Met Sally,’ a movie you’ve both seen a thousand times but never get bored of.

You’re used to Sunghoon getting lost in his thoughts, so you don’t question it much. You sit back on the couch, your knee touching his. You two are no strangers to a little skinship - after being friends for almost eight years, physical contact comes naturally. You have to admit that recently, it’s started to feel different; but the idea of your friendship changing tugs at your heartstrings so much that you ignore the prickles on your skin when he hugs you or the way your stomach flips when he smiles at you, dimples and sharp canines on display. You tell yourself it’s all stupid and that you can handle so much as your knees touching.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, can't. The lollipop in his mouth right now was in yours mere moments ago and you’d given it to him like sharing saliva was no big deal. He feels like a thirteen year-old for thinking like this, but this was pretty much an indirect kiss.

He stares at the TV screen, but all he can see are your perfect lips sucking that lollipop, and his mind is desperately not trying to go there, but he just cannot help himself. Blood rushes to his dick as he pictures your mouth around him, sucking him off with as much enthusiasm as you are the lollipop. Would you like his taste? Would you look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, smiling even with his dick stuffed in your mouth?

His own thoughts catch him off guard, and before they can get any wilder, he runs off to the bathroom, knowing he’d never live it down if you caught a glimpse of his erection. Thankfully, you don’t, and you call after him, asking if he wants you to pause the movie, to which he shouts back a strangled ‘no.’

He comes back ten minutes later, face flushed and breath heavy. “Goddamn, Hoon, I know we’re best friends, but if you’re going to dump a massive load, I wished you did it in your own bathroom and not mine,” you tease him, laughing as his face gets even redder and he opens his mouth to protest.

“I was just on my phone!” he replies, mildly offended.

“Whatever,” you say, still laughing, and turn your attention back to the movie.

Well. Sunghoon would rather have you think he just took a huge shit than have you know he came to the idea of you sucking him off and swallowing every last drop of his cum.

A few days later, you and Sunghoon are lying on his bed, the both of you on your backs, talking about this and that as you often do. It’s almost 3 a.m., and it feels almost rebellious, being up this late after months of waking up at 6, but your high school graduation was a week ago and you feel like you can do anything. The dim fairy lights you forced him to put up and the bright moon outside are the only sources of light in the room, and when you turn to look at him, you can just make out the outline of his face, the curve of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw. You've looked at him a thousand times before, so your memory makes up for what the light takes away from your eyes. You shift to lying on your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows so you can take a better look at your friend. Something about the moonlight makes him look ethereal, and his beauty makes your heart skip a beat, but you’d never admit that to him. Out of habit, you reach out to touch his moles, gently placing your middle finger on his nose and your pointer finger on his cheek. Sunghoon closes his eyes at your touch, used to the warm feeling that settles in his stomach whenever you do that.

“Y/N?” he calls out, just as you pull your fingers away from his moles.

“Yeah?”

He opens his eyes again, meeting yours. “Is there anything you’re scared of for next year? You know, heading off to college and all that?” You shift again and lie on your back, the sides of your two bodies touching. You stare at the ceiling for a while, thinking about his question, and Sunghoon patiently waits for your answer.

“I’m scared about not making friends. I’m not the least outgoing person ever, but it’s so intimidating, not knowing anyone. And it’ll be weird not having you around. Shut up,” you warn before he can make an egotistical remark, so he just chuckles. “I’m also worried about the amount of work I’ll have. I’ve heard so many times that it’s a huge step-up from high school, the workload and the type of work and all that. What if I don’t even like the degree that I chose? I know I can change it, but it still stresses me out. Turning 18 doesn’t feel like a huge deal, but going to college does. It’s when all the responsibility hits. My mom told me to make my own doctor’s appointment the other day, and I almost cried when I had to call them. I’m not gonna have anyone to do my groceries for me. I’m scared I might get an awful roommate. I hate the idea of communal showers. I don’t even know what I want to do after college, and I know I have four years to make up my mind, but I’m scared those four years are gonna flash by and I’ll be indebted and unemployed by the end of it.” You pause to take a breath, and you can feel Sunghoon’s eyes on the sides of your face, but he doesn’t say anything. “Also, I heard that you put on a lot of weight during your freshman year.”

You turn to look at him to find him smiling at you. “Wow. That’s a lot.”

The two of you giggle, eyes not leaving the other’s. After a moment, you turn your gaze back to the ceiling and sigh. “Yeah, I know. But I’m more excited than I am scared. What about you?”

Sunghoon follows your gaze and looks up above him. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and when he finally speaks up, he says it so quietly, you almost don’t hear it. “I’m scared of going to college a virgin.”

You try to stay serious for a few seconds, but you can’t keep your laughter in and snort loudly at your friend’s words, laughing so hard your stomach starts to hurt.

“Don’t make fun of me!” he whines, hands coming up to cover his face.

It takes you a while to calm down; not only was Sunghoon’s statement ridiculous, it was so unexpected that you couldn’t stop laughing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you apologize, catching your breath. “I just can’t believe that that’s what you’re scared of, of all things.”

“What? It’s a perfectly reasonable concern,” he defends himself.

“Nobody’s gonna care if you’re a virgin, Hoon,” you try to reason with him, but if there is one thing your best friend is, it’s stubborn.

“I’m gonna care! What if I like a girl but I can’t bring myself to make a move on her ‘cause I have no experience?”

“But Hoon, chances are she doesn’t have a lot more experience than you do! She’ll be the same age we are, dummy. We’re not sixteen year-olds jumping into a world of twenty year-olds. Sure, some people have their first time in high school, but a lot do it at university. You’ll be fine,” you reassure. His furrowed eyebrows and pout tell you he’s not fully convinced, though.

“Oh, c’mon! If you really want to lose your virginity before leaving, we can get you laid during the summer. I’m sure we can find a girl nice enough,” you tease, jokingly patting his bicep, trying not to make a note of how firm the skin feels under your hand.

Sunghoon sighs, and you can tell he’s actually taking this seriously. “I’m not that desperate that I’d have sex with the first girl that agrees, you know. I’d still rather do it with someone…” He glances at you for just a second. “Someone I trust.”

You feel your face heat up at the possible meaning behind his words, so you look away, not wanting him to see the effect they had on you. He changes his position on the bed, and now it’s his turn to prop himself up on his elbows and look down at you.

“What about you, Y/N? Don’t you think it’d be good to get a bit of experience before going off to college? It’ll be one less thing to stress about,” he says, a small smirk playing on his lips, and his shy demeanor from moments prior is completely gone. Out of fear that his ego would get even bigger, you'd never tell him, but you love it when he gets like that - when he thinks he’s the shit and teases you mercilessly. You know he does it lightheartedly, and it never fails to bring a smile to your face.

Except right now it does. You’re not smiling, far from it; you’re looking up at your best friend, mouth slightly agape and wide eyes searching for a sign that he may be just joking. He raises an eyebrow expectantly, and your reaction is to scoff at him.

“Do I need to remind you that you’re the reason I have no experience to begin with, Park Sunghoon?” you ask, sitting up on the bed to peer down at him. He shifts again and lays on his back, his hands coming up behind his head as he beams at you.

“Am I really?”

You wish you could slap that shit-eating grin off of his face. This is not the first time you're having this conversation. “Yes, Hoon. Every time a guy was even remotely interested in me, you chased them away. I’m still not over you telling Kang Taehyun I have smelly feet! I had a huge crush on that guy!”

Sunghoon loudly laughs at the memory, and you curse yourself for cracking a smile when you see his face scrunched in laughter. “That was in Year 5, Y/N! It’s been years!”

You grab a pillow and throw it at his head, unable to not laugh along with him. “What about Bang Yedam, then? That was only last year, and you totally ruined my chances with him!”

“Listen, if you having a creepy doll collection is enough to make him not ask you out, then he must not have liked you that much.”

“But I don’t have a creepy doll collection! That’s the whole point!” you say, on the brink of desperation. You sigh at your friend who’s still catching his breath from laughing so much. “You’re just lucky they didn’t repeat your bullshit to anyone. I would’ve had such a weird reputation otherwise.”

“Of course they didn’t. I told them I’d kill them if they did,” he stated matter-of-factly, as if that was a normal and appropriate thing to do.

“Couldn’t you have threatened them that way so they wouldn’t ask me out instead of lying to them about me?”

Sunghoon stares at you for a few seconds, eyes seemingly empty of thought. “Huh. Yeah, I guess I could’ve done that.”

“Ugh,” you groan, and plop down on the bed next to him. Neither of you says anything for some time, until you break the silence again. “You know you even stole my first kiss, Hoon,” you speak softly.

“I know,” he says, voice just as quiet as yours. “You never shut up about it.”

“Why would I? I was about to kiss Lee Heeseung, of all people, the boy everybody, including me, had a crush on, but no, someone had to get between us and kiss me in his stead,” you grumble, giving your friend a harsh side-eye.

Sunghoon sighs and shakes his head as if you’re being irrational. “I don’t get why you’re so hung-up on that. Why would you want your first kiss to be because of a middle-school party dare rather than have it with your best friend, whom you know and trust?”

“It was Lee Heeseung, for God’s sake!”

“And I’m Park Sunghoon!”

Still both laying on your backs, you turn your heads to look at each other. There’s something in his eyes you’ve never seen before that you can’t quite put your finger on. The person in front of you is one you’ve known for years now and yet the look in his eyes is of such unfamiliar intensity that it makes your stomach flip. You inhale sharply when his eyes drift down to your lips, and you can’t help but mirror his actions. The atmosphere has flipped like a light switch; it was playful just mere seconds ago, the sound of your usual banter filling up the room. All of a sudden, there’s something heavy dancing in the air around you, and it makes your heart skip a bit faster and your breath a bit shallower.

Your voice is barely above a whisper when you say his name.

“Yeah?” His eyes snap back up to yours, but you're still stuck on his lips. Have they always looked so kissable?

“Why did you do that? Why did you push those boys away from me?” you ask, even though you’ve asked this question a thousand times before. You want to hear his answer again.

“I’ve already told you. You deserved better than them.” Whenever you ask him about it, Sunghoon always stops here, and you never push. But there are unspoken words left hanging that you’re dying to hear.

“Who, then? Who’d be better than them?”

He's quiet for a second. “It’s a secret,” he whispers finally, a small smirk teasing his lips, and you roll your eyes at him. But then your eyes meet again and your breath hitches. You shift to your side so you can face him more fully, and he mirrors your actions.

It’s his turn to say your name. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you kissed anyone since?” he asks, coming off shyer than he’d intended to.

You giggle and smack his shoulder lightly. “Why do you wanna know?”

He snickers too and, to your surprise, stops your fist from hitting him a second time, enveloping his larger hand around yours and laying it between the two of you on the bed. “Cause I should know that sorta thing. Also, if you did kiss someone since then, and I didn’t know about it, I'd be upset.”

“Why would you be mad?” you say, still giggling, trying to ignore the way your heartbeat quickens when he threads your fingers with his.

“Because you wouldn’t have told me!”

“Well…”

“No way, Y/N,” he practically shouts, already feeling betrayed, his free hand coming up to grip his heart in fake shock.

“Let me at least finish first,” you protest. He obliges, although he doesn't look very happy about it. “You know that summer 2 years ago I went away to camp?”

“Yeah, worst summer ever.”

“Well, I did sort of… get with someone, that summer,” you say, avoiding Sunghoon’s wide eyes as he gasps loudly.

“What? Who with? How come you didn't tell me?” he exclaims, letting go of your hand. He sits up on the bed and crosses his arms over his chest like an annoyed child.

“Because of this exactly.”

“What’s this?”

“Your reaction right now!” you say, sitting up as well, both of your knees grazing his. The simple touch sends a shiver down your spine that you can only hope he takes no notice of.

“Wouldn’t you be a bit upset if I told you I ‘got with’,” he air-quotes, “a random girl two years ago?”

“No? Especially not if it was two years ago?”

You both look just as confused as the other, obviously not on the same wavelength. He furrows his eyebrows and glares at you. “Well, I am.”

You throw your head back in laughter and place your hands on his knees, but when you come forward again, you overestimate the distance between the both of you and find yourself mere inches from his face. The laughter immediately dies in your throat, and you feel it go dry when your stunned reaction elicits a smirk from him. You don’t know how long you stare into his eyes, all you know is you snap out of it when his gaze drifts down to your lips once more. You’re closer now than you were before, and having him so close makes your mind spin with all the possible outcomes of such proximity. You lean back on the bed, pulling away your hands from his knees to hold yourself up on them.

“There’s no reason to,” you say, hoping that breaking the silence will dissipate some of the tension in the air. You keep going back and forth between familiar and dangerous and you don’t know how long you’ll be able to handle that atmosphere. “It’s not like anything grand happened. We made out a bit and held hands. We never spoke after that summer, otherwise you’d have known about it.”

Sunghoon lets out a low hum. His eyes are still trained on yours, and you wished he’d look away because you can’t seem to do it yourself. He still doesn’t say anything, so you speak up again. “You say that like you’ve never had girlfriends, by the way. Surely you’ve done more than just kissing.” Silence again, and you can’t decipher the look he’s giving you. “So, I don’t know what you’re so scared about, because it’s not like you have zero experience. I’m sure the girls at uni will love you, Hoon.”

He sighs and finally tears his eyes away from yours, and you’re not sure if you’re seeing things because of how dark and late it is or if there’s an actual blush creeping on his cheeks. “Sure, I’ve had a couple girlfriends, but you know they’ve never lasted long,” he says, looking down at his lap. “We made out… I guess I-” he gives you a quick glance, “I’ve touched their boobs and they’ve touched my… you know…”

You can’t help but giggle at how shy your friend is suddenly being. “Can’t even say the word ‘penis’, Hoon?,” you tease, and his eyes snap back up at yours.

“Of course I can. Penis! There.” You look at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter, Sunghoon hushing you so you don’t wake up his parents, but his hushes are louder than your laugh. After a couple minutes, you calm down and wipe your tears away, grateful for the break in the tension between you and Sunghoon.

“Anyway, yeah, I guess I don’t have that much experience. Which is why I brought it up in the first place.” And just as quickly as it’d left, the tension is back again.

You look around the room because the weight of Sunghoon’s gaze on your face is unbearable. You release a shaky breath when you feel his gentle hand on your knee, and your eyes drift to it, but you can’t get yourself to look him straight in the eyes.

“Don’t you think it’d be good to get experience before leaving for college, Y/N?” he asks, and you can tell he’s trying to sound confident, but his voice comes out breathier and shakier than he must intend it to.

“I don’t know… I don’t think it’s necessary,” you say, eyes still trained on his hand resting on your knee. He squeezes it a bit, making you finally look up at him. Is it just you, or did the room get hotter all of a sudden?

“Not everything you do has to be out of necessity, you know.”

The both of you stare at each other for a few moments. This shift in your relationship was bound to happen; you’d been feeling it more and more recently. You didn’t use to think twice about Sunghoon taking your hand in his, nor did you feel those stupid butterflies eating away at your stomach every time his gaze lingered for a second too long. You’d tried to reason with yourself that it was just teenage hormones doing their stupid job, and that you were doomed to feel some kind of attraction for your extremely handsome best friend at some point in your life, but that if you ignored it hard and long enough it would go away.

Well, now that Sunghoon’s lips are barely inches away from yours and your skin is on fire under his hand, it definitely isn’t going away.

“What would you do if I kissed you?” Sunghoon asks, eyes fluttering down to your lips. You think he’s looked at your lips more than the rest of your face in the past hour.

“I’d slap you,” you lie, gaze mirroring his.

“Would you really?” he says, and your hesitation makes him smirk slightly.

“No,” you breathe out, and it’s the answer he’s been waiting for, the answer he needs to finally press his soft lips against yours.

You don’t even have the time to savor the moment, though, because the warmth of his lips is gone as quickly as it came. He pulls back, a surprised look in his eyes, as if he can’t believe what he just did. The tension above you breaks and rains down on you like small pieces of confetti that settle comfortably on your head and shoulders. There’s a knot in your stomach but instead of twisting your insides in nervousness, it feels warm and makes you giddy for what’s to come next. Sunghoon’s surprised expression transforms into a grin at the sound of your laughter, and he can’t help but chuckle along with you.

You scooch closer to him, and his other hand comes to rest on your second knee. You can tell he’s not going to do much more, so you lean in bit by bit, and peck him softly on the lips. You both giggle again and you blame the fact that you want to feel his lips on yours again on the late hour of the night. You peck his lips once, twice more, giggling inbetween, but when you peck them a third time, he doesn’t let you pull away and keeps his lips on yours. The sudden added strength takes you aback, but it doesn’t take you long to yield to his touch and kiss him back.

Sunghoon moves his lips slowly against yours and it’s surprisingly easy to fall into his rhythm. You don’t have the most experience with kissing, but something about doing it with your best friend reassures you and your whole body relaxes as you focus on the feeling of his lips moving in cadence with yours. The knot in your stomach stays there and tightens when his hands ride up your thighs and settle on your hips, holding you snugly there. You’re only wearing shorts and his palms against your bare skin make you release a shaky breath in Sunghoon’s mouth. You pull back for a bit, surprised at your own reaction, but nothing has prepared you for the way your best friend looks at you.

His pupils are dilated, dark; his glossed-over eyes bore right into yours. Your breath was already shallow from the kiss, but it’s his gaze that renders you completely breathless. Sunghoon tightens his grip on your hips and leans in for more, but you put a hand on his chest to stop him, making his eyes snap back into focus.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Y/N. I don’t know what took over me. Are you okay?” he asks, as short of breath as you are, but worry laced in his voice.

“No- Yes- I mean, yes, I’m fine, everything’s fine, I just-” you shake your head, trying to gather your thoughts. “I’m just…”

“Tell me. You can tell me,” he says, rubbing gentle circles into your hips with his thumb, and the unfamiliar yet intimate gesture makes it even harder to concentrate.

“We- we’re best friends, right?” you ask, voice trembling, You ask, even though you know the answer, just because you’re afraid the line the two of you have just crossed is already miles behind you, and you won’t be able to retrace your steps.

“Yeah, of course we are,” Sunghoon reassures, head tilting to the side in confusion.

“And best friends… Do they… Well, it’s normal for best friends to kiss, right?” you say, trying to calm the overpowering urge to kiss him again.

Sunghoon chuckles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t know about that, Y/N.”

“Oh,” you breathe.

Sunghoon quickly catches on to your hesitation. “But who cares about what best friends usually do and don’t do?” he says, holding your face between his hands to make you look up at him. “I liked kissing you, just now. I really, really liked it,” he admits, red dusting his cheeks. “Did you?”

You nod, too shy to put just how much you enjoyed kissing Sunghoon into words. “Do you want to do it again?” he asks and chuckles when you nod again, eyes already on his lips. This time, you don’t stop him when he leans in and let him press his lips to yours again. His words have reassured you and you sigh into his mouth, making him smile into the kiss.

His hands ride up a bit and settle on your waist, bringing you a bit closer to him, and you circle your arms around his neck. The shyness of the first kiss is completely gone, and you’re both gaining more and more confidence, letting everything go and focusing solely on where your bodies meet. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and you push your body onto his, a sudden need to feel him against you, to feel his strong arms encaging you.

You pull away at the same time to catch your breaths, smiling at each other when you see how lustful the other’s expression is. Sunghoon’s eyes have glossed over once more, and you’re sure yours have too. “C’mere,” he whispers, beckoning you to him. You climb onto his lap, one knee on each side of his hips. “Is this okay?” he asks, but you don’t answer, you just lean in and kiss him again, holding his face in your hand as his hands roam your back over the thin fabric of your t-shirt. Your kisses are curious, the both of you trying to figure out what feels best as you tilt your heads from one side to the other and let your inquisitive hands travel each other’s bodies. Yours find purchase in his hair, and you revel in the sighs that escape his lips whenever you pull and tug at the strands.

As the kiss gets hungrier and needier, his hands fall down to your lower back, and then to your ass. He just cups it for a while, but after a few moments, grabs it harder and brings you close to him, making your core rub against the hardness that had been building in his sweatpants for a while now. The friction is unexpected and you can’t help the loud moan leaving your lips at the feeling. It’s a feeling you know from your own hand in the privacy of your dark room, but Sunghoon making you feel that way is so foreign that it snaps you out of the daze you’re in.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, was that too much?” Sunghoon scrambles for words, but you’re already pulling away, and he doesn’t know what to do to keep you close.

You sit back on the bed, holding your knees close to your chest. You look at your best friend in front of you who’s looking at you with a worried expression. Something in you craves to reach a hand out to him, to feel his cheeks and jawline under your palms again, to find out if he’d shiver at your touch and if goosebumps would form on his skin. He’s been your best friend for eight years, and you’ve always thought you knew everything about him, the same way he’s supposed to know everything about you. But you realize in this moment that there are things you don’t yet know, melodies to be discovered, treasures to be unearthed. Your fingertips are burning to find them all.

The sound of your name resonates inside your mind and it takes you everything not to fall back on him again. You furrow your eyebrows, confused by all those things you’re feeling. What was it that just took over you, that lit your insides up so?

You straighten your back suddenly and take in your surroundings. Sunghoon’s room is still the same old room you’ve always known, the same blue walls, the same posters he only ever changes when he finds a new interest and lets go of an old one. The same pictures from when you were 10, 12, 15, recent ones now that you’re 18; the same figure skating trophies and medals on his shelves. You turn to look at your best friend. The same soft, round cheeks contrasted by a sharp jaw; the same almond eyes, round with worry at your sudden movement away from him; the same two moles you’ve always found so comforting, for some reason. You almost reach out to touch them, to give you some sense of balance, to reassure you that things aren’t changing as much as it feels like they are. But you’re scared electricity might fry your fingers if you touch him right now. You’re scared you won’t be able to take your fingers off of him, no matter how much it stings. His face is the same as always before, but there’s something else to it, something you could probably figure out if you spent more than three seconds thinking about it, but you’re not sure you want to figure it out.

“Is everything okay? Did- Did I do something wrong?” he asks, voice laced with concern.

Before he can put a reassuring hand on your knee, you get off of the bed, and hurriedly say, “No. I just- I think I should go home.” You look everywhere but at him.

He sits up at your words, concern turned into confusion. “It’s 3 a.m., Y/N, why do you want to go home all of a sudden? You’ve stayed over plenty of times before.”

“I know, I just…” you trail off, trying to come up with an excuse. “I’ve got cramps. I think my period’s coming,” you lie. It’s better than whatever truth is threatening to bubble up.

“Oh. Right.” He scooches a bit, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Is there anything- like- can I do anything?” He sighs, steadies himself. “You don’t have to go, is what I’m trying to say.”

A few months ago, when you had finally wrapped your head around the fact that your best friend was an attractive man and that he made you feel things friends weren’t supposed to make you feel, you’d told yourself it was all just a phase that would pass soon. But feelings this strong surely cannot go away that easily.

You take a deep breath in and tear your eyes away from him. “I think I should go home,” you repeat. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hoon.”

You turn around and start walking away, but Sunghoon is quick on his feet and stops you from going out the door. “Do you actually have cramps? Or are you just scared that our friendship might change?” He sounds out of breath, like asking this question is taking him all of his energy.

You avert his gaze and try to push past him, but he’s much stronger than you. Puberty sure played its trick on him. You sigh and look down at your feet. “I’m tired, Hoon, let’s talk about it tomorrow.”

But if there is one thing your best friend is, it’s stubborn. “I don’t wanna talk about it tomorrow. I wanna talk about it now. Did it feel nice?” he asks, and his resolute tone of voice makes you look up at him.

“I- I mean-”

“Y/N,” he starts, wrapping his arms around you and leaning in a bit, his familiar scent filling your nostrils. You have to close your eyes. “Answer me. Did it feel good?”

“Yes,” you answer without thinking.

“Is that why you’re scared?”

“Yes.” Your eyes flutter open when you feel his fingers graze your cheek. He leans in again and traps your kiss in a much softer and intimate kiss that makes your head spin and your thoughts cloud. Before you can get carried away, you pull away again, and ignore how beautiful he looks when his eyes stay closed for a couple of seconds longer. He only opens them once you tell him once again you should go home, that you need some time to think.

“Let me at least walk you there. It’s dark,” he pleads, his grip on your waist still tight.

“Hoon, I live right next door, I’ll be fine.” You let him kiss you once more and he makes you promise to call or text him tomorrow.

When you leave, Sunghoon plops back down on his bed, arm resting on his forehead as he plays back the events of the night. Had he done something wrong? Something that made you want to get as far away from him as quickly as possible? He’d tried to be gentle and to make sure you were okay with everything, but he couldn’t help but get carried away when he heard those sweet sighs of yours. He thought he was going to combust when he heard you moan, and he wanted to hear it over and over again, but you’d jumped from him like he’d told you he had killed someone.

He hopes you were telling the truth when you said you were just scared about your friendship changing. He hadn’t wanted to push and get you to stay; he knew it was weird, seeing each other in a different light all at once. He wasn’t completely oblivious; he’d felt that same shift in your relationship those past few months, just like you had, although you’d never spoken about it to each other. He knew he could never go back to seeing you as just a friend when he’d jerked off one day and you were all he could think of. He kept imagining the sounds you’d make and the way your hands would feel on him, and he’d gotten so close to getting that today, but he must’ve fucked something up and now his chances were ruined. He curses himself for letting you slip through his fingers just when he thought he finally had you.

You don’t get a wink of sleep that night. Your mind is reeling with everything that happened in Sunghoon’s room. Your fingers unconsciously keep coming up to touch your lips and feel the ghost of his touch there. Your skin turns hot at the simple thought of how perfect his lips had felt against yours, and you toss and turn in your bed as you consider what might’ve been, had you stayed with Sunghoon.

But it’s all happening too quickly, and even though you’ve been curious in more ways than one about your best friend for the past few months, you hadn’t expected to kiss him and to enjoy it so much on a random summer night. Your thoughts only seem to calm down and your eyes finally close just as the sun starts to rise.

The next day, Sunghoon wakes up in the early hours of the afternoon and checks his phone right away. A couple of notifications, but nothing from you. A text from Jake in their group chat with Jay asking to hang out at Sunghoon’s pool, to which he replies that they can come whenever. He taps a quick one out in the shower, memories of your scent and your lips on his getting him to finish quicker than he’d like to admit. He’s in the middle of a late breakfast when Jake and Jay spawn at his door, swimming trunks already on. Still nothing from you.

It doesn’t take Jay and Jake long to figure out that something is up with their best friend. It’s not like he does much usually, but today especially, he makes no effort to entertain them. He laughs at their jokes, but it feels like he laughs because he hears other people laughing rather than because he genuinely finds them funny. He barely even reacts when the inflatable pool ball hits him right in the face.

His friends don’t say anything until they’re all seated at a table by the pool, sipping on some ice-cold Coke. The air is still warm but the sun is low in the sky, hidden behind the house. Sunghoon is still lost in his thoughts, unblinking eyes fixed on a random point in the distance. Jay and Jake exchange a look before the former breaks the silence.

“Is everything alright, Hoon? You look out of it today.”

Jay’s voice brings him back to the here and now, and his eyes jump back and forth between his two friends who are looking at him expectantly. “Huh? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” he says, leaving some of the truth out, but his friends know him better than he gives them credit for.

“Are you sure? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling us. You usually act like a little bitch when you’re tired, you don’t get all…,” Jake shakes his hand in front of his face, “distant like that.”

Sunghoon bites his lip, debating whether he should tell his friends about you or not. No matter how stupid they may be, they also know both of you quite well, so they might prove not completely useless, he thinks.

“Y/N and I kissed last night.”

It’s almost comical, how Jay and Jake bring their head forward in astonishment, how wide their mouth gets, how their eyes look like they might pop out of their sockets, and how they say “You what?!” at the same time. On a normal day, Sunghoon would've laughed.

“We kissed,” Sunghoon repeats, eyes drifting down to the ground in front of him as he rubs his neck in embarrassment.

“Fucking finally!” Jay exclaims.

“Told you it was gonna happen. No way you two were going to stay just besties forever,” Jake teases, punching Sunghoon in the arm. “How was it?”

Sunghoon sighs and leans back in his chair, letting his head hang back. “Really fucking amazing,” he chuckles. His friends holler for him, snickering like 12-year old boys who just saw a hot girl walk past.

“God, I saw this coming from miles away. I don’t know why you kept on insisting nothing was gonna happen between you two,” Jake says, beaming.

“I really didn’t think anything would… I just… Started seeing her differently recently, I guess.” Sunghoon shrugs, sheepishly smiling to himself.

“So, what happened? Did you guys just kiss or…?” Jay asks, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Jake giggles at the insinuation of sex but has a curious glint in his eyes when he waits for Sunghoon’s answer.

“Yeah, um, we just kissed cause she- she sort of ran away?” Sunghoon admits, wincing at the recollection.

“You what?!” Chaeyong’s voice rings out in the food court of the mall where you’re currently sitting, halfway through your strawberry milkshake.

“Keep it down, would you?!” you scold her, smiling apologetically to the people staring at you and your friend.

“If it was so good, why the hell did you run away, Y/N?”

“I just- I don’t know… Freaked out, I guess…” you mumble, cowering under the harsh look she gives you.

“Well, have you talked since?” You don’t reply, just guiltily avoid her gaze. “Y/N!”

“I know, I know! I just… don’t know what to do. ‘Hey, nice making out with you last night, bit weird since we’ve been best friends since we were 11, but that’s fine, right?’ Ugh! That’s so stupid,” you complain, flopping back in your chair.

“That’s exactly what you should say. Going MIA on him will just make things weirder. Plus you’ve never gone more than 24 hours without speaking so one of you will eventually cave in. It should be you,” she says, looking at you with a raised eyebrow as she takes a sip from her milkshake.

You scoff when she gives you a ‘you know I’m right’ look. “I’ll think about it on the way home and text him. There.”

And you do think about it on the way home; but you don’t get the opportunity to send the text, because as soon as you get off the bus at the stop right across from your house, you see Sunghoon sitting on the bench of your porch, looking around nervously and rubbing his hands on his denim shorts. You chuckle to yourself; who knew he got so distressed from not speaking to you for a day?

He stands up when he sees you approaching and raises his hand in a quick wave. “Hi, Hoon,” you greet, and you can feel his whole body relax when you hug him. So, you don’t hate him, he thinks. You sit down on the bench together. “Sorry I didn’t text you. I didn’t know what to say after… last night,” you admit, hugging your knees to your chest as you sit facing him.

“Yeah, I figured,” he chuckles, smiling shyly at you. “I was scared you’d never want to see me again.”

You look at him with wide eyes, mildly offended, and punch his arm. “How could you think that?!”

“Well, you did sort of run away from me last night,” he says, lightly punching your arm in return.

You tut in defeat. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. I’m just glad you didn’t walk past me straight into your house just now.”

You chuckle and rest your head on top of your knees. “That would’ve been a bit much, even for me.”

Sunghoon lets out a puff of air through his nose in response, and then the two of you sit in silence. You’re contemplating what to do next when your friend pulls you from your thoughts. “Should we, um…” He shuts his eyes tightly in reflection for a second before opening them again and looking straight at you. “Should we just pretend like last night didn’t happen? Would that make you feel more comfortable?”

His words take you aback and your eyes widen a bit; you hadn’t even thought pretending nothing happened last night was an option, because you didn’t think you’d ever be able to actually get it out of your head. Even now, if you stare at Sunghoon for too long, your gaze will naturally drift downwards or you’ll get a flashback of his large hands around your waist. But apparently, if he can offer to pretend like the previous night wasn’t a thing, then it must not have been such a huge deal to him. You quickly try to hide your disappointment and nod at your friend. “Right. Yeah. Sure.”

Silence makes its way between you two again. It makes the late afternoon breeze a bit chillier and the physical distance between you and Sunghoon feel much bigger than it actually is. Wanting it to go away quickly, you ask, “Do you wanna watch a movie, then?”

Sunghoon’s never looked so relieved about watching a movie, and he immediately accepts your offer. You get some popcorn ready while he searches for a movie to watch. He clicks on a horror movie that looks like it’s got a cliché storyline and awful acting, but you’re happy for any sort of distraction when Sunghoon is sitting so close to you.

You and Sunghoon always sit close-by when you watch something together, knees and shoulders brushing against each other. Tonight isn’t any different, except that your skin burns everywhere it touches his. You can smell the faint scent of chlorine in his hair, and it’s so intoxicating you want to bury your face there and breathe it in.

You’re thirty minutes into the movie and still nothing’s happened when Sunghoon puts his arm around you, letting his hand hang over your shoulder. The sudden warm contact makes you take a sharp intake of breath as memories of the previous night come flooding once again. You don’t know what you were expecting, but Sunghoon simply rests his hand there and doesn’t do anything more for another thirty minutes, except for squeezing your shoulder when there’s a small jumpscare, making you chuckle at him. This isn’t much more than what you’re used to with him, but knowing your friend, he must be thinking the ball is in your court. So you scooch a bit closer into his side and rest your head on his shoulder, the scent of his skin even stronger now that your nose is so close to his neck. You feel his chest raise and relax as he sighs deeply and tightens his hold around your shoulders. His small reactions to you spur you on and you decide to wrap an arm around his waist and you feel him flinch oh-so-slightly at your touch in such a sensitive spot. He starts to rub circles into your shoulder and rests his head on top of yours, and your whole body relaxes into his. This is so much more than what you’re used to with him; and yet, you so readily melt under his touch.

You can barely focus on the movie because of how close Sunghoon is. When a particularly scary ghost jumps on the screen, you flinch and hide your face in his neck, and he giggles at your reaction, hand coming up to stroke your hair comfortingly. It only takes you a few seconds to realize what position you’re in, and you release a shaky breath as you slowly lift your head towards Sunghoon, only to find him already looking at you, seemingly having had that same realization. When his eyes drift down to your lips, you know you’re done for.

You call out his name, and he’s already answered ‘Yes?’ before you’ve had time to finish uttering the second syllable. “I don’t think I want to pretend last night never happened,” you admit, holding his waist a bit tighter.

“Good. Me neither,” he breathes out before leaning down and trapping your lips in his, the kiss releasing all your pent-up frustration of the day. The world seems to melt away with his lips on yours, the movie already long forgotten. Sunghoon pulls you into his lap and you slide your palms up from his waist, against his chest and to his shoulders before wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing your body closer to his. His hands are sitting on your hips, fingers lightly pressing into them and your lower back. Now that you both seem to know what you want, it’s so easy, just falling into this kiss.

His tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip and you gladly open your mouth for him, letting his tongue explore it. You haven’t kissed someone like this in ages, maybe ever, but Sunghoon takes the lead and effortlessly gets you to follow his rhythm. When a flick of his tongue against yours feels particularly nice, you arch your back and press your chest into his, making him smirk into the kiss. This time, when he brings your hips down onto his, letting you feel his erection against your clothed core, the feeling doesn’t make you want to run away; instead, you want to feel it again and again.

You fall into a nice pace of rubbing yourself against him, eliciting hushed moans and loud breaths from the both of you. You can’t concentrate on kissing him and grinding down on him at the same time, so you drop your head down to bury your face in his neck, leaving a few pecks there but mostly moaning against his skin, enjoying how your hot breaths make him shiver.

You can’t keep a whine from escaping your lips when he bucks his hip into yours and his tip brushes directly against your covered clit, instantly bringing a hand up to your mouth. “Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes. “I know we gotta keep quiet ‘cause of your parents but the sounds you’re making are so fucking pretty. I wanna hear them over and over again.” His words make you whimper against his neck and you feel your slick starting to pool in your panties.

“H-hoon. This feels so good,” you moan, breathing warmly against the shell of his ear.

“I know, right? Feels so good,” he chuckles, hands grabbing at your ass to bring you harder down onto him. His actions are about to elicit another moan from you when, all of a sudden, a loud jumpscare in the movie makes you jump away from the boy underneath you and yelp in fear, which in turn makes him scream in surprise. You look at each other, panting and eyes open wide, hands clutching at your hearts, until you burst into laughter. The fun moment is short-lived, however, as your mom rushes down the stairs not ten seconds later, frantically asking if everything is alright.

You sit up straight at the sight of your mother and clear your throat. You’re thankful for the dark of the room which hides your and Sunghoon’s swollen lips and flushed faces from her view. “Sorry, mom, we were just watching a scary movie. We’re fine.” She sleepily nods and walks back up the stairs, and when she’s back in her room, Sunghoon and you exchange a look and erupt into another fit of smaller, quieter giggles.

That night, after Sunghoon’s gone home, the both of you get yourselves off in your own beds, the strong memory of each other’s lips and hands bringing you both to your releases. Without even realizing it, you moan out Sunghoon’s name as your orgasm hits. The window from your room doesn’t face his; but still, your heart is beating so loudly that you’re afraid the sound might carry from your open window to his. You get up and close it.

Now that you and Sunghoon both know you want to kiss each other, you do it everywhere: in his pool, his back pressed against the wall; on the sunchairs when you were supposed to be drying off; on your beds in the middle of the night, none of your parents or siblings suspicious of anything; in front of your house, because even though he was supposed to just walk you home, he couldn’t keep himself from tasting you one last time; in the backseat of his car after an evening with your friends and he drove you two home.

You spend a good two weeks of just kissing before your body starts to crave something more. At some point, Sunghoon’s hands resting nicely on your waist or sometimes, if he’s feeling bold, grabbing at your ass, start to not be enough anymore. You knew you wouldn’t be satisfied with just kisses and sweet touches when one day, his hands slowly but surely slid up your naked belly before grabbing onto your bikini-clad breast, lighting your whole body up on fire. He’d slipped his hand underneath your swimming top and rolled your nipple between two fingers and you had felt his dick twitch under your core when you let out a loud moan at the new yet so pleasurable feeling.

You know what it is that you want, but it makes you feel dirty. Your fingers have made you finish a hundred times before, but wanting Sunghoon to make you feel that way is a whole other story. Is that even what he wants? Would he be weirded out if you asked him about it? Is there even the sliver of a chance that maybe, just maybe, he has those same thoughts about you, and wants you to make him feel good as much as he wants to make you feel good?

If his grunts and the way he ruts into you when your make-out sessions get particularly steamy are any indication, then the answer to those questions would respectively be yes, no, and yes.

You’re lying on a sunbed one afternoon, letting the sun dry off your wet skin from the pool, when you finally muster the courage to tell Sunghoon about your wishes. After all, he is your best friend, and you know you can talk to him about anything. Even when that ‘anything’ involves his fingers inside of you and his dick in your mouth.

“Sunghoon?” you call out, turning your head to look at your best friend. He’s bathing in the sunlight without a care in the world. His skin has tanned a bit since summer started three weeks ago and his muscles are even more defined after all that swimming and working out he’s been doing. You want to reach out a hand, to feel the taut skin of his abs and chest under your palms, and to maybe then slide your hand down until you feel his hard-on underneath his swimming trunks. Your chairs aren’t far apart and you could do it from where you are, but you’d rather ask him first.

“Yeah?” he answers without turning towards you.

You take a deep breath in before you start talking again. “You know how you said it could be good for us to get… experience before going to college… And how we’ve been kissing these past couple weeks…”

“Yeah, I know,” he chuckles.

“Well… people do more than just kissing, right?” you ask, voice slightly shaky. This seems to pique his interest as he turns to look at you.

“Yeah?”

You hope you’re not just imagining the enthusiastic tone in his voice. “I think… I think we should try that too, don’t you think?” you ask, eyes not leaving his as he sits up on his chair and turns his knees towards you, fully facing you now.

“Yeah, I agree. I completely agree.” He stares at you for a few moments as if in disbelief. “Do you want to- Should we- Let’s go up to my room, yeah?” he offers, standing up and reaching his hand out to you. You gladly take it.

You and Sunghoon are a giggling mess as you practically run up the stairs, unable to get to his room quick enough. As soon as the door is closed behind you, you wrap your arms around each other, your lips finding his immediately as he walks you back to his bed. When you feel the back of your knees hit it, you detach yourself from him and lay on it, elbows holding you up as you look up at him expectantly.

“Fuck,” he whispers, leaning in to hover over you. He traps your lips in a short but sweet kiss before pulling back and murmuring against your lips, “Have I ever told you how pretty you are, Y/N?”

You beam at his words but decide to tease anyway. “You always go on and on about how pretty you are, but never about me.”

He giggles and pecks your lips again. “Well, I’m telling you now. You’re gorgeous.” You kiss him to hide your flustered face, pulling him so close to you he’s practically laying on top of you. Your hands are a bit more curious than usual, your kisses hungrier, the both of you anticipating what’s to come.

You grind against each other, the feeling of his erection against your barely covered core enough to send your mind into a frenzy. You forget everything around you when you feel Sunghoon pull back in the slightest, far enough so that he can look at your face and gauge your reactions but not too much that you still feel his hot breath on your lips. One of his hands is holding the back of your head as the other travels downwards, stopping for a second on your breast to massage it lightly before continuing its journey. It ever-so-slightly brushes against your core, making you buck your hips up into his touch, but his hand is already gone leaving you whining and pouting and him chuckling at your cute reaction. “You want it that bad, huh?” he teases.

You scoff, not wanting to let your friend know the effect he has on you. You press your palm against his clothed erection and he hisses at the unexpected contact. “So do you, Hoon.”

When he presses his lips to yours again, you both smile into the kiss. You cup his jaw and tangle your fingers through his hair, and his hand slips from under your head and joins his other hand on your thigh, grabbing at both of them, fingers slightly digging in your skin. He’s so, so close to where you want him most, and he seems to have noticed your growing impatience by the way you squirm underneath him. Seeing you so needy for him only makes him needier for you; he has more experience than you, so you probably expect him to take the lead, but the truth is, he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing.

“Y/N?” he murmurs, face buried in your neck as he leaves a trail of wet kisses there.

“Yeah?”

“What do you want me to do?”

The question takes you a bit by surprise. You pull away to look at your friend. His eyes are completely glossed-over, and yours are probably the same. “Oh. I don’t know. I just… want you to touch me, I guess,” you say, voice a bit quiet.

“I don’t know how to do that,” he admits sheepishly. He kisses your neck and cheeks before pecking your lips. “Could you- could you show me? How you do it? And I can show you how I do it?”

You take a second to take his words in. Was he suggesting that you touch yourself in front of him, and that he do the same?

This was like a dream come true.

“Yeah, sure.”

Sunghoon giggles in response, and you can’t help but crack a smile too, even though the idea of getting yourself off in front of your friend, no matter how appealing, is still a bit nerve-wracking. “You first,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and you roll your eyes at him.

You sit back against the headboard of the bed and slip a hand underneath your swim bottom, the other hand coming up to cover your eyes in an attempt to escape Sunghoon’s heavy, lustful gaze. “None of that. I wanna see you,” he says, pulling your hand away from your eyes and resting it on a pillow next to you. “And if you keep these on, I won’t be able to see anything,” he says, looking down at your bikini top.

Before you can protest, he comes to sit on his knees in front of you, kissing your neck and letting his hands roam your back. “I wanna see all of you.” It’s so easy, untying your string bikini, he almost thinks you wore it on purpose for him to take it off. You avoid his gaze as he takes your top off of you, leaving you half-naked in front of him. “So pretty,” he whispers, and you can’t help but look at him, slick pooling between your legs from the fascination he’s looking at your breasts with. He trails kisses down your neck until he reaches them, taking a nipple in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it, then looks up to see your reaction. You never knew your nipples were this sensitive, and you can’t help but arch your back at his touch and moan loudly, hand flying up to tug at his soft hair. He releases your nipple with a pop and moves sideways to pay the same attention to the other one, but Sunghoon is impatient and doesn’t waste too much time on it; he knows he can come back to your boobs later anyway. Right now, you’ve got a hand between your legs, and that’s what he’s dying to see.

“Can I take this off, too?” he asks, looking up at you as his fingers hook on the sides of your swimming bottoms, waiting for you to nod. His eyes don’t leave your glistening core as he pulls the thin fabric down your legs, discarding it somewhere on the floor of his room. He lays on his belly and kisses the inside of your knee as he holds your thighs in his large hands, still transfixed by your pussy when he says, “Show me how you do it, please.”

You both take a sharp breath in when you start moving two fingers in gentle circles over your clit, already wet from making out with Sunghoon. Your fingers are nimble and know exactly what to do after years of doing this, but the pulse in your core is even stronger now that your best friend is watching your movements this intently. He looks like he’s scared to blink in case he might miss something. You can’t take your eyes off of his face; you’ve never seen him so fascinated by something, so eager to learn. It makes you want to put on a show for him.

A surge of confidence hits you out of nowhere as you slide your digits down your folds, gathering some slick before sliding them back up to your clit and rubbing it a bit faster, a bit harder, your moans growing louder and higher in pitch. With your free hand, you tug at the base of Sunghoon’s hair and make him look up at you. You release his hair and bring your pointer finger up to your mouth, sucking on it and swirling your tongue around it, and Sunghoon’s mind is taken back to that day a couple weeks ago when you had sucked on those lollipops. Oh, how things have changed since then. Not that he’s complaining. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he breathes out, eyes zeroed in on your lips and mouth slightly agape.

You smirk at his reaction, stomach on fire with the feeling of having this kind of power on him. When you’ve wet your finger enough, you bring it down to your slit, circling around your hole before entering it, releasing a loud moan for good measure. Sunghoon is mesmerized by the quickening with which your finger slips in and out of you, the fingers on your clit never relenting. He doesn’t even realize he’s released one of your thighs to palm himself over his shorts until you notice it yourself and tut in disapproval.

“Come and help me, Hoon,” you say, and the boy snaps out of his daze at the sound of his nickname. He nods slowly, changing his position so that he’s laying between your legs, head dangerously close to your core. You slip your other finger out of your hole and he takes that as a sign to replace it with his own. One hand still gripping your thigh, he imitates your previous actions as he gets his pointer finger wet with his saliva before pressing it between your folds, right underneath your clit where your fingers are still rubbing circles, sliding it down towards your slit, and finally pushing it in.

“So warm… So wet, too,” he whispers in wonder, making you cover your eyes with your forearm out of shyness.

“Oh my God,” you moan, arching your back and letting your head drop to the side on the pillow. Sunghoon’s finger is much thicker and longer than your own, and it stretches you out and hits a deep spot inside you you never could, no matter how much you tried.

“Like this?” he asks, eyes curious as they bounce back and forth between your face and your entrance sucking his finger in.

“Yes, yes, just like that, you can also- oh- you can also curve it upwards a bit- fuck, yeah, just like that, Hoon, you’re doing so well,” you say, the praises just flying out of your mouth.

This seems to instill some confidence in him, as he cocks an eyebrow at you and speeds up his actions. “Yeah? My finger making you feel good, Y/N?”

“Oh, shut up,” you bite back, but immediately let out a long whine when he easily inserts a second finger in your soaking pussy. He curves them inside you just like you told him to, and the feeling of his fingers filling you up and your own quick ones on your clit are creating a familiar knot in your stomach that is so close to breaking. That is, until Sunghoon pulls your wrist away from your clit.

“Y/N… Can I?” he asks, and you’re not sure what he’s planning, but nod anyway. He wastes no time before pressing his tongue flat down on the sensitive bud, and you actually feel like your soul might leave your body. Fingers knuckle-deep inside you, he licks and sucks at your clit, and the warmth of his tongue against your folds is what makes you tumble over the edge, tightly gripping his hair and bucking your hips into his mouth.

“Oh my God… Oh my God, Hoon, please, don’t stop, please,” you beg, voice getting higher and whinier as you cum all over his tongue. He continues eating you out until it gets too much and you have to tell him to stop. He hikes his body up yours, pecking you sweetly on the lips when he reaches them.

“Your turn,” you announce and hook your legs over his hips to straddle him. You’re about to lean in for a kiss when you notice how lovingly he’s looking at you: his eyes are soft and a small smile is playing on his lips. It takes you aback, but you’d be lying if you said butterflies didn’t spread in your stomach. “W-why are you looking at me like that?”

His grin gets a bit wider. “Did I make you feel good?”

“Y-yeah…,” you admit, averting your gaze from him.

“I’m glad. You taste good, by the way. Sweet.” You want to kiss the devilish smirk off of his face.

You scoff at your friend, glaring a bit. “Whatever. Sit up,” you order, but it just makes him smirk more.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You look up at him to check for confirmation, and when he nods, you hook your fingers under his swimming trunks, taking them off of him along with his boxers underneath. His already fully-hard cock springs free and slaps against his stomach, and you curse yourself for your reaction that will surely just inflate his ego, as if it wasn’t already massive. Your mouth hangs open, eyes zeroing in on his length, flushed red from lack of attention and what you can only guess is precum leaking at the tip. It's straight from a porno.

“Like what you see?” Sunghoon teases, making you look up at him, and you can only stupidly nod. You take the position he was in earlier, laying your head on his thigh and caressing the other, letting it ride up to rub his inner thigh and the tiniest bit over his cock, making his smirk vanish as he takes a shaky breath in.

“Show me how you do it,” you say, echoing his words from earlier. He gulps, finally realizing that he was going to have to masturbate in front of your curious eyes just as you had. He spits on his open palm and spreads the precum over his length with his thumb, lubing himself up before gripping the base and starting to move his hand up and down. You watch as his head falls back against the pillow when his palm grazes over his tip and his movements pick up some speed.

You rub his palms over his thighs, itching to get closer to his cock and make him feel as good as he had done to you earlier. Tentatively, you reach out to grab his balls in your hands, massaging them softly, feeling satisfied when a loud moan leaves his throat. “Oh, f-fuck, that feels good, Y/N,” he breathes out, voice much higher than you’re used to. If he thought that felt good, then nothing could’ve prepared him for the feeling of your soft and warm tongue kitty-licking his balls, then taking turns sucking each one into your mouth and releasing them with a pop. “Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?” he asks, involuntarily bucking his hips into your face.

You can’t help but giggle, and Sunghoon thinks he might come from the sweet sound contrasted with your lewd actions alone. “I read a lot of fanfiction,” you explain, and he doesn’t question it. If Wattpad taught you how to suck dick, then so be it.

You wrap your hand around his and tell him to keep going so you can get an idea of what pace and movements he likes, and you graze your fingernails over his abs and chest with your other hand, chuckling at how sensitive he is when you lightly pinch his nipples. Sunghoon takes his hand off of himself, laying both of his hands palms up next to him on the bed, so you decide to literally take things into your own hands. Trying to recreate what he did before, you spit into your palm and wrap your fingers around his tip, bringing your hand down in a swirly motion to the base of his shaft. You do that a few times, asking, “Like that?” to get confirmation from Sunghoon.

“Just like that, baby,” he says, not even taking notice of the pet name; but you do, and your face immediately flushes, surprised at how much you like it.

“Baby?” you repeat, but he’s too lost in his pleasure and just hums in response. His reaction eggs you on, and you lick a long stripe from his base to his tip, swirling your tongue around it and humming at the bitter but not unpleasant taste of precum there. When another moan escapes his throat, you take his tip in your mouth, at first just shallowly thrusting your head, but then trying to take more and more of him.

You’re so focused on what you’re doing that you don’t even realize how quickly he’s panting and how his grunts start to get whinier until he’s moaning out your name. “A-ah, Y/N, feels so good, ‘m gonna cum, fuck-”

He goes silent as he shoots his release down your throat, eyebrows deeply furrowed and mouth open wide in pleasure. There’s so much of it and you can’t swallow it all, so you pull your head back, catching your breath, and a hot string of cum hits your chin and your throat. Sunghoon takes a look at you and the sight of you with some of his cum makes his dick twitch before he plops back down on the bed. You giggle as you take tissues from the bedside table (cause of course he’s got tissues next to his bed) and wipe away his seed, then lie down next to him, brushing away the hair that’s sticking to his forehead with sweat and peppering his face with soft kisses.

He opens his eyes and smiles, turning his head to look at you before engulfing you in a bear hug, sweaty bodies sticking together but neither of you minding it. “That was so good, Y/N. What the fuck,” he sighs, pecking your forehead.

You hum, nuzzling your nose into his neck. “I know, right? Who knew you could use your mouth for other things than saying stupid shit,” you tease.

He pulls back and gives you a look that tries to be stern, but you know he’s joking. “Do I need to remind you again, young lady?”

You giggle and peck his lips, forcing him out of character as his dimples appear on his cheeks. “Later, definitely.”

And after that day, he makes sure to remind you time and time again of how good his mouth feels on you. You should’ve seen it coming with how amazing of a kisser he was; but truly, there was nothing like cumming on your friend’s tongue.

You’re relieved to find that not much has changed, after all; you and Sunghoon still play around in the pool, watch stupid movies and hang out with your friends like always. Sure, there are stray hands here and there, or looks that last a little too long and mean a little too much, but if anything, it just makes your friendship more playful and exciting.

You’re both open with what you like and don’t like, so it doesn’t take either of you to figure out exactly how to make the other come undone embarrassingly quickly. (The shortest amount of time it took him was 2:38 seconds - yes, he timed it - and he hasn’t let you live it down since.) You like it when he presses his large hand down onto your lower tummy while he eats you out, or when he sits you between his legs and whispers all sorts of things as his fingers work their magic inside you and on your clit. He likes it when you get down on your knees in front of him and look up at him as you suck him dry, or when you sit in his lap and kiss his neck and play with his hair while he plays video games. And don’t even get him started on when you palmed him over his sweatpants while you watched a movie with Chaeyong, Jay and Jake, making sure that the movements under the blanket went unnoticed by them. He wanted to punish you after they left, he really did, but you took him in your mouth right there in the living room and gave him an orgasm that had his thighs shaking for five minutes afterwards. You were pretty proud of yourself for that one.

You also find out that he hates it when you tease and edge him, which only makes you do it more; the only problem is that, if you do that, he’ll make you ride his thigh and won’t help you at all. His proud smirk and snide praises combined with the feeling of his thick thigh underneath your core were more than enough to get you to your end, though.

And truly, nothing has changed, especially not Sunghoon’s special talent in pushing boys away from you.

“What do you mean, Lee Heeseung is coming back?” he heatedly asks, slamming his glass of lemonade down on the outdoor table so hard you’re scared it might break.

“It’s the summer, of course he’s coming back. He just stayed behind for a bit to enjoy a few weeks of the city without college, and now he’s coming back here,” Jake explains, shrugging.

“Do you know when he’ll be here?” you ask, far too much excitement in your voice to Sunghoon’s taste.

“Just in a couple days.”

Sunghoon has smoke coming out of his ears when he sees how much you perk up at the news of your old crush being back in town for summer. He likes the boy, but he hates that you like him. And since Heeseung is friends with Jay, Jake, and by association Sunghoon, begrudgingly so, he’ll definitely see lots of him in the upcoming months. And if Sunghoon sees Heeseung, then you’ll see Heeseung, too. And that, Sunghoon doesn’t like.

You notice something is off with him that afternoon because of how uncharacteristically quiet he is. Sunghoon, ever the loud introvert, is always arguing for no reason and laughing louder than everybody around him. So when he merely chuckles at his friends’ numerous displays of stupidity in the pool and doesn’t even say anything in protest to you getting on Jake’s shoulders to play against Chaeyoung and Jay, you know something is definitely up. You also have a good idea of what that something might be, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find it endearing.

You stay behind when your friends leave in the early evening. Without a word, you and Sunghoon pack away the inflatable toys in the pool cabin and clean up the table, putting the dirty glasses in the sink. You do the dishes while he prepares sandwiches for the two of you, which he insisted on doing after he heard your stomach grumbling. You watch the latest Kurtis Conner video as you eat and can’t help but notice that he doesn’t even chuckle at any of the jokes or skits when he’d usually be clutching his stomach in laughter.

When you’re done eating, you take a resolute breath and pause the video, but Sunghoon doesn’t even notice, only snapping out of his daze when you call out his name.

“Huh?” When his eyes find you, he almost looks surprised to see you, as if he’d forgotten you were there.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” you ask, slightly frowning. “You look so out of it today.”

“Huh? I’m fine, nothing’s wrong,” he says dismissively and presses play, but you quickly pause the video again.

“I’m your best friend, Sunghoon, I know when something’s the matter and I know when you’re lying. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but don’t pretend everything’s fine when we both know that’s not true.”

He peers at you for a moment, cursing you for knowing him so well. He crosses his arm and averts his gaze, pouting like an angry child. “I hate it when you’re right.”

You giggle and make your way around the counter to him, standing inbetween his legs and wrapping your arms around his neck to make him look up at you. His hands come naturally up to your waist. “I just…” he starts, then immediately stops himself with a sigh., “You’ve always had a crush on Heeseung. But these are our last couple months together, and I don’t want somebody else taking up your attention…”

He buries his face between your breasts to hide his blush, and you can’t help but giggle again. “Stop laughing at me!” he protests, but the muffled sound of his voice just makes you laugh more. You stroke his hair and press a gentle kiss at the top of his head.

“Sure, I’m happy Heeseung’s coming back. But there’s no one I’d rather spend my summer with than you, Sunghoon, you should know that.” He leans back to look up at you with puppy eyes and a small pout. You cup his face, admiring how cute he looks like this, and smile softly down at him.

“Really?”

“Really,” you answer, and he leans in for a kiss.

It’s a soft one. It’s a patient kiss, neither of you urging to get somewhere else, to do something more. It reminds you of that kiss in his room a few weeks ago, when you were still curious and discovering each other. From then on, your kisses had become more feverish, more eager, more playful. But now, you’re taking your time. For now at least, neither of you is going anywhere. So your lips melt together slowly, and when you take breaks to breathe, you look each other in the eyes and smile before leaning back in.

It’s when you sigh against his lips, eyes still closed as you pull away, that it hits him. I could do this forever, he thinks.

I could sit here with my arms around her waist and her lips against mine and the smell of chlorine and the sound of her laugh forever and I’d never get tired of it, he thinks, but immediately afterwards, he realizes he won’t get to do this forever. Summer will end, you’ll both head off to college, and you’ll only get to see each other every few months until another summer comes. And who knows what might happen until then?

You might meet someone and realize Sunghoon isn’t all that; hell, he might meet someone, but he highly doubts anyone could even come close to the way you make him feel.

“Hello? Earth to Sunghoon?” you quietly joke, looking down at him with an affectionate look in your eyes. You press the pads of your fingers to his two moles before replacing your fingers with your lips, giving each one a quick peck. “You were up on the moon for a minute there.”

Sunghoon hums softly, smiling as he lets himself melt under your touch. “Sorry. It’s just really hot, isn’t it?” he says, a stupid excuse he uses as a blanket to cover his feelings. There is some sweat beading at his hairline, which helps make his lie more believable, but you don’t need to know it’s not just because of the summer heat.

Slowly, your smile turns mischievous, and Sunghoon can tell you have an idea in mind. “It is pretty hot… Wait here.”

He watches as you fill a tall glass with ice from the dispenser in the fridge and pop an ice cube in your mouth, a devilish smile on your face, and laughs when that smile is replaced with a frown as the coldness hits you and you spit it back into the glass, laughing along with him. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks between giggles.

“I got the idea a few days ago when we were having popsicles…,” you say looking down at the glass between your hands, slightly embarrassed. “You kissed me and your mouth was really cold but it felt nice.” Sunghoon hums, egging you to go on. You lift the glass up to his cheeks, applying just a bit of pressure to the soft skin. “I thought this could be refreshing.”

You take the ice cube back in your mouth, sucking on it but not letting it melt completely before pressing your lips against Sunghoon’s and opening your mouth just a bit so he could feel the cold of the ice cube. You feel his smile into the kiss as the ice cube swirls between your tongues, sending shivers down your spine.

“Very refreshing indeed,” he murmurs when the ice has completely melted. He gets up and takes the glass in one of his hands, leaning down to your level and says “C’mon” with the same mischievous smile as you on his face.

You two hurry up the stairs, and when you get to his room, he hands you the glass before throwing himself on his back, laying on his back with his hands behind his head. “Show me what you had in mind.”

You straddle his hips and take an ice cube from the glass, rubbing it over his lips before pushing it inside his mouth, the cold making him hiss. You quickly counteract that by pressing your lips to his, the contrast of your warm tongue and the freezing ice turning him on more than he would’ve thought.

When the ice has melted, you take another piece and brush it along his jaw, down his Adam’s apple and around his nipples. The cold temperature makes him squirm but he doesn’t shy away from it, even closing his eyes to focus solely on the feeling. While you play with the ice cube, you also leave warm kisses all over his skin, reveling in its slightly salty taste from the thin layer of sweat. You let the ice cube melt between his abs and watch him wriggle as he sucks in a sharp breath, then grab another one, starting off where the previous one stopped. You circle his navel while your fingers play with the hem of his swimming trunks. He pulls them down himself and you chuckle at his eagerness. “I should’ve known you liked the cold, with all those years of ice skating you did,” you tease.

He’s almost fully hard, and it only takes a few kisses and trailing the ice cube down his inner thighs to have his dick fully erect. He’d only been letting out small sighs and hisses until now, but when you grab another ice cube and circle it around his sensitive tip, he throws his head back into the pillows and moans loudly. You push your luck and drag the ice cube down his shaft, his thighs snapping together when it reaches his balls. You put it in your mouth and let it melt so that your tongue is still cold when you swirl it around his tip, already tasting precum there. But before you can take him further in your mouth, he calls out your name.

“Wait. I don’t wanna cum just yet. My turn.”

He shakes his shoulders in excitement as you switch positions, you taking your t-shirt and bikini top off and laying on your back and him sitting down with one knee on each side of your thighs, an ice cube in his hand and a giddy smile on his face.

He brushes it over your lips before pushing it just a bit into your mouth, holding onto it with two fingers while you suck on it, gazes locked in each other. Just as you did earlier, he trails it down your throat and your chest until they reach your nipples, marveling at the thin wet trail it leaves in its wake. He licks this trail as he circles one of your nipples with the ice cube, and you don’t know if you should focus on his warm tongue or on the cold ice cube. Once it’s melted, he takes another one and circles your other nipple with it, his mouth coming to wrap around the now cold one. Your hands fly up to grab at his hair, your back arching into his touch as you moan and pant loudly.

He sucks and licks at your nipples until you’re calling out his name, begging for more. As nice as his mouth or an ice cube around your nipples feel, your pussy is throbbing and desperate for attention. “Sunghoon… Please,” you whine.

“Please what?” he teases, looking up from your breasts with a smirk.

You whine again, knowing he knows full well what you want. “Please…”

He trails the ice cube down your stomach, circling your navel a few times where it melts before slipping two cold fingers underneath your bikini bottoms. “Is this what you want, baby?,” he asks as he rubs his fingers between his folds, and you whine at the feeling of having him so close to your hole and to your clit but not quite there either. He smirks when you nod frantically but whine at the loss of his fingers against you as he takes your bottoms off and reaches for another ice cube.

You release a loud moan and arch your back off the bed when the ice cube touches your clit. “Fuck, Hoon!”

He rubs the ice cube up and down your folds, your heat melting it much faster than your skin. He takes another one and brings it to your entrance this time, circling around it before pushing the ice cube in and staring with wonder as it melts quickly. He holds your hips down so you stop bucking them up, whimpering at the amazing feeling of the ice against you. He replaces the ice cube with his fingers inside of you and his tongue on your clit, sucking expertly at the sensitive bud and lapping at your juices. And while it feels good - God, does it feel good - and you let Sunghoon know just how nice it feels with your moans, whispers of his names and the way you hold onto his hair, you’re craving something more.

It’s something you’ve been wanting for the past few days, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. No matter how nice Sunghoon’s fingers and mouth felt, they didn’t make you feel close to him enough. You wanted to be so close to him you didn’t know where you ended and where he started; you wanted to feel him.

You pull him up by the face, asking him to come here and getting lost in his lips as soon as they reach your level. God, Sunghoon’s kisses. You could drown in them. But still, that craving, that need for more. And now that his body is pressed up against yours and you can feel his erection against your thigh, so close to your core, you think you know what it is that you want. “Hmm, please…”

“You keep asking me for something, but you don’t tell me what it is.”

“You. I want you, Hoon, please,” you beg, murmuring against his lips as you wrap your legs around his hips and bring him even closer, his cock now pressing against your cunt.

“M-me?,” he asks, leaning back just a bit, but you pull him back in right away, resting his forehead against yours.

“Yes, please. I need to feel you inside me.”

Your words are enough to get a moan out of Sunghoon. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he pants, planting kisses all over your face and neck. Usually, you’d giggle at the ticklish sensation, but right now, you’re so drunk on pleasure, it just makes your breath even shallower and your core wetter.

“How long?”

“God. Since the second time we kissed probably,” he replies, reaching for a condom in the drawer of his bedside table. You think back to that moment six weeks ago (how has it been six weeks already?, you think), after you and Sunghoon had made up and made out on his couch in front of a horror movie. He’d wanted you for that long? And he’d waited for you to say something since then?

“Today’s your lucky day, then,” you tease in an attempt to alleviate the need for him that takes over your bones, but his gaze when he looks back at you ruins any effort. If anything, it just makes you need him even more. You feel like you might explode if you don’t have him right now.

You watch as he clumsily wraps the condom around his member, clearly never having done this before, but you wouldn’t be of any help, so you let him figure it out on his own. You let your head fall back as he rubs his tip up and down your folds, gathering your slick on his dick before aligning himself at your entrance and giving you a long, deep kiss.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, forehead on yours.

“Yeah. Are you?”

“Yeah, I am. But I’m also scared.”

“Scared of what, Hoon?” you ask, opening your eyes to look at him. You caress his cheek and cup his face in your hands, watching softly as he lets his head rest on your palm.

“I’m scared of hurting you. I heard it hurts the first time. And I’m scared…” he closes his eyes and frowns a bit. “I’m scared it’ll feel too good. That I’ll always want it. You.”

You take a small moment to think, your thumb brushing over his cheek in what you hope is a comforting manner. “You won’t hurt me, Hoon. It only hurts if you’re not ready… And I’m plenty ready. I know you’ll take it slow.” You smile softly when he nods, turning his head to kiss your palm. But if sex is as good as you’ve heard it is, you’re also scared that it might be the best thing you’ve ever experienced and that you’ll never get enough. You and Sunghoon have been meeting up almost everyday this summer and it has more often than not ended up with one of you between the other’s legs; you could never get bored of the things he made you feel or of knowing you were making him feel those exact same things. If you couldn’t live without his fingers, how could you live without his dick?

How could you live without him?

You tried to snap out of those thoughts, reassuring yourself that even before all of this you couldn’t imagine yourself living without Sunghoon, and that there was no reason this should change anything. “And don’t be scared of that, silly,” you say, making him smile. “I’ll always be here, Sunghoon. I’ll always want you, too.”

“Fuck, okay,” he whispers, kissing your lips once before pulling himself up on his palms, hovering over you. “Tell me if you need me to stop, yeah?” he asks and waits for you to nod before finally pushing in.

You instantly moan when you feel his tip inside you, and Sunghoon stops, frantically asking if you’re okay. It takes some convincing to get him to push himself further in. “It feels so good, Hoon. Please keep going.”

You tell him to not stop until he’s fully inside you, and he obeys, even though he wants to stop when he sees your frown and your sharp intakes of breath. When he’s buried to a hilt, he can’t help but collapse on top of you, burying his face in your neck and wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. “Y/N,” he drawls out. “Feels so fucking good. So tight,” he murmurs against your neck.

“Mmh. Give me a minute, baby.” Your hands caress up and down the expanse of his back and you feel him relax on top of you. As you adjust around his length, the stretch starts to feel more and more pleasurable, until pleasure is the only thing you feel. “Hoon?”

“Yeah?” he says, kissing and nibbling softly at your neck and earlobe.

“You can move, now.”

Sunghoon doesn’t need to be told twice and ever-so-slowly slides out of you, leaving only the tip in before he slides back in. His thrusts are slow but deep, and it’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more. He’s barely started but you’re both already whimpering messes, holding onto each other tightly as pleasure like neither of you has felt before takes over your entire bodies.

As you both get more comfortable, his pace picks up just a tiny bit and you tentatively raise your legs higher so that they’re hooked around the back of his knees instead of laying on the bed. The new angle only adds to the intense pleasure, but you don’t even realize you’re crying until Sunghoon stops mid-thrust, wiping your tears with his thumb and worryingly asking if you’re okay and if it hurts and if he should stop. You open your eyes and smile, instantly calming his nerves. You bring his head closer to yours and kiss him like you’d stop breathing if you didn’t. “It feels so fucking good, Hoon. So, so good.”

He sighs out of relief and resumes his actions, heart swelling with pride that he’s making you feel so good, you’re crying. He’s always hated seeing you cry or hurt in general; but knowing what kind of tears these are, he thinks you look so pretty with tears streaming down your face. His hands grip your thighs a bit tighter as he quickens his pace, already addicted to the feeling of your warm walls taking him in so well.

He slips out a few times but you’re always quick to guide him back inside you. He lifts his body up a bit to get a deeper angle, hoping it’ll get him to stop slipping out, and he’s blown away by the sight underneath him. He thinks you’ve never looked so gorgeous as you do now, legs spread wide for him, cheeks flushed, brows furrowed and mouth agape for him. He kisses your tears, the salty taste bringing a smile to his lips. “So perfect,” he whispers against your mouth. “You look so beautiful.”

Sunghoon takes your legs and wraps them higher around his hips, the new angle hitting a spot inside you that’s making you see stars and has you moaning his name like it’s the only thing you know how to say. You feel that familiar tension build up inside your stomach much faster and much stronger than it usually does.

“Fuck, Sunghoon, I’m gonna cum,” you warn, and a harsher thrust inside you is what pushes you over the edge, the sensation crashing into you and making your thighs shake. An orgasm has never hit you this hard before.

You’re clenching around him like crazy and Sunghoon gasps as you milk him dry, his own orgasm hitting him all at once. He shoots his release inside the condom and stills inside you, breath completely taken away by the sudden, overwhelming sensation.

He lays on top of you for a moment as you both catch your breaths, trying to make sense of how something can feel this good without killing you instantly. He apologizes when his pulling out makes you wince and kisses the top of your head. He rolls onto his back, pulling you with him so that you’re now almost lying on top of him, head against his chest as his arms wrap themselves around you. You leave kisses all over his chest and neck and his hands caress your back.

“That was amazing.”

“I know, right?” he responds immediately, his enthusiasm making you laugh.

“Thanks, Hoon,” you say timidly, voice muffled against his skin.

“For what?”

“For making me feel this good.”

He chuckles. “No need to thank me, pretty. If anything, I should thank you for letting me make you feel good, and on top of that making me feel good.”

You hum at his words and you both stay there for a bit longer, enjoying each other’s warmth. Something blooms inside your chest, and you don’t know whether to let it grow or to squash it down. It feels nice, almost too nice, and you’re scared it might get ripped away from you and it won’t feel so nice then.

Friendship, sex, love. In those weeks spent with Sunghoon, those previously clear lines have blurred to a point they were all one big messy ball of feelings and not three distinct things you could tell apart. Has sex turned your friendship with Sunghoon into something romantic? Or is that just an illusion, and being so intimate with your best friend has messed up your once platonic vision of him? But was your vision of him ever platonic?

Haven't the two of you always been teased about liking each other for a reason? After all, you and Sunghoon didn't grow up together, and he’s never felt like a brother to you. He has always been your male friend; you’ve always been aware that he was your friend who was also a boy. When you'd moved in the house next to his, you hadn’t instantly clicked; it took a while for the ice skating prodigy to warm up to you, but his parents had warmly welcomed yours into the neighborhood and quickly became friends, so it was only a matter of time before he’d open up to the idea of you being around. Constantly.

You’d walk to and from school together, do homework together, go on family trips together, cheer each other on at your respective competitions. After his ice skating lessons, when his coach let him have the whole place to himself for a bit more practice, he’d tie your ice skates for you and drag you onto the ice rink, holding you by the waist or shoulders as he skated backwards in front of you, but also laughing at you when you inevitably fell. He’d tease you for getting second place at the science fair or for getting your arguments torn apart during Model United Nations, but the way he’d be a little nicer to you or share his food more often that week wouldn’t escape you.

Being a handsome young ice skater, Sunghoon had developed quite the loyal following of boys and girls alike who would come to see him at his competitions. He thrived off of the attention, but no matter how much he enjoyed his fans’ admiration, you were always the one he’d skate to after having won first place, hugging you tightly over the barrier separating the ice from the bleachers. Especially during your younger teen years, Sunghoon wasn’t one for skinship or PDA, so it always meant that much more to you that even after his most important wins, you were the first thing on his mind. It never failed to make your stomach flip, and all the death stares from his fans in the world couldn’t have changed a thing.

You were already close, but you became practically inseparable after Sunghoon’s injury. During the competition that would have gotten him a place at the Youth Winter Olympics had he won, his nerves got the best of him and he didn’t land his triple axel, hurting his ankle in the process. Ten years of dedication and hard work, ruined in mere seconds. To say that it destroyed him would be an understatement.

You were the one to bring him back up. You listened to him when he needed to vent, held him when he needed a shoulder to cry on, cheered him up when he needed to smile. He didn’t even need to tell you what he needed, you seemed to just know. You reminded him that he had a lot more value than his medals and trophies and that he didn’t need them to be complete. His family and friends tried their best to make him feel better, but their words never reached him quite like yours did.

Slowly but surely, his confidence came back. He’d lost his fans, but he’d gained a friend he knew would always be there for him. His dimples would appear more often, his laugh would resonate louder. His injury had made the two of you grow closer, creating a bond that would only strengthen over time.

And yet there were moments when being friends wasn’t enough. When calling him your best friend didn’t feel right. You had other friends, friends you were close to; sure, maybe not as close as to Sunghoon, but close nonetheless. And you didn’t feel that way around them.

Their laugh didn’t make your heart skip a beat. You didn’t want to bury your face in their necks and breathe in their scent when they hugged you. You didn’t want to know every single detail of their day. And you surely didn’t feel a pang of jealousy in your chest when they danced with another girl at your school ball.

You also didn’t crave their lips on yours every single day since it had happened for the first time and didn’t want to see what they sounded or looked like while getting the life sucked out of them through their dick.

Everybody told you it was obvious you were ‘more than friends.’ Why did romantic love have to be ‘more’ than platonic love? Why were there levels to it? You didn’t like the idea of taking your relationship with Sunghoon ‘one step further’; that wasn’t the way it felt to you. Rather, it felt like having to change everything you knew and create something new. Something where you could see him laugh and tell him about your day, but where you could also kiss him and graze his skin with your fingertips. Something that only you could share with him and only he could share with you. But you were afraid the friendship would fall apart if things didn't work out. So, instead of taking the risk of changing everything, you made sure things would stay the same. You’d tell the butterflies raging in your stomach to settle down and you wouldn’t let yourself fall into his touch in case it’d be like falling from the highest mountain.

That is, until he kissed you. Until this moment, right now, lying in his arms, ear right over his heart so you can hear it beat for you. You look up at him. His eyes are closed and a soft smile rests on his lips. He looks so peaceful. He always looks pleased when you’ve just been together, but right now, he seems to be in such a serene state, it almost makes you laugh.

Now that you’ve given in to your feelings, you’ve realized just how strong they were this whole time. Nothing has ever felt better than being in Sunghoon’s arms, than being able to see him at his most vulnerable state and to give all of you to him. All those things you didn’t know about him just six weeks ago, you know them by heart now. You’re sure there’s other things to find out, and you’ll make sure you will.

But summer won’t last forever.

A wave of sadness slaps you right in the face, bringing you back to reality. There’ll come a time where you and Sunghoon won’t be able to lounge around all day or lazily make-out at your will. You’ll go your own ways and not see each other for months at a time. The thought of that is unbearable, and you feel like looking at Sunghoon for a second longer might rip your heart into a million pieces.

When you sit up, tearing yourself away from his grip, he immediately opens his eyes, asking what’s wrong.

“Just need to go to the bathroom. I heard you can get STIs from not peeing after sex,” you half-lie. He nods and falls back into the bed.

You rush to the toilet, needing to get far away from Sunghoon as quickly as possible. Even your pee smells different - guess that’s what having a dick inside you will do to you. You wash your hands and look in the mirror: your skin is darker in some spots, surely Sunghoon’s work. So not only did he mess with your thoughts, he also had to make your body all weird, too?

You splash your face with cold water, hoping it will bring you back to your senses. You and Sunghoon have been best friends for years. There’s no point in changing all of that now, is there? You’ll be leaving soon enough, anyway. Why ruin a perfectly fine friendship for a summer fling?

Those are your thoughts as you head back to Sunghoon’s bedroom, ready to tell him that this whole thing was a mistake and you should just pretend it never happened. But your resolve crumbles at your feet as soon as you step inside the room.

Sunghoon’s got a couple of snacks ready as he browses through Netflix in search of an appropriate movie. “How about Twilight?” he says when he feels the bed dip under your weight next to him. He kisses your forehead and pulls you down on the bed with him so that you’re lying back against his chest.

Screw it, you think. Whatever this is, it’s much more than a summer fling.

The rest of the summer goes by in a flash. No, you don’t try to make Sunghoon jealous by flirting with Heeseung; if the mention of the latter’s name was enough to get your friend mad, then purposefully twirling your hair or batting your eyelashes at the older boy just might make Sunghoon white-boy-punch a hole into a wall. And it’s not like Heeseung would try coming onto you, either, with how clingy Sunghoon gets when he’s around, always an arm around your waist and a glare that could kill Heeseung.

Sunghoon gradually opens up to Heeseung being around, even though it takes you reminding him almost daily that he’s the one whose arms you wanna end up in over anybody’s. After a couple weeks, Sunghoon stops looking like he's on the brink of starting a fight every time Heeseung so much as talks to you or hands you a glass of lemonade, and finally relaxes around him.

You spend countless sleepless nights with Sunghoon. You’ve probably memorized every single one of his moles by now, and you’ve made sure to kiss all of them. He holds you against him like he might lose you at any given moment. The only nights you don’t fall asleep in each other’s embrace are when either one of you is sleeping over at your friend’s house. On those nights, sleep always takes hours before washing over you, the lack of warmth keeping you awake.

Your friends and you spend entire days at the lake or by Sunghoon’s pool, not a care in the world. You rest your head on Sunghoon’s shoulder as you watch the fireworks Jake and Jay bought go off. Sunghoon grills your marshmallows for you, blowing on them so they cool down before handing you the stick. You try to ignore how the night air gets slightly chillier and how the sun sets slightly earlier, but by the last days of August, it becomes too noticeable. When September rolls around, you’re sure there’s a small crack in your heart.

You know Sunghoon feels the end of summer too. His kisses are deeper and his lips linger over yours a second longer. He frowns when he kisses you and hugs you, like he’s trying to remember what it feels like. His usual playful demeanor when you’re in bed together is gone, instead seemingly hellbent on making you feel good and almost begging you to say his name. As if you could say any other name. As if you could say anything else.

Neither of you mention your departure until the night before you leave. After spending the evening with your friends, you lie together in bed, the side of your face resting against his chest so you can feel his heart against your ear. He’s tracing patterns with his fingertips on your back, and it takes you a while to figure out he’s spelling his name over and over again, as if to etch it in your skin. When, once in a while, he takes his hand off of you to reach for his phone, you can still feel his fingers caressing you, ghostlike against your skin.

The air around you feels heavy, pressing the both of you down into the mattress. You wish the bed would eat you alive so you could stay there, warm against each other, as long as you like. You know you can’t leave without talking first, but the words won’t come to you. Instead, they float around the bed, weighing your heart down into your stomach.

“So,” you start. You're unsure what to say, but you know this conversation has to happen, one way or another. In the end, you settle on, “Excited to leave?”

Sunghoon scoffs lightly, his motions on your back coming to a stop. “Not really, no. It’s not like I’m leaving that far, and half of our school is going to our uni.”

“Maybe, but there’ll be tons of other people. Tons of other girls, too,” you add after a short pause.

“Don’t do this, Y/N, please.”

You sit up at his words. He covers his eyes with his forearm and takes a deep breath in, sensing an incoming argument. “Do what?”

“This. Getting mad at me when I haven’t done anything.”

“I’m not mad at you,” you protest, frowning down at him.

“No? Then what’s this?” he says, smoothing down the lines between your eyebrows and on your forehead with the pad of a finger.

“Whatever.” You nudge your head away from his touch. It burns. “It’s not like I’m wrong, anyway. You’re gonna have a bunch of girls at your feet, and you’ll know what to do with them, right? Now that you’re not a virgin?” you question, avoiding his gaze.

“Y/N…” he sighs, shutting his eyes tighter as if in pain.

“What? This was the whole reason why, right? Get experience with me so you could fuck girls better, no?”

“Y/N!” he says, raising his voice enough to let you know he’s upset but not enough to scare you. He sits up, looking at you with hurt and disbelief in his eyes. “What’s this all of a sudden? It’s not like I forced you into this! We agreed on it together!”

“So you agree? That this summer was just about getting experience and now you’ll use it on other girls and pretend like we,” you gesture between the two of you, “never happened?”

“What do you mean ‘agree’? I never said any of this! Don’t put words into my mouth!”

He watches as you get up from the bed, arms crossed and pacing his room. He calls out to you a few times, but you don’t stop to look at him until he speaks your name with a sternness you’ve never heard before from him. “What?” you snap.

“I don’t get why you’re acting like this out of nowhere! We both knew summer was gonna end at some point, and why we were doing this! Why are you blaming me now?”

“Because… because…” you sigh, scrambling for an excuse. Why were you doing this? The thought of Sunghoon doing what he did to you to another girl, making her feel as good as he had made you feel, kissing her like he had kissed you, made you sick. It made you see red, it made you want to make him wear a shirt with your face on it so everybody knew he was yours.

Sunghoon gets up and stands close in front of you, too close. You close your eyes. If you see his moles, you might reach out to touch them and let yourself fall even more. If you fall, you’ll need to get up, but his scent makes your knees weak.

His hands find your face, holding a little too gently, you think. Your small ones wrap around his wrists and grip them, a little too harshly, he thinks.

You take a step back and finally look into his eyes. There’s hope in them; hope you’ll say what he wants, what he needs to hear. That you want him like he wants you. That you wish summer wasn’t over. That you’ll keep him in your heart until you can see him again. So, when what you say next is none of the above, he feels his heart sink down to his feet, leaving a murky puddle there.

“I can’t do this.”

You rush out of the room, practically running home. You fight your tears back until you slam your bedroom behind you, pathetically sinking to the ground as you let out a loud sob. You don't have the energy to get up, and cry into your hoodie's sleeve right there on the floor.

When you’ve calmed down a bit, you get up and lay in your bed, hiding your whole body underneath the covers. Maybe this is for the best, you think. If you end it like this, you won’t have the knowledge of whether he’ll wait to have you back or he’ll move on like nothing happened. That way, you can do whatever you want, not caring about what he’s up to.

But even now, your hands subconsciously reach out towards a person that’s not there and your feet hang over the edge of your bed as though to get up and run to him anytime. You curl in on yourself to stop your body from aching for him. It doesn’t work very well.

Sunghoon stays where you left him for a few minutes, too stunned to move. Should he run after you? Should he let you cool off for a bit and talk to you in the morning? Would you be mad at him if he didn’t try to see you now or would the mere sight of him just make you angrier? He plops down on his bed as these questions run through his mind, butting into each other and making everything more confusing.

He thinks back on everything that led to this, and his mind settles on that day a few days after graduation where his thoughts had dropped to the lowest pits of hell. If only you hadn’t brought those two damned lollipops.

The next morning, Sunghoon wakes up as if somebody had slapped him awake. He doesn’t bother to brush his teeth or eat anything before running over to your house, almost forgetting to put shoes on. He finds you in your room, packing the last of your things into an already full suitcase. He stands at your door, panting as his hands rest on his knees.

“You haven’t left yet. Thank God.”

“God, Hoon. It’s not that far between your house and mine. How are you so out of breath,” you say, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

He walks to you and kneels in front of you, taking you in his arms before you can say anything. “Talk to me, please. Don’t leave like this. I’d never forgive myself if you left and you were mad at me, Y/N.”

You thought you’d cried so much last night that there was not a single drop of water left in your body, but you thought wrong. Your eyes immediately well up at his words, and he leans back when he hears a soft sniffle escaping you. Only then does he notice how puffy your eyes from all your crying.

“No, no… Have you been crying? I’m so sorry, pretty, please don’t cry,” he pouts, pulling you back into his embrace. It hasn’t even been half a day, but you missed his warmth so much, it only makes you cry harder.

After sobbing against his chest, possibly staining his shirt in the process, you pull away and in your light-headed, dehydrated state, spill your heart out. “It’s so stupid,” you sob. “We’re not gonna see each other for months and I’m gonna miss you so much and I don’t want you to be with other girls. I want you all to myself and I don’t want to be your friend that you fucked for a summer just so you could get experience, it was a stupid idea in the first place, if you wanted to kiss me, you should’ve just kissed me. But you didn’t just kiss me and now I’m scared that this all meant nothing to you but everything to me and that I don’t want to be friends anymore but you do and I’m mad that it took me all summer to say this even though I’ve known it for years but I didn’t want to admit it to myself but also you didn’t say anything and I’m mad about that too. Because there’s no way you don’t feel like I do but maybe you actually don’t and-”

Whatever you were about to say dies out against Sunghoon’s lips as he presses his lips to yours, interrupting your rambling. He pulls away, looking at you with a huge, stupid grin. He’s so stupid, you think. I love him so much.

“Fucking hell, Y/N. I’ve been waiting for you to say this so bad, you have no idea.”

You punch his chest, frowning at him. Those stupid tears won’t stop. Everything is so stupid. “Then why didn’t you say it first?”

“Because I didn’t know how to. You know I’m bad with words. And I was scared it’d make things weird.”

“I don’t want things to be weird,” you pout.

“I don’t want things to be weird, either. I want things to be nice and happy.”

You giggle. “That’s so stupid.”

“Right? It’s so stupid,” he repeats, kissing you again.

“Your breath smells,” you complain when he pulls away.

“And you have tears on your lips. Tastes salty,” he teases.

“Yeah, thanks to who?”

“Sorry.” He smiles and kisses you again. He holds you against him for a while, enjoying this last moment together. As long as he can see a smile on your face before you leave, he’ll be fine.

“I’m gonna miss you so much too, Y/N. And forget about those non-existent girls. There’s no one I’d rather be with than you.”

“How do you know? You haven’t met any of them yet,” you say, voice muffled against his t-shirt.

“I’ve met other girls before. None of them compare to you,” he says, and you immediately gag at how cliché it sounds. “What?! It’s true,” he giggles.

“You’re not gonna go and date a random guy, are you?”

“Of course not. None of them compare to you,” you say, lowering your voice to imitate his.

He helps you finish packing, and when you’re done, you lay together on your bed, not saying much because not much needs to be said. Your parents struggle to tear you away from each other and from your bed when it’s time to leave. He helps your dad put your baggage in the trunk of his car, telling you to not lift a finger so you watch him go to and from the car, leaving a kiss on your forehead every time he walks past you. You notice with a smile that he doesn’t carry much at once, making him have to go back-and-forth quite often.

After saying goodbye to your family, your dad waits in the car as you and Sunghoon hang back awkwardly, kicking small pebbles on the pavement. He takes your hand in his, making you look up at him, then takes the other hand, then hugs you close to him.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you say, as if that wasn’t obvious. You’re trying hard to fight tears from falling again, but it’s like there’s an ocean behind your eyes, water somehow never running out.

“I already miss you,” he says, and that’s enough to get you to sob again, which makes him start crying too. You’re crying, he’s crying, your mom is crying from the porch as she watches the two of you, it’s a mess.

You force yourself away from him, cupping his face in your hands. “We’ll see each other soon, okay? And college will be fun. You won’t even have time to miss me. But make time to think about me, yeah? And text me.”

“I will. I’ll think about you all the time, I already do,” he says.

“Okay,” you whisper and hug him one last time, very briefly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. You’re about to walk away but he doesn’t let go of your hand and pulls on your arm to bring you back to him.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he whispers, “I love you,” and you sob.

“I love you, too.”

This time, when you walk away, he lets you go. He watches as you get into the passenger’s seat and as the car drives away, as it takes you away from him. You watch him stand there in the rearview mirror, until his silhouette becomes smaller, and smaller, and smaller, until you can’t see him at all anymore.

Summer went and fall came as they do every year. Dead leaves are falling but it’s a new start for you. It’s a new town and you don’t know anybody, but you click instantly with your roommate and make new friends throughout your first week there. You realize everybody’s in the same boat, and they’re all eager to meet people and are curious about college life. You love your classes but complain about them nonetheless. You eat more ramen than you’d like to admit and turn up hungover at a 9 am class on a Thursday. You pull all-nighters at the library and develop a caffeine dependency. You’re a college student.

You and Sunghoon were very dramatic when you left, you soon realize. You call almost everyday. He’s not there with you and you miss him but at least you don’t have to pretend you’re not stupidly in love with him anymore. Because it’s stupid, being in love, it really is. You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Your first semester passes by almost too quickly, and before you know it, you’re on the drive home, already one eighth of the way through university. You’re excited to go home, but Sunghoon’s finals last a week longer so you wait around for him. When you complain about it, Chaeyoung tells you to get a grip. “You haven’t seen him in three months, I’m sure you can handle another week.”

And you can, but barely. You were about to explode but then he’s back and you’re in his arms and his hair is still so soft, his scent is still so comforting and his moles are still there. You kiss them both before you finally press your lips to his, and it makes you feel so alive, you could die right then and there.

You lie on his bed and talk for hours as if you didn’t keep in touch the whole time and it’s like you never left. It’s like summer never ended and you’ve just been lying in his bed the whole time, college just one big fever dream.

But his skin doesn’t smell like chlorine anymore, and he’s not in his swimming trunks. It’s fall, almost winter, and you’re kissing Park Sunghoon. You realize you can kiss him whatever the season and you find comfort in that. It was a big day (you cried a lot when you saw him) and you’re tired so you think you’ll kiss for a bit and that’ll be all but then he whispers “I missed you so much” against your neck and a fire lights inside your stomach. Oh, how it burns. You think it might consume you whole, but you don’t dislike that idea.

In a flash, you’re on top of him, his shirt is off, your shirt is off, but it’s not enough so you take your pants off too and Sunghoon is confused as to why you’re going so fast, but follows you anyway. “What’s going on?” he asks when you’re done with the taking off of your clothes and have moved on to kissing and biting at his neck like it’s your first meal in ages, because it is.

“I missed you too,” you simply answer, and he smirks as he nods slowly, now understanding your eagerness.

“Missed me that much, huh?” he teases, letting his head fall back against the pillow so you have better access to his neck.

“Shut up. Kiss me,” you order, and he doesn’t need to be told twice. Your kisses are ravenous and desperate, very fitting for two horny people in love who haven’t seen each other in months. But the pulse in your core makes you too impatient to stay anywhere for too long, and really, it’s not your fault if you’re grinding down onto Sunghoon’s clothed erection, it’s just that he smells too good and you missed him too much.

Sunghoon laughs at you for being so impatient to hide just how impatient he is. His giggles keep him from moaning loudly enough to wake the whole house, and you laugh as you tell him to stop laughing.

“I’m serious. I missed you so much. Need you so bad,” you say as you get rid of your underwear and quickly do the same for his. He gasps when he feels you take his dick in your hand and brush its tip between your folds, both out of pleasure and out of surprise.

“Shouldn’t I get you ready? Stretch you out a bit?” he asks, his hands roaming up and down your back as he sits up on the bed so that you’re straddling his lap, and you shake your head no. You’re probably already embarrassingly wet from your short makeout session, anyway.

“I don’t care if it hurts,” you say, lining his tip with your entrance. “Need to feel you.”

You sink down on his cock, the both of you releasing loud moans at the long-awaited feeling. He lets you adjust to his size for a minute, but as soon as you move your hips just a bit, signaling to him that you’re ready for more, it’s over for you. He wanted to be patient and take his time, he really did, but you feel so warm around him and your small whimpers are so pretty that his resolve of letting you take the lead is thrown out the window. He pounds into you at a rapid pace that has you biting his shoulder to keep yourself from screaming.

You had imagined your first time back with Sunghoon so many times before. It usually involved a nice playlist in the background, fairy lights and candles lighting the room, hours of foreplay and sensual lovemaking, with a nice bath afterwards. Sometimes, when you were particularly needy for him, you imagined something closer to what was actually happening, where you’d rip each other’s clothes as soon as you got to the bedroom and fucked like animals (a bit much, admittedly, but you really missed him).

What you definitely hadn’t expected, however, was that you’d both cum in less than five minutes. What could you do, though, when he was hitting your g-spot over and over again, his length stretching you perfectly as he whispered in your ear how much he’d missed you and how good you felt? And what could he do when you took him in so well, clinging onto him as you told him how much you’d missed him and how good he felt?

You finish at the same time, hole clenching around him and milking him dry. He doesn’t pull out for a while, letting you collapse onto him as you both catch your breaths, just like you had that first time. “That was a bit quick,” he pants, and you can’t help but laugh.

You pull back to look at his face. It’s so pretty and stupid. What a stupid face that you love so much. Do you love it because it’s stupid or is it stupid because you love it? You think that that’s a stupid question, and you kiss the mole on his nose, then the mole on his cheek, right next to his nose.

“We have all night to go slower.”

“We have all Christmas break,” he corrects.

We have the rest of our lives, you think, and you think that might be a bit much, but you say it anyway. Sunghoon hums and says, “yes, we do,” and you think maybe it’s not all that stupid.

Maybe it’s the greatest thing that’s ever been.

permanent taglist: @zreamy @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 @w3bqrl @raikea10 @wntrnghts @moonlighthoon @4imhry @rikisly @loves0ft @iamliacamila @theboingsuckerasseater9000 @chaechae-23 @baekyuns-lipchain @hyuckslvr @vernonburger @amorbonbon @fluerz (ask to be removed/added!)

#enhypen x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhypen smut #sunghoon smut #enhypen angst #sunghoon angst #enhypen imagines #sunghoon imagines #enhypen au #sunghoon au #enhypen fanfiction #sunghoon fanfiction

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joelsgoldrush · 5 months ago

Text

“give me the first taste” | 10k

logan howlett x f!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple

SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. angst. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. age-gap (reader is 25). once again wade saves the day. domestic!logan. soft dom!logan. logan calls reader “kid”. they watch (500) days of summer. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. thumb sucking. throat fucking. multiple orgasms. unprotected p in v. creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.

You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.

It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.

“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.

“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”

Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”

“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from.

“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”

His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.

There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.

“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his.

“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”

You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”

Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”

“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”

“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.

Why is he about to fight a cat?

“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”

“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”

Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”

“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”

This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.

At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”

Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.

Okay, that was… weirdly specific.

Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.

“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”

“Fucking, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.

As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”

Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.

You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.

Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.

“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”

“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.

You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”

“I think I’ve already heard that before.”

“Kid.”

You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”

“Do you have an off switch?”

“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.”

“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”

“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.

You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.

“You love having the final say, don’t you?”

“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”

“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.

Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”

And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.

Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”

You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.

Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”

Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.

“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”

That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.

“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”

“Logan…”

“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”

You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.

Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”

“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”

“What if—”

You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.”

This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.

“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.

“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”

A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.

You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”

Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”

“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”

At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.

You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”

Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”

“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”

“I don’t.”

He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”

“I said I don’t.”

“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.

You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”

“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.

“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”

“How did you pass History in high school?”

“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”

“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”

The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.”

“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”

Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.

“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug.

“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”

“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”

“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”

“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”

Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”

Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”

“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, homey.”

“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”

Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.

The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.

What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.

Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do.

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.

It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”

Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”

You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up.

“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.

“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”

“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”

“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”

You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.

From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”

“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert.

“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.

Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.

He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”

Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them.

You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.

“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”

Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.

Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.

“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”

You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.

The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.

Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance.

It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”

Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.

You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.

Hey.

You again.

Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.

Okay.

“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.

“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”

Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”

“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”

“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”

“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.

Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.

“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”

His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”

Lord have mercy.

“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”

“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”

“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.

“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”

He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”

“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “

“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.

“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”

“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”

You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Drop it, kid.”

“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”

You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”

Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”

Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”

That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher.

He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”

You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.

A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”

Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..

“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”

God, you love it when he’s mean.

“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”

The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”

He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”

You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.

Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”

“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”

Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”

The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”

Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”

Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”

“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”

“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force. “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need.

Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”

“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”

This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

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5sospenguinqueen · 6 months ago

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I'm Thirsty, Refreshing | Charles Leclerc x Gasly! Reader

Summary: Pierre is horrified by his sister's public attempts to catch his Monegasque friend's attention

Warnings: Suggestive. Thirsty comments. Swearing. Down bad reader.

Gasly reader. Pinterest pics

F1 Masterlist

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gasly_yn just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and others

gasly_yn forza ferrari sempre

4,309 comments

pierregasly what the fuck

pierregasly wrong team

pierregasly when did this become a whore house

→ gasly_yn that’s not very hot girl summer of you

user1 pierre going through the seven stages of grief

francisca.cgomes serving body

→ gasly_yn thank you for looking through 100s of pics for the right ones

→ pierregasly @/francisca.cgomes don’t encourage this!

→ fransisca.cgomes but she looks hot liked by charles_leclerc

alpinef1team well, we all know who you’ll be supporting this weekend

→ gasly_yn yeah, your other driver

→ pierregasly you take that back! that's worse

→ user2 i love when the gasly’s are messy on main

lilymhe and whose attention would we be trying to catch today?

→ gasly_yn only yours

→ alex_albon no

→ gasly_yn these drivers never let me have any fun

carlossainz55 looking good, female gasly

→ pierregasly back off 🤺

→ user3 c’mon carlos, we all know she’s only here for charles liked by charles_leclerc

landonorris i’m definitely looking at the shirt 👀

→ gasly_yn uh huh, what colour is it?

→ landonorris papaya

→ arthur_leclerc she doesn’t do british, mate

charles_leclerc *gulp*

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pierregasly just posted

liked by gasly_yn, francisca.cgomes and others

pierregasly people were asking for more piarles (?) content tagged: charles_leclerc

5,558 comments

gasly_yn oh wow. i am stunned

gasly_yn and not because of you. we all know i’m the better looking gasly anyway

gasly_yn why don’t you bring him home anymore

→ pierregasly because you wouldn’t stop trying to steal him

→ gasly_yn kiks, leave him

charles_leclerc i am flattered

→ user4 omg just respond to her instead of acting like you’re responding to pierre

→ user5 give the girl a chance

francisca.cgomes i can hear her barking from here

→ lilymhe she’s actually salivating

→ gasly_yn where’s the girl code

→ user6 not the girlies exposing her

danielricciardo mate, who’s managing to make you look good in photos

→ gasly_yn hi, me again. i actually claim photo credits but he didn’t tag me

→ pierregasly i was kind of hoping you wouldn’t see this post. it was hard enough wiping the drool off your mouth when you were there

→ gasly_yn don’t expose me

→ gasly_yn plus, i have his notifs on so i don't miss a thing

→ pierregasly i half expected you to lick him after that basketball match

→ gasly_yn says the one trying to go for a cock shot

georgerussell63 didn’t i see that ferrari hoodie in your suitcase last weekend, yn? (this comment has been deleted)

user6 xoxo gossip george

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charles_leclerc just posted

liked by gasly_yn, oscarpiastri and others

charles_leclerc summer break ☀️

7.440 comments

user8 here before yn

→ gasly_yn think again babe

gasly_yn miss rabbit has fainted

gasly_yn okay but the hands, the pecs, the bandana

gasly_yn in the market for a new necklace

pierregasly why are we thirst trapping

pierregasly whose attention are you trying to grab

pierregasly oi, answer me

user7 yn and pierre match each other’s freak in the best sibling way possible

carlossainz55 are you trying to kill her

alex_albon i’ve sent lily to check that she’s still alive after these

user8 who is taking the most boyfriend coded pics of Charles tho

→ user9 asking the real questions

georgerussell63 i don’t think ferrari would like you offing the competition’s sister

gasly_yn the sun isn’t the only thing that’s hot in these pictures

→ pierregasly you’re embarrassing me

→ gasly_yn my friends know you call yourself tripod, i’m not the embarrassment

→ charles_leclerc she’s got you there, mate

lilymhe i watched her drop her phone after opening insta

→ francisca.cgomes and then walk into a doorframe

user10 not the grid and wags exposing my poor girl

→ user11 she’s so down bad. i can’t even defend her anymore

→ lilymhe neither can we

user12 anyone else think yn is freaking out because charles finally replied to her comment

→ user13 not all of you taking this seriously like she hasn’t known charles since they were kids

→ user14 literally. they’ve been friends for years. i’m pretty sure she knows how to control herself around him

→ gasly_yn um, babe. have you seen him? would YOU be able to control yourself? liked by charles_leclerc

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

gasly_yn just posted a new story x2

charles_leclerc just posted a new story

pierregasly replied to yn's story you tell him to keep his hands to himself → i know where he lives gasly_yn i didn’t know you liked me that much pierregasly biologically i’m obliged to

pierregasly replied to charles' story stop touching her → release her hand charles_leclerc you’re the one who told me to finally ask her out! → you said you were happy that i would stop pining pierregasly yes but when you told me months ago that you were dating and keeping it under wraps → i believed that meant i wouldn’t actually have to see you with her → a heads up that you changed that would’ve been nice charles_leclerc drama queen pierregasly that’s it, i take back my approval charles_leclerc piss off, pois

pierregasly replied to yn's story yn, what the fuck → that better not be → i’m going to throw something gasly_yn stop stalking me pierregasly how could you not tell me first! gasly_yn you wanted me to tell you that i was going to fuck your friend? pierregasly i knew it was date night but i never thought gasly_yn you didn’t imagine your sister and your friend in bed together? i think that’s considered normal, pois pierregasly i hope he wrapped it. don't need more of you in the world gasly_yn go away!

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

pierregasly just posted

liked by scuderiaferrari, arthur_leclerc and others

pierregasly i actually miss when they were just messaging me about each other. now they make out in front of me. much worse tagged: gasly_yn, charles_leclerc

10,199 comments

user13 not pierre hard launching them

gasly_yn he used to talk about me?

→ charles_leclerc all the time <3

→ pierregasly all. the. time

alex_albon does this mean we can stop acting like we haven’t seen them making out around the paddock for the past few months?

→ georgerussell63 and in his car

→ landonorris and in the back of clubs

→ gasly_yn 2019 rookies were the worst thing to happen to f1

→ charles_leclerc i thought we were discreet?

→ pierregasly mate, you drool over her as much as she does you. neither of you have ever been discreet

arthur_leclerc at least they dial it down in front of you

user14 wait, you’re telling me they’ve been together for months. what about all of yn’s thirsty comments??

→ charles_leclerc i was sat next to her as she was writing them

→ gasly_yn can confirm those had him giggling

maxverstappen1 wait, does this mean he’s replaced me as his padel partner?

→ pierregasly he said he actually wanted to win

→ gasly_yn plus if he does lose, i give better consolation prizes ;)

→ pierregasly ew! dirty!

→ francisca.cgomes querido you have said worse to me in front of her

carlossainz55 the worst day was when she wore the ferrari vest under her alpine shirt. should’ve learned to knock before entering his driver’s room

→ pierregasly NO! In public!

scuderiaferrari ha stole your girl

→ alpinef1team how dare you

→ pierregasly yeah, you tell them. you can’t have her

→ charles_leclerc MY girl

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

Requests welcome

I am currently working on a written Lando fic about him and driver! reader being fwb with angst so bare with me lol

Tag list

@rosecentury @peachiicherries

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hoshigray · 11 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 | satoru gojō

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : The start of the spring semester is supposed to be fresh and new, not be cramped up in a closet with your frenemy at a party! And what's worse: you actually like the feeling of his lips on yours!?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Gojo x fem/afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern + college AU - frenemies to lovers - Gojo and reader are at least age 20 - implied that reader is a virgin - first kiss - awakening feelings - virginity loss - kissing/making out in a closet - thigh riding - grinding/humping - sex in shared rooms; college dorms (empty) - breast fondling + sucking + nipple play - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - orgasm denial- clitoral play (sucking, pinching and swiping) - missionary position - protected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up) - pet names (baby, cutie, gorgeous, pretty, princess, sweetie) - cameos: Utahime, Geto, Shoko and Mei Mei - humor bc I'm [not] funny - mention of vaginal pain, spit and tears.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.3k (i'm so sick...)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: yessirrrr let's get this party started, shall we? >:333 plz enjoy the first part of this series!! and tysm for 5.3k !!! y'all are too kind && happy bday to my gal, jazzy!! hope you enjoyed your special day, jazzy jam c:

❤︎ « next story

“GO FUCK YOURSELF, SATORU GOJO!”

“BETTER THAN FUCKING YOU, Y/N L/N!”

“They’re at it again already, huh?”

“Yeah, man, it’s going to two o’clock. Might as well enjoy the show.”

College is hard enough as is. The fact that you’re now back for the spring semester is tiring enough, wanting to get these classes over with and wrap this up. Spring, Easter, and Summer break are just right around the corner, the cherry on top for this exhausting second half of your junior year. Those are the end goals!

But alas, the semester just started. The students scramble around buying their textbooks and switching courses around, struggling to make final move-in decisions and already stressing over seasonal depression at this time of year. Spring semester, huh? Same old, same old.

Although there are negatives that make it nerve-racking, there are still good things that come with this junior year. Finally over with winter break, you’re excited to be back to living with your roommates, Utahime, Mei Mei, and Shoko! They’re your girlfriends for a reason; missing hanging and stressing with them as they made your college experience much better than you expected.

And it doesn’t end there, either! You missed study sessions at the campus café with your second-year peers, Yu Haibara and Kento Nanami. The two best friends always help with your studies whenever you need it. And, of course, you can’t forget about their roommate and your friend, Geto. The tall, raven-haired Biology major is always looking out for you and paying visits to study with Shoko. There was even a time he helped with a mouse situation in your dorm! Poor Utahime that day – saw the rodent when she came out of the shower.

However, you’re not exactly thrilled to see everyone after coming back. You throwing a middle finger at someone on the opposite side of the pathway should be evidence of such. “Oh, go jump off a cliff, Gojo!”

“Hah! I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction!” Satoru Gojo was the direct roommate of Suguru Geto, best friend of his and Shoko, and was the star player of the campus basketball team. But most of all, he’s the kid you despise with every fiber of your being. “I’d be more entertained with you slipping on some ice.”

“Oh, you wish! I saw you slip on some ice yesterday on your way to Professor Yaga’s class.” You puff your chest with pride when you see the white-haired guy suck his teeth in annoyance. “Made my whole day, what a fucking moron. How about slowing down next time? You were late anyway!”

Snowy brows furrow with a scoff. “God, you really are a perfect roommate for Utahime; the both of you are so tiny and angry at the world around you for no reason.”

Utahime, standing beside you during this yelling competition, decides to chip in after that remark. She almost popped a vein, “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SAY, SATORU!?”

“You heard me!” He barks a laugh at the two of you, turning around to go on his way. “Heard it’s gonna snow later tonight. Be sure to find a nice, big, puffy jacket and some boots so the storm doesn’t sweep you away, Y/n~.”

“I’ll be sure to shove an icicle up your ass before that, you fucker!” You turn on your heel and stomp your way out of the scene, Utahime following your move. “Hmph! Hate his ass so much…”

“Tch, right there with you.” Your roommate sighs heavily to exude the aggression. “But damn, the way you two go at it is worse than mine.”

She is not wrong; it’s true – everyone within the campus grounds knows how much you and Gojo can’t stand each other. It’s no secret; at least you two make that apparent everywhere you go. This little feud between you started freshman year with you two in the same first-year engagement program. Tiny disagreements turned into narrowed glares, which then pivoted into prominent arguments, and now here we are.

You hoped that freshman year would be the last you’d ever see of that snow-haired prude. Unfortunately, you were wrong. The year after, you were unhappy to discover he’s best buds and roomies with Geto. And what’s worse is that you were ill-fated to share a class with him every semester — especially this one with Professor Naga for Contemporary Issues. Is this the universe’s way of punishing you for something? For what!??

You’ve been a good kid, doing what you can and getting the grades that brought you merit and accolades. So, you don’t get how this one guy with his stupid round sunglasses is getting under your skin. So fucking annoying…

You hate him. You hate everything about him. From the way he immediately gives you a smug look when you walk into the room and take your seat right in front of him. The way he surprises you from behind because he finds your reactions amusing. The way he relentlessly calls your name to get your attention when you’re obviously ignoring him, even when he doesn’t need you for something.

It all makes you heated. You hate Satoru Gojo. I hate him so much!

“…hear me?…Y/n?”

You blink, realizing you were too deep in thought for your ears to pick up Utahime calling out for you. “Hmm? What’s up?”

She pulls out the keys to the dorm from her coat. “So? You coming along?”

Huh? “Where are you going?”

“To Haibara’s get-together?”

Oh, hell no! “No, Uta. I think I’ll stay here.”

The dark-haired girl watches you walk past her when she opens the door. “Why?? It’s the first Friday night of the semester; it’s not gonna be a big party or anything. Just close friends.”

“What are we talking about?” Shoko chimes in after leaving the bathroom, brushing her teeth with sleepy eyes. “Haibara’s thing tonight?”

Utahime nods hurriedly at the drowsy nursing student. “I’m trying to convince Y/n to come!”

The brunette shrugs at the comment, following you two to your room. “Well, it’s not like I’m going either.” She snickers when the eldest dark-haired roommate turns to her with a hurt expression. “Sorry. I already have notes I need to get behind on. You can tell the guys I said hi, though.”

Another sigh leaves Utahime as she puts her bag on her desk. “…Mei Meiiiii,”

“Yesss~?” The fourth roommate calls out from the hallway.

“Are you going?”

“Mmmm, not sure.” Mei Mei comes to the doorframe, her long silverish-blue hair done in pigtails with a green skin-care mask covering her face. “Got a meeting for my club to head to later. And even then, it might still be a while for me to join, depending on if people are hanging out afterward.”

Now is when the Utahime whines to her hands before she turns back to you, sitting on your bed. “Y/n, please, come with me!”

You don’t give in to her cries. “No, think I’ll stay and keep Shoko company.”

But she doesn’t give up. “Please! It’s just a small group of friends and maybe a few classmates Haibara’s familiar with. No biggie!”

“Small group of friends, huh?”

“Yes!”

“You know who else are his friends?” You lift a brow when she does the same. “His roommates: Nanami, Geto, and—“

“Gojo…” Utahime completes your sentence in defeat, understanding why your reluctance is present.

“Sorry, Uta. Maybe next time.”

Now, you’re not saying you’ve never been to the guys’ place before; they reside on the other side of campus where senior housing is (Nanami’s pick because he’s an RA). However, it’s the first Friday night of the semester. Meaning it’s the first free weekend for most students. And you’re going to ruin everyone’s fun by being in the same place as Gojo? Yeah, no thanks.

That is until Mei Mei says, “Actually, I heard from a friend that the basketball team are planning on going out somewhere tonight.”

Shoko adds on while taking out her toothbrush to appropriately speak to her friends. “Yeah, now that you mention it, Gojo told me he probably won’t be at the place in the first place. Something about meeting up with a group for one of his classes.”

All separate reasons from different accounts, yet that only fuels Utahime to beam out of her mini-depression and face you once more. “See? Gojo won’t be there by the time we get there! He’ll be busy with a group project – or whatever – and will hang with his sports buddies. So, you up for it now?”

Your brows trench down. “I…I don’t know—“

If there’s one thing the oldest roommate is good at, it’s not giving up. And it’s because she bats her pretty brown eyes and gives you the most grandiose pleading puppy face she can. It’s the oldest manipulation tactic in the book, yet it works by making your heart cringe.

Of all things to be dragged into now, it was a party? The semester just started, and you haven’t even touched a single piece of reading yet. Is this a good idea? You can’t really go based on the perspective of your roommates because what’ll happen on the off-chance you do see Gojo? The thought of it is already headache-inducing.

Then again, it’s the first time since last semester that you’ll be able to see the other guys. You didn’t say goodbye to Geto and Haibara before break because they were swarmed with finals, and Nanami was gone the moment he found out all his exams were take-home. You’re not much for parties, to be quite honest. Regardless, it would be nice to catch up on the gang and see how they’re doing before we all revert to non-stress-free college life.

You release a sigh through your nostrils before making your decision begrudgingly. “...Don’t make me regret this.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

I regret this so fucking much…

Well, this night was going to be quite a drag. Why? Let’s go over the reasons, shall we?

The party that was supposedly at Haibara’s dorm? So, it turns out, there was a change of plans, and to be relocated somewhere else — like outside campus grounds. Screw walking, you and Utahime had to go by car with Geto to go to the party, following down the main street into this big, beautiful neighborhood and parking by a big house. Perfect for housing an event for many people to drink, dance, and vibe.

Oh yeah, that was another thing, too; the many that were attending this fucking party. Word got out about the get-together, so, of course, lots of people wanted to come and celebrate the first weekend. So, not only are you outside campus grounds, but now you’re forced to interact with a crowd rather than a small group of people. You practically have been to every corner of the place to disassociate with people you didn’t know.

So, where are you now? Upstairs in one of the bedrooms, where the bass of the speakers downstairs can be heard. You’re not alone — sitting in a circle with Utahime, Geto, and a couple of other kids who’re present at your university. What’s happening in the room? Just a chill game of truth, drink, or seven minutes in heaven; either you answer truthfully to a question, drink to avoid it, or go to the closet and do what you want with the person who spun the bottle on you.

But, there was nothing chill about the game, and the players would agree to that notion apprehensively. Because you most definitely silently dreaded every second of this entire night. Why? How about asking the person across you that you’ve been glaring at since you opened the bedroom door and saw his face?

Apparently, as word got out about the party, the college basketball team heard about it and decided to come and celebrate. Meaning the whole team is at this party. Let’s say that again: the entire basketball team – all the players – are here to enjoy the party.

The person who stood across from you sat criss-cross with long, jean-covered legs, leaning with his hands behind him, a navy blue sweatshirt, and dark round shades that cover his eyes that you know are looking dead at you. And a smug grin that patronizes you to the core.

You peer to your night, giving Utahime the nastiest look you can. And the eldest could only meekly mumble an “I’m sorry…” with twiddled thumbs.

Satoru Gojo looked at you, and you frowned right back at him. The tense atmosphere between you two was enough to suffocate the other players. Some would try to break the tension by playing the game. But even then, it was still strenuous. One girl rolled the bottle on Geto, to which he picked “truth” and answered her question: “How did you and Gojo meet?”

Even though he didn’t pick the option, he’d take a small swig of his beer. “Satoru and I have been friends since middle school — same with my other bud, Shoko. We’ve been inseparable since, and now we’re here. He can be an asshole, though, so watch out.”

A guy spun the bottle on Utahime and asked, “Were you ever interested in Gojo?” The raven-haired girl clicked her teeth and took a chug, drinking the whole thing in one sig.

“Hmph! I’d rather drink sweat from Professor Gakunaji’s crusty beard and eyebrows!” She’d admit after a burp.

“Ahaha! That’s a sight I’d like to see,” Gojo would chuckle at her insult, prompting a few around him to laugh. “Bet you’d get more satisfaction from it than being with me anyway.”

The senior rolls her eyes before opening another bottle. “Fucking bastard…”

Another spin to the bottle after a couple comes out of the closet all close and giggly. This time, it lands on you. Some bubbly girl who had her eyes all up on Gojo, her nipple piercings able to be seen from her crop tee, was the one who spun it. She asks you, “Y/n, could you please tell me why you hate Satoru so much?”

You couldn’t fight the twitch of your eye. Of fucking course. You’re in no mood to drink, and you barely know this girl to think of being in the closet with her. You exhale through your nostrils, “….We’re friends, to an extent.”

“To an extent?” She asked more questions with a naive tone. “But Satoru's so nice, no?”

Oh, drop it, will you? And why are you referring to him by his first name like you know him? “We’re—“

“They mean that we’re kinda friends, kinda not.” Of course, nothing can be to yourself because the white-haired nuisance went ahead and answered your question. “They’re friends with my roomies, and my friends are their roomies. So, I guess that makes us friends by association. At least that’s the only way to see it since we nearly argued our heads off freshman year.”

You scoff with narrowed eyes, “By association, huh.”

He quirks a brow up. “Mhmm.”

Good God, the more you two throw invisible daggers at each other, the more uncomfortable people feel being in this room. Oh, but don’t worry; the night gets even worse. Three turns later, it was your turn to spin the bottle. And – sit with me here – just guess who it lands on? Bingo! Satoru Gojo.

The hushed gasps that filled the room were telling; it was bound to happen, but no one thought it would happen. The star-crossed haters spun the bottle and landed on each other. And since Gojo doesn’t drink (and he finds the questions rather lackluster), he chooses the closet. The gasps were louder that time, and your blood began to boil.

The first time it happened was uneventful; it’s what you preferred. After the door closed, you told him, “Don’t even think about touching me.” It was just pure silence for the entire seven minutes. You sat on one side of the emptied closet while Gojo was on the other. There were the occasional sniffles of your nose and his loud yawns. But other than that, you two stayed at your respective sides of the closet. Seven minutes of no words, just keeping to yourself and watching the lava lamp in your corner be your light.

You two survived the first set of seven minutes, not a scratch on either of you, to everyone’s thankful stars. Keywords: first set. Because why wouldn’t there be more?

When it got to Gojo’s turn, he spun the bottle and got you! So, here you are, walking into the closet again with your notorious opp. You swore to God this had to be the universe’s way of toying with you as if the start of this semester wouldn’t be a handful to deal with already.

You’re back on your side of the closet, groaning at your hands. It’s okay, Y/n, calm down. You can sit through another seven minutes. You got this! Don’t even act like he’s there…

And so you compose yourself, watching the heated, yellow wax of the purple lava lamp prompt up to the top to cool and sink back down. Six minutes…Five…Four—

“So, let’s say, hypothetically,” your eyelids closed shut for your eyes to roll freely. “I asked for a little something-—“

“I guess I should’ve added no talking, too. Thought that was rather self-explanatory to you.” You shut him down quickly. “And I thought I said don’t even think of touching me.”

“Well, you’re not in control of my brain,” you don’t have to turn your head to know that the fucker is looking at you. “Besides, I did say hypothetically.”

This motherfucker… ”Well, then, I’d, hypothetically, break every single one of your fingers and give them to Mei Mei so she can sell them to all your fangirls.”

“Hah! Nice to know you see me of high value.” He shifts his feet around from their crisscrossed position. “Bet you’d keep one of them.”

You scoff. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself! I’m annoyed just from not looking at you; what the fuck would I need your stupid finger for.”

“Hmmm, I can think of many, like—“

“Do not finish that sentence, Gojo.” Your tone dialed lower; a warning. He notices it, bringing his hands up defensively.

“Jeez, lighten up, Y/n.” He says while leaning against the back wall. “With an attitude like that, no other guy or gal in that room will ever want to be in a closet with you.”

Oh, you don’t say, fuckface! “I barely want to be in this closet with you. Hell, I didn’t even want to be here! I only came for Utahime, assuming it would be a small party…How the hell did you even get here? I thought the basketball team was going out somewhere.“

“Awww, you spying on me, Y/n?” Oh, you hate his fucking snicker, shoving a middle finger in his direction. “We were supposed to be at some restaurant joint, but a few of the crew flunked out on us and said they’d go to some ‘big party,’ then everyone wanted to go, and now we’re here. You know I don’t like alcohol, but I just tagged along because Suguru was here. I didn’t know about you, though.”

You bring your hands to your face to sigh in private. “We gotta stop meeting like this…It’s like I can never escape you.”

“…Is that a bad thing?”

You open your mouth to refute, but no words leave….Huh?

That was…..odd. Why did he ask that question like that: you couldn’t detect a remnant of childish malice he’d been throwing at you back and forth. Even when you faced him, his face was straight ahead. But when you don’t answer, his left eye goes to his peripheral to glimpse at you.

What the…Is he being genuine right now?

You gaze at him briefly before turning away, “I….I don’t know.” He hums to your response. “….Do you think so?”

Gojo shrugs. “Can’t say so either.” You hum back, and the silence takes over once again.

Okay, now things are even more awkward. You came into this closet with irritation, yet somehow, it vanished into thin air. It was the one thing that’s been constant throughout this evening. Now that it’s gone, you can only replay the moment from a few seconds ago in your head.

Is it a bad thing? Why would he ask that? Of course, it’s a bad thing! Has he forgotten how much hostility we have for each other? Jesus Christ….Wait, why did he say he didn’t know either? What does that even mean!!??

“You look nice.”

You—……I’m sorry, what???

The way you snapped your head back to him, you could’ve sworn you heard your neck crack. Holy fuck, why the hell was he looking at you right now? His round glasses shine from the lava lamp, so you can’t see his eyes.

“Wh….What?” It was cold; the weather app said it would snow later tonight. Therefore, the temperatures and winds were unforgiving after sunset. So you took it upon yourself to dress warmly. It was all simple, just a white, long-sleeved halter blouse that matched your black skirt – it was the only nice thing you had outside of regular leggings. And you covered your legs with black pantyhoses but decorated with cute white knitted leg warmers.

He repeated in a singing tune. “You look nice.”

When it came to the white-haired guy in this closet with you, there were rare moments where you felt as though you were shocked by him. This was beyond astounding, the comment continuing to ring throughout your ears.

You blinked at him before averting your eyes down to your hands, trying to distract the increase of heat on your cheeks by intertwining your fingers together. “….Thank you, Gojo.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he’d shrug again, chuckling to himself before adding on. “It’s way better than your other outfits. Baggy old sweatshirts, bags under your eyes even if you’re wearing glasses, sweatpants with stains. You look like a homeless librarian.”

Annnnnd just like that, with the drop of your quivering lip, all the warm feelings you felt for a minute evaporated in seconds. The anger returned with the twitch of a brow. “…Tch, gee, thanks. I can’t say the same for you.”

“Oh, you know you look cute when you’re jealous~.”

You almost busted a nerve. Who the hell are you calling, cute? “As if. From the sound of it, you must be jealous of me; who told you to be looking and criticizing what I wear? Must be rough not being able to wear comfortable clothes all the time, huh?”

“Shut the hell up,” he finally snaps, and you stick your tongue out in victory.

“No, I’ll keep going! I’m sorry, Mr. Perfect, but not everyone wants to put on their best outfits to impress you, not like your fangirls who get their best bras to push up their breasts for you to notice.”

“Huh, you lookin’ at other girls' boobies? Wow, Y/n, never took you as a pervert.” He laughs at your stare of pure anger. “You are jealous, huh? That I’m talking at other girls and not you? Awww, don’t be so selfish; there’s plenty of me to go around!”

You snarl at him. “Ugh, you’re so gross! I don’t want anything to deal with you. So all those girls can have you and rip you to shreds for all I care. Let them know how much of a big fucking baby the wonderful, amazing Satoru Gojo is when he drops his ice cream on the floor and cries on Geto’s shoulders. Or that you’re such a lightweight that you accidentally vomited in Nanami’s cup one time, which he threw at you...Or maybe I should tell them.”

His brows furrow, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would, and then some.” You sneer. “In fact, I’ll go downstairs, grab that red punch, and spill it right on you in front of that girl next to you. I’ll make your hair look like strawberry shaved ice.”

He leans his cheek against his fist with a huff. “I take it back; you don’t look nice at all. So uncute.”

You gasped with trenched brows. “Excuse me!?”

“You heard me, you’re uncute!” Yup, today was the day: you’re going to choke the hell out of this motherfucker. “I feel bad for any guy who'd wound up in this closet with you, dealing with such a little devil.”

“You’re one to talk, dickhead! I’d much rather be stuck in this closet with anyone else — even Geto!”

“Taah, as if! I bet you never even had your first kiss with such an attitude like that.”

Again, you open your mouth to say something, yet words evade you at that very moment. And Gojo catches it quickly. Because his brows raise, lifting his head back up, eyes scanning your face.

Oh fuck.

“...”

Don’t.

“….Y/n,”

Don’t say it.

“You never had your first ki—“

BEEP!! BEEP!! BEEP!!

He couldn’t finish that sentence, thank God, because the phone alarm from the outside rang. Seven minutes are up — this session is up, so you quickly stood up and opened the closet door.

With swift feet, you sit back next to Utahime, your eyes downcast to the bottle, avoiding Gojo’s feet coming around and taking his spot across from you. Your roommate perks at your silence, “You okay, Y/n?”

A nod is offered to her, “Yeah, I’m fine.” No, you weren’t. Your heart was pounding like crazy, your skin dropping in color. And you can feel the eyeballs from across boring into your being. “Let’s just keep playing.”

And so the game carried on from Gojo’s turn. Your eyes could only ever look at the bottle, hoping it would never land on you from there on out. But that would be the easy way out, and – as life is – nothing goes your way when you want it to be.

Because when it gets to your turn, you watch with patient eyes as the glass spins on the cold hardwood floor. One spin goes by, and another swings around. Finally, it stops, the neck of the bottle pointing vertically from you, and your whole figure washes in apprehension with the hushed sounds of exclamation of the other people in the room.

Alas, the bottle pointed to Gojo. It was inevitable – you couldn’t avoid his presence since the last session anymore. You look at him, your brows scrunched with mercy. But he points to the closet with his chin, and you follow his lead to the small space with anxiousness at every step.

Back to your respective stations in the closet. You can only use the mesmerizing wax of the lava lamp as a sort of comfort – a distraction for your nerves that are at an all-time high. Why were you so nervous? All he did was ask if you ever had your first kiss taken.

Yeah, that’s the problem! Why did he have to know that!? Ughhhh, I should’ve just lied or something…Now what? Will he make fun of me for not having my first kiss taken yet? What is this, middle school!?? The thoughts in your head were a battle to deal with, one personal worry after another.

But all that washes away when the silver-haired guy finally breaks the quiet after a minute. “…Wanna kiss me?”

It felt like your heart dropped at that abrupt question; the warm circulation coursing through your body transitioned to an ice-cold sensation. Your breathing stops, and your eyes shoot wide at the person you’re with. “….Wha….What did you say?”

He doesn’t hesitate at your request. “Wanna kiss?”

Have….Have you lost—“your mind!? Why would you ask me that??” You whisper yelled at him so the people outside don’t hear you.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Why not?”

Why not?!? “Gojo, you can’t be serious. Just because I never had my first kiss doesn’t mean I need it to happen this instant! Are you that much of a horndog that you’d ask—“

“Let me explain, alright!?” He yells in whispers back with a hand raised to stop your rambling, and you hold your tongue. “Listen, I’m not asking to be a dick, okay? I just thought that…ya know, being in a place full of strangers, someone’s bound to be in this closet with you and ask you for a kiss.”

Your face screws to a magnificent expression of confusion you could ever contour. “Why are you concerned about who I kiss? It’s not like I’d agree or—“

“Yeah, but like, what if they did, huh?” His sky-blue eyes peek from above his sunglasses. The sharpness they carried told you he was serious about this — like he was serious about you. That…That was so off of him. “What if some weirdo forces themselves on you, and me and Suguru can’t help you in time, huh? I can think of two guys in this room who’d probably do that.”

It takes a few seconds for you to soak in his words, “….So? What are you getting at?” He opens his mouth but stops from saying something, his pointer finger up but back to a fist. You could tell; whatever he was thinking had him in mental turbulence.

He releases a deep sigh before saying, “I’m just…I’m saying, wouldn’t it be better to have your first kiss with someone you know, at least?”

You couldn’t believe he was saying such things to you. “And…you think you’re the one I should….kiss?”

“….I don’t hear a no.”

You wanted to refute that statement — challenge him or prove him wrong! You looked at his face, examining every feature to find an indication that whatever he was saying was just a way to get under your skin. He loves to poke fun at you, so why wouldn’t he use this as a perfect opportunity?

However, you couldn’t find anything. His eyes were sincere, stationed right back on yours. You saw his Adam’s apple move from a gulp, letting you know that he was a little nervous, too. And your gaze drifted to his mouth, the thought of his lips being on yours staining your brain for the first time. It was scary to think about, your heart racing to no end.

“Y/n,” he said your name so quietly that you almost missed it. “Do you trust me?”

What an odd question to ask in this awkward atmosphere. Do you trust Satoru Gojo, the boy you would smack with a given chance? He’s undoubtedly the most annoying person you’ve ever bumped into — a thorn in your side since freshman year. He is such a tactless fool, doing and saying whatever he thinks comes to mind, picking on you like you were a child, and not taking you seriously when you wanted him to. You could list many things that you saw wrong with this guy.

Yet, he wasn’t the worst. There hasn’t been an instance where you felt uncomfortable around him, only annoyance. He was friends with Geto and Shoko; that alone should be enough to tell you he’s someone worth depending on. And even when you two would be tasked to do something together, you’d surely click your tongue and bicker until the cows came home. But at the end of the day, you still knew how to work with one another and get the job done.

In all things considered, Satoru Gojo was an irritant. Even so, he was an irritant you could depend on — to trust.

Breathing was a hard thing to do, taking in air and exhaling excruciatingly slow. You chew on your bottom lip and give him a curt nod. “I…I trust you, Gojo.”

He lets your answer sink in for a bit before he moves his position, his back to the wall while facing you, legs straight down to the ground. He pats on a thigh, “C’mere.”

Hesitance was there for a split second, but you followed his command and quietly maneuvered your way toward his direction, situating on top of his legs. Of course, you were anxious as hell; your ears and cheeks shared a warmth unbearable to host. Your figure being so close to his, you had to be dreaming.

But you weren’t. The hands he placed on your waist prove so, earning a gasp to leave you. His voice is low for just the two of you to hear. “Put your hands on my shoulders…Ya scared?” A slow nod is what you give him, and he chuckles lightly. “It’s okay. Try closing your eyes for me. Relax, I’m not gonna do anything dumb.”

He only said that because of that look you gave him. He is going to do something to you — just nothing too rash.

“Trust me, pretty.”

Pretty? Yes, he just called you pretty. You were used to him calling you dumb names to get you riled up, yet none nearly sweet and fitting the mood like this one. It made your heart skip a beat.

With that, you held back reluctance when closing your eyelids. It made you a little uneasy, unable to see him in front of you, what he was doing, what he looked like while having you on him like this.

Suddenly, you squeak when something softly presses down to your clavicle. It was his lips.

He snickers, “Ya know, I gotta admit.” He brings his mouth up your neck with kisses, your breath shaking with every peck, and your hands clinging onto his sweatshirt. “It’s kinda nice seeing you be all shy on top of me like this.”

“Go..jo...” you flinch at his soft kiss on your forehead, his hands rubbing your sides.

“Don’t do that. Call me by my first name.” You can feel him bringing a hand to your cheek, caressing your bottom lip gently with his thumb. “I know you know it. I wanna hear it with your voice.”

Holy fuck, this got intense way too fast. He brings his nose close to yours, and you shiver at the contact. It only means he’s mere centimeters away. Thank God your eyes were closed now because you swear you’d turn to stone if you snuck a peek.

“S..Sa…Toru—Mmmph!?“

And there it was, the inexorable. Gojo’s lips fleshed with yours softly, nothing too explicit or unpleasant for you. It was a simple kiss, yet it felt so foreign to you. Your first kiss had been with Satoru Gojo. What a momentous day.

It lasted a few seconds, your body stiff and hands balled to fists nonetheless. He removes from you with a soft noise between your lips, the heat from his face taken with him now that you have space to breathe. You open your eyes for him.

“There ya go,” he says with a small smile, stroking your cheek with his thumb while his forefinger plays with your earlobe. “Was it so bad?”You huffed, shaking your head no. Gojo hums, the hand on your waist gripping your flesh faintly. “….Can I kiss you again?”

Your breath hitched. It was a tiny request. One more wouldn’t hurt, right? You nod, closing your eyes again and awaiting his move.

Gojo leans in and claims your lips again, a soft hum from him when his face is back on yours. The next one was a little more risqué than the last, your bottom lip being taken by his playfully. The third kiss was where the mood dialed to a more wanton plane, him nibbling on your lip to allow him access. It’s here that Gojo can’t contain the reins, removing his glasses, “Come here, cutie.”

And you can’t help yourself either, succumbing to these smooches while wrapping your arms around his neck. Gojo’s no better, snaking his hand to the back of your neck and his other sneaking down to your butt.

You break the kiss to inquire, “Hahhh—…you pervert,” your eyes half-lidded.

He puffs a laugh, “Whaaat? I thought you’d like me to be touchy.”

You don’t admit anything to him, just slamming your face to his again. You decided to be a little adventurous and lick his lips. Gojo senses the initiative and takes your tongue to suck on. The whimper you let out was too cute, egging him on to suck and tease the muscle more.

It makes you dwell in the moment more, your limbs no longer stiff, yet your hips subtly move voluntarily. The friction from your groin rubbing on his jean-covered thigh was strangely enticing, your restraint becoming lesser the more you moved. And it gets worse after both Gojo’s hands creep into your skirt and tease your ass with squeezes.

“Ahhh, mmmm, Satoru..” you wailed.

“Relax, baby,” there it goes again, another cute pet name to call you. He really knew how to get you going. “Let me take care of you….Mmmm”

He shoves his tongue into your mouth – not too forceful to scare you, but enough to get that he is impatient. You moan to his mouth, a hand grabbing tuffs of his snowy hair.

His nose is pressed to your cheek like yours, and it’s getting harder to breathe now that things are getting intimate. But it all felt good, and the mood was just right. You rub your chasm onto his leg, which he lifts just a bit to make grazing your groin a little better. And God, the way his hands groped your butt, it turned you on even more.

Ohh fuck, tongues swirl around each other, your head begins to pound, and your ears ring from the heat on your face.. Oh, God, you could feel a hand come up to the top of your stocking, teasing its way down your skin and to the hem of your underwear. Please, please—

BEEP!! BEEP!! BEEP!!

Even so, everything freezes in time, and both you and Gojo stop whatever you’re doing. Lips still on lips, your ass on his lap, and his middle and forefinger barely grazing the crack of your ass. It’s here that everything hits you all at once: you are not the only one here — you’re not even in your room! You’re still at the party you were dragged into, in some stranger’s bedroom closet, smooching with your supposed most hated person.

You immediately withdraw from him, Gojo removing his hands from you to put up defensively. Your hands rush to cover your lips, which are wet from spit. A thousand thoughts run around your head. Holy shit, what the hell was I doing!? Did I really just kiss Gojo? Satoru Gojo!? What was I thinking!!?

And Gojo didn’t say anything, only gauging your reaction to see what goes from here. The light from the lava lamp behind you is sheltered, your silhouette drawn to cover the guy in front of you.

I need to leave. That’s your final thought, taking an immediate stand and storming out of the closet. Utahime noticed you make a beeline to the door, and the roommate pursues right behind you down the stairs. She moves past drunk dudes to grab your wrist, “Y/n! What’s wrong – are you okay?”

It’s time to lie. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just tired, you know.” You lead her to the broom closet where all the initial guests’ jackets were stored. You grab for yours and put it on, “I think I’m just gonna call an Uber and head back to campus before the snowfall.”

Her face contorts to an expression of worry. “Are you sure? I’ll come with you; this place bugs any—“

“No, no. You don’t have to worry, Uta.” You place a hand on her shoulder before she can move another step.

“When you say it like that, I can’t help but worry.”

Your lips twinge to a smile to display faux comfort. “It’s okay, really. You don’t have to ruin your fun for me. Besides, I saw some underclassmen waiting to speak with you all night somewhere down here.”

Utahime doesn’t buy it, and you knew she doesn’t. But thankfully, she doesn’t try to fight with you and gives you the okay. She watches you open the door before leaving, “Make sure you call or text me when you get to our dorm!”

It made you laugh; the girl can be such an older sister. “Don’t worry, Shoko’s still there, remember? Cya later, have fun!”

“Bye, be careful!” A final warning to you before the roommate closes the door for you.

You spoke too soon. Now outside, snow was already falling to the ground, probably a few minutes earlier since it wasn’t sticking to the ground yet. The little cold flakes touching the skin of your face were almost remedial, evening out the warmth of your cheeks.

You use this moment to recuperate from what transpired in that house. It was so out of the ordinary and was completely weirding you out, but not in a terrible way. It was more like odd-ish, strange, downright out of the norm. The more you think about it, visiting back to the senses of your hands in his hair, his slender fingers teasing the flesh of your butt, and the pillowy sensation of his lips glued to yours while whispering sweet things…..

….Nope, the cold was not helping at all. There goes the warmness creeping back on your cheeks and ears. Let me hurry and get the fuck out of here, grabbing for your phone and unlocking it to find the Uber app.

“Y/n!”

But before your thumb could press on the application, you instinctively turned around to see the door was open again. And the person who called out to you had your breath come to a complete stop.

Gojo closed the door behind him, coming down the driveway while hurriedly putting on his grey Chesterfield coat. “Fuuuuuck, it got cold quick!”

“G–Gojo!” You stuttered when out by the time he could make it to you. “What’s up? What are you—“

“I saw you weren’t in the bedroom, and Suguru told me you headed downstairs. You could’ve told me you were leaving; that fox with bangs was giving me an earful,” he stuffs his hands in his pockets and then curses. “Fuck, I should’ve checked for my gloves before I left….Anyway, where are you heading off to?”

You were a little taken aback. “Uhhh, back to the dorms?”

“Great!” He wraps an arm around your shoulders and walks with you down the road. “My car’s over there; let’s hurry before we freeze to death.”

Huh? “Hurry where??”

“Huh? We’re going back to campus, no?”

We!? “Together!?”

“Yeah?”

“Gojo, please!” You promptly removed yourself away from Gojo, standing in front of him. “Why are you doing this? Why are you being all nice now?”

He shrugged “Ehhhh? Are friends not supposed to give friends rides back home?”

“No, not us! We aren’t friends; we’re friends to an extent, remember!?”

“Ahhh, stop being a baby. You act as if you’ve never been in my car before.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Yeah, but not when I’m alone with you, dummy! “C’mon, it’s gonna get colder with this snow.”

“Okay, just—Stop!” Your hands go up to prevent him from getting any closer to you. He stops, the fallen flakes camouflaging with his hair. “Gojo….you understand what just happened back there, right?”

He doesn’t say anything, only a single nod.

“So, you know that my mind is going at like a hundred miles per hour right now.”

“….Yeah.”

“Okay….So, just please…I need a minute.” Your face goes to your feet to divert your thoughts elsewhere because you don’t know if you could handle looking at the white-haired man for a mere second.

Gojo looks at you mumble to yourself, avoiding him. He releases a deep sigh, walking towards you and lifting a side of his coat to shield you two from the windows of the house party. “…You’re doing it again.”

His shoes come to your direct line of sight, your heart pounding even more. “…Doing what?”

“The thing where you push people out whenever you feel overwhelmed.” You flinch when his finger grazes the back of your palm. “Don’t do that, not right now. I want you to talk to me.”

What is there to talk about? You could’ve said that to throw him off — be avoidant to this whole conversation. But it’s futile after he brings your chin up to face him.

“Did I make you uncomfortable back there?”

“….No.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I….I don’t know.” Honestly, you did not know. Your mind had too much to go through; so many memories and phrases from moments ago hit you all at once. You’re fighting the urge to tremble — not from the cold, but from overstimulation of brain power and senses.

His eyes are still fixed on you, noting you chewing on your lip. “Come with me.” The sudden revelation quirked your eyebrows up. “Whatever’s going on with you is obviously because of me. So, I’d feel like a dick if I just let you leave because of me. Plus, there’s no way you’re getting an Uber from here. Shit is like $20, I checked.”

“Gojo, I—“ he silences you with a kiss on your forehead. The feel of his lips on your skin again almost made you shut down.

“Sorry,” he whispered while placing his forehead on yours. You never really noticed how tall he was until he did that, your heart skipping again. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

Picture it: you are out in the cold with Gojo, snow falling down silently onto your figures, him bringing his coat up to shield you from the world. If you were naive enough, you’d mistake this as a scene from a fairy tale. And how he was looking at you, too; his sunglasses were back on, but you could make out the blue orbs that lingered on yours. It’s as if he didn’t want to look at anything else. Just you and only you.

You don’t know where the hell this side of confidence came from, but you lifted your hands to cup his cheeks and bring him in for another kiss. Cold lips instantaneously warm up at each other’s contact, Gojo leaning into your touch more.

Snow continues to fall and stick, and the music from the house can still be heard from the outside. Yet it doesn’t bother you because it all drowns out in this moment you feel with him. Whatever these feelings you are experiencing are something new — scary, but new. And for some reason, it felt right to have them for him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A sheet of white cascades over the university grasses, students’ cars topped with sprinkles of snowflakes, and the lampposts emit a glow that fits the dark, cloudy weather.

You were back on campus but not in your dorm where you told Utahime you’d be. You did text her when you arrived, so she doesn’t have to worry too much for you. In turn, she texted back that something had come up and is going to another event with Haibara and some other friends. She said she wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning; it sounds like she’s having a good time.

The same thing goes for Geto, only that the raven-haired boy called Gojo to say he’d be home in the morning because he was getting “private” with someone he met at the party. “Will be back in the morning. Don’t cause a fire alarm like last time, you dork."

Haibara is supposedly with your roommate, meaning he won’t be back until the morning, either. The only person left to account for would be Nanami, who is currently away for the weekend because he had to visit home to grab last-minute things from break.

That leaves only you inside their apartment – in Gojo’s room on top of his bed with your top and bra down on the carpeted floor, along with Gojo’s sweatshirt and jeans. His bed is like any other twin bed for college dorms, a little impossible to move around for two people and limited positions. Nonetheless, to start things off slow, you lie comfortably on his bed with your head to his pillow as he crawls above you and works from above.

Gojo is straddled on top of you, kissing your lips and sucking on your tongue, evoking the prettiest wails he’s ever heard. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders while his are busy roaming your body.

The kiss is broken when you gasp at the contact of his pinkie grazing a nipple on your breast. “Ahhnn, Satoru, don’t touch…Mmmph!”

“Hmmm, what, gorgeous?” He places his lips from your chin down to your neck, sucking on your skin and leaving ticklish nibbles. “Don’t touch what?”

“M–My ni—Ohhoo!” He gives the hardened bud a tweeze, and your cry results from the sudden action.

He chuckles, “So cute.” Kisses travel down from your collarbone, your breasts, and finally, your other unattended nipple. A whimper leaves your lips at the wet sensation of his tongue swirling around the sensitive nob, and you shriek when he takes it into his mouth. The frequent grazes of his teeth and the tongue pushing your nipple to the roof of his mouth — it all felt surreal.

Yet, it wasn’t as surreal as the next thing he was about to do. Sucking on your tit was the perfect distraction for him to sneak a hand down into your pantyhose, sinking it to the lower regions of your underwear. You gasp at the feeling of a digit pressing on the wet spot of your underwear.

“W–Mmmph…’toru, wait…” you pat him on his shoulder to get his attention, yet he doesn’t lift from your breast yet. “Don’t—Stop, it’s embarrassing—Khhmm!“ Shivers shoot up your spine after Gojo uses his middle and forefinger to go in between your panty-covered folds. Your wetness sticks onto him the more he rubs.

Gojo lets go of your nipple with one last suck, the cool air chilling the wet bud. “Awww, is my lil’ princess shy?” You could only answer in pants and puffs, his blue eyes surveying your entire body laid out for him. “Heh, shit, you look so good...Hmm? Hey, you got a tear down here.”

“Huh?” You follow his eyes down to your tights, bringing your attention to a worn-down incision where Gojo’s hand is between the material and your underwear. It must’ve been from when I was grinding on him earlier today…

The snow-haired boy removes his hand from inside your tights and uses both to make the rip bigger. Your eyes shot wide, “Wha—What are you doing?”

“Making it easier to see your pussy.” He continues to tear a hole big enough for the damp spot of your pussy to be prevalent.

Your face dials up in warmth at the vulgar word. “You could’ve just taken them off, you idiot…”

“Pssh, that’s no fun. Besides,” Gojo uses a thumb to remove the panty barrier to reveal what he’s wanted to see the moment you crawled up on his bed. Your bare cunt, wet substance glistening the pretty folds of your labia. He bites his lip. “I’ve been dying to see this pretty thing you’ve been hiding from me.”

Your hands rush to cover up your vagina, “D-Don’t say such embarrassing things, Gojo!”

“Hey, hey, let me see it,” his hands are used to pull yours aside, your slit throbbing from his gaze without your control. “And what did I say about calling me by my last name?”

It was a force of habit, dummy. “...Just be gentle, okay, Satoru?”

He beams a smile at you, the dimples on his cheek prevalent with his childish manner. “I will, princess! Now, what’s goin’ on here…”

He ditches his head down to your chasm, giving the inviting genitalia a slow lick up to your clitoris. You bucked your hips in shock, jerking at the sudden intrusion of his tongue situating between your slit. He uses his hands to keep your legs still while he sucks and teases your vagina.

You grab for his hair, “—Khhaa!! Ohhh, ohhfuckkk, Satoru, no—Ohhh!!” Your eyes screw shut, mouth open to let your cries fly out.

It only pushes Gojo to keep going, his tongue ravaging your folds as if he’s going to lick you clean. And when he sucks on clit? Holy fuck, you could’ve sworn your soul left your body right there and then.

“Satoruuu!! Ohhhshit, ohhhh…Mmmph,” the noises that come from the commotion below of Gojo’s tongue lapping and slurping your essence were so pornographic to the ears as if they’d melt on the spot. “Oh, God, I’m gonna cum, I think I’m gonna…Nnmmph!”

Gojo hears you; that’s why he removes his mouth from your clit before you can experience your orgasm. You throw an unsatisfied whine at him, a shit-eating grin apparent on his face. “Sorry, cutie. But I wanna have a feel for you first.” He straightens his posture and spreads your legs for him. You follow his hands that land at the hem of his boxer briefs, where a tent protrudes until his erection is sprung out with one fell swoop.

The erect limb you gawked at was definitely something you weren’t mentally prepared enough to see. Your eyes take in every single detail you can: from his pink tip, where precum exudes from the urethra down to the underside of his cock, to the long body curved slightly to the left. A whole living a breathing dick — and it’s Gojo’s dick, of all things. It was oddly pretty, you had to admit.

“Ya ready?” You snap back to reality when Gojo calls out to you as he scoots forward to you after putting the condom on, the cockhead aligning with your labia. You hold your breath at the proximity, “Listen to me, Y/n. Since this is your first time, I need you to take deep breaths and try to relax for me. Think you can do that for me?” You sigh through your nostrils, but you nod. “Heh, good. Now stay still, and let me know if it hurts, okay, princess?”

He lightly pushes his glans to your labia, swirling it around to warm you up before kissing the entrance of your vagina. He begins to propel into you, and you begin to brace yourself for the pain that accompanies his insertion. You grab the pillowcase, your teeth clinging to your bottom lip as tears well up. But you remind yourself to breathe, drawing out as much of an exhale for Gojo to shove the tip in.

And when it does get in, you release the loudest gasp you’ve ever expressed that night! Your body froze stiffly as Gojo plunged more of his length into you; the curve scraping your side caused such an exhilarating spike in your nerves that your walls immediately began clenching around him.

Oh fuck, It’s coming, I’m gon— “Ahhhh!”

And just like that, your orgasm that was avoided before came back in seconds., the walls of your slit fluttering on Gojo’s cock like crazy, electric shocks climbing up to your head and pulling you in for a haze.

The sudden contraction of you makes Gojo hiss, “—Fuuuck, you’re gripping me like crazy…! Damn, you feel so fucking good…” He continues to push himself onto you until the base rises your southern lips and grinds his pelvis, which only fuels your screams even more with the overstimulation. “—Khhh! D-Damn…did you cum, baby?”

You can’t even form a proper sentence, your lower half feeling too full to speak, and your figure trembling from the crescendo.

Your expression has Gojo bend down to laugh. “Never had that happened before. Heh, glad I could make you cum for the first time. Congrats, pretty…” Pillowy lips claim yours again, taking your whines and whimpers as he roughly grinds his hips to you.

Gojo begins moving his hips at a slow pace, letting you adjust to his size and shape. However, the peak has made your entire lower body dial-up in sensitivity, your back arching to him every time your clit is barely touched. Tears have long fallen since he successfully entered inside you.

Jesus, the fucking curve of his shaft was so fucking dangerous! Not only was the feeling of his veins coming to and fro with your inner walls had you twitching, but the way the tip of his cock was scratching and poking every spot that had you humming was so unfair. Especially now, when he changes the rhythm to a faster cadence, you’re bound to come again!

“Ohooo, ahahhh, Sa-‘toru…! Ughhh, Jesus, it feels so….Hooohhh!!” Your words slurred in between kisses, almost choking on your tongue with the slap of his balls hitting your taint.

“Yeah, baby…—Ohhh, shit, shit, shiiiit…!” You feel so good to Gojo; he can’t help but slam onto you with all his might. Your nails were causing eclipses on the skin of his shoulders. He didn’t mind; he knew it was because you were feeling good, too. “Hnngh…How’re you feelin’, Y/n? Hmm?”

“—Eeshh!! I–I…don’t know…” Your brain was too mushy to think adequately, too distracted by what was between your legs.

But Gojo wasn’t buying that mess. “Ohoho, I think you do know, sweetie.” The tall silver-haired boy creeps a hand down to your clit to give it a pinch. You scream, your legs wrapping around his hips involuntarily. “How’re you feeling?”

“—Fuuuhucck!! It feels good,” There, you finally said it. “It feels soo good…Hic–pleaseeee, make me feel good, ‘toruuuu!!”

He puts his forehead to yours before kissing it. “God, you’re so fucking, cute…”

Gojo increases his tempo to an erratic fashion, your howls bouncing off the walls with every plunge of his dick inside you. Your gummy walls clamp onto him while his fingers swipe around your clitoris, and more tears strike down your wet cheeks.

The familiar tingling sensation from before begins to climb up. Oh, God, it’s happening again. “Ahhooo—OhmyfuckingGooood!! I’m gonna cum again, I’m gonna cummm…! Aiiishh, ahhhhh!!”

And there it goes, your second crescendo hitting you like a wall. Your walls twitch around Gojo’s length again, prompting the man above you to impetuously thrust in a harsh motion, evoking more choked sobs from your puffy lips. And when he dwells into a finish of his own, you can feel his limb pulsate along with your contractions withering away.

The two of you heave and pant close to each other before Gojo slumps his body on your nude figure, allowing him to rest while he pumps his load into your stimulated cunt. The sheets beneath you stick to your sweaty skin, the air of Gojo’s huffs tickling your neck.

When you feel your body subsided from the excitement, you two turn to each other. Noses touching each other, eyes locked into each other’s stares.

“….So,” he’s the first to speak in a whisper. “…What does this make us?”

His eyes were so alluring to look at, like looking at the most beautiful azure gems in your adjacency. “…I’ll punch you if you say I’m your girlfriend.”

That has him chuckling in shaky breathes. “Fair enough, but it’d be dumb if we didn't talk after this.”

A curt nod in agreement, “…Is there a thing called frenemies-with-benefits?”

“Pfft, I don’t know, but why not? I wouldn’t mind.” Gojo then decides to get up and finally remove himself from you, slowly taking out his cock with the condom. The bed creaks when he leaves to remove the plastic and wrap it to discard it. “You okay?”

You ponder for a few seconds before coming to an honest answer. “I think so…My pantyhose isn’t fine, though, you fiend.”

He flashes another smile at you, his dimples taking your heart away. “Yeah, yeah, sorry about that. I’ll get you another pair.”

“You better.”

BZZZT!! BZZZT!! BZZZT!!

Before you could get off the bed, a vibration came from Gojo’s dresser top. It was his phone, the caller ID reading as “punk-boy bangy wannabe”

You blink and give the phone to Gojo after he puts his sweatshirt back on. With raised brows, he says, “It’s Suguru?” His thumb presses the green button before bringing the device to his ear while he puts his limp dick back in his boxers. “Yo. Wassup?”

“Okay, good, you picked up. I’m getting in the elevator right now to grab something from the room real quick. Open the door for me, will ya?”

The white-haired roommate couldn’t express his shock in time because Geto ended the call before he could have the chance. He turns to you slowly, and you can tell whatever he’s going to say isn’t good based on that dumb look on his face. “Suguru's coming up…now.”

Panic spiked up as it rightfully should. You were still braless and topless, for Christ’s sake! And wearing torn tights!? Something you did not want Geto to see in the likes of his and Gojo’s room. “W–What should I do?!”

Gojp quickly scans the room for a plan, immediately pointing to a door to his right. “Hide in my closet!” He hurries to grab the door open. “Quick, grab your clothes and get in here!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…!” You grab for everything in your direct line of sight, making a straight beeline to the closet when you’ve got everything. “Don’t forget my shoes at the front; just quickly hide them somewhere!”

“Okay, okay—“

“I’m serious, Gojo! Do not do anything stupid!”

“I heard you, jeez.” He watches you move around the closet, moving his shoes to one side while trying to hide behind one of his suits. Jesus, you looked real cute even when you were scared. “…Hey.”

You peer up at him, moving his blazer so he could see your complete face. “What?”

“Be careful not to leave your panties here ‘cause I might not give them back.”

The last thing Gojo saw within that second was one of his dress shoes thrown dead at his face. His hands come to his stinging nose and cheek, exclaiming at the pain with a loud groan. “Fucking pervert, quit playing dumb games and get my shoes!”

I take it fucking back. He slams the closet door closed. “So uncute…”

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wannabespacesmuggler · 5 months ago

Text

L.H. | Scotty Doesn't Know

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Scott Summers made two things clear for Logan when he first arrived at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters: stay away from his girlfriend and don’t even look at his little sister. The former was easy. The latter, though? That one’s a little harder for Logan.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Summers!Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence

Word Count: 2.2K

Author’s Note: So, your boy has seen Deadpool and Wolverine too many times and is currently experiencing Hugh Jackman brain rot. Had to write something after listening to "Scotty Doesn't Know" by Lustra and then it just kinda just took on a life of it's own. Let me know if you guys want more Logan fics because I'm so obsessed with this man rn.

“Just doing maintenance, or are you going for a ride?”

Logan looks up from where he was working on his bike. He damn near almost bites through the cigar in his mouth when he spots you leaning against the garage door. He shouldn’t be surprised; despite his best efforts, Logan always seems to be accompanied by your presence -- both at the mansion and in the field. It’s not that he wants to ignore your existence. Scott Summers made two things clear for Logan when he first arrived at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters: stay away from his girlfriend and don’t even look at his little sister. Logan wanted to scoff at Scott’s warning: opposed to public belief, he’s not actually an animal.

The former was easy -- Jean made it abundantly clear that she’s in love with Scott. The latter, though? That one’s a little harder for Logan -- especially when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’re just as fascinated with him as he is with you.

“Just working.”

You nod at his answer as he returns his attention to his bike, putting out his cigar in the process. His bluntness is unsurprising, but no matter how often Logan tries to blow you off, you still feel the harsh sting of disappointment. Logan Howlett is an enigma to you. A problem you just can’t seem to find the solution to. You’ve always gotten along with Logan and work well enough together that Charles often pairs the two of you up on missions. He protects you with his life in the field. He’s the first to offer you a helping hand when he notices you struggling. He consistently provides support after every mission that goes awry. It would be easy to consider him a friend; however, Logan has always kept you at a distance. He brushes you off whenever you ask if he wants to do something simple like share a drink or watch a movie.

At first, you thought it was because he was afraid of you -- of your mutation. Just like your older brothers, you have the ability to manipulate energy. And just like your older brothers, you have difficulty controlling your powers without the help of external factors -- Alex had the suit, Scott has his glasses, and you have two siphons that you wear on either wrist. Without them, energy builds up in your body until it cannot be contained and then escapes through the only place it knows how -- your hands. The siphons help regulate the amount of energy coursing through your body, and most importantly, they give you the power to choose when and how to disperse it.

During one of your missions, one of your siphons was destroyed. You and Logan were fighting for your lives against an anti-mutant militia after being separated from the rest of the X-men. The two of you were outnumbered and on your own since communication with the team had been cut off. Logan was willing to fight to the death against these soldiers, and you were prepared to back him up until the end. During the fight, Logan got pinned down by multiple assailants, and you watched helplessly as they attempted to decapitate your partner. You felt the familiar sensation of energy building throughout your body as you struggled against your own group of attackers. All hope seemed lost until one of the soldiers nailed you in the back of the head -- hard. The hit caused you to fall forward, and you braced yourself, using your hands to catch your falling body. As your hands connected with the ground, an energy field shot out of your hands. You prepared yourself for another blow, but it never comes. The chaos around you suddenly seemed to turn into an eerie silence. Finally, you look up and let out a shaky breath as you take in the carnage caused by your energy field. Everything around you was completely eviscerated -- everything except Logan.

Logan let out a low, pained groan, and you watched in horror as his body heals himself from the wounds you inflicted. You looked down at your hands in shock. It’s been ages since your powers were this volatile. Since you felt this out of control. At this moment, you noticed the state of your left siphon -- wholly shattered. No wonder you weren’t able to control your powers.

The sound of your name eventually pulled your attention away from your hands. Looking up, you saw Logan cautiously approaching you. His concerned eyes scan your body for any injuries and once he seemed certain that you’re okay, he met your gaze.

“We need to get out of here.”

It wasn’t until the you were back on the jet with the rest of the team, that Logan approached you about what happened in the field. You were sitting away from the others at the back of the jet, studying your broken siphon. Suddenly, a pair of large hands cover yours, obscuring your siphon entirely. You look up and see Logan knelt in front of you.

“You good?”

He didn’t move his hands from yours as he spoke and you relished in the contact. A dry laugh escaped your lips as you considered his question.

“I couldn’t control myself out there, Logan. Without my siphons, I’m just as dangerous as the enemy out there.”

Logan’s face softened at your words. He understands why you’re so panic-stricken right now -- knowing all too well how it feels to lose control.

“Hey. Look at me, sweetheart. I’m fine.”

You scoffed at his words. Of course he’s fine. He’s damn near indestructible, but you saw the aftermath of your outburst. Saw the devastation caused by your hands. Those same hands that Logan is now tightening his grip around -- grounding you back in reality.

“Seriously. You might think you were a liability out there, but you saved my life.”

You met his eyes again and are taken aback by the sincerity you found in them.

“I could have killed you.”

And there it is -- what’s actually eating you up inside. He’s aware of the fact that your powers could have killed any of your teammates -- including himself. But they didn’t. He’s here with you, unafraid, because even though you think your powers are something that should be feared, he just finds them remarkable.

“I know. Trust me, I know. But you didn’t.”

You nodded at his words, feeling a little more at ease. Your heart dropped as he removed his hands from yours, but instead of walking away, Logan took a seat next to you. He didn’t say another word, but he didn’t have to. His presence alone was enough to settle you down.

After that day, you thought maybe something changed between you and Logan. Although there was a newfound understanding and sureness with one another -- he still kept you at arm’s length. In all honesty, the whole situation confuses the shit out of you.

“Did I do something that upset you?”

Logan’s brow furrows at your question, and his eyes finally find yours again. He doesn’t drop the tool in his hand, but he’s shifted his body to face yours now.

“What?”

“Did I do something that upset you?”

Logan shakes his head as you repeat your question, looking at you incredulously. He doesn’t understand where this outburst is coming from.

“What are you talking about?”

Your brow furrows at the genuineness of his confusion. How could this man not know what you’re talking about?

“Do you like working with me?”

Logan blinks at your words. Now he’s completely lost. He sets down the tool in his hand and stands up, crossing both of his arms over his chest.

“What’s this all about, sweetheart?”

You let out a frustrated sigh and run your hands through your hair. If only this man knew how infuriated he makes you. So, he won’t drink a beer with you at the end of the day, but he’ll throw around the name ‘sweetheart’ like it’s nothing? The man is simultaneously your favorite and least favorite person.

“I’m just trying to figure out what I did that pissed you off.”

Logan scoffs at the idea as if you’re the one being ridiculous here. And, to Logan, you are being ridiculous. The only thing that’s ever pissed him about you is completely out of your control -- if only you weren’t Scott’s little sister.

“I’m not pissed at you.”

You genuinely want to pull your own hair out right now.

“Are we friends?”

Friends. The word hurts Logan more than it should. Actually, it shouldn’t hurt at all. That’s what you both are, right? Just friends and partners in the field. Except you’ve never been just a friend or just a partner to Logan. Not really. But he can’t do anything about that.

“Yeah, I guess.”

He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, but his posture is still defensive.

“Then why won’t you just drink a beer with me?”

Oh. Oh.

Logan supposes that his behavior is odd. Friends are expected to spend time together and well, the only time he spends with you is during training sessions or missions. Your whole relationship is grounded in the two of you working together, but somehow, it’s turned into something more intimate. The tender moments between missions and the tension during intense training sessions -- although Logan had attempted to make clear boundaries with you, the lines blurred at some point, and now Logan is left with the consequences.

“It’s complicated.”

He’s not wrong. He knows himself. His feelings for you were already complicated enough. If he were to close the distance he made between the two of you? Well, he may not actually be an animal, but he’s not sure if he could control himself.

“Oh, is it?”

You’re frustrated. And you’re no longer leaning against the garage door. No, you’re standing just a few feet away from him now -- hands on your hips defiantly. Logan rolls his shoulders back, trying to stop himself from lashing out against you. You try to ignore how his muscles flex against the thin white tank top he’s wearing due to the movement.

“Yeah, it is. I promised Scott…”

“This is seriously about my brother?”

“Well, yeah.”

You let out a dry laugh. This whole situation is absurd, but you should have known. Without Alex around, Scott feels the need to be the overprotective older brother. He’s warned you about Logan countless times since he first arrived at the mansion, but you never really listened to him. It always seemed ridiculous to you -- especially since the dangerous man he constantly warned you about was the same man he trusted to protect you during every mission. Of course, Scott also cautioned Logan to stay away from you.

“He may be my brother, but he doesn’t get to make my decisions for me, Logan.”

You take a step towards Logan and he watches you with an intensity that would make you uncomfortable if it were any other man. But this isn’t any other man.

“And he doesn’t get to choose who I spend my time with.”

And in this moment, Logan knows that he’s fucked. You’re fiesty, and headstrong, and determined -- all attributes that he admires in you. If you’ve decided that he’s the person you want to spend your time with, then who is he to argue?

“So what do you say -- wanna go for a ride?”

A wild grin spread across his face at your question. Little do you know that he’s thought about this exact moment more than he’ll ever care to admit. Throwing all caution to the wind, he grabs his leather jacket and climbs on his bike. You watch him with bated breath as you wait for his response. Instead of giving you an answer, Logan kicks the starter, causing the motorcycle to roar to life. A part of you is afraid that you misconstrued your relationship and that this is all going to end with Logan riding off on his own. But then Logan looks back at you, eyebrow raised playfully.

“You coming, sweetheart?”

Without a second thought, you climb on the back of his bike. Logan revs the engine once before glancing back at you again.

“You might want to hang on.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Your hands slide under his leather jacket and wrap around his waist. Logan tries to fight off the shiver that begs to travel down his spine as he feels the warmth of your hands against his abdomen through the thin cotton fabric. He wonders if you know what you do to him -- how hard it is for him to pull away when he’s in your presence. It’s like you're a magnet made just for him.

“When your brother finds out…”

The laugh that escapes your lips is like music to his ears. And as you press your body closer to his, he decides that even if he’s going to hell for this, at least he gets to experience the heaven of this moment right here.

“What Scotty doesn’t know, won’t kill him.”

Logan shakes his head before peeling out of the garage. God, the Summers family is going to be the death of him.

#logan howlett #james logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #hugh jackman #x men #x men fanfiction #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine x reader #wolverine x deadpool

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gremlingottoosilly · 1 year ago

Text

I met a guy in the Summer (dilf!Konig x fem!Reader)

Your boyfriend is an asshole. Luckily, his hot dad just returned from deployment. CW and Tags: Cheating, dub-con, size kink, daddy kink, age gap(reader in 20s, Konig is early 40s), Konig is a pervert, slightly obsessive Konig, love(and lust) at first sight, fingering, dom!Konig Word count: 3713 AO3

“Just one more game, babe, don’t be a buzzkill. I don’t want to end at a loss.” You didn’t want to be a buzzkill, of course. You simply wanted to be a good girlfriend, have some domestically cozy date, and for your boyfriend to at least try to put an effort into being with you. It wasn’t much to ask for, really. You hoped so, at least. You didn’t want to be an annoying, nagging girlfriend who only ever waits for another reason to yell at him, but your patience started to run thin.

You spend the past three hours either listening to his apathetic rambling about the shows he watched – really, you wanted to invest in stuff he liked, but an abnormally large amount of animes he talked about had 1000-year-old girls who looked like they were 10, wearing inappropriate outfits, and you started to raise the alarm.

You also watched him play – and also listened to his rage quitting and angry voice messages to his team that, honestly, made you slightly anxious. You never liked loud people, people who were so easy to rage about something as silly as some colorful video game with too many characters to look after.

So, like a good girlfriend would – you wanted to be a good girlfriend, he was such a nice guy before you started dating, and you need something to think about besides the tremendous amount of study work you are doing for college – you decided to go and look for snacks. Maybe bring something for him as well.

— I’ll find something to eat, alright?

He didn’t respond at first, so you shook his shoulder. Your boyfriend took off his headphones with annoying look on his face, half-turning to look at you. You gulped, suddenly feeling like a child in front of the principal – not a feeling that you were supposed to feel around your partner, but with him, you somehow constantly felt like you were being judged.

— Nah, stay here. I don’t want my father to see you.

— Ah…your father is at home?

You never heard anyone else being at the house – big house, you must admit, and it’s embarrassing almost how you never thought about his family. He lives with his dad, apparently, and the depth of your relationships can only be judged by the fact you literally didn’t know what his father’s name was.

— Returned from his fucking deployment. He’d ask too many questions about you.

— You didn’t tell him about me?

Ah, now you’re hurt a little bit. You knew it wasn’t anything serious or too committed yet, but you intended to make this work. To try and fix all the problems you can without ending things abruptly.

— He never asked. Not like he cares too much, but…

An apathetic dad, huh.

You started to slowly piece together the puzzle that was your boyfriend’s horrible boyfriend skills. Now, you want to meet the man who conceived him and kick him in the nuts for creating such an unlovable human being who somehow captivated your chronically lonely heart.

— If you don’t want me to come and meet him, I can go home.

He doesn’t answer because his queue is finally coming to another match – you simply nod, knowing everything you need to. You can grab a little snack for yourself, fuck off to your dorm and rethink your life choices while your roommate is getting pounded by some gruss British bloke with an accent that makes your ears bleed.

You have dignity, and right now, it has asked you to get some snacks from the kitchen.

*** Now, the only thing König wanted after returning from deployment was to take as many hot showers as he could, shut his bastard of a son up, and get some delicious food waiting for him in the freezer. He was already home for a few days, but adjusting is always hard when you basically fucking hate living at your own house. Of-fucking-course, his son was watching the house while he was away – and now he can’t even think of a good excuse to set him off to his mother. Too old to do this, and split custody never really worked when not even one part of the relationship wanted to take care of the kid.

König closes the door of the refrigerator – of course, his son took every good thing that he stashed for himself. With a groan, the colonel fights the urge to finally throw him out of the house – a thing he needed to do a few years ago, just when he celebrated his 18th, but some sentimental part of his heart instead promised to help with finding a place close to the college. No good deed goes unpunished.

With a groan, he takes a few steps from the fridge – and then he almost stumbles across an angel.

Scheisse

Now, König never thought of himself as a predator who prefers running after college girls who might as well be his daughters. He never thought of himself as a gut who liked them young – his wife, god forsake her name, was his age when they started dating, and he hardly had any sexual encounters with a person under 25 in the past few years. Well, not like he had any sexual encounters in the past years, but…

The thing is – he never thought he liked girls with wide eyes, pouty faces, and trembling hands who were holding a bag of his cookies that he carefully stashed away from his son.

You are wearing something cute, a nice skirt and an adorable pink cardigan that looks so cozy and warm and soft, and he fights the urge to grab your skirt and simply lift it, You’re dressed up for a cute coffee date, and König has to double check if he isn’t dreaming and no one has decided to play a prank on him and send him a cute callgirl.

— Oh! Sorry. It’s yours, isn’t it?

You give him his cookies back – but not before your fingers fished another salty caramel goodness out of the bag, and you bit it. He looks at your teeth, at your lips, and glimpses of your tongue – god, he is an old, dirty bastard because even his baggy pants aren’t enough to hide his boner. You have no right to look this pretty for a man who hasn’t seen a woman in three months and hasn’t had sex in the past few years.

You lick the crumbs from your fingers – it’s such a deliberate action that he can’t believe he actually sees it, and it’s not even something from porn he used to like.

— Ja. You can have it.

He would give you the code to his bank account if you asked for it.

— Thank you, sir. I’m…well, I assume if Paul didn’t introduce me to you…I’m his girlfriend. Nice to meet you.

You lick your lips and take a step back, pressed against the counter. He looks at the sway of your hips, a bit of crumbs on your shirt, and almost brushes it away with his hands. It would be a good excuse to touch your chest – but he can’t be like this, he has to keep his urges under control, or else his son will never forgive him.

Yeah, like he needs a better reason to throw his useless son from his home.

— Girlfriend? He never spoke about you.

You look sad, and he immediately curses under his breath. For a moment, you look too fragile – too real. He can’t handle this look on a woman, especially as pretty and young as you are. You bat your eyelashes, even involuntarily, and he already prepares to give you the keys to his home just so you’d stop with such miserable expressions. He has a spare bedroom.

He has his bedroom with a bed that would be enough for both of you.

— Ah. Um. We’re…I guess we’re not at this stage yet.

— Knowing him, you’ll never be, Schatz.

You look at him immediately – you’re offended, angry, and sad at the same time. There is a certain stubbornness in your eyes that immediately makes him want to simply scoop you in his arms, lift you, and drag you straight to the altar – and here he thought that his impulses over getting married would be over after his first divorce.

— What do you mean by this, sir?

You look uncertain now, he can see this in your eyes – and really, knowing his asshole of a child, he is almost sure that Paul never once got you off, either physically or emotionally.

Now, König never once considered himself to be a good man. He has killed countless people, overthrown many governments, and made shitty jobs for shitty people way more than saving hostages to help the good guys – and in the romantic field, it’s even worse. Wife, unsatisfied with his controlling tendencies and inability to feel normal love for a human being – and a son who hates him because, in fact, he never once wanted to have a kid.

He looks at you and sees a pretty young thing, still in college or freshly out of, probably without a stable job and normal social standing – a good girl won’t be with his son if she isn’t stupid or extremely desperate for a relationship.

The thing is, König is also extremely desperate for another warm body next to his, to feel a woman beside him, to love and obsess over someone – he looks at your pouty lips and shaky hands, at the way you bite the corner of your glossy mouth, and he almost wants to drop you on this very table and fuck you until you’re crying under him. He can’t do just that, of course. It would probably make you extremely uncomfortable and scared, but…well, quite frankly, his son doesn’t deserve you.

König is.

— I won’t sugarcoat it, Schatz. My son is a Scheiß Arschloch…fucking asshole, that is. I’m surprised he brought home someone as cute as you.

You feel embarrassment collecting in your body. Paul’s dad is a…interesting man.

Tall, broad, very muscular – even his baggy house clothes aren’t really concealing his extremely interesting physique from your eyes. He looks yummy and tasty, and you fight the urge to eye the bulge in his pants because you’re a good girl, you don’t look at your boyfriend’s dad like this.

König has greying ginger hair, locks already curling slightly at the lack of cutting, and you fight the urge to sit on the counter and get your palm in his scalp, massage his head gently, and pull him closer for a kiss. You feel like a dirty, horrible woman – your boyfriend is in his room, probably enjoying his time on your “date” while you’re lusting over his father.

Then again, this date already felt like a disaster. This relationship, too.

— Paul isn’t all that bad, sir.

“He at least has a nice dick,” you wanted to add but stopped yourself. Paul is tall and somewhat strong – if he weren’t sitting at his computer all day, you would call him even muscular. And he has a nice dick, yes, even though he had no idea how to use it. You liked the idea of laying with him, of spraying your jaw trying to fit all of this in your mouth, but his kinks and his sex skills being directly taken from porn…not really your thing.

You look at König and wonder if they are similar in all of the places. He is his father, after all.

König catches your gaze locked on his bulge and smirks.

God, if he knew his son had such a cute girl, he would ask her to come earlier. He is two weeks off deployment and probably won’t take another long contract for a few months because they just upped his retirement payings, and he can afford to slack off a little bit, only visiting the home base for some training and instructions for rookies.

He can afford to retire and never worry about money again – but he needs someone to make his days less boring, right?

You look like a good candidate.

— I’m sure my son was convincing, but I know him better than anyone. He doesn’t deserve you, Schatz.

He is shitty at flirting, it’s not his forte – he can flaunt his money, maybe, show you in his wallet and bank account face first. He can just straight up ask you to be his sugar baby and suck his cock instead of doing your studies, but he can’t flirt and manipulate to save his life. Lying isn’t something he is good for, this is why his wife has left.

— I…not sure we should be having this conversation here.

You’re a good girl, and it’s infuriating. He knows that having someone in his bed shouldn’t be the end goal for his leave, but he wants you, and by the look on your face, you aren’t opposed to the idea. König doesn’t understand if he likes that you’re so reserved about it or if he wants you to be a bit more slutty – but he captures you in the space between the kitchen counter and presses you with his body.

— You want to see the bedroom then?

Pushes you so close his knee gets between your legs – it might look involuntary like he didn’t exactly want for it to be placed here, but you aren’t dumb, you know what he wants from you. Like a good fucking girl, you’re too shy to give it to him right about now. God, sometimes he hates being so nice to people around him.

— Sir, this is very…

He got you caged in his hands, body trapped in his embrace – you jerk your head upwards a little bit, staring at him like a small bird in the hands of a predator. He isn’t a strong man in regard of morals, he doesn’t see anything wrong with fucking his son’s girlfriend – if the girl is up to it. And if she isn’t…well, he better make sure she is.

— What is it, Schatz? Paul won’t hear us in his headphones.

You know just how wrong it is, and you almost want to escape – his dick grinds on your pelvis through his pants, and you’re horrified to see how big it is. Excited too, of course, he is bigger than your boyfriend ever could be, and you don’t want to be a slut, but, oh well, not like you were in a committed and serious relationship anyway.

Paul was seeing your friends more than you ever saw them – it’s probably a sign that you should settle for someone older. You did enjoy Lana Del Rey's songs, after all.

— I don’t want to break his heart.

— He doesn’t have one.

You’re lost when he pushes his lips to kiss you over and over again – a surprisingly good kisser, and you give in because it was the first time in forever a kiss made you feel this good. His lips are sending electricity down your spine, you want to moan just from his knee, pushing on the softness of your cunt through that adorable skirt you liked so much – you feel so small like this, so tiny in his hands, you…

God, you feel like a slut, and you like it.

Soon enough, you answered the kiss, your lips meeting his in a dance that made you feel hot, that made you feel like your boyfriend never could. Never thinking of yourself as someone who can fall so easily into the hands of an older man, now you know that he got you right where he wanted.

You push your hand on his pants, trying to get the control back – but he stops you, a giant hand enveloping your wrist and pushing you back. With a surprise on your face, König just wants to kiss you all over. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that you deserve way more than being fucked on the rough kitchen counter while your so-called boyfriend is too busy dickriding his friends in some useless online game.

— Not now, princess. You deserve better than being fucked on the kitchen counter, ja? It can come later.

“Later” sounds like a promise, and you bite back your moan when he keeps pushing his knee against your cunt, making you throb and clench on nothing. He is such a gentleman, you can’t help but compare him to his son – and his fabulous ability to make you feel dirty after fucking you in the backseat of his car and tossing you to your dorm with your pussy still wet and messy after you didn’t cum.

You sob, not from sadness, but from pleasure mixed with some weird, unnatural for you emotions – you feel weird, strained here like this, but you hug his neck and whisper something in his ear. Something, dangerously sounding just like “daddy, please”

König is blushing, and he looks fucking adorable.

— Daddy, ja? God, you’re dangerous, liebling. Going to get me in trouble with my son later.

He laughs when he kisses you again, his hand slipping in your panties only to find them completely soaked – he knows you deserve a nice pillow and soft sheets under your body, and he pushes you up so you can hug his waist with your legs. You rely on him like a cute pet, and you’re so perfect in his hands he curses himself for not seeing you before.

He is going to ruin you for anyone but him. Put so much cum in you, it will make your tummy bulge – make you his precious sugar baby, pay for your dumb college and make you move to his bedroom instead of some shitty dorm you probably share with four other people.

He can be good for you – but he will ruin you for anyone else, anyone appropriate, every guy your age who clearly doesn’t know how to treat a lady right.

— So wet for me…such a filthy thing, I didn’t know my son dated a whore.

— N…not a whore, please…

He kisses you on your forehead, silently apologizing. You feel his crooked, scarred smile, and you push your face up to kiss him – you want to touch him so badly it makes you feel stupid.

— Sorry, Schatzen. Not a whore, a good girl for her daddy, ja? So nice for me, too fucking young…

— W…we really shouldn’t… — Tshhh, don’t think about it. Thinking will only hurt your pretty dumb head. — I’m not…

— Quiet, little one. Let daddy handle everything.

He kisses you over and over, his fingers playing with your pussy – meaty digits digging in your hole, making you whimper from sudden intrusion. He is big, bigger than anyone else, just two of his fingers are enough to spread you as much as normal cock would, and even though you’re used to taking Paul’s size, you just know that his dad would be much, much bigger. He is going to split you open, and you will love every fucking second.

It feels so wrong, you still aren’t sure if you want him to touch you like this.

It feels so right, he is experienced and eager, pushing every button to make you squirm in his grasp. Your orgasm comes embarrassingly quick – maybe because you haven’t gotten off in ages, only miserable masturbation sessions and poor attempts at faking your orgasm made it feel real. Paul never cared enough to actually get you off – but now…

You aren’t ready for him. You squirm in his grasp when the pressure becomes too much, and he soothes you, two fingers still buried in your soaked cunt. You feel so dirty, so wrong right now – you are cumming on the fingers of your boyfriend’s absent father, and you love every second of it.

Post-orgasm clarity makes you whiny and sobby, and you whimper in his shoulder when he gently lifts you in his hands. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that he just scrambled your brain with that orgasm – it’s good, really, he might just want to keep your pretty head nice and empty for him. Not like you would ever need to think in his presence, the colonel can handle everything in- and out- of bed.

König holds you close, not allowing you to scramble away no matter how embarrassed you are. You are his precious thing, with a pouty face, and he will do everything in his power to make you squirm on his fingers again and again before he makes you his wife for good.

So impulsive, maybe this is why his son is such an asshole – taking the worst traits of his father.

— Don’t cry, Schatzen. You’re okay, it felt good, didn’t it?

— W…we shouldn’t have. Shit. I’m sorry, it was a m…god, I need to tell Paul.

— I’ll tell him.

— No! — I will tell my asshole of a son that you’re my girl now, ja? And then I will take you to the bedroom, so we can fuck.

— I need to return to my dorm.

— And then I will dine you properly, okay? Sorry, Liebling, I know I should court you before all of this…but we can afford to go a bit off board, ja?

He is smiling, so smitten and obsessed over just having you cum on his fingers once – you don’t have the heart to say no. Never did. You’re a good, proper girl, and Paul was never treating you right anyway. You feel dirty, yes, but somehow, it is almost right.

He peppers your face with kisses, like a dog lapping its tongue all over your skin – you’re so concentrated on the warmth of his strong, seasoned body that you don’t even look in the direction of the doorway to the kitchen.

Paul, however, looks straight at you, disheartened and shocked.

— W…what the fuck, dad?! König laughs, kissing you once again – deep, hot, with tongue and loud, sloppy sounds of your mouth pressing into one another. You’re stuck in place, still caged in his arms like a precious little pet you are.

— She’ll make a good step mom, ja?

You don’t even register his hands slowly caressing your fingers as if he already tries to check the ring sizes.

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #yandere cod #konig mw2 #reader insert #yandere x reader

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talaok · 4 months ago

Text

Sunbathing

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: you’ve decided to sunbathe topless, or as your husband Joel would put it, you’ve decided to torture him.

Warnings: needy Joel, kind of sub!joel, unprotected p in v, premature ejaculation, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), come play.

a/n: i sunbathed topless for the first time and well this wrote itself

"You've seen my boobs before babe" A soft laugh bubbled up your throat as you turned your head left.

He wasn't even pretending not to be staring.

"Not like this"

You smiled, "what does that even mean?"

"not out... here"

You lowered your sunglasses to see him better, tilting your head to ask for further explanation

Yes you were outside, by the pool of the beautiful summer house you'd rented, but you didn't get how that made any difference, they were the same boobs he'd seen hours prior in your bed.

"I'm not used to not doing anything about them"

"ah" you hummed "is it that hard?"

You didn't even need to look at the smirk painting his face to regret your choice of words.

"yeah babydoll, it's real hard"

You only needed to lower your gaze a little to asses his statement.

"You're incorrigible"

"And you're torturin' me darlin'"

"How am I torturing you?" you laughed "I'm just taking advantage of the privacy we have to get a good tan"

"and besides, I seem to remember how hard it is for you to see me with the whole bikini on too"

He sat up, the sunbed squeaking as he faced you.

"It ain't my fault if my wife's so pretty it hurts"

"you get so dramatic when you're horny" you chuckled, rolling your eyes.

He smiled, letting his gaze wander all over your body for a good minute, before getting back at your face

"nothin's gonna happen is it?" his tone was full of hope nonetheless

"no baby" you shook your head

He sighed, dramatically letting his head fall to his chest

"I'll have a swim then"

"have fun honey"

__ __ __

"darlin'?"

Not even ten minutes had passed, and that scene from the Barbie movie with the "Ken! Go for a walk or something" line couldn't not pop into your head.

"yes?"

He was standing right next to your sunbed, dripping wet and blocking out the sun.

"don't ya need sunscreen?"

A soft smile pulled at your lips.

Ten minutes, that's how long it took for him to come up with that.

"I put it on already"

He wasn't gonna give up, not on the first try.

"how long ago?"

"an hour, I think"

"the sun's real strong now doll," he said, drying his hair with a towel before throwing it on his bed "I think it's best if you put some more on… I can do it for you if you don't feel like it"

You chuckled, looking up at him, but he stayed in character, continuing to look oh-so worried about your safety.

"Somehow I knew that offer was coming"

"'m just worried about my wife, 's all"

he'd crouched down, taking your hand in his

"mh-mh" you hummed, sarcasm tracing your tone

"can't have you get sunburt now, can we?"

"no, we can't" you played along, smiling at him

"'f course" he murmured, leaning down to leave a soft kiss on your lips as he grabbed the sunscreen.

"I'm so lucky to have such a caring husband"

"I'm the only lucky one babydoll"

He gave you one more kiss, before he leaned away and got to work.

He squeezed some cream into his hand, but to your surprise, his hands didn't land where you'd expected them to-

Only his eyes were betraying him. They were only on one, or actually two things even when it was your legs he was massaging.

The coldness of the cream and his hands felt good against your warm body, so much you couldn't help but hum appreciatively.

"feels good?"

"yeah baby" you breathed as his hands made their way to your thighs.

It always amazed you how hands so big, rough, and strong were able to be so gentle and soft on you.

You couldn't deny the shivers running up your body when his fingers reached your inner thighs, getting close to your core.

"what's that?" your husband was smirking like a cat, as he dedicated himself much too long on that spot.

"I didn't say anything"

If he thought this was gonna work, he was wrong. It was too hot, and you were too relaxed to do what he so obviously wanted to do... although you both knew how much you liked seeing him desperate...

He still didn't touch your boobs, no, next were your shoulders, then your arms, and then... when he felt on the brink of exploding, when he couldn't stop himself anymore, he squeezed a generous amount of sunscreen in his hands, and oh so gently started massaging your tits.

He couldn't stop a soft groan from fleeing his lips.

It felt amazing- of course it felt amazing, but you didn't wanna give him the satisfaction, and this was mostly for him, not for you, so your eyes remained closed as you pretended like it was nothing.

But that only lasted so long, because Joel could endure just about 30 seconds of that before he was bending down, and his mouth was sucking your nipple.

"Joel!" you gasped, your eyes snapping open just in time to see him climb onto you to straddle your waist, and then go right back to groping and licking and sucking your nipples like it was his life long duty.

"baby you're all wet" you tried complaining, but the smile on your lips was everlasting.

He looked so damingly cute like this, looking up at you with those big doe eyes as he worshipped your tits.

"so are you"

And yeah so what if you were- there's only so much a woman can do in front of this.

A soft laugh spilled from your lips as your hand went to find a place in his hair, your back arching to offer more of yourself to him.

"I don't even know how good it is for you to be licking sunscreen"

The look he gave you made it very clear he didn't give one single fuck.

And just when you were about to protest again, his teeth had gently bit your nipple, and a moan had spilled from your lips.

he took that as an incentive to go further, his hand slowly sliding down your belly, between your bodies, until it was seeping underneath your bikini bottoms.

"babe-" you stopped him, your voice breathless

His hand stopped on your mound as he groaned in frustration.

You could feel his rock-hard cock on you since the moment he straddled you- the man was desperate.

"please doll" he murmured against the soft skin of your chest in between kisses "Gimmie something-anything” he pleaded “Have mercy on your poor husband"

Your response was mixed between a laugh and a moan

"I can take care of you if you want"

He shook his head, his teeth grazing your nipple "Need to feel you darlin’"

Again, a soft giggle rumbled from your chest

"’S too hot to have sex here baby"

His hand had gotten out of your bikini to reach the other on your waist.

"the pool- the ground? fuck- anywhere you want sugar, just tell me where"

His clothed hard-on was rubbing against your core now, and fuck but once again you’d succumbed to Joel and his goddamn irresistible neediness.

"bring me back into the house"

It was like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear those words.

In a haze of kisses and lust, he’d picked you up, letting you hold onto him by wrapping your arms and legs around his body as he hurriedly walked into the house.

He didn’t make it far enough to encounter a single surface- and perhaps that was because he’d stopped looking and placed you against the wall the moment he’d passed the threshold.

His mouth was on your tits again, his cock was out, and his fingers had pulled your bikini to the side.

He said nothing as he slowly began entering you, the only sounds in the room being your moan as you threw your head back, and the groan he emitted, muffled by your skin.

“Oh fuck” you cried once he bottomed out.

Your husband was a very gifted man.

"'m not gonna last"

He sounded like the mere act of talking was taking all of his energy, and yet he was thrusting up into you like it was a matter of life or death.

"'s ok"

"I've been hard since you took your top off" he murmured, his breath fanning over your chest “you-you-jesus”

Your left hand passed through his hair, softly soothing him.

“‘S alright baby, don’t wait for me”

“You’re too fuckin’-” he tried to speak, but he was interrupted by yet another groan

“What?” you taunted him, a smirk pulling at your lips “what is it baby?”

His eyes were wide with desperation as he looked up at you, as his mouth stole languid kisses from your tits.

“Too hot- too goddamn perfect”

You bit down a grin at that, still stroking his hair

“I love you baby” you breathed, his cock reaching the deepest, most fucking amazing spot inside you in the meantime.

The moment those words left your lips your husband was fucked- the only words he was able to mutter were a series of -fuckshitgoddamn- before he inevitably reached his peak, filling you up with rope after rope of come that never seemed to end.

He remained like that for a little while, buried inside you, eyes closed, mouth still connected with your boob, until you left a gentle kiss on the crown of his head, and he woke up from his heavenly trance.

He let out a soft groan as he slipped out of you, and took his time letting you down.

You were smiling at him with that soft smile that melted his insides right up, and he couldn’t help but lean in and kiss it, kiss you like you were a soft delicate thing that he was scared of breaking.

“I love you more” he promised, kissing you again, even if you were smiling.

“Feel better now?”

You said it like he was a kid with a stomach bug, and he couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Yeah darlin’” he murmured against your mouth “thank you”

“You don’t have to thank me” you laughed, but he was already shaking his head

“Yes I do”

And without further explanation, he’d dropped to his knees.

He slid your bikini to the side once again, looking up at you with only adoration in his eyes.

“Baby you don’t have to” you tried to reason with him, but his mouth was already latched to your clit, and your hand had already flown to his hair.

He remained on your bud long enough to make you desperate, and then he started focusing on your whole core, his tongue lapping between your folds with what could only be described as feral hunger.

His come was everywhere, and yet he didn’t care, he was happy tasting the mix of your fluids, because that’s how Joel was- a nasty nasty man- only for you.

So much so that you felt his tongue enter your hole, simulating what he was doing just minutes before with his cock.

“Fuck-babe-”

Your moans were breathless, more like whines, like prayers.

You were looking at him as he was looking at you and Jesus... He looked fucking heavenly.

His hair all tussled from your fingers, his blown-out pupils, his never-stopping tongue-

“Joel” you cried, but he didn’t dare speak a word as he went back to your clit.

“Shit-baby- god!”

You had to tighten your hold on his hair as your orgasm crept up your body- and it was as you heard him groan with pleasure, as he sucked your clit into his mouth like a man starved, that it all came crumbling down, and you felt your body light on fire as your climax took over.

You were moaning and crying into the air for a good minute before you were sane again.

Only Joel hadn’t stopped eating you out for a single second, and even then, he looked like he had no intention of doing so

“Baby-baby” you whimpered, having to literally pull him away from your core.

He was smiling like a kid, and you couldn’t help but follow suit.

He put your bikini back in place, and then stood up, his hands lingering on your waist

“You’re crazy”

He couldn’t help but kiss you before answering,

“You make me”

3K notes · View notes

whorelaud · 21 days ago

Text

OFF LIMITS – rafe cameron ¡ (06)

social media & irl AU !

pairing brother's best friend!rafe cameron x brat!reader summary you slide into a random boy's dms on instagram, anything but expecting him to end up being your brother's best friend, let alone the person you'll be spending your summer vacation with. while resisting Rafe and his lingering gazes was an option, you found yourself in the constant loop of crossing the line; said line being your brother. ch content fluff, suggestive (sorry...) unresolved tension, a slight panic attack (nothing too serious!), confrontation, lil angst?!?!

NAVIGATION. series masterlist | 05 ! 06 ¡ 07

rafecameron

WY@ - brent faiyaz

liked by sarahcameron, ryanontop and 1,982 others

rafecameron Doing shit I really shouldn't do for real 🤷🏼‍♂️

view all comments

yourusername nice post g ↳ rafecameron Thanks g ↳ yourusername you're welcome homie 💯 ↳ rafecameron I’m not your homie ↳ yourusername alr bro 😎 ↳ rafecameron 🤐

yoursername rafe cameron is never beating the slut allegations ↳ rafecameron I'll take that as a compliment thank you! Learned from the best 😊 ↳ yourusername Are you slut shaming me right now ↳ rafecameron WHAT NO I’m just saying like you know ahah Ahaha fuck ↳ yourusername yeah right ↳ popeheyward This is gross by the way ↳ yourusername shut up

sarahcameron put that cigarette down little boy ↳ rafecameron Did bug give you the ‘little boy’ virus… ↳ yourusername it's not a Virus. Embrace it 💜 ↳ rafecameron Okay 💜

sarahcameron you forgot the #aimed ↳ rafecameron Shut up Sarah ↳ yourusername LMAO

yourusername watchu know about brent ⁉️ ↳ rafecameron I love Brent ↳ yourusername hmm 🤔 ↳ rafecameron Are you doubting my music taste right now? ↳ yourusername Yes

ryanontop Shii baby you look fine asl 😍 ↳ rafecameron Stawp! 🙊 ↳ jjmaybanks Awh fawk nah

popeheyward Yooo 🫡 liked by rafecameron

user1 Nah who got my dawg posting song lyrics ☠️

user2 Bro’s pussy whipped

user3 who hurt you bae ❤️

user4 may god bless me with your genes ↳ user3 ?? what ↳ user4 im saying iw ant to have his kids 😊

user5 bismallah my body had a reaction to the third slide ❤️

user6 this is fucking insane go fucking kill yourself you fucking manwhore stop fucking posting shit like this ↳ yourusername this is so real you go user6 ↳ user6 thank you 😇 someone needed to say it ↳ rafecameron Uhhh

user7 i told my parents about us

kelc3eee Fit is hard 🔥 ↳ rafecameron Thanks

It’s been three days since you last kissed Rafe, and yet, you still couldn’t get the thought out of your head, reminiscing over the memory each time you strived to distract your mind from it.

Waking up the next morning was like a punch to your stomach, your hopes of it being a dream instantly destroyed with the harsh reality of kissing Rafe. You ended up practically locking yourself in your room, too afraid Rafe might say something, address the said kiss and stupid mistake of reaching for his face in the first place.

To your surprise, Rafe did not bring it up, greeting you with a sheepish grin once you joined them downstairs. It puzzled your brain, as it filled with a million questions over why he didn’t make an effort to bring it up. It was slightly disappointing, even if it was a mistake, he had every right to sort out the situation, pull you to the side and remind you how wrong it was to kiss him, knowing well aware that he was forbidden to the touch.

But he didn’t, and if he did hint it, you definitely chose to look past it, brushing it off everytime you found yourself alone with him, choosing to avoid the situation and feign ignorance to the way your heart would stupidly flutter.

Now, three days have passed, and things are, well, they’re normal. Your friends were surfing, while you sunbathed on the shore, not in the mood to get yourself wet. Rafe, of course, never left Ryan’s side, messing around with your brother to get him riled up, knowing how mad he easily got.

Their giggles echoed through the distance, tugging a faint smile on your lips as you admired from afar, squinting your eyes due to the bright sun beaming through your skin, blocking your vision even with the pair of sunglasses you had on.

Your arms plopped up against the towel beneath you, supporting your body from giving out, even after maintaining the same position for over a while now. The smile on your lips faltered at the sight of Rafe exiting the water, straightening up when you noticed him strolling in your direction.

Heat flushed your face as you caught sight of his bare chest, waterdrops running along the sunkissed flesh, leading down to his drenched shorts, as they hung low around his hips. Your throat ran dry when your gaze halted just beneath his bellybutton, the trail of hair leading to under the fabric of his bottoms leaving little to the imagination. It drove you crazy, eager to see where it guides, head wandering with sinful thoughts every time you caught sight of it.

You cleared your throat, busying yourself with something else, fearing Rafe would catch you practically thirsting over him. The latter however, didn’t say much, dusting the sand off the towel beside yours, before he sprawled himself next to you, crossing his legs to mimic your position.

“Why aren’t you joining the rest?” Rafe questioned, cutting through the comfortable silence.

“Not in the mood.” You replied, keeping your answer short, afraid your voice would crack if you further spoke.

“‘S that so?” He shot back, nudging your foot with his knee. “You’re boring.”

“Boring?!” You muttered with defense, offended by the remark. “Take that back.”

“Hmm…” he trailed off, squinting one of his eyes, blinded by the scorching sun. “No.”

“You’re such an idiot.” You scoffed, stifling out a laugh. “Are you not going back in the water?”

“I am,” he exclaimed, now turned in your direction. “Can I borrow these real quick?”

“Borrow what?–” Your question was cut short, as Rafe’s hand came in view, not giving you a chance to process his action as he snatched the sunglasses off, causing you to yelp with surprise. “What the hell?!”

“Oh, these are nice.” He mumbled, adjusting them around the bridge of his nose. “A bit small, but ‘s fine.”

“You’re stretching them out!” You gasped, reaching for them back, merely for the boy to dodge your hand, tilting his head down with a mischievous grin smeared all over. “C’mon, Rafe, don’t be like this.”

“Like what?” He cocked his head to the side, observing you through his now tinted vision.

“Rafe!!” You cried out, fully sitting up now. “I spent my hard earned money on these, I’ll kill you if they break.”

“Your hard earned money?” He repeated, further teasing you with his comments.

“Okay, my dad got them for me, but–” you started, growing a bit embarrassed at the admission.

“I’ll give them back,” he hummed, taking them off and folding them in place. “Only if you join me, though.”

“I’m not going in the water.” You refused, dismissing his attempt with a nod of disbelief.

“Why not?!” He cooed, “Come on, it'll be fun.”

“Are you crazy?” You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “I’m not getting my hair wet.”

“Please?” He further pleaded, jutting his lips into a pout. “Ryan left, who am I gonna be with, now that he’s gone?”

Your head shifted back to the water, merely to confirm his statement. And true to his words, Ryan was no longer in sight, having probably disappeared back into the house in the short while you and Rafe were arguing.

“Hang out with the rest.” You shot back, addressing your friends, as they messed around with each other. “They’ll keep you company.”

“Have you seen them?” Rafe’s face twisted with disgust, his lips forming into a frown. “They’re eating each other’s faces, God knows what they’re doing in that water.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” You replied, disregarding his statement, and looking past the last sentence he muttered. You saw your chance, and took it, contemplating before you snatched the pair of glasses from his hold, muffling your next words with haste. “I’ll kill you next time you steal my stuff.”

“Is that a yes?” Rafe perked up with excitement, taking your silence as a yes before he shot up, instantly offering you a hand. “Let’s go.”

“What?” You angled your head back, locking your gaze with his, slightly taken aback by the hand he offered. “I don’t recall agreeing to this…”

“Well, you’re obligated to join me now; don’t give me false hope then back down when I urge you to do it.” He started, his words somehow foreshadowing a deeper meaning to the teasing statement. Rafe bent down, just enough to take his hand in yours before he pulled you up, a screech of surprise rattling out of your throat.

“Rafe!” You chanted with disbelief, stumbling over your own feet in the process of running, unable to catch up with Rafe, who hurried his way to the water. “Slow down!”

He replied with a chuckle, a rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins as the water touched your feet, engulfing your legs with each step you took, halting when it was just above your knees.

“Wait– fuck, it’s cold.” You started, hands grabbing Rafe’s forearm for support, a mere attempt to stop him. And it did, with the boy pausing to steal a glimpse in your direction. “Let me get used to the water temperature.”

“You’ll get used to it in no time.” He rolled his eyes, though he slowed down his pace, walking leisurely for you to adjust to the cold.

Rafe chuckled as a wave came crashing against your bare torso, stiffening in your spot as a shiver ran down your spine, causing goosebumps to break out across your arms. A deep sigh tumbled past your parted lips, finger nails practically digging into Rafe’s arms everytime a wave would hit.

Your friends greeted you from afar, not questioning the fact that you were alone with Rafe, a big distance separating you from the rest. Deep down, you speculated the fact that they knew, choosing to avoid the topic every time Sarah would ask about Rafe, or whether there was any progress in whatever you had; which you’d dismiss, telling her it was nothing.

“Can we stop here?” You questioned, when the water barely reached your chin, now standing on your tippy toes to keep yourself steady with the flowing water.

“Here?” Rafe repeated, brows knitting with confusion. “Why, are you scared?”

“Slightly, yeah.” You admitted, pursing your lips into a thin line to avoid water from entering your mouth. “This is the deepest I’ve been without a life jacket.”

“Wait, you’re serious?” Rafe’s expression coiled with concern.

You nodded, angling your head up, not risking how rocky the waves get.

“Don’t worry,” Rafe suddenly spoke, earning your attention when his arm sneaked around your waist, ceasing some of the distance separating you from him. “I got you.”

“Nope, that’s it, I’m getting out.” You muttered, turning in his arms, in an attempt to walk back out, merely for Rafe to tighten his hold around you, with your back now pressing firmly to his broad chest.

Your breath caught in your throat, suddenly very aware of his presence, and the mess you got yourself into. For some reason, this felt oddly intimate, despite the boy’s pure intentions, striving to convince you to continue on with him, in spite of you refusing to.

“I’ll hold you.” His voice dropped barely above a whisper, turning you back around, all while keeping himself steady. “Don’t be scared.”

“But I am scared,” you replied, emphasizing the ‘am’ in the process. “Sure, I know how to swim, but what if you get a cramp, and I try to save you, then both of us drown?”

“Come on, I’ll be your life jacket.” He grinned, deliberately dragging you deeper into the water. “Are you doubting my skills?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” You uttered, eyes widening when your feet could no longer reach the ground. “My parents will kill you if something happens to me, I swear to god.”

“Then I’d have to get rid of both of us.” He joked, halting when you were far enough from the shore, stilling you with the arm sturdy around your waist. “How is that? Wanna go deeper?”

“No!” You quickly shot back, hands flying to his shoulders, holding onto them to keep yourself from sinking. “This is good.”

“If you say so.” He chuckled, ignoring the way his pulse quickened when your hands made contact with the skin around his shoulders, your nails lightly dragging over the flesh. He rubbed soothing circles to your side, the gesture a mere attempt to ease you up. “Relax, nothing is gonna happen to you.”

“I’m relaxed.” You lied through your teeth, avoiding Rafe’s gaze, and instead admiring the view surrounding the rocky path leading to the mountains. “It’s so pretty from here.”

“It is.” Rafe mumbled, attention fixed on you. “Super pretty.”

Your lips tugged into a smile at his words, head shifting back in his direction, where he was shamelessly staring at you, not even failing to hide it. You dusted your face with your fingers, flashing Rafe a confused look, as to question why his gaze burned through you.

“Is there something on my face?” You asked, coming to a halt when he shook his head. “Then what is it?”

“Nothing,” he stifled out a laugh, the corner of his lips curling into a smirk. “You’re jus’ pretty.”

“What?” You choked through a breath, growing flustered from the sudden compliment. “What was that for?”

“What?” Rafe’s tongue darted out, coating his lips with a glossy layer of spit. “I said, you’re pretty. Is that not allowed?”

“Shut up.” You shoved his shoulder, laughing off your embarrassment, though your ears burned with heat.

“You know,” Rafe swallowed, admiring your surroundings. “I heard there were sharks in this area.”

“What? Where?” You shouted, heartbeat quickening as panic settled in. “Don’t fuck with me, Rafe!”

“I thought you liked sharks.” His voice lowered with suspicion, eyebrows arching in a teasing manner.

“Not as they’re about to fucking eat me.” You replied, fully ceasing the distance as you wrapped your arms around Rafe’s neck, pressing your chest close to his. “Get me out of here.”

Rafe took your horror as a chance, the hand on your waist trailing up your back, until it settled just beneath your bikini top. “Relax, it was a joke.”

Your head turned to face him, ready to scold him before you noticed how close he was, nose tulling to brush over yours. A shaky exhale stuttered out of your throat, shivers running down your spine when you caught Rafe’s gaze flickering to your lips, the action so subtle, you would’ve looked past it if he wasn’t mere inches away.

Rafe’s lips slightly parted, tongue fidgeting with the roof of his mouth, fingers squeezing around your side, striving to hold himself back, and not kiss you right then in there. You were close, a little too close for comfort, he wanted nothing but to fuck the barrier Ryan created for you two, dive in and hope for the best.

His thoughts were interrupted when you shoved his shoulders, eyebrows furrowing as your lips jut into a pout, one evidently displaying your distress. “That wasn’t funny! Why would you joke about that?!”

“Chill, I’m messing with you.” Rafe snickered, eyes glued to your face, well aware he’d betray himself if he let his gaze wander past your neck.

“By telling me I’ll get eaten to death by sharks?!” You huffed, pausing as you angled your head to the side. “Wait– how’d you know I like sharks?”

“I have my ways.” He cooed, pupils dilating with glint.

“Mhm, yeah right.” You rolled your eyes, figuring it was either Sarah, or your brother. “Let’s head back.”

“But we just got here!” Rafe protested.

“I don’t trust you.” You defensively shot back, shuffling around in his hold.

Rafe chuckled, abiding to your order. He swam back, with you clinging to him for dear life, not daring to risk it and let go. Though, of course, that wasn’t the end, as Rafe suddenly froze, groaning while his face twisted in pain.

“What’s wrong?” You immediately asked, concern washing over your expression.

“I think– fuck.” He groaned, arms loosening around your waist. “I think my leg is cramping.”

“Wait what?” You frowned at his statement, eyes widening with shock when his figure disappeared out of sight, suddenly struggling to level himself with you. “Are you serious, oh my god, should I call for help?!”

You nearly submerged under water when your arms reached for the latter, struggling to drag him up as he sailed down, your hold the only thing keeping him from sinking further into the deep sea.

Wasn’t it easy to drag weights in the water? So, why was it so difficult to get Rafe to the surface?

“Don’t fucking drown on me, Rafe, please.” You muttered with frustration, heart welling with fear, as your vision blurred, the corner of your eyes brimmed with tears. “Somebody help! Please! It’s an eme–”

Your words cut short when Rafe came in sight, water splashing everywhere with the force of him exiting the water. Your mouth gaped to speak, met with utter silence in return, observing as Rafe chuckled at your reaction, feigning ignorance to your panicked state.

“Did that get you?” He erupted into a fit of giggles, wiping the water from his eyes.

“Are you serious?” Your tone washed with disbelief, heartbeat so loud you could hear it thumping through your ears. “Why would you joke about that?”

“Take a joke, it’s not that serious.” He stated, the smile smeared on his lips fading when he noticed how upset you visibly looked.

“A joke is supposed to be funny, dickhead.” You fluttered your eyes, unable to manage the tears rolling down your face. “What if something actually happened to you?”

“Wait, are you crying?” His breath hitched as he let realization sink in, chest swelling with discomfort at the consequences of his actions. You weakly punched his torso, fleeing from the touch when Rafe attempted to inch closer to you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

His hands cupped your face, resting just above the curve of your jaw as his thumb wiped away your tears, now mixed with salt-water. He repeatedly rubbed his finger over your cheeks, striving to calm you down with the subtle gesture.

“It won’t happen again,” he started, tilting your head with the hands engulfing your face. “I didn’t think you’d take it so seriously.”

“Whatever,” you dismissed his apology, though deep down it softened your heart. “It still wasn’t funny, I was scared you’d actually die.”

Rafe’s lips twitched into a smile at your statement, unable to contain the laughter bubbling through his chest. You looked absolutely adorable, leaving him speechless as his action spoke for his affection. He moved forward, leveling your head down before he ceased the distance between you two, and capturing your lips in a soft peck that lasted a near of five seconds.

Your body stiffened at the gesture, so taken aback you almost choked on your own spit in the process. The plush of his lips brushing over yours felt like feathers, as the warmness of his mouth engulfed your skin. It made you yearn for time to stop, enjoy this while it lasted, even if it was for a short moment.

“There, it’s completely my fault.” He whispered once he pulled back, face mere inches away from yours, you could feel his breath fanning over your nose. “Does that make up for it?”

Your gaze seeked his blue eyes through the small distance separating you, finger nails lightly grazing over his arms. Silence heaved the air, as the atmosphere filled with unresolved tension you’ve both been avoiding for the past few days, weeks, even.

Rafe kissed you, and it’s not some stupid joke to get you riled up, or mess around for a reaction out of you. He did it because he wanted to, completely looking over the fact that you were his best friend’s sister, let alone someone he craved in the dimness of the night, somewhere hidden, where no one would judge him for it.

Rafe has been dying to confront you about the kiss, turning into a giddy mess every time he would reminisce over the memory of your lips softly brushing over the corner of his mouth. And though it was small, barely a peck, it drove him insane.

That night, Rafe chose to ignore the guilt rising through his chest as he got off to the thought of you; being able to touch you though he knew you were far out of his reach, not for his gaze to admire. His chest burned with forbidden desire, growing aroused every time he caught you in none but your sheer sleeping shorts, covering nothing and leaving little to the imagination.

“You know,” Rafe muttered through a ragged breath, “About that ni–”

The palm of your hand instantly found Rafe’s mouth, covering it before he could further speak. You knew exactly what he was planning to say, but you weren’t ready. Not right now, still flustered by the kiss he so casually planted to your lips.

Addressing the kiss from three nights ago in the middle of the water, mind you, in an area secluded from everyone else? Yeah, no. That wasn’t quite what you had in mind, Rafe left you no choice but to shut him out.

“Hmm?” You hummed, trying to change the topic.

“What?” Rafe muffled, lips barely moving due to your hand covering his mouth.

“We should leave,” you fluttered your eyes at him, “The sun is setting.”

“Right,” he spoke, eyes shifting down to your digits yet engulfing his chin. “You can let go of me now.”

“Oh,” you swiftly retrieved your hand, clearing your throat as you turned around to avoid meeting his gaze. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Rafe scoffed, following in your steps as you struggled to swim back, breaking into a grin when your arms pushed through the water, slightly splashing the latter with the gesture. “Here, let me help you.”

“I’m good!” You dismissed the suggestion, letting out a sigh of relief when your feet eventually reached the ground, ultimately approaching a safer zone. “I can handle myself.”

Rafe’s giggles seeped through the silence, watching with a glint of amusement as you aimed for the shore, running your way back to the house when you did so. You gave him no chance to confront you about the situation, though the suspense was killing you, it was just not the right time, nor a good place to do it.

Freaking out felt like an understatement for your emotions, letting out a silent scream as soon as you approached your room. Fuck, this wasn’t the first time you’ve been kissed, so why did it feel like you were in middle school, sneaking around the playground to kiss your crush?

It was humiliating, to say the least. Rafe kissed you, and it did nothing but make you grow more fond of him, increasing your affection for him. Butterflies seeped through your stomach, unable to suppress the smile forming on your lips, letting yourself go now that you’re alone.

Your shower filled with giddiness, as you sang along to the lyrics playing in the background, too caught up with the act to realize you’ve spent the majority of the evening in there. You continued getting ready, doing your skincare, and technically everything you would do on an everything-shower day.

A loud ping caught your attention as your gaze trailed down to your phone, eyebrows knitting with puzzlement when it continued buzzing with notifications. You adjusted the pearl necklace around your neck, fastening your pace when curiosity got the best of you, as you instantly aimed for your phone, heart skipping a beat when you read the contact name of the sender.

It was from Rafe, multiple messages, at that.

rafe 👍: Hey

rafe 👍: Come eat

rafe 👍: We got takeout 🥡

A laugh bubbled out of your throat at the emoji, the invitation silly, yet tempting.

You: im not hungry! go ahead and eat without me :)

rafe 👍: No

You: boy… wdym no

rafe 👍: Come down and eat

Your eyes quirked with suspicion, puzzled over why he was insisting despite you refusing.

You: did you poison my food

You: why are you insisting…

rafe 👍: Damn… I can't even invite you to eat without you making me out to be a dick

You: i mean you are what you eat 😇

rafe 👍:😐 Quit it

You: mb boo

You: is this a date

Rafe’s bubble appeared and disappeared off the screen, the amount of time he took concerning you for a moment.

rafe 👍: Could be one

rafe 👍: Only if you want it to be

Your fingers hesitantly hovered over the keyboard, staring at the message, as if doing that would make the keen in his statement disappear. You swallowed around your dry throat, setting your phone down, merely to process your emotions.

A date.

He can’t say shit like this and expect you not to like him.

At this point, he was playing with your feelings, and that thought alone had your heart breaking to pieces. It’s only been a month, and yet, you were this infatuated with him. Bearing to cross the line for Rafe spoke to you like no other, breaking the unspoken boundaries you set for each other.

You don’t know when it started, from lingering gazes turned into subtle touches, eventually oscillated to heated moments smeared with desire. Wanting each other, not being able to do anything about it because it was wrong. It all fuzzed up your brain.

Rafe was testing you, with each time he threw a hint in your direction. Hell, he should know not to confuse you, as he already went down the rabbit hole of why he couldn't date you, with Ryan warning him every time he’d joke about being into you.

Enjoying it wouldn't hurt, right? Choosing to push the guilt down and let your heart bloom with joy every time Rafe is around was okay, right? Because it’s human nature, how were you supposed to ignore him when his mere presence was so tempting, making you nothing but crave him more.

Guilt was temporary, but regretting this? It was going to haunt you forever, tulling you with decisions you hesitated to commit, afraid they would hurt others, fully abandoning how you felt. Those were your emotions, though, your needs, you had every right to take the risk.

With that, you typed a playful ‘shut up’ back, before heading downstairs, instantly letting puzzlement settle in when you spotted only JJ and Kiara, sitting along with Rafe, who perked up at the sound of your steps.

“Where’s the others?” You questioned, wrapping Kiara in a swift embrace, before you seated yourself next to her.

“John B and Sarah went out for dinner, and I saw Ryan leave with your dad.” She explained, chewing down the mouthful of food. “I have no idea where Pope and Cleo are, though.”

“Oh, they said they’re grabbing booze.” JJ stifled out a laugh, eyebrows quirking in a teasing meaning.

“For what?!” You asked, offering Rafe a tight-lipped smile when he passed you your plate.

“Shut up, JJ.” Kiara rolled her eyes, fixing her attention back on you. “He’s messing, don’t listen to him.”

“I’m not lying–” his words cut short when Kiara kicked his knee, the gesture earning a breathy grunt out of the latter. “What was that for?”

“To keep your mouth shut.” The girl replied, forcing a fake beam across her lips.

Rafe snorted as they continued bickering throughout the whole time you joined them. He flashed you an apologetic smile, not aware of the chaos awaiting you two. Fortunately, JJ and Kiara excused themselves once they were done, informing you they’d be chilling by the shore for the night, leaving you all alone with Rafe.

The air heaved with tension, the atmosphere filling with unspoken confessions you both oughted to address. Rafe’s been full, using the food as an excuse to enjoy your presence for a little longer.

“‘You ignorin’ me?” Rafe started, scraping his fork against the veggie pieces splayed on the plate.

“What?” You shot back, frowning at the sudden assumption. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, it’s just that,” he tilted his head to the side, putting the utensil in his hold down. “You seem uncomfortable.”

“Well, I’m not.” You mimicked, playfully rolling your eyes. “Besides, we don’t even speak for me to ignore you.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He nodded his head, gaze glued to his arm plopped on the table. “You’d rather kiss me instead.”

“What?” A choked cough barely exits your throat, eyes widening with shock over Rafe’s statement. That caught you off guard, even more when Rafe maintained a blank expression, offering you a glass of water to down the rest of your food.

“Are you okay?” He asked, “Do you need more water?”

“Why would you bring that up?” You brushed off his concern, his words echoing over and over in the back of your brain.

“You kissed me,” he repeated himself, stating the obvious. “Did you not?”

“I did, but–” you stammered, face flushing with heat. “I didn’t mean to?–”

“You grabbed my face, leaned forward, then proceeded to kiss me.” He muttered, reminiscing back to the memory. “What about that did you not mean?”

“It was a mistake!” You hurried to respond, stumbling over your own words in the process. “I was drunk, out of my mind–”

“Oh, so it’s a mistake?” He snorted, straightening up in his seat. “You go around kissing people when you’re drunk?”

“Okay, why are you being a dick?” Your nose scrunched with frustration, exploding in the latter’s face. “And if I do? Then what, you’re gonna do something about it?”

“I’m trying to make sense of the situation here,” he shot back, his arm moving in front of his chest. “I’m not fucking around, okay? I’ve been dying to speak to you, but you never gave me a chance to explain myself.”

“What’s there to explain, Rafe?” Your voice lowered in tone, taken aback by how fast the conversation took a turn. “I’m like Sarah, huh? Then you go n’ fuckin’ kiss me?”

“Why are you switching the–”

“No, let’s discuss the incident from earlier, since we’re fucking talking.” You cut him off, jaw clenching to prevent yourself from breaking down. “You keep pulling these stunts on me– first in the grocery store, then in the car, and earlier in the water– what is it that you want? You know Ryan won’t be happy if he found out, so why do you keep– why do you keep fucking confusing me, Rafe?”

“I–” Rafe’s words caught in his throat, hands clenching into fists.

“Forget it.” You clicked your teeth, grabbing your phone as you stood to your feet, streaking your way past Rafe, with the intentions of reaching the stairs.

Rafe called out your name, voice breaking with despair. “Where are you going?”

The way your name rolled off his tongue made your heart skip a beat, letting your eyes force shut as you feigned glancing back, afraid you’d give in if you caught sight of his expression.

You entered one of the guest bathrooms, locking the door behind you before you immediately dialed Cleo’s number, impatiently clicking your fingers over the phone as you waited for the girl to pick up.

A sigh of relief escaped your throat when she did, a bit of shuffling going on her end.

“Hey Cleo,” you muttered through a breath, taking a deep inhale, as your thumb pressed to your bottom lip. “I– sorry, I know you’re out with Pope, I jus’ really needed to talk to someone and I–”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Cleo spoke, interrupting your rambling. “Take a deep breath, I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be here.”

“Okay,” you nodded, though she couldn’t see you, obliging to her orders. “Sorry, fuck–”

“Why are you apologizing, girl?” She shot back, attempting to soothe away your worries. “Now slowly, tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I kind of, uhm…” you trailed off, fidgeting with the ring hugging your finger. “I fucked up, Cleo. I got ahead of myself, and ruined everything.”

“No you didn’t.” Cleo assured, “What happened? Don’t panic, okay? Everything will be alright.”

“Alright, I didn’t mean to keep this from you, I thought it would be a fleeing moment, but I guess not?–” You hesitated, nervously biting your lip as you prepared yourself for the confession. “I kissed Rafe, and while it was somewhat, he tried to confront me about it, and I panicked!”

“Okay, woah, woah.” Cleo uttered, disbelief visible through her tone. “When did that happen?”

“Three days ago, after the party.” You huffed, angling your head back with a pout. “I’m such an idiot, why am I acting like something happened between us? I lashed out on him and stormed off, what if he regrets it?”

“Well, you’re the one who kissed him.” Cleo clarified, “Why would he regret it?”

“Actually– something sort of happened earlier…” you mumbled, clearing your throat.

“Don’t tell me he fucking kissed you, Bug.” Cleo took a guess, making you freeze in your spot, not denying her suspicions. “He did? What the hell, and you didn’t say anything?”

“Listen, I barely got time to process it, I was planning on telling you eventually.” A sigh stuttered out of your throat, crying out loud. “I’m so dumb, why did I get mad at him? It’s not even his fault!”

“Calm down, baby, it will be alright.” Cleo secured, “I’m sure he understands, this is probably bothering him as well.”

“What if he thinks I’m childish?” You questioned, “I felt so guilty, Cleo, I don’t want his friendship with Ryan to fall apart ‘cause of me.”

“That won’t happen, trust me.” Cleo advised, her tone soft. “It’s obvious that you’re both attracted to each other, Ryan will have to accept it, he can’t interfere jus’ cause he doesn’t want you dating his friends.”

“But he’s right,” your shoulders relaxed with disappointment, already imagining the scenery Ryan would put out. “And Rafe doesn’t like me, trust, I’m like ninety-nine percent sure he doesn’t.”

“Ninety-nine?” Cleo cooed, earning a chuckle out of you. “Okay, come on, have you seen him? Pope told me about what happened on the way back, don’t tell me this man is not head over heels for you.”

“Why’s Pope snitching?!” You scoffed, sniffling as you rolled your eyes. “Okay, maybe he might like me, he keeps dropping hints, but I don’t know?”

“What hints?” Cleo’s tone glinted with curiosity, waiting for you to further speak.

“He texted me earlier, and I was messing around but instead of brushing it off he went with the flow?” You explained, your words coming off as a question. “Maybe I’m misreading the situation, but let’s say he did like me, then what? What do we do, will we keep things a secret because of Ryan?”

“Why are you thinking about that?” Cleo giggled, ridiculed by how much you were overthinking this. “Enjoy it, okay? You like him, go for it, don’t hold back.”

“And if he doesn’t like me?” You stifled out a laugh, leisurely fluttering your eyes shut. “I don’t know, it started off as a joke, but I’m starting to for real like him, Cleo. I’ve never felt this way about someone before.”

“Okay, there you go, you got your answer.” Cleo chanted, making you shake your head. “Now, I don’t mean to be nosy, but it’s your fault for mentioning it.”

“God, what is it?” You rolled your eyes, already expecting what she was about to say.

“What did he say in those messages?” She asked, earning a chuckle out of you, as you moved the phone from your ear, already pulling up Rafe’s contact.

You screenshotted the conversation, Cleo’s voice muffling through the speakers of your phone, her words fully incoherent. “Hold on, I can’t hear you.

Cleo remained silent, waited while you cropped the screenshot, before bringing the phone back to your ear. “Alright, what did you say?”

“I said hurry up!” She chimed back.

“Okay, someone’s curious.” You teased, pressing on the photo icon, before you selected the image and sent it over, waiting for Cleo to receive it. “There.”

“You sent it?” She asked, humming as she pulled up your messages. “I don’t see anything.”

“What? But I sen– oh.” you halted as you let realization kick in, immediately reaching for your phone, hoping your suspicions might be wrong. “Fuck, Cleo, I sent it to Rafe.”

An audible gasp escaped Cleo’s lips at the statement, words going unnoticed as Rafe’s text bubble appeared on the screen, not giving you a chance to delete it before he saw it.

rafe 👍: ???

“Oh my God, he saw it.” You whispered, “Wait, let me go back to my room.”

You creaked the door open, instantly shutting it when Rafe came in sight, heart thumping loud with panic. Your eyes widened a bit, when footsteps echoed through your ears, knowing the owner behind the noises.

“He’s heading upstairs,” you informed Cleo in a hushed tone, “What do I do?”

“Where are you?” She asked.

“I’m in the upstairs bathroom, the one down the hallway.”

“Okay, wait ‘till he leaves, then go back to your room.”

You nodded, even if the girl couldn’t see you, too nauseous to comprehend normal words out. Hell, that probably weirded him out, what will he think now?

However, despite how nervous you grew, Cleo stayed on call, assuring you that it would be alright, even though you knew deep down, it wasn’t.

“Alright, I’ll go now, it’s quiet,” You sighed, breath shaky with anxiousness. “We’ll talk when you’re back, I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

“Are you sure?” Cleo questioned with concern, “I can stay on call until we’re back, I don’t mind.”

“No it’s okay,” you insisted, “Besides, I’m tired, I’ll see about this tomorrow, it’s too much to process right now.”

“Alright,” Cleo exhaled, “Let me know if you need anything, we’ll be back in a bit.”

You bid your goodbyes, putting your phone down as you aimed for the door, peaking your head out to check whether the coast was clear. Your shoulders relaxed when Rafe was nowhere in sight, tippy toeing your way back to your room, making sure to be as careful as physically possible.

Barely escaping the situation, your heart sank to your stomach when you unlatched the doorknob, now greeted with Rafe seated on the edge of your bed, perking up when you made your presence known.

“What are you doing here?” You mumbled, feeling your throat run dry.

You wanted the ground to split and swallow you whole, unable to bear the embarrassment of facing Rafe, now a few feet away from you.

“You know…” He trailed off, getting up with a groan. “I was plannin’ to give you space, talk things out when you’re ready, but…”

Your fingers clutched to the doorknob when Rafe walked in your direction, towering over you and cornering you against the door, as it leisurely closed within each step you took back.

“God, you’re killing me.” He whispered, gulping as his gaze flickered to your parted lips, coated with a faint layer of spit.

His fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, hesitating before pressing his hand to your hip, his hold burning holes through your flesh. Your eyes remained on his face, watching as his expression changed into something serious, stirring up your insides with a rush of adrenaline.

You stiffened under the touch, slightly taken aback by the bold move, even as your body leaned into it, chasing after the sensation of his fingers marking your skin. ,

“You know how much you’re affecting me, don’t you?” He hushed out, digits dragging up your side, and tumbling just beneath the material, his touch welcoming the warmness of your skin. “The amount of times I had to control myself, and respect the boundaries I set with Ryan.”

“Rafe.” Your tone lowered to match his, an inaudible gasp exiting your parted lips when he pinned you to the door, fingers squeezing the plush of your flesh. “What are you doing?”

Rafe stuck to answering with his actions, bringing his other hand to your face, and taking the curve of your jaw in between his fingers. His thumb pressed to your chin, using it to angle your head up, striving to study your face up close.

“You’re breathtaking, you know that?” He whispered, smearing your glossed lips with his thumb, the gesture causing you to part your mouth in a sigh. “God, you know how difficult it was? Telling myself you’re off limits; when you’re all I think about, twenty-four, seven; always on mind.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You exhaled through your mouth, vision going blurry as Rafe leaned his forehead against yours, his hot breath fanning above the bridge of your nose. “We shouldn’t be doing this, Rafe.”

“I was barely holding myself back,” He muttered, trailing light, open-mouthed kisses to your lips. “It’s your,” a kiss, “fault,” and another, “for tempting,” he paused, “me.”

That was the only sign you needed as you moved forward, letting your guilt wash with new found desire when you captured Rafe’s lips in an eager kiss you’ve both been dying for.

Rafe’s arms sneaked to your sides, locking you in place as he ceased the distance separating you two, though that felt impossible, as he licked and nipped at your lips, suddenly feeling drunk on your sweetness.

You tasted amazing, way better than what Rafe had imagined, leaving him craving more as he angled your head to the side, with the intent of deepening the kiss.

In that moment, you didn’t care whether this was a dream, or reality. In fact, you wanted to wake up the next morning with the same giddiness filling your insides, Rafe being the reason behind it.

You wanted Rafe, the kiss merely proving the yearn tulling your insides, till you no longer were able to bear it.

Fuck it, you chose to take the risk, let yourself enjoy this while it lasts, knowing that eventually, you’d need to put an end to it; hence Rafe is off limits.

a/n all support is v much appreciated! pulling my hair out i forgot how to write. SORRY ik i didnt do the kiss justice but i just wanted to get the kiss out of the way... dont get bored of me yet i promise theres so much more to squeeze in the next four chapters theyre just entering their situationship era 🙈 ALSO IK I SAID THERE WILL BE TEXTS BUT I LIED next one 100% though!!! anyways yeah i hope you enjoyed, lmk ur thoughts!!!

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fairene · 6 months ago

Text

beneath the moonlight / ln4

vacay lando norris x maxf!littlesister

no use of y/n, as always.

prompt ⋯ ohhh hey ! wanted to stop by to say i love ur fic and wanted to request insatiable lando with max f’s sister like a forbidden summer fling with all their friends and no one’s supposed to know about their secret relationship ( especially max ) — @444mercss

a/n ⋯ this was much longer than i intended, but the words just kept flowing out of me. thank you to all those who beta read my post and helped with grammar!!! ( @jamminvroomvroom , @theonottsbxtch ) you all helped so much. and thank you to mercs for requesting this. i didn't know i'd enjoy it as much as i did, but it definitely was for 20k words. i'll probably take a week ( or maybe not ) off from writing just to give myself a cool down period, but still here to answer any asks. feel free to pop in. hope you all enjoy this, and remember, readers looks are up for interpretation, along with the outfits. colors of coloring are mention only briefly!

warnings ⋯ SMUT 18+++!!! minors DNI!!!, language, drinking, choking, p in v sex (wrap before you tap!), fingering!(f)receiving, oral(m+f)!receiving, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, feral lando. best friends little sister, brothers best friend dynamic, mutual pining, 'games', horny thoughts. much, much more. but even, possession, jealousy. if i forgot any warnings, feel free to let me know.

wc ⋯ 20.1k (WHEWWW WEEE... edited by @jamminvroomvroom, @theonottsbxtch)

the summertime was one of your favorites. you and all of the rest of your girlfriend’s would spend each and every day together without question. but as time went on, they got their own lives. partners, engagements, jobs. not to say that you weren’t an accomplished young lady, but it was starting to show that you were hung up on a life that was starting to fade.

your brother on the other hand, was keen on keeping you in this life. in tip top shape on your toes, he’d always challenge you in a multitude of ways. or annoy you to no end. typically it was the latter.

but he had invited you this summer on vacation with his friends. you knew them all relatively well, texted here and there, but you never imagined to be trailing along on a villa getaway sponsored by the quadrant house, mainly the famous lando norris himself.

you would be shy to admit it, but you had a bit of a soft spot for lando. him and his cheeky smile. the moles that donned his face. his starlit eyes that radiated an emerald hue beneath the sunlight. it was intangible the way that you could pick apart the details about his nuanced beauty, but it was a secret for you to keep. a secret that no one, especially your brother, could ever find out about.

but that’s all that it was, wasn’t it?

a dream. a pathetic fantasy. you wouldn’t ever gain the courage to talk to him, make a move, despite how often him and max talk about going on dates with girls. talking about his love life, or the rather drab there of. he fucked around a lot, max knew that, and would consistently warn you to never get wrapped up in the same lifestyle as the british driver. you’d hold up your hands in defense, shrieking a ‘don’t worry about me,’ though you wish you gave him a reason to.

why did you feel undeserving of lando– because he was a formula one driver? attractive? charming? were you afraid that you were going to be friendzoned–? oh god, that would be the fucking worst, wouldn’t it? you could never imagine the hangouts being the same. so you’d bite your tongue until it bled, even when your body yearned for the heat of his own.

the villa that you would be staying at was on lake como in italy. it was a beautiful venue, a place that you’d been dreaming of visiting. max knew this, hence why he’d probably sniped you an invite. but it wasn’t like no one wanted you there. everyone did. that was the problem. you were so incredibly loved by all of max’s friends, that he kept them at arm’s length. no one would ever hurt his little sister. not while he was still breathing.

“wow,” you breathed, stepping out of the uber from the airport. the house before you was a stunning makeup of eccentric architecture that dated decades before your own birth. it was a grand building with tall, marble columns. thoroughly decorated landscaping, and even had running fountains in the front. you were so lost in your awe that you didn’t see the huge pair of mahogany doors swing open.

“max,” you turned your head towards your brother who was grabbing your bags from the trunk. you shifted to the source of the voice, finding the british driver standing barefoot with a beach flannel and short-inseam khaki shorts low around his waist. you gulped before looking anywhere else but him.

“lando!” max approached him, arm outstretched for a shake. lando met him half way down the marbled steps, taking his sunglasses off from the top of his head.

“how was the flight, mate? good?” max nodded for the both of you whilst you fiddled with the accessories around your hands. you didn’t ever know what to say to lando. you found yourself unbelievably speechless in his presence.

“not too bad, ‘specially if this is what you’ve got.” lando chuckled at your brother’s words, and then his eyes finally landed on you. you and your comfortable outfit from the plane ride over. you and your pulled back hair, respectfully messy, and the jewelry that adorned your fingers. his eyes caught over the bling, and how you anxiously picked away at the skin.

“never thought she’d grace our presence,” lando said jokingly, which had your head snapping upright. you flushed, sucking your bottom lip with your teeth.

max rolled his eyes, avoidant of the topic of you in general. “whatever, mate, she’s here now, in’she?” what? what was that supposed to mean? was your presence requested? you suddenly felt wanted above all things.

“she certainly is.” lando approached you with his tongue tucked behind his bottom lip, hasty in his steps. you stood up straighter with a light smile on your face, eyes twinkling away from his own. you couldn’t keep eye contact with him. “c’mon, love, i’ll take your bags.”

“are you sure? i can take–”

the bags were grabbed from your hands. you felt the palm of his own for just a moment— the warm flesh, humming low against his own. you felt like he spoke to you through your blood, but you let it go. lando norris wasn’t giving you special attention, that’s for sure.

you promised yourself that much. this whimsical, airy crush of yours needed to be vetted on the spot. he was your brother’s best friend, older than you, and certainly didn’t have time for a girl who wasn’t a celebrity.

right?

he took your bags through the exquisite villa. the interior was even more luxurious than you could ever imagine– floor to ceiling windows, candlelit ceiling lights, flora decorating each wall that you turned to. it smelled delectable, too, wafting germanium and coconut oil. the smile on your face couldn’t be ignored, as you shimmered brighter than the summer sun.

“you like it, then?” came lando’s voice. your head dropped, glancing at him from where he stood, waiting for you to join him on the steps. had he been watching your face?

“you’re joking.” you assured, hands clasped together. “it’s beautiful.”

lando smiled then, too, letting his lower lip snatch between his top teeth. he tried hard to conceal his happiness, but you felt like you could feel it amongst the air. you felt warm all of a sudden and cleared your throat, urging him forward up the spiraling staircase.

you walked in silence with him down the long corridors. you would pause before each door briefly, wondering if he was going to open it, but he didn’t. it wasn’t until you were reaching the ends of the hallway when he stopped, twisting the knob of the white wooden door. he stood aside, letting you in first.

the room you’d be staying in for the next few weeks was more than you could ever dream of. with its spacious interior, personal bathroom, and private balcony, you felt like the luckiest girl alive to be able to experience this. to live in this moment. to be here. in italy, of all places.

lando interrupted your dreaming haze by sliding the bags in. you turned to face him in your unruly, exhausted glory, and he stared at you. a hand of his found the back of his neck.

“so…dinner tonight at seven, pool day tomorrow, um…” he looked around, acting as if he could suddenly have the words appear into his head. “oh and, if you need anything, my room’s just next door.”

he said it with haste, as if he were shy about the fact, and was already stepping out the door.

“wait,” you said, stepping forward. lando hung back, gripping onto the door frame, swinging his head back into the room. “thank you.”

the words seemed to hit him harder than you thought that it would. he blushed a light red, dimming his tanned face, and cleared his throat before nodding. “of course.” he said with out hesitance, making it clear that he would do this for anyone. “‘m glad you’re here.”

and then he was gone.

you stared at the shut door in stunned silence. did you really hear him correctly?

you didn’t let your thoughts linger too long, but you couldn’t help but let it. the curly-haired brunette stayed in your mind whilst you settled in and unpacked. all ounce of his shy, gaunt nature.

by the evening you were more than settled and relaxed. you’d taken a small nap to rejuvenate your energy, and just in the nick of time for dinner. you got ready amply, sliding a comfortable dress over the surface of your body. the straps were thin and fell loose upon your collarbones. you’d pair an elegant pair of low rise heels on your feet, pointy-toed, that matched the color of your dress.

you stared at your reflection in the mirror, the dim yellow lighting illuminating the corners of your face that you so frequently forgot to appreciate. it was in the hours of the night that you could appreciate yourself, unopposed to the gawking looks of strangers.

there was a soft knock on your door at 6:57. you turned, dress swaying from your movements, and cracked it open.

lando stood there on the other side. him and his dark shirt and khaki pants. he wore a pair of leather black loafers that matched his shirt. he smelled good, too, a masculine tint of sauvage.

no words were spoken between the two of you. you simply stared at one another, lost in each other’s features. you resisted the urge to trace the moles on his face with a finger, whilst he fought himself to not reach out and run his hands along the fabric of your dress.

his eyes softened when you met his, cheeks filled with a simple kind of joy. the two of you were done ogling at one another, still foreign in each other’s presence.

“ready?” he asked. you nodded, grabbing a matching handbag from the countertop and slung it over your arm. you shut the door to your room behind you and walked a few paces behind lando. you weren’t close with him like that to walk side by side.

or so you thought.

he dragged his feet to slow his pace, coming parallel to your side. he held his breath for a moment, turning to look at the exposed skin from your dress. you caught his wandering eyes and looked up at him, wandering beneath his emerald depths.

“what?” you asked tenderly, voice hitching in your throat.

“nothing.” he turned his head to face back forward. “just haven’t seen you in a while, that’s all.”

that was an understatement. you haven’t seen lando in almost three years. max had done a stellar job of wanting to keep you separated from his friends, though you weren’t upset about it. you had your own life, and that was perfectly enough for you.

but you were a girl with a heart full of wanderlust, and often dreamed of what you could’ve had. there was a marksmith of delusion prodding the hidden parts of your brain, working tirelessly to pick apart the small interactions you’ve had with lando over the years.

when you turned 18, he brought you to an exclusive club and showered you with gifts, alcohol, and even more. it was a night you wouldn’t forget, feeling lucky enough to manage a dance with him on the dance floor. his hands hovered above your body, the warmth seeping through your skin, rattling your bones. he even got so close to your face that you could feel his breath. smell the alcohol that reeked from him.

you thought you were going to kiss.

and so did he.

but your brother separated the two of you, calling lando over for a group shot. you were left there, stranded on the dance floor, with the phantom touch of a man that you knew you could never have. it pained you to admit such a truth to yourself, but it didn’t loiter. you had a life to get back to, not indulge some silly, fanatical dream that kept you up late at night as a teenager. lando norris was the fantasy, never to become a reality.

though, every time in presence, you’d manage to falter. set those delusions free the second he’d act kindly to you; gentle, tender tenacity that you believed would be special to you. max’s little sister. that’s all you were, though, weren’t you?

“you’ve been well, haven’t you?” you asked him with a hum, holding your bag with both hands in front of you. the leather piece bucked against your abdomen. lando watched, peering to see if he could hold it for you.

“‘course. living my dream, aren’t i?” you’d made it to the end of the hallway. the top of the staircase.

“it’s not a dream.” you said with a softer intonation. he looked back towards you with a raised brow. “it’s reality now, i’d reckon.”

he smiled.

the two of you made it down the steps. you lingered in the grand foyer, beneath the candlelit chandelier. it was still light outside, but the sun was beginning to set. it had created a pink and blue hue over the water’s edge.

but you weren’t looking at the water’s edge.

you were looking at lando. your brother’s best friend. he had his hands in his pockets, facing the open living room, rocking back and forth on his heels. you cut your way to his line of sight staring upward at him. he looked down at you, wondering what you were searching for.

you had considered not doing what you were about to do. you really did!

but your hand was already outstretched, the tips of your fingers grazing over the grown facial hair on his chin. he didn’t jolt from the action and merely stared into your eyes, pupils blown wide from the warmth of your touch.

“i like it,” you commented before taking your hand away, finding yourself into much deep trouble if max had seen the two of you.

“yeah?” lando asked, suddenly much closer to you.

“makes you look older and manly.” you rolled your eyes.

“what? i wasn’t manly before?”

your hand rolled over your mouth to withhold a laugh. “i’ve seen you weep at the sight of fish.”

lando’s face lit up and his tongue prodded the inside of his cheek. “doesn’t make me any less of a man.” he crossed his arms.

“really?”

“just enthusiastic. don’t see a problem with having a bit of character.” you didn’t argue with him further when you saw your brother and other group friends join one another in the living room. they made their way closer to the two of you.

you took a step back from lando. he couldn’t take his eyes off the action, his face falling instinctively. it’s nothing. his expressions mean nothing. they’re not for you.

“c’mon, i’m starvin’.” max called, slapping lando on the back. sure enough, you were walking out the door behind your brother, everyone trailing in an orderly manner.

you heard lando call your name from in front of max. you hummed in response. “you’ll ride with me, yeah?” you blushed. how could you not? max turned his head over his shoulder, his voice saying nothing, but his eyes telling all. he knows how you felt about lando when you were younger.

he knows, he knows, he knows. but surely, surely you’ve gotten over that little crush of yours. and lando, too, hadn’t harbored any feelings towards you either? surely, surely he couldn’t. you were his little sister. and max knew how lando treated girls as of late.

it left a sour taste in his mouth, but he said nothing when you nodded, brushing past him.

lando opened the door for you. his mclaren was a two seater, comfortable, and roared to life when lando turned over the engine. you couldn’t help but laugh feeling the seat vibrate beneath your thighs. it was a feeling of exhilaration that you hadn’t felt in a long time, but a feeling that came perpetually with lando’s presence. being with him made you feel alive, more alive than the years you’d walked this earth.

your excitement had done things to him as well. his eyes were glued to how you reacted, enthralled by your visceral enthusiasm to being in such a tangible sports car. your fingertips grazed across the leather interior of the door handle.

“gonna jump out on me?”

you shifted in the leather seat, crossing your legs over one another. there was a heat building inside of you, deep in your core.

“not if you don’t give me a reason to.”

he chuckled at that. “i’ll try.”

you smiled to yourself, looking down at your fiddling hands. lando stepped on the gas and pulled out of the villa’s extraneously long driveway, leading the pack of friends behind him.

“you look fit.” came his voice, nervous, beneath his breath. your eyes caught his side profile, all rough edges of it. “beautiful, but your brother’d have me by the balls if he heard me say that.”

your breaths were heavy in your chest. “then don’t let him.”

lando’s head whipped to meet your eyes, hand white-knuckling the steering wheel. you weren’t even sure what you were implying with your words, but he hoped that he wasn’t misinterpreting them. god forbid he didn’t understand. you didn’t brush him off like you did as a child, didn’t stumble away bashfully. now, in your grown state, you faced him head on. you challenged him, just as he suspected you would.

“between us, then?”

you nodded, tongue coming to wet your bottom lip. you made a motion of a lock and key against them, throwing the key out the window. he watched, but was drawn back to the road. that was one of the fastest car rides you’ve ever been in with that roaring engine, feeling like you had stepped into the biggest unknown of your very existence.

the restaurant that lando had made reservations for was absolutely beautiful. you couldn’t count the amount of times you’ve been awed by the sites you’ve seen, but you couldn’t help yourself. you were simply one of the luckiest girls with even richer friends.

lando opened the car door for you, sprinting to the other side. you found yourself laughing at the action, finding his urgency cute.

you stepped out of the car and you immediately found your brother, his stance idle before he marched over to you.

“he say anything to you?”

you flushed. between us, then?

“no. what would he say?”

max didn’t elaborate and simply settled for a huff from his nose. lando had been handing off his car to the valet man when he met up with the two of you. your other friends were in tow, eight of you in total, and made it inside the restaurant with ease.

you didn’t even think about what the seating arrangement would be. not until lando pulled out a chair for you, beside him, and you had no other choice but to settle in. not like you were complaining though.

but max was going to. you could see the look on his face when he sat opposite to you, flashing you a pair of warning eyes. but you didn’t know what warranted them– you didn’t even say anything to lando, more or less.

you furrowed your brows at him, feeling far too old for these insolent glances, and picked up the menu. lando sat next to you, mirroring your actions. you placed the napkin on your lap, a polite etiquette you’ve always precluded dinners with.

“ah– look,” you leaned into lando’s space, the heat from his body, the cologne from his shirt, sifting through your nose. it was tempting. “for you.”

your finger pointed to the blackened cod that they had on the menu. lando met you half way, looming over your shoulder at what you were pointing at. as soon as he read it, he scoffed. “fuck off.” you couldn’t help but giggle, attempting to stifle the sound the best you could.

“don’t do that,” lando’s voice came firm, but soft against your ears. he was talking just loud enough for the two of you to be able to hear. you glanced quickly at max, who was lost in conversation with his buddies.

“what?”

“hide your laugh.” you guessed you didn’t realize how often you muffled yourself. your hand lowered to your lap. “you used to do it when you were a teenager, too.” he pointed. you thought for a moment, realizing that he was right. “never understood why. especially since it’s so pretty.”

you froze, staring up at him with weary eyes. he looked confused at your expression. your hand came to slap his bicep. “stop it.” but you were teasing him. he saw right through your tone.

“don’t let him, ‘s what you said, right?”

you swallowed. nodded your head.

his mouth dipped to your ear. his breath hot, just like your cheeks. “he won’t hear a thing then, will he?” lando’s nose brushed against your scalp, and you thought for a moment, dreamed, that he would plant a kiss upon your head. but his lips simply hovered, breaths warming your strands of hair.

but you turned your head to meet his eyes, shaking his contact off. he noticed. tensed. “but he can see, you imbecile.”

that had lando laughing. your face broke with a smile, unable to resist his intoxicating gestures. he simply shrugged, letting you win this one, and his arm came to sling over the back of your chair. his fingertips grazed the strands of your dress, dipping down to your bare shoulders. your posture straightened against the chair, legs crossing over one another beneath the table. he watched you shift, his teeth catching his bottom lip to retain his smile.

the waiter came to take your orders. you ordered your preferred choice and drink, lando following suit. when the table received their drinks, you lifted your glasses for a collective ‘cheers’.

when the main course was finished, you were handed the dessert menus. short a couple, you had to share with the man next to you. you nudged lando’s shoulder with your own and like a dog to a whistle, he was over your shoulder once more, his stubble barely pinching your skin. the thought burst through your head: what would it feel like on your neck? on your thighs, your cunt? you blushed again for what felt like an infinitesimal number, but turned your attention back to the menu.

you pointed at the option that you thought was best. lando hummed, his eyes tracing over the features of your face. you glanced at him. “what?” you asked.

he simply huffed a short laugh and nodded his head at your choice.

it arrived sooner than later and the two of you split the sweet dessert. your brother was still lost in his own conversations, leaving you to your ministrations with lando. whatever they may be, you’d want them all.

when you had your fill and so did he, you couldn’t help but look at him. he turned, and you laughed quietly between the two of you. he raised a brow.

“you’ve got–” you pointed to his lip, but you figured your words were fruitless. you licked at your thumb and raised it to his mouth, cleaning him. his eyes darkened, becoming hooded with the shadows of lust. you even dared to bring your thumb back to your mouth, popping the remnants across your lips with a ‘pop’. lando never thought his dick could be so hard.

“there,” you breathed. “all clean.”

there was a brief silence. one second. two. “you’ve always been trouble, haven’t you?”

your own eyes were hooded. “maybe.” you teased, cleaning your fingers with the napkin. “guess you have to find out?”

lando’s hand gripped tighter on the back of your chair.

“guess so.”

the drive back was tense. tense with your excitement. on the way out, lando and you lingered at the back of the pack. his hand was on your lower back, warm and electric, reminding you that you had stepped into the deep end with him.

you still couldn’t believe what had happened.

lando was speeding down the freeway, weaving his way in and out of cars, a dangerous task that you only felt comfortable with him performing. you’d lose your mind if anyone else was the driver, but he was the professional here, wasn’t he?

you were even so bold to roll the window down and stick your hand out, feeling the harsh slipstreams beneath your nailbeds. you relaxed in the seat, head lolling against the cushion, hair flying into the wind. lando turned his head to look at you, his elbow leaning on the interior beneath the windowsill, and almost swerved into oncoming traffic. you were a picturesque beauty, lounging freely in his passenger seat, legs crossed, free.

you were at peace for the time being, and it was the only way he’d wish to see you. but he could think of other things.

he pulled into the house with ease. it was well lit amongst the long, windy driveway, and he made sure to let you out first. you two were the last to arrive at the house this time, taking your sweet time. you were in no rush to race back to your room, and neither was he.

it was well past 10pm. when you reached the foyer, max was waiting for you.

“bright and early tomorrow?” he asked.

“bright and early.” you confirmed. he pulled you in for a swift hug, rustling the top of your head with that familial brother love that you adored him for.

he patted lando on the back briefly, before narrowing his eyes at him. you didn’t understand what was happening between the two of them, bro code, but lando seemed to understand well enough. max and his buddies traipsed up the steps, and you felt at ease when you heard their doors shut.

it was just you and lando, now, idling in the foyer.

you said nothing but began to walk, trailing forward through the grandeur villa. you were ample with your pace and heard him moving behind you. with a push of your hand, you opened the door to the grand balcony, leaving it ajar for lando to sneak out from.

he did.

there was a patio set there, waiting, and you let your handbag drop onto the coffee table. you sauntered over to the cobblestone walls, the balustrade meeting post to post for about thirty feet. you leaned against the stone. it was cold against your bare back.

lando seated himself in one of the chairs, his legs spreading wide. he watched you lean forward, then spin to face him. your back was illuminated by the halo of the moonlight, drenching you in a pale visage of beauty.

“you wanna know something?” you asked. lando perked up, humming with curiosity. he was too busy admiring your figure, having to pull himself back from such tumultuous thoughts. “i had a crush on you when i was a kid.”

that stifled a laugh from the british driver. “you did not.”

you shook your head. “sure did.” you didn’t know why you were telling him this all of a sudden, but it was weighing heavy on your mind. “max was pissed. knew i only came around when he told me you’d be there.”

the pieces began melding together in lando’s mind. he had been such an idiot boy that he couldn’t see what a prized beauty you were. there was a trace of second hand guilt. a pattern of ‘what-ifs’ trifling through his mind.

“‘was just a stupid girl. tried so hard for you to notice me.” your hands covered your face for a brief moment.

“you always wore skirts,” he recalled, looking at his hands in his lap. he looked up at you, smirk building. “that why?”

you were shameless when you nodded your head.

“so embarrassing, i know–”

“what about now?” he cut you off, clearly wanting to ask this question the moment it left your lips.

“what do you mean?” your mouth went dry, your hands clasping at the balustrade as if you were going to faint. your heart pounded in your chest.

“what do you feel for me now?”

you couldn’t meet his eye. you looked anywhere else but him, in fact, and opted to over your shoulder to admire the view of the ocean beneath the starlight. the ocean wouldn’t judge you. it would wash away your problems, in fact, and not stare you down.

there was a deep intake of breath that had your head settling from its dizzy state. you looked back to lando and he sat there, cocky, upright. but there was a genteel nature about him that didn’t have you as afraid as you thought you’d be.

he raised his arm, outstretching his hand for you.

you swallowed, pushing yourself off from the balustrade. you sauntered towards him, earnest in your steps, before letting your palm rest on his.

he pulled you close, fingers wrapping against your wrist. he was warm to the touch and he could feel your erratic heartbeat in your veins.

lando’s legs spread for you to settle between. you stood above him, looking down at his brunette curls, his stubble, his cheekbones. his own hands were experimental against the planes of your body, touching sweetly against your hips.

“you didn’t answer me.” he repeated.

you crossed your arms over your chest.

“some dreams just remain dreams.”

he waited a beat. you felt his chest rise and fall.

“do you want to dream forever?”

no. no. you didn’t. you wanted your fantasies to become reality. being with him. being loved by him has always been what you wanted.

you lowered yourself on his lap, straddling his waist. you felt his cock thrum beneath the guard of his pants. did he want you the same?

his forehead collided with yours. his nose brushing against your bridge. you shook your head, closing your eyes.

“wake me up,” you mewled quietly, voice deep within your throat. it was a desperate plea, one that you thought he may not understand until he caught the glint in your eye. the wanting. the years of pining from a distance. how he was so wrapped up in his boyhood that he couldn’t appreciate a woman at his side. “please.”

he didn’t wait any longer to meet your lips with his own.

you were cautious with your touches. your hands were on his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. but your kiss was deep by his own volition, gripping your chin with his forefinger and thumb, earning a groveling sound in your throat.

his other hand was stroking your back, pushing you against him until your breasts were firmly against his chest. you gasped at the firm contact, him using it as an excuse to slip his tongue into your mouth. he explored every corner with an expertise you didn’t know was possible. no place went untouched by his saliva, marking a cavern of his own, and perhaps awakening a fantasy that had been dormant for years.

he lied when he said he didn’t notice you.

he lied.

lando would always await your appearance when he went over to max’s house. he’d hear you skip down the steps in whatever mary-jane heel you wore for that day. max would groan when your head popped through the archway, waving at his friends, but your lashes fluttered when you settled on lando.

‘course he fucking noticed.

he thought of you a sweet girl, caring for her brother, with an exquisite taste in fashion. he’d remember the skirts you wore– black ones, pleated ones, plaid ones– they were all committed to the vaults of his memory. he thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world.

and he still did. while you were perched atop of his lap, huffing in nervous breaths, your hands anxiously skirting across the plane of his dress shirt. you shook atop of him as your lips moved coincided with one another. two bodies, melding together beneath the moonlight.

your tongue swirled against his own, hips bucking against the bulge in his pants. your cunt tightened aimlessly, drenching his pants below. he could feel the patten of fabric become lathered in your slick, and it brought him back to earth.

“we can’t.” he breathed against your lips. his chest was beating up and down, unable to calm himself. though he attempted rejecting you, his hand tightened around the fabric of your dress.

your nose brushed against his as you chuckled. “a bit late, isn’t it?” your teeth bit at your swollen, bottom lip. you could see his eyes flash downward at your action, his own tongue wetting his own.

“your brother,” he began to shake his head, still clutching around the fabric of your dress.

“he doesn’t…” you began to say, kissing the sides of his stubble. you were even so bold to take his free hand, guide it to your inner thighs, and let his fingertips caress the wet fabric covering your cunt. it was swollen, desperate for his touch. you’d been desperate for his touch. desperate for as long as you could remember. “have to know.”

lando’s fingers curled upward to apply pressure right on your clit. he didn’t even have to search for it, and you shifted your hips, bucking them across his palm. “fuck, baby…” he groaned into your cheek, followed by a crass chuckle. “you always get this wet?”

your head buried itself into the junction between his neck and shoulder, whining with embarrassment. “jus’ for you…” the words came quietly, but they rang loud in lando’s ears. he could feel the vibrations from your throat, your aching cunt. you were laid atop of him, dripping down your thighs.

“yeah?” he breathed, finding his heart beating rapidly beneath the weight of your body. his fingers began a pattern of motions across your clothed clit—back and forth— and you mewled into his shirt. there was a patch of drool beneath your lips. “look at you, then, made a mess all over me…”

your lips sucked on the skin of his neck, biting at his chest. attempting to shift closer to him, if it was possible, had your cunt aligned over his clothed cock.

“‘n i’ve barely touched you.”

lando wasn’t even sure he could bring himself to. this was his best friend’s little sister. the amount of lines he’s crossed. the friendship he’s had for years suddenly feeling vulnerable, out the door. but he can’t say he hasn’t thought about a moment like this. fantasized about it once or twice.

“touch me,” you pleaded, tilting your head to look at him. your eyes were wide, glossy with your pleasure, whilst his darkened at your contact. “more, i need…” your hips grinded against his palm. “more.”

“fuck,” he cursed beneath his breath. fuck his self control. fuck whatever this was going to do to his friendship. you are real, pining for him in his lap, begging you for his touch. anything from him, really, you would take. this moment felt like it was going to flutter away any moment, and you’d be waking up from a sick, yearning dream.

the hand upon your back steadied you against his body, whilst the fingers of his other moved the fabric of your panties aside. here, with his sensitive fingers, he could feel the heat from your cunt. it washed over him like a wave, retracting, tightening when he flexed his middle finger. you were utterly drenched for him, the cool breeze of the night raising goosebumps along your skin.

you shivered above him, watching how his hand worked beneath your dress. his hand against your back curled around the base of your neck, angling your eyes back up to his own. “eyes on me.” you listened, melted at his soft, demanding tone, and nodded your head. you shimmied frantically across the plane of his hand, but he tsked. “be patient.”

you seemed to understand well enough. he would give you what you wanted, in time. you would be patient, holding back the whimpers deep within your throat. you were just about to implode on yourself when he finally inserted his middle finger into your folds, taunting you dangerously. you gasped, unable to keep yourself still as your back arched. your head fell back into his hand, lando’s thumb swirling around your bare neck.

the straps from your dress fell loose with the motion and you could feel the breeze harden your already taut nipples. his eyes clinged downward at the sight before him, head bending forward to kiss your exposed chest. one of your hands came to clench around his wrist, the other to his neck, holding him fiercely to your body.

your fingers were thrusted deep into the base of his neck, the fade of his hair. you tugged when his finger curled deliciously inside of you, his thumb– acting so expertly– applied gentile pressure to your clit, toiling with your impetuous lust. you felt exposed to him, putty in his hands, weightless against his body.

the british driver’s lips were relentless on your skin. your chest was claimed by his tongue, swirling around the top of your breasts, edging you further to a spectacular orgasm. he sucked tight against your skin, but your head raised to meet your lips to his ears.

“no marks,” you requested, but you heard him growl against your chest. his hands flexed– his wrist clutched with your palm, his hand on the back of your neck– the contact with your neck had you breathless, clenching around his singular finger, and he took blatant notice.

“a secret, yeah?” he confirmed, holding back his groveling tone. the words were bitter when they hit your ears. there was a layered amount of surplus emotions that guarded his heart, held him at arm's length, and he knew it would tear him apart. but now, he focused on you atop of him, and getting you to come.

“mhmm…” you had to clamp your mouth shut from bursting with a wanton moan. it was too much– the way that he swirled his thumb, how his finger was just the perfect length to bottom out inside of you. your hips moved relentlessly, despite his grip around your neck, and you pushed down on his wrist when it started to become too much for you.

but lando had other plans. he shook his head, let out a tsk between his lips, and let his ring finger slip into you with ease. you let out another moan, deeper than the rest, but he responded with a tug on your hair.

with his lips still against your breasts, his motions froze. “quiet.” you hummed a disapproving sound. “want me to stop?”

you shook your head. “no– no!”

you could feel his teeth against your breasts, a cocky smile no doubt with how flustered you became at the thought of him stopping.

“gotta be quiet, love–” and then his lips were back on you, sucking amply at your skin. his head lowered until he captured a nipple between his teeth, letting the ridges toy with your sensitive buds. your head lowered to the top of his as you breathed him in– his shampoo, his cologne– and it didn’t help with containing yourself.

his pace against your cunt quickened. dual fingers sliding in and out of you with ease, thumb riding aggressively on your clit. you could feel the coil inside of you wringing with heat.

lando’s lips found your other nipple, treating it with the same voraciousness that the other received. it was beginning to become too much for you. no man had ever had you this way– putty, liquid, melting– beneath his touch. you feared that you’d never be able to have an orgasm again.

you became antsy in his hands. your grip on his wrist was shaking, your thighs desperately clenching around his waist. he took it as a sign that you were close, and the words fell easily from his lips.

“gonna cum for me?” his chin rested on your chest, angling to look up at your sweating, flushed expression. your eyes fluttered shut as you nodded. his grip around your throat tightened against the columns. you’d never trusted a man so much to not hurt you.

“come on, sweet girl, ‘ve got you.” he promised to you, “bet you’re so pretty when you cum.”

you felt the skin of your lip break into a light gash beneath the weight of your teeth. you’d been so focused on keeping quiet, that you went ahead at your own expense. lando saw the way your eyes opened, and lurched to meet your lips with his own.

the iron upon his tongue didn’t frighten him. perhaps it turned him on in some manner. the lengths that you were willing to go to keep your sweet lips tightened. but as his own tongue swirled around the stinging cut of your lip, you moaned into him. he absorbed the sound, locking it into the expanse of his memories. you had such a sweet voice. he’d never hear something like it again.

“come on, baby,” he urged you once more, speaking into your mouth. his breath was hot, spinning a knot of thread with your own. you felt him laugh at your oncoming orgasm, taking joy from eliciting such pleasure from you. “let me see how pretty you are.”

it didn’t take much longer for your orgasm to reach you. you went taut, shaking in his hands, eyes rolling into your head. you swore you saw stars, and that was just from his fingers alone. it had you wondering what his cock felt like.

your head fell limp against his shoulder, breathing heavily, clutching the fabric of his shirt. you didn’t want to let him go. his fingers laid idle inside of your tightened walls, not wanting to release the feeling either. not with his hand drenched, his pants soaked, and his forehead dripping with his own sweat. his cock had been painfully hard, a pool of his precum seeping through his pants, combining with your own. it was a beautiful, disastrous mess that he’d initiated between you two, but he felt no regret.

you sniffled against his shoulder, breezing with the cold air, and let your arms wrap around his neck. you hid your face against his body, attempting to bury your embarrassment within him. you had just come on the balcony atop lando’s lap. what fucking world were you living in? you’ve had feelings for him for what felt like a century, and now a dream that you didn’t even know was possible of coming true, came at the palm of his hand.

lando couldn’t believe it either. you were tucked against his body like a hand to a glove, a perfect fit, breathing heavily, shaking, against his palms. your cunt roared with a beating heat, swimming with the orgasm he had given you. proud wasn’t a word that could surmount to this feeling.

and he said nothing when he fixed the straps of your dress, gauging a more presentable you. he tucked your hair behind your ears, fingertips loitering on the expanse of your cheek. you smiled into him, coming to raise your head to meet his eyes.

his eyes fell to your blistering lip. the swollen buds that he sucked the blood out of. his forehead met yours, and neither of you said anything; just a soft breath and heartbeat between the two of you.

within seconds he took his hand from your cunt, washed his fingers against his tongue, and let it fall to your bare back. you were stunned at the motion, but drool pooled in your mouth. you gawked, openly, just how hot the action was alone.

lando stood with you in his arms. one hand on the back of your neck, the other cupping your thigh. your legs, whilst trembling, tightened around his waist for support as he took you through the quiet villa. the only lights were the candles that were still burning, but you didn’t see them, your head hiding in the crevice of his neck. he hummed quietly, a rhythm that had your eyes beginning to lull with sleep.

you heard him open a door quietly and shuffle around the mess on the floor. your room, no doubt. you’d left a pile of clothes as a welcome for yourself when you were picking out your attire for the evening. it didn’t help him, either, by being surrounded by your scent. your perfume, you, it swirled around him, taunting him. dared him to fuck his best friend’s little sister.

lando bent down to lay you into your bed. you fell against your will, hands still upright for him to fall in. but he just couldn’t let himself.

he did, however, let his fingers trail across your bare thighs, your knees, your calves, ankles, until he was met with your heels. his hand lingered on the back of your ankle, angling one of your feet upright to slip a shoe off. his fingers moved to the other, placing the expensive pair on the ground. you stretched your hands above your head, falling deep within the pillowy, feathery embrace.

you stared up at him. your hair messy, dress disheveled, eyes heavy with exhaustion. and he looked down at you, moving forward to let his fingers trail up your sternum, the perks of your breasts. the moment was so quiet. only your breaths and his own could be heard– and maybe the pounding of your heart.

he looked beautiful looming above you, hovering with a protective, apologetic look. apologetic? what did he have to apologize for? except for a mind-blowing orgasm, that is.

his hand froze against the place of your heart. palm flattening, he could feel just how fast your heart was racing. you grabbed his wrist, thumb sliding up and down against his veins. he swallowed.

“don’t know if we should do this again.” he spoke quietly.

your heart broke. you sat up straight in your bed, confusion written all across your features. you thought that this was something between the two of you. that he wanted you. and now what was happening? did you do something wrong?

“why?” you asked, feeling tears well in your eyes. you couldn’t help it. the girl inside of you had come to the forefront, her dreams of being with lando being squashed beneath the weight of his words.

he sighed deep, unable to meet your eyes. he was about to say something before you interrupted him.

“you don’t want me?”

his head snapped in your direction, almost breaking clean off his spine with just how fast he went. he shook his head, hand coming to cup your cheek, but you shook his affections away. your hand dropped from his wrist, wanting to feel nothing of his heart.

he spoke your name. twice. three times. you looked back toward him, tears hot in your eyes. “hey.” you focused on his voice. “you know that’s not true.”

your brows furrowed. “do i?”

his expression dropped.

he fell to his knees before the side of the bed. an action no man has ever done for you. you gaped visibly, watching as both his hands came to rest upon your knees. he leaned into you. stubble tickling your thighs.

your name was sweet on his tongue.

“what would your brother say–?”

“fuck what he thinks.” you leaned down.

lando’s head dropped between your thighs, taking a deep inhale of your skin. you shivered, letting your hand rest on the back of his neck.

“we need t’give it time.” he said upon raising his head. he looked at you with a glimmer in his eyes. the moonlight shimmered through your windows, casting a vague gracefulness of illumination across his tanned skin.

“how much?”

lando wasn’t sure. his silence was an answer enough. you sighed, letting your body fall against the bed once more. he lifted himself to sit beside you, placing both hands at your hips to cage you in.

“hey,” he said to gauge your attention back to him. “we’ll figure it out, won’t we?”

you wanted to believe him. but you weren’t sure that you could. lando leaned down to kiss your sternum against the fabric of your dress.

“you still want me?” you asked, voice cracking with your emotions.

“i’ve wanted you,” he said against your stomach, “since the day you came down in that white skirt.”

you gasped, head tilting to look at him. that was one of the first times you met him– third, maybe– you remembered which one he was talking about. it was a skirt with little white bows, embellished with threads of ribbon and lace.

“the one with the bows?”

“that fuckin’ skirt…” he scoffed with a laugh. you were still floored, but managed to smile. you couldn’t believe his confession, finding it unbelievable. unbelievable that maybe, maybe you had a chance with him. the girl inside of you was squealing, but the woman didn’t quiver beneath him.

there was a momentary silence between the two of you. but you shifted, moving to stand. lando watched you from his perch on your bed, hair ruffled and eyes red from his own wrought of emotions. you didn’t expect this from him. this sensibility.

you began to strip with your back turned to him. he watched. silently.

you stripped of your panties and threw them over your shoulder. lando caught them, still gawking at you. “keep them.” you spoke. “you ruined them.”

that had him laughing. but he kept them, staring down at the lace material. you threw on a large shirt from your suitcase that reached your mid thigh. you finally spun around to meet his eye, but he didn’t dare move.

“what?” you asked, his staring becoming more intense.

he swallowed. shook his head.

“you better go.” you spoke for him as you approached your bed, narrowly dodging him when you threw yourself down. his eyes raked over you, speechless. “lando.” you reaffirmed, bringing him out of his haze. he let out a sigh and stood, hand coming to brace the back of his neck.

he lingered before opening your door, glancing at the dress on the ground. and then he was gone, shutting your door behind him, before falling to his own bed. you were lucky to find sleep that night, and it came easy with your exhaustion. but anxiety thrummed through your mind, bustling with a pint of rejection. it was so sweet from his tongue, but it hurt all the same.

lando laid in his bed before he showered. changed. laid in his bed with the thought of you. how did this happen? how could he forfeit a lifelong friendship? it was simple, really. you were the most beautiful woman he’s ever met, and he couldn’t ever let you go. he’s always watched you from a distance. liking your posts, viewing your instagram stories. he was obsessed with you in more ways than one, but that was a secret for him and him alone.

yet, he couldn’t get max out of his mind. how he would react to him? to you? fuck, the thoughts were brewing a storm inside of his head. the damage had already been done, his heart already thrumming with the essence of you in its wake. you spread through the blood in his veins, latching onto his vitality like a parasite. though he welcomed the thought, the wonder of you overtaking his life.

that was a thought that he could fall asleep to. and he did, snoring with a good guzzle that had you tossing and turning.

the morning came and went. you were up early, as you promised max, but took time planning your wardrobe. you wore a bathing suit beneath your choice of clothing, but what was essential was the short, white, skirt that rode mid-rise on your waist.

the shirt you wore was thin, sheer, a light beige. it had straps that came down to tie a bow between your breasts, and cropped enough to leave heaven to the imagination. for one man in particular, that was your goal.

‘i don’t know if we should do this again.’

fuck that.

you skipped down the steps and were met with max awake bright and early. he had been cooking breakfast, a favorite of yours, and was just about finishing up before he glanced towards you.

“morning!” came his preppy voice. he was wearing a thin white shirt and swim trunks, ready to take on the day to swim.

“good morning.” you sat down at the lush kitchen island, max sliding a plate of food in front of you. you dug in immediately.

“woah,” max commented, sitting down beside you with a cup of tea. “relax. thought we were going swimming?”

you coughed. “we are.” you continued to finish your food with haste. “just hungry.”

you heard more steps come down the stairs. but you didn’t turn your head until max did, his eyes brightening as his close friend was approaching.

“mate,” max said, eyeing up lando. “you look like shit. did ‘ya sleep last night?”

lando hummed with his tired voice, already prepared to go swimming as well. he wore a black shirt with papaya swim trunks. you ogled at him before he looked at you, turning away quickly once he skirted his eyes towards your direction.

“slept great.”

you scoffed.

max and lando turned towards you. the fork in your hands dropped and your eyes widened. a blush creeped onto your cheeks.

“you snore,” you commented, still refusing to look at him. “you know that?”

max turned towards lando. “your rooms are next to each other?” the words were poignant, aimed as a remark to the british driver. he simply shrugged his shoulders in response, not finding any reason to engage.

you stood with your plate in hand, making headway for the sink. from behind, you could feel a pair of eyes heating the plane of your back. you weren’t stupid. and neither was he, knowing exactly what you had done this morning.

the skirt you wore was a reminiscence of his confession the previous night. it brought back the childlike memories of grade school. a time when life was simpler, and you were just a girl, and he was just a boy. but he knew you weren’t that girl anymore. a woman grown, you were elegant. he didn’t understand how you were related to max, a scruffy rascal, but he was happier for that.

when you turned on the water for the sink, lando approached you. max had been tending to his phone, scrolling through social media, so he hadn’t been paying attention. lando’s shoulder brushed against your own when you were scrubbing, desperate to say something.

“you–”

“max,” you interrupted lando, turning off the water and turning towards your brother. lando took a side step away from you, giving you space when max looked up from his phone. you received a side eye from the british driver, his lip curling with pettiness. he saw what you were doing now. was this your form of punishment?

max responded with a ‘hm?’ “you want me to cook tonight?” you offered, and max glanced at lando, who never stopped looking at you. you saw max’s expression tense.

“why not. could save us some money, won’t it?” he said, waiting for lando to add on. “right, lando?”

lando spun around, releasing his tight grip on the counter. he took a sharp breath in, nodding his head in agreement. you watched as a blush creeped onto his face. you bit on the inside of your cheek, but weren’t expecting lando to retaliate.

he spoke your name, which had your head lifting. “what happened to your lip?”

you froze. eyes widening. your own lip twitched with a remedy of a snarl, and he bit back, his nose curling with distaste.

max approached you two, observing your scabbed lip from the night before. “shit. he’s right. what happened?”

you reached back to clench the marble counter beneath your fingers. “uh–” lando held back his devious smile. “bit it in my sleep, ‘spose.”

max simply shrugged his shoulders, and headed for the backyard where the pool was. when the door shut, you let out a sigh. lando stepped in front of you, caging you in with his arms. his head dipped to your shoulder, his curls brushing against your cheek.

“get off me,” you commented with grit, biting your words. lando shook his head, not moving.

“don’t play this with me,” he said, lifting his head with a deep inhale. you raised a brow at him, having absolutely no idea what he meant.

“said we weren’t going to do this again, didn’t you?” you made him sit with his words. make him roll in the fucking mud. “we’re not. and if we were–” you shoved his chest with both your hands, which had him lurching backward. he didn’t go far. “i’d fucking win.”

he invaded your space again, leaning his lips towards yours. you felt his breath again, his scent creeping into your nose. it was like he never left.

“y’sure ‘bout that?” he said with a light tone, teasing you with the vibrato of his words. you swallowed a lump in your throat.

but you stood your ground. “positive.”

lando lingered for a second longer, leaning closer to your lips, and you thought he was going to kiss you out in the open kitchen. “whatever you say.” were the only words he said before he leapt away from you suddenly, leaving your exposed body cold.

he followed you out to the pool, never leaving enough space between you two. but you had other plans–sticking by max’s side would surely drive him insane.

so you sat beside your brother all day. in the pool chair next to him. tanning, reading a book, scrolling on your phone– it didn’t matter. it wasn’t long before the rest of your brother’s friends joined everyone by the pool.

most of them were in the pool by the afternoon. you had made your way to the kitchen, shedding of your skirt and top. left in your swimwear, you wanted a snack.

in the bowls of fruit you found, you pulled some mango, strawberries, and bananas. you cut them with a knife from the drawer, and put them in a bowl. there was more than enough fruit for everyone, but you took some of your favorites in the meantime.

the sun was hot that day, and you had forgotten your sunglasses. sunscreen on your head would cause greasy hair, and you didn’t want that. so you searched briefly in the kitchen for any sort of hat that someone left, and you found one.

it was a papaya hat. with mclaren’s logo, and a number 4 on it. you smirked, bringing the hat atop your head.

it fit nicely and you grabbed the bowl of fruit. you made your way back outside to the patio and your brother noticed you immediately. he called your name, and you sauntered over.

lando and his mates had been in the pool playing with a frisbee, but as soon as max had said your name, he was looking over his shoulder. he went speechless.

with his hat atop your head and your exposed body, he could help but drool at the sight of you. a droplet trailed down his chin, but he dunked the lower half of his mouth into the pool before anyone saw.

“for us?” max asked towards the bowl of fruit. you popped a slice of mango into your mouth, biting tenderly into the piece before nodding your head. lando swallowed tightly, practically shaking beneath the surface of the water.

you placed the bowl on the wooden table and stood back as you were met with the onslaught of a crowd of wet dudes. you backed up towards the stairs of the pool, ready to hop in yourself. you thought yourself a genius– having the entire pool to yourself while they ate. but before you stepped in, your elbow was caught in a warm palm.

lando faced you with his bare chest dripping with chlorine, hair ruffled and damp. droplets of water slithered down his cheeks, which you felt tempted to rub away with your thumb, but you retained from stretching out your hands.

he simply stared at you. and you stared at him.

then he flicked the end of the cap with his pointer finger and smirked, raising his brows with a teasing fashion. he had the nerve to glance at your chin, narrowing his eyes. you didn’t have time to react before his own thumb came to wipe away a droplet of mango juice from your chin.

the action was fast, unnoticed by anyone around you. you blushed instantly, freezing in place. lando popped his thumb into his mouth, tongue visibly swirling around the fingertip. he made a humming sound, approving of the taste.

“tastes sweet.” he muttered to you. he raised his eyes, hooded beneath the glare of the sunlight. “not my favorite, though.”

holy shit

you thought you were going to pass out.

with your eyes flared wide, you spun away from him, throwing the hat to the side, and dove straight into the pool.

you needed to cool off. desperately. and your time in the pool did. when you finally climbed out, max was lounging in the pool chair beneath an umbrella. you joined him in your seat, drying yourself off with your towel. lando was watching the entire time, sitting opposite to max.

when you finally laid down with the towel of your bare legs, max scoffed at his phone. clearly, he was trying to get your attention.

“what?” you said, the hat you had thrown off was now back in your lap.

“look,” max handed you his phone, and you immediately rolled your eyes. it was a picture on instagram of your ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. his new girlfriend that he cheated on you with. he was a fucking asshole, and max knew that from the very beginning.

“ugh,” you groaned, handing his phone back to him. max took it and was about to keep scrolling.

“what?” lando asked, curious now to see what the two of you were grumbling about. max handed him his phone, but he was still confused who he was looking at.

“her ex,” max commented with a rumble. lando’s eyes shot up at you, watching your expression shift. lando was now investigating thoroughly, scrolling through this guys posts. he still had some of you up, and it only angered him. it angered him to an unfair degree, feeling the pinnacle of jealousy, although entirely unwarranted.

“i brought him to a race once,” you pointed out, unable to look at either of them. instead, you settled on the water in the pool. “barcelona, last year.” your arms crossed over your chest.

lando raised a brow. “he was that leach for leclerc, wasn’t he?” you were surprised that he remembered, but nodded your head. it wasn’t a good memory. he had abandoned you the minute you arrived at the race in search of the ferrari driver, and had to manage yourself alone in the crowds. it was miserable, but at least you got to see a good show.

“yeah,” you commented with a huff. “fucking asshole.”

“asshole.” max mirrored you.

“why did it end, then?” lando was pushing the boundaries, but max didn’t seem to notice or mind.

though you did.

you didn’t want to relive the thought. the embarrassment. the entire fucking heartbreak that you pathetically went through.

“because i was stupid.” is all you said before you stood with your towel, making your way inside without another word.

max turned to face lando and smacked him on the shoulder. “the fuck did you ask for?” came his harsh words. lando was stunned, not intending to chase you away.

“shit, sorry i–” lando was quick to rise to his feet, though, not even glancing back at max before he chased after you. “i’ll fix it,” he promised before disappearing inside, and max simply shrugged, wondering just how lando could work his wonders. though he doubted he truly could.

lando called your name from deep inside the villa but you were already half way up the steps. you froze when you heard his voice, stifling back any sounds from your chest. he caught up to you, standing a step beneath you.

“i’m sorry–” he said, “i was just—”

“just what, lando?” you grumbled, truly not wanting to hear his words. “you wanna know just how embarrassed i was? huh? when i found he was fucking one of my best friends?”

lando stood there, shocked, coming to hold out his arms for you to fall into. but you didn’t. “i was such a fucking idiot. it was right in front of me but i didn’t believe it. how smart of me, right?!” your voice raised when lando cornered you at the top of the stairs, your back against the wall.

you couldn’t help but spew emotional nonsense. “oh woe is me, truly, you’d probably end up doing the same–”

lando caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his other hand leaning against the wall. “what did you say?”

you gulped, not meaning for the words to slip off your tongue. shit. he looked pissed. pissed that you would think so lowly of him.

“i–” you gulped. “i didn’t mean–”

his hand tightened around your chin. “really? that what you think of me?” no, no, no! you didn’t. you didn’t. you shook your head in his hold, your eyes largening with your emotions.

“if you were my girl,” lando whispered to you, not breaking eye contact with you once. “you’d know it.”

but you dared to disagree.

“what am i then?” you challenged, your voice raising in the echoing halls. “what was i yesterday, a whore?”

he bared his teeth at you, displeased with what you called yourself. his hand from your chin latched onto the side columns of your throat and your mouth parted with a delectable pleasure.

“you needed me, yeah?” he was sure to comment. but you didn’t budge.

“get your hands off me.” you bit out.

“you didn’t seem to mind yesterday.”

“clearly you didn’t do a good job for a second run,” the words pinched his ego, though the hand against the wall came to slide around your waist.

“weren’t you begging for me? or did i make that up?” you seethed at his cocky tone.

“think you had too much to drink. i’d never beg.” it was a straight lie that came from your lips. he knew it. you knew it. but you pretended to keep your strength.

“‘touch me, please,’” he mocked in your tone.

“must’ve dreamed it. thinking ‘bout me, lan?” the nickname was new for him on your tongue and he bristled, along with the blood soaring to his cock.

“‘more, need–” you slapped your hand over his mouth.

“fuck you.” you hissed. his mouth curved to a smile before he let his grip on you go.

“we’ll see if you’re lucky tonight.”

you brushed past him with a scoff and he stood there idly, watching your hips sway side to side. he chuckled at your retreat and you flipped him off before entering your room and slamming the door. you were done with these fucking games, his toying words. he had no right to approach you after finding out about your ex.

you immediately turned on the shower in your room and stripped of your bathing attire. it was when you were searching aimlessly through your drawer of panties, you remembered that you were missing a pair.

a smirk grew on your face, and you couldn’t help but feel that you held the power.

a few hours had passed after your interaction with lando, and he couldn’t help but feel anxious. you were missing from the entirety of the activities around the pool, and he even dared knock on your door, but he resisted. though it tore him apart, thinking about your writhing anger.

but you, you had other plans. you’d showered off from the pool, taken care of your skin, and taken a nap before you were to get up and make dinner.

you had come up with the idea for dinner.

fish. as everyone enjoyed.

you smirked to yourself as you made your way down the steps. it was quiet, and you heard no churning of others about the halls. it was nice to revere yourself in the solitude of the late afternoon, hoping that you would have the entirety of the downstairs floor yourself.

you got to work with your scheme and pulled out the fish from the fridge. whatever you were making, you were sure it would be delicious.

and when the meal was just about done, you heard a strangulated sound of ample footsteps down the staircase. you were just about done setting the dinner table when max soared through the kitchen, aiming right for the pans and pots of ingredients you sniffed.

“woo!” he cheered, clearly delighted with your cooking. the other boys at his side were quick to mimic him, agreeing with his statement. your hands clamped over your heart, showing how happy you were that they were thrilled.

“well,” you urged. “go sit! i’ll bring it over.”

they didn’t hesitate. beginning to take spoonfuls of rice, vegetables, and the fried fish you whipped up, they were eager to get a headstart. your thoughts wondered where the british driver was, but your thoughts were answered when you heard the last pair of footsteps through the grand foyer.

you just finished placing the bowls of food in front of the eager boys. they weren’t polite in waiting for everyone to sit down, but you didn’t mind.

it was an afterthought for what his meal would be. of course you knew he despised fish. you listened to everything he said when you were younger, years ago, and never forgot.

you leaned against the kitchen aisle, facing him, and he immediately recoiled at the smell. his nose turned upright, curling upward with his lip, and you saw the sparkle of his canines.

lando approached you, the stove, and took a glance at what the helpings were. he turned his head over his shoulder, giving you a knowing look, which you returned with a small shrug and a smirk.

“witch.” he uttered, hands clamping around the edges of the countertops, unsure what he was going to fish through the cabinets for.

“don’t worry.” you said, lando turning to raise his brows. you slid him a bowl filled with greens, vegetables, and a little bit of rice. “plenty for you, don’t you think?”

you cocked your head toward the empty seat, but he instead took the one right next to you. the bowl in your hands was pungent with sprouts, and even you recoiled. you placed it down in front of him, letting your hand linger on his back. “i’m no dietician,” you said quietly. “but i tried to substitute as much as i could.”

“thank you,” he said through clenched teeth, fucker.

you were quaint with your serving, taking enough for your fill, and sat down swiftly. conversation grew between all of the men, your brother included, and you ate in silence. you had done more thinking about your situation with your ex, and recoiled with a sickening feeling in your stomach. lando watched from the corner of his eye, noticing how little you touched your fork with your lips and spun your spoon amongst the rice.

he knew he said tribulating words. taunted you. teased you. but he did not mean for it to stretch as far as it had. you were twiddling with the accessories on your wrists, barely saying a word the entire meal, and he felt that it was his fault. you’d only gone as far enough to tease him with a full fish basking over an open flame on the stove.

it wasn’t shameful when he was devouring the meal you had cooked. despite the repugnant smell of fish lingering in the air, your food was…divine. he wasn’t all that surprised, but it was a nice treat to end one of the first full days.

but the most courageous ideas filled his head. he kept looking at you, staring, out of the corner of his eye. you were entirely blue with your melancholy, and he resented the soured expression upon your beautiful face. he took it as his own responsibility to relieve you of your worries. your anxieties. insecurities. as it was his fault that they emerged.

it didn’t take long before beneath the table, lando’s hand wandered. he began with a soft graze of your knee which had you sitting up straight, white skirt you dressed in before remaking its appearance around your hips.

you turned your head to face him, eyes flaring with wonder of just what the fuck he was doing. but his expression stayed nonchalant, undeterred from his conversation with your brother. you decided that you should play the same game, sliding into the roll of uncaring of his soft touches.

though it was much easier said than done.

his fingers were daunting. restless. he took a break to sip his water with his opposite hand, divulging into deeper conversation as his hand trailed higher. it was then that he spread his palm wide over the span of your thigh, bare, pinching at the skin. you leaned over the table, leaning your head into your palms that were supported by your elbows upon the table.

you sighed, your other leg jumping up and down. you attempted to listen to whatever they were talking about– football, instagram, the races– but you couldn’t tune in for long. not when he tugged the fabric of your skirt to the side, and let his pinky dance across your folds. fuck.

attempting to muffle your struggle, you brought your glass to your lips, sipping in promptitude. you leaned back, tucking your chair as far as you could against the table. it finally caught lando’s attention, briefly, when he gave you a once over with a cheeky smile. max caught the action, raising a brow at you, but you simply swallowed down your drink and crossed your hands over your lap.

your lap, that so happened to house lando’s hand between your thighs. your cunt was clothed by your panties, but you could still feel the pressure of his finger lodging against your slit.

you wrapped your hand around his wrist, gripping tight with the desire for him to stop, but he would do no such thing. he went as far as using his ring finger to stroke the cotton of your underwear, grazing over your clit as if it were nothing. he circled around your tender bundle of nerves, refusing to leave it alone.

your second hand came to wrap around his wrist, higher up on his forearm, pleading indefinitely to halt his movements. your thighs clenched impossibly tight around his hand, suffocating him, but it didn’t stop him. it only had him steadfast in his pursuit– to get you to come at this dinner table.

with your force against his forearm, you were sure to leave bruises of your fingertips in your wake. but you didn’t care. through your tension, he could feel your pleasure. he knew that you would writhe, squirm, but you couldn’t. not here.

you found yourself trembling. your grip around his wrist softened, lip caught between your top set of teeth. you were lucky that the tablecloth was acting as a barrier between any wandering eyes–though, shamefully, that was the last thing on your mind.

but right now, you felt yourself coming to a clearing. a light at the end of the tunnel in the name of your orgasm. shit.

it took only one quick glance around the room to see that everyone was done with their meals. with empty plates, they were awaiting more. and more you shall give, best to get up rather than submit to lando’s toilsome teasing. you couldn’t give him this pleasure. not when he toyed with you, refused to admit to any truths that might belittle his feelings.

you finally shoved his hand away. it took all the might you had, and it even had his head shifting in your direction. you stood, and he immediately tugged the hem of your skirt down beneath the table cloth. if anyone noticed, they didn’t say a word.

“dessert, anyone?”

there was a small rally of cheers, and you smiled. it was the only thing that could get your mind off of lando’s hand between your legs. the flushed expression you wore didn’t wane until you were alone in the kitchen.

it was ice cream that was for dessert, and that would be enough. you put out some toppings for them to choose from, and returned with the platter. you set it toward the center of the table, and the pickings were gone instantly. everyone had their own serving, side bowl, ready to go.

but lando waited for you to settle back in before he grabbed a pint of vanilla. he nudged the ice cream scooper towards your direction, a silent indication that had him asking if he could serve yours. you simply nodded, even though your cunt burned with the phantom touch of his fingers. he did that to you in no way another man could. leave you wanting more. sex with your ex boyfriend had been a joke. you never came. ever. you only did when it was at your own hand, your own touch. but with lando…

lando on that balcony, dressed in the pale moonlight. you, his angel, glowing halo of energy illuminating your face, unraveled before him. he doesn’t think he’s ever met such a woman receptive to his touch. he’s fucked girls before, too many for max’s taste–hence his displeasure– but they weren’t like you. they didn’t squirm, whimper, in his hold. they’d moan like they were being televised, recorded, ready to be on a screen play.

you were natural. beautiful. incapable of being anyone but yourself. he admired you for such bravery, commending you silently through the cosmic planes. though you could not hear the words from him, you felt a warmth coming from his direction despite the cold treat being scooped into the dish in front of you.

he gave you more than enough and smiled. a real one, you caught. it was a break from the humidity, a breeze that was most welcomed upon your skin. fuck. you were supposed to be mad at him, weren’t you? weren't you supposed to plot your volatile revenge for him touching you?

you were.

when he settled beside you with his own serving, you were quick to shuffle a bit closer to him. the chair scooted across the floor, a vibration felt beneath his own, and he bristled. what were you up to? you appeared to be happier, a bit less caught up in your own head, and that he could be grateful for. you even engaged in a few conversations with max’s friends.

they were lovely chaps, truly, but they were his friends. not yours.

lando was just about to respond to a question that max had asked him, but he coughed on his ice cream, the feeling of your fingertips darting across his crotch taking a huge galavanting surprise out of him. he didn’t know that you had such austerity within you, but it was a welcome discovery.

but your skillfulness was not.

the outline of his cock beneath his shorts was obvious. you felt the light curve, the tip, the base all beneath your palm. it was an empowering sensation, hidden beneath the table cloth, and lando had to outstretch both of his hands to steady himself.

“y’alright, mate?” max asked when lando coughed. the british driver nodded beside you, leaning forward.

“yeah. fine. carry on?” max repeated his question for lando. before he was about to answer for a second time, your hand curled around the base of his cock, feeling full in your palm. your thumb brushed against his tip, smiling to yourself when you felt a light wet patch against your finger.

he sucked in a tight breath, but answered max with a strained voice. he clenched his jaw tight and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. you knew you were riling him, and it was paying off to see him flustered.

you continued your stroking motion discreetly beneath the table. the excitement of being caught was perhaps too thrilling, and the presence of your hand against his cock only excited you further. he was big. that was enough for you to be floored. your guesses as a edgy teenage girl were correct, and the woman inside of you purred at the idea of him inside of you.

little did you know, he thought the same. when his fingers were lodged inside your hot folds, your deathly tight grip clamping around him, he knew that he had to have you. he knew it years ago, too, but just how pretty you were atop of him…how receptive you were to his touch– it was a pillar of pleasure that continued to build and build, until it will ultimately fall.

until it will fall, and he is deep inside of you. with the outline of his cock embedded in your lower belly he would feel satisfied, with his cum dripping from your cunt, he could find a peace from this torturous lust that overtook every fucking part of his mind. he needed you. carnally. in whatever fashion labeled him as a barbarian, he would hunt you down if that is what you wanted.

and maybe you did.

you wanted him to chase you. to fight for you. to appease the teenage girl inside of you that yearned for his affections, his oblivious attentions. you felt that you deserved it for all the work you put in through your teendom. the boys you rejected. the time you gave up to attend his races.

was that such a bad thing to be wanted? to be wanted above all, by the man of your wonderlike dreams? but was he so dreamy, then, when he glanced at you with his needy, preening eyes when you held his cock so firm in your hand?

the answer was undoubtedly yes.

you felt the pulse of his cock against your hand. it was a delectable vibration that beat for you of all people. you felt more than divine prowess gripping his length, such a dirty, lewd, action beneath the table. and none of them knew what you had been doing. how you were affecting him. it was a secret wasn’t it?

the catalyst for your movements was about to be thwarted when he readjusted his hips in the chair, bucking fiercely against your touch, your hold on his dick.

conversations around you began to dull down to a minimum. the night was ending, and he felt himself rearing a release. but he couldn’t. not here. fuck. he gripped on your hand beneath the table, shivering, shaking, as he pleaded you with his eyes. they were wide drawn, glossed with a desperation that you needed permanently in your life. it was a face you wouldn’t forget. ever. how he yearned to cum in your hand, but it wasn’t the right time. when would be the right time?

“since you made dinner,” max began, letting out a grueling burp, “i say we lot ‘ought to tidy up, shall we?” the boys nodded and hummed amongst each other in agreement. they made quick pace clearing the table, and this was lando’s excuse to rip himself free of your devilish hand. though he wanted nothing more than to cum with your sleek fingertips, he had to be nonchalant about it all.

he cleared his throat when he stood, feigning a quietness that felt unusual, but no one said a word. you smiled to yourself, pulling your hand away back to your lap. it was damp from his precum, sordid with an urge to pop a finger or two into your mouth. and you did. pretending to clean yourself from any residue of icecream, you licked your fingers clean.

lando stared. unable to take his eyes off of you. he lingered with his hand around your bowl and plate, his breath hitching in his throat. devil woman, he thought.

when the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher and the fragile ones laid out to dry, you finally stood. you arched your back, stretching your limbs, but felt cold on your cunt. it was the air conditioning that cooled you, reminding you that he was the one to tease you first beneath the table.

your brother bid you goodnight with a kiss to your cheek, whilst the others thanked you sincerely for the meal. you were grateful to receive such gratitude, but it wasn’t from the man you wanted it the most.

tucking your chair into the table, you made your way into the grand kitchen. with its tiled walls, marbled kitchen island, lando stood at the epicenter. with a towel in his hand, drying the last few of the dishes, he watched you saunter in.

his tongue poked at the inner corner of his cheek with a clenched jaw. boy, did he have words for you. you and your actions. how you ruined him at the dinner table whilst talking to your brother of all people. it was like you wanted them to see–

when you joined him side by side, the pair of you said nothing for a moment. but the moment when lando scanned the room front to back, he dropped the towel and grabbed onto you.

he spun you around so your front pushed against the kitchen aisle, your back arching against the palm of his hand. his second went around the front of your throat, pulling your head up to his own.

“that what you wanted?” he growled into your ear, trembling with his edged orgasm teetering on the tailend of a massacre. “hmm? tell me, baby.”

you were at a loss of words, dizzied from the grip around your throat. you wished that he would leave bruises.

then he bent you over the counter, the cool surface eliciting a gasp from deep within you. his hand flexed over your back, scaling your spine.

“being a fucking tease…”

“you started it.” you retaliated with a childlike immaturity.

lando chuckled as his crotch came flush against your cunt. your wet, dampening cunt by the second. the hand that had been latched to your throat moved to your skirt, toying with the fabric. he scoffed, feeling the wetness of your panties. “bet you’re still wet anyways.”

you were.

your face flushed.

“dirty fucking girl.” he said quietly, a comment to himself, but loud enough for you to hear. you swayed your hips against his, desperate for a flickering sensation of friction.

“ah ah,” he tsked, landing a slap to your ass. the sound ricocheted through the echoing kitchen. “think you deserve it after tonight?”

you mewled in response, your cheek freezing against the countertop. the heat from your asscheek was enough to satisfy you for the moment, your thighs clenching together. he ogled, head twisting in a fashion that was revered with lust.

with a fist he made a makeshift ponytail of your hair, pulling your head back against his chest. “hmm?”

“no.”

“no?” he’d repeat. you nodded your head, submitting to him without question. he was peeved that you didn’t fight back, but would take your submission with earnestness. but you had other plans brewing inside your head. ones that you knew would drive him up the fucking wall.

but that would come later. for now, you let your head fall backward onto his shoulder, and looked up at him. “let me fix it…”

your whimpering had his eye twitching, lip curling, arms flexing. it was a gut reaction to how soft your voice had become, how eager he knew you were.

his hold on you loosened, and you took this as your opportunity to spin around and drop to your knees in front of him. you couldn’t help but gape at his thundering cock beneath his shorts, salivating at just the thought of him filling your mouth.

but he said nothing else, stunned in his place; how could he not be when you regarded him with ardor, quivering hands?

“please…” you said, your cheek coming to nuzzle against his thigh, one hand gripping the back of his calf. he couldn’t reject you like this. not when he wanted you so dearly.

a hand came to run through your hair atop your head. an nonverbal, encouraging pet. you hummed, making quick work of lowering his shorts, his briefs, and his cock sprung free with vitality. it was red hot, pulsating with blood, beating a bright scarlet for you. it glistened with his own slick for you.

“go on, love,” he was breathless. “you can take it, can’t you?”

you nodded furiously, a whine leaving your lips. with your determined fingers, you wrapped them around his base, pumping your hand back and forth. it didn’t take much before he was leaking over your palm, and you let your lips swirl around his tip.

his head fell back in pleasure, fingers tightening his grip in your hair. with his empty hand, he gripped the island to support his weight from toppling upon you.

he was both sweet and salty, a sensation you’ve never tasted before. you continued your relentless pursuit on his tip until he was wrought with desperation, and let his hips buck forward until he was half way down your throat.

you groaned in protest, your eyes watering with tears, but took him like the good girl you were. he wanted you, and you wanted him. you could ask for nothing more.

“just like that, baby–” he stuttered out, voice cracking when you took him whole down your throat. you breathed through your nose. “fuck,” he cursed, your lips puckering, even stimulating him with the top ridges of your teeth. he let out a deep moan.

“perfect,” he commented, but you thought you misheard him for a moment. “you’re perfect.”

it persuaded you further–not like much was needed– and sped up your pace. faster and faster you went, guzzling him perfectly. with your other hand that gripped his calf, calm to knead at his balls. that was the moment he faltered, unable to withstand your feverish tongue. he had to bite back his own groans of pleasure.

“where?” he demanded of you. you paused, but didn’t take long for your answer. he was holding himself back as much he could, his hips bucking down the hot cavern of your throat, but you didn’t relent. my mouth, your actions screamed, and he didn’t think twice.

before you knew it your mouth was loaded with his cum, hot rods of delectable nectar from him. you were pleased, more than satisfied, that you made him cum in just a matter of minutes.

he pulled himself out of you, letting you breathe. you swallowed, not finding him distasteful, and even showed him your bare tongue. he was panting, attempting his best to catch his breath, but managed a coarse chuckle.

you gave his flaccid cock a singular kiss before you rose to your feet, bringing his shorts and briefs up with you. he adjusted himself before launching his lips on your own. the remnants of him were prominent on your tastebuds as he swirled his tongue into your mouth. you allowed his strength, making a sound from your throat.

“taste like me,” he commented against your lips. you beam.

“must’ve been good, then?” you knew it was. but you wanted to hear it from him.

he snickered. “guess so.”

you slapped his chest before breaking your kiss. you glanced up at him one more time before placing a kiss on his cheek, escaping his grasp. he held onto your hand, though, wondering just where you were going. not when he didn’t have you cumming on his tongue.

“it’s past my bedtime,” you remarked, raising your brows. his own scrunched. “what?”

“let me–”

you shushed him.

“on the house.”

you were gone before he could respond, skipping up the steps, ready to set your plan in motion. he didn’t know what was coming, not yet, but he surely would once you closed the door to your room, and stripped of your clothes.

you left him there pondering. he was entirely at a loss— you skirting away with ease, high tail with that lacey material– and vanished without another word. it had lando breathing heavily, hands running through his hair. shit, he thought, this was bad.

in the bathroom of your suite, you twisted the shower on. whilst waiting for it to heat up, you turned your attention towards the open shaft windows that you could prop open. your room is next to mine, lando’s words rang through your head. okay, you thought, game on, right?

you made sure the windows were open at a respectable distance, praying that his own would be too. he liked the cool breeze from the night, pray tell from his times of sleeping in max’s room in your childhood home.

glancing at yourself in the mirror once, you were betting on this to work. to truly grab his attention, whilst also awarding yourself a release you’d been craving since his fingertips caressed your knee.

into the shower you went, tilting your head back and letting the waterfall drench your scalp. it was relaxing, more than you anticipated, and your mind was able to wander to other things. like his hands. his toned, muscular arms. his neck, built intensely with strength that you’ve never seen before. in certain lights, especially beneath the italian sun, it bulged outward. you wondered what it’d feel like between your thighs. your fingers wandered along your soaked skin, breasts reacting to your touch, taut beneath your palms.

lando had just shut the door to his room, shaking off the sweat that dribbled down his forehead. and his windows were open— the curtains swaying back and forth— and he heard your call.

at first, the british driver thought that he was hallucinating. that he was hearing things from losing it. but there was no denying that it was your sweet siren serenading through the air, wafting against the mediterranean winds.

a moan had been pulled from you by your own hand. your head flat against the tiles of the shower wall, you twisted until your cheek was firm against the siding. one hand came to rest on the base of your throat, gripping for comfort, while the other trailed downward to your navel, priming at your folds.

you were swollen hot, but never to the same degree you were on his lap just the previous night.

it was enough, though, for you to rub against your clit the way you knew your body best. a delicious combination of whimpers and moans trembling through the air.

lando was brought to his fantasies, unbelieving that they were coming alive before him. he leaned against the windows from his room, hand clenching tight around the ledge, and listened to your whining calls, urging him, tempting him, to knock down your fucking door and fuck you like you wanted him.

a finger slid easily inside of you. with both stimulation to your clit and your sensitive nerves inside of you, it was heaven. the hot water combined with your punitive thoughts, tracing back to lando, aroused you to a degree unfathomable to any pleasure you’ve ever felt. besides his fingers, that is.

lando couldn’t resist. his own cock was blistering with heat, again, in just the span of ten minutes. you had just been on his knees for him. now, here you were, a siren within the night, taking him under your bewitching.

and spellcasted he was.

with his dick in his hands, he was dripping. your sounds became louder, prominent, for his open window. and he absorbed every droplet you gave him, a man dehydrated of the world’s most sweet nectar. he was greedy, selfish even, and knew then that he had to be yours. he didn’t give a fuck what max said, thought, cared about this moment. it would belong to him and him alone— your saccharine temper.

he could imagine you there, thinking about just how desperate he was. how you knew what you were doing to him. how he unfolded before your voice.

you were.

you thought of his face. how it contorted with pleasure while you sucked him off. you’d remember the sounds he made— whimpers of desperate, wicked nature— that had you curling your finger inside of you, even becoming so bold as to add a second. it should be criminal to think of your brother’s best friend this way, but that thought came and went just as the tides changed.

lando fisted his cock with the thought of you wrapped around him. hand draped across the ledge of the windowsill, he writhed and seethed from his own daring thoughts of you. your skirt, your pretty eyes, your wondrous nature. he was awed by you, but wanted to damn you to ruin with his touch. it pursued him further, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long.

surely he wouldn’t, not when he heard his name carry through the air. his name rolling off your tongue. his name in the form of a whimper.

“lando,” you breathed, loud enough to surpass the stream of the water. and your stomach coiled, reaching an orgasm before you could count to three.

lando had, too, spurring loads of his come into his empty hand. it wasn’t an elegant movement— rather messy and untamed— but that’s how it was when it came to you, wasn’t it? nothing was going to be easy about this relationship he conjured up in his head, but for you, though it’d be worthwhile.

you went to bed that night with a sleep full of your wildest, fanatical dreams that included lando. whereas he tossed and turned, unable to believe that the girl he knew in his childhood had him wrought with lust.

the morning that followed was a quiet one. you and the rest of the vacation group of boys were headed out to one of italy’s finest beaches, chartered there by a small boat. you had opted for one of your best bathing suits and cover up pieces, looking outright chic.

when you arrived at the beach, you stuck closely to max’s side. the entire ride, lando had been stealing glances from you, shifting awkwardly in his seat. you had your answer from your plan the previous night. he heard you.

good, you thought, crossing your legs over one another. serves him right.

you’d lay out your towel on the white sand. your brother joined you, laying down a few feet from you along with some of his buddies. lando kept his distance, knowing too fucking well that’d he’d pull some feral shit in front of you and your brother.

some of the others opted for surfing. with their boards ready from the rental shack, they were catching waves with ease. you watched from your upright position, lathering yourself in spf.

“what’dya think of chris?” your brother asked you. you turned your head, wondering what he was implying. chris was one of his good-natured, all classic, sweet boy friends. you’d known him for a good majority of your life, but never…really thought of him.

“he’s a good guy.”

lando was sitting up now. listening.

“well,” max shrugged, taking your nonchalant answer with grace. “asked me if it was okay to give him your number. think he fancies you.”

your expression dropped. chris fancied you? in what universe could he, when he couldn’t even manage a conversation with you. you weren’t even sure he could ever muster the courage to look you in the eye, for that matter.

“and…what did you say?”

max looked at you with his sunglasses on. you saw your reflection in them.

“think it’s fine. ‘e’s a good lad. nice. well-mannered.” he emphasized his last point. was that a jab at your previous boyfriends? “besides…i wanna see you happy.”

it was touching, truly, that your brother cared for you on such a protective level, but you didn’t need him meddling with your romantic life. not when the man who consumed your sexual thoughts sat a few bodies next to you.

your eyes drifted to find lando’s. he was already glaring, sending sharp daggers your direction. he heard it all, and was about to combust with jealousy. you could see it. you’d use it.

“maybe.” you brushed it off, but found chris in the waters. he was just coming out from the sea, and you thought this was your perfect opportunity.

you jumped to your feet, sunglasses on, and tore your cover up from your body. you didn’t look back to know what lando’s expression was— worshiping.

chris’ head popped up when he saw you approaching him. he shifted a bit, as if he were preening his feathers.

“catch any good ones?” you asked, your feet touching the water. chris cleared his throat.

“some,” he gestured to the large waves. “current is strong today.”

you edged further into the water until your knees were covered.

“you looked good out there, at least i think so.” you managed a smile, not entirely opposed to his company. your brother had been right. he is a nice lad. you should at least build a friendship with him, shouldn’t you?

“really?” he was shocked. “you were watching?”

you nodded with a hum, and continued further out into the blue waters. chris took this as an invitation and dropped his board high up on the sand and followed you in. he wasn’t as built as lando was, but you shouldn’t even be making the comparisons.

you stopped when the water was just beneath your breasts. water seeped in through your top, and you noticed that chris’ eyes caught on the fabric. typical.

“what do you do for work, then? are you a student?” you managed a brief conversation with him. chris met you at your side.

“business student in scotland,” he confirmed, but he wasn’t all cocky about it. you thought that he’d boast, but he didn’t. “yourself?”

you told him your plans. he was impressed that you’d accomplished so much at your age.

and your conversation with him went on, but not without the darkness of lando’s envy over your shoulder. you’d taken a few glances over chris’ shoulder to see his reddened expression, watching the pair of you share a few laughs.

he wanted this day to be fucking over. he wanted you in his bed. and he would have it one way or another— whatever it takes.

arriving back to the villa that evening, your brother and his friends wanted to go out clubbing. it was around 8pm and the sun was beginning to set, though you didn’t feel like a night out. the sun had gotten to you, and you were rather tired.

“you’re sure you don’t wanna go?” max asked you in the foyer, waiting for the rest of his band to go along.

“i’m sure. besides, i could use a night in.” your brother respected your choice and didn’t push you further. before he left with his friends, he did turn and leave you with one comment.

“lando’s here, too, in case you need anything.”

and then he was gone, tailending with chris flashing you a smile.

shit.

shit, shit, shit. you knew you were in for it now. there was no way that you’d escape lando for the evening, unsure how he caught notice that you’d be staying in for the night.

when the door shut and the house was empty, you raced up to your room. you’d worn a floor length slip dress when you’d gotten home, but wanted to change and lock yourself in for the rest of the night. but your situation changed drastically when you reached the first step, and saw lando leaning against the staircase from the top.

“just you and me, yeah?”

you gulped, taking a few steps back. he looked furious yet unbothered at the same time.

“what to do, what to do…” he began to saunter down the steps when you moved back. “in this big, empty house…?”

he trailed after you all the way until you were on the balcony. he slipped out from the sliding door, watching as you were frantically nervous in his presence. you had no idea what he was thinking, watching you all day flirt with chris.

your back was against the stone balustrade, hands spread wide to support yourself. your heart was racing, but you wouldn’t let him see that. wouldn’t show him the effect he had.

lando wore a black ln4 shirt from his collection, along with tan sweatpants. it was an understatement to say he didn’t look fucking good.

he donned a cocky smirk as he closed the distance between the two of you, leaning into your space. you felt his breath on your cheek.

“he’s a good lad, innhe?”

you met his eye— his blue, green eyes that were swarmed with a darkness you didn’t believe him capable of.

“he’s nice.” you said, referring to chris. because he was. he was respectful.

“‘he’s nice.’” lando mocked, scoffing. he turned his head to the side to look over your shoulder to the coastline that surrounded the villa.

“yes, he’s nice.” you bit back, brows furrowing. “more than i can say for you.”

lando’s expression froze, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. his jaw tightened as he processed your words, foot tapping against the stone.

“yeah? you don’t think i’m good to you?”

whatever this was…you loved it. you craved him. needed him. there was a zing of electricity that ran down your spine, electrifying your cunt. your thighs tightened together and you shrugged, playing him off the best that you could.

he tsked, tilting your chin to meet his eyes with his index finger. “we’ll see.”

and then his lips were on yours. ravaging. starving. he was a man that has been deprived of you for far too long— twenty four hours— without your touch. it was maddening the way he was obsessed with you. how you infested every corner of his mind. you, you, and more you.

you succumbed to his kiss with ease, your tongues battling between one another. he tasted of espresso, whereas you tasted of the apple liquor from the boat.

he won, ultimately, a hand coming to wrap around the back of your neck. your own latched to his shoulders, another going for his hair. you tugged on the strands, eliciting a groan from him that you wished to hear over and over, time and time again. you were sure that you would, not daring to ever let him go. you had him surrounded.

his tongue lathered over yours, dripping saliva down your chin. it was messy, intangibly so, but you’d have him no other way. you wanted him like this, uncontrolled, pining, for your affections. you had him in the place you wanted, and he had more in store for you.

he broke the kiss with a string of saliva connecting the pair of you. your eyes heavy with desire, his own mirroring the same. his kisses traveled to your jaw, your throat— but he sucked feverishly against the skin, surely to leave bruises. you gasped when you felt his teeth puncture through the top layer of your skin. “marks—”

you reminded him, but he didn’t care.

“fuck what they think.”

you melted where you stood. his hand came to wrap around your lower back, angling your hips to brush against his. he was already hard, you could feel it, but you were sure that you were dribbling too.

his relentless pursuit of your neck didn’t end there. when he met the fabric of your dress, he pulled the straps down with ease, your breasts falling free. he ogled at your mounds, saliva dripping from his chin. it was, perhaps, the hottest sight you’ve ever seen. not the waterfalls of france, not the cascades of lake como— but this, right here— lando norris drooling on your chest.

“what would you do with ‘nice’?” he mumbled into your skin, attacking one of your perked nipples with his tongue. you gasped, biting your lip to retain a moan.

“he could treat me well,” you seethed through clenched teeth, gripping the strands of his brunette curls. you felt him vibrate with a hum.

“you’d eat him alive.” he chuckled, switching to your other nipple that was blistering with heat. your entire body radiated like the sun, but did no good beneath the moonlight. “what would he do—” a nip of his teeth against your nipple, you jolted, hips bucking forward with an anxious pension for friction. “with all of this?”

you were at a loss for words, drowning in his sweetness.

“let it go to waste…” lando dropped to his knees with a hand still firm on your back, the other raising the hem of your dress. he tsked, cheek flattening out against your thighs. he separated them with the strength of his neck, looking up at you from the bundled fabric. “a shame.”

you agreed mercilessly, nodding your head with a whimper. it elicited a laugh from him.

with a singular finger he pulled down your panties. the cotton was thin, as if you knew this would happen. they slid down your legs and you kicked them away.

your hand was still threaded at the base of his neck, continuing to tug at his strands. it’s how you told him you needed him, but that wouldn’t be enough. not for lando.

“what do you want?” he asked, looking up at you from his seated position, face wedged between your legs. you gaped at him, breathless and flushed.

“your mouth—” you pant, but before you could finish he licked a long stripe down your folds. “god, fuck—”

“not god,” lando corrected. “just me, baby.”

“lando, lando…!” you whined, back arching for a better angle for him to reach. he responded, humming against your clit, sending throttling vibrations up your navel. he was so fucking good. how? how could a man treat you in such a way?

finding your writhing adorable, he finally let his tongue swipe past your entrance. the sensation was indescribable, but you knew that you needed more. and more he was willing to give, burying his face into your cunt.

your honeyed cunt that he was addicted to. he knew you’d taste like heaven, but this was all the more holy than he could fathom.

with his face buried inside of you, you were sure to see stars. here, beneath the moonlight of the italian villa, you were ethereal. he could steal glances up at you. your contorting face, toiling with passion. passion that he drank from the source, sucking you dry.

his nose applied pressure to your clit— the perfect combination— and you knew that you weren’t going to last long. not with his jean paul scent invaded your senses, his thick hands cupping you so perfectly. one hand kneaded at the flesh of your thigh, the other swirling circles on your lower back. it was perfect. he’s perfect.

“please, please,” you didn’t know what you were begging for.

lando hummed, feeling your cunt clench around his tongue. he curled inside of you, teetering you upon your edge, and you were just about to let loose when he pulled his head away, leaving you trembling.

he stood with ease, as if he wasn’t just devouring you, and you reached out for his hand. you were about to reach the peak of a mind blowing orgasm, but he denied you. with your hand wrapped around his, he knew how this would end. his lips came to your ear.

“you were right,” he huffed. you felt his retentive anger. “don’t know if i’m nice.”

he tugged you along through the house, hand upon your back steading your shaking stance. too impatient to help you up the steps, he swooped you into his arms bridal style. you gasped with a giggle, reflexive from his actions, and he burst open the door to his room with his shoulder.

he dropped you onto his bed, ripping off his shirt in the process you propped yourself up on your elbows, gaping clearly at his tanned, toned skin. he smirked down at you, coming to hover above, and stripped the dress clean from your body. before him, you were bare, naked, more exposed than you've ever been with your brother’s best friend.

you went to cover your chest, clamp your thighs shut, but lando refused. he trapped your wrists above your head, knee coming to separate your legs. you wiggled your hips hopelessly for friction, still wading heavy on your lost orgasm, but he didn’t let you graze his thigh.

“you’re being mean,” you whined, attempting to twist out of his hold. but you didn’t prevail.

lando’s lips met yours with a kiss of depravity. he pulled away, but you chased him, your head leveraging from the bed.

“am i?”

one hand left the hold on your wrists to touch your cunt. you were dripping down your thighs. he brought his fingers to his lips, wiping them clean.

“think you like it, love.”

you hissed when he took his hand from you, but relaxed when he kneaded one of your breasts. he was in utter reverence of your body, your beauty. you eclipsed all things that shined bright in his life, you becoming the epicenter.

his pants were off in the next second, thrown to the corner of his room. his briefs, too, and his cock danced freely from its entrapment. your mouth watered.

“this what you need?” his tip teased your entrance. your eyes rolled back into your head with a frenzied nod. “yeah? think you can take it?”

“yes, yes! i can, i can, please lando…” your hand latched around the back of his neck, the other to his shoulder.

it didn’t take him much convincing to surge forward, agonizingly slow, until he has inside of you. you choked on your breath, the air ripped right from you lungs with how he stretched you. it was alike no pleasure you’ve felt— his fingers, his tongue, all works of mastery— but you feared that nothing could compare to this. not when his hand around your breasts drop to your cunt, rubbing voracious circles against your clit.

he let you adjust, waiting until you shook your hips from side to side, and bottomed out. it was surreal how you ended up here. but you wouldn’t go back. not for a second. not when his dick inside of you ripped through you with such passion, such love, you were inclined to imagine.

lando’s own breaths were wild. erratic. he had to halt himself from slamming inside of you, your tightening, wet walls gleaning him of any morals he had come into this villa with.

“move,” you urged him, breaking him free of this torment. his eyes flared wide. “need you to move.”

need

such an all encompassing word that would drive him mad.

he listened to you without hesitation. his hips slapping in and out of you with a heavy, dangerous pace, he never wanted this moment to end. it would feel like this every time he fucked you— the first, starstruck time— and that would be enough for him to lay to rest in an early grave.

both of you were a mess of moans, sounds of skin on skin echoing through his bedroom. the moonlight casted a white haze upon the pair of you, your eyes shimmering in the reflection. he was lost in it, in you, how seraphic you’d become in just the few days he’d been around you. how undone he became. he was a lost cause the minute you made a jest to him at the dinner table.

his chest lowered to yours for a better, sweeter, angle and it had you screaming. your nails cut through his back, leaving reddened scratches against his tanned, freckled skin. he loved it. it had his pace quickening, and his hand working harder at your clit. you were close, he could feel it.

feeling the way you began to tighten around him, how you became barely lucid beneath him. “so good,” you mewled, finding no other words but to praise him.

“nothing compares,” he groaned, his head falling into the crook of your neck. “you’ll be mine then, yeah?”

your heart surged in your chest, but your breathing remained the same. you were too fucked out to truly resonate the meaning behind his words.

“yours, yours,” you repeated over and over until you were sent over the edge. you screamed his name, cutting through the air, cutting through him. he was left a sopping mess with his quivering hips, sloppy pace. you knew he was going to cum, too, when his teeth grinded together, and he let out a guttural moan. it churned your insides, swishing your heart through.

he came inside of you. you felt it, the heat from his cock. but he made no effort to move. you didn’t want him to.

the pair of you laid atop one another in his dark room. panting. catching your breaths. in unison your hearts would align. sweaty bodies melting against each other.

his head was buried deep into your neck, breathing you in. you soothed him, just as much as you riled him to no end.

“did you mean it?” you asked, voice hoarse.

lando hummed.

“about us.”

you felt his teeth break into a smile against your skin. he raised his head to look at you. “i did.” your breath caught in your throat. “don’t give a shit what max’ll say. we’ll figure it out, won’t we?”

you nodded in agreement. your brother would simply have to deal with this. he’d get over it in time, you’re sure, and it would be the best for both of you. no longer would you yearn at a distance for a man you thought didn’t spare you a second glance. no longer would you dream of this moment materializing before you. it had become a reality, and there was nothing more that you could be grateful for.

he wanted you. lando wanted you. and you wanted him the same. it was one of the first times in your life that you felt safe. comforted in a newborn relationship.

it wasn’t long before lando pulled the covers of his sheets over the two of you, holding you tight as you shifted into the shape of his body. you were a perfect fit, a missing puzzle piece that he’s been searching years for.

and now you were here, sleeping soundly in his arms.

lando had found sleep, too, his soft snores carrying through the room. you and him paid no attention to the fact you were sharing a bed. if anyone walked in, then they walked in. you were at peace, and that was enough.

sooner rather than later, the party-goers for the evening arrived home. they attempted their best to be quiet at such an odd hour, and decided to retire. max and chris went out to the balcony, however, and decided for a small chat.

but before that could even commence, chris noticed a piece of black fabric loose on the patio. he stared at it from above, brows raised.

“mate,” he called max over. he met him at his side.

“this yours?” he pointed down at it, and his face went ghastly white. no fucking way.

“motherfucker.”

tags ; @landoslutmeout @basicallyric @mybluesoul1 @toriiez @customsbyjcg-blog @sofs16@strengthandstay@mybluesoul1@f1fantasys@cmleitora @idgasb @amalialeclerc @laneyspaulding19 @staurdvst @oreosareara @sideboobrry11 @mortallyblueninja @fionamiller123 @2pagenumb @marvelfangirl04 @brune77e @allabouthappiness @tellybearryyyy @ringdingdingdingx @tillyt04 @danywonderland @rosebud224 @simpfortoomanymen @nataliambc @forcesensitivesoulmate @sweate-r-weathe-r @norlestappen @madszoca @milkandcookhot @fionamiller123 @16f1lc @jwiltsz @plotpal @inevesgf @theonottsbxtch

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mooooonnnzz · 5 months ago

Note

Platonic ask for gravity falls 🩷

The twins with a mother figure? Those kids are all around saving the world, someone needs to seriously worry about them and make a little fuss lol maybe the mother figure is Stanley or Stanford new wife? I just imagine the twins coming back next summer and boom new mother/aunt

Heartbreak, Heartbreak

Stanford x Reader / Dipper & Mable x Mother!Reader

✦ your stanfords wife whaatt?!

✦ i feel like this is one of my weaker works, i apologize

✦ 2,5k words

✦ fem reader

✦ gulp i hope i did ur request justice 😭

✦ mable goes "stop fighting!!" at some point

✦ requests r still deliciously open

꣑୧ Coming back to Gravity Falls was a dream come true for the twins. What they weren’t expecting was to see their Great Uncle Ford walk in the Mystery Shack hand in hand with you. Mable was the first to bombard you Grunkle with questions; which stemmed from “Oh my god, when did you guys meet?” to “Oh my god, oh my god, am I going to have Great Cousins? That sounds weird, doesn’t it?” Ford had to calm her down before she got too rowdy with their questions and overwhelm you.

꣑୧ Once Mable was calm enough to sit down in the same room with you, without bursting in her seat with excitement, was when Ford broke the news. “Mable, Dipper. This is my wife,” He said, wrapping his arms around you, his hand moving up and down your arm in a soothing manner. You introduced yourself to the twins who were more than happy to meet you.

꣑୧ “Did our Grunkle by some chance, manage to hypnotize you into dating him with a book?” Dipper asked with an analyzing stare. His lips were puckered, pointer finger and thumb on his chin, tapping it curiously. Not expecting a question as absurd as that, you let out a laugh. Shaking your head, you smiled at Dipper. “Not at all,” You respond, taking Ford’s hand with yours, intertwining your fingers together. “He just won me over with his nerdy charm.” You say, your eyes locked on Ford. A rush of blood swarmed Ford’s cheeks. A chorus of groans echoed in the shack. Stan appears behind the kids, resting his arms on the top of their chairs. “See, kids,” He motions over to you and Ford with a swipe of his hand. “This is what I had to deal with while you guys were gone.” With a sympathetic look, Mable rested her hand on his arm, shaking her head sorrowfully. “I’m so sorry, Grunkle Stan.”

꣑୧ After the initial shock wore off, Dipper and Mable began to grew skeptical of you. What if you were one of Bill’s goons disguising yourself as a human? And your goal was to take down their Grunkles and start Weirdmageddon 2?! Rushing up to their room in the attic, they pulled out their trusty 8-ball, the one they used the first day they arrived at Gravity Falls and when they were unsure if they were safe to stay with Grunkle Stan. They both sat down on the floor, 8-ball in Dipper’s hand. “Okay, magic 8-ball!” Mable boomed loudly with a weird amalgamation of a British and French accent. “Mable, keep it down.” Dipper shushed. “Oops,” Mable giggled. “Okay, magic 8-ball,” She whispered, her head uncomfortably close to the 8-ball. “Is Grunkle Ford’s wife evil?” With a rapid shake, Dipper and Mable peered into the ball. A pyramid accompanied with words appeared. “Don’t count on it.” The twins read out loud. “Huh…” Mable slowly nodded her head, eyes squinted in thought. “Well,” Dipper tossed the 8-ball behind him. “The magic 8-ball never lies.”

꣑୧ Getting along with the twins wasn’t hard. All you had to do was grab your car keys from your purse, jingle them as if they were a bell and wait. Few minutes later, you’d hear their feet stomping down the stairs and a flash of colors swarming the living room. “I heard keys jingle, I heard keys jingle!!” Mable’s eyes darted around the room in search of the keys and when her eyes landed on you, her eyes sparkled with joy and anticipation. “Are you taking us somewhere, Great Aunt [Name]?” You smiled, spinning the keys around your finger. “Depends,” You pretended to think for a moment, just to keep them on their toes. “Where would you guys like to go?” A laugh escapes you as Dipper and Mable attack you with where they want to go. “Alright, let me tell your Grunkle that I’m taking you guys out.” Digging through your purse, you fish out your phone. You turned it on and went to your contacts. With a tap, you dialed his number. He picked up almost immediately. “Yes, dear?” You could hear his pencil scribbling on a piece of paper. “I’m taking Dipper and Mable out for the day.” You tell him, mouthing to the kids to get in the car. They scampered out of the living room and to the hallway. You could hear the door open and their hushed voices as they made a beeline to your car. “Okay, be safe when you’re driving and call me whenever you can, okay?” You hummed in response. “Of course, I’ll keep you updated on the kids.” You say, walking out of the shack and to your car. “I want updates on how you feel too,” You could feel the love dripping from his tone. “I will, my love.” You blow a kiss into the phone, wishing Ford goodbye. He blows one back and the call ends. Entering the car, you look behind you to see the twins all buckled up and ready for their adventure. “You guys ready?” “Yeah!”

꣑୧ “So, Dipper, what’s with those dots on your arm?” You point at the four dots on his arm with a fry. Dipper looked down to his arm. His eyebrows rise in shock. “I-I completely forgot I had these,” Dipper’s thumbs the scars, an uneasy look on his face. Your heart stops in your chest. “I’m so sorry, Dipper. I didn’t mean to make–’ Dipper’s hands raise up to his chest, waving them side to side, dismissing your concerns. He assured you that your question didn’t make him uncomfortable. “No, no! It’s just…” He rubs the back of his neck anxiously. “He got possessed by a demon!” Mable blurts out, stuffing her face with a greasy burger. “Mable!” Dipper whines. “I’m sorry! I couldn’t handle you beating around the bush any longer.” She says with a mouthful of chewed up food. You leaned yourself back in the booth, trying to assess what Mable just said. “Dipper got possessed?” You repeated in a question. “Yeah, I kinda did.” Dipper said with a slight voice crack. “Can I know how?” Disbelief was thick in your tone. You didn’t know whether to laugh or walk away in shock. They don’t look like they’re telling a joke? The way Dipper has his head slightly hung low and a tiny frown on his face proved that. But Mable seems as jolly as ever. You fight with yourself, trying to make sense of what happened when Dipper spoke up. “Have you heard of the name Bill Cipher?” Shaking your head no, the twins dove straight into a very long story pertaining to Bill Cipher and how he tormented them throughout summer last year and ultimately led to the world almost ending. “Wow,” Was all that you could mutter. You never got your question about Dipper’s scar answered that day.

꣑୧ Laying in bed, you eyes drifted over to Ford who was brushing his teeth in the bathroom. “You wanna know something crazy the twins told me earlier today?” Ford spat out the toothpaste into the sink. “What did those knuckleheads tell you?” He said, cupping his hand under the running faucet and filling his hand up with water. “It was this really crazy story,” You started. Ford nodded, dunking the water in his mouth and sloshing it around. “They told me about this interdimensional demon named Bill Cipher?--” Ford spit out the water in shock, spraying it everywhere on the mirror. You sat up in surprise. “Ford?” You pushed the blankets off of you and walked over to Ford, your hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” With a forced, “mhm,” he wiped the dripping water from his lips with his forearm. “Y-yeah, no. I’m fine.” He waved you off, nodding his head vigorously, almost as if he was convincing himself that everything was fine. “Are you sure?” Concern laced your voice. Someone who’s fine wouldn’t spit out their water like that at the mention of…Bill Cipher? That’s when it clicked for you. “You have history with this demon as well, don’t you?” Ford groaned, running his hands down his face. “Those kids can’t keep their mouths shut, can they?” He mumbled to himself, his head turning to face you. “What else did they tell you?” That night, you spent it horrified with the tales he told you regarding the past summer and his time with Bill. “And you never told me this, why?” Ford nervously pushed his glasses up, his eyes looking everywhere but you. “Because I…” He trailed off. “I don’t know,” He stops for a moment, inhaling deeply before continuing. “I didn’t want to scare you off. My past...isn’t something I could easily tell you without having a second thought.” A frown pulls to your lips. “Were you ever going to tell me?” You ask, your voice frail and quiet. “Yes?” His tone was full of uncertainty. You didn’t know what to think. One side of you wanted to be mad at him for keeping all of this from you, but on the other hand you felt sympathetic. You knew this wasn’t an easy topic to discuss normally. And you could tell it took him a lot of courage to admit a side of him that he wasn’t fully ready to reveal. But you were deeply hurt that he kept such secrets from you for a long time. And considering how he responded to your question, you weren’t even sure he was going to tell you any time soon. “What are you thinking about?” Ford’s voice ripped you out from your thoughts, grounding you back to reality. “I’m thinking about how crazy all of this is. I didn’t know. The kids went through so much at a young age. A-and you act like it was nothing, they could’ve died Ford.” Your hand rested on the side of your forehead. “You also made a deal with a demon? I…” You let out a sigh. “I don’t know, Stanford.” Ford cringed at the use of his full name. “I can go, if you’d like me to.” You raised your hand up to stop him. “No, I don’t want you to go. I just need time to process this,” You offer him a weak smile. “That’s all I need right now my love, just time.”

꣑୧ “You what?!” Mable and Dipper both screech at the same time. “Yeesh, Ford. And I thought I was a screw-up.” Stan chuckled, elbowing Mable to see if that got a rise from her. It did not. “I thought I was protecting her from all of this madness!” Ford’s elbow rested on the dining room table, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Grunkle Stan tried doing the same thing, did you see how that almost ended for us?” Dipper said. “I know, I know.” Ford weakly muttered out. “Then, why did you keep such important details away from her?” Stan argued. “Because I was trying to protect her!” Ford yelled, slamming his hands on the table. That seemed to get a rise from Stan. “Well, maybe you weren’t trying hard enough! Now, look at what you did. You fucked everything up.” He shouted. “Oh!” Ford stood up from his chair. “That’s hilarious coming from you!” Scrambling up the table, Mable slammed her foot down, gaining the attention from Ford and Stan. “Fighting isn’t going to fix things, guys.” She said, “Ford had his reasons, like how you had your reasons for hiding Grunkle Ford from us, Grunkle Stan.” Ford adjusted his sweater, sitting back down on his chair. “Now, Grunkle Ford. What did she tell you?” She asked, turning over to Ford. “She told me that she needed time.” Sitting crossed-crossed, she nodded her head intently. “That’s good, right?” In return was silence. “Right, guys?” Both Dipper and Stan agreed. “Great! Now while we wait, can we apologize to each other for acting so mean and for swearing.” She directed a look to Stan who scoffed.

꣑୧ And wait they did. After a couple of days, Ford’s phone randomly started ringing. Rushing to pick it up, he lifted his phone to see you calling him. He gulped nervously, suddenly second guessing himself. Should he pick up the phone? If he does, what if it’s you telling him that you want a divorce? Or that you need a break, or that– “Grunkle Ford!” Dipper snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Answer!” He pointed to the phone. “I got it!” Mable sang out, swiping her finger to the right. There was a beat of silence. Mable and Dipper anxiously waited for at least you or him to speak. One of them was about to intrude, no longer able to withstand such silence when you spoke up. “My love?” Your voice was timid. Ford’s heart lunged to his throat. How he missed your voice. “Y-Yes?” He mentally punched himself for stuttering like a complete fool in front of you. “Can you open the door for me? It’s locked.” Without a second thought, Ford practically ran over to the door and whipped it open for you. The twins watched you and him silently talk to each other from a distance. After a few tearful words and hugs, they recoil in disgust when they see Ford swoop you in for a kiss. “Oh my eyes!” Mable dramatically exclaimed. “Gross.” Dipper made a face in disgust.

꣑୧ “I’m still mad at Ford for roping you kids into all that madness.” You tell the kids, mindlessly scrolling on your phone. “Dawww, don’t you worry about us.” Mable put a hand to her cheek bashfully. “We can handle it.” You found that hard to believe. “Is Gravity Falls still…crazy?” You whisper the last part, in case Bill Cipher is listening. You’ve only heard stories of him, but hearing what he has done rooted a new fear in you. “Kind of? There’s still weird things that happen here, but not as bad as last summer.” Dipper said, jotting down a few notes in his journal. “How come I’ve never seen anything weird?” You wondered. “Because you’re too busy making out with Grunkle Ford to notice anything!” Mable chirped, kicking her feet as she drew on colored piece of paper. That elicited a laugh from Dipper and a “What!” Ford walked in with an eyebrow raised and breakfast in hand. ”I heard I was mentioned in a conversation. Are you guys talking crap about me?” Ford places his food on the table and pulls back a chair. He sits right next to you and before he dives in on his breakfast, he gives you a quick kiss on the lips. “You wish!” Mable says, flipping her paper on its backside. “I do not.” Ford said quietly. “So, kids saving the world, huh? That has to count as some kind of child abuse.” You half said seriously, half said jokingly. Ford rolled his eyes. “What? Are you gonna arrest me?” You glared at him. “I might…”

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #stanford pines x reader #dipper pines x reader #mable pines x reader #stanford pines #ford pines x reader #ford pines

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i2sunric · 4 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 (s.jy)

PAIRING: alpha!jake x omega!reader (f)

SUMMARY: being an omega was already hard, but being an omega with an alpha roommate was worse. especially during your heats. you’d lock yourself in your room, trying to ignore his strong scent and his presence, but jake has had enough of hearing pained wails. he’ll help you, even if he wasn’t your alpha (yet).

WARNINGS: omegaverse, roommates au, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), breeding kink, doggystyle, dirty talking, riding, cream pie, fingering, pussy eating, knotting (?) , heat and mentions of ruts, pet names (baby, good girl), mentions of pups (this feels strange idk), reader is a virgin, overstimulation, tits sucking (😋), mentions of pregnancy, manhandling, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 28th August 2024

WC: 4.2k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @destinyhoon @jakeflvrz @emisloves @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 (oneshot) @nyfwyeonjun @high-and-low-all-the-way @victorylr @jaeyunwon @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @nshmrarki @hchoes @entenen @heeseungshim @seungminsapuppy @starfallia @ratchet-sebooty @jakeyismine @laurradoesloveu @denleave1088 @weebgeek22 @victoriasimm @strxwbloody @love4hee @strayy-kidz @iheartshopping @isa942572 @hazycottagedreams @jky001 @haelahoops @chososloverfr @mitmit01 @icepriincehoon @kaykay11sworld @riribelle @coraldonutmagazine @seuomo @sn03 @hoonwonsoul @pinksweetlittlepiano @jiminie-08 @leiclerc BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED (adding the rest in the comments cause i can’t tag more than 50 ppl)

a/n: why do i always end my jake fics with a cliffhanger? it’s a mistery to me as well. i don’t really like how it turned out but i sincerely hope y’all do. idk much abt omegaverse and i searched on google most of the information, if it ain’t accurate let’s just say it’s caseyverse and call it a day. please REBLOG & COMMENT bcs only likes get me shadowbanned. also, lmk your thoughts on this fic 🫶🫶

You were prepared.

You had your favourite blankets, all your plushies, your phone and your charger.

You had even bought a mini fridge to keep enough food so that you would resist for at least three days.

Your heat was coming, you could feel it in your bones, which was the main reason as to why you were locked in your bedroom.

Taking the pill to stop the heat from coming was a good idea, especially since you didn’t have an alpha of your own, but the doctor refused to prescribe them, saying that they would really damage your health.

Because suffering for two to three days straight wasn’t.

Your skin was hot, too hot, sweat started gathering on your forehead, and sticking you to the sheets.

You laid on your bed, trying your best to even your breaths and willing your mind not to slip away.

You hated being an omega and going into heat, especially in summer. The weather affected it, making the pain unbearable.

As you thought about it, a sharp pain like a sting hit your lower stomach, you could feel your panties wetting with arousal.

A small yelp left your lips, your hips slowly bucking in the air to soothe the ache between your legs.

It was humiliating, the way your mind succumbed to the primal urge to mating, to being bred.

Suddenly, a soft knock came from the other side of the door and you scrunched your nose.

Jake, with his strong hormones scent, minty but musky at the same time. You normally could live with it, he was good at hiding his scent so as not to bother you and you hid your pheromones well too.

But now, it almost suffocated you and he wasn’t even in the room with you “Y/N… can I come in?”

You scoffed, mood already ruined by your denied pleasure. It’s not like you didn’t have toys, they were in your drawer, but most definitely you weren’t to use them while Jake was in the house.

You just needed to keep control of your mind.

“Jake, no.” You hissed, even if he already knew the answer “Not for the rest three working days.”

Jake pressed his forehead on the door. He also went into rut, but he would just find a willing omega or a beta to bury himself and then forget about them.

You weren’t like him, you didn’t want someone you didn’t know to be inside you, to have such a power over your body.

“Three days?” He sighed “Fuck, your scent is so strong.”

And it was true, during your heat you released more pheromones so as to attract other alphas. Fact was, it also drove your roommate insane.

“I can smell how bad your heat is, it drives me crazy.” Jake murmured, making you shiver.

You could hear his breathless voice, the thick Australian accent rolling off his tongue was such a turn on.

“Don’t—“ You groaned when another wave of pain hit your lower stomach, “Don’t talk like that.” You pleaded.

"I can't help it." He said, "Your scent is so strong, you smell so good…”

He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes and clenching his jaw.

“Please, Jake.” You clung the sheet under you, needing an anchor against your lust “Leave, go outside.”

“I can’t.” He was quick to say “You keep whimpering and I don’t want to hear you in pain.” He stated.

“I’m g-grand.” You replied, “I can manage.”

He gripped the door handle, his muscles tensing up. “I want to help you." He said, a hint of desperation in his voice. "I want to take care of you and make you feel good, please, just let me in."

“Don’t complicate things,” You breathed out, your hips moving around the bed “We set boundaries, remember?”

“Boundaries don’t expect me to sit back, knowing you’re suffering.” He bit back, voice strained.

“Still,” You commented.

Jake and you had a nice relationship, you weren’t just roommates but also friends. You loved to hang out with him and you didn’t want him to see you like this. Again, it was too embarrassing, you weren’t sure you’d be able to face him afterwards.

He tried to pull the handle but obviously, you had locked the door “Y/N, open up.”

You turned around on the bed, your hips humping against the mattress, your face flush on the sheets “No.” You said, trying to sound convincing.

“I just want to help you, don’t overthink it.” Jake sighed, pulling the door knob again. “I said no, Jake. Go away.”

At another groan that escaped your lips, Jake couldn’t take it anymore and kicked the door a couple of times until it swung open.

You widened your eyes “What—“ Before you could talk, he pounced on you, his body holding yours down.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent that resembled vanilla and peaches, making his head spin “You smell so good, baby.”

You breathed out, trying your hardest not to think about his body so close to you, his skin on yours, “Jake please, get out.”

He planted hot kisses down your collarbone, his hands roaming over your body. “Let me take care of you, I promise I’ll make you feel good.”

“No..” You murmured but as his hands yanked off your shorts and panties, you could feel your wetness running down your thighs in the same way your consciousness crumbled.

You wanted it, you wanted Jake to take you, to make you his and calm the burning desire that consumed you.

He cursed under his breath, two fingers gathered your arousal and he put them in his mouth, humming “You even taste delicious baby, can you be anymore perfect?”

“Jake..” You murmured, “Make it better.” Your voice was strained and whiny, making Jake’s pants tighter.

“Say no more.” He said and without any warning he pushed two fingers deep inside of you.

How they even fit was foreign to you, given that nobody had ever dared to touch you there, but you didn’t really care at that moment. It felt good, so good.

You moaned out, gripping the sheets under you, your mind already a puddle of pleasure.

His digits were skilled, brushing and thrusting in every spot that got your eyes rolling.

“So wet for me baby, mh?” Jake groaned, the squelching sound filling the room, imprinting in his ears.

He raised your shirt with his free hand and started groping your breasts, kneading the soft flesh in his palms.

He towered you, his presence dominant behind you, like a shadow swallowing you whole.

Whimpers left your lips, but this time they were a reaction from pleasure, not pain.

“Where is it?” He asked, biting his tongue as he desperately searched for something inside you.

When he felt you moan loudly, he smirked “Got it.” And he started thrusting his fingers in and out, reaching that spot again.

You felt as if your body was being burned, you needed him to continue it, to take you to the edge.

And Jake never stopped, even if his wrist hurt and his fingers grew sore. He lived to hear your cries of pleasure, to be the one making you squirm.

“Close?” He asked when he felt your walls clench around his digits and you nodded.

“Ugh.” You moaned, your eyes squeezing and with one last thrust of his fingers, you fell apart.

Your body trembled, your legs shook. Jake gently helped you ride out of your high before pulling out his fingers and licking them clean.

“If only you could taste yourself, baby.” He took your chin in his hand and raised your body so you were kneeling, back flush to his chest “So sweet, I can’t get enough.”

You felt his bulge brush against your back and it was the moment where your mind went completely black.

Lust winning over reason.

You breathed out “Jake,” Letting one of your hands wander down his chest until it reached his sweats, feeling his clothed hard-on “Put it inside me.”

Jake cursed, his body trembling “You want it inside?” He questioned, his breath fanning against the shell of your ear “Want me to fuck you, mh?”

You nodded blissfully, trying to pull his pants down.

Jake chuckled and let you fall on the mattress, quickly working both his shirt and pants off.

You peeked at him over your shoulder and gasped. His cock was huge, so long and thick it made your mouth water.

Any worry that it might not fit in your virgin pussy was clouded by lust, so you said “Hurry.” Raising your backside in the air.

“Patience.” He ordered, gently pulling your shorts and panties down your ankles, as well as removing your shirt.

He stroked his hard shaft, already leaking precum, he kneeled closer to you and you held onto the headboard.

Jake gripped your backside, squeezing your hips as he teased your entrance with the head of his cock.

You gasped, the feeling so good “I’m going in now.” He had the decency to warn that time and slowly, pushed inside you.

“Ngh.” You moaned, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he put all of his length in you, reaching places you didn’t even know existed.

Jake sighed, his head thrown back. Your walls hugged him, “You’re so tight.” He grunted.

He was going slow so he wouldn’t hurt you, but it wasn’t enough for you. You needed more, you needed to feel all of him in all of you.

“Faster,” You pleaded, arching your back “Faster, fuck me fast.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, baby.” He murmured, his pace still too slow

“You hurt me if you don’t start moving fast.” You groaned, reaching a hand behind you to pull his hips nearer you.

Jake shook his head, amazed “Anything you want.” Like that, he moved faster.

The sound of skin slapping filled the room as well as the squelching ones from your wetness.

“M’gonna fuck you so good,” He said, voice so husky. He took your chin in his grasp and pulled you up, tilting it to the side so he could kiss you.

Finally, he got a taste of your lips, his tongue licking yours, giving delicious strokes.

You moaned in his mouth and he rewarded you with a rather deep thrust that hit your cervix.

He smirked, knowing he had found your sweetest spot, so he kept hitting it repetitively, alternating slow to fast thrusts.

“That’s it,” He snuck a hand on your neck and gently squeezed “Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

You couldn’t almost see straight from the amount of pleasure you were given.

He licked your ear, then pressed wet kisses down your jaw, occasionally sucking.

Your pussy clenched around him, signalling that you were close to your orgasm.

“Jake,” You breathed out “Jake, m’so close.”

His free hand went to your clit, gently rubbing circles that sent jolts of pleasure through your body.

“Ugh!” You moaned, the knot in your stomach snapping, making you cream all over his cock.

Jake gave you slow thrusts, helping you ride out of your orgasms and waiting for you to come down off your high.

Your eyes flickered open as you flopped on the mattress, your body growing tired.

Jake pulled out, making you frown “W-what about you?” You asked quietly.

“I’d love to continue baby, but it’s easier to get pregnant during your heat and I have no condoms.” He explained, pressing a featherlight kiss on your shoulder.

How he wasn’t yet a slave of lust, you didn’t know.

“But..” You wanted to argue but your reason was gone, even the lust, replaced by an immense tiredness.

Jake helped you lay down properly, caressing your sweaty forehead “I don’t want to take advantage of you, if we keep going I won’t be able to pull away.”

He leaned down to press another kiss on your lips “Rest, I’ll clean you up and stay with you, ok?”

You only managed to softly hum as your eyelids grew heavy and his voice grew faint until the world was just black.

⪩⪨.

When you felt the second wave hit, you had half expected to wake up in a pool of sweat and slick.

Definitely, not with Jake’s nose rubbing your clothed pussy, inhaling your sweet smell.

“Jake?” You asked, your voice laced with sleep.

He raised his face and looked up at you, his eyes bloodshot. You couldn’t control your pheromones while you slept and they drove Jake insane, making him lust drunk.

“I’m sorry,” He murmured, giving your pussy another smell “Really need to taste you.”

You still felt groggy from your deep slumber when he slipped your panties down and smelled them again.

“Christ,” Jake groaned, slipping them into his sweatpants’ pocket.

He placed gentle kisses on your thighs and raised your legs, letting them rest on your shoulders.

Jake’s breath fanned against your pussy, making you let out a whiney exhale. He smirked and licked a long stripe out of your wet folds.

He moaned, really moaned, at the taste of you and you couldn’t help but glance down at the man between your legs.

He was drop dead gorgeous, with two deep brown eyes, messy hair and the expression of a starved man ready to dig in for his long awaited meal.

Jake gave you kitten licks again, alternating soft kisses to sucking.

You moaned, throwing your head back. You had always fantasised about how good getting eaten out felt like, but Jake must’ve been the masters of it because lord, if he made you see stars.

Your pussy was dripping with arousal, your juices coating his face, running down his chin.

But he didn’t mind, instead, he tried to gather them all on his tongue so as not to miss anything.

He buried his face between your legs, your feet locking behind his neck.

“You need to keep them open, baby.” He murmured on your clit, “Alright? Can you do that for me?”

You let out a broken hum in response, your mind just filled with unholy thoughts of him. You just barely opened your legs for him.

You needed him to make you cum, over and over again, to teach you everything he knew, in all the positions he liked.

“Good girl,” Jake whispered before downing again, his tongue lapping on your bundle of nerves.

He thrust one finger inside of you, gently curling it to reach your sweet spot, making you a moaning mess.

“Ugh..” You yelped, your back arching, “Pussy so good.” He said between licks “Could do this all day.”

You groaned and put one hand on his head, fingers grasping his locks “Less talking, more licking.”

Jake loved how desperate you were, so different from your usually collected and shy attitude.

You were clouded by lust and all of that was for him, he was really the luckiest alpha on earth.

Your hips bucked against his tongue, you were so close to your orgasm you could feel the knot in your stomach tighten.

“Jake...” You breathed out, and he understood what you meant. He removed his finger from you and put his tongue instead, the sensation so new and wet.

His nose brushed against your clit and he patted your waist, signalling that you could start moving.

Both your hands grabbed his hair, riding his tongue, your hips bucking fast against him.

He moaned, sending vibrations all through your body. You rolled your eyes back, “M’so-so close.” You murmured “M’gonna cum.”

If Jake’s mouth was free, he would’ve cooed at how cute you looked, so lost in pleasure you couldn’t even speak properly.

With a few more strong bucks, your legs shook around his neck, your orgasm reaching you like a tidal wave.

You pulled his hair so hard it hurt, but Jake didn’t mind. No, he actually liked it.

“Ride it out,” He murmured “Fuck my tongue, baby.”

You slowly calmed down, your legs fell down on Jake’s sides, your chest heaving slowlier.

You peeled your eyes open, glancing down at Jake.

He had been humping the mattress, as if eating you out was a source of pleasure for him as well.

You could see that the precum leaking from his bulge had stained his sweats, his chest already bare.

“Can I ride you?” You asked such a filthy question so innocently that Jake could’ve cum on spot.

“You want to ride me, baby?” You nodded shamelessly while he chuckled, patting your leg “Get up.”

You followed his lead, getting up so he could take your position. He leaned his back against your bed’s headboard and held out his hands to you.

You took them in yours as he helped you sit on his lap.

Jake’s hands settled on your waist while yours on his shoulders, your hips slowly rocking on his.

He groaned, his head thrown back against the headboard. “You feel so good.” His smirk made you want to do many unspeakable things to him.

Swiftly, he removed your shirt and started touching your warm breasts, teasing your nipples.

He tilted you towards him and latched his mouth on one, kissing and swirling his tongue around your nipple while kneading the other.

You moaned, rewarding him with a rather deep grind, feeling his whole length underneath you.

Suddenly, a thought crossed your blackened mind “Breed me.”

Jake stopped his work on your breasts and looked up at you, his brows furrowing.

Something in his brain was trying to warn him, but he was far too deep to even care “Yeah? You want me to breed you?”

He circled your waist with one arm and pulled you up, pulling his sweats and boxers down and kicking them off his ankles.

“I want your pups.” You murmured, your voice frail and quiet but full of desire.

Jake groaned, his cock twitching “Fuck, baby.”

“I’ll give you my pups,” You pumped his shaft with your hand and held it to your entrance as he slowly lowered you on him “I’ll fill you with my pups.”

The thought of your belly all swollen, your body changing to carry his pups wasn’t such a bad idea… was it?

You wanted everyone to know he was the alpha who took care of you, you wanted— no, you needed him to mate you.

He moved you up and down, slowly at first, so you could get used to him, but then he snapped his hips up into yours forcefully.

He debated whether to let you ride him or to just take the lead and fuck into you, but his control had crumbled long time ago and all he needed was to breed you.

The desire was consuming the both of you, leaving the room only with moans, grunts, heavy breaths and filthy sounds.

You sincerely hoped your neighbours weren’t to hear your late night activities.

You wrapped your arms around Jake’s neck, burying your face in the crook of his neck. You left kitten kisses and sucked on his skin, making his head spin.

You fit so well in his arms and he fit so well inside of you.

“Pussy was made for me,” He grunted, his pace picking up “Mh, Were you made for me, baby? Aren’t you my omega?”

You nodded, your walls sucking him in, squeezing around him “I’m yours,” You cried out “I’m yours, all of me.”

Jake’s eyes lit up “Yeah?” He chuckled, placing one hand on your lower stomach. He could feel the shadow of his bulge under his palms.

“Do you feel it, baby? I’m here.” You felt him press down, earning a moan from you.

You looked down to where his hand was and almost came on spot “So— S’deep.” You threw your head back.

He circled your hips, making your clit brush against his pubic hair.

“You like it deep?” He asked, his voice low, his accent thicker when he was lost in lust. “You like it when I’m so deep you can feel me everywhere?”

You nodded mindlessly, your eyes squeezing as you felt your second orgasm approach “Like it!” You exclaimed “Like it so much, Jake, please.”

Jake groaned in answer and goped your ass, lifting you up so he could fuck into you.

His hips moved fast, his balls smacking on your skin. You grasped his shoulders and bit down on his neck, the pleasure he was giving you was overwhelming all your senses.

“Fuck, baby, I’m so close.” He murmured, his grip on you so tight it left red marks.

“Jake, oh lord—” You cried out, feeling your orgasm approach “Cum around my cock.” He whispered, his lips so close to your ear it sent shivers in your body.

“Mh— Ah.” You moaned as your euphoria reached you, your legs trembling and body squirming. If it wasn’t for Jake’s iron grip, you would’ve fallen out of your small bed.

But he didn’t care that you needed to calm down, not really, because his hips continued to snap against yours.

His cock was in so deep he hit your cervix with every thrust, sending waves of pleasure all around your body.

Your ears rang from your powerful orgasm, your breath laboured. Overstimulation made your body tremble. But still, you didn’t feel complete.

“Cum in me.” You managed to whisper in his ear, your arms clinging to him for dear life. “Please Jakey, I need you to breed me.”

That was all it took. Jake’s movements altered, his cock twitching inside of you as his balls emptied.

You felt his hot seed filling you up, but soon it was followed by a sharp pain.

“Ugh!” You groaned, tears filling your eyes “J-jake…”

He cursed under his breath, his orgasm still washing over him. It had never happened that he came so much like that time, liquid spurring inside of you.

“Shit baby, I’m sorry,” He breathed out “I may have knotted you.”

“What?!” You widened your eyes, back to your normal self. Your worried and overthinker self.

You tried to move away from him but the sharp pain came back.

“Shh, don’t move.” Jake instructed “It’ll hurt more if I pull out now,”

“It hurts either way!” You groaned, clinging on him like an anchor.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He pressed featherlight kisses on your neck “The first time always hurts, but I swear it gets better.”

“I’m dying here.” You whimpered, but Jake’s touch was soothing and so were his words and a few minutes later, the pain stopped.

Slowly, he pulled out of you and kissed your temples “You okay?”

You nodded, now that there was nothing tied up inside of you, you felt refreshed. Happier. You didn’t even feel any discomfort caused from the heat.

Jake smiled softly and caressed your cheek, he leaned in to whisper “Knotting helps with your heat pain.”

“But it hurts like a bitch.” You frowned, watching as he carefully placed you down on the bed and cleaned you up with a tissue.

Jake chuckled, “I told you, it gets better.”

⪩⪨.

And it did, Jake was no liar.

The morning after he was kind enough to drive you to the doctor who gave you a prescription to take birth control. He said it would be better than fully stopping your heat.

He also reassured that the percentage to get pregnant was high after a knot (nagging at Jake for losing control), but as long as you took the pill within twenty-four hours, it would slow or block the process completely.

You hoped for the latter.

Obviously, he highly recommended to always use protections and to avoid knotting… but, you used a condom just a couple of times, because your heat wouldn’t get better unless Jake fucked you raw and filled you wih his seed.

In fact, he took you in the shower, on the couch and even in the kitchen. Any time was a good time to eat you out and stuff you full.

The only place left ‘holy’ was his room, but he said it’d be filthy once his rut started. Which, by the way, you agreed to help him through.

Jake even skipped his lectures to stay at home with you and provide you whatever you needed. Not like he attended much on a daily basis.

Everything went smoothly, he was so caring towards you, always looking after you when you passed out from the intense sex, even cooking for you (even if he burnt the pan and you two had to order out) and giving you nice massages until your heat completely stopped.

However, it was around a month later, when you came out of the bathroom with teary eyes and a positive pregnancy test in hand that you and Jake realised you had taken it too far.

2K notes · View notes

andypantsx3 · 4 months ago

Text

LOADS OF FUN : TODOROKI x READER

SUMMARY: After moving into your first apartment together, Shouto seems more amorous than ever. You're not sure why—but when he comes home to you doing a load of laundry, more than your clothes are about to get tumbled. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft (18+ only, minors please dni!), pro hero au, gn + afab reader, established relationship, fluff, emotional sex, table sex, cunnilingus, the shouto domesticity kink agenda goes absolutely crazy in this one lol (2.8k) NOTES: This piece is part of my pretty boy summer Shouto x Reader collab! Please go check out the other incredible fics people have written over the course of the summer; you will absolutely die over how good they are. This fic was also made possible through donations to the Fics for Gaza project. I cannot thank everyone who donated to one of the charities enough, as well as those who organized, reblogged, discussed, and got the word out. Lastly, I am so grateful for your immeasurable patience with me as I take time between fics to manage my workload, I hope I'm not too out of practice here lol. In summary: thank you, thank you, a million times thank you.

The sound of the door opening was hidden in the thump and glug of the washing machine starting its spin cycle.

Halfway across the house, you were oblivious—you had the clean laundry spread out on the kitchen table, hunting through the pile trying to match one of Shouto’s socks to another that seemed to have vanished into that mysterious void which opens somewhere between the laundry basket and the dryer. One of his shirts was half-folded over your shoulder, abandoned in favor of the sock search.

The rest of your things were still mostly tangled together on the table, warm and fresh and cottony, the few shirts you’d already folded sagging off the kitchen chairs.

It still gave you a little thrill—even several weeks after you’d moved in together—to see Shouto’s things twined up with yours—his enormous socks dwarfing yours, your sweaters clinging to the occasional piece of his hero suit that hadn’t seen enough action to need his agency’s industrial cleaners.

It all added to your sense of satisfaction with your afternoon—a frosty weekend day you’d spent cozy indoors, moving slowly and leisurely through some chores. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, and your favorite playlist worked itself through in lazy loops. Shouto was due off his rotation soon, and you hummed contentedly to yourself, entertaining pleased little fantasies of curling up with him for the rest of the weekend.

Which of course is when something moved in the corner of your eye. Your hum sawed up into a strangled screech, and you whipped around, flailing. Shouto’s sock launched itself full force at the intruder before you even registered you’d thrown it. In your shock, your leg caught against the table and you went stumbling—

—right into a pair of warm hands that caught you about the waist.

Your hands were on the man’s shoulders to push him off before you realized you recognized the touch—and that you’d caught sight of a distinct mop of scarlet and white hair as you’d whipped around.

“Shouto! Again?” you scolded reflexively, even as your heartbeat stuttered out of its wild kick into high gear. You tipped your head back to stare your boyfriend in the face, shoulders slumping in relief, letting him take some of your weight.

Shouto peered down at you, that tiny scrunch between his brows that indicated concern. “Are you alright, love?”

Your heartbeat pounded thunderously in your chest. “I’m—fine. But my god we need to get you a bell. I almost peed.”

Shouto’s mouth shifted minutely into something that might not have registered in anyone else’s face but was most definitely a regretful downturn on his. He looked even more unfairly beautiful than when he’d left you this morning—a little flushed and windswept from the unseasonable cold, that full mouth pink and pretty.

Your mind flicked momentarily off and back on like a circuit breaker, the way it always did when you had to process Shouto.

You’d understood he was once-in-a-generation levels of beautiful before you’d even met him, his face staring up at you from the glossy pages of various tabloids over the years. But in person, even after years of knowing him and several more dating him, Shouto’s appearance still managed to cross all the wires in a person’s brain. His features were an incomprehensible blend of aloof and elegant, sensual and warm—like a cold masterpiece of a marble sculpture had suddenly found himself with a consciousness and human desires and miles of warm skin.

“I did not mean to startle you,” he said, his voice low and warm. He sounded sincerely regretful.

You knew he hadn’t meant to—you’d long suspected his silent tread was habitually ingrained in him from years of hero work. And, in your most private and ungenerous thoughts, you suspected from years of making himself unobtrusive in his father’s home. The thought sat sour in your mouth, like a slice of pickled lemon.

You resisted making an equally sour face, shoving the thought away to make space for the reflexive flush of pleasure seeing Shouto always brought you.

“Welcome home, Sho,” you said instead, smiling up at him. Shouto’s hands moved on your waist, sliding gently beneath the hem of your tee-shirt to rest on the skin there.

He was still in his hero uniform, and as usual you felt a little goofy in comparison, in nothing but a tee and a well-loved pair of fraying sweatpants, which were this afternoon decorated with little flecks of soup from a brush with the pot.

But Shouto’s eyes were warm where they rested on you, and that perfect mouth crept back into a contented set. His long fingers smoothed over your skin as he watched you, thumb brushing your hip. He did not look like he found you at all goofy.

In fact, as his eyes dropped down to your ankles, slowly dragging back up to your face, you rather thought he looked a little appreciative. He even took a rather ungentlemanly step back, still holding you, to better take in the whole picture. His eyes wandered over the swell of your hip, the lines of the shirt against your chest, before darting to his own shirt, still folded over your shoulder.

His fingers flexed tellingly on your waist, and those heterochromatic eyes were both a little bit darker as they flicked back to yours.

His obvious regard made you feel warm. You shifted on your feet, shuffling.

“I was just—doing laundry,” you said for something to say, your mouth feeling kind of dry. Something about him always made you feel sort of shy and light-headed, even after all this time together. “And I made soup. I was thinking we could eat on the couch and watch one of those horrendous old All Might films?”

Shouto’s eyes darted to the stove, then beside you to the pile of your laundry, lingering for a long minute. His long lashes dipped, almost fluttering as his gaze traced over the tangle of your things together. His eyes flicked back to you. He was still for just a moment, watching you assessingly.

And then all of a sudden the world spun in front of your eyes. The hands at your waist lifted you clean off your feet, and you let out a startled “oof!” as you found yourself laid out in the pile of laundry on the table, sheets and sweaters bunching beneath you.

Shouto moved over you, stepping between your spread thighs, right at the edge of the table.

“You have no idea,” he intoned in a deep, delicious tone that went right down your spine, “what it is to come home to you like this.”

You wondered at that, feeling a strange combination of confusion and flattery, when Shouto’s mouth descended onto yours. His mouth was soft and sweet and insistent and absolutely perfect. The table groaned as he laid some of his weight out over you, pinning you into the laundry as he kissed you.

Your fingers clutched at him immediately, curling in his silky-soft hair, cupping his face to yours. One of Shouto’s own hands shifted to your thigh, holding you against him as he pressed himself harder into you.

You heard yourself making little gasps of appreciation as Shouto’s mouth moved down to your neck, laving hot kisses down your throat. You reveled in the feeling of him over you, broad and strong, his shoulders blocking the glow of the overhead light, casting shadows over you.

He’d been a lot like this lately, ever since you’d moved in together. He’d been adequately amorous before, of course, and blessed with a pro hero’s strength and unflagging stamina. But a few weeks after you’d moved in together you’d actually decided you needed to reactivate your gym membership given the amount of incredibly athletic sex you were suddenly having over almost every surface in the house.

One of the only spots yet to be touched was the table though, which Shouto seemed determined to rectify at this very moment.

He pulled back from you, his mouth flush from your kisses, looking a little entranced as he stepped out from between your thighs. You made a little noise at the loss of weight and heat over you, but Shouto caught the fabric of your sweatpants, gently but determinedly tugging them off of you. Your underwear was tossed right over one broad shoulder as Shouto went to his knees, and then his mouth was right back on you.

A wave of wild heat licked up your stomach at the noise of appreciation he made before sealing his mouth over you, strong fingers clutching your thighs to keep them apart.

“Oh my god!” you said, pleasure zinging right up your spine with the first lave of his tongue over you. “Shouto!”

Shouto let out a deep, pleased hum, two long fingers sinking into you embarrassingly easily as he worked your clit with his mouth. Your back arched and you could feel your clothing shift with you, Shouto’s shirt balling up under your shoulder blade, still half-draped over your shoulder.

“Oh, oh!” you heard yourself saying as your fingers twisted in the clothing, shuddering with every lick and suck of Shouto’s perfect, amazing, talented mouth.

He worked you with the expertise of long, dedicated practice—everything about him calculated to drive you insane. One moment he was excruciatingly soft, mouth slack and the touch of his tongue as fleeting and light as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Then the next he was sucking relentlessly, teasing firmly with the tip of his tongue as his fingers played with you.

Your first climax hit you mortifyingly quickly, and Shouto seemed to know it before you did. His grip tightened on you, holding you down as you bucked against his mouth. Shouto looked more than a little smug as he got to his feet again, unbelting himself and laying back out over you.

He kissed you some more, the taste of yourself always a sort of shock to your system. But Shouto never seemed to mind, and if anything only seemed hungrier for you, mouth pulling at yours like he meant to devour you.

You felt the touch of his hand between your thighs as he lined himself up, then sank into you easily, groaning appreciatively like he’d just sunk into a hot bath. He bit carefully at your neck, one large hand pressing your stomach down to keep you pinned against the edge of the table where he wanted you.

“I always want to come home to you like this,” he intoned into the skin of your neck, his mouth sucking dizzying patterns into your skin. “Always.”

You could barely think past the slide of him inside you, thick and full and blissfully exquisite. He really was the most perfect man on earth, and he always felt like it too.

You barely managed to blink your eyes open to watch him, trying to catch his meaning in his face. Shouto watched you back, those blue and grey pinned on you like he couldn’t bear to look away from you as he moved inside you.

“You—” you panted out, trying to cling to the thoughts threatening to wiggle out of your grip. “What do you—? Of course you’ll always come home to me.”

Shouto bucked into you harder, the slap of his hip against the bottom of your thigh echoing loudly over the burble of soup on the stove. His eyelashes fluttered, mouth softening, and a realization struck you almost dizzy.

Oh, he really liked that.

You suppressed a wave of giddiness, charmed and helplessly pleased that he seemed to like the idea so much. Was that why he’d been so especially ardent this past month? Was it really because you’d moved in together?

Shouto’s arm hooked under one of your legs, drawing it up firmly over his shoulder so he could press even further inside of you. He looked so good like that that you nearly lost the thread of your thoughts, especially when his next thrust felt like that. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head.

“Ah!” escaped you. “Fuck, Shouto. Like that, please!”

Shouto’s thumb pressed down on your still-sensitive clit and he had to dig the fingers of his other hand into the flesh of your leg to keep you from bucking him right out of you with the way you squirmed. Sweet fucking gods he was unreal.

Shouto fucked you harder, the sound of your skin slapping together obscene in the quiet of the kitchen.

You tried again, struggling to watch his reaction with the way you wanted to throw your head back and babble nonsense instead.

“You’ll always come home to me,” you repeated, gratified when Shouto’s grip on you tightened, a soft sound escaping him. “You want me right here for you?”

“Ah—yes, love,” Shouto panted, staring down at you again. He looked like he knew what you were doing but didn’t care. “Yes,” he hissed.

“Just like this?” you prompted, trying not to slur the edges of your speech when he gave another particularly mind-bending thrust of his hips. His chest rose and fell heavily and he looked a little wild-eyed, gazing down at you.

“Like this, for me,” he said. “In my home, in our home—”

You could hear the table squeal and groan with the force of his next thrust, and then you had to grip the sides of it to steady yourself as he fucked you, looking blissful. Your nails scrabbled at the edges of the table, caught in between a million sensations—the glorious fullness of Shouto inside you, the gentle grind of his thumb against your clit, the way he looked all flushed and beautiful and panting and wanting—

You squeezed your eyes shut, too overcome with the sight of him to look at him anymore, but it was no use. Your entire body trembled as you came, and Shouto let out a low swear at the way you clenched up around him, hunching over you and pressing himself so impossibly hard against you as he came too.

He slumped down against you, weighing you into the soft-smelling cotton of the laundry you were now definitely going to have to rewash. You could feel his chest rise and fall as he panted, his breath tickling the skin under your ear. He left an unbearably soft, sweet kiss just under the lobe, at odds with the near-wild way he’d just been fucking you.

You warmed, petting through his hair with a helpless affection.

“Well now I know what time I should always do our laundry,” you said.

Shouto huffed into your neck, but you could feel a tiny smile curve his mouth.

“It is not just that,” he said, but did not elaborate for some minutes until you elbowed him gently. He peeled himself off of you just enough to look down into your face. “It is the thought of our life together. Our clothes piled together. You in the home we chose and we made…” he said, trailing off.

But you thought you got the sentiment. It was about how easy it was, how uncomplicated. A safe place to come home to, no expectations, just soup and a pile of sweet-smelling laundry and someone happy to see you. It was something far away from what he'd grown up thinking a home was, possibly something he’d thought he’d never have—something you were determined to make him realize now that he always would.

You let your fingers pull through his hair again, smiling up at him. “I am going to have to do our laundry again, though,” you teased. “In case that interests you.”

And despite what he’d just said, Shouto did in fact look a little too interested. You watched his mismatched gaze trail over to the closet that opened onto the washer and dryer. A contemplative look snuck across his handsome face, carefully curling the corner of that plush mouth.

“There is another place we have not yet broken in,” he said slowly, voice dipping low. He looked down at you with an earnest expression completely in contrast to what he was suggesting.

You couldn’t help but laugh, and that was all the permission he needed to pull you up, gathering you up in his arms and layering a fat handful of laundry on top of you. His belt buckle rattled loosely beneath you where he'd barely done it up in his haste, and you laughed harder when he turned off the stove as you passed it.

Though it turned out to be a needed precaution—as neither of you found yourselves free to sit down to dinner for several hours yet.

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shoto x reader #shoto x you #todoroki x you #todoroki x y/n #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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asahicore · 3 months ago

Text

fast forward - pjs

pairing. jay x fem!reader

synopsis. After yet another romantic disappointment in the form of one Jake Sim, you go to the well you’ve always believed to grant wishes and ask for your one and true love to appear. That night, you go to sleep in your bed but wake up in a strange house. When you head downstairs, you find a man washing the dishes and telling you your favorite meal is waiting on the table for you. You’ve spent hours glaring at the back of that head, you could recognize it anywhere—it belongs to none other than Park Jongseong, your high school sworn enemy... and future husband, or so it seems.

genre+warnings. high school au, the type of e2l where they never really hated each other to begin with, they act like they're academic rivals even though they're not particularly academically gifted, jay has a thing about german the language, sunoo and kazuha besties, heeseung is a loser, jake and sunghoon are assholes sorry, ive liz is german, 02z get into a white-boy locker-room fight, attempts at banter etc, they're a little bit silly

word count. 26.6k

a/n. had the idea for this listening to fast forward by somi LAST SUMMER... and only wrote it this summer and only posting it now <3 i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it !!!!! jay is an absolute cutie here pls love him as much as i do.... as always let me know what u think and remember to vote for @zreamy president in the upcoming elections, shes the only one i trust to beta-read and hence to run a country <3 no it doesnt matter that shes scottish put this woman in the white house

There is only one thorn on the otherwise immaculate rose that is your life.

Every morning, you wake up feeling refreshed from eight hours of restful sleep. You go downstairs to the kitchen, a boiling cup of milky Earl Grey tea already waiting for you, and eat breakfast with your brother Jinwoo and father. Your mom dashes in, placing a kiss on your and Jinwoo’s foreheads, and on your dad’s lips, saying she’s late for work but will see you in the evening. “Have fun at school,” she bids every morning without fail. Your dad teaches Korean Literature at your school, so the three of you drive there together. He watches amusedly as you and Jinwoo bicker light-heartedly on the way there—even in the pits of his puberty, you and your brother get along like two peas in a pod. He still tells you about everything he learns at school and fills you in on the drama in his class, up-to-date with everything even though he pretends not to be interested.

You’re always one of the first to arrive at school, so you scroll through your feed or finish up some homework as you wait for your classmates to file in. Your friends circle your table and you chat about the last episode of the show you’ve been watching until the bell rings and they leave you for their assigned seat.

Class starts with your teacher handing out the math tests you took last week. “Jay and Y/N, great job, keep it up,” he says as he walks past you and the boy in front of you, and hands you your paper. Relief floods your body as you take in the bright red 82 in the top right-hand corner—not the best of the class, but enough for you to be satisfied.

Good friends, good grades—nothing extraordinary, but it’s a life you dare say any high school senior would want.

There’s just that one thing. The thorn in your side that won’t stop poking.

You glare at it as it whips around in its seat and takes a peek at the grade on your paper before you get to snatch it away from view. It only gives you three seconds to rejoice over your grade.

“Aw, Y/N. Good effort! Maybe you’ll do better next time!” Jongseong coos, holding up his test for you to see and glare even harder at. 85. Not that big of a difference, but it makes you want to punch the faux sympathetic pout off of his face.

You’re about to spit something just as petty back at him, but someone whispers your name, and you turn your head in their direction. Beside you, Jake is smiling at you as he asks what grade you got. Your attention is swiftly taken off of Jongseong, whom you don’t even notice dramatically rolling his eyes, huffing in annoyance, and turning around.

“82,” you whisper back, holding up your paper for Jake to see. His friendly, absurdly handsome smile makes your ears burn. “You?”

The corners of his lips fall down into a sad pout—the kind that makes your heart melt rather than gets on your nerves like someone else. “68,” he says. Leans in over the gap between your tables. Your heart jumps uncontrollably around your rib cage. “Do you wanna go over it together during the break? I think I need some help.”

One-on-one time with Jake Sim? You don’t need to be asked twice. You nod silently, almost mesmerized by Jake as his grin widens. He leans back in his chair. “Perfect. I’ll see you in the library, then.”

“Library, yeah,” you echo dumbly, but thankfully, your teacher tells you to all quiet down and starts the lesson.

You’re antsy all throughout the rest of your morning classes and lunch break, so nervous that you barely manage to finish your yogurt. Of course, your friends, Sunoo and Kazuha, have a field day with this, and even you can’t help but laugh along as they jump between reassuring you that it’ll be fine, slapping your shoulders with excitement and making fun of your uncharacteristic quietness.

Jake arrives at the library five minutes after you, looking around the room before he finds you at the big round table in the back of the library. Your brain is too riddled with anxiety for you to make more small talk than “Hey,” “Hey,” “How was your lunch?” “Good, yours?” “Good.” And so you just jump straight into it.

You’ve only had a couple minutes of quiet explanation on your part and heavy nodding on Jake’s when Jay appears at the entrance of the library. He spots you and Jake immediately, and without any hesitation whatsoever heads towards you and sits down at your table, right across from the two of you.

“Hey, Jay,” Jake greets in a friendly manner, but Jay only responds with a nod of his head.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” he says when he notices you glaring. “I won’t bother you.”

As if he could be anything other than a bother, you think, but courteously keep to yourself. The childish rivalry you and Jongseong have got going on has no business spoiling a rare hour of alone time you get with Jake. As you go over the exercises he had the most trouble with on the test with you, your eyes often drift over to Jongseong as if to check on him—you’re cautious like he’s a spider in the corner of the room that might spring on you at any moment.

And indeed, the moment your gaze leaves him for more than a minute as you explain an intricate theorem to Jake, he’s out of sight, and panic shoots through you. Where the hell has he suddenly gone off to? you wonder, but not for long.

“There’s a much easier way to do this, really,” says a voice from behind you, and of course, it’s none other than Jongseong himself, quite literally butting his way into your tutoring session. Right between you and Jake, he bends over and rests his elbows on the table, taking Jake’s pencil from him and describing the theorem in a way that isn’t that much simpler. Your eyes shoot bullets into the side of his face while he, unbothered, explains this and that to Jake, who glances at you a couple of times but otherwise does not seem so perturbed by the sudden change of tutor. Either Jongseong doesn’t notice your glare or doesn’t care, because he doesn’t budge.

Just when they’re done with the exercise and you think you’ll get Jake to yourself again, another voice appears from behind, a much higher, girlier one. You notice the hand on Jake’s shoulder first, until slowly, your eyes drift to the face—you recognize Yunjin, head of the cheerleading squad, and she’s smiling at you, a smile that at once tries to cover and betrays her surprise at seeing you and Jake together. She doesn’t acknowledge you any more than that, gaze going back to “Jakey,” asking him if he wants to head to class together. You check the time—five minutes before the first bell rings. What do they need so much time getting to class for? It’s not like any room in this school is more than a three-minute walk away.

But Jake doesn’t even look back at you, just says “Sure!” with far too much enthusiasm for your taste as he packs his stuff. “Thanks, you two,” he says, looking at Jay first, then at you. You think his eyes linger on you for a second, but just like that, he’s gone, him and Yunjin walking side-by-side.

You watch them leave—they look good together, the cheerleading captain and the soccer team’s star. The white Vans she’s wearing have a bunch of red love hearts on them that look drawn on, and you think, Of course, Jake is the type to date someone cute, someone fun, someone who would draw on their shoes. Not someone like you, whose idea of a good Friday night is lighting up a scented candle and reading your favorite novel for the nth time. When they’ve left the library, you slump in your seat, crumpling the sheet of paper you had drawn a bunch of graphs and formulae on to make things clearer for Jake. Jay awkwardly clears his throat and finally returns to his seat, looking at you with his lips pressed in a tight line.

“Y/N?” he asks tentatively, and the sound is too much to bear, so you pack your things and head to your next class early, too. Your mind is racing with a million thoughts a minute—who is that girl to Jake, how come you’ve never seen them together before, how come he was so eager to leave with her, what was that smile she gave you about? In the fifty-five minutes of your biology class, which you uncharacteristically don’t pay any attention to, you’ve convinced yourself that they are crazy in love and that none of Jake’s actions or words towards you had ever meant anything, that you’d liked him so much you’d dreamt up the possibility of his liking you back, too.

Your next lesson starts—the smile Jake gives you as he walks into History is so bright, it dissipates any clouds hanging over your head. You do believe in male-female friendships, but despite yourself, you can’t help but think that anyone in a relationship wouldn’t give someone else such a perfect, warm smile. It just wouldn’t be right. And so, you reason with yourself that simply walking to a class together didn’t mean two people were a couple.

For an hour, you stare at the back of Jake’s head, and although you do eventually come to the more sensible conclusion that a smile may just be a smile, you also think it's unlikely that he and Yunjin would be a thing. If they were, why would they hide it? Jake is so nice, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d exaggerated his enthusiasm upon seeing her. You’re sure you still have your chances. He even says see you tomorrow when class is over and slips out of the room to go to soccer practice.

You feel like you’re walking on cloud 9 as you head from History to your next class—but when you remember that the next class is German, your mood drops significantly. Because the universe has it out for you, you and Jay are two of just ten students in your year taking German as your second foreign language option, everyone else having gone for either French, Japanese or Spanish. Your reasoning for it is that your dad has had an obsession with Germany since his year abroad in Bavaria, and twelve-year-old you had wanted to make him happy. Eighteen-year-old you regrets it slightly, but at least now your dad is ecstatic every time you tell him in German that the dinner he made was really tasty. Why Jongseong decided to take it beats you—he’s probably just insane.

But because you don’t really know anyone else in the class, and because it’s your last period of the day, you have no friends to run off with once the lesson is over, and he gets to bother you all the way from the classroom door to the staff parking lot.

You’ve barely finished bidding Auf Wiedersehen to your teacher and Jongseong is already harassing you. “So, I didn’t take you as the type to be into guys like Jake Sim.” He says Jake’s name with such disdain, like he thinks he’s so much better than him, or like he hates him. It confuses you just as much as it annoys you; Jongseong didn’t seem to have a problem with Jake earlier at the library.

“And that’s your business, because…?”

You don’t look at Jongseong, who’s quickened his pace to keep up with yours, but you can feel the smirk on his face. It’s insufferable. “Oh, it’s none of my business. I’m just surprised, is all. You guys are so… I don’t know, different.”

You scoff. “If you think I’m not good enough for someone like Jake, I’d rather you tell me straight up, Jongseong. Or actually,” you say, looking up at him with a dry smile. “Keep it to yourself and leave me alone.”

He looks offended by your words, and it only adds to your already immense annoyance—he’s the one who just insulted you, so why is he looking at you with those stupid furrowed eyebrows?

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“No, Y/N.” He grabs your wrist and makes you face him, your stomach flipping in surprise that you quickly cover up. When he releases you, you cross your arms over your chest and wait for him to speak, keeping your eyes trained on a spot behind him. “I don’t think he’s too good for you.”

This makes you look at him. You have to admit, your curiosity is piqued. Not like Jongseong to say anything even vaguely in your favor. “He’s just…” He sighs, searches for the right word. “Well, he’s just a bit of a dick, isn’t he?”

You freeze for a second. You’re so taken aback, your scoff comes out more as a laugh—Park Jongseong, king supreme of all dicks at this school, just called Jake Sim a dick?

“I’m sorry?”

He sighs again, as though you’re the unreasonable one. “He’s so… smug. A wannabe class clown and thinks he’s the shit because he’s on the soccer team. Have you seen the way he swaggers around school?”

You look at him with fake sympathy. “Jong, are you jealous?”

“Pfft. No way. I just think it’s a shame you keep going after these dudes who are not even worth your time, or whatever, so yeah…” he says, voice trailing off and looking down at his feet as he speaks. Hands in pockets and blank expression on his face, you can tell he’s trying to look cool, but the way he’s avoiding your gaze is a dead give-away. Even his ears have turned red. Jongseong is having one of those shy moments he has when he’s trying to be nice to you. Clearly, a simple act of kindness towards you is so hard for him that it radically changes the way he behaves.

Like when you were fifteen and you just couldn’t get this stupid art project right, so he stayed behind for three hours after school with you, helping you draw and paint and cut and glue.

Like when you were sixteen and your grandma just passed away, making you miss a week of school, and without a word, barely looking at you, he gave you a stack of handwritten notes of all the lessons you missed. To this day, you’re not sure how he did it—you weren’t in the same class that year.

Like when you were seventeen and Park Sunghoon rejected you in the middle of a crowded hallway. You’d run off to the girls’ bathroom to cry it out, but Jongseong quickly found you and spent the entire period cursing Sunghoon out instead of being in English, like you were both meant to be. He was uncharacteristically nice to you for a few days after that, never starting an argument for no reason or interrupting you when you spoke. When you snapped at him, telling him it only made you feel worse that he treated you differently, he smiled and told you how stupid you looked when you cried. It made you laugh more than it should’ve.

Like now, when he suddenly decides that Jake Sim is also a wrong choice for you. “Him and Sunghoon are good friends, you know that?” he says. “Birds of a feather, and all…”

So you know that Jongseong is not all bad. He has his redeeming qualities. He can even be nice sometimes, when he so wishes. But those moments are so few and far between that when he returns to his usual insufferable self, you wonder if you’d dreamt it all up. Which is why you can’t quite take him seriously right now. You roll your eyes and resume walking towards the parking lot, but of course, he continues to follow you. “Why do you even care who I go after?”

“I don’t-”

“You clearly do, otherwise you wouldn’t be bothering me like this.”

“Well, if all your attention is taken up by that douche, who am I going to go up against?”

“That’s what you’re worried about? That I stop arguing with you?” you say, disbelief clear in your voice.

“I’m offended, Y/N,” he starts, his sarcastic tone making you roll your eyes again. “That our little rivalry matters so little to you.”

“We’re not even the top students of our class, for God’s sake, we’re not fighting over anything.”

“I’ve actually got the best grades in German, thanks very much.”

“Whatever. I wouldn’t call it a rivalry so much as a mutual dislike of each other, because one of us woke up one day and decided to start going against everything the other said.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

The exit to the parking lot now appears to you like the gates of heaven. You don’t even bother replying to him, thinking that he’ll just leave you alone now that you’re here. But as you step outside, he places himself in front of you and blocks your path, arms splayed out, eyes wide like he’s just seen a ghost.

“What are you-”

“Have you done the German homework for tomorrow?”

The sudden change of subject gives you whiplash. “What? No, Miss Schumacher assigned it just now-”

“Well, given your tendency for getting the word order all wrong, I can already tell you you’re not gonna have fun with it-”

You pinch the nose of your bridge, trying to calm yourself down before you lose what’s remaining of your mind. “Jongseong, were you actually dropped on the head as a baby? Go away. My dad’s gonna be here any second.” You try to walk around him, but he steps in front of you again. You peer up at him, undisguised annoyance in your eyes. Where are your dad and brother when you need them?

“I’m just saying, you’ll probably need help with it-”

“I won’t. And if I do, I’ll just use Google. Now get out of my way,” you say, and manage to duck under one of his arms.

Then you see it.

Well, actually, it takes you a second to understand what it is you’re seeing. At first, you think it’s one of those horny couples thinking they’re being really discreet by going to the staff parking lot to make out, when in reality they could be caught by any one at any time. They’re just far enough that when you do a double take, you realize that you do know the back of that head; that fluffy mop of brown hair. You sit behind it every History period, next to it every Maths and English period.

The girl is up against the wall, and you can’t really see her, what with her and Jake’s tongues being down each other’s throat and his body blocking her from your view, his hands on her hips, her arms around his shoulders. All the works. She’s wearing a cheerleader uniform, so she could be any of twenty girls—but you’re pretty sure only one of them wears a pair of white Vans with red love hearts on them.

Your heart sinks to your stomach.

You’re frozen in place when a whistle rings in the distance, and Jake and Yunjin separate, giggling to each other as they jog to wherever the sound came from. The sports field, probably. It’s Monday; the cheerleaders and the soccer team share the field for their practice.

Jake spots you and Jongseong staring at them. He waves quickly, awkwardly at you, still smiling even when surprise coats his features. Yunjin tugs on his hand and just like that, they’re gone.

“Y/N-”

Jay’s voice fades in the background. You want to get away from this situation as quickly as possible—it’s embarrassing enough seeing the guy you like and thought you had a chance with kissing a girl that is arguably much more on his level than you are, but having Jongseong of all people not only witness it, but try to protect you from it, God knows why, makes it impossibly mortifying. You speed-walk to your dad’s car, huffing as you plop in your seat and slamming the door behind you. Your brother is already sitting in the passenger seat, and you don’t even argue with him about it. When you only give single-word replies to his questions, he shrugs and returns to playing Clash of Clans on his phone.

The moment you get home, you fish a five cent coin from your purse, change into mud boots and grab your dog’s leash. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

After half-an-hour of trudging through leaves and soft ground, muddy from many a rainy November night, you and Pablo, your massive, fluffy airhead of a German Shepherd, find yourselves at the well in the middle of the forest. Ever since you were little, you have attributed magic powers to the well—not that anyone told you any sort of myth about it, but you remember reading a story about a magic well and decided that your well would be magical, too. You’ve never wanted to abuse its powers, so you’ve used your wishes conscientiously: things like getting a certain present at Christmas (when you were nine and the most important thing ever was getting the Monster High doll you wanted) or not stuttering during your presentation in class (when you really didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Park Sunghoon and his cool friends). Every wish you’ve made has come true. Whenever a faint voice of reason tells you that it’s because you always ask for very realistic things, you squash it and continue to believe in the well.

Because today, you’re not asking for something realistic.

Today, you’re asking the well to show you the way to love.

You’ve grown up watching The Notebook and Pride & Prejudice. Your parents are high school sweethearts who are still, twenty-five years later, happily married. You devour romance novels and binge-watch Asian dramas, the more unrealistic and romantic, the better. You are convinced that soulmates exist, that love always finds a way, that it is there for anyone to see. That it can take form in a childhood friend, an archnemesis, a total stranger.

But for some reason, it hasn’t shown itself to you yet, no matter how valiantly you’ve looked.

You’re absolutely sick and tired of it. It is Jake kissing another girl, it’s Sunghoon leading you on for months and then rejecting you in front of everyone, it’s your ex-boyfriend-who-shall-not-be-named, your first love and first heartbreak, dumping you after a year and getting with the girl he had told you not to worry about a week later. At a party a few months later, he’d said, word for word, “At least I didn’t cheat on you.”

Coin lodged between your hands, you interlace your fingers and press your palms closely together, eyes screwed shut in desperation. “Hey,” you start simply, because you and the well are good friends. “It’s been a while since I’ve asked for anything, so I hope you can indulge me… This is gonna sound so cliché, but I’m really tired of getting fucked over by boys — excuse my French — and I just wanna meet the person who’s right for me, you know? Mom’s always reminding me that I’m only eighteen, and that I’ve got plenty of time to meet someone, but I just feel like if I don’t find someone now, I never will. And if I get fucked over again — sorry — I’ll just lose hope and write off men for the rest of my life. So help a girl out, will you? I’ll leave it to you how you wanna go about it, but… just show me that there’s someone out there. Please.”

When you open your eyes, you need a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. You toss the coin in the well. It doesn’t make a sound as it hits the bottom, as if it has been absorbed within the old brick walls. You know better than to question it—the well works in mysterious ways.

You’re quiet that entire evening, making up an excuse of a tiring day at school when your parents ask. Really, you’re just thinking about your wish, whether it’ll work, what might happen. You half-ass your homework—Jay was right, the German exercises throw you into a bout of despair, so you quickly close your textbook and bury yourself in your sheets, falling asleep hours earlier than you usually would.

For some reason, the first thing you notice when you wake up is that it’s still dark outside. It must be the middle of the night, you think. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you’re in a completely strange room.

Instead of your floral-patterned sheets, you find yourself covered by delicate silk sheets that your parents would never agree to buy you, no matter how adamantly you argued for the benefits of silk for your skin. If skincare experts online had convinced you of one thing, it was that silk would do wonders for your obstinate acne. You slide out of bed and find a pair of slippers on the floor, as if waiting for you. Even the pajamas you’re wearing are fancier, more grown up than the ones you have at home, a set composed of a pinstriped button-up and shorts. You look around, for some reason more surprised and curious than panicked. You could’ve been kidnapped, for all you know, but all you care about right now is this room. Rather than the pink and white walls that have surrounded you since childhood, covered with pictures of you and your friends, postcards of artwork bought at museums, and posters of your favorite movies, the walls here are beige and mostly bare, except for a painting of Japanese cherry blossoms above the bed and a family portrait on the opposite wall, above a wooden chest of drawers.

The family portrait. A woman, a man, and what you can only assume are their children. They look like twins—two girls. Can’t be older than three years old. Out of the four faces, you recognize two of them. You recognize them far too well. One of them is yours, of course. You look slightly older, by a decade, maybe? You’re glad to know that you won’t fall off after twenty-five, like much of social media has led you to believe.

The other face you recognize immediately, too, but it takes you a few seconds to truly believe it.

It belongs to none other than Park Jongseong.

A dry chuckle falls from your throat, as if someone has just made a very insulting joke at your expense and you have to pretend you find it funny. The well has a very odd sense of humor, you think. It’s probably just a prank, a magic-induced nightmare before the real thing. Except this already feels real, disorientingly so. The fabric on your skin, the picture, the room. It all feels too real, more tangible than any dream you’ve ever had.

You take a step closer towards the picture, as if looking at it harder will make Jongseong’s face fade into that of another man, the real man that will become your husband and father of your children. But alas, his features remain the same, frozen in time by the photographer’s camera. He, too, looks older—and not only does he not fall off after twenty-five, he becomes all the more handsome for it.

Is this how you find out that Jongseong was handsome all along? You stare at it until the familiar face becomes practically unrecognizable, like repeating a word so much it stops feeling like one. The straight nose, the almond-shaped eyes that seem to have softened overtime, whereas his jaw has remained as sharp as ever. Have his eyebrows always framed his face so perfectly? Has that dimple always been there?

You look around again, and the bright numbers on the bedside alarm clock catches your attention. They read 9:57 p.m., but it’s the date that makes your stomach sink—today is still the 18th of November, but ten years later. You stare at the clock, at the unfamiliar number, a date so far into the future you can’t wrap your head around it. You could barely envision life after high school.

Downstairs, the sudden clang of pots and the sound of a tap running manage to rip your gaze away from the alarm clock. An overwhelming curiosity tells you to follow the noise. This is all a dream, so there are no consequences if you explore a bit more, right?

You’ve never been in this house before, and you have no idea where your feet are taking you until you find yourself in the kitchen. It’s the only lit room in the house, and you’re creepily standing in the dark under a wide archway that connects the kitchen to what looks like the dining room. A man has his back to you, washing dishes and putting them out to dry on a rack next to the sink. He’s wearing a white cotton sweater, one that you feel you recognise without ever having seen before, and a brown apron is tied around his neck and waist.

The first thing you think to yourself is Oh, his haircut hasn’t changed. In almost every class you share with him, Jongseong has made it a point to sit either next to you or right in front of you, so you’ve spent a lot of time glaring at the back of his head. You wouldn’t be surprised if he started developing two eye-shaped bald spots there. His hair is still short and spiky at the back and on the sides, longer on the top. When he lets it grow too long, it sometimes covers his eyes, and he obnoxiously keeps having to push it back like a heartthrob in an 80s movie.

Something like a memory flashes through your mind, blurry like those images you aren’t sure came from a dream or from real life. Your surroundings are unclear, but Jay’s face is nestled against your neck, your hand in his hair. You can feel the softness of the close shave against your palm as clearly as if you were touching it right now. You ask him why he’s always kept it that way, and he replies that it’s simple to maintain. Then in classic Jay fashion, he adds, “And it makes me look awesome.”

Another memory, a clearer one, this time—this definitely happened. It’s halfway through sophomore year, a random Tuesday, and Jay walks in, holding his head high and looking smugly around himself. The bastard got a new haircut. Long gone, his messy, unorganized flop of black hair that looked like it didn’t know what it was doing; hello, sleek undercut. It accentuates all of his best features, which is terrible news for you. You had never even thought of Jongseong as someone having “best” features, but now they’re being thrown in your face. His nose. His jawline. His smile.

It ruins your day, and a few after that. You can’t quite put it into words when your friends ask what’s wrong at lunch—or rather, you don’t wanna face the humiliation of uttering something along the lines of “Park Jongseong looks good with his new haircut, and it’s bothering me.”

Here, it’s a familiar sight in an unfamiliar environment, the back of his head. Without really thinking, you take a step forward. Jongseong starts at the sound of your slippers against the marble floor tiles, but his face relaxes into a smile when he sees you.

“Oh, it’s just you, honey. I thought you were sleeping.”

Just you. As if the two of you being in the same kitchen is normal. You guess it must be, to this version of Jongseong. To him, you’re not the annoying girl he strives to best in every class—you’re honey.

“I was,” you say, walking around the kitchen island to join him by the sink. Something in you needs to look at him, really look at him, maybe pinch yourself or pinch him to be sure you’re not going crazy. Maybe you caught wafts of some ancient algae that lives in the well and made you hallucinate?

“I left a plate out for you in case you woke up. Made your favorite. The girls weren’t so happy, seeing as it’s the third time this month,” he says with the special kind of smile reserved for parents talking about their children. The girls. A mention so casual, so obvious, your heart hurts. “But I think I got it really right this time,” he continues. “Honestly, it might even be better than the original.”

He goes back to washing the dishes and you watch the sponge in his hands as it scrubs away tomato sauce, the soap as it runs from the plates into the sink. A knot forms in your stomach, something like a deep sadness that overwhelms you all of a sudden, and tears form in your eyes, threatening to fall any second.

When you haven’t budged in almost a minute, Jongseong starts to say, in an intimate, almost worried voice, “Aren’t you going to eat, honey?” but when he sees your wet eyes, the tremble in your lower lip, he shuts the water immediately and dries his hands. With his thumbs, he wipes away the tears that have started falling from your eyes. “What’s wrong?” he whispers.

You can’t reconcile the man in front of you with the image you have of the boy that torments you in every class you share. You can’t reconcile the genuine concern in his voice with the snarky tone you’re met with every day. And yet, they respond to the same name, their features are identical, if not for the years that separate them, the stress of adulthood on one and the carefreeness of youth on the other.

Your body reacts automatically to the soft touch—never in a million years would you let the Jongseong you know come near you like this, but here, nothing feels more natural than his hands on your face, your shoulders, your hair, as though they’re just as much his as they are yours. You realize the emotion in your stomach is not sadness—tears fall, but you’re not sad. You’ve never felt as home as you do now, and if one thing romantic novels have taught you, is that this must be love.

You look up at the man in front of you, eyebrows furrowed as you search his face for confirmation or some sort of an answer. There’s a tremble in your voice when you speak next. “I just… I think I love you, Jongseong.”

He chuckles. “Well, we established that a while ago, didn’t we? What with getting married and having kids. But I’m glad you still feel that way.”

The mention of marriage and children doesn’t faze you nearly as much as it should. You’ve only got one thing on your mind. “Do you love me too?”

You expect him to laugh—not out of cruelty, but because the answer is so obvious, it almost doesn’t deserve to be answered seriously. Like when your brother asks if he can have one more of your cookies and you tell him you’ll cut his hand off. Sometimes you think it’s easier to be sarcastic than be unabashedly nice to someone. Especially with Jongseong, whom you don’t expect kindness or patience from, you wait for him to stay something like, “No, that’s why I’ve stayed with you these eight years.”

So when instead, he says, “More than anything on this Earth,” voice low and vulnerable, tears flow even harder.

“Sorry, it’s probably just my period,” you say through sobs, although you have no idea where in her menstrual cycle this version of you is.

Jongseong chuckles again, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You do get emotional around this time.” And you cry more, because you can’t believe someone other than your mother knows you so well that they know what your period symptoms are.

Rubbing soothing circles against your back and whispering soft words in your ear, he holds you for as long as you need to calm down. When you finally do, he tells you to go sit on the couch, that he’ll finish up the dishes then heat and bring your food for you. You think you’ve got your emotions under control, but the moment you bite the pasta, cooked to perfection with the most succulent tomato sauce you’ve ever had, sweet with a little kick of spice and a generous amount of parmesan cheese, tears start to fall again as if you had an endless stock of water behind your eyes.

“This is so good,” you mumble.

Jongseong smiles, his gaze full of affection miraculously directed at you as he tucks away strands of your hair so they don’t get in your eyes or in your food. “I’m glad, baby.”

You react to the nickname viscerally, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can even understand them. “You haven’t called me that in ages.” You widen your eyes at yourself, wondering how this was something you even knew. But when you look at Jongseong, all he does is smile more.

“You’re right, I haven’t. I guess I was reminded of college. You cried all the time back then. As much as it pained me, I can’t say I wasn’t happy to be the one you always came to for comfort.”

You haven’t been through college yet, so you should be unable to tell whether this truly happened or not—and yet, the memories of the body you’re in all confirm what Jongseong just said. But it feels impossible—going to university with him, letting yourself be vulnerable enough with him to not only cry in front of him but let him comfort you. Whatever could have happened in the years between the present you know and your time at university for things to change so drastically?

But before you can make sense of any of it, Jongseong speaks again. “Why? Do you like it when I call you baby?”

Your stomach flips. Heat rises to your face at his words, the tone with which he said them, the things he was alluding to—you know that having children means you’d popped your cherry at some point, that you’d had sex with Jongseong specifically, but to be confronted with the fact was something else.

“Maybe,” you mumble, and proceed to stuff your mouth with pasta so that you can’t incriminate yourself further.

He puts on a recent movie, something you should arguably be paying attention to, since you’re literally getting a glimpse into the future of cinema—you could steal the idea, go back to your present and sell it for an outrageous price.

But Jongseong’s presence next to you makes it impossible to concentrate on anything but him. The warmth emanating from him, the scent of his perfume envelop you, give you a sense of just how real this all is—despite how comfortable being with him like this feels, you’re still not convinced you’re not just in an unsettlingly vivid dream. You take one of his hands in yours, examining each finger, turning his hand over, tracing the lines of his palm, smoothing your thumb over his nails—it’s an undeniably human hand. Warm against yours, slightly rough. He’s started using hand cream, you think, all these winters when his dry hands would crack because of the cold coming up to your mind, teenage Jongseong’s hard refusal to wear any sort of cream to protect himself. Memories bob up to the surface: fixing his cracked hands up with a plaster, your tear falling on his hand, the both of you in your school uniforms in what looks like the school infirmary; awkwardly gifting him some hand cream the Christmas of that year, not looking at him as you hand him the small package. Saying, “It’s a waste of plasters for something that could be fixed so easily.” Him treating you to warm, spicy tteokbokki because he felt bad for not having gotten you anything, even though this was the first time either of you had ever given the other one a present.

As your fingers trail up from his hand to his forearm, his shoulder, his jawline, more memories flood your mind. Clumsy first kisses; squabbles of the kind you were already used to; lazy mornings in bed; hours spent in your kitchen or his, before you shared one, cooking dinner together; the way you felt when he proposed, a feeling so intense remembering it is almost unbearable now. Your eyes and fingers examine his face in detail—even though you’ve seen him almost every day since the start of high school, this feels like the first time you really perceive him. The delicate bow of his lips, the strong nose, the softness in his eyes when he looks at you. Your heart beats uncontrollably as you hold each other’s gazes, but you feel inexplicably relaxed at the same time, two nearly opposing realities fighting each other inside of you—one in which you and Jongseong regarding each other with such affection is unthinkable, the other in which it is daily routine.

“Movie not to your taste?” he asks, voice gentle, breaking you out of your stupor.

“Hm?”

He nods towards the TV screen. “I see you’re not paying much attention.”

“No. I have… things on my mind.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly growing on his lips. “Yeah?” You think your heart might actually flatline when he brings you in closer to his chest, and, face buried in your hair, says, “You know, I’ve been thinking that the twins might want a younger sibling to play with soon enough…”

You’re not sure whether he actually wants a third child or if this is weird dirty talk that apparently turns parents on—all you know is that this is something future you will deal with, not high school senior you.

You whip up your head at him, eyes wide in panic that he mirrors immediately. “Or—or not. Later. Later?” You nod fervently, and the worry dissipates from his handsome features. “Okay, later,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head before returning his attention to the movie.

A couple hours later, you’re laying in bed in the dark together—you can tell Jongseong is falling asleep by the regularity of his breathing and his stillness, but you’re wide awake. You don’t know how you’ve managed to spend all this time with him, acting like the wife he knows and loves, without imploding. But suddenly, the idea of waking up in your childhood bed, surrounded by your pink-and-white walls, going downstairs to be greeted by your brother and parents, sends a wave of panic through you. You haven’t felt this comfortable in a long time—Jongseong’s arm draped over your waist, the fact that you could reach over and feel his skin against your palm if you wanted. You don’t want to go back to a time where you hate him. In fact, you don’t know if you could hate him after this.

“Jongseong?” you say softly, the syllables unfamiliar on your tongue, even though the name rings brusquely through your head for the best part of every day.

It takes a few seconds, but he reacts eventually. “Hm? Did you just call me Jongseong?” he murmurs sleepily, as if you’d just called him Robert or Christopher and not the name his own parents gave him.

“Yeah.”

He chuckles. “Now that’s something you haven’t called me in ages. Makes me feel like you’re mad at me,” he says, turning over and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His hair tickles your skin, and one of your hands comes up reflexively to feel the softness of his close shave.

“...Jong?” you try.

“That’s a step up, but not quite what I want,” he mumbles.

You’re silent for a few moments. “Honey,” you say tentatively, voice a mere whisper.

“That’s better.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Will you be here in the morning?”

“Mh-hm. It’s Saturday tomorrow.”

“No,” you say, feeling out of breath. “I mean, will you be here?”

You’re aware you’re not making much sense—and yet, Jongseong needs no further explanation. “Of course, baby,” he starts, voice soothing. “I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day afterwards. ‘Til death do us part, remember?”

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, too,” you find yourself saying, and, more importantly, meaning. It’s the last thing either of you says before falling asleep.

Tears are streaming down your face when you wake up the next day. When you open your eyes, pink and white obnoxiously stare back at you. The clock reads 7:12, just three minutes before your alarm goes off, and unfortunately for high school you, the night hasn’t given in to Saturday morning—it’s Tuesday, and you have to go to school and act as if you hadn’t just had the weirdest, most realistic dream of your life. You don’t even get a weekend to shake this weird feeling in your stomach off, you’re going to have to face Park Jongseong full force. At least, this will become your friends’ favorite bit for the foreseeable future.

They’re already sitting in the classroom when you get there, animatedly chatting to each other. You plop down in your seat in front of them, and when they see the sullen look on your face, ask you what’s wrong.

“Did you wake up during the night to play Hay Day again?” Kazuha asks, eyebrows knotted with genuine worry.

“I’m not that person anymore,” you reply. “No, I just had a really weird dream. More like a nightmare, really. It feels like I didn’t get any sleep.”

“What was it about?” Sunoo asks.

Your eyes dart back-and-forth between the two of them as you brace yourself for their reactions. Not wanting anyone else to overhear, you lean in conspiratorially. They mirror you. “I was married to Park Jongseong,” you whisper. As expected, they burst into laughter immediately, and you lean back in your seat, crossing your arms in annoyance. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s very funny,” Kazuha retorts. “It’s ironic, even, considering how much you hate the guy.”

“Exactly!”

“But I guess even you know how ridiculous it is that you hate him, if your brain is able to imagine yourself being married to him,” Sunoo adds, shrugging. “It’s a good reminder that you’re literally the only person in this school with a vendetta against him.”

Kazuha nods energetically. “He picked up a pen for me, once. He’s a nice guy.”

You look around the room in panic. “Keep it down, will you?” you hush, despite the fact that no one is paying any attention to the three of you. You sigh, resolving yourself to telling them the entire truth. “But guys, I’m scared. I think this might be a sign.”

Their eyebrows perk up. “A sign that your hatred of him has actually been disguising a crush this entire time?” Sunoo asks, feigning innocence.

“No—what? Where did you get that idea?”

“Nowhere. Go on.”

“Whatever. Come here,” you say, gesturing for them to huddle again. “It’s the well.”

“Oh my God, Y/N, you’ve actually lost it,” Kazuha says, fascinated by your stupidity.

“I’m not going to tolerate any well slander, this is serious. I just wanted it to reassure me that there was someone out there for me. And then I had that stupid dream.”

Kazuha and Sunoo exchange a look like they’re parents trying to announce to their daughter that she’s adopted. “Y/N…” Sunoo starts.

“This is crazy. Like, love philters and writing Park Sunghoon’s name a hundred times are one thing, this is…”

“Crazy,” Sunoo said, nodding along. “This is crazy. There’s no other word for it. Your eighteen years of boyfriendlessness have finally caught up to you.”

“You guys don’t get it. What about that time I asked it to give me a good grade on our Literature exam and I literally came first out of our class? Or when I told it I missed Jung Hae-in and his military discharge announcement came the next day?” you say, aware that the look in your eyes is only confirming their suspicions—but you need someone to believe you, or at the very least understand you.

“One, you’re a good student. Two, that was pure coincidence,” Sunoo explains.

“But girl, if you want to marry Jay, that’s fine. You’ve got our blessing,” Kazuha says, shrugging.

“Yeah. He picked up her pen, once,” Sunoo adds.

“And you know, you guys clearly have some sort of chemistry.”

You scoff. “If you think that him refuting my every word and finding every opportunity to make fun of me, then yeah, I guess you could say we have chemistry.”

“You guys have banter,” Kazuha says as if it’s obvious.

“Oh, please. Banter is cute. I want to kill him every time he opens his mouth.”

Your friends both roll their eyes. “While I understand that most men are better off staying quiet—no offense, Sunoo—”

“None taken.”

“You have to admit Jay is not nearly as insufferable as you make him out to be,” Kazuha says.

“Are you kidding me? He’s always acting like a child. Rubbing it in my face when he gets a better grade, trying to start arguments for no reason, sucking up to teachers, stealing my erasers, for God’s sake, you’d think he’s twelve. I know that I’m not on the majority's side, but I seriously cannot understand how other people tolerate him at all.”

Sunoo sighs. “Because he’s nice to everyone. He never hesitates to help people, he’s even funny, sometimes, and—well, look at him.” He nods his head towards the door, and when you turn around, Jongseong is indeed walking in the classroom. “He’s not a bad-looking boy.”

“Gosh, Sunoo, maybe you should marry him,” Kazuha says, but since you laid your eyes on Jongseong, you’ve stopped listening.

You feel weird. You look at him, and you feel weird. It’s the same feeling you had during your sleep last night, a feeling that paralyzes you from head to toe, that starts in your stomach and spreads to your entire body, weighs you down in your chair.

“Hey, guys,” he greets simply, and his voice wraps itself around your heart and squeezes. You can’t do anything but watch him as he takes his seat next to you, plopping his bag on the table and taking his notebook out. He looks at you, watches you watching him, then swivels around in his chair.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asks your friends.

“She had a dream that she m—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Zuha, if you want to live to see another day.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replies, a satisfied little smile on her lips.

Despite yourself, you’re still staring at Jongseong, trying to figure out what the hell these emotions are that are raging up a storm inside of you. Instead of ignoring you, he turns to face you, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm as he stares back at you, smirking. “What’s up, Y/N? Has it finally dawned on you how devastatingly handsome I am?” he asks, and you frown, because he’s not so far off from the truth.

“Please, kids, it’s 9 a.m., don’t flirt right in front of us,” Sunoo says, despair in his voice.

“She’s the one who started it,” Jongseong replies, still looking at you, his smirk growing.

For some reason, this startles you out of your trance, and you look away from him like you’ve been burned, preoccupying yourself instead with your notes for this class. “In your dreams, Jongseong,” you mumble.

“More like in yours,” Kazuha says, her and Sunoo giggling.

“Zuha!” you exclaim. Jongseong looks at you with raised eyebrows, and with his infuriating capacity to put two and two together, you’re scared he’s figured out what she meant, but you’re literally saved by your teacher who walks in at that moment and starts the class.

The second the bell rings to signify the end of the class, you hurriedly pack your things and mutter an excuse about needing the bathroom, trying to get as far away as possible from the boy whose all-too familiar scent had messed with your thoughts all class, whose every brush of his arm against yours had made your heart race uncontrollably.

It hadn’t just been a dream. It couldn’t have been.

Just like there was no doubt the 28-year-old Jongseong from last night had once been the annoying boy you knew, the 18-year-old Jongseong was sure to one day become the husband of your dreams. A devoted partner and father, his presence comforting, his good looks indeed devastating, unwavering.

There was no mistake to be made. The well had worked its magic.

Whether you liked it or not, you would end up marrying Park Jongseong. You, of all people; him, of all people.

Was there already something of your future husband in the boy that snickered when you mixed up your genders in German class, or would he one day spring out of nowhere? Apparently, you’d be around to find out.

But for now, how to act around him? It felt unfair that you were privy to this knowledge of your shared future while he was ignorant of it. Blissfully, perhaps. You couldn’t imagine that he would rejoice much at this news.

Your mind is somewhere else the entire day. At lunch, your other friends try to get the thing that’s obviously bothering you out of you, but Kazuha and Sunoo are there to tell them not to bother. You’d needed to tell someone about it, but you don’t want the entire school to know about your marital premonitions. The two knuckleheads you call your best friends are already doing a good enough job teasing you about it—”There’s your husband, Y/N,” when Jongseong walks past; “So have you thought of baby names? Kayleigh and Mackayleigh, perhaps?” unsolicited, during Physics. You turn around to check on the culprit — because yes, Jongseong is the culprit here, you, a mere a victim — and when he notices you staring, nods at you as if to say, What’s your problem?, trying to look threatening in his white lab coat that’s three sizes too big and protective goggles.

It doesn’t help that Jongseong has a way of hovering around you. Even in classes in which your teachers assigned the seats for you, he’s never far from your seat. The two of you sit next to each other in German, your last class every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. But today, the seat next to you is empty—what would’ve been a cause for celebration just yesterday is now a source of worry. You’d seen him just two hours ago in your previous class together, so where the hell was he now? He’s lucky that your teacher is an old German lady who always spends the first ten minutes of the lesson rambling about something in dialectal German no one understands but nods along to anyway. When he walks into the room, five minutes late, she just says, “Hallo, Jay,” and continues with her story. It’s about her first school trip to Berlin when she was fifteen and the country was still divided. You think.

He winks at you when he takes his seat and you roll your eyes. You pretend to listen to your teacher for thirty seconds, then hit him gently with your elbow. “Where were you?” you ask without looking at him.

He doesn’t answer immediately, probably surprised you initiated a non-hostile conversation with him for once. “I was just hanging out with my friends, something you clearly wouldn’t understand.”

And your friends wondered why you hated him?

“Still having imaginary friends at eighteen is really concerning, Jongseong. You should see someone about it.”

When you glance at him, he’s already looking right at you, smiling. You’ve never felt so conscious of your side profile.

“Why? Were you worried?” he whispers, kicking your foot with his.

You look at him, horrified—where the hell had he gotten that idea? How was he so spot-on? You scoff, trying to diffuse the tension inside yourself. “No.”

He kicks your foot again. “I was five minutes late and you started to worry?”

“No. Stop.”

“I didn’t know you cared about me so much, Y/N.”

This time, you give him a harsh look, one that lets him know you really mean your words—“Stop it.” Finally, he relents, getting the assigned homework out now that the teacher has actually started the lesson. Your face softens—he looks hurt. Guilt tugs at your heartstrings.

Despite what you might say, you like the way things are with Jongseong. If some people always need to be crushing on someone, you always need to have someone you perceive as an enemy—it was Na Jaemin in elementary school, because he’d once made fun of your incapability to climb the monkey bars; Shin Ryujin, in middle school, for kissing your crush during a game of spin-the-bottle at your own birthday party; Park Jongseong, since freshman year, for simply existing. Your reasons for disliking him are trivial, you’ll admit. You weren’t sure you could even place a finger on what had first triggered your disdain towards him—one too many awful jokes, one too many times raising his hand in class and rattling off a perfect answer, then looking around himself proudly, one too many roars of laughter heard throughout the entire cafeteria. The fact that no one else seemed to be bothered by him only added to your aggravation. He just got on your nerves, and it seemed that you openly showing your dislike of him — him, who was so used to being loved by everyone around him, pampered by his family, praised by his teachers, popular among his peers — was enough to make him dislike you, too. So, after a few failed attempts at trying to be your friend, because Jongseong was unable to not be friends with everyone he met, he didn’t simply give up.

If he couldn’t be your friend, then fine, he’d be your enemy.

At least, that’s how it appears to you, still now. It’s never gone dangerously far, but if there’s an opening to tease you or get on your nerves, he’ll do it. Not passing you the ball during soccer, or conversely, only aiming for you during dodgeball, not sharing his textbook with you when you forgot it unless you beg, loudly clearing his throat when you speak in class. And, lately, pouring salt on your wounds in the form of reminding you how impossible you and Jake Sim are. His motto must be if there’s a will, there’s a way. And when it comes to making your life hell, his will is infinite.

Everything is upside-down now. The question of how your relationship can possibly go from this to that obsesses you. It feels like you’re more capable of sharing a funeral, dying at each others’ hands, than a wedding.

“Jong, your textbook.”

He squints at you. “Funny how I’m Jongseong when you hate me, Jong when you need a textbook,” he says, sliding his book closer to himself.

“It’s not my fault your name is a mouthful,” you retort, trying to pull it back to the middle of the table, but he’s quicker than you.

“Then maybe you should call me Jay, like everyone else on Earth.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Now give it here. Please?” you ask, mustering your best smile. Any other teacher would’ve scolded the two of you by now, but Ms. Schumacher is peacefully going on about the importance of word order and punctuation in the German sentence, oblivious to her two students bickering in the back row. Jongseong usually never sits at the back of the classroom—only here.

He gives in, smiling back, but there’s something behind it, something that tells you nothing good is brewing in his brain. “Only because you’re so pretty.”

Normally, this kind of remark would’ve warranted a slap on the arm or an array of insults, but if today is anything, it is not normal. You look at him like you’ve been stung, visions of your not-dream coming to you in flashes like you’re the titular character on That’s So Raven—the affection in your husband’s eyes, the kindness in his words, the sincerity in his smile. Again, you’re left to wonder if this man is already taking root inside of the boy next to you, if Jongseong’s future capacity to love you presently exists in his heart.

Does your future capacity to love him already exist in your heart?

You watch as his smirk softens into a grin, your flusteredness and lack of a response clearly amusing him, then as he circles the exercises Ms. Schumacher is assigning for the lesson. She seems to have forgotten there was homework due—Jongseong will be sure to remind her of it quickly.

He kicks your foot again, tells you to focus. His ears have turned red.

You wonder if those capacities haven’t existed from the start.

As much as you love a good friends-to-lovers story, characters hiding their feelings out of fear of ruining the friendship have never failed to frustrate you — just tell her, you dummy, it’s obvious she likes you too — and yet, you’ve never related more than now.

Whatever it is that you and Jongseong have, you don’t want to lose it. It adds entertainment to your otherwise average life.

“Good thing she didn’t pick on you while we went over the homework, ‘cause you clearly put zero effort in. And I wouldn’t have helped you, even if you’d asked, by the way.”

You hum absent-mindedly as you put your notebook and pencil holder in your bag. Are you sure that these are even your feelings in the first place? Just because the well put a silly idea in your head doesn’t mean you have to believe it like it’s scripture. If what you saw is real, then it will happen in its own time. Things don’t have to start changing right this instant.

“Gosh, Y/N, what’s up with you today? You’re so boring,” Jongseong continues, following you out of the classroom.

“Just tired,” you reply. Wouldn’t it be unnatural if you were to radically alter the way you behave with Jongseong? Love should come about organically. Sure, his presence has always provoked some kind of reaction within you, but that’s usually been annoyance. Whether he’s stealing the fifth eraser you’ve bought that month or running on the soccer field, beads of sweat running down his temples, hair sticking out everywhere, victoriously smiling when his team scores—you’re annoyed. Whether he’s sticking up his hand higher than yours or going to the school dance with Ahn Yujin—you’re annoyed. When you learned that she’d been his neighbor since infancy and that she had a boyfriend, who went to another school and only trusted Jongseong to take her to the dance, you were still annoyed—this time at yourself for feeling even the tiniest bit relieved that nothing was going on between them.

And this — his quick steps trying to keep up with yours, his dumb story about yogurt coming out of Heeseung’s nose today at lunch when they were laughing too hard — yes, you’re still annoyed. But you realize you’re not annoyed at him.

You’re annoyed at how he makes you feel.

“Y/N?” he says, but you’re too deep in your thoughts, only vaguely registering the sound until he repeats it, louder this time, and grabs your hand, making you abruptly stop walking. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” he asks with genuine concern in his voice. “You’re barely listening to me. I mean, it’s not like you usually really do, but you’d have told me to get lost, like, five minutes ago now…”

He chuckles self-deprecatingly, but despite his words, you’re focusing on something else yet again. His hand on yours, his loose hold on your fingers. Your brain is yelling at you—hold his hand, hug him. It’s like there are still traces of the 28-year-old version of you you visited yesterday, urging you to behave like her and not 18-year-old you.

So, the well had let you know that you need not look much further to find what you wanted. Here it is, in the form of a boy you have convinced yourself you hated, and hated you, and yet, he’s holding your hand, asking you if you’re okay, worry knotting his eyebrows together.

Hold his hand. Hug him. Instead, you retract your hand, let it fall limply by your side. Jongseong’s eyebrows shoot up.

He’s so close, the supposed love of your life. You don’t know how to reach out to him.

For now, you smile. “Get lost, Jong.”

you guys how the hell do i act around jongseong now that i know our fates are romantically intertwined

kazuha i think not treating him like the number one public enemy would be a good start

you so what… be nice to him? how do i do that

sunoo oh my god y/n when she has to treat another person like a regular human being

you he’s not just another person!

sunoo okayyyyy i see you little miss repressed feelings

you i hate u

kazuha just don’t roll your eyes at everything he says anymore and don’t start arguments for no reason

you he’s the one who starts them… but okay i’ll try

“Let’s pair up for the reading analysis today. You can stay with your deskmate or pick a partner, I don’t mind as long as you get the work done. I’m talking about you, Chaewon and Yuri. This is English class, not a gossip session.”

The second your English teacher has finished speaking, Jongseong swivels in his chair. “Let’s partner up, Y/N?”

“What about me?” Jake asks, eyes darting back-and-forth between the two of you.

“You can partner up with Minju,” Jongseong replies, pointing to the girl he’s usually seated next to. “Look. You guys will be great together. Say hi, Minju.” Minju waves shyly at Jake, braces on display as she smiles ecstatically. It’s not everyday that she gets to talk to one of the most popular guys in school.

Jake reluctantly switches seats with him, glancing back at you and Jongseong who just grins at him, fake friendliness plastered on his lips, until he turns around again. Your new partner’s smile softens and reaches his eyes when he looks at you. “Hi.”

You have to look away—you feel your face burn under his gaze. “Hi, Jong.”

He tilts his head. “What? Do you hate me so much that you can’t even look at me now?” he asks, and you can’t tell whether he’s joking or genuine.

You frown. “I don’t hate you.”

“Oh? That’s a recent development.”

“I guess,” you mumble after a few seconds. Is it really? You suddenly can’t remember if you ever really hated him, or if you’d exaggerated your own feelings.

His smile widens. “Well, good. I mean, you were going to have to realize at some point that I really am funny, smart, endearing, handsome-”

“Back to hating.”

“Let’s start the assignment.”

You agree on reading the passage first, but you realize halfway through that not a single word has been absorbed. “Hey. Why did you switch seats with him?” you ask, whispering so as not to be overheard.

Jongseong shrugs. “I thought you wouldn’t want to work with him, considering…”

“Right.” You’re silent again, but only for a bit. “What’s it to you?” you mumble.

He scoffs. “Sorry for trying to be considerate.”

“That’s not—”

“Let’s just focus on this.”

His sudden coldness vexes you. You know you should let it go — don’t start arguments for no reason, and all that — and you know it’s childish, but you can’t help yourself. You have certain reflexes you’re not particularly proud of when it comes to one Park Jongseong. “Let’s just focus on this,” you repeat, mocking his grumbling tone of voice and shaking your head like a puppet.

He glares at you. “Can you not act like a toddler for once?”

“Can you not be a dick for once?” you bite back.

“Y/N, Jongseong, I’m sure you’re having a fascinating conversation on the use of chiaroscuro in the text?” your teacher asks, a look of warning on his face.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, embarrassed.

“Yes, so much chiaroscuro,” Jongseong mumbles, resting his cheek on his knuckles. When the teacher has turned away, he kicks your foot. “See, you’re getting us in trouble.”

“Do you even know what chiaroscuro is?”

He hesitates. “That’s not the problem here. You are.”

“Well, maybe if you didn’t-”

“Y/N, Jay, final warning.”

“Sorry,” you both say at the same time. With one last glare at each other, you finally get to work.

So your plan to start getting along with Jongseong isn’t in full-force yet. On the drive back home that afternoon, you reassure yourself that these things take time. When the moment is right, the two of you will grow closer.

But increasingly, it feels as though the right moment will never come.

Two months have passed since your visit to the well, and things between you and Jongseong have not changed. Not really, at least.

You still bicker like cat and dog — it goes without saying that you’re the cute puppy and he’s the heartless cat — and he gets as much on your nerves as ever, especially now that you know that the potential to be nice to you, to love you, even, exists somewhere inside him. Somewhere deeply hidden perhaps, but somewhere nonetheless. Of course, after telling yourself that what must come will come of its own accord, you haven’t done much to change the dynamic between the two of you. But if you used to see your retaliations against him as necessary to your survival, you now find some sort of enjoyment in them—some might call it Stockholm Syndrome, you perceive it as a step in the right direction. You’ve followed one of Kazuha’s pieces of advice: you don’t roll your eyes at him anymore, simply because you don’t feel the need to. You argue with him with a smile on your face, his attempts at insulting or annoying you have started to make you laugh.

He doesn’t say anything but seems to gladly welcome this change. If you get a lower grade than him on a test, he doesn’t try to stick the knife in further, but genuinely offers to go over it with you later. If you give in after two hours of tearing your hair out over a German exercise and text him for help, he doesn’t make fun of you. If he says something particularly arrogant or makes a really bad joke, all you need to do is give him a look, and he’ll mumble an apology.

Could it have been like this the entire time? you wonder, watching him across the schoolyard as he and Heeseung hunt for Pokémon. Just a couple months ago, you would’ve scrunched your nose at the sight, making fun of him for his childish interests. Now, you notice the way he laughs, audible all the way to where you sit with Kazuha and Sunoo, the way he jumps excitedly and points at things only he and his friend see, and all you feel is endearment.

“Look at you, look at that,” Sunoo says as he hits you on the forehead with his metal spoon, startling you. He tuts. “You’ve got love dripping from your eyes, sweetie.”

“Sunoo, that’s disgusting.”

“Love? I know.”

“No, your spoon. Your saliva’s all over that,” you say, and all he does is eat another mouthful of his yogurt while staring wide-eyed right at you. When you look back at Jongseong, he’s high-fiving Heeseung. You wonder which creature he’s caught now. In the library yesterday, he spent thirty minutes showing you every single one he had captured so far instead of revising for the upcoming Physics test.

“Yeah, we know you’d like someone else’s saliva more,” Kazuha chimes in, and the two of them snort.

“It’s not like that,” you say, biting into an apple slice.

“Oh yeah? What’s it like, then?” Kazuha asks.

“We’re… becoming friends,” you say, but you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince more.

“Y/N, I’ve had to watch the two of you giggling to yourselves in the library one too many times to believe you’re friends. I know your homework’s not that funny,” Sunoo argues.

“Friends can giggle with each other!” you exclaim, but your friends are inflexible.

“I would tell you to get yourself together if you giggled at me like that,” he says.

“I saw you twirl your hair the other day,” Kazuha adds.

“I never—When?!”

She shrugs. “The other day.”

You deflate, crushed under your friends’ accusations. “I wouldn’t twirl my hair…” you mumble. You decide to busy yourself with your apple slices, not even bothering to find out what Kazuha and Sunoo start snickering and elbowing each other about.

“Hey,” a familiar voice greets, making you look up. Jongseong smiles at you and steals an apple slice from your tupperware as he sits down next to you, Heeseung across from him.

“Hi, Jong,” you say, sitting up straighter. You offer a piece of fruit to Heeseung but he declines, saying he doesn’t like apples without peanut butter.

In front of you, your friends exchange a look, and you’re immediately terrified of what they’ll do next. Leaning in, they place their elbows on the table, and Kazuha starts them off. “Jay, you and Y/N know each other pretty well, right?”

Jongseong glances at you, eyes wide. “Uh, sure.”

“Have you ever noticed her, say, twirling her hair?” Sunoo asks, tilting his head innocently at the poor boy by your side.

You’ve never seen him look so confused. “Um, yeah, she does that when she’s concentrating on something, sometimes…”

They lean back. “Huh,” Kazuha says, studying Jongseong’s face.

“Interesting. Very interesting,” Sunoo says, slowly nodding.

You glare at your friends. “See, that’s different,” you tell them. “I was concentrating on something, not doing… whatever you guys had in mind.”

Jongseong looks at you. “What did they have in mind?”

You answer before either of them can dig your grave any deeper. “Nothing. It’s nothing. We were just having a stupid conversation.” You muster your most convincing smile, and the subject is finally dropped.

No one says anything for a few moments, until Heeseung decides to speak up: “You should’ve seen Jay earlier, Y/N. He caught this super rare version of Pikachu earlier, it was awesome.”

“Dude…” Jongseong murmurs.

“What?” Heeseung asks, his enthusiasm quickly dissolving into confusion. Jongseong just shakes his head. Thankfully for all of you, the bell rings then, and you head to class. The three of them walk in front of you while you and Jongseong fall back a step.

“Why were you guys sitting outside? It’s freezing today,” he asks you. Walking side-by-side like this, you can’t help but notice the inches he has over you, the broadness of his shoulders in comparison to yours.

“They turned the heat way too high in the cafeteria, so we came outside for some fresh air,” you explain. He’s right, the air is chilly today—it’s a few days into December, and the temperatures have been accordingly low.

“Aren’t you cold?”

Your heart skips a beat. One of the side effects of not being at each other’s throat anymore was that you got more and more often to be privy to this side of Jongseong—attentive, considerate, kind. What you once thought were his moral attempts at not being so mean to you all the time, you found out was actually his real nature. He wasn’t a prick who was sometimes nice, he was a nice person who turned into a prick with you. Whether the fault lay on him or you was another debate.

“No, I’m alright,” you say, but your body decides to betray you and makes you sneeze three times in a row.

“Bless you,” Jongseong says, laughing. “Here.” You try to stop him, pushing his hands away, but he takes his gloves off and forces them in your palms.

“I’m going to be inside for the next four hours, Jong, I’ll be fine. Keep them.”

“No, it’s okay. Just so you can warm up quicker.”

You eventually give in, putting the gloves over your hands, laughing at the extra fabric that hangs off the tip of your fingers. But when you look at Jongseong’s now-bare hands, something catches your attention. Stopping in the hallway, you grab one of them, examining the cuts on his knuckles. “You need to wear hand cream, Jong, your hands are too chapped.”

He lets you turn his hand over, smooth over his skin, do the same thing with his other hand. “Men don’t wear hand cream,” he says, a grin on his lips.

You burst out laughing. “I think that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Seriously, though, I don’t like the way it feels. Too sticky.”

“You just need to get a quick-absorption one.” Then, you make the terrible mistake of looking up from his hand and meeting his eyes—you gasp silently, his gaze and soft smile transporting you right back to that night, the images of 28-year-old and 18-year-old Jongseong mixing into each other, becoming indistinct from each other. Your gaze drifts down to his lips — chapped, too, when they’re usually plumper, rosier — and his hand, still in yours, balls into a fist. The second bell rings and you both take a step back, eyes meeting again for a brief moment before looking down at the floor. With uncharacteristically shy, embarrassed words of parting, you make your separate ways to your next classes.

“That was beautiful, Y/N,” Sunoo says, waiting for you by the door, and you walk past him without so much as a glance.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

sunoo jay and y/n almost kissed earlier

kazuha WHAAAAT

you KIM SUNOO.

kazuha WHEN?????

sunoo right before class after the lunch break y/n was sooo embarrassed afterwards lol

you we did NOT almost kiss you’re talking out of your ass

kazuha i can’t believe i missed this fml

you YOU DIDNT MISS ANYTHING NOTHING HAPPENED

sunoo be serious u guys we’re standing inches apart

you were* and no we weren’t

sunoo oh stfu it was autocorrect i saw it w my own eyes y/n… you WERE literally holding his hand and staring into those beautiful eyes of his

kazuha sunoo…?

sunoo what can’t a man acknowledge another man’s objective attractiveness if i was y/n i would’ve folded the moment i saw him

you literally one of the first times he talked to me was to make fun of my handwriting

sunoo yeah he’s on his tsundere shit i fw it

you …

sunoo anyways zuha you shouldve seen it when the bell rang they practically leaped away from each other and u didnt know what to do w yourselves afterwards likeeee it was so obvi what you both were thinking of

kazuha cuuuute

you i resent these accusations.

sunoo istg if u dont kiss him next time i will

kazuha ???

you SUNOO?

sunoo WHAT

Something happens a few days before the start of winter break.

Ms. Schumacher is absent, gone off to Germany to visit her family there—she has enough seniority in the school that they let her abandon her responsibilities as a teacher once in a while. A week is too short a period of time for them to bother finding a substitute. It’s usually your last class of the day, but you have to wait around for your dad to be done working, so while most of your classmates have gone home early, you sit with about six other people in the unsupervised study room, absent-mindedly jotting down tid-bits of dialogue for your new story idea, too preoccupied with Jongseong’s absence to really pay attention to anything else. It’s fifteen minutes after the hour, but he’s nowhere to be found, although you know for a fact that he takes those weird Molecular Gastronomy cooking classes your Chemistry teacher offers for extra credit every Thursday after school, so he should be here. And anyways, if he’d gone home, he would’ve texted you something like, Have fun sitting around for an hour, I’m gonna go do awesome stuff with Heeseung, even if awesome stuff meant playing Mario Kart or drinking Sprite and holding a two-person burping contest.

You’re so engrossed in your own thoughts that you pay no mind to the sudden ding of a phone in the room, followed by some gasps and heated whispers. The exchanged words go through one ear and out the other—There was a fight? In the locker rooms? It must be bad if they were sent to the nurse before the principal… Huh? Over who? So he took both of them on? Damn, I didn’t know Jay got like that. He seems so well-behaved.

Your head whips up at the mention of your friend’s name. “Jay? Did something happen to him?” you ask out loud, the whispers dying down immediately as everybody stares at you.

Gaeul, who was in your class last year, is the only one who answers you. Holding up and waving her phone, she says, “They say he got into a fight.”

Jongseong? A fight? It sounds like a practical joke. He admitted to you he once started crying watching Heeseung playing Call of Duty, it was so violent. You shake your head. “He-he did? With who?”

Gaeul and the girl next to her exchange a concerned, almost guilty look. “Jake and Sunghoon.” The crease between your eyebrows deepened. You don’t need to ask anything else before she adds, “They’re at the nurse’s station. It sounds pretty bad…”

That’s enough for you to leap out of your chair and run to the nurse’s station. It seems the news has spread impossibly quickly among your year group—even Kazuha and Sunoo are already blowing your phone, asking you if you’ve heard, if you know how Jay is. You ignore them, reminding yourself to text them back later, until one message from Sunoo in particular catches your attention: It apparently started because Sunghoon said something about you, Y/N. They’re saying Jay got angry.

The nurse is busy on the phone when you get there, her back to the entrance, so you’re able to slip in unnoticed. You head to the adjoining room where the beds are, all three of them taken—you walk by Sunghoon first, his arms crossed over his chest and pointedly not looking at you, then by Jake, who calls out your name. You glare at him and pull on the white plastic curtain that separates his bed from Jongseong’s. They’re already going to hear you, you don’t need them seeing you on top of that.

Jongseong sits up with a grunt when you appear at the end of his bed. The sight of him makes your stomach flip, and not in a good way, for once—his left eye is swollen and circled by a deep purple bruise, shiny with ointment, there’s a cut on his cheek, his lower lip is busted, his right hand is wrapped in bandages. “Oh my God,” you whisper as you help him up, voice breaking. He stares at his hands, jaw locking when you gently place one palm on his good hand, the other on the side of his face, moving it this way and that so you can take a better look at his injuries. He winces, and you let go, resting your hand on his shoulder instead. “What the hell got into you?” you whisper vehemently, unable to decide if you’re worried or angry or both as tears form in your eyes.

He tries to shrug, but even that seems to hurt. “Don’t shrug, Jongseong, tell me what happened.”

“I’m Jongseong again now?” he says, attempting a smile, but only one corner of his lips rises.

You sigh. Even in this state, he has to be a smart-ass. “You’re Jong when I need a textbook, Jongseong when you get into stupid fights,” you reply, and he smiles wider but immediately winces, hand coming up to the cut on his lip. You notice that his hand is still riddled with cracks, and whether they’re due to their dryness or to this fight doesn’t matter—”Wait here,” you say, and go rummage through some drawers for plasters. “She forgot some spots.” You feel Jongseong’s eyes on your face as you patch him up to the best of your abilities.

“I don’t want to tell you what happened. I’ll do the job of hating these idiots for the both of us, so don’t concern yourself with them,” he says, apparently not caring that the idiots in question can hear his every word.

He keeps his promise—you never hear another word from him about the cause of the fight.

Later, you find out through other means, namely Sunoo’s questionably remarkable ability to unearth any and all gossip, that in the locker rooms after Phys Ed, someone had started Jake on the topic of Yunjin, who had been recently revealed as his girlfriend. They’d apparently kept it secret because it was just fooling around at first, and only later had gotten serious enough for them to parade around the school as the couple.

It had been an unremarkable conversation until Jake said, “You guys know Y/N from our class? She saw us in the staff parking lot once, and I was sure we’d be busted then. But she didn’t tell anyone.” And just like that, the conversation turned to you, someone who was usually never a topic among these boys, jocks, soccer players, “the kind of people who peak in high school and still have a superiority complex at forty,” as Sunoo describes them.

He has a harder time explaining what happened next, can’t quite look you in the eye as he recounts what was said. “So, this is what they say, apparently someone said that you used to be obsessed with Sunghoon, then with Jake, and Sunghoon said you… Well, he said you were pathetic, that asshole, and that you had been so easy to lead on, then Jake joined in, saying the same things, basically, how funny it was seeing you so obviously in love with him when he would never give you a chance…” He looks at you worriedly, but you tell him to go on. “And so that’s when Jay got up and just straight-up punched Jake in the face. And while Jake was trying to figure out what happened, Jay punched Sunghoon, and then they both got on him, pushing him, but when he wouldn’t stop throwing punches, they started fighting, too. I think they all got some good ones in before the other boys were able to break them apart and the P.E. teacher arrived…”

But that would be later. Now, sitting with Jongseong in the nurse’s station, tears falling onto the plasters you place on his hand, nothing matters but him. You don’t need the details—he’s hurt, he got hurt over you, you feel as though every cut on his body may well have been done by your own hand. You’ve never felt so guilty for something you didn’t do. Your voice trembles when you speak; you’re unable to look at him, at his busted eye. “I just don’t want you to get hurt for me.”

Without missing a beat, he says, “What else would I get hurt for?”

You can only meet his eyes for a split second. Even like this, he manages to look at you with the same softness that has haunted you since the night you met 28-year-old Jongseong, that has rendered all thoughts of anything other than him meaningless since the day your gaze drifted down to his lips just weeks ago. “Jong…” is all you can mutter as you look down at your hands holding each others’, your lips trembling.

He raises his bandaged hand, still not used to his dominant side being ineffective for now, then lowers it when he realizes. Clumsily, he pats your hair with his left hand. “Don’t cry, please…”

Jake’s head pops out from behind the curtain. “Y/N, I’m really sorry—”

“Not right now, man,” Jay quickly interrupts. Jake pathetically disappears behind the curtain again.

“Just promise me you won’t do this again.”

“Y/N…”

“Promise me,” you say, more demanding this time, sticking out your pinky finger. Jay, hesitant, looks between your outstretched finger and your face a few times, but eventually gives in.

The nurse, upon coming to check on the boys, catches you with Jongseong and chases you out immediately. You sulk back to study hall, where everyone’s head perks up the moment you walk in. “They’re okay,” you reassure vaguely, and unenthusiastically answer their many questions. It’s only a few minutes until the bell rings, and you’re free to go then.

jong so… guess who got a five-day suspension

you you idiot what did your parents say?

jong they’re not happy i have to do all the household chores for a month

you boo-hoo

jong not sure why i came here thinking i’d get some comfort…

you … are you feeling better?

jong a little bit the nurse gave us some really strong painkillers but i’m okay because there’s a pretty girl that’s going to drop off the homework for me after school every day :)

you oh did you ask chaewon to do that?

jong um no i was talking about you ..if that’s okay

you haha i know i just wanted you to say it straight up

jong ykw maybe i should just ask chaewon

you i’ll see you tomorrow jong!!

jong :) see you tomorrow pretty

The months that separate your return to school and graduation come and go in the blink of an eye. Jongseong can’t come to school the last day before the holidays or the first four days after, and he’s grounded in-between. Things change bit by bit with every day you visit him—To give him the homework, you tell his parents, although there isn’t much to do when the semester isn’t in full swing, and you could’ve easily sent him pictures. The first time, you spend more time scouring the pictures and trinkets in his room than actually talking to him, and awkwardly give him a half-hug when he tells you he won’t be able to hang out at all during the break before practically running out of his house, your heart beating a thousand miles a minute from the innocent contact. By the fourth time, you lie together on his bed and talk about your plans for college, your hands sitting centimeters apart on the navy sheets. You haven’t dared touch his hand since that day in the nurse’s station.

You’re window-shopping with Kazuha when you spot the hand cream you had seen yourself gifting Jongseong in your well-given vision. Buying it is one thing, actually giving it to him is another, an awkward, stuttery situation in which the wrapping done by the store employee suddenly seems over-the-top and out-of-place. But Jongseong seems to like it—it’s the last day of his suspension, his black eye is now a yellow-ish color, he can smile without risking splitting his lip in two. He applies it immediately, tells you he’ll make sure to wear it every day until the end of winter. You find yourself wishing there was something you could give him for every season so he wouldn’t go a day without thinking of you. When you leave, he bashfully thanks you for making sure he doesn’t fall behind and says he’s excited to see you at school the next day. You hardly know what to do with yourself, so you squeak out a “me too” and slip out the door.

His first day back is a Friday. It starts with Mathematics, a class in which you sit by each other. You remember the first week of classes when Kazuha and Sunoo had ran to sit with each other, expressly because they knew that if he saw you were sitting alone, he’d take the seat next to you, just to better torment you all year. You’d resented it then; it couldn’t make you happier now. Your body is humming with nervous energy, your foot tapping relentlessly against the tiled floor. When he appears in the doorframe, you wave at him as if he’d forgotten his seat in three weeks of absence. His elbow brushes against yours as he sits down.

Between the two of you, friendship blossoms over these months. To the detriment of everyone around you, you continue to bicker as you always have, but it’s now clearly done out of habit, out of affection, even, than out of actual dislike of each other. He and Heeseung slowly integrate your small group of three, and before you know it, it feels as though there have always been five of you. Together, you welcome spring.

In January, to thank you for helping him to pick out his mom’s birthday present, Jongseong treats you to some tteokbokki, which you said you’d been craving all week. He orders the spiciest one, then has to take a sip of water between every bite. You laugh at his teary eyes and red face while you devour the bright red rice cakes easily.

In February, he makes a show of giving you and Kazuha and Heeseung and Sunoo some homemade chocolates, saying it’s a friend thing. You find out that evening that the others each have five in their box—there are twenty in yours. It’s one of the things that makes you second guess what sort of feelings he has for you. For years, you’ve been convinced he harbored strong feelings of disdain for you; now, he seems to enjoy your friendship. You’re scared to read too much into anything, because if Jongseong is well-liked throughout school, it’s for a reason: he’s nice. To everyone. Even to you, too, nowadays. But if nice is giving five chocolates, what is giving twenty?

A sudden realization hits you in March—Jongseong appears at your door, drenched from the rain, a bag of your favorite snacks in hand. “You weren’t at school today. I had to find out you were sick from Kazuha,” he says as if she was a random classmate of yours and not your best friend, as if he should be the first to know about these kinds of things. Your mom rushes him in, finds him so charming in the five minutes they converse that she decides he should stay over for dinner, and as you watch him laughing with her, you think, I haven’t thought of 28-year-old Jongseong in ages. I’ve only thought of you. And although you can trace the start of your feelings to that dream-like experience you had, you can now say with confidence that it’s not the only reason for them.

College application results come out in April, right on his birthday. The five of you celebrate together at an American-style diner, gorging yourselves on crispy bacon and chocolate chip pancakes. Kazuha is going back to Japan, almost a decade after moving to South Korea—”I’m gonna miss you guys, but I miss takoyaki and my grandma more right now.” Heeseung has been accepted into the Engineering department at the country’s top university. You, Sunoo and Jongseong are all heading to the same place: you for Screenwriting, which you’ve known since you were one of the winners of the scholarship contest last October, Sunoo for Communications, whatever that is, and Jongseong for European History and Literature with a minor in German, that freak. It’s a good university, and it’s not far from home. The way Jongseong tells you about his acceptance sticks with you: he doesn’t say, They accepted me, too, or, I’m going to the same university as you. He says, We’ll be together.

May is filled with afternoons at the park when you should all be studying for exams. Your mom keeps asking when she’s going to see “that wonderful boy” again. Your friendship with Jongseong has given him new ways of teasing you—after four years of near-kleptomaniac tendencies, he’s finally stopped stealing your erasers and has instead started to let his gaze linger on your face, to call you pretty when you least expect it, to tuck your hair behind your ear. You hate it most when he asks you whether there’s something from your romance novels or movies that you want him to recreate. “Is there a field big enough nearby that I can walk through at the break of dawn, Mister Darcy-style?” he’ll say, or “I’ve always wanted to try that upside-down kiss from Spider-Man. It’s a classic, really.”

Summer comes early in June. You need to bring a two-liter water bottle and a hand fan to your exams, and you’ve never felt such relief as when it was all over. After endless pictures with your parents and siblings, just your parents, just your siblings, then Kazuha and Sunoo, together, then separately, then with Heeseung and Jongseong as well, Kazuha forces you and Jongseong together, watching with a smile as he shyly wraps an arm around your waist and you awkwardly throw up a peace sign. It’s your first picture of just the two of you.

In July, you and Jongseong unlock a new first: saying goodbye. He’s leaving to stay with his American family as he does every summer. You show up at his house the day before at four p.m. “to help him pack,” you say, but it’s Jongseong, and he finished packing two days ago. So instead, you sit on his desk chair, he on his bed, and you fight back tears. “You’re coming back, right?” you ask, like he’s leaving to go to war and not Seattle. Amusement and affection flicker in his eyes. “Of course I am. I wouldn’t throw four more years of being a pain in your ass away, would I?” he says, and you smile, because you know it’s going to be much more than four years.

But he doesn’t just leave you with a few nice words. Avoiding your gaze, he hands you an envelope. Inside is a single ticket, a two-month membership for your city’s arthouse cinema that you can only go to when they have student deals or when your parents have had enough of your begging. You can’t even begin to imagine how much this must’ve cost. “Jong…” you murmur, in awe at the thin slip of paper between your hands. “This is incredible. Thank you so much.”

Jongseong looks down at his feet, fighting a smile as he kicks the invisible rocks that obviously litter the floor of his bedroom. “I thought you’d get bored without me around, so, that way you can entertain yourself, I guess… And if you run into any film bros next year, you’ll have seen as many pretentious movies as them.”

You burst into laughter then, and, without thinking, wrap your arms around his neck, thanking him over and over again. It takes him a second, but he wraps his arms around your waist and says it’s no big deal.

As you walk down the path from your house, he calls out your name. “Don’t be a stranger,” he says.

You smile. “Never.”

So, he’s not here for summer. Kazuha is working in her parents’ ramen restaurant to make some money before leaving, even Heeseung leaves two weeks into July for Seoul to visit some relatives there and get accustomed to life in the big city. You only get to laze around with Sunoo, but even he eventually leaves for his grandparents’ house by the sea, making you promise you’ll come visit him at some point, otherwise he’ll “die of boredom.”

It’s August now, and your brain and body alike buzz with restlessness. You go to the cinema almost every day, making the best of your subscription. If you’re not going around your house looking for spider webs with your vacuum cleaner, you’re riding random bus lines and discovering parts of your town you’ve never set foot in before. If you’re not making your way through your never-ending pile of unread books, you’re creating your own stories, finally taking the time to properly outline and draft the one-line ideas you’ve had sitting in your Notes app, preparing yourself for the start of your degree. Your mind is taken up with love stories. From Romeo & Juliet to Dirty Dancing to Book Lovers, you can’t get enough of the genre. You become particularly obsessed with stories involving time travel, rewatching After Time and Lovely Runner like they contain some precious knowledge. By the end of the month, you’ve turned your life into an eight-episode TV series—a desperate girl makes a wish on a star only to discover she is fated to marry the one boy she hates most. You know you’d watch that. You send Sunoo and Kazuha the pilot, and after calling you insane numerous times but also heaping on praises, Sunoo says this: lol your going through jay withdrawals.

It shakes you so much you’re not even compelled to message back you’re*.

But he’s not wrong. The more you let yourself admit it, the more you realize how true it is: you miss Jongseong. You text once in a while, you’ve even stayed up late talking on the phone a couple of times, but you miss him, his corporeal form, having his gaze on you, having the possibility but never the courage to touch him. Every day, there’s something you want to tell him about. The cats huddling around a young neighborhood kid as he pours milk into a bowl, the clearance sale at your local library, most books for one buck only, the actor from an 90s Hong Kong film you swear has the exact same smile as him. You don’t want to bother him, so you write letters instead. Some you send, some you don’t—the ones you keep hidden in your drawer usually hint too obviously at your feelings for him. Some of them don’t just hint and contain lines of your declarations: I miss you, everything I see reminds me of you, I want to check that your bruises have healed completely even though the last trace of them faded months ago. You keep these letters a secret, even from Sunoo and Kazuha, who would never let you live down such woebegone, down bad behavior.

You do it because it feels good, getting all of your feelings out on paper. You’re a romantic at heart, so you’re prone to over-exaggeration when it comes to things like these—but everything that you write remains based in truth. You’d started with a postcard of your hometown, jokingly writing, Don’t forget where you came from. How is it over there? and he’d actually replied with a postcard of his own, filling it from top to bottom. You easily went from these small postcards to multiple pages of stream-of-consciousness-like writing. You think it’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done—although you’re not sure he feels the same way, considering he still writes to the German pen pal Ms. Schumacher had assigned him in your first year of high school. No one else’s correspondence had lasted more than four months because she’d immediately forgotten to make sure you kept in touch regularly.

I ran into Jake Sim at the city library, you write one day. You’ve replied to everything in his latest letter, so you’re now catching him up on your recent adventures. He was checking out some books about Linguistics, of all things—he bought me bubble tea afterwards and told me that the injury he got last April was actually a relief. Did you know his father was a big name in soccer here? Apparently, he never wanted to be a soccer player that badly, and he wants to do Linguistics and Social Anthropology, who would’ve guessed it. He’s like Troy Bolton if High School Musical was about Humanities and not singing. Anyways, you probably don’t want me to go on and on about him, so I won’t, but we did talk about that fight you guys had back in December. He apologized for it, to you and me both, although he didn’t go into much detail — Sunoo is still the only one who’s had the balls to tell me exactly what happened, and he wasn’t even there! — and I was reticent at first, but he seemed genuine. He said he didn’t even hang out with Sunghoon or Yunjin or any of those people anymore, that it was only out of convenience really, and that he hopes starting university will be like turning over a new leaf. Well, he could be full of shit, who knows. As I sat there listening to him I wondered what it was I used to see in him. He’s nice enough, but we only spoke about him for the entire hour. He asked me no questions that weren’t “and you?” so it was a bit exhausting.

But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you.

You look at your words, smiling to yourself—this is one of the times where you find yourself erring from the topic at hand, instead indulging in sappiness and nostalgia. You write about how your opinion of Jongseong has changed over these months, how it wasn’t seeing him as your husband in all those years that had really shaken things up, but rather that day in the nurse’s station, the frightening colors around his eye, his attitude like it was natural that he would get hurt like this for you. You write, Have I been wrong about you this whole time? I thought you harbored the same negative feelings towards me as I had you since the moment you’d laid eyes on me, but all of a sudden, here you were, bloody, bandaged hand holding mine. Even with your busted eye, you looked like an angel next to all that white in the nurse’s station. I’ll never forget your words that day. Would you really not get hurt for anything else, Jong?

“I’m going to the Post Office for a package soon, Y/N. Are you done with your letter?” your mom calls from the staircase landing.

“Give me five minutes!” you call back.

You forage through your drawer for a new sheet of paper and re-write your letter, making sure to leave any compromising parts out and fold both letters into neat squares—one that will cross the seas and reach Jongseong, one that will live out its days in the darkness of your crowded drawer. You’ve run out of envelopes, so you go look for one in your parents’ office. Your mom calls out your name again, impatient to leave — if she sends her package off before twelve p.m., it will get to the receiver tomorrow, and she’s hell-bent on getting perfect five-star Vinted reviews — so you hurriedly put your letter in the envelope, close it, stamp it, and write Jongseong’s name and address on the back. The other letter you absent-mindedly throw in your drawer with the dozens of other letters in which you’d crossed the line.

A few weeks later, like an apparition, Jongseong stands before you again.

He’s tanner from months under the Washington sun, from afternoons spent at his family’s lake house, on their boat. His hair is slightly shorter and suits him even better; you don’t recognize any of the clothes he wears. He grumbles as his mother goes back-and-forth between hugging him, staring at him worriedly and reminding him to call at least twice a week while his father unpacks the trunk. “I’ll only be a thirty-minute train ride away, Mom,” he says.

He’s still Jong.

You moved in yesterday, and you’re now waiting for your new roommate, who, after five minutes of deliberating whether she should bring a jacket or not and finally decided against it, changed her mind the minute she stepped outside.

It’s been two months since you last saw him. Shortly after sending your letter, you’d gone to stay with Sunoo’s grandparents for a week, just a day before he was set to come back from Seattle. Amid packing and other preparations, you haven’t had time to see each other. Is it okay if I respond to your letter in person? I think I’ll be too busy these two coming weeks, he texted you. You replied that it wasn’t a problem, you told him which dorm you’d been assigned and found out his was the one next door.

When he notices you staring, he does a double-take. You wave at him, and even from this distance, you see the blush that creeps up his neck and takes over his face as he shyly waves back. You’ve never seen him like this—he’s always been either arrogant or friendly, never… flustered. He makes a motion as if to say, I’ll text you, and heads inside the building with his parents and all of his luggage.

Indeed, he texts you some hours later while you’re sharing a piece of strawberry and matcha cake with your roommate Liz, whom you find out is half-German—Jongseong and your dad would probably love her for that simple fact. Some of the first things she’d asked you were what your astrological signs were and whether you wanted her to pull tarot cards for you when she was all done setting up her side of the room. Between that and her dyed blonde hair, you’d felt comfortable telling her all about Jongseong, the well and your dream. Unlike your skeptical and sarcastic friends, she’d nodded along to your every word, a serious expression on her face. “A sign from the universe,” she’d called it, and she gasped in excitement when his name appeared on your screen.

He sends you a link to a freshers’ week event, some potted plant sale happening on the main campus square, and asks if you’re free to go with him tomorrow. I need something to liven up that depressing room, he writes.

So that’s how you find yourselves among green plants of all shapes and sizes, searching for one that’s both low-maintenance and appealing to the eye. You’re glad that you have something to actually do—if you were just sitting at a café and having a conversation, you’re not sure you’d be able to stand the awkwardness. You’d chalked up his behavior on the day of his move-in to nerves, or to surprise upon seeing you so unexpectedly. But apparently, it wasn’t a one-time thing. He keeps clearing his throat as if he were sick with some cold, won’t look into your eyes for more than split seconds at a time, and in complete opposition to his usual confident, deliberate speech, talks in a quick and disorderly manner. And he’s either really caught a cold, or his ears have just permanently turned red. You ask him if something’s wrong a couple times, but he violently shakes his head, says, “No, what could be wrong?” then looks at you as if you might tell him what’s wrong.

When you’re alone again, you wonder what on earth could have happened over the summer that could make him change his behavior with you so radically. Did something happen in Seattle? Maybe he met someone there and doesn’t know how to tell you. Maybe you went overboard with your letters, he doesn’t want to be friends anymore, he wants to let you down easy but doesn’t know how to tell you. Or maybe—maybe you got impossibly pretty during those two months, and absence does make the heart grow fonder, as they say, and every thought you have about him, he has about you, but he doesn’t know how to tell you.

In any case, he’s hiding something.

The theory that he might want to stop being friends soon falls flat—the invitations to other freshers’ events keep coming, be it free wine & pizza taster sessions from the Wine Society, karaoke nights with the Taylor Swift Society or a shark movie marathon with the Bad Film Society, and he never turns you down when you tell him there’s something you want to visit in this new city of yours, even when the thing you want to visit in question is a bakery you have to queue in front of at seven a.m. if you want to get a pain au chocolat. In your defense, they turn out to be the best ones you and Jongseong have ever tried—although, to be fair, neither of you has been to France.

Things progressively return to normal. He’s able to make eye contact for more than three seconds again, he listens carefully and laughs along when you tell him about your week by the sea with Sunoo, he fills you in on what Heeseung’s been up to. One thing remains different, however—when you throw quips at him, he usually would’ve delighted in coming up with a better, wittier response, but now, he’ll roll his eyes at best, look at you amusedly and stay silent at worst. “Won’t you even entertain me?” you ask him once, to which he replies that you’re doing a good job entertaining yourself as is.

Instead, he becomes more earnest. As per usual you badger him with questions like Aren’t I so pretty right now? or Isn’t my outfit so cute today? to get a reaction out of him, and if during your high school days he’d either fake a puking sound or look you up and down and grumble I guess, he now smiles and simply says Yes, you are, Yes, it is. It seems impossible to keep track of his attitude: one day, he’s one thing, the next, he’s another person entirely.

It annoys you. You take his changing demeanor to mean that now that he’s a college student, he won’t indulge in your childish squabbles anymore, as though he was above all of that now, when just three months ago he was stalking your parents’ Facebooks to find unfavorable photos of you from when you were thirteen and using them as reaction pictures in your friends’ group chat. You think of your graduation day, of the box he’d given you, all done up in wrapper paper and a bow—he had filled it with every eraser he’d stolen from you over the years, he’d even gone so far as to date every single one of them, from the second of October freshman year to the twenty-eighth of November of your senior year. You didn’t count them, but there had to be at least a hundred. At the time, you’d just thought it was funny—but what if the gesture had meant something deeper than you’d realized? What if he was marking the end of something with that box? No more playing around, we’re adults now. But classes have barely started, you don’t know your way to the off-campus library, you aren’t a different person to who you were just weeks or even months earlier. Why is he acting like he is? You look at him, and you see the boy whose fault it was you had to buy a new eraser every week—who knows how many books you could’ve bought with that money. But when he turns to look at you, too, and your eyes meet, you’re suddenly assailed with the memories of that night, the kind eyes, the soft smile.

Does his future capacity to love me already exist in his heart?

Your heartbeat speeds up and you have to look away.

From your letters, it seems to be much hotter back home than in Seattle—you talk of sunburns, of afternoons spent inside with the fan on maximum speed, of ice melting instantly and watering down your Coke Zeros, whereas Jay can walk around the city pleasantly and needs to bring a jacket if he’ll be out until late after sundown. And yet, as he reads your latest letter, his skin prickles feverishly, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. He’d excitedly torn the envelope open the second it arrived in the mail, heart thumping as he counted the pages, at least three more than usual — he was always happy that you wanted to talk to him at all, so the fact that you had this much to tell him sent him over the moon — but he would have never expected what was awaiting him inside.

With a smile on his face, he read your replies to the questions he’d asked you last time, your reactions to everything he told you about, the live Mariners game, the lake house, the rides on the boat. He imagined you as you sat at your desk in your room he’d only seen once, when you’d held a small party for your birthday and he, having arrived first, was honored with a tour of your house. He imagined your smile, the way you played with your hair when you focused on something, wondered whether you pondered every word before you wrote it down as he did or whether you poured your thoughts out onto the page without hesitation. His smile faltered when Jake Sim’s name appeared in your neat handwriting, but he was relieved to find out your description of him now was miles away from the one at the start of the school year.

Then you start writing about him. Him, Park Jongseong, and your words startle him so much, it’s like he’d forgotten he was the recipient of this letter in the first place.

But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you.

He’s been lying comfortably in his bed, but he sits up the moment his eyes take in these words. If there is one topic the two of you have practically never broached, it’s this exactly: your relationship, the changes it’s gone through this past year. Except for a few mentions made in jest here and there, you’ve always conveniently ignored the fact that not so long ago, you were at each other’s throats. At least, you were at his throat, and Jay let you be, let you think the hatred went both ways, when in reality all he wanted was to keep you close one way or another. To him, anything was better than indifference.

But here you are, writing about how you feel about him, not in hints, not in jokes, but actually telling him black and white what goes through your head when you think of him—in other words, everything he’s been dying to know ever since he met you and especially ever since you started warming up to him a few months ago.

I have never told you about that night because I know it’ll just be more fodder for you to endlessly tease me, and I haven’t even mentioned it in these letters that I write and don’t send. Sometimes I debate the ethics of it—if I know something about our futures, isn’t it right that you know, too? But then again, I still hesitate whether what happened was real or not. As with anything, the more time passes, the more I forget about it. What kind of cheese you’d put on the pasta, the movie that played in the background, whether the stairs were carpeted or wooded—these details have evaded me by now. All I clearly remember is your face and how I felt, seeing it then, seeing it the next day at school, ten years younger, the same exact person in what felt like a different universe. As much as I tried to deny it, I know now that it was no coincidence—I was talking about it with Sunoo and he said that sometimes, we want something so badly, we conjure it up for ourselves. He’s not always a dimwit. And he’s right, the kind of love I felt from you in that dream — or not-dream — I’ve yearned for it ever since I first watched Pride & Prejudice, the 2005 film to be precise, when I was ten. But with you? That was what I couldn’t believe at first. I don’t think I need to explain why—you were there, I think you knew how I felt about you for over three years, it’s not like I tried to hide it.

Then you turned up and the sight of you was enough to bring back all the feelings from that dream. You must’ve wondered why my behavior with you switched so suddenly—well, a glimpse into marital bliss is sometimes enough for a girl to make some changes in her life. Yet I valiantly tried to convince myself that any flutter of my heart around you was due to this stupid dream, to a version of you my brain had conjured up because it was starved for affection, and you happened to be at the forefront of my mind, even if not for the right reasons. But it was no use. I had entertained the possibility that this future was really mine, and I couldn’t go back to seeing you as the boy who annoyed the living daylights out of me.

But Jong, if you weren’t you, I would’ve been confused for a week and then I would’ve gotten over it. I stayed confused for a while, and everything you did only served to confuse me further. I started to notice you more, to see you for who you were and not for the idea I had constructed of you in my head, I stopped taking note of only the things that reinforced this idea. And that changed everything.

Let’s get it out of the way: as much as I hate to admit it because it proves you right, I saw that you are indeed devastatingly handsome. It devastates me every time I have to look at that stupid, wonderful face of yours. And if aging is something you’re worried about, don’t be. I’ve seen you at 28, and let’s just say that your jaw somehow only gets more chiseled. I’ve realized that you don’t just participate in class to be a prick — except for when you contradict me in Literature, I know you only do that to piss me off, and yes, it works — but that you actually care about what we learn and that you don’t want the teacher to feel like they’re talking to a classroom full of students made out of bricks. I’ve also realized that you didn’t specifically pick German to be the one subject where you must beat me at all costs, you just actually really like German, even if I’m still undetermined as to why. And I can finally admit to myself—you are funny. Sometimes. There were so many times I had to stop myself from laughing at one of your idiotic puns because I could not bear to give you the satisfaction. That feeling when the worst person you know makes a funny joke, and all that. And as much as I’ve mocked you for it, I do actually like your laugh. I like that you’re only loud when you laugh, or sneeze, or get excited over something. You don’t scream, you don’t get angry, and I think that’s a lot for a boy fresh out of puberty. Or for any boy, really.

But above all, you’re kind, Jong. I think it’s the best thing about you. I think it’s the best thing anyone can be. I see it in your patience with Heeseung when he starts one of his rants better reserved for Reddit than real life, I see it in the way you took Sunoo and Kazuha in stride, even though they’re a bit rough around the edges sometimes, I see it in the way you guide the freshmen at the start of every year, when all anyone does is complain about them, I see it in the gentleness with which you let down the girls who confess to you, even the more persistent ones. I used to think they were crazy, but I understand them more than ever now. I also used to think that all those kindnesses meant that the ones you occasionally showed me meant nothing more than that—occasional kindnesses. You were just a nice guy, occasionally so to me. But you sort of ratted yourself out when you gave me those twenty chocolates for Valentine’s.

Or, really, what made things clearer was that fight in December. I guess I was wrong—you do get angry. I remember a thought I had at the time: just when I think I know you, you do something to shake it all up. You punched two of the star soccer players of our school in the face because they said some mean, unimportant things about me. Thinking about it now, I still don’t understand it. Was it another one of your acts of kindness?

And then I thought of those other times you helped me out. Do you remember them—the art project, the handwritten notes after my grandma passed away, you tearing Park Sunghoon a new one in the girls’ bathroom. I’m sure there are many more that I’ve dismissed simply because I did not want to see you in any other light than the one I’d decided to shine on you.

Maybe I’m rewriting the past here, but I’ve been thinking about something lately. The theme today seems to be honesty, so I’ll lay myself bare and tell you something I haven’t told anyone yet, not even myself. The more I write, the more I become aware of its truth. I like you, Jong. I think I have for a long time, longer than either of us thinks. Maybe that’s why I kept buying erasers.

I don’t have the best memory — I suspect iron deficiency, it runs in my mom’s side of the family — but I do remember this. The first time I saw you. I haven’t noticed your face changing in real time, but I’m sure I’d laugh at how much of a baby you looked back then. Although I didn’t fare much better, I’m sure. Well, you’re the one that has all these embarrassing pictures of me, you freak, so I’m sure you could tell me. Moving on…

I found you really cute. You were chatting to the person next to you, maybe it was Heeseung, I didn’t look properly—I only looked at you. Don’t laugh at me. It was the first day of high school, there was a nervous energy in the air, but you seemed happy to be there. You know I don’t have hordes of friends like you do, I don’t walk through life with people naturally gravitating towards me. I’m okay with it now, but it was something I struggled with back then. Kazuha, Sunoo and I have had each other since our elementary days, and I never needed more than that—but fifteen is the prime age for comparison, and as the weeks passed and we got used to being high schoolers, I listened to everyone sing your praises, I watched as you talked with all of our classmates, even our teachers, like you were old friends. But we sat next to each other in a couple of classes, and you wouldn't talk to me outside of partnered work. I, who wanted to be easily charmed by you like everyone else was, who thought maybe you’d help me come out of my shell. But it felt like sitting next to me was torture to you, like the boy whom I watched speak with ease to everyone else disappeared when I was around. And so — and I’m not proud of this — every smart remark in class, every joke that had the entire class roaring, every high five you gave out in the hallway, I started to despise them. And by association, I started to despise you. After that, it was easy to find fault in everything you did, my contempt was only enhanced by everyone’s admiration. But I’m not alone here. It went both ways, didn’t it? I don’t think you liked that I didn’t like you and openly showed it, so used to being everyone’s favorite person you were. I remember how you showily tried to be nice to me after that, maybe you just wanted another friend, but I didn’t let you. I don’t blame us for how we acted, only for taking so long to get our heads out of our asses.

(I have to say, I also have a thing for hating people. Remind me to tell you about Na Jaemin and Shin Ryujin one of these days.)

Anyways, I think it’s because I had liked you so much at first that I could then seemingly hate you so much. But I never hated you, Jong, not really. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. Can I take it all back now?

Now that we’re entering university soon, I can’t help but look back on high school. This is what I want to know, but I’m not sure I’ll ever have the courage to ask you, because if your answer is the one I suspect, I don’t know how I’ll handle all the regret in my heart.

Have I been wrong about you this whole time? I thought you harbored the same negative feelings towards me as I had you since the moment you’d laid eyes on me, but all of a sudden, here you were, bloody, bandaged hand holding mine. Even with your busted eye, you looked like an angel next to all that white in the nurse’s station. I’ll never forget your words that day. Would you really not get hurt for anything else, Jong?

Your letter abruptly ends here, no concluding remarks, no wishing him a fun time in Seattle and looking forward to his next letter, no sign-off. It was as if someone cut you off before you could say everything you wanted, but then why send him this seemingly unfinished letter? It is all the more bizarre since your letters are usually meticulous: you write on every other line, it looks like you take your time with every single letter, the only disturbance in your otherwise perfect handwriting is your going back-and-forth between cursive and script s’s. But this particular letter looks rushed, your lines are sloppy, some words need to be read a few times over to be understood. What kind of state had you been in, writing these words? Jay’s heart swells, thinking that you were as moved writing as he was reading. He even looks through your letter again, wishing to find a tear stain somewhere, but there are none. Maybe he’s been watching too many of these romantic period dramas you always go on about.

He has to pace his room when he’s done reading your letter, but he feels trapped inside these four walls, so he dashes outside, saying that he’s getting some air when his relatives ask him where he’s off to in such a rush, and walks around the block five times. When he’s back in his room, he rereads your letter, eyes taking in each and every word slowly and carefully, making sure he doesn’t misread anything.

You like him. You, Y/N, like him, Jongseong, it’s a fact, it’s real, you said so yourself, you went into quite some detail about it, he can’t believe it, but it’s real, it’s written right there on the page, if anyone dares tell him he’s fooling himself, he can prove them wrong, you’re the one who said it.

The smile doesn’t leave his lips for the rest of the day, he can barely eat, he’s already full of happiness. He reads your words over and over before falling asleep, committing them to memory, dreaming about them, about you.

You. How should he respond to this? Are you even expecting a response? You seem to know he’s not impartial to you, either, although that’s an understatement.

In the following days, the thought that you hadn’t meant to send him this letter nags at him. The abrupt ending, the absence of your usual Love, Y/N. The fact that this had come out of left field—none of your previous letters had even a romantic undertone, no matter how he tried in his own to hint at his missing you, the most reference to seeing each other again you would give him was It’ll be better to show you this in real life. The act of sending letters itself didn’t feel very platonic, but you never went there, so he didn’t, either. He had secretly yearned to have you this close all these years, he would never forgive himself if he ended up chasing you away now with his over-eagerness.

You had landed on something very real in your letter: I don’t think you liked that I didn’t like you and openly showed it, so used to being everyone’s favorite person you were. I remember how you showily tried to be nice to me after that, maybe you just wanted another friend, but I didn’t let you. He cursed his fifteen-year-old self, that idiot who couldn’t even speak to a girl no matter how much he wanted to, just because she was so pretty, he was afraid of saying something stupid and messing it up before it even had a chance to start.

On days when you’d had particularly nasty or petty arguments — it could get pretty bad, at the start, before you both started maturing and realized how ridiculous you were, especially with your classmates telling you to keep it classy — he’d stay up all night, wondering why you hated him so much in the first place, what on Earth he could’ve done to warrant such vitriol. Now, finally, he knew, and he could only resent the fact that no one had invented time machines yet, so he could nip his useless ego in the bud; so he could tell younger Jay not to take it personally, that you had your reasons for disliking him, that even if you hadn’t, the world won’t end if someone doesn’t like him like everyone usually does.

Because, he hates to admit, that was what had done it for Jay. He couldn’t stand that someone — not just someone, but one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen, a girl he’d been hyping himself up to talk to every day, but never found the courage to — didn’t immediately fall for his charms. And not just that, but even showed just how much she disliked him. You looked him up-and-down with disdain, made disgusted faces at his jokes, rolled your eyes when he spoke up in class. It made him burn with anger, but he also weirdly enjoyed it—at least, you were paying attention to him. So, he amped it up. Talked louder, laughed louder, hovered around you. He even stole your erasers, wrote the date on which he’d taken them, kept them in a box on his desk that he looked at every time he studied at home. He aimed to beat you in every class you shared, even though neither of you cared that much about grades—the annoyed look on your face when he boasted about the two points he’d gotten over you was enough satisfaction.

All in all, he behaved like a child, and you reciprocated in like.

Until you didn’t.

It was a random Tuesday when something in your attitude towards him shifted. It wasn’t a complete 180, but he noticed everything about you, so even a slight change of your tone was obvious to him. You started using your nickname for him more often than his full name—he never told you, but of course he loved that you didn’t call him Jay like everyone else, that you had your own way of addressing him. It was a sign to him that the two of you had something special, even if it was on the opposite end of the spectrum of what he wanted with you.

He again spent sleepless nights wondering what had caused this change: was it something he had done, or something within you? It was a welcome change, that much was sure, but he was initially too confused to take it in stride. He’d long made peace with the fact that he’d never have you the way he really wanted, so he was fine with whatever this was—but now, you were changing, your interactions were tinged with something like shyness, the distance between you felt greater than ever. He tried to keep up his smart-ass appearances around you, but you only indulged in your old habits once in a while, as though you had grown tired of arguing with him, even of giving him the time of day.

So he resolved himself to adapting his behavior to yours. If you stared at him intently like his face was a puzzle you were trying to solve, he let you, rested his head on his palm and smiled as he stared back at you. Finally, he had an excuse to look at you without you threatening to punch him or saying a picture would last longer. He knew they did, he’d had to resort to scrolling through Sunoo’s and Kazuha’s Instagrams to find any photos of you. Yours was private and at the time, you would’ve probably cursed him out if he’d sent a follow request. If you seemed too annoyed or upset over something, he’d leave you alone, he’d do something nice to let you know you didn’t need to have your guards up at all times around him. If you seemed to silently call for a truce of hostilities, he easily complied.

Then, after a few weeks, your petty arguments resumed, but those too were different—if before they felt filled with real disdain and irritation, they now seemed to be a comfortable habit to fall back on, almost like a fun hobby. Those, too, Jay readily welcomed.

And so things changed in a direction Jay had never thought would one day be possible. You gave him no explanations, nor did he ask for any, and soon he stopped losing sleep over the why’s and the how’s and simply let himself enjoy the fact that you now had the semblance of a friendship, that he could compliment you and pass it off as amical teasing, that he could learn things about you like what you spent your weekends doing, what your relationship with your family was like, whether you were a dog or cat person, whether you wanted to visit his farm in Stardew Valley.

Unsurprisingly, this only enhanced his already pathetically strong feelings for you. He worried over how to make sure this wasn’t some sort of 30-day friendship trial you had wanted to test out. He reveled in the fact that his top university of choice was the one you had already been accepted to. He now knew what it felt like to have you smile at him, smile because of him, and he never wanted again to live in a world where this was not a daily occurrence.

He now sort of has an answer—your letter doesn’t make it very clear, it makes him think again that you really had not meant to send it, but you seem to have had a dream. A dream of him, 28-year-old him, to be precise, of your life together—he’s not sure. At this point in time, he doesn’t care much, either. Whether it was a dream or a real vision of the future that you had, all that matters is that it allowed you to see him in a new light, a light which he had hoped for years would one day appear to you, and it had changed things. And now, you liked him.

You said so yourself.

He’s at a loss for words. He can’t concentrate for long enough to put all his thoughts in order, he can’t make himself calm down and write his feelings down. He has to pack to go home, once he’s home, he’ll have to pack for university. But it’s only two weeks from now to the day you meet again, and it’ll be better to say what he wants to say in person, anyway.

Is it okay if I respond to your letter in person? I think I’ll be too busy these two coming weeks, he texts you.

And then those two weeks pass like two seconds and you’re there, a few meters away from him. All the speeches he’d prepared in his head, from grand declarations of love to laid-back admittances of Yeah, I like you too, you’re cool, I guess, they all vanish from his head. For fourteen days he’s been going through scenarios upon scenarios of your reunion, what you’d look like, what he’d say, how you’d react. But now that he can actually see you, now that he would just have to walk a few steps if he wanted to touch you, hug you, kiss you — hoping that was something you wanted to do — he freezes. He forgets how his body works, the part in his brain that’s meant to manage language ability fails him. HIs mom calls him over, urging him into his new dorm building, and all he can do is wave back at you like an idiot.

When finally he musters the courage to text you, what he hopes will be the day that starts your romantic relationship turns into the day Park Jongseong realizes how much of a loser he is. For the first hour, he can’t look at you, he can’t get through a sentence without stuttering out half of his words, he runs out of things to say in record time. All he can think of is how easy it’d be to grab one of your hands, hold it in his and walk around this stupid potted plant sale as if the two of you were two halves of a whole. He doesn’t even want a potted plant, his roommate already has five, he just wanted an excuse to see you. He steals glances at you when you’re looking elsewhere, and he notices everything about you tenfold now that he can, now that caring about you doesn’t need to be in vain any longer. He tells himself that he just needs to calm down a bit, even when you have the confirmation that the person you’re about to confess to already likes you, revealing your feelings to someone is always nerve-wracking, the two of you haven’t seen in each other in a while, he’ll talk to you once his heart gets out of his throat.

But you’re acting normal. Suspiciously so. You’re acting like you never told him you liked him, like nothing has changed between you. He rereads your letter the second he gets back to his dorm. He’s not crazy, it’s written right there, I like you, Jong. I think I have for a long time, longer than either of us thinks. He knows the words by heart now, but he checks them anyway. So why are you acting like you never said anything? Had you really not meant to send that letter? Did Jay actually intrude on your private thoughts by reading words that had never meant to be seen by another soul?

You continue to behave as you usually would around him, but if he couldn’t go back to vicious bickering when things changed the first time, he can’t go back to friendly bickering now that things — for him — have changed a second time. He doesn’t even want friendly to be in your shared vocabulary anymore.

So he stops giving in. If you make fun of him, he just stands there with an unimpressed if amused look on his face. If you pedantically correct him on something, he just nods his head and accepts it. He can tell you’re bothered by it, but he needs to show you that he doesn’t want to go on being just friends with you—he wants to compliment you without having to pass it off as teasing, he wants to stare at you with hearts in his eyes without having to look away when you catch him, he wants to spend every waking second of every day with you, he wants to hold your hand, hold you.

He could wait for things to change slowly again, but why wait when he could help things along?

It’s nine p.m. on a Saturday and you’re sneaking Jongseong into your dorm. Liz is away for the weekend, gone back home to celebrate her aunt’s birthday, so you have the room to yourselves. It took some convincing to get him to come — What if we get caught coming in, What if your T.A. sees us, What if I get reported to campus police — and so when your verbal reassurances failed to work, you resorted to blinking up at him through your lashes and that did the trick.

Jongseong was in many ways unlike any other man you’d ever met; in some other ways, he was the exact same.

Plastic bag of the tteokbokki you’d asked for in hand, he looks around the deserted hallways like someone might jump out of nowhere and beat him to a pulp at any given moment. At this time of the week, everyone’s out partying or holed up in their dorms, presumably either to rest or because of a lack of friends so early on in the semester. You grab his free hand and hurry him along to the elevator—once inside, it takes you a few seconds before you realize you’re still holding it, and you retract your hand quickly while he just smiles.

You settle yourselves on the floor—comfort is not worth getting gochujang sauce on your white sheets. You sit criss-cross in front of each other, the food between the two of you, and catch up on your first week of class in-between bites of spicy, gooey rice cakes and fish cakes. You wonder, if one day you and Jongseong are no longer friends, how long you will keep associating tteokbokki with him.

When you tell him that you and Jake share a class, Introduction to Film Studies, he gives you a look. “What’s that face for?” you ask.

“Did you guys sit next to each other?”

You chuckle. “Of course. We only knew each other in that room, it would’ve been weird not to.”

He continues to stare at you. After a while, he muses, “You’re not…?”

You halt in your tracks, rice cake at the end of your plastic fork hanging in the air, halfway between the container and your mouth. “Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.” Still in love with him, interested in him again, you don’t know the exact details of Jongseong’s thought process, all you know is he has nothing to worry about—if it’s something he worries about.

When a smile slowly grows on his lips and he nods, saying, “Okay, good,” you let yourself think it might be.

Later, you’re ten minutes into a senseless blockbuster movie when he suddenly pauses it. It snaps you out of a trance—his hand was awfully close to yours, so is his shoulder, his thigh, his knee, everything, really, and you haven’t been able to concentrate on anything but the warmth radiating off his skin and the intensity with which you crave to feel it intentionally rather than accidentally. When he speaks, there’s something serious in his tone that makes you nervous. “Y/N,” he says as he turns to you, and now his face is awfully close, too. There’s still many centimeters separating you, but in this tiny, barely lit-up room, he feels closer than ever before. “Do you remember when I said I’d reply to your letter in real life?”

You tilt your head. “Yeah, that was ages ago.”

“Well, I thought I’d do it now.”

“Now?”

He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Now.”

And then those safe centimeters suddenly disappear, and Jongseong’s lips are on yours. It’s a brief, chaste kiss, so quick you wonder if it even happened when he leans back again.

“I like you, too,” he says, and your heart stops.

“W-what?” is all you can say back, eyes wide like he’s just admitted to killing someone rather than reciprocating your feelings.

His confident facade quickly crumbles. “God, this was so much cooler in my head, I-I’m sorry.” He pulls something out of his sweatpants pocket, pages folded over and over into a tiny square. As he unfolds them, you recognize your paper, your handwriting—but what do your letters have anything to do with him kissing you, of all things? “I don’t think you meant to send this. But I’m glad you did.”

He hands you the pages and your eyes skim over the words, not detecting anything out of the ordinary, until—But it got me thinking about your fight again. Reflecting on it now, I can say that it was a turning point for me in my perception of you. You remember this line, because you had made sure to strike it and everything that came afterward out when you rewrote the letter that you would actually send Jongseong. So how was he giving you this?

“I-How do you have this?” you ask, voice trembling. You feel as though your heart overflows with all kinds of emotions, and so your eyes follow, tears staining your lower lashes.

But Jongseong is not one to let you hide things from him. “Hey, no, it’s okay,” he says, warm hands coming to cup your face. “Look at me.” You have no choice but to oblige—his gaze is somehow both soft and stern, a mix of concern and determination. “Did you mean what you wrote in here?” You nod. “Then everything’s okay. You don’t know how happy I was reading this.”

The tension in your body slowly starts to fade. “Really?”

“Really. I cherish every single word in there.”

“Really?” you repeat, and he chuckles.

“Really.”

Your heartbeat speeds up as you gaze into his eyes, as you let yourself bask in the affection and endearment you find there. You can’t quite comprehend what’s happening. The letter, the kiss, his confession, your inadvertent confession, it’s all a mess in your head; so sudden, but such a long time coming at the same time. You never imagined that things would change so quickly—less than a year ago, you thought Jongseong was the most irritating person on this planet. After meeting his 28-year-old self, you thought it’d take ages for the two of you to be on such good terms. But now, just a week into your first semester of university, belly full of tteokbokki and Sprite, you like each other enough not only to be in the same room without hurling insults at each other but to actually be smiling at each other, willingly at that.

Your eyes drift down to his lips, just like in the hallway all those months ago, and the words slip out before you can stop them. They’re a mere whisper—”Kiss me again.”

Jongseong doesn’t need to be told twice. Still cupping your face, he bridges the gap between the two of you again, and this time, when your lips meet, they don’t come apart so quickly. It’s your first kiss, and it’s nothing short of magical, better than any romance novel could’ve prepared you for. His lips are warm and soft against yours, moving slowly, gingerly; as if he’s scared to take any wrong step, he lets you control the pace, follows every tilt of your head this way and that. It’s a relief that he seems to know as little about this as you do—his hands haven’t moved from your face, yours are on his knees, all you can do is focus on the movement of your lips, to think of anything else at the same time would be overwhelming.

“I’ve liked you from the start,” he suddenly says, face still so close you can feel his breath on your lips as he speaks.

“Hm?” you hum, body reeling from the kiss.

“I’ve liked you from the start,” he repeats, grinning—he looks relieved, like he’s been waiting to say these words for a long time. “I can’t believe this is happening after all these years. Or at all, really.”

“I think I did, too.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that in your letter.”

Your eyes widen and you bury your face in your hands as Jongseong laughs. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” you mumble.

He smooths over your hair with one hand, brings your face back up with the other. “Don’t worry. I won’t ever make you regret this.”

Your brain and heart are too all over the place for you to come up with a coherent answer, so you lean in and reconnect your lips to his. It’s already becoming your favorite sensation, feeling him smile into the kiss, threading your fingers in his soft hair.

Time passes delicately like this, the two of you on your single bed, in the sheets that you bought three weeks ago. A lot of it is spent kissing and learning how to fall into each other’s rhythm, but you also spend hours talking, comparing situations and how you’d experienced them. You thought his occasional acts of kindness were done out of guilt, evidence that he did have some morals; he was trying to show he cared about you. He thought you’d despised him from the moment you saw him; you reiterate in more detail than your letter what really happened, you say you wish you knew then what you know now.

“But I never hated you, Jong. I think I wanted to believe that I did, but I never actually did.”

“You glared at me everytime I walked past like I killed a member of your family.”

You groan, ashamed of yourself. “I did, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he says, chuckling, placing a kiss on your forehead. His arms are around you, your head rests atop his heart—you’ve never felt more comfortable in your life. “But it’s okay. We’re here now, and I don’t want us to have any regrets about high school. We had a good time, didn’t we?”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “I’m sure you did, stealing all my erasers.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. Clearly, he’s very proud of his feat. “Hey, I gave all of them back.”

“And what am I going to do with a hundred erasers, Jong?” you ask, laughing too, pecking his cheek aggressively—your way of punishing him for a grave deed.

“Keep them as a token of my love for you,” he says, and your breath falters at the mention of that word. “In fifty years, it’ll be a sign that I’ve liked you since the beginning, I just had a funny way of showing it.”

“Fifty years, huh?”

He grins. “Fifty, a hundred, whatever. You’re not getting rid of me.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

You’re both smiling so wide, you can barely manage a kiss. He trails kisses from your lips to your ear. Holding you close, he whispers, “It’s always been you, Y/N. Always and only you.”

There may be thorns on the otherwise immaculate rose that is your life, but Park Jongseong was never one of them—all along, he was a bud waiting to bloom.

The more time passes, the more you wonder whether that night you had seen in your vision will ever come. There’s been evenings similar to it—crashing the minute you came home from a long day on set, telling yourself you’d take a fifteen-minute power nap only to wake up three hours later and coming downstairs to find your husband cooking dinner, cleaning the kitchen, taking care of your son or simply watching TV, but waiting for you, always waiting for you. He seems as happy now watching you come down the stairs as he was then finding your face among all the students flocking out of lecture halls.

The details are blurry now, but many small things seem to be different from what you’d seen. He still tries to recreate your favorite meal, but it’s not pasta all'arrabbiata, it’s laksa, because your first date as an official couple was to a Malaysian restaurant, not an Italian one. He’s still the best father you know, but you have one son, not twin girls—although that offer to “give him a younger sibling to play with” is always on the table. Even the house you live in is different from the one in your dream, which has now become nothing more than a funny anecdote you share with people when they ask you the story of how you and Jongseong met.

You think of Sunoo’s words from all those years ago: Sometimes, we want something so badly, we conjure it up for ourselves. Had 18-year-old you been in such denial over her feelings for Jongseong that she’d had to convince herself a magical well had bestowed a crazy dream upon her to admit that, yes, there was something there, something other than childish hatred?

It doesn’t matter anymore. Months pass without you thinking about that well, anyway.

Tonight, you come home late from work after having had to do last-minute changes to the script for your current project, a movie that starts shooting in a few days. Jongseong texted you that he was going to bed an hour or so again, so you’re greeted by a plate of japchae covered in film paper. The post-it note stuck to it reads, I’m afraid of the repercussions of too much curry consumption on our son, so no laksa tonight my love. Hope you like it. Come to bed quick. You were starving a second ago, but you decide food can wait—other things can’t.

You tiptoe up the stairs and into your son’s room, breathing in the scent of his hair and placing a kiss there. His hair is still worryingly sparse, but if he’s anything like his dad, it’ll come in a bit later than the other kids. You always thought babies with a full head of hair were freaky, anyway. He doesn’t budge a bit, sleeping like a log—his dad is another story, shuffling in bed the moment you step into your shared bedroom. He opens his arms wide, a silent invitation.

“You’re home,” he says as you attach yourself to his body, your leg hiked up over his, your face buried in the crook of his neck, your thumb caressing the start of stubble on his cheeks.

You smile. “I am.”

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