#i mean kind of?? not really? but a little?

[lovelivision]

‎‎‎‎THE PRACTICE OF KISSING .𖥔 ݁ ˖

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎‎𐔌.pairing — geto suguru / reader

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎── word count: 10k

✿ summary... after getting asked on a date you feel insecure over your inexperience regarding kissing someone. telling your bestfriend geto about your concerns results in an offer from him you didn't expect

warnings.ᐟ ���─ 18+ only, smut, pwp, swearing, making out, dry humping, dirty talk, hickeys, biting, (light) nipple play, praise kink, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, orgasm denial (once), bsf!geto, virgin!reader, return of tease!geto, afab!reader, no use of pronouns !!

The state of your mind is currently a mess, feeling overwhelmed and staring off into space as you think about how a guy asked you on a date earlier today. You'd turned him down but only because you have a particular hang up you can't get over, hence the feeling overwhelmed. You’ve never gone out on a date before and you feel like you’re missing out, so you definitely would’ve said yes if you weren’t so unsure of yourself.

Geto's hand waves in front of your face, breaking you from your trance, "Are you even listening to me?"

Has he been talking? Damn, you really spaced out, "Would you believe me if I said yes?"

"Not even a little bit," his gaze unamused.

You look away from him and to the poster behind his head on the wall, feeling sheepish, "Then no... sorry."

His frown deepens, legs uncrossing and scooting closer to the edge of his bed, "What are you thinking about so hard?"

"Not telling," you answer, spinning around in his office chair so that you’re facing away from him.

His desk is neat, everything organised and probably put exactly where it should be. Beside his monitor sits a little black cat figurine, one you had bought him not too long ago because it reminded you of him. Seeing it displayed makes you smile; he must like it.

Geto’s voice cuts through your small reverie, "So, you're not only going to ignore me, you're also not going to tell me what's wrong?"

Not even glancing back, you hum at him, "That would be a correct assessment... yes."

"Have I told you that you're annoying yet today?" He exasperates.

Shrugging, "I don't think so?"

"Oh? In that case, you're annoying."

"You're so mean to me; this is why I don't want to tell you what's wrong," you’re being dramatic but so is he.

A sigh leaves him, "If I promise to be nice will you tell me what's wrong?"

Your head flops onto the chairs headrest, jabbing at him jokingly, "I don't know if you're capable of kindness, Suguru."

"Now who's being mean? I'm nice all the time."

"Maybe to strangers..." You mumble out.

There’s no reply from him and for a second you think he’s going to leave the issue alone… that is until you’re suddenly spinning. His footsteps are always so light, you didn’t even hear him come up behind you. You’re facing him now, his hands holding himself up by the arm rests of his office chair. He’d spun you around just to lean down into your space and pointedly look at you.

Geto squints, “I’m nice to you all the time.”

“I don’t think this constitutes as ‘nice’.”

He groans your name, “Come on, you always talk to me when something’s wrong.”

“Maybe this is awkward for me to talk to you about,” you pout back at him.

His tongue clicks in realisation, “So, it’s about your love life?”

The immediate correct guess stumps you, causing you to sputter out, “What!? You have no way of–”

“–You never talk to me about your dates and you also got defensive so I’m guessing I’m right,” his gaze is even, unconcerned.

You huff at him and echo his earlier question, “Have I told you that you’re annoying yet today?”

“Yes, earlier when you almost fell over and I smiled,” he reminds.

Your response is a grimace and a matter-of-fact tone when saying, “I don’t tell you about my dates because I don’t go on them.”

“Ever?” Geto’s eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised by your confession.

Cementing back, “Ever.”

“People have definitely asked you out though.”

“Yeah but not that often because they always think we’re together,” you glare back at him.

A hand reaches for your face and squishes your cheeks between his fingers, “Don’t look at me like that, that’s not my fault.”

Your voice comes out all mumbled and difficult to understand, “It so is.” He rolls his eyes at you and you slap his hand away, “Stop squishing my face!”

Letting go, he sighs and takes a step back, sitting on the edge of the bed again, “Something about your love life is bothering you.”

Crossing your arms over your chest and looking to the side, you complain, “You’re so nosy.”

“Am not.”

What a liar, he’s always in your business. Though, now that you’re thinking about it, you don’t think he’s usually in other people’s business this bad. He does like hearing about the gossip you collect though, always ready to hear it while acting as though he doesn’t care.

There’s no reply you can think to give, so you give him the silent treatment. Still looking away from him and silently pouting, you can feel his eyes watching you, waiting for you to break. It’s a frequent game you start that he finishes, silently ignoring him while he watches and waits until you can’t take it anymore and tell him what’s on your mind.

A few more moments pass by and you already feel ready to give in, you hate how much more effective his silence is. Glancing at him from the corner of your eye, your gazes meet and you feel yourself folding all at once.

Large and exasperated groan leaving you as your shoulders slump back into the chair, “Fine!”

He perks up at your concession, a self-satisfied look on his face that irks you.

Looking at him properly to say, “I was asked on a date earlier today.”

The expression on his face changes to one of annoyance, like he’s not happy to hear that, “Who?”

“Some guy, you don’t know him,” you wave off, not really understanding why it matters to him.

Geto prods for more information, “…And what did you say?”

“…I said no.”

“Oh?” His reaction is indecipherable to you, “Why?”

This question is exactly why you didn’t want to talk about this, “I don’t know…” You’re lying, trying to avoid talking about this in more depth.

“Did you like him?”

“I didn’t not like him,” you shrug, “I would’ve liked to go out with him at least once but…”

“But…” He pushes.

“I don’t know, Suguru,” you scowl at your own reasoning, “I’ve never been on a proper date before, I don’t know what to expect or what’s expected of me. What if he wanted to kiss me or something?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, making you antsy while you wait for him to talk, “…Would you want to kiss him back?”

“Maybe?”

“I don’t think I’m understanding the issue,” his brows are pinched with his confusion.

You’re exhausted with him, like you aren’t the one being purposefully cryptic, “Am I gonna have to spell it out for you?”

“Yes.”

“Ugh!” You kick your legs in a mini tantrum, “I’ve never properly kissed someone… it’s always been like… a peck, I don’t know? But what if he expected more of me?”

You can see the way he’s actively fighting against the smile threatening to break out on his face, “Is that–” he bites down an amused sound, “Is that why you always say no to dates?”

“I don’t like you very much right now,” you were already feeling silly and embarrassed and his clear joy from this is not helping that.

He pouts at you mockingly, “Don’t be like that, I can help.”

“How could you possibly help me with this?”

A smile comfortable on his face when he states, “I could teach you.”

“You want to teach me how to kiss?” You scrutinise him, “Have you gone insane?”

“You’re the one all hung up on this and I’m offering to help you,” he puts his hands up, “But if you’d rather be a dateless loser for the rest of your life–”

“–Hey!” You point at him, “Uncalled for… and rude!”

A very signature and very annoying, polite smile sits on his pretty features. Unbothered by your outburst at his very clear bait. He simply raises his arm and grabs the hand you had pointed at him, tugging you from the chair and into him on the bed. You’re taken aback by his bold move, so close to him so quickly. Falling into his lap less than gracefully, his other arm wrapping around your waist to hold you steady as you sit sideways between his legs.

You stutter out at him, “Wha– what are you doing?”

Letting go of your hand; he reaches for your face. His thumb stroking softly against your cheekbone, “Do you want my help or not?”

“What you’re basically asking me is if I want to kiss you,” you correct… because that is what he’s asking right now.

Geto’s head drops back slightly as he fights the urge to roll his eyes at you dramatically, hand resting on your outer thigh now, “Don’t be so pedantic. You have a problem and I’m offering to help fix it.”

A sound of disapproval slips from you at his wording, “I know the theory behind kissing someone, Suguru. What you’re offering is making out with me.”

“So?”

Your expression is dumbfounded, you know he’s not this dense, “You want to stick your tongue in my mouth and then go back to the usual?”

He leans in again, dodging your question with his own, “Do you want me to stick my tongue in your mouth?”

“Geto–”

“–Ouch–”

“–Shut up.” You cut him off, “If! We did this and I do mean if. Would you be able to look at me the same?”

“The same as I always have? Sure,” there’s no hesitation from him.

He seems so sure, like he’s not worried about what this might mean for your friendship at all. The easy-going look on his face is both pissing you off and relaxing you, emotions he’s always been able to pull from you.

His hand is large on your thigh and the way it makes you feel is not how you should feel for him. Mumbling out a small, “You’re annoying.”

An amused breath leaves him, “You’ve already told me that today.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you look up at him through your lashes.

“That’s kind of the point of this.”

“Right…” You can’t help but find yourself feeling nervous, embarrassed that you won’t be good enough. For some reason… you really want him to think you’re a good kisser.

He must take your silence as rejection because his tone is gentle when he says, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I know, I just…” You frown while looking at him, trying to figure out exactly what steps to take next, “I don’t know what to do now…” Geto’s face relaxes and a smile replaces his concern causing you to chastise him, “Don’t smile, it’s not funny!”

“No,” he agrees, “But it is a little cute.”

“Whatever, can we just kiss now?”

“Desperate?” He asks teasingly.

You deny it, “I just want you to stop talking.”

“Sure.” It’s all dragged out and has a teasing lilt to it. Damn him and his need to have the last word. You don’t reply to that and instead try to shuffle off him, thinking sitting like this would be awkward. His hold becomes firmer on you, “What are you doing?”

You’re confused, “Isn’t this position weird?”

“Makes it easier,” is all he says in reply.

Being sat between his spread legs, your own draping over one of them while he holds you doesn’t seem ideal. To you, this couldn’t be a more awkward position to be in for this. Instead of telling him that though, you settle back, “Alright…”

When you look back up at him properly, he’s already looking at you. There’s a funny feeling that runs through you at the look in his eyes. The hand on your thigh moves to your face again, cradling you as he leans in. Murmuring a soft, “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

Just as he’s about to move all the way in, your hand covers his mouth, “Wait.” You stop him, your nerves getting the better of you, “What if… what if you don’t like kissing me?” He looks a little frustrated so you pull your hand away, giving him a chance to speak.

“Do you want me to like kissing you?”

You feel flustered by his question, “Why do you always answer my questions with a question?”

“Because your questions are interesting…” he pauses, “…And also, I like teasing you.”

“If you answer my question, I’ll answer yours.”

“Fine,” he indulges you, “I’m not gonna dislike kissing you so your question is dumb.”

“But you can’t know–”

He tuts you, interrupting what you were saying, “–You gotta answer my question now.”

You groan at him, “Well… yeah.”

“‘Yeah’ what?”

He’s such a smug bastard, “Yeah! Yeah I want you to like kissing me, Suguru.”

You’re huffy but he seems so pleased by your response. A serene and happy look on his face despite the tone you used. You find yourself waiting for him to say something more, something to tease you further but he doesn’t. He simply leans in again, taking you by surprise when his lips are softly pressing to yours. It’s short and sweet, more akin to a peck than anything else. Continuing to plant gentle kisses to your lips until you return them and then he lets them linger.

The feelings that run through you have you all tingly and hot, kissing your best friend for practice probably shouldn’t feel this good… right? You still don’t really know what you’re doing though, more just letting him kiss you than anything. When you part again, you murmur, “Suguru, I still don’t know what I’m meant to be doing.”

“Just follow my lead,” his eyes stay on your lips, now shiny from the shared kisses, “That’s all you gotta do.”

“But–”

His eyes roll when you go to argue more, “–Stop thinking so hard about it and let me kiss you.”

You can’t help but squirm slightly at that, “Okay.”

Satisfaction rolls off him in waves but thankfully for you he doesn’t comment any further, choosing to kiss you again. Instinctually, your hand reaches for his chest and grips onto his shirt, you need something to ground you.

Geto is taking this slow, he’s trying his best to be patient to savour this moment with you. He doesn’t want to push you too far too soon and have you stop whatever this is. If he were more sure of himself and where he stands with you, he’d have just asked you out like a sane person but he’s not sure and he didn’t want to pass on this opportunity.

He can feel this becoming something he covets, your soft lips on his, uncertain in your movements but so ready to be kissed by him. His heart pulls with a kind of possessiveness that’s not completely unfamiliar to him regarding you. The desire to not want anyone else to ever have this side of you overwhelming him.

It’s addictive, his kisses, his hold on you… him. You can feel yourself falling into him more, the longer you do this dance. You want more, you want him to kiss you more but you have no idea how to ask for that. Following his lead is good, it’s helpful but it’s starting to feel like he’s depriving you.

Pulling back, you force yourself to voice, “I want more…”

“Do you know what you’re asking for?” He sounds strained.

“You said you would teach me,” you remind. “So, teach me.”

His thumb presses into your jaw, “Open your mouth more then.”

Doing as he asks; he angles you just slightly before pressing his mouth to yours. The kiss fuller, his tongue licking into your mouth. It has a shiver running down your spine, the sensation new and mind numbing. It’s messier than before and so much more dizzying, you can’t even really keep up with his movements. Just letting him kiss you to his hearts content, feeling yourself getting drunk on his lips in the process.

You can’t even be sure if you’re doing this right but it doesn’t really feel like it matters, not when you’re this lost in it. Lips gliding against his, a small involuntary sound pulling from your chest at how he grips you tighter. Feeling like he gets impossibly closer, his kisses growing desperate the moment you whine into him.

Geto’s restraint is wearing thin, his desire for you growing tenfold at how you moan for him. He wants to touch you so much more, to put his hands on every part of you. The fear of ruining this moment keeps his hands planted firmly to your hip and cheek though and it’s killing him to not touch you more, more, more.

When you tentatively lick against his tongue he almost all but folds in that single moment, he feels so pathetically weak for you. So unsure of yourself and still trying to kiss him just as deeply as he is you. A guttural groan leaves him, a sound he’d be almost ashamed of if he didn’t notice the way you squirm at it.

You pull back from him and he can’t help but chase your lips, he doesn’t want to stop. An amused breath leaves you, “Hold on.”

He doesn’t understand what you need a moment for until you’re pulling his hands from you and moving to straddle him.  Your thighs resting beside him, he feels dizzy with need, the need to touch you, to undress you. To have you naked and straddling his lap just like this could make his whole year. His hands are on your hips, tugging you up his lap just slightly further, encouraging.

Going to sit on him, you notice his erection and gasp. Heat rising to your face, suddenly so conscious of how heated this exchange has gotten, “Maybe we should stop…”

It’s almost like it hurts him to hear those words, “Do you want to stop?”

You wish you weren’t so certain, so quick to immediately know that, “… No, I don’t.”

“That’s good…” he smiles, “Cause I’m not done teaching yet.”

And then you’re kissing again, wet and sloppy. He’s holding back less, depraved in how he sucks your tongue into his mouth, bolder now. Revelling in every twitch you make against him, every mumbled whine you let out.

Mindlessly, your hips lightly roll downwards and his resulting grip holds you so still against him. A debauched moan leaving him at your unexpected movements, parting his mouth from yours with it. Geto’s head tucks into your chest, controlling his breathing, like he might snap at any moment.

You feel a little frantic, like you might’ve hurt him, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“–Don’t– fuck– don’t apologise,” he can feel how warm you are through your pants and it’s making him feel feral.

Your fingers run through his hair, to comfort him, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” He huffs an unamused sound, “The only thing hurting me is how badly I wanna stuff you full.”

“Sugu–”

“–I know you can feel just how hard I am,” he pulls his head back to look at you, eyes blown wide and dark, “I’m practically aching for you.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, “Suguru… are you some kind of closeted perv?”

The question makes him laugh, “Wanna find out?”

“You were only supposed to teach me how to kiss…”

“Mhm, and you’re doing great,” his nose traces along your neck, inhaling you, “I still have so much more knowledge to give though.”

“Don’t be so– hah!” He licks at your skin before latching his mouth to the side of your throat, the pressure making you fidget in his lap. You feel so sensitive, so much more than what you thought you would.

When Geto pulls back from the mark he’s made, he blows softly on it, enjoying the way you shudder on top of him. “‘Don’t be so’ what?”

That’s right you were going to say something, he looks really nice right now though… eyes lidded and cheeks just slightly pink, lips slick. What were you going to say to him? His grin only grows, taking satisfaction in your glazed eyes and struggle to think. Averting your gaze, you try to remember what you wanted to say. The break in eye contact short lived since he grabs your chin and pulls you back.

“Come on, pretty, what were you gonna say?”

The effect he’s having on you is becoming too much, “I was gonna tell you to not be so depraved!”

“Hmm…” His head quirks at you, “You seem to like it though?”

How presumptuous of him, “You can’t know that!”

“You know… the human body is really interesting, for example…” he looks down to where you’re sitting over his prominent erection, “You’re so incredibly hot against me that I feel like I’m going insane,” smiling back up at you evilly, “Just how wet are you?”

The possibility of fainting is very real all of a sudden, his question has you hot everywhere. “I jus– I just told you to not be so depraved.”

“Yeah and I ignored you,” he deadpans, ignoring your indignant sounds. “Do you want me to stop?”

Again, you hate how badly you don’t want to stop. Right now, you think you’d let him do just about whatever he wanted to you. “Promise not to tease me later?”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

You pout back at him, “Then I’m not gonna say what I was thinking.”

His curiosity is sufficiently piqued, “Fine, I promise to try not to tease you later.”

“That’s not good enough.”

He tries again, “I promise.” You both stay looking at one another for a moment before he adds, “That’s as good as you’re getting.” And you know it to be true.

How to say this without embarrassing yourself, “You can… you can touch me… however you want, Suguru…”

He feels like he’s gone into shock, “What?”

“Did you not hear me?”

“No… I heard you,” he can’t help the way his cock jumps in excitement, “I’m just double checking I heard you right.” He leans in to taunt, “You’re gonna let me touch you however I want?”

“You said you had more knowledge to share,” It’s a dangerous game that you’re both playing.

He breathes out, “And if I wanna touch you in a depraved manner?”

So certain in yourself when you reply, “I want to be touched in a depraved manner… by you.”

Ah, so you’re trying to kill him, is the conclusion that Geto has come to. A breathless laugh leaves him, “For practice?”

“Sure,” you give him the answer you think he wants, in reality you just want to desperately be touched by him. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life and it’s all his fault.

An amused sound leaves him, “Hah– Don’t know if I believe your answer there…” his hands are on your hips, slowly dragging you over his dick. Biting his lip at the feeling, cock jumping when your breath stutters.

“Wait– wait,” your hands hold onto his and he stops moving you. Realising now that he might’ve gotten carried away, that he should’ve double checked again.

When you get off his lap and onto shaky legs Geto feels his heart drop, only for it to suddenly pick up speed when you’re shuffling your pants down and off. Crawling back onto him in your panties, he – shamefully – has to put so much focus into keeping calm, so worked up he could cum from this alone.

“Yeah…” you murmur back at him, placing yourself right over his erection again, gasping at how hard he is, at how much more you can feel even through the layers left on, “I lied just now.”

He wants to ask more; he wants to know what you lied about but if he thought you were hot before then he’s melting now. You’re sitting on his dick in the cutest little panties, already so drenched from making out with him that the affection he feels for you fills up his chest. He’s way too distracted right now to ask what he wants.

“Be honest,” it feels like a chore to rip his gaze away from your pussy, “Are you trying to kill me?”

Geto’s eyes are all glassy and blown, cheeks flushed as he implores you, like he’s worried you’re actually trying to kill him. He’s making you feel shy, “It’s your fault I’m acting like this.”

That has him feeling a little prideful, “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” you confirm.

“In that case,” he’s slowly dragging your heated core over his erection again, “Should I fix it?”

You nod your head at him, “…Yeah”

The shivers that run through you make you gasp, the drag over Geto’s dick feeling so much better without your pants on. And yet you can’t help but feel so greedy, a kind of need in your bones that you’ve not experienced before.

He takes his hands away from your hips and you stop moving, whining pathetically at him, “Why–”

“–Keep doing it yourself,” he encourages.

“But–”

“Just do it how it feels good, use me for a bit,” he grins, “I wanna watch you pleasure yourself on me.”

“You really are a perv,” you mutter back at him.

His retort is quick, “Say that to me when your pussy’s not drooling all over my pants.”

Your cunt jumps at his words, “Are you gonna be this crude the whole time?”

“I can be worse if you want?”

“I can’t stand you.”

“We both know that’s not true,” he looks pointedly down to where your cunt is pulsing hot against him. “Now do us both a favour and move,” he hisses out through clenched teeth, apparently nearing his limit.

“You’re so bossy,” you frown, “I’ve never…” You’re at a loss for how to phrase it.

“Dry humped someone before?” He finishes for you, “Though with how wet you are–”

“Shh!” You cover his mouth with your palm, “Stop… talking about how wet I am.”

He pulls your hand away, “You know, I’m not surprised you’ve never–”

“–You don’t have to say it again,” you cut him off.

He rolls his eyes, “You hadn’t even made out with someone, I’m just saying that I didn’t ask you to use me without knowing.” He holds the side of your face gently, “Stop worrying about it so much, I know already… that you’re a huge virgin.”

His gentle touch greatly contrasts his teasing words. He’s so evil to you, “This is why I say you’re not nice.”

“Do you want me to be nice? To tell you how pretty you are and how good of a job you’re doing?” The reaction you have is almost visceral, skin heating and looking away from him. Even more embarrassed when he chuckles at you, “Got a bit of a praise kink, hmm?”

“You’re making this difficult for me.”

“You should’ve just done what I asked then,” he shrugs easily.

If you thought holding out would punish him more than you, then maybe you’d just get off him and go home to get yourself off but you want him to make you feel good. So instead, you’ll just give in and hope he shows you mercy, though by how this is going, he doesn’t seem to be the type.

Experimentally, you roll your hips down into Geto and he huffs out a breath like he wasn’t expecting it. Your hands move to his shoulders for purchase, using the leverage you have there to grind down into him harder.

He holds onto your waist. Not moving you, just resting his hands there, “Oh fuck– no– hah– no warning?”

You shake your head at him, brows pinched as you focus on seeking your own pleasure, “You– hnn– wanted me to– hah– to do as you asked.”

His head falls back slightly at the pleasure, a lazy smile on his face, “That’s true.”

The longer you do this, the slicker his pants get, you’re so unbelievably wet that it’s coating the material obscenely. Geto is in awe of it, eyes fixed on where you’re rutting down into him, marvelling at the damp spot on his pants, at how drenched your panties are. So soaked that they’re practically a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination with how it’s sticking to you.

He holds you still suddenly and the whine you let out is endearing, “Wait for a second,” he huffs.

Moving his hands to his belt to undo it, shuffling his pants down his legs. You lean up on your knees for a moment for him to drop them to his feet but before you can sit back down, his hand is holding you there. He runs the fingers of his other hand through your covered folds, a groan coming from the back of Geto’s throat.

“Seriously, you’re so fucking wet,” he reminds you.

“Sorry…”

He almost chokes, “‘Sorry?’” His fingers draw up to your clit, pressing into it, “Don’t be fucking sorry… I’m nearly salivating because of how drenched you are.”

That catches you off guard, “Sugu–”

He doesn’t let you speak, “–This wet because of me? It’s my fault you said?”

You bite your lip, his fingers circling your clit deliciously, “Mhm.”

His eyes brighten, “Perfect. Aren’t you just perfect for me?”

Your legs start shaking and he lets you drop back to his lap, one less layer between the two of you now. He’s so warm and hard and if you weren’t straddling him, you’d be clenching your thighs together for relief.  

“You are doing such a good job for me,” he whispers low against your ear, “Having the most perfect reactions.”

You whine at his praise, “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Yeah,” he licks against your ear, “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

His size is honestly daunting, large and thick as you sit on it, throbbing underneath you. “Suguru?”

He noses at your cheekbone, “Mmm?”

“I’m worried…”

“About?”

“What if you don’t fit…” you look down to his lap, “I just mean, you feel…big.”

“I don’t have to put it in you,” he comforts but he can’t help the way he twitches at your genuine concern over taking him.

“But you want to?”

“What sort of a question is that?” he holds you down while he grind up into you, “Does it feel like I want to?”

“I was jus– ah!– I was just checking,” you sulk back.

Your mind melts, getting away from you. He’s rutting up into you in a way that has you shaking and your breaths stuttering. On edge for so long while sat in his lap, you want to meet his grinds, you want to move your hips into him but his grip is firm and steady.

It’s honestly a little pitiful how quickly he’s building you up, your insides clenching with the pleasure. The drag back and forth on his clothed cock driving you slowly to insanity. His boxers almost as ruined as your panties, your slick coating his covered dick. The glide much smoother than what you’d expect. It’s like you can feel him throbbing for you and it makes you want to fully take him even more.

Your own thoughts riling you up, the idea of him sitting so heavily inside you makes you huff out a whine. A sound that Geto relishes in, in fact, he’s relishing in all of this. You’re so malleable to his will, he thinks in this state, you’d let him do whatever he pleases. The thought alone nearly has his eyes rolling.

He needs you to cum like this, he needs to see it. How you shake and writhe on top of him, the expression you make. He wants to make you cum in so many different ways just to see how your expressions might differ each time.

It’s relentless, how he humps up into you, how he pulls you down into him. Your clit catching on the tip of his dick making you jump each time, shocks of pleasure running through you. You never thought something like this would feel so damn good.

Fingers grappling at the material of his shirt, pleasure wracking your body as he draws you closer and closer, “Stop– ah!– if you keep going I’ll– hnn–”

“–So soon?” he hums, “I don’t know if– hah– I believe you… you’re gonna have to prove it,” he leers back at you.

His eyes on you feel so consuming, calm and watching but so hungry that it’s driving you to the edge. It feels like you’re melting, so warm and unbelievably close. Body twitching on top of him with your impending orgasm. You don’t even get to try and warn him again, sounds you’ve never heard yourself make falling from your mouth before you can think to stop them. Trembling with the force of your orgasm, feeling so weak as you slump into him, eyes wet and bleary.

Geto feels like he’s vibrating, watching you come undone on top of him making him feel too much at once. His arms wrap around you and hold you close, hands smoothing up and down your back. Lips close to your ear when he speaks, “You know… you make some really cute noises when you cum.”

Lazily, you look up at him through your lashes. Feeling a stupid kind of pleasure running through your body, still jolting slightly with the come down. “Stop trying to embarrass me.”

“I’m only being honest,” his hands slip under your shirt, groping your waist, “You getting embarrassed is just a bonus.”

“Have you always been this sadistic?”

He leans in and presses a kiss to the side of your mouth, “Who knows?” He smiles.

Turning, you catch his mouth with yours. Kissing him properly, hands tickling the back of his neck as you try to kiss him like he did you earlier. His hands on your waist grip you, lips imploring. So needy in how he returns your kiss, all but whining when you part. A string of saliva connects your mouths and he wipes your lower lip with his thumb, pressing it to your lips like he might push it inside.

Eyes lost as he dances his digit over your plush lips, “You’re beautiful,” is all he says, gazing at you with so much affection.

Opening your mouth, you gently take his thumb between your teeth. Biting so very lightly before flicking your tongue over the tip of it. Geto looks like he blushes at the action, pulling his hand back.

“Seems as though I’m not the only tease,” he accuses.

You mutter back at him, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His compliment had made you feel so soft and tingly that you didn’t know what to say or how to react. It’s not like he’s never complimented you before, you just weren’t expecting him to call you beautiful so earnestly. Being given compliments by someone has never made your insides flutter as much as they did just now.

He hums at you, redirecting his attention. Pulling at the hem of your shirt to show what he wants; you lift your arms up so he can remove it from you properly. Feeling so bare on top of him but not really minding, still too blissed on your orgasm to care.

Geto doesn’t waste any time, groping your tits in his large hands. Rolling your nipples experimentally and grinning wide at how you twitch and bite back moans at it. “My, you’re sensitive.”

Teeth digging into your lower lip to stop the pitiful noises he’s threatening to pull from you, “Try not to sound so pleased about that.” Your blood is still thumping through your ears, pleasure fresh in your bones.

“Would you rather I be upset?”

“I’d rather you not make– ah!–”

His wet mouth wrapping around your nipple has your words cutting off suddenly, back arching into him. Huffing out breaths at how he flicks his tongue over your sensitive skin, dizzy from the heat he’s making you feel. Pulling back with an obscene pop, licking at you a final time while keeping eye contact before swapping to your neglected tit.

He’s playing with you, or he’s waiting for you to say you’re ready for more… no he’s definitely just playing with you. Taking his time leaving marks all over your tits, even biting some places. Neglecting himself in favour of teasing you to insanity, though it can’t be that painful for him considering how he’s enjoying this immensely.

Whining at him, “You– hah!– You’re gonna leave too many marks,” he ignores you in favour of making a new mark to the top of your breast, “Suguru!”

Threading your fingers through his hair, you pull him back with a tug. You’re frowning at him but your eyes are so wet and dazed and you’re nearly completely naked on top of him. Covered in hickeys and his saliva, despite your pulled brows you look so euphoric.

Feigning ignorance, he simpers, “What’s wrong with that?” A finger trails over the marks he’s left, grazing a sensitive nipple in his journey, “You seemed to liked it.”

Swallowing your pride, you tell him directly, “I want more.”

“You want to cum again?” He muses, “Greedy.”

Taking offence at his accurate guess, you add, “I want… you to as well.”

Geto ignores the thumping of his heart, “Take off your panties then.”

“But…”

A brow raises at you, “‘But’ what?”

You don’t really want to tell him about how shaky your legs are, you’re a little concerned they’ll give out as soon as you try to stand. He really doesn’t need the ego boost right now, “Nothing.”

Moving off him so so carefully, you keep your hands on his shoulders as you stand between his spread legs. With the way your knees are wobbling and fingers gripping to him so harshly, it doesn’t take him long to figure out that you’ve not really got a great sense of balance right now. A smug smile gracing his lips when he sees you fight to figure out how you’re going to take off your panties with your hands on him.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” You quickly answer.

“Then take them off,” a finger pulls at the waistline of your underwear only to let it snap back to you. At your continued struggle he adds, “Or do you want me to take them off for you?”

You look to him, eyes hopeful for mercy, “Please?”

“Sure,” his tone polite but you’re not sure you’re that trusting of him.

Thankfully, his hands slide them delicately down your legs, brushing against your thighs. Though, he’s an opportunist and he uses this chance to grip at your thighs, pulling at your skin further and further up your legs. Humming low to himself at the slick coating your inner thighs, unable to help himself when he drags his fingers through your folds, touching your pussy directly.

“Fuck, alright–” He bites out, pulling you to his lap suddenly, “I’ve reached my limit.”

“Wait,” he stops his frantic movements and you pull at his shirt, “Take it off.”

He doesn’t even tease, just immediately does as you asked, hastily tugging his shirt off. It’s dropped less than gracefully onto the floor. Your fingers dance along his shoulders, down his chest. You want to take it all in a bit more but he’s flopping onto his back and shucking his boxers down enough to pull his cock free.

The size of him almost has your eyes bulging, you wonder how he’s been so patient when he’s this hard and achy looking. Tip flushed deep pink and already smothered in his own leaky precum, your cunt throbs while looking at him. Caught between concern over his size and a desperate need to be full of him.

“You don’t have to take it but please just–” He grabs and moves you until you’re hovering over it, “Sit on it at least.”

Lowering yourself cautiously, you sit on him lightly. He can feel your heat and it makes him shiver, “I don’t need you to be gentle with me,” he snickers, “Split your pussy open on my dick.”

Geto doesn’t even give you the chance to do it yourself, hands tugging you down onto him with more force. A gasp ripping from you when he immediately starts dragging you back and forth on his whole length. Stifled groans leave him from under you, his chest vibrating under your palm.

“Sugu–”

“–Sorry,” his brows are knitted together, “I got– nnh– impatient.”

It’s so wet, slipping over him repeatedly, the head of his cock nudging your clit over every pass. Your teeth dig into your lower lip to fight the whines bubbling inside you but eventually you give up and just let yourself moan. He seems to like it anyways, cock jerking at the soft breaths and whimpers leaving you.

He’s on the brink of stupidity, you’re so soft and unbelievably warm and his tip keeps catching on your hole and it makes him shudder each time. Looking down, he watches the way you’re coating his cock in more of your slick, cock shiny with how wet you are. Lewd sounds of your pussy grinding over him fill the room and now he’s thinking about you creaming around him. He’s never wanted something so bad in his life.

“Sugu,” you call out to him and he dopily pulls his eyes to yours, “Do you think I could just…” when his cockhead catches on your hole again, you press down, not even taking him in any real way and yet still stretching slightly for it.

His grip hardens on you, holding you completely still, “There’s no ‘just’ anything.” He struggles to breath out evenly, “Not with how tight you are.”

“I wanna feel full though,” you try wiggling down into him but he’s truly got you in a vice like hold.

His cock twitches as excitement rushes through him, “You asking me to take your virginity, pretty?”

Shy when you ask, “Would you?”

He’s not passing on the chance to pick on you a little bit, “How bad do you want it?”

He can feel the way your hole flutters when you think about his question, your answer seemingly downplaying how you feel, “Pretty bad.”

“Hmm,” He pretends to think about his answer.

You’re taking issue with his faux deep thought, “Sugu, stop acting like you’re not…”

“Go on,” he encourages, “‘Like I’m not’ what?”

“Like you’re not…” you look away from him, mumbling out, “Aching for it…”

“Oh? You aching for it?” The smile he’s wearing can be heard in his words.

He sounds way too gleeful over this and it’s ticking you off, “Nope,” you pop the ‘p’ as you lift yourself off him.

“Don’t be like that,” he sits up, “I’m not letting you go anywhere… not when I know you’re aching for my cock.”

“I did not say that.”

“That’s what I heard you say,” he shrugs.

Geto’s arms wrap around you only to throw you down onto the bed, gone from you for a second while he shoves his boxers off quickly. And then he’s crawling over you, hands tracing up your body, relishing in your reactions to him.

“You really are so sensitive,” he mutters, trailing a finger up your thigh and watching your skin break out in goosebumps.

He’s being so unbearable, the need you feel is so loud and he’s here taunting you, “You’re so frustrating.”

“You’re just a needy little thing,” he returns, “So desperate to be filled even though you’re not prepared in the slightest.”

“Then prepare me,” you whine back.

He finds this about you cute, your insatiable greed, your back and forth between shy and so horny that you’re getting pissy at him. “I should teach you some manners,” he grumbles.

You spread your legs for him obscenely, growing even more impatient. “Please, touch me,” you pull his hand towards your pussy, “please.”

If he ever gets the chance to touch you like this again he’s going to torture you because right now you’re playing so completely unfairly that he can’t even think to deny you. His brows pull up as he flushes, finding himself doing exactly what you wanted, fingers gliding through your folds.

The way you keen at his touch almost makes it worth it. “You don’t play fair,” he complains.

“Someone lead by– hah!– po– poor example, I guess,” you shudder when he slips a single finger inside you.

Geto groans at the snug heat of your cunt, closing his eyes to take a quick breath at just how you feel wrapped around his digit. The fear or cumming the minute he gets inside you is real; he’s going to have to develop an insane amount of self-restraint between then and now.

“You’re hilarious,” he leans down to whisper in your hear, “Now shhh…” He draws his finger back before fucking it back in, lewd wet sounds of your pussy filling the silence, “Hear that?” He keeps repeating his movements, taking immense joy in how you writhe under him, “I think… pretty things that are this wet and begging to get fucked… don’t get to mock me.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, eyes glassy when you look up at him, “Don’t– nnh– be sooo mean.”

“You haven’t seen me be mean,” he pulls his finger back just to stuff another inside you, grinning when you arch your back at it, “I’ve only been nice to you today.”

“Be nicer,” you pout.

“Don’t wanna be,” he smiles graciously back at you.

The fingers he has in you scissor to spread you open, pleased hums leaving him at your responses. Your mouth drops open and legs shake, fighting to close but unable to with how he’s in-between them. He’s hitting all the perfect spots inside you, crooking his digits to rub against your inner walls in a way you’re never able to reach.

He’s getting you so close to cumming that you want to hide from him, somehow feeling so much more vulnerable like this than when you were sitting in his lap earlier. Slowly, he works you to the point of taking another of his fingers, fucked open on three of them now. Your toes curl and your thighs hoist themselves on either side of his waist. Hips grinding into his hand, meeting his movements.

Geto finds the frenzied and desperate grinds into his hand adorable, satisfied with just how much more greedy you get when you’re this turned on. He already knows you must be close, your sudden drive to fuck down onto his fingers a dead giveaway to him.

He adds his thumb, rubbing circles into your clit. You jerk at it, tits bouncing in a way that has him drooling. To be honest, if you weren’t practically begging to get dicked down earlier he would’ve put his mouth on you. Maybe if he weren’t also desperate to put his cock in you he’d do it anyways but for now, he’ll settle for fingerfucking you to insanity and then shoving you full of his dick.

Your voice comes out smaller than you want, “Sugu, I think–”

“–I know,” his eyes are bright, fully aware of how close you are.

He can feel the way you twitch and clench down on him, back arching off the bed. Speeding up his movements just to get you there that much quicker and when you’re about to cum all over his fingers… he pulls them from you. Leaving you without your orgasm but so high that he could blow on your clit and you might cum.

You whine at him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Expression dopey and angry, sexually frustrated from the cruel and unexpected edging he just put you through. “What the hell, Suguru?!”

His grin is wolfish, merciless expression painted over with faux pity, “I’m so sorry, pretty. Were you close?” A hand cradles your face, soothing you for something that is completely his fault.

“Why would you do that?” All he’s succeeded in is making you needier than before, squirming under him with no way to find relief.

His answer is simple, “Just to see how you’d react.”

“I shouldn’t have hung out with you today.”

“Don’t be like that,” he guides his dick to your cunt, “I’m ‘bout to treat you so good.”

“If you don’t let me cum we’re not friends anymore,” you warn.

He snickers at how genuine you’re being, “Alright.”

“I mean it, Suguru.”

“I know you do,” he presses a kiss to your temple, “That’s why it’s a little tempting.”

You whine at him, “Can you stop being so cruel for a moment?”

He blinks at you, “What do I get if I do?”

“What do you want?”

“I want to be the first person you go on a date with.”

His request confuses you, “What? Why?”

He doesn’t answer you, “Those are my terms,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Okay! Fine, yes, whatever you want,” you nod at him.

He smiles and starts pushing into you, the stretch is a lot and it aches more than his fingers. You’re trying to breathe through it but it seems like he is too. His thumb is on your clit, trying to get you to relax for him. “St– stop– hah– fuck!– stop clenching so tight,” he hisses through his teeth.

“I can’t– nnh– help it,” your nails dig into his skin.

His lashes flutter when he gets his tip inside you, groan leaving him. “Wh– when I s–say date I mean– hnnn– a real date. A ‘I take you out and then try kissing you at the end of it’ date.”

For some reason, that makes your insides twist and you squirm. “Wh– whatever you– nnh– want, Sugu.”

“Yeah? You’re gonna– hah– dress up and let me take you out for your first ever date?” His fingers grip at his blanket below.

Your eyes roll as he slips further inside you, babbling out, “If you– hnn– let me cum? I’ll date only you.”

Geto sputters at that, hips driving forwards on their own making you both moan. His upper body drops down to you, lips ghosting over your neck and cheek before taking yours in a sweet kiss. He knows you’re out of your mind horny and probably not even sure of what you just said but he’s going to live in this moment while he fucks you.

He’s kissing your breath away while he slowly fills you to the hilt, trying so hard to be careful with you. His lips successfully distract you from the ache you were feeling, melting into him as he licks at your tongue.

Parting from you only when he’s balls deep inside you, head flopping to your shoulder as he moans. Struggling to keep it together, you’re wrapped so snug and hot around him, pulsing so tightly around his aching cock that he feels like he might cum at any second.

“Sugu?” When he hums, you continue, “Move please?”

You wiggle your hips into him but he’s quick to stop you with a firm hand, “If you don’t want this ending right now then you need to give me a moment.”

“Hmm, that’s awfully cute of you, Suguru,” you tease him.

“That’s bold,” he licks at the shell of your ear, “I’m going to ruin you.”

“More than you already have?”

He agrees, “So much more.”

It feels like an eternity before he’s finally dragging his hips back, that alone has your breath stuttering. He wants to set a punishing pace so bad; he wants to fuck you until you’re mad but he starts slow. Thrusting back into you at a languid pace, still carefully opening you up on his fat dick. It’s your first time and as much as he loves torturing you, he also loves pleasing you.

You’re scrabbling for purchase at his leisurely pace anyways, not expecting the heavy drag of his cock to feel this mind numbing. He chuckles lowly at the way you’re already weak for him, though it’s completely his fault considering all he’s put you through up until now.

“I think you may be the awfully cute one,” he smirks at you.

Your insides tug at his tone, “You can– hnn– be quiet.”

Leaning up, he rest on his knees, pushing your leg back and up. He has a great view of you taking him like this, able to see all your reactions. “I can but your pussy really likes when I talk.”

He’s so smug and he gets to be too because he’s right, his lightly mocking tone and that polite smile he wears is a deadly combo that has your cunt seizing around him. “I like it– hah– better when you’re nice to me.”

“You’re taking me all so well, pretty,” he praises, “Pussy sucking me right back in, so greedily.”

Your eyes roll back at how he thrusts into you, new angle hitting deeper than before, “That’s not– hnn– being nice!”

“Really?” He watches the way your hole clenches and feels how much wetter you get around him, “‘Cause you seemed to like it a lot.”

You bite your lip as you look up at him, silently asking for him to fuck you.

He looks down his nose at you, “What are you asking for?”

Sulking, “I want you to– hah– move more.”

“You should’ve just said that then,” he crooks his head to the side at you.

The slow drag out is the same as always until he’s fucking himself back into you sharply, a gasped moan stumbling from you as your hands seek stability in the mattress below. Your whine is dragged out when he repeats it over and over, brows knitted together in your pleasure.

“That’s a nice reaction,” he comments smugly.

You only hum at him, too consumed by the feeling of him shoving his dick in and out over and over in such a relentless pace that you’re seeing stars. Either you’ve closed your eyes or they’ve rolled to the back of your head because you’re not seeing much of anything right now.

Your eyes are welling with tears, chest heaving with your breaths. The stretch in your leg increasing when Geto pushes down into you further, pushing back on your leg with it. He’s basically folded it over his shoulder, you had no idea you were capable of bending this much. You’re so dazed and fucked stupid when you look to him lazily, he looks so pretty like this. Hunched over you and driving his cock in and out of your tight heat, his hair hanging messily over his shoulders and face as his expression twists in bliss.

Reaching a hand up, you tuck a strand of his hair behind his hair, “You’re pretty.”

You say it so dopily that he wonders if you know what you’ve just said, “I’m fucking you to the point you’re cock drunk and you think I’m pretty?”

A shudder runs through you at his voice, “Mhm, and– ah!– you have– hnn– have a pretty voice.”

God help him, he’s about to cum from you calling him pretty. “St– stop– hnn– talking.”

“Sugu, you feel so–”

He cuts you off with a hand over your mouth, he has a feeling that whatever you were about to say would have him cumming inside you. “You’re so cute but I need you to shut up before I cum.”

From behind his hand, you look ruined. Tears slipping from your eyes, he can feel the way you’re drooling against his skin. The only sounds in the room his grunts, your muffled moans and the slick squelching of you swallowing his cock.

You want to keep telling him how pretty he is and how good he’s making you feel but even without him hindering you, you feel as though you may be beyond words now. Brain not able to form very cohesive thoughts as of this moment let alone speak them. He has you feeling so full, his cock throbbing against your walls in a way that has your skin thrumming.

Geto’s eyes lock down on where he’s stuffing himself into your little cunt, he feels himself short circuiting at the sight. Pussy bulging around him, struggling to take him all, dick so shiny with your slick. White creamy ring at the base of himself, it’s messy and lewd and it has him feeling so unbelievably obsessed with your cunt.

Thinking distantly that he’s going to do his best to impress you on your date so he can have you again, next time he’s definitely licking your pussy. Debauched groans vibrate in his chest at the thought, he’s going to make this so unforgettable for you, he needs you to be as obsessed with him as he is you. He’s going to be so much worse after this and he was already down pretty bad.

Your hand grabs at his wrist, trying to tug it away so you can speak. He pulls back out of curiosity, “I– hnn– I’m– ah!–” Giving up trying to warn him after a particular thrust has you crying out, there’s no real point in warning him anyways.

He grins at your inability to say anything meaningful, “I’ve gotcha, go ahead and cum for me.”

Of course he knew exactly what you were trying to say, how does he already know your body so perfectly. He leans down to you, impossibly close, just to kiss your cheek and say, “Come on, pretty, I wanna feel you squeeze me tight before I cum in you.”

Crude and obscene and effective because his words make you shudder as you suddenly cum around him. A little frantic in how you squirm under him, eyes rolling as your hips fight to fuck yourself onto his thrusts. Pitiful whimpers of his name leaving you repeatedly, the only really comprehensive thing you’re able to utter out.

Geto’s orgasm is immediately triggered by yours, he was hoping he’d get to play with you a little more but as soon as he felt the sinful way you gripped him while you came, he was done for. Your cunt pulsating around him milking him for all he’s worth, he’s cumming so much so deeply. His hips flush to yours as he only grinds into you to ride out both your highs.

He doesn’t think he’s ever cum that much in his life and he’s unsure if it’s because it’s you or because he held back for so long. His weight drops to you as he catches his breath, feeling spent and so drunk on your pussy that if he thought too hard about you he’d get hard again.

Your hand taps lightly at his shoulder, words all garbled when you speak, “Sugu, too heavy.”

Shoving his arms under you, he rolls until you’re on top of him. Cock slipping from you in the process and it has you letting out a cute whine.

“It’s leaking out of me,” you warn him.

He groans, “Don’t say that.”

You rest your check to his collarbone, “Why not?”

“I’ll get turned on again.”

Rolling your eyes at him, “You’re an insatiable pervert.”

“You’re not much better.”

His hands tickle up your sides, repeating the motion over, it’s making you feel sleepy. “You’re still worse.”

He just hums at you, apparently not caring to argue back. “You gonna be okay to shower?”

“In a bit… and only if you carry me the whole time.”

He laughs at that, “Sure.”

You draw mindless patterns on his chest with your finger, “So… where are you taking me on my first date?”

𝒂.𝒏. this was actually a request that i got carried away with,, my requests aren't even open i just fucked with the idea that hard hehe.... i hope you all enjoyed and thank you very much for reading !!!

(i recently made a discord for my followers so if you guys are interested in that please check out the pinned page on my blog :3)

[⚠︎] — 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision

[beloveds-embrace]

(non-sexual smell kink with simon riley 🙂‍↕️)

Simon wasn’t used to softness.

His life had been a long stretch of damp alleyways, stale cigarettes, and the kind of bars where the floor stuck to your boots if you stood still too long. Even the so-called clean places had a lingering scent of old beer and sweat, clinging to the air like a bad memory. He’d spent years thinking that was just how life smelled- musty, metallic, a little rotten around the edges.

Then you came along.

Simon never thought of himself as a man who cared much for scents, but you ruined him without even trying. It started with something small- your presence shifting the air in a room before he even saw you. A whisper of something clean and soft, clinging to your skin like an invisible halo.

You used body powder, he’d eventually learn, the kind that puffed into the air like smoke when you dusted it over your skin, leaving a faint, lingering trail wherever you went. He’d caught the scent of it the first time he stepped into your space, expecting the usual mix of cheap air fresheners or laundry detergent. Instead, he was hit with something warm, almost nostalgic, like fresh linens and a touch of vanilla.

It drove him mad in the best way.

Simon found himself leaning in when you passed by, subtle at first- just a slight tilt of his head when you moved close enough for your scent to brush against him. Then, less subtle- pulling you against his chest after long missions, face buried in your neck, inhaling deep enough to burn the memory of you into his lungs.

“You smell so good.” He muttered once, almost embarrassed by the admission.

You’d laughed, fingers brushing against the back of his head, free of the mask. “Yeah? What do I smell like?”

He hesitated, unsure how to explain it. Saying soft didn’t make sense. Neither did safe, even though that’s what it felt like. So he settled for: “Just… really good.”

You didn’t tease him for it. Just smiled, pressed a kiss to his jaw, and let him breathe you in.

And the first time Johnny met you, he almost had the same reaction.

Simon had warned him ahead of time- half because he wanted Johnny to behave and half because he wasn’t sure how his best mate would react to seeing Simon with someone so different from everything he’d ever known.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Simon had said.

Johnny had grinned at him. “Wouldd nae dream of it.”

You’d met at a quiet pub, one of the few places Simon could tolerate. Johnny had been his usual self, easygoing and full of charm especially for Simon’s missus, but the moment you’d leaned in to shake his hand, his expression shifted.

“Steamin’ Jesus…” Johnny blurted out, blinking at you.

Your brow furrowed in confusion, and your eyes shifted in hesitance towards Simon. “Uh. Nice to meet you too?”

Simon sighed, already knowing where this was going.

Johnny sniffed the air- actually sniffed- then gave Simon a look of utter betrayal. “You never told me she smelled this good.”

You let out a startled laugh. “What?”

Simon groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t encourage him, lovie.”

Johnny, the bastard, ignored him completely. “I mean it, love, you smell incredible. It’s like-” He inhaled deeply again, thoughtful. “Powdered sugar. Or fresh sheets. Or- hell, I dunno. Just really, really nice.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Well, I do use a lot of body powder.”

“Where do you get it?” Johnny asked immediately.

Simon shot him a glare. “…Why?”

Johnny grinned, waggling his brows. “So I can get some for myself, obviously.”

Simon muttered something under his breath that made Johnny laugh, but he ignored them both, turning to you instead. “Sorry, love. Just didn’t expect my best mate to be walking around smelling like a bloody bakery all the time.”

You smiled at Simon, amused. “You didn’t tell him?”

Simon crossed his arms, feeling warm in a way that had nothing to do with the pub’s heating. You looked lovely. Content. Happy, leaning into him without fear. “Didn’t think it was relevant.”

Johnny scoffed. “Not relevant? if I had a lass smellin’ this nice, I’d be bragging all day.”

Simon just shook his head, reaching for his drink. But later that night, when it was just the two of you, he tucked you against him and pressed his face into your neck, breathing deep.

You smelled like home. Like warmth. Like the one thing in his life that had never felt dirty, no matter how much blood and grime he carried with him.

And he would never, ever get enough of it.

[obeymeluv]

Being Clever with the Fae (Malleus x Reader, Lilia x Reader, Sebek x Reader)

Pre-established relationship implied. You tell the Diasomnia boys that your world planned for ways to outsmart faes. You pull your trick but you're not sure who won.

Warning: Pepaw Bat's gets a little spicy so be careful.

I'm taking liberties with Sebek's part because he's a neutral for me and I don't know that much about him.

You and Malleus had talked about fae folklore more than once. He was delighted to know fae had something of a presence in your world but was wildly horrified at the misinformation. Out of everything you told him, only a handful were correct:

Don't give your name unless you trust that fae because names have power

Iron will hurt some fae but not all. Iron is more harmful to nocturnal fae than day fae.

Being rude to fae may be the end of you altogether

Partaking in fae food means you open yourself up for a wager

Yes, fae like to play tricks. Expect them and be wary.

Stepping into a fairy circle will summon the fairy who made it.

Just about everything else was wrong. That's why he and Lilia were teaching you what not to do if you came upon the various fae in Twisted Wonderland. Thus far you'd only managed to memorize what herbs kept smaller creatures at bay and how to curry the favor of the various faeries that helped out at NRC. Your current assignment from Lilia was filling out a map of different fae territories and classifying them as 'safe' for humans or 'unsafe'. Each territory had a tree they would love to craft from or loathed to be near and you were expected to know that, too.

Strange stuff but apparently it was important.

They liked to break up the bigger chunks of information with smaller, digestible things like etiquette so it felt more manageable. Malleus was currently instructing you on how to part from a fae in a formal setting as to not incur their wrath.

"Again, Child of Man," he's bowed down until eye level with you, one hand holding yours.

"Light shake, eye contact, nod, slide foot back, squeeze the hand, turn." he's parroting your motions until you turn away. He, instead, draws himself to his full height and observes as you pretend to walk away.

"Excellent," he nods. "But ensure you don't slouch while leaving. It will make some feel as if you don't hold them in high regard."

"That's so--" you roll your eyes. He simply lifts his brow as if to question your mild frustration. You puff your cheeks out and he laughs.

"We can be a bit particular." he agrees.

"To a fault." you smirk.

"Oh?" he's intrigued, eyes twinkling.

"Yeah," you smile. "In my world the fae were known for being literal with their word so you always had to keep something clever in reserve."

"Do tell," Malleus' grin goes from practiced and polite to genuine. A hint of fang shows.

"It's kind of specific though. Depends on that old joke about fae wanting to come for the first born."

"That's not really a joke," Malleus crossed his arms. You can't tell if he's offended or not. "We like the younglings. We're always looking to bring more around to the fae ways. In fact, fae make fantastic guardians because--"

He had a lot to say and you felt the beginnings of a lecture creep up. In some way you felt like you were in trouble. To save yourself, you said, "Just pretend. Then I can show you what we do."

Malleus pretended to make a deal with you. It looked a bit intimidating and official with the magic pulsing in the rickety floorboards of Ramshackle. They were groaning. Shadows danced along his face as pieces of his signature thorned briar wove around your joined hands. "In exchange for the repairs around Ramshackle, you will give your firstborn to me."

You pull him in, his green eyes searching curiously for any hint of what's to come. "Sure! How soon do you want to start working on that? Or do you want to wait a little while?"

All at once the floorboards fell quite. The hum of magic died with a rattle that broke the briar into tiny pieces. A few fell at your feet, the others shooting off into various directions.

Oh. Did he not understand? You thought it was clever! Maybe he was too sheltered to--

His laugh is kind of a snort at first but then you hear it honest and lilting. The hand holding yours slides up your arm and snakes around your waist. You're lifted until your hands find purchase on his shoulders and your legs wrap around whatever they reach. Your heart goes from your chest to your throat when his gloved hands slide down to your thighs as he walks you to your sad couch.

"Now is fine," he's careful to hold his weight above you, silky hair spilling around you and tickling your cheeks. His eyes are bright and boyish, a deadly compliment to his kissable lips.

Well, that technically backfired but if this were a real situation you'd make out just fine because he'd chosen to make out with you instead of curse you.

------ ----- ----- ----

Lilia wanted to focus on physical protection as much as written knowledge when it came to handling fae. You still couldn't wrap your head around the idea of him being a general but he had old photos, a weird mask, and a massive magearm to prove it. You'd picked up quite a few self-defense moves and practiced them regularly. He wanted them to be second nature to you. So here you are, in a designated training room within Diasomnia.

"You just want to cuddle me," you teased, in the familiar position of him being behind you with an arm around your neck. One elbow was planted in your shoulder, the other clasping it at the forearm to make a little prison for you. He gave a reprimanding squeeze, ever mindful of the pressure since you were fully human. Lilia gave a huffy laugh, trying to relax his smile into something more stern as he wove his fingers into your hair. You flinched at the tug and slapped his arm lightly.

"Focus," he couldn't deny himself the simple pleasure of whispering into your ear. If you asked him, it was to throw you off balance and distract you. "What could you do now?"

You thought about just leaning back into him, pressing against him, but you knew that wasn't what he meant. Capitalizing on this moment of closeness, the stillness, to huck him over your shoulder and into the floor crossed your mind but then you'd have to give him a back rub later.

Not that you minded that, either.

"We could make a deal," you leaned back to whisper in his ear even though it hurt your neck a little. You could tell by the way his bangs fluttered that he'd jerked in surprise. Was that a little pink on his cheeks? Before you could nip his pointed ear, Lilia leaned you forward and took his elbow off your shoulder, opting to hold you in a bearhug instead.

"Acceptable in this situation," he managed, clearing his throat when his voice cracked a little. "Although this exercise is supposed to be combat related."

"So make the terms. I can't negotiate a deal that doesn't exist." you try to break his hold, shimmying your shoulders and sliding your feet to see if you could slip away. He lifts you off the ground with an ease that doesn't seem possible with his short, lithe body. You hang there against him as he thinks.

"Your life for that of your firstborn."

A bit dark, wasn't it? Kind of rude, really, you thought. But, your train of thought continued to ramble, he did find Silver somewhere so it didn't seem too unusual that he'd want a kid. Either that, or he was messing with you because you told him that whisking away kids was something fae were known for in your world.

"You can't have a firstborn with your clothes on." you joke.

"That's not true because I found Silver with my--" Lilia drops you when he realizes what you've said. You weren't expecting him to drop you and didn't catch yourself, hissing as you land on your knees. Before you can start complaining or poke fun at him for being an old man he's locked the door. You're bowled over as he rushes over to you, pinning you on your back as he peppers kisses along your throat and collarbone.

He's several bites in and you’re halfway undressed when you think you hear a knock at the door. Lilia begrudgingly peels himself off of you, licking blood from the corner of his lips.

"Father? Are we not going to train today?"

"M'fraid not, my boy," Lilia turns his attention back to you, opening your legs to slip between them. "But you'll be getting a new sparring partner in about nine months."

His red eyes are glowing. They're absolutely beguiling.

"Do they come with therapy?” he hears Silver mumble as you look up at him through your lashes.

He pounces on you again. It was a brilliant, filthy tactic. He's not exactly mad about it. You've earned favor with one fae, at least, and he will protect you from the others.

----- ----- --- ---

Sebek is a hard worker. He's a product of his environment; he has Baur's straightforwardness, Lilia's dedicated regimens, and his mother's impressive teeth and jaw strength. Lilia thought the best way for you to learn some of the self-defense tactics was to fight someone your size.

Sort of. Sebek seemed to be the better choice since Silver was too sleepy to be a constant threat. And, in Lilia's mind, you should have an easier time fighting a half-fae versus a full fae.

You never noticed how muscular Sebek was until you were under him. He's got corded arms and you can see the muscles of his shoulders flexing under the Diasomnia shirt he chose for the exercise.

You've never seen him in casual clothes! He actually looks very nice. Not as buff as Jack but sturdy in his own way; his chest is broader than you imagined. A solid man.

More than capable of being Malleus' body guard.

You groan as he knocks the air out of you a little. He's on top of you, pressed into your back. He's got one foot braced against the floor, leaning his weight into you. Your arms are pinned at your side courtesy of the one he's snaked underneath you.

When did he flip you over? Asshole, you scrunch your nose in frustration as your cheeks begin to burn. He's an asshole that means well and won't go easy on you, though. He makes sure you learn. You try to inch out from beneath him but he angles his shoulder down and grabs his own wrist, dragging you back to him.

"You're supposed to do something in this situation!" he grumps, "You know how to break this hold!"

You do, but he's heavy and it probably wouldn't work. And he's had a literal lifetime of training versus your handful of months. You've tangled your legs together and used his half-lean to put him on his back. Your kicking like a tipped-over bug and almost free when you remember that his fae half is crocodilian and you might have triggered his death roll tendency.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Sebek's pupils change, the dark of his eye slitting and boring into you. His throat strains like he's growling but you don't hear anything. It trembles against the back of your neck and you're reminded in that moment of just how much bigger he is than you.

How he folds around you and encompasses you.

He opens his mouth, teeth glinting and sharp. "You've bested me," you admit, swallowing thickly as his teeth hover near your shoulder. "Make your deal."

You somehow turn yourself around in his unrelenting squeeze.

Sebek huffs as if he's insulted and you swear you see his teeth dull. His pupils begin to fill out. He's usually loathe to acknowledge his human side, as he'd much rather be full fae, but it serves him in this instance. "I'm not a true fae. Such a thing wouldn't work on me!"

"You have to pretend! Lilia's teaching me how to deal with the fae! You just won't hurt me as much. Maybe." you dare to flash that teasing grin at him and Sebek nearly tears into his own lip because he doesn't know what to do with that wiggly feeling you give him.

Him? Hurt you? Not on purpose. It would go against the core values his grandfather AND Lilia taught him! Any fae caught abusing their spouse would be drawn and quartered, made a public display of. Any human man who chose to do so was no man at all!

Sebek's face feels almost painfully warm. He can feel the heat spreading from his cheeks to his ears. "In an act of benevolence inspired by the great Prince Malleus, I shall spare your delicate human self in exchange for a child. Is that the cliche rubbish you desire?"

Some of his once slicked-back hair has fallen down on his forehead, between his eyes, as if it's disappointed in you too.

"You think our child would be cliche rubbish? Cliche Rubbish Zigvolt? That does NOT sound good! I'm naming the firstborn, you're just helping make it."

"Wha--but I--that's not!" Sebek doesn't know what to say and he hasn't been trained for this. He's careful not to shove you away but untangles himself like a thrown ragdoll. He rolls over sharply, totally fine with hiding his face in the floor. His green hair is in disarray and his arms are limp, stretched out to either side of him.

You laugh, climbing onto his back and raking your nails down it gently. He makes the noise. You're not sure what it is but you've heard it before. It's deep and somehow soothing. He relaxes underneath you as you continue to scratch his back, throwing in a squeeze to his muscles every now and then.

It's not until you're in what would be the small of his back (if he wasn't build so solid and thick) that he raises his head, folds his arms up, and rests his chin on his hands. "You're safe." he can't bear to turn his head and look at you right now. If he did, you'd see how...how...weak and mushy he looked. Sebek snorts through his nose, arching his back in surprise as your hands slide all the way up until you flop on his back and your arms hang off his shoulders.

"Thank you, o' kind Zigvolt!" you hug his neck. "This delicate human appreciates it!"

"And I...appreciate...you." he mumbled slowly, the words a little foreign to him. More scary than foreign, honestly. That heartwarming shyness evaporated in an instant when he pinned you and began a stern lecture about how you should NOT offer to conceive a child with ANY OTHER FAE and what YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE INSTEAD.

You weren't surprised by this. Sebek lectured Silver all the time and Lilia said he was a very informed pupil. You, too, would be informed as it didn't seem like he was letting you go anytime soon.

[misaerabl]

Down, Girl

CONTENT: wc…9.7k ✦ toxic reader, loser ellie, oral sex (e!receiving), reader riding ellies face, fingering (both receiving), you eat ellie out in the bathroom, reader is a freak, more commanding, possessive, and is a bitch to everyone, uh you didn’t let her cum, reader guilt tripping ellie. SUMMARY: Ellie has always been yours—pathetic, desperate, following you around like a stray dog hoping for scraps. She worships you, does whatever you say, lets you push her around because she thinks maybe one day, you’ll love her back. You just like the attention. But then something shifts. Ellie starts pulling away, making friends that aren’t you, not always answering when you call. She’s still there, still yours, but she’s hesitating. You can’t have that. So you remind her—she belongs to you.

February 8, Afternoon.

You’re used to having Ellie right where you want her.

It’s almost funny, how easy it is. You press a little, and she bends. You pull, and she follows. Always so eager, always so desperate. It’s adorable, really. The way she watches you like you’re something holy. Like she’s lucky just to be near you.

You lean against her locker, waiting. The hallway is loud, but you don’t hear any of it. You’re too focused on the fact that she’s late. She’s never late.

She shows up two minutes later, looking like she rushed over. “Hey,” she breathes, pushing her hair back, shifting under your gaze.

You tilt your head. “Didn’t see you this morning.”

Ellie scratches the back of her neck. “Yeah, I—uh, I had to finish something.”

Your eyes flick over her, taking in the way she won’t quite meet your gaze. She looks guilty. She should.

You step closer, your voice honeyed but sharp. “You’re not avoiding me, are you?”

Her head snaps up, wide-eyed. “No! No, I just—”

You hum, watching her squirm. Cute. “Good.”

You don’t have to say anything else. Ellie falls in step with you like always. Like she doesn’t even realize you just put a leash back around her neck.

You met Ellie Williams when you were thirteen.

Back then, she was just some scrawny, awkward kid with too many freckles and a closet full of ugly hoodies. The kind of girl who looked like she belonged in the background of a school photo, forgotten as soon as the camera flashed.

You were different. You had a presence—one that people noticed. And Ellie? She noticed you the most.

You don’t remember the exact moment she started following you around. It just happened. One day, she was a classmate. The next, she was yours.

It started small. She’d let you copy her homework, save you a seat at lunch, carry your things without you asking. She never expected anything in return. She just wanted to be close to you.

You liked that.

So you let her in, just enough to keep her hooked. Just enough to make her think she had a chance.

Now, years later, nothing has changed.

Ellie still follows you like a lost dog, still waits for your texts, still lights up when you so much as look at her. You let her sleep in your bed sometimes—when you’re feeling generous. You let her drive you places, take care of you when you’re drunk, clean up your messes.

She doesn’t complain. She never does.

But lately, something feels… off.

She hesitates before answering your texts. She doesn’t wait for you after class like she used to. You caught her sitting with some new people at lunch last week. When you asked about it, she stammered out some excuse, but it didn’t matter. You already knew—she was getting comfortable somewhere else.

You can’t have that.

So now, as you walk beside her, your fingers brush over hers—light, teasing, just enough to make her breath hitch.

“Missed you,” you murmur, voice sweet. “You’ve been distant.”

Ellie swallows hard. “I haven’t—I mean, I didn’t mean to—”

You grip her wrist, stopping her in the middle of the hallway. She looks down at you, startled.

You smile, tilting your head. “Then don’t.”

She nods. Just like that, the hesitation is gone. Just like that, she’s yours again.

Good girl.

Ellie’s house is small, lived-in, the kind of place that smells like old books, laundry detergent, and whatever air freshener her aunt picked up from the store that week. It’s familiar. You’ve been here more times than you can count, curled up on her bed, stealing her hoodies, making yourself at home like you own the place.

You do own it—at least, the parts that matter.

Ellie sits on the floor, back against the couch, guitar balanced on her thigh. Her fingers move over the strings absentmindedly, plucking a tune you don’t recognize. Her head is bowed, auburn hair falling over her face. She looks calm, focused. Content.

She should be looking at you.

You shift slightly, adjusting the little boy in your lap. Luke is Ellie’s half-brother, a quiet kid who took to you the way most people do—easily, naturally, like it’s impossible not to. Right now, he’s holding onto your wrist with his small hands, playing with the bracelets on it as he leans against you.

You hum, brushing a hand through his messy curls. “Ellie,” you say, dragging out her name just a little, letting it settle in the air.

Her fingers falter against the strings. She looks up, eyes flicking to yours immediately, like muscle memory.

“Play something I know,” you say, voice soft. Sweet.

Ellie nods without question, shifting the guitar, adjusting her grip. She starts playing again, and this time, the song is familiar—one she knows you like, one she’s played for you before, late at night when it was just the two of you.

You smile, satisfied.

Luke tugs on your sleeve. “Sing,” he says, tilting his head up at you.

You laugh, ruffling his hair. “I don’t sing, baby.”

He pouts. “Ellie says you do.”

Your gaze snaps to her. She freezes, caught.

You raise a brow, smirking. “You been talking about me, Williams?”

Ellie clears her throat, looking away, ears tinged pink. “Just—just mentioned it.”

Cute.

You lean back against the couch, letting Luke curl against you, your gaze still on Ellie. She keeps playing, but you can tell she’s distracted now, too aware of your eyes on her.

Good.

She was starting to forget her place. But that’s alright—you’ll just have to remind her.

Ellie’s room smells like her. A mix of faintly sweet vanilla and something sharp, like the lemon-scented cleaning spray her mom always insists on using. Her bed is unmade, as usual, a pile of mismatched blankets and clothes scattered around the floor. The space is small, but it’s hers. Her little kingdom.

And right now, it’s just the two of you—her sitting at the edge of the bed, fiddling with her fingers, her knees drawn up to her chest. You sit across from her, lounging in the chair by her desk, legs stretched out, letting your fingers lightly tap the rhythm of a song you’ve been listening to on repeat.

You watch her. You always watch her.

Her hands keep moving, an unconscious twitch, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, her fingers tracing circles on her knee. She looks away from you, a little too quickly, as if she’s trying to avoid your gaze.

You raise an eyebrow. Nervous again, huh?

It’s cute.

"What's going on?" you ask, leaning forward slightly, letting your voice fall soft but sharp, like a thread pulling her closer to you.

Ellie shifts her weight, finally looking up at you, her brown eyes wide. Her lips part like she’s going to say something, but she hesitates, just long enough to make it obvious. You know she’s working up the nerve. You know she’s always working up the nerve when it comes to you.

"Just…thinking," she says, voice quiet, almost sheepish.

You can’t help the smirk that curls on your lips. “Thinking? About what, Ellie?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she bites her lip and continues to fidget, her thumb rubbing over the top of her knuckles in that rhythmic, nervous way you’ve come to recognize. It’s a habit, a tell. One of many.

You wait, letting the silence stretch just enough to make her uncomfortable.

“I don’t want to disappoint you," she says suddenly, the words spilling out before she can stop them.

Your breath catches in your chest, but you don’t let her see it. Instead, you stand up slowly, taking a few steps toward her, watching the way her posture shifts, like she’s waiting for something.

You kneel in front of her, just close enough that she has to meet your eyes. You don’t speak at first. Instead, you reach out and gently touch her hands, making her stop fidgeting.

Her fingers freeze, the muscles in her shoulders stiffening. She still won’t look at you.

“Disappoint me?” you repeat softly, voice low and teasing. You let the words linger, making her feel the weight of them. "You know I don't like when you do that."

Her eyes dart up to meet yours, and for a moment, you see the tiniest flicker of fear in them—like she’s scared of what you might do if she does disappoint you.

You smile, that same sweet, dangerous smile. "You won’t disappoint me, Ellie. You can’t."

Her breath hitches, and for a second, you think she might say something else—something more. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she just lets you pull her hands into yours, squeezing them gently, her heart racing beneath her chest. She’s waiting for you to speak again, to tell her what she needs to do next.

You whisper, “Good girl.”

Her shoulders finally relax, just a little, but her gaze stays locked on yours, like she’s trying to read your mind.

You stand, dragging her with you, pulling her close enough so she can feel the heat of your body against hers. You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, leaning in just slightly, letting your lips brush against her temple.

“You’re mine, Ellie,” you murmur, low and quiet, just for her. “Always have been.”

Ellie doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. You both know the truth.

You take a step back, letting her breathe, but you don’t go far. She follows your every movement with her eyes, like she’s afraid to miss something.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you add, just to remind her.

The relief in her eyes is unmistakable. She’s not sure what you want from her, but she knows she’ll give it.

And that’s exactly how you like it.

Ellie is still looking at you like that—like you hung the damn moon, like she’ll do anything to keep you happy, like she wants to be owned.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? She doesn’t fight it. She never has.

You’re still close, her hands limp in yours, like she’s waiting for you to decide what happens next. Always waiting on you.

And maybe—maybe you should remind her why.

You hum softly, tilting your head. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

Ellie swallows, her jaw clenching slightly. She looks down, and you know—you know—she’s trying to gather herself, trying to figure out how to put her thoughts into words.

She never gets the chance.

You lift a hand to her chin, gently tilting her face back up to you. “Ellie.”

Your voice is softer now, coaxing.

She meets your eyes, and for a second, she’s just staring—like she’s trying to memorize you, trying to understand what you want from her.

You let the moment stretch, let the silence settle heavy between you, before you speak again.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?”

It’s not really a question. You both know the answer.

Ellie’s breath shudders, and she nods.

You tighten your grip on her chin, just slightly. “Words.”

She exhales shakily. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I’m yours.”

A slow smile spreads across your lips.

Good girl.

You don’t give her time to think—you move before she can, leaning in, closing the space between you. You kiss her like she belongs to you, like you need her to understand it.

And fuck—Ellie melts.

She lets out the smallest noise against your lips, her hands gripping at your waist, like she’s afraid you’ll pull away too soon. You don’t. You press in closer, one hand slipping into her hair, tugging just enough to make her whimper.

She’s so easy for you. So desperate.

You deepen the kiss, swallowing the tiny gasps she makes, reveling in the way she’s already pliant, already giving you everything you want without hesitation.

When you finally pull away, Ellie is breathless, flushed, her lips red and swollen. Her eyes stay locked on yours, wide and dazed, like she still hasn’t caught up to what just happened.

You grin, dragging your thumb over her bottom lip. “Still thinking?”

Ellie swallows hard. “Not really.”

You laugh softly, pressing another kiss to her cheek, then to her jaw, just because you can. Because she lets you.

Because she’s yours.

February 9th, Evening. 

The party is loud, but not loud enough to drown out the hum of conversations, the clinking of drinks, the occasional burst of laughter from the kitchen. The air smells like cheap beer and something vaguely sweet—someone must’ve brought those shitty fruit-flavored vape pens everyone’s been obsessed with.

You barely notice any of it.

Abby fucking Anderson is pressed against you, arms wrapped lazily around your waist, her lips brushing against your neck every now and then. She’s warm, solid—her grip firm, like she knows she can have you if she wants. And maybe she can.

You let her hold you. Let her lean in close as you talk to—Sierra? Sidney? Whatever-the-fuck-her-name-is. The host, too busy with the party to care that Abby’s hands are sliding lower, her fingers digging into your hips.

You smirk, amused.

Abby’s been flirting with you all night, making it obvious, shameless. She’s charming, in a way that comes easy—cocky but not overbearing, confident in the way that only someone who’s used to winning can be. The way she looks at you makes it clear she knows she could have you. That if she tried a little harder, pushed just a little more—

And then you see her.

Ellie.

Tucked away in the corner, half-hidden behind the couch, talking to some girl you don’t recognize.

Fidgeting.

Nervous.

Almost… blushing?

Your stomach tightens.

She doesn’t see you watching her, too focused on whatever the girl is saying, nodding along, lips twitching into an awkward little smile.

And suddenly, Abby’s touch doesn’t feel as interesting anymore.

Your jaw clenches, fingers curling slightly at your sides.

Ellie looks—fuck, she looks comfortable. Like she’s not thinking about you. Like she’s not waiting for you to notice her. Like she’s—

No.

You pull away from Abby, ignoring the way she raises an eyebrow at you. Your drink is still in your hand, but you barely register it, your focus narrowing in on Ellie, on the way she shifts her weight from foot to foot, playing with the rings on her fingers, nodding along to whatever the girl is saying.

Like you aren’t even here.

Like she’s forgetting who she belongs to.

That won’t do.

That won’t do at all.

“I’ll be back,” you murmur, already taking a step away.

Abby scoffs, clearly unimpressed. “Where are you even—”

You don’t let her finish. “Relax, Anderson,” you say, turning to glance at her over your shoulder. “Go find someone else to grope.”

She huffs a laugh, shaking her head, but she doesn’t stop you. She knows better than to push when you’ve already lost interest.

Your heels click against the floor as you make your way to Ellie, purposeful, sharp. The girl she’s talking to—Dina, apparently—is still speaking, something animated, something that has Ellie nodding, shifting from foot to foot like she’s actually engaged in the conversation.

How cute.

You don’t even hesitate.

“Oh, there you are,” you drawl, stepping into their space without so much as a second thought. You barely glance at Dina, eyes locked on Ellie. “Didn’t realize you wandered off. Got bored of waiting for me, baby?”

Ellie stiffens, her hand twitching at her side. “I—”

“She doesn’t have to wait for you.”

Dina cuts in, arms crossed, glaring up at you like she actually thinks she has a say in this. You raise an eyebrow, finally sparing her a proper look.

Excuse me?

Ellie shifts beside her, awkward, rubbing the back of her neck.

Dina scoffs. “Do you just—let her talk to you like that?” She turns to Ellie fully, disbelief written all over her face. “Like, seriously? You just let her push you around?”

You tilt your head, watching Ellie, waiting.

She knows what to do.

And of course—your good girl never disappoints.

Ellie scratches her cheek, glancing between the two of you, and then—she shrugs. “It’s not—” She hesitates. “It’s not really like that.”

Dina’s expression darkens, her frown deepening. “It kinda is like that, Ellie.”

Your patience thins.

Your lips curl into something amused, something condescending, as you step just a little closer, tilting your head at Dina like she’s a fucking pest.

“Who even is this skank?”

Ellie flinches. Dina’s expression twists.

You smile.

Ellie clears her throat, glancing at Dina apologetically before mumbling, “Uh—this is Dina. She’s a—uh, she’s a scholar.”

You barely blink. “Cool.” You turn back to Ellie, gaze dark. “We need to talk.”

Ellie swallows hard. “I—”

You grab her wrist, firm, but not rough. Not yet. “Now.”

Ellie hesitates for a moment, but then—then she nods, letting you pull her along without protest.

Good girl.

You don’t even look back at Dina as you lead Ellie down the hall, pushing open the first unlocked door you find—a bathroom, small and dimly lit.

Perfect.

You shove Ellie inside, stepping in after her, closing the door with a sharp click.

She shifts on her feet, rubbing her arm, looking at you like she knows exactly what’s coming.

Smart girl.

You cross your arms, gaze hard. “What the fuck was that?”

Ellie shifts under your gaze, fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie, avoiding eye contact like she’s some fucking schoolgirl getting scolded.

You step closer.

She tenses.

“Since when do you wander off?” you ask, voice sharp. It’s not loud—doesn’t need to be—but it’s firm, edged with something that makes Ellie shrink a little, pressing her back against the sink.

She swallows. “I—I didn’t mean to, I just—”

“You just what?”

She flinches at the bite in your tone.

Your head tilts, arms crossed, waiting.

Ellie exhales, rubbing at her jaw. “I had to use the bathroom,” she mumbles. “And then—uh—Dina was outside, and we just… started talking.”

Your jaw clenches.

She’s never done this before. Never just drifted away from you. Usually, at these parties, she stays put—sits in the corner, waits, watches, like a good girl. Until you decide you’re done with everyone else. Until you tell her it’s time to go.

But this?

This won’t do.

You scoff. “And what, you forgot about me?”

Ellie’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “No! I—I didn’t forget, I was just—”

You take another step, crowding her against the sink.

She shuts up immediately.

Good.

Your fingers lift to her chin, tilting her face up, forcing her to look at you. Her pupils are blown wide, lips parting slightly, breath shaky.

You hum, fingers tracing along her jaw, light, teasing. “You know better, don’t you, baby?”

She nods quickly, eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah,” she breathes.

Your grip tightens just slightly. Not enough to hurt—just enough to remind.

“Say it,” you murmur.

Ellie swallows, cheeks flushed. “I—I know better.”

You smile. “That’s my good girl.”

But she still needs to learn.

Ellie barely has time to react before you push her back, hands firm on her hips, guiding her onto the edge of the sink. Her breath stutters, hands gripping the porcelain as she looks at you—wide-eyed, confused.

“W-What—”

You drop to your knees in front of her.

Ellie freezes.

Her fingers twitch against the sink, chest rising and falling a little too fast, a little too shallow. She swallows hard, staring down at you like she can’t quite process what’s happening.

You tilt your head, running your hands up her thighs, slow, teasing. “You need to learn, don’t you, baby?”

Ellie nods automatically, like it’s instinct.

You smirk. “Then let me teach you.”

Your hands find the edge of her pants, you tug it slightly 

“Take it Off.” 

She hesitates, eyes flickering between yours, searching—maybe for reassurance, maybe for a way out. As if she doesn’t already know there isn’t one. As if she doesn’t already belong to you.

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

Your gaze stays firm, unwavering, expectant.

Ellie exhales sharply, hands hovering at the waistband of her jeans, fingers gripping the fabric like she’s still weighing her options. But you both know there’s only one.

Slowly, she complies.

She was wearing some black and grey boxers, you smile as you watch her. “Those come off too, Ellie.” 

Ellie's face burns as she looks down at you, her hands trembling slightly as she reaches for the waistband of her boxers. She hesitates for a moment, before pulling them down her legs and stepping out of them.

Her breath comes in short, nervous bursts as she watches you, wondering what you'll do next. Her thighs are clenched together, as if trying to hide herself, though she knows it's pointless.

“Legs open, baby” 

"Mhm," Ellie moans softly as she spreads her legs wider, gripping the edge of the sink tighter. Her cheeks are stained red, eyes watching you carefully. She's fully exposed now - her bare pussy on display, wetness already gathering at her entrance.

You lean in close, breath ghosting over her skin, With one hand, you gather your hair, twisting it up into a makeshift ponytail. Then, without a word, you reach for Ellie’s wrist, guiding her trembling fingers to take over.

Her breath catches.

She doesn’t need you to say it. She knows exactly what you want.

And she obeys.

Ellie's fingers curl around the base of your ponytail, her grip tentative at first, before tightening as she becomes more confident. She pulls your head forward, guiding your face towards her dripping wet pussy. "Oh god," she whispers, her voice shaking.

You bury your face between Ellie's thighs, your tongue diving straight into her slick folds. She cries out, fingers tightening in your hair as she rocks her hips forward, seeking more contact. Your tongue laps at her clit, swirling around the sensitive bud before sucking it into your mouth.

Ellie's moans grow louder as you expertly work her clit, her hips rolling desperately against your face. Wetness coats your chin as her juices flow freely. One hand grips your hair tighter, while the other covers her mouth to muffle her increasingly shameless noises.

You slip a finger inside her, then another, curling them just right to hit that spot that makes her see stars. Ellie's legs shake as she grinds down onto your hand and mouth, chasing her release. She bites down hard on her lip, trying not to scream as the pleasure builds and builds.

"Fuck, fuck, fuuuck..." her words come out as whispers between gasps, her hips moving in small, desperate circles against your face. She can feel her orgasm approaching, her body tensing. Her legs threaten to give out completely as you ravage her. "I'm gonna…”

But then—just as she starts to tremble—you pull away.

Ellie barely has time to react before you wipe the liquid from your mouth with the back of your hand, a slow, deliberate motion that makes her breath hitch. Her hand still lingers in your hair until you slap it away, standing back up like nothing happened.

She just looks at you. Panting. Pleading.

Why the fuck did you stop?

The question is written all over her face—eyes blown wide, lips slightly parted, body still tense, waiting.

You just smile, tilting your head as you run a teasing finger along her flushed cheek.

“Maybe next time,” you murmur, voice dripping with amusement. Then, leaning in just enough for her to feel your breath against her ear—

“When you didn’t piss me off.”

Ellie swallows hard, gripping the edge of the sink like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

Let her stay like that. Let her ache for it.

February 13, Morning

The café is warm, filled with the quiet hum of conversation, the clinking of cups against saucers, the rhythmic tapping of your fingers against your laptop’s keyboard. Outside, the sky is overcast, a dull gray that matches your mood.

You sip your coffee, glancing at the time. Ellie’s late.

She always is.

But eventually, the door chimes, and there she is—messy auburn hair tucked under a beanie, hands stuffed in her pockets, hoodie slightly oversized on her frame. She spots you, and something flickers in her expression, something unreadable, before she makes her way over.

“Hey,” she says, dropping into the seat across from you, rubbing her palms together like she’s cold.

“Hey,” you echo, closing your laptop. She smells like cigarettes and cheap cologne, like she just came from somewhere she doesn’t want you asking about. But you don’t press—yet.

Things feel normal. Like you didn’t have your lips on her five days ago. Like you didn’t have her trembling for you in some grimy bathroom four days ago.

You talk about nothing for a while, easy, effortless. Then, casually, you ask—

“So, what are we doing tomorrow?”

Ellie freezes mid-sip, eyes darting up to yours like she just got caught in a lie she hadn’t even told yet.

You laugh, light, amused. “What? Did you forget?”

She swallows, scratches the back of her neck. “Uh. No. I mean, kinda. I just—”

Your amusement fades. “Spit it out, Ellie.”

She shifts in her seat. “Dina and some of the guys invited me to hang.”

Silence.

You blink, tilting your head. “And you agreed?”

Ellie exhales, looking away. “I figured you’d be on a date or something.”

You stare at her.

A date.

A date.

The sheer audacity makes your jaw clench, fingers tightening around your coffee cup. Since when have you ever done that? Since when have you ever let some guy take you out on Valentine’s instead of spending time with her?

Ellie finally looks back at you, realization dawning in her eyes as she sees the irritation brewing in yours.

“Are you serious?” you ask, voice calm, even, but sharp.

Ellie doesn’t answer. Because she already knows.

Ellie, ever the nervous wreck, tries to salvage it.

“I mean, I—I’ll still come over,” she says quickly. “After. We can hang in the evening.”

You just stare at her.

She’s squirming in her seat, fidgeting with her rings, eyes darting between you and the scratched-up wooden table like she’s waiting for your verdict. Like she knows she fucked up and is just hoping you won’t punish her for it.

You lean back in your chair, arms crossed. Then you scoff, shaking your head. “Wow. Lucky me.”

Ellie flinches, the tips of her ears going red. She doesn’t say anything. Of course she doesn’t.

Because she knows—knows—that whatever you say, she’ll do it. You’re already in her head, buried under her skin, wrapped around her ribs like something vital, something she can’t scrape out no matter how hard she tries.

But that doesn’t mean you’ll let this slide.

Your phone is already in your hand before Ellie can say anything else. You don’t even hesitate. If she’s spending time with other people, then so are you.

You scroll through your messages until you find her name.

Abby Anderson.

She replies within minutes. A smug, easy response

Abby : "Thought you weren’t interested."

You smirk.

You : "Changed my mind."

Ellie shifts in her seat, oblivious, still trying to figure out how much trouble she’s in.

Who the fuck does she think she is?

February 14, Valentines

You stare at yourself in the mirror, tilting your head slightly as you smooth out the fabric of your dress. It hugs your body in all the right ways, accentuating everything that Abby will no doubt appreciate.

Abby wasn’t a bad choice. Smart, jacked, and disgustingly wealthy. You knew this date wouldn’t disappoint. She wouldn’t disappoint.

But as you swipe a final coat of lipstick on, as you spritz perfume over your collarbone, as you slide on your heels—your mind isn’t on Abby at all.

It’s on Ellie.

On the fact that she texted you an hour ago— On my way. —like she wanted you to acknowledge it. Like she expected you to care.

You didn’t even respond. Just left her on read.

Because you wanted her anxious. Wanted her restless the whole day. Wanted her checking her phone every five minutes, heart pounding every time the screen lit up, only to be met with silence. You wanted her thinking about you.

But now, as you grab your bag and slip your phone inside, something bitter creeps into your chest.

She’s out there. With them.

Laughing at something Dina says. Maybe fidgeting, maybe stammering, maybe blushing.

You inhale sharply, roll your shoulders back, shake the thought off. It doesn’t matter.

Tonight will be perfect.

Abby will make sure of it.

…But will you?

The restaurant Abby picked was perfect—fancy but not showy. Dim lighting, soft jazz playing in the background, a bottle of wine already chilling at the table before you even sat down. She had everything planned, down to the smallest details.

She picked you up in an expensive car, a sleek black Audi with leather seats that smelled brand new. The kind of car you knew she could replace in a heartbeat without a second thought. She even stepped out to open the door for you, the perfect gentleman.

You posted pictures on your story—subtle flexes. The perfectly plated steak, the candlelit ambiance, the empty wine glasses. But most of them were of you—Abby had taken them, of course. She had an eye for it. The angle just right, your features highlighted in the soft golden light.

And Abby… Abby was undeniably perfect.

She knew exactly what to say, when to say it. Knew how to touch you in ways that made your skin warm and your heart beat just a little faster. Her lips brushed against your neck at just the right moment, her fingers grazing your knee under the table in just the right way.

Nothing could ruin this.

Nothing.

At least, that’s what you thought.

But when Abby excused herself—standing with that easy confidence, telling you she’d be right back, that she had another present for you—you pulled out your phone. Just to check. Just to see.

And there it was.

A story.

Ellie.

Drinking.

With Dina.

Some ginger-haired bitch sitting on her lap.

Your grip on your phone tightens.

Your jaw clenches.

Everything else—the restaurant, the wine, the warmth of Abby’s touch—fades into the background.

Ellie doesn’t drink. Not unless she’s nervous, or desperate, or being stupid.

And that girl—who the fuck is she? What the fuck is she doing in Ellie’s lap?

Abby’s voice startles you out of your thoughts.

“Miss me?” she teases, placing a small, elegantly wrapped box on the table.

You glance up at her, then back at your phone.

Your mood has already shifted.

And now, you need a drink.

Abby’s hands were firm on your waist, her grip possessive in a way that most girls would melt under. Her lips moved against yours with purpose, her confidence unwavering—like she knew exactly how this was going to go. Like she was sure you were going to let her in.

Your arms were draped over her broad shoulders, fingers lazily playing with the soft strands of her hair as you deepened the kiss. The night had been perfect. She had been perfect. A bouquet of flowers so big it barely fit in your arms, a new pair of designer heels that she had practically forced you to accept, and an expensive necklace that still sat around your throat, cool against your flushed skin.

Abby made it easy. She never made you wait, never made you feel like you had to chase her, never made you question your place.

So why the fuck were you thinking about Ellie?

Her stupid nervous fidgeting. The way her knee bounced when she was anxious. The way her voice cracked sometimes when she tried to talk back. The way she looked up at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

The way she had someone else on her lap.

Your nails dug into Abby’s shoulders, and she let out a small, amused hum against your lips, mistaking your sudden aggression for passion.

“You’re on me tonight, huh?” she teased, smirking as she pulled back slightly, her fingers slipping beneath the hem of your dress.

You should be focused on this. On her. On the way she looked at you like she knew she could have you.

But instead, your phone buzzed.

And you—like a fucking idiot—glanced at the screen over Abby’s shoulder.

Ellie.

“I’m outside. Let me in.”

Your breath hitched.

Abby noticed.

Your fingers tightened in her hair, lips ghosting over hers, but suddenly the air had changed. The control had slipped for just a moment.

And now, you had a choice to make.

You shifted in Abby’s lap, her hands gripping your waist instinctively, like she didn’t want you to move. Her lips were hot against your neck, trailing down, hands sliding over your thighs, her touch deliberate.

Then your phone buzzed again.

You glanced at it, saw the name on the screen, and immediately pushed yourself off Abby, standing up like nothing had happened. She looked up at you, brows furrowed.

"You good?" she asked, voice thick with something unspoken.

"Yeah," you said, brushing your hair back, fixing the straps of your dress like she hadn’t just had her hands all over you. "That was my mom."

Abby’s eyes flickered with something skeptical. "Your mom?"

Your heels clicked against the floor as you stepped out of Abby’s car, your arms full of gifts—flowers, designer shoes, jewelry, all things that screamed that you were wanted. Abby leaned against the doorframe of her car, arms crossed over her broad chest, watching you with an expression that teetered between amusement and frustration.

"You sure you don’t want me to take you upstairs?" she asked, her voice smooth, calculated. She knew what she was doing, giving you one last chance to let her in.

You smiled, soft but firm. "I’ll text you."

She held your gaze for a moment longer, like she was trying to see if you were bullshitting her, but ultimately, she nodded. "Alright," she murmured. One last time, she stepped forward, pulling you in, pressing a kiss to your lips—slow, deliberate. Like a silent reminder that she had been here first tonight.

You let her, even smiled against her lips, before pulling away and wiping the smudged lipstick from her face.

"Goodnight, Abby," you said, voice sweet, final.

You turned on your heel, the weight of her gaze burning into your back as you made your way into the building, clutching the expensive gifts she had given you like they meant something.

But by the time you reached your door, all of it—the necklace, the shoes, the flowers—felt heavy. Unimportant.

Because Ellie was here.

Waiting.

Just like she always did.

You saw her tuck her phone away, her gaze flickering over the gifts in your arms—the bouquet, the neatly wrapped designer bags, the weight of the night still lingering on your skin.

Then, you watched as it clicked.

Ellie’s jaw tightened just slightly. "You were on a date."

It wasn’t a question.

You just hummed, shifting the weight in your arms. She stepped forward, reaching out. "Here, let me take those."

You didn’t argue, handing her the heavy bouquet first. When you leaned in to pass it to her, your perfume mixed with the faint traces of expensive cologne clinging to your skin. Ellie inhaled instinctively.

And there it was.

Familiar, but not yours.

She knew that scent.

Abigail Anderson.

You ignored the way her fingers twitched when she took the bouquet from you, brushing past her as you unlocked the door. "Just leave it on the coffee table," you murmured, voice light, like this was any other night.

She did as you said, but you could feel the weight of her stare the whole time.

You walked into your room, slipping off your heels. Ellie followed, wordlessly taking a seat on your bed as you went to your vanity. You caught her gaze in the mirror—steady, sharp, calculating.

You started getting unready, removing your earrings first.

"Soo..." she finally spoke, her voice low, unreadable. "You were with... Abby?"

You saw the way her hands curled into the sheets at her sides. The way she tried to keep her voice casual.

You smirked.

This was going to be fun.

"Yeah, I figured if I was gonna spend Valentine’s with anyone, it should be her..."

Your voice was smooth, deliberate—each word sharpened just enough to cut. Like Abby was the only one who deserved your time. Like you hadn't even considered spending it with Ellie.

Why should you? It wasn’t your fault she had other plans. She blew you off first. She chose to be at some party, surrounded by people who weren’t you. Chose to let some girl—some nobody—sit on her lap like she belonged there.

Ellie doesn’t say anything at first. You see the way she tenses, fingers curling against the hem of her hoodie. Her knee bounces, jaw clenched like she’s trying to keep herself together, trying to be unaffected. But then she huffs out a breath, all forced nonchalance, and leans back on her palms.

"Right," she mutters, nodding slightly, like she’s convincing herself more than responding to you. "Makes sense. She’s, like... perfect, huh?"

There’s something in her voice that makes you pause—something bitter, something jealous. And it satisfies you.

ou unclip your earrings, dropping them onto the vanity with a soft clink. "Well, yeah," you say simply. "She knows exactly what to do, what to say... how to treat me."

Ellie’s jaw tightens.

You smirk at her reflection in the mirror. That got to her.

"She bought me all this, by the way." You gesture lazily to the designer shoes, the necklace glinting under the light, the massive bouquet sitting on your coffee table. "Really went all out. I mean, not that I’m surprised."

Ellie swallows, looking away. Her fingers fidget in her lap, picking at a loose thread on her hoodie.

"So," she starts, voice quieter now, "you had a good time, then?"

You twist your lip in amusement, watching her through the mirror. "I did."

Ellie nods again, but she doesn’t look convinced. She’s avoiding your gaze now, staring hard at the floor, at the carpet, at anything but you.

Good. Let her wallow in it. Let her sit in the weight of it, in the consequences of her choices.

You turn around, arms crossing over your chest as you lean against the vanity. "Why do you care?" you ask, tilting your head, studying her.

Ellie flinches, just slightly. She lifts her head, and for a second, she looks like she’s going to deny it—going to say something sarcastic, something dismissive. But then her lips press into a thin line, and instead, she lets out a shaky breath.

"I don’t," she lies.

You smile. "Good."

The room was quiet now. Too quiet. The only sound was the soft rustling of fabric as you moved, slipping off your necklace, tossing it onto the nightstand. The weight of the night clung to the air, thick and heavy, pressing down on both of you.

Ellie hadn’t moved from her spot at the edge of your bed, shoulders hunched, fingers tangled together in her lap. She was stiff, tense, like she was forcing herself not to look at you.

And maybe she was.

You were down to just your underwear, skin bare under the warm glow of your bedside lamp. You stood up, moving across the room with slow, deliberate steps, grabbing an oversized shirt from your drawer and tugging it over your head.

When you flopped back onto the bed, right next to where she was sitting, you felt her shift. Barely. Just the tiniest movement, like she was reacting to your closeness without meaning to.

You turned your head, looking at her. She was staring at her hands now, knuckles white where they gripped the edge of your comforter.

You smirked.

"What?" you drawled.

Ellie shook her head. "Nothing."

"Liar."

She exhaled, long and slow, like she was trying to collect herself. Her knee bounced again, her nervous energy filling the space between you.

You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow. "You mad?"

Ellie scoffed, finally looking at you. "Why the fuck would I be mad?"

You hummed, tilting your head. "I don’t know. Maybe ‘cause I spent Valentine’s with someone else?"

Her jaw clenched. There it was again—that flicker of something, jealousy twisting its way across her face before she could shove it down.

You smiled, slow and smug.

"I mean," you continued, drawing out your words, "you were so busy today, after all. Out with Dina, drinking, letting some random girl sit on your lap—"

"She wasn’t—" Ellie groaned, running a hand down her face. "Jesus, are you serious right now?"

You shrugged. "Just calling it like I see it."

Ellie looked at you then, really looked at you, green eyes sharp and searching. The tension between you both was suffocating, crackling like a live wire, like a fire waiting to ignite.

And then—

She reached out, fingers brushing against your thigh, just barely, just enough to make you aware of the heat in her touch.

You inhaled sharply.

Ellie smirked this time, tilting her head as her fingers lingered. "You don’t actually think I give a shit about Abby—do you?"

You laughed. Not loud—just a quiet, amused little chuckle under your breath. Like the thought of Ellie even comparing herself to Abby was so ridiculous, it was funny.

"God," you sighed, shaking your head, still smirking. "You’re so fucking stupid sometimes."

Ellie frowned but didn’t argue.

"Lay down," you told her.

She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure if she should, but then she did—slowly easing onto her back, staring up at the ceiling like it would give her answers.

You turned onto your side, elbow sinking into the mattress, head propped up on your hand as you looked at her. Studied her.

"You really think I would’ve picked her over you?" you murmured, dragging the words out, letting them settle.

Ellie tensed.

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. "Wow. And here I was, thinking you knew me better than that."

She swallowed, her throat bobbing. Her hands fisted the hem of her hoodie, gripping the fabric like she needed something to hold onto.

"I mean, I guess I did have a nice time," you continued, voice featherlight, tipping closer to her. "The restaurant was beautiful. Expensive as hell. Abby’s just so... put together, you know?"

Ellie’s jaw clenched.

"And she was so sweet. Got me all these gifts, picked out the prettiest necklace—"

You reached up, dragging your fingers lightly across your collarbone where the necklace should be. You knew she was looking.

"And God, she was so..." You trailed off, exhaling a small, pleased hum. "Perfect."

Ellie inhaled sharply through her nose.

You smirked. Got her.

"But I guess you don’t care, huh?" you added, faux-disappointed. "You were too busy with Dina and your little party. Guess I was just supposed to sit around and wait for you?"

Ellie’s brows pinched. She turned her head toward you, finally meeting your eyes, guilt flickering behind the green.

You just blinked at her, expression unreadable. Waiting.

She swallowed. "I—"

"No, it’s fine." You exhaled through your nose, like you had just made peace with something disappointing. "I mean, if you don’t care, you don’t care. I won’t force you to."

Ellie flinched. "I— That’s not what I—"

You shook your head, shifting onto your back, staring at the ceiling now too. "Forget it, Ellie. Just forget it."

Silence.

Heavy. Suffocating.

Ellie stared at you, at the way your face was turned away from her now, at the way you had just shut her out.

She hated it.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Ellie didn’t move, didn’t say anything. You could feel her eyes on you, like she wanted to say something but didn’t know if she was allowed to.

Good. She should feel that way.

You sighed, shaking your head like you were just so disappointed in her. Then, before she could even react, you shifted—climbing over her, straddling her waist, pressing her into the mattress.

Ellie’s breath hitched. Her hands twitched at her sides, like she wanted to grab your hips but knew better.

"God," you murmured, staring down at her, fingers dragging up her chest, curling into the fabric of her hoodie. "You’re such an idiot."

Ellie swallowed hard. "I—"

"You didn’t even think to ask me what I was doing on Valentine's?" you cut her off, tilting your head, voice low and sharp. "Just assumed I’d be off on some date like some desperate little bitch? Like I don’t always spend that day with you?"

Ellie flinched. "No— I—I just thought—"

"Yeah, I know what you thought," you spat. "You thought you could ditch me, spend your night with Dina and whoever the fuck else, and I’d just sit around and wait for you?"

Ellie looked away. "I didn’t mean—"

"Shut up," you hissed.

She did.

You leaned in, your breath ghosting over her lips, your fingers tightening around her hoodie. Her hands clenched into fists against the sheets, body completely tense beneath you.

"I bet you didn’t even care what I was doing," you murmured, voice laced with venom. "Didn’t even think about me while you were at that party, huh?"

Ellie’s breath came out shaky, her eyes flickering up to meet yours. "I did," she whispered.

You scoffed. "Oh yeah? That’s why you had some bitch on your lap, right?"

Ellie squeezed her eyes shut. "That wasn’t—"

"You’re so fucking selfish," you continued, fingers dragging down her chest, over her stomach, stopping just above her belt. "You get to go off, do whatever you want, and I’m just supposed to sit around and be fine with it?"

Ellie was breathing heavier now, chest rising and falling beneath you, her hands twitching against the sheets. She wanted to say something. You could tell.

But she didn’t.

Because you were right.

You tilted your head, your fingers curling around the collar of her hoodie, yanking her attention back to you.

“What happened, Ellie, huh?” Your voice was smooth, dripping like honey but firm, unwavering. "You're mine."

Ellie stayed silent, staring up at you like you were something holy, something dangerous.

"Are you fucking stupid, or did you forget?" You dragged your nails up her jaw, tilting her chin up, making her look at you.

Her lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling like she was struggling to breathe.

She didn’t answer. Of course she didn’t. What could she even say? That she knew she fucked up? That she knew you had every right to be mad? That she hated the thought of you with Abby, hated that you went on a date, hated that you let her kiss you?

Ellie was selfish like that. Always was.

She just kept staring at you, eyes dark, full of something between guilt and desperation.

And you smirked, because of course she wasn’t going to fight you on this.

Then, slowly, you leaned down.

Her breath hitched the second your lips brushed against hers, barely even touching before she was already reacting—lifting her head to chase your mouth, hands twitching like she wanted to grab you but knew she wasn’t allowed to.

You let her suffer for a second, just hovering, letting your breath tease her, watching her fall apart before you even gave her anything.

Then, finally, you kissed her.

Ellie let out this soft, broken sound—something between a whimper and a sigh—like she’d been holding her breath since the moment you climbed on top of her.

She kissed you back instantly, desperate, needy, like she had something to prove, like she was trying to apologize without saying a single word.

But you weren’t gonna make it easy for her.

You pulled back just as quick, barely giving her a second of relief before you were already ripping it away.

Ellie’s lips were parted, her breath uneven, pupils blown as she stared up at you, dazed, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to move or if she had to wait for you to give her permission.

God, she was so fucking easy.

You pulled back completely, watching the way Ellie instinctively followed, like she wanted to chase after you but forced herself to stay put.

Then, without a word, you climbed off her, settling beside her on the bed. You didn’t look at her at first, just leaning back on your hands, legs crossed at the ankles, letting the silence stretch long enough for her to start squirming.

Ellie stayed on her back, still staring at the ceiling, but you could see her hands gripping the sheets, her knuckles going white.

Then you finally spoke.

"You’re gonna make it up to me."

Ellie stiffened. Her head slowly turned to you, eyes flicking over your face, searching for something—anger, maybe, or some kind of mercy—but all you had was that same unreadable smirk.

You tilted your head, watching her. "You do wanna make it up to me, don’t you?"

Ellie nodded instantly, sitting up slightly. "Yeah. Of course."

You smiled, pleased.

"Good," you said, voice smooth, tapping your fingers against your thigh. "Then listen carefully."

Ellie looked wrecked. Like she wanted to say something, like she wanted to explain, but she knew better than to try. Knew better than to test you when you were like this.

"You ruined this day for me, Ellie. You hear me?" Your voice was steady, sharp. "God. You had fun without me? Let some girl sit on your lap that wasn’t me?" You scoffed, shaking your head like the thought alone was disgusting.

Ellie flinched, her fingers gripping the hem of her shirt. "No—"

"And best of all," you interrupted, leaning in, "you came to my door, right when I was gonna let Abby in." You tilted your head, watching the way Ellie’s face froze. You let that sink in before delivering the final blow. "Let her have me."

You were lying, of course. But she didn’t need to know that.

Ellie’s breathing had gone shallow, her whole body stiff, jaw clenched. You could see the jealousy rising in her, the way her hands twitched like she didn’t know what to do with them.

"So," you continued, calm, tilting her chin up with your fingers so she’d look at you, so she’d really understand. "You’re gonna make up for all that. Do you get it?"

Ellie swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, and nodded. "Yeah," she rasped, voice barely above a whisper. "I get it."

She watches as you sit up, lifting your hips to remove your panties. She swallows hard, waiting for you. 

Ellie barely had time to react before you shifted, grabbing onto the headboard as you moved, positioning yourself just above her face.

Her breath hitched, her hands gripping at the sheets like she was waiting for permission—waiting for you to tell her what to do.

"You want to make it up to me, right?" Your voice was teasing, low, but there was no room for argument.

Ellie nodded, her pupils blown wide as she looked up at you, desperate, waiting.

"Then do it."

As you move into position and take off your shirt and bra, straddling her face with your bare pussy hovering just above her mouth, Ellie's heart races. She looks up at you, her hands slowly reach up, grasping your hips gently.

That's your good girl. 

Your hips begin to move, rolling and grinding against Ellie's mouth. She grips your hips tighter, spreading her legs wider beneath you. She sticks her tongue out, catching your clit with the tip. You moan softly, riding her face faster. She hums softly, taking your movements like a champ.

Ellie's fingers dig into your hips possessively as you bounce on her face. Wet noises fill the room - your pussy smacking against her mouth, her sloppy suction sounds. She sticks her tongue deep inside you, making you moan loudly. 

You can feel her nose pressing against your clit with every downward thrust. The angle lets you grind harder against her tongue, chasing your orgasm. She looks up at you with glazed, fuck-drunk eyes, completely devoted to pleasuring you. Just like how it should be.

You loved her like this—obedient, eager, desperate to please. Making you feel better, making you feel good—she fucking should.

She was yours. And after that shit she pulled today, God, it was only right for her to make it up to you.

Her hands gripped your thighs like she was holding on for dear life, her breath hot against your skin, her eyes locked onto you like you were the only thing that mattered. And you were.

“Better make this count, Ellie,” you murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction, threading your fingers into her hair, tugging just enough to make her whimper.

“Because I’m still so fucking mad at you.”

Your movements become more erratic as you near the edge. Ellie's fingers flex against your hips, helping to support you as you ride her face with abandon. She can feel you getting closer, your pussy clenching around her tongue. She doubles her efforts, determined to make you come undone.

You throw your head back, arching your back as you reach the peak. Ellie opens her mouth wider, catching your release as it gushes out. She swallows hungrily, trying to drink every drop as you shudder and tremble above her. "Mmmphhh…”

You slowly come down from your high, your pussy still twitching as the last waves of your orgasm subside. Ellie keeps her mouth pressed against your folds, licking up every bit of your juices. Finally, she pulls away, her lips shiny and glistening.

 "Good girl, but we're not done yet baby” 

She looks up at you, doe eyed. A small amount of your juices drip down her chin. She licks her lips, swallowing the excess. She hummed, her voice soft and submissive, clearly eager to please you further. 

Ellie obediently sits up, pulling her hoodie over her head and tossing it aside. She reveals her breasts. Crawling onto the bed, she positions herself above you, her knees straddling your hips.

She offers her hand to you, palm up. You spit into her palm, and she looks down at the saliva, then back up at you with a confused expression. You guide her fingers towards your center. She slowly inserts her fingers inside you, curling them upwards at your instruction.

As she fingers you, her other hand reaches up to play with her own breasts. She pinches and rolls her nipples between her fingers, a soft moan escaping her lips. Her hips start to rock slightly, grinding against your thigh. She's clearly getting turned on from pleasuring you.

You feel her fingers moving faster, more confidently inside you. She's learning quickly, hitting your spots just right. Her other hand leaves her breast to reach down, spreading your lips open so she can watch her fingers sliding in and out of your wet pussy.

You spread your legs wider, pushing your hips down to meet her fingers. "God yes," you moan softly. She watches your reactions closely, seeing your breasts rise and fall rapidly with your quickened breath. Her fingers curl again, making you buck your hips sharply. "Right there," you gasp.

Pressing hard and rubbing. "Jesus," you moan loudly, your back arching slightly. She sees how wet you're getting, how your body responds to her touch. She adds another finger, stretching you. Your inner thighs tighten, your heels dig into the mattress.

Ellie curls her fingers deeply inside you, her palm pressing firmly against your clit. Your eyes flutter closed, a breathy moan leaving your lips as you grind against her hand shamelessly. "So Beautiful," she whispers in awe, feeling your arousal coating her fingers.

She leans down, her face hovering over your breast. Without breaking eye contact, she sticks out her tongue, circling your nipple teasingly before sucking it into her mouth.

Her fingers move faster, hitting that perfect spot over and over while her palm maintains constant pressure on your clit. Your breasts heave with each laborious breath, legs trembling as another orgasm builds. "Oh fuck..." She notices your approaching climax and curls her fingers even deeper.

Watching your face contort with pleasure, she realizes how good she's become at pleasing you. Your moans get louder, more insistent…

With a choked gasp, you surrender to your climax, your pussy clamping down hard around Ellie's fingers. She continues to stroke you through your orgasm, prolonging every last shudder and twitch. As your release subsides, she slowly withdraws her fingers, bringing them to her mouth to lick clean.

Ellie swallowed, her lips still glossy, her eyes still blown wide as she looked up at you. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, trying to steady herself, but you weren’t going to let her think this was over.

“How was that?” she asked, voice raspier than usual, like she already knew the answer but needed to hear you say it.

You tilted your head, watching her carefully, dragging your fingers along her jaw, down her throat, feeling how she tensed under your touch.

“Better,” you admitted, your voice slow, teasing. Then you leaned in, close enough that your breath tickled her skin before you pulled back again, smirking.

“But don’t think I’ve already forgiven you.”

tag list ! : @reinam00n @macaroni676 @blackdykegirlblogger @monki-nat

[shaisuki]

“Caleb?”

“What is it, pipsqueak?”

“Have you ever kissed someone?”

You asked him out of the blue while munching on the snack he bought for you. Seated on the stairs at the front of the store. The wind's cold. A telltale sign of the night to come. The skies are purplish with hues of orange and red. The can of soda sweats with condensation. Leaving a imprint of it on the concrete floor.

“What about it, pipsqueak?”

Caleb brows furrow at the sudden question. You were both in high school and neither of the romance stuff were discussed except when you both watched a romance drama that aired on the evening. He didn't even know you were interested.

”No. I mean that's normal. You're popular with girls and I know you must kissed one of them right? Riiight?”

Absentmindedly crinkling a wrapper of the candy and Caleb can hear the crunch of the packaging. A amused laugh escaped Caleb's lips. Turning his body to face you and resting his jaw to his palm. His elbow leaning on his knees.

He stares at your side profile. Studying how your eyelashes flutter and the dimple surfacing on your round cheek. A small pout in your plump lips.

“I haven't kissed anyone, pipsqueak.”

“For real? Nah, you're kidding me.”

Caleb's smile grew wider when you whipped your head to see if he was really serious. Your face scrunched up while you eye him suspiciously.

It was the truth. He gets it. He was Mr. Popular among his peers and there's the endless stream of girls who tried to get on his good graces. However he can't bring himself to like the attention. Sure, it was good that he can count on them and he knows you're going to be cool about it but it feels wrong.

“I'm not interested, pipsqueak.” Caleb assures you. Patting your head in a affectionate manner like he always did. His palm hold your round cheek. Caressing the skin with his thumb and his aura gets serious all of a sudden. “What made you ask me that kind of question?”

“A classmate asked me if you have a girlfriend and then if you did the lovey-dovey stuff with a girl. I told her I don't know and....” Your eyes squint for a little bit. The gears in your head turning. “— that's why I asked you about it.” You explained.

Caleb pinched your cheek. If Caleb wants to be honest with you right now. He will say he wants to kiss you, first. His eyes landing on your lips. He fought the urge to run his thumb in your lips for he might regret what he's about to do next. It's to kiss you. Taste the sweetness of the candy in your lips and feel the softness of your lips that will linger for days to come.

Caleb wants you, needs you to be his firsts. It's the way it is most special cause he shared it with you and he knows you're inexperienced too and what's better to be each other's firsts, if you'll allow it.

“Pipsqueak, do you want to be kissed?” His voice suddenly serious. The streetlight casting a glow behind them and from the angle where you look at him. Caleb's expression grew darker. The knowledge that you're going to be kissed someone that is not him — brings a pain that he can never recover.

“Someday, Caleb. Someday.” You mutter and Caleb smiles, cause that someday is the day when he will finally get to kiss you. A real kiss. Not the indirect kisses from having to share cans of soda or tasting another one's food. You didn't even know that.

Caleb and you stayed for a bit. Watching as nightfall envelops the whole city. Contented at the peace and quiet with the conversation gone in your mind except for Caleb who burned the memory. He's contented for now.

He can be patient towards you and when the time comes, it's not only a kiss from you but the whole you, body and soul.

[ariestrxsh]

bsf!chris x bsf!reader

🤍 content warning: smut, fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, sexualization of religious imagery

🤍 summary: after a date gone bad, your best friend chris is there to make you feel better with his cock

this fic was inspired/requested by this ask that was sent in forever ago (and it was also inspired/requested by someone who asked for a plot where reader goes to chris for comfort after a bad date but I forgot to save their ask </3)

angel like u

꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱

You buried your face into Chris' chest, tears staining the front of his shirt, but he didn't mind at all. He didn't mind the tear stains, and he didn't mind that you'd interrupted him playing video games on stream. All that he cared about was that you were okay.

He cradled your head with one hand, and with the other, he tenderly rubbed your back. You hadn't even been able to explain to your best friend why you were so upset yet, and he still held you against his chest, smoothing down your hair.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he said in a comforting voice. You pulled away, sniffled, and looked up at him with your big, misty eyes. "It's embarrassing, really," you started off, wiping away a tear with the sleeve of your sweater.

He listened quietly without judgment as you continued on. "I went on a first date with a guy, and I don't usually do this, but we were getting along really well. So I went back to his place, and things got a little heated," you started to tell him, searching for his reaction and hoping he didn't think differently of you.

"What happened?" Chris sharply asked, clenching his jaw and imagining the worst-case scenario. "It's not that it was bad or anything. It's just that he didn't make me.." you started to say, but you turned away, too flustered to finish your sentence.

"He didn't make you.. cum?" Chris speculated. "Exactly," you said, somewhat relieved that Chris had finished your sentence for you.

"He came, and then it was just over. He didn't even try to get me off after or even cuddle with me. I just put my clothes back on, he told me he didn't feel anything for me, and then he suggested that he take me home," you admitted, your lip quivering and your eyes welling with tears again.

"What an asshole," Chris muttered under his breath, wiping away your mascara-stained tears from your cheek with his thumb.

"I didn't want to cry in front of him, and I didn't want to be alone, so I asked him to take me here since it was only a few minutes away. I hope you don't mind that I just showed up unannounced on your doorstep, sobbing at midnight," you apologetically said.

"Of course I don't mind. You know I'm here for you whenever you need it," Chris comforted you. "Thank you, Chris," you replied, pulling him into another hug, tightly gripping the fabric of his shirt as if he'd float away if you let go.

"Boys like that don't deserve angels like you. How are you feeling right now, pretty girl?" Chris wondered, resting his head against yours.

"I know I agreed to it, but I just feel so used, you know? I feel stupid for giving it up on the first date. And listen, I know this is weird, but I still feel kind of.." your voice trailed off as you cracked an embarrassed smile.

"Turned on?" Chris guessed, finishing your thought again.

"Yeah, I mean, it was good up until he stopped. I was so close," you admitted, almost forgetting you were talking to your male best friend instead of your therapist. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry. You didn't need to know that," you buried your head in your hands after your confession.

Chris let out a small chuckle, caressing your back with his fingertips again. "You don't have to be embarrassed to tell me things like that. I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything, but I could, you know, finish you off if you'd like," Chris offered, his tongue darting out and wetting his lips as his gaze fell to your mouth.

Your eyebrows flew up. "Y-you'd do that?" You asked, seriously considering his proposal. "Yeah. I hate seeing you cry," Chris whispered, wiping away another tear as it fell. "If I could go back in time and make sure the whole situation didn't happen to begin with, I would. Making you feel good is the least I can do."

He tilted your chin up to look at him, searching your face for permission to kiss you. "What do you say? You want me to make you cum?" He sweetly asked, his gaze lingering on yours. "Yes. Pleeease, Chris," you softly begged, the words surprising you as they tumbled from your mouth in such a desperate manner.

He smirked down at you before his eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned in, his lips gently meeting yours. It started off slow - a few soft pecks here and there and a gentle caress of his fingertips along your jawline, sending goosebumps across your warm skin.

Before you knew it, the two of you had been swept up in the moment. His lips passionately engulfed yours, and his velvet-like tongue gently brushed against yours, filling your mouth with the taste of a blue raspberry-flavored piece of candy he'd eaten shortly before.

You softly moaned into his mouth, the vibration tickling his lips and sending blood rushing below his waist. He reached up your shirt, gently pinching your sensitive nipples, feeling them harden under his touch. He pulled your top off over your head and admired the sight of you half-nude on his bed.

His hand wandered to the button of your jeans, and he slipped his long, slender fingers into your waistband. He gasped and pinched his eyebrows together when he felt how wet you were, his face only a few inches from yours as he explored your folds.

You relaxed against his body, a few breathy, textured moans spilling from your lips. "Let's get you out of these," Chris suggested, removing his hand from your waistband and motioning for you to lift your hips, so he could pull your jeans and your panties off of you and have better access to you.

Once you were completely naked, you leaned back on Chris' bed and slowly parted your legs, showing yourself off to him. "Look at that. She's so happy to see me," Chris seductively cooed, sliding his middle finger up and down your slit. You shuddered at the sensation and his words.

Your breath hitched in your throat as your best friend toyed with you, spreading open your labia and admiring how pretty and pink it was. He placed two digits at your entrance and watched them slowly disappear into your drooling hole.

"You weren't kidding. You are turned on," Chris observed, pumping his fingers and slightly curling them. You bit back a moan and grasped at the bedsheets beneath you. "Don't be shy. I wanna hear you," Chris responded with a smile on his face, indicating to you that he didn't care that his brothers were asleep upstairs.

You nodded and released your lower lip from between your teeth. As Chris picked up the pace, another sensual sound tore through you, but you didn't hold back this time. "That's it," Chris purred.

You peered down at the way he pistoned his fingers deep inside of you, your eyes traveling to the silver chain around his wrist and his prominent veins on his arms. With his blue eyes locked on yours, he lowered his head between your thighs and took your clit into his mouth.

You jumped and squealed at the feeling of his soft tongue exploring you, fluttering around on your needy pussy. He closed his lips down around your sensitive bundle of nerves and started gently suckling on it.

"Oh, Chris," his name fell from your lips as your tipped your hand back and started combing through his soft, brown hair with your hand. He worked tirelessly, his mouth and his fingers caressing your sensitive flesh, and he was determined to do so until you were finishing all over his tongue.

"Chris.." you whispered, his name falling from your lips again, but this time in a tone that indicated that you needed something from him. He peered up at you with his perfectly blue eyes and his drunk expression as he drank from your center. "Hmm?" He hummed against your clit, causing you to raise your hips and grind against his face.

"Your tongue feels heavenly, but I need more. Please," you requested. "More?" He asked, pulling away for a moment. You reached down and gently tugged on the collar of his shirt. "I need you to fuck me, Chris," the words tumbled out of you with fervor.

He was towering over you while you laid on your back, staring up at him like he was a god whose cock was going to bring you eternal salvation. He pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing his gorgeous body to you that had become more muscular in these recent months due to how often he'd been working out.

Your eyes danced over his chest, his stomach, and the prominent lines on his lower abdomen that directed your attention to his hard on that was struggling against the grey cotton of his sweatpants.

Before you had time to take in just how flawless he looked shirtless, he was hooking his thumbs in his waistband and tugging down his bottoms. His dick sprung out, and your gaze followed the way it gently bobbed.

"You ready, angel?" Chris asked, positioning himself between your legs. You stared down at his smooth, pink cockhead that was glistening with precum, and you nodded. Your jaw fell slack at the initial stretch as he pushed the tip into your weeping hole. Chris was much thicker than the man you'd been with earlier that night.

"So big.." you whimpered as he pushed it in a little deeper. A smug smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I know, angel," he said in a breathy groan as you fluttered around him. He started to rock his hips back and forth, inserting more of his length with every thrust. You let out a relieved sigh as he found your gspot, and your eyes rolled around in your head.

Chris gazed down at you beneath him, arms outstretched and tightly gripping his soft sheets. You loved the way he looked hovering above you, his flushed cheeks, his desire-filled blue eyes, and his pouty, pink lips parted as the room filled with his moans.

You felt his hand brush against the inside of your thigh as he spread your legs open further. His thumb found your clit, and he started moving it in circles as he drove himself into you over and over again. You let your sounds of pleasure pour from your lips with reckless abandon as Chris skillfully brought you to the edge.

You felt that divine feeling brewing deep within your core as Chris drilled his cock into you at an increasingly harder and faster pace. He could feel you sucking him in, and the way your pussy was throbbing around him. "You wanna cum, don't you, pretty girl?" He purred, looking into your eyes. "Mhmm," you hummed back desperately.

"How many times?" He asked, smiling down at you. His question surprised you. The man you'd gone on the date with couldn't even make you orgasm once, and now Chris was offering multiple? You were nearly too fucked out to answer him, but you regained your composure long enough to tell him, "three."

"Three? Greedy girl," he teased you, still making circles on your clit with his fingers as he rammed his tip into your gspot. "Show me what you've got, angel," Chris whispered, jolting his hips into you in a rhythmic pattern that he loved the way you reacted to.

Before you knew it, he was driving you over the edge, and your muscles tightened around him before you started to shake violently. You practically screamed in pleasure as you came on his cock, clenching around him uncontrollably which made it hard for him to hold on until your second orgasm, never mind your third. You felt the tension leave your body.

You'd been waiting all night for this feeling, and as you were sinking into the pleasure rippling throughout your system, you felt a second wave coming on. The pressure built so quickly this time, but the release was just as incredible as the first, resulting in you curling your toes and tearing at the sheets beneath you.

Chris was holding on for dear life, trying to get you to your third climax before he let himself cum, and with every powerful thrust into your drooling cunt, the harder it became for him to control his orgasm. He was begging to finish inside of you.

However, he maintained his stamina, pistoning into you at the perfect speed and pressure to get you what you asked for without giving in just yet. You trembled as you came onto his length a third time, leaving a thick ring of white at the base of his shaft.

Once you were completely spent, he snapped his hips forward and held them still, a guttural moan passing through his lips while he pumped you full of his heavenly substance. You could feel him release his load into you, his cock pulsating in your hole and leaving you with an incredible post-orgasmic state. He slowly pulled himself out of you, admiring the beautiful mess he'd left behind.

"How was that, angel? How do you feel?" Chris asked, checking in with you and cradling your face in his palm as he ran his thumb across your cheek. You smiled in sheer bliss, your chest still rising and falling as you caught your breath.

"That was divine. Your cock is like heaven," you whispered into his ear. "Well, angels like you are who heaven was made for," he whispered back.

[prael]

Day 12: Three Shades of Sin

Le Sserafim Kazuha & Yunjin & TripleS Xinyu

words: 11,736 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

Look, you know this story starts with the way Xinyu has her fingers threaded beneath Kazuha's jaw, her lipstick smeared off in bits and pieces, but that’s not actually how it ends. It’s a slow descent; watching your girlfriend kiss someone new is a beautiful disaster that never really loses its lustre, and the truth is, there’s no moral at the end of this tale - the closest you’ll get to something cathartic is this:

Yunjin grinning at you, sunshine-bright and wickedly gorgeous. “You gonna invite us in, or what?”

-

First things first: the bar is packed - oh, it's always packed - but especially so on the nights when Kazuha performs. It's not a burlesque club, not really; in theory, it's not all that much more than an upscale lounge for yuppies with more money than they need, trying to pretend they're living sophisticated lives with a splash of debauchery on the side.

It's packed, obviously, because they're getting a little more debauchery than expected tonight - but all the familiar faces are there: the grad-school crowd who treat this club like the neighbourhood dive bar; the pretentious A-list types who claim to hate this kind of thing but always seem to show up anyway; the trust-fund kids and their vices and habits; the semi-locals, like you. They’re the mainstay: you know their drink orders, what they’re into, whether you’ve gone home with them before. You know who is dating who. Who's got a looser distinction between romance and just fooling around. Who got fired. Who's always fucked up beyond all help. You know the girl sitting at the end of the bar nursing a cosmo and waiting for you, alone.

She'd come to see Kazuha perform like everyone else.

"You missed my boyfriend," Xinyu says to you, just shy of winking. She looks beautiful - she always does, of course, but this time: she's wearing black leggings and a crop top that shows off the cut of her waist, her toned abs. The skirt is so small it's basically an accessory to how she's got her dark hair pinned up into something half-bedroom, half-backstage-chic, hoop earrings that dangle just above the slope of her neck.

"Did I?" you reply, coy. It's not flirting - or maybe it is, you're not sure.

She tips her head, cheek resting delicately on her knuckles. You end up staring at her mouth; the words coquettish and prurient and absolutely, unquestionably fuckable are swirling around your brain. "Yep," she says, and her lips curve beautifully. "You did."

Xinyu turning up the dial until she's impossible to resist is pretty much standard-operating-procedure here- it's sort of like this place runs through her blood. She's claimed ownership of it for herself.

"It's too bad," she says, drumming acrylics on the countertop. She shoots you a look that's all bedroom eyes: that drowsy, liquid-lidded kind of want that tells you she'd have her head tilted back against your pillows in less than a few minutes if you asked. "I think you would've really gotten along."

"Guess I'll just have to settle for his girlfriend." You lean closer to her, conspiratorial. "This is fun. What else are we doing tonight?"

"Oh, yeah, you know." She stretches long and languid, satisfied. "Same as usual." That means dancing - some partying, probably lots of drinking, flirting. You're going to take her home and pin her wrists to the pillow above her head. You don't mind any of that - it's become your life, these last months, too. You know the routine here like you've known it for years.

"Want something to drink?" you ask her, and Xinyu considers you. Like she's going to pounce.

"Not really," she says, and then her chin fits into the dip between her thumb and pointer finger. You get closer. "Think I'm thirsty for something else." There's nothing left of the distance between you, and you're not kissing her yet, not yet - but the tension is making a point of shuddering and cracking.

All that promise of something more.

"Don't let this go to your head, but." Xinyu reaches out a hand. You play into the script; you take it and bring her knuckles to your lips. Her wrist smells like the perfume you bought her a Christmas ago. You kiss there, too - for a split second. "I love my boyfriend. He's great." Your eyes dart to hers again - she's always watching, waiting for the attention to come back her way. "But sometimes girls just hit differently, right?"

"See anyone in particular?" you say, still nonchalant, while Xinyu hooks a fingertip onto the neckline of your shirt.

"Oh," says Xinyu. Her grin is devilish, dangerous: like she'd carve right through your throat. "That's cute of you. Like, you really wanna know, hm? I have a list."

"How long is it?" You raise an eyebrow, feign boredom. She likes the challenge.

"Depends on the night."

"But I'm at the top," you continue, unabashed - your usual brand of charming. "Right?"

Xinyu laughs; it's a delight, musical and precious. You'd listen to it for hours if you could.

"You already know, honey." Her nails skim your neck; they catch in your hair. The strands fall over the silver around her fingers. "Top of my list, and everyone else's, too."

"Nope." You lean even further over the bar, stealing the inches, taking them for your own. "Not tonight."

"I don't share." Xinyu taps your nose, prim, smirking. Her eyes are shining, brimming with energy - you can't look away from her. She's intoxicating. She's beautiful. "He wouldn't like that anyway."

"Oh, come on. That sounds like a 'him' problem. Right?"

There's a raucous chorus of laughter from across the floor: people coming in from the cold, wanting to see the show, see a gorgeous girl in next-to-nothing strut her stuff up onstage. You watch as Xinyu's eyelashes flutter, delighted - she's waiting for something to begin; this is a ritual that repeats, the fervour starting low and ending high.

And it starts, and it ends, always, with you looking at her.

"We'll see," sings Xinyu, and she twirls on her stool, one leg neatly hooked over the other. The bar erupts into thunderous applause - the lights dim, and Kazuha emerges onstage.

-

See, the club isn't normally about stripteases - sure, some girls dance - but this is still a place with bottle service and $18 cocktails, not one where dancers make a show of stripping out of their lingerie. And it's not like you care much for how people try to make themselves seem better than they are, really: if you wanna be trashy, fine. If you want to keep up appearances, put on some kind of show like you're worth a dime more than anyone else out there, great, fine, do that. This place may be the latter, but in the end, it's all the same; everything falls apart once the night sets in. Everything stays messy, no matter which box you paint yourself into.

That's a long preface to say: you're just not expecting her in the slightest.

To be honest, most nights aren't all that exciting - there are people to remember, drinks to mix up, tabs to close and mouths to kiss, sometimes - but mostly, there's not a lot worth mentioning. When people come into the bar - the people who are new, the people who think that this is an opportunity for the night to turn interesting - you look up, size them up, wonder who they're going home with, if you're interested at all. More often than not, it's none of the above.

"Hi," says the new face as she slides up to you on the stool. Well, okay, so this part is different.

Xinyu stepped out earlier - said she had someone else to find, said you'd probably like who she had in mind, but whatever. You'll see when you see. You're not picky. You were ready to dick around on your phone until your girlfriend figured out which plaything you were both in the mood for tonight - you're not opposed to another addition, not at all - but then-

Then the girl sits at the bar, leans on her elbows over the polished surface. Rakes her fingers through the wisps of dark hair at her forehead, pushes it back, and -

And meets your gaze dead on, and doesn't break it. Not even a bit.

Okay - so, she's blindingly, impossibly stunning. A textbook fucking ten.

"Hi," she says again, firmer, like she knows what you're thinking. "Do they serve anything here that isn't blue or tastes like putting your tongue to a nine-volt?"

It's such a shockingly mild opener that you immediately laugh at her. It just spills right out of you.

"Yeah," you say, leaning against the bar, mildly amused. You call over the bartender, order in duplicate - you're pretty sure that's how this works, you have to get the drink in front of her, not even mention it, just let her know that you're calling the shots here - and then fix her with another look, eyebrows quirked. "New in town?" you ask. Small talk. Sure.

"No," she replies, "just new in here." She tosses her silky red hair over her shoulder. Reveals the halter-neck of her blouse and the deepness of the dip. Her collarbones are out. You barely even notice. "Also," she continues, "this place is a fucking zoo."

There's no patience to her. She's harsh, no filter. Your drinks arrive, and she hardly reacts when they do.

"It's a bit crowded." You're trying somewhat to stay diplomatic. "It's the girl on stage," you offer, and you gesture vaguely towards Kazuha's figure: long legs and curves in all the right places, raven-black hair falling to her waist. Everyone looks at her like she's a gift sent down from heaven. She's dressed in something gold, sequin, and she knows that they're pretty much right.

"Well, I guess that explains it."

"Everyone's hoping she'll take off more clothes." You shrug your shoulders at your new companion. "But she never does, so I'm not quite sure why everyone thinks tonight will be the exception."

"No shit," the girl drawls, her tone entirely blasé - she's so painfully disaffected, the disinterested, entitled type; your heart skips a beat. "No offence to you, man, but I think most of the guys here are either idiots or creeps." The redhead wrinkles her nose. "Or both."

"A fair assessment, honestly," you muse. Sip your drink. It's bitter. She hasn't touched hers. "You think I'm any different?"

The corner of her mouth ticks up. "No," she says.

The room seems to tilt sideways, and everything gets fuzzy: it feels like you're supposed to be talking in code or perhaps just reading between lines - there's a whole secret conversation happening beneath this surface-level, meaningless banter. You're making contact, making plans. She knows where this is going. You're right there with her.

"The girl up there is cute," the redhead says after a while, thoughtful. "What's your deal with her? How come you haven't turned into one of the animals in the horde yet?"

It's an obvious line of questioning.

"She's nice," you admit, "but I've already got something good going with someone. No need to push my luck with anyone else."

At this, she raises an eyebrow, curious, cautious, wary. "Nice, how?"

"I mean, she's beautiful," you say, "very pretty." Easy things. Surface things. These things anyone could list off. "Cute voice."

"Nothing in particular, though, huh." Her eyes flick back to the performer onstage - Kazuha's walking the catwalk, kicking her heel out at the men closest to her; her skirt rides up, and everyone goes absolutely wild for it - and then returns her focus to you. "Not your type?"

You've been in this seat - or one just like it, at least - watching Kazuha's ass onstage for countless nights. You're well aware of her appeal, but you can't figure out a harmless way to say your mind is giving you three images of a palm-print burning across the same expanse of skin at any given moment.

You shrug, ambivalence feigned. "I guess not."

"It's funny." She props her chin on her palm, her nail polish glittering against her jawline. She's barely touched her drink. "The girl's normally such a doll, right? Kind of girlish. Could barely hold a conversation with a boy when I met her. And now she's all that. On stage."

"Hmm," you reply, like you can't imagine it. "Is that right?"

"Oh yeah," she tells you, half-smiling. Her lipstick leaves marks on the glass as she takes her first sip. "Years of ballet school will do that to a girl. Though maybe something about performing just became second nature."

"Explains the legs," you mutter, feeling the look she levels with you; dangerous. "And the gracefulness," you amend quickly. She raises an eyebrow at you, and you raise one right back; it's a power struggle, and when her fingers curl across her chin, you almost choke on nothing.

"Legs and grace," she says. "That's about it for her, huh?"

You nod, your voice quiet, soft.

"How do you know her?" you ask gently.

"Oh, honey," she croons. Her face is halfway to laughter, mirth perched like a threat in her voice. She puts a palm flat on the counter and slides it forward so her manicure scrapes at the varnish. Leans into you over the edge of the bar and presses her lips to your ear. "I'm fucking her."

Everything in your brain stops, and starts; everything crashes down around you; everything rearranges.

"You know," the girl continues like she's explaining something casual, something innocent, "she's real fun on her hands and knees. Can't get enough of me." She tilts her head, contemplative. "I suppose she is beautiful," she adds, almost thoughtfully, and then reaches out her fingers. Tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "And graceful."

All you can picture are those gorgeous, creamy thighs marked up by nails like razors: bruises shaped like fingertips, angry scratches that would leave scars if pushed hard enough. Things for her to return to.

You swallow. You blink.

"She's very lovely," you say, careful, careful.

"Listen." The girl leans away, sweeps her red hair back over her shoulder, fixes you with her heavy-lidded eyes again. "We don't have to pretend we're in love or anything." Her voice is velvet, husky; the words catch at your eardrum and melt there, dripping down the bones of your skull like liquid seduction. "She's busy, clearly. So, I'm looking for a little company tonight, and I think I've found it."

"And your girlfriend?"

"Can't make it." She smiles, wolfish. "Which, if you don't mind me saying, is very lucky for you."

"Girlfriend, who you fuck into the mattress," you clarify. "She'd have no problem sharing?"

"With a pretty thing like you?" Her eyelashes flutter - the way they sweep low makes shadows across her cheeks, delicate. "No chance she'd object."

Your mouth twists to the side. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," she purrs. "Just: I'm going to go to the bathroom, and I think you could follow me there in five minutes, tops. Sound like a plan, handsome?"

Oh.

Okay. You think vaguely that Xinyu's probably got a hand in this, somehow. Doing this on purpose, leaving you here to fend for yourself - and it's a very Xinyu kind of move, really: setting you up with some stranger, letting her proposition you, and waiting for it to escalate past the point of return. Sending you right up to a pretty pair of vices, telling you to chew them down to size. Maybe if you do good - you already know how she wants you to perform - you'll get an actual reward later. Another girl for you to fuck, or maybe Xinyu herself. Or both. Your brain is spinning in circles. You really, really can't think straight with her breathing right onto your pulse.

"What, you've got something better to do than fuck two girls tonight? The girl seems to weigh something out in her mind; watches you through a side-long glance. "You really can't drop everything to play around for a little bit?"

So maybe it's not Xinyu's handiwork - this is a little too far-fetched, even for her - but you can't lie. When she goes ahead, drags her fingers on your shoulder as she glides by and doesn't bother looking back, the way your cock throbs makes it easy to decide that it doesn't matter.

-

You get lost a bit on the logistics. (That'll actually be a recurring theme.)

There's a pair of single-occupancy toilets in the back of the bar, ostensibly family washrooms; for mothers with children, wheelchairs, sloppy bathroom sex with god-blessedly gorgeous strangers, that sort of thing - but they're occupied. Both the handles spun up; red tags flipped up to indicate engagement, a motif, and symbolism in spades. Something heavy-handed and easily ignored.

"Maybe I should just get on my knees right here," she suggests eventually - like a joke, but she'd do it. You're pretty sure.

"Absolutely not," you counter, only a little bit scandalized. She grins and presses a palm flat to your abdomen.

"Just problem-solving." She's totally blasé. "Critical thinking."

"Careful with that," you warn her, sorta unreasonably given where your fingers are on the cut of her hips.

She pretends to think about it, fingers tapping thoughtfully on her lip, a comical exaggeration, and you just roll your eyes. You think about getting her name, maybe a number - you could just leave it at that, save her contact info under tall, great ass, (fuckable) lips and pray to hell it never comes up as recommended when someone else texts you.

Yeah, right. It's better to just bury yourself in this until it all dissolves - stick to the immediacy of it. Get your mouth on every part of her body and lick her clean, and then be gone before the sun rises. Right?

She pulls you down by your neck and slots your lips together again, slow, agonizing, her lips slipping over yours like they're made to be there. She kisses like it's an art form - something you can perfect, practice - and her tongue darts along the seam of your mouth like she wants to coax you open. There's the bite of cherry lipstick, sweet and candied; her fingertips into your belt loops, then yanks you toward her with her nose scrunched and a wicked smile.

"I can't believe you'd let me fuck you with your back against the wall like this." Her hips bump forward into yours - she's playing at bashful, coy and innocent. She's failing miserably. "What if someone sees?"

"I think you'd like that," you answer.

"Mmm," she agrees. She's tipping her head back, sliding her tongue across her upper lip, baring her neck to you. Her eyes flick back up, dragging like a blade. "Letting someone walk by, seeing you pushing into me, knowing I was about to make you lose control...yeah. Sounds hot, honestly."

"Shut up," you murmur, leaning closer.

"Make me," she kisses back, eyes flashing; oh, if you didn't feel it before, this is definitely how you know you'll see her again: you recognize the power in her stance, the firecracker-red blaze in her glare - it's like looking in a mirror, that domineering aggression. It's the promise of a rivalry; something you'll want to tame.

A wayward thought lingers: oh, hell - your mind is rapid on the recall, an endless, eager, addicting memory loop - how she kisses, too. The silky sweetness, the enthusiasm - the way her hands bury in your shirt and her pitched, muffled sounds of appreciation spill right into your throat. How she's such an obscene daydream, and the filthy, filthy things she tells you with her hands in your hair - the shock of that, her bold, pretty mouth telling you what she's fantasizing about right now and the fact that those fantasies line up with yours in nearly every sense. Her very presence is a contradiction, her mismatched gestures: tender kisses and wandering hands; how, for every inch given, she'll take five more.

You get your fingers under her skirt, pull her legs up to your waist; she wraps her palm over your cock; smiles against your lips, almost smitten but too arrogant for it: a villainous grin. You hitch one of her thighs over your hip, her panties damp against your slacks. Oh, how good she is - how perfect the feeling, how beautifully her teeth sink into the soft underside of your lower lip like you belong to her: a piece of property.

"That's it, sweetheart," you groan, kissing the apple of her cheek, letting the blush seep right under your tongue. Your hand hovers near her inner thigh. "God, you're so fucking sexy."

"Touch me," she hisses into the skin of your cheek.

"So demanding," you hum.

"Oh, shut the fuck up," she moans, arching into your chest - but her eyelashes flutter as your thumb ghosts across the fabric of her underwear, teasing. "Ah-ha..."

You'll justify it later, somehow: a cheat night, maybe - Xinyu's so used to getting other girls all to herself, you should have a few all to your own - and this one doesn't count as one, really; she belongs to someone else anyway, the raven-haired girl with the siren voice, long legs in silk stockings and pearls across her neck and high-heeled boots clicking across the pavement. And Kazuha doesn't even have to know: she's busy, probably; off with another guy or two or three. No reason to tell her what happens - you certainly won't complain. One orgasm and the redhead will be out of your hair.

There's a side door, some stairs. Nobody stops to ask who you are or where you're going, or even so much as bat an eye as you spill out into the alley - where people go to smoke or fight or vomit; she kisses you outside in the cold air, sliding her hands into your pockets and pushing up to the tips of her toes. There's a smile on her face like you're her best idea ever. It's cold out; she doesn't appear to care.

"God, I'm wet," she breathes, and you don't have to believe her.

"I bet I can help with that." Your jacket slides across your shoulders, off onto the concrete. You're leading her around a corner and against a brick wall. It's dark here. Dark enough for mistakes. Dark enough that you can press her spine to the bricks, slide your hands to her sides and lift her up, taste the lipstick across her jawline-

"Oh my god," comes a voice - softer, sweeter, a total siren lilt. "Please, fuck, that feels so-"

Both your heads swivel.

One streetlight illuminates Kazuha with her back pressed to the bricks and her hand curled tightly in all this black hair, panting, pleading: a perfect fucking masterpiece. She's got her eyes screwed shut, her lips parted; she's absolutely lost.

"Huh," says the redhead, dispassionate - and her fingers curl loosely over your forearm, drumming rhythmically. "Looks like she got distracted after all."

The hand between her legs is fucking her up and doing it fast, snapping sharp wrist motions accompanied by these rhythmic, throaty gasps from Kazuha as she holds onto the edge of a dumpster lid, clawing at metal. There's a muffled string of curses as the woman crouches, leaning forward - shoving her tongue inside. "Fu-uck," Kazuha manages, two distinct syllables - and her grip tightens around her waist, her spine. You catch the light shining off her gold earrings like a flash-warning, and you fall short of a breath.

“Xinyu?” you sputter. “What’re you-”

Xinyu extracts her hand from Kazuha’s cunt, licks her fingers clean and turns to you, not at all guilty - but she isn’t sorry, either. You blink hard.

“Oh, hey,” says Xinyu, cheery as anything. She brushes off her dress. “Didn’t think I’d find you here.”

“Neither did we,” you choke, dry-mouthed. “Are you…”

“We’re making use of some downtime,” offers Kazuha, smoothing down her hair, wiping off her smudged lipstick. The makeup is so precise that it doesn’t look smudged at all - or maybe that’s just how used she is to covering it up. “Is there a problem?”

“No, none-” Your mouth snaps shut as Xinyu meets your stare and gives you an impish little shrug, biting back a smile. She saunters over to where you stand, keeping a respectable distance.

“Look at this, babe," Xinyu says. She gestures to the girl you were making out two seconds ago, casual. "I found him first. Isn’t he handsome?”

“You’ve got weird taste,” replies the redhead, not unkindly, tilting her head back against the wall and exposing all that gorgeous skin. You can see her chest rise and fall in ragged breaths. Xinyu walks a hand up your torso, palms your collarbone with a suggestive smile - it's a little possessive, but then again, you realize you’ve forgotten to let go of the other girl's hand.

“You would be into him,” retorts Kazuha. She laughs softly. “Hi, Jen,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

“Hey,” Yunjin says, wiggling her fingers, lazy. “Loved the performance."

"Shut the fuck up," snipes Kazuha, rolling her eyes, but she's flushed, halfway to an orgasm that's not gonna happen because everyone is apparently choosing now to puzzle this one out. "Could see you flirting with him the entire time, idiot."

"He's super fucking hot," says Yunjin. "Oh, speaking of which-" She tugs you closer by your wrist - you're stuck, standing still, trapped between three gorgeous women ready to argue over who saw who first.

“Wait,” you manage, breaking free. Yunjin huffs. Xinyu frowns, blinking. Kazuha leans back against the wall.

“We didn’t plan this or anything,” explains Kazuha. “Xinyu just likes what she sees sometimes.” There’s a practised ease in the way she says this - like this has all been rehearsed before between the two of them. "Or, well-" Kazuha lifts a shoulder, delicate, polished. "A lot of the time, I guess."

"Yeah," Xinyu says, not defensive. "So?"

"Well," you say, after a long moment - your mind working furiously to process, reconcile, synthesize - this scene where you're being pulled in six directions at once, trying to put this story together before any more pages flip.

"That's your girlfriend," you say to Yunjin, finally - and point a finger towards Kazuha.

"And yours," says Kazuha, one hand on Xinyu's hip. “Hi,” she adds.

"Yep," says Xinyu. "How about that."

She steps up close to you and bats those dark lashes. Behind her, Kazuha’s gaze catches your glance; it takes you a solid ten seconds to realize she’s trying to place where she’s seen you before - it clicks for her all at once, though it's a lot quicker for you - and then it all slots neatly into place, every cog and screw lining up in an easy motion.

“So.” Yunjin chews idly at the pad of her thumb. "What, you guys met once at the mall or something?"

"Yeah," you reply, realizing exactly how you and yours have come to fall for two of the same type. "We met at the mall."

If you'd like to imagine that this goes smoothly after that - it doesn't. Not really. It's more accurate to say that Yunjin looks at you, your blank stare, the panic - and the three girls just dissolve into laughter, giddy and conspiratorial like they've just pulled off the world's greatest coup.

"C'mon," says Yunjin. She's so good at reading social cues - like, oh, you being totally stunned-silent by the sheer amount of sexual energy suddenly coursing through this alleyway. "You said it yourself," Yunjin reminds you, gesturing at Kazuha, "beautiful, very pretty, nice legs." She brings her lips to your cheek. "You didn't lie about that."

"What?" says Kazuha.

Yunjin just smiles, brushes a lock of red hair behind her ear. "We have taste," she tells Kazuha, confident and poised - and then to you, hushed under her breath, "I'd watch you rail her," she murmurs. Her tongue darts out, pressing wet and warm into the shell of your ear. "Would you like that?"

"That's-" you start. You stop. Xinyu looks over at you, a devious flicker lighting up her eyes - oh, god; if that doesn't spell disaster, nothing does -and the grin she gives you is so downright evil you wonder why you ever dared dream you stood a chance. She looks back over at Kazuha, reaches out a hand to clasp gently at that impossible waist, pulling her in close.

"Sweetheart," Xinyu drawls, tracing a thumb over her jawline. "Doll," she continues, letting the nickname linger. She leans up, pecks a kiss against Kazuha's mouth - but her eyes don't leave yours for a second. She bites down gently on Kazuha's lower lip, tugging lightly at the skin before letting it snap back.

"You know I wouldn't ever get jealous over sharing something with you," Xinyu murmurs. She says it like a proclamation; something binding, solemn - a pact signed in ink, wax-sealed and pressed into the skin of Kazuha's collarbone. They're practically the same height. It makes your throat run dry. "You get me," she says.

Yunjin laughs, but not meanly. "It's cute how you pretend you aren't selfish," she says to Xinyu, rolling her eyes. Her lips curve upwards. "Tell me something I don't know." And then - you feel her fingertips trail delicately over your waistband, slipping her thumb below the hem of your jeans. "Hey, Kazuha?"

Kazuha drags her focus off Xinyu with visible effort, snapping back into the conversation.

"Wanna ride his face?"

Xinyu is grinning like a lunatic, gorgeous and predatory.

Kazuha gathers her hair off her neck. “He seems like the type who would want to eat pussy for hours."

"I wouldn't complain," you croak out - and Yunjin laughs. It’s genuine, unpracticed, the sort of thing that shakes her shoulders; it fills you up.

"Why don't you sit back down against that wall," she tells you, nudging at your ribs. Her touch feels electric. "Relax."

Oh. She says it like an order, and you realize that she knows full well what it'll do to you. She's still smiling, though it's sharper now, sharper, hungrier - like the glint of fangs that'll tear you apart. It's really no wonder you ended up exactly where she wanted you - but then you realize Kazuha's looking at you, and you realize that you're not entirely sure whose team you're on or if there even are any teams here. It's not like you can complain. The most you can manage is a grunt of acknowledgement, sitting down slowly, trying not to trip over your own feet and ruin everything.

"Good boy," Yunjin quips, quiet enough to feel private, intimate. You blink up at her, still holding her hand in your lap as you sit down, staring like she holds the key to all seven wonders of the world in her palm. "Kazuha," Yunjin calls over her shoulder, patting your arm. "Get over here. Come meet my new friend."

And that's sorta how you wind up in some kind of...what-the-fuck situation? Some otherworldly thing you shouldn't even hope to explain - some alternate dimension shit with two beautiful women pressing you back against some dirty-ass brick wall in the alley behind your usual haunt, a third one laughing hysterically at all four of you. You feel like the dumbest motherfucker alive, especially when Xinyu whispers something in Yunjin's ear, and it earns a resounding laugh, but mostly just because your girlfriend's hands are everywhere and Yunjin's sitting back and watching like it's prime-time television.

That - and also because Kazuha's decided she needs your face buried in her cunt ASAP, and frankly, you can't even muster up the energy to disagree.

-

First things first: the bar is packed - oh, wait, no: it's always packed. But especially so on the nights where you're trying to navigate this stupid situation, you got yourself into where three fucking goddesses have you on rotation, like clockwork. 

You're collecting coats and closing tabs, doing your absolute best not to bring any more attention to how Kazuha's wobbling on both legs because she can't quite walk straight anymore.

Yunjin - your current distraction, clad in the most perfect shade of red lipstick, clinging onto your favourite girl like a lifeline - keeps leaning over to Xinyu, whispering frantically in her ear, and it's like the more they talk, the more amused Xinyu gets.

"I told Yunjin your apartment's the closest," Xinyu says to you, eventually, a small smirk forming on her face. "Think she wants you alone for a while. Sounds like she thinks you could really, uh-" She nods toward you, gesturing pointedly towards your belt. "Blow her back out, is how she phrased it."

Oh. Well, then. Yeah, no, you'd be perfectly okay with that.

When you glance back over at the rest of your - you don't have a word for it - entourage, all three pairs of eyes are locked on you, expectant and eager. Jesus fucking Christ. You make brief eye contact with Yunjin; her smile grows impossibly wider. This was meant to be a casual night, wasn't it? A nice outing at the lounge bar where you down drinks and enjoy the scenery - that was how it started, right? Then Yunjin had shown up, demanding all your attention like you owed it to her just for existing (and honestly? You kinda do). It'd been an excuse to look at Kazuha's tits, and then another to press your mouth all over Xinyu's - but the way your girlfriend's looking at you makes it abundantly clear that that ship's already sailed. 

Kazuha raises a water bottle to her lips, looking cool and confident as ever (oh, you know better).

"Didn't mean to invite everyone over, but." Xinyu preens, adjusting the hem of her skirt and checking for signs of wear. She knows exactly what she's saying, exactly what you're thinking - there's an intentness to her words. "You wouldn't mind, right, baby?"

"Yeah, sure," you agree, glancing up at all of them with a nod. You've never moved faster in your life; your coat's over your arm, keys in your pocket, the whole ensemble. They're watching you, waiting patiently. Xinyu raises an eyebrow. "Lead the way?"

She beams. She turns, slips her purse strap over her shoulder. "Alright," she chirps - and the four of you take off into the night.

-

It's funny, you think: Xinyu's also had a weak spot for Kazuha, probably since the first time she saw her perform. (That's the part that sticks out in your brain.) But then again, maybe Kazuha knew about Xinyu too; they seem pretty damn cosy for this being their first interaction with each other, though you suppose you can't judge - you were practically aching for Yunjin within an hour of meeting her, weren't you?

But whatever. Your cock is in Yunjin's hand, and your mind is very much not present right now. That's the important thing.

By the time you finally unlocked your front door, all four of you stumbling in - everyone tipsy, aroused, dying to get their hands on someone's skin - Yunjin immediately glued herself to you, pushing your coat off your shoulders. She'd gotten your zipper undone in record time. It's not the first time, obviously: she's got this ghost of a grip around your cock already, a knowing stroke, this way of handling your arousal that feels almost proprietary in its control.

There's an island in the kitchen; you're washed up on its shore. Fingers spread across the marble sand as the edge presses against your lower back. "Drinks are in the—"

"You can skip the fanfare." Yunjin is stroking you, her other hand at the nape of your neck to pull you down, kiss her; your mouth meets hers, hot, messy, too hard. Pick up where you left off sort of thing. Some unheard conversation must have planned this, on the street or in the hallway or the elevator—they'd figured out some secret plot, who got what, how they would split up, and it starts here.

It's in your periphery that you see them cross, hand in hand, watching you come undone by the vixen in red. Xinyu is taking the lead, and you can see her mind working overtime to figure out what would drive you the most insane right now. She stops at the couch, centre-view, perching herself on the back of it to pull the other girl against her. Kazuha giggles in the high pitch, something that sounds too sweet to come from someone whose job it is to get men going—and maybe she does that on purpose: the look over her shoulder accompanies a feigned innocence.

Xinyu looks past her, gaze falling over Yunjin first: red dress, blood red lips, hair like a hearth-fire, and the hand moving on your cock in your unbuckled jeans. "A head start? How unfair." She rolls her eyes with all the mocking derision she can muster, but her smirk betrays her. She's pushing Kazuha by the shoulder, putting the dancer down on her knees. Even in the most compromising position possible, she looks immaculate: she sinks, legs together, ass perched on her heels. There's not a strand of hair out of place, and even in her lust, Xinyu strives to maintain the fact, so she takes care in the way she pulls Kazuha between her thighs. A gentle, fingertip hold, as she spreads her knees to frame her.

You watch with rapt attention; you can hardly look away. The whole thing is artfully posed.

Yunjin says your name, the first word you've heard from her, and you've only missed it a little. Your gaze moves to her. You expect another comment, snide, but her mouth parts, like the words have been stolen right out of it.

"You good?" You're trying to be a gentleman, if not an asshole—and it works, too; it spurs her back. She bites the corner of her lip and hums.

"Yeah, you know." A half-shrug accompanies her words as she lets you slide a strap from her shoulder. "Still waiting for you to blow my back out."

Oh. You laugh, hoarse. Yeah, that's—that's on the agenda, for sure.

It's just—the show, right across from you, has started.

Kazuha, in her performance, has Xinyu's skirt pushed up around her waist, face against her thigh, breath hot on her skin, fingers splayed over her knee to press her legs even wider. The most natural seduction; the effortless allure that laces every part of her. Her lips against skin are soft and pink, moving against the curve of the muscle, mouthing up higher. You know how that feels—travelling the vast expanse of Xinyu's long legs in search of something to bury your face in.

"She's in for a treat," Yunjin whispers.

"So am I," you return, placing a hand on Yunjin's now strapless shoulder and putting just enough weight into your hand that she knows she's going down.

"Can't promise I won't bite," she warns, in the tone that makes your throat dry, in the way you think she just might. But you've also had the image of Yunjin's head bobbing in your lap the whole cab ride home.

If there's a heaven, you'll find it in a mouth like this one: soft-lipped, warm and wet, tongue on you. You reach for the back of her neck, feel the silk of her hair under your palm as she sucks hard enough to make your hips jerk. Then there's the gentlest of grazes—her teeth on your shaft, and it makes your jaw tighten. She's all smirk and smoulder, eyes coming up to see what kind of face she's making you pull.

"Oops," she laughs.

"Fuck," Xinyu gasps, the loudest sound in the room. There's the slightest shift of Kazuha's shoulders, the way her back bows when her tongue drags from slit to clit; nose pushed up tight.

Xinyu, still leaning over the back of the couch, turns her gaze toward you, then, heavy, desperate, and dark: an intensity that hits right in the base of your stomach and twists like a dull knife.

Xinyu trades pleasured gasps for a coy remark. "Look at her go. Eats pussy like she'll starve to death without it." It's like she needs to comment on it, all casual, as if there weren't someone between her legs, making her thighs tense.

Yunjin pulls back just long enough to say, "Tell me about it." Then she goes deep enough that you see your cock hit the back of her throat. No warning. You cough out an obscenity. It's good, and it's better because of what you're looking at.

"Yeah?" Xinyu says. "Be pretty easy to cum like this, you know?" The implication hangs in the air, unaddressed.

Just like Yunjin before you, you agree. "Tell me about it."

Your girl, on the couch, her body twists again. Kazuha is making her work to keep the upper hand in all this, if there's such a thing, and she has to put conscious effort into keeping her words steady. Her focus is on you, on your face, on how your mouth opens every time Yunjin sinks her mouth to the hilt.

"Do you wanna cum like this?" Yunjin says to the underside of your dick, her hot breath against your length.

You look to Xinyu for a final answer: her head's back and her chin tilted high in a groan that fills the room, an arcing note in a rising song that starts between her thighs. Her hands grip the cushions.

"She's close," You say off-handedly. An easy observation. It doesn't answer her question.

"Could finish you so easily," Yunjin hums. You feel her words against the crown. She swirls her tongue, and you clench your fists.

"Faster than Kazuha?"

"Much faster." Yunjin grins like she's just thrown down a challenge. And you get why it works: competitive to a fault.

"No chance," Xinyu manages. There's sweat on the skin that shimmers with highlight, her chest heaving with every laboured breath, "absolutely—" Kazuha presses forward, and the rest comes out a curse. She grits out the words. "Impossible."

"Bet?" says Yunjin, her nails dug deep enough into your skin that it leaves little crescent moons.

Xinyu's head lifts. There's a smile on her face that's just shy of wicked, "I'd say winner takes all."

There are very few bets that Xinyu won't take and fewer stakes that she won't gamble with, but she's got confidence in Kazuha's ability, and time is a-ticking. Even with how wound up Yunjin's got you, watching them, it's still an even race at this point. Kazuha has a lot to prove: this is a test to see if her pretty lips and clever tongue can get her girl to the finish line faster than anyone else.

And, oh—she can taste it, can't she: Xinyu dripping wetness to her chin, her folds spread and cunt eager. The dancer's a performer of many skills: her fingers slide inside, her mouth locked in place and sucking hard until Xinyu is fucking her mouth with the back and forth of her hips. In a moment of indulgence, she presses Kazuha's face deeper, harder. It's rougher, meaner: she pushes her up tight enough that her air might just get cut off, if it weren't for the moans that slip from the singer's mouth. "God—" You think she says, and then nothing but sharp inhale and the jolt of her hips that has Kazuha's nails in the flesh of her inner thighs.

Yunjin's picking up the slack on you. Maybe to wipe the smirk from your girlfriend's face, or maybe she just really wants your cum down her throat. That's fine. You're not opposed.

Mouth briefly replaced by hand, strokes hard and tight, so she can talk and please. "Better cum in me soon. You'll lose." She winks. She's not wrong, and she sucks in her next breath like she knows it. That mouth on you again.

Let's be real. Let's not get it twisted. You win. You always win.

Xinyu will cum first. It's one of those facts in life. Death, taxes and Xinyu's climaxes.

It starts in her chest—a hitch that becomes a heavy rise and fall, a moan from deep in her throat. Her body follows it: every limb taut like strings in a bow. Tension: her head back to the sky and the arch in her back like a crescent. Her legs start to shake. It's there that you feel your blood thrumming, the adrenaline that starts that climb before your fall, and Yunjin takes her cue to speed things up on her end as Xinyu tumbles over on hers. Her thighs tense, tight, trembling.

"Oh—oh fuck—Kazuha." Xinyu moaning another woman's name always has a certain kind of kick to it, even more so with you down Yunjin's throat. She's never shy about this. Never timid. Always, unabashedly, the way it is with you and how she'll scream and cry for it, for the orgasm that wracks her like an electric current.

Kazuha has no interest in easing her down: the pads of her fingertips work her open, pumping inside, tongue flat to lap against the pulsing heat, riding her through each wave and crest, drawing them longer, higher. Xinyu's shaking with the overstimulation, hands in hair, but not pulling back.

"God. Fuck, Kazuha—" This time, there's the edge of desperation to it, so close to pleading for it to stop.

There's a moment when you lock your eyes. Xinyu looking through the strands of her dark hair that stick to her cheeks, and the sweat that glosses her forehead, the flush on her skin, her lipstick smeared in places. And that smile, her wicked grin in full bloom. Her breath coming in shallow heaving puffs. Kazuha is slowing. Stilling.

You've been teetering close to that razor's edge, the precipice of it, but there was only ever going to be one winner. Yunjin pulls her mouth from you and she has no idea just how close you were, just how cruel the denial, as she stands.

You say her name as a question: why would she ever fucking stop?

Her mouth to your ear, and you feel her smirking again, her teeth against the shell: "You lost," she murmurs.

"You lost," Xinyu echoes from across the room. She pushes Kazuha away, legs still unsteady, as she slides from the couch to her feet and straightens out the fabric of her dress. You watch as Kazuha touches the gloss of her lip and sucks it off her finger. Her smile is soft and warm when she gets to her feet. It's like a stage; everything posed: Xinyu and Kazuha, standing side-by-side and arms entwined.

"Second place," says Xinyu, looking you right in the eyes.

"I get it," you say. Your cock stands at full mast. "You don't need to remind me."

"Oh," she grins, leaning against the dancer, "I absolutely do." Her hand touches Kazuha's chin and lifts, kissing her deep, tongues dancing against one another's. When Xinyu's teeth drag along her bottom lip, you know she must be able to taste herself. "She's real good. Though I do wonder what her girlfriend is like," she whispers as she eyes Yunjin.

Kazuha speaks up. "She can definitely make a girl cum." She speaks with such nonchalance as if she's discussing the weather or what brand her shampoo is and not the way she's had Yunjin eating out of her cunt.

Kazuha is a professional; it's no surprise to hear she knows how to get a girl to see god, and it's no surprise that anyone she lays with has to be on top of their game. Xinyu knows, too. She grins, and she laughs, and she holds her waist like Kazuha's some sort of prize, and it's just so Xinyu, this display. "Lucky us." She touches a hand to the dancer's hip. She says to Yunjin, "We oughta try her out."

"You're going to leave him hanging?" says Yunjin, running a hand down your chest dangerously low before taking it back, a gentle press of lips on your jaw. "That's not very fair."

"He can help you out, right?" Xinyu offers, gesturing in your direction with one of those looks in her eyes. You know that one. "Make us cum." And her hand slips to the swell of Kazuha's breast, groping greedily. It's a demand that comes out as a suggestion.

Kazuha whispers something inaudible to Xinyu's ears and it must've been good because the woman hums, intrigued, the smile on her mouth turning wider and more mischievous by the second. They both take a step, both reach out, Kazuha takes your wrist and Xinyu takes Yunjin's. Wordlessly, they take you away from the kitchen and to the window: the massive wall of windows that line your apartment with the city behind.

"I want the world to see," Kazuha explains. "To wish they were you."

"Sounds a little cheesy," you quip.

"Sounds hot," Xinyu retorts as she places her hands on the glass. She bends forward so that the swell of her ass pushes out against the hem of her skirt, and against Yunjin, who is standing right behind her. "Don't you think, babe?" she teases Yunjin.

"Very," Yunjin says. She moves her fingers along the seams of Xinyu's body, finding their way underneath her top. You hear Xinyu breathe out through her mouth. Yunjin moves closer to Xinyu's ear and bites it. "But the only ones that'll actually get to touch you, to taste you... that'll be us, huh?" She moves her fingers along the waistband of her skirt.

Xinyu turns her head back at her, smiling. "They'll be able to see how well I can take it, too. You'll let them see, won't you?"

Kazuha perches in front of you, spreading her fingers out against the glass, lowering her shoulders, arching her spine and lifting her ass to the sky for your taking. In an instant, you're on your knees and appreciating her for everything she's worth. "You don't need to be a gentleman. Just go for it. You already had the courtesy earlier," she tells you as you move closer.

"Can't I take a moment to appreciate you first?" you reply.

"Do you have to?" Her laugh is half a moan, and she's pulling up her own dress. "Are you so infatuated by the sight of me? Because, believe me—" and her words are cut off as you sink your teeth into her cheeks, your fingertips pressing tight into the skin at her hip— "you've seen more than most get to."

You run a hand up the expanse of her thigh. "Savouring every moment," you hum into her skin.

"How romantic," she laughs. There are the smallest noises in the back of her throat that come with your touch as you caress her ass. Fingers into flesh, gentle pressure until you feel her roll against it. The perfect ass. The kind people would kill for.

You hear Xinyu gasp, the sharp breath: Yunjin's got her face pressed hard between Xinyu's spread thighs from behind. "Y'know—" your girl manages between moaning pants, "wasn't sure what to expect. This isn't how we usually do things." She's trying to hold the conversation together while Yunjin works to make a ruin of it. Xinyu braces herself against the glass. "Two girls at once is a pretty good score."

"I'd call it that," you hum in agreement as you pull Kazuha's delicate panties down her thighs.

"The two of you do this often?" Yunjin asks between licking Xinyu's dripping cunt and then slapping an ass cheek hard, enough to sting. It leaves an angry pink imprint on the flesh of her. Xinyu hisses, her fingers curling against the glass as she struggles to hold herself steady. Kazuha arches her spine to give you better access.

"See them all the time," Kazuha gently laughs, the breathiest moan breaking her sentence up, and she rocks herself back against you. "Taking someone home before my show even ends."

Xinyu's eyes open, and her vision is clear. She looks over her shoulder. Her hips are slow, riding the tongue that pushes deeper inside. Her voice is steady, and she's trying hard not to let Yunjin catch her completely, though the pressure on the glass betrays her. "Been keeping an eye on us, hm?"

You're dragging your tongue against Kazuha, circling around the wetness between her legs. You taste the sweet musk of her, and then you drag the flat of your tongue along the folds. She hums with a laugh that sounds a little breathier, more strained. Your tongue moves deeper, dipping into the parting of flesh, to taste the soft, velvet feel of her, the slick heat that comes with her arousal.

"You're not exactly subtle. Hard not to notice."

You push a little firmer, face into her ass, tasting the deepest parts of her and as she shifts on her knees, she lowers a hand to your hair and grabs a handful of it, keeping you where she needs you, fingers curled around the strands and the sting that follows. You hear the noise she makes, the way she shivers under your attention. It feels good.

"We have a fan," Xinyu jokes, but her laughter is cut off by a moan as Yunjin sucks harder on the soft folds between her legs. "Maybe two." There's the sound of skin hitting skin, and then a gasp. You know the sounds of Xinyu when her skin is slapped, or her flesh is bit.

Yunjin's hands roam her body freely. They're everywhere: touching, teasing. Her nails scratch and drag, and Xinyu groans when teeth meet her inner thigh again.

Kazuha is dripping against your chin now. Every lick sends another jolt up her spine, and every circle against her sensitive clit has her moaning. You squeeze her ass. She rocks forward. "Mhm..." Her lips part, and her jaw goes slack.

"What a pretty fucking mess," you hum against the wetness.

Xinyu takes Kazuha by the chin, pulling her into a kiss, and there's no way for anyone else to appreciate how beautiful they look against each other. Xinyu runs a hand up into Kazuha's hair, and her hips are still grinding, still pushing down onto Yunjin's mouth. "I'm gonna cum if she doesn't stop."

"Cum with me?" Kazuha says. It sounds desperate, almost needy in its demand: an urgency to share this. To do it together.

It doesn't sound like a bad idea at all.

"Not stopping," is the last thing Yunjin says as she continues to feast. You think she might have a point to prove, but if that means she wants to eat a pussy that good, then so be it. Your mouth works Kazuha faster: you spread the folds with your fingers and go to work on her clit. Your teeth catch the sensitive flesh, and she shakes with it, thighs threatening to tremble and tense, a strangled cry falling from her lips that she smothers by moaning it right into Xinyu's lips.

The taste of Kazuha on your tongue is something you'll never get tired of. Her sweet juice spills over, and when she arches, she cums harder, cries out louder until finally, her knees start to shake. That's how it starts, and with her orgasm comes Xinyu's too. There's a moment when the two are tangled together, when the sounds that fall out of them echo each other's. Their voices meet, their moans mix, and their tongues clash in their kiss, like they can't bear to keep any distance from one another. It's intimate, even amidst the other mouths on them. Even as Yunjin and you coax them through it. When it passes, the two cling onto each other, holding each other up, both of them trembling with the aftermath of a shared bliss.

Kazuha falls first: with a slow slump she sinks down to the floor, falling away from your hungry mouth and onto her hands and knees on the hardwood. She pants, heavy breaths, her head bowed, her hair in her eyes. There's a contented hum to the room as it all begins to settle down. Kazuha turns to you: there's that gorgeous smile, as she pushes back hair from her face. Her makeup is smudged. Her lipstick's a mess.

Xinyu follows after, but not without first stroking Yunjin's hair and kissing her, thanking her. Xinyu falls into Kazuha's embrace, the two of them holding each other up on the floor. Their heads are on one another's shoulders.

You lose your balance to a hard push. Your ass hitting the ground hard, sitting flat on the hardwood.

"Your turn." Yunjin grins, a hand pushing at the centre of your chest, keeping you from rising.

"You're going to do that right here?"

She grins at you. "Right now."

From here on out, it's just an inevitable, sordid decline into depravity. There is no message here, no moral, no meaning beyond the mindless, the reckless. There's nothing profound about the way Yunjin slips the other strap off her shoulder and pulls the material down to her waist to expose her braless chest. There's no wisdom in the way she moves into your lap, arms hooked over your shoulders.

No revelations come from how her bare pussy slides against the head of your cock. No matters of the world solved by the way you grope her tits in your palms. Nothing poetic about the sound that slips between her pretty red lips when you enter her cunt. This is just the way things are. This is barely a footnote on the night, not an epic climax. It's not a resolution or a denouement. Just another impending orgasm. You're just lucky you're at the centre of it all.

"Give us a show, won't you?" Xinyu murmurs.

Yunjin's got a smile on her lips that says, sure, sure, I can do that. She puts her hands on your chest, pinning you against the ground, her hips lifting and rolling as she slides you in and out of herself. "You think we should thank them? The people in the toilets?"

"Why's that?"

"Well, we'd have gone in there." Yunjin pushes her hips down hard onto you to punctuate her sentence. "We'd have fucked." She's taking control here: riding you in the centre of the hardwood floor. "You'd have cum." Another roll of the hips. "In me. On me." She gasps, moans. "That would have been that." It's all being said so nonchalantly. "But now, it's like this."

You laugh a little as you watch the woman ride you for all you're worth. "It's fitting," you say as you push yourself up from the floor, sitting face-to-face with the woman riding you. "Because you deserve so much more than a quickie on a dirty toilet." You wrap an arm around the small of her back. "And I'd much rather take my time with you." You buck your hips up into her, commandeering the rhythm as your pace starts to climb. You drive into her, pounding hard, as you bury your face between her breasts.

There are the smallest of noises that break free from Yunjin: the whines that get trapped behind her throat and the moans that slip between her teeth. She lets you handle her, and the only sound she makes is that soft whimpering and that sharp hiss when your fingers grip tight at her skin, and when her body slams down against your cock, you feel her tense and then shake around your shaft, squeezing and clamping down hard. She stifles her sounds.

"You good?" you whisper. She doesn't answer. At least, not at first. She gives herself a moment to catch her breath, as her nails drag across your shoulder blade.

She moans out a reply. "Oh yeah. So good. I'm so—" her words trail into a hiss of a breath.

You push her onto her back, pinning her to the ground as she laughs, arms above her head and eyes on yours, as you pick the pace back up again. "Show's still on," Xinyu says, somewhere on your peripheries.

"He fucks like a..." Kazuha whispers, unable to find the right words.

"I know," Xinyu laughs, before leaning in to kiss at Kazuha's jaw. "Doesn't he just?" The words are barely a whisper in her ear.

There's this shift in your periphery, Xinyu taking a place on the floor, her hand behind Kazuha's head as she spreads her legs again. It's rare you've found anyone who can keep up with Xinyu, but tonight's proven to be the exception. Kazuha's on all fours, leaning in for another taste. The sight has you groan.

Yunjin laughs at that, pulling your face back to hers, her legs wrapping around your hips, locking behind your back as she pulls you into her. "Don't get distracted now, honey," she says. Her fingertips trace along the muscles in your shoulders. Her lips curl up into a smile as her body shivers underneath yours, and you can feel it: that sweet clamping down of her pussy around your cock, and you know that she's close to coming again.

"Got an idea," you whisper.

"Wait, wait—" Yunjin claws at your back, holding you closer, tighter. "Just let me—" and you feel it. Her wet heat coating your length, pulsing. You roll her into it, feel the slick mess as her hips twist against the hardwood. She shakes, head thrown back, eyes fluttering shut, and lips parted. "There we go. Now, idea?"

"Come here." It's seamless, the way you move her around and behind Kazuha, positioning her face right against her girlfriend's ass. "Doesn't that look so good?"

"Beautiful," she says.

"Bet you eat that ass every chance you get, I know I would."

"Me too," Xinyu chimes.

"Yeah?" Yunjin says as she traces her hands along Kazuha's hips and curves, the lines that make her. She touches her thighs, and then she moves her fingertips to the cheeks of her ass. "Well." A kiss on the flesh of it. "You know. She does have such a pretty ass," she whispers.

"You both do," you reply as you mimic Yunjin's touches on her own ass.

She smiles into the skin, pressing more soft kisses along it. Her fingernails dig in gently as her mouth presses a little harder against it. Yunjin drags her nails over it, making marks. Yunjin moans softly, burying her mouth deeper between the cheeks. Kazuha arches with a moan of her own, rocking back. Yunjin sinks deeper, eating her girlfriend's ass like it was the last meal she'd have for days. The sounds are wet and hungry. Her moans are muffled as her mouth does its work. "God..." Yunjin groans into the flesh. Her hands roam up to Kazuha's sides, and she digs her fingers in and holds her, rocking the woman's hips against her face. It's like she can't get enough, and the taste must be so fucking intoxicating.

You're back inside Yunjin, the end of the train. She shivers again, moans again. Her nails drag up the small of Kazuha's back, marking the line of her spine with the gentle red trails. Her teeth scrape against Kazuha's skin, and she presses the pad of her tongue between her asscheeks again.

Yunjin's dress is still bunched at the waist, you bunch it and then hold it firm: it pulls tight across her toned stomach and gives you a handle, a grip to hold. You thrust into her, hard. She groans into Kazuha, and in turn, Kazuha gasps into Xinyu.

You hear Xinyu moaning, a note that arcs and echoes and then tapers off again. Kazuha is humming, soft and quiet, and Yunjin groans deeply. When the three of you all start to sync up, to fall into one steady beat, it feels right. It's everything falling together. Waves on the sand.

Xinyu is gasping; her head is back, and her throat is exposed, and her body is writhing with pleasure. She has her fingers buried in Kazuha's hair, clutching at it desperately, as she rocks back onto her tongue, onto her mouth, her hips bucking erratically. You're fucking Yunjin in slow and deep thrusts that have her moaning and shuddering, her fingers gripping hard into the dancer's thighs, and she's eating that ass with hunger, her own body responding to each motion of your hips in a ripple of a wave that runs up her spine, one after the next after the next.

This was never meant to last. There is no way.

You're on edge. Xinyu's on the precipice, and Kazuha is shaking.

There is no way, you say it again, and that's how your mind feels: unsteady, untethered, and it's in that haze that you slip your free hand to Yunjin's hip and guide it under her, have her press two fingers into the slickness that's so familiar, that she knows so well. You tell her. "Make your girlfriend cum." It's not an order. You've no authority here, in the mess that this has become, but she does, doesn't she: she's the only one who could get someone to sing for the world to see.

It's just seconds after when she slips the digits up inside that the woman is shaking, her back arching, and she's moaning in tandem with the way her hips roll back on you. Yunjin's fingers plunge deeper inside, and Kazuha shivers in delight. And then there's the smallest cry of a sound, and she's spilling wet onto the hand that keeps pushing her down. "You're so beautiful, Kazu," Yunjin murmurs, the words muffled by how she's buried her face between those cheeks, she's so damn close to her own climax. Kazuha is trembling, shaking. She moans out her release into Xinyu's wet cunt.

Thighs clamp hard on Kazuha's head. "Yes—" Xinyu cries out, as her hips rock upwards, bucking on Kazuha's mouth as she rides the orgasm hard, hands at her own breasts, groping greedily as her tongue drags her bottom lip under white, teeth bared: it's like a growl, almost, or a snarl, her eyes open wide, but staring right through everything.

And that's what pushes you over. You grab hard onto Yunjin's hip, the bunched fabric of her dress. Your fingernails drag against her flesh as you rut into her, hips thrusting again and again. She can't help the gasp, the sound, as your nails scrape deep into her thigh. She's so sensitive. The skin so soft and so receptive to touch. That noise turns into a moan. You know the sounds of her now. She doesn't need to tell you. You know. The pace of her breathing changes, and you hear the breathy little whimpers. When she gasps and when her cunt flutters, you can tell that she's close. And you know, when she cums because of the shuddering that runs up her body, the tensing of her muscles and that moaning that starts low and quiet before it grows, and then it explodes out of her in a sudden burst, like fireworks.

Xinyu's curling a finger. A beckon. You have a place to take, kneeling over her, and a finish that she demands.

"You know what to do, don't you?" she teases, a laugh on the tip of her tongue: that sharp and mischievous smirk, and the eyes that gleam in the light.

"I do."

She turns her gaze on the couple on the floor, the girls who've sunk onto one another. You can hear Yunjin laughing. Kazuha's fingers trail over her face, tracing the outline. "Go ahead," Xinyu says to you: not permission but expectation.

She presents her face as if it's a canvas and, yeah, sure, maybe you've done this more times than you can count, but you've still got your hand on your dick and the other on the back of Xinyu's neck, rubbing like it's the first time, and—

There it goes.

"God," Yunjin groans, "that's pretty."

Kazuha's contented hum agrees. They both reach a hand out to run their fingers across the mess of your cum, spreading it across the smooth expanse of skin, painting their art of Xinyu. There are no lines, no patterns, just the abstract swirl and the smearing that follows.

"Should take a photo," Kazuha suggests. "For posterity's sake."

"Too late," Yunjin mutters as she leans in to lick at the slick of white on the woman's cheek.

Soon, they're both at it, cleaning your girlfriend like she was the world's finest delicacy. And she basks in the attention. The centre of it. She's used to that kind of spotlight, though you don't think anyone shines as bright as her.

Yunjin takes a mouthful, opening to show the white on her tongue, and then her lips collide with Xinyu's. The cum is passed, tongue-to-tongue, a kiss shared. They share it with each other, a kiss that is truly sordid. You hear Kazuha's moan of excitement before you even realise what's happening: she joins in, making the kiss a trio. Three mouths passing your cum back and forth and the sound of their soft moans of delight.

It's hard to fathom that this is only the beginning. It's almost as difficult to comprehend just how far it's already gone, and the truth, as you see it, is that it doesn't need to make sense. Some nights are destined for excess. Nights like these. With a trio like this. You're not asking for any answers: all you're asking is that the four of you sink deeper, lose yourself to it.

The girls break the kiss, and Xinyu says, "You know, he has this walk-in shower. The big kind." You can hear the smirk in her tone like she knows just the kind of trouble she'll cause with her words.

"Yeah? I bet we could all fit in it," Kazuha hums, and there's that look of hers again, a little devious but mostly playful: a look of a girl who just wants to please everyone she comes into contact with. She can't seem to get enough, and she's just dying for a taste of more. Her hands slide along both women's waists, pulling them in a tighter embrace. Xinyu looks at you.

"You did always say—"

"I did."

"And, honestly, there's no better—"

"I know," you tell her, climbing to your feet and holding out a hand. "Come on."

[tooturtly]

Just so ppl know it does get better! I didn’t really have friends from ages 13-18, and even before then I always felt a little different (gay and neurodivergent). And yeah, it sucked. I thought I was doing everything right. I talked to people in class, I did extracurriculars, I was involved. But nobody was texting me unless it was about something school related. I wasn’t invited to anybody’s house. Twice the people I ate lunch with made homecoming plans but never invited me, I just showed up bc of how much they talked about it.

It finally took seeing the group of people I thought were my friends really overtly reject an openly neurodivergent guy from the friend group. Why? Because he talked too much, he was too sincere. It wasn’t any fault of his own. When I hung out with him in a smaller group, I had a blast. And I realized it wasn’t his fault or mine, but the people who I didn’t even like that much who were pushing me away. They were doing the same thing to both of us, and I should be pissed about it! (I still am, even know people change, it was still a shitty thing to do)

My senior year I finally put myself first and realized that having bad friends was worse than being alone. And I might as well be alone on my terms. I went to homecoming and prom by myself, I wore my own weird clothes and danced by myself just to have fun. I realized that going with those people had made me have less fun, because they hardly wanted to dance to the music if they didn’t know the song. I decided I was going to have fun and be my own person.

The only people I had who were friends were the older people at the game shop I went to. They were kind and patient with me when I didn’t know all the rules, and I’ve since lost touch with them but everyday I’m thankful that I had them in my life. Thank you for taking care of this weird teenager who was too loud and too pushy, and who you guided anyway! Thank you for humoring me!

And then I did find lasting friends. I graduated high school and found a group of amazing, nerdy, goofy people who I clicked with. We play D&D together, we eat together often, we share our stories, we talk and we laugh, we have inside jokes.

As I’ve gotten older I know I still have those moments. Even with my closest friends, I have doubts and anxieties about if they actually like me, if I’m a good and kind enough person to be able to sustain a friendship. Sometimes I think maybe I’m better off alone, because then any hurt I cause will only be me. I’ve never had friends before, I don’t know anything! Sometimes I think I’m too full of hurt to do anything but hurt. But I don’t trust those thoughts! My brain lies to me all the time! Those terrible twisted feelings never come from me, they come from a me that doesn’t know anything but pain and sorrow. I’m an entirely different person when the depression hits, and I’ve learned enough not to trust how I feel in those moments.

I know that I’m trying and my friends know it too. I’m not purposefully mean, I make amends when I make mistakes, which is all you can do because everyone makes mistakes. And I think about how much sadder my life would be without my support network. I would be miserable! Yeah I can do it alone, but I don’t want to! Doing it alone sucks! I love my friends! I don’t want to let them go, and they want me around. If my friends didn’t want me around, they’d tell me to pack it. Yet I’ve continued making friends, I find fun and weird people everywhere!

Fuck it, I’m gonna be me as much as I can! Life is terrible when you’re pretending to be someone else. And I’ve been lucky enough to find space irl where I can be me. If you can’t do that in person, go online, find community anywhere you can get it. I know I learned a lot from lurking online in high school.

My friends love me even though I have flaws, and I love them even though they have flaws. Including the anxiety and self doubt! Loving with flaws is human. Confidence is your armor against that self doubt. Even if it’s fake! Say fuck it and love your life, love yourself! The world is beautiful! Life is beautiful in those small moments laughing, in talking, in smiling.

Yes this is optimistic positivity! Because pessimism made me sad and being sad does not make you want to live! And I want to live. I made the choice once to live as much as I can. God’s tried to kill me twice and he has failed so far, so I will dance through life laughing.

I can still be depressed and I can still laugh! I can be lonely sometimes and still have friends! I can know that there’s always light at the end of the tunnel if I smile and greet the darkness as my friend.

On Isolation

[f1girliefics]

From Monaco, With Love

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: A solo vacation to Monaco turns into something unexpected when you meet Lando Norris at a bar.

The bar in Monaco was exactly what you needed, dimly lit, atmospheric, the kind of place where you could sit back with a drink and simply exist. 

A vacation for yourself, a way to celebrate how far you’ve come. 

No obligations, no expectations. Just you, the warm Mediterranean air, and the luxury surrounding you.

But then you saw him.

Lando Norris sat across the bar, effortlessly confident, dressed in a way that told you he knew exactly how good he looked. 

Sharp suit, slightly loosened tie, hair styled with just the right amount of carelessness. 

It was impossible not to notice him.

You weren’t here for this. 

You weren’t supposed to entertain any romantic ideas, but as he caught your gaze and started approaching you, you thought, why not? 

A little fun wouldn’t hurt.

“Drinking alone?” His voice was smooth, carrying something playful as he settled into the seat beside you.

“For now,” you replied, sipping your cocktail. “But something tells me that’s about to change.”

Lando grinned, a boyish charm to his smirk. “Smart and beautiful. I like that.”

That was the beginning of something you never expected.

---

The next few days felt like a dream.

Lando took you on long drives through winding roads overlooking the ocean, you felt the way he’d glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking. 

He showed you his yacht, laughing as you teased him about the sheer extravagance of it all, only to pull you onto the deck and wrap an arm around your waist as if you belonged there.

“You live like this all the time?” you asked, watching the sunset.

He shrugged. “It’s better with company.”

Shopping in Monaco was another adventure, Lando insisted on picking out things for you, draping luxurious fabrics over your shoulders, and holding up pairs of sunglasses to your face with a critical expression.

“You’re going to have to carry all of this,” you warned, laughing as he handed another bag to an already overwhelmed store assistant.

“I don’t mind,” he said, with a casual shrug. “If it means I get to see you wear all of it. And take it off of you later.”

Each moment with him was effortless, a beautiful distraction from the reality waiting for you back home. 

But reality couldn’t be ignored forever.

---

“It was fun,” you admitted as you stood by the docks on your final evening, the night breeze warm against your skin. “Spending the last few days with you.”

Lando’s brow furrowed slightly. “Last few days?”

You gave him a small smile, trying not to let your own emotions get the best of you. “I don’t live here, Lando. I was just… visiting.”

“You’re leaving?” his tone was a bit panicked. 

You nodded. “Tomorrow.”

He was quiet for a moment, jaw tightening slightly. “Where’s home?”

You hesitated, but eventually gave him the name of your city. 

He didn’t say anything else. He just nodded, giving you one last long look before pulling you into a kiss that felt like goodbye.

---

You didn’t expect to see him again.

You certainly didn’t expect him to show up at your doorstep days later, standing there with an enormous bouquet of flowers and that same determined look on his face.

“You can’t just show up here,” you breathed, completely taken aback. "How did you even find where I live?!"

“I can show up,” he countered. “And I found you my own way.”

“Lando-”

“I don’t care if we come from different worlds,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “I don’t care about any of that. I just know that I don’t want what we had in Monaco to be the end of us.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed, your heart pounding in your chest. “You’re really here.”

He smirked. “Took a flight and everything.”

You shook your head, letting out a small laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “But I know what I want. And I want you.”

You allowed him into your home, as he kissed you. 

There were still doubts, still questions, but in that moment, as you looked into his eyes, you realised none of them mattered.

Because he was here. And so were you.

And that was enough.

[specialgradefckr]

nerd!gojo is so cute! please give him a kiss on the cheek for me.

you stare at the note you found in your locker. it's written in glittery purple ink, which only adds to the insult.

gojo, "cute"??? give him a kiss on the cheek???

like an ill omen summoned by its name, a terrible presence looms over your shoulder, "watcha got there?"

"hate mail." you say dispassionately as you quickly shove gojo away.

when you face him, you see gojo's face change - smooth features and rounded eyes hardening into anger.

"hate mail?" gojo frowns, "in your locker? who would send that?!"

"you want a list?" comes geto's snarky voice. "she's kind of a bitch."

you shoot him a glare, but gojo speaks before you can.

"don't talk about her like that."

the room feels a little bit colder. since when did gojo sound so... mean?

"i'm just saying," geto says, shrugging, "you'd know better than anyone, she's always on your ass."

"yeah, my ass," gojo turns to you, a pout on his face, "you're not bullying other people, are you? i don't have any other bullies."

only satoru gojo could get into an argument this stupid.

"no," you drone, "your drain on my time and attention is uncontested."

rather than being ashamed of this, gojo looks absolutely tickled.

even when you punch him in the shoulder, his good mood is undampened.

"nerd," you grouse, stalking off to your next class, which gojo naturally follows.

it sucked being in the same classes as him, but at least it meant you could get his help. he really is a huge nerd. all those hours you put into it, and he seems to understand everything effortlessly.

the class feels like it takes hours. you pay diligent attention, take so many notes, and somehow, gojo comes out of it completely chipper.

you're left in peace for a few blessed minutes afterwards as he bolts out of the room for some reason or another.

is he finally starting to fear you as his bully? took him long enough -

"here!" pressed into your hands, your favorite snack from the campus vending machine.

gojo smiles at you, that big, boyish smile that makes him look extra stupid. "sorry i messed up last time."

you don't know what comes over you. maybe it's pure delirium brought on by hunger. or the joy from having something nice to eat.

maybe it's a new form of torture, humiliating him by making him endure a kiss from his bully.

it's just a kiss on the cheek. it's whatever.

he stands there, still, face completely red, blue eyes wide in shock. gojo looks even dumber than usual, which shouldn't even be possible.

you fan your face for a moment as you turn to leave.

"come on, you idiot. we've got a test to study for."

gojo whistles some unbelievably stupid tune, practically skipping the whole way to the library.

"i can't believe it! she kissed me on the cheek!!! a real kiss!" "uh-huh." "don't uh-huh me, suguru, it was REAL! anyways, it all makes sense now. she was just hangry. no wonder she shoved me into a locker. it's my fault for not taking better care of her..." "would you listen to me if i reminded you that you're not dating and this is all pure delusion?" "not dating yet." "so a no, then," suguru says, rolling his eyes as he returns to his work. satoru's already finished with the homework and scrolling through his text message history with you, no doubt spamming you again with memes or pictures or just remarks. but you haven't blocked him yet, have you? suguru smiles to himself, closing his notebook, tucking away a shimmering violet pen.

[inseobts]

Love is a Disease?!

luffy x fem!reader

luffy keeps dreaming about you and ask chopper to cure him...

words count: 2.7k

tags: fluffy, sfw, soft, humour

masterlist || ko-fi

Luffy jolts awake, staring at the wooden ceiling of the Sunny’s sleeping quarters. His heart is pounding, his face is warm, and his lips are still curled into a goofy grin.

It happened again.

Another dream about you.

This time, you were sitting beside him on the deck, your laughter ringing in his ears. You looked happy, so happy that he could feel it deep in his chest, like sunlight spreading through his whole body. And then, right before he woke up, you had leaned in just a little too close, your breath tickling his cheek.

Luffy groans, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face into his pillow “What the hell is this?” he mutters.

It’s been happening for days. No, weeks. Every single time he sleeps, you’re there. Sometimes you’re just talking with him, sometimes you’re laughing, sometimes you’re standing too close and making him feel… weird. A good kind of weird, but also a confusing one.

He sits up abruptly, gripping his hat “This ain’t normal” he decides.

Something must be wrong with him.

Luffy storms into Chopper’s office, his arms swinging wildly “Chopper! Fix me!”

The little reindeer jumps, nearly knocking over a stack of medical books “What?! What happened? Are you sick?!”

“I think so!” Luffy exclaims, flopping onto the examination table like a dying man.

Chopper gasps, immediately switching into doctor mode “Where does it hurt? Do you feel dizzy? Are you gonna die?!” He starts pressing his hooves against Luffy’s forehead, checking for a fever.

Luffy grumbles “It’s not like that… It’s weirder.”

Chopper frowns “What do you mean ‘weirder’?”

Luffy hesitates. He doesn’t really want to explain it, saying it out loud just makes it sound dumb.

Chopper crosses his tiny arms “Luffy, I can’t treat you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong!”

Luffy groans, throwing his arms over his face “Fine! It’s my dreams!”

Chopper blinks “Your dreams?”

“Yeah!” Luffy groans again, louder this time, like he’s in pain “Every time I sleep, I dream about Y/N!”

Chopper tilts his head “…And?”

Luffy lifts his arms just enough to peek at Chopper “What do you mean ‘and’?! That’s gotta be some kind of sickness, right?!”

Chopper strokes his chin, thinking hard “Hmmm… are they scary dreams?”

“No.”

“Are they nightmares?”

“No! They’re nice!”

Chopper blinks again “…Then what’s the problem?”

Luffy sits up, frustrated “The problem is that I keep dreaming about her! Every single time I close my eyes!” He grabs Chopper’s shoulders and shakes him “Chopper, what if I caught a disease that makes me think about her all the time?!”

Chopper wiggles out of Luffy’s grasp, landing on the floor with a small thud “I’ve never heard of that before…” He rushes over to his bookshelves and starts flipping through pages. Luffy watches him, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently.

After a few minutes, Chopper sighs, rubbing the back of his head. “There’s nothing here about dreaming about someone too much.”

Luffy groans, tired “Then what do I do?!”

Chopper scratches his head “Uhh… maybe you should avoid y/n for a while? Just in case...”

Luffy gasps “In case of what? What?! That’s not a cure!”

Chopper huffs “Well, I don’t know what else to do! But if seeing her all the time in your dreams is making you feel weird, maybe staying away will help! If you don't see her maybe you won't dream abour her...”

Luffy pouts “That sounds stupid.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Luffy doesn’t.

So he groans again, dramatically flopping back onto the table “Fine… I’ll try.”

That night, as he stares at the ceiling of his hammock, he tells himself that avoiding you will be easy.

Spoiler: It won’t be.

The next morning, Luffy’s grand plan begins.

Step one: Avoid y/n.

Simple, right? He just has to stay out of your way. No sitting next to you at meals, no talking to you, and definitely no falling asleep near you. Easy...

Or so he thinks.

“Luffy! Come help me carry these crates!” your voice calls from the deck.

His whole body freezes. You’re standing there, waving him over with a bright smile. Normally, he’d rush to help, no hesitation. But today? Today, he’s a man with a mission.

“Uh… I can’t!” he blurts out, spinning on his heel.

You blink “What? Why not?”

Luffy panics. He didn’t think this far ahead. He blurts out the first excuse that pops into his head.

“Because… um… I forgot how to carry things!”

Silence.

You stare at him, eyebrows raised “…You forgot... how to carry things?...”

“Yup!” He gives you a thumbs-up and then bolts in the opposite direction before you can question him further.

You watch him go, utterly confused “What the hell was that?”

Avoiding you turns out to be way harder than Luffy thought. You’re everywhere. Laughing with Nami, training with Zoro, helping Sanji in the kitchen. No matter where he goes, there’s a chance of running into you.

And Chopper, being the loyal doctor he is, decides to follow his advice too.

Which means he’s avoiding you too.

And both of them? They are horrible at it.

Every time you walk into a room, Luffy suddenly has “something important to do” and dashes off like his life depends on it. If you try to talk to Chopper, he lets out a nervous squeak and scurries away like a scared animal.

After a few days of this, you’ve had enough.

“Usopp” you huff, plopping down beside him “Something weird is going on with Luffy and Chopper.”

Usopp looks up from the gadget he’s working on “Weird how?”

“They keep avoiding me” You frown, crossing your arms “Luffy runs away every time I talk to him, and Chopper acts like I have the plague. Did I do something?”

Usopp snorts “Nah, if you did something, Luffy would just spill it. He’s a terrible liar.”

“That’s what makes it weird!” you groan “He totally avoids talking to me. He’s never acted like this before. Same goes for Chopper...”

Then you see Chopper, Luffy and Nami going out the kitchen and you norrow your eyes pointing them to Usopp "Look, they are there chatting normally. Now call them over here"

Usopp looks at you confused but interested, "HEY LUFFY, CHOPPER, I NEED YOU OVER HERE!! LOOK AT THIS" he yells showing them the thing he was working on until now.

The two look at him and their faces turn so excited to know about Usopp's new invention. This until they see you next to Usopp, then they both look scared...

"Oh sorry, I forgot I had something very important to do!!" Luffy says with a fake smile before running away.

Chopper looks at him and starts running behind him "LUFFY WAIT FOR ME!!"

In all this Nami shrugs in confusion and walks away.

Usopp turns back to you and taps his chin “Hmm… They’re hiding totally something, but what could it be?”

Your eyes narrow “We need to find out before I get crazy”

And just like that, a plan is born.

Later that day, Usopp corners Chopper in the infirmary.

“Oi, Chopper” he says casually, leaning against the wall. “What’s up with you and Luffy?”

Chopper nearly jumps out of his fur “W-What do you mean? Nothing’s up! Nothing at all!”

Usopp smirks. Terrible liar.

“Oh, really?” he presses “Because y/n thinks you guys are acting weird. And I agree.”

Chopper sweats “I-It’s not weird! We’re just… uh… busy!”

“Busy avoiding y/n?”

The poor reindeer lets out a strangled noise “N-No! We’re just—!”

He stops himself too late.

Usopp grins like a predator catching its prey “Ah-ha! So you are avoiding her.”

Chopper claps his hooves over his mouth “I-I didn’t say that!”

“But you did.” Usopp leans in “And now I gotta know why.”

Chopper squirms “I… I promised Luffy I wouldn’t say…”

“Ohh, so it’s Luffy’s problem?” Usopp’s grin gets wider “Now I really need to know.”

Chopper shakes his head rapidly “No! I-I can’t tell you! A doctor-patient relationship is built on trust!”

Usopp sighs dramatically “That’s too bad. Guess I’ll just tell y/n that you both hate her now.”

“WHAT?! No, we don’t hate her!” Chopper wails.

“Then why are you acting like she’s a ghost haunting the ship?”

Chopper hesitates. His little hooves tremble “I-It’s because… because…”

“…Because what?”

Chopper takes a deep breath. Then, in a panicked rush, he blurts—

“Luffy keeps dreaming about Y/N and thinks it’s a disease!”

Silence.

Usopp blinks “Wait. What?”

Chopper slaps his hooves over his mouth again.

“I SAID NOTHING!”

But it’s too late. Usopp already looks like he’s won the biggest jackpot in the world.

“Oh...” Usopp grins “Ohhhhhh, this is golden.”

Chopper gulps “P-Please don’t tell Luffy I told you—”

“Don’t worry,” Usopp says, slinging an arm around Chopper “I won’t tell him.”

Chopper sighs in relief.

“I’ll just fix the problem instead.”

And that’s way worse.

Usopp wastes no time.

He finds you on the deck, casually leaning against the railing, staring at the ocean with a frustrated pout. Clearly, you’re still confused about Luffy’s behavior.

“Y/N!” Usopp calls, throwing an arm around your shoulder like he’s about to tell you the best gossip of the century “Guess what?”

You raise an eyebrow “What?”

He smirks “Luffy’s been acting weird because of you.”

Your eyes widen “Because of me?”

“Yup.” Usopp leans in dramatically “Turns out, our beloved captain has been having dreams about you. Every time he sleeps.”

You blink “What kind of dreams?”

Usopp wiggles his eyebrows “You tell me.”

You roll your eyes “If this is another one of your dumb stories—”

“It’s not a story!” Usopp says, holding up his hands “Chopper accidentally spilled everything to me. Luffy came to him all panicked, thinking he had some weird ‘dream disease’ just because he keeps dreaming about you.”

You stare at him for a moment, processing. Then, realization hits.

“…Wait.” Your heart skips a beat “You mean—?”

“Yes bestie,” Usopp confirms, nodding smugly “Our dear, dumb captain is in love.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Luffy? In love with you?

You suddenly recall every weird interaction over the past few days. The way he’s been avoiding you, the way he stumbled over his words, the way he ran away from you yesterday. It all makes sense now.

You bite your lip, trying to contain the sudden warmth rushing to your face “So what do we do about it?”

Usopp grins mischievously “Oh, I have a plan already. Thank god I’m your best friend”

Later that evening, Luffy is minding his own business, stuffing his face at the dinner table, when Usopp slides into the seat beside him.

“Oi, Luffy,” he says casually, resting his chin on his hand “You free after dinner?”

Luffy, mouth full of food, nods “Mhm. Why?”

Usopp grins “No reason. Just wanna show you something.”

Luffy shrugs, too busy enjoying Sanji’s cooking to question it.

Big mistake.

Because the second he follows Usopp outside, he realizes something is off.

“Hey, where are we going?” Luffy asks, tilting his head.

“Just trust me,” Usopp says, leading him toward the front of the ship “It’s something cool.”

Luffy doesn’t think much of it—until he turns the corner and sees you standing there, arms crossed, waiting for him.

His entire body freezes.

Usopp immediately bolts in the opposite direction.

“W-Wait—!” Luffy starts to call after him, but the sniper is already gone.

The trap has been set.

And now, he’s alone with you.

Luffy swallows hard. He should run. He should stick to his original plan of avoiding you. But his legs refuse to move.

You step closer, eyeing him suspiciously “Luffy.”

He forces a grin “H-Hey, y/n!”

“Are you avoiding me?” you ask, cutting straight to the point.

His grin falters “W-What? No! Of course not! Why would I—?”

You raise an eyebrow “Usopp told me everything.”

Luffy panics.

“W-What? Pfft! No, he didn’t! He doesn’t even know anything!” Luffy waves his arms dramatically, laughing nervously “That Usopp, always making up stories! Haha! I don’t even dream! What even is a dream? I don’t—”

“Luffy.”

He shuts up instantly.

You sigh “You know you suck at lying, just tell me the truth.”

Luffy rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze “I, uh…”

You wait.

Luffy shifts uncomfortably. His heart is pounding, and he’s sweating bullets. Lying is so hard.

“…Okay, fine,” he finally mutters “I’ve been dreaming about you.”

You blink, surprised at his sudden honesty “…Every time you sleep?”

He nods.

You step closer “And it made you think something was wrong with you?”

Another nod.

You stare at him for a moment before breaking into a soft laugh. “Luffy… that’s not a disease.”

He pouts “It’s not?”

You shake your head, smiling “No, dumbass. It just means you like me.”

Luffy blinks “Like… like like?”

You roll your eyes “Yes, Luffy. Like like.”

For a moment, he just stands there, staring at you. Processing.

Then, realization hits him like a Sea King.

“…OHHH.”

You burst out laughing.

Luffy stares at you, completely dumbfounded “Wait, wait, wait—so I’m not sick?”

“Nope.”

“I’m just—” He points at himself “—in love”

You nod.

Luffy blinks. Then, suddenly, he grins.

“Huh. That’s kinda cool.”

You snort “That’s all you have to say?”

He tilts his head “Well, yeah. I mean… I like you. And you’re right here. So that’s good, right?”

Your cheeks warm “Yeah,” you admit softly “That’s good.”

Luffy beams. Then, without warning, he grabs your hand.

“Then let’s go tell the others!” he says cheerfully, already dragging you toward the dining area.

“Wait—what?”

“I gotta tell Chopper I’m not dying!”

You groan, but you can’t help smiling as Luffy excitedly pulls you along, already shouting for the crew.

Usopp, watching from a distance, smirks.

“Mission accomplished.”

Luffy bursts into the dining area with you in tow, grinning like he just found the biggest treasure in the world.

“Oi, everyone! Guess what? I’m not dying!”

The entire crew freezes.

Zoro, who was mid-sip of his sake, lowers his cup “Huh?”

Sanji looks up from the stove, cigarette dangling from his lips “I didn’t even know you thought you were dying.”

Robin chuckles, setting down her book “I assume this has something to do with y/n?”

Chopper, who had been sitting on the table, gasps in relief “You aren’t sick?! Oh, thank goodness! I was so worried—I thought maybe I misdiagnosed a new kind of illness!”

Luffy laughs, slapping a hand on Chopper’s hat “Nope! Turns out, I just like y/n!”

Silence.

Then—

“FINALLY!”

Usopp throws his hands in the air “I swear, if I had to watch you two dance around each other for another week, I was gonna lose my mind.”

Nami sighs, shaking her head “So that’s what all the weird behavior was about.” She smirks at you. “And? How do you feel about all this?”

You clear your throat, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. Your hand is still in Luffy’s, warm and firm, like he has no intention of letting go.

“I, um… I like him too, I've been obvious about it, he's the only one who was oblivous, am I wrong?” you admit.

The crew erupts.

Sanji dramatically clutches his chest “Nooooo! My sweet Y/N has been stolen by him?! Life is so cruel!”

Zoro snorts “Tch. Took you long enough, rubber idiot.”

Franky wipes a fake tear “Young love is so super!”

Brook laughs “Ah, my heart is about to explode by all this cuteness—oh wait, I don’t have a heart! Yohohoho!”

Luffy grins even wider, turning to Chopper “See? I told you it was something weird!”

Chopper crosses his tiny arms “You literally thought you had a disease.”

“Yeah! And now I don’t!” Luffy lifts your hand triumphantly “Now me and Y/N are together, so it’s all good!”

Your face heats up “I don’t remember agreeing to that part.”

Luffy tilts his head “Huh? But you like me, right?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Then we’re together!” he declares proudly, as if that’s how relationships work.

The crew laughs, and you groan, hiding your face in your free hand “I should’ve known dating Luffy would be exactly like this.”

Luffy just beams, completely unbothered “Dating sounds fun! Let’s do that!”

And honestly? Looking at his bright, happy face, you can’t even be mad.

[minicy]

[ID. A Reddit post on r/AITAH by u/WokeBeans.

"AITA for pretending to think beans in chili are "woke", to prank my Cousin who is obsessed with being "anti woke" and who loves chili?

My cousin is known for making chili. And he's good at it. He makes his own chili flakes from his "secret combination" of various dried chilies, it has a very nice kick. lt's like the perfect amount of spice, it's hot but not too hot. He also always adds kidney beans. Not canned beans either.

Anyways for the past 2 or 3 years my Cousin has become obsessed with all this bullshit about what is or isn't "woke" and how "woke" things are the end of the world. He's always been a good dude so I don't know what his bag is but he is completely obsessed. It's annoying.

So the other weekend I was at his place and he was making his famous chili. So I got the idea for a little prank. I was like "I'm surprised you still put beans in your chili." He was like "What? Why?" I was like "Beans in chili are so woke. Everyone is saying so. He was like "What do you mean?" And he was like genuinely concerned. As if this was something serious.I said something like "Yeah beans in chili are woke, the original conservative Texans who made chili only used meat and chili. San Francisco liberals started adding beans to chili in the 60's because so many hippies were vegetarian. Now all the woke scientists are saying beans are a better protein source than meat." He didn't say anything to that.

I kind of just assumed he'd know I was fucking with him and get the joke. We have always fucked around with each other and jokes about and all. But he was quiet all dinner.

Just yesterday I was back again at his place and he was making his chili again. There were no beans. It was a totally different chili. This guy has been making his chili with beans for like 15 years. I was like, whats up? "Where's the beans?"

He was like "I don't fuck with that woke shit." I was like "What?" He was like "Beans in chili are woke. Even you know that.'"

Everyone else was like what?  Because.... what? I was like dude I was just fucking with you. He got REALLY angry. He dumped his chili in the sink and told everyone to go home. I thought he was pranking me back or something but he was serious. The dude totally lost it.

He texted me later and said this exact thing: "I researched this online and it turns out u really were lying to me, beans r not woke. How could u do this?"

We went back and forth for a bit. His position is even though we have historically pranked each other I went "too far", that I "betrayed him", that I "made him question his chili", I tried to ask him if this at all made him think he cared too much about "woke", like what if beans in chili WAS woke, so what? He ignored that and demanded I apologize.

Did I take this too far?"

End ID.]

"I would never jeopardize the beans" pales in comparison to it's newest successor, "beans r not woke. How could u do this?"

[bewaryofpity]

can i request fluff #12 for luke hughes???

thank you for requesting ! 🩵

12. “If you asked me to marry you tomorrow, I’d say yes.“ “What about today?”

.

The weather wasn’t on your side on the one day Luke was finally resting. The rain drummed loudly outside, canceling all your long-awaited picnic plans, leaving you both to rot at home instead. Luke didn’t really complain, he still got to spend the day with you on the couch while the entire Harry Potter series played in the background. 

Your head rested on his chest as you nuzzled closer, your neck growing stiff from the previous position, his fingers tracing absentminded circles on your arm, other hand stroking your head. The scent of his cologne mixed with the faint vanilla from the candle burning on the coffee table, making the space feel even warmer and cozier. You sighed, shifting slightly to get more comfortable, blanket falling from your shoulders.

"You know," Luke murmured, voice thick and slightly raspy, tiredness starting to creep on him. "This might be even better than the picnic."

You scoffed. "You just like the fact that you didn’t have to move all day."

"Maybe," he admitted, grinning and planting a kiss on your head. "But I like that it’s just us."

The rain kept falling, the patter against the windows rhythmic, soothing, the sound blending nicely with whatever Harry was up to on the screen. You weren’t really paying attention anymore, lulled by the warmth of Luke’s body against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

This was nice, the domesticity of it all, how you could see this being a recurrent event. And before you could even stop it, your mouth moved on its own accord. "If you asked me to marry you tomorrow, I’d say yes."

The words hung between you for a moment, suspended in the space of quiet intimacy. You felt Luke’s breath hitch, his hand stilling against your skin.

Then, softly, almost hesitantly, he asked, "What about today?"

Your heart flipped. You lifted your head to meet his gaze, expecting to find amusement, some kind of teasing smirk. But there was none of that. Just Luke, looking at you like you were the best thing that had ever happened to him, his green eyes boring into yours.

"Luke —" You let out a breathless laugh, words caught in your throat, suddenly shy under the weight of his stare. "I, Wha —"

He sat up a little, shifting so you could sit in his lap and face each other properly. "I’m not actually proposing," he said. His hand found yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your ring finger. "But I don’t need tomorrow, or a big plan, or some grand gesture. I already know it’s going to be you. It’s always been you." 

Your chest tightened and you could feel the tears starting to form behind your eyes. He had been meaning to tell you how much you meant to him, how he couldn't wait for the day he officially gets to call you his. And it had only been three years, yet he was so certain you were the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

[paulyenvol6]

Fine Line

This is a smutty one shot with Joel Miller x reader and it's based on this request. Very angsty and lots of dom!Joel with daddy vibes and subby reader. I had so much fun writing this so thank you so much for the amazing request and feel free to send me whatever you want me to write. Enjoy <3

Contains: smut, oral (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, edging, orgasm denial, mentions of safe word, dubcon, daddy kink, dom and mean Joel, sub!reader, degrading, mentions of words like whore/bitch/slut, angst, anxiety, panic, fainting, having sex although the other person wants to stop, crying, aftercare, soft Joel in the end

Wordcount: ~6.41k

Masterlist

Joel was horny tonight.

You could see it in the way his lips were always slightly parted and his chest rose and fell more heavily than usual.

And he was simply more responsive to your arm that would brush against his side every now again or your hand against his chest. He had been like that the whole evening and now as you lay in his arms on the couch you couldn't help but think about the way you could take advantage of the situation.

When Joel was craving sex with you he was more willing to do you a favor just because he needed you so much that he didn't have the patience to think about what you were asking of him. And maybe, just maybe tonight could be one of those nights where you would be able to get exactly what you were yearning for.

It was clear to you that Joel was intiating sex when he wrapped an arm around your waist to press you to his center while covering your neck with sloppy kisses. He gently removed your hair to softly bite and mark your neck until you felt brave enough to come forward with your request.

"Joel?" you asked softly and he hummed against your skin. "Mhm?"

"I want you to be mean to me. Please."

It wasn't like the two of you were vanilla when it came to sex. You had tried a lot of different things that could be called kinky but Joel tended to be a little more careful with certain things than you were.

Your suspicion was that the reason for that was your age gap. You were in your early twenties after all and although he should really know how much you adored being with him and that you would never want to treat this life with him for a life with a younger man your age, you believed that he didn't love it because he didn't want to emphasize or increase the power imbalance between the two of you. Which you, quite frankly, hated.

Because he was so good at it that when you got your favourite freaky Joel you longed for him days after and begged him to be rough with you at any time of the day. Sometimes Joel played along to make you happy because that was what he was after at the end of the day but you always had a feeling that he felt bad after degrading you.

But now he chuckled and his hand became more firm on your stomach to hold you close to him.

"Ya want me to be mean? But you were such a good little kitten today, ain't that right?"

You gave him your biggest puppy eyes while turning in his lap so you could look at him.

"Please daddy. I want you to. I was good, yes, so please do me the favor."

Joel sighed and took your face in his hands. You loved when he did that, because his hands were so big that it felt like he was covering the whole side of your face.

"You want me to be mean to my favourite little pussy? That's gonna make me feel very bad, honey."

You were growing impatient now because you didn't know if Joel was simply teasing you or actually still considering treating you roughly tonight so you shifted in his lap rocking yourself against his crotch in order to get him hard.

"Ugh uh, babygirl," he growled at once and stopped you by placing his hands on your hips.

"If you want me to be hard on you, you're only gonna do what I tell you to do. That's your only task."

You had to surpress a proud smile because you finally had evoked the kind of Joel you needed right now. He was mocking you, treating you like you needed guidance with everything and would surely punish you if need be.

"I will. Please be hard on me, daddy, I need it."

He smirked and softly pulled at you bottom lip with his thumb.

"God…, will you look at that," he said with a husky voice and observed the way you lip snapped back.

"Such a silly girl. Beggin' me to treat you like shit when you usually ask for your sweet 'n nice daddy almost all the time."

He cupped your chin with his hand in order to observe you precisely and bit his lip at your sight.

"You want me to be mean? Then I'm gonna be really mean, baby. Gonna treat you like shit. S'this what ya want?"

Yes, that was what you wanted and you could already feel your pussy dripping at his words. Too stunned to speak you nodded determinedly but it wasn't enough for Joel.

"Words," he demanded and tapped against your bottom lip.

"I want it. Want you to be really mean."

He smirked and carefully, almost as if you were something fragile tilted your head in his hands. Then, within seconds he had grabbed your waist and moved the two of you over so you were on your back while he hovered over you. You let out a giggle which he instantly surpressed by pressing his lips on yours until you were left breathless.

"Joel," you murmured against his mouth and wrapped your arms around him.

You wanted to test him, provoke him to the point where he would snap and put you in your place. Perhaps he was aware of your strategy but he still played along.

"Hands to yourself," he whispered and pinned your wrists down over your head with one hand.

"Joel," you whispered again but now he seemed to have officially taken on his role because his eyes remained cold and indifferent.

"Do you have something to say? Otherwise you're gonna shut up unless I tell you to speak."

With a bubbly feeling in your belly you shook your head and waited for what he would do next. He watched you for a while like he was a predator taking in the view of his helpless victim in front of him and you almost started to feel so impatient that you wondered if you should ask him to go on when he finally moved his hands to your waist in order to tug at the fabric and pull it up.

He revealed your belly, thumb drawing circles over your skin and exposed your abdomen until the underside of your chest was bare under his gaze.

"Not wearin' a fuckin' bra? Jesus Christ…," he growled and you clenched your thighs at his husky voice.

"Please," you moaned already feeling so tense and full of accumulated pleasure that you needed him to finally touch you now.

"And she's already begging me like a pathetic bitch," Joel's sharp voice cut through the air leaving you big-eyed.

"I just know that if I didn't take such care of you you'd whore your way around the city spreadin' those pretty legs for every breathing creature. 'Cause you're a needy slut that can't ever get enough."

He squeezed your breast at his words which forced you to let out a gasp. For a moment you had to remind yourself that Joel didn't actually think that way about you but he was playing this role for you. He was just so good at it that you feared he would make you feel so little that you would start to believe his evil words.

Both his hands were now busy with kneading your breasts so roughly that the throbbing between your legs became more intense the longer he proceeded. You pressed your thighs together, a pathetic attempt to get rid of it but it didn't really work so you shifted your hips to search for his knee between your legs.

When Joel realized what you were doing he harshly opened your legs with his knee leaving you feel even more uncomfortable. His hand enclosed around your nipple which got him your attention and you submissively looked up to him.

"Stupid girl. Pissin' me off after begging me to be rough with you. You're gonna take all of it now, babygirl and I swear to god I'll ignore your crying or beggin' or complainin' 'n you can moan my name as often as you like, I'll keep going until I'm satisfied."

As much as you were looking forward to this promise you couldn't help but feel a little reluctant as well because you were familiar with his ways of torturing and teasing you and the prospect of spending the night pleading and begging him to finally give you what you wanted wasn't exactly comfortable. But you had asked for this after all. You loved it when he was mean to you and you knew it would be worth it.

A shiver rippled down your spine as you felt him twist your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger while he simultaneously kneaded your other breast. It was a fine line between pleasure and pain that he overstepped every now and which would then leave you breathless and with tears in your eyes when he pulled a little too hard on your nipple. Then you placed your hand on his but Joel merely snorted furiously and pushed you away.

"I said you're gonna take it. Without fuckin' annoyin' me. Stick those fingers into your mouth if you can't keep 'em to yourself."

You wavered, unsure whether this was a command or not but eventually you coiled your hands into fists and pressed them to your side while letting Joel use you the way he wanted. He really took his time tonight, exploring and stroking every inch of your body he could reach and when he finally removed his hands you expected him to unbuckle his belt but to your surprise he didn't. Instead he first pulled your shirt over your head so your upper body was finally completely bare and then his fingers came down to your jeans to open them.

"Joel," you whispered and licked away the sweat that had gathered above your top lip.

"Shut up and do as I say," he muttered fretfully while pulling the fabric down. "S'all I'm fuckin' asking of you, okay? Can you just obey me for once in your life?"

You nodded slowly your eyes brimming with a new wetness that hadn't been there before. No, no, no, you couldn't allow yourself to take his rough words to heart. This wasn't Joel, this was the kind of Joel you had wanted. You liked it and you wanted to get degraded by him because of the way it made you feel. You had been looking forward to this so much and you would stay focused. Joel didn't mean it and afterwards he would hold you and tell you how much he loved you. He was just playing. Acting.

You snapped back when he had taken your jeans off and watched your quaking hands with a mixture of arrogance and enjoyment.

"Open your mouth," he demanded while gripping your chin. Once you showed him your flat tongue he spitted into your mouth examining how his spit landed on your tongue and then tapped against your bottom lip.

"Swallow."

You did and opened your mouth for him again.

"Good girl." It was all he said but it made your heart flutter.

Then he made his way down your body, kissing and licking over your sore nipples and you recoiled every time his teeth sunk into your flesh.

"Please, Joel," you moaned at some point because you craved him so much that you felt like melting with him but he gave you an evil smile and lightly slapped the side of your ass.

"No. S'not about what you want. I'll take from you what I want and the more you beg me to do something the less likely it is that I'll do it."

Before you could even think about an answer you suddenly heard a ripping sound and then the cold air hit your bare pussy.

"Joel!" you complained staring at your torn underwear but he ignored you as he only had eyes for what waited between your legs for him. He didn't hesitate for a second now but just forcefully opened your thighs and then immediately slid a finger through your glistening folds. Then he collected some of your arousal and mockingly observed it.

"What's that, mhm? Was just playing with your tits a little and you're fuckin' soaked."

He chuckled darkly and brought his finger to your mouth. "Open. Clean it."

You had done similar things a hundres times before so you quickly confiled with the order and twirled your tongue around his digit as if it was his cock. Joel hummed with closed eyes and when you were done he pushed you down while crawling down again.

Every remaining amount of strength wilted when you saw the way he looked at your pussy and you were glad you got to lay on the couch. He then opened you up wider and moved your legs to rest on his shoulders. You couldn't allow yourself to feel the anticipation just yet because he was too mean to do this solely for your pleasure. You feared that he would change his mind in the last second so you anxiously watched his every move and almost choked on your breath when you felt his thumb brushing over your clit.

"S'right. Let it out I wanna hear it all," he hummed contently while rubbing you in small circles.

You couldn't believe he was actually doing this after having talked you down like this but your mind was too clouded anyway to question his actions.

His hands lingered at your core a little longer until he moved them up to your hips while lowering his head down to your pussy. He inhaled deeply taking in your scent and then connected his tongue with your clit which made you whine out almost painfully.

If there was one thing you could never get enough of in your life, it was him eating your pussy. It was simply… perfect. His beard grazing over your skin, his soft and warm tongue on your clit and the way he lapped up your wetness as if he was a man starving.

"Fuck, Joel, fuck…," you moaned your toes curling at the insane feelings he evoked in you.

His tongue drew patterns over your clit and you were almost sure that they were letters but you were too caught up in pleasure to concentrate on it.

And you were definitely too exhausted to work out why he was giving you so much pleasure after you had begged him to be mean. Because you definitely didn't mind and didn't want to do anything that could make him stop.

Joel now brushed over the underside of your clit with his pointed tongue and you shuddered beneath him your hands gripping his muscular arms. And when he inserted one of his thick fingers inside of you you couldn't help but grind against him. The moment he noticed he stopped licking you and raised his head.

"No," he spoke his face expressionless and buried his hand into the flesh of your ass. "One more time and I'll stop."

Joel dived between your thighs again while his left hand splayed across your stomach to apply light pressure that added to the pleasure you received from his mouth and his finger inside of you. Your fingers were buried in the cushions now too scared to touch him and perhaps anger him further but when he sucked your clit into his mouth a cry left your mouth and you pressed your nails into your own thighs in order to handle the intensity of his touch.

"Please. Fuck, Joel, it's so fucking good," you whimpered and wished he would answer you the way he usually did.

It was like he wasn't even present, he just ate your pussy like his life depended on it while ignoring you utterly. You couldn't even swear that he enjoyed it.

"Joel," you whispered again hoping that he might answer you but he didn't even look at you.

He just scissored you open while toying with your swollen clit but when you felt yourself getting closer to coming his eyes finally found your face again. He inspected you for a moment and then suddenly stopped. Your legs immediately searched for his body trying to trap him between them while your mind panicked.

"N-No, no, Joel, what are you doing. I was just about to come!"

"I know babygirl," he whispered running a hand over your sweaty hair while watching you almost lovingly.

"Please, I wanna come, I – "

"I know you do, sugar. But I don't care."

He rolled your nipple between his fingers again while you still tried to fight the confusion in your head. "Please, I –"

Your voice broke and your trembling hands gripped the fabric of his shirt.

"Save your breath, darlin'," he whispered against your ear before sliding a hand down between your legs.

With a clear plan in mind Joel started to rub your aching clit again only that this time he seemed even more determined. He went clockwise just the way you liked it and used your wetness as lubrication. You sniffed twice unsure of whether this was a good or a bad thing but soon you were so overtaken by enjoyment again that all you could perceive was his body and the hand on your pussy.

Your hand held his shirt while your face was buried in his neck and he let it happen. His heart was beating fast and you enjoyed the closeness so much that for a second you forgot about your frustration. That was until he denied your orgasm the second time tonight and this time you pushed him away in order to escape his touch.

"You asshole," you cried and tried to kick him with your feet.

Quickly he advanced towards you captured your wrists in his hand and yanked your head back by your hair.

"You were the one begging me like a fuckin' whore to be rough with you. You don't like what I'm doing? Mhm?" he mocked you while moving you to lay on your back again. You shook your head biting down on your shaking lip.

"Well I don't care 'cause you asked me to be mean. If you don't like it don't ask me next time. But now don't you fuckin' dare complain again."

You were still busy flashing your eyes at him which was why you let out a loud gasp when you felt the tip of his cock at your entrance and then he was suddenly inside of you. You hadn't noticed him unbuckling his belt and neither had you realized how he had pulled down his jeans and boxers.

You were dripping with arousal so you had no problems taking him and yet it had come so surprisingly that you tightly clenched around him which provoked a loud growl from him.

"Jesus…. So goddamn tight."

His left hand came down to cradle the side of your face while his right bent your leg back in order to reach deeper inside of you with each thrust. He hadn't given you a lot of time to adjust and just pounded your pussy mercilessly like there was no tomorrow.

"That's right," he mumbled his eyes on your face while you had problems keeping yours open.

"Atta girl. Nice 'n open for daddy…"

But when you buckled your hips in order to move accordingly to his thrusts his eyes darkened and he squeezed your throat as a punishment.

"I said none of that," he hissed emphasizing every word as if you were a little child that couldn't comprehend the simplest instructions.

"Stay fuckin' still or you're gonna get that l'il ass of you fucked. Would you like that? Huh?"

You shook your head and made a mental note to really do as he had told you now because you suddenly didn't feel like infuriating him any more.

Perhaps you had overestimated yourself a little or hadn't actually been ready to take all of him in this kind of state because all you suddenly craved was your loving Joel. The one who would press his face into your neck now to smell your hair. The one who would trace your collarbone with his finger or kiss your nipples. The one who would tell you how much he loved you and that he would never leave his babygirl.

"Joel," you moaned as if you were able to make him change his mind just by saying his name.

Of course he ignored you and unrestrainedly fucked your hole while panting loudly. Suddenly you were hyper-aware of so many things that you hadn't even noticed earlier. The way you were completely naked underneath him while he was still fully dressed except for his pulled-down jeans. It made you feel so vulnerable and pathetic suddenly that tears welled in your eyes.

And the way he pressed down on your tummy not only to make you stay in place but to show him how deep he reached inside of you. You felt used. Dirty. What you needed right now was to get some distance between him and you but there was no way Joel would let you off this easily.

"Joel," you cried looking up to him while tugging at his shirt but he had his eyes closed and his head thrown back.

In addition to your mental discomfort his cock thrusting in you had started to hurt as well which was due to the way you tightened around him. But while Joel thought the reason was that you were close, in truth your body rejected the intrusion and therefore he bruised your insides every time he hit your cervix while he felt like his cock was being torn off by your clenched walls.

"Mhmm, yes, sweet girl. Takin' me so fuckin' well. You're gonna make daddy come like this. Is that what you want?"

Once he had spoken these last words he suddenly pulled out which came so unexpectant that you widened your eyes and he then manhandled you on your stomach. Before you could understand what had happened Joel had adjusted you on your knees and pushed back inside of you taking you from behind.

You let out a cry that was muffled by the cushion your head rested against and as much as you hated to even just have this thought, you wished that he would finally stop. You couldn't uphold your facade any longer, your pussy burned, your head felt dizzy and you didn't want him to touch and treat you like this any longer.

Fuck your pride, you would ask him to stop even if it meant that he would never be rough with you again. Even if it meant that he would beat himself up afterwards thinking that he had hurt you. You would explain it to him. He hadn't done anything wrong, you just hadn't been strong enough to handle it tonight.

"J-Joel," you said a little louder your voice shaking so much that he raised his eyebrows.

"What," he hissed dangerously.

You whimpered every time his hips snapped forward pushing you deeper into the couch which made it difficult to speak but eventually you managed to press out what you wanted to say.

"P-Please, s-stop," you whined and at first you weren't certain if he had heard you. But then you felt a hand snatching your waist and he pulled up your weak body so your back was pressed to his chest. His big hand kneaded your breast while your nails scratched over his arm gesturing him that this was serious.

"I told you, babygirl. I said I wouldn't stop no matter how much you'll cry. And I won't. It hurts, doesn't it?"

A sob went past your lips and you could only nod.

"Mhmm too bad. It's supposed to hurt you, babygirl. 'Cause we ain't doin' this for you right now. We're doin' this for daddy 'n you're gonna give your body to daddy so he's gonna feel real good while you look pretty for him, mhm? How does that sound?"

He watched the side of your face while holding you tightly by wrapping his arms around your stomach and breasts, sensing how weak you were on your knees.

"I wanna hear your fuckin' voice," he breathed and spanked your left breast.

"Y-Yes," you cried, nothing but jelly in his arms and dropped your head to your chest.

"Good," he murmured through grinded teeth and kissed the back of your head. Before you were able to form another word of resistance in your head he had moved his hand to your throat to squeeze it lightly cutting off your air supply which turned out to be even worse for you physical state.

"Already fucked your brains out, huh?" he commented your mindless condition while gliding his hand between your legs to find your clit. You almost didn't notice it though, feeling numb and disconnected to your body, yet strangely being super aware of the way he hurt you with each thrust.

When you let out a croaked cry he perhaps realized that you really were in need of fresh air so he dropped you like he had suddenly changed his mind about you and you fell on your stomach again. At this point you were too powerless to even hold yourself up on your knees and luckily Joel allowed you to lay on your front.

Panic flooded your system again because you were sure you wouldn't be able to keep this up until he would come. You couldn't properly breathe and you really needed some water and a moment of peace to collect yourself. Your limbs were hurting, your tummy was aching and your mental discomfort only added to everything.

You loved Joel with all your heart and would never want anything about your relationship to change but right now he made you feel like you were being violated. Like you couldn't make him stop even if you wanted him to. Like you were his victim rather than his girlfriend.

There was only one thing left you could try. Your safe word.

You just had to bring the word out and make him hear you and then he would see the seriousness of the situation, hug you and comfort you.

You opened your mouth but no sound besides your whimpers left it and you squeezed your hands in fists forcing yourself to move your tongue.

"Rrr," you made and cursed yourself for not being able to form a word that was as easy to pronounce as 'red'. You clung to the couch as if it would clear your head and tried again.

"R-Red…," you said but weren't sure if it was actually comprehendable.

"J-Joel," you sobbed because why wouldn't he stop? You had said it, you had said the word you had hoped would never leave your mouth when Joel and you had thought of a safe word.

"R-Red," you whispered again as if it was a mantra but his pounding didn't stop. He fucked your pussy chasing his release with so much focus that he seemingly didn't hear your mumbling. You had to get the cushion out of the way in order to sound clearer but he pressed your face into the pillow and so your mobility was strongly limited.

You writhed under his grip so frustrated and devasteted now that you thought about giving up and just waiting until he had finished. And yet you repeated the safe word over and over again although you were not sure if you actually said it out loud every time or if it just happened in your head.

And then you passed out.

~~~~~~~~~~

Joel actually hadn't noticed any of your discomfort.

Of course he had noticed how submissive and weak you were and as much as he wished he could soothe you a little, he had promised you to be rough with you and that was what he intended to do now.

So no caressing your bare shoulder or taking your hand and instead fucking you at a punishing pace.

After he had dropped you down on your stomach again his hands dug into your hips keeping your in place for him while he bit his bottom lip at the sight of you. Your tousled hair and your pretty back that was so beautifully bent were mesmerizing and he couldn't help himself and took a handful of your hair to push your face into the cushion.

He heard you mumble something every now and then but he was truthfully too concentrated and distracted by your perfect cunt that hugged him so perfectly that he didn't pay any attention to it. He used your pussy for his enjoyment, felt how your walls fluttered around him, watched your sexy figure splayed out for him until he was eventually sent over the edge and came with a loud growl.

"Oh Jesus Christ," he moaned feeling his cum leaving his tip and filling you to the brim.

"That's a good girl," he whispered out of breath and pushed inside of you a few more times until he was sure his cum would stay inside of you.

He sighed loudly, pulled out of you and then slowly felt his mind getting to work again. He knelt down on the couch next to you and lowered himself to your head. With a lot more gentleness in his touch now he stroked your hair to the side to kiss the side of your face.

"Honey," he whispered and when he saw your closed eyes he frowned. "Baby?"

When he didn't get a reaction his blood started to pump and he saw red. New drops of sweat started to form on his forehead and his hands began to tremble. He was too full of panic now to have a straight thought and quickly pulled up your lifeless body and turned you on your back.

"Y/n, honey, come back to me," he stammered and held your face in his hands. 'What had he done??' Joel cursed to himself and ran his thumb over the area under your eyes. He stared at you, watched you with a cold numbness inside until he heard a moan.

"Y/n?" he asked his voice barely more than a breath and saw your lips move. Infinite happiness and luck washed over him that made him tear up as you blinked with your eyes a few times. Joel enclosed your hand with his and covered it with kisses while observing you with relief.

"How are you, baby?" he whispered and your pupils finally found his face.

"W-What happened?" you asked too weak to sit up straight.

"I-I think you fainted, honey. I-I… I'm so fuckin' sorry, baby, I…. I'm sorry, I was so stupid 'n I didn't notice that you were feelin' unwell, fuck, baby, I…"

He pressed your hand to his forehead and shook his head over and over again while you tried to remember what had happened.

"Are you thirsty? Hungry? Do you need anything?" Joel asked while watching you worriedly.

"Water," was all you managed to say with your weak voice and he immediately jumped to his feet to fetch you a glas of water. He assisted you and helped your shaky hands to bring the glas to your lip and then you emptied it with one sip. Then he put it on the couch table and caressed your cheek with his big thumb.

"Y/n," he rasped. "Please talk to me. I need to hear your voice."

You glanced at him still feeling shocked about the fact that you had actually fainted during sex but answered Joel.

"I can't remember everything. But I-I know that I was in pain."

His eyes had never looked sadder and a part of you instantly regretted telling him.

"I'm so sorry, babygirl. I can't believe that-that this happened."

His arms reached down to wrap around your shoulders and he pulled you into a careful hug almost as if he was scared he would break you. He gently pressed your head to his chest and you felt so wonderfully embraced by him that you closed your eyes getting fully lost in his strong arms and the warmth of his body. The hug filled you with fresh energy and when he helped you lay down again you felt strong enough to talk about more details of what had just happened.

"I think everything was too much. I know I said that I wanted you to be mean and I did, I really did earlier b-but… but I think it became too much and I felt so odd and-and used and I don't know, I… I didn't want it anymore and then my body reacted differently and it hurt."

He didn't answer you but you could see his eyes' reaction to every single one of your words. And you knew what was going on behind his forehead at the moment. He was beating himself up, punishing himself with his thoughts and telling himself that he was too bad of a human being to be with you. This time it was you who took his hand and you pulled it to your chest.

"I don't want you to be mad at yourself, Joel. Really. This isn't your fault and you have to believe me."

He swiftly freed his hand and furrowed his eyebrows.

"Don't you comfort me now, y/n. We're not gonna play this game."

Joel watched you for a moment like he was thinking and then searched the room.

"I'll bring you your clothes. You must be cold."

He didn't even wait for an answer and picked up your underwear, shirt and jeans and put every item on you with so much gentleness that tears gathered in the corner of your eyes again. When he was done he sat with his back against the backrest of the couch and pulled you in his lap his hand cradling the back of your head.

"I'm sorry, honey. I really am. I swear to god, I wish I could go back in time and just hit myself 'cause I was so fuckin' stupid not noticing how you were feeling 'n I'm really really sorry."

He spoke so quietly because these words were only meant for you and you unconsciously closed your eyes at the tenderness and intimacy of his voice.

"I know," you replied and held on to his broad shoulder, anything to feel more of him. "And I know you don't wanna hear it, but it's okay. I'm fine."

You felt him caressing your back and then he turned your a little so he could look at your face.

"Did you remember our safe word? You know that I'm always gonna stop when you say red."

He sounded so concerned that your heart already broke at what you had to tell him next but you wouldn't lie to him and so you watched him with eyes round as coins.

"I-I… I did. I said it but it was too quiet and you didn't hear."

His head dropped and you heard him inhale deeply.

"Fuck…," was all he whispered and you felt the urge to hold him firmly and tell him that you forgave him but it wasn't what he wanted right now and so you just enjoyed the closeness of his body while listening to his heavy panting. He needed a few minutes to collect himself but once he had he pressed yet another kiss to your brow.

"I'm sorry," he pressed clearly close to tears and you nodded. And you meant it. You weren't angry at him because it had been you who had asked him to treat you this way. And yes, he should've stopped once he had heard the safe word out of your mouth but he hadn't and so there was nothing you could blame him for. This whole mess had been painful and you definitely didn't want to go through something similar again but neither of you was responsible for it.

"I love you, Joel," you whispered hoping that it would perhaps calm him a little but he shook his head in disbelief.

"Don't say that, right now…"

"But I do. I love you so much and I'm not angry at you. You didn't hear me, how were you supposed to know that something was wrong?"

Joel shook his head again and chewed on his bottom lip.

"I should've paid attention to you more. And listen to you more closely, why do we have a safe word if I don't fucking listen to you?"

He threw his head back and bit his lower lip which looked so painful that you feared it would start to bleed soon.

"Joel. It happened and it's not ideal but I'm okay. Next time if something like this ever happens again you'll listen more carefully and then everything will be fine. We'll learn from it."

"I'll learn from it," he corrected and you rolled your eyes.

"Okay. But please don't beat yourself up now. As I said, I don't blame you and this was just a huge miscommunication."

He looked like he was thinking and put his thumb to his lower lip.

"Baby…," he breathed watching you with so much love in his eyes that you couldn't hide a little smile and Joel tightened his arms around you.

"I love you so much. It's just… You know I just hate to know that I hurt you. You deserve so much better, honey, I –" You quickly interrupted him by pressing your finger against his lips which made him stop  talking.

"Don't finish that sentence, Joel. How many times do you want me to say it? I want you. And I'm gonna want you for the rest of my life and this stupid thing doesn't change anything about this fact. Kiss me now."

He sighed and tilted his head but you needed him now and so you determindely grabbed the side of his face.

"Kiss me Joel. Please."

Of course he wouldn't make you beg for a kiss and so he leaned towards you and locked your lips. You smiled against his mouth your hands holding on to his shoulders and when he pulled back your cheeks were flushed.

"I love you."

He sighed and looked down.

"I love you, Joel," you repeated strictly and now a small chuckle left his mouth.

"I love you too, y/n. More than you can ever know."

You smiled brightly and rested with your back against his upper body.

"Then I guess everything will be fine."

[diamonddaze01]

Fake it Til You Make it

pairing: boo seungkwan x f!reader | wc: 18K genre: coworkers au, fake dating au, fluff, humor, suggestive, angst warnings: language, alcohol consumption, suggestive scenes a/n: for cam&em’s lonely hearts cafe collab (everyone go read every fic or i will Find You) // this is a continuation of morning rush enormous thank you to @ylangelegy and @haologram for beta-ing this <3333

summary: You could honestly throttle Seokmin right now. Of all the half-baked, caffeine-fueled ideas he’s ever had, convincing the entire office that you and Seungkwan—your sworn nemesis and parking spot thief—are madly in love might just take the cake.

Seokmin has a plan. A really, really, really good plan. He’s sure of it.

Mostly.

He leans against the breakroom counter, nursing the world’s saddest cup of instant coffee, and considers the potential fallout. Sure, you and Seungkwan will probably strangle him (or, in your case, make an entire PowerPoint on “Why Lee Seokmin Deserves to Be Laid Off”), but the rewards outweigh the risks. Seokmin glances toward the hallway, where the faint sound of Aera and Ayoung’s laughter echoes, their voices just a pitch too smug. No, this plan is flawless. Foolproof. Nobel Prize-worthy, even.

All he has to do now is sell it to the two people who loathe each other the most in the office.

He hadn’t meant to open his mouth, but God, Aera and Ayoung had to have been demons crafted by the devil himself, the kind that thrived on overpriced lattes and the scent of shattered self-esteem. Seokmin had just been passing through the hallway, minding his own business—okay, eavesdropping a little—when he caught wind of their conversation.

“Honestly, I don’t know why she even bothers coming to these galas,” Aera had said, inspecting her manicure like it held the secrets of the universe. “It’s not like anyone actually notices her. She’s basically furniture.”

“Right? What’s the point if you don’t have someone on your arm?” Ayoung had added, with a theatrical sigh. “But then again, who would even want to go with her? She’s so…. ugh.”

The “ugh” had been the final straw. Seokmin hadn’t thought twice—he’d stormed over, ready to unleash a tirade about how you were the hardest-working person in the office, how you’d single-handedly carried your team through last quarter’s hellish project, and how you absolutely deserved more respect.

Instead, what came out of his mouth was: “Y/N has a date. Obviously.”

The two women blinked at him in unison, their perfectly sculpted eyebrows raising in surprise. “Oh?” Aera recovers quickly, tilting her head. “And who’s the lucky date? You?”

Seokmin laughed, loud and unconvincing. “Me? No, no, I’m going with Soonyoung, like I always do.”

Ayoung narrowed her eyes. “Then who?”

And this is where Seokmin’s brain had short-circuited. He glanced around the room, as if the walls might offer some divine intervention. Nothing. Just the faint hum of the vending machine. His mind raced, searching for a name that would shut them up, and then—

“Seungkwan,” he blurted out.

Both women stared at him, stunned. “Seungkwan?” Aera repeated, incredulous.

“Yep! Seungkwan,” Seokmin had said, doubling down because he knew there was no turning back. “They’ve been together for ages. Super lowkey about it, though. You know how Seungkwan is.”

The silence was deafening.

“Seungkwan,” Ayoung echoed, her expression twisting into disbelief. “Boo Seungkwan. As in, ‘my parking spot is sacred ground’ Seungkwan?”

Seokmin’s grin tightened. “The very same.”

For a moment, the two women exchanged a look, processing this unexpected development. Then, to Seokmin’s immense relief, Aera shrugged. “Huh. I guess that makes sense. They’re both kind of…intense.”

“I mean, they fight like an old married couple,” Ayoung had added, smirking.

“Exactly!” Seokmin said, clinging to the lifeline they’ve unknowingly thrown him. “Soulmates, right?”

The rumor spread faster than an office email about free donuts, and by lunchtime, it seemed like everyone had an opinion about your supposed relationship with Boo Seungkwan. The first domino fell when Mingyu slid into the seat across from Seungkwan in the cafeteria, tray in hand and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. He casually tossed his napkin onto his lap, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Seungkwan pause mid-bite.

“So,” Mingyu began, spearing a piece of chicken with far too much casual flair, “you and Y/N, huh? Cute.”

Seungkwan, who had been halfway through chewing a mouthful of rice, immediately choked so violently he nearly toppled the entire tray. The force of his cough was so dramatic that Joshua, seated a few spots away, paused mid-bite and gave Seungkwan a couple of hard thumps on the back, muttering a half-hearted “Jesus, dude” under his breath. The rest of the table fell silent, watching the spectacle unfold with varying degrees of concern and mild amusement.

“Excuse me?” Seungkwan sputtered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and confusion.

“You know…” Mingyu leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially, the way someone would when revealing state secrets. “You. Y/N. The whole undercover thing.” He paused for effect, looking around as if making sure no one else was eavesdropping. “Honestly, I didn’t see it coming, but it makes sense. You two do bicker like an old couple. It’s kinda cute, actually.”

Seungkwan froze mid-chew, his chopsticks hovering in midair, as his brain scrambled to process Mingyu’s words. Undercover thing? Old couple? Y/N?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Seungkwan said flatly, his voice a mix of exasperation and genuine confusion, although a tiny bead of sweat had already begun to form at his temple. He glanced around, noticing the way a few of his coworkers at the nearby tables were suddenly pretending to be deeply invested in their food, but the side glances they were stealing were hard to miss.

Mingyu squinted, his expression becoming exaggeratedly serious. “Don’t play dumb, Seungkwan. Aera and Ayoung said you and Y/N have been secretly dating for ages. Ages. Like, seriously. You two are practically the office power couple.”

Seungkwan stared at Mingyu, not entirely sure whether he should laugh or start hyperventilating. His eyes flickered to Joshua, who was now giving him a sympathetic glance, and then back to Mingyu, whose grin had only grown wider with every passing second. The conversation around them had slowly started to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of Seungkwan’s rapidly beating heart in his ears.

For a brief moment, the only sound was the clatter of utensils against trays, and the faint sound of someone sneezing a few tables over, as though the entire room was collectively holding its breath. Then, with the force of a dam breaking, Seungkwan exclaimed, “WHAT?!”

The sound was so loud and high-pitched that the people around them flinched. Mingyu’s smirk only deepened.

“Yeah, you heard me,” he said, as if the news was the most normal thing in the world. “You and Y/N—together. Lowkey, sure, but people are noticing. Honestly, I'm impressed. You've got good chemistry. You bicker, you glare at each other like it's a sport, and boom—no one can resist you two.”

Seungkwan’s eyes widened even further, if that was possible. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out for a solid five seconds. “You... Mingyu, this is—this is insane. We’re not—”

“I mean, you guys do fight like an old married couple,” Mingyu added, completely unbothered. “Classic relationship stuff.”

Seungkwan let out a high-pitched groan, dropping his chopsticks onto his tray as he slumped back in his seat. Joshua patted him on the back with a sympathetic look. “Honestly, man, at this point, I think everyone’s already betting on how long you two last.”

Seungkwan turned a death glare on Mingyu. “Mingyu, I am not dating Y/N, okay? Not. I don’t even—”

“Sure you’re not,” Mingyu said with a wink, leaning back and taking a leisurely sip of his drink. “But hey, if you need help smoothing it over, let me know. I could use a good laugh.”

Meanwhile, you were in the middle of a relatively peaceful afternoon, lost in your work, when Soonyoung burst into your workspace like a caffeinated golden retriever on a sugar rush.

“Congrats!” he announced, voice loud enough to startle the intern two desks down, who nearly spilled her coffee in the process.

You blinked at him, genuinely perplexed. “For what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him, unsure whether this was a prank you weren’t in on yet.

“For the relationship of the century, duh!” Soonyoung said, plopping into the chair next to you like he owned the place. He threw his feet up onto the corner of your desk, barely missing the pile of reports you’d been working on. He propped his chin on his hands, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You and Seungkwan—genius. Absolutely genius. I mean, I was wondering when you two would finally make it official, but keeping it lowkey? Perfect. Who came up with it? Was it you? It had to be you.”

Your face contorted into a mix of confusion and horror, the words barely registering. “What are you talking about? What relationship?”

Soonyoung leaned in closer, like he was about to share some highly classified info, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper. “The PR stunt, obviously! Aera and Ayoung are eating it up. Honestly, you and Seungkwan should start charging them rent for all the space you’re taking up in their heads. They're obsessed. It’s amazing.” He gave a pleased little clap. “Love to see it.”

“PR stunt?” you echoed, voice climbing in pitch. “Seungkwan?”

“Don’t be shy!” Soonyoung winked, his eyes practically glittering with pride. “You’re playing it so cool. I gotta hand it to you, you two are perfect at the whole ‘undercover couple’ thing. No one saw it coming. Now, with all those entertainment rumors about you two, people are talking. It’s the kind of buzz I can only dream of.”

You slammed your laptop shut with a dramatic bang. The sound made Soonyoung jump. "I’m going to kill him."

Soonyoung, unfazed, simply leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You should. But first, enjoy the chaos, because it’s already spreading. I mean, even the office Slack is buzzing about your ‘relationship.’ I think it’s time for you to play the long game.”

Before you could respond, Soonyoung was already pulling out his phone and swiping through a group chat on his screen. You could feel your headache forming as he muttered something about “setting the record straight” and “beating Mingyu’s office poll on couple dynamics."

Seokmin was mid-sip of his third coffee of the day when the breakroom door slammed open with enough force to make him spill.

“What the—” Seokmin started, dabbing at the mess with a crumpled napkin, but he didn’t get to finish because you and Seungkwan stormed in, practically radiating wrath. It was like watching a SWAT team execute a mission—except the target was him and his questionable life choices.

“You!” Your voice cracked through the air like a whip as you jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction.

“YOU!” Seungkwan echoed, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. His finger joined yours in solidarity, a united front of pure fury.

Seokmin froze, cornered between the sink and the vending machine, his coffee mug clutched like a makeshift shield. “Me?” he squeaked, his eyes darting between your expressions, both etched with a mix of betrayal and irritation.

“Yes, you!” Seungkwan snapped, stepping closer with the air of a man who had reached the end of his rope. “Do you want to explain why Mingyu just asked me if me and Y/N are naming our future pets after luxury brands?!”

The words hung in the air for a beat, heavy with absurdity.

“Luxury brands?” you echoed, your tone disbelieving.

“That’s not the point!” Seungkwan said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He rounded back on Seokmin, who looked like a deer caught in a pair of particularly unforgiving headlights. “Explain. Now.”

Seokmin hesitated, his mind spinning like a faulty gear. He could feel a bead of sweat forming at his temple. “Okay,” he began carefully, stalling for time. “First of all, you’re welcome.”

The sheer audacity of the statement hit like a slap.

“You’re welcome?” you and Seungkwan chorused, voices dripping with incredulity.

“Yes!” Seokmin said, puffing up his chest slightly as though he were presenting a brilliant thesis. “You don’t understand how horrible Aera and Ayoung were being. They were saying awful things about you, Y/N! I had to defend your honor.”

“And your solution,” you said, your tone calm but with an edge sharp enough to slice through steel, “was to fake-date me with Seungkwan?”

“Yeah, Seokmin,” Seungkwan added, his hands flailing in emphasis. “I mean, if you wanted to fake-date Y/N, at least pick someone plausible. Like, I don’t know, Mingyu.”

“Hey!” you snapped, your glare whipping to Seungkwan.

“What?” Seungkwan asked, blinking in genuine confusion. “It was just an example.”

“Enough!” Seokmin groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air as though burdened by your collective lack of vision. “Look, it worked, didn’t it? Aera and Ayoung bought it! They even said you two bicker like an old married couple!”

“That’s not a compliment!” Seungkwan exclaimed, his voice rising an octave.

“And,” you interjected, stepping forward, your expression unnervingly calm but your tone laced with menace, “now the entire office thinks we’re in a relationship. So, how exactly does this ‘plan’ of yours end?”

Seokmin’s grin faltered slightly, his bravado cracking just enough to reveal a hint of unease. “Uh… with you two faking it for a bit longer? You know, until Aera and Ayoung find someone else to gossip about?”

Seungkwan let out a groan, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re fired from planning anything ever again,” you added, your voice dripping with finality.

Seokmin opened his mouth to respond, his face twisting into a defensive expression, but the door creaked open before he could speak.

All three of you turned to see Soonyoung poking his head inside, his phone clutched in one hand. “Hey, not to interrupt, but I just posted a poll in the office group chat: ‘Who’s the power couple—Seungkwan and Y/N or Soonyoung and his plants?’ You’re winning by 72 percent, by the way.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“You’re all insane,” Seungkwan muttered at last, snatching his coffee off the counter and storming out in a whirlwind of righteous indignation.

“Seokmin,” you said through gritted teeth, each syllable dripping with warning. “Fix this.”

Seokmin raised his mug in a mock toast, his grin resurfacing. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh, no,” you groaned, turning on your heel. “We’re doomed.”

Seokmin’s apartment is as much of a disaster as you’d expect for a man who owns a single fork and three mismatched plates. The couch is one ill-timed flop away from breaking, and the "decor" consists of a faded movie poster, a dying plant, and a string of half-working fairy lights. Yet, somehow, it’s become the Friday night spot.

You, Seokmin, and occasionally Soonyoung gather here weekly like clockwork, cobbling together meals from his barren fridge, drinking yourselves silly, and venting about work. It’s an unspoken tradition, one that began with a pity invite after a particularly hellish week and quickly solidified when you discovered that, despite his lack of utensils, Seokmin could cook better than half the office put together.

Tonight, however, you’ve barely cracked open a bottle of soju when Seokmin starts talking about your “relationship” with Seungkwan.

“I’m just saying,” he slurs, stirring a pot of ramen with a spatula (his one and only cooking tool), “if you and Seungkwan fake-dated, Aera and Ayoung would shut up. It’s genius!”

You groan, sprawled on the lumpy couch with a glass in hand. “Seokmin, I’d rather die.”

“Would you, though?” he says, squinting at you like he’s cracked the code to life. “Because imagine showing up to the gala with Seungkwan on your arm. They’d hate it. And you’d look hot.”

You swish the remaining soju in your glass, frowning. “I don’t need Seungkwan to look hot.”

“Exactly! Which makes it better. He’d be like your hot accessory. Like a really angry Gucci bag.”

You snort at the thought of Seungkwan as a designer handbag and open your mouth to argue when Seokmin’s expression turns suspiciously earnest. “Look, I’m your work husband. I’d never steer you wrong. Just trust me.”

Your brain, already fuzzed from alcohol and exhaustion, betrays you. “Fine,” you mutter, waving your hand. “Whatever. I’ll fake-date Seungkwan.”

“REALLY?!” Seokmin drops the spatula with a clatter and claps his hands. “Great! Let me tell Soonyoung it’s safe to come in!”

“What?” you snap, sitting up so fast the room tilts. “What do you mean, safe to come in?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin says casually, wiping his hands on his pants. “He’s been waiting outside with Seungkwan for the 45 minutes it took for me to convince you.”

“LEE SEOKMIN, I WILL FUCKING THROTTLE YOU!”

You launch your slipper at him, but he ducks. The projectile sails past him and hits a new target—a very startled Seungkwan, who has just walked through the door.

The slipper connects with his thigh with a muted thwack.

Shocked silence fills the room.

Seungkwan glares at the three of you like you’ve all personally wronged him. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I’m going home. All of you motherfuckers are insane.”

“Wait!” Soonyoung and Seokmin leap forward, grabbing Seungkwan by the arms and dragging him back inside. He protests the whole way, muttering about how he “knew this was a terrible idea” and “should’ve stayed home.”

Thus begins the chaos.

Seokmin slaps the paper onto the coffee table like he’s presenting a groundbreaking thesis. In messy, barely legible letters, he’s scrawled FAKE DATING CONTRACT across the top.

“We’re doing this right,” he announces, brandishing the sharpie like a microphone. “Discussion topic number one: PDA.”

“None,” you say, raising your soju bottle in a mock toast.

“No PDA?” Soonyoung protests from where he’s sprawled across the armrest of the couch. “How is that going to convince anyone you’re dating? You can’t just stare at each other awkwardly across the room!”

“I don’t stare at people awkwardly,” you snap.

“Yes, you do,” Seungkwan deadpans. “That’s, like, your whole thing.”

“Excuse me?” you shoot back, glaring.

“Alright, alright!” Seokmin waves the sharpie between you like a referee breaking up a fight. “Compromise: hand-holding is allowed.” He starts writing it down, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth.

“And cheek kisses,” Soonyoung adds brightly.

“No way!” Seungkwan bursts out, looking betrayed.

“It’s just a cheek!” Soonyoung protests. “You don’t even have to look at her.”

“Wow,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Thanks for the enthusiasm, darling.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Seungkwan snaps, arms crossing. “Did you want me to lie and say I’m thrilled to be fake-dating the office menace?”

You grab a couch cushion and smack him over the head with it. “I wouldn’t have to be a menace if you weren’t so insufferable!”

“Guys!” Seokmin groans, pointing the sharpie at both of you like it’s a weapon. “Focus. Cheek kisses are in.” He scribbles it down while Seungkwan mutters something about treason.

“And you,” you add, pointing at Seungkwan, “are bringing me coffee every morning for six weeks from that café across town.”

“Like hell I am!” Seungkwan glares. “You know how far that is?”

“Yes, which is why you’re doing it,” you snap. “Call it emotional compensation.”

“You’re not getting coffee and the parking spot!” Seungkwan shouts, sitting up straight.

“The parking spot was mine first!”

“Your car doesn’t even fit in it properly!”

“Then I’ll make it fit!”

Seokmin scribbles something on the paper and holds it up with an exasperated flourish. “Okay, joint custody of the parking spot. You’ll alternate weeks.”

“That’s stupid,” you mutter.

“So are you!” Seungkwan fires back, and you lunge for another cushion.

“Guys!” Soonyoung yells, snatching the cushion out of your hands. “Rule number three: no throwing things at each other while in public.”

“I’m not signing that,” you say immediately.

“Neither am I,” Seungkwan agrees.

“Fine,” Seokmin grumbles, crossing it out. “Next rule: no kissing on the lips.”

“That should’ve been rule number one,” Seungkwan mutters, and you chuck a slipper at him for good measure.

“Rule number five: you have to act nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung,” Seokmin adds, barely pausing as Seungkwan yelps.

“Oh, great,” you say sarcastically. “So now I have to fake-date him and fake-like him?”

“Yeah, real tough,” Seungkwan scoffs. “Try fake-liking you for five minutes.”

“Okay, rule six: no insults while in public,” Seokmin says, scribbling furiously.

“Define ‘insult,’” you say.

“You just called me a moron five minutes ago!” Seungkwan protests.

“That’s not an insult,” you argue. “It’s an observation.”

“Oh my God,” Seokmin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’ll both bring snacks to the gala,” Soonyoung interjects, leaning over Seokmin’s shoulder. “That way, when you start arguing in public, at least you can shove food into each other’s mouths.”

“That is not going on the list,” Seungkwan says, shooting him a glare.

“It’s already on there,” Seokmin chirps.

The arguing goes on and on, fueled by soju and petty grievances, until the paper is crammed with hastily written rules, half of which contradict each other. Seokmin holds up the finished product triumphantly.

FAKE DATING CONTRACT(written and notarized by Lee Seokmin, Esq. of Bad Ideas LLC)

No PDA.

Exception: hand-holding is allowed.

Exception to the exception: no clammy hands.

Cheek kisses are mandatory for believability.

Mandatory?! – Seungkwan

Yes. – Soonyoung

No lip kissing, EVER.

We’re not that committed to this.

Joint custody of the parking spot.

Weeks will alternate.

If one party is late to the spot, they forfeit their turn.

Coffee Clause:

Seungkwan will deliver coffee every morning for six weeks.

It must come from the café across town.

Why do I have to do this? – Seungkwan

Because you’re annoying. – Y/N

No throwing objects at each other in public.

Or private! – Seungkwan

Not negotiable. – Y/N

Insult ban in public spaces.

“Moron” is not an insult, it’s an observation.

This feels targeted. – Seungkwan

Be nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung.

Smile. A lot. Pretend you’re not arguing.

How am I supposed to do that?! – Y/N

Snacks must be brought to the gala.

If bickering begins, snacks will be used to shut each other up.

This rule is offensive. – Seungkwan

Duration of fake dating: until Aera and Ayoung lose interest or find another victim.

No extensions allowed.

All parties must try to look reasonably attractive during public appearances.

Define ‘reasonably.’– Seungkwan

Just don’t embarrass me. – Y/N

Any disputes regarding this contract will be arbitrated by Soonyoung and Seokmin.

Oh, we’re gonna regret this. 

Practice sessions required before the first public appearance.

“Practice” may include hand-holding, smiling, and general fake-couple behavior.

Can we practice not doing this? – Seungkwan

Signed, Y/N & Boo Seungkwan Witnessed by: Lee Seokmin & Kwon Soonyoung

“Done!” he declares. “Time to sign.”

You glance at the chaotic list and groan. “I hate this.”

“Sign it anyway,” Seokmin says, shoving the sharpie into your hand.

You scrawl your name at the bottom with all the enthusiasm of someone signing away their soul. Seungkwan follows suit, muttering curses under his breath.

“Great!” Seokmin beams, snatching the paper and sharpie. “Now, time to practice!”

“Seokmin, it’s 3 AM!” you whine. “Let me go home!”

“NO!” Soonyoung and Seokmin yell in unison.

Practice begins in earnest with Seokmin standing in front of you and Seungkwan like a drill sergeant, clipboard in hand. Soonyoung is sprawled across the couch with a blanket, looking far too comfortable for someone instigating chaos.

“Alright,” Seokmin says, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “First order of business: compliments.”

“Compliments?” you echo, your tone flat. “We’re fake-dating, not auditioning for a rom-com.”

“Yes, compliments,” Seokmin says, with the exaggerated patience of a kindergarten teacher. “If you can’t fake a little affection, no one’s going to buy this. Start with something small. Seungkwan, you go first.”

“Fine,” Seungkwan sighs, turning to you. “Your… outfit is fine.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Don’t hold back.”

“Fine! You looked pretty that one day you wore a dress to work,” he says, crossing his arms defensively.

Your stomach flips unexpectedly, and you hate that it does. That wasn’t what you’d expected him to say. The memory surfaces unbidden: you, rushing into the office late for a meeting, fumbling with your presentation slides. You barely noticed Seungkwan staring, too preoccupied with apologizing to the executives that were staring at your whirlwind entrance.

Now, you remember the day too well, and you shove the memories down immediately. “That’s it? One day out of, like, a thousand?” you say, masking your unease with a smirk.

“Take it or leave it,” he snaps.

“Your turn,” Seokmin says, gesturing at you.

You glance at Seungkwan, already regretting what you’re about to say. “You… make people laugh.”

“That’s the best you can do?” Seungkwan scoffs, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes.

“Okay, fine,” you grumble. “You’re good at your job. People like you. You’re… charming, I guess.”

The room goes silent for a beat, and you feel heat creeping up your neck.

“Well,” Seungkwan says after a pause, his voice quieter. “Thanks.”

“Okay, compliments, check,” Seokmin interjects, scribbling something illegible onto the contract for no discernible reason. “Next, hand-holding!”

“Seriously?” you groan.

“Yes!” Soonyoung shouts from his sprawl on the couch. “You’re going to have to do it in public! Get over it!”

Reluctantly, you hold out your hand. Seungkwan looks at it like you’ve just offered him a live grenade.

“Stop stalling,” Seokmin says, smirking.

Seungkwan grabs your hand, and the moment your palms meet, you recoil. “Why is your hand so clammy?” you demand, grimacing.

“Because I’m stressed, you monster!” Seungkwan shoots back. “Stop squeezing so hard!”

“I’m not squeezing—your hand’s just weird!”

“My hand is weird?” Seungkwan huffs. “Yours is dryer than the Sahara!”

“You’re both weird!” Soonyoung yells, throwing a couch pillow at your heads. “Try again, and this time, don’t look like you’re holding hands with a corpse!”

The both of you roll your eyes but try again. This time, it’s… slightly better. Seungkwan’s hand is still clammy, but at least he’s not actively complaining. 

By the time Soonyoung pipes up again, the sun is starting to rise, casting pale light through the blinds.

“Alright, final test,” he says, stifling a yawn. “You’ve gotta kiss her cheek.”

“What?!” you and Seungkwan exclaim in unison.

“You’re going to have to do it in public anyway!” Soonyoung argues, gesturing grandly from the couch. “This is practice!”

“I am not kissing—”

“Just do it,” Seokmin says, cutting Seungkwan off with a weary wave of his hand. “The sooner you do, the sooner we can all sleep.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Seungkwan leans over. His hand finds your shoulder for balance, and then—soft and fleeting—his lips brush your cheek.

It’s over in a heartbeat, but your stomach flips like you’re falling from the top of a roller coaster. You can still feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint pressure of his lips, and it sends a shockwave of emotions crashing through you—confusion, nervousness, and something suspiciously like longing.

Seokmin looks at you knowingly, and your heart stutters in your chest.

“I have to go,” you mutter, grabbing your jacket in a rush. You can’t stay here—not with Seokmin’s knowing smirk, not with Seungkwan’s kiss replaying on a loop in your head. “See you Monday.”

Before anyone can stop you, you’re out the door, the crisp morning air biting at your cheeks as you flee Seokmin’s apartment like it’s on fire.

The parking lot is unusually quiet as you pull in, a sharp contrast to the whirlwind weekend you’re still trying to process. You hadn’t slept much since fleeing Seokmin’s apartment, your thoughts tangled in half-drunken banter, hastily scribbled contracts, and—worst of all—the lingering warmth of Seungkwan’s lips on your cheek.

A glint of sunlight off a familiar car catches your eye, parked a few rows back. Seungkwan’s here early. Of course he is. You can already feel your mood souring, bracing yourself for whatever fresh nonsense he’s decided to stir up this week.

Sliding into The Spot, you glance around, expecting the usual hustle and bustle of the office, but your focus sharpens the moment you spot them—Aera and Ayoung, lingering suspiciously close to your desk. You feel the groan build in your throat. It’s too early for this.

“Look who’s finally here,” Aera says the moment she spots you, her voice carrying easily over the din.

You keep walking, shoulders stiffening as Ayoung chimes in. “Big weekend, huh? Let me guess, late-night dinner dates with you know who?”

“Or maybe a romantic getaway?” Aera adds, giggling. “He seems like the type to splurge, doesn’t he?”

You don’t take the bait, just set your bag down at your desk, pointedly ignoring them.

But they don’t stop. Ayoung leans against the edge of your cubicle, her grin sharp. “Seriously, though. How does it feel? Dating the Boo Seungkwan.”

You glance up at her, exasperation seeping into your voice. “What is your problem?”

“No problem,” she says innocently, her expression anything but. “We’re just... curious. I mean, it’s not every day someone like him ends up with... well, you.”

There it is. The thinly veiled insult. Your fingers tighten around your bag strap, heat rising to your cheeks. Before you can snap back, Aera gasps, her attention snagging on your desk.

“Oh my god. Is that a coffee?” Her tone is mockingly saccharine as she picks up the cup, waving it in front of you. “And a note. ‘As requested - xo Seungkwan.’ How adorable.”

Ayoung practically cackles. “He even knows your order. Wow, this is... honestly shocking.” She isn’t wrong - it’s your exact order, right down to the weirdly specific oat milk ratio you insist on.

“Shocking?” you repeat, glaring.

Aera shrugs, clearly reveling in your discomfort. “I mean, come on. You’re you. He’s... him. It’s a little hard to picture, don’t you think?”

You open your mouth to retort, but a new voice cuts in before you can.

“Do you two ever get tired of this?”

You don’t even need to look to know who it is. You turn just in time to see Seungkwan stride over, exuding confidence like he’s been rehearsing this moment. He doesn’t even look at Aera and Ayoung; his focus is entirely on you as he slides an arm around your waist.

The casual weight of it is jarring, grounding—and completely unnecessary. Your heart stutters in response, though you’d die before admitting it.

“Is there a problem here?” Seungkwan asks, his tone all business, though you catch the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Aera’s confidence wavers for the first time, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. Ayoung, to her credit, looks equally flustered.

“No problem,” Aera says finally, her voice quieter now.

“Good,” Seungkwan replies smoothly. He glances down at you, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Enjoy your coffee, babe.”

With that, the two of them retreat, mumbling half-hearted excuses as they shuffle back to their desks.

As soon as they’re gone, Seungkwan drops his arm like it burned him, and the absence of his touch is... startling. Disorienting. You hate how much you notice it.

“What the hell was that?” you hiss, rounding on him.

He doesn’t even look fazed. If anything, he looks amused. “You’re welcome.”

“Welcome? For what? Making things worse?”

He nods toward your desk. “They’re gone, aren’t they?”

You narrow your eyes at him, your frustration mounting. “Why did you even—what is this?” You gesture vaguely to the coffee, the note, the whole absurd situation.

“A contract is a contract,” he says simply, already turning to walk away.

“Wait.” You grab the coffee, pointing it at him like a weapon. “How did you even know my order?”

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder with that infuriating smirk that makes you want to throw the cup at him.

“I have my ways.”

“Seungkwan!” you call after him, but he’s already walking off, the faint echo of his laughter trailing behind him.

You slump into your chair, glaring at the coffee like it’s somehow responsible for all of this. Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out, immediately opening the group chat with Seokmin and Soonyoung.

Y/N: which one of you mfs told seungkwan my coffee order [NOT] tiger: 👀 [NOT] tiger: not it seok: pinky swear not me seok: hm seok: didn’t think he’d actually get you coffee Y/N: how the hell does he know? [NOT] tiger: maybe he just [NOT] tiger: knows[NOT] tiger: soulmate fr Y/N: blocking you. seok: wait seok: did he get it right? Y/N: YES Y/N: that’s the problem!!! seok: hmm [NOT] tiger: HMMMMM

You toss your phone onto your desk, groaning into your hands. Mondays were supposed to be bad, but this? This was a new level of torment. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t stop replaying the warmth of Seungkwan’s hand on your waist—and the way, just for a moment, it didn’t feel so bad.

Tuesday morning. You arrive at your desk to the familiar sight of a coffee waiting for you, the cup steaming invitingly as though it’s supposed to make you feel better about the day ahead. As you drop your bag onto the desk and take in the sight of it, your stomach tightens—because this time, Seungkwan’s waiting for you. Standing there like a kid in a candy store, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as if he knows exactly how to mess with your head.

But today is not the day.

Not after this morning.

You don’t know if it's the car breaking down in the middle of a torrential downpour, or if it’s the fact that your landlord decided today was the day to demand rent five days early and threaten eviction over the tiniest of issues—either way, you’re running on fumes and patience.

When Seungkwan opens his mouth to speak, you don’t even look up. You take a long, slow breath and mutter, “Not today.”

You don’t hear him move at first, and for a moment, you almost think he’s going to leave it. That maybe, just maybe, he’s finally catching on that not every moment is for him. But then, his voice—sharp, defensive—cuts through the air.

“What’s your problem today? I get it, you’re having a bad morning. But I’m trying to be nice here.”

You can’t help it; the words spill out before you can stop them. “I don’t need your pity coffee, Seungkwan. I don’t need your help.”

His eyes flash, the usual teasing glint replaced with something more serious. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You don’t answer, just fold your arms over your chest, staring hard at the computer screen, trying to block him out. “Just…go away, Seungkwan.”

His eyes widen, and something flickers behind them—hurt, maybe? But before he can say anything else, you hear the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat. You look up, realizing you’ve attracted a small crowd.

Aera and Ayoung are standing a few desks away, watching you two with wide, curious eyes. They’ve been lurking long enough to catch the exchange, and you can practically feel their glee radiating off them.

“Everything okay, [Y/N]?” Aera asks, barely hiding her amusement.

Your stomach sinks. You know exactly what they’re thinking: public fight, public gossip. You know you’re not supposed to care, but you do. You absolutely do.

Seungkwan must’ve seen it, too, because in a flash, he’s grabbed your hand—your hand, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and yanks you toward the breakroom. You stumble slightly in the direction he pulls you, not expecting the sudden contact. Your heart races, and for a split second, you wonder if this was what it felt like before. That warm feeling flooding your chest, the butterflies in your stomach.

But then the door to the breakroom slams shut, cutting off the noise of the office, and Seungkwan lets go of your hand.

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter, eyes narrowed. “Spill. What’s going on?”

You can’t hold it in anymore. The tension cracks, and before you know it, the tears are spilling out.

“I’m just so tired of everything,” you choke out, the words tangled in the rush of emotions. “My car is broken down, my landlord’s being a total jerk, and everything’s just—ugh. It’s just too much.”

You blink, feeling embarrassed, but Seungkwan doesn’t make fun of you. Instead, his gaze softens for a moment, just enough that you almost don’t believe it. Almost.

“Good,” he says suddenly, and your heart stutters. “You broke the contract.”

You lift your head, confusion wrinkling your brow. “What?”

“The contract.” He says it as though it’s obvious. “You snapped at me in front of Aera and Ayoung. That’s my parking spot for the rest of the week.”

You stare at him, blinking in disbelief. And then, before you can stop it, a laugh escapes from your lips—soft, genuine, and so not what you expected.

“Seriously?” you ask, trying to wipe away the tears that suddenly make you feel so small.

His face softens, just for a moment, before that look fades as quickly as it came. But for a brief second, you could’ve sworn he looked... endearing?

“Don’t laugh,” he mutters, crossing his arms again, leaning back against the counter. “I have principles.”

You can’t help but smile at that, and for the first time today, you feel lighter. You can’t quite place the warm sensation in your chest, but it’s there, flickering like the embers of something you don’t want to acknowledge.

“Hey,” he says with a half-grin, “a contract’s a contract.”

And then, without another word, he turns and walks out, leaving you standing there in the breakroom, a little lighter than before.

When you return to your desk, you’re not sure what you expected. Maybe you thought Aera and Ayoung would leave you alone, but no. Of course not. They’re standing by your cubicle, eyes glued to you, ready to pounce.

“Oh, look who’s back,” Aera says, feigning sweetness. “Everything okay? You two seemed like you were having quite a heated conversation.”

Ayoung raises an eyebrow, almost mockingly. “Yeah, what was that? We didn’t expect Seungkwan to be so... protective.”

You stiffen, but before you can say anything, Seungkwan strolls in casually, all too aware of their prying eyes. He throws a casual arm around your shoulder and leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks in a teasing tone.

“A lover’s spat,” he says smoothly, looking at Aera and Ayoung with a shit-eating grin. “Nothing to see here.”

You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden closeness of his body. You don’t move, don’t push him off, and you hate how right it feels, even if it’s just for show.

They seem to buy it, nodding and turning away, though you know the gossip mill will be churning with this new twist.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur, and when the lunch hour arrives, Seungkwan casually approaches your table, offering in his usual nonchalant manner, “I’ll drive you home today.”

The casualness of it almost makes you choke on your lunch. Seokmin, who had just taken a sip of his drink, immediately spits it out in Soonyoung’s face. You can’t help but laugh, but when Seungkwan shoots you a look, you quickly compose yourself.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, voice calm but firm. “Seokmin already agreed to jump my car and drive me home.”

Seungkwan shrugs, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. “Whatever you say, babe.”

Later that evening, as you’re in the car with Seokmin, he turns to you, his gaze intense. “What’s going on with you and Seungkwan?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

You deflect, shrugging it off with a nonchalant tone. “Nothing. We’re just...” You trail off, unsure of how to explain it.

Seokmin doesn’t let up, his gaze never leaving you the entire drive home.

When you get home, you’re still thinking about Seungkwan—about his hand in yours, the warmth that flickered in his eyes when you laughed.

Later that night, you get a text from Seungkwan. You roll your eyes as you unlock your phone.

Later that night, you get a text from Seungkwan. You roll your eyes as you unlock your phone.

Seungkwan (WORK): what color dress are you wearing to the gala?

Y/N: why

Seungkwan (WORK): because it’s in two days idiot Y/N: ok and Seungkwan (WORK): what kind of boyfriend doesn’t match ties to his girlfriend’s dress

You pause for a moment, then text back,

Y/N: midnight blue

There’s a long pause before he replies.

Seungkwan (WORK): we’re gonna aera and ayoung the fuck up Seungkwan (WORK): you’re welcome.

You snort, rolling your eyes, but something in the back of your mind feels a little lighter. You look at the screen again, trying to push away the warmth that’s creeping into your cheeks.

You try to shake off the weird fluttering in your chest, but it’s hard when you can’t stop thinking about the way he smiled at you in the breakroom.

Then, after reading the text one last time, you throw your phone aside and scream into your pillow for a solid 30 seconds.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” The pillow muffles the sounds of your frustration, embarrassment, and maybe something else all rolling together.

It’s Wednesday, and you’re feeling... strange. So, as a silent apology of sorts, you leave Seungkwan's parking spot open for him, not even pretending it’s not a deliberate move. And to make it worse (or better, depending on how you look at it), you stop by his favorite restaurant—thanks to a very begrudging Mingyu who’d been the one to tell you at 6 AM—and leave a packaged meal on his desk with a simple note: "i’m sorry."

By the time Seungkwan walks in, there’s a triumphant grin on his face and a coffee in hand. You don’t even have to look up to know what’s coming—he’s practically floating from the excitement of seeing his spot waiting for him.

As you stand to meet him, your fingers brush ever so gently when he hands you your order. It’s the smallest of touches, but for some reason, your pulse quickens.

"Thank you for the food," he says, his voice sounding strange—almost sincere, which isn’t like him at all. "But how did you know my favorite restaurant?"

You can’t help the smirk that stretches across your face.

"I have my ways," you reply, leaning in just a little, your voice cool and teasing as you echo his words back from Monday. The playfulness between the two of you feels oddly familiar, and for a moment, there’s something in his eyes—just a flicker—that catches you off guard. But you shove it down before it can fully register.

Seungkwan arches an eyebrow, lips curling into that mischievous smile of his, but before he can say anything, you already know what comes next: more teasing, more playful bickering. It’s almost comfortable, like this entire fake-dating charade is starting to blur the line between what’s real and what’s not.

But the strangest thing of all is the way your heart is beating a little faster than it should.

You don’t know why you’re bothered. You can’t even really pinpoint the reason why, but when you walk past Seungkwan’s desk and see him sitting there, earbuds in, his face subtly twitching in response to a few of your colleagues’ whispers, something inside you snaps. It’s not your usual reaction to the gossip at work—it’s the way he seems oblivious to the hurt he's trying to hide, like he’s expecting it. Your mind races as you overhear them, the words sticking to you like bitter honey:

“Seungkwan’s just a joke with the dating thing. You can tell he’s not even on the same level as her,” Kevin’s voice rings out, “I mean, she’s crushing it, and look at him. He’s just... there.”

“He’s lucky she even pays attention to him,” Juyeon adds with a snide laugh.

And that’s when your heart clenches, the sound of their voices mixing with the hurt look in Seungkwan’s eyes as he watches the screen, his posture slumping in a way that you’ve seen too many times to ignore.

You tell yourself you don’t care.

But you do.

And before you can stop yourself, you march toward his desk. Your palms are sweaty, but your resolve is steady, and when you reach his side, you throw your arms around him from behind, your body leaning into his warmth, your chin resting on his shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. You’re telling yourself it’s all just an act. Just a game. Fake dating, after all, is supposed to be easy.

But the feeling of his body stiffening under your arms, his breath catching, makes your stomach flip in a way you didn’t expect. You force yourself to smile, to say the words like they don’t matter.

"Hey love," you murmur, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek that feels far too real for what it is, "wanna get lunch?"

For a moment, Seungkwan just stares at you, dumbfounded. His eyes search yours as if trying to figure out whether this is part of the act or something more. You don’t give him a chance to answer. Instead, you interlace your fingers with his, pulling him to his feet and out of the seat, dragging him to the cafeteria without another word.

The air between you feels thick, but somehow, it doesn’t matter. You keep your grip on his hand as if it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. When you reach the lunch line, Seungkwan mumbles under his breath, his voice low but filled with something you can’t quite place.

“Thank you,” he says, and the words feel heavy, like they mean something far more profound than you expected.

You glance at him, trying to keep your face neutral. "Why do you put up with all this?" you ask, hoping to keep the conversation casual. But the question feels more vulnerable than you’d like.

He shrugs nonchalantly, though his gaze drops to the ground as he talks. "Come on, I get worse from you. I can handle a little shit talk from people who don’t know what they’re talking about.”

But something in his voice, something sharp and tired, makes your heart sink. The idea that you’ve made him feel like he’s “just there” rattles you. That you’ve unknowingly added to his burdens—because in this moment, it feels like you are the reason he’s doubting himself.

“Seungkwan, I didn’t mean—” you begin, but he cuts you off with a small, almost bitter smile.

"It’s fine," he murmurs, but there’s a flicker of something unsaid in his expression.

The rest of lunch is quieter than usual, and you both keep stealing glances at each other, unsure of what to say or how to fix the awkward tension that now lingers between you. When the two of you return to your desks, you half-expect him to brush it off and act like nothing happened, but instead, Seungkwan shows up at your desk after lunch, and for a moment, you think maybe he’s just here to grab something he left behind. But when he looks at you, his gaze softens.

"I’m sorry,” he says, looking almost... shy? “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about the way I said that. I know you don’t... mean to be like that."

You swallow hard, feeling your heart twist, guilt and frustration building in your chest. “No, I... I shouldn’t have said anything either. I’m sorry, Seungkwan."

His eyes flicker, like he’s trying to read you, but then he cracks a smile. "Maybe we both just suck at this fake-dating thing."

It’s a lame attempt at humor, but it works. The tension lifts slightly, though the understanding between you two is still fragile. You force a chuckle, then give him a genuine, if a little uneasy, smile.

And just like that, the awkwardness starts to dissipate.

For now, anyway.

Thursday starts off strangely, though you try not to dwell on it. When you pull into the parking lot, The Spot is open for the first time in weeks. It takes you a second to process the empty space, the absence of Seungkwan's familiar car parked a few rows back.

The sight feels...off.

Your first thought is that maybe he’s running late, but a quick glance at the clock tells you that’s impossible. Seungkwan is never late. Your second thought—that maybe he’s working from home—is more logical, but it doesn’t explain the odd pang of disappointment settling in your chest.

It’s fine. Better, even. You’re busy enough today that you don’t need to see his smug smile or deal with the inevitable teasing that comes with it. Besides, tonight is the gala. He’ll show up there, looking sharp and polished, and you’ll do what you’ve been doing for weeks: play the part.

So why does the thought of not seeing him today feel heavier than it should?

You brush it off as you head into the building, but the feeling lingers. Your desk is bare when you get there—no coffee, no scrawled Post-it, no familiar, cocky energy waiting for you to roll your eyes at. You should feel relief.

Instead, it throws your whole morning off.

By the time you find yourself in the breakroom around noon, your nerves feel frayed. Deadlines loom over your head, your inbox is exploding, and now Soonyoung and Seokmin are leaning against the counter, watching you like hawks with identical grins.

“Excited for tonight?” Seokmin asks, his voice far too cheerful as he tears into a granola bar.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Soonyoung interrupts before Seokmin can respond, “that you’ve been pretending not to care, but you’re actually super nervous about walking into that gala with Seungkwan.”

“I’m not nervous,” you snap, reaching for the coffee pot.

“Sure,” Seokmin says, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You’re totally calm. That’s why you’ve been fidgeting with your bracelet for the past five minutes.”

Your hand freezes, and you glance down to see your fingers toying absently with the charm on your bracelet. With a muttered curse, you reach for a mug instead, but the damage is already done.

Soonyoung smirks. “Uh-huh. Definitely not nervous.”

“I’m not,” you insist, pouring your coffee with more force than necessary.

“Then what’s with the bracelet?” Seokmin presses, grinning like he knows he’s got you cornered.

You glare at him over your shoulder. “Maybe I just like the bracelet, Seokmin. Ever think of that?”

“Or maybe,” Soonyoung drawls, dragging the words out obnoxiously, “you’re thinking about what it’s gonna be like to walk into that ballroom tonight on Seungkwan’s arm.”

Your hand twitches, spilling coffee onto the counter.

“Oh my god,” you groan, grabbing a napkin and swiping at the mess.

Soonyoung clutches his chest dramatically. “You didn’t deny it.”

“There’s nothing to deny!”

Seokmin snickers. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m ignoring you,” you correct, tossing the soaked napkin into the trash.

“You can’t ignore the truth!” Soonyoung declares, his grin practically splitting his face. “Which is that you’re gonna show up tonight in a dress that perfectly matches Seungkwan’s tie and pretend it’s all part of the act while secretly—”

“Soonyoung,” you interrupt sharply, narrowing your eyes.

“—you’re freaking out inside about how good he’s gonna look and how everyone’s gonna think you’re in love.”

“Why are you like this?” you demand, though the question is more rhetorical than anything.

“Because it’s fun,” Seokmin answers, popping the last bite of his granola bar into his mouth. “And because you’re so easy to tease when it comes to Seungkwan.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die on your tongue because the worst part—the absolute worst part—is that they’re not entirely wrong.

There is a part of you that’s been overthinking the gala all morning. Not because you’re nervous about the event itself, but because you’re nervous about him. About standing next to him in front of your colleagues. About the way he might look at you or the way his hand might rest on your back.

And more than that, you’re nervous about the way you’ll feel when it happens.

It’s a ridiculous thought. Seungkwan is your coworker. Your fake boyfriend. This whole thing is a game, a ploy to one-up Aera and Ayoung and win a stupid bet.

So why does the idea of walking into that ballroom with him make your heart race?

Why does it feel like it’s so much more than a game?

The rest of the day drags, your thoughts drifting back to the gala at every lull in the chaos of work. The deadlines on your desk pile higher, emails flood in, and the occasional, overly cheerful colleague stops by to remind you how "exciting" tonight is going to be.

But despite the busy afternoon, a strange mix of nervous energy and anticipation hums beneath it all. It’s not just about the event—the polished speeches, the endless string of handshakes, the clinking of champagne glasses. No, it’s about Seungkwan. About the act you’re supposed to put on together.

The hours pass in a blur of half-checked boxes and unfinished tasks. By the time you leave the office, you’re still not sure if you’ve made peace with the fact that you’re about to spend the evening glued to his side, pretending to be something you’re not.

You have just enough time to run home, change into your dress, and try to will away the nerves that have been simmering since this morning. Standing in front of your mirror, you adjust the midnight-blue fabric, smoothing it over your hips and fiddling with the clasp on your bracelet.

It’s just a gala, you tell yourself, reaching for your earrings. Just a few hours of small talk and pretending. You’ve done harder things.

But even as you head out the door, slipping into the backseat of the rideshare that will take you to the venue, you can’t quite shake the nagging thought in the back of your mind:

What if tonight doesn’t feel like pretending at all?

You spot Seungkwan waiting near the entrance to the ballroom, standing under the warm glow of the overhead sconces. He’s turned slightly away, scrolling idly on his phone, but it doesn’t take long for him to notice you. The moment his eyes land on you, they widen, the barest flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schools it into something more composed—almost indifferent.

Despite the tension simmering between you lately, you can’t help but take him in. The tailored fit of his suit accentuates his broad shoulders and sharp lines, and the midnight-blue tie—perfectly matched to your dress. The soft lighting catches on the neatly styled strands of his hair, and there’s a certain glow about him tonight that makes your heart stumble, just a little.

Focus, you scold yourself. It’s just Seungkwan. The guy who stole your parking spot. The guy who bickers with you more often than not. This is just one night, and then it’s over. Your hands smooth over the silk of your dress as you approach, brushing at imaginary lint to keep them from trembling.

Seungkwan, however, makes no attempt to disguise his once-over. His eyes drag down your figure with slow, deliberate appraisal before returning to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth, but you notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“What?” you ask, crossing your arms and raising a brow.

“Nothing,” he replies too quickly, glancing away. But his ears are tinged red, and when you prod again, leaning in just slightly to make him squirm, he mutters under his breath, “You clean up nice.”

For a second, you’re too stunned to respond. The casual compliment feels out of character, as if it slipped out before he could stop himself.

“And here I thought you’d be grumpy all night,” you say, masking your unease with an easy tease.

“Don’t get used to it,” he shoots back, though there’s no real bite to his tone. With a quiet sigh, he offers you his arm, holding it out stiffly as though unsure of himself.

Your breath catches for just a moment before you loop your arm through his, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremble in your fingers. The fabric of his suit is smooth and cool against your skin, and he adjusts his grip just slightly, settling his hand more securely over yours.

“Let’s get this over with,” you mumble, though you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“Right,” he agrees softly, leading you toward the grand doors. The quiet confidence in his step only makes your own nerves worse, and you wonder—just for a fleeting moment—if he feels it too.

The hotel’s ballroom is a picture of opulence, every detail polished to perfection. Warm golden light spills from the glittering chandeliers above, catching on the beveled edges of crystal glasses and the smooth, glossy surface of the checkered marble floor. White-draped tables line the room, adorned with centerpieces of fresh flowers and flickering candles. A string quartet plays softly in the corner, their music weaving through the gentle hum of conversation.

You barely have a chance to take it all in before the heat of Seungkwan’s arm against yours pulls your focus back. He stands tall beside you, his midnight-blue tie gleaming under the lights. You try not to fidget, but every time your gaze flickers to him, the quiet confidence in his expression sets your nerves on edge.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself, willing your feet to move forward. One night, and then it’s over.

The crowd shifts as you both step into the room, and you catch Aera and Ayoung’s gazes almost immediately. They’re standing near the champagne table, flutes in hand, their heads inclined toward each other in hushed conversation. The moment they spot you, their eyes widen, gliding from you to Seungkwan, then back again. Aera’s expression twists into something sharp and incredulous, while Ayoung’s lips curve into a smug smirk.

“Looks like we’re already the talk of the town,” Seungkwan murmurs, leaning slightly toward you. His breath brushes your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that you chalk up to irritation.

“Good,” you manage to say, lifting your chin. “Let’s give them something to really talk about.”

You’re not sure where the confidence comes from, but it carries you forward, your heels clicking against the marble as you walk with Seungkwan through the crowd. You can feel Aera’s glare burning into your back, but you keep your head high, your grip on Seungkwan’s arm tightening just slightly.

From across the room, you hear it before you see them—peals of laughter that could only belong to Seokmin and Soonyoung. You glance in their direction and find them stationed at one of the tables, grinning like giddy schoolchildren as they nudge each other and whisper conspiratorially. Seokmin pretends to hide his face behind his hand, but his eyes gleam with amusement, while Soonyoung practically bounces in his chair, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Subtle,” you mutter under your breath, though you can’t help the way your lips twitch upward.

Seungkwan notices too, his eyes narrowing slightly. “They’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Can you blame them?” you ask, finally letting a wry smile slip through. “We’re a spectacle.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head, but when you glance up at him, there’s a softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. You quickly look away, pretending to adjust the bracelet on your wrist.

As you move further into the ballroom, you catch snippets of conversations trailing off, eyes lingering just a second too long on you and Seungkwan. The tension in the room feels palpable, but Seungkwan doesn’t falter. He keeps his pace steady, his arm firm and reassuring beneath your touch.

And for a brief moment, as you glide through the glittering sea of people, you almost forget that this is all an act.

The ballroom is a haze of chandeliers, polished floors, and conversations that hum like a soft undercurrent beneath the music. You move through it all hyperaware of Seungkwan at your side, the faintest brush of his presence grounding and unsteadying you all at once.

He’s good at this, you realize. At shaking hands, sharing effortless smiles, and exchanging pleasantries that seem to charm everyone in his orbit. You try to focus on your own small talk, but it’s nearly impossible not to notice the way his hand occasionally drifts to the small of your back, guiding you subtly through the crowd. It’s light—barely there—but every time his palm presses gently against you, warmth blooms, spreading like ripples in a still pond.

You try not to overthink it. It’s probably all for show, you tell yourself. Just part of the act.

Except…why does he keep glancing at you? After every joke he tosses into the conversation, his eyes flit to yours, watching for your reaction. When you laugh, his smile softens, almost imperceptibly, and when you don’t, his brow furrows for the briefest moment before he’s cracking another.

“Can we help you?” you mutter when Seokmin and Soonyoung sidle up to you for the third time that evening, their grins almost too wide.

“Nope,” Soonyoung says, popping the ‘p’ with dramatic flair.

“We’re just here for the show,” Seokmin adds, barely holding back his snicker.

“Go away,” you hiss, stepping closer to Seungkwan as if that will somehow shield you from their relentless teasing.

Instead of leaving, they both wiggle their eyebrows at you, making exaggerated faces every time you shift a little closer to him—whether intentionally or not. At one point, Seokmin mimes taking a picture with his imaginary camera, pretending to swoon like a tabloid photographer.

“Do you need something?” Seungkwan asks dryly, not even sparing them a glance as he sips his champagne.

“Just enjoying the chemistry,” Soonyoung says, grinning.

“I hate both of you,” you say, shoving past them and pulling Seungkwan with you, his laughter trailing behind you as you march toward the buffet table.

As the night wears on, the hyperawareness doesn’t fade. If anything, it grows sharper. You catch yourself leaning into him, just slightly, when he speaks to you. His scent—something warm and clean—lingers in the air, familiar yet distracting. And though you do your best to stay detached, your stomach flips every time he turns to you, his expression softer than you expect.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself. One night, and then it’s over.

But when Seungkwan tilts his head to meet your gaze, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes, you wonder if he feels it too.

The conversation with the vice president of finance hits like a brick wall. You had hoped for the night to pass without any more uncomfortable moments, but here it is. The older man comes over with a knowing grin, his eyes flicking between you and Seungkwan. His voice is smooth, polished—like he’s done this kind of thing a hundred times before. “Wishing you both all the best,” he says with a wink, his smile stretching into something almost too warm.

Then, as if to solidify the moment, he adds, “I found my wife at work too. It’s always the best kind of relationship, don’t you think?”

Before you can even react, Seungkwan steps in, his hand tightening imperceptibly around your waist, his grip firm, possessive. He plays along with ease, a smile tugging at his lips. “We do make a lovely couple,” he says, the words slipping out with the same smooth confidence he uses to charm everyone around him.

And just like that, your knees almost give out. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to cling to any sense of composure, but it’s hard. His voice sounds like it’s meant for someone else. You glance up at him, searching for some sign that he’s only pretending, but his eyes are warm, and it makes your stomach churn. This is too much.

The moment lingers, stretching long and painfully until the vice president finally moves on, leaving you standing there with Seungkwan’s hand still resting on your waist. You feel the heat of his touch, the weight of the promise in his words. And yet, something inside you begins to twist, and you can't quite shake the feeling that this isn’t all a game anymore.

When the quartet begins to play a slow, lilting melody, you feel a wave of dread wash over you. Couples start gravitating toward the dance floor, moving in soft, synchronized sways. You think you’re safe until you notice Soonyoung and Seokmin’s scheming grins out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh, no,” you mutter under your breath, but it’s too late.

“You two,” Soonyoung grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Get out there. Show us how it’s done.”

You freeze, the world tilting on its axis for a moment. You don’t want to dance. You don’t know how to dance. And you certainly don’t want to do it with Seungkwan, not like this. But when you glance over at him, you see the faintest edge of a smile on his lips—like he’s enjoying this far too much.

With a few unsubtle nudges and a downright shove from Soonyoung, you find yourself standing under the ballroom lights, facing Seungkwan. He doesn’t even blink, just steps forward and guides your hands to his shoulders as though this is all perfectly normal. His hands settle on your hips, light but steady, and the contact sends a shiver through you.

“You look like you’re going to bolt,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that only you can hear. “Relax. Aera and Ayoung are still watching.”

You force a smile, more for their benefit than his, and try to focus on the music. But it’s no use. Every part of this feels overwhelming—the way his hands feel solid against you, the way he moves with a calm confidence you didn’t know he had, the way his gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up.

The worst part? You’re not sure what’s fake and what isn’t.

You take a shallow breath, your heart racing as the music swells around you, and everything about the night begins to feel too real. Too intense. The way Seungkwan holds you so effortlessly, the way his chest presses against yours, his gaze lingering on you like it means something.

This isn’t just pretend anymore. This isn’t just a game. You feel like you’re drowning in the pretense, in the slow slide of his body against yours, the fake smiles, the promises of weddings that don’t belong to either of you. You don’t know why it feels like this—like a knot is tightening in your chest with every beat of the music, every moment that stretches longer than you can bear.

You can’t breathe.

It’s too much. The weight of it, the weight of him. His hands on your body, on your waist, intertwined with yours. The tension that thrums between you both is too real, and suddenly, you can’t stand it anymore.

You pull back abruptly, the movement so sudden it startles him.

“I need to go,” you blurt, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Without waiting for a response, you pull away from him, feeling his grip loosen as you shove past Seokmin and Soonyoung, who both watch you with surprised eyes. You don’t care. You don’t care that they’re probably confused, or that Seungkwan is still standing there on the dancefloor, looking as though he’s been left behind.

You don’t care about anything but getting away, away from him, away from this night that feels too heavy to carry. You push through the crowd, your pulse thundering in your ears, desperate to escape the world Seungkwan has created tonight—one where every smile feels like a lie, and every touch leaves you questioning everything.

Why did it feel like something more? Why does he feel like something more?

The hallway is cold, and the echoes of the ballroom seem a world away as you stand there, breathing in shallow gasps. You don’t know what you expected when you fled—maybe a bit of space to clear your head, a few moments of peace to sort through the mess in your chest. But then Seungkwan appears, footsteps rapid and sharp against the marble floor, and you brace yourself for whatever this is.

He stops in front of you, his eyes softening, a look of concern on his face. “You broke the contract,” he says, his voice low but playful. “You’re supposed to act like a couple in front of Aera and Ayoung.”

You should’ve expected it. Of course it’s just a game to him. Of course he doesn’t feel anything real. You press your lips together, the taste of bile rising in your throat. The way his words spill out with that same teasing tone, like it’s no big deal—that’s when it really hits you. None of this matters to him.

Your heart tightens, and you open your mouth to say something, anything, but it feels like the words are stuck in your throat, a knot you can’t untie. The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, until you finally spit out, “Fuck you, Seungkwan.”

His expression falters, eyes flashing with something like hurt or maybe frustration, but it doesn’t matter. You just want him to shut up, to stop saying the things that twist in your chest.

“What the hell?” His voice is sharp, defensive. “What’s your problem now? I’m just trying to make sure you’re not freaking out in front of them!”

“No,” you snap, your words slipping out before you can stop them. “I’m freaking out because you keep acting like it’s nothing—like it’s all just a damn game.” You’re pacing now, turning away from him, too afraid to face him. “And it’s not just a game, Seungkwan. But you don’t care. Of course you don’t care.”

Seungkwan’s voice is louder now, rising to match your anger. “Don’t you dare say that—”

“Why shouldn’t I?” you spit, your frustration spilling over. “You’ve been treating me like this whole thing is some kind of joke. Do you think I don’t see it? You think I don’t feel it?”

“You think I’m playing games?!” he practically shouts, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “What do you want me to say, huh? What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know!” The words burst out in a rush, too loud and too raw. “I don’t know what I want! But I sure as hell don’t want this. Don’t want you acting like I’m nothing but some stupid... some stupid game to win! And—”

Your throat tightens. It’s too much. The pain, the frustration, the confusion. The way your heart keeps aching, wanting something that shouldn’t be there. You can’t breathe right, and suddenly, your eyes sting with tears that you didn’t want to shed.

Before you can stop it, you spin to leave, your chest heaving, your hands trembling. You can’t be here anymore. You can’t do this.

But then, just as you take a step, his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly.

“Don’t go,” Seungkwan murmurs, his voice softer now, and it’s the quietness of it that makes everything inside you snap.

In an instant, you turn back toward him, your body moving without thinking, driven by something primal, something that burns too hot to ignore. You don't care anymore, not about the rules or the reasons you were running or how much you've lied to yourself. Your lips crash into his, desperate and hungry, a sudden, violent collision of need and want. It’s rough, urgent, a complete collapse of all the control you’ve tried so desperately to hold onto.

His lips are warm, soft at first, but there’s no hesitation after that. It deepens in an instant, and you can feel him pushing you back, pressing you against the cold, hard wall. His body presses into yours, all sharp lines and heat, every inch of him a reminder that you’ve wanted this more than you’re willing to admit. You clutch his tie, your fingers knotting into the fabric, pulling him closer, deeper, like it’s not enough. His hands slide up the wall, bracing himself above your head, as if he needs that support to hold himself together too. But you’re too tangled in this moment, too consumed by the feel of him, the way his lips move against yours, the way his breath catches with every shift of his mouth.

His hands find their way to your body, his fingers grazing your hips, and you shudder, the friction between you both igniting something wild inside you. You kiss him back fiercely, and it feels like everything in the world has narrowed down to this singular moment. You don’t know if this is real or if it’s just your mind tricking you into believing it’s more than it is. But you feel it—how right it feels to be tangled up with him, how everything else outside of this space fades away.

His body presses harder, his chest against yours, his warmth seeping into you, filling the cracks where your control once was. You’re dizzy with the intensity of it, a rush of emotions crashing through you, and the silence between kisses becomes unbearable. Your breath is ragged, your heart pounding in your chest as if it’s trying to escape, to be closer to him. And every time you feel him pull away, even just a little, you’re pulling him back, chasing that connection that’s too elusive to hold.

It feels like the world is spinning too fast, and you’re holding onto him, to this fleeting moment, hoping that maybe it won’t slip away. But it does—it always does.

You press harder into him, your hands trembling as they slide up his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. It’s almost too much, like you’re consuming each other, but you can’t stop. You don’t want to stop.

But then the air feels heavier, and the ache in your chest intensifies. This is wrong, it has to be. His mouth against yours, his body holding you so tightly—it’s all too much, and yet you’re still starved for more. You feel like you’re drowning, and yet you don’t know how to pull away, how to breathe again without the taste of him on your lips.

You break the kiss suddenly, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with desperation, as if the only thing you need in that moment is to breathe and be closer to him. But you know better. You remember. You have to remember.

And just like that, the realization comes crashing down, shattering everything inside you. It’s all just a game for him. It always was. You turn away, stumbling back, your body trembling as you try to steady yourself, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

“No.” You gasp, heart hammering painfully in your chest. You can’t stay here. You can’t let him see how much he’s breaking you right now.

Before he can say anything, before he can try to reach for you, you turn on your heel and run. You don’t look back, even when your chest aches and your throat burns, because you know that if you do, you’ll see something you can’t unsee.

And you’re too afraid that the feeling you’ve just experienced—that feeling of being whole, of being wanted—is the very thing that’ll make you lose yourself completely.

That night, as the doorbell rings, you know exactly who it is before you even get up. You don’t even have the strength to ask them to leave—Seokmin and Soonyoung just know. They always do.

Seokmin's already cracking open a pint of Ben & Jerry's before you've even had the chance to process their arrival, his voice light but knowing, as if they’ve been waiting for the moment to show up at your door. And it’s not long before they’re seated on the couch beside you, Soonyoung's knowing look cutting right through you as he silently opens the second pint, passing it to you without a word.

You don’t have the heart to ask about Seungkwan. You’re terrified of hearing it, terrified of what they’ll say. You don’t want to know if he’s going to shrug it off, or worse, if he’s forgotten about you already.

Instead, you spend the next few hours in silence, the three of you settled into the couch, alternating between the steady flow of ice cream and shitty romcoms on TV. The sound of laughter and melodramatic dialogue fills the space, but you barely hear it. Every now and then, a sob shakes through you, and you absently grab Soonyoung’s suit jacket, wiping your face on it like some pathetic kid trying to hide from the world.

It’s not a game anymore, you think. But your mind keeps circling back, again and again, and your heart clenches painfully.

You find yourself sniffling during a commercial break, and before you know it, your voice cracks as you whisper into Seokmin’s shoulder, your words barely audible through the tears. “It’s not a game anymore,” you whimper, your chest tight with emotion, a hollow ache you can't seem to fill. “Not to me.”

Seokmin pats your head gently, his hand warm and comforting on your hair, and you can feel him press his cheek against your head in an unspoken gesture of reassurance. Soonyoung doesn’t say anything but looks at you sadly from his spot on your lap, his eyes soft with understanding, but he knows better than to push.

But then Seokmin speaks, his voice quiet, so gentle you almost miss it. “Was it ever?” he asks, the question hanging in the air, a quiet truth you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You don’t answer. Because you know the answer. You’ve known it all along, even when you were pretending not to. The truth is louder than the silence between the three of you, but you’re not ready to face it.

And so, instead of answering, you bury your face further into Seokmin’s shoulder, fighting the tears that never seem to stop. The answer is clear, but you can’t find the words to say it.

Friday feels like the weight of the week is catching up with you, every inch of your body refusing to move as you sit at your desk, staring blankly at the screen. You’ve worked from home plenty of times before, but today? Today, it feels different. The silence is too loud, too consuming, and you can't escape it, not even in the safety of your own apartment. Your phone buzzes incessantly in the corner of your desk, each ping making your chest tighten just a little more. You know it’s him. Seungkwan. You know because his name flashes on your screen, and every time, you hesitate before swiping it away, like a coward.

You don’t want to hear it, not today. Not when everything feels so broken.

But when the photo comes in—a simple picture of your coffee order, just sitting there on your desk with nothing but a blank post-it note next to it—you can feel the tears already threatening to break free. The coffee’s steaming, just the way you like it, but the note’s blank, empty. There’s nothing there. Just silence.

It’s too much.

You let out a strangled sob, your hand shaking as you clutch your phone. Your throat tightens as you struggle to breathe, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. You curl up at your desk, tears falling in heavy waves as you finally allow yourself to break. The floodgates that you’ve kept tightly shut the past few days burst wide open, and you can’t stop it. Can’t stop the sobs that wrack through you, shaking you to your core.

You’re not ready to face this. Not ready to admit what’s happening inside of you. You just want it to stop. To go back to before everything got complicated. Before you let yourself feel anything for him.

You don't even bother to wipe your tears away, don’t bother trying to pull yourself together. You don’t even go to Seokmin’s tonight for your weekly ritual. The usual distraction, the routine that’s always been your safe space, feels miles away now.

Instead, you pull the blanket tighter around you, the emptiness of the apartment matching the emptiness you feel inside. You bury yourself in it.

And you let the tears come.

The smell of Seokmin’s cooking wafts into the living room as he sets up the kitchen, making his usual chaotic symphony of clattering pans and sizzling ingredients. He’s persistent, like always, so you know there’s no way you’re getting out of this. He’s here to cook, and more importantly, to drag you back from the spiral you’ve fallen into.

You don’t say anything when he hands you the bowl of food. You just sit down at the kitchen table, quietly shoveling the food into your mouth. It tastes good, as always, but it doesn’t reach you. Not the way it should.

The silence stretches between you two as you chew, the clinking of your utensils the only sound in the room. Seokmin isn’t going to let it slide, though. He’s far too persistent to let you wallow in quiet.

“So,” he starts, his voice quiet but pointed, “what happened?”

You don’t answer immediately, and it’s not because you don’t want to—no, it’s because you’re not sure where to start. Do you tell him the truth? That you let your feelings get tangled up in a game, that Seungkwan tricked you into thinking it meant something more than it was?

But when you look up, you meet Seokmin’s eyes, and for some reason, you just... let it spill.

“I kissed him,” you say, voice small. The words feel like a confession you weren’t ready to make.

Seokmin’s brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. He just asks, “But that’s a good thing, right?”

You snort, bitter and frustrated. “Seokmin, it was all just a game to him.”

The words hang there, sharp in the quiet kitchen air. Seokmin pauses, setting his fork down before speaking again. “Did he tell you that?”

You shake your head. “No, but he doesn’t need to. He kept bringing up the contract.” 

Seokmin’s eyes narrow in frustration, but there’s a softness in them too. “Y/N…”

“Don’t,” you mutter, the emotion welling up again in your chest. “I’m done. I’m tired of this, Seokmin. It was never real for him, and it’s too real for me now. I can’t keep pretending.”

You can’t even look him in the eye now, your gaze turning to the table as your hands clutch the bowl. Seokmin stays quiet, letting you speak, but you can feel the weight of his disappointment. It doesn’t make you feel better, but at least you’re not holding it all in.

“What are you going to do on Monday? You have to present together.” Seokmin says, his voice light but his eyes serious.

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. You’ve been avoiding thinking about that. Of course, Monday will come, and you’ll have to face Seungkwan again.

“I’ll ignore him,” you reply, voice almost robotic.

Seokmin raises an eyebrow. “Let me repeat: you have to PRESENT. TOGETHER.” He emphasizes the word ‘together,’ and you can feel the weight of it pressing down on you. “Emphasis on TOGETHER.”

You just stare at your food, not knowing what to say. Your heart is heavy, your thoughts racing.

“Seokmin, I’m tired of this,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips. “I’m done. Aera and Ayoung can go fuck themselves, but I’m not playing this game anymore.”

Seokmin doesn’t say anything for a while. You hear him sigh, and when you look up, his face is softer. “If you say so.”

You want to argue, to tell him that it’s easier said than done, but instead, you just slump back into your chair, letting the silence fill the space again. He doesn’t push you further, just lets you stew in your emotions, knowing that you’ll need time. You’re not ready to face Monday, not ready to stand side by side with Seungkwan, pretending like none of this ever happened. But there’s no escaping it. And you’ll have to deal with it soon enough.

Monday morning is a punch to the gut.

You arrive at work, feeling the weight of the weekend's fallout heavy in your chest. The first thing you notice when you pull into the parking lot is that there’s no coffee waiting for you on your desk. The usual sign of Seungkwan’s presence, of him thinking of you in the mornings, is missing. It's a stupid thing to feel the absence of, but it cuts deeper than you'd like to admit.

You walk into the office, feeling all the eyes on you. It’s not even 9 AM, and you already know today is going to drag. You get to your desk, and before you can even sit down, Aera and Ayoung are already on you, their faces lit up with exaggerated curiosity.

"Hey, Y/N," Aera says, eyes flicking to the empty space where the coffee should have been. "Where’s your coffee today? You and Seungkwan usually have that whole ‘he brings your coffee’ thing down to a science. What’s up? You two not sharing that routine anymore?"

Ayoung giggles, and you feel the irritation bubbling up before you can stop it. You’ve had enough of this.

You slam your bag down on your desk, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in your voice. "We broke up. Now get out of my face so I can work."

The words hit the air like a slap, and for a moment, the office is completely silent. Aera’s mouth falls open slightly, her eyes wide in surprise, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Ayoung just blinks, taken aback, but she says nothing more, her usual snark suddenly gone.

You don’t give them a chance to respond. You turn away from them, sitting at your desk, hands shaking slightly as you pull up your emails. You can hear their retreating footsteps, but you don’t bother looking up. You don’t care. It’s easier to just ignore them and dive into your work, focusing on the tasks in front of you.

But it doesn’t stop there. As much as you try to bury yourself in your screen, the emptiness of Seungkwan’s absence—his lack of coffee, the parking spot that you still take for granted—gnaws at you. You tell yourself that it’s for the best, that the game is over. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

The presentation room feels suffocating.

You stand at the front, flipping through slides, forcing your gaze to stay focused on the KPIs and metrics on the screen. The numbers are safe, the charts impersonal. You can talk about this with your eyes closed, but it feels like everything else in the room is conspiring against you.

Seungkwan, of course, keeps trying to catch your eye. Every time you glance in his direction—brief, fleeting—you see the way his expression tightens, the worry flickering in his eyes. You’re not sure if it's pity or concern, and frankly, you don’t care. You’ve worked hard to bury whatever feelings were there, and you’re not about to let him dig them up in front of a room full of people.

You force yourself to talk about the numbers. KPIs, data points, project metrics. Anything to avoid looking at him. You can feel Soonyoung and Seokmin watching you a little too intently, their eyes sharp with something unspoken. It makes your words stutter, your confidence falter just a little, but you push through, unwilling to show any weakness.

But then an executive asks if you're okay, and the words catch you off guard. You can’t help it—you glance over at Seungkwan. Just for a second. Long enough for him to notice, long enough for him to give you that look. The one you’ve been avoiding.

"I'm fine, thanks," you manage to say, voice steady despite the way your heart is hammering in your chest. You look back at the screen, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze. You try to ignore the weight of his concern, the way it lingers like a weight in the air.

The meeting eventually wraps up, and as everyone files out, Seungkwan steps towards you, his arm reaching out. You feel the familiar tug of his presence, the warmth of his hand inches away from your sleeve.

But you don’t want to feel it. You don’t want to deal with it.

You shrug him off, murmuring something about deadlines and reports that need to be finished. The words come out harsh and clipped, almost too much so, but you don’t care. You can feel the tension hanging between you like a storm cloud, but you don’t want to be near him right now. Not with everything still so raw.

You don’t wait for a response, just turn and walk toward your desk, not daring to look back.

You thought it would be easy to avoid Seungkwan. After all, it's just a matter of keeping your distance, staying busy, and letting the work pile up in a way that leaves no room for him to worm his way back into your head. You’ve been doing it for hours, and so far, it’s working.

Three hours, at least.

Seokmin and Soonyoung have been your perfect distractions, filling your day with so much nonsense that you barely have time to breathe, let alone think about Seungkwan and the mess you’ve somehow ended up in.

It started in the break room, just after the meeting. You’d been trying to sneak in a coffee, hoping it might calm the jittery feeling that’s been buzzing through you since you saw Seungkwan's hand reach for yours. But, of course, Soonyoung and Seokmin cornered you before you could even take a sip.

"Y/N, I need your opinion on something," Soonyoung had started, with that grin of his, the one that always spells trouble.

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. "What now?"

Seokmin leaned in like they were about to discuss state secrets, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, "Soonyoung here is convinced he’s a professional ice cream taster. He wants to know if he should add ‘Certified Expert’ to his resume."

You rolled your eyes, but Soonyoung was undeterred, holding up a pint of Ben & Jerry’s with a flourish. "Can’t you see the wisdom in my plan? Who wouldn’t hire a man who knows his way around a pint of Cookie Dough?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "You’re ridiculous. But go ahead, waste your time on that. I’m trying to focus."

But no, they weren’t letting you go that easily. Seokmin started cracking jokes, distracting you with all the random things he’d overheard in the office. "Did you know that Ayoung is secretly obsessed with ‘90s boy bands? I walked in on her humming ‘I Want It That Way’ this morning, and I’m still recovering."

And Soonyoung, ever the instigator, added with a wink, "I also caught her in the hallway talking about getting a matching tattoo with Aera. Of a tiny cupcake. What do you think? The whole office would get a kick out of that."

By then, you were laughing despite yourself, pushing down the tight feeling in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to laugh, it was just that... well, everything felt too complicated. Too much.

So, you let them pull you into their nonsense. They carried on for the next hour—Soonyoung performing some ridiculous impression of an old-timey detective, Seokmin explaining his absurd theory that paperclips are an ancient alien technology (you’re still not sure if he was serious)—until you forgot, for just a moment, about everything else. Even Seungkwan.

But of course, they weren’t done. When they saw that momentary crack in your armor, they pounced, practically dragging you into a brainstorming session for next week's office party theme. Soonyoung insisted on a 'Beach Party' theme even though there was no beach within a hundred miles of your office. Seokmin argued for a retro ‘80s prom, and then proceeded to pull out old high school yearbook photos of him in a neon green tuxedo for ‘inspiration.’ You were supposed to be working, but you couldn’t help but laugh at Seokmin trying to explain why the color combo was "unbeatable."

They kept going, laughing, cracking jokes, pulling your attention from the tight knot that had been steadily winding around your chest since you left the meeting. But you knew—knew—this distraction wasn’t going to last forever.

Eventually, reality would catch up, but for now, you let them drag you along with them. The idea of facing Seungkwan, of facing what had happened, felt like too much. So you pushed it down, buried it in the ridiculousness of the day.

For now, you thought, it was working. But you had a feeling the peace wouldn’t last long.

It’s late, and you’re about to congratulate yourself on avoiding Seungkwan for the entire day as you open your car door. But of course, the universe has other plans for you. The sudden slam of the car door makes you jump, your hand still on the handle as you whip around to find Seungkwan standing there, his face set in that tight expression you know too well. The tension between you snaps, palpable in the cool evening air. His voice cuts through the silence, demanding, sharp.

"So this is how it's going to be?" he asks, the words heavy with frustration.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You were so sure you had made your escape. You had done everything you could today to keep him out of your head, to avoid this moment. Yet here he is, standing in front of you like an inevitable storm, his presence taking up the entire space between you.

You try to steady yourself, the tightness in your throat making it hard to speak. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you manage, forcing the words out despite how small they sound against the tension hanging between you.

Seungkwan’s eyes narrow as if he’s reading you—really reading you, seeing right through the facade you’ve worked so hard to put on. "Don’t lie to me, Y/N. You’ve been avoiding me all day. It’s not just because of the work, is it? You’ve been avoiding me since... since the gala. Since everything."

You bite your lip, refusing to let the weight of his words sink in, but his voice keeps coming, a steady beat in your chest. “You think I’m just supposed to pretend everything’s fine after what happened?”

The words hit you like a slap, leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. You try to ignore the ache that stirs inside you at the mention of what happened—the kiss, the way it felt so real, so right, and yet so wrong. So much of a game. And now he’s standing here, throwing it all in your face.

"I don’t know what you expect from me, Seungkwan," you snap, unable to keep the edge from your voice. "But it’s over. I told you—I’m done."

Seungkwan’s jaw tightens, and he steps closer, his proximity making you instinctively want to step back. But you don’t. You won’t.

"Done?" he repeats, voice laced with disbelief. "Just like that? You think you can just walk away? You’re really going to pretend this—whatever this is—didn’t mean anything?"

You open your mouth to argue, but no words come out. It’s as if your body’s betraying you, locking you in this moment where nothing makes sense, where the anger you thought would fuel you evaporates the moment Seungkwan looks at you with that frustrated, helpless look in his eyes.

You hate that you care. You hate that, even now, a part of you wants to reach out and undo everything. To erase the distance, the silence, the walls you’ve built between the two of you. But you can’t.

“You always thought of it as a game, Seungkwan,” you snap, your voice a little too sharp for comfort, but it’s all you have to hold onto. The argument. The distance. The lie you’ve been clinging to.

He’s shaking his head before you even finish the sentence, a rawness in his expression you’ve never seen before. “It was never a game for me!” His words crash through the silence, leaving an echo that hangs in the air. It’s too much. Too loud.

And then, just like that, you’re back in that hallway, your heart pounding. The night air feels suffocating, and there’s a closeness between you two that should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. It feels right in the way his chest is rising and falling too quickly, in the way you can barely breathe without him being this close. Your breaths are shaky, uncertain.

“What was it then?” Your voice cracks as you ask, small and vulnerable, that gnawing fear in your chest almost swallowing you whole. You don’t want to know the answer, but you know you need to hear it.

His gaze drops, his voice softens, and it’s enough to make your stomach turn with something too familiar. “What do you think?” he whispers, just above a breath, his words more like a confession than a question.

The truth is right there, suspended between you two, but it feels like a lie at the same time. You try to push it down, try to control it, but the knot in your throat grows tighter. You’re not sure what’s worse—the silence, or the fact that you’re on the verge of hoping for something you shouldn’t.

His hand moves to your face, brushing your cheek, and you can feel the heat of his touch seeping into your skin like a live wire. “I kept the parking spot argument going because I knew it was the only excuse I had to talk to you,” he continues, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “You’re so smart. So beautiful. I knew you would never give me the time of day unless I made you.”

It hits you in waves, like the ground beneath you is shifting. You open your mouth to respond, to tell him that this is too much, too late, that he can’t just explain this all away—but he cuts you off, the urgency in his voice making you freeze.

“No, please. Let me finish.”

You swallow hard, the words stuck in your throat, but you stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

He steps closer, the air between you two crackling with every movement. His eyes are dark, intense, and you’re not sure if it’s fear or something else flickering behind them. “I couldn’t just let you go. I couldn’t. So I did what I had to do. I kept pushing you, testing you, because I couldn’t let you slip away.”

The honesty in his voice is like a punch to the gut. Every word seems to break down everything you thought you knew about this whole thing. You can’t speak. You’re drowning in it, caught between the words and the way he’s looking at you.

You want to run. You should run. But instead, you stay there, with his hands on you, his breath too close to yours, and the silence that threatens to drown you both.

The question slips out before you can stop it, your voice small and fragile in the heavy silence that’s settled between you two. It feels like everything is crashing down, the weight of it all pressing against your chest, but the curiosity burns through. You need to know.

"Why did you say yes? To the contract?" Your voice barely rises above a whisper, and you can’t help the way your breath catches in your throat, that desperate need to understand.

Seungkwan freezes, his hand still hovering just inches from your face, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. It’s like you’ve asked the question that’s been hanging in the air, unspoken, for far too long. And for a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath, waiting for him to answer.

He looks away, his eyes darting to the ground as if the answer isn’t something he can say out loud. His lips part, but no words come out. He takes a breath, almost like he’s bracing himself for what he’s about to admit. And then, slowly, the words slip out, ragged and raw.

“Because I didn’t know how else to get close to you.” His voice trembles slightly, but the honesty in it cuts through you, sharp and real. “I didn’t know how else to make you notice me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I was tired of standing in the background, watching you with everyone else, wanting to be more than just... the guy who argues with you about parking spots or steals your coffee.”

There’s a bitter chuckle, half empty, half ashamed, and it almost breaks you. He doesn’t look at you now, but his words hang in the air between you like a weight that neither of you can lift.

“I thought if I had a reason, an excuse, maybe... maybe I could make you see me. See us." He finally glances back up, his gaze soft, too soft for the harshness of his confession. “And I was wrong, okay? I was wrong to use you like that.”

The silence after his words is deafening. Every piece of you wants to scream, to shout at him for what he’s done, for the way he played with your heart like it was a game. But you can’t. Not with the raw vulnerability in his eyes, the way he stands there, exposed and unsure.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice cracks, and it’s all you can manage.

His chest rises and falls with a deep, shaky breath. “Because I didn’t think you’d ever want to hear it.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, a breathless, almost irritated whisper. "You're an idiot." But it's not frustration you feel anymore, it’s something deeper, something that’s been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long.

And then you can’t help it. The space between you closes, and before you even realize what you're doing, your hands are on him, pulling his face down to yours. The kiss is fierce and unrestrained, lips crashing together with a hunger that feels almost desperate, like you’ve been starved for this moment, for him, for everything that’s been left unsaid.

Seungkwan’s hands find their way to your waist, tugging you closer, his body solid and warm against yours. He responds without hesitation, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that matches your own, a mix of frustration and need, and something else—something raw and real.

The world outside of this moment disappears, the streetlights and cars, the sounds of the city—it all fades away, leaving just the two of you, caught in the storm of it all. It feels right, in a way that makes your chest tighten, in a way that makes everything else feel insignificant. The kiss deepens, and for a moment, everything that’s been left unspoken between you two finally starts to come to the surface.

When you finally pull away, breathless and dazed, his forehead rests against yours, your heart pounding in the space between you. It feels like the whole world has just shifted, everything falling into place in a way that makes sense, finally.

"How did you know my coffee order?" You ask, voice still shaky from the kiss, but your curiosity getting the better of you. You're still trying to wrap your head around all of it.

Seungkwan pauses for a moment, then a sheepish smile tugs at his lips. "I watched you," he admits quietly, his eyes softening. "I memorized little things about you, filed them away. Thought maybe one day I could use them... if I ever got the chance."

You can't help the small giggle that escapes you at his confession, the weight of it all sinking in. It's the sweetest thing you've ever heard. Before you can stop yourself, you're pulling him back into a kiss, hands sliding up to cup his face, as if this moment could last forever.

When you pull away again, your lips still tingling from his touch, you look up at him with a playful grin.

"So what do you say, fake-girlfriend?" he asks, his voice low, teasing. "Wanna be my real girlfriend?"

You laugh, the sound light and carefree, pressing your head against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. For the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels right. You breathe him in, the warmth of his embrace anchoring you.

"Only if you still bring me coffee," you murmur, grinning into his shirt.

"Done," he whispers, pressing his lips to yours again, and this time it feels like a promise—one you both intend to keep.

EPILOGUE

Seungkwan’s car is parked downstairs, and your phone buzzes incessantly as you can practically hear his impatience through the screen. You’re running late, of course, but when you finally slip into the passenger seat, he’s grumbling, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. The moment you slide in, though, his tone softens, and he’s already handing you a cup of coffee—the perfect temperature, the way you like it, the warm press of his lips against your cheek.

"You’re lucky I didn’t leave without you," he mutters, but there’s no real anger in his voice. You smile as you take a sip. This coffee isn’t from the shop across town anymore. No, Seungkwan bought an espresso machine, much to your surprise, and he’s been making them himself. "What kind of boyfriend doesn’t make coffee for his girlfriend?" he had argued one night as you laid in his lap, and you had to admit, it was an endearing (and slightly ridiculous) argument. Still, this coffee tastes better than anything you could buy, and maybe you’re biased, but you think it might actually be true.

He pulls into The Spot with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s so much nicer not having to argue with you every day for the spot,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

You roll your eyes and slam the car door shut with a dramatic flair. “I can pick fights about other things,” you shoot back unhelpfully, crossing your arms. “For example, your tie is hideous.”

Seungkwan gasps in mock outrage, his hand flying to his chest like he’s been personally attacked. "You did not just say that!" he yells, and then he's chasing you through the parking garage, the sound of his footsteps getting closer. You let out a shriek as you try to run in heels, but it’s no use—he catches up to you easily, hands dancing across your waist as you beg for mercy.

"Take it back!" he demands, voice filled with mock seriousness.

"No!" You laugh, still struggling against his hold, though it's a losing battle.

"Then no coffee for a week," he warns, his tone playful but authoritative.

"Boo Seungkwan!" you protest, but his grin only widens as he pulls you into the elevator, trapping you between his chest and the wall.

The elevator door dings open, and just as you step out, he pulls you back toward him, placing a kiss on your lips—slow and warm, lingering like he’s in no rush to let you go.

"Have a good day," he murmurs, his lips brushing your cheek.

"EW!" Seokmin’s voice shouts from behind you, and you can’t help but laugh at the sound of him. Seungkwan flips him off without missing a beat, the playful edge in his voice unmistakable. "This whole thing is your fault," he calls out to Seokmin’s retreating figure, who’s already halfway down the hall, grinning ear to ear.

"I know!" Seokmin yells back gleefully, his voice carrying through the hallway. "I had a really really good plan!"

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[bestgreatestdestiny]

I also think this is why there is such a vital lack of chemistry between Uhura and Spock. Like, lord knows it’s not Zoe Saldana and Zachary Quinto’s faults. And I don’t even mean romantic chemistry - there’s also just a severe lack of any type of best friend chemistry. In TOS there’s a kind of warm and shady energy between the two of them that really speaks to a deep respect between two beings that are both incredibly competent and intelligent but also kind of little freaks who serve cunt. And that’s just missing in AOS in a way that makes their relationship fall a flat both as friends and as a romantic subplot. Which is why AOS Kirk makes for such an interesting foil to them because Kirk does bring out the rare moments of absolute seething sass in AOS Spock. Like, they created such a lukewarm relationship in AOS Spock/Uhura that Spirk shines so brightly in comparison, that it’s almost inevitable to position them opposite each other. I think this led to a lot of hate for this version of Uhura amongst AOS spirk shippers, especially towards the beginning of the fandom. Which is a shame because Uhura is such a complex and lovely character in TOS.

But you have!! To!! Let!! Her!! Be!! Warm!! And!! Weird!! And gossip with Spock.

i have a billion other criticisms about star trek aos but the one thing i'll never forgive them for is taking away uhura's whimsy. tos uhura has such a bright & joyful presence she is kind and funny and artistic and cares about her looks WHILE ALSO being smart and badass and not afraid to speak her mind (especially in the movies. i love her). aos uhura is reduced to a one-dimensional #girlboss who takes no shit from anyone yet somehow lacks enough self-respect to stay in a boring & unsatisfying relationship with a man who is so obviously not attracted to women