#i think there's gonna be one more chapter of senior day

[sabraeal]

Rarely Pure & Never Simple, Chapter 9

[Read on AO3]

Obiyukiweek 2023, Day 6: Free Day

Bright and early comes and goes with no sign of Obi.

Shirayuki nurses her morning tea at her usual place, hips braced against the sink and eyes fixed somewhere out past Nanna’s curtains. Or they would be, had any of her concentrated efforts to grow extrasensory powers in elementary school panned out the way she’d hoped; instead she’s stuck staring at ninety-percent frill, all that crocheted lace and starched lawn an impenetrable barrier to the outside, even if it only covers three-fourths of the glass. Nothing a quick bounce on her toes wouldn’t solve, but there’s no casual way to pop on tip-toe, no elegant way to stretch up over that homemade horizon that Nanna won’t immediately read as nerves.

And so she stands there with both hands wrapped around the mug, Felix the Cat tick-tick-ticking behind her. The reflection of his tail shimmers across the glass, a ghost of itself where the sun shines through. As long as she keeps her palms pressed against ceramic, it’s impossible to tell if they tremble.

But when the long hand gives one, tenuous tremble past nine o’clock, Shirayuki finally has to admit: he’s late.

“Oh, don’t wear that face,” Nanna chuckles, shuffling up to jog her elbow. And steep her own cup of tea, but that seems a secondary errand next to giving Shirayuki a hard time. “There’s no world under this sun where that boy stands you up. He’s just running a little behind, that’s all. Your father couldn’t read a clock to save his life either.”

Ah, she’d been hoping the furrow between her brow made her look serious and concerned, not…pouty. “I’m not worried about that.”

She might have been a few months ago, back when all this was new, and Obi’s interest seemed at best mystifying and at worst circumstantial. But with almost half a year under her belt, Shirayuki’s firmly aware of where she sits in the hierarchy of Obi’s personal cosmology: disturbingly close to the top, well above his own personal well-being, but somewhere just below food. Or, well, at least below Funyons.

“It’s just…what if something happened to him?” Her stomach clenches considering what sort of grim misfortune could befall him in the three miles between their houses. “You know, they say that the worst accidents happen just outside your own home. What if he—?”

Nanna clucks fondly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “He’s a growing boy, honey. The only thing that’s gone and happened to him is hitting the snooze button too many times.”

“No one presses buttons anymore, Nanny,” Shirayuki sniffs, taking a long sip from her mug. “Everyone’s got phones now, and there’s apps where you can even—”

There’s no time to inform Nanna of sleep rhythm tracking or blue light-induced wakefulness; no, she can’t even express that there’s different alarm sounds before reality frustratingly, inevitably resolves to favor her grandmother.

An ill-tempered groan is all the warning Shirayuki has before Obi’s jeep heaves to a stop at the curb. With a few more metallic grunts, it spits him out on the front walk, whole and intact, at least from where she stands. There’s a chance he might have a scratch or two beneath the thin fabric of his vintage tee, or maybe a skinned knee where the flames at the bottom of his trunks cast a shadow, but well— she probably shouldn’t hope that her boyfriend’s hurt himself, even if Nanny’s going to be unlivable over it.

“Well, would you look at that.” Grandad rests his arm right across the top of her head, squinting right over the curtain. “Positively occult, that’s what I say.”

“Oh, come on,” Nanna huffs, giving her tea a showy little stir. “That’s hardly anything at all. You should see what I can get up to when there’s a baby involved.”

“Not any time soon, I hope,” Grandad snorts, using his arm to tip her head back and remind her, “Don’t get any ideas there, pumpkin.”

Her tea hasn’t cooled a jot, but with one hand clapped to both, her cheeks are still the hottest thing in this kitchen. “Pa!”

It’s no use, Grandad’s already strutted right across to the front door, look all satisfied with himself for a joke well-executed. His hand settles on the knob for a long moment, tentative, like he’s waiting, and then with one swift turn, opens it with a flourish.

“Ah.” Obi’s hand drops from where he’s raised it, hooking it right around to scrub at the back of his head. “Good morning, sir.”

“Good morning, young man.” Shirayuki rarely pities her father, but seeing Grandad turn that grin on Obi, she understand why he might have elected for windows as the main source of entry to this house. “Are you here to pick up some precious cargo?”

“I think cargo would be better behaved.” Obi’s head cranes around the corner, gaze sweeping the kitchen it can reach. “Is Shirayuki here?”

“And waiting!” Nanna’s wrinkled hand presses against her back, guiding her right to the door, tea mug and all. “You two have a good time now. Do you need me to put that in a cup for you, honey, or—?”

“I-I can leave it.” It squeaks out of her, nervous, and ah, last night had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but now when she looks at him—

God. Even now the scrape of his voice leaves tingles racing beneath the frail barrier of her skin, like static electricity waiting to be unleashed on the nearest metallic surface. I would have come for you anytime.

Shirayuki’s cheeks are already flushed, but she could swear the next flood of heat could sear them from the inside out, like a sunburn in reverse.

“Not too good a time,” Grandad tells them, a little arch, but she can see how a smile clings to the corner of his mouth, more teasing than warning. “Don’t need to hear about any trouble after the fact.”

Nanna swats his shoulder. “Oh, really! There’s going to be a hundred kids at this thing at least. How would they even manage to get up to anything in a crowd like that?”

“You must be getting old, Nan.” Grandad hangs from the door just like Shirayuki’s seen boys lean against lockers, giving her a cheeky grin and a wink. “Can’t remember the sort of things we used to get up to when we were eighteen.”

“Oh, hush!” Pink dapples her wrinkled cheeks, and she shakes her head. “All right, off with you two. I don’t need you getting any ideas from this old lecher.”

Grandad only smiles wider as they shuffle past him to the stoop. “I don’t think they’ll need any of my help with that, dear.”

The last thing she heard before the door shuts is Nanna’s huff, that sharp cluck of her tongue before she issues a warning, “Now, Dad…”

And just like that, the sound muffles, leaving only murmurs of her grandmother’s discontent— and the high points of Grandad’s laughter. It’s not long until she hears Nanna’s too, breathless and consternated, the last bastion against his charm. Shirayuki ducks her chin down, burying her smile in her shoulder. Nanna won’t hold out long.

“Man,” Obi sighs, a laugh bubbling under his words. “They’re exhausting.”

“Tell me about it,” she agrees, tucking a chunk of hair behind her ear. It’s only just long enough for a ponytail, and the front pieces keep trying to make a bid for freedom. “I think my heart stops every time they say we might be…”

Having sex. She can’t make herself say it. Can’t even make herself look at him, not when just last night she’d taken that picture he’s sent her and— and—

Please. It’s strange how vividly she remembers the words when she hadn’t ever spoken them out loud. All of it happened strictly in the confines of her own head. I want you. I want you inside—

Fingers slide between hers, gently squeezing as their palms come to kiss. “Hey,” he murmurs, his other hand reaching up to rub at his shoulder. “We’ll do whatever you want when you’re ready for it. I don’t care about what anybody thinks but you.”

It should be easy to tell him that it’s not about other people, and it’s certainly not about what popular opinion has them do behind closed doors, but— but about her. About what she had managed to imagine last night, all on her own, with only his chest and the hint of his erection to spur her on. About what she might be ready for if there was some way to— if only she could—

But she can’t. Not when she can’t even decide what it all means in terms of, er, readiness. So instead she just squeezes back. “I know.”

She dares a glance up at him then, taking in the faint circles around his eyes, the way his hair sticks up wildly from every direction. He must have just rolled out of bed and straight into his car.

“Sorry.” He scuffs his boot shyly on the stoop before hopping down, using their tangled hands to guide her after him. “I, uh…overslept.”

Shirayuki blinks at him, concerned. “Did you forget to set an alarm? I thought that you usually—?”

“Yeah, well, kinda slipped my mind,” Obi mutters wryly, stare pointed even from just the corners of his eyes. “I kinda had a big mess to clean up right before I hit the hay.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks prickle with heat, matching the tingle up her neck, and it’s a good thing he has his back to her to open her door. She doesn’t think she would survive if he could see her too. “That, um…makes sense.”

“And let me tell you, it was an even bigger one this morning,” he continues, so casual as she slips into the seat. “After I woke up to this.”

She glances up right into his phone’s screen, open to their messages. And there it is, in gray and white, I’m stuck

“O-oh,” she breathes, whole face so hot she’s sure it’ll crack to show magma beneath. “I, ah, forgot I sent that. I didn’t think you’d…”

See it, she doesn’t say. Because of course he would; even if he wasn’t awake to get it hot off the presses, Obi would never ignore her texts. And from the way he bends down, one hand braced on the back of her seat and the other on the dash, he’s not in any mood to forget it either.

“Too bad I missed it. I would have loved to help you.” He leans close enough her eyes cross to keep him in focus. “Only would’ve been fair after you gave it to me to so good last night.”

Ah, if he keeps that up, she might just erupt, the way kids in elementary school used to tease her. You got lava for hair, they’d always say, which suited her just fine. That’s how they drew Madame Pele in the books after all, and if it was good enough for her, then—

Obi’s gaze drops down to her lips, and, oh, well, that’s enough for her higher cognitive thoughts. “Did you…?” She licks her lips, nervous. “…Um, like that?”

“Kid,” he breathes, and that’s as much warning as she had before his mouth presses against hers, capturing her bottom lip between both of his. His tongue traces the shape of it, a gentle tease, a promise. Her fingers scrabble against the center console, trying to gain some purchase before she leans in, scraping them over his scalp.

“Jesus.” He pulls back, flushed. “Just…one second. Okay?”

She has enough presence of mind to whimper out, “Uh-huh.”

Obi jerks upright then, spine stiff and limbs loose like a marionette with a poor puppeteer, the tension of his strings all tangled. He shuts her door— gallant, like always; a gentleman, Nanna would hum, too pleased— but when he crosses in front of the grille to make for his, there’s none of his usual swagger. No flirtatious winks, no cat-like prowl that makes her flush, remembering the way those muscles feel like between her thighs. No, now there’s only a sense of urgency, a scramble to throw himself gracelessly into the driver’s seat.

He coaxes the car to a cough, its frame shuddering beneath her feet, still so stiff, not even daring to look at her.

“If you were a cat I’d take you to the vet,” she says, mild. “But I think they’d just tell me you had gas.”

That gets him to blink, to swing his head toward her. “What did you just say?”

“I was just wondering if something was wrong. I mean, if you were…” She hesitates, scrolling through her mental thesaurus until she settles on, “Upset? About something?”

“Upset?” It’s not a question, but a giggle, one that doesn’t so much bubble up as purr out of his throat, and ah, that probably shouldn’t make her toes curl or stomach drop, but here she is. “Kid, I…”

It’s with a sinuous shift that he leans over the gap between them, one hand cupping her jaw and coaxing her up to him. She doesn’t need much convincing; the second his fingers brush over the soft skin behind her ear she’s already reaching up, tongue darting across the space between them. He gasps against her; she drinks it down greedily, and the groan that follows, until he—

He pulls away. Again.

This time it’s not far, just enough to rest his forehead against hers, breath scattering enticingly over her lips.

“Last night,” he hums, breathless. “That was really good for me. So good. Distractingly good. All I’ve been thinking about this morning is how I wouldn’t mind if we” —he hisses, pained, and squirms back, hands gripping ten and two— “Ah, nope, never mind. That’s…we’ll talk about this later.”

Shirayuki blinks, head too clouded to keep herself from blurting out, “Am I in trouble?”

It’s no giggle when he laughs this time, throwing the car into drive. No, that one comes from a deeper place, one that thrums at the same pitch as something just beneath her skin, turning the space beneath her belly molten.

“Yes.” The gaze he turns on her is scorching, enough that every inch of her feels burned. “A lot of trouble. But…” He clears his throat, dragging his attention back out the windshield. “That conversation is going to have to wait.”

Her mouth is so incredibly dry. “Why?”

He snorts, like it’s funny, but she sees his grip shift on the wheel. “Because I can’t drive this car and make you come at the same time.”

“O-oh.” Her thighs clench tight, but that’s not help at all, not when he’s right here. “We could pull over…?”

“Kid. As tempting as that sounds…” The look he slides her makes her skin feel two sizes too tight. “We’re already gonna be late as it is. And the last thing we need is someone speculating what we needed the extra half hour for.”

It’s a reasonable reservation; the kind she should be concerning her with. The kind she would have been, if her body hasn’t suddenly informed her it’s been over two weeks since he’s touched her, a whole sixteen days since he last put his fingers insider her, and— “I don’t think anyone would notice if we’re only a little late.”

His narrow brows pitch toward his hairline. “That so?”

“I mean, we’ve been together for a while now,” she reminds him, voice only quivering with the barest tremble. “We’re old news. I’m sure that, er…”

“A certain friend of your will have an extremely detailed estimate of just what we could have accomplished left to our own devices?” he offers, a grin tugging at his lips. “One that, might I add, assumes quite a a few very complimentary things about my stamina.”

Shirayuki deflates, defeated. “Does that…bother you?”

“That Kihal thinks I could make you taste colors? Are you kidding me? I knew I always liked her for a reason. It’s just…” His grin doesn’t exactly fade, but the mischief leeches from it, leaving it a pale shadow of what it once was. “As happy as everyone is for us, I know some people…maybe didn’t think it would fall out this way. And I don’t want to…to feel like I’m rubbing it in.”

Zen, he means. Who had thought— who everyone had thought would, ah…

“All right.” She reaches over, squeezing his knee. He jumps, ticklish where she presses in. “Let’s behave, then.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “Can’t believe I argued for this.”

“It’s because you’re a good person,” she tells him. “A good friend.”

“No, he’s the good friend,” he mutters, pulling off onto the main road. “I’m just trying to deserve it.”

*

“Well, well, well.” Kihal slinks up jeep-side, taking the cooler Obi hands her from the back. “What’s this? Twenty minutes late and looking refreshed? Wonder what you two were up to.”

“Refreshed?” Shirayuki pants as she swings her beach bag over her shoulder, sweat dripping down her back like a popsicle left in the sun. Obi may not be old enough to drink, but by the title in the glove box, the jeep was. A pity that cars tended to age in dog years. It would have been nice to have the AC on a day so muggy not even the windows couldn’t cut the heat. “That’s a…bit of a generous read.”

“What did I tell you? Complimentary.” Obi snorts softly, shutting the hatchback. “Nice to know the girl thinks I could fuck comfortably on a Slip N Slide.”

Ah, now there’s a picture. “Could you? I mean, in theory.”

His eyebrows waggle in a more certain ‘no’ than any he could put into words. “Wanna find out?”

It’s the sort of tease that should have made her stammer and flush, pressure like a hand on her neck no matter how obvious he made the joke— or it would have, only a month or so back. But now she meets his mirrored lenses and just shakes her head, stifling a giggle. Her hair doesn’t budge from where it’s plastered to her neck and shoulders. “Nope.”

“Aw, kid,” he sighs, slinging an arm around her shoulder as they step under the trees. “Where’s the sense of adventure?”

It’s a short walk to where the seniors— former seniors; or if she really thinks about it, upcoming college freshman— have made camp on the shore, coolers and camp chairs taking up the small stretch of sand where the pine cover relents. It’s packed; if there’s not all two hundred plus of their graduating class here, then it’s close, most of them spread out on towels or splashing in the shallows

“Fyi, stay away from those coolers.” Kihal points toward four hard plastic coolers the size of a car trunk, cozened up under two extra-wide beach umbrellas. “Student Council’s covering drinks— at least as long as they last in this heat— but those aren’t ours.”

“Oh yeah?” Obi’s narrow eyebrows hike over his frames. “Who’s catering?”

Her mouth curls into a sneer. “Beer Barons.”

“Beer Barons?” There’s only a few restaurants in town, but Shirayuki’s pretty sure she’s never heard of that one. “Who’s that?”

Kihal huffs, arms crossing right over the band of her bikini top. “Oh, you know, the idiots who have been stealing from their parents’ mini bars and think that makes them master thieves?”

“What?” She stares at the coolers, nearly as large as the one in the pub’s basement. “That’s all alcohol?”

“Kid.” Obi’s mouth twitches. “Did you not know about this shit? It’s all anyone could talk about for months. This must be their big finale.”

“Their parents have got to know, right?” Kihal cocks a hip, skeptical. “I mean this is too much booze to be a coincidence.”

He snorts. “Oh, they’ve known the whole time. You think all those surgeons and stock brokers couldn’t put together why their mini fridges haven’t been stocked since October?”

“Mm. Good point.” She shakes her head. “Rich kids.”

“Pot,” Obi hums, mouth curling into a smile. “Kettle. Black.”

“Hey.” Kihal whips out a finger, prodding it into his chest. “I’m comfortably upper middle class.”

“I…” Shirayuki’s mouth works, but there’s nothing to say, not when she can’t recall a single thing about it. She’d been more concerned with passing in projects and sitting in on rehearsals and the brief moments Zen would scrounge up to talk to her; it’d been easy for everything else to just blur away like some aesthetic backdrop on a Christmas card. And then she’d slipped into Obi’s car and asked for kissing lessons, and well—

Well, sometimes it felt like her whole world could be just the two of them, if she let it. Less so now that he’s going to Lyrias— no need to try to fit a whole relationship into six months when they have another four years to fly or flounder— but it’s hard not just reduce her attention down to just those moments that are him and her and the way he can make her feel.

“People have been stealing alcohol?” she squeaks out, finally, weathering the wide-eyed stares Obi and Kihal turn on her. “From their own parents?”

Kihal’s quiet for a moment before she snorts, shaking her head. “You really do live in your own world sometimes.”

*

“So…” Shirayuki sits back on her heels, surveying the rumpled edge of her beach blanket. A few more tugs and it might lay flat, but she can’t muster up the gumption when getting it this far has sweat pouring down her spine, drenching the back of her cover up. “Is there anything besides alcohol to drink?”

“Uh, yeah, duh,” Kihal chuckles, spreading her legs out in front of her. “Student Council brought a bunch of soda and some Capri Suns. Should be right over there.” Her chin swings over to where there’s a couple of chest coolers— larger than what the Beer Barons have dragged out, but not nearly as nice— sweating in the sand. “But if that doesn’t move you, your jolly giant friend brought water or whatever. That’s in the bag over there, the soft one— yeah.”

Shirayuki flips open the lid, and there it is— probably twenty or so bottles fit so snugly together the ice has no place to go but on top, scattered in the small crevices between them. Heavenly, in this heat.

“Speaking of tall drinks of water,” Kihal hums from behind her, head propped up on her towel. “How’s yours?”

She blinks down at the Aquafina in her hand. “I…haven’t opened it?”

“Shirayuki, I don’t mean” —a hand flies up to Kihal’s forehead, accompanied by a groan— “I mean Obi. Your boyfriend! The guy with the great ass!”

That gets her to jerk up, scanning the crowd until she finds him crouched over a cooler. One of the alcoholic ones, she realizes, his grin wide as Mitsuhide warms up to the lecture he’s launched into, and well— she hadn’t noticed before, but now that he’s bent down, shirt shucked and swim trunks draw tight over his, ah, backside, it’s clear that they don’t leave much to the imagination. It doesn’t help that for all the stylized flames licking up from the bottom, the top is just a grayer shade of tan, and with it pulled so taut against him…

Well, even though she hasn’t seen him without his pants, she can take a pretty good guess at what he might look like under them now. Skin tone and all.

“So tell me.” Kihal rolls to her side with a smirk. “Is he proportional, or…?”

“Proportional?” She stares down at her, confused. “I haven’t measured, but it looks like his legs might be longer than his wing—?”

“Shirayuki,” she groans. “I mean, his dick.”

Her jaw drops, so dry not even a sip of water soothes it. “I don’t— I wouldn’t know! It’s only been a few months, we haven’t even…”

Seen each other naked. That’s what she means to say, except it gets stuck in her teeth, refusing to budge. Because Obi has, hasn’t he? Between taking off her shirt and getting her off with his mouth, her nakedness is a technicality. But she—

“Really?” Kihal stares at her over the rim of her sunglasses. “I know you said at graduation that you hadn’t done anything but…seriously? He walks around looking like god’s gift to women and you still haven’t torn off the paper?”

—She hasn’t returned the favor. Every glimpse of new skin from him makes her temperature rise ten degrees, and yet here she is, with some…dickphobia convincing her she won’t like the rest. It’s silly, she knows it is, but…

But it’s impossible to explain to someone like Kihal. To someone who knows how to want things.

“I’ve wrinkled the edges a little bit,” she admits slowly, twisting the bottle in her hands. “But I’m, um…savoring it, I guess.”

Kihal huffs, but it’s not judgmental, like she expects. Instead it’s playful, accompanied by a roll of her eyes and a grin. “I should have known. You let your ice cream melt before you eat all of it too.”

“Well, but that’s better warmer!” she protests, crawling back onto the blanket. “Isn’t it?”

“It really isn’t.” Kihal gives her a fond smile before she sighs, “Fine, take your time with him. But you better report back when you have answers. We’re best friends, you can’t hold out on me.”

“I will.” Even if they might be thirty when she does. “I mean, within reason.”

“No, no reason! I want to know every freckle or whatever. I should be able to picture his dick fully formed in my mind, no—”

“If you’re so desperate to know about proportions,” Kiki drawls, dropping down beside them. “Then you should know, Mitsuhide is.”

“God,” Kihal sighs. “I knew it.”

*

There’s a point— later in the day, of course, when some of her fellow former seniors have finally stated to filter out and the crowd thins— where it all becomes a little much. Where the sun and the heat and the nostalgia starts to tire her out, making her feel faded, like she’s bleached at the edges, frayed. This may have been her first year at Wisteria High, but she’s lived in this town her whole life, walked these woods more times than she can count. She even has pictures of herself standing in front of this very lake, baby fat still clinging hard to her cheeks.

The water laps around her legs, sun sinking from afternoon to evening, and all at once, she knows: it will never be like this again. That some of these people will say their goodbyes, and they’ll be gone from her life, forever. There will be high school reunions and chance meetings at the grocery store and social media posts, but—

But this is it. The end of an era. And here’s her, sitting at the end of the dock, tenaciously trying to cling to the last of it. Lingering like if she saves a few sips at the bottle of the bottom, her childhood will never truly be over.

At least, that’s what it feels like before something tan and lean surges up out of the pond, cold water splashing all over the tender skin of her thighs.

“Hey, Kid,” it says, tossing back wet hair with a predator’s smile. “Carrying something heavy there?”

She’d love to wrinkle up her nose at him, to give him a good, honest frown the way she used to when her wayward ASM would get up to no good, but for as much as there’s chaos in that grin, there’s concern too.

“Do you remember when we last came out here?” she murmurs, looking out across the water. “You dared me to skinny dip.”

Most of Obi’s submerged, his arms folded across the dock like a bowline around a cleat, but what she can see— every bit of it goes tense. “Yeah,” he rasps out, turning his head out toward the water. “Kinda…hard to forget.”

She blinks down, practically boring a hole through the whirl of his cowlick. “Really? You were…? Even then?”

“Why d’you think I was so eager to go in after you?” he grumbles, shoulders oddly flushed. “I kinda…listen, I didn’t really get what was going on with me when it came to you, but when you shimmied out of that skirt of yours—”

“You said you weren’t going to look!”

“I wasn’t looking! I was peeking.” Obi does a little bit of that now too, though his eyes skitter away before she can catch them. “It’s different. Anyway, I figured it out real fast. Too fast! Thought that freezing ass pond water would help. Which it did. Mostly.”

Her eyebrows raise. “Mostly?”

“Well, I might have caught a nipple too. You bobbed up a little when you splashed me, and uh…” He casts her a guilty look, though not an ounce of it seems sorry. “Well, it helped with things later. On my own. More than a couple times.”

There’s a prickle of heat between her thighs, enough that she has to clench to keep her head from spinning. “So you…? To me…? Then?”

“Ah, we don’t have to talk about me.” He lets his mouth hook into a smirk. “I think we should talk about you. And how you got stuck last night.”

“Oh!” That had been a conversation she’d meant to have on the ride here, a small victory she thought he’d be happy to celebrate, but now that his cheek rubs against the outside of her thigh, casual like he’s just wiping off a drip of water from his eyes, well— “You don’t need to, um…worry about that.”

“Hm?” His lips linger against the smooth flesh of her hip. “But I have been. All afternoon. Haven’t been able to” —her breath catches as one of his hands drops, tracing over her ankle— “stop thinking about it.”

A sigh trembles out of her, thin and helpless as his thumb smooths over the skin there, so sensitive she almost squirms. “You didn’t…have to…”

“Of course I do,” he hums, playfully taking the edge of her suit between his teeth. “It’s my job to make sure that you don’t get—”

“It’s fine,” she blurts out, hardly able to hear herself over the blood rushing through her ears. “I handled it.”

His jaw goes slack, her suit snapping back against her skin. “Come again?”

“I, um…” She swallows, ever part of her tingling under the intensity of his stare. “I got stuck, but then I, ah…got myself unstuck?”

“On your own?” he asks, strangely distant.

“Ah…” She nods, hoping he can’t see the way her hands tremble in her lap. “Y-yeah.”

A grin breaks out across his face, as bright as the dawn itself. “You wanna show me?”

Shirayuki stares. “What? Now? But there’s people—”

“We can solve that.” His hands wrap around her waist; her only warning before he drags her down, pond water splashing up around her shoulders before she can think to swim.

“Obi,” she yelps, hands scrabbling for his shoulders. She manages to hook one on her own, but he guides her to the other, pulling her close enough that her feet can rest right on his thighs. The muscles tense beneath her toes, hard as the pylons that serve as the dock’s mooring, and haah, well, the water’s a little warmer now that she’s got that in her head.

“See?” he hums, one hand gripping the dock to steady them. “Nice and private.”

She’d like to argue, but there’s no line of sight to the shore from this side of the dock; she’d have to bob up to even see the other one, positioned right across the lake, and well—

“We shouldn’t,” she gasps, fingers clutching tight enough her nails leave little crescent on his shoulders. “Not…not right here. Anyone could just…just swim over…”

The arm around her tightens, and Obi’s grin smooths to something more serious. “You don’t have to, kid. If this doesn’t feel good, then I’ll tease but not touch.”

Her toes curl against the flex of his thighs, and, ah, each lap of the water makes her aware of how close he is, of how much she would like to be touched. “I…um…”

“But…” He leans in close, his grin so wicked her heart skips a beat. “I think you’re into it.”

“O-obi!” It’s hard to hold the moral high ground when she’s so flushed it’s a surprise water doesn’t boil when it touches her. “That’s not…I’m not…um…”

“We’re not going to get caught.” It’s a promise when he says it, a certainty. “But…it still feels a little wrong, doesn’t it? That we could get caught. That someone else could see me touching you, and they’d know how good you get it, how good I can make you feel.”

She hadn’t thought it was possible to tremble like this and be so hot, for her to be fully submerged and yet know that she’s wet.

“Come here.” He parts her legs, wrapping them around his waist, leaving her wide open to him and yet still hidden from view. “Now no one can even tell, even if they do look this way.”

“Obi…” It’s not a no. God, it’s not even a yes; it’s a please.

His grip tightens around the dock. “Show me what you were doing last night. I want to see it.”

His free fingers drop between them, pulling aside the strip of nylon blend that covers her, and haah, the caress of the water against her folds has her hand diving between them before he can ask again.

“Jesus.” Black eclipses gold until only a thin rim of it remains, trembling the way his arm does as he holds them steady. “Kid…”

The pond’s hardly clear enough for him to see the way she drags her fingers over herself, so slick and ready that she tumbles into his hand more often than she manages to brush her clit, but it’s— it’s working, a few strokes bringing her close enough to that painful edge that she whines, head thumping back against the dock.

“Fuck, wait,” he gasps, mouth slack. “Tell me…tell me what you were thinking about. Last night.”

“Obi.” How can he expect her to talk when every bit of her longs to be consumed, when all she can think about is that she’s empty, and she could— he could— “You.”

“Good.” His grin is insufferable, but there’s something about it that makes her gasp, that makes her think about him laying next to her, just watching as he— “What about me?”

“Your picture.” She should be embarrassed, mortified that she’s even admitting to getting off just by looking at him, but it’s hard to remember when he’s so warm under her hand, when he’s looking at her like he can’t decide whether to kiss her or devour her whole. “It was— you were— hard. I wanted…”

A lot more than she’s ready for, she knows that even now. “I wanted it to be you,” she manages instead. “Touching me. In my bed. I thought about good your fingers are, and I—”

She nearly comes right there from the way he groans, forehead resting against her shoulder. “You like that? Me touching you?”

“Yes. And I thought about how I could— how I might—” She whimpers, frustrated, chasing that elusive high round and round, but finding no relief. “Obi, I need— more, please—”

“Fuck. Yeah, okay I” —he laughs, the sound muffled in her shoulder— “I got you.”

Two fingers thrust between her lips, but he doesn’t bat away her hand, like she expects. Doesn’t take over. No, after that first thrust he slows, following the rhythm of her slower strokes, fingers pumping into her with a languidness that has her whining against his throat.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, so low her skin shivers. “What were you think you could do?”

“I”—she’s so close it hurts, her voice barely eking above a whisper— “I want to touch you.”

It’s not the pace of his thrusts or the teasing of her fingers that pushes her over, oh no— it’s his face, the way his mouth goes slack and he flushes straight down to his shoulders, every bit of him vulnerable, every bit of him wanting. A whine escapes her, threatening a keen, but he swallows it as she trembles, pulling her closer even as his fingers never still, pulling each last thread of pleasure out of her.

When she’s done, they’re adrift. Or, well, at least no longer hanging off the dock.

“Well,” Obi chuckles lowly, letting her tortured swim suit snap back into place. “You didn’t do that alone, but I think an assist counts.”

A laugh bubbles out of her as she presses her head into his neck, self-conscious. “It’s just…better when you touch me.”

“Haah.” They’ve floated shallow enough that he can stand, and he does, nearly dropping her straight back into the water. “I’m glad to hear it, but uh…” He squirms, trying to unwrap her from his waist. “I think I got to, er…”

She blinks up at him, only clinging closer. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing! Nothing. That’s was…” His mouth curves, utterly satisfied. “That was great. I just…have something I should go take care of.”

“What do you—?” Something twitches against her, and ah, it’s an answer. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” His flush has faded to pink, but it’s still there, lingering. “And unlike you, it’s, ah, a little more obvious when I handle myself. So I thought I might…”

His head jerks toward the wooded part of the shoreline, lingering just a few elementary backstrokes away.

“Oh, you mean…?” It’s far enough from the beach that she doubts anyone else would be wandering through, but still, she frowns. “In there…?”

“Yeah.” He disentangles himself from her limbs, setting her down gently. “I’ll only be a minute.”

He draws himself up, water coming just under his hips, and ah, it’s not just his butt that those trunks don’t leave to the imagination now.

“Wait.” She catches his hand. “Obi…”

“Really, kid.” His eyebrows raise, emphatic. “It’s not gonna be long. You, ah…did a good job out ther.”

“No, it’s just…” She licks her lips. “Can I…come?”

He blinks at her, eyes so wide she’s sure they’ll fall out of their sockets. “I thought you just did.”

“I mean…” She stands up too, only up to her waist here, shivering when the wind blows over her. “I’d like to see you come again. Maybe even…help?”

His breath catches. “Ah, yeah.” His fingers squeeze tight around hers. “Yeah, I think that would be, uh…fine with me.”

[madamechrissy]

Took you Like a Shot

Pairings- Rich Frat/fuckboi Toru x Preppy Sorority reader

Summary- One VERY drunk encounter between your greatest rival ever - on your last day of college- leads to you being knocked up. Satoru Gojo, a fuckboy, fratboy, rich little jerk, has been a rival of yours since you all met in College, every damn grade you fought for he got with ease. He crashed every Sorority party you threw. The two of you are so infamous in your rivalry, your friend groups were rivals, and for some reason, life is playing some damn joke on you both. Now... you have to tell him the news - but how Satoru takes it surprises you. Can you both raise a baby together!? And do you even really know each other?

Contents/Warnings- gonna be flashbacks to the rivalry/that night, nerdjo but make him a fratboy, enemies to kind of begrudging partners, but then as the pregnancy progresses, they fall in love hehe (gojo is an idiot) MDNI - 4 parts (I THINK) in this chap-explicit sexual content, oral (m and f recieving) light angst, lots of feelings developing, Satoru is a lil shit but he's tryingg, cumplay, creampie, cervix kisses, mating press, flashbacks of their past rivalry- WC- this chap- 11k ( a lil longer one for ya) art in the banner by Yuana on X

Comments and reblogs so appreciated if you enjoyy <3 (extras here and here)

<<<Chapter One - Masterlist - Playlist- Chapter Three>>>

Chapter Two

One Week later

“Are you… are you high!?” You whisper, as Satoru Gojo steps out of the back seat of his car, grinning up at you, sunglasses covering his eyes, but when he tilted them down, they’re bloodshot, he winces as the sunny day hits them, his head pounding.

Maybe going to a party last night was a bad idea?

Fucking Suguru and Sukuna.

“What? No! Do they have good food here!?” He’s eyeing the restaurant eagerly, tummy audibly growling. “I’m starving.”

“Satoru, tell me you’re not blitzed before we meet my parents.” You hiss between your teeth, crossing your arms under your breasts, just drawing even his faded attention to them.

“Those tits, god they keep getting-”

“Nope. Answer me.”

He whistles, shaking his head, before he grins once more, lopsided and far too charming. “No way, sweets. Straight as… a whistle?”

“A whistle?” Your raised brow shows your obvious confusion, you lean over to sniff him, smelling no pot however.

“Damn baby, right here?” He’s chuckling at his own joke, he may look like a million bucks in this gray Armani suit, so damn gorgeous it’s ridiculous. “I’m fine I swear, and ooh… don’t you look good.”

“Um… thanks?” He lowers those glasses as you lead him over to the stairs. It's bustling and busy, nice but casual, not what Satoru was used to, but when you explain it’s your favorite place, he’s intrigued. “This way, you’ve met my parents, yeah?”

“A couple times.” He pauses as you step in front of him, staring at that ass in this fucking sundress, making his already fucked up state worse, as he remembers the first time he noticed that ass.

*****

Four years ago

“Well hello, pretty.” Came the slow drawl of the voice behind you, it’s your first day of college, you’re so nervous but excited, this was a big opportunity for a girl like you, a full ride scholarship so elite. You look around, seeing the white haired man whistling as he stares at your ass, his sunglasses perched on his straight nose.

“Gojo?” You ask then, since you all met Senior year of high school, he’d certainly never called you pretty.

His blue eyes lock on yours over his shades, blinking then, thin brows together. “When did you get such a nice ass?”

“A nice what!?” You turn now, shoving at his chest, which almost makes you blush at just how built he feels.

You remember seeing him shirtless playing basketball, dribbling that and dunking in school, but the two of you never talked, you were the new girl Senior year and quiet, he was as popular as it got. This year, you want to have a life, have friends, not just be the shy girl.

You have a plan.

And he certainly can’t fuck that up.

“I didn’t know it was you, shit, you been like… doing squats or-”

“Can we not talk about my ass? Also how was I pretty from the back?” He’s grinning, bright white snarky little grin.

“I bet it’s pretty from the back-” Smack. “Ow, what the hell!?”

“You are an ass, Satoru Gojo.” A crowd gathers, gasping as Satoru takes off his shades, a red mark on his face.

“Give a girl a compliment and she smacks you for it!? Prissy little brat.”

“I don’t want your pervy compliments, manwhore.” You hear the oohs and whispers rolling more and more, as he crosses his arms, smirking like the little shit he is.

“Pervy? No, you should be honored to have them by me, goody goody.”

“Conceited jerk! Ugh!”

“Little nerd!”

“Me!? Don’t you play Digimon!”

“Yeah but you play DnD.” You cross your arms now, glaring up at the tall handsome jerk of a man, in his stupid blue polo that brings out his eyes, very unfortunately.

“DnD is classy.”

“Okay dungeon master.”

“Ugh!” You both stomp off in different directions, as everyone disperses, already talking about the two of you, people who never noticed you in high school now saw the girl who slapped ‘the’ Satoru Gojo.

Satoru’s friends, Suguru and Sukuna come up to him then, as he rubs his cheeks, and he sees Utahime talking to you. “Oh great, she’s talking to the number one Gojo hater.”

“She smacked the shit out of you, dude.” Suguru snorts, clearly blitzed, where his eyes are white they’re bright red. Satoru rubs his cheek, as you walk off, that nice ass in those jeans jiggling just so, while your hips sway.

“Just told her she had a nice ass.” He grumbles, Sukuna and Suguru lean their heads to the side, whistling, earning you looking back at the three men.

“Really!?” You cross your arms, and they all snort in laughter.

“They’re pigs, I know. Hey, we should sign up for the sorority, don’t you think!?” Utahime asks, you bite your lip nervously.

“A sorority?”

“You’d do great, baby.”

“Shoko!” You both hug her, as she sucks on the tip of her cigarette, looking back at the boys and laughing a bit.

“They’re still staring at your ass.”

“My god!” You take off your hoodie then, wrapping it around your hips, flipping the three of them off, Sukuna and Suguru laugh, but Satoru’s just staring, blue eyes far, far too much to handle.

Blue eyes you fell into when you first saw him.

Before he opened his mouth, that is.

*****

Present Day 

The memories fade off, when you head up the stairs to the rooftop restaurant where you were meeting your parents for lunch, and you hear a low whistle as you step up each stair. You turn, hand on the railing while the breeze whips your dress around just a bit, when you see him staring right at your ass.

“Satoru!”

“It’s getting bigger, pregnancy is kind of hot on you.” You gasp now, as he’s licking his lower lip, eyes traveling up your body.

“I’ll smack you!” You whisper, turning and leaning close, while his hand now comes to rest on your waist, feeling far, far too good.

“It’s a compliment, Pookie, relax.”

“I’m not your ‘Pookie’ and-” He pinches your ass now, earning his smack, but this time he dodges, before casually strolling up the stairs, hands in his pockets, as you’re fuming and stomping along next to him.

“You’re a brat.”

“A brat!?”

“Never could take a compliment for shit.”

“A big ass isn’t-”

“There you two are!” Your parents wave you two over then, and Satoru puts an arm around you with ease, waving and grinning, hand precariously close to the ass that has driven him insane since the first day of college.

“Hey guys!” You greet, grinning but whispering through your teeth. “I’m gonna kick your ass later.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time now.”

“Gojo! What a… surprise.” Your mom looks at you curiously, you haven’t told them yet, but surely seeing you with Satoru Gojo was a shock. He smiles with ease, taking her hand and kissing it with a wink, as if he’s a gentleman and not someone who just pinched your ass.

“Hey there, Gojo.” Your dad says now, shaking his hand, and you both sit across from them, as the pretty waitress flirts right with Satoru, he ignores her and has an arm draped around your waist.

He plays a very good boyfriend.

Maybe his arm feels a little too good?

Pregnancy hormones, surely.

“You don’t want mimosas?” Your mom asks curiously then, as the waitress offers the bottomless special, you shake your head, and Satoru’s blue eyes assess you carefully, your hand flitting to your stomach.

You already were sacrificing, sure it’s just drinks, but he’d gotten blitzed the fuck out last night, something about that feels off to him. He can’t pinpoint or place it, when you take his hand in yours, it feels too good, your warm hand so tiny compared to his own huge hands, he falters for a moment, mind all over the place until he sees the shock on your parents faces.

Oh shit.

You just told them!

“Pregnant!?” Your mom says far too loudly, and you see the curiosity of those around you, shushing her then. “What!? How?”

“You wanna know how? Take a guess mom.” Your eyes narrow, and then your mom sighs, as your dad still blinks in shock.

“With… Gojo?” Her assessment turns to Satoru then, who’s gulping down his own icy drink, some rainbow frozen concoction, so fast his head hurts, he holds it then, whimpering.

“Brain freeze, ouchie!” He’s screaming out, earning more looks, as your mom turns back to you, watching the six foot four man waving his arms like he’s caught on fire, a question on her lips.

“Him though? Honey…” You sigh then, standing up and cupping Satoru’s face then.

“Open up.” He opens his mouth now, as you press your thumb against the roof of his mouth, to the avid attention of the entirety of the rooftop now, when Gojo sighs in relief, blue eyes fluttering open, meeting yours.

“S’better!” He mumbles, you laugh then, you can’t help it, damn him if he’s not amusing and… freaking cute, pouting like a puppy around your finger.

“It’s a trick I learned.” He’s tempted to suck on your finger then, so much he kind of does, making you heat up, pulling back and wiping his drool off your dress, as you both sit back down, and your parents look at each other.

“Oh.” They both say then, making the two of you blink in confusion.

“Oh what?” You ask.

“I guess I see it now.” Your dad’s words fill you both with confusion, but you have to admit, it works in your favor, too.

“Yes we are… together.” You say softly, scooching your chair a little closer, when Satoru’s hand rests on your thigh, burning your skin with the contact.

Pregnancy hormones, right?

Nothing else… yeah?

“We are, and she’d like to keep it.” Gojo’s soft words surprise you, making you meet his gaze, wondering then- “Gonna be a Satoru junior!”

“Satoru junior!? What if it’s a girl?”

“Still Satoru. Oh wait, Satoruette.”

“Oh god,we are not naming it Satoruette!”

Your parents laugh then, and the tension eases, soon your dad is talking to Satoru, and they’re speaking on sports, of course Satoru was also a star basketball player, amongst everything else. That’s one area you never were not missing too much, you cheered of course but it was not really your passion, also every game seemed to be some argument between you two.

“Are you sure about this, kids are a big responsibility, especially financially.” Your mom’s words hit you hard, you know that of course, and don’t take it lightly. “We can help some but things are a little tight-”

“No mom, no. This isn’t for that, though you can totally buy them some cute little toys or clothes if you want.” Her eyes get misty, as your hands join over the table. “This is just to tell you. I can do this mom.”

“But honey, your career…”

“I can do it. I know I can.” She sighs now, leaning over and brushing your cheek, Satoru watches the affection then and hears her words.

“Then I’m proud of you, I always am.”

God, what would Satoru do if he heard those words?

His parents barely gave him affection growing up, always on this island or this cruise, this country or that destination, never acknowledging how hard Satoru worked, just informing him of his duty. Taking over the business, college was useless to a family like the Gojos, maybe a nice decoration for that sky high office building just waiting with his name on it.

No straight A’s, no winning games, nothing got one tenth of the affection you just got for something that’s essentially not the best thing at your age. No, your mom is proud of you, and he watches your tears flow down your cheeks, realizing he’s seen you cry a few times now, but never in four years, while you’re smiling tremulously at her.

“Thank you mom. I needed that.” You’re on her side of the table, hugging, as your dad clears his throat a bit.

“Gonna make an honest woman out of her?”

“Dad! Satoru, don’t listen. Old fashioned man.” You tease, wiping off your cheeks and smiling so brightly, the sun hits your skin, skin that’s just glowing, and it makes his breath catch for a moment.

You’re beautiful.

He always knew you were banging hot, a little pretty brat, but he never realized until that moment, with everything glowing about you, that you’re beautiful too, an inner beauty that makes his fogged brain clear for just a moment. The crush he’d had for so long suddenly shifts into something more, even moreso than after the night you two shared that led to this moment.

“Are you okay, they’re a little extra.” He notices you’re right then, looking over to your parents and shaking his head.

“They’re great actually.” The sincerity in his voice hits deeply, you smile over at your parents, then back at him.

“They are, huh?” You grin, so clearly devoted to your family.

How must that feel to be?

So loved.

“So… dinner in a few hours with your parents, right? Should I dress a certain way?” Satoru’s demeanor shifts, you frown a bit at it, touching his shoulder. “You okay, this is a lot.”

“I’m fine.” He needs another hit of that blunt or ten before he deals with his parents, however.

“Are you gonna continue basketball, Gojo?” Your dad asks, Satoru sighs, frowning and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t.” His words make you sick as you’re struggling to just keep water down, have you already fucked his dreams up?

“The baby…”

“No, no.” His hand sits on yours with far too much ease, like it’s been there in that spot for as long as you can remember, squeezing it. “Nothing to do with that. The family business.”

“Oh… I’m sorry, you were amazing though.” He smirks just a bit at that, you sure would never have said that back then.

“Ya think so?” You nod then.

“I was a shitty cheerleader.” He smiles.

“You were.”

“Hey!” You shove him playful\y, as the food is brought out, Satoru has ordered an obscene amount of food, already digging in. “Remember nationals?”

“Oh god yeah.”

Three years ago

Satoru and the team had almost won nationals already, and you and the cheerleading squad are on the sidelines, about to head into the center of the loud basketball court, the rubber of your cheer sneakers sliding just so, squeaky over the floor as you all prepare. Satoru has a bunch of girls all over him, snapping selfies, as he’d already secured their guarantee, so of course he was the MVP of the team.

You watched him avidly, how good he was, not that you’d admit it, especially as your fists go to your hips, preparing for the routine, and Satoru’s chuckling just a bit at you, smug expression on his stupid pretty face. You can’t stand him then, when he cups his hands over his face, shouting your name.

“You can do it.” He’s mocking, one thing you were not good at was fucking cheerleading. You couldn’t flip for shit and were afraid of heights, this was a terrible combination.

Some people laugh, as your friends pat your back, encouraging you. When the routine begins, and you’re up in the air, standing stiff, you panic, the room starts spinning damn near. You feel yourself lose balance, falling in front of a court with thousands of people watching.

And one loudly laughing.

You can’t cry, you can’t cry.

You brush off the helpful hands of your friends, hopping up and immediately regretting it, your entire body aches, and you see a bruise already forming along your knee, scraped up and dripping blood.

And he laughed at you.

God you can’t stand him.

You limp off when Satoru sobers up, seeing you’re clearly hurt, and runs towards you, pausing you before you run right out of there. “Funny, huh? You get a good laugh at me?”

You glare at him, eyes watery then, and he falters, instantly feeling terrible, he didn’t think you hurt yourself, and the fall was comical. It’s what you both did, make fun of each other, laugh and point when one of you fucked up, but even the side of your face has a blossoming bruise, which he touches, earning your trembling lip.

He’s never seen you cry.

“Are you crying?”

“Really, came here to mock me even now!?”

“No I…”

“I am not crying, and I’ll be fine. I quit.” You’re limping off, even when Satoru’s hands hit your waist, feeling far too good.

You shove it down, shove it all down.

“You quit, competitive ass no way.”

“I do.”

“C-can I carry you, to get it checked? The doc is here-”

“Carry me, what kind of joke is that, to make you look even better? The basketball court is full of quiet murmurs, many worried about you, and cooes of how sweet Satoru is. His blue eyes light up with fire as they narrow.

“You think I am asking to help so I look good.”

“You always care how you look. And you look perfect, you have the perfect life, and here I am - falling in front of a room - to you fucking laughing. I’m good.” You pull back from him, wincing in pain as your knee is swelling even more.

“You’re being a stubborn brat, you have to get checked. What if you-”

“Tell them I quit, if you wanna do anything for me. You won’t have to see me as often either, works out.”

“I…”

“Congrats on the win, I’m sure.” He watches you limp away, your friends running after you, eventually he walks back, your face haunting him.

Maybe if he didn’t taunt you?

Maybe if he didn’t laugh…

You clearly got hurt, thrown off maybe because of him, and he’s just left there, quietly informing the team you quit. When he’s back to his team, even they look at him a little seriously, his coach coming to tell him about sportsmanship, and how he shouldn’t laugh like that.

Satoru tried to apologize the next time he saw you, but instead of the banter, with your leg wrapped up, you turned and said nothing to him.

Shit he fucked up.

*****

Present Day

You are walking Satoru to his car, as you both have a few hours to go, while his mind whirls with regret, with memories of you. You had brought up nationals as a joke at how bad you were, but all it did was make him remember just how fucking horrible he was to you.

“What’s wrong, intense huh?” You look at him with concern he doesn’t really deserve, your dress blowing just a bit, earning you clutching some of the thin material in a fist.

“I was an ass that day. Nationals.” You look down now, taking a little breath, shaking your head.

“It probably looked funny-”

“No. I was an ass. I’m… sorry.” Your pretty face is frozen in shock, mouth wide open while you try to comprehend his words.

“You’re apologizing for something like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh…” You both stand there for a bit, when you remember how upset you were, god you two didn’t talk for months, a gnawing feeling growing.

Do you know him truly?

“Thank you for that. But, it’s the past, we shouldn’t dwell.” Your hand is soft on his shoulder.

“Pregnancy making you a mush.”

“Says you, apologizing for your past, like some Eboneezer Scrooge.”

“Pshh.” You both laugh a bit, before you clear your throat, dispelling some of the tension between the two of you.

“I’ll see you soon, Satoru.”

“Sounds good.”

Doesn’t sound good, his parents are not something he wants having you scrutinized, the cozy vibes of today will be long, long gone, he already knows.

******

“Holy shit… you’re… rich rich.” Satoru snorts, rolling his eyes as you two use the brass lion knocker that evening, twilight making the sky a myriad of purples and pinks, casting the softest glow.

“Yeah, the ‘richest in the state’.” He finds it all far too pretentious, but you can’t help but feel a mixture of intimidation, and awe, the high iron gates and gorgeous mansion in front of you, in the prettiest white with light blue there was, as if it was molded for Satoru’s color.

Could anything replicate his eye color?

Why are you thinking that way!?

“Are they alright with this?” You ask quietly, hearing the footsteps head towards the door, ever so slowly.

“They are… well you’ll see.” The tone, while he’s still blitzed the fuck out clearly, perhaps more, is dark for a simple dinner. “I already told them.”

“Oh… you did?”

“Yeah, when I found out, trust me, throwing you to the wolves is an understatement of my parents.” The door opens, after an uncomfortable long moment, the butler opens it and bows at his waist.

“Master Gojo, come come.” He claps his hands, nose literally up in the air like some damn commercial for ‘grey poupon’ or some shit. Satoru’s family home is even more beautiful on the interior, floors polished to a glassy sheen, white marble of course, along with dual winding steps, in crushed white velvet with mahogany rails.

Everything in here is impeccable, sparkling, chandeliers over head with the insanely high ceilings, you tilt your head back, to see the intricate work decorating it, swirls of gold and blue, like you’d see in old royalty. It doesn’t fit a damn LA home, as rich as the area is, no it’s damn near Versailles.

You swallow down a sudden lump of anxiety, when Satoru’s hand squeezes yours, gently, and you look at him. His eyes are slightly glazed, his jaw is tight, his grip reassuring, but the way he looks around, like he himself is uncomfortable in his own home, makes you realize how much he truly hates this place.

You never considered someone so privileged could feel this way, his utter disgust is clear as day. “I know, it’s overboard.”

“No, I mean it’s beautiful…” Your words trail off, because the butler has already led you to the dining hall, where a table so long it could fit fifty people is set for the four of you. You spot his mother and father at the end of the table, their expressions unreadable, but you know they’re sizing you up.

The chandeliers are dimmer here, the walls lined with paintings that belong in a damn art gallery, including a giant painting of Gojo, his father and you’re assuming his grandfather, so giant they take over the entire room. The atmosphere is so thick with tension in the air that you could feel your lungs crave fresh air.

Is this where he grew up?

The smell of surely a five star meal wafts over to you, but your stomach feels like it’s in knots, when you see the elaborate display, and you see Satoru’s mother. She’s got long silky white locks, but dark eyes, elegant and beautiful as she stands up, while his father has the exact shade of blue, Satoru is clearly the perfect mix of the two gorgeous people.

“Ah, Satoru, and you…” She addresses your name, a cold smile as she gestures for you to sit. “Come have dinner.”

“Pleased to meet you all, thank you.” You say politely, even as this feeling of being… in some petri dish under a microscope takes over. Satoru’s plopping down, making his father’s brows lower.

“Can’t pull out her seat?” He demands, and Satoru sighs, but you’re already sitting down.

“This looks so delicious, thank you.” You try to ease the tension, while you all follow into polite, menial conversation, their words feel practiced and hollow.

You think of your upbringing, a little cozy home, far from rich or fancy, but your mom cooked every night. And that little old kitchen table they still have, the one long past its prime, was filled with laughter, tears, or sometimes even lively debates between the three of you.

Not this.

“So, let’s cut to it.” You hear, while you’re nibbling on a bite of probably the best filet mignon you’ve had, but your fork clatters to your plate at his father’s words.

“Really, couldn’t give it twenty minutes?” Satoru’s words are icy cold.

You tense as you sit at the table, scrutinized to a tee, his mother and father’s eyes cooly assessing you up and down. “You have an amazing degree, lots of community activism, some sports it seems.”

“You… researched me?” You ask, his father shrugs.

“Of course we did, we need to know if you’re good stock.”

You nearly spit out your drink, Satoru’s jaw tenses so much you see a thin blue vein popping out from his jaw, pulsing under that skin. “She’s not an animal, the fuck you mean good stock. Are we breeding corgis?”

“You know what he meant.” His mom says, dabbing a handkerchief on her lips and sighing, leaning back to look at you. “She’s beautiful, and clearly intelligent, no record ever, unlike your long one.”

“Whatever a couple charges. And… so what, then she’s okay for your standard then?” Gojo says with a glare, as you heat up in embarrassment.

“She seems like she may be good quality, though her family isn’t exactly up to par.” You throw down your napkin then, standing, and Satoru curses, knowing you sure weren’t letting that slip. He murmurs your name, but you’re far gone.

“My parents are the best there are in the world.”

“They’re poor.”

“Poor!? They aren’t on the streets, they live in a fucking superb.”

“Bad language, check that off.” His mom murmurs, and Satoru blinks at their audacity, watching as his former rival - was it former? - fire sign brat - about to go unhinged, was so enjoyable his lips twitch in humor.

“Is there a checklist you’re keeping for me?” You demand, they look at Satoru then.

“She seems angry, is that usual?” His mom asks, earning Satoru’s smirk.

“She’s fiery is all.”

“Talk to me like I’m a person, stop acting like I’m a picture, someone who fits your son in your eyes.” They both falter a bit, watching while you’re crossing your arms now, he hears your heels click on the floor, echoing while he can clearly see the fury raging on your pretty face.

“We don’t disapprove.” His father says then, making you pause, as well as Satoru for a moment. “She… sorry, you seem like you have your life together. Squeaky clean, dean’s list, high up journalism opportunity. We are supportive of the two of you getting married.”

“Married!?” The two of you shout at once, you plop back down in your seat in shock, sipping water while they look at each other, then the two of you.

“Of course you’ll get married, the sooner the better before-”

“It’s not 1810, we won’t be getting married.” Satoru cuts in. “In the future perhaps, but it’s common for people to not marry.”

“That’s unacceptable for your position, and you know it. What sort of scandal would that cause?”

“Scandal this, image that, fuck it.” Satoru downs the glass of wine in front of him, shaking his head now as he answers his mother. “I’ll take care of the baby, but we aren’t getting married for your image.”

“I highly encourage you to change your mind, a marriage and baby would look good for the corporation.” Satoru rolls his eyes at his father’s words.

“Everything for the image, huh?” He smiles sadly, eyes hollow, and you realize then and there that you’ve never really known a damn thing about Satoru Gojo.

You pictured it, the rich boy he was, flaunting his wealth in shirts worth your bills for the month, how cocky and conceited he seemed, how foolish. But now it all starts clicking together like little puzzle pieces you can finally press together. How could he handle parents like this?

“We will help support the heir, regardless.” His mother says, a little softer, you watch as Satoru stands then, hands gripping the table tightly.

“I don’t need help, and we are not royalty, as close as you think we are, don’t call it the ‘heir’ please. I think I’m… full though. You?” He holds out a hand and you nod, placing yours in his, while his parents stand across the elegant banquet table as well, stiff and stuck up… and just cold.

“Satoru, we aren’t displeased you’re having the child, just the way you’re going about it. It’s uncouth.” His father’s words make him squeeze the fuck out of your hand, while he pulls you to stand.

“Uncouth huh?”

“You’re uncouth all together, you always are. When you’re supposed to be the pride of the family.” You glare now, yanking Satoru around, until you stand directly in front of his parents.

“Guess what, I’m proud of him, even if you aren’t, okay?” They gasp at your audacity, but Satoru just blinks, staring at you.

“You’re a mouthy little girl, aren’t you?” You laugh then, right at his mother, shaking your head.

“You’re going to be grandparents, you should focus on becoming good ones, huh? Not financially, either. Focus on being someone we can feel good about you being in their lives, about the coming over.”

“Well, we won’t watch the baby. We could pay for a nanny-”

“No.” You cut his mother off again. “All due respect Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, you need to get it together if you want to be in this baby’s life. No nannies, no being uppity, you need to support your son, okay?”

“We-”

“No, I mean really support him. He got straight A’s, he was a star basketball player, leader of his fraternity, now he’s stepping up to care for his baby. What more did you need to be proud of!?”

Satoru speaks your name again, tugging at you, while his parents frown then, staring at each other. “We should go.”

“Thank you for dinner, Mr. and Mrs Gojo. I hope I can see you all again.” You say now, holding out your hand, firmly shaking each of theirs, before you let Satoru pull you away, steps echoing through the elegant halls on those marble floors. Pretentious statues staring at you both the whole way, you can feel him, seething. “Shit, I said too much, I’m sorry…”

“Will you stop?” He’s pulled you past the door man now, until the two of you are finally outside, so he can breathe.

“How do you even handle them?” Your question makes Satoru laugh, without humor, while you all stand in front of the Gojo mansion, the night breeze swirling around the two of you, the moon so full and bright it’s illuminating his perfect skin.

“How do I handle them…” He’s shrugging a broad shoulder now, as the two of you wait for the car to arrive. “I didn’t have to very often, they weren’t around.”

“No wonder you…”

“No wonder I what?” He whispers, raising a thin brow now, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I shouldn’t say anything.”

“No, when have you ever held back, hmm little preppy ass brat?” It’s your turn to glare, crossing your arms.

“I wasn’t attacking you here, I was trying to be understanding, to… just try to get you, okay?”

“Why, do ya feel bad for me?”

“No!” You do though, shit. You feel horrible that those are his parents, not that they are cruel, they don’t care about him as anything other than a figurehead.

“Don’t feel bad, I have everything I ever wanted, right?” He uses your own words in the past against you, making you falter, blinking rapidly. “What’s that display, though, playing a girlfriend so well?”

“What display?”

“That you’re ‘proud of me’ or whatever.” He’s mumbling now, looking away from you, making the clenching in your tummy worse. “That’s feeling sorry.”

“That’s defending you, okay?” His eyes catch yours, more feelings than you ever expected to see from Satoru Gojo, eyes that were arrogant were swirling with more emotions than you could fathom.

“I don’t need you to.” You scoff now, shaking your head, biting on a lower lip he’s dying to kiss, a mouth he wants to devour, with every puff of breath in the cool night, he sees goosebumps along your shoulders and arms. He should offer you his fucking jacket, he should…

You’re touching his face, hand cool on his heated cheek, as you glare right up at him, making him ache to pull you against him. “If we are going to raise a baby together, we need to do a lot better than them. And we can do better, okay? I know you can.”

Satoru exhales at your words, blinking back emotions. “How do you know?”

“I just know, you’ll be more involved, you’re not like them, alright? You’re arrogant, you annoy me, you're a perverted little shit.” He laughs a bit, softly now, big hand wrapping your delicate wrist, easing off his face, but not letting it go. “But you’re not them, you’re just… Satoru.”

“Shit.” He pulls you against his hard chest, making you both falter, your own eyes darting to his lips, far too close when he leans down.

If he kisses you, you’ll melt.

“Say something dumb or pervy.” You whisper, he grins now, shaking his head, while his hand slips down your waist.

“There’s been one thing on my mind looking at you-” The car pulls up now, and he clears his throat, hands slipping down your cool arms. “Time for you to go home. Do you want me to ride with you?”

You nod then, sliding into the back of the black car with him, as he sends the address to the driver’s gps, leaning back, arm over the seat, so close to you, his long legs spread wide, brushing on your still chilled skin. You feel the warmth of him, as you fall into an uncomfortable silence, you can’t stop wondering about him, the boy you thought you knew.

You turn your head to find him staring right at you, openly, not the ogling stare of before, no it was so different. Contemplative, studying, heating you up everywhere it touches like his hands themselves are touching you, burning a trail everywhere they land, in the quiet dark of the car.

“What is it?” You murmur, biting back a moan when his hand touches your thigh, feeling so good you almost fail at concealing it.

“Beautiful, that’s what I’ve thought all day.” Your cheeks heat up, you look away then, words you’d never expect Satoru to say.

“What?”

“You’re beautiful. Okay?” His fingers brush your hair back, off your collarbone, trailing them across it then, as your chest rises and falls with every breath. “I can’t stop thinking about it, shit I always knew you’re drop dead gorgeous, but I guess today is the first moment I thought it.”

“You can’t-”

“I do mean it. Glowing, fuck.” He’s too close then, and you’re gulping, throat suddenly dry, inhaling that hundred dollar a spray cologne, intoxicating as it fills your senses.

“Satoru…” He’s exhaling, breath hot against your lips, lips you’ve bitten to death in attempts to hold back, what’s glimmering to the surface.

“We hate each other, I don’t want that, not for this baby.”

You blink rapidly, your own hand slipping up his chest, feeling his heart race as it does. “I don’t want it either. I want them to have loving parents, even if we’re not together.”

Together.

Satoru’s never dated, he’s had women in and out of his bed since he turned eighteen, sometimes multiple girls in one night, chasing some feeling that he has never gotten, except with you. But even after that night, he never contemplated it, dating someone, being with them, was he worthy of that, especially with you? He couldn’t even give you his jacket.

Suddenly he takes it off, making you giggle when he wraps you with it. “It’s not cold inside the car, silly.”

“I suck, I’m an idiot and… I am not a gentleman, at all.”

“Satoru…” He shakes his head as you cut him off.

“No, it’s true. I was fucked up before an important day for us, and I couldn’t even give you my jacket tonight when I saw you freezing.” You pull it closer, when he’s brushing a hand under it, right on your waist, sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re doing fine all things considered, I wasn’t kidding. I am proud that you stepped up, it means a lot to me, okay?”

“Don’t be so nice.” You glare, making him moan softly at how sexy you always are when you do.

“You’re being nice, too.”

“I know. Everything I’m thinking, though baby?” He’s got his other hand entangled in your hair, and you can’t stop the soft cry from escaping your lips. “It's filthy.”

“Filthy, huh?” Your voice is just a breathy whisper, he can't stop thinking just how cute you are.

“You can’t begin to imagine what I’m thinking. Seeing these rock hard all fucking day, so full already.” He’s gripping your tits then, squishing one in his palm, and a thumb brushing over it, making your hips roll, pressing your eager cunt against the seat, dying for the friction, while he’s so close you can taste him. “They want to get sucked on, don’t they sweetheart?”

You nod wordlessly, earning Satoru’s moan as he presses you down on the seat then, his own jacket falling under you, hand pushing down your dress, revealing your pretty breasts to his view. You gasp when he brushes his thumb on them, bare, lowering his snowy head, and you’re frozen there, trying to remember all the years you hated him, he hated you.

Why can’t you think of anything but how bad you want him?

“Shouldn’t I take care of you, too? Don’t you ache baby?” He’s murmuring, mouth hovering, as he just barely brushes his lips on them.

“S-sensitive…” He presses another kiss, and your hands entangle in his silky locks, cunt so wet it’s making your panties sticky.

“Sensitive, then do you want me to make them feel good?”

“Should we… ah!” He’s lapping at your nipple with his talented tongue, swirling your nipple, and your moan fills the car, to the point you’re sure poor Kiyotaka could hear you, making you slam a hand on your mouth. Satoru chuckles, little shit that he is, lapping at the other one.

“You want it so bad, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” He sucks your nipple into his hot mouth, you can’t stand just how good it feels, your hand entangling in his locks, pulling him off, as your chest heaves with your labored breaths, and he hovers an inch above you.

“Is it just… sex then? Do we just have amazing sex?” He smirks now.

“It was amazing? That’s the first I heard.”

“You know it was, arrogant ass. For me I mean.”

You falter a bit, you’re sure Satoru’s more experienced, you’ve watched him have more girls on him at once than men you’ve known. Satoru sees your hesitance, pressing a kiss on your lower lip now, nipping it slowly with his teeth, unleashing the heat in your core, until you’re throbbing with need.

“You felt so good wrapped around me.” You whine out at that, as he presses kisses to each corner of your mouth, gripping your breast again, heavy weight over you, his words and caresses making you pulse now. “Felt you cumming, so tight, think I don’t wanna be back inside you?”

“Shit… this is insane.” You’re shaking your head, when he kisses down your neck, back arching up for more. “If we are going to… we’d have to be exclusive, for the safety of the baby. So you really better think about this. At least while I’m pregnant.”

As if Satoru had been with anyone since you.

“I wouldn’t put the baby at risk.” Your eyes lock, noses brushing against each other, while he touches your tummy, feeling the slight roundness just barely already, making him lose his mind.

“While I’m pregnant I mean… if you do want anyone else and want this to stop… just tell me so I know?” He nods, unable to say the words, that he just wants you.

“Guess what?” His husky voice resonates in your ears, like he’s speaking to your pussy directly.

“W-what?”

“I can cum so deep inside your tight little cunt, all you want. ” His words fuck your brain, what was left of it, his fingers brushing on your slick heat now. “Fuck, you’re soaked, you like that thought huh.”

“It’s just hormones, mnh!” He’s laughing at your attempt.

“Hormones hmm?” You nod weakly, then cry out as he sinks two fingers in your pussy, pressing up in those gummy walls, that spot that has you weak, seeing fucking stars.

“Fuck you for hitting it so quick-ah!” He’s smirking as he watches you, the sounds of your squelching wetness filling his ears, making him feral.

“Wanna cum on my fingers or my mouth?” Your lips part, brows together, uncomprehending his words.

“Y-you eat girls out?” He chuckles then, curling his fingers up inside you just so, as your slick pools down his hand, already gripping him like a vise.

“Do I seem so selfish?” You take several shaky breaths, eyes rolling back as he hits some spot even you don’t know about, bringing you higher and higher. “Think I don’t wanna bury my face between your thighs?”

“It’s… intimate…”

“You’re cute.” He’s kissing lower, lower, your thighs trembling when the car comes to a stop, and Satoru’s fingers are coated in your slick when he pulls them out, dripping off his fingers, when he sucks on them, making your jaw drop. “Fuck you taste s’good.”

“Jesus, hormones and you are dangerous.” He’s smirking, when you sit up, biting on your lip once more. “Do you wanna come inside?”

“Cum inside that pussy?” You roll your eyes.

“Oh never mind…”

“No, no, no! I do!” He follows you out of the car, while your hands tremble, trying to unlock the door, you both barely get in before your lips are all over each other, you keep thinking, this is insane.

Insane.

It’s just the situation, why he’s ripping that dress off you, leaving you naked and bare to him completely in moments with practiced hands, moaning softly when he sees your body fully, that night he hadn’t seen all of you. His hands grip your hips then, yanking you up like it’s nothing, right into his arms. You cling to him, kissing him desperately, still fully clothed, while he presses you on the door.

“Fuck me, please.” Your desperate plea alone makes him leak precum, while he stares at your gorgeous frame.

“You’re begging me? Never thought I’d see the day, preppy little brat.” Your glare just makes him harder, as you shove at him now.

“Satoru!”

“You’re demanding pregnant, aren’t you?”

“Oh my god just… shut up please…” You slam your lips on his, grinding shamelessly against his belt, that hits your clit just so, making him drop that persona for just a minute, how sexy you are, how good you feel. “God just fuck me.”

“Room?” You point weakly as he carries you, and you’re thrown right on your bed, he stands up then, pulling off his dress shirt, revealing that perfect body, glowing slightly with the moonlight filtering through your blinds. You sit up, yanking on his belt with shaky hands, yanking his pants down and revealing how hard he already is under his boxers.

Your body violently responds when you see how much he wants you, for some reason that means more than it should, than two people making the best of such an insane situation, tugging his boxers down until his cock springs free. You’re lapping at his pretty blushed tip before he can think, eyes looking up at him from lowered lashes, making him whimper from just that.

Satoru whimpering triggers something in you yourself, you’re sucking his veiny length, as his hands entangle in your hair, his head falling back, abdomen flexing while you take him deeper. “B-baby, fuck… taking it that good, huh?”

He’s mad you’ve ever done it.

He’s mad anyone’s even seen your eyes at this angle. God he can’t stop thinking how pretty they are, even as his cock throbs inside your hot mouth, and you suck him so fucking hungry. He can’t stop thinking of how gorgeous you are, how he’s not sure he even deserves this from you, like he’s in some fucking dream, sweet thoughts mixing with the wet sounds of you sucking him up.

He’s feeling the suction, your hot wet mouth so eager, when you touch your throbbing, needy clit, running it in circles, while you sit there serving him, feeling him lose it with every stroke. His eyes flutter shut for a moment as he fucks into your tight throat, feeling so good when his tip brushes the roof of your mouth, leaking pearly pre cum.

“Fuck, you’re so hungry for it, aren’t you?” You pull back with a pop now, when he swipes the drool off your chin, and your hand strokes him, earning another sweet little whimper.

“Shh. Just fuck me.” You whisper, pulling back and turning, on all fours with that sexy ass in the air. He pauses, dying to fuck you, but dying to taste you more, you gasp when Satoru flips you on your back, and you blush in the dark room. “Don’t you wanna…”

“I said I was eating you out. Gonna deny me the meal? Ya that mean?” You’re stammering as he kisses down your tummy, shoving your thighs apart, lapping a stripe up your slit, you’re pulling his hair so hard it hurts, screaming out, just making his cock throb harder.

“Toru I haven’t had anyone… do that…” He pulls back now, and your hands ease, when he sees something he never saw in you before, the confident, feisty little brat that you are.

You’re nervous.

He eases up a bit, resting on his elbows, pressing kisses against your inner thighs as he inhales you, god you smell even better than before, taste even better than he remembers. “I love to do it, if you want.”

You exhale in relief, nodding shyly then, another thing he wouldn’t associate with you- shy. The girl who just ripped down his pants, sucking him like a pro, is nervous to get pleased this way. “I want it, fuck I want it bad. Just a little… you’re seeing all of me, like all.”

“I am seeing so much of this pretty pussy.” He presses a kiss higher up, breath ghosting your sensitive clit when he parts your lips, watching arousal drool out of your cunt. “Prettiest, actually.”

“N-no…”

“Mmhmm.” He licks you again, and something far too intimate forms, when Satoru Gojo is buried between your thighs, worshipping you with his talented tongue in long, slow strokes. “Fuck you’re so wet…”

“Hormones?” He just grins, you feel his teeth against your pussy, when your body relaxes for him, when you spread your thighs, letting him see you, while he presses his cock against the mattress.

“Hormones.” He slips his tongue up to your clit then, and you don’t hold back anymore, a few more strokes and you’re grinding on his face, making his groan vibrate against your sensitive clit. “Mmm…”

“There, there oh my god!” Did Satoru Gojo have to be the best at everything? Did he have to ruin you when his blue eyes watch your face contort in pleasure?

“There you go, you like it right… here.” Satoru slips two fingers in your slutty little hole, pressing up as he flicks his tongue, and you’re clinging to him now, while he works you with a tongue far too talented, you’re instantly jealous of every girl that’s had Satoru like this.

Wild thoughts, stop that.

“Loosen up, just feel it sweetheart.” He says now, feeling you tense around him, and you nod then, eyes rolling back when he fucks those fingers into you, scissoring them in and out, while flicking his tongue right on your clit, twitching in response. “Let go f’me, huh pretty?”

“Mnh!” You shatter at his urging, his mouth, his teeth, tongue, all of it merging and destroying your surroundings, you’re cumming so intense you cannot see anymore, and Satoru’s eagerly drinking you up. “Satoru!”

“Mmm…” He’s lapping all the wetness that’s gushing out of you, fingers easing out to grip your hips, while your thighs tighten on either side of his head. “That’s it, so greedy f’me, want more?”

“Please!” You’re fucking his face now, god he can’t get enough, burying his face against you, shaking his head side to side, while you’re so sensitive the next orgasm comes so quickly, you’re yanking him up, kissing his lips and reaching down, stroking his cock once more, watching snowy lashes flutter.

“God, you’re so ready aren’t you?” You just nod, and when Satoru presses his tip past that tight ring of muscles, sinking deeper, it’s even more intense.

You’re fully sober this time, with swirling blue eyes looking right at you, as he slides in your tight cunt, which struggles to take him at first, even after so much play, Satoru is huge, certainly bigger than you’re used to. You grip his shoulders, manicured nails pressing in, when he rocks his hips just so, kissing your lips, letting your taste mix between the two of you.

“God you’re so wet, fuck…” He’s enamored by you, lifting a thigh then, pulling back and jerking his hips so he’s shoved deeper, your cry drank by his eager lips, that can’t rip themselves from yours.

How is he supposed to ever be with someone now?

You feel like heaven, he won’t say that corny shit, but it’s all he can describe it to, watching your pretty face as he fucks into you slowly, and both of you freeze for just a moment. He grips your hand in his, entwining his fingers as he lays it over your head, your heart races as your pussy struggles to take more, greedy for his every stretch, every stroke.

“S’good I… ah- please, more!” You’re begging him, shameless as you do, when he slams his cock in deep, tip kissing your cervix, your head falls back, his lips devouring your neck while he bends over you.

“Taking this cock like you’re made for it.” Satoru hears your cunt sucking him in, so wet it’s squishing loudly, mixing with the slapping of your skin, as he starts to go faster, watching your eyes nearly black as they dilate. “There you go, look at you. So greedy.”

“Ngh…” You can’t form words anymore, not when he feels better than that night, not when he’s fucking every thought, worry and woe away, you can’t even remember what brought you here. You can’t remember anything, think of anything but his cock, slamming deeper and deeper, his tip dragging on that spot now on your walls. “There, there!”

“You’re so bossy, what a brat.” You can’t scowl, but he knows you wish you could, as he grins down and does just that, eyes hungry while they watch you falling apart under him, pulling back then, groaning as he watches his cock bulging your tummy, making him more sensitive inside you. “Look, so fucking hot, I’m so big in you, aren’t I baby?”

“C-conceited… mmm, y-yes…” He turns your chin, making you blush, where you watch his shape inside you.

“Gotta see this while we can, gonna be so round soon.” His words should bother you, but they don’t. He’s imagining it with you, and it takes him over. “I’ll be easier then with you.”

“Gonna take it e-easy?” You’ve got your thighs up high now, Satoru watches your little hole swallowing him, cock coated in your slick, so wet it’s dripping down his balls, that smack against your ass, harder and deeper now.

“Well I won’t be able to do this.” He’s folding you in half, leaning over you to cup your face with huge hands, slamming deeper than you’ve ever felt, so deep it damn near hurts, but you’re craving it, dying for it, hands gripping his shoulders helplessly while you lose yourself in his eyes.

Insane blue, pupils shrunk to pinpoints, while he hovers over you, breaths mingling together in the night, you’re folded so in half your knees damn near touch the bed. “So d-deep…”

“You can take it, like a good girl. Slutty pussy, listen to her.” You’re too fucked out to get offended, let him call it a slutty pussy, it’s what it was, after all.

“Ngh- Close, close.” He’s slamming his cock harder, tempo increasing as she soaks him so much he almost slips out, only for you to whine desperately, nails leaving crescent moons against his arms, he hisses in pain and pleasure, kissing you deeply, tongues dripping, messy and desperate.

“Fuck…” He’s close, he realizes, a man who could go forever, you’ve already cum, but he wants you cumming over and over until you’re a sobbing, pretty little mess for him, but you feel far too fucking perfect wrapped around him. “Want to cum with me? Want me to fill your slutty hole?”

His dirty words just make your walls flutter, earning his soft whine, right against your ear, his hands gripping your waist bruisingly. You nod weakly, whispering in his ear now - ‘Cum in me’

“Oh god, fuck yes. Want all my cum, don’t you?” You look up, intoxicated by him, losing your mind completely while he’s working you, pulling back to press on your thighs, feral grin spreading across his pretty face. “You’ll take it so fucking good like this.”

“Satoru!” You scream when he thrusts his hips just so, slamming that cervix, forcing you to cum again, to the point your ears are ringing, body on fire for him, every memory of you both thrown out the damn window.

“Beg for it.”

“No!”

“Beg.” He’s smirking, and you shake your head, clenching around him and watching him lose control, his cheeks flushed, lips parted in a gasp.

“You beg to cum in me.”

“No.” You both laugh, then the motion itself brings Satoru to the edge, tightening impossibly around him. “Fuck it, please, let me fill this pussy.”

“You really begged I- ah!” He’s glaring, slamming his cock deep, stuffing your cunt so full.

“That’s it, milk me huh?” You’re too far out, your pussy is milking him with your aftershocks, when he’s pumping you with those hot white ropes, endless sticky, gooey cum. You’re so full from it coating your walls, warm and hot and perfect, all the way even in your tummy. “There you go, taking s’much fuckin cum.”

“S’much I… Satoru.” His cum alone has you addicted, he pulls back now, watching his cock slowly pumping cum in and out of your hole, watching the way it trickles down his huge cock, glistening and mixing with you.

“You took me so well.” His praise is too much, it’s all too much, while Satoru eases back, on his elbows, hovering just so. “God you’re fucking pretty like this, so fucked out.”

You bury your face. “Am not fucked out.”

“No, need more?”

“I’m… we…”

“That’s what I thought.” He eases back, pulling away fully, seeing the mess of both of your fluids fall over the bed, pulling your pussy lips apart, watching it all pour out, drip by drip. “How is this little thing gonna push something out?”

“They stretch silly!”

“Well, clearly, took me so good.” He’s fingering the sticky cum, desperate and feral, cock glimmering from you, damn near ready to fuck into you again.

For a moment you both stare, Satoru’s scooping it out, before sucking on it, your breath is rapid at the motion, his cheeks hollowing, tilting your chin up. “Satoru you’re… a whole freak.”

“Open.” You tentatively do, allowing him to open mouth kiss you, his cum and yours in your mouth, but you crave it, so much you’re pulling him desperate. “You’re gonna be freaky just for me, aren’t you?”

“Shh.” He’s chuckling watching you drink up his cum, while you come down from your high, when he brushes your hair back, you struggle with just how much you feel, how badly you want more.

You’ve never felt anything like this.

How can you and Satoru have this?

“Um… is poor Kiyotaka waiting?” You manage to say softly, to diffuse the feelings threatening to bubble to the surface. Satoru rolls his pretty eyes.

“He gets paid good to wait!”

“Oh jesus. Let’s not keep him waiting forever.”

“Ya kicking me out? Rude. I had you cum how many times?” You giggle, that sound clutching him, pulling him by the goddamn heartstrings.

“I need sleep, and don’t you have a trip coming?”

“Shit… you remembered.”

“You all always took that trip.”

“What did you do during spring break?” He slips on his clothes, as you grab a robe, throwing it over yourself and wrapping it with a tie.

“Study.”

“Boring.” He eyes the books by your bed then, along with a fresh bag of hot cheetos, he laughs softly at that, touching the baby books curiously. “Cravings?”

“God yes, bad too.”

“I wonder… will you be showing more when I get back?” You heat up at his question, brushing back messy hair, while Satoru buttons up his shirt.

“Will that suck for you, physically?” He hears the worry, which seems ridiculous, fuck you’d just be sexier.

“Shit no. You’ll look hot.”

You’re fiddling with the ties of your robes now, his words and your wobbly leg a lethal combination. “You think?”

“Fuck yeah, milf and all.”

“Shit.” You pull him down, kissing him again, he’s gripping your terry cloth robe, yanking you to him, while the fan above you both serves no purpose, the both of you are so overheated. “Thank you, I needed it. All of it.”

“The dick is that good?”

“Psh, go on.” You turn him now, shoving him.

“I feel used!? I feel like a booty call! For a horny pregnant girl.”

“You got me pregnant, so.” You pinch his ass, he gasps, feigning upset, only making your smile brighter, your heart lighter.

Then you realize.

You’re gonna miss him, shit, a guy you couldn’t stand is starting to become… comfortable, enjoyable and clearly your body…

She’s a wreck for him.

“Satoru please if you want to be with someone else, let me know.” He is sucking you off his fingers as you speak, he turns and raises a brow.

“I would let you know. But… I think having you take all my cum? Pretty fucking elite.”

“A-plus?” Your lips twitch, and his white teeth glint.

“4.3 GPA pussy.”

You both laugh, and soon you’re standing by your door, trying to not think so much, to just let it be. So you both have fun, so you…

Fuck you already want him again, what’s that.

“If you masturbate thinking of me, video it would you?”

There he is.

Fuckboi Gojo isn’t gone, he just fucked your brains out.

“Oh god. No, go on.”

Satoru chuckles a bit, slipping on his coat now, as you both stand in the doorway, your mind rushing, feeling him trickle out of you, knowing this is batshit, knowing it’s just sex. Right, sex, that’s it… agreement, sex, some sort of understanding, that’s all that this was.

Don’t get too attached, don’t fall into his blue eyes.

“Thanks for today, though.”

“Thanks for the dick or-”

“Jesus do you stop?” You shove at him now, and he pulls you against him, far, far too close. “Thank you for being here.”

His jokes calm, as he sees it, how serious you are, so unsure when you look down, and he tilts your chin up. “Of course, I’ll be back for the next ultrasound, okay?”

“Okay.” You both stand there, kissing after sex, what’s it mean?

Don’t you hate each other?

“Gonna miss me, hmm?”

“No way.” You peck a kiss on his lips though, before you can stop yourself, leaving him blinking on the porch, when you get off your tiptoes, and turn to the door. “Be safe and don’t be late for it.”

You shut the door then, leaving him aching to go back inside, to be inside you, fuck he’d stay in your heat all the time if he could, fill you over and over until you’re so full of him you can’t take it. He pauses before he turns around, wondering then, should he go on this trip?

Should he just stay?

He shakes himself out of the spell you’ve cast, as his friends start texting him, wanting to know if he’ll be ready tomorrow, he texts them back, slipping in the back of the car, where Kiyotaka is taking a nap. Satoru leans forward, with a ‘boo’ damn near earning a smack as he wakes him up, the tired man panicking.

“Relax, you’re fine buddy.” He smacks his narrow shoulder, making Kiyotaka jerk just a bit, before exhaling.

“You were in there a long time, Mr. Gojo.” He says with yawn, focusing now, putting the car on with a purr of the engine.

“Yeah I was.”

“Not as long as most of your… escapades.” Satoru glares at him now, blue eyes narrowing as his driver clears his throat.

“Are you saying I busted quick, Ijichi?”

“Sir I-”

“Hah did you bust quick?” Satoru realizes somehow he has called Suguru, and hears Sukuna cackling in the background.

“Oh fuck you three, mmkay I lasted like a champ… kind of.”

“How long was he in there?” Sukuna asks, and Ijichi looks back at Gojo, who’s shaking his head and mouthing a plea.

“I was merely kidding, Mr. Gojo was in there so long I fell asleep.”

“Thank you, as I said.”

It wasn’t that quick was it?

You sure came enough for him, god he feels you all over his fingers, his mouth, you’re soaked into his goddamn taste buds- how could you think for a minute that he’d want anyone else? He knows his reputation, but how do you not know the level of obsession you send him to more and more every time he sees you, since he’s been inside of you twice.

This was more intimate.

His hand had gripped yours, he’d looked into your eyes as he lapped at your pretty pussy, you’d taken him so good, too. Your cries are echoing in his head as he realizes his friend is talking. “Huh?”

“Pussy that good? Share with your friends, hmm?” Satoru scoffs at Sukuna, rolling his eyes.

“You wish, I’m not telling you two shit.”

“So special? Are you down so bad?” Suguru teases, making Satoru’s jaw tense just a bit.

It was just your hormones, it’s the situation, it’s just sex.

Right?

Right… no.

No sex doesn’t do this to him, this is…What is it? Is it because you’re having his baby, is it his feelings that have pent up so long for you?

“Probably not coming on our yearly trip.” He hears, clearing his throat.

“I’m not gonna miss it, think I’m old and tied down now?” His friends laugh, but his heart aches, thinking of how fucking bad he’ll miss you already.

You fix the bed, flushing as you see the rumpled sheets and blankets, before laying down in bed, covering your face as the memories hit. His touch, his tongue, his eyes just staring into yours. Was it because it was easy for the two of you, because you’re pregnant already? Convenience?

You can’t stop wracking your mind.

Not seeing him for almost a month…

Fratboy Gojo🙄: Good night, sweet dreams about this dick.

You glare at the screen.

You don’t respond, seeing him typing and typing.

Fratboy Gojo🙄: I’ll keep in touch, please if… you need to talk I’ll have my phone, okay?

You sigh now, turning on your side, while Gojo watches those three dots, finally walking into his penthouse, mind wandering to you. He wants you… in his bed, he wants to stay, to ignore his best friends, ignore the tradition. Your pussy is… a demon surely, making him hard just thinking of it again.

Sorority Brat 💦😻: I don’t wanna bother you, I’ll be fine.

Satoru frowns at that.

Fratboy Gojo🙄   I want to know how you are.

His own vulnerability makes him feel sick damn near, but you heart the message, making him simp like some idiot with a dopey grin.

Sorority Brat 💦😻Then I will keep you updated, I hope you have a lot of fun.

Guilt gnaws at him, leaving you alone, to go on some trip, while your body would surely go through more changes. He doesn’t even want to miss it, but he can’t just… he has to still have his life, right? For now, was it just… sex to you because you’re horny, and he’s there?

Did it mean more?

Sorority Brat 💦😻 Good night, Satoru.

You watch him heart the message, as your hand drifts to your tummy, thinking about the little growing baby inside you. It almost feels surreal, as do the feelings for Satoru Gojo.

 Fratboy Gojo🙄 Good night, Sweets.

this one took a bit but it WAS a little longer- I'd expect chap three to be long as well! I will post a preview of that tomorrow as it's already in the works ;) (will time skip one month!) I hope you all enjoy, ty for being patient! ILYSM

Taglist #1- @jannythewriter-pt2 @gojosoups @lycoris-radiata-4-sale @cutiepi-iee @poisonousspiderlily @closerbutnevertogether @myahfig4 @shokosbunny @coq1myun @rinny27 @abibliolife @coq1myun @megumisthirdog @p4lli @turtlebangtan @webshooterrr9 @aldebrana @msqudo18 @s0ulsnatchaaa @ovela @midnaamethyste @nearlyfuckingwitches @shibataimu @msniks @missthatgirl @fantasy1nightmare0 @maddyhehehehhe @yourst3pm0mmy @haithamsbb @rentheannihilator @ilovebeansyay @lemonswirlz @dilfkentolover @evelynxxo @bkgnotsuma @suki91 @burntasian @nakiich @hyunjinsruinedpainting @miniv1x3n @minascasket @ihrtmack @contaminatedcupcake @girlwithn0j0b @tokyi999 @vamqyx @queenofthekill @verriees @vullzo @jkslaugh97

[luvismenu]

Only When It's Us — JJK ,, index ,, about taglist

Chapter 02 — distraction ✎

fic summary: you both say it’s nothing serious, but with every touch and argument, it gets harder to stay away.

nsfw warnings: smut; lots of kissing, lots of touching lol, oral (male recieving, fem too? kinda), sucking fingers, doggy style, unprotected sex (shes using birth control so yep, be safe!) use of ‘good girl’

wc: 6k

📜 permanent taglist: @lovieku @kyuupii @fluttershypoo @deluluisdasolulu @ddanasjk @mar-lo-pap @jungkooks-wife @diamondjeon @nnybtitts08 @lil0u0 @butnotmontana @fr0ggieth1nk @minimoninini @whoa-jo @lola75111 @iswearimover5feetall @rispwr @leemonis-blog

📜 series taglist: @deepikhaprakash @rjooniesdimples @sweetmimosa28

abt series taglist: send me an ask w the series title !!

“i have to go.”

“why don’t you just come back home? you can start over, and this time, maybe you’ll be more like your brother.”

you sigh.

“mom, i don’t want to be him,” you say quietly, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. on the other end, you hear her let out a soft, disapproving tsk, a sound that always manages to make you feel a little smaller.

“aren’t you clearly struggling with school? if you were here with us, with your brother, we’d help you. you’d be fine,” she insists, as if coming home would magically fix everything.

you roll your eyes.

“i really have to go.”

“___, just listen to—”

but before she can finish, you end the call, staring at the blank screen for a moment.

there’s an unsettling feeling in your chest, one that refuses to fade, no matter how much you try to brush it off. its like a quiet reminder of all the things you’re trying to avoid.

go back home?

after everything you’ve been through to study what you want, to finally live on your own terms. every argument, every latenight fight with your parents, all just to claim a bit of freedom.

you worked so hard to break free from their expectations, to stand on your own.

you even transferred universities just to escape the constant pressure back in your hometown. no matter what you did, it was never enough. every choice was somehow wrong, not ‘their way.’

you can’t go back now.

not until you’ve made it, not until you have something real to prove them wrong. you have to be successful, if only to show them that your way was the right way all along.

“hey, are you done thinking? never seen anyone contemplate cheerios this hard.”

min yoongi’s low voice pulls you out of your thoughts. you look up, finding him behind the cash register, his lips curving into a small smile.

“just wondering if i can actually trust your store’s products. what if you are some sort of cheerio secret agent and you're trying to poison me?” you joke, handing him the money.

“oh no, you figured it out. we’ve been poisoning the cheerios. now how am i gonna explain to my boss that our mission failed?” he dramatically placesb a hand on his forehead as if you revealed his deepest darkest secret. you can’t help but chuckle, the tension in your chest loosening just a bit.

“bad day?” he asks, his gaze softening a bit as he opens the cash register.

min yoongi; your friend.

well, he's more like your senior. he graduated last year and he is working parttime at this convenience store cuz he thinks in this way he could spend some time outside.

you didn't question him about it any further.

you don’t usually come here unless it’s an emergency, and breakfast for tomorrow qualifies as pretty urgent, or so you tell yourself.

“something like that,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

he nods slightly. “well,” he begins, “i’m sorry i can’t give you a discount,” he adds, trying to lighten the mood.

you chuckle, the corners of your mouth lifting. “aw, that’s too bad. i thought i might get these cheerios for free.”

he smiles softly, “maybe some other time,"

you smile back at yoongi and turn to leave. but then you almost bump your head against a man’s chest, stumbling back in surprise.

that was close.

you look up to apologize, but your words get caught in your throat as you take in his appearance.

he’s handsome.

no, that doesn’t even begin to cover it. his face is sculpted to perfection, with sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. his dark eyes seem to pierce right through you, and his long, dark hair falls effortlessly over his forehead.

but there’s something else,

he looks... mad?

you quickly gather yourself, your cheeks warming slightly. “sorry,” you blurt out, stepping aside to let him pass.

as you walk out of the store, you catch a snippet of conversation behind you.

“are you still upset about her, jungkook?” yoongi’s voice carries just enough for you to hear.

you try to shake it off, not wanting to dwell on whatever is unfolding behind you. it’s not your business, after all.

you step outside, the cool air hitting your face as you leave the store, and try to focus on the tasks ahead of you.

“it doesn’t make any sense, hyung,” jungkook scoffs, the frustration bubbling up inside him.

“when did she ever make sense?” yoongi replies dryly, not backing down as he meets jungkook’s glare. the tension in the air feels thick, but yoongi isn’t afraid to speak his mind.

“from my point of view, you’re now a free man. free from all the bullshit you’ve been through,” yoongi explains, hoping to lift jungkook’s spirits.

“what bullshit? i was happy. we were happy,” jungkook frowns, his confusion evident. he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, struggling to comprehend yoongi’s words.

“that’s what she wanted you to think,” yoongi replies, his tone serious. “and to be honest, that’s what you always did. you did whatever she wanted. you changed for her.”

“i loved her,” jungkook insists, his voice a bit softer but still filled with conviction, as if saying it out loud would make it true.

“did you? really?” yoongi presses, searching jungkook’s eyes for any hint of doubt. he knows this is a tough conversation, but it needs to be talked out.

jungkook looks away and mutters. “you don’t get it,”

yoongi’s expression softens. he presses his lips together as he looks at jungkook, feeling bad for him. “i’m sorry, jungkook. but you really have to let it go now. it’s been two weeks. it’s time to start moving on.”

jungkook stays silent.

instead of responding, he reaches for a lollipop displayed near the cash register, the bright colors contrasting sharply with his gloomy mood. he hands yoongi some money, more than what the lollipop costs, as if he’s paying for more than just candy.

“do you want the change, or can i keep it as a tip for my great service slash friendship?” yoongi tries to lighten the mood, hoping to bring a smile to jungkook’s face.

and it does.

jungkook’s lips curl into a faint smile, a small but genuine response. “keep it,” he says softly.

as jungkook turns to leave, yoongi watches him go, feeling sad for his friend.

“bad day indeed.”

you're sat on a bench in the park near the convenience store, lost in your own thoughts. the quiet sounds of the evening settle around you, the faint rustle of leaves, the distant hum of traffic, and your own sighs mingling with the cool air.

you’re not really thinking about anything in particular, just letting your mind wander in that aimless way it does when everything feels overwhelming.

then, a loud voice cuts through your thoughts.

“no, i know you're hiding something from me!” someone snaps, his voice taut with irritation. “fine! have it your way then.”

curious, you glance over and recognize him immediately; the same man from earlier at the store, the one you’d nearly bumped into.

he’s pacing as he talks on his phone, one hand running through his dark hair in exasperation. his jaw is clenched, his brows furrowed, and you can practically feel the tension radiating off him even from a distance.

after a moment, he ends the call with an aggravated sigh, stuffing his phone into his pocket as he makes his way into the park, still visibly upset. he barely notices his surroundings as he walks closer to where you’re sitting.

he sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, muttering something under his breath as if willing the frustration to melt away. you can’t help but stare a little, like an idiot.

then his eyes snap open and land directly on you.

“got a problem with me?” his voice is sharp, cutting through the silence between you.

you blink, startled, and stand up instinctively. “excuse me?”

he turns fully to face you, his eyes never leaving yours. “i asked, you got a problem with me?”

“no.” you shake your head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“good.”

wow. nice attitude.

just as you’re about to walk away, he calls out again.

“never seen you around here before.”

“pardon?” you turn back, surprised.

“you’re yoongi's friend, right?” he asks,

you cross your arms, giving him a wary look. “why do you care?”

he shrugs, almost nonchalant. “my bad, just curious. never seen yoongi smile at a normal customer before, so i assumed.”

“oh,” you reply, softening just a bit. “well, i guess you could say we're friends.”

he raises an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you guess?”

you offer a small shrug of your own. “he used to help me when i was still a freshman, and he still tries to whenever he can. i'd say he's like my teacher, in a way. it’s not like we hang out or anything, though.”

he tilts his head, considering your words. “well, consider yourselves friends. trust me, he doesn’t just help anyone.”

you narrow your eyes slightly, still wary. “and who are you, exactly?”

“jeon jungkook,” he says, extending a hand with a surprisingly polite nod. instinctively, you reach out and shake it, his grip firm. “since you're yoongi's friend, i think we go to the same university. though this is the first time i’m seeing you.”

“same, i am ___,” you pull your hand back.

“what are you doing here, in the middle of the night? didn’t your parents ever tell you not to go out alone?” he asks, the way he talks is somewhere between teasing and serious. you can't quiet get what it is but something about it grates on your nerves, like he's playing at being concerned but in a way that feels almost mocking.

“i could ask you the same thing,” you shoot back, meeting his gaze head on.

he doesn’t flinch, only tilts his head slightly. “i always come here,” he says, his voice calm, almost like a matterof fact.

“same,” you respond. “during the day.”

he quirks a brow, “so why are you in my night shift?”

you scoff, a laugh slipping out before you can stop it. “this isn’t your place or ‘shift,’ you know."

“well, you come here during the day; i come here at night. sounds like shifts to me,” he says with a shrug, and you catch the playfulness on his face.

“guess i’m overtiming, then,” you say, glancing away to hide your own smirk. “don’t mind me.”

he stays silent.

“you’ve got your own shit to deal with, huh?” he says, his voice breaking the quiet.

“why are you talking to me?” you blurt out, catching him a little off guard. “i mean, you don’t even know me.”

he raises an eyebrow, unphased. “i could ask you the same thing,” he replies, mimicking your answer from before.

you narrow your eyes, folding your arms. “i don’t think i want to talk about my problems with a random stranger.”

“problems…” he echoes, looking you up and down like he’s trying to figure you out. “let me guess. got into a fight with your boyfriend?”

“no,” you say quickly, rolling your eyes. “i don’t have one.” for a second, you think you catch a flicker of surprise on his face. “what about you? girlfriend mad at you?”

his face shifts, something almost vulnerable passing over his features before he looks away. “guess you could say that,” he mutters. “since she broke things off with me.”

a silence stretches between you two.

“i’m… sorry to hear that,” you finally say, feeling the awkwardness settle around you.

you didn't expect that.

honestly, the idea of someone like him getting dumped hadn’t even crossed your mind. a guy who looks like that—that intense aura—doesn’t exactly seem like the type to get left behind.

you assumed he’d be the one calling the shots, the one walking away. but here he is, single and clearly dealing with the aftermath of something that’s weighing on him. its surprising.

a thought crosses yourmind.

if someone could leave him, someone who had a place in his life and a claim to his heart, maybe he’s not as perfect as he seems on the outside. maybe there’s something beneath the surface, something that’s harder to deal with than his looks would suggest.

it’s like a puzzle you didn’t even mean to start solving, yet here you are, wondering if there’s more to him than just that handsome face.

but then you shake the thought away. he’s a stranger. a random guy you happened to bump into, quite literally, at a park in the middle of the night. it’s not like you’ll see him again after tonight. or, at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself.

because, really, why should you care?

whatever his story is, it’s none of your business.

“anyway, hope you figure your problems out.” he says, his gaze flickering away as if he’s eager to dodge any deeper conversation.

“likewise,” you reply.

without warning, he pulls a lollipop from his pocket, holding it out to you. “here,” he says, waiting for you to take it.

you reach out slowly, raising an eyebrow. “thanks?”

he smirks, “again, did your parents never tell you not to take candy from strangers?”

“maybe i like to be a little rebellious,” you say, smirking back at him and he shakes his head smiling.

“well, go ahead, eat it. i don’t want you tossing it away. i spent a lot on that sucker,” he says, a playful grin spreading across his face. despite the oddness of the moment, a corner of your mouth quirks up.

you unwrap the lollipop, examining it with a critical eye before giving him a look that says it all.

he catches it, tilting his head in curiosity. “what?”

“i don’t think i like raspberry flavor,” you admit, holding the lollipop up like a trophy of sorts.

he squints at you, “you’ve never tasted one before?”

you shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. “i don’t like raspberries, so i’m guessing this is more of the same.”

he shakes his head, lips twitching into a smirk. “that’s pretty bold, making assumptions without even trying it.”

“just give it a taste; maybe you'll like it,” he suggests, a teasing smile forming on his lips, clearly wanting you to try it. deep down, he doesn't even like raspberry flavor; he just picked it out randomly at the store.

“uh, no thanks. i don’t want that nasty taste on my tongue,” you reply, scrunching your nose a little . “but thanks, you could have—”

your words are abruptly cut off as he grabs your hand, the lollipop still held tightly between your fingers. in one swift motion, he leans in, wrapping his mouth around it. his tongue swirls around the candy, and then he pulls it out, his lips glistening with a reddish-pink hue that matches the flavor.

you're completely taken aback, eyes widening in shock.

oh what the fuck.

“yeah, you’re right. it does taste nasty,” he says, licking his lips as he releases your hand. “give it to me, i'll just throw it away or something”

suddenly, the lollipop feels trivial compared to what he just did. you stand there, completely speechless, your mind and heart racing as you try to process what jus happened.

“what?” he stares at you.

“you’re good with your tongue,” you say, the words slipping out before you can really think them through.

he pauses, his eyes widening for a second, and he chokes on nothing, almost like he’s been caught off guard mid-breath. “uh, what?” he finally manages, blinking rapidly.

realizing how that might’ve sounded, “i just meant... the lollipop. you seemed pretty skilled with it,” you clarify, though you’re aware it’s not really helping.

what are you even trying to say?

he looks at you, a smirk playing on his lips now. “uh-huh, sure,” he says, teasing you. “that’s what you meant.”

you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “don’t flatter yourself, i was just making an observation.”

but the way he’s looking at you now, dark eyes glittering with amusement and something else you can’t quite place, makes it hard to pretend that slip of the tongue didn’t mean more than you intended.

“so, do you want to suck on it?”

“huh?” you blink.

suck on what now?

“the lollipop” he clarifies, a small smile playing on his lips.

oh.

you clear your throat, fighting to keep a neutral expression. “no, definitely not, especially now that you had your tongue all over it.” you try to scrunch your nose, but any attempt at showing disgust falls flat with the heat rising in your cheeks.

“alright then, just asking if you changed your mind,” he shrugs, still holding your gaze.

“i still don’t want it,” you say quickly, trying to sound convincing.

“okay.” he blinks, unfazed.

“okay,” you repeat, awkwardly.

he gestures to the lollipop still in your hand. “uh, so… are you gonna keep holding it?”

you glance down, pulling your hand back. “i’m gonna throw it away,” you declare, though it feels a bit ridiculous now, given everything that just happened.

“i hope so,” he says, one side of his lips quirking up.

why do you kind of like his smile?

you try to shake your thought off, tossing the lollipop into a nearby trash can, trying to act as casual as possible.

“well, guess that's the end of that,” you say, hoping to sound nonchalant. he nods as he crosses his arms.

you raise an eyebrow, mimicking his stance. “do you usually hand out half-eaten lollipops to strangers?”

he laughs, low and soft, the sound surprisingly warm in the quiet night. “only when they look like they need a little distraction.”

you tilt your head. “oh? and what made you think i needed one?”

his eyes meet yours, his expression softening. “just a hunch,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. “we all got stuff we’d rather not think about, right?”

a pause.

there’s something unspoken between you two, a quiet understanding in the way you hold each other’s gaze.

he's right.

you are stressing about things you'd rather not think about, things that seem to cling to your mind no matter how hard you try to push them away.

and then there's him, a stranger but somehow not, going through his own mess. you can see it in his tired eyes, the way he keeps looking off into the distance as if trying to shake off whatever weight he's carrying.

you realize you don’t mind it; you don’t mind his company, or even the strange comfort of this shared silence.

both of you are here, each trying to forget whatever it is that’s eating at you. maybe that’s why this moment feels so easy.

”yeah,” you finally say, “guess we do.”

“i gotta go now,” you announce, hoping to put an end to whatever weird tension is building between the two of you.

he doesn't say anything. no goodbyes, no attempts to stop you. so you turn and start walking away, trying to shake off whatever just happened.

but before you can take more than a few steps, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist. you stop, surprised, and turn back to face him. his grip isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough to make you pause.

you meet his gaze, and there's something in his eyes—something intense, something that makes your stomach flip.

“would you like a distraction?” he asks, voice low, almost like a whisper meant just for you.

you blink, not sure if you heard him right. “what?” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

instead of answering, he tugs you gently closer. your body stumbles forward, and your hands land on his chest to steady yourself. his heartbeat is strong under your palm, and suddenly, everything feels too close, too intense.

he looks down at you, his eyes flickering over your face like he’s searching for something. “i think i do,” he mutters. “don’t you?”

your mind is racing, trying to make sense of this.

is he asking what you think he’s asking?

he’s a stranger. someone you barely know beyond a couple of conversations and an awkward encounter in a convenience store.

yet there’s something about the way he’s looking at you, something that makes it hard to think straight.

“yes,” you hear yourself say before you can even process it.

his lips curve into a satisfied smile, and without another word, he leans in and kisses you.

the world seems to stop as his mouth meets yours. it’s not hesitant or soft; it’s urgent, as if he’s been wanting this for longer than the short time you’ve known him. his hands slide up to your face, cupping your cheeks as he deepens the kiss.

your fingers clutch his shirt, feeling the heat of his body against yours. it’s messy and impulsive, and he doesn't even care that you’re both in the middle of a park, under the dim glow of the streetlights.

right now, all you can think about is him. the way he tastes, the way he kisses you desperately.

maybe you do need this distraction.

his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, letting the kiss deepen. his lips are soft, and you moan as if you're melting into the kiss. there's something about the way his mouth moves against yours; like he's been waiting to do this.

“wait—” you pant as pull back, your heart pounding against your ribs, trying to gather your thoughts. he looks into your eyes, his brows furrowing slightly as he asks in a low voice, “what happened?”

“we're... we're outside,” you point out, glancing around.

he tilts his head, his brows raising slightly as if that’s the least of his concerns. “so?” his voice is low and almost teasing, like he finds your hesitation cute.

you let out a scoffing laugh, “what do you mean so?wee’re literally in a children’s park.” you gesture to the swings and slides nearby, deserted at this hour but still... it’s a public space.

he pauses for a second, “my car’s parked just over there,” he nods towards a sleek vehicle at the edge of the park, his lips curling into a smile. “we could, uh... relocate or—”

before you can even process that, your curiosity gets the better of you. “wait— you have a car?” you cut in, a little surprised.

he chuckles. “yeah, and it’s a pretty one at that.” there’s a glint in his eyes that says he’s enjoying this back-and-forth with you, like it’s some sort of game.

you sigh, still trying to wrap your head around the craziness of this entire situation. “okay,” you murmur, almost to yourself, deciding to just go with it. what’s the worst that could happen?

he releases his grip on you, but only so he can grab your hand and guide you towards the car. the walk feels a little awkward now, a heavy tension hanging in the air. you're not sure what to say.

what’s the protocol for walking towards a car with a guy you’re about to hook up with?

as if sensing your nerves, he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “come on, my car’s comfy. don’t worry,” he says with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. the way he’s holding your hand... it’s surprisingly tender, making it feel just a little less awkward.

when you reach the car, he opens the back seat door for you. you hesitate for a second, “you won’t, like, kidnap me or something, right?” you half-joke.

he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “for someone who’s so aware of the things you shouldn’t be doing, you sure do them anyway,” he teases. his words send a shiver down your spine, both a warning and an invitation.

but you ignore that nagging voice in the back of your mind. instead, you climb into the seat and he follows you right away.

“why are you—” your words are cut off as he crashes his lips against yours, the urgency in his kiss making you lose your breath. one of his hands grips your waist, pulling you against him, while the other tangles in your hair, tugging gently to tilt your head for better access.

the way his lips move against yours, hot and hungry, sends sparks shooting down your spine, and before you know it, you're moaning into his mouth, matching his intensity. your hands scramble to find something to hold onto, eventually locking behind his neck as if he's your lifeline.

“are we seriously gonna fuck in your car?” you gasp, your words shaky when he pulls away just enough to start trailing hot kisses down the side of your neck. your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, drawing him closer.

“no,” he breathes and sucks on a sensitive spot just beneath your ear, his teeth grazing the skin before he soothes it with a slow lick. “just couldn’t stop myself,” he admits, voice low and breathy, and then his mouth is back on yours, devouring you with a hunger that makes your head spin.

your hands move restlessly over his broad shoulders, wanting to feel more, wishing his clothes were gone so you could touch him everywhere.

his hands roam your body like he's memorizing it, fingers pressing into the curves of your waist, teasingly brushing against your chest. each touch has you arching into him, wishing he'd just tear your clothes apart already.

it's all too good.

too overwhelming, and before you know it, five minutes have passed with the two of you tangled in each other. when he finally pulls back, panting, his lips are swollen and glistening. your chest rises and falls rapidly as you try to catch your breath, both of you staring at each other in the dim light of the car.

he’s leaning back slightly, his hard on pressing against your thigh. it’s impossible not to notice how turned on he is, and it only makes your own arousal spike.

you're so fucking wet right now.

you’re laid back on the seat, eyes locked on him, watching the way he runs a hand through his disheveled hair, pushing it back revealing his forehead.

“hotel? or my place?” he asks, trying to catch his breath “hotel’s just a minute away, but my place… well, it’s a bit further.”

you can practically see the options laid out in your mind like a checklist.

a) go to the hotel, have your fun, and slip away without looking back. no strings, no regrets. just a quick fuck and disappear like it never happened.

b) go to his place, let him fuck the shit out of you, see if he’s worth all this heat between your thighs. maybe wake up in his bed with his arms still wrapped around you... and if he's good enough, maybe get his number so it doesn’t have to be a one time thing.

you bite your lip, your decision already made before you even realize it.

“yours.”

the drive to his apartment is quick, the tension between you both barely held back. you're glad it’s late at night, because the two of you can’t seem to keep your hands off each other and you don't want anyone witnessing it.

the second you step into his apartment, the door slams shut behind you, and it's a scramble to rid each other of clothing. shirts are yanked off, belts undone, pants shoved down until you're both stumbling towards his bedroom in a mess of heated kisses and needy touches.

“o-oh fuck—yes baby, suck it just like that,” jungkook throws his head back, moaning, his breath ragged. he’s sprawled on the bed, legs spread wide, hands gripping the sheets. you're on your knees between his thighs, sucking him hard, your lips stretching around his thick length.

you glance up at him, eyes half lidded, watching the way his abs flex as he tries to keep himself steady. “shit... you look so fucking hot,” he rasps out, voice rough. his gaze darkens, and he pushes himself up, one hand threading through your hair.

“can you take it, baby?” he asks, his voice low, a hint of a challenge in his tone.

you know exactly what he’s asking. you nod, barely managing it with your mouth full, and he smiles, almost wickedly, his eyes gleaming.

“good,” he murmurs, his grip tightening just enough on your hair. “tap me if it’s too much.” and with that, he starts moving his hips, fucking into your mouth with slow, deep thrusts.

you gag slightly as he pushes deeper, but you relax your throat, trying to take him in. the room is filled with the wet, obscene sounds of him moving in and out, his groans echoing off the walls.

“fuck—you’re taking me so well, baby,” he praises, his voice thick and raspy, sending a wave of heat straight to your core. each time his cock hits the back of your throat, it forces a choked gasp from him, his hands instinctively tightening in your hair.

your eyes water, tears pooling at your lashes, but you don’t stop, even as your throat aches. your nails dig into his firm thighs, using them for balance as he fucks your throat. you want to show him just how much you can handle.

“i’m gonna—” he grunts, voice rough and strained. a hot burst of his release fills your mouth, and you swallow it all, not breaking eye contact with him for a second. his chest heaves as he watches you, mesmerized, as your tongue slides slowly along his length, cleaning up every drop. his jaw clenches, the sight clearly driving him wild.

“get up,” he orders, voice still a little breathless, and you obey instantly, letting him pull you to your feet. “on the bed, all fours.”

you get onto the mattress, positioning yourself as he asked. there's a moment of stillness as you feel his gaze roam over your exposed body. your heart races, anticipation building as you wait for his next move.

“you’re dripping,” he murmurs, leaning in closer until his breath is hot against your soaked core. he licks a slow, deliberate stripe along your folds, and your eyes flutter shut, a soft, breathy moan escaping your lips. his mouth envelops your pussy, sucking and licking with an rhythm that makes your thighs tremble.

he pulls back just enough to catch his breath before moving up, positioning himself between your legs. his right hand trails upward, skimming over your skin until his fingers brush against your lips.

instinctively, you part them, taking his fingers into your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue around them. the low chuckle that escapes him tells you just how much he enjoys it.

“you like that, hm?” he asks. you moan softly around his fingers, your response muffled but desperate.

he withdraws his fingers, his lips curving into a satisfied smirk. leaning down, he wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you slightly until your back is against his chest. you can feel his length pressing against your ass, you move your hips a little causing a little friction.

his hands slide over your breasts, kneading them with just enough pressure to send shivers down your spine.

you melt into his touch, your head lolling back against his shoulder as his fingers pinch and roll your hardened nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

“want me to fuck you, baby?” his voice is soft against your shoulder as he places feather light kisses along your skin. he nips gently, his hands never stopping their teasing, and you can’t help the whimper that escapes when his fingers pinch just a bit harder.

“y-yes,” you mewl, voice shaky with need, “fuck me, jungkook.”

he squeezes your breasts harder, a groan rumbling from his chest as he sinks his teeth lightly into the curve of your shoulder.

“yeah? can i fuck you raw?” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“yes,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a whimper. “p-please.”

his grip on you loosens slightly, and he leans back to look at you, his eyes dark, like he's stopping himself. “you sure?” he asks, one last time, his tone gentle but urgent.

you nod quickly, breathless. “i’m on the pill,” you assure him, and the tension in his shoulders eases.

“fuck. okay, bend over.”

without hesitation, you resume your previous position, arching your back and presenting yourself to him. he groans softly at the sight, his hand sliding down to rub slow circles over your entrance.

he teases you, slipping a finger inside, making you moan softly as your walls flutter around him. he withdraws his finger, watching the way you clench around nothing, desperate for more.

grabbing his cock, he taps the swollen tip against your slick hole. you whine, impatience leaking into your voice, “just fuck me already.”

a smirk curves his lips, and without another word, he pushes into you.

you grip the sheets tightly as you take him in fully, your walls stretching to accommodate his thick length. a choked gasp escapes your lips, eyes squeezing shut at the delicious burn that quickly morphs into pleasure.

each inch fills you so completely, leaving you breathless, your body trembling at the feeling.

“fuck,” he groans behind you, his voice low and rough, a sound that makes your toes curl. “you’re so tight, baby... taking me so fucking good.” the words are almost a growl, filled with barely restrained control as he fights the urge to pound into you.

his hands move to your hips, gripping them hard enough to leave marks, steadying himself as he sinks even deeper.

your moans spill freely now, raw and needy, muffled slightly by the pillow you bury your face into. he starts to move, slowly at first, pulling out just enough before thrusting back in, his cock brushing against that sweet spot inside you.

the rhythm is torturously slow, each stroke making you whimper, your back arching even further in a silent plea for more.

“please... more,” you manage to gasp out, your voice shaky. “jungkook, i need it.. need you.”

“yeah?” he rasps, picking up the pace, thrusts becoming sharper, each one driving you into the mattress. “want it harder, baby? want me to ruin you?”

“yes.. yes mmph- more!” you cry, your voice breaking as he slams into you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. your nails claw at the sheets, the friction of his hips against your ass making stars dance behind your eyelids.

his fingers snake around to your front, finding your swollen clit, and he rubs it in tight, quick circles. your entire body jolts, your hips bucking back against him as you let out a loud, broken moan.

“oh, fuck, that’s it, that's a good fucking girl,” he hisses, feeling you clench around him, your walls fluttering as you near the edge.

“you’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he growls against your ear, bending over you now, his hot breath fanning against your neck. he bites down on your shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to drive you wild.

“you're gonna cum like the good girl you are?”

“yes n-ngh.. i’m close.. s-so close,” you whimper, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. his fingers press harder against your clit, his thrusts turning frantic.

“cum with me, baby” he demands, his voice thick and commanding. that’s all it takes. your body shatters. your vision going white as you scream his name. your walls squeeze him so tightly, milking his cock, and with a deep, guttural groan, he loses himself too, spilling inside you as his thrusts grow sloppy.

he stays buried inside you, his chest heaving against your back, both of you panting heavily. he leans down to press soft, lazy kisses along your shoulder.

after everything that just happened. you've made up your mind.

you're definitely going to ask for his number.

a/n: erm.. don't get into random strangers cars !! haha

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 7- For The First Time

Summary: Eight days ago, you kissed Frankie Morales for the first time. Eight days later, you want to do more than just kiss him.

Word count: 8.6K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname, no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+) protected p in v sex, loss of virginity/first sexual experience for Frankie and Reader (some brief mentions of momentary discomfort bc of it) oral (f receiving- building the lore for Pussy Eating King Francisco Morales brick by brick), vaginal fingering, Frankie's got a big dick (it's also part of the lore, don't @ me) sweet and awkward teenage love, Frankie being everything and more, lots and lots and lots of consent, a four letter word that starts with an L, please don't yell at me, they're both 18 at this point in the story!!!

A/N: Soooooo all of a sudden I blinked a this was 8K plus words WHOOPS 🤠 I ain't gonna lie with y'all, this may be one of my favorite things I've ever written and have cried the whole way through it 😭 My plan was to have Frankie picking up MacKenzie from work in this chapter too, but obviously things got away from me very quickly, so that will be next chapter's problem!! Your kind words about this story mean so much to me, I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I've enjoyed writing it!!! 🥺💕

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Summer of 2007, Age 18 

123 days. 

That night Frankie told you he had made up his mind to join the Army after he finished with high school, you counted out every square on your calendar from April 15th to August 16th. You had 123 days left together before you left for college and Frankie left for boot camp. 

But April 15th was 2 months ago. 67 days ago, to be exact. Each day you crossed off your calendar filled you with a little more dread than the last. You tried not to think about the dwindling number, or the impending doom of August hanging behind July and June on the wall above your desk, but it was hard to not let the thought constantly nag in the back of your mind that the carefree summer days of spending practically every waking minute with Frankie were coming to an end. 

The only thing that seemed to put you at ease was just that- after the hurt and sadness of Frankie’s departure had subsided enough, you had promised each other that the last bit of time you had together, you’d do everything in your power to make the most of it. 

If there was anything you knew the other was good for, it was keeping a promise. 

There was no denying that the past 67 days spent with Frankie had been nothing short of magical. It seemed like for once in your life, everything was falling into place exactly how you wanted it to. 

Your soccer team had won the state championship, Frankie being the first to rush onto the field to congratulate you on your victory after cheering for you at the top of his lungs the whole game. The stress of school seemed to become irrelevant, your teachers easing up as you came to the close of your Senior year, you and Frankie’s after school hangouts now focused less on homework and more on goofing around. Graduation had come and gone, you and Frankie both walking across the stage of your high school gym, diplomas in hand, teasing the other relentlessly about how awful the other looked in the stupid, tasseled caps they had forced you to wear. 

Then, there was prom.

It had been no question that you and Frankie were going to prom together- it was an unspoken, standing agreement that the both of you had since the start of your senior year. For as much as homecomings or school dances had never been your (or Frankie’s) preferred way to spend a Saturday night, there was an undeniable excitement you had about it you couldn’t really quite describe. You kept chalking it up to the fact it was the biggest night of your senior year, or that all your best friends were gathering together to have an incredible party filled with dancing and fun. 

But neither of those things could account for the butterflies in your stomach when Frankie showed up at your front door, tuxedo on and flowers in hand, watching his jaw drop and heart stop when he laid eyes on you. 

“You look beautiful, MacKenzie.” 

From that moment on, those 4 words hadn’t stopped ringing in your ears. 

They rang in your ears as he held your hand the entire night, refusing to unlock his fingers from yours. 

They rang in your ears as you felt him grab your waist while you danced. 

They rang in your ears as he lovinging teased you about your drunken hiccups off sips of stolen beer cans in Santi’s basement where the party had traveled to long after prom had finished. 

They rang in your ears in the middle of your moonlit street as Frankie walked you home, making it no less than ten steps past Santi’s porch before he froze, staring at you like a trembling deer in headlights.

“What’s wrong, weirdo?” 

“There’s something I wanna do. I’m terrified you’ll hate me forever if I do it, but I’ve wanted to for so long and I don’t think I can wait anymore.” 

“Frankie, what are you-” 

“Can I kiss you, MacKenzie? Fuck, I wanna kiss you so bad.” 

“F-Frankie, I-” 

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Just forget that I-” 

“I was scared you would never ask.” 

It wasn’t until then you realized just how badly you wanted to kiss Frankie Morales. 

Now, you’re absolutely sure that you never want to stop kissing him. 

There’s something about the warmed, welcomed June air that makes you want to throw every caution you’ve ever had to the wind, finally understanding what all of those books and movies had meant about falling victim to a summer fling.

Ever since that night at prom, Frankie Morales was the only thing in the world that mattered. It had only been eight days since his lips had met yours under the midnight moon, but every day since, neither of you had passed up a chance to sneak away for stolen kisses and bodies tangled in messy dances of limbs, finding any excuse to spend a moment alone together. 

Maybe your pink cheeks and goofy grins were enough to let the world know how hard you had fallen for your best friend- even if they weren’t, you wouldn’t care. Right now, consequences don't exist. 

Right now, the only thing that does is you, Frankie, and a four letter word that lingers in the back of your mind. 

They especially don’t exist when you’re wide awake at one in the morning for the third night in a row, unable to sleep as butterflies rumble in your stomach and fly up to your chest after another day spent with the boy four doors down. 

You toss and turn under your sheets, unable to stand staring hopelessly at your ceiling another minute. You reach across your bed, plucking your phone off your nightstand, finding Frankie’s name in your messages. 

You: 

Hey, are you still up? I can’t sleep 

It’s barely ten seconds before his contact is lighting up your screen, making your heartbeat just a little faster.

Frankie :) <3

Im up 2. I cant sleep either 

Cant stop thinking about u 

You: 

Me either, even though we literally spent all day together haha 

You smile at your screen as you wait for Frankie’s response, fingers anxiously tapping on your keyboard until your phone lights up again. 

Frankie :) <3

Do u wanna come over? 

I wanna see u 

Your face scrunches in confusion, sitting up in your bed to peer out your window, like Frankie would be able to see your puzzled expression from down the street as you type back. 

You: 

I mean, yeah, but it’s 1 AM Frankie??? What about your mom? 

Frankie :) <3 

Shes working overnight at the hospital 

She wont be back until like 9 tomorrow 

Its just me 

You’re unsure of how to describe the feeling that’s beginning to brew in your stomach as you read his last three texts. A strange mix of excitement and anticipation washes through you at the idea of letting yourself indulge in the teenage rebellion of sneaking out of your house in the middle of the night. An even stranger mix of nerves and something else you can’t quite explain floods your veins at the idea of sneaking out of your house to find Frankie, alone in his bedroom. 

The feeling you quite can’t explain churns faster in your gut and travels down your lower half when you realize if you’re alone with Frankie in his bedroom, you want to do more than just kiss him. 

You: 

Are you sure?? 

Frankie :) <3

Promise 

I really wanna see u Kenz 

At this point, the strange feeling that’s seeped through every inch of your body must have made it to your brain, because you’re convinced it’s the reason you don’t know how to breathe anymore. 

You: 

Okay 

I’ll be over in 10 :) 

Frankie :) <3 

Ok :) 

Come in thru the back door  

Txt me when ur there and ill let u in 

You’ve never been up and out of your bed so quickly, fumbling with your comforter and pillows just enough to resemble something close to a body under your sheets if god forbid either one of your parents wakes up and decides to check on you for the first time since you were a toddler. 

Your breath trembles, inhaling and exhaling in long and deep rises of your chest, carefully tiptoeing across your bedroom floor. You’d give anything to be in something cuter than your pajamas, but opening your closet seems like too risky of a move in your plot to escape. 

You grab Frankie’s sweatshirt hanging over your desk chair, quietly shuffling it over your head before attempting to use the moonlight spilling in through your window as enough illumination to comb your fingers through your messy hair and wrangle it into a quick braid. It’s hard to tell from the half lit reflection staring back at you in the mirror, but you pray the once over you give yourself is enough to keep you from looking like a complete mess when you show up at Frankie’s door. 

The adrenaline of it all seems to kick your nerves to the curb as you stuff your phone in Frankie’s sweatshirt pocket before your fingers gently wrap around the curve of your doorknob. As soon as you open the door, you’re well aware of the ramifications that could await you on the other side. 

You’re also well aware that consequences are temporary, and no amount of fear of future punishment is keeping you from making it to Frankie’s bedroom tonight. 

It’s a James Bond worthy performance, the way you sneak down your staircase, avoiding every crack and creak with expertise, stealthily sliding past your parents bedroom and across the family room until you’ve crept through your kitchen to find your back patio.

You flinch with every squeal of the sliding glass door as you nudge it open, just enough to squeeze your body through. You grimace your face in fear as you pause, back to the bricks of your house, waiting for someone to catch you in the act. 

A few moments pass and the silence of your home stays stagnant, giving you the all clear to bolt across your backyard, dashing through your neighbors lawns until you find yourself at Frankie’s, hands shaking as your fingers punch at your keyboard. 

You: 

I’m here! Let me in!  

As your thumb presses send, your adrenaline has waived just enough to let the anxious tension take hold of your body, palms sweating and heart racing so fast it just may beat out of your chest. Your teeth gnaw at your fingernails, waiting for his response to text you that he’ll be right there, or he’s about to let you in, but this is Frankie- It should be no surprise when he opens the back door immediately. There’s not a chance in hell he hasn’t been waiting for you down here since the moment you texted him you were coming. 

“Hi.” You whisper, biting down your lip to contain the smile that’s spread across your face as he’s opened the door. 

“Hi.” He whispers back, tongue darting between his lips as his eyes wander up and down your frame before locking with yours. 

His palm grazes your cheek, cradling your jaw as he steps into you, chest to chest while your lips lock in a gentle, electric kiss, the kind that makes you want the taste of him to linger on your tongue forever. 

“You wanna go up to my room?” He asks, the hot breath of his words dancing across your skin as his mouth still hovers over yours. 

Before, you would have quipped him with some sort of witty, sarcastic response, teasing him that you’d rather stay out in the pitch black and get eaten by mosquitos until he dragged you inside, eyes rolling at your sass. Now, the best you can manage are shaky breaths while you nod your head in agreement, praying your brain will let you form some sort of coherent thought before you speak. 

Frankie grabs your hand as he pulls you into his house, taking the familiar path through his kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom, the pounding in both your chests filling the silence for the words you seem to lack. 

He doesn’t even bother closing the door behind him as you make it to his room, your bodies tangling and intertwining in a frantic dance, stumbling across the floor until the backs of Frankie’s knees collide with the bed, the two of you toppling over in soft giggles onto the mattress. 

“Fuck, I missed you.” Frankie sighs, one arm wrapped around your hip and the other resting on your face as he leans back in for another kiss, your smiles pressed against each other. 

“It’s only been like, three hours since I saw you last, dummy,” You quietly snicker, letting your hands wander up his chest, “You really missed me that much?” 

“Yeah, really.” He replies in between kisses, fingers digging just a little bit deeper into your side, “I can’t stop thinking about you, Kenzie. You’re all I think about. You’re all I ever wanna think about.” 

You try to swallow the lump that’s lingering in your throat, but with each second that passes, it seems to grow, trapping the words your brain is fighting to get out. The simple bliss you’ve found in pressing your mouth to Frankie’s has become overshadowed by the looming tension spreading through you as you imagine the soft plush of his lips across your skin, or the way you want his hands to creep down the waistband of your shorts and ease the ache that’s been building between your legs. 

Your body freezes at the realization that you want to tell him that you can’t stop thinking about him either, that you can’t stop thinking about the fact you want more than just his lips pressed against yours, how you want him to be the first one you feel inside you, that he’s the only one you ever want. 

That there’s nothing more than you want to be his. 

It doesn’t take long for Frankie to realize he’s making out with a half open mouth, pulling away with concern as he studies the pained expression across your face. 

“Kenz, a-are, are you okay? D-did I do something wrong?” Frankie stammers, gulping as he shifts himself to follow your lead and sit up on the bed. 

“N-no, no, it’s just that- fuck- I just- fuck, I don’t know how to say this.” You stutter, face growing hotter and hotter as you furrow your brow, eyes peeled to Frankie’s blue and green plaid sheets as you try to find the words you want so desperately for him to hear.

Frankie reaches out his hand, gently resting it on the bare skin of your thigh, just below the hem of your pajama shorts. You glance down at the way his fingers carefully rub back and forth, trying to calm your nerves enough to look at him. 

“It’s okay, Kenzie. Whatever it is, I’m- I’m here to listen.” He responds, trying his best to be the anchor in your storm, despite his own nearly shot nerves. 

“I- I- I really like you, Frankie.” 

“I really like you too, Kenz.” He smiles softly, just enough teasing inflection in his tone to get you to giggle, just a little. 

“I just- I- um, do you- Frankie, do you- do you ever think about doing more than just kissing me?” 

A stark silence fills the room, quiet enough that each breath through your nose and thump in your chest amplifies and echoes in the space between you. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek watching Frankie’s face go blank, eyes widening with every second he lets your question process. His Adam’s Apple bobs in sync with the trembling exhale he takes before he looks back at you, praying that your word vomit hasn’t led to a detrimental mistake. 

“Do um, holy shit- you mean like, l-like what? Like, like, h-having sex? W-w-with you?” 

He’s panting like he’s just finished a marathon, his eyes darting wildly between you and his sheets, terrified to answer your question with anything else but his own question to make sure he’s really just heard what you said. 

The tops of your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you nod your head just enough, the subtle shake just enough to let him confirm his suspicions that you’re asking as a way of letting him  know how often it’s crossed your mind. 

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I think about it.” He stammers, feeling his fingers tremble against your skin, hand still resting on your thigh, “D-do- do you? Um, think about it?” 

“Yeah.” You whisper, voice shaking as you reach down to lay your hand over his, letting your fingers slide between the gaps between his knuckles until they intertwine, gripping each other tightly, there was no chance the other could float away. 

The silence shifts to a different type of tension, a thickness in the air so palpable, it makes it just as hard to move as it does to breathe. The two of you stare at the interlocked hand resting on your thigh, stuck in a game of chicken of who dares to make the first move into the uncharted territory you’ve entered. 

“I- I’ve never-” 

“Me either.” Frankie interjects, cutting off the end of your statement.

It’s almost humorous to admit it out loud, like the both of you didn’t already share every detail of your lives with one another, and had somehow managed to let this fact fall between the cracks.

The two of you let out quiet laughs to yourselves, finding comfort in the comradery to work up enough courage to let your gazes meet again, wondering if Frankie can see the same yearning in your eyes as you see reflected in the soft brown his. 

“MacKenzie, I- I-” he mutters, scrunching his face with his swallow, trying to compose himself, “I only wanna do what you wanna do. I don’t- um, I don’t want you to think that if- if you don’t want to, o-or whatever, that I would be mad. I promise I would never, ever be mad at you because of that. Y-you know that, right?” 

“I know.” 

There’s not a part of you that doubts it. Not for a second. You know that there’s no one else on the face of this earth you trust more than him. 

There could be no one else but him. 

“You know I would never be mad at you either, right?” You ask, relieved as you watch Frankie gently nod his head. 

You’re not sure if it’s instinct or the weight of the tension that makes you lean into him, foreheads pressing together so that the messy curls of his sleepy hair are tickling your skin. You can hear how hard his heart is beating, waiting on your every breath as he leans back into you. 

“I want to. I want you, Frankie.” 

“F-fuck- Are you sure?” He asks, his free hand creeping across the sheets, carefully sliding up your thigh and under his sweatshirt you’re wearing, letting his fingers toy at the softness of your stomach and the waistband of your shorts. 

“I’m sure.” You whisper back, your own hand traveling up his leg and towards the tented fabric of his pajama bottoms. 

“I-if it’s too much, t-tell me to stop, okay? I promise I’ll take care of you, MacKenzie.” 

“I know you will. I trust you, Frankie.” 

“O-okay.” 

“Okay.” 

It’s then your mouths crash together in a messy dance of tounges and teeth, an instant electricity igniting in your core with anticipation and want. It’s frantic yet sensual, the way there’s nothing more you want than him, but can’t bear to miss a moment to take it all in, savoring every second you melt into him.

As your hands wander across each other’s bodies, Frankie shifts you to lay on your back so he can cage his frame over yours, the ends of his fingers barely daring to roam any farther than just below your hips or too far above your stomach. 

“C-can I take off your shirt?” He asks, already breathless at just the sight of you underneath him. 

“Technically your shirt, Morales.” You smirk, making his cheeks turn even more pink at the way you giggle when you say his name. 

“It’s yours now, looks way better on you than it does on me. Drives me fucking crazy seeing you in my clothes, Kenz.” He grins, carefully tugging your sweatshirt and the shirt underneath it above your head as you lift up your arms, helping him wriggle it free. 

As you pop out from under the fabric, the first thing you notice is the way Frankie’s jaw is hanging open, eyes wide as can be as they stay glued to your bare chest. 

“Holy shit.”  Frankie whispers to himself, tongue darting between his lips, staring at the way your nipples have hardened from being exposed and aroused. “Um, w-wow.” 

Seeing you topless sparks something in him to do the same, reaching over his shoulder to tug his t-shirt off his back and over his head, leaving nowhere for the heave of each heavy rise and fall of your chests to hide. 

Slowly, Frankie lets his hands slide up your stomach until he’s palming your breasts, grouping each one in his hands, making your breath hitch in the back of your throat as his fingers brush against your sensitive buds. 

He leans down to kiss you, starting at your lips before trailing down your neck and collarbone, until he reaches your chest, carefully kissing each handful he has in his grasp. 

You’ve never felt your core ache the way it does now, throbbing with want and need for more, just from the way Frankie’s groping you. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling- you’ve touched yourself before with this exact scenario playing in your mind, but never has it made you feel like this. 

“Y-you can take off my shorts, i-if you want.” 

“O-kay.” 

The gentleness of Frankie’s gaze makes your heart skip a beat, the chocolate brown of his eyes locked on yours as he scoots himself down the bed until he finds himself settled between your legs, now parted open for him. 

It’s then you’re overtly aware that Frankie is about to see you completely naked, a new wave of anxiety crashing through you as heat rises in your cheeks and makes you fidget the fabric of his sheets between your fingers. 

“I- I- I’m not wearing cute underwear. S-sorry.” You stammer, wincing as Frankie’s thumbs begin to dip below your waistband. 

“Seriously, Kenz?” He chuckles, pausing in his tracks to shake his head in disbelief, “Do you really think I care what underwear you have on right now?” 

“Well, n-no, but-” 

“You really think I’m about to turn down having sex with you because you’re not in the right underwear? That you won’t even have on in like, three seconds?” Frankie snickers, trying to help ease your clearly visible nerves. 

“Shut up.” You sigh, rolling your eyes as you playfully swat at him, forgetting about the fact you were topless and immediately clamming up again as you felt your breasts sway against your chest. “S-sorry, I- I’m just kinda nervous.” 

“Why are you nervous?” Frankie questions gently, wrapping his hand around your calf, thumb softly circling your skin. 

“Well you’re about to see me naked for the first time, Frankie. I think that’s a pretty fair reason to be nervous.” You force the stifled laugh stuck in your throat, attempting to uphold any confidence you have left in your facade. 

“You’re about to see me naked too, Kenz. Would it make you feel better if you saw me pantless first?” 

He says it like he’s teasing, but you know there’s a part of him that’s serious- that he’d do anything to make you feel better, even something as simple as being the first to forgo any clothes on his bottom half. 

“No, I know, Frankie, it’s just-” 

“Do you know how beautiful I think you are?” 

It catches you off guard, how quick he is to stifle your protest, the warmth of his words flushing your cheeks, now shifting to fit the delicate grin that’s growing between them. 

“You’re so beautiful, MacKenzie. Everything about you, I swear.” 

He must feel the butterflies churning in your stomach, his hands sliding down your thighs to grab your sides, leaning over to press soft kisses just above your waistband. He stares up at you once more, giving each other subtle nods of reassurance as his fingers play with the elastic, carefully helping you to lift your hips just enough to shuffle your bottoms down your legs until they’re a crumpled pile on the floor. 

It eases the tension that’s built throughout your body as you watch in real time how Frankie’s brain short circuits, mesmerized by the view that’s revealed itself between your legs. You timidly squirm your lower half against the sheets, just enough to feel the sticky warmth of your arousal that’s been pooling since the minute you stepped foot in Frankie’s bedroom. 

“H-holy- holy fuck. O-oh my god.” Frankie murmurs to himself, eyes locked on the puffy, wet mess of your pussy, “MacKenzie, I- wow. C-can, um, can I touch you?” 

“Mmhmm. Y-you can touch me, Frankie. F-fuck, I want you to. Please.” You whisper, letting your legs part for him more, clit pulsing with anticipation to feel Frankie’s fingers. 

“I-if it doesn’t feel good o-or, you know, you want me to stop, just tell me, okay?” 

“Okay, Frankie.” 

You didn’t even know it was possible to feel this wound up, every throb of your core pulsing through your body with so much intensity you’re convinced you may explode if Frankie doesn’t touch you this second. 

The pads his fingers gently slide over your swollen lips, collecting the slick that clings to them before he brings them to your clit, his precise and delicate touch still making you gasp the moment he starts to circle around your sensitive nub. He swirls his fingers with the lightest touch like you’re made of glass, scared he’ll break you if he dares to push too hard. 

“You can, fuck- you can press more if you want.” 

“Okay. I just- I didn’t wanna hurt you, or anything.” 

The corner of your lips curl with a soft smile, the stiffness in your muscles relaxing with how warm and safe he makes you feel. 

“I-in the same place, though? Same circles, just like, more pressure?” He asks, quietly calculating his next move as you shake your head in response. 

Frankie begins to circle again, slowly increasing the weight of his fingers against your clit, brushing against it in just the right way to make you whimper in delight. 

“Oh my god-” You sigh, breath hitching in the back of your throat. 

“Good oh my god, or bad oh my god?” Frankie questions, terrified he’s done something to upset you. 

“No- no, good oh my god. K-keep doing that.” You stammer, pulse quickening as a familiar tingle of pleasure begins to build in your stomach. 

Your reassurance gives Frankie the boost of confidence he needs, drawing tight circles around your nub with the pads of his fingers for a few moments, until his thumb takes over, leaving his middle two fingers free, ghosting over your entrance. 

There’s a louder moan as Frankie barely slips his middle finger inside of you, lightly prodding in and out of your hole, welcoming the new fullness in the warmth and wet of your walls. 

He pumps a few more times, letting his finger sink deeper with each stroke until he’s knuckle deep, reaching further than any spot you’ve been able to feel yourself. It’s when a second digit joins his first that you feel nearly breathless, the stretch and sting making you wince for a moment as you adjust, realising how much thicker and stronger his fingers are than your own when you touch yourself. 

Frankie immediately notices your tense expression, quickly pulling back, raising his hands like he’s been caught in the act, guilt ridden look painted across his face. 

“Fuck, Kenzie, are you okay? Did I hurt you? Fuck, I’m sorry.” 

“No, no, it’s okay, Frankie! It feels good, I promise, your fingers are just a lot bigger than mine.” 

He tilts his head in confusion for a second until the lightbulb clicks with him that he’s not the only one in the room who's ever been horny and taken care of themself to help solve their problem. 

“Wh-what do you think about? Wh-when, when you touch yourself?” He asks with a quiet caution. 

“I- I think about you, Frankie.”

You answer without hesitation. Not to appease him, not to convince yourself, but because it’s the truth. You’ve thought about him more times than you can count. 

Your answer ignites another spark of self-assurance in him, carefully letting his thumb swirl against your clit as his middle finger gently slides back into your entrance, working up to the same tempo he was at a few moments ago. 

“I think about you, too. All the time.” He confesses, a willing admittance now that you’re laying your cards out on the table for him. 

“Well, there was one time, a long time ago, I thought about Orlando Bloom after I watched Pirates of the Caribbean.” 

You’re not sure what spurs on your unnecessary addition to your comment, but it makes you and Frankie both snort, needing a moment to compose yourself from your fit of giggles. 

“Are you trying to tell me you’re really into pirates?” Frankie laughs, biting down on his lip. 

“No, you dork! That’s not- Jesus, you know what, forget I ever said anything, okay?” You sigh, rolling your eyes at Frankie, trying to will away the reds and pinks that plague your cheeks. 

“Your secret’s safe with me, Kenz, don’t worry.” He teases, his smile slowly shifting to a stoic sort of concentration as he stares down at his fingers pressed against your pussy. “I- I wanna try something.” 

“What?” 

“Can I um, can I go down on you?” 

“Wait, really?” 

Despite your own inexperience, you weren’t naive enough to ignore the rumblings from friends of friends, or stories of girls on your soccer team, constantly complaining about how all their boyfriends wanted them to suck their dicks with nothing in return. They’d claim it was gross, or weird, or that it would taste disgusting, so you’d be hard pressed to not believe that every boy under the sun mostly likely found themselves in the same school of thought. 

“Do you not want me to?” Frankie questions, trying to hide the small pang of disappointment you’re sure he feels in his chest at your puzzled reaction. 

“N-no, it’s just that- I didn’t think that- I thought guys thought that was gross.” 

“What? Who said that?” Frankie scoffs. 

“I don’t know, like, Sarah and Morgan from the soccer team always complained about how their boyfriends never wanted to because they said it was gross or whatever.” 

“Well Sarah and Morgan’s boyfriends have a single brain cell left between them after all the hits they’ve taken during football this season.” 

The two of you laugh again, finding relief in the way your friendship prevails through the discomfort. 

“You really don’t think it’s gross?” 

“No. I- I think it’s kinda hot.” 

It’s now Frankie’s cheeks that are flushed with crimson, trying his best to hide his embarrassment. You can tell he has more he wants to say from the way his eyes dart between yours and the bed, forcing you to tilt your head with that little nod he knows means that you’ll keep pestering him until he breaks. Lucky for you, it won’t take much. 

“Santi stole this DVD from his cousin's house, and honestly most of it was so stupid because obviously it's all fake. Like, no one’s that excited to get fucked at a doctor’s office. But anyways, there was this one part at the beginning where uh- where the guy goes down on the girl and I- um, I don’t know. I- I wanted to try it, I guess.” 

“Really didn’t think I was gonna have to worry about not picturing Santi in my head tonight.” 

You and Frankie giggle as you pretend to gag at the thought of Santi becoming a part of you losing your virginity, praying there never comes a day he finds out he’s in part to thank for Frankie’s peaked curiosity. 

“I- I want you to. If you want to.” 

“I want to. Fuck, I wanna taste you so bad.” 

The pace of your pulse begins to quicken again, watching the way Frankie’s face lights up as he races to position himself between your legs, laying flat against the mattress with his face hovering above your heat, his hot, trembling breath tickling your folds. 

You swear he licks his lips before his mouth meets you, but the slow, long drag of his tongue across your clit already has your head thrown back against his pillow, the warmth and wetness lighting you up from the inside out with jolts of electric pleasure. 

He repeats it a few more times, languidly lapping in smooth and steady strokes, each with just a little more pressure than the last. It’s instinctual, how you buck your hips towards his face, like your body knows it wants more before your brain can process it, signaling to Frankie you’ve given him the okay to keep going, to give you more. 

Little gasps escape your parted lips as his tongue moves faster, circling your clit the same way he had with his thumb, making your body melt into the mattress. It’s almost unearthly, how good it feels, little fires igniting in your stomach with every flick of his tongue. 

You don’t mean to startle him with how loudly you whimper as he intensifies the pressure, mouth still latched around your clit while his brown eyes peek up at you, breathlessly nodding to him that he shouldn’t dare to stop now. 

He takes it as a sign to test the waters even further, letting his middle finger be sucked into the warmth of your velvety walls before ever so carefully sliding in another. The stretch is still there but the sting has faded, his fingers a welcomed addition to ease the way you realize you’ve been clenching around nothing, subconsciously desperate to fill the empty ache in your core. 

Inch by inch, he sinks them deeper until you feel him bump against a soft spot inside you that makes you scream in a way you’ve never felt before, fireworks exploding everywhere in your body as his tongue and fingers work in tandem. 

A familiar tingle rapidly begins to build at the base of your spine, except the same type of tingle you’ve experienced alone has never multiplied and compounded in the same way this one does. 

Desperate for something to grab on to, one hand fists at Frankie’s sheets, the other, shooting down to the messy curls of his hair, burying your fingers until they disappear under his unkempt locks. 

You’re not sure if you’re so pleasure drunk you can’t think straight, but you swear you can feel that stupid, smug smirk pressed against your pussy as you hold onto him for dear life. 

He keeps the same pace with his tongue, fingers prodding in just the right spot to make you feel like you’re losing control, limbs numb and shaking like jello as you feel the tingle creep down your legs and up through your chest. 

“F-Frankie, I- oh fuck- fuck, oh my god, fuck, I- I- oh my go-ahhhhhhhhhh-”  

It’s all consuming, the way the pleasure washes over you, like waves crashing into the shoreline- relentless and never ending. There’s a moment you’re convinced your body’s left this planet, floating off in space in a cloud of endless ecstasy. 

You’re not sure how long you’re lost in the electricity of it all- Minutes? Hours? Years? You’d believe any and all of the above. Your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath as you come to, greeted with the image of Frankie still settled between your legs, wild haired and goofy grinned. 

“Frankie…. Holy fuck.” 

A beaming, boyish smile lights up across his face at the way you’re panting, wiping the shiny slick stained around his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Yeah? D-did it feel good? Did you um- did you-” 

“Yeah. Holy shit. Remind me to thank Santi’s cousin if I ever meet him.” 

“Jesus Christ…” Frankie sighs, rolling his eyes at your giggles, heart melting at the way he can’t hide his rosy cheeks and curled lips every time he looks at you, “It felt good though? Like, Actually?” 

“Yeah, it felt really good, Frankie.” You coo, watching Frankie prop himself up to sit back on his haunches, letting your gaze wander down his bare chest until you reach the clearly tented fabric of his pajama pants, lingering just long enough for him to notice where you’re staring. 

Silent tension fills the room again, the both of you realizing that you’ve only conquered one part of the journey you’ve embarked on together, and that the second half of your travels pose many more risks than the first. Frankie is the only one you want by your side as you brave your adventure together. 

With a little push, your back parts with his mattress, sitting up to close the gap between you. You’re close enough now that your hands can roam up his thighs, softly palming at the stiff bulge straining under his pants. 

“Oh f-fuck-” Frankie stutters, jaw going slack with ever pass your hand makes over his erection. 

“Can I take off your pants, Frankie?” You whisper, burying your head in the crook of his neck, craning your head just enough so that the hot words of your breath dance in his ear. 

You can barely finish your sentence before Frankie’s scrambling off the edge of the bed, standing up straight to give you the easiest access to shuffle his pajamas down while you kneel on the mattress. 

You pray Frankie can’t feel the way your fingers shake as they sink under his waistband and brush against his stomach, pulling his bottoms down just slow enough to memorize the subtle V that sinks between his hips, or the soft trail of barely there brown hair under his belly button that thickens with every tug. 

With one final breath, you slide them down enough to finally free what’s been hiding underneath, his length fully hard, bobbing as it springs free. This must have been what it felt like for Frankie, understanding the way his eyes went wide and brain went blank after he saw you for the first time.

It’s not like it’s a surprise to you, the concept of what he’s had tucked away in his pants.

What does, is how the sight of it nearly knocks the wind out of you. 

“F-Frankie… Holy shit.” 

“What? I-is something wrong?” He winces, immediately bracing himself for the worst. 

“No, it’s just- just like, Holy shit, Frankie.” You reiterate, making it very clear you’re more than impressed as you gesture at what’s hanging in front of you. 

“O-oh, t-thanks.” He stutters, a sweet shyness overtaking him as a result of your admiration. 

You scoot yourself closer, a boldness overcoming you as you delicately wrap your hand around his length, slowly sliding it up and down his shaft. You pray that whatever you’re doing feels okay, but from the way Frankie’s whimpers and moans escape from his parted lips, you take it as a sign you’re safe to take another step further.

“Since you went down on me, do you want me to go down on-” 

“N-no!” He pauses, drowning his face in his palm for the way he’s panicking, making you drop him from your grasp, “No, I- uh- shit- sorry, sorry, no it’s just- No, not because I don’t want you to- b-believe me, I really want you to. Like, really want you to.” 

“O-okay, so?” 

He must feel awful for the puzzled and pained expression on your face, reaching with both hands to cradle your jaw, making sure your gaze is fixated on him. 

“I’m sorry, I promise nothing’s wrong, I just- fuck- I don’t wanna cum yet and I know if you go down on me, I will in like two seconds, and I wanna cum when we’re having sex. I-if you still wanna, ya know, have sex. Jesus, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I freaked out like that. I think I’m- I’m nervous, too. ” 

The top of your teeth graze your lower lip, batting your lashes in heavy, long blinks, your lips curling in a sympathetic smile that you’re not alone in your uneasiness. Finding comfort in the uncomfortability, together. Knowing how easy it would be for him to play it all off like no big deal, or pretend to mask the confidence he lacks, and yet, he doesn’t, makes you want him even more. 

“Do you still want to? I- I’m nervous too, but I want to. It makes me feel less nervous that it’s with you.” 

The tender kiss he plants on your lips as your bodies move in sync down the bed is the only answer you need, shuffling backwards towards the pillows while Frankie hovers his body over you, mouths only parting to let you settle into the mattress. 

Each kiss becomes more frantic and desperate than the last, mouths melting together as your tongues wrestle. The way he kisses you is all consuming, enough to make you feel like the only people in the world that exist in this moment are you and him. 

“You sure you want to?” He gasps, fighting for his words to escape his parted lips. 

“I’m sure.” You whisper back, barely soft enough for him to hear. 

The two of you nod, Frankie shifting his weight to reach across you, shuffling through the drawer of his nightstand until he fishes out the box of condoms he has hidden away. He sits back on his knees, carefully ripping a square from the line of packages, tossing the rest over the side of the bed. He’s even more delicate as he tears the edge of the foil he’s holding in his hands, removing the rubber and methodically rolling it down over his shaft. 

“It’s on right... Right?” 

“Yeah. I practiced putting them on earlier this week so I didn’t look like a complete idiot when I tried to do it the first time. Although I think telling you that probably makes me look like an even bigger idiot.” 

“No it doesn’t,” You softly reassure him, “I’d rather have you do that than put it on wrong. I don’t want any of your babies yet, Morales.” 

Yet. 

You’re not sure what makes your brain decide to add those three letters into your sentence. You’re also not sure why you don’t hate that it did. There’s a part of you that thinks there’s a chance that maybe Frankie didn't hear it, but you know that boy would die before he stopped hanging onto every word that fell from your lips. 

There’s a part of you that also swears he’s trying with everything in him to keep from smiling. 

Your attention shifts with Frankie’s body, hovering back over yours with his fist wrapped around the base of his shaft, sinking his hips to line himself up with your entrance. His tip brushes against your clit, a familiar jolt of pleasure swirling in your stomach at how you clench around nothing, anxious and aching to feel him inside you. 

“I-if it’s too much, or it doesn’t feel good, or you wanna stop, just-” 

“I know, Frankie. I’ll tell you, I promise.” 

Your low exhale syncs with Frankie’s gulp, each of you bracing yourselves as you finally feel his tip breach inside you. You try your best to relax, squirming your bottom half with each inch Frankie sinks himself deeper. You’re sure there’s a wince as he pushes past the halfway point- not painful, but a sting and stretch in a way you’ve never felt. Frankie freezes, gently grabbing your hip. 

“You good, Kenzie? You want me to stop?” 

“No, I’m okay, just kind of stings a little, but it still feels good. Maybe if you didn’t have such a big dick, it wouldn’t be a problem.” You tease, letting out a little huff of laughter. 

It’s now Frankie’s turn to scrunch the muscles of his face, cocking your head at the grit of his teeth. 

“Frankie, are you okay?” 

“Yup. Yup, I’m good. When you laughed it squeezed my dick and it felt really good and I’m trying not to make a fucking fool of myself right now.” 

“Sorry, no more laughing, got it.” You grimace, desperately trying not to giggle at Frankie’s pained concentration as he shakes his head at you. “Y- you can keep going, though.” 

“F-fuck, o-okay.” 

There��s another deep breath before he’s pushing his hips towards you, taking his time as you feel the pain start to shift to indescribable pleasure, the feeling of how full he is inside of you making every wire in your brain short circuit. 

“Holy fucking shit.” Frankie whispers under his breath, “Fuck, you feel so good, MacKenzie.” 

You wish you had the words to tell him how you feel the same, but the best you can muster is a muffled moan that escapes from your unhinged jaw, brain empty at the sweet stretch of his fullness, stagnant inside you. 

F-fuck Frankie. Oh my god.” You murmur, letting the muscles of your face untense so the weight of your eyelids can flutter open, soaking in the image of Frankie above you. The rest of your body follows, slowly beginning to relax as you adjust, yearning for more than just his hips flushed against yours. “Y-you can move, Frankie.” 

He lets his arms sink from the plank he’s holding, letting your chests flush together so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck, groaning into your skin with the first thrust of his hips, steadily sliding in and out of your heat, savoring every second of the sensation. 

“You still okay, baby?” Frankie coos into your ear, the new nickname only adding to the way you want to clench down around his length as he keeps his languid pace, dragging his cock along the warmth and wetness of your walls. 

“Mhmmm. You can go faster, i-if you want. F-fuck, it feels so good, Frankie.” 

The way you whimper and whine his name sets off a low rumble deep in his chest, lips locking with yours as you feel him pump just a little harder, his length nudging the same, savory spot he had found before with his fingers. Your hand shoots up to wrap around his bicep, nails marking crescent moons in his skin. 

Every move he makes is solely based on your reaction, reading the way your body responds to him before daring to take a step further. Your iron grip and sweet moans are enough to spur him on further, a steady rhythm now working through each thrust of his hips. 

There’s a new knot in your stomach that starts to tighten, building in your gut and slowly creeping its way to spread throughout your body. The coarse hairs curling at the base of his shaft brush against your clit just enough to spark a jolt of electricity to your core, bucking your hips into his with each thrust. You’re desperate to reach the same high he had given you before, eager to ease the ache of your sensitive bud. 

Frankie picks up on the way you rut back into him, snaking his hand down your front, making just enough space between your bodies to let the pads of his fingers find your clit. The pressure he adds with the circles and swirls makes your breath hitch in the back of your throat, overwhelmed with arousal by how all encompassing Frankie is. 

It’s hard to believe how quickly you find yourself becoming addicted to him, your body yearning to become one with his and never separate. You want your heart, your soul, for all of it to be his, and only his, to be unable to find where you end and he begins. 

The only thing you want is to be his. 

With each stroke, your pussy flutters faster around his length, the tingle that had formed at the base of your spine now seeping through your veins, teetering on the brink of collapse. 

“F-fuck- fuck, Frankie, don’t stop. Fuck, I- I think I’m- I’m close.” 

If it was anyone else, there would be no words to describe the embarrassment from the pathetic whimper you let out at the way Frankie groans while he punches into you. A look of pained concentration splays across his face, focusing with every brain cell he has left to make sure you finish first. 

“Shit- I- I- fuck, I’m close, too.” He stutters, chest heaving in between each word. 

He presses his forehead into yours, meeting you with the tacky sheet of sweat that now clings to his skin and dampens his curls. His scent, his warmth, the weight of his body laid across yours- you almost dare to wish that this moment, this feeling, would never end. 

But the way he whispers your name, each letter warm and tickling your skin, a sweet symphony only he can sing is what sends you over the edge, pushing you past the point of no return. 

“M-MacKenzie… f-fuck, MacKenzie-”  

Each syllable is an explosion inside you, lighting you up to send sparks through every last limb until you’re sobbing his name, singing his own sweet song back to him. 

“Frankie, Frankie, Frankiefrankiefrankie-ahhhhh-” 

The dam inside you finally breaks, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through you as you squeeze around him, swallowed whole by the electricity of it all. 

There’s not much your mind can process after you snap, but there’s enough strength left to keep your gaze locked on Frankie and the way he gasps as his jaw drops after you’ve finished. He’s just as lost as you, relishing in your afterglow as he chases his own high, each thrust more sloppy and erratic than the last. 

“Fuck, fuck, holy shit MacKenzie, fuck, I’m gonna cum so ha-aaaaahhh-” 

There’s only one last shift of his hips before he’s spilling into the condom, a final moan that follows his release as he collapses into you. Your chests rise and fall in sync, breaths heavy as you pant in the soft silence that fills the room.

The quiet brings a gentle comfort, basking in the bliss that radiates off each of you as you let yourselves drift back to earth, praying it gives you enough time to remember how to speak. 

It’s Frankie who arrives back first, too consumed with your own journey back to hear the way his voice breaks as he carefully whispers your name. 

“MacKenzie?” 

“Yeah, Frankie?” 

“C-can I tell you something?” 

“Anything.” 

His sweet call brings you back, thumb brushing against the warmth of his cheek, waiting on every word he's working himself up to say.

“MacKenzie, I- MacKenzie, I- I think I love you.” 

It's then you're sure your heart stops- four little letters forcing a smile so wide across your face, your positive your cheeks may hurt for days after.

Maybe, if you're lucky, they'll keep hurting like this for the rest of your life.

“Can I tell you something, Morales? I think I might just love you, too.” 

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995 @beezusvreeland @guelyury

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[andreafmn]

Requite | Chapter 1

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: When everything seems to fall into place in Forks, Washington, a string of mysterious deaths call the attention of both vampires and werewolves in town. As the redheaded vampire returns with her mind set on revenge, (Y/N) and Bella Swan find themselves in the center of danger once again. With secrets still lingering between them about their past best friend, they will find themselves stuck in a whirlwind of love, betrayal, and the hardest choices they’ll have to make. But one thing is certain: no one will go a day without a taste for vengeance. 

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Calm in a town like Forks was a mirage. Or, at times, it was simply a distraction. While the supernatural walked amongst the land, there would never be calm and tranquility. Their existence was enough to shift the balance of the universe, and it would always find a way to rectify itself. Even just a couple of days could send the small town down a whirlwind, regardless of who got caught in the middle of the current.  

(Y/N) Swan didn't know that yet. At that moment, she thought she had faced her worst battle yet. She had survived a vampire attack; she had saved her sister from drowning in the ocean, and she had even endured an abusive relationship. There couldn't be anything else thrown her way that could be worse.  

Or so she thought. But of course, hindsight is twenty-twenty.  

Finals were approaching, and (Y/N) had never wanted to go back to homeschooling more than at that moment. For the better part of a year, she had been able to focus on her schoolwork at her own pace. In school, she had to submit to her teacher's pace. If she had it her way, she would have already been done with her year's curriculum. Instead, she was buried up to her nose in her and Bella's books.  

“So, dad gave me another letter from Jacob,” Bella muttered as she closed her history book, seemingly over the topic. “Seems he really wants to talk. Although it seems he's not sure about what.”  

Bella passed the piece of paper to her sister, her eyes searching for any answers on (Y/N)'s face. But the younger Swan remained stoic as she perused the letter. Jacob had started over seven times, angrily scratching over every sentence until he left a vague plea to see the older Swan and explain everything that had gone down behind her back. In between strikes, he said he felt like a schoolboy asking Charlie to hand over notes. He asked her to pick up the phone. He begged her to talk to him before he talked to her own sister. Most of all, he asked her not to choose Edward. 

Every letter for the past few weeks had been the same. Angry and desperate requests to see Bella before (Y/N) told her the truth of what he had done. Every letter was accompanied by a frenzied call, his voice always distressed and anguished over the receiver and always picked up by Charlie. And every time, he received the same answer. Bella didn't want to speak to him, and (Y/N) had not said anything.  

The younger girl wasn't sure why she was protecting him. Jacob had done atrocious things deliberately. He had manipulated, belittled, and dismissed her for months. He had quite literally left her for dead when she had faced a murderous vampire. He had used her feelings for him to get closer to her sister. Jake had chewed her up and spat her out when he had been done with her. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to turn her family against him—much to Paul's dismay.  

(Y/N) had made Paul promise he would not tell anyone what Jacob had done. Not when Bella cornered him at night when he snuck in, not when her father tried to coax it out of him when he joined them for Saturday breakfasts or Sunday dinners, and definitely not when he had asked her to his senior prom in front of both Swans.  

“When are you gonna tell me what happened?” Bella asked as (Y/N) folded the note back up. “Don't you think I should know if I'm ever gonna talk to him again?”  

“There's not really much to say,” the younger girl shrugged as she closed the books in front of her. “I won't stop you from being his friend, Bella. Whatever happened between us happened—it's not gonna change no matter how much we talk about it.”  

“What if I just ask him about it?” her sister offered. “Will you be fine with that?” 

“You can do whatever you want, Bells,” she said. “But believe me when I say he’s not gonna tell you anything.” 

“Don't you think I should know his true character if I'm gonna associate myself with him?” her sister pushed, exasperated. “(Y/N), the things I know he did are bad, but I need to know the whole truth if I'm ever gonna start to think to forgive him.”  

Before she could answer or even give herself time to make up her mind, her attention turned to a peculiar smell in the air. The sisters exchanged a questioning gaze before leaving their books on Bella’s bed and following the scent all the way to the kitchen. There, Charlie was fanning smoke coming from the stove, the open window blowing the cloud back inside rather than helping to keep it out of the house. The smell of wood and pine mixed with the smoke in the kitchen created a choking and uncomfortable environment.  

“What are you doing, dad?” Bella exclaimed as she opened the microwave only seconds before a catastrophe while (Y/N)turned off the burner their father had neglected. “Trynna burn down the house?” 

“Oh! Girls!” he exclaimed as he finally noticed their presence. “I, uh, I was trying to make dinner.”  

“You put a jar of sauce in the microwave,” the older daughter sighed. “With the lid on. Yeah, metal and microwaves don't really mix well.” 

“Did I at least get the pasta right?” Charlie questioned expectantly. “It's just boiling water.”  

“Well, yeah, but you should stir it too,” (Y/N) chuckled. “And maybe add enough water for the noodles inside. That usually helps the pasta not stick to the pot and burn.”  

“I'll take that into consideration for next time.”  

Bella and (Y/N) exchanged a worried look, knowing their father would not have been caught dead in the kitchen had he not had something to say. It was written on his face—something was clouding his mind. His brow was furrowed, his shoulders were tense, and there was concern plastered across his features. Charlie had something to say, and he was trying to let it go down with a plate of burnt spaghetti.  

(Y/N) was the first one to talk, curious about her father's behavior. “What's going on, dad?” she inquired as she tried to clear out the burnt sludge in the pot. “Why the sudden need to cook us a meal?”  

“It's not illegal for me to make a meal,” he argued. “Especially not in my own house.”  

The sisters exchanged the same look once more, unsure what it could be that he was hiding. He was avoiding their gaze, focusing on the last bits of smoke that disappeared into the rainy day. 

 “You would know, huh?” Bella teased, staring at the badge shining on his jacket.  

“Yeah,” he chuckled dryly. “Good one.”  

Charlie was quiet after that, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the rack that had housed his gun sling for the better part of the week. Ever since the pack didn't have to investigate the odd slaughtered hitchhiker, no one had reported sightings of the massive, mysterious wolves. Of course, the man didn't know that, but he was glad the semblance of calm had returned to the small town.  

Silence rained in the Swan household as Charlie sat at the table with the newspaper and Bella worked on cleaning the rest of the pasta pot. (Y/N) couldn’t handle the tension, feeling herself drowning in the unease of the room. There were too many unspoken words between the three of them, and there didn’t seem to be a confession coming from any of them.  

“Well, why don’t I run out to the diner and get us some food?” (Y/N) offered. “Dad, thank you for trying to make us some dinner, but I would like to eat something tonight—something edible.”   

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he said, clearing his throat. “Is, uh, is your, uh, boy, uh, friend, uh, your friend Paul coming over tonight?”   

“During stipulated visiting hours,” she chuckled, “yeah.”  

“Alright, get him something too, then,” her father instructed before moving his gaze back to the paper in his hands. "Take some money from my wallet. It's in the inside pocket of the jacket.”  

“Cool. I'll be back soon.”  

“I'll call ahead, so the order is almost done when you get there,” Bella announced. “Make sure they pack my order of onion rings.”  

"Will do,” (Y/N) said, slipping on her jacket and pulling up the hood. “Be right back.” 

She pulled her phone out as she made her way to her van, clicking on the number three on her speed dial. But before the line could ring more than once, arms wrapped around her, and she was lifted off the ground. An undeniable warmth engulfed her, and she couldn't help the laugh that left her throat. “Paul,” she shrieked joyfully as he spun her around. “You're early.”  

“And you're on your way to get some food,” the boy smiled brightly as he turned her to face him. “I'll go with you.” 

“How could I say no to such a tempting offer?” (Y/N) smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck before giving him a small kiss. “And you should be wearing a jacket in this weather. I know you don't need it, but others don't know that.”  

“Well, I would have worn the hoodie I left in the van, but it seems like it has a new owner.”  

“I told you, whatever's left in the car is mine,” she grinned. “Not my fault you can't keep track of your belongings.”  

“Let's just go get the food before your dad starts to wonder what's taking so long,” he chuckled. “I think I'm finally winning him over.”  

 (Y/N) laughed as they got into the vehicle. She had started getting used to Paul appearing out of nowhere, filling her quiet and empty moments with his laughter and wild occurrences. He had become a welcome constant in her life, and she couldn't remember a time when he wasn't in it. “I don't think dad will ever warm up again to the idea of another guy dating one of his daughters,” she teased. “But if anyone has a chance, it would definitely be you.”  

“Thank you for the vote of confidence. And here I was thinking I had a leg up on everyone.” 

“Hey, he's getting you food,” (Y/N) laughed. “He likes you enough. At least he likes you more than Jacob. Even Bella sorta likes you.”  

“I take it you still haven't told them what happened,” Paul asked, taking her hand in his and giving it a comforting squeeze. “At least your sister should know what that idiot really did to you to cut him out from her life completely.”  

“And what good would that do?” the girl sighed. “It won't change what happened, nor would it serve her to lose one of the only people she can call a friend.” 

“Do you really think he's the kind of friend Bella should have? Should she really keep someone that would have let her sister die by her side?”  

“Can we not talk about him?” (Y/N) argued, turning the van into the diner parking lot. “I don't want to waste my time on him anymore—not now and definitely not later.”  

“(Y/N)...”  

“No more talk about him, Paul,” she said firmly as she killed the engine and turned to face him. “If you mention him again, there will be consequences. Starting with locking my window at night.”  

"You drive a hard bargain,” Paul replied while cradling her chin in his hand. “And it seems I don't have another choice but to agree.”  

With a chaste kiss, they left the van, walking hand-in-hand into The Lodge like they had done it a million times before. It was easy for everything to feel natural with Paul. Being with him made her heart feel at peace. And after all she had been through in the short time she had resided in Forks, she more than welcomed it. In hindsight, (Y/N) knew she had played a hand in all the hardship that had befallen her. She ignored how she felt about Paul; she pushed him away over trivial miscommunications, and she had stayed with Jacob for far longer than she ever should have.  

“Is this gonna become a weekly thing, huh?” Cora, the waitress who always took their order, said with a smile. “What is this now three weeks in a row that you two have come in?”  

“Something like that,” (Y/N) chuckled. “This time is because dad tried to cook dinner. And well, that never goes down as well as it should.”  

“What'd he burn this time?”  

“Spaghetti,” the girl smiled. “And he tried to microwave a jar of sauce with the lid on.”  

“Charlie should really just stick to the police work,” the woman laughed. “And you came in just in time. Steak with cobbler; a double medium-well Lodge burger with extra bacon and onions and cheesy fries; a single bacon cheeseburger with cheese and bacon friends; and a veggie burger—which has surprisingly become a best-seller since we put it on the menu last year—with onion rings. I threw in a couple of slices of apple pie slices in there for you guys. On the house.” 

“Thank you, Cora. But could I trouble you with replacing two of the slices with some chocolate cream pie?” Paul asked, sporting his award-winning smile. “As good as it is, (Y/N) here is allergic to apples, and I wouldn't want her to miss out on dessert.”  

“Oh my goodness, sweetheart. I completely forgot!” Cora exclaimed as she scrambled to the pie display. “Tell you what, you keep those extra slices, and I'll give you three of the chocolate. And I'm gonna leave a note right here so no one forgets.”  

“You don't have to do all that, Cora,” (Y/N) said. “It was an honest mistake.”  

“Nonsense, (Y/N),” she smiled. “I'm happy to do it. And between you and me, I like the chocolate one better. Your boy here has really good taste.”  

“That he does,” the younger Swan replied as she felt heat flush to her face. She paid for the food, handing Paul the bags as she put away the change, ignoring the teasing stare the waitress was sending her way. “Thanks for everything, Cora. I’ll see you next week.”  

“See you, sweetie,” she called back. “Say hi to your dad and your sister for me.”  

“Will do!”  

(Y/N) felt stupid with how much she was smiling. Paul had remembered her apple allergy, he held doors open for her, he remembered her favorite pie. They were bare minimum standards, but she couldn’t help the joy that overtook her when he did them. Paul knew her in the most simplistic of senses, and she couldn't believe she had stopped herself from feeling that way.  

“You remembered my apple allergy,” she smiled, bumping his shoulder as they walked back to the van. “Thank you.”  

“I should be able to remember the fact that my girlfriend's throat could close if she eats apples,” Paul chuckled. “It's not a fact I should gloss over.”  

The girl stopped in her tracks at his words, realization sinking in. “What was that?”  

“What?”  

“What you just said.”  

“That I should know apples could possibly kill my girlfriend?” he chuckled again, unsure what he had said wrong. “What about it?”  

“You called me your girlfriend, Paul,” (Y/N) stated. “You've never called me your girlfriend before.”  

“Oh, uh, well, you know, I didn't... we haven't had the talk but... you know,” he stammered awkwardly, his skin growing red as he scrambled for the right words. “Is it okay that I call you my girlfriend?”  

(Y/N) smiled before standing on her tiptoes to place a kiss on Paul's lips. “It is more than okay,” she beamed. “I like the sound of it. Especially when it's said by my boyfriend.”  

“That does sound good, huh?” Paul circled his free arm around her shoulders before kissing the top of her head. “Now, let's get this food to your house before your dad thinks I've kidnapped you.”  

Like mere minutes before, Paul and (Y/N) were back in her van, the smell of diner food filling the cabin, and heading back to the house. Just the month before, the youngest Swan could never have thought she would be where she was. With Jacob, she couldn't see farther than a couple of weeks down the road—not that it mattered in the end. There were so many parts of her that had become overwhelmed with the darkness of their relationship, lost in the endless void that came with being close to Jake.  

None of that mattered now, though. Happiness had found itself back in her life, and it seemed to start infecting the rest of the Swans. Charlie and Bella cheered when the couple arrived with the food, making space on the table for the bags. The older Swan girl placed the food on plates as Paul and (Y/N) served drinks for the table. Peering into the windows of the house, no one would have guessed all the pain that had led to that moment.  

By the time they had reached the desserts, Bella had picked up her discarded Wuthering Heights book while Paul and (Y/N) whispered amongst themselves. It was a rather normal scene for a less-than-normal family.  

“So, um,” Charlie cleared his throat as he wiped his mouth, “I did have a reason for cooking dinner for you guys, as you may have guessed.”  

“Is that what that smell was?” Paul mumbled.  

Trying to stifle her laughter, (Y/N) placed a hand on his forearm and whispered, “Not right now, Paul.”  

“Anyway, it's regarding your grounding, Bella,” the man continued, focusing his gaze on his oldest daughter rather than the boy who’d seemed to invade his new family dinners. “I’m not very good at this whole grounding thing, and you are far too good a kid for being grounded. You haven't complained, you've come home at curfew, and that boy hasn't stepped foot in my house since he came back—which I much appreciate.”  

“You did say he couldn't come over,” Bella stated, a hint of a laugh hiding under her words. “But I don't want him over—not for now, at least.” 

“Well, good. I think it's about time you were up for some parole,” Charlie said, a tentative smile tugging at his lips. “I just hope you take this time to reconnect with your old friends and focus on something other than those Cullens.”  

Bella finally set down her book, saving her spot with a clean napkin. “I've been trying to do that, dad,” the girl admitted. “I know I haven’t been myself these last few months, and I broke your trust by leaving with Alice, but I do want you to know I’ve been trying to change.”  

“I know, Bells, and I've seen that,” he smiled. “That's why I think it's time you get some of your freedom back. As long as you're prudent with it.”  

“Right, no one wants a repeat of the past few months,” she laughed. “But I do appreciate you trusting me again, dad. I promise to do my hardest to make you proud, even if it takes forever.”  

“I'm already proud of you, Bells,” Charlie said. “I'm proud of both of you girls—no matter what. All I want is for you to be happy and fulfilled by whatever you want in life. Especially you, Bella. Now that you're about to enter a new stage in your life.”  

The man slipped an open envelope toward his oldest daughter while he tried his best to conceal the smile that threatened to stretch across his face. “You opened it,” Bella noted. “That's a felony, Sheriff.”  

“Couldn't help myself,” her father beamed as she pulled the papers out of the envelope. “Congratulations, kid.  This is just the first of many.” 

University of Alaska Southeast had been one of the only colleges Bella had personally applied to. Unlike some of the schools (Y/N) and Charlie had sent applications to using some of her old essays, she knew she could get in. And it did help that Juneau was overcast most days of the year, given she didn't know just how long she had before she had to face the inevitable. Regardless of what Edward had told her, there was no way to know when the Volturi would come to make sure their word had been made law.  

She received her sister's congratulatory hug and Paul's words, unsure how else to respond. The girl knew she should have been happier—it was her future after all. But she couldn't help the dread that filled her as she thought about giving it up. There wouldn't be any human experiences she would be able to live through—emphasis on the human. Once she was turned into an immortal monster, that's all she would know.  

“What about you, Paul?” Charlie asked, clearing his throat and breaking his oldest daughter out of deep thought. “What're your plans after school, kid?”  

“Uh, well,” the boy stammered, straightening his posture. (Y/N) stifled a laugh as she shared a knowing look with Bella. Their father loved interrogating anyone who stepped foot in his house, and it was Paul's turn to get a grilling. “I was, um, accepted at Western. I'm still undecided, but I'm thinking of getting a degree in Manufacturing Engineering. Still, I'll have to defer for a year.” 

“Why's that?”  

“Financial aid only covers so much, and I don't really want to get loans,” he explained. “The counselor at school said I could accept Western's offer and defer for a year while I worked with my dad to save up some money. That way, I'll have something to tide me over my freshman year.”  

Paul squeezed (Y/N)'s hand under the table and fought back a smile when squeezed back, mentally repeating the script he had practiced the night before with the youngest Swan. If there was one thing she knew, it was that her father was predictable.  

“Well, it seems you've got a good plan there,” Charlie said, sounding almost impressed. “That's good. So, engineering, huh?”  

The boy droned on about what he liked about the degree when Bella's phone chirped twice with a text message. Invested in their conversation, Charlie and Paul did not notice the frown that pulled the corners of the girl's mouth, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips. (Y/N) noticed, though, and she pointed toward the living room. The two sisters left the conversation about college and hoped they were just out of hearing distance for privacy.  

“Is everything okay?” (Y/N) questioned. “Who texted?”  

Bella handed her younger sister her phone, allowing her a moment to read. “Edward sent a picture of today's newspaper,” she said. “Apparently, the deaths that have been happening in Seattle that have dad grouchy are newborn vampires running rampant.”  

“And Jacob wants to talk,” (Y/N) added, feeling a knot forming in her throat. “He's really persistent, huh?’  

“(Y/N), you need to tell me what happened between you two.”  

“God, it's not gonna change anything,” the girl groaned. “Why can't everyone just let it go?”  

“Fine, I'll drop it,” Bella said. “I'll just go over to La Push and get his version.”  

Next ->

A/N: teased y'all for long enough with that little prologue, but strap in. This book is gonna be one hell of a ride 🤭 If you used to be tagged in Speak and would like to be tagged in Requite, you will need to fill out the form below. Once Tumblr stops allowing the tag list, I will be closing it. If you’d like to be tagged: click hereMake sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post!

Taglist: @lepetitlu @galactict3a @eddiefrickenmunson @stvrrlighttt @gh0stgurl @g-l-1-t-c-h-3-r @nj01

[cozymochi]

“Gosh, I wonder what kind of day my birthday will be… Please, please have things go my way for once...!”

happy [redacted] birthday Cecil Mugwort here’s a makeshift “cozy loungewear” iteration. but with 60% less quality control because i had second thoughts on nearly every aspect halfway through, but i was too far in and already made a commitment publicly 🫠

pretend voiceless lines were collaborated on with @/oddberryshortcake under cut. If that’s anyones speed.

Summon: “Being able to tend to my plants at the end of a long day is my favorite part of my dorm room, I can’t think of a better way to spend the night before my birthday.”

Groovification: “There goes those clocks again…It’s practically telling me to get up and start another day.”

Home: “Late nights are so peaceful.”

Swap Looks: “Ugh, I need to get my unruly hair out of my face!”

Home Transition 1: “Having Silver as a roommate isn’t so bad… If you forget the whole ‘sleeping through five alarm clocks’ thing he does.”

Home Transition 2: “It’s a little embarrassing, but I love how soft and fuzzy these pajamas are. They keep me warm all night.”

Home Transition 3: “THE Vil Schoenheit gave me eye cream for my dark circles. Does he think they look really bad? I was so nervous I dropped the bottle right after getting it…”

Home Transition - Login: “My birthdays are usually spent celebrating my twin sister’s birthday too. But here at NRC, I can celebrate my birthday just by myself. It’s nice not having to share for today.”

Home Transition - Groovy: “Nyoka Wadjet gave me some fancy looking cup as a gift. I told him it’d make a nice new home for my Ice Lilies , but he almost seemed upset I’d be using it that way. Did he just want me to let it collect dust?”

Home Tap 1: “I mustn’t let Ollie trick me into feeding him his dinner twice. Tricky ol’ bird.”

Home Tap 2: “I made sure to send my twin sister a card for our birthday. I actually got one from her today too! For once, she didn’t brag about herself in it… She even pressed a small flower into the envelope.”

Home Tap 3: “Housewarden Malleus Draconia approached me earlier. He just wanted to tell me happy birthday but I was so scared I nearly collapsed where I stood… Ahem! Of course, I still said thank you!”

Home Tap 4: “Just one more page of this ancient magical relics book and then I’ll turn in for the night. Oh, but next chapter is on amulets. Maybe a few more pages then…”

Home Tap 5: “Do I dye my bangs? No, its just a condition I was born with. It spreads a little further every year. At this rate, I’m gonna go gray before I graduate…”

Home Tap - Groovy: “I try not to stay up too late, but I can’t help it! Everything is silent, it’s just me, my bird, my books and my plants. It’s such bliss at night.”

Duo:

[CECIL]: “T-Thanks for celebrating, Nyoka!”

[NYOKA]: “It's no trouble, Cecil.”

Birthday Login Message: “Oh, you’re wishing me a happy birthday? I didn’t think you’d remember. You know, the science club pitched in and got me a new plant today. It was a pleasant surprise to know my seniors had been paying such close attention to my interests. …Hm? Is this your present? You made a card all by yourself? …This is much more thoughtful than the ill-fitting sweaters and mugs I normally get, thank you.”

[thepinkpanther83]

And They Were Roommates (Pt.1)

Chapter One: “Moving In”

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

This is gonna be a long one, inspired by my good friend @justalotoffanfiction. We were discussing Eddie Munson roommate AU's and I started two of them, one is tucked away potentially for later (maybe) but this one has exploded onto the pages, I was already many chapters into this one, before I started posting it. I update/post daily if time permits.

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Summary:

Eddie is tired of the trailer park life and wants to move out and find a place of his own. A roommate situation would be ideal and more affordable. He finds an ad in the Hawkins Post for a co-ed living situation. Can he convince you to let him move in, or will his reputation proceed him?

Next Chapter: Chapter Two: “Our First Day”

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter One: “Moving In”

Hawkins, Indiana - Fall, 1986

The pages of the Hawkins Post crinkled between Eddie Munson's fingers as he leaned against his van, the ink rubbing off slightly onto his calloused thumb. A circled ad caught his eye, "Roommate Wanted: Female senior student looking to share a two-bedroom, one-bath apartment near town square. Rent negotiable. Serious inquiries only."

He read it twice, tapping the metal ring of his thumb against the side of the paper. "Serious inquiries only, huh? Well, I'm seriously outta here, Uncle Wayne," he muttered, folding the ad and tucking it into the pocket of his worn leather jacket. By the time he pulled up to the address listed in the ad, the sun was sinking low behind the trees, casting long orange shadows over Hawkins. His van coughed and wheezed to a stop, one speaker still blasting Dio's Holy Diver before he clicked it off. He stepped out, combat boots hitting pavement, black jeans torn just enough to make the PTA nervous, Hellfire Club tee peeking out beneath a flannel that had seen better days.

The apartment building wasn't anything fancy, but it wasn't a trailer surrounded by nothing but empty beer cans and woods, either. So progress.

Eddie ruffled his mess of brown curls, his nerves hitting him for the first time as he approached the door. He'd never had a roommate that wasn't in Corroded Coffin, and even fewer of those had been from the ‘I don't run screaming when Eddie Munson walks down the hall’ crowd- especially not girls.

He knocked twice

The door opened.

You stood there, looking far more composed than he ever managed to be at school, he knew you, the pretty girl from Hawkins High, the senior who always seemed to float just out of his chaotic orbit. He gave a crooked grin, lifting his hand in an awkward sort of wave.

"Hey, uh… I think I called earlier? Eddie Munson. Y'know… metalhead, dungeon master, part-time town freak," he said, fingers drumming a silent nervous rhythm against the strap of his guitar case. "You're the one with the apartment, yeah? Still looking for a roommate? Or did I miss my window of opportunity and doom myself to a lifetime of my Uncle Wayne's TV dinners?”

He tilted his head, his grin softening just a little.

"Mind if I come in and check the place out?”

As you stood at the door, taking in Eddie's presence, recognition sparked in your eyes. Despite his outward appearance and reputation amongst your peers as the ‘town freak,’ you saw past the stereotypes. You’d always admired his confidence and genuine demeanor beneath the metalhead exterior. A refreshing change from the superficiality that often clouded high school cliques.

With a faint smile playing on your lips, you stepped back to allow him entrance into your modest apartment. "Come in, Eddie," you said warmly, gesturing for him to follow as you led the way in towards the living area.

You glanced at him, the senior student who always seemed to reside on the fringes of most social circles but held an undeniable charisma that had always intrigued you. You’d always thought he was cute in a ‘bad boy’ sort of way, but you didn’t really know anything about him, not really, other than rumors. However, you found you were drawn to Eddie's presence, his easy smile, and the way his brown eyes sparkled with genuine interest as he looked around. His aura was different from the usual high school crowd, intriguing you in a way that made your heart flutter a little.

"So, umm… Thanks for considering this roommate situation… I've been searching for someone reliable and easy-going," you remarked as you led him into a cozy living room adorned with old vintage furniture and shelves filled with well-loved books.

Eddie looked at you thoughtfully, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Who could resist an offer like this?" Eddie replied with a casual shrug, his tone light as he looked around.

Your curiosity was piqued by this enigmatic man who seemed to carry secrets within his dark gaze. You wanted to know more about him, but you didn’t want to just bomb him with personal questions and make things weird on the first day.

You continued guiding him through each space. You pointed out details like the quaint kitchen overlooking a small backyard garden. There was sunlight filtering through overhanging branches, creating dappled patterns on its stone path. You were relieved you’d cleaned and prettied the place up before anyone had arrived to see it.

As you moved from room to room, your conversation flowed effortlessly despite the initial awkwardness outside. You found yourself opening up more than usual, drawn by Eddie's genuine interest in getting to know you beyond surface impressions.

Eddie nodded appreciatively while taking in all aspects of your potential shared living space. He could picture it now, a mix of music posters adorning one wall juxtaposed against delicate houseplants perched near sunny window sills, it could be a blend reflecting both of your personalities merging together within these walls.

"I have some house rules we can discuss if you're interested… And feel free to ask any questions or share your preferences too," you mentioned casually before pausing to open a window letting fresh autumn air filter inside, carrying the distant sounds of Hawkins' evening bustle.

The sunlight streaming through the kitchen window illuminated Eddie's features, casting shadows across his rugged face and adding an air of intrigue to his presence. His interest in your space was pretty obvious from how he glanced around appreciatively while absorbing each detail you pointed out.

Turning towards him with a smile playing on your lips, you invited casually,

"So, what do you think so far? Is this something that works for you, or are we going to clash over décor choices already?"

Eddie leaned against the kitchen counter, his rings clicking softly against the laminate as he drummed his fingers. His gaze flickered from the sunlit garden outside to the way your hair caught the golden light, and for a second, he forgot to answer.

"Clash? Nah, sweetheart," he finally said, grinning as he pushed off the counter to step closer to you. "I mean, unless you’ve got some deep-seated hatred for Black Sabbath posters or the occasional bong left on the coffee table, then we might have a problem." His smirk was playful, but his eyes were earnest as they met yours. "But seriously? This place is great. Cozy. Lived-in. Not like some sterile showroom where you’re afraid to sit on the furniture."

He wandered over to the bookshelf, tilting his head to read the spines. "Damn, you’ve got good taste. Stephen King, Tolkien…" His fingers brushed over a well-worn copy of The Stand, and he shot you a look of approval. "You’re already winning points here."

As Eddie admired your book collection, sharing his appreciation for your taste in literature, you felt a sense of connection forming between the two of you that went beyond just roommates. His easy banter and shared interests bridged any lingering doubts you may have had about inviting him into your space. You could easily see yourself becoming friends with this guy.

Turning back to you, he crossed his arms, his leather jacket creaking softly. "So rules… I’m guessing ‘no impromptu band practice at 2 AM’ is probably on the list, right?" He chuckled, but then his expression shifted. "Look, I get it. You don’t know me, and Hawkins High’s rumor mill hasn’t exactly painted me as the ideal roommate. But I’m not some chaotic gremlin… Well, not all the time."

He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the faint mix of leather and weed clinging to his clothes. "I’ll clean up after myself, pay rent on time, and I promise not to scare off any dates you bring home… unless they’re assholes. Then I might flex my ‘town freak’ reputation a little." His grin was crooked, almost shy. "So… what’s the verdict? Am I in, or do I gotta go back to my Uncle Wayne’s and endure another lecture about ‘responsibility’?" There was a hopeful glint in his eyes, like he already knew the answer but was waiting to hear you confirm it.

With a soft laugh, you playfully nudged him, feeling the warmth of his nearness. "Black Sabbath posters are more than welcome here," you replied with a grin. "And I don't mind a bit of a rock 'n roll ambiance."

You looked him over appraisingly for a moment, then decided. "Band practice curfew is definitely on the list," you teased back, his words reassuring you, showing glimpses of vulnerability beneath his confident façade. You appreciated his honesty and promises to respect your space and boundaries.

"I think we can work something out," you said softly, meeting his gaze head-on. "As long as your Uncle Wayne's TV dinners aren’t part of our regular menu rotation."

Relief flashed across Eddie's face.

Later That Evening…

It was just starting to get dark out when you heard the telltale rumble of Eddie’s van outside again, followed by the slightly too loud slam of the driver’s side door and the unmistakable sound of something, probably heavy, thudding onto the pavement.

A moment later, there was a knock. Not the kind of knock someone gives when they’re unsure or being polite. No, this one was casual, almost rhythmic. Confident in that Eddie Munson way, even if there might've been a touch of nerves under it.

When you opened the door, he was grinning, slightly out of breath, with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his guitar case hanging off the other, and a milk crate held out in front of him like an offering to the gods of shared domesticity.

The side of the crate was labeled in thick black Sharpie: “EDDIE’S SHIT – DO NOT TOUCH (unless you want to be cursed)”

“I bring gifts,” he announced dramatically, stepping inside without waiting for an official invitation like he was already testing the boundaries of his new residence. “Behold… relics from the cursed tomb of Uncle Wayne’s living room. Some of this stuff hasn’t seen daylight since ‘84.”

You stepped aside to let him pass, eyeing the crate with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “That sounds… ominous.”

“Oh, it is,” Eddie said proudly, setting the crate down on the coffee table with a soft thud. “There are mysteries in here that man was not meant to comprehend. Also, like, an ashtray shaped like a skull and a mixtape I made when I was grounded for ‘accidentally’ flooding the science lab.”

You raised a brow as he opened the crate and immediately pulled out the aforementioned skull ashtray, placing it on the center of the coffee table next to your bowl of trail mix like it was some kind of crown jewel. You just stared at it for a moment… hollow eyes, a missing tooth, the faint scent of old smoke still lingering in the ceramic, it matched nothing in your carefully curated apartment.

You glanced from the ashtray to Eddie. Then back to the ashtray.

Then back to Eddie.

He blinked at you. “Too much?”

You slowly turned to the bookshelf, grabbed a scented candle, and swapped it with the skull like it was a hostage exchange. “We’ll… workshop the décor,” you said diplomatically.

Eddie let out a full laugh, something real and bright that filled the space. “Alright, alright. No skulls on sacred surfaces. Got it.”

He dropped his duffel bag by the hallway, stretching out his arms like he’d just finished a cross-country trek. “So… I guess this makes it official. We’re roommates. You, me, and a very judged ashtray that will now live on the bookshelf next to your copy of Pride and Prejudice. Which, by the way, makes for a killer combo.”

He flopped onto the couch with the kind of dramatic flair that suggested he'd been practicing the move for years, his boots immediately propped up on the coffee table before he caught your look and sheepishly lowered them. "Right. No feet on the furniture. Noted."

The grin he shot you was all mischief, though, like he was already cataloging all the little ways he could push your buttons. Just enough to be entertaining, but not enough to actually piss you off.

"So," he said, stretching his arms behind his head, "what's the first rule of Roommate Club? No midnight jam sessions? No stealing each other's leftovers? No summoning demons in the living room unless it's a Tuesday?" His eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was a genuine curiosity there too, like he actually wanted to know where the lines were.

Then, as if remembering something, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled joint, holding it up between two fingers like a peace offering. "Also, uh... smoking policy? Inside, outside, or ‘only if you share’?"

The way he waggled his eyebrows at the last part was ridiculous enough to make you laugh, but the real kicker was the hopeful little tilt of his head, like he was already mentally preparing to brave the cold if you said no.

You could practically see the gears turning in his brain. ‘How far can I push before she kicks me out?’ and yet, somehow, it didn't feel invasive. It felt... kinda fun. Like this was just the start of a weird, chaotic, good thing.

So you crossed your arms, pretending to consider it seriously before shrugging. "Demons are fine, but only if they do dishes. And the joint? Definitely share."

Eddie's wide grin could've powered Hawkins for a week. "Fuck yeah. Roommate rules officially approved."

Then, with the kind of effortless charm that made you wonder how this guy was still single, he patted the spot next to him on the couch. "C'mon, let's break in this place right. First order of business: picking a proper housewarming soundtrack. And don't say Fleetwood Mac… I know you've got taste in there somewhere.”

The way he said it, teasing but sincere, made it impossible to refuse.

So you sat.

And just like that, the apartment felt a little homier.

He leaned forward and started rifling through the crate again like it was Mary Poppins’ bag of cursed treasures. You saw one tape labeled “ONLY FOR COOL BITCHES” written in black Sharpie and had to stifle a laugh.

“Alright,” he said, holding up a beat-up cassette tape with pride. “‘The Essential Eddie Mix: Vol. 3.’ This bad boy’s got everything! Sabbath, Zeppelin, some early punk, a very emotional cover of ‘Landslide’ I recorded while drunk… don’t ask.”

“So you do like Fleetwood Mac,” you said, arching a brow.

“Don’t twist my words, witch,” he grinned, shoving it into the tape deck. “This was a one-time spiritual experience.”

The cassette clicked into place, and the first scratchy chords of ‘War Pigs’ poured out like some low-budget blessing. Eddie leaned back with a satisfied sigh, legs manspreading like he owned the place, hair a tangled mess against the couch cushion. He didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps didn’t care, that one of your throw pillows you had behind your back, was slowly being claimed as his own.

You glanced at him sideways, then grabbed a pretzel from the bowl of trail mix on the coffee table and tossed one at his chest.

“What’s that for?” he asked, catching it mid-air like a practiced gremlin.

“You’re stealing my pillow.”

He glanced down, totally unbothered. “It’s not theft if I improve it.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t ask for it back. Truth was, you didn’t mind him being there. The couch hadn’t felt too small until now, but somehow, the space between you had become its own little world. Close, but not close enough to be weird. Just… noticeable.

After a minute, the music shifted into something slower, one of those deep-cut Zeppelin tracks Eddie had probably played a hundred times. He hummed along under his breath, drumming his fingers on his stomach, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then, casually, he said, “So… what do you do when you’re not rescuing strays with weird ashtrays and questionable hygiene?”

You smirked. “I read. Mostly romance or horror. I write sometimes.”

“Write?” He turned toward you, suddenly alert in that Eddie way, like you’d just dropped a dragon egg on the table. “Like, short stories? A secret novel you’re hiding under your bed?”

You shrugged, but a flush crawled up your neck. “Just stuff. I never finish anything. It’s dumb.”

“Hey.” He sat up straighter, a pretzel forgotten in his hand. “Don’t say that. Writing’s metal as hell. Storytelling? That’s, like, the most powerful magic there is. That’s how I get people into D&D. You think Henderson would stick around if I didn’t spin a damn good yarn?”

That made you laugh. “So what, I should just start writing about half-orcs and necromancers?”

He grinned, wickedly. “Only if they have a tragic backstory and an inexplicable obsession with peanut butter.” He said while he kicked off his shoes.

You snorted, nearly choking on your own pretzel. “You’re so weird.”

“I know,” he said proudly, reclining again. “It’s part of the brand.”

Another silence settled between you, not awkward, just soft. The kind that happens when you’re not trying too hard anymore. Outside, a breeze rattled the window, and inside, the tape clicked as it needed to be switched sides.

Eddie gestured lazily toward the crate while he flipped the cassette. “There’s a deck of cards in there somewhere. You up for a little high-stakes Go Fish? Or are you too scared to face defeat at the hands of a dungeon master?”

You looked at him, with his floppy brown hair, a stupid grin, one of his socks barely hanging onto his foot, and you felt the corners of your mouth twitch into a smile.

“I’ll play,” you said. “But if I win, you’re doing the dishes for a week.”

“Oh ho ho,” he said, sitting up like you’d just thrown down the gauntlet. “You’re on, roomie.”

He dug through the crate with the fervor of a man on a sacred quest, finally pulling out a dog-eared deck of cards with a triumphant "Aha!" The box was barely holding together, the edges frayed from what you could only assume were years of greasy-fingered pizza and D&D sessions and late-night poker games.

"Prepare to be destroyed," he declared, shuffling with the kind of exaggerated flair that suggested he'd probably practiced in front of a mirror a time or two. A card flew out, landing face-up on the coffee table… The King of Hearts.

You raised a brow. "Is that an omen?"

Eddie smirked, scooping it back up and adding it back into the deck with a shuffle. "Nah, sweetheart, just my natural charm leaking out." He answered with a wink before he dealt the cards with surprising precision, his rings glinting in the lamplight. "Alright, rules: standard Go Fish, but with stakes. Winner gets bragging rights and..." He paused dramatically, eyes glinting. "Winner gets to pick the next mixtape. Loser has no veto power. And umm… something something has to do dishes for a week."

You picked up your cards, hiding a smile. "Deal."

The game started slow, Eddie's competitive streak simmering just beneath his laid-back façade. He asked for sevens with the confidence of a man holding a royal flush, only to groan when you handed him two. "You're hiding them," he accused, pointing a finger at you. "I know you've got more."

You batted your lashes. "Go fish, Munson."

He grumbled but drew, his expression shifting to pure delight when he pulled the card he needed. "Ha! The gods of chaos smile upon me!" He slapped down his completed set with unnecessary force.

You retaliated by sweeping the next round, your poker face impeccable as you calmly asked, "Got any threes?"

Eddie squinted at you like you'd just performed dark magic. "...You're terrifying." He handed over his last three with the solemnity of a man surrendering his sword.

The game stretched on, the pile of matched sets growing between you. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows in their frames, but inside, the apartment was warm, alive with the hum of music and Eddie's running commentary.

"Okay, hypothetically," he said, eyeing his dwindling hand, "if you could have any superpower, but it had to be, like, stupidly specific… what would it be?"

You tapped your chin, considering. "Hmm. The ability to always find the missing matching sock on the first try."

Eddie gasped like you'd just revealed the meaning of life. "Genius. Mine would be... the power to make any food instantly nachos. Just… bam." He gestured wildly. "Salad? Now it's nachos. Your mom's meatloaf? Nachos…"

You snorted. "That's the most Eddie Munson answer possible."

He placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head. "I live to serve."

The game reached its climax with you holding one card and Eddie sweating over his last two. He squinted at you, then at his cards, then back at you. "...Do you have any jacks?"

You grinned and handed him your final card.

His jaw dropped. "No."

"Yes." You fanned out your empty hands. "Dishes and mixtape privileges. Bow before your champion."

Eddie flopped back against the couch, arms splayed like a fallen warrior. "I've been betrayed by the very cards I love." He peeked one eye open. "...Rematch?"

You grabbed the deck before he could. "Nope. Pay up, loser."

He groaned but hauled himself upright, shuffling toward the kitchen with exaggerated despair. Halfway there, he paused, turning back with a smirk. "Hey, roomie?"

"Yeah?"

"Best damn first night I could’ve hoped for."

And with that, he vanished into the kitchen, the sound of running water and his off-key singing to Black Sabbath soon following.

You sank back into the couch, smiling to yourself. You realized… This was happening. Eddie Munson was now your roommate. And weirdly? That didn’t feel so weird, in fact… This was gonna be fun.

Don't know who to tag, who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be tagged! And to which fandom. (Bayverse TMNT, Vegeta, Eddie Munson).

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm

Masterlist

[lovesodakid]

shadows of the dark

matt sturniolo x reader

2 3 4 5

summary : growing up in the ‘middle of nowhere’ small town in lochcliff, colorado, stories were heard of multiple strange disappearances, murders, animal attacks, and more. when you were younger, you never paid attention to that stuff. now at the age of 17 it’s all you ever hear about. what happens when you realize those ‘stories’ you heard growing up, may not just be scary fairytales people tell their kids.

warning ⚠️ : contains mature themes, smut, gore (nothing insane), angst, etc. this warning is for all chapters.

(this does take some inspiration from tvd !)

chapter 1 : new beginning’s.

“y/n! breakfast!”

my eyes flutter open, my sleepy state slowly exiting my body as my consciousness floods through my mind. i take in a deep breath as i sit up in my bed. the sunlight from the early morning hours poking through my curtains, painting a beautiful blue and orange hue on my walls as i watch dust particles float along my room.

i look over to my wooden dresser across from me, my reflection staring back at me through the mirror above it. my pile of clothes i had chosen to wear for today the night before, picking out my outfit for my first day of my junior year.

when i was a kid, i was so excited to finally be a teenager. thinking of all the possibilities i could get. but ever since the day after i turned 16, i realized that being a teenager and growing up would be nothing but a disappointment and the little girl inside’s dreams and life was crushed that day.

“y/n! i’m not gonna yell for you again!” my mothers voice cuts through the silence of my thoughts.

“i’m coming!” i shout back as my feet make contact with the cold floor below me.

i shuffle myself to my bedroom door to shut it as i get dressed, the creepy creaking of the door making me shudder. the fact that this house is over 150 years old will never not cross my mind when i watch paranormal movies like the conjurings.

i quickly change into a tight fitted brown long sleeve shirt and a pair of baggy blue jeans, given it’s the end of august now, the early mornings and late nights are becoming a little chillier compared to the june and july nights from the beginning of summer. lastly, throwing on some black converse and grabbing my backpack filled with untouched supplies for the new school year ahead. before i leave my room i decide on throwing on just a small silver necklace with my first initial of my name on it.

i exit my room and make my way down the squeaky wooden stairs. the squeaks and creaks acting as a calling to my mom to let her know i’m coming down.

“glad to see you finally grace us with your presence.” my mother states as she flips a pancake onto a grey glass plate, holding it up for me as i enter the kitchen.

i push my lips into a thin line as i nod and take the plate from her, uttering a small thank you as i sit at the kitchen island, placing my bag on the floor beside the black stood i sit on.

“corbin, are you taking your sister to school?” i hear her ask my older brother who sits beside me.

corbin, who’s a year and a half older than me, is now a senior. he’s the most typical semi-popular guy in our school. his fluffy brown hair and dark eyes is what pulls most of the girls’s attention. he’s a jock, but he says he doesn’t “fit in” with the rest of the football team so he stays more to himself. people know him but he doesn’t boast about his athleticism or his popularity.

he takes a sip of his orange juice before answering, “yeah i can. you ready?” he questions me.

i take one last bite of my pancake as i nod, standing up to grab my backpack. i swing it over my shoulder and walk over to the front door. “bye mom, love you.” i yell as i head out the door. i hear my brother telling her his goodbyes as i stroll to his car, opening the passenger seat door.

i watch him climb into the driver’s seat before he turns the radio on, immediately connecting it to his phone playing ‘tunnel vision’ by kodak black.

he turns his head to look both ways before pulling out of our rocky driveway. i turn to look at our house as i watch it fade into the distance. “so, you ready for junior year?”

“uh, yeah. what about you? are you ready for senior year?” i ask him in response.

he nods his head almost immediately. “oh yeah. i’m so ready to graduate and finally get out of this dumbass town.”

“agreed.” i speak as i lean back into seat.

silence takes over us as we continue the ride with the songs of my brothers choice fading to the back of my mind. the morning sky now being covered in a gloomy grey cast. the dead leaves ascending from the trees creating an orange blanket across the roads and sidewalks.

the car comes to a halt as we sit at a red light, i look around taking in notice of the beautiful scenery around us. historic buildings and parks flooding my eye-line, kids and teenagers on their way to the start of their new school years.

once the red light turns to green, we begin on our way again. i look back to my right, looking out the window, watching the trees and buildings pass by in a blur. i take notice of a guy walking with his headphones in, and his back turned to us, seemingly on the same route as we are. once we get closer to him to the point i can see his side profile coming into view, i watch him turn his head to look at the car coming beside him. the second he turns his view to the car, we lock eyes.

it’s almost as if time itself has changed, slowed down. i question myself on if i’ve ever seen him before but his face doesn’t ring any bells. he’s pale with icy blue eyes. a jaw that’s so sharp it looks like it could slice your finger open with even the softest and lightest touch. a stare so prominent and hypnotizing i almost forget my whole existence until he fades out of view.

i quickly turn myself to face in front of me. my eyebrows furrow as i try to understand what just happened to me and if it even happened. it felt like i entered a dream-like state while being fully awake.

“we’re here.” i hear corbin’s voice cut through the voice in my head as i feel the car come to a complete standstill.

i rapidly blinked my eyes as i see the high school building standing before me. not even realizing we were already at the school.

“you gonna get out or what?”

i quickly nod my head as i unbuckle my seatbelt and climb out of the car. i make my way towards the school alongside my brother. the sounds of students chattering among themselves as they walk into the building all around us.

“hey, junior year isn’t that bad. just keep your head up and you’ll be fine. i’ll see you after school.” corbin speaks to me as he parts from me to find his group of friends whom always meet up in the gym every morning, it’s been a routine of theirs since 7th grade.

i make my way to my locker, putting in the combination i wrote down on my notes app from the school’s letter they mail every student at the end of summer. the piece of paper giving them their class schedule, locker number and combination, etc.

“y/n!” i hear my best friend jayde’s voice through the loud obnoxious students at 8 am.

i turn around, flashing her a smile as i watch her come up to me. “hey jayde!”

“hey! i’m sorry we couldn’t hang out any this summer. what’s your schedule? maybe we have some classes together!” she says as she wraps me in a warm embrace.

jayde is very passionate about music and all of that. so the second our school announced that there would be a music and arts camp, she was the first to have her signature on the sign up sheet.

“no it’s okay and let me check.” i grab my class schedule out of my back pocket before i read off my classes, “first period is language arts, then history, math, then my free period, reading, gym, and science.”

she takes out her own schedule as she tries to match up any classes we may have together.

“ooo! okay! we have history, gym and our free period together!” she say enthusiastically.

as soon as i’m about to respond, the school bell cuts me off. the loud blaring shooting a pain through my mind reminding me of how much i despise school.

“okay well i’ll see you second period!” she struts off into the crowd of people, her long black hair bouncing with every step she takes.

i begin my own way to the room i’ll be entering at 8:10am every day on the dot for the next 9 months of my life.

the second i enter the classroom, my already present headache worsens with how painfully loud everyone is. different conversations and pencils being tapped on the wooden desks.

i walk to a free desk in the second row of the seat’s layout. the placement being in pretty much the middle of the classroom where i’m fully submerged by the persistent voices of students. as i sit down i stare off into the distance i wish i was back in my bed already.

a/n : i’m so excited to start this series! i started watching tvd again and it brought me inspiration to write this. plus vampire!matt is so fucking hot. anyways lmk if i should make a taglist or anything or if yall fw this and want me to keep going ! :)

[flowery-mess]

what if

Pairing: frat boy Noah x female reader

reader has a name (Ella Thompson, but the story is written in 'your' POV)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! / pregnancy scare / talks about not wanting to have kids in future / sex allusions but no actual sex content in this chapter / period mentions / I think that's it, let me know

Words: 2,1k

Author's note: something shorter for these two. Credits to @thenmaybehellaintsobadafterall for the pregnancy scare idea🥰

frat boy Noah masterlist

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“Exams.” was the only thing on your mind these days. You had projects that needed to be finished and you had to study a lot. Plus last week you had to attend a few classes at the neuropsychology ward at the local hospital.

It was amazing, working with patients and putting your studies to use. But it was tiring as hell. Every day you came back to your dorm, had a shower and went to sleep, that’s why you had so much stuff to catch up on now.

You didn’t go to parties, neither did Noah. Some people wouldn’t have guessed it, but he was a very good student. He always made fun of you for doing stuff at the last minute.

You were too caught up with school that you forgot about yourself. Because today, when you snapped at your classmate, you realized something.

Earlier that day:

“Ella, come on I’ll pay you to do my homework.” David, your classmate, a very annoying one, tried again to talk you into doing his homework for him. You were too caught up with your own shit you told him last week that you’re not going to do it.

“I already told you no.” you didn’t look up from your book when you gave him your answer.

“Please Ella! You’re so good at psychology and I need a good grade.”

“Compliments won’t get you anywhere.” you snorted at his try.

“Okay how much do you want?”

“I’m not gonna do it David.”

“Then tell me what do you want if not money. Dinner? Drinks? Sex?” and that was the last straw.

“Who do you think I am? Sex?” you finally lifted your head up from the book and looked at him.

“I didn’t mea-” he didn’t get to finish that sentence because you stood up and packed your things.

“Do your own fucking homework. If you can’t do it yourself then your presence in senior year is very questionable.” as you were leaving the study room he managed to yell one more sentence: “Are you on your period or what?”

You just flipped him off, but realized that for a fact you were not having your period, but you should be.

Your body was in so much stress already that if any more was because of your late period you didn’t even notice it.

You tried to calm yourself down with “It’s only a few days.” and “It’s probably because of the stress.”, but that didn’t do a good job.

So you made a quick stop at the school pharmacy and bought a pregnancy test. You really tried to not let it get to your head, you didn’t need any of that now. It happens sometimes, it’s nothing unusual.

You still had to finish the project you were working on before David interrupted you, so you made it to the library to continue where you left it.

“Fuck me!” you cursed to yourself after you didn’t click on save and the last paragraph you wrote was now gone.

“I could do that.” you heard behind your back.

Turning around you were met with Noah. He was wearing black sweatpants and gray hoodie and fucking flip flops.

“What are you doing here?” you didn’t hide your surprised voice, because Noah’s presence in the library was something that could be considered weird or odd.

“I just came here for a few books, need them to finish my essay.” he shrugged his shoulders and sat down next to you.

“Okay.” you replied and went back to writing your own. Noah didn’t find your behaviour weird, because he knows how you get when you’re stressed from exams.

“What are you doing?” you asked him with a side eye as he opened one of the books that laid in front of him.

“Reading a book?”

“But why are you doing it here?”

“Because it’s a library?”

“Noah, you never study in the library.”

“True, but you’re here and you’re my favorite study buddy.” he said with a teasing smile. He knew how far he could get before you got angry with him.

You just rolled your eyes and focused back on your notebook.

After a while you forgot Noah was next to you, he was quiet and the only sounds you could hear was when he turned the pages.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed until you heard your stomach doing unnatural sounds.

“Oh my god, you didn’t eat again?” Noah rolled his eyes at you, annoyed with how you forget to eat when you’re this focused.

“I did! I’m gonna leave soon, I just need to finish this page.”

“Sure, liar.” he said and reached for your bag. “Do you have any snacks in here?” he dove his head into the bag and started looking for something that could help with your hunger.

“Nah I think I ate the las-” you didn’t even lift your head up from the papers in front of you, because it wasn’t the first time Noah rummaged through your bag to find a snack or just look at what’s inside. Mystery of a woman’s bag.

“What the fuck?” you heard the sounds of things being thrown around inside of the bag stop and looked up.

“Fuck.” you whispered as you were looking at Noah who was holding the pregnancy test. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” you repeated and tried to take it from his hands, but he was quicker.

“What the fuck?” yeah seems like you both forgot other words than fuck.

“Put it back before anyone sees it!” you whisper yelled at him. He looked around and remembered where you two were and hid under the table in his lap.

“Still Ella, what the fuck? Are you fucking pregnant?” he was panicking, full on panic mood.

“No!” you said, “I don’t know.” and then continued.

“What does that mean?” he groaned, visibly getting frustrated from this whole situation.

“Okay, calm down.” you took a deep breath and laid your hands on his shaking ones.

“I realized that I'm a few days late with my period. But it’s normal, it must be the stress from exams.”

“Have you already done it?” he looked down at the small box in his hand.

“No.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” his shocked expression was looking at you. “Let’s go.” he started packing both of your things and when he was done he took your hand in his and made you stand up.

He led you out of the library and in the direction of toilets.

“I’m not doing it in school Noah!” you tried to stop him, but he had more strength.

“Then let’s go to your dorm.” he turned around and started walking in the direction of the main exit. He looked like a crazy person.

“Molly is there.”

“She’s your friend, she'll understand.”

“She hates you.”

“And she’ll hate me even more if I knocked you up.”

“That’s true.” you agreed, thinking if Molly would use her voice or her hands on Noah if the test was positive. “But I don’t wanna do it there.”

Noah stopped walking which made you hit his back. He turned around and you finally realized that he was probably really scared.

“Then we’re going to my place.” his steps were back at a quick pace now towards the parking lot.

“Noah calm down, you’re not helping the situation.”

“Get in.” he opened the car door for you and before he sat behind the wheel he put both of your bags in the back.

You didn’t know what was going through his mind so you stayed silent.

As you were looking out of the window you thought about the two possible outcomes. First, it’ll be negative and everything will get back to normal. But what if it’ll be the second option, positive.

You don’t want kids, at least not now. What will Noah’s reaction be if there are two lines? Will he be angry? Yell at you? Cry? Throw you out and tell you that he never wants to see you again?

You felt tears in your eyes at the thought of Noah not talking to you anymore, at the thought of losing him.

“Will you be mad?” you whispered and turned your head to look at him. He was focused on the road and his hands were gripping the wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. But when he heard the crack in your voice he looked at you for a second before shifting his gaze back to the road.

“Ella.” he said your name with a sigh and shook his head. “I won’t be mad. I’m just scared as fuck.” he admitted.

“Me too.” you confessed. His hand reached over the center console and grabbed one of yours. He gave you a comfort squeeze which you returned.

The rest of the ride was silent.

—

“Let’s do it.” you said and grabbed the white and pink box. You turned around and started walking to Noah’s bathroom.

When you were inside you went to close the door behind, but instead you hit something and heard a bang on the door. You heard “Ouch.” and turned around to see Noah right behind you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you said. He just looked at you with puppy eyes and said “Coming in?”

“Noah, you're not watching me peeing on a stick.” it took a few minutes to convince him that you’re not going to lock yourself in his bathroom and he made you promise that you won’t look at it without him.

When you sat down on the toilet it still felt like Noah was in the room with you.

“Noah, I know you’re behind the door.” you groaned.

“Just do it.”

“I can’t do it if I know you can hear me.”

“Jesus Ella.”

“Leave me alone or I’ll lock myself here for the rest of our lives.” and then you heard him dramatically stomp away.

You did what the instructions told you and washed your hands. You took the test and left the bathroom only to find Noah pacing back and forth in his kitchen.

You put the test on the counter, took out your phone and set the timer for 3 minutes.

“It’s gonna be negative Noah.”

“It must be, we use condoms.”

The timer went off before you could talk about anything else and you looked at each other with worry in your eyes.

“Do you wanna look at it?” he asked you.

“Do you?”

“No, you do it.”

So you reached out for your phone to turn it off and then you took the test. You took a deep breath before turning it around.

“It’s fucking negative!” you yelled out loud and cheered.

“Thank God!” Noah placed his hands on his chest where his heart is and leaned against the counter.

Noah threw the test away and clapped his hands like a little kid that just achieved something.

You sat up on the counter and couldn’t help but ask him “What would your reaction be if it was positive?”

“I don’t know.” he answered honestly.

“Do you ever want to be a dad? I don’t mean right now obviously, but in the future.”

“I don’t know. Probably no. I don’t know how to be a dad.”

“No one knows how to be a parent until they are.”

“Well the only example I ever had was my father, so I think I’ll pass.”

“You’re not like your father.” you frowned at his words. He was so scared of being like his father that he’d rather not have kids at all.

“The idea of having kids doesn’t really excite me in general, it’s not just because of him.” after you didn’t give him another answer he asked you, “What about you? Do you want kids?”

“I don’t think so.” you shrugged your shoulders.

“Why?”

“If I tell you that you’re just gonna throw my words at me.” it was because of your mom.

“You know you’re also not like your mother right?”

“There we go.” you rolled your eyes, but then you both laughed. “I just know that she always did everything with a good intention and she always wanted the best for me, but she still hurt me so much. I don’t want to do that to a kid. What if I’d think I’m a good mom, but my kid would hate me.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing the test was negative. Can you imagine us as parents?”

“We would be cool parents!” you protested.

“Yeah, maybe in another universe.” Noah laughed and you agreed with him.

You spent the rest of the day together, finishing your own school work before ordering dinner. Noah dropped you back at the campus and it would be Noah if he didn’t say “Maybe if you come over tomorrow and we have sex your period will come sooner so we can be sure you’re really not pregnant?”

You just closed the door in his face and flipped him off.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.

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[nshmuras]

annoying ~ lhs

sypnosis : you just moved and came to your brothers school and your known as a chatterbox. your a freshman and you ended up crushing on your brothers best friend, lee heeseung who is the strict student council and sadly ... he's a senior. and you can't date seniors can you?

features : sunghoon enha , chaewon lsfm , rei ive.

genre : best friends sister trope , yapper x listener , angst + fluff (some suggestiveness)

pair : college senior student council!hee x college freshman fem!reader

chapter(s) : ONE 2 3 4

To say heeseung was tired of being your brother’s friend was an understatement, he was sick of it.

All your brother did was boss him around all damn day and force him to babysit a chattering little girl; which, if you didn’t know, was you.

his temper wasn’t bad or anything, no. he was perfect at keeping himself in check and not letting little things tick him off.

But somehow when you came around and opened your big mouth while staring up at him with pretty eyes, he always had a hint of aggravation and something else hidden underneath that he just couldn’t put his finger on.

Thats why today, when he told you to be quiet and you obliged with a sad pout, he sighed.

The silence helped him think of course, but it wasn’t the damn silence.

it was you for fucks sake.

well.. you weren’t doing anything anymore but he couldn’t help but get annoyed just by staring at your pouty lips.

"You know what ... you can talk. i dont want to see you pout or whatever."

The words had left to quickly, but when he glanced at your big smile and the way you immediately turned into a yapping machine, something made him feel like that was worth it.

——————

the past few days after the incident went surprisingly well.

no stress, no signs of you, no signs of your brother.

Until one day that was ruined.

student council was kicking his ass more than usual, calling him for dumb things like someone vaping or a lost bookbag.

all the stress crashed down all on him in one day. leaving him a ball of angered nerves.

what was WAY worse was he had to walk you home today due to your brothers busy schedule with basketball, why did that idiot always have to leave you with him?

he had been listening to your story about something in class he couldn’t even pretend to care about and it was getting tiresome.

Clearly, you saw his face and spoke up. “Oppa? whats wrong with—“

but he immediately cut you off and yelled, his voice getting louder and harsher.

"Do you seriously not understand how much you're getting on my nerves? You can't seem to keep your mouth shut, it's like you're completely oblivious to how loud and irritating you are. You're just so.. so DAMN ANNOYING."

He paused and took a deep breath, trying to control his anger after lashing out.

he rubbed his temple and felt his veins popping under his skin, making everything around him spin.

suddenly, he heard sniffles, making him stiffen.

He whipped his head around and saw you crying. you were full on bawling, all cause of him.

before he could speak you rushed off down the street with your face covered in tears and a bit of snot, probably going the wrong direction if you didn’t think straight.

after all these years of being beside since you were little up until now, he promised your brother he wouldn’t upset you.

yet here he was, watching you rush off with tears.

Fuck… your brother was definitely gonna chew him out when he saw you.

[obvithe-bestsoph]

the most impatient patient.

masterlist requests word count: 4.3k

a/n: this took so long and i just know it's gonna flop omg 😭 i hope you enjoy! it's another one that has the possibility for chapter two, but it also works on its own. let me know! genre: kinda angsty but not really, fluff? warnings: a singular swear word, pedri has low self esteem for some parts but nothing graphic, grumpy pedri.

You pull into the area you’ve been told to park in and take a few deep breaths before getting out after shutting the engine off. Here you are, your first day at your dream job. The pristine grounds of Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper are bathed in the early morning Barcelona sun, making the whole place seem even more special. The four years you had been spent studying physiotherapy, you had been dreaming of today. And now it’s here. Mierda.

It’s ridiculously exciting, but also, there’s a lot of pressure on you. Being one of the youngest of the physiotherapy staff, just 22 years old, but now a part of one of the most important and relied upon medical teams in European football. And being the youngest comes with the added pressure of having to prove yourself to the seniors of the physio team as well. 

One of the seniors, Pablo, actually comes out to meet you in the carpark so he can show you where to go. You spend most of the morning just shadowing him and other more experienced physios until Pablo comes to you as you’re taking a coffee break, a clipboard in his hand. 

“Good news, you’ve already got your first patient.” he smiles and hands you the clipboard, briefing you a little as you look over it. 

“You’ll be looking after Pedri’s recovery sessions from this afternoon onwards, his injury isn’t too serious, some muscle issues in the quad, but he’s out of action, and he’ll be your main and only patient for the next few weeks until he’s back out on the pitch again,” Pablo explains.

Pedri González. The Pedri González as you’re first ever patient. Talk about throwing you in the deep end. 

Of course, you know who he is. You’ve watched him on TV, and seen him in action a few times, moving across the field in a way that almost makes it look easy, getting through defenders like they aren’t even there. Now, he’s your responsibility. Just thinking about it makes your stomach flip. You nod and smile at Pablo who leaves you with the clipboard and walks off again. It’s gonna be a big day.

When you enter the recovery room at 3 PM, the scheduled appointment time, Pedri is already there, sitting on the treatment table with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting. His dark hair is damp from what you can assume to be a shower, and he looks at you with a mixture of curiosity and slight frustration.

“Are you my new therapist?” he asks. His tone is polite but distant, clearly he’d rather be anywhere else. 

You take a deep breath and nod, forcing confidence into your voice. “That’s me. My name’s Y/N… you seem to be a very impatient patient, relax a little, sí?” you introduce yourself with a smile. 

His lips twitch ever so slightly, like he’s trying not to smile at the little comment, but he doesn’t argue against it either. “I hate sitting out,” he murmurs, flexing his upper leg, “I feel fine. I could probably even train tomorrow.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, glancing at his file on the clipboard you had been given. Minor muscle strain, it’s nothing serious, but rushing recovery could make it worse.

“Yeah, you think you feel now, but if you push yourself too hard, too soon, you’ll be out for way longer than necessary,” you reply firmly, crossing your arms too, “And I’m sure you wouldn’t enjoy that. So, a few weeks of careful rehab, or even longer than that watching from the sidelines?”

He huffs at your words but for the first time since you walked in, he really looks at you. There’s a hint of something in those brown eyes of his, respect, maybe? Or maybe he’s just surprised that you’re not intimated by him or put off by his slight grumpiness. 

Pedri exhales, relenting. “Fine, but only if you make this as un-boring as possible.” You smirk slightly, grabbing some massage balm off the shelf, “I think I could make that happen.”

Pedri’s recovery sessions begin the next morning, and from the second he walks in, it’s obvious he already hates this. 

Although his expression doesn’t show much, his body language pretty much speaks for itself. His shoulders are tensed, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his training shorts, and when he sits on the treatment table, he bounces his knees up and down impatiently. He clearly doesn’t want to be here, he’d much rather be out on the pitch, with a ball at his feet. Something which you decide is fair enough. 

“You’re early,” you note, putting your things down next to your desk before sitting down and turning on the computer, looking over his file once more and then standing up to get the resistance bands out. 

The man simply shrugs a little, “My mamá taught me it’s rude to be late. Plus, the sooner we start, the sooner I’m back.”

You sigh, already knowing this is going to be a difficult process. Athletes hate being told to slow down. Their whole lives revolve around this sport that they love so much, and now, they have to spend weeks, or however long, doing exercises and taking things carefully. 

In Pedri’s eyes, you’re the person standing between him and the game he loves. He’s so fed up with injuries that he just wants to be back and be back for good. 

“That depends,” you reply, kneeling beside him to check how much he can comfortably move the muscle, “If you actually listen to me, we’ll get you back faster. If you ignore my instructions, we might as well cancel your next couple of games now.” 

It’s silent for a moment before Pedri gives you a look, one that’s half amused and half skeptical. Just like the previous afternoon, something flickers in his eyes - surprise. Maybe he expected you to be quiet, and easily pushed to the side. But you aren’t here to be ignored. You’re here to get him back on his game and stay on it. 

Starting with a few simple stretching exercises, guiding him as he goes, it’s not long before you notice that he’s doing literally everything with a bare minimum level of effort like he’s pushing the boundaries to see how little he can get away with. 

“You’re holding back.” you huff, watching his form. Pedri smirks ever so slightly and shrugs, “Maybe you’re just making it too easy.”

“Oh, really? Is that what it is? Let’s make it harder then, superestrella.”

You change his band to an even tighter one, challenging his stability, and it only takes a few moments before he’s actually working. The cocky attitude he had put on just minutes ago disappears as he really focuses, muscles tense, breathing controlled and calm. 

On a particularly tough set, you watch his jaw tick in frustration and you gently stop him to take a break. 

“I know you’re used to winning,” you say, handing him a water bottle, “but sometimes you have to have to lose a few times before you can win. You know the saying, there has to be rain for there to be a rainbow?” “Yeah, but I hate losing. It’s not really my thing.” “Then let’s win this recovery, hm?” Pedri looks up at you again, something shifting in the air - it’s small but important. In this moment, he realises that maybe you aren’t just another therapist, but instead, someone he can trust.

Throughout the next few weeks, Pedri’s morning and afternoon rehab sessions become apart of your routine. You see him nearly every day, working through various stretching drills, resistance training and strength exercises. His progress is moving along nicely, but he has very little patience.

“You’re holding me back,” he grumbles one afternoon after you gave him a firm instruction to ‘slow down’.

“No, I’m making you don’t hurt it more. Yes, you’re an elite athlete, but you’re not a superhero. Your body needs time, and if you want it to keep serving you to the level you need it to, you have to respect that.”

He breathes out harshly, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I just feel useless sitting out on so much training and so many matches.” 

You stop for a minute, simply watching him. He hasn’t admitted how much this is weighing on him before. You can hardly imagine what it’s like, the fans and media constantly talking, the expectations, the pressure to always perform at the highest level. No one likes being injured, but for Pedri, it’s more than frustration. It’s almost some sort of insecurity. 

“You aren’t useless,” you say in a gentler tone, “you’re in rehab. Injuries and physio is a part of being a footballer just as much as playing is.”

And he listens. He doesn’t say anything else, or even smile, but the look in his eyes tells you that he’s grateful for your words.

Since that afternoon, there’s been a lot less tension between the two of you. He stops arguing and fighting everything, instead starting to trust your process more. The way you do things is a lot different to any physios he’s had in the past, so he’s hoping maybe your new approach will help with this constant battle he seems to be having with injuries. 

One morning, during a particularly intense session, he slumps back against the may and closes his eyes, letting out a long sigh. “This is torture.” You chuckle, “No, it’s progress.” “Laughing while I’m basically dying over here makes it seem like you enjoy watching me suffer.” he groans. 

“Maybe a little. But that’s only because I know it’s working.”

He opens one eye and smiles at you, a real smile. Not the usual polite, almost ‘media’ smile he usually gives. 

One evening, you both stayed later than usual and despite the fact that the session is over, he isn’t at all in a rush to leave. 

“Did you always want to do this?” he asks out of the blue, fiddling with a resistance band. “Physiotherapy?” You nod, pausing your tidying. “Yeah. I wanted to help athletes recover. There’s something rewarding about it, you know?”

“Why a physio though? Why not a doctor? Or a coach?” You laugh softly, “I like being the person that keeps people at their best you know, not just watching from the sidelines.” He puts the band down, and looks up at you as you continue moving around, packing things away and wiping down equipment. “I guess I’m in good hands then.”

You can’t figure out what it is, but there’s something about the way he said it like he was inadvertently saying that he trusted you.

He said his good night, collected his stuff up and left the gym. The room is silent again, and you start to realise something dangerous.

You’re starting to care about him.

A few days after that rather tough session, the air between the two of you feels different. It’s a subtle change, but your conversation are not just about football and recovery now. There’s some sort of casual friendliness there. Now, when he comes in in the mornings, you usually greet him with a smile, getting one back and making a few jokes here and there, without the strict physio and patient tension. 

That afternoon, having just finished some strengthening exercises, Pedri looked out the window at the gloomy clouds hanging over the pitches outside. “Looks like it’s going to rain, " he said.

Glancing at your watch you nod, “I saw that on the weather this morning, good thing we’ve finished a little earlier than usual then, hm?” 

He collects up his bag, but doesn’t leave yet, “I was thinking of walking home, but I suppose it’s not exactly the nicest condition outside.” You look up and outside as well, the rain now pouring heavily, “I can drive you?” you offer casually, typing away at his file. 

He turns around, clearly surprised. “Really? It’s probably out of your way. Are you sure?” 

Switching off the computer, you turn around on your swivelling stool and stand up, “I’m sure. I’ve been meaning to try and leave earlier anyway.”

The car ride feels relaxed and comfortable, when it goes quiet, it isn’t tense or awkward but more just comfortable and open. Pedri talks a little about his past experiences recovering from injuries, how much he hates being away from the game, and the constant pressure that comes from being such a high-performing athlete. 

“You know, sometimes, I kinda just wish I was ‘normal’ again, you know?” he admits quietly, gaze fixed on the raindrops that slowly make their way down the window. “Like, I could go out somewhere without people noticing me or taking photos.” “That’s fair enough,” you sympathise, “it must be hard living the way all you football players do.” He chuckles slightly, “Sometimes not exactly all it’s cracked up to be, no.”

It goes quiet again. 

“I really appreciate you driving me, you know. It was stupid of me not to check the weather before deciding to walk today.” you see his head turn to look you out of the corner of your eye. 

You nod, a silent ‘you’re welcome’, and surprisingly, he speaks up again. “You’re actually, uh, pretty cool to hang out with, you know?” his voice is a bit softer and a bit shyer than before. Your smile grows. “Thanks, Pedri, you’re, um… pretty cool too.”

The days pass as usual, and you and Pedri’s relationship continues to change. You know a decent amount about how he got here, and what he’s like outside of football, all about his dog and his family and many other random bits and pieces. At first, it was subtle jokes and smiles, him opening up about how he’s feeling about physio and the pressure he feels in everyday life. But one thing’s for sure, it’s getting harder and harder to keep it 100% professional around him. 

It’s been a long day of strength exercises and Pedri leans against the wall, drinking water, his body clearly having worked hard today. The banter that you’ve become used to isn’t there, the air is almost… tense, and you’re waiting up on his terms.

“Do you ever get tired?” you look at him, his expression unreadable and tone quieter than usual. 

Surprised by the question, you raise an eyebrow. “Tired of what?” “Of all this,” he gestures around the small gym, “of being around players with patience thinner than a spider’s web, of the constant pressure of trying to fix everyone else.” 

You’re caught off guard because that was definitely not what you were expecting him to ask. But despite your surprise, he stares at you, waiting for an answer.

“I guess I don’t really think about it in that way,” you admit. “I kinda just focus on doing my job, but I can see how some people might find it stressful.”

He nods, the unreadable expression turning into a small smile. “You’re good at it - helping people, that is.”

Your expression changes to somewhat surprised, and you chuckle, unsure how to respond, but you don’t have to, because he speaks up again. “I mean, you’re always so calm and focused, even when I’m being an impatient dickhead.”

His words settle for a minute before you realise that maybe he also doesn’t just see you as his physio anymore, but instead as someone who genuinely wants the best for him.

“Well,” you start, taking a deep breath to think about what you’re going to say, “it’s not always easy, but I try.” 

Pedri’s face softens. “You make it look easy.”

The gym falls silent for a few moments, neither of you really knows what to say. Instead, Pedri just moves to start collecting up his things and you go back to wiping down the bench he had been using. You feel a gentle hand being placed on your shoulder from behind. “Gracias, Y/N. See you in the morning.” Pedri smiles, removing his hand once you turn your head and show him your attention, but just give him a quick “Adios.” before turning around again, hiding your pink face. 

That night, lying in bed, you stare up at the ceiling, just thinking. What if the lines between patient and… something else have already started to blur? And how much longer can you pretend you haven’t noticed?

On the Monday of the next week, Pedri arrives at the morning session without a smile, instead, it’s an expression of his that you’ve become familiar with, frustration, masked as indifference. He doesn’t speak much and just goes through the motions of rehab, but the focus he’d gained in the past couple weeks isn’t there, and his movements are more careless than usual. Something’s up with him, and you don’t miss it. 

“Something on your mind?” you ask, careful to keep your tone neutral. 

He grumbles and shakes his head, “Nothing. Just a rough weekend.” Instead of pushing, you just let him go through the routine, but the more he does, the more irritated he seems to get. His patience is running even thinner than usual. His last straw is when he messes up a simple drill, throwing the resistance band on the floor in front of him and mumble curses under his breath. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” you say, crossing your arms. “Talk to me. What on earth is going on with you?”

Attempting to not yell, cry, or throw something else, Pedri runs a hand through his hair. The muscle in his jaw ticks, and he snaps back at you. “You really want to know?” His voice is even sharper than usual, his anger clear. “I’m sick of this. Sick of feeling so genuinely unhelpful to the team. Sick of the way people talk about me like I’m some broken thing that needs fixing.”

You take a step closer, and speak in a firm tone. “Pedro, look at me.” 

His brown eyes flick up to your face. 

“No one thinks you’re broken.”

He gives you a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Come on, you see it too. More than anyone else. You just don’t say it.” The way he looks at you as if he’s challenging you to tell him he’s wrong, makes your heart ache. You’ve seen athletes break under pressure before, but this is different. This is something personal inside him.

You sit down on the mat next to him, nudging him with your shoulder. “You’re frustrated, I get it,” you say softly, looking into his eyes once more, “But this? This isn’t about your injury, is it?”

His expression falters. He looks away, sighing heavily, his shoulder sagging forward like he’s too exhausted to keep up the front anymore. 

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice quiet, “Just, everything that’s usually so simple and easy feels so out of my control. And the only time I feel properly like myself at the moment is here. With you.”

His words are definitely unexpected, and they hit you hard. Your heart stumbles in your chest and for a moment, you don’t know what to say at all. Pedri doesn’t look away this time, not trying to hide or cover up what he said. Unsure of how to comfort him, you just pull him into your side for a hug.

The truth is hanging in the air now.And the scariest part? You don’t quite know what to do with it. 

You know you should say something, anything, but your brain is muddled, your heart confused. 

You look down at him, his head resting on your chest, those beautiful brown eyes already looking up at you. “Pedri…” you start, but hesitate, because what do you even say? You’ve spent weeks keeping a fairly professional distance, attempting to convince yourself that whatever flickered between the two of you was just a passing moment, just a small moment formed through the fact that you have been spending so much time with each other. 

He sighs, shaking his head, sitting up straight again, “You don’t have to say anything, I just-” he pauses, running a hand over his face, “I just needed to be honest.; Because whatever this is, it’s been messing with my head, and I can’t keep pretending it’s not there.” Your heart pounds. He’s told you his side, and now he’s leaving it up to you to decide what happens next. Your logical brain tells you to shut it down. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. You’re the physio, he’s the patient, messing with that could make a lot of things a hell of a lot more complicated. 

But there’s another part of you, the one that remembers every time you caught him staring at you, every time you felt your cheeks turn pink from him smiling when he walked in, how butterflies appear in your stomach every time he touches you. 

“You’re not imagining things,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

His head snaps up, eyes looking into yours, a flicker of relief in his expression. 

“But that doesn’t mean it’s simple,” you add quickly. “You know that, right?”

Pedri nods, “I know. But I don’t really care, honestly.” 

You let out a breathy laugh. “You should.” “I can’t,” he admits. “Because when I’m around you, it’s one of the only times I feel like I’m not just ‘Pedri, the player’. And if I lose that… then I’m trapped as Pedri the player all the time, and I don’t want that for myself.” 

Your chest tightens at his honesty. He’s not kidding around and bantering now. He’s not asking for something causal either. He’s telling you his feelings, trusting you with something that not many other people get to see.

For the first time, you allow yourself to really think of him in a way that is more than a patient. It’s terrifying. It’s complicated. But it’s honest, and it’s real. 

And you don’t think you can ignore it anymore. 

The air is thick with tension, and Pedri’s words continue to echo through your head, your own confession feeling like a weight lifted and a burden gained all at once. 

You know what you should say. ‘This can’t happen. This is too unprofessional, too complicated, too risky.’ You should remind him that your job is to help him recover, not to fall for him. 

But then you look at him. The way his dark hair sits so perfectly, his tanned skin, the stubble that covers his cheeks, chin and upper lip, his long eyelashes, and those brown eyes. They’re always the killer.

“Pedri…” You take a slow, deep breath, trying to calm yourself, “If we do this, we have to be careful.” 

His eyebrows lift slightly, surprised. “So you’re saying..?”

You hesitate, but there’s no point in denying it now. “I’m saying that I don’t want to pretend I don’t feel this anymore.” For a second, he just stares at you, like he’s making sure he heard you right. Then, his mouth slowly grows into that smile, the one that you’ve spent far too long pretending didn’t affect you. 

“I was really hoping you’d say that,” he murmurs, shifting closer. 

You shake your head, trying to keep your thoughts straight despite the heat spreading through your body. “This is going to be complicated.” “I really don’t care.” “You really should. This is technically wrong, you know. I’m not meant to have ‘romantic interactions with patients.’”

“Maybe, but I don’t.” His voice is steady and certain. “I’ve spent the last few weeks learning how to be patient, how to take things one step at a time. This?” He gestures between the two of you. “This is no different.”

You laugh breathily once more, despite the mess in your head. “You’re comparing us to his recovering.” He grins, a proper grin, and it’s the most genuine one you’ve seen from him in over a fortnight. “If it works, it works.” You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. How did a professional relationship turn into late-night thoughts of him, lingering glances, and this undeniable thing you’ve finally acknowledged? 

You both stand up, and Pedri’s closes the distance between the two of you, pulling you against him by the waist. 

This is the moment you stop fighting it. It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating. 

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs, watching you carefully like he’s waiting for you to take it all back, change your mind, and shove him away. But you don’t, and he speaks again. “I don’t care how complicated this is. I just want to be with you.”

His genuine words make you shiver because you feel the same way. You have done for a while now, but you were always too cautious to admit it. He gives you another chance to pull away, but once again, you don’t. He closes the distance completely, resting his forehead against yours. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you realise this isn’t just about desire - but instead everything you’ve been holding back. 

“You’re really bad at keeping things professional,” he teases playfully, his voice low as he looks into your eyes.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re the one who confessed first.” 

“Yeah, but you let me,” he points out, grinning.

You roll your eyes although you don’t argue. Because the truth is, you don’t regret letting him. Not at all. 

There’s so much to figure out, so many conversations to have, rules to work around and risks to consider. But right now? None of that matters.

Right now, all that matters is his soft lips against yours.

[ckret2]

Chapter 17 of Human Bill Causes Problems And Ruins Relationships On Purpose (title TBD), featuring: Mabel and Ford, not letting their relationship be ruined.

They're gonna be okay.

Also: weird donuts, cool crystals, and summer class.

####

Mabel was out of sight by the time Ford exited the shop—stupid, why hadn't he chased her the second he saw her run? He knew Mabel was fast. He circled the block calling her name—there was nowhere she could have gone, this mixed-use building was surrounded by residential houses—and then he hurried back to the parking garage, worst case scenarios tumbling through his head.

When he spied her leaning against the trunk of Stan's car, he heaved a sigh of relief. "Mabel! You shouldn't run off like that in a strange city. Anything could have happened."

Mabel tightened her crossed arms, glaring at her shoes. "I'm better at taking care of myself than you think."

Ford's shoulders slumped. He stood there useless, the silence thick between them, grappling for something to say to cut through it.

He never did well with these thick, awkward, choking moments—the moment before Stan left home, the moment after Fiddleford left the portal project, all the moments on the phone with his parents or with Shermie when he couldn't think of anything they'd be truly interested to hear about his life or any questions he truly wanted them to answer. He'd lost a lot of relationships in those moments. "Mabel—you're not in trouble, and I'm... I'm not mad at you."

"Being disappointed isn't better."

"I'm not disappointed, either. Just... concerned."

Wrong word. Mabel looked up at Ford with a dark, furious look that reminded him unnervingly of a look Bill had given him a few days ago. (He still hadn't learned to identify this as the hallmark gaze of the defiant teenager.) Then she glared at the ground again. "I wanna go home."

If he took her home, it would be an agonizing hour and a half silence—and what were the odds she'd just run to Bill and tell him he'd been "right," and he'd fill her head with more poison? It was far too late to forbid her from talking to him without exacerbating the situation. Ford could force her to stay right here in Portland until he'd talked to her—he had the keys, the driver's license, and almost fifty years' seniority—but if he did that, she'd tune out anything he said.

And she'd be right to. Who was he to her except the other uncle, the one who'd spent a year lavishing attention on her brother and only asked to spend time with her as a trap to give her a lecture?

He leaned on the car trunk next to her and looked down at the top of Mabel's head. She was wearing a headband studded with rhinestones and plastic ruby earrings. She'd dressed up for this. Ford swallowed hard. "Mabel, I'm an idiot."

She didn't say anything.

"I am. I'm a fool. I put all my skill points in intelligence and zero in charisma." He paused. "Which... that sentence probably makes self-evident." He cleared his throat. "I started out bad at socializing, and not interacting with humans for thirty years didn't make me any better. So I don't have any idea what I'm doing here. But... I asked you to come here with me because I really do want to spend more time with you; and because Bill hurt me, and I love you too much not to make sure you're protected against him doing the same to you."

He put a hand on her shoulder, and when she didn't tense up or pull away, he went on: "I think I tried to do too much in one trip, and it just made what should have been a fun time... awkward for you. But, if it helps, it's awkward for me, too. We can be awkward together. We're on the same side, I promise."

Mabel let out a loud, snotty sniff. "You... really do wanna hang out with me?" Quieter, she asked, "Not just Dipper?"

"Of course I do!" Ford said. "But I don't blame you for doubting me. I... know I've spent less time with you than with Dipper. I thought he needed me more. I'm sorry it took this to make me make time for you like I should have all along."

"Was... was there ever really a crystal store on the highway?"

"There was! I promise! I honestly don't know what happened to it! Maybe when I was coming from the airport Soos took a different exit than I thought? Or maybe a truck got between us and the sign as we were passing it and we didn't realize, but—"

He was getting off topic. The mystery of the crystal store wasn't what was important here. Reel in the puzzled scientist for a moment and be an uncle. "But—I swear Mabel, I didn't make up a story just to get you out here. I truly wanted to go to a crystal shop with you, hand on my heart." He put his hand on his heart. "That's a full finger more sincere than normal."

Mabel let out a choked giggle. She finally looked up at Ford, eyes red, cheeks tear streaked, but fighting to smile through her tears. "Grunkle Ford, I—" She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his sweater. "I'm not trying to ruin summer again, I promise! All I'm talking to Bill about is preschool cartoons and arts & crafts! Sure, he's—he's been nice since I helped him out, but—that doesn't mean I've forgotten who he is or what he can do..."

"Mabel, you didn't ruin last summer." Ford knelt down and hugged her back. "Bill did. Never forget that. I'm just trying to prevent him from doing it again."

Mabel nodded, unconvinced. "He couldn't have ruined it by himself."

"You're right. He couldn't. Which is why I was so wrong to keep the rift secret from everyone in the house but Dipper. I was trying to keep you safe, but you never would have fallen for his lies if I'd armed you with all the information you needed."

He leaned back from Mabel and patted his briefcase. "That's why I'm doing things properly this time! I'm prepared to educate you on every trick Bill has ever borrowed from the books of con artists, cult leaders, and serial manipulators. If you're going to talk to him, you'll know the rules of every mind game he plays before he starts playing them." He unzipped his briefcase and pulled out some of the research materials he'd assembled to prepare for this conversation. "I'm afraid even that might not be enough to fully protect you against his devious tricks, but if you keep your guard up and regularly check in with the rest of the family, then—"

Mabel looked in Ford's briefcase and exploded in a peal of laughter. "Grunkle Ford, are you making me go to school in the summer?! Gross!"

Ford blinked. If this was Dipper, he'd have been delighted at the educational opportunity. This just went to show how much he still needed to learn about Mabel, too. "Come now, Mabel. There's no greater defense against the shadowy forces of deception than the light of knowledge!"

Mabel laughed again. "You nerd!"

Ford grinned. "But, I'll try to make it fun, too."

"Okay, I'll take your psychology class. Bill-proof me! Arm me with knowledge!" She raised her arms like she was flexing her biceps.

"Great!" Ford rummaged through his briefcase. "I'll start with the broad strategies I've seen or heard of him using to isolate his victims, then narrow in on specific tactics he uses to steer conversations his way. First we'll go over the B.I.T.E. model of authoritarian control, and—"

Mabel put a hand on his shoulder. "How about we start with lunch?"

Ford paused, then let out a huff. "Yes, of course. We should eat."

They got in the car and went looking for a restaurant.

####

They had lunch at a burger place, and Ford told Mabel everything he could think of about how Bill operated—all guided by copious research notes.

To his relief, Mabel never got bored. Instead, she immediately related his lesson back to things she'd already seen Bill do: how easily he'd gotten her, Dipper, and Soos to do his job for him inside Stan's mind, or how he'd tried to turn Mabel and Dipper against each other during Mabel's puppet show. When she admitted what Bill had said to make her worry about talking to Ford, he confessed how Bill had turned him against Fiddleford—and how he'd done it with just a couple comments. All he'd had to say was that Fiddleford might not be committed enough to the portal project, might not be bold enough to finish, and Ford's mind had done the rest.

Ford hadn't even told Dipper about that part—instead, he'd just let Dipper read it in his journal. Ford had yet to so much as talk to Fiddleford himself about it. It was shameful to admit out loud; but less so when he knew he was talking to someone else who'd very nearly been fooled the same way—and that sharing his story might save her from repeating it.

They wrapped up lunch, moved to a nearby shop called Druid Donuts for dessert, and continued their conversation on one of the picnic tables outside. Mabel got a donut wizard with a pretzel stick wand and purple cream filling, and Ford tried out a donut with jelly beans on top. The jelly beans were kinda stale. He plucked them off and ate them anyway.

Mabel sighed, "Grunkle Ford, I'm so sorry I let Bill make me doubt you."

"Bill has that effect on people. When I had this same talk with Dipper, he tried to shoot me with the memory gun in case Bill was possessing me."

"Dipper never mentioned that!" Mabel laughed; but it quickly petered out as she remembered who had ultimately gotten memory gunned over Bill.

She gazed thoughtfully down at her wizard. (She'd eaten off one of his arms, half his robe, and licked out the purple cream filling.) "What made Bill so awful?"

"I sorely wish I knew," Ford said. "I spent half my life trying to find out where he came from, along with how to defeat him. All I ever learned is that he's from a two-dimensional realm—and he destroyed his dimension, friends and family included, for power."

Mabel's eyes widened.

"But... why? I still don't know. He told me he found his home 'restrictive'—but I imagine any limitations would feel restrictive to someone who's seeking omnipotence, so I have no idea what that truly means." Ford looked down at his donut. He'd plucked off all the jelly beans and sorted them into two piles on a napkin, one of regular beans and a smaller one with a few deformed ones. He popped a couple of beans in his mouth. 

"It's weird," Mabel said. "It's like... I'm trying to hate him, but it's hard. It was easy last year! And I know who he is, and I know that all this"—she pointed at Ford's bag full of notes—"is going on in his head, but—when I talk to him, he just seems like... not a different person, but a—a normal person. I don't want to not give that person a chance just because he's Bill. You know? Does that make sense?" Mabel grimaced. "Or is that just how good he is at acting?"

Softly, Ford said, "I think it does make sense. Actually, even after everything he's done to me... since he's been locked up with us, I've—had a moment or two like that. I don't think he's doing it on purpose. I think it's a natural side effect of being in such close proximity to him."

Ford had been thinking a lot about his bizarre burst of compassion on the night Bill burned off his hair. He'd wondered if, maybe, putting a human face over Bill had made Ford see him as a new person. But that wasn't right. Like Mabel had said: Ford didn't see this human Bill as a different person, but rather...

Ford had obsessed over Bill for thirty years. He'd combed the multiverse for information about Bill's history, his state of existence, his potential weaknesses. But in all that time—in all that time, he hadn't once spoken with Bill.

He'd spent half a lifetime moving amongst people who saw Bill as a symbol, a legend, a cosmic force. He'd come to see Bill the same way. A threat, a target, an idea. He'd spent so many years picking a scant few hours of conversation with Bill to shreds that—he was now beginning to realize—he'd half convinced himself that Bill didn't actually have an identity beneath his lies.

It wasn't that seeing a human face made Ford forget that this person was Bill. It was that seeing a human face made Ford remember that Bill was a person. Ford had gotten so used to hating Bill the symbol; had he ever learned how to hate Bill the person? Or had he just let himself believe Bill wasn't a person at all?

Treating Bill like an idea rather than a person was useful enough when Bill was some distant foe. But now Bill was here. Ford couldn't let himself go soft just because Bill was capable of filling space in a window seat and tripping on the furniture and waking screaming from nightmares and regretting a stupid haircut.

Bill had been a person every other time Ford had tried to kill him, too. And that didn't change the fact that he needed to die.

And Mabel—who had so much less practice with hatred than Ford had—was struggling with the same thing.

"You want him to make sense," Ford said. "I understand that completely. Once we see somebody as a person, it's hard to see them as a monster, even if that's what they are. Our minds think monsters want to destroy the world, not play weird chess games. Seeing him as just a monster would be safer for everyone—but, as long as he's imprisoned and powerless, all he can do is be a person."

Mabel thought that over. "Yeah," she said. "You can hate somebody or you can get to know them, but you can't do both."

Ford could think of a few people he'd only hated more the better he got to know them, but he supposed Mabel was kinder than him. "More or less."

"How do you deal with it?"

"By avoiding him."

Mabel's gaze dropped back to her donut wizard. She ate his wand and other arm.

Ford took a deep breath. "Mabel... knowing everything you know now, do you still want to keep talking to him?"

Her neck sank down into her turtleneck. "Do I fail your class if I say yeah?"

Ford smiled sadly. Was she too kind for her own good, or—like Ford—too curious? "I thought you might say that," he said. "Follow-up question: are you prepared to be disappointed when he doesn't live up to your hopes? And I do mean 'when,' not 'if.' You're offering him a charity I don't think he's capable of reciprocating."

If she'd gotten angry, if she'd gotten defensive, he would have worried more. But she laughed and said, "Grunkle Ford, last summer I got my heart broken by like, sixteen boys. After that, I can handle finding out the evil demon triangle I'm trying to reform is still an evil demon. I'll be impressed if he ever gets an opportunity to kill one of us and doesn't take it."

Ford chuckled, relieved. "I think you deserve to hang out with people you can hold to higher standards than that."

"I do! But the other people I hang out with don't wanna watch the same shows as me. I don't think I can make you understand how important that is."

On the one hand, that struck Ford as a very thirteen-year-old priority. On the other hand... He winced. "Actually... for a while, he was the only person that would play Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons with me."

"WHAT! What kind of character did he play!"

"None. He always wanted to be the dungeon master," Ford said. "He ran very strange campaigns. And had a weird fascination with princesses with eyeballs for heads. And, in retrospect, it was probably a red flag when he decided to portray the God of Long Odds as a one-eyed golden triangle."

Mabel at least had the good grace to bite her lip instead of laughing at Ford.

"Well. I don't think you should want to talk to him. But, if you do... then you have a rare opportunity. Perhaps the first in multiversal history. Bill's our captive, he seems to trust you, he's motivated to make you trust him... I think if anyone's ever had a chance of finding out what made him like he is, it might be you. Perhaps you'll get your question answered."

"Grunkle Ford..." Mabel grinned slyly. "Are you saying that you want me to talk to him? Like, as a spy?"

Ford grimaced. "If I said that, that would make me a terrible uncle. I should be doing everything in my power to steer you away from him. I know that would be safer for everyone and healthier for you." He paused. "But. I can't control you. And as long as you've decided to talk to him anyway—I want to know everything you learn."

Mabel laughed. "You got it!"

"Final advice: don't trust anything he says, assume everything he does has an ulterior motive, and never agree to do anything he asks without twenty-four hours away from him to consider it. And keep talking to us—to me, to Dipper, to Stanley. He might fool one of us, but he can't fool all of us."

"Yeah!" Mabel raised a hand. "Pines power!"

"Pines power." Ford high-sixed her, then finished up his donut. "Well, I think this was very educational for both of us." He stood. "You've still got your $50. Want to go back to the crystal shop?"

####

They grabbed a big green box of donuts for the family and headed back to Lunar Blessings. While Mabel was agonizing over several fun-colored crystals, Ford wandered back toward the statue of Bill. He had to do something about this. "Excuse me." He waved down the shopkeeper. "Do you happen to know where this sculpture came from? The name of the artist, or...?"

She came over to study it. "I think we get all of these from a studio in the Bahamas, but I don't remember the artist off the top of my head. Why?"

He tried to think of a lie that sounded more realistic than the truth—maybe if he said he thought he recognized the art style and wanted to know if an old friend had made it, she'd be willing to dig up the artist's name?

He decided to go with a story that might get this thing off the shelf faster. "Because that particular depiction of the Eye of Providence is associated with a dangerous cult."

Her brows went up. "You're sure? It's a common symbol."

"Giving it eyelashes and a bow tie isn't. Trust me: either the artist is a cultist, or they got the design from somebody who is."

"Cult's a... pretty loaded word." (Ford grudgingly respected her for her wariness. She probably dealt with somebody calling something-or-other in this shop "cultish" on a daily basis.) "How do you know they're that bad?"

"Because once I got in, it took me thirty years to get out."

The shopkeeper's demeanor changed immediately. "Oh," she said. "I'm sorry. We get these in bulk with a lot of other sculptures, I thought it was just some obscure... Are these people dangerous, or—?"

"Not as much as they used to be, I don't think. Their founder's incarcerated. But... the kind of people who'd be eager to buy this probably aren't the people you want to sell to."

As she eyed the sculpture skeptically—probably deciding whether she found this stranger's story credible enough to warrant taking merch off her shelves—Ford asked, "Do you think you could find the artist? With the founder gone, I... I've been wondering how his other victims are faring." There wasn't much point in pushing further to remove the item. He'd given the shopkeeper enough to think about, and he doubted one more statue on one more shelf would really do any harm while Bill couldn't use its eye.

She hesitated, then nodded. "I'll check our records. If we don't have it, you can give me your contact info and I'll let you know when I find out."

"Thank you." What would Ford say if he did meet another of Bill's victims? He'd known a few, very distantly, thirty years ago; Bill had told him who he could go to to get art, much like the sculpture in this store. Back then, he'd felt like he was in a secret society—a real secret society with real secrets, not like the corny social club styling itself a "secret society" he'd joined in college—with the double secret that none of the other members knew that Ford was the society president's favorite. In retrospect, they'd probably thought they were Bill's favorites, too.

He supposed he'd find out if he ever met the artist.

####

Mabel found a little pink cat figurine, a string of small nazar eye beads she thought would be great for crafts, an extremely small crystal naturally colored like a watermelon slice, and a bracelet made out of tiny colorful rock chips arranged in a rainbow. The shopkeeper wasn't able to find the artist's name before they left; but Ford left his name, address, and the shack's number on a piece of receipt paper so she could contact him if she found out more.

As they were leaving, Ford said to Mabel, "You know... if you still like those glass pyramids, I think there's a couple in my study that escaped the purge. You could have one."

"Really? You're sure? You don't have to..."

"I'm sure. They're not magical or dangerous—and I think I'd like for one of them to get new, better associations. Just, keep it in a room where Bill can't get his hands on it," Ford said. "But if he does see it... make up a story about it that will drive him crazy."

Mabel considered that. And then a wicked smile twisted up her face.

####

"Okay, your turn," Mabel said. She was slouched down in her seat with her feet up on the car's dashboard. "Befriend, betray, or betroth: Carl Sagan, the Queen of England, and... a wizard."

Ford sucked in a breath. "Ooh, that's tough." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Describe the wizard."

"Greatest wizard of all time! And his beard is like, ten feet long."

Ford pursed his lips as he thought. "Marry the wizard," he said. "As much as I admire Carl's mind, he freely shares his knowledge with the public. Wizards are far more reclusive. Marriage may be my only way to learn his secrets."

"The queen isn't even on the table?"

"I've been a king before, Mabel. Too many social obligations for me," Ford said. "I suppose I'll have to befriend the queen. I can't afford to make any more powerful enemies. Anyway, it could give me an opportunity to ask about some of the legends surrounding Buckingham Palace."

"So you'd betray...?"

Ford frowned deeply. "This game is vicious."

Mabel laughed. "I won't tell him!"

"I appreciate it," Ford said. "All right, your turn. Befriend, betray, or betroth: a president, a movie star, and an astronaut."

Mabel paused. Mabel thought about the guy on the $10 bill—who, she was sure, was definitely a president, or else they wouldn't have put him on a bill. Mabel said, "Which president?"

He'd meant the concept of a president, but. "Uh..."

Mabel gasped and sat up straight. "Grunkle Ford, look!" She pointed out the driver's side window.

"Wh—?" Ford gaped as they drove past a tall pole topped with a gray sign. The sign read, "OCCULTED CRYSTALS". Beneath the words was a glass window shaped like a cut diamond.

"Is that—?"

"That's it!" Ford swerved into the exit lane. "You're not getting away this time, you sonofagun!"

"I've still got like two dollars! Let's do this!"

They celebrated and congratulated each other as they descended onto the frontage road and made a U-turn under the highway.

On the other side, there was no trace of the sign. All they found was a strip of five nondescript whitewashed storefronts, all out of business, with a narrow weed-filled parking lot in front.

Mabel and Ford exchanged a baffled look.

Ford pulled into the empty parking lot and stepped out of the car. "It was here, wasn't it?" he asked. "It can't have been farther back than this." He squinted to the west, shielding his eyes with his hand. No signs that way, and no trees or buildings tall enough to be hiding one.

"Maybe it's a time travel thing!" Mabel jumped out of the car and ran to the abandoned stores, peering through the windows one at a time to see if any looked like a former crystal shop.

Ford glanced warily at a concrete block along the edge of the parking lot that looked like it might once have supported a pole. "Hmm."

Eventually, when they couldn't find anything, they slunk back into the car, got on the frontage road, took the next U-turn, and got back on the highway.

The diamond-windowed Occulted Crystals sign taunted them from the horizon.

They stared dumbly at it.

Mabel pulled out her phone and snapped a picture.

"What are you?" Ford asked the sign. "Is it invisible on its other side?"

Mabel turned in her seat and peered through the back window as they passed it. "Still visible!"

"Then can it only be seen if you're traveling east on the highway?" Ford mused. "But you'd have to be westbound to take an exit that reaches that location. It's impossible to access."

"What if you're traveling west but you drive the car backwards!"

Ford mulled over that. "For starters, we'd probably get pulled over." Ford glanced down at the car's clock. "It's getting late, too. We can't procrastinate anymore if we want to be home in time for dinner."

The sign had disappeared behind them. Mabel turned back around and settled in her seat. "I think this calls for a follow-up investigation later, don't you?"

Ford grinned. "I had the exact same thought."

####

"... And that's how we realized it wasn't Louisa who had slashed Sarah's tires," Abuelita said, "it was Arthur! Can you believe it? Arthur!" She turned away from the stove to look at Bill, eyebrows raised, making sure he fully appreciated this twist.

Sitting backwards on one of the kitchen chairs, he shrugged. "I can't blame him. Every man has his limit. And Sarah's been pushing his for weeks." He took a swig from a bottle of spoiled grape juice.

"Stop drinking my cooking wine," Abuelita said. "Sure, but Arthur's so passive! I thought he'd have a nervous breakdown long before he ever took action! Anyway, things just haven't been the same since he got arrested."

Bill shook his head sympathetically. "I tell you. This town's bingo hall is really going to the dogs."

The front door swung open, and Mabel's voice drifted in: "Betroth the vampire, of course. And—is it possible to betray a zombie? Do they understand loyalty? When Soos got turned..."

Bill perked up, set the juice bottle on the kitchen table, and got to his feet, immediately drawn to a more rewarding distraction. "I'll get out of your hair," he told Abuelita, and switched to English. "Hey, Shooting Star and Sixer!" He leaned against the kitchen doorway. "How were the crystals?"

"Great! I got a watermelon rock and a cat and some beads and the coolest bracelet!" She raised her hand and twisted it back and forth, making the rock chips click together. "And donuts!" She shoved a big green open box in Bill's face. "You're allowed to take one. Only one."

He grabbed the yellowest one he saw and bit in. "Huh. Piña colada. Weird." He took another bite and leaned around the open box lid to look at Mabel. "So. Did you two have fun?"

"Yes! It was a blast!" Mabel gushed. "We got lunch in Portland, and we talked foreverrr, and we've got more in common than I ever imagined, and we're gonna make more trips to Portland soon! I think it really brought us closer together."

"Huh." Bill's gaze flicked up to Ford. "How about that." Ford's face betrayed nothing. Bill looked back at Mabel and grinned wider. "Glad he's less of a killjoy than I thought."

"Pffft! You know he knows how to have fun," Mabel said. "Mr. God of Long Odds."

Bill's eyebrows shot up.

Mabel squeezed past Bill into the kitchen. "Abuelita, if you want a donut, I'm putting them in the bottom left cabinet with the pots."

"Thank you, Mabel."

"I'm taking Ford to the record store to introduce him to late 80's music," Mabel went on. "And we saw a crystal shop that isn't there depending on which way you're driving! Whaaat! Crazy, right!" 

"Oh, you found Occulted Crystals?" Now Bill's grin was aimed at Ford. "I know you didn't get that bracelet there. Didn't figure out how to get in?" He winked. "Do you want to?"

Ford's expression darkened; but before he could say anything, Mabel darted back into the entryway. "No! No spoilers! You'll ruin the fun of figuring it out!"

Bill laughed. "Okay, fine! Just one safety tip: never go looking for it on an empty stomach."

Mabel gave him a distrustful look. "Will that help us get in?"

"It'll help you get back out."

She nodded slowly. "Good to know." She hugged Ford. "I'll be right back! I haven't been to the bathroom since lunch." She bounded upstairs.

Leaving Ford with Bill.

Bill simply smiled. "You talked about DD&MD? That takes me back."

"I know what you're up to, you snake," Ford said. "And it's not going to work. At least leave her out of it."

"Hey, you can't blame me for worrying about her," Bill said. "She's such a caring little thing. And you don't have a strong history of family loyalty."

Ford's hands curled into fists; but he forced himself to turn away from Bill without acknowledging him, and headed for his and Stan's guest room.

"But hey," Bill called after him. "I really am thrilled to see you two getting along so well."

Nothing in Bill's tone sounded sarcastic. Ford paused and glanced back at him suspiciously; but then he shook his head and kept going.

Bill's smile faded. He made a rude gesture at Ford's back; then returned to his post at the kitchen table to listen to Abuelita's gossip and make sure she didn't touch the poison.

####

(Thank y'all for not pulling out the pitchforks at the end of last chapter lol. If you enjoyed, I'd appreciate a comment or reblog! Thanks! 💕)

[whytheylosttheirminds]

A few questions about Don’t Call Me Kid (my obsession 🤩🤩🤩):

1. What argument did Rafe and Carter have their senior year?

2. Has Rafe really always have feelings for reader? If so, why did he seem to be embarrassed by her when they were in high school?

3. Does Rafe understand reader’s high school experience? Like does he see now how much him being hot and cold to her and the others picking on her made her how she is now?

Omg thank you for these thoughtful questions! Sorry it took me so long to reply, I typed out a whole thesis paper and then my app crashed and I lost it 😩

Gonna put my answers under the cut because there’s some spoilers for the final chapters 🫶

1. There will be a flashback to the argument in chapter 7! It’s a big piece of the puzzle that reader is missing which gives more context to how Rafe really felt about her in high school.

2. I don’t think it’s really a yes or no answer. Part of the reason I like writing for Rafe is that in any universe whether he’s a literal murderer or just an aggravating frat boy, nothing is ever black and white for him, even though he wants it to be. He wants to know if he’s a good person or a bad person, if he’s in love or if he’s not, if he’s making the right choice or the wrong one, but it’s never that simple and he gets frustrated, usually resulting in dumb, impulsive decisions. DCMK Rafe is going to reckon with that in the last few chapters and he’ll be more frustrated than ever that it isn’t so simple. Still I think at the end of the day, yes. He loves her and he always has, but his underdeveloped teenage boy brain was more concerned with being well liked and maintaining an image and at the end of the day, he chose that image over her.

3. I don’t think he does fully. I think he knows she liked him and he was certainly aware that she wasn’t considered “popular” but I don’t think he understands how his actions and the actions of others affected her long-term. He sees her now, self-assured and thriving and he doesn’t fully understand that something else could be going on under the surface (don’t worry, she’ll tell him 🙂‍↕️). If anything I think he’s actually jealous of her for being able to leave it all in her past when he feels like he carries everything around with him like a weight on his back (another trait of Rafe in every universe).

I’m hoping to tie a lot of these loose ends in the final few chapters! Thank you so much for reading and being invested in I these lil characters, they mean a whole lot to me 🙏💖

[inthelibrarybtw]

get to know rafe cameron in you're gonna go far

rafe who is very smart and graduated UNC with a business major. his dad gave him a job at cameron development his senior year of college. he enjoys working there just not with his dad. He has put a lot of effort into the company but his dad usually doesn’t acknowledge it and this has led him to believe he is not worthy of being there but he is. who is super sweet with Wheezie. Also with Sarah or at least he tries to even if he says he can’t stand her. he cares a lot for his sisters even if sometimes he is not the best at showing it to them. He loves his mom a lot and when she passed away it took a heavy toll on how dealt with his own emotions. 

rafe who doesn’t like the pogues, hates them even but the day he met pogue!reader it was like the sunshine entered his life even if he doesn’t like to admit it. getting to know her is one of his unspoken goals, he’s intrigued by her, he doesn’t understand why she is the way she is, she shouldn't be a pogue; she’s too beautiful and pogues can’t make him lose his mind. she doesn’t seem to care about him, and calls him on his shit in front of everyone and that makes him want her more. 

rafe who loves to play golf with his friends or alone. he usually goes with Topper and Kelce to make it more fun. if he goes alone, it means he needs to think or blow off some steam without having people nag him about what’s going on. when he was little, he often went with his mom; it’s the reason why he loves it so much, as it’s a way of maintaining a connection with her.

rafe who has a very strong presence. He is used to people doing what he says or being afraid of him. So when pogue!reader defends her friends from him and challenges him in everything, he can’t help but feel annoyed and drawn to her. It’s refreshing to have someone who isn’t afraid of him; he wants to know her. Not only does she stand against him, but she has something about her that calls to him, though he would never admit it. rafe who loves a good boat day, peace, and quiet. he has his secret place where he goes from time to time; he parks his truck and stays there for hours. no one has been there but him. he likes it that way. he enjoys the quiet unless he wants to party, and then he blasts the music as loud as possible. he likes to smoke weed and get drunk, but never shitfaced. he learned to be better after the number of times he ended up throwing up or not remembering much at frat parties back in college. he has matured, even though sometimes it doesn’t look like it.

authors note: hello again, it took me a while, college is sucking the life and time out of me but i needed you guys to get to know my take on rafe for this fic, im utterly in love with him because i know how the story will go and i promise i'll make my effort to write faster because i want you guys to fall in love with him too. see you soon hopefully

taglist: updated in each chapter and i have a side blog to get updates on everything i write @inthelibrarybtw-notifs

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.*

[hoshologies]

ALL GREEK LOVE, LEE H.

synopsis — you spent the entire summer telling your family that you weren't going to join a sorority. now not only are you an initiated member of delta eta sigma, but you've been elected to the social chair position for you chapter. that's all well and good until heeseung lee, the newly elected social chairman for lambda rho and well-known in the greek community, reaches out to you to start planning runouts between your respective chapters. and now you're spending a lot more time with the cutest boy you've ever met.

genres &&. warnings — romance, fluff, meet-cute, smut, strangers to friends to lovers!au, college!au, greek life!au &&. underage drinking, afab!reader, tipsy sex, dry humping, oral (f!receiving), fingering, overstimulation.

word count — 15.7k.

from the author — not to be totally sorority girl, but the way i see greek life depicted in college au fics is CRAZY. now that i'm back hardcore into my kpop stan era, i rewatched the drunk-dazed mv and was like hmm... so the ultimate plan here was to write heeseung filth but also portray greek life a little more accurately because even if i'm not a huge fan, one thing about me is i'm gonna make sure y'all KNOW that greek life isn't just parties every weekend.

jokes aside, i really hope you enjoy this fic and my first real return to writing. likes, reblogs, and feedback are always welcome. and honestly, if you have any questions about greek life that you just have to know the answer to, i'm an open book.

if you enjoyed it, feel free to buy me a ko-fi!

the entire summer before starting your freshman year of college, you had told your family that you weren’t going to join a sorority. in your mind, there was a specific mold that one needed to fit into to join a sorority and quite frankly, you checked none of the boxes of those stereotypes. 

yet here you sit, months later, in your sorority’s chapter meeting. and you’ve just been elected to the social chair position of the chi nu chapter of delta eta sigma. 

truthfully, you’re not quite sure how you ended up here. you hadn’t formally rushed the week before school, but a couple of drunk girls at a frat party at the beginning of the semester had told you that you should rush their sorority. maybe you’d been a little desperate to branch out or maybe you were just a little curious of what rushing looked like, but a few days later at the student organization fair, you’d found the booth for the sorority the girls had told you they belonged to, delta eta sigma, and signed up for their informal rush.

by the end of october, you had been extended a bid, assigned a big, and promptly initiated into the chapter in what you jokingly referred to as a cult ritual (how could you describe it any other way? all white outfit? candles? promises to not divulge secrets about rituals that happen behind closed doors?).

and now, just three weeks after officially joining the chapter, you’ve ended up on the programming board somehow. you’d gotten a call from the selection board while sitting in the drive-thru of mcdonalds, waiting impatiently for your order of fries and a sprite as a treat for doing well on your gen psych quiz. the girl who’d called you said you’d made “quite the impression” on the sorority since accepting the bid and that they (including the chapter advisor) thought you’d be the perfect fit for the social chair.

“it’s a solo position, so you won’t have a co-chair like community service does, but given your grades so far this semester and the impact you’ve made on the chapter already, we would really love to see what you can do in this position! would you be interested?”

so really, how could you say anything but yes? you still don’t think you fit all that perfectly into the chapter, but they were giving you an opportunity to get involved and to make yourself fit. your name is announced for the social chair, one of your senior pictures pasted up on the powerpoint, and the girls around you smile and snap their fingers. from the executive board seats up front, your big smiles at you, eyes sparkling with something akin to pride.

a few days later, as you’re getting lunch at the student union, your phone screen lights up with a notification from groupme. a name you vaguely recognize is paired with a message that gets cut off after a few words.

heeseung lee: hey! this is heeseung from lambda rho and…

as you sit down with your salad and dr. pepper, you click the notification and read it in full. at the very top of the new message thread is heeseung’s picture and it clicks where you recognize him from. he’s friends with your big and he’s involved in a few of the bigger student organizations on campus, namely the activities board, so you’ve seen him in the student union fairly often.

[1:36 pm] heeseung lee: hey! this is heeseung from lambda rho! i’m friends with liv and she told me that you just got elected as the new social chair for your sorority. i just got slated into the same position for my frat.

[1:36 pm] heeseung lee: i know we won’t start running things until next semester, but i just wanted to reach out and touch base with you. i’m really looking forward to planning runouts with you next year :]

[1:37 pm] heeseung lee: sorry. i hope that wasn’t too weird. i guess i’m just a little too excited and want to get a bit of a headstart on things. have a good day!

you laugh to yourself, shaking your head as you set the phone down to take a bite of salad. before getting involved in greek life, you always assumed sorority girls and frat guys were airheaded and mean, people who peaked in high school, trying desperately to drag those glory days out. obviously since then, you’ve come to realize that while it is true in some occasions, most times, greek life members are the opposite.

heeseung, who you’ve never spoken to before, is proving that.

[1:42 pm] hi heeseung! not weird at all, i promise. and i’m really excited to plan events with you next semester too :]

by the beginning of february, you haven’t done much with your position. granted, the semester has only really been in full swing for about a week and a half and you have two full semesters to do plenty of things, but you’re itching to start planning. the binder you were given after the officer transition ritual has so many good ideas, everything from runouts with frats and sororities to both formal and semiformal.

while you’re brainstorming ideas for potential social events late on a tuesday night, your phone lights up from its spot on your nightstand, the short bell sound ringing out. you reach for it absentmindedly as you finish writing down the idea you had (rent out skating rink??? check budget). since the beginning of the school year, you’ve become desensitized to the groupme icon when it appears in your notifications, so much so that you barely register heeseung’s name upon first glance. it takes a second look for you to realize who’s texted you.

[9:12 pm] heeseung lee: sorry for texting so late. i just wanted to see if you wanted to meet up some time and start on some ideas for a runout?

[9:12 pm] heeseung lee: obviously not now!! but if you’re free some time this week, we could meet somewhere and talk. i spent all of winter break brainstorming stuff, so i’d really like to run it by you if that’s ok.

[9:14 pm] hi again heeseung. i was actually planning on getting lunch tomorrow at the student union after i’m done with class at 11 if you’re free then?

the second you press send, you immediately start second guessing yourself. does it come off like you’re asking him to have lunch with you? because that wasn’t your intention. really, you just meant that you’re going to be on campus proper for a little bit and wanted to offer to meet before you got lunch. not that it would be a bad thing if he asked if you could get lunch together; liv likes heeseung well enough and you’ve seen him around, and he really does seem nothing but nice, so lunch really couldn’t hurt— okay, take a breath. it is not that serious.

you take a deep breath and then let your muscles go lax as you exhale. better. 

it feels like ages pass before he texts back. you’re worried you’ve scared him off, but it really shouldn’t be that stressful. it’s just a text and he’s the one who wanted to meet up in the first place anyways; you just offered a time and location. but finally, your phone dings again and his name lights up your screen.

[9:21 pm] heeseung lee: actually that works perfect!! i get out of class at the same time and usually grab lunch at the u before heading to the activities board office. wanna meet by the dining area next to the office?

[9:21 pm] sounds like a plan!! i’ll see you then!

heeseung, you realize as you set your phone down and put away your binder for the night, is the only social chair of any of the greek organizations who has reached out to you to start getting the ball rolling. he seems to be just as anxious as you are about doing this job well, which makes you feel at least a little validated. nervous and jittery though you may be about meeting him for the first time tomorrow after only having chatted with him over text twice, the idea of him feeling the same as you brings a strange form of comfort. with enough of it, you actually start looking forward to seeing him tomorrow as you lay down to sleep, mind running a mile a minute with what it’ll be like to meet him after all of the things you’ve heard about him from liv. by the time you slip into the embrace of sleep, anxiety has boiled down into anticipation.

at 11:02 the next morning, heeseung nearly scares the hell out of you when he shows up at the designated meeting spot. you’re so invested in your twitter scroll that you don’t notice when he walks up. it’s not until he says a soft “hi” that you jump and almost drop your phone in the process. when you look up, there’s a worried look on his face.

“sorry! i didn’t mean to scare you!” 

after a moment to catch your breath, you shake your head and wave his worry off, though the gesture doesn’t do much to make that worried look on his (undeniably pretty) face. “it’s okay, heeseung. really.”

to really seal the deal, you shoot him a gentle smile, trying to prove that your heart isn’t about ready to give out anymore. you feel blessed when he returns it, all quirked up at the corners and smile lines and soft, plush cheeks. silence falls, the two of you smiling and staring at each other like idiots until heeseung shakes himself out of his stupor.

“anyways…” he clears his throat and moves his gaze towards the food court. “what did you want to get to eat? my treat.”

you look up at him, at the way he’s pointedly not looking at you and instead examining the restaurants just beyond the dining areas. you know, the restaurants that have been the same for the last five years probably and will be here for another five, the ones he’s grabbed food from at least a couple of times since the semester started and even more since the beginning of the school year. 

“you don’t have to buy me lunch, heeseung. it’s-”

he finally turns to look at you again, that same easy smile still pulling his features into a soft form of happiness. “it’s no problem, really. just an act of good faith. all greek love and whatnot, you know?”

you laugh a little at that, conceding but allowing him to choose where he wants to get lunch from since he’s the one paying and you don’t really have a preference. by the time you’re sat opposite each other at a table with meals from the burger stall, your stomach is rumbling. you’re about half of the way through your burger when heeseung looks up from his fries, clearing his throat to get your attention.

“so…” he starts. it’s clear he hadn’t planned what he wanted to say before catching your focus, so an awkward silence settles over him, eyes on you but focused somewhere off behind you like he’s looking through you instead. you tilt your head, lean in close, which snaps him out of the trance and he restarts. “right, ideas for events. i have a binder from the last social chair of my frat with a bunch of things he did during his time.”

“oh! i do, too!” you interject. “there’s a bunch of stuff that the last girl did and then things some of the girls before her did too.”

heeseung’s grin breaks back across his face, bright and warm; you swear, a smile from this boy alone could break up the threatening winter storm currently hanging over campus. “there’s a bunch of good ideas in mine. but i’m not quite sure how well they’d work right now because of the weather.”

“are most of the ideas outside?” you inquire, taking a sip of your soda while he confirms your suspicions. when you put the cup back down, you wave off his concern. “no worries then. almost all of mine are ones that can be inside, so we could go through those if you want!”

heeseung nods and smiles that morning sunlight smile of his, and you can’t move quick enough to pull the thin pink binder out of your tote bag. he clears away some of the trash from the table so you can lay out the binder, intro page on full display. for the next five minutes, the pair of you pore over the pages upon pages of ideas, sleek white cut through with black ink that lists the idea, the locations, how much it costs. 

you’re so invested in going over everything with him that you hardly acknowledge when heeseung stands and moves into the open seat beside you so neither one of you is craning your neck. you simply adjust the binder so you can read through the pages comfortably. it isn’t until heeseung points one out excitedly and you look up in startle that you finally notice that he isn’t a foot away but inches, noses just centimeters apart.

right now, this is the most compromising position you could possibly be in with a boy you hardly know and you find yourself praying that nobody from either of your chapters decides to walk by. of course, neither of you have anything to hide – this is a simple brainstorming session, of course, absolutely nothing more – but liv and your small group of friends would never let you live this down if they saw it.

heeseung clears his throat after seconds that stretch into years and you break your gaze from his painfully (how can you be blamed for staring? he’s that soft kind of pretty that hypnotizes). “um… so i think rollerskating could be fun…”

it is a good event that your sorority has done with the other frats and sororities in the past, one that you were playing around with as a potential plan to pitch to him. the fact that he picked it out on his own accord makes you bristle with something akin to pride, a feeling so warm and comforting it has you leaning just a little closer to him.

let the girls see me, you think as your sweater-clad shoulder brushes against his own. there are worse things they could catch me doing.

“actually… this was one of the ones i was going to suggest if you didn’t find any that you were really interested in…” you say quietly, voice nearly lost in the din of the dining area of the student union.

heeseung looks at you, blinking slow and round and soft, as if each flutter of his eyelids is a moment of his brain processing your words. “really… maybe it’s a sign…?”

his voice is just as soft, matching your energy in one swift go. you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing as you, if he’s feeling that it seems like you’ve known one another forever despite only knowing each other for fifteen minutes max; it seems like your souls themselves are in complete synergy, so why would it be so farfetched to wonder if maybe you knew each other in a different life to have caused that synchrony?

you laugh a little and shrug, shoulder brushing against his softly; the movement is short and sweet, but your heart rises in you like the high tide, washing through your veins with foam and salt and the kind of breeze only the ocean can bring, chill and warm all at once. “maybe so.”

silence settles over the table like sand stirred on the ocean floor, the both of you lost in your own worlds. heeseung has dragged his soda to this side of the table and sips absentmindedly, gaze focused miles beyond the horizon of the hallway. he’s completely checked out when your consciousness wanders back into your body and you take the moment to study him a little: the even slope of his nose, high cheekbones paired with plush skin, long eyelashes that brush the apex of his cheeks when he blinks, a flutter of dark against light. 

there are worse boys you could be caught staring at.

you’re still thinking about your lunch with heeseung hours later, even when you’re out getting your weekly tuesday night ice cream with your big. liv is going on about how her professor for her linguistics class pissed her off during lecture today, but you’re not absorbing a single word of any of it. you remember vaguely that he openly disagreed with her during the lecture and they got into a debate in front of the whole class, but beyond that, you don’t know much else.

“god, he’s just the worst. i can’t believe– alright, you’re in the stratosphere right now. what’s going on?”

you snap back to reality, eyes wide and goosebumps prickling up under the sleeves of your sweater. you shake your head, trying to brush away the conversation she’s trying to prompt, even though it’ll be futile because liv can’t let things go for the life of her. “nothing! everything’s fine, i swear.”

liv’s eyes narrow and a single dark eyebrow quirks up. “yeah, i’m not buying it.”

you glare playfully at her, eating a spoonful of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. when you swallow, you answer with a pointed, “when do you buy anything i say? really, liv. it’s nothing.”

“did someone say something to you? i’m part of panhellenic and on the all-greek council. if someone did something, i can handle it.”

you shake your head earnestly and wave a hand for extra emphasis. “olivia. seriously. nothing happened.”

your big is silent for a few moments, studying you intently. her shady blue eyes, usually wistful and giving the impression of being miles away herself, cut right down to your very bone, as if she’ll find the answer she’s looking for written into your skin or soul, carved into your heart. eventually, she sighs and slumps back against the booth.

“alright, fine. i’ll believe you this time,” she says in a voice that hints at disappointment. “but you’d tell me if someone did say something to you, right? i’m serious about getting things taken care of if someone does something like that to you.”

you smile, reach across the table, rest your hand over her. “yes, liv. i would tell you if somebody treated me badly. you’re the only friend i have who would be willing to go to jail if needed. but i promise the situation doesn’t call for that right now.”

she perks up a little at your words and takes a deep breath, nodding. she’s back to her bubbly self, resuming her rant about her asshole linguistics professor who definitely shouldn’t have tenure. the whiplash her behavior gives you definitely just secured her an award for “most melodramatic” at formal in april (which, fuck you have to start planning that soon too).

you remain checked into liv’s rant, assenting when she asks you for your opinions on this professor who you’ve never met and never plan on meeting, and offering advice when she wants it. but you still find yourself wandering off at times, mind focused on heeseung.

you’re not sure why you don’t want to tell her about meeting with the boy earlier; she’s one of his friends and she’s always spoken so highly about him, so you shouldn’t feel embarrassed. in fact, she’s mentioned in passing a couple of times (mostly when she’s undeniably hammered) that she thinks you and heeseung would make a cute couple, even though she’s never seen the two of you interact, let alone exist in the same room.

but there’s something special about the thirty minutes you shared with heeseung. you met in a public place, sure, but something about it felt and still feels so sacred to you. it’s something you want to keep a secret for at least a little while. that soft sunshine smile and the low tide brushes of shoulders are things that, for now, belong solely to you and heeseung. it won’t kill liv to be left out of the loop for a while.

“do you think we should have it closer to midterms?” heeseung’s voice is pure static, like he’s going through a tunnel, even though there’s only half a campus worth of distance between you.

the two of you have graduated from groupme dms to phone calls over the course of three days. heeseung is saved affectionately in your phone as sseung with the deer emoji, one that you picked out as he sat across from you after you’d exchanged numbers; he doesn’t know about it, but he reminds you often of a deer caught in headlights with the way he stares at you all wide-eyed when you try to catch his attention.

“maybe? but people have to study. i’m not sure how often your guys are in the library, but i see at least thirty girls at the library every single night, so i’m not sure how willing they’d be to give up a night of studying, even if it is only for an hour, that close to midterms.”

heeseung’s small, thoughtful hmm is audible over the speaker and you smile to yourself over a basket of clean laundry. you’ve spent maybe three hours max with him over the last couple of days and already you have a pretty decent grasp on his personality and habits. right now, you can picture the way he likely looks up from his phone or planner and stares off past the beige cinderblock wall of his dorm room, turning possibilities over in his head.

“no, you’re right about that. i didn’t even consider it.”

you shrug as though he can see you, folding a pair of sweats and setting them to the side. “i’d definitely like for it to be soonish though. it doesn’t have to be planned super far in advance, you know what i mean? we’ve still got… what? a month until midterms?”

“i think so, yeah.”

you nod to yourself, hanging up one of your shirts. “okay, so what about two weeks from now? that lands us right in between now and midterms, so it’d be a happy medium.”

he’s silent on the other end of the line and you pause in your hanging of another shirt, worried that he’s thinking you’re stupid. of course, heeseung would never think anything like that about anyone because he’s the sweetheart to end all sweethearts. still, you worry because what this boy thinks of you is ridiculously imperative to your day to day functions.

three days, you remind yourself. you’ve known him for three days. there’s no reason for his opinions to hold this much weight.

you wonder if heeseung knows just how easy it is to like him, to be around him; if he knows just how much you want to see him all the time because he’s completely taken over your every waking thought. liv’s comments about him made in passing never could have truly captured just how amazing he is, nice and caring and so so pretty. you’re almost embarrassed to be this head over heels for him, but when he laughs over the phone or focuses all of his attention on you over a table in the food court, that mortification burns away into something soft and sweet and slow.

“i think that’s a great idea. not too soon, so we can make sure our chapters know it’s happening, but not too late that it disrupts any midterm studying.”

you breathe a sigh of relief and smile to yourself, resting your hands against the lip of the laundry basket. the rational part of your brain knew he was going to agree, but the part of you that so desperately craves his approval was disgustingly terrified that you wouldn’t receive it. now that you have, though, a heat rushes through you, pride warm and bright because you offered a good solution to the minuscule obstacle.

“yeah, exactly!”

you can just imagine the grin on heeseung’s face right now, delicate like freshly fallen snow. the image fills you with the giddiness of a high school girl, glad to be the one to have caused such a beautiful sight. “okay, cool. i’ll talk about it with the executive board, get it approved and whatnot, but i think we should be set, besides who’s paying for what.”

“what do you mean?” you question, brows furrowing as you finish up the last of your laundry.

“what do you mean?” there’s a playful, teasing edge in his voice. “someone has to pay to book the rink and the shoes, and don’t you think there should be snacks?”

“oh… yeah, i guess so.”

“so i was thinking we’d cover the booking and you could cover the food… but only if you’re cool with that! obviously, it’s not a big deal or anything, but i figured we should get that in order too so we can a specific date set and everything.”

“no, no! that works fine for me! i honestly hadn’t thought that far ahead, so it’s a good thing you did.” the line falls silent for a few moments, static crackling softly between you. there’s just something about the idea that you’re so close yet so far from each other, physically distant but holding each other close like this over a quiet cellphone line. it’s comforting to have him like this, you find.

“but yeah…” you break the stillness with your voice soft so as to not completely shatter the tranquility you’ve cultivated here. “that’s… that’s good thinking, heeseung.”

“hanks…” his own words mimic the same volume, nearly lost in the haze of the phone. “so… i’ll run it by the exec board and let you know?”

you hum a quick mhmm and tell him that you’ll do the same. there should be no reason that you’ll be denied, but the fact that liv, seeing as she’s vice president of programming, is part of the exec board and will find out that you’ve been, at the very least, talking to heeseung on a semi-regular basis (see: every day this week since tuesday afternoon) is a little nerve wracking, mostly because you’re ninety-nine percent sure she’s been hinting at trying to set the two of you up.

and when you say hinting, you mean pointing him out on campus or at parties and saying something like “really, i think you two would get along so well! you should go and talk to him.”

she was right about that, but the last thing you need right now is her finding out that you are catching feelings, all without her meddling. but you’ll make peace with the fact because you have to.

liv sidles up to you two weeks later on a thursday night, knit-clad arms crossed over her chest. you don’t even have to look at her to know she’s wearing a smug expression right now. “so…”

you don’t even physically react to her presence, instead choosing to gaze out over the rollerskating rink in your little college town. “so… what, liv?”

she nudges you with her shoulder and leans with her back against the wall separating the rink floor from the carpet of the sitting area. “you and heeseung, huh? i’ve been telling you for ages that the two of you would get along!”

you scoff playfully and roll your eyes, finally turning your head to look at her. “can you not start sentences like that?”

“like what?” she asks innocently.

“like heeseung and i have something going on. all we did was plan one runout together. we’ve only met, like, one time in person.”

you regret the words almost as soon as they leave the tip of your tongue because the second she hears the phrase “in person,” she’s already causing a scene. even though her voice is somewhat drowned out by the music blasting over the speakers, the absolute tenacity with which she gestures with her entire body draws more attention than it should. melodramatic as per usual.

“in person? when was this? and why was i not informed?” the questions liv asks a million times come out more like exclamations than anything else, too caught up in melodramatic distress to adjust the tone of her voice correctly.

you shrug absently, turning your head back towards the rink. heeseung is standing on the opposite side, talking to a few of the guys from his frat. he looks nice in his blue and green sweater and loose jeans, brown hair tousled from the winter breeze outside. “a couple weeks ago. and i didn’t tell you because it just wasn’t that important. we literally only had lunch just to talk about ideas for this.”

liv whines your name and stomps a foot like a child throwing a tantrum. “yeah, but i’m your big. i wanna know these things! and i’ve also been trying to set you two up forever! you didn’t think i’d want to know that you’d finally met him, even if it wasn’t because of anything i’d plan? my feelings are hurt.”

“first, this is exactly why one of the awards for formal this semester is going to be most over dramatic and exactly why you’re going to win,” you start, shaking your head and rolling your eyes. “second, i knew you would want to know, but i also knew this is how you’d react. i didn’t think you’d want to know about us setting up an event together, like… there’s no tea to spill or whatever. it’s just boring stuff. i don’t even know him that well.”

a bold-faced lie if you’ve ever told one; you know heeseung down to the cologne he puts on every morning. and maybe there was a little more to the event planning sessions. at least five times over the past two weeks, heeseung has approached you either in the food court or at the library, and taken the seat opposite of you to chat and study a bit. not to mention, you’ve texted every single day since the two of you officially met for the first time.

but again: nothing liv needs to know. heeseung, for now, is just your little secret. the conversations you’ve shared, the little details you know about him, the sweater he’d given you a few days ago when you’d gotten cold at the library and your own sweater had gotten soaking wet due to rain and your lack of an umbrella, those are your things, special and personal and entirely yours.

“ugh. the two of you are so boring,” liv moans dramatically, tipping her head back. “i hope you hang out more after this, but only if you tell me about it.”

you shrug and glance back across the rink. heeseung has shifted positions, his arms crossed over the railing and by some stroke of luck, he’s looking at you, looking otherworldly under the shifting blue and purple lights. he smiles softly, just a quick phantom of a grin, and the only think you can do is return it with that same gentleness and warmth.

“maybe,” you say, glancing over at liv and then back at heeseung. “i guess we’ll just have to see.”

a week later, you’re sitting in your dorm room on a friday night, finalizing edits for a midterm paper, when there’s a banging at your door fifteen minutes before ten.

“heyyy! let me innn!” liv’s voice is airy and slurred through the door, so you can already guess what she’s here for.

with a heavy sigh, you stand and make your way to the door, opening it and finding your big leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. she’s dressed in her usual party attire: ripped jeans, black tank top, dirty shoes reserved specifically for the sticky basement floors of frat houses. she’s holding a metal water bottle in her hands; you can only guess what she’s mixed in it tonight.

“what’s up, liv?” you ask, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe, even though you don’t need an answer. you hadn’t anticipated her being here, so you’re already decked out in your comfy night clothes, prepared for a night in only. 

“lambda is throwing a party and you’re going with me,” she says peppily, practically jumping up and throwing herself into your room.

“liv-“

she whips around on her heels to face you, eyes glowing in the soft gold of your fairy lights. “no fighting me on this. you’ve been working hard and you need a break. so you’re going to dress like the hot bitch you are and then we’re going to lambda.”

liv is rooted to the spot, though she sways a little on her feet, and makes it known without words that she is not moving until you get ready for this dumb frat party. eager to get her drunken glare off of you, you sigh and nod, closing the door behind you, shutting off your desk light, and moving towards your wardrobe, rifling through the hangers to find a proper outfit.

you’ve been to lambda rho’s house before and it is nothing to write home about… unless, of course, you’re talking about how absolutely filthy the basement is; they have the best sized basement out of all of the frats on campus, but you swear they have never done anything to clean the floor. the first time you went, you’d been having a great time drinking well-mixed jungle juice and dancing to the best songs of the 2010s when you noticed that every step you took sounded like velcro. the floor was so sticky that you were literally having to put pressure behind pulling your shoes from the concrete. it totally killed the vibe.

but the jungle juice and occasional jello shots are great, so you persevere. besides, lambda throws the best parties on campus and you’re clearly the person to trust on party hot takes since you only go back to frats you have a good time at (sorry, sigma pi).

plus, heeseung is in lambda rho and he has to be there since he’s the social chair and all, so… you note that out of the maybe five parties you’ve been to there since the beginning of the school year, you’ve never once seen him. granted, he’s only required to be at any parties hosted while he’s the social chairman, so maybe he just didn’t go to any last semester. or maybe he’s a wallflower like you, choosing to stand on the outskirts instead of in the center of attention.

lost in your haze of heeseung thoughts, you don’t really register that you’ve finished dressing and that liv has sat you down at your desk to fix your hair. somehow, while very much drunk, your big has an easy time styling it. she’s focused intensely on the task at hand, but also manages to carry on a one-sided conversation, not realizing that you’re not responding to her. but when she moves her hands from your head and sets them on the back of your chair, you’re amazed; she’s always been good at styling and fashion (hence why she’s been in charge of the homecoming student org dance and cheer competition every fall for the last two years), but you weren’t expecting her skills to be up to par while buzzed to hell and back.

“there we go, ready to wow heeseung,” liv says matter-of-factly, a proud look on her face. when you glare at her through the mirror, she smiles and shrugs lazily, reaching to grab her water bottle and phone from your desk. “what? he’ll be there tonight and i’ve heard through the grape vine that he might have a little crush on you, so…”

you whip around at her words, hands braced against the back of your chair. something like liquid anxiety prickles under your skin, sending goosebumps across your arms. liv is friends with just about everyone in greek life, so “the grape vine” could quite literally mean anybody, but who did she find that out from anyways? when did heeseung say anything like that? did he even actually say that or is she just deadset on shipping the two of you together until it either happens or falls through?

“what?”

she looks back at you over her shoulder, one hand resting on the doorknob and your dorm keys in the other. there’s a mischievous glint in her dark eyes and your heart drops; how did you get such a schemer as a big? “oh, yeah. i was hanging out at the lambda house the other night with yeonjun. you know? heeseung’s big? and he maybe mentioned something about it. why do you wanna know?”

she sidles back up to you, pulling you out of the chair by your shoulders. “do you maybe… i don’t know… like him back? why are you so nervous?”

you shake your head, trying to will the goosebumps on your arms and lightning in your veins away. you’ve claimed a million times over the last few weeks that there is nothing more going on between you and that boy, no matter how pretty or sweet you might think he is. heeseung is just a friend, someone you just so happened to click really well with and just so happened to plan a really fun event with. there’s nothing else to say about it or the way you get excited when his name shows up on your phone or how your day immediately gets better when he walks up to you at the library without texting you first, your favorite snack and coffee in hand and a smile on his face.

there’s nothing there to unpack. you think.

“i’m not nervous. and i bet yeonjun just misheard heeseung. the two of us are just friends. i’ve told you that a million times and i’m sure he’s said the same thing.”

liv just laughs and ushers you towards the door. “okay, okay… sure, sweetheart. let’s get over there before they run out of alcohol.”

jay, the self-appointed dj for every lambda rho party, is blasting year 3000 by the jonas brothers when you and liv arrive in the basement. there’s already a large group of bodies on the dance floor, but the bar area is still pretty crowded and getting worse. liv links her arm with yours so that you won’t get separated, even though there’s no chance of you getting lost or anything.

the two of you make your way towards the bar where yeonjun is “bartending,” a term he insists on using despite the fact that all he does is pour cups of vibrant red jungle juice. blonde hair hangs over his forehead and his skin is glistening with sweat already, looking weirdly ethereal under the colorful lights that fill the room. when he sets eyes on you and liv, he smiles brightly and leans against the bartop.

“hey, you two! glad you finally showed up!” he shouts over the music. “jungle juice?”

liv nods enthusiastically, mimicking his posture and crossing her arms on top of the counter. “yes please! any chances you have jello shots tonight too?”

the boy looks around before he leans in closer to answer. “don’t tell anyone else, but i made some just for you two since you’re my favorite customers.”

liv rolls her eyes and swats at his bicep, but she’s smiling anyways. “we’re not customers, jun. you’re not even getting paid to do this. when are you gonna stop acting like you’re a real bartender, huh?”

he clenches his hand over his heart and stumbles backwards, feigning pain. “you wound me so, liv. i did something nice for you and this is how you repay me. i can’t believe this!”

but in the midst of his monologue, he bends over to open a mini fridge behind the bar and returns with a couple of jello shots. he tells you to take them here while he gets your drinks and hide them the best you can so nobody gets up in arms that he’s providing something outside of the night’s menu. he’s always been especially nice to you, mostly because of liv and his undying love for her (though platonic or romantic, you’ve never been exactly sure about), so it’s all you can do to thank him and listen to his pleads for secrecy regarding the contraband jello shots. when he’s back above bar, you switch off, him discreetly tossing the small cups in the trash.

liv, finally armed with her precious red solo cup, turns to talk to some other friends, leaving you and yeonjun alone. the music is so loud you can hardly keep your thoughts straight, which is great for keeping your mind off of what liv said earlier, but doesn’t last long when yeonjun leans in ever closer, his cologne enveloping you entirely.

“you should thank heeseung for the jello shots, by the way. i honestly hadn’t even thought to make some for you and liv because i was busy with other stuff, but he asked about making some since he knows they’re your favorite.”

your heart clenches a little at the idea that heeseung wanted to make sure that you had things you liked at his frat’s party. it’s nice to have someone looking out for small things like that, even if it means breaking a rule or two. yeonjun rests his hand on top of your head and pats gently, a knowing look in his eyes.

“listen, i know that you swear up and down the wall that you and him are just friends, but for what it’s worth, he likes you a lot. he just won’t say it. you know him. he’s kinda bad with words. it’s not really my place to make his confession for him, but just… you know. give him a chance.”

you nod dumbly and give him a half-baked smile when he pulls his hand off your head. a few girls walk up, vying for their own drinks, so you take that as your cue to walk away, red solo cup cradled in your hands. any hope of not thinking about heeseung lee has been completely undone by both liv and yeonjun. 

suddenly, you are far too sober.

two hours later, you’re five drinks in, only kept track of by the cups you have in your hand, and you’re feeling pleasantly buzzed. the lights are a little brighter, the music a little louder, liv’s arm hot and grounding around your shoulders. she’s completely gone, despite the fact that she’s only had three cups of jungle juice. she’s serenading you with dancing queen by abba, somehow getting every single word wrong. 

“fuck, i’m way too drunk for this,” she says, breaking off a line in the middle of the second verse. “i’ll sing for you next time. promise.”

you laugh and lean against her, shaking your head. “okay, livvie. sounds good.” you’re content to end your sentence there, but you have an increasing awareness of how hot it’s gotten. the amount of people packed into the basement, especially in the center of the dancefloor like this, has contributed greatly to the heat and you need some time to cool down before it makes you sick. “listen, ‘m gonna get some air. ‘t’s getting really hot.”

liv nods and hugs you to her, voice chipper but slurred heavily. “‘kay! i’ll see you in a few.” she lets you go and breaks out into the next song, somehow worse than dancing queen.

you slip out of the crowd, already feeling a little cooler now that you’ve escaped from the hot press of bodies. standing on the outskirts of the dancefloor, you consider your options. there’s the open window that a cool breeze passes through or the door by yeonjun’s bar, which you know leads directly outside with a staircase up to the back deck. while you initially planned to be within arm’s reach for liv’s sake, your ears are starting to ring from the loud music and the choice is made for you.

you wave to yeonjun as you make your way towards the door. he pauses and leans over to ask you if you’re leaving, looking a little concerned, but you shake your head and tell him what you told liv. and then you tack on the information that she’s incredibly drunk, so he should watch out for her because knowing her, she’ll be tapping out sooner rather than later. he nods in understanding and lets you go, turning back to the two frat guys, jake and chan, that are standing at the bar.

the temperature difference between the basement and outside right now is jarring, but welcomed nonetheless. you carefully traverse the stairs, not quite confident in yourself to take them confidently, seeing as your sight is currently swimming a little and your head is light. getting to the top is a feat and you feel immediately better once you’re on the back deck.

you’re so out of it that you don’t realize you aren’t alone as you lean against the railing, reveling in the way the wood digs into your forearms and the chill bites at you through the sheer long sleeves of your black shirt. you’re still very much buzzed, but you feel a little more clear-headed now that you can hear yourself think.

the sound of your name startles you and you swear you jump ten feet in the air before you whip around, hand against your heart. heeseung is halfway out the back door, a cup in his hand and that deer caught in the headlights expression you’ve come to know well over the last month or so. 

“jesus, heeseung. you scared the shit out of me!” you say, catching your breath and leaning back against the railing.

“i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to!” he finishes stepping out of the house and onto the deck with you, the door swinging shut behind him. he’s so earnest in his apology that you can’t help but smile, dropping your hand and instead taking a sip from your drink that you carried out here with you.

“you have a habit of sneaking up on me, huh?”

he joins you at the railing, leaning against it the way you are, and raises his own cup to his lips (perfect and plush and pink… enough of that). he shrugs as he drinks, wincing when it goes down rougher than he expected. the liquid that sloshes against the side is not the same color as yours, so you can only assume that one of the guys gave him something a little stronger than whatever they threw together for the jungle juice.

“i guess so,” he says through a small cough. “i don’t mean to, if that makes it any better.”

you laugh a little, nudging him with your shoulder. “it’s not a big deal, if that makes you feel better. i think it’s kinda funny.”

heeseung smiles at that and nods, keeping his eyes trained on the drink in his cup. it’s only when you’re committing his side profile to drunken memory that you realize the blush that’s crept up the back of his neck onto his cheeks and the tip of his ears. except, that sober voice inside your head argues it could just be from the cold. 

but neither of you have been out long enough for that to be the case. it’s not even that cold out here, just a little bit chilly. drunk you is having sneaking suspicions, ones that sober you would never entertain, and this is the first time you’re seeing heeseung at one of his frat’s parties, so you might as well take advantage of it all as much as you can.

“yeonjun told me what you did… the jello shots for me and liv, i mean,” you clarify the second you realize how the first sentence sounds without context. “thanks. i didn’t think you were really paying attention to that kind of stuff.”

heeseung turns his head to look at you, eyes a little wide but that soft, perfect smile offsets it nicely. he looks a little surprised that you found out about it, but not upset that yeonjun mentioned it.

“well… i mean, of course i do. that’s kinda… what i do, you know?”

he’s beating around the bush. yeonjun was right; heeseung never talks about his feelings and he sure as hell won’t offer you the words you’re waiting to hear right now. so, drunk you reasons, why is the only way to confess through words? he’s shown you how much he cares, he’s been doing it for weeks now. maybe you were suppressing your own feelings to keep liv off your back about it all, but in doing so, you’ve been diminishing heeseung’s own attempts at telling you. 

this whole thing with him has never been simply friends. love at first sight feels a little much, but you certainly have something between you and you have for weeks on end at this point. maybe it’s time to reward this beautiful boy for being so patient with you.

just as he’s beginning to turn his head away to look back towards the house, you set your cup on the railing and capture his face in your hands. there’s no moment for either of you to process what’s happening, just that one minute there’s a platonic amount of distance between you and the next, your lips are on his and it is warm and unpracticed and still unbelievably perfect. heeseung goes pliant and soft under your touch, his free hand resting gently on the small of your back. his fingers curl gently into your shirt, tethering himself to you. his other hand is still grasping his solo cup and you find yourself wishing he’d just drop the damn thing, even if it means the both of your shoes get soaked in whatever he’d been served (whiskey, you’d guess, from the smokey taste on his tongue).

he’s the first to pull away, eyes still closed for moments after. his breaths come shallow and his cheeks have gone impossibly red, his hand still against your back. you study him from this angle, closer than you’ve ever been, and somehow, you’re finding him prettier than ever before. maybe it’s the alcohol talking or the sudden lovesickness for him, but you don’t care because you finally kissed heeseung lee and left him breathless.

“what- um… what was that for?” he asks quietly, eyes fluttering open. his pupils are blown wide and awestruck (you think that’s the right word in your jungle juice induced haze).

you shrug, inching yourself a little closer towards him. he turns to meet you so your bodies run parallel to each other and finally sets his offending cup on the railing next to yours. “got tired waiting for you t’make a move.”

he makes a sound in the back of his throat and turns his head to look elsewhere, as if looking at you might make him drop dead. any doubt you had from earlier in the night that he’d told yeonjun that he liked you is swept away in a single moment; he can deny it all he wants now, but you already know the truth, so what’s the point?

“liv told me that she heard through the grape vine that you liked me…” you say softly, voice trailing off into the muffled sounds of a kesha song blasting in the basement. “is that… true?”

you watch as he draws a deep breath, squeezes his eyes closed, steels himself for whatever answer he’s about to give. with all your liquid courage now, confessing might not have been a big deal, but you know that if you’d been sober, it would be just as hard as this. but you swear you saw him drinking jungle juice down in the basement an hour and a half ago, and now he’s drinking something stronger, so he must be so naturally shy that not even alcohol can wipe it out.

finally, he lets his breath out and focuses his attention on you again, his eyes soft and pleading. don’t break my heart. please.

“yeah… yeah, i got a little drunk last weekend and told yeonjun that i thought i had feelings for you when he got me back to my dorm. i’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable or if it ruins our friendship. i j–”

you kiss him again, hot and heavy and full of longing and words you don’t dare voice because you’ve liked him for a long time too; you were just too afraid to admit it to yourself. but now he’s spilling his heart out and you’d rather walk barefoot through broken glass before you let him go on thinking for a second longer that his feelings aren’t reciprocated tenfold.

you step impossibly closer, your bodies pressed tight and heavy, the seam unbreakable. heeseung’s hands (both thank god) rest on your waist, holding you close. he bristles under your touch as you leave one hand on his shoulder and the other sneaks around to the nape of his neck, fingers curling into the fine, soft hair there. your nails scratch lightly against his scalp and his chest shudders against yours, some small, refined gasp of approval passing from his mouth to yours as he takes his turn to kiss the breath out of you.

it’s a tiny noise, barely noticeable, barely passing as a soft breathy moan. but you hear it and it’s embarrassingly enough to have your knees going a little weak. well, it’s not just that minuscule noise; it’s everything, it’s the way heeseung’s lips move against your own with an uncharacteristic amount of surety, the way his fingers have slipped under your shimmery black top (a “donation” from liv’s closet last homecoming), the way you can feel his body coming alive under your attention. if this is going where you think it’s going, the dreams you’ve been having about him at least once a week since you first met are about to come true.

heeseung is the first to break away again, but he looks less nervous than the first time. no, this time he looks flushed and tousled and so attractive it should be illegal. when he shifts his weight from his left to right foot, his body brushes against you and the heat of him is unmistakable. even if you couldn’t feel it, you can see the way his eyelids flutter and feel the way his chest shudders against yours. you can’t help yourself; you need him.

“come back to my dorm,” you whisper breathlessly, words manifesting physically in a cloud of fog. “please.”

the boy squeezes his eyes shut again, looks up towards the sky, draws that deep breath he’s so fond of right now. you almost back out, almost say it was a joke; he just confessed his feelings and you kissed twice, so maybe it’s all a little much for him. you really like him and you don’t want to scare him off; besides, what you’re feeling right now is nothing you can’t take care of on your own back in your dorm room. just as you’re about to tell him that he can say no, he’s seemingly talked himself up enough because he looks down at you, smiles, kisses you on his own accord, and then takes your hand.

“lead the way,” he says.

you and heeseung stop at least five times on the way back to your dorm room to makeout, giggling into each other’s mouths as he presses you against a tree on the greens or as you pull him into the pools of darkness between streetlamps. every moment has him growing more confident, more certain that this isn’t just a hookup or a dream.

somewhere along the way, you text liv and tell her that you’re heading home because you’re not feeling well. it’s not farfetched, seeing as you’d broken away from her in the first place because you were feeling too hot. what happened between your departure and when the text is sent is entirely irrelevant right now. what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her and she’ll hear about it sooner rather than later anyways. 

it takes you maybe a full twenty minutes to reach your building, a feat considering how drunk you are and how obsessed you’ve been with heeseung for the last half hour. you fully expected it to take longer, but now, you stand under the golden glow of the entry to your dorm building, heeseung unlocking the door for you because you’re a little too gone right now and unwilling to take your hands off him,standing next to him, your arms hugging his free one while you lean your cheek against his shoulder. he fumbles with the key, muttering about how they should change to a keycard system instead, but he gets it eventually and you’re in.

after that, it’s practically a mad dash up to your dorm room on the third floor. your hand is twined tight around heeseung’s as you lead him up the stairs, too impatient to take the elevator right now. somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re glad that you took the time to clean your room today after class; heeseung will see a polished side of you, one that puts laundry away as soon as they’re out of the dryer, one that has glowing golden fairy lights above the window that gild your room in warmth, one that leaves books and binders stacked neatly in the shelf on your desk. not that he’ll be paying attention to any of it anyways, what with the way you can feel his cock pressing incessantly against you as you unlock your bedroom door, hot and straining.

agonizing seconds stretch into what feels like even more agonizing hours, but eventually, you get the door unlocked and guide him inside, stepping into the glow of your string lights that you’d left on before you left. you don’t even have to turn yourself around to look at him because he does it for you, turning you by your waist, pressing you fast against the back of the now-closed door.

his mouth is on yours in an instant, tongue swiping over your bottom lip, no doubt tasting the fruit punch yeonjun had added to tonight’s jungle juice recipe concoction. his hands are on your waist, curling hot into your skin, black mesh of your shirt scratching against you. it’s nice, how respectful he’s being right now, still ever the gentleman he’s been for the last month, but you don’t want nice and respectful right now. you’ve had literal dreams about this since you met him, driving your attraction to him higher with every one; you want mean and messy and rough, and that’s what you’ll get if it’s the last thing you do.

so in a bid to urge him towards where you’re really hoping this night goes, you grab at one of his wrists and drag his hand up to your chest, pressing his palm against your breast. you can feel his breath hitch against you and you smile into the kiss because how can he still be so shy when he’s kissed the breath out of you at least five times in the last forty-five minutes? either way, he gives a tentative squeeze and it feels mind blowingly good; you’ve never been one to really care much about attention focused on your tits, but heeseung makes it feel like maybe you should.

you get lost in the feeling of his lips on yours, one of his hands kneading at your chest, the other slowly slipping under your top, rough fingertips drawing up and down the skin of your stomach, so far gone that you don’t notice the thigh he’s slotted between your legs until he grinds it up against you. it’s sudden and so well-earned, some much needed friction that you’ve been craving since that second kiss on the deck in lambda rho’s backyard. he does it a second time, the hard plane of his thigh coming up hard against your clit, and your knees buckle a little, dropping you further onto him. you moan sweetly into his mouth, tilting your head back against the door as the hand on your waist works your hips against him with a scary but uncharacteristic practiced certainty. he takes the absence of your mouth against his to trail kisses on your neck, his teeth dragging along the sensitive skin, nipping and leaving love bites in his wake.

a well aimed grind of your hips, guided singularly by the boy in front of you, has you falling forward against his chest, your forehead pressed into the junction between his shoulder and neck. you keen against him in frustration, the crest rising but not breaking, no matter how hard to try to get it to.

“seung,” you cry against his skin, fingers curling tight into his sweater. “need more please.”

you almost sob in relief when you feel him nod against your neck, more so when you notice his own hips are stuttering against your leg that is bracketed by his. it’s enough to make you moan, the idea of him needing it just as much as you that he’s trying to hold himself back from getting off on your thigh too.

pressing your palms flat against his chest, you guide heeseung backwards in the direction of your bed (which you’re very suddenly glad you haven’t lofted). when the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, he makes quick work of kicking his shoes off and then scrambling up so that his back rests against the wall. you follow suit, toeing off your party shoes and crawling onto his lap where he’s waiting patiently, his eyes wide and the browns of his eyes drowned out by his pupils. he’s breathing hard, chest heaving.

he looks up at you as you situate yourself, his hands coming to rest on your waist again. the expression on his face is nothing short of worshipful, like you’re a deity here to wrench your well-earned respect from his hands. and he is clearly ready to hand it over without a single fight. he guides you down onto him and you follow his hands willingly, your thighs straddling his and your clothed cunt just barely grazing against his hard-on until you settle down completely in his lap, not a centimeter of distance between you. the friction and pressure have both of you gasping wordlessly and heeseung tugs desperately at your hips. you fall into him, arms around his neck and pulling him to meet you halfway, lips locked once more. you give a tentative roll of your hips and heeseung moans into your mouth, just the reaction you were anticipating.

“fuck,” he moans the second time you do it. “you’re so good.”

you’re already hot, seared through to the bone, but you feel yourself go even warmer under heeseung’s praise. you’ve imagined this a million times over the last few weeks, but nothing could ever compare to the real thing. you kiss him harder, breathe him in deep to prove to yourself that this is real, that heeseung lee is under you right now, bucking his hips up into you and matching your movements, about to make you come just from a little bit of dry humping. it would be embarrassing if you weren’t both half-gone and ridiculously desperate.

you continue to rut against him, panting hot and heavy into his mouth as he swallows every single moan and whimper you let out just to return them tenfold, his hands working you over him with a rushed ease. every roll of your hips is met with his own presses upwards. he’s working you higher and higher with each move, closer to the precipice, and while you’ve never before thought you’d find yourself in a position like this, if heeseung makes you come without taking a single item of clothing off either of you, then so be it.

as if he’s read your thoughts, he presses you back and away from him. you open your eyes for the first time in minutes and take him in: messy hair, flushed cheeks, bruised lips. no wet dream could have ever prepared you for how beautiful he looks right now.

but no matter how pretty you think he is in this moment, the sudden absence of friction has you whining loudly, pitched high and tight. when you speak, your voice trembles out of frustration. “heeseung, why’d you stop?”

he sucks in a breath and moves to push at your shoulders some more. “don’t- fuck- don’t wanna come yet, not like this.”

if you weren’t already so fucked out, you would have giggled, but right now, you just feel exasperated. he’s right; you don’t want to come like this either, but you’d also come to terms with it because it would mean that you would at least be getting the release you’re so desperately craving. and that’s been ripped away from you, at least for the moment. but when he looks up at you again, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes still wide with need, you fold immediately.

“tell me what you want.” he’s practically begging you and it sends a thrill through you, liquid lightning straight to your heart. “please.”

and how can you deny him when he’s asked you so sweetly or when you’re just as needy as he is? at this point, whatever he’d offer, you would take gladly. he’s gazing at you now, waiting anxiously for an answer, not that you have a set one; you want him in any way he wants you, nothing else matters more than that. but you take in his swollen lips and lithe fingers and your mind is off to the races.

“i-” you start, but stumble over your words. you’d been incredibly forward when you’d kissed him first, but you’ve lost all of that fire now. you can’t bring yourself to ask for what you want, even though you’re certain he’d do anything you’d ask of him.

“c’mon,” he coaxes, fingers kneading into your shoulders to ground you. “whatever you want.”

the sound of his voice is earnest, nothing short of honest, and it makes you want to trust him more than anything. so you do. you draw in a steadying breath and curl your hands into his sweater as you work yourself up to it.

“will you-” another breath. “would you eat me ou-”

“yes,” he immediately answers. you don’t even get a chance to finish the question. “fuck. i thought you’d never ask.”

he moves his hands to cup your face and pulls you into him, kissing you sweetly, his nose bumping against yours. the minuscule break in sexual tension, while in most situations would be a mood killer, is nice because it just further cements that this isn’t some random one night stand; you want to see him every day for the rest of your life after this, if he’ll let you.

somewhere between the kiss and when he breaks away from you, he’s maneuvered you so that you’re laying back against your pillows. you’ve also managed to discard your shirt (thank god, the glitter and mesh combo was starting to irritate your skin something fierce) and he’s working to get your pants off, fingers fumbling with the button; it’s as frustrating as it is adorable and he swats your hands out of the way when you reach down to help him, deadset on doing it himself, which he does manage (eventually, after a few incredibly long moments). you help him shimmy down your jeans and panties by lifting your hips a little and then you are inarguably bare in front of him, a position you’d never imagined you would be in.

and maybe heeseung is a little wonderstruck too because for a few long seconds, he sits there and stares at you in all your naked glory (or nearly naked glory, seeing as you haven’t taken your bra off yet, but he doesn’t seem to mind). you’re starting to get a little bashful and have to nudge him with a bent knee to pull him out of his stupor. he’s impossibly red at the tips of his ears as he murmurs a sweet apology that comes accompanied by a “you’re just so pretty.”

before you can muster a reply, he’s situating himself between your legs, hands pressing softly against your inner thighs to draw them apart, set eyes on his real destination. you lift your head just a little bit, watching as his eyes widen as he takes all of you in, his breath hot against your folds. his fingers curl tight into the soft skin of your thighs and you whimper at the sting, equally painful as it is exhilarating. he makes an indistinguishable groan in the back of his throat before he’s completely devouring you.

plenty of your wet dreams about the boy between your legs right now have included this very scenario: his nose bumping carelessly against your clit, a suddenly confident tongue making a show of licking up all of your arousal, your thighs already trembling. but they never could have prepared you for the actual thing because he’s giving you what is quite possibly the best head you’ve ever had.

heeseung is eating you out like a man starved, it’s absolutely obscene. his tongue works you up fast, every little moan he lets out only contributing. somewhere in the midst, he says something that sounds like “you taste s’good,” but his words are drowned out by your own moans and the sound of his mouth working you over. every pass of his tongue over your folds is as close as you’ve ever gotten to heaven, but you’re lacking something to really shove you over that precipice; and now you know heeseung is so whipped he’ll do anything you ask him to.

“seung,” you gasp out breathlessly, untangling one hand from your comforter so you can wind your fingers into his hair. he looks up at you, doe eyes big and wide and glimmering with his eyebrows drawn together, a questioning look without pulling away to speak. you’re about to ask him when his nose bumps hard against your terribly sensitive clit and your word breaks off before the first syllable can even leave your lips. “fuck— seung, can you— can you add your fingers?”

you’re not quite used to asking for what you want, at least verbally; maybe it’s because any previous partners weren’t keen on getting you to verbalize, maybe it’s because they never particularly cared and just did what they thought was good. but heeseung is pliant and willing to please in any way he can, so you feel less embarrassed this time around because he’s made it entirely clear that your pleasure is his main priority.

he doesn’t nod, doesn’t say anything, just closes his eyes again and goes back to work. you almost think he either didn’t hear you or is straight up ignoring you before you feel it. he pulls his hand from your right thigh slowly, letting his fingertips drag lightly against your skin; the menace is teasing you, where did that come from? but you don’t even have much time to internally complain about him holding out on you because he’s suddenly slipping two fingers into you, long, deft limbs that expertly seek out that spot inside you. he presses against it once, twice, three times, each one drawing out a whine from you.

it’s just what you need, the extra friction pushing you up that incline, closer and closer to the dropoff. when your back arches off the bed and your thighs close around his head, boxing him in against your pussy, heeseung knows he’s got you right where you want to be and then he doesn’t let up. it’s an onslaught of pressure, four different points of sensation, and you’re on the verge of tears. he’s making a complete mess of you, utilizing all he can to get you over that edge. you’re whining his name like it’s the only word you know, “yes” and “fuck” and “oh my god” getting lost in your slurred speech; he’d be evil incarnate if he denied you what you’re so beautifully begging for.

he presses incessantly at that spongy place inside you, nose bumping against your little bundle of nerves, moans growing more frequent, all while his tongue tries to catch every single drop of arousal. and then there you go, ecstasy taking over like liquid heat in your veins. his name sounds like pure euphoria on your tongue, mixed with your moans and whines. he thinks he could come just from this alone, your cum in his mouth and your thighs pressed tight around him, but he holds off because there’s only one place he wants to leave his release (if you’ll let him, that is).

“shit.” 

you sound fucked out, completely gone and heeseung swears he’s never heard anything sexier. you tug at his hair a little bit, feeling completely overstimulated but still so good, a shock to your system as he pulls his fingers out of you and lets his tongue work over you just a little bit longer (to make sure you’re clean, he reasons to himself). 

eventually, he does pull away and you have to fight the urge to whine again. his eyes are unfocused and glossed over, his chin practically dripping in your arousal. hell, his tongue darts out to get the last little bit of your cum at the corner of his lips and you nearly orgasm all over again.

“was it good?” he asks softly and you barely hold yourself back from laughing. he just made you come harder than any previous partner ever has, given you the best head in the world, and he’s asking you if it was good? he’s insane for thinking it was anything short of perfect.

but you don’t say that. you reach for his sweater, fingers curling tight into the cotton and tugging him down towards you. he catches himself by his hands, his arms bracketing you easily, before he completely crashes into you. there’s a long moment where he just stares down at you, lovestruck and pretty, before he lowers himself to kiss you. you can taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue, and you moan a little bit, feeling a little embarrassed, but one of his hands moves from its place on the mattress to cradle your cheek and that alone drives it away. 

one of your arms sneaks over his shoulder, your fingers tangling into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, while the other sneaks under his sweater, the shirt he wears underneath until the tips of your fingers brush the soft, pliant skin of his stomach. you can feel the gentle ridges of abs and a small piece of you shivers with giddiness. regardless, you enjoy a few seconds of running your fingers over his stomach before you push a little more incessantly at the offending pieces of material. he takes it for what it is: a plea to get rid of the clothes. after all, it’s not fair that you’re almost entirely undressed and he hasn’t taken a single article off.

you watch dazedly as heeseung sits back onto his heels, your eyes following his arms as he crosses them over himself, grasps at the hems, pulling them over his torso, his arms, his head before they land haphazardly on the floor next to your bed. every inch revealed to you makes your mouth water, his skin taut and soft and glowing in your fairy lights. you can’t help but remind yourself that dreams and an overactive imagination could never live up to the real thing because he’s very much the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

you’re entirely prepared to continue your makeout session, but heeseung seems to have other ideas because once his tops are discarded, he begins making work of his jeans. you make a soft noise in the back of your throat when you realize what he’s doing and he looks up at you, fingers stilling at his belt, his eyes wide.

“is something wrong?”

he sounds so sincere, it kind of makes you want to cry. but you shake your head earnestly, propping yourself up on your elbows so you can look at him better. “no, no! everything is fine. i guess i just wasn’t expecting you to take your pants off so soon.”

he quirks an eyebrow at you and dons that pretty little smile of his, teasing but not really. “well, you’re almost completely undressed. figured it was only right that i do the same, y’know?”

and you laugh a little because it’s true and because he’s just so cute, he laughs too, soft and quiet. you generally think sleeping with someone is fun, but you’ve never had as much fun as you are right now. maybe it’s because it’s with heeseung and you like him so much already, so the playfulness comes easy; it doesn’t feel tense the way it has with others.

so you watch him handle his belt, the button on his jeans, the zipper. you watch, mouth watering once more, as he slips out of them, leaving his boxers, which have a dark wet patch on them. the sight alone would make you groan, but you can see the outline of his cock and you almost lose it completely. so you decide to resume the impatient act because you are still very much so; as cute as the playful routine is, you haven’t forgotten the exhilarating rush of trying to get to your dorm as fast as possible and the unpracticed fumbling that’s followed since then.

you reach for him and he doesn’t hesitate, letting you pull him on top of you by his shoulders, fitting your mouths together in a messy kiss, all teeth and tongues. your hands are in his hair again, his own slide underneath you to make work of your bra, unclasping it and then pulling the straps away from your shoulders, down your arms, making you let go of him for a quick few seconds so that he can pull it off completely and toss it god knows where in your room.

you’re distantly aware that you’re entirely bare to him now, but his mouth is working at your throat, dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin of your neck (he is strangely good at distracting you, you’re learning), so you don’t feel as shy as you did just a handful of minutes ago. either way, he’s sucking hickies into your shoulders, your collarbones, any skin that has a little bit of give to it that lets him leave love bites in his wake. so lost in the haze, you realize a little too late that he’s working his way towards your chest, but it doesn’t even matter, not when he has one hand kneading at one and his mouth at the other, tracing lines over your skin to quell the sting of each pinch, each little nip of teeth. your nipples pebble under his attention and while this never usually does much for you, you still find yourself getting antsy because it’s heeseung. everything he’s done for weeks has gotten you worked up, why would that stop now?

it doesn’t help that he’s grinding against you, his hips canting against your own for any semblance of friction. your arousal is no doubt contributing to the wet patch on his boxers and the idea of it almost has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. his cock feels hot and heavy against your folds, the head bumping against your clit, and all of it feels so delicious that you let out a crisp, high whine, twining your fingers into heeseung’s soft hair and tugging gently.

he pulls himself away from your chest and when you look at him, you almost moan. his lips are swollen, slick with spit, and his gaze has gone misty. he looks at you expectantly, blinking slow and lips pouted as he waits. you’re not even sure what you want from him right now, at least nothing specific because you want everything from him. you’re about to tell him to go back to doing what he was originally because it did feel good, but then he lands a particularly well-timed grind against you and you’re gasping.

“fuck,” you whimper, tossing your head back a little. your fingers tighten in his hair and from somewhere south of you, he laughs a little, light and easy and airy.

“that what you want from me?” he questions, pulling himself up over you, catching your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. in any other situation, it might come off as intimidating and teasing, but heeseung is all doe-eyed and halfway to heaven right now, so it comes off more desperate to please than anything. either way, you nod. “all you had to do was ask. you know that.”

you nod and pull him down to kiss you by the fingers you have twisted in his hair. he groans against you, moving his hand from your chin to your jaw, angling you just so. somewhere in the kiss, you murmur a soft, “seung, i want you,” and he groans a little, nodding against you. he pulls away and you chase after him, but he’s sitting up, moving lightning quick to get his boxers off, abandoned somewhere on the linoleum floor with everything else.

and then it hits you that you’re both completely bare. you lean back on your elbows, looking him over once more, though your focus lingers mostly on the skin newly revealed to you. his thighs are toned and sturdy, the skin plush, and while you’d love to stare at them a little bit more, your attention is quickly drawn to his dick. it’s big, the head an agitated red and leaking precum, and your mouth is watering at the thought of getting him in your position and giving him the best head of his life.

you actually start to move to do so, but heeseung anticipates it and moves quick, pressing you back into your mattress. his dark doe eyes are drowning in desire and you shudder under his gaze. he’s on you again instead, hips melded to yours in your nth kiss tonight. he’s got his weight rested on one elbow beside your head while his other arm is free to move around, his hand tracing from your shoulder, your chest, smoothing across your stomach. 

his fingers eventually land on your thigh, curling into the soft inner flesh, and he hikes it up around his waist before dropping his hand to his cock. his lips trail from your lips to your neck and shoulders, nipping at the skin as he jerks himself off. you toss your head back against your pillows, whimpering at every little graze of his teeth against your skin. 

but what’s really driving you crazy is the heat of him against you. the head of his cock bumps against your clit, this time with no fabric barrier separating them, and you’re not sure if heeseung is even meaning for the touch, but it has you feeling hot all over again, slick leaking out of you again. you’re getting impatient, heel pressing hard into his lower back and your fingernails biting into the flesh of his biceps.

“heeseung,” you whine out, canting your hips up against his; you hear him suck in a breath through clenched teeth, a hiss of air. “need you.”

he shivers against you, a teary whimper of “need you too” granted in return as he pulls his face from your neck so that he can watch you as he finally gets to what you’ve wanted since this whole thing started. on a short teasing streak, he taps the head of his cock against your clit and you whine, turning your head into your pillow and curling your fingers into his arms, which earns a laugh.

“stop playing,” you tell him, rolling your hips upwards and into him.

he hisses again and bites at his bottom lip, nodding. he slips from your clit to your entrance and even just the little shred of pressure you get has you wanting to moan out for him. but then he starts pressing in all the way, slipping into your cunt with ease and you are not prepared for just how full you feel. your back arches and he lets off a tempered moan, stifled through a lip bite. when he bottoms out, his hips flush with your own, you release a breath as you adjust to the size of him, which doesn’t take long.

“seung,” you drawl, grabbing his attention. “move please.”

and he does as you bid, pulling out before he thrusts back in. it takes a few moments for him to find a pace that works, but when he does, it’s perfect. his hips roll against yours delectably, the sounds of skin meeting skin and your shared moans filling the small dorm room. he’s shored up over you, one elbow pressed deep into the thin mattress holding him up, and when your eyes aren’t squeezed tight in ecstasy, you watch the way he bites his lip, furrows his eyebrows, shudders as you clench around him.

“god, you’re s’tight. feels so good,” he whimpers at one point, his head hanging over your own as he tries to keep a steady pace. his words are shattered, breaking off in the middle or slurred together, a verbal manifestation of how you physically feel.

one thrust hits that just right spot inside you and you can’t hold but moan loudly, back arching off the mattress and your head pressing into your pillows. heeseung inhales sharply above you as you clench tight around him and then, with you still keening, you feel him sit up, taking his warmth with him. his hands are on your hips seconds later and he’s angling you, doing everything in his power to replicate it again and again.

“fuck, i’ve wanted this for so long,” he says, one hand on your thigh and the other working deft fingers on your clit. he’s a quick learner it seems because all of it is coming together to whisk your orgasm closer, a wave of white heat washing over you. “saw you at my frat’s halloween party ‘nd thought you were so pretty. woulda come up t’you that night if i knew you felt this good.”

your breath hitches more than it has all night and you cant your hips upwards in an attempt to meet his thrusts. somewhere in the midst of your pleasure, you tell him you’re going to come and he nods fast, fingers going into overtime to get you there. that knot inside you winds up tight and then snaps like a rubber band stretched too thin, hot and fast. your pussy locks around his cock and then he’s there above you, bracing himself with his hand, to swallow the particularly sharp whine of his name you let out and any stray too-loud moans that might slip away and wake the neighbors (as if you haven’t already).

when your vision finally clears and your thighs stop trembling, his hips are still snapping into yours to seek his own release, pushing you into the territory of overstimulation, but any pain you have bleeds into pleasure until you can’t tell which is which; the only thoughts you can manage are that heeseung feels heavenly inside you that it’s almost blinding and you don’t know if you even really want him to stop. 

but his hips begin to stutter, his cock twitching against your fluttering walls, and you faintly register that he’s about to pull out of you. blindly, your hand searches for any part of him to pull him back over you, legs locking around his waist. he protests, some flurry of words about how he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable (not a single one intelligible), while you whine and pull him towards you by his shoulder.

“wanna feel you, seung,” you say, a limp arm winding around him and inching him closer until your noses are brushing and you can feel his breath fanning across you, still smelling faintly of his alcohol from earlier. “don’t worry about it, ‘kay? y’said you’d do anything, so please. i wanna feel you s’bad.”

that seems to be enough to egg him on because he nods and you catch him in a messy kiss before he groans against your lips as he finally comes. he lands a few more sharp thrusts that have you whining, fucking his cum into you, before he finally falls still. his breath is hot on your shoulder as he recovers.

usually, once you’re done, your select partner of the night pulls out, maybe cleans you up, and then leaves. it’s been a while since you’ve had someone who wants to stay (at least, you hope heeseung wants to stay) and you’re not quite sure where to go from here. there hadn’t really been much discussion about where your relationship was going to lead after this, even with all of the lingering glances on campus and your impromptu study sessions at the library, so you’re worrying a little about what comes after.

stuck in your own head, you don’t even notice that heeseung has pulled his head from your shoulder and is looking at you until his thumb works your bottom lip out from beneath your teeth and then wipes away some of the sweat at your hairline. the furrow of his eyebrows carve deep lines into the space between them as he studies you, looking like an angel with the way the fairy lights strung up above him give him a faint golden halo.

“what’re you thinking about?” he asks softly, brushing his fingers across your cheek. it’s a wholly different energy than just a few minutes ago, but the change isn’t unwelcome.

you shrug, blinking up at him and reaching to push some of his hair out of his eyes, the strands matted to his forehead with sweat. “just wondering what we do now, i guess.”

heeseung’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles a little, his shoulders shaking with a breathy little laugh. you almost punch at his shoulder for laughing at you when he cranes his head down to kiss you gently, the first that isn’t rushed in some way. he nudges your nose with his when he pulls back just a little bit.

“can we worry about all the big stuff later?” he questions; you feel the words as much as you hear them, his lips barely brushing your own as he says them. “for now, how about we clean up first and then… i’m hungry. are you?”

it’s your turn to laugh, but you nod. you’re still a little drunk, your however many cups of jungle juice compared to his measly one whiskey.

“so we clean up and then go get taco bell? it’s, like, the only fast food place still open at this hour.”

“you do know that the line is gonna be insane, right? like, half of campus goes there after getting drunk.”

heeseung lets another quiet laugh loose and sits up, pulling you up with him and then into his lap, his dick still snug inside you. the feel of it doesn’t wind you up again like you thought it might, but it’s a nice reminder that he’s here, that this all actually happened. he rests a hand on your thigh and lets his thumb trace lines into the skin there absently.

“then i guess we’ll have time to talk about what you wanna do now,” he says sincerely, the smile on his face soft.

you have so many words you want to say, a million sentences tornadoing in your head right now, all jumbled up and lacking any sense of coherency. so instead, you cup his cheeks in your hands and return the kiss from just a few moments ago. he meets you halfway, all soft and pliant and giving, everything you could have dreamed up.

“wanna shower?” you ask when you pull away, giggling when he chases after you for another kiss. “feel like it might be a little more effective than a rag.”

the boy raises an eyebrow and eyes you suspiciously. “you tryin’ to go for a round two? because that’s what it sounds like right now.”

you push at his shoulders and laugh when he catches your wrists in his hands, pulling you into a third kiss. “wasn’t my intention, but i won’t turn down the idea.”

“i’ll think about it,” he responds as he taps at your hips and lifts you off of him. his seed starts to leak out with his cock no longer there to hold it in and you feel incomplete without him, but when he stands and offers you a hand to help you out of bed, suddenly the feeling of emptiness isn’t as oppressive.

you teeter across your room, opening the wardrobe to pull out the two towels you have and your shower caddy. heeseung accepts the towel you extend to him graciously, wrapping it around his waist. when you’re done securing your own towel, he’s already waiting for you by the door, one hand on the knob and the other reaching out towards you once you get close enough to him. and then you’re two people walking down the hall hand in hand, wrapped in matching pink towels towards the unisex bathroom. it’s a little unconventional, maybe, but you don’t think you’d have it any other way.

liv probably would though, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. heeseung’s your little secret after all.

© hoshologies 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

[itsthedreamon]

In the horrific desert wasteland that is tumblr sometimes, your wolf man takes and aus are an oasis. They’re great and I’m always happy to see them.

Sniffles…. I’m a beautiful desert oasis…. Oh you are so kind!! I am serious that schoolwork does take up most of my drawing time but come the summer I will be more free to do what I want, and I want to make more content for aus and general wolf man-isms. Again I don’t know where this rot comes from but it’s part of my identity now, lmao

BUT I can dedicate some time to talking about my imagination so far, including.. foooour aus? Ish? I feel like I’m missing one. Whatever. The rot consumes, I hope you like these lil summaries 👉👈

First I got 1A & 1B, or two versions of Blake Lives aus, teehee

1A — Based on canon movie rules, in which Blake’s transformation is irreversible so he’s just stuck like that lmao.

Charlotte returns to the farm shortly after the events of the movie to bury Blake in the valley he loved. However, as she moves his body, he wakes up. The plot follows Charlotte’s experiences as she journals about Blake’s behavior, if he’s still ‘there,’ if communication is possible, what this all means for her & Ginger… And if she was heard on the CB that night.

The story spans for just that one summer—it’s that five chapter story I’ve been working on! I’ll definitely keep at it when the summer hits, it feels fitting anyway. And I’m keeping this one more vague because SPOILEEEERS I’m not revealing allat

1B —Based on more loose werewolf rules, this one isn’t tooooo crazy because it’s also based off of @missridingwolf ‘s Blake Lives au, where Blake is found & taken to the hospital as a John Doe. I have ideas for a greater plot but only with Wolf’s permission shall I post stuff! (Bats my eyelashes at you, friend)

2 — High School AU (the Big one I have loosely based on Ginger Snaps ☝️)

I say ‘loosely based’ because Ginger Snaps is centered around puberty and also has some questionable goonage scenes which is a no-no because hey! Those are teens! That’s weird! But I think the basic premise of self discovery and centering the story around a non-romantic pair is good to work off of.

(Yes, Blake & Charlotte are technically a romantic pair, but in this, they aren’t there yet. I can write an unbreakable duo without having them be romantically involved immediately okay)

So in this, Blake & Charlotte are seniors in high school—both are in the Yearbook & Newspaper club. Charlotte is the journalist while Blake is a photographer. The duo have been close friends since elementary school & their bond is put to the test when Charlotte is accepted into a prestigious school but Blake isn’t. Of course, Blake is happy for Charlotte and knows he’ll be able to see her every now and again, but it’s still up in the air if he’s actually fine about it.

To this point, the duo has been known for the occasional harmless prank, but Blake takes it a step further with their last hoorah as seniors, wanting to get back at a classmate who constantly made fun of Charlotte. A violent animal has been ravaging all the wildlife and any unsupervised pets in the area, so Blake has the idea to steal this classmate’s dog for a day—to really make them freak out. (See the Ginger Snaps influence?)

It’s a little harsh, but Charlotte agrees. However, on their way, this infamous animal attacks the two and Blake is nearly killed by the monster. After their escape, Blake’s fatal wounds have already healed over. I have art for this, but it’s aged a bit for me already lmao

I’m going to keep the rest of this story vague as well because I want to see if I can hide some surprises I had for a comic style reading? We’ll see! But you get where it’s all going—Blake’s slowly gonna change and Charlotte is working against the clock. You guys should see the lore doc, it expands on Blake & Charlotte’s respective family histories and has a little bit of a twist you may or may not see coming :3c

3 — … well

It’s literally just An American Werewolf in London but I just smacked Blake and Charlotte in David and Alex’s spot. Also Derek is Jack and he fucking dies LMAOOOO

ANYWHO I HOPE THESE ARE GOOD… thank you again for the compliment and I’ll be expanding on these soon! You guys are always so kind to me…. You all enable my insanity… Bless your hearts ;;w;;

Bonus art, GO my ugly jumpscare