#it's fun pretending to be a confused old man

[boyfiechan]

[21 Questions]

...or the one where your hot one-night stand gets trapped inside with you during a storm.

Notes: Romantic comedy brainrot meets “what if your one-night stand accidentally had boyfriend energy” vibes but dirty, I guess? Pretty much porn that pretends to have a plot. Bang Chan x Reader Content Warnings: AFAB reader, explicit sexual content, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, face riding, dry humping, dirty talk, question-based escalation, creampie. [8.1k words]

The rain is already loud when you wake up, but it’s the thunder that makes you sit up too fast—your body protesting with a dull ache and a rush of confusion and for a moment, you forget where you are, blinking against the soft light that filters through pale curtains stirred by wind. Then you remember the man lying next to you. The one with the tousled brown hair and the silver chain still clinging to his throat, half-buried beneath the white sheet he’d stolen most of in the night. Chris. His name floats up through the haze of sleep and lingering heat and half-faded memory, the syllables settling heavy in your chest and you’d meant for last night to be a clean break, something fleeting, something fun—but now it’s morning and the world outside is a mess of lightning and rising water and all exits, apparently, are blocked.

You shift carefully, pulling the sheet with you like it might shield you from the awkwardness of waking up next to someone you barely know, but Chris doesn’t look awkward at all. He looks like he belongs there, face still soft with sleep, lips parted just slightly like he’s caught in a dream he doesn’t want to leave, his hair is a disaster and his arm is slung over your pillow like he’d meant to hold you and missed. And maybe you’re still drunk on the way he’d touched you last night—like he already knew how you wanted to be handled, like he’d been reading your mind with every slow drag of his mouth over your skin, but now the tension is different, the air is heavy with the storm and something else you can’t quite name. Something not-so-temporary.

Chris groans softly when the thunder cracks again, brow creasing as he stretches, and you get a front row seat to the slow reveal of muscle and skin and that faint trail of ink on his ribs. He blinks up at you, eyes half-lidded and pretty brown in the gray light. What time is it? he asks, rough and warm and entirely too familiar for someone you just met. You shrug, reaching for your phone with fingers that are still trembling a little, not from fear, just the residual adrenaline of being alone in a house with a man who kissed you like he could rewrite your whole damn story if you let him. Does it matter? you murmur, holding up the screen. Storm’s not letting up. Roads are flooded. There’s a beat of silence, then Chris hums like it’s not the worst news he’s ever heard. Guess I’m staying for breakfast.

And it should be awkward, it should be that fumbling, clothes-on-backwards, this was fun kind of goodbye you’d practiced in your head but instead, Chris rolls out of bed like it’s his own room, scratching the back of his neck and scanning the floor for his shirt with a sleepy smirk. You got anything edible? Or are we on a strictly coffee-and-regret diet this morning? he asks, and you laugh, the sound surprising even you. There’s eggs. Maybe toast if the bread survived the humidity. You’re already pulling on one of your old t-shirts—something oversized and faded and absolutely not cute, but Chris gives you this once-over that makes you feel like you’re in silk as he follows you into the kitchen barefoot, steps quiet, and there’s still a weight to him that makes the room feel fuller somehow, like his presence bends the space around him just a little.

You move around each other clumsily at first, two strangers pretending you haven’t already seen each other naked, but it settles quickly into something easy, comfortable. You hand him a pan without thinking, and he flips it in one hand like he’s done this a hundred times. So what do you do, he asks, cracking eggs like a professional, when you’re not picking up mysterious men at bars and rescuing them from natural disasters? You shoot him a look over your shoulder, but your smile betrays you. I’m an illustrator, you admit. Freelance. Mostly book covers and concept stuff. He raises a brow, looking impressed. That explains the art on your walls. I thought you were just trying to seem deep. You bump your hip into his and he laughs—really laughs, head thrown back for a second, the sound warm enough to cut through the storm still howling outside.

Breakfast takes longer than it should, between the burnt toast and the failed attempt at pancakes and the way Chris keeps trying to juggle eggs when he thinks you’re not looking, the kitchen becomes a little world of its own—bright with laughter and low teasing and the kind of unspoken intimacy that feels like it’s been there longer than a single night. He sits at the table while you pour the coffee, fingers drumming on the wood like he can’t quite sit still. You know, he says, eyeing you over the rim of his mug, I was supposed to fly out today. Back to Seoul. Meetings, rehearsals. All that glamorous idol life crap. You glance out the window, as rain streaks down the glass in frantic patterns, wind battering the trees sideways. Storm says no, you offer, and he grins, like that’s exactly what he wanted to hear.

You end up on the couch, legs tangled under a shared blanket, the empty plates abandoned somewhere behind you. The power flickers once, twice, and then holds and at some point, Chris had ducked into the other room to make a quiet call—checking on someone, just to make sure they were safe in the storm. It shouldn’t have surprised you, but it still made something in your chest ache a little and now, as he shifts beside you, arm grazing yours, it’s quieter—the kind of quiet that feels like waiting, like choosing. He doesn’t push, doesn’t lean in, but when he looks at you it’s soft and curious and a little cautious, like he’s wondering what this could be if it wasn’t just a one-night stand and a thunderstorm, and you don’t know either. But you like the way he watches the lightning like it’s a show, the way he turns toward you with that slow smile that’s more promise than performance. You don’t know if the roads will be clear tomorrow, yu don’t know if this will last past the rain but for now, there’s warmth, and coffee, and a very content Chris beside you like he’s meant to stay.

He eats like someone who hasn’t had a real meal in days, half-sleepy and quietly appreciative, the kind of silence that says more than any compliment could. Every so often he hums, low and pleased, like even the mediocre toast is some kind of hidden delicacy. I think... he mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, this might be the best breakfast I’ve had all year. You glance at him, one brow raised. That’s a low bar. He shrugs, grinning around his coffee mug. Yeah, well, my standards are shot. I live off protein bars and takeout most days. He says it casually, like it’s a joke, but something in his eyes dims around the edges and you file that away somewhere quiet in your chest.

Then he sniffs at the mug and makes a face, setting it down with a quiet sigh. Full disclosure? I don’t even like coffee. You blink at him, mid-bite. Then why drink it? He shrugs, sheepish and a little guilty, like a kid caught faking his homework. Felt like the kind of morning where I should be holding something warm. Thought maybe it’d make me look normal. He hesitates, then adds, Tea’s not any better, by the way. Tastes like regret. You laugh and offer, There’s juice in the fridge, but he just shoots you a slow smile and leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving yours. Think I’ve had enough sweet stuff for one morning, and the line hangs there between you, light but deliberate, and when you arch a brow, he doesn’t take it back, just lifts his mug again like he didn’t say anything at all, even though you’re both still smiling into the silence.

The wind picks up again, another sharp gust rattling the windows, and the lights flicker like they’re considering betraying you. You look over your shoulder, half-expecting a blackout, but they steady as Chris catches your gaze, leaning forward on his elbows, bare forearms braced against the table. Scared? he teases, but it’s soft, more curious than mocking. Of the storm? you ask, tipping your head. Not really. I like it. Makes everything feel... slower. Like the world’s taking a breath. Chris watches you for a long moment, something thoughtful in the way his eyes trace over your face like he’s committing it to memory. That’s a nice way to put it, he murmurs. I think I forget how to slow down.

You end up back on the couch with two mugs of reheated coffee and a blanket that still smells faintly like clean laundry and the detergent your mom insists on mailing you in bulk as he lets you pick the movie, something old and a little ridiculous, more comfort than content, and by the time the opening credits roll, he’s already slid a little closer, his thigh pressed lightly against yours beneath the blanket. I haven’t watched a movie on an actual home couch in months, he admits, almost sheepish. Hotel beds don’t count. Too sterile, always feels like I’m trespassing. You look at him, really look, and for all the easy smiles and casual confidence, there’s something in the way he curls slightly inward, like he’s still waiting to be asked to leave.

So… what’s it like? you ask, tilting your head against the back cushion. Being you. Idol life. Cameras. Fans. Endless protein bars. He laughs, but it’s quieter now. It’s loud, he says after a pause. Even when it’s quiet. There’s always something. A performance, a deadline, someone waiting for you to screw up so they can clip it and post it out of context. His voice is calm, but you feel the weight of it, heavy and real between you. Don’t get me wrong. I love it. Music saved me, still does. But sometimes it feels like I forget who I am when the lights go off.

You nudge his knee with yours. And who are you right now? He glances at you, then away, like he’s not used to being seen like this—barefoot on someone else’s couch, coffee he doesn't even pretent to drink anymore in hand, weathered by rain and time and the strange intimacy of survival. Right now? he echoes, a little surprised. I’m… just Chris. I think. His mouth twitches, like he’s almost amused by the sound of his own name out loud in that context. Not Bang Chan, not leader, not hyung. Just… a guy who ate eggs in someone’s kitchen. You nod like that’s enough. Like it means more than it should. Well, you say, lifting your mug in a mock toast, cheers to Just Chris.

He bumps his mug against yours, eyes warm with something that looks a lot like gratitude as the movie plays on in the background, half-forgotten, and you both settle into the kind of silence that isn’t awkward—it’s tentative, sure, but there’s an unspoken agreement not to break the spell just yet. His arm ends up behind you on the backrest, not quite touching, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the quiet hum of presence that anchors you in place and when your shoulders brush, neither of you pulls away.

You know, he says eventually, eyes still on the screen, I didn’t expect to like you this much. You blink, caught off guard by the blunt honesty. I mean, he adds quickly, the tips of his ears slighly pink, not that I thought I wouldn’t like you. But last night… it wasn’t supposed to turn into this. He gestures vaguely, encompassing the coffee, the couch, the storm still raging outside like a protective barrier between this moment and the rest of the world. It was just supposed to be one night. A good distraction. You swallow, unsure whether to laugh or let the weight of it settle. Yeah, you say. Me too.

But the way he’s looking at you now, like you’re not just a chapter break but maybe a plot twist—it makes something shift in your chest. Something dangerous and soft and utterly unplanned. So what happens, you ask quietly, if the storm doesn’t let up? He smirks, eyes flicking toward the window before turning back to you. Guess we'll keep distracting each other, he says, and his hand finally brushes yours beneath the blanket, fingers curling slightly like a question, and you don’t hesitate when you answer. You let him.

The movie drifts on in the background—some half-forgotten rom-com playing at half volume, all overly dramatic meet-cutes and orchestral swells that feel far too on-the-nose given the weight in the air, and the storm hasn’t eased. If anything, the wind howls louder now, rattling through the eaves of the house like it’s trying to crawl inside, but you’re warm, not just because of the blanket or the coffee or the body beside you—but because something is building. Slowly, unspoken, the kind of tension that hums under the skin like an electrical current, soft but insistent, curling into the spaces between breath and glance and word.

Chris shifts beside you, his arm still draped casually along the back of the couch, but you can feel the subtle change in his posture, how he’s turned slightly more toward you, how his knee now presses firmly into yours instead of just brushing. His fingers are close enough to yours that you can feel the heat from them, the faint tremble of restraint in the way he hasn’t closed that last inch of distance as you risk a glance, and he’s already watching you—not smiling, not teasing, just looking, slow and steady, like he’s memorizing again. Like he’s debating something he already knows the answer to.

You’re kind of hard to read, you know that? you murmur, letting your voice drop just a little, the edge of a smile curling at your lips. His brow lifts, intrigued. Yeah? Most people say I’m too easy to read. His voice is quieter now too, dipping into something husky, a little rough. Too open. You tilt your head, feigning thought. No… you give people just enough to make them think they’ve got you figured out. You feel bold now, watching his expression shift—curious, then interested, then something more primal flickering just under the surface. But there’s always something you’re holding back.

He leans in a fraction, close enough that you can feel his breath ghost across your cheek, and when he speaks again it’s low and deliberate. What do you think I’m holding back? And you want to be coy, want to toss back some flirty quip and pretend like your heart isn’t beating faster with every syllable that falls from his mouth—but the air between you is too heavy now, charged with something that feels inevitable as you shift to face him more fully, knees drawn up beneath the blanket, and he mirrors you, his hand finally brushing yours beneath the fabric—just a soft drag of knuckles, but it’s enough to send a little shock up your spine.

I think you want to touch me again, you whisper, the words slipping out before you can think better of them. But you’re trying to be good. Chris huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no humor in it—just tension, tightly wound and dangerously close to snapping. Yeah, he says, voice rougher now, throat working as he swallows. I’ve been trying real hard not to. And that admission, that little crack in his carefully controlled exterior, does something to you. You shift closer, just slightly, enough that your knees press between his, enough that the blanket slips a little off your shoulder and his eyes follow the movement like he’s been starving.

But you’re not that good, are you? you tease, soft and breathy, like you’re testing the line just to see if he’ll cross it. And then his hand is on your thigh beneath the blanket—slow and deliberate, fingers curling against bare skin where your oversized t-shirt rides up, he doesn’t rush, just drags his palm upward with agonizing patience, his eyes never leaving yours. Not even close, he says, and it’s more confession than warning. You shift into his touch, lips parting on a quiet breath, and the way he looks at you now it’s like the storm has moved inside the room, all pressure and heat and the dangerous thrill of surrender.

Still, he waits. That last sliver of distance remains, his lips close but not touching, his fingers warm but not daring yet, you can see it in his eyes—the way he’s giving you the choice, the way he’s already halfway gone if you want to meet him there and something about that restraint, that aching pause, makes your skin burn. Come here, you whisper, and that’s all it takes.

He kisses you like he’s been holding it back all morning, all night, maybe longer, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t do it now, he might never get to again, his hand slides up further, anchoring at your waist, pulling you into his lap with a fluid kind of urgency that still manages to feel careful. His lips are warm, a little chapped, but he moves like he knows exactly what you need, tongue teasing at the seam of your mouth until you let him in, until the taste of him floods your senses and you forget everything else. Your fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer, and he groans softly against your mouth, a sound that vibrates through your whole body.

The blanket falls away, and the storm outside rages louder but inside, the world narrows to the press of his body against yours, the slow grind of hips, the heat rising fast and thick between you like it’s trying to suffocate the space where words used to live. You don’t know where this is going, don’t know what happens after the rain. But you know how he kisses, you know the way his hand slides up the back of your shirt with reverence and hunger, how he breathes your name like a promise he hasn’t figured out how to keep yet. And right now, that’s enough.

His mouth breaks from yours with a reluctant drag, breath heavy against your cheek as his lips skim the edge of your jaw. The storm batters the world outside, wind clawing at the glass, but here, on this couch, wrapped in each other and the remnants of a morning that wasn't supposed to last, everything feels slow, thick with a new kind of tension. His hand has slipped beneath your shirt now, not urgent, but reverent, fingers tracing up your spine in slow, deliberate lines that make you shiver, thumb brushing the underside of your breast, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch, but he stops there, teasing, waiting.

You know… he murmurs against your neck, punctuating the words with a lazy kiss just below your ear, ...we barely know anything about each other. You huff a breath that could almost be a laugh, tipping your head back to give him more access. Funny time to bring that up. His teeth graze your throat, the gentlest bite, and he smirks when you gasp. Just trying to be a gentleman, he says, all faux innocence while his other hand slides up the inside of your thigh, thumb stroking slow circles where your skin is most sensitive. Maybe we should get to know each other first. You know, before we really do this.

You glance down at him, raising a brow even as your hips shift against his lap, finding the heat of him through thin layers of cotton. What, you want to play 20 Questions while you’ve got your hand up my shirt? His eyes glitter with mischief. Twenty-one. Gotta keep it spicy. You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips as you settle more fully against him, legs straddling his hips now, thighs bracketing his as the blanket slips off entirely. Fine, you say, voice a little breathless as his hands find their way to your waist, thumbs dragging slow along your ribs. But I go first. He leans back slightly, arms resting along the couch, a picture of casual sin. Hit me.

What’s your biggest red flag? you ask, grinning as you slowly grind down just enough to watch his expression falter and Chris groans, head tipping back briefly before he looks at you from beneath heavy lashes. You’re evil. You just shrug, hips rocking against him, slow and tempting. Answer the question.

He exhales a laugh that curls low in his chest, fingers tightening at your waist. Okay… red flag? His tongue flicks across his bottom lip as he thinks, and your eyes follow the motion helplessly. I work too much. Like… too much. I disappear into it sometimes. Not great for relationships. There’s honesty in it, even as he slides one hand back under your shirt, thumb grazing the curve of your breast again, still not touching you fully, just circling around it like he’s trying to drive you crazy. Your turn. You shift, barely resisting the urge to lean into his hand. Hmm… what’s your question?

Chris hums, considering. Biggest turn-on.

You tilt your head, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him twitch before you answer, Confidence. Teasing. Someone who can make me laugh and lose my mind. You roll your hips again, slow and purposeful, and he curses under his breath. Your turn, he growls, hands sliding lower now, gripping your ass as he pulls you tighter against him. Better make it a good one.

What do you think I taste like? you whisper it near his ear, just to watch him shudder. His hands still on your body, eyes snapping to yours, suddenly darker as he swallows hard, fingers digging in just a bit. You want the honest answer? he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. Obviously.

Chris leans in, lips brushing yours without kissing, like he’s tasting the air between you. Like trouble. Like something I shouldn’t get addicted to but already am. His hand drags back up your thigh, higher now, brushing between your legs over your underwear, just enough pressure to make you gasp, but still maddeningly light. Like heaven with a little hell in it.

You clench your hands in the fabric of his shirt, breath catching as he rocks up against you, heat meeting heat through frustrating layers. Fuck, you whisper, hips stuttering. That’s not fair. He smirks again. I said I was bad at being good. You dip your head to his neck, biting lightly at the skin just below his jaw as you murmur, Then stop pretending and show me just how bad you can be. But Chris just chuckles, fingers hooking under the waistband of your underwear before he stops again, teasing, waiting, torturing. Only if you answer the next one.

You groan. You’re the worst. He grins. Next question. What are you most afraid of right now?

And it’s unfair, how he can drop that kind of weight right when his fingers are slipping beneath your panties, how he can make you feel completely exposed even before he touches you properly as you blink, breathless, caught in the twist of sensation and honesty. Getting too close, you admit quietly. Wanting more than I should. He stills, his hand resting gently between your thighs now, no pressure, just presence as his gaze softens, searching your face like he’s looking for something hidden beneath all your teasing. Me too, he says. And then—finally, finally—his fingers move with purpose, and you stop thinking altogether.

His fingers move with an ease that makes you curse your own memory, like your body already remembers him, already trusts the rhythm, the pressure, the subtle curl of his touch. He’s slow with it, maddeningly so, dragging the pads of his fingers through your slick just to feel how wet you are before he even really does anything. Jesus, he murmurs, almost to himself, eyes dropping to where you’re straddled in his lap, shirt rumpled, underwear pushed aside, heat pressed tight to the bulge in his sweatpants. And you’re telling me we’re just getting to know each other? You roll your hips down against his hand and smirk. Exactly. I’m an open book, remember? But your voice catches at the end when one of his fingers slides inside you, slow, deliberate, his eyes locked on yours as you clench around him with a broken little sound you wish you could play off as cooler than it is. Chris just grins, lazy and pleased, like he’s won something. Sure you are, sweetheart.

And then he fucking pauses again.

Just holds there, buried in you up to the knuckle like he’s content to keep you right on the edge of madness as you glare at him, lips parted, already shifting your hips for friction, but his free hand comes up to steady you at the waist. Nuh-uh, he warns, teasing. You’re the one who agreed to twenty-one questions. You’re not getting out of it just because your legs are shaking. You blink at him, somewhere between aroused and outraged. Are you seriously going to edge me over a quiz game?

Chris has the audacity to laugh, pressing another finger inside you with a slow, cruel twist that makes you forget what planet you’re on for a second. That’s question twenty-two, he says, voice all wicked sweetness. But I’ll allow it. You swear under your breath, grinding down again because two can play at this game. Fine, you bite out. Truth or dare. He raises a brow, interested. We’re switching formats?

Answer it. Chris smirks, lips dragging over your jaw as he pumps his fingers in a slow rhythm that’s almost enough, but not quite. Truth. You narrow your eyes at him. Who’s your embarrassing celebrity crush?

He laughs, really laughs, breathless and boyish and warm in a way that makes your chest ache through the haze of want. Jesus, okay, he says, eyes scrunched, still slowly fucking you with the kind of patience that feels like punishment. This is going to haunt me, but… it’s the girl from Scooby-Doo. The live-action one. Velma. You blink at him. You mean Linda Cardellini? He groans. Yes. The sweater, the glasses, the sass—don’t judge me. You’re laughing too hard to speak for a second, which becomes very inconvenient when his thumb brushes against your clit in a lazy circle that makes your laugh crack into a moan. Okay, you breathe. That’s fair. Honestly? Valid.

He leans in like he’s about to kiss you, but instead he whispers, Your turn, and curls his fingers just right, making your hips jolt forward against his palm. Would you rather, he says, clearly enjoying your ruined expression, have sex in a public place and get caught, or accidentally send your mom a sext? You let out a sound that’s somewhere between a sob and a wheeze. Oh my God, what kind of demon are you? He just grins, smug. Answer carefully. You’re half-laughing, half-dying as you try to think through the haze of building pressure between your legs, his thumb not letting up for a second. Okay, okay, public sex.

Getting caught. Bold, he says, watching your face tighten when his fingers thrust a little faster. That says something about you. You gasp, breath hitching hard in your throat as you press your hips forward again, unable to stop yourself. Shut up, you gasp, helpless. You knew I wouldn’t say mom sext. You set me up.

Guilty, he murmurs, kissing along your neck now, open-mouthed and warm. Next question. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever masturbated to? You freeze against him, eyes going wide. Oh my God.

C’mon, he coaxes, mouth curved into a devilish smile. I told you about Velma. Don’t leave me hanging. You hide your face in his shoulder, but he doesn’t let up with his fingers, still moving inside you, still making you gasp even through your mortification. Fine, you groan. There was this audio clip, some guy reading from a tax fraud legal deposition with a deep voice and—don’t look at me like that. It was weirdly hot, okay?

Chris actually chokes laughing, full-body shaking, but his hand never stops, and now it’s infuriatingly good, rhythmic and deep and filthy enough that you start to lose the ability to laugh along. Oh my God, he wheezes, still grinning. That’s incredible. That’s like, top-tier trivia material. He leans in again, brushing his nose against yours, watching you with heat and fondness in equal measure. You’re insane. I think I’m obsessed with you.

You open your mouth to answer, but your words melt into a strangled moan when he presses just right and your body clenches down around him, thighs trembling on either side of his hips as he watches you unravel with greedy eyes, his mouth hovering just over yours, breath mixing with yours as your orgasm shudders through you, sharp and wet and aching. Fuck, you whisper. You're the insane one.

You’re welcome, he whispers back, then kisses you like a man who plans on earning another twenty-one answers. Your breath is still shaky, ribs rising too fast under your shirt, your thighs quivering where they’re slung over his lap, and he hasn’t even pulled his hand away yet. His fingers are still inside you, slow and wet and fucking obscene, curling lazily like he’s not done teasing your body just yet, like he wants to feel every aftershock and memorize the way your walls flutter around him, greedy and overstimulated. And the worst part if you don’t want him to stop, not even a little.

Chris watches you with that smug curve to his mouth, but there’s something darker in his eyes now, hotter, hungrier, like the teasing has started to backfire on him too. You’re so easy to mess with, he murmurs, like it’s a compliment, like he’s impressed, his free hand comes up to brush the damp hair from your face, thumb stroking your cheek with a gentleness that doesn’t match the filth of his other hand. And you still owe me another question.

You laugh, breathless, hoarse, but defiant. You’re still playing the game?

Chris grins, slow and wicked. Don’t act like you’re not into it. Come on, next one. Or I stop. His fingers shift inside you, one last teasing thrust before he slides out completely, leaving you empty and aching. You glare at him, hips twitching forward on instinct. Okay, okay. You pause, breath catching as you readjust your weight in his lap, only now realizing how hard he is beneath you, thick and straining against his sweats, twitching under the press of your soaked panties.

Your brain short-circuits a little, but you recover fast. If you could only use your mouth or your hands during sex, never both again, which would you pick? Chris whistles low, eyes flicking down to your lips like he’s imagining either option in vivid, detailed color. Cruel one, he mutters, shifting beneath you just to feel more of your heat. But I’m gonna say mouth. There’s something about making a mess of someone with just my tongue. Something about control, seems like. His hands tighten at your hips as he leans up, lips grazing yours without committing to the kiss. And I think you like being teased too much for me to give that up.

You open your mouth to argue, or moan, but he silences you with a single, filthy swipe of his thumb over your clit, barely there, just enough to remind you who’s in charge of your pulse. You grip his shoulders to steady yourself, blinking down at him like you hate how much he knows you already. My turn, he says, voice low, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your ruined underwear and he doesn’t touch, just hovers there. What’s the dirtiest thought you’ve ever had about me? You stare at him, startled. We’ve only known each other, like, twelve hours. Chris raises an eyebrow. You’ve definitely had thoughts.

You look away, cheeks flushed, your body still warm from the orgasm and the press of his cock trapped beneath you. Fine, you mutter. It’s from this morning. When you were standing in the kitchen, still sleepy, shirtless… stretching like that. He smirks, already smug. And I thought about getting on my knees, you continue, forcing the words past your throat, and just pulling your sweats down while you were mid-yawn. Making you lean back against the counter and letting me suck you off before you even woke up properly. His jaw flexes, hands gripping your hips so tight it makes you whimper. Fuck, he breathes, almost like a warning. You trying to kill me?

You smile, dragging your hips slowly against his, grinding the slick heat of your core over the length of his cock through the fabric. I dunno. You said we’re getting to know each other. He groans, deep and broken, eyes fluttering closed for a second. Okay, he says. New rule. Every time you don’t answer a question honestly, I get to put my mouth somewhere new. You blink. That’s the punishment?

Chris slides his hands up your shirt in one slow motion, finally lifting it over your head and tossing it aside. His gaze drops to your chest, hungry and reverent as he leans forward, brushing his mouth against the swell of one breast before licking a slow stripe over your nipple. It’ll feel like a punishment soon, he says, dragging his teeth gently across the skin until you arch into him. Now ask me something hard. Your voice is trembling now. What’s your biggest kink?

Chris looks up at you, mouth still warm and wet against your skin, his eyes dark with intent. Praise, he says. Control. Watching you fall apart because you want to, not because I’m forcing you. He licks again, sucks a little now, and your fingers sink into his hair like you need to anchor yourself. And right now? he murmurs, pulling back with a soft pop. Hearing you beg. That might top the list. You swallow, completely undone, grinding harder now just to feel more of him, leaking through your panties onto the front of his sweats. Next question, he says, voice wrecked now. How many orgasms do you think I could pull out of you if we stopped playing and really got started? And suddenly, you don’t feel like teasing anymore.

You can’t even remember what number you’re on, somewhere past twenty-one and deep into uncharted territory, half the questions aren’t even questions anymore, just confessions and dares passed between kisses and breathless moans, your body curled around his like you’ve forgotten it wasn’t always yours to hold. Chris still got that look in his eyes, wild and focused, like he’s reading every flicker of reaction off your face, adjusting his touch with surgical precision and the game—if it can even be called that anymore—is just another way to keep you strung out on tension, anticipation, the high of not knowing what he’ll ask or do next. Okay, he says, voice low and almost tender as he kisses your thigh, lips trailing dangerously close to where you’re soaked through and twitching. Would you rather have me use my mouth and take my time, or let you sit on my face and lose control? You laugh, wrecked, hoarse, practically vibrating with need. Is that even a real question?

Answer it, he says, lips brushing the edge of your underwear like a threat. Or I’ll pick for you. You glance down at him, his face between your thighs, his eyes bright and dark at once and something about the way he looks like he wants to be overwhelmed by you makes the answer easy. Your face, you whisper. I wanna ride your face.

He hums, low, approving, and pulls your underwear down so slowly it’s practically cruel, dragging them down your legs like he wants to savor every inch of bare skin. You’re lucky I like the sound of that, he murmurs, kissing up your inner thigh, hands gripping your hips as you shift to straddle his face, heart pounding so loud it drowns out the storm still raging outside. He settles back against the couch cushions, eyes fixed on you, and his voice is husky when he says, Don’t hold back.

And then his mouth is on you, devouring you with a hunger so intense it makes you cry out, your fingers flying to his hair for balance as your thighs tremble on either side of his head. His tongue is everywhere, licking and sucking and circling your clit with a precision that has you shaking, gasping his name before the first full minute is up. He moans into you like he can’t get enough, like the taste of you is something he’s needed all fucking day, and when you grind down harder, chasing the heat, he just grips your hips tighter and lets you.

You lose yourself in it, completely. Your head falls back, eyes fluttering shut as you rock against his mouth, every muscle in your body pulled tight with tension. Fuck, I—I can’t, you gasp, already close again, already ruined. You can, he growls against your cunt, the vibration of his voice shooting straight through your spine. You’re gonna come in my mouth, baby? I've got you. And when you do,it's shameless and desperate, thighs clamping around his head as your orgasm crashes over you, mouth open in a broken moan that echoes off the walls, raw and frantic as you ride it out against his tongue. He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, until you’re whimpering, until your body slumps forward with every nerve alight and his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

When you finally slide off his face, your legs barely work, and he’s panting beneath you, flushed, hair messy, lips glistening with you. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like he just won the fucking lottery. Still counting the questions? he teases, voice rough and hoarse and yu laugh weakly, collapsing into his lap with your chest still heaving. I think we passed twenty-one a long time ago. Chris leans in, kissing you deep, messy, filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue before pulling back just enough to whisper, Then maybe it’s time we stop pretending it’s still a game.

It’s not a game anymore, but neither of you stops playing, even as he lifts you into his lap again, even as his hands drag across your waist and down your spine with a hunger that makes your skin burn, you’re still trading words, still throwing questions like gasoline on a fire that’s already too big to contain. What do you want me to do to you? he asks, voice low and rough as he kisses the edge of your jaw, lips dragging down your throat, chest, teeth grazing over the mark he left earlierl you breathe out something between a laugh and a whimper, fingers curling in the waistband of his sweatpants. Want you inside me. Deep. Slow. Until I can’t even remember what I was supposed to ask next.

Chris groans, like the words knock the wind out of him, and you barely get the chance to tug his pants down before he’s helping you, lifting his hips, cock springing free, thick and flushed and so hard it makes your breath catch in your throat. He wraps a hand around himself just to tease you, dragging his palm slowly along the length, the tip smearing precum across his skin, eyes locked on yours. You sure? he murmurs, voice tight with restraint. 'Cause I want you, but I’m not gonna last long if you keep looking at me like that.

You nod, almost dizzy with need, sinking your hips until the head of his cock catches at your entrance, slick and warm and perfect as you lower yourself onto him in one slow, devastating slide that punches a moan from both of you. Fuck, he hisses, head dropping back against the couch. You feel—holy shit—so tight. You clench around him on purpose, just to hear him swear again, and he thrusts up into you shallowly, hands gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might disappear. Next question, you breathe, rocking your hips gently, letting him get used to the rhythm of you. If I told you to come inside me, would you?

Chris blinks at you like he can’t believe you said that, like the words physically affect him as his jaw flexes hard, and he thrusts up deeper, rougher, like you just snapped the last thread of his restraint. Don’t say that unless you mean it, he growls, voice raw. Because if you tell me to, I will. I’ll fill you up so deep you feel it for days. Your next breath stutters as he hits that spot again, as your walls flutter around him, your body already trying to pull him deeper. You’re insane, you gasp. And I might be worse.

Another question, he says, burying his face in your neck as he thrusts again, slower now but harder, making your whole body jolt with every movement. If I told you I wanted to fuck you on every surface in this house before the storm ends, what would you say?

You laugh—moan, really—your fingers digging into his shoulders for balance. I’d say you’d better start with the kitchen counter and work your way through the rooms alphabetically. He groans, the sound almost broken, and his hands slide down to your ass, guiding your hips as you bounce on his cock with slow, grinding rolls, the kind that drag every inch of him through you with a rhythm that borders on cruel. Fuck, he mutters again, kissing your shoulder, your collarbone, your mouth. I’ve never wanted anyone like this.

Maybe it’s the storm, maybe it’s the heat between your bodies or the way your souls feel too close already, but the words don’t scare you, they anchor you, drive you forward. Then show me, you whisper, lips brushing his. No more holding back.

And he doesn’t. He flips you onto your back on the couch with a roughness that makes you gasp, cock slipping free for only a second before he’s guiding himself back inside you in one hard, smooth thrust that makes your eyes roll back and he fucks you, slow, deep, rhythmic, his body pressed tight to yours as his hands roam everywhere at once. What’s the first thing you’re gonna do after this? he pants into your ear and you laugh, legs wrapped tight around his waist. Probably pass out.

Wrong answer. He pulls almost all the way out, waits for you to open your eyes again, then slams back in. Try again. Your head spins. Shower, you choke out. With you. Maybe round two against the wall if you're strong enough. Chris grins, breathless, sweat dripping from his brow as he picks up the pace. Better. He kisses you hard, messy, tongues tangling, and he swallows your next moan when he grinds in deeper, just to feel the way your body clenches around him. Your turn. Ask me something, he says. Hurry. Before I make you come so hard you forget how to speak. You’re already close again, body arching, nails dragging down his back, but you manage to gasp, What’s your favorite part of me?

He thrusts deep and stills, buried to the hilt, his cock twitching inside you, his voice shaking when he answers. Right now? This. His hand slides down between you, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing slow, tight circles. But if you mean really... he leans in, kisses the corner of your mouth, his voice going soft even as his thrusts turn sharp again. It’s the way you look at me, like I’m already yours.

And then he makes you come again, loud and trembling, your body clenching so hard around him that he groans and follows you seconds later, spilling into you with a long, broken sound that feels like surrender. You cling to each other through it, hips still twitching, mouths still searching, and somewhere between the kisses and the breathless laughter, you realize you stopped counting the questions a long time ago.

The world is soft when it settles, like the storm outside finally gave up, like the air around you folded into something warm and quiet and real. Your bodies are tangled on the couch, skin damp and flushed, still pressed together in the kind of closeness that feels more like a conversation than anything you’ve said out loud and he hasn’t moved much, still half on top of you, head buried in the crook of your neck, one arm slung heavy over your waist. His breathing is slow now, steady, like he’s trying to memorize the rhythm of your heart with his cheek against your chest as you trail your fingers lazily through his hair, feeling the way his curls cling to your skin with sweat and time, and somewhere in the mess of it, you smile.

Hey, you whisper, voice raw, your throat a little ruined from all the gasping and laughing and moaning. If you had to rank that on a scale from one to ten— Chris groans, shifting just enough to lift his head and glare at you, but the edge doesn’t stick, he’s too blissed-out for sarcasm. Don’t make me throw you over this couch and do it again just to prove a point.

You snort, brushing a kiss against his temple. So… eleven? He sighs dramatically, flopping back beside you, arm still wrapped tight around your middle as he turns his head to look at you. His eyes are soft now, still playful, still glowing with that dangerous charm, but slower, gentler. I stopped counting, he says. Somewhere around the time you said you wanted to ride my face. Everything after that was just… instinct.

You laugh, a real one, breathless and a little unhinged, your hand sliding across his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing beneath your palm. So what happens now? you ask, and you don’t mean for it to sound so honest, but there it is, naked between you. Storm’s still going, you’re still technically trapped here. Chris glances toward the window as the rain still lashes against the glass, wind howling down the alley like it’s not done being dramatic. He hums softly. Guess we’re stuck with each other.

Tragic.

Devastating. He nudges your thigh with his knee, smirking. We could watch something. Recharge. Maybe eat something that doesn’t involve my head between your legs. You fake a groan, tossing an arm over your eyes. Boring.

Okay, fine. He laughs, twisting to kiss your bare shoulder. But only if you ask me another question. You peek at him from beneath your arm, grinning. Why are you still here? He goes still for a second, the quiet between you deepening, thick with something unspoken and his voice lowers, more serious than you expect. Because this didn’t feel like a one-night thing.

Your breath catches, soft and small but he hears it, because of course he does. You roll onto your side to face him, his arm adjusting to keep you close. Yeah, you say, quieter now, eyes searching his. It didn't. For a while, neither of you says anything as the storm rolls on outside, wind still battering the windows, but it feels far away now, like the noise can’t touch this, can’t reach whatever this bubble is you’ve both fallen into. Chris shifts, brushing hair from your face, thumb tracing your cheek with the same tenderness he used hours ago, when everything was still new and charged and uncertain.

And then he smilesl soft, a little shy. New rule, he says. Every time we see each other… we have to play twenty-one questions.

You raise an eyebrow. We suck at keeping count.

Exactly, he murmurs, kissing your forehead like a promise. That’s how I’ll know it’s working.

[i-like-loserz]

3 times san waited for your kiss + the 1 time he took it

pairing: san x reader

cw: love-sick!san, soft moments, clueless + adorable sannie, longing, fluff, drunken confessions, kissing, dumb drinking scenarios, attempts at humor, lots of mentions of mingi (he is a rich kid in this lol)

wc: 3.7k

note: i'm excited to post something that isn't just straight smut! ik this one prob wont do as well as my other fics but that's ok, i had so much fun writing it <3 i hope yall enjoy ☺️

what san hears whenever he's around you: ❀ 𑁍 ⟡ ❋ ᯽

masterlist

---

First Time: Spin the Bottle

It felt juvenile playing spin the bottle with his friends. He’s 25 years old, for god’s sake, why should he play something that's all about shy pecks and giggling? That's for kids!

San was even going to say so when Mingi mentioned the game. But then your honeyed voice chimed in, “I’m in.”

So naturally, he immediately agreed with you. 

“Yeah, me too, it’ll be fun.” 

He strategically found a spot right across from you, but tried to make it seem like a pure accident by pretending like he wanted to sit and talk to Wooyoung (who would’ve stolen the spot as your partner if not for San’s persistent efforts to scoot him over). 

So far, Jongho reluctantly pecked Yeosang, Wooyoung and Yunho made the fuck out, and Mingi kissed a girl that San didn’t recognize. 

“My turn!” You call out cheerfully, taking hold of the bottle before anyone could protest. Nipping at your bottom lip, you carefully place the bottle on its side before twisting your wrist to spin it. San watches on with anticipation.

As the bottle slows to a stop, he hears the rest of the circle ooh and ahh teasingly, waiting for the show to begin. 

He somehow finds enough courage to look at your reaction. 

And you seem…relieved? 

You smile as you meet his gaze, “Alright, San.” You crawl over to the middle of the circle, “Pucker up!”

Pure excitement rushes through his veins as he meets you in the middle, sitting at just the right height, so you can reach his lips easily. You kneel in front of him and cradle his face in your hands.

Either your hands are a bit chilly, or his face is flushed with heat— all he knows is that all his senses are on fire when you’re this close to him. You look so pretty like this, holding him so gently with your delicate hands, just a few inches from his face.

His eyes flutter closed as you begin to lean closer. He waits to feel your soft lips on his — waits for that moment when you wrap your arms around him and pull him in closer. And he does feel your lips…but on his cheek. 

It’s just a quick press before you’re pulling away. He almost sighs pitifully when your hands leave him, too.

The rest of the group grumbles around the two of you in disappointment. And San wants to grumble too, but he’s too embarrassed that he was preparing for an actual kiss that he ends up just silently returning to his seat. 

“Lameee,” Mingi calls out, “Kiss him like a MAN! Even Jongho, the most anti-boy-kisser-man, kissed Yeosang during his turn!”

You roll your eyes, unbothered by his heckling. “Whatever, Ming, we don’t all have to make out with our friends because of a stupid grade-school game.” 

San pouts internally.

Why not?

Why don’t you want to make out with him even if it’s just for a game?

Mingi saves him the confrontation, “Why not? It’s all for fun.”

“Ok fine, then next time I’ll do it.” You say easily with a shrug.

And that makes San really unhappy.

Next time?! 

But what if next time the bottle does a 170-degree spin instead of the 180??

What if Wooyoung, the resident boy-girl-everyone-kisser, gets to feel your lips? Or worse, Mingi??

The thought is too much to handle.

“How about we play a different game?!” He suggests suddenly. His voice comes out a bit louder and more urgent than he meant it to.

Mingi looks at him with a confused expression, “But we’ve only done 4 rounds—“

“A drinking game.” He interrupts, “I’ll give $50 to whoever drinks the most.” Now that gets everyone’s attention.

“Yeah, okay.” 

...And that’s the story of how San lost $50 to Yunho and received not a single peck on the lips from you. 

—

Second Time: Dropping You Off

San chalked up the first time he missed your kiss to be a simple misunderstanding. Of course, you wouldn’t kiss him during spin the bottle! You wouldn’t kiss anyone in that situation. You’re just respectful like that. Or at least that's what he tells himself to feel better about it. 

So he still has hope for himself. 

Which is why, a few weeks later, he volunteered to drive you home after bar-hopping with some friends. 

San refused to drink that night, determined to find a chance to get you alone. He made the perfect plan:

First, when you're looking like you want to leave, he'd nicely offer to give you a ride home.

Second, he'll be all charming on the way to your place and get you interested in him as more than a friend.

Third, when you get to your place, he'll walk you to the door like a gentleman to say goodbye. Then, finally, he'll ask to see you again, and, hopefully, give you a goodbye kiss to seal the deal.

It's a perfect plan!

And he's already at step two, driving you to your place. (Mingi tried to convince San to let him hitch a ride too, but seeing that his friend’s presence would effectively ruin the perfectly set plan he had to woo you, he paid for Mingi to get an Uber instead…$25 + tip...).

The ride to your place was pretty quiet, which was not according to his plan. But it's to be expected. You’ve both been out for a handful of hours in loud and crowded bars, yelling over the table to talk to your friends until it was time to go to the next spot, so the silence is actually kinda nice after the chaos of the night. 

San is grateful that you seem to be content in the silence because he couldn't break it, even if he wanted to. His hands are already nervously gripping at the steering wheel as he tries to calm himself down. It turns out that charming you was a lot easier in his head because now that you're in front of him, he can barely breathe correctly.

Thankfully, the drive was only 15 minutes long before he stopped in front of your place.

"Oh, we're here," you exclaim, perking up on your seat, "I almost fell asleep! Has anyone ever told you that you're a really safe driver? Every turn basically lulled me to sleep." You joke as you collect your belongings (bag and jacket) from your lap.

San nearly blushes from the compliment (except it wasn't a compliment at all, it was just a basic observation. But San took it as a compliment anyway because he likes it when you notice things about him).

"Oh, I just...follow the speed limit and stuff, ha~" He responds.

As he turns away from you and exits the car on his side, he grimaces at himself. San wants to punch himself in the face for saying such a lame thing. No shit?? You're driving, so of course you'd stick to the speed limit, dumba--

As he circles the car to the passenger side, he tries to cool his expression. You smile at him as he opens the door for you and step out. Together you walk to your front door, side-by-side, with the cool evening breeze brushing past your bodies.

At the doorstep, rather than unlocking your door and going in with a quick 'good night' thrown his way, you turn to him instead.

You look up at him, face lit nicely by the porch light, "Thanks for the ride, San."

He nods, "Yeah, of course. Anytime."

"Well..." You look down, adjusting the way your jacket hangs over your arm with pinched fingers. Once you're satisfied with the way it sits, you look back up at him with an expression he can't decipher. You seem expectant of something as you smile up at him.

Maybe you're waiting for him to leave...?

Of course you are! You're just too nice to say it, he thinks to himself.

"Um, I'll let you head in, I guess." He motions towards the door.

"Oh, okay." You nod in understanding. "Have a safe drive back to yours."

"Thanks..."

Even as you unlock and open the door, San stands there for a moment longer, conflicted on whether he should just bite the bullet and ask you out. Well, he kind of ended the conversation when he suggested you go into your house...he facepalms himself internally once again.

"I'll, uh, see you around." He calls out as he makes his way back to his car.

—

Third Time: Makeover

He didn't even realize what you were inviting him to. All he knew was that you wanted to hang out at your house. Alone.

If he had known that he would end up sitting at your vanity with a face full of makeup, he may have reconsidered his hasty involvement.

--

"I've been trying out different brands of makeup..."

You were talking about something. Something probably awesome because it's you who's interested in it, but he can barely string together the words you say to make them make sense. Not when the breeze sweeps your hair away from your face like this and reveals how your eyes sparkle under the summer sun.

Every word that your lips shape so beautifully is lost to his ears when you smile like that. He wishes it were just you and him at this lunch, but San is only blessed with these few minutes alone with you because Mingi and Yunho are running late. He secretly hopes they never arrive.

"...So I'm looking for someone that can--" San's ears perk up at your words.

"I can do it." He offers immediately.

"Wait, really? You'd be up for that?" You ask earnestly, "You would have to be at my place for a few hours..."

"Yeah, totally."

--

It's not all bad, though.

Right now, you're sitting close to him -- very close. So close, in fact, he has to spread his legs so you can get right up into his space.

It's starting to make him feel woozy. He hopes you don't feel the way his body heats up at the proximity as you work on his face.

You have a bunch of little bottles, tubes, and pallets spread out on your vanity, some open and some new. You've been working diligently, brows scrunched and tongue sticking out cutely as you focus until you're satisfied to move on to the next step.

You lean back to get a better look at his face.

"Wow," You smile up at him, "you look so pretty, Sannie." He bites at the inside of his cheek to keep himself calm as you praise his looks.

Apparently, you're doing "idol makeup" for him. It's supposed to look "natural, yet enhancing" for men. He's never worn makeup before, so he has no idea what that means.

"Really? I didn't think I'd look good in makeup." He says smoothly. On the inside, he's vibrating with joy. He loves hearing sweet words from you.

"You should let me do your makeup more often," you suggest as you reach around him to pick out a few tube-shaped products. "Okay, now for the finishing touches..." You open the various tubes to reveal different shades of lip stuff.

You swatch some of the pigment onto your index finger and go back to your spot between his legs. He watches as you delicately bring your hand up to his face.

You smooth the blush color over his bottom lip, smudging it out just so it won't be so harsh. You do the same to his top lip, applying it so softly that it makes him want to lean into the touch. You're so focused, leaning in closely to get a good look before picking up a subtle lip gloss that blends out the color seamlessly.

In the heat of the moment, San tilts his head down, wanting to get closer to you, but it messes up your lip gloss application.

"San, you have to stay still." You scold lightly as you use your thumb to delicately wipe the excess product off. It almost feels domestic the way you're cleaning him up so casually.

"My bad." He whispers. You don't notice how he stares down at you, admiring your focused expression from above as you finish up. His hand comes up before he realizes it, and he's tilting your face up to meet his.

You meet his eyes, letting out a questioning, "Hm? Does it feel okay?"

He pulls his arm away to rub at the back of his neck pitifully, acting like nothing happened. "Y-yeah...a bit sticky, but I'll get used to it." 

"By the way, you have to let me post a pic of you on Insta."

"No way!"

"C'mon, everyone is going to love it!"

"You mean everyone is gonna clown me about it?" He counters.

"I think it looks pretty, though." You give him a hand mirror, "Don't you?"

And how could he deny those beautiful eyes anything?

"Ok, fine. Just one photo."

—

The First Kiss

What do you get when you put two lightweights in a room alone together? -- A lot of loud and nonsensical blabbering.

In this case, the two lightweights in question are you and San.

You're not actually alone, though. You're at one of Mingi's get-togethers that he hosts every month; it's basically just an excuse to get drunk with his buddies.

The mentioned host and his buddies decided they'd had enough of babysitting and left you and San in the kitchen while they moved to the living room for a movie.

"Truth or Dare?"

"...Dare."

"Ok, when is the last time you peed your--"

"I said DARE."

"Um, okay....I dare you to take another shot."

"That's not a real dare. Drinking is just something you do in between turns."

"Well, ok, fine...I dare you to..."

"--I dare you to give me a real dare."

"It's not your turn!"

San isn't even sure how you started playing Truth or Dare in the first place. You weren't playing it with Mingi and his friends, and neither of you brought up the idea to start playing it. Either way, you didn't get far before the game started to fall apart.

"Okay, fine. I'll take the shot." San pours himself some more soju with a clumsy hand and squinted eyes (to make sure he wasn't pouring it straight onto the kitchen counter) until it reached the lip of the glass.

"That's too mu--" San knocks the glass back before you can finish your words. He lets out a refreshing sigh, keeping in the disgusted expression that he usually has when drinking the bitter alcohol and instead putting on an easy smile for you. "Oh."

"It's not~" He happily responds, "I can handle a lot. Don't worry." His beet-red face smirks confidently as he pours up another glass. This time, he really does pour it onto the table. The pool of soju quickly drips onto the kitchen floor, making a sticky mess at your feet. It takes him a second to realize where that dripping sound was coming from. "Oh, shi--"

"SAN!" You squeal, grabbing whatever kitchen towel is closest and slapping it on the floor to sop up the mess.

The towel has as much absorbency as a piece of A4 printer paper.

San attempts to wipe the liquid up but ends up spreading it around instead. Now the mess has doubled in size. For some reason, he tries to move more frantically, hoping that the rigorous movement will coax the towel to cooperate -- but the added stress in his wipe job does nothing to resolve the issue.

You groan, "Mingi is gonna kill us."

"No-no, it's okay, just--" He looks around the kitchen. Not a single other towel in sight. There aren't even paper towels around! (Does Mingi just pretend to live here or something??) "Fuck, um..." He tries to think quickly, using all 2% of his brain to problem-solve, and all he can think of is to strip off his shirt.

"San?? I don't think now is the time--"

"Don't worry, I got this." He reassures you.

He plops his shirt on top of the towel, and the liquid finally seems to be soaking up. With a few wipes, most of the soju is off the floor. Or at least, not puddling together so badly.

"Oh, you do actually have this." You seem surprised that it works.

He stands up, proud as ever, "See?"

And you do see.

You see everything.

"O-oh, my bad..." He quickly covers himself, "I wasn't thinking." As he attempts to shield himself from your eyes, he ends up highlighting the flushed skin of his chest and the size of his biceps.

You look at him shyly, glancing briefly over his form, "You don't have to hide, San. I-I like your muscles." You admit -- probably too easily because of the alcohol.

"...Really?" He slowly puts his arms down.

"Yeah, I, uh...I've always found you attractive, Sannie."

His eyes widen, "Well, I-I--"

"What the hell are you guys doing in here? We could hear commotion from across the house!" Mingi yells as he enters the kitchen. He spots the empty bottle of soju on the counter, and the wet towel and shirt that are piled on the floor. "Did you guys drink all of that? Holy shi-- San, why are you NAKED? WHY IS THE FLOOR STICKY?"

Mingi ended up sending you to bed in the guest room and dragging San to sleep in the living room with the other guys while he cleaned up the mess.

--

San feels pretty dreadful when he wakes up. The alcohol barely let him sleep, not to mention the insane volume of the snores around him. But that isn't the (only) reason he feels horrible. You confessed to him a handful of hours ago, and he barely got to say anything. He barely got to process it because he was dragged away so fast.

He turns on his phone to see the time. It's 4:45 am. And he's the only person awake in this big ass house. He sighs, pushing off the makeshift bed that was set up on the living room floor, and heads to the kitchen for some water. But he stops halfway there when he sees a figure slowly make its way to the foyer.

He watches as you take slow, quiet steps closer to the door. You were trying to make a getaway.

As you step into your shoes, San clears his throat to announce his presence. Your head snaps to him in shock. "San..." You whisper just loud enough for him to hear. "...You're up?"

He walks closer to you, "You leaving already?"

"Yeah, I have...some stuff to do at home so..."

"So you have to leave at 5 am?" He watches as you squirm, caught in the lie.

You don't answer.

San doesn't know when he'll see you again -- if ever -- so he blurts out what's been running through his head all night. "Did you mean it? What you said last night?"

"W-what? What did I say…?" You pretend not to remember, hoping he'll let it go. But he doesn't. He sees right through you.

"That you think I'm cute, that you...like my muscles..."

Your face blooms with heat. You look away, suddenly fascinated by the floor. "Did I say that…?" you mumble, voice barely above a whisper. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, fidgeting with your sleeve. "L-look, San, I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable. I was drunk and… I don't want this to mess up our friendship��"

"Fuck our friendship."

Your head snaps up. "Huh?"

He takes a step closer. "There's nothing to ruin," he says, his voice low but unwavering. "I've liked you for years. I've been trying to show you this whole time, but you never noticed. Or maybe you just didn't want to."

Your mouth parts, stunned. "…You like me?" The disbelief is written all over your face.

Was he really that bad at flirting?

"Yes," he says, eyes locked on yours. "A lot.".

"Oh, shit," you breathe, your eyes widening. "This whole time, I thought you had a thing for --"

"It's only been you," he cuts in, taking another step forward. You're almost chest to chest now. "Can we stop talking in circles and just date already?"

You blink. "Like… immediately? Right now?" You stumble over your words, "Yeah -- I mean, yes. I'd love to."

His lips twitch into a smile. "Good, then I can do this." His hands cradle your cheeks, gentle but certain, and he leans in. His soft lips meet yours delicately at first, like he's testing the waters, but it quickly grows feverish as he presses you closer.

Once the shock wears off, you start to melt against him, kissing him back just as urgently, like you're making up for lost time. Your stuff slips from your hands as you lose yourself in the kiss, landing with a careless thud. But you don't even flinch. All that matters is the warmth of him, the way your arms fit perfectly around his neck.

When you pull back just enough to breathe, San rests his forehead against yours, humming with a smile on his lips. He exhales, voice soft and full of awe. "Is this real?"

"Oh, it's real." The voice doesn’t come from either of you. It’s deep, dry, and very tired. You both jolt apart like you've been electrocuted. Standing in the hallway, hair sticking out in every direction and eyes half-lidded with sleep, is Mingi. "First, I had to clean up your mess and tuck you both in like toddlers," he says, "and now you're making out in front of the front door?"

San mutters something unintelligible under his breath. You slap a hand over your face.

"Good morning to me, I guess," Mingi mutters, turning around. "I'm gonna take a piss and go back to bed. Try not to start dry-humping in the kitchen."

[reiding-writing]

Cold!reader who defends Spencer when’s someone’s making fun of his autistic traits, and the teams like “what?????”

STAGNANT — SPENCER REID!

why would someone ask spencer a question if they didn’t want to hear the answer?

late s8!spencer x cold!reader 1.2k fluff? cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — the cold!reader roster i have atm has me kicking my feet and twirling my hair, stay tuned

You step into the cramped precinct in a town that barely makes the map, the smell of stale coffee and old paper immediately hitting you.

The air hums with tension—murder cases tend to have that effect on a room. Your team disperses, each member diving into their respective tasks like clockwork.

You stay near Spencer, keeping an eye on the board he’s already scouring, his sharp mind undoubtedly miles ahead of everyone else’s.

It doesn’t take long for the local officers to start asking questions. You’ve seen it before: their curiosity morphing into disbelief as they’re confronted with Spencer Reid in full form.

This particular case involves a peculiar type of soil found on the victim’s shoes, and when one officer, a grizzled man named Officer Moore, offhandedly asks about its significance, Spencer lights up.

“It’s fascinating, actually,” he begins, his voice picking up with enthusiasm. “The soil contains traces of montmorillonite clay, which is common in areas with volcanic ash deposits. This specific type is unique to the western side of the county, and based on the composition—” He gestures to the samples bagged on the table, oblivious to the officer’s quickly fading interest.

Spencer continues, lost in his explanation, his words flowing like water over smooth stones. You watch the officer shift uncomfortably, his expression hardening into impatience. The moment Spencer pauses to breathe, Moore cuts in, looking at you with a smirk.

“Is he like this all the time? Never shuts up, huh?”

You freeze. The room, bustling moments ago, seems quieter now. Your team is too far off to hear, but you’re right here. Close enough to feel the sting of the comment.

Spencer doesn’t notice. Or maybe he pretends not to. Either way, it doesn’t sit right with you. The dismissive tone, the condescension dripping from the officer’s words—it sparks a heat under your skin that you don’t bother to hide.

“Are you stupid?” Your voice is sharp, like a knife scraping metal. Moore’s smug expression falters.

“Excuse me-?”

“You heard me,” you continue, stepping closer, your gaze fixed on him. “If you can’t keep up with what Dr. Reid is saying, that’s your problem. He’s giving you answers—solutions—that you clearly wouldn’t find on your own. So maybe try listening instead of running your mouth.”

Moore blinks, taken aback. His hand hovers near the cup of coffee on the table, forgotten. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did.” you interrupt, crossing your arms. “And for the record, if he’s too much for you to handle, then stay out of his way, you’ll murk his IQ into single digits.”

The room is quiet now, the subtle hum of computers and distant voices the only sound. Spencer finally looks up, his expression unreadable. There’s a hint of surprise in his eyes, but mostly he just seems... confused.

Moore mutters something under his breath and stalks off, clearly not willing to press the issue further. Good. You watch him go, your blood still simmering.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Spencer says softly, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty.

“Yes, I did,” you reply without hesitation. “He was being a jerk.”

Spencer tilts his head, studying you. “People say things like that all the time.”

“Well, they shouldn’t,” you counter, your tone firm. “And if you wont put your foot down about it then I will.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, as if trying to decipher some hidden code in your words. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles—small and fleeting, but genuine. It feels like a victory, however minor.

—

Later, when the team regroups, the tension in the precinct has eased, though you can still feel a few lingering stares from the local officers.

Hotch gives you all the rundown of the next steps, his voice steady and commanding as always. You nod along, but your focus drifts to Spencer, who’s scribbling something in his notebook, seemingly unbothered by the earlier incident.

As the team breaks off to get to work, Emily sidles up beside you, her dark eyes alight with curiosity. “So,” she begins, drawing out the word. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” you reply, feigning ignorance.

“That little showdown with Officer Grumpy Pants earlier,” she says, smirking. “Word has it you tore him a new one,”

You shrug. “He was being disrespectful.”

Emily raises an eyebrow. “To Reid?”

“To all of us, honestly,” you say. “But yeah, mostly Reid. He didn’t deserve that.”

Emily studies you for a moment, her smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “Awe how sweet,”

“Don’t start,” you warn, but there’s no real bite to your words. Emily laughs, raising her hands in mock surrender.

“Hey, no judgment,” she says. “It’s just... very human of you.”

“I’m not a robot.”

She gestures vaguely toward you. “Oh hush you know what I mean,”

You roll your eyes but don’t bother arguing. Instead, you glance across the room at Spencer, who’s now deep in conversation with JJ and Rossi. The earlier exchange seems to have rolled off him, as if it never happened.

But you know better. You’ve seen the way comments like that stick, the way they fester in that moment f hesitation before he speaks. You’re not sure why it matters so much to you—why he matters so much—but you don’t dwell on it.

—

The case drags on into the evening, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. By the time the unsub is in custody and the team is preparing to head back to the jet, exhaustion hangs heavy in the air.

As you gather your things, Morgan claps a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, Ice Queen,” he says, his tone teasing. “You did good.”

“Thank you? I was doing my job.” you reply, shooting him a bemused look.

He chuckles. “Not with the case, sweetness. Word is you went full gladiator on one of the locals earlier.”

“Word travels way too fast in this team,” you mutter.

Morgan grins. “What can I say? We’re a nosy bunch. But it’s nice to know you haven’t lost your bite now you’re saddled up to boy wonder.”

He gestures with his head towards where Spencer was sleeping on the jet’s couch, wrapped in a cheap blanket like baby.

You fight back the urge to smile.

“I never changed,” you say dryly.

Morgan laughs, but there’s a glimmer of respect in his eyes. “Sure you did,”

“No I didn’t,”

He nudges your shoulder, a whisper of “You’ll admit it one day,” before he walks off.

[chanelrolls]

THE MOTH HOUSE | Zayne Li, Caleb Xia 🔞

synopsis. growing up with them was fun, until they turned into fully grown men.

pairing. zayne & caleb x reader

tags. afab!fem reader, slight dead dove, implied pseudocest, dubcon, minor age gap, mutual pining, cheesy romance, slowburn, tension, childhood trio, kissing at 16, eventual smut (but they are adults), oral (m!receiving), sandwich, 3some, nipple play, fingering, 18+

a/n. this is very plot-based so prepare a snack while at it! i didn't do enough proofreading so might be messy and typo-filled lol. but if you're into tension-focused fics, this one is so for you

wc. 13.2k

picture ©️. HOBI

when you were nine years old, you weren’t supposed to follow them that far into the woods.

zayne had told you to wait near the fence, but you never listened when he said stuff like that. and caleb? he didn’t even look back. he just shouted something about a butterfly and took off like his sneakers had wings, crashing through branches and disappearing into the trees.

so of course you went after them, because you were nine and bored. and maybe a little afraid they’d forget you existed if you didn’t keep up.

when you finally found them, caleb was crouched in front of this sad little shed that looked like it’d collapse if you sneezed too hard. the door was hanging off like a crooked jaw, and one window was so cloudy it looked like it had cataracts.

but inside?

there were moths. everywhere!

“woah,” caleb breathed, sticking his head through the door. “this is... this is epic!”

zayne rolled his eyes. “it’s dirty.”

“no, it’s mysterious,” caleb corrected, already halfway inside. “you gotta think bigger, man.”

you hung by the door, nose wrinkled and arms crossed. “are they gonna fly into my face?”

“only if you scream,”

zayne muttered something under his breath about bacteria and tetanus but followed you both in anyway, stepping carefully like the floor might give out beneath him. which it might’ve.

but for some reason, that little shed was perfect.

you spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning it with a broom caleb stole from the neighbor’s garage (without asking), and zayne found some flattened cardboard boxes to sit on. you claimed the back corner near the broken window and said it was your ‘study area’ even though you didn’t bring any books. caleb said it was for “planning missions.” while zayne said you all needed vaccinations.

caleb wanted to call it “fort destiny,” but you shot that down immediately, “too dramatic!”

“you’re dramatic,” he shot back.

zayne voted for “the shed.”

“boring,” caleb and you agreed in unison.

so it became the moth house. no one really agreed on it. it just stuck.

you went there every day that summer. you brought juice boxes and mismatched pillows, old comic books, and one time, caleb even dragged in a radio that only played static and one fuzzy country station. it was too hot most days, and everything smelled like dust and pine needles. but you didn’t care.

you were nine. and this was your kingdom.

sometimes caleb would fall asleep snoring on the crate while zayne read something about how moths get confused by moonlight. other times, you’d all lie flat on your backs and try to find shapes in the broken ceiling. caleb saw a dragon. zayne said that was ridiculous. then you said you saw a chicken.

zayne tried to pretend like he wasn’t smiling, but you caught it.

and once, just once, you scraped your hand on a nail when you tripped, and your lip started wobbling even though you swore you weren’t going to cry. caleb freaked out and offered you a chewed-up piece of gum, but zayne just quietly pulled out the tiny first aid kit he always carried like a mini grandpa.

he didn’t say anything while he cleaned it. but his hands were careful, and he gave you the only sticker from the band-aid box that wasn’t ugly.

later, when the sun started dipping low and the moths began fluttering again, soft and sleepy, you all sat in a row by the doorway.

“we’ll still hang out when we’re grown-ups, right?” you asked.

“depends,” zayne said.

“on what?”

“if you stop eating glue.”

caleb cackled so hard he almost fell off the step. you shoved zayne's shoulder and he actually laughed, a little. just a tiny puff of air through his nose.

but you all knew the answer was yes.

on a sunday, you were not expecting to get married that afternoon.

you didn’t even ask for this. you were just sitting cross-legged in the grass, braiding little clovers into a ring, when caleb plopped down beside you and said, all breathless, “i’m gonna be your groom.”

you blinked. “huh?”

“for the wedding,” he added, puffing out his chest like a proud pigeon. “we’re getting married under the swing set. it’s the law.”

“whose law?”

“mine,” caleb grinned handsomely, showing off a juice-stained gap in his teeth. “i found the tie first, and i already practiced saying 'i do' in the mirror like… ten times.”

zayne, who had been sitting nearby flipping through some dinosaur book, looked up over the top of it. “that’s not how it works,” he muttered, adjusting the rim of his round glasses.

caleb narrowed his eyes. “you weren’t even playing.”

“i am now,” zayne said calmly, standing up and brushing grass off his shorts. “and i’m pretty sure she deserves to choose her groom, not be told by a boy who still eats crayons.”

“that was first grade!” caleb snapped, standing up to glare into zayne at eye-level.

you looked between them, amused. “i didn’t say i was marrying anyone.”

caleb ignored you. “i bring snacks to share. that’s groom material.”

“i helped her with her math homework,” zayne said, folding his arms. “long division. actual suffering.”

“i built her a fort last week—”

“that collapsed on her.”

“but it was cool before that!”

“you didn’t even factor wind speed.”

“it was made of couch cushions, zayne!”

you sighed and pressed the clover ring to your forehead like a very tired queen. “okay, okay. we can just, maybe, pretend there’s two grooms?”

both boys fell silent.

“...that’s not how weddings work,” zayne flatly remarked.

“sounds like she’s choosing both of us,” caleb smirked.

“no. she’s not.”

“yes, she is.”

"whoever wins at tag gets to be the groom!" you exclaimed with a clover ring pinched between your fingers like a sacred treasure.

caleb didn’t even wait for a countdown. he yelped, “yes!” and tore across the grass, limbs flailing, sneakers barely clinging to his feet.

“no cheating, okay!” you called after him, kind of amused, and kind of exasperated.

he didn’t answer. he just kept running like a man with a mission and a full juice box in his system.

you turned to zayne, but he wasn’t even moving. instead, he had already sat back down on the grass beside you, legs crossed while pulling something small from the pocket of his hoodie.

you blinked at him. “...aren’t you gonna run?”

he looked up, shrugged. “i don’t wanna.”

“but, what about the wedding?”

“i’m already the groom,”

your mouth opened, then shut. “how do you figure?”

he held something out to you. a dandelion.

"here. this is a flower," he said, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious. "you need flowers for weddings."

you stared at him, a little speechless.

meanwhile...

caleb, halfway across the yard and pumping his arms like he was in the olympics, tripped dramatically over a rock. he landed with a shout and skidded in the grass, dirt all over his knees and elbows.

he groaned, sat up, looked around only to realize that zayne wasn’t running behind him. at all.

"...hey!" caleb barked like a dog, furious

and betrayed, "why aren’t you tagging me?!"

zayne didn’t look up. just dusted a bit of grass off your shoulder like the gentleman he totally believed he was. caleb stomped back, dirt-smudged and puffing. “this isn’t fair!”

zayne blinked at him. “you lost.”

“i wasn’t racing myself!”

“you kinda were.”

you tried not to giggle.

"i hate both of you," caleb muttered, sulking as he sat down beside you and crossed his arms.

you held up the clover ring between them, solemn. "do you still wanna get married or not?"

they both looked at each other. then at you.

"...can we take turns being the groom?" caleb mumbled.

zayne narrowed his eyes. "i'm not sharing."

you sighed. because ugh, being nine was already this exhausting.

when you turned twelve, it started with thunder, low and slow like a grumble from the sky’s stomach. your lights flickered once, then again, before surrendering completely. the living room sighed into darkness.

you were halfway through brushing your hair when the first knock came.

it turns out to be caleb, soaked through the sleeves, and holding a duffel bag in one hand with a half-squished bag of marshmallows in the other. “power’s out! mom said i could crash here. also i brought snacks. kinda.”

five minutes later, a second knock came. you could already predict that it would be zayne. and he shows up not wet at all. he had an umbrella, a change of clothes, and a battery-operated reading lamp tucked under his arm. “your house has the safest structural foundation. i did the math.”

and just like that, the bed in your room was claimed. caleb flung himself across the cushions like a starfish. “dibs! this whole bed is mine cus i got here first.”

“you’re dripping on the upholstery,” zayne muttered, already rearranging the floor cushions with the precision of a mini architect. “besides, i brought a lamp. and logic.”

“i brought vibes,” caleb snapped back.

the bed was definitely too small. it was meant for one, maybe two if they didn’t mind getting elbowed in the ribs. but three?ridiculous.

“my foot is literally on the floor,” caleb let out a groan, flopping dramatically onto his back, arm flung over his face like some kind of old-timey opera star. “i’m gonna get frostbite and die.”

“your foot is not on the floor,” zayne argued, already facing the wall, blanket pulled over his ear. “and scientifically speaking, that’s not even how frostbite works indoors.”

“okay, mr. dictionary. then explain why i’m freezing to death right now.”

“maybe because you won’t stop moving like a hyperactive penguin,” you sided with zayne, wedged miserably between the two of them, blanket riding up your legs, one sock missing. “also, who kicks in their sleep?!”

“not me,” caleb said.

“definitely you,” zayne and you answered at the same time. “you’re a danger to national sleep.”

caleb turned his face into the pillow to muffle a laugh. “you sound like a sleep robot.”

“you sound like a vacuum,” zayne mumbled, deadpan. “loud, and constantly in the way.”

you snorted, and caleb immediately elbowed you lightly. “hey, don’t take his side!”

“i’m not taking sides,” you shoved him back. “i’m just agreeing with facts.”

caleb gasped. “betrayed. in my own home. wait, this isn’t even my home. betrayal squared.”

zayne let out a tiny breath, maybe a laugh, and shifted. “if you two are done performing shakespeare, maybe we can actually sleep.”

“fine,” caleb muttered. “but if i fall off the bed and die in the night, i hope my ghost haunts you both.”

you reached out blindly and tugged the edge of the blanket over him again. “you won’t.”

“you promise?”

“yeah.”

it was quiet for a bit. just the sound of sheets rustling, of breathing starting to slow. then, caleb’s voice, soft and already sleepy: “…you’re not cold, right?”

zayne didn’t answer immediately. then, barely above a whisper: “not if you stop hogging the covers.”

you smiled into the dark. it took a while, but eventually, you all settled, limbs tangled, breathing steady, three messy little universes orbiting one too-small bed.

and even though someone would probably fall off in the middle of the night, for now… it was enough. your tiny, chaotic world, all tucked in under the same old quilt.

during the day of caleb's football game, you were there.

the sun was hot in that way that made your scalp itch. metal bleachers burned the backs of your thighs, and the little paper fan in your hand was doing next to nothing. still, you sat there, legs swinging, a half-eaten orange popsicle clutched in your palm with your eyes trained on the field.

caleb stood out immediately.

maybe it was the way his jersey stuck to him, number 12 plastered to his back in grass-stained white. or the way his hair, damp from warm-ups, curled slightly at the ends. his socks were mismatched again. always one red stripe, one blue. his coach gave up on him weeks ago.

but when he ran?

you forgot about everything else.

the way his body moved, loose and fast and sharp with energy, it made your heart do this weird thud thing in your chest. and then he grinned across the field, squinting into the bleachers like he was looking for someone.

you waved, stupidly. almost jumping off the bleachers with your bagpack bouncing behind your back.

then, he saw.

caleb’s smile widened. “found her,” he mouthed, before jogging back into formation.

you bit into your popsicle.

“so.” a voice beside you sounded, seemingly sounding like it belonged to somebody you know too well, his tone was flat and unimpressed.

you turned, nearly dropping your popsicle out of surprise.

zayne stood beside the bleachers, one strap of his backpack slung over one shoulder, a stack of thick books tucked against his chest. his button-down shirt was too neat for a saturday, and there was a pencil behind his ear like he forgot it was even there.

his hair, black and just slightly too long, was falling into his eyes again. he didn't fix it this time, like he was more worried about something in particular.

“...zayne?”

he looked straight at you, not unkind, just... unreadable. he always looked like he was solving a problem in his head. “i thought,” he glanced down, then quietly, “you were coming to the science fair.”

your stomach dropped a little. “i- i wanted to. but caleb’s game... he, um, he said he’d be really upset if i missed this one, and—”

“i see.” he shifted, averting his gaze to the game at the bottom. “it’s not a big deal.”

you winced. “zayne, i'm sorry...”

he didn’t answer. instead, he climbed up the bleachers, sat beside you, with the books stacked neatly on his lap. his shoulder barely brushed yours.

you sat in silence for a moment, before the roar of the crowd reverbated throughout the vicinity. the whistle blew, caleb’s voice rang across the field, laughing, cheering.

“he’s good,”

you nodded, quietly. “yeah.”

“i built a robot that follows voice commands back at the science fair,” he said a second later, eyes still on the game. “it waved when i told it to.”

your head whipped to look at him, and he didn’t meet your gaze. but his lips quirked, just barely. “you’re the only one it listened to, though.”

you tried to keep your eyes on the game. you really did.

but zayne was talking, and while he talked, he had this way of pulling you in like you were inside the blueprint of his brain. he pointed at his sketchbook now, flipping past careful diagrams and scribbled notes

“and then here,” he murmured, “i rigged the infrared sensor to- wait, no, see this?” you leaned closer, feeling how his shoulder was warm against yours. “that’s where it malfunctioned,” he added, tapping the corner of the paper with the side of his finger. “but i fixed it. i rerouted the code.”

you smiled. “you’re really smart, you know that?”

he looked at you then. really looked.

your breath caught, not because it was romantic, not exactly. but because zayne, your zayne, looked like someone who’d outgrown his baby face without telling you. his lashes were darker than you remembered.

“i’m just trying stuff,” he pursed his lips together, blinking slowly, “doesn’t mean it’s good.”

you shook your head. “it is!”

on the field, you weren't aware that caleb had scored again. the crowd burst into cheers while you didn’t. you didn’t even look.

caleb’s head turned toward the bleachers, expecting your face, expecting your grin, your thumbs-up, the kind of cheer he only cared about when it came from you. but instead... you were hunched beside zayne, whispering and smiling. like he wasn’t even there.

his stomach twisted.

he jogged back, tossing the ball between his hands with a bit more force now. his eyes didn’t leave the two of you.

caleb narrowed his eyes when he catches you giggling at something zayne said, leaning in closer to hear him better through the cheers.

and then he hurled the ball too far, too high, directly toward the bleachers.

right at zayne.

it landed with a loud thunk against the metal rail, bouncing down and nearly smacking zayne in the knee. “oops!” caleb called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “sorry!”

you both turned, startled. you looked down at the field, at caleb. and he was grinning too wide that it reached his eyes.

“guess i missed,” he added, voice bright and sharp like a joke with teeth.

sixteen was strange. not in a dramatic, movie-kind-of-way, but strange in the small, quiet shifts. like how caleb didn’t always wait at your locker anymore,

or how zayne stopped answering texts right away because he was “studying,”

even though you knew it probably meant he was tired or stressed. or avoiding something he couldn’t name.

you were still a trio, sure. but the threads were looser now. like someone had tugged too hard at one corner, and no one knew how to weave it back.

zayne had books under his arm constantly, a pencil always behind his ear. he talked about scholarships and internships and universities you hadn’t even heard of yet.

sometimes he forgot to look up when you waved. though sometimes he didn’t forget, he just pretended to.

caleb had his team. he walked different now, with a swagger he never used to have, like he’d grown into himself a little too fast. he laughed louder in hallways you weren’t standing in. sometimes you’d pass him and he’d smell like sweat and cologne and someone else’s perfume.

and you... you were trying not to be too obvious. not to sit too close. not to ask too much. because at sixteen, people started assuming things. and you didn’t want to mess anything up.

not with zayne, who still offered his umbrella when it rained. not with caleb, who still flicked your forehead when you zoned out too long.

you were careful now, too careful.

because you still saw them as your brothers. just caleb and zayne. nothing more. nothing less.

but sometimes, in the way they looked at you in hallways and crowds, you started to wonder if they still saw you the same way.

the rain had been falling since last period, but you didn’t realize how hard until you were already halfway to the gate with no umbrella and nowhere to run. now you were tucked under a narrow shed behind the gym, cold water dripping from your elbows, while your uniform clung to places you didn’t want it to.

you wrapped your arms around yourself. not from the chill, really. but from how aware you were of how your soaked shirt left nothing to the imagination. your skirt wasn’t doing much better even. if someone saw you right now…

“you shouldn’t be standing out like that.”

you jumped at the voice, breath catching in your throat.

zayne stood just a few steps away. he didn’t look like he’d run through the rain. he looked perfectly composed, and his umbrella hovered neatly above him, barely a drop on his shoulders. he wore his uniform right, as always.

he looked at you, and his gaze slipped downward to your chest, your skirt, your trembling thighs... then it snapped back up like he hadn’t meant to. but you saw it, and he knew you saw it.

you tried not to shift under his stare. “i didn’t plan to... get stuck.”

“obviously.”

he hesitated, then stepped under the shed, offering the umbrella out to you. his fingers brushed yours when you took it, lingering a bit too long. “i’ll walk you home.”

“it's alright, you don’t have to—”

“i want to.” he said it too fast, and when you looked at him, you couldn't quite decipher the expression he wore on his face, but you could see how his ears grew pink.

the umbrella barely covered both of you, so he stood close, closer than before. shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm. every time he adjusted the angle to cover more of you, his fingers brushed yours.

your shirt was soaked through and completely transparent that you didn’t even need a mirror to know. zayne definitely didn’t mention it, but he wasn’t breathing the same way either. a little too shallow. his jaw clenched every time you moved, like he was trying not to look again.

and maybe that made it worse. that he was trying.

when a breeze blew and your skirt shifted, his hand shot out to catch the umbrella. that’s what it looked like. but it brushed your lower back on the way. and then he didn’t move it right away.

“sorry,” he muttered, voice lower.

you didn’t answer.

your house appeared too soon. zayne stepped up onto the porch with you, water dripping off the umbrella. he still didn’t say anything about the way your shirt clung to your chest, or how your thighs were practically visible through the skirt.

he just glanced once more, and then looked away, harder this time. “are you okay?” he asked. it came out rougher than he probably meant it to.

“yeah. thanks for walking with me.”

his jaw shifted again. “mhm, of course.”

you waited, expecting him to turn back down the path. but he didn’t, not right away.

so you offered softly, “do you wanna come in?”

his eyes lifted to yours. “i probably shouldn’t,”

the rain hadn’t let up.

zayne sat alone on the couch, damp blazer folded neatly beside him, with his hair still a little wet and curling at the ends. the television was on, but low. he wasn’t watching it, instead he was listening to the faint shuffle of your footsteps upstairs, the creak of your door, the sound of drawers opening and closing.

he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white. it wasn’t cold, but he felt restless. like his body didn’t quite know where to place itself in your house anymore.

and when you came downstairs again, changed into a loose shirt that hung too soft on your frame, shorts that showed just a little too much skin, he almost forgot to breathe again.

“are you feeling alright now?” you asked, drying your hair with a towel, casual like nothing had changed.

zayne cleared his throat, “what? mm. yes, i’m fine.”

you flopped beside him, your thigh brushing his before tossing the towel on the armrest. “it’s boring,” you said, settling back, curling one leg beneath you. “let’s just talk or something.”

talk.

zayne didn’t trust his voice for a second.

he turned to look at you, and that was a mistake, because you looked so relaxed. too relaxed. and your shirt had slid a little off one shoulder, exposing skin he absolutely should not be looking at.

his gaze dropped, snapped back up, then his adam's apple bobbed up to down. “sure,” he managed, voice strained.

you smiled. and that made it worse. “why’re you so stiff?”

“i’m not stiff.”

“you’re literally sitting like you’re being held hostage.”

“i’m—” he laughed, short and tense. “i’m just trying to be respectful.”

you tilted your head. “respectful?”

he cleared his throat again and looked away. “nevermind.”

you pulled your knees up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around them as you watched zayne pretend to be interested in the tv. the air was still damp from the rain. he was sitting a cushion away, but it felt like a mile, or an inch. you couldn’t tell.

“you’re acting weird, zayne.”

zayne didn’t answer at first. his jaw clenched a little, eyes flicking to the tv and then, briefly, to your legs curled up beside him. “it's important to be cautious.”

“cautious?”

he nodded, still not looking at you.

you shifted slightly. “since when did that start being a thing between us?”

he finally turned, and you wished he hadn’t, because his eyes were so focused that it made your stomach twist in some unfamiliar way. “since now.”

you wet your lips, heart thudding. “what… what does that mean?”

he leaned back just a little, exhaling like he was debating with himself. then he reached out, slow, fingers brushing lightly over your cheek. “when we were kids,” he murmured, “i could touch you like this.”

his fingers drifted down to your shoulder, and your skin prickled under the contact. you hated how aware you suddenly were of everything. how close he was, how warm his hand felt on your skin.

“or here,” he voice dropped to a whisper, letting his hand pause on your arm.

his gaze dropped to your thighs, and you could almost combust from the amount of tension he's giving you. his fingers gently grazed your knee, then up to where your shorts ended. “and even here.”

your breath hitched. you didn’t mean for it to, but it did. his hand lingered a second too long, while you couldn’t look away from him.

then he pulled away, sharply. as if he had already decided for the moment to snap. “but now that i’m a teenager,” he paused. “it’s different.”

your chest rose and fell a little faster than it should’ve. “…different doesn’t always mean bad,” you suggested, voice quieter than before. you didn't know if that was an offer hidden in innocence, you hadn't meant it that way. but if zayne would accept it, you wouldn't complain either.

—

caleb [6:12pm]: practice just ended. you free? swing by. door’s open.

you stared at it for a moment longer than necessary, thumb hovering above the screen. the message was just casual, as if he hadn’t just been giving you space for the last few weeks. as if the three of you hadn’t started orbiting different stars lately.

you typed back. it's been a while, after all.

you [6:14pm]: yeah. omw.

the dorm building was already shadowed by the time you arrived. it was quieter now. dinner hour, probably. the air still smelled faintly of liniment and detergent, like it always did when you passed by the practice wing. you made your way up the stairs, familiar enough to not get lost but still unsure why your heart was beating faster with every step.

you didn’t knock. you only pushed the door gently, peeking in. “caleb?”

no answer.

you stepped in anyway, and paused. because the view was rather... something. he had his back to you, shirtless.

his shoulders were broad, not the lanky mess they used to be in middle school. they were much more... defined now. his back glistened with leftover sweat, and there were jagged, smudged bruises, patches of violet and red, splayed across his shoulder blades like careless brushstrokes.

he was digging through his gym bag, towel slung around his neck, muttering something under his breath about his socks.

you froze.

and maybe you should’ve said something, or made a sound, but your voice caught somewhere in your chest. not out of shock, not even embarrassment. it was just… you didn’t expect him to look like that.

not looking like your childhood best friend.

then he turned, eyes locking with yours. and for a split second, both of you just stared at each other. “damn, you’re fast.”

“you’re shirtless!”

“yeah?” he tossed the towel onto the bed like it meant nothing. “i live here.”

you stepped in, closing the door behind you. “you’re also… bruised.”

“yeah,” he muttered, shrugging one shoulder with a wince. “scrimmage got rough. elbows, knees, pride. everything took a hit.”

he grinned like it was fine, like it didn’t hurt at all. but still, you stepped closer in an attempt to check them out. “does it still sting?”

he tilted his head, staring down at you. only then you got to realize the height difference both of you had, he was practically towering over you already. “you gonna kiss it better?”

you rolled your eyes. “you’re insufferable as always.”

“but you came,” he shot back, half-sitting on the bed. “so maybe i’m still charming enough.”

sigh.

"do you have any ointment?" you asked softly, eyes scanning the mottled bruises on his back. caleb paused, then nodded toward the drawer by his bed.

you then moved to get it. the dorm room felt smaller now, more tender. maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t put a shirt on, or maybe it was the fact that neither of you had really spoken like this in weeks.

you returned and sat behind him so you could have better access to his back. “you sure 'bout this?” you asked, uncapping the ointment. “it might sting.”

he finally glanced back, eyes lidded, a breath of a smirk on his lips. “only if you’re rough.”

you snorted and dipped your fingers into the ointment. “what a baby.”

“only for you.”

you hesitated, caught off guard by his sudden flirting. he had always been like this ever since you were nine, and yet you couldn't help but recall what zayne had told you the other day. about how now that you're teenagers, the things that you used to normalize back in childhood feel different. then, you touched the first bruise, right below his shoulder blade. he hissed lightly in response.

“sorry,” you murmured.

he only shook his head. “nah, keep going.”

so you did. slow, gentle, spreading the cool gel across angry purples and dusky reds. your fingertips followed the slope of his back, avoiding the worse scrapes. it was quiet for a moment, until you spoke. “zayne said you bailed on cooking last night.”

caleb exhaled through his nose. “i didn’t bail. practice ran long and coach kept us past curfew.”

“you could’ve at least texted.”

“what, and ruin your alone time with him?”

you glanced at him. “...you sound bitter.”

“do i?” he didn’t say anything else. you kept your hand still against his back, watching his posture. the muscles under your fingers had tensed slightly. “you two talk a lot lately,” he added after a pause.

“we’re just catching up.”

“right.”

you moved to the next bruise. this one was higher, closer to his spine. he inhaled a little when your fingers touched the spot, and for a moment, you didn’t say anything either.

then you asked, “why don't you hang out like before anymore?”

“...we do.”

“doesn't seem like it.”

you didn’t mean to freeze.

but caleb turning around to face you with a half-grin, all mischief, kind of knocked the air out of you. the cut that he showed wasn’t deep, just a thin angry line over his chest, but he acted like it was life-threatening.

“hey,” he gestured, cocking his head. “wanna earn your nurse badge today?”

“you’re ridiculous,” your fingers hovered over the ointment tube, heart pounding like you were diffusing a bomb instead of treating a scrape.

“you’re taking forever,” he teased.

“maybe i should just leave it to get infected.”

“i dare you.”

you rolled your eyes and finally pressed the cream to his skin. his chest was warm under your touch, taut with muscle but still faintly bruised. he didn’t flinch, neither did he look away.

you, on the other hand, couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

until you did.

he was staring. not in a teasing way now, but in that way that made your whole brain short-circuit. he looked at you like he could see something you weren’t even sure you were showing.

then, without warning, he caught your wrist in his hand.

“you’re already sixteen, right pipsqueak?” he suddenly asks, voice dropping to an octave. “it’s impossible you don’t got a crush yet.”

you blinked up at him. he was close, close enough that you could count the lashes of his eyes, close enough to smell the faint citrus of his body wash. he smirked, just a little. “do you?”

your heart was doing that annoying thing again, thudding against your ribs like it was trying to make a break for it. his hand was still lightly around your wrist, and your mouth felt dry.

“i-i don’t like anyone,” you finally blurted, the words tumbling out too fast and defensive.

caleb’s brows rose, stretching his grin. “ohhh?” he leaned in slightly, tilting his head like he was trying to read something written on your face. “you sure about that?”

you scowled, heat crawling up your neck. “yes.”

“positive?”

“yes.”

he couldn't keep a straight face anymore as he gave out a knowing laugh and leaned back, finally releasing your wrist. “alright, alright. calm down, pips. i believe you.”

you rolled your eyes, pressing the ointment lid back on like it personally offended you.

but then caleb stood up with a stretch, ruffling his already-messy hair. “anyway,” he said, tone suddenly lighter, like that weird moment didn’t just happen. “how ‘bout we crash zayne’s place tonight? for dinner or something.”

“really?”

“like old times.” he glanced at you, shrugging a shoulder. “we haven’t done that in a while, right? bet he’s still hoarding those weird triangle sandwiches he thinks are gourmet.”

you let out a small laugh despite the aftertaste of your nerves. “you just want free food.”

“damn right i do,” he grinned. “but also… maybe i kinda miss the trio. just a little.”

you nodded slowly. “yeah. me too.”

caleb grabbed his hoodie from the desk chair and tossed it over his shoulder. “cool. c’mon then. let’s go bother the genius.”

—

the table was already set when you arrived, neatly arranged dishes with zayne’s unmistakable touch. curry rice, roasted vegetables, those weird triangle sandwiches caleb joked about, and even your favorite juice poured into mismatched cups.

zayne was wearing his usual cardigan and pajama pants, sleeves pushed up, hair a bit messy from cooking, but still frustratingly put-together. “you’re late,” he said with a straight face as you walked in, but there was a flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

caleb strolled in behind you, tossing his bag on the floor. “yeah, yeah, blame basketball. you should be glad we even showed up, chef.”

zayne scoffed, already sitting down. “if i knew you were coming, i would’ve made extra protein powder stew.”

you snorted. “gross.”

“don’t give him ideas,” caleb replied as he plopped down across from zayne, stealing a piece of bread. “so, did you cook all this just to show off or something?”

zayne didn’t look at him. “i cooked because she always liked this combo,” said he, eyes flicking to you instead.

that made you blink, and caleb paused mid-chew.

“…right,” caleb muttered, clearing his throat. “well, i bet she liked my game-winning shot yesterday too. y’know, if she even saw it.”

zayne raised an eyebrow. “you mean the one you landed after ignoring your coach’s strategy and almost spraining your ankle?”

“oh, so you were watching?” caleb grinned, teeth showing. “that’s cute.”

you sat down slowly between them, feeling the air shift. what was supposed to be friendly banter had the undertone of something else now. there were too many sideway glances, too many moments when they were both speaking to each other, but their attention kept bouncing to you.

zayne passed you a plate. “are you okay? you look flushed.”

you nodded quickly. “just hungry.”

caleb leaned on his elbow. “you always get red when you're caught in the middle. c’mon, say it, who’s the better cook?”

you choked on your juice.

zayne didn’t smile. “don’t pressure her.”

“oh?” caleb leaned back, stretching, the hem of his shirt lifting just slightly. “scared of the answer?”

zayne finally looked at him with squinted eyes. “not really. but some of us don’t need validation every second.”

you reached for the rice, trying to drown yourself in the meal. both of them had grown taller, deeper voices with sharper gazes. and suddenly, this wasn’t just dinner anymore.

you missed when things were simple.

"you know, if we’re rating effort," caleb added, "mine would’ve been a five-star takeout. but nooo, zayne had to go full iron chef."

“that’s because i actually care if our internal organs make it past tonight.”

“please,” caleb rolled his eyes, “you burned toast until you were twelve.”

“i was experimenting,”

you took a bite of the stir-fry, trying not to laugh. “it’s good. really.”

that was all it took. "she said my dish was good," zayne turned with the faintest smirk.

“your dish?” caleb leaned forward on the table. “who do you think helped slice those vegetables? oh, right, me. with these very hands,” he held up his fingers like they were divine.

“you almost sliced your thumb.”

“but i didn’t.”

zayne sighed. “if we’re going there, who carried your groceries when your arms were sore from practice?”

caleb scoffed, “who ran across campus with your laptop when you forgot it before a big test?”

“who fixed your wi-fi?”

“who held your hair back when you puked in eighth grade?”

"who helped you rehearse that weird

speech for student council in ninth?"

they were both leaning closer across the table now, eyes locked together as their egos continuously inflated by the second. you watched like a spectator at the world’s dumbest showdown, until their focus now shifted onto you, now throwing the ball at your court.

“who’s the better listener?”

“who’s more supportive?”

“who makes you laugh more?”

“who’s more dependable?”

and then...

“who’s the better kisser?”

the silence was instant.

zayne blinked.

caleb's eyes widened.

your fork clattered onto the plate.

“…i haven’t kissed either of you,” you blurted, eyes darting between them.

so, caleb leaned back, suddenly fascinated by the ceiling. while zayne stared at his glass of water like it held the secrets of the universe.

for a moment, you couldn't speak. you could only keep your eyes glued on the empty plate before you, as if counting the leftover crumbs grazed along the surface. you tightened your grip around your spoon, biting your lower lip. your heart's thudding again, cause you have always pushed that thought away.

what thought? even now, you still did.

the thought of recognizing that there might be something beyond the threads of your sibling relationship. even though they were really just your childhood bestfriends, you were used to seeing them as your brothers. and now... the thought of kissing them was brought to the table.

you gulped, trying to shift your gaze anywhere, but instead landing on caleb, who's been staring at you for quite some time already. when your eyes met, he instantly glances down.

"how old are you now, [name]?" suddenly, you heard zayne speak from the other side. you look up at him, locking eyes with his emerald ones.

it took you a while to answer, trying to process the odd question. you could also feel caleb's eyes on you too, as if anticipating as well. "sixteen," you finally say, but you sounded so serious you didn't like it. "you attend my birthday every day, i mean, every year. how could you not know?"

your attempt at making the situation lighthearted was futile, as both boys remained expressionless. zayne spoke again, "you're turning seventeen next month."

you and caleb watched him in curiosity, trying to figure out the intent behind his words. he continued, "your age seems appropriate enough for... kissing. so, who's the best kisser, you say?" zayne finally averts his gaze away from you to focus on caleb.

caleb eyes him back, his two fingers resting on his philtrum. you noticed his ears turning red, as both men stared at each other in contemplative silence, as if they were telepathically sending messages.

and you were just there, clueless. you stand up, the chair making a loud sound against the floor. "i'll go- wash the dishes."

zayne barely flinched at the sound of the chair scraping, but his voice came quick, like it had been waiting. “leave it. i’ll do it later.”

you blinked, halfway turned toward the sink. “but—”

“sit down, girl.” caleb interrupted, softer than usual. he was still leaning back, hand now dangling over the edge of his chair, knuckles tapping lightly against the wood. his eyes flicked to yours and held them there. “it’s not like we’re gonna bite.”

you stared between them, and your fingers twitched against your thigh, but you sat back down, carefully. as if lowering yourself into a dream you weren’t sure you wanted to have.

“sorry,” you said, mostly to break the tension. “that was weird.”

“no,” zayne replied, sharp but low. “it’s not weird. it’s…” he trailed off, sighing through his nose, then leaning his arms onto the table. “you were the one who always said things would change. remember?”

caleb scoffed. “she was also the one who said she’d never date either of us ‘cause we were like… family.”

you looked at him, startled by the precision of the memory. his lips quirked, but there was no real smile behind it.

“you were eleven,” zayne muttered, almost to himself. “and we were idiots.”

“still are,” caleb added, shrugging.

zayne looked at him. caleb looked back.

again, that quiet stare-off. and again, your pulse picked up.

your throat felt dry. “you guys…” your voice faltered. “you’re not actually expecting me to answer that question, right? about the kiss?”

silence.

then, zayne leaned in slightly, “you don’t have to answer.” his eyes flicked to your lips. “but if you ever wonder… it’s not something we’d ever take lightly.”

caleb sat forward now too, “not a joke, pipsqueak. not this one.”

you looked down at your lap, hands clenched. “...i do wonder.” you weren’t even sure why you said it. maybe it was the silence. maybe it was the way they were both looking at you like you were something they couldn’t quite hold yet. maybe it was the way your heart had been thudding in your ears for minutes now, demanding some kind of release.

“you wonder,” caleb echoed, and his voice dropped. “about me? or him?”

"caleb." zayne warned.

"what?"

“…i don’t know,” you muttered. “both of you, i guess.”

the air fractured again. and this time, it stayed silent long enough that you had to look up. caleb’s brows were raised, lips parted like he hadn’t expected honesty. zayne’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, but his ears were pink.

caleb's voice cut through the stillness like a blade. “you can get your answer right now.”

your breath hitched. you looked at him, eyes wide, heart ricocheting off your ribs. "that's not- i didn't mean-"

“you sure?” caleb interrupted, a hint of seriousness blending in with his usual mischief. "because if you really wanna know, i'm not gonna pretend i haven’t thought about it too.”

you couldn’t look away. caleb was still there, waiting, giving you an out, but not backing down either.

he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and his voice dropped even lower. “you’re sixteen, pipsqueak. you feel things. and we’re not kids anymore. maybe it’s okay to stop pretending we are.”

zayne’s footsteps were quiet but firm as he stood up to gather the plates, standing right behind your chair. “or maybe,” he said slowly, “we’re not going to pressure her into anything just because we’re feeling bold tonight.”

“i’m not pressuring,” caleb replied. “i’m offering. there’s a difference.”

these weren't the same boys that you chased frogs with back in your childhood summer.

the words left your lips before you could even think them through. "then... i'll take that offer right now." you couldn't take it back now. you couldn't even back out of it.

"you sure about that?" caleb's voice was a little hushed, as if he didn’t want to push too hard. you could feel zayne's presence radiating behind you too.

"yeah," you whispered, your voice trembling ever so slightly, but there was a sense of resolution in it. "i think i am."

the room grew even quieter, only the sound of your own breath and the slight shift of the chairs beneath you breaking the stillness.

caleb didn’t speak at first. he simply stared at you, like he was waiting for you to change your mind. but you didn’t. he let out a low breath, a small smile playing on his lips. “alright then, pipsqueak. you know what you're getting into?” he pulls the legs of your chair closer.

before either of them could say anything else, you broke the moment by standing up abruptly, hands brushing your clothes nervously. "well, i—"

"hey, no running away." caleb’s voice was playful, but there was something darker beneath it, a promise you weren’t sure you were ready to face.

zayne’s hand landed gently on your shoulder, guiding you back into your seat. his touch was reassuring but left a warmth that lingered, a contrast to the uncertainty that was swirling inside you. “don’t act like you’re going anywhere. you started this.”

right, yeah, you did start this somehow. you also would be lying if you said you weren't curious of how far would this go if you explored just a little further.

you glanced at caleb, but his eyes weren't on you. instead, they were on zayne. he was giving him a look that you couldn't decipher, but you could tell it was one that held an intent beneath.

slowly, you turn your head to look up at zayne still standing behind your chair. he looks down at you, but he doesn't speak. and then, you feel fingers grazing your jawline. and you're pretty sure it's not zayne's.

the grip on your jawline gets more forceful, and before you could look at the one who it belonged to, you feel a pair of lips press on yours. a yelp got stuck in your throat, and your hands instinctively find their way onto caleb's shoulders.

was he a good kisser? you couldn't tell. you didn't have experience anyway. caleb was only pressing his lips deeper, sometimes using his tongue, you weren't sure if it's right, but you were sure about the effect it had on you.

and caleb? he had his eyes shut tight, breathing desperately like he'd been waiting for this to happen. cupping your face tenderly because you've been the only girl in his mind, the only girl his body had been aching to have.

he pulled away, not because he's had enough, but because he was afraid that he might touch you somewhere else if he kept on going. his eyes flickered to your body, before going back into your eyes. for a second, you saw something raw pass through his façade, something vulnerable.

before you could even make it out, another pair of lips were already on yours again. from zayne's position, he bent over to give you a pick, pulling away to check on your expression, and when he saw the way you stared into his eyes, he dives in again.

caleb watched, his eyes followed the way your lips tried to keep up with zayne's pace. then, he interrupts, "you're enjoying it a bit too much." which pulled you and zayne both out of the trance.

your lips parted as you slowly leaned back, breath shallow, heartbeat loud in your ears. it was like time stalled. there was no ceiling fan, no ticking clock, no leftover dinner scent. just the phantom of both their lips against yours.

you didn’t know what you expected. fireworks? a spark? maybe clarity?

instead, it was a storm. a tangled rush of confusion and heat, of everything that shouldn’t be real suddenly becoming too real.

"so...?" zayne spoke, “was that enough for a verdict?”

you swallowed. “i…”

you didn’t know what to say.

because how could you weigh something like that? how could you explain the butterflies and the guilt, the thrill and the ache? how could you admit that for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were still just childhood friends anymore?

and ever since that night, something cracked between the three of you.

you didn’t talk about the kiss. no one did.

but you felt it in the way caleb stopped sending random memes to your inbox, in the way zayne no longer waited for you by your classroom door after school. the group chats fell quiet. the little traditions, the teasing, the banter, the familiarity. it all faded into something strained and tiptoed around.

at first, you told yourself it was just a phase. that maybe everyone was busy, that things would snap back eventually. but the silence dragged on.

one night, you opened your messages to see two unread texts. one from caleb. one from zayne. both were apology messages from the kiss that happened between the three of you. you read them both in the dim glow of your bedroom, but you didn’t reply. not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t know how.

you started to notice it in the small things first. the way caleb would be walking down the hall with his teammates and suddenly glance the other way when he saw you approaching. the way zayne, who used to brush his shoulder against yours in crowded corridors just for the excuse to say something dumb under his breath, now passed by like you were a stranger in a crowd.

they didn’t talk to you. they didn’t even look at you.

at first, you tried not to let it bother you. maybe they were just giving you space. maybe they were waiting for you to say something first. but then the days stretched on. and the silence felt less like patience and more like avoidance.

and it stung. more than you wanted to admit. because they were the ones who crossed the line. they were the ones who leaned in first, who kissed you, who said things with their eyes they couldn’t take back. so why were you the one left behind?

you were twenty-one now.

a different kind of grown-up, one with a job to keep, bills to pay, and a life that had settled into its own rhythm. it wasn’t the one you imagined back when you were sixteen, wide-eyed and fumbling through emotions too big for your chest. but it was stable and manageable.

still, in quiet moments, in the pause between your third sip of coffee and your laptop screen flickering awake, they crossed your mind.

caleb and zayne.

they’d both gone abroad. scholarships, dreams, ambitions you always knew were bigger than the small town you all came from.you weren’t surprised. they were always meant for more.

sometimes, you’d get a text. zayne asking if your mom’s garden was still alive, or caleb forwarding a photo of an old arcade machine you all used to fight over.

but it was always brief and distant. like you were all just family friends now, tethered only by history.

you had tried to date other people, and though some were sweet, others were exciting, none of them ever made you feel the way you did at seventeen, sitting between two boys who once made you believe the world could burn just from how close they stood to you.

no one ever matched the heat of caleb’s teasing gaze or the weight of zayne’s quiet stares.

no one ever made your heart stutter the way it did when they asked who’s the better kisser? as if the question wasn’t going to ruin you all.

and maybe that’s why you were still alone now. not because you couldn’t love, but because you knew what it felt like to be loved too much, too young, and all at once.

you wondered if they ever thought about it too. about you. about what the three of you were before the silence set in.

you were slicing carrots when your mother told you, half-casually, like it was nothing,

"zayne and caleb are flying home tomorrow. their families are throwing a welcome party."

you blinked, the knife pausing mid-air.

"they're… coming back?"

"mm-hm," she said, too focused on kneading dough to notice the way your breath hitched. "i already told them you'd cook something for the welcome table. they’re expecting your lasagna. and maybe that buttered chicken too. you know, your usual."

your usual. the one you used to cook for them.

you didn’t argue. instead, you found yourself in the kitchen the next day, apron on, ingredients lined up like a ritual. your hands moved on instinct, muscle memory from years of doing this for them. back when dinners were chaotic and filled with dumb jokes, competitive card games, and stolen glances over the rim of your glass.

you stirred the sauce and kept your focus low, trying not to think about it. trying not to count how long it had been since you saw their faces in person. how long since zayne last ruffled your hair like he used to, or caleb leaned over too close, grinning like he knew what you were thinking.

then the front door creaked open.

and you listened to the way laughter spilled in, the way the families greeted in unison to welcome them back. and you hear caleb's laughter, which made you stop on your tracks. it was much more manly now.

from the kitchen, you stayed half-hidden behind the archway. wooden spoon in hand, apron dusted with flour and sauce. you were supposed to be checking the oven, maybe chopping the rest of the bell peppers, but instead you stood frozen in place, eyes locked on the scene unfolding in the living room.

caleb was laughing, his voice louder than the rest, ruffling zayne’s little brother’s hair like he never left, then turning to dab up with one of the uncles who slapped his back in greeting. his presence was loud and unmistakably him. maybe it was the colonel uniform hugging his frame, the silver necklace glinting against his chest, the way he carried himself with that trained, effortless authority. god, he looked good.

your gaze shifted.

zayne was across the room, kneeling beside your grandmother’s seat, speaking with her in that quiet, earnest tone that made people naturally lean closer. his white coat was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up just slightly, and even from where you stood, you could tell that he’d grown into his face. sharper jaw, broader shoulders. handsome in a way that made your heart fumble a little too hard in your chest.

and then, his eyes lifted, before finding you.

you quickly looked away, busying yourself with the spoon in your hand, stirring nothing in a pot that didn’t even need it.

because you couldn’t trust your face to not show how you were suddenly burning.

after a few more minutes of pretending not to notice them and pretending even harder not to feel anything, you set down the final dish. a hearty beef stew still steaming from the pot. wiping your hands on your apron, you called out, “alright, last dish is ready!”

the room erupted in cheers, your aunts already passing out utensils and your cousins hollering your name like you were some celebrity chef. you smiled sheepishly, bowing a little as people complimented the spread. you took your usual seat beside your mom, grateful for the buffer of familiar comfort. but just as you picked up your fork, your mom stood to help grandma to the buffet.

before you could blink, caleb slid into the now-empty seat beside you.

and then zayne, wordless and quiet as ever, took the one on the other side.

you froze, eyes locked on your plate, heart thudding at the proximity of two very specific colognes, both achingly familiar.

for a moment, none of you said anything.

so, just for politeness, and maybe survival, you cleared your throat and forced a small smile. “…hey, you two.” you didn’t dare look at them directly, not yet.

but you heard the shift in caleb’s posture, the way his voice dipped low in that teasing lilt. “hey, pipsqueak.”

and zayne, ever so composed, “it’s been a while.”

yeah. it really, really has.

your fork paused mid-air when one of your aunts leaned forward, glass of wine in hand, “so, caleb. zayne. any girlfriends yet?”

you could’ve sworn the air thinned.

caleb chuckled, low and smooth, leaning back with one arm draped lazily over his chair. “nah. no one’s been able to handle me long-term.” he winked, and the table erupted in laughter. you could feel your shoulders stiffen.

zayne, gave a polite smile and shook his head. “i’ve been too focused on med school to even think about dating.”

“come on,” another aunt chimed in. “not even one? you boys are too good-looking to still be single.”

you didn’t mean to look, but your eyes flicked between them. caleb's smirk was still present, but his gaze, barely, shifted toward you. zayne remained calm, though you caught the way his thumb tapped anxiously against his water glass.

they didn’t answer further. and yet somehow, the silence that followed was louder than the laughter before it.

you were halfway through slicing a piece of roast when caleb, ever the instigator, tilted his head in your direction with a sly grin. “actually,” he said, voice loud enough to slice through the other conversations, “has anyone asked her if she’s got a boyfriend yet?”

you froze, your fork hovering awkwardly in the air. all eyes turned toward you, some playful, some genuinely curious. you forced a smile, trying not to glance at your mom’s reaction or the sparkle of amusement in caleb’s eyes.

“what?” you tried to play dumb, a breathy laugh escaping you. “no one asked.”

“then let me be the first,” he said, folding his arms as he leaned in with mock sincerity. “so? got anyone these days, pipsqueak?”

your throat went dry. you didn’t want to look, but you felt zayne’s gaze like a weight. when you finally dared to glance his way, his brows were relaxed, but he was a bit too focused on you, in an expectant way.

“no,” you answered softly, clearing your throat. “no one serious.”

caleb raised an eyebrow. “so there was someone not serious, huh?”

“guys—” you laughed awkwardly, ducking your head. “can we not?”

you slipped away from the noise the moment no one was looking, carrying the weight of too many glances and questions that clung to you like static. your mom had insisted on washing the dishes herself, brushing you off with a soft smile and a quick, “go rest, you’ve done enough.” so you did.

you took the stairs slowly, the sounds of laughter and familiar music growing fainter with each step. it should’ve felt comforting. but instead, it left a strange hollow space in your chest.

when you reached your room, you didn’t even bother turning on the light. you closed the door gently, then leaned your back against it for a second, just breathing.

then, with a quiet sigh, you crossed the room and sat at the edge of your bed. you stared down at your hands, still smelling faintly of garlic and oil. you tried to focus on that instead of the dinner table. instead of the way both zayne and caleb had looked at you.

your phone buzzed beside you.

you cracked one eye open and reached for it lazily, expecting a family group chat meme or your mom asking if you wanted dessert. instead, it was from caleb.

“come outside.”

you stared at the text for a moment, your thumb hovering. no punctuatio and no context? classic caleb. it made your heart twist in a way you hated still felt familiar.

you sat up, hesitated. but curiosity got the better of you.

you padded down the hallway quietly, slipping past the laughter and the glow of the living room lights. then, you stepped out the front door.

there they were. caleb was in his uniform jacket, arms crossed, looking off into the distance until he noticed you. zayne had his hands in his coat pockets, gaze already fixed on you as if he'd been waiting longer than caleb had texted.

you raised a brow. “what’s this?”

caleb gave a crooked grin. “we’re going to the moth house.”

zayne nodded. “thought we’d check if it’s still alive. it's not so far from here, isn't it?”

the words made something warm stir in your chest. that old place where you'd all sneak off to and swear eternal friendship over moth-eaten pillows and muddy sneakers. a piece of your childhood that still breathed somewhere in the outskirts of this town.

you blinked, then smiled. “seriously?”

“come on,” caleb said, already walking ahead. “you’re not gonna chicken out, are you?”

you rolled your eyes, but your feet moved before you could stop them. “you’re both still idiots,” you mumbled, but you were already smiling too wide.

you ended up running.

it started with caleb nudging you with his shoulder and saying, “last one is a rotten egg,” before sprinting down the familiar dirt path. zayne let out a breath of disbelief—“seriously?”—but took off right after. and you, despite your protests, despite your boots not being made for this, ran too.

just like you used to.

your laughter echoed through the night, tangled with the sound of crunching leaves and pounding footsteps, breathless and utterly alive.

the moth house sat tucked behind the trees, barely visible until you were almost in front of it. a small, forgotten wooden thing, its paint chipped and its roof a little more caved in than you remembered. but the moment you saw it, your breath caught.

it hadn’t changed.

caleb reached it first, pushing the creaky door open. zayne followed, and you arrived last, panting, eyes wide, something nostalgic and aching blooming in your chest.

“still standing,” caleb muttered, stepping inside.

“barely,” zayne added.

it was pitch black inside. the smell of damp wood and dust clung to the air. and then, in true zayne fashion, had been bringing a lamp all along. warm yellow light spilled across the floor and the walls.

you let out a soft gasp. there they were.

the remnants of your old world.

your pink barbie doll, hair tangled and limbs askew, sat against the wall. beside her was one of caleb’s beat-up toy cars, the wheels long gone but the lightning bolt sticker still scratched onto the side. and scattered near the corner, a few torn pages from zayne’s dinosaur encyclopedia, edges curled with time.

“this is insane,” you whispered, stepping further in. “i thought all of this would be gone.”

“guess we left more than we thought,” zayne said quietly.

caleb crouched down near his old toy car, brushing dust off it with the edge of his sleeve. “feels like we were just here last summer, huh?”

you leaned against the wooden wall, the lamp's dim glow casting soft shadows across their faces as they talked. caleb was squatting again, fiddling with his old toy car like it still mattered. zayne had his arms crossed, leaning on the opposite wall, the corners of his mouth occasionally twitching up in amusement at something caleb said.

they weren’t arguing. they weren’t bickering as always like before. they were just… talking.

you watched them like you were outside a glass window, nose pressed to the surface. both of them had become striking in their own way.

you felt your chest tighten. your gaze dropped to the floor, your heart started to pace without permission. because no matter how much older you were now, no matter how long it had been… your mind drifted. to that night. to that stupid kiss.

you hadn’t thought about it in years. or maybe you had, just not out loud. not where it could reach the surface. but here, in the moth house, surrounded by remnants of childhood and all the things you used to be, the memory pulsed.

was it supposed to be forgotten?

just one of those reckless, messy things you all agreed to pretend didn’t happen?

because you never talked about it after.

never got the answer to the question they’d both pushed into the air. and yet here you all were. again. so why did it still feel unfinished?

"i have the answer already." your voice cut through the soft crackle of the old lamp, quiet but clear enough to make them stop mid-conversation. caleb froze, halfway through repositioning the toy car on the floor, while zayne’s head turned slowly, brows knitting with confusion.

“what?” caleb asked, blinking up at you.

you swallowed, suddenly aware of how loud your heartbeat was. then, you looked down, and then back up, steadying yourself. “the... ‘who’s the better kisser’ thing,” you clarified, and your voice, though small, left no room for misunderstanding.

and just like that, stillness came.

zayne’s expression didn’t change at first, he just stood straighter. then you noticed the subtle shift in his eyes, locked onto you like he was trying to pick apart your thoughts, decode every layer behind your words.

caleb didn’t even try to hide his reaction. he blinked once, twice, before sitting back on his heels and leaning forward slightly, as if you’d just challenged him to a match. his smirk didn’t appear, but the intensity behind his stare said enough.

they were both looking at you now. hard.

not with confusion anymore.

no. this was something heavier. like possession. like the past had suddenly started breathing again, crawling back to life.

neither of them said a word yet. but you could tell that they wanted to know, and they weren’t planning on letting it go. not this time.

"so..." caleb finally said. "who is it?"

and zayne’s gaze didn’t waver.

"you're both good kissers!" the words left your lips before you could take them back. a soft, honest confession. you didn’t even say it to provoke. you just... told the truth.

silence followed.

caleb blinked at you, wide-eyed for a second. and then, he huffed out a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. a short, breathy laugh slipped from him, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. “silly girl.” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to keep himself from grinning too much.

zayne didn’t laugh. he just looked down, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat. you watched his lashes lower, his brows pinch, his lips pressed tight like he was trying to suppress something. either a sigh, a thought, or the quiet bruising of his own pride.

no one spoke for a while.

it was almost funny. you’d answered the question they left behind all those years ago. and yet, here they were... grown, taller, stronger, and still just as thrown off by you.

caleb scoffed, shaking his head. “nah, i’m gonna have to disagree with that.”

you looked up at him, blinking. “what—?”

he crossed his arms, gaze narrowed but playful. “you just said that to keep the peace. i call it. no way we were equally good..”

zayne, who’d remained quiet until now, finally lifted his eyes again. boldness, maybe. “he might have a point,” zayne said. “we were teenagers then, and inexperienced. it wasn’t exactly a fair measure.”

you turned to him, startled.

he glanced at caleb, then back at you. “for a real answer, there should be a reevaluation.” he said it plainly, but the weight behind it made your stomach twist.

caleb raised his brows, looking half-impressed and half-annoyed. “oh? you serious, doc?”

“just being thorough,”

your throat went dry. you suddenly weren’t sure if coming to the moth house was such a good idea after all.

you tilted your head slightly, “so… are you saying you have experience now?”

zayne’s lips tugged upward, just a little. “no,” he admitted, stepping forward, slow and sure. “not exactly.” his eyes didn’t leave yours. you could hear caleb shift behind zayne, but he didn’t say a word. he was just watching, waiting.

zayne stopped just a breath away, “do you want to try it again?”

your heart thudded. too fast. too loud. this was real. this was now. and caleb… caleb still hadn’t moved. but you could feel the heat of his stare burning right through you.

before you could even open your mouth to respond, before you could decide what you wanted, zayne muttered a soft curse under his breath. something like “fuck it,” barely audible. then, in one motion, he removed his glasses, carelessly tucking them into his coat pocket, and closed the distance.

his hands were warm when they cupped your cheeks, surprisingly gentle for how impulsive the gesture was. and then, he kissed you.

it was rushed, but deliberate. like he wanted to make sure you felt it, all of it. your fingers twitched at your sides as your eyes fluttered shut, your thoughts melting into the warmth of it.

zayne only pulled away when he had to, just enough to study your expression, forehead still resting against yours. “are you still unsure?”

“n-no,” you barely managed to whisper, your voice caught between your breath and whatever was thundering in your chest.

but that was all zayne needed before he kissed you again. this time, deeper. his hands slipped back to cradle the base of your head as if he didn’t want you pulling away. there was a quiet intensity in the way he moved, like he was making up for lost time, or maybe staking a claim.

you didn’t even notice your hand gripping the front of his coat until your knuckles tightened. everything else blurred out, the creaking of the old moth house, the muffled breath you both shared, even caleb’s presence—

until caleb shifted slightly.

you felt it, a presence behind you.

before you could even react, a pair of lips brushed your shoulder. and a slow burn followed the touch, trailing through the fabric of your shirt like it wasn't even there.

your breath hitched. “caleb…” you whispered, unsure if it was a question or a warning.

“pipsqueak,” he said lowly, voice husky and calm, as if this had always been part of the plan. “we're so sorry.”

as you turned to face caleb, his hand on your hip tightened slightly, pulling you ever so gently but insistently closer. you could feel the heat of his body, the firmness of his chest pressing against your back while he leaned in. you shuddered.

zayne, not to be outdone or left behind, leaned in to capture your lips once more in a searing kiss. one hand slid up to tangle in your hair, tilting your head to grant him better access as his mouth moved over yours with a hunger that stole your breath away.

you found yourself sandwiched between them, the solid wall of caleb's chest at your back and the lean, muscular frame of zayne pressed against your front. you could feel every inch of their bodies, the hard planes and soft curves melding together in a way that set their nerves alight with sensation.

zayne's hand fisted in your hair as he kissed you with a desperate, almost punishing intensity. he tore his mouth away, panting harshly against your lips. "this is dangerous," he rasped, his voice strained with barely restrained desire. "i might end up doing something else if we keep this up." his eyes searched yours.

and behind you, caleb pressed closer, the hard ridge of his arousal grinding against the curve of your ass through the fabric of his pants. "mm, should we stop?" he murmured, but his actions belied his words as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his lips and teeth and tongue busy mapping the sensitive skin there. 

you were already losing yourself, drowning in the feeling of your two childhood friends. and god help you because you don't ever want to be found.

caleb paused, his hand stilling on the soft curve of your shoulder as he looked to you with a mix of desire and hesitation in his eyes. "is it okay if we touch you more?" he asked, almost pleading like an eager puppy seeking permission.

"where?" you breathed, the single word a question and an invitation all at once.

"here," caleb murmured, his thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling your stiffening nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt.

at the same moment, zayne's hands slid down from your hips, hesitating for a heartbeat before cupping the rounded globes of your ass. he squeezed gently, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he pulled you back against him, grinding his hard length against the cleft of your rear.

"and here," zayne whispered.

your moans filled the moth house as memories of simpler times flashed through your mind. you remembered chasing after zayne and caleb in the sunlit yard, their laughter echoing while playing tag, innocent and carefree as ever. how naive the three of you had been, unaware of the seeds of desire that had already been planted, the embers of attraction smoldering beneath the surface of your childhood bond. little had you known that years later, those innocent games would evolve into this - the feeling of caleb's fingers boldly cupping your clothed sex, the heat of his touch searing you even through the fabric of your panties.

"oh!" you gasped, your hips bucking instinctively into his hand. it seems as though the past and present blurred, the ghosts of your youth intertwining with the raw, carnal hunger of the moment.

zayne's hands kneaded the globes of your ass, his grip tightening when he felt you respond to caleb's touch. "fuck," he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back, from not simply taking you right then and there. "you have no idea how long we've wanted this, wanted you."

"zayne..." you whispered. for someone who'd been protective of you, who'd been the most conservative than any other man, he acted like the opposite of what you've deemed him as in your entire childhood.

and behind you, the boy who had your back the most, the boy who jumped into any risky scheme with you, had his fingers rubbing and circling your clothed slit with a newfound confidence, a pent-up urgency that spoke volumes about the years of longing he had harbored for you.

then, the haze of lust momentarily lifted by the sound of caleb's grunt of discomfort. "it hurts." you turned to look at him, concern etching in your flushed face. for a second, you let go of zayne's shoulders and followed caleb's line of sight. to his... prominent bulge straining against the front of his pants.

instantly, you averted your eyes. "okay, maybe- maybe this wasn't a good idea after all—"

"mine too." zayne spoke up, just right behind your ear. "it's a natural reaction, especially when we're this close to you—"

"of course, i know that, idiot!" you whisper-screamed, backing off a bit to give yourself some personal space for a few moments. you gulped, "do we know what we're getting into? ...what if our families find out about this?"

"we aren't telling them, are we?" caleb said, already working on undoing the buttons of his top.

"yes, but," you paused, trying to gather your thoughts, because the words for what they were haven't formed yet. only now you've realized the severity of what you were up to, the hypocrisy of everything that have led you to this. you looked up, only to see both guys giving you curious gazes, with half-lidded eyes. "i've... always seen the two of you- as my brothers."

"bro...thers?"

"do you still see us that way?" zayne's voice made you stare at them. he stood with his glasses now forgotten in his pocket, dark hair tousled from the boldness had taken over him earlier. the white coat was long gone, he probably already took it off while you made out, and all that remained was the black shirt beneath, sleeves messily rolled up to his forearms, revealing veins and tendons you’d never once paid attention to when you were kids. the dip of his collarbone peeked out just above the neckline, and his chest rose and fell with a tension he didn’t bother hiding.

and caleb with the top buttons of his shirt undone, his collar skewed, sleeves rolled, forearms lean and marked with a few cuts and scratches. the light caught on the curve of his throat, the slight sheen on his skin, and the faint scar on his wrist from the time he tried to teach you how to climb the mango tree. his hair was a little messy too, a little too perfect in its imperfection, like he had run his fingers through it on the way here.

you didn't know when or how it happened. only that that was all it took for the three of you to get lost further.

you glanced down at your hand full of white liquid, some were also dripping down your chin you could feel. it's an uncomfortable position to be kneeling against the dirty ground for half an hour already, but that was irrelevant compared to the amount of cum that was spilled into your chest, into your face, and into your mouth.

you chased your breath, staring up at zayne and caleb in pure bliss. they sat next to each other on a wooden ledge, both chasing theirs too. zayne had his head rolled back that you could see the way his adam's apple occassionally bobbed, while caleb have had kept his eyes on you the whole time you sucked him and jacked the other guy off.

caleb wipes the bead of cum off the corner of your mouth with his finger. "are you tired?"

you shake your head. "no, i wanna keep..." you bring the finger in your mouth, licking it with your tongue.

in response, caleb slightly widens his eyes at your sudden action, but he enjoys it. he always enjoyed when you did something he wouldn't expect. he pulls his finger out of your mouth, and you whine, but he slides it down your chin, gliding it across your clothed chest, and down your stomach. until he leaned down to touch your pussy.

you squeaked, "caleb?"

"you like being touched like this?" he teased your clit.

then, you felt another finger pinch your nipple through the fabric. "i reckon she likes this more." you turn to look at zayne, who's staring hard into your eyes. he had his glasses back on. he always did around you ever since you've mentioned about how it looked good on him. so while your mouth got stuffed in his cock earlier, with his fingers on your head, his other hand made an effort to put the glasses back on with a "look at me."

you squirmed at both men's work, eyes fluttering shut to back. they watched you curiously, until caleb's finger shot itself inside. deep inside. "pipsqueak," he gives you that look again. that look he does when he's being vulnerable. "you're so fucking tight."

zayne shot caleb a glance, intrigued. but he was silent.

caleb licks his lower lip, "can i... can we,"

zayne looks at you.

"can we check how tight it is?"

"what do you mean?" you asked, trying to speak coherently even through a moan. "y-you already are....?"

caleb pulls away, leaning back. zayne does the same. they didn't say anything, they didn't answer your question, so you were just there, clueless. still kneeling. then, your eyes shifted to their throbbing, erected dicks. like both were waiting for you, were waiting to be inside you.

now you know what they meant.

but you couldn't believe it.

back then, in this same moth house, you used to count the moths up the ceiling, laying on each other's shoulders as innocent kids. now, the same men were asking you to get on them. with the same eyes that smiled at you across the field, running and giggling.

[prlssprfctn]

I love this specific flavour (semi-canon, mind you) of Bruce Wayne being awfully jealous and petty, if his kids have other parental figures that they like, or just in general prefers someone's company over him. At least, amongst people of his age range.

Thus, I raise you a very specific concept: Bruce one-sidedly beefing with Roman Sionis, because he is the first person Jason wants to annoy, when he is in the good mood. Yeah, you heard it right.

Because let's be honest, Jason doesn't give two fucks about Black Mask, he doesn't consider him to be valuable and intimidating, but he is funny to toy with! You need anti-stress? Stomp on remainings of Roman's dignity! You are in good mood and want to celebrate something? Crash Roman's party. Dunno. Where Bruce lands in this scenario? Let me demonstrate.

Bruce: Okay, I came to peace with a realisation that I am not the adult that Jason goes to get advice from any more. It is fine. But I don't give up! At least, I am his first annoy-the-hell-out-of-it contact. Knowing Jason, it is as valuable as anything else. Dick, sceptical: What is annoy-the-hell-out-of-it contact? Bruce: Like, when he wants to ruin someone's mood, he chooses me first. Tim, not getting distracted from his phone: Uh, no, you are not. It is Black Mask. Bruce: What? Tim: Yeah, everyone knows it. Like, come on. Check the statistics. Bruce: ...

So that is where his rivalry with Roman starts. A one that Roman himself doesn't have an idea about. But that is aside the point.

Bruce: So, Jaylad... You have a good mood. Something had happened? Jason: Oh, lmao, well, I woke up in the bad mood this morning, so I ended up pretending to be one of Roman's goons, had some fun playing cards with these imbeciles, then "accidentally" spilled tea on Roman's new suit when he ordered me to bring it to him, and at the same time his right-hand came exactly at that moment to announce that Red Hood exploded his favourite warehouse. The best morning ever. Bruce, with his eye twitching: You could come to me instead, you know? Jason: Huh? Why would I? Bruce: *silent scream*

Black Mask, calling urgently at three in the morning: Had you set on the Bat on me? Why he is so obsessed with me recently? Jason, half-asleep on his day off: Man, what? I am confused. Black Mask: You are confused??? I am fucking confused. Why is he hunting me down??? Jason: Bro. I don't give a fuck. I didn't set anyone on, let alone that old man. Deal with your shit yourself. Jason: *hangs on*

Tim, later that week: Am I getting this right, you just threw Roman in the jail, so Jason could annoy you first and not him? Bruce, dusting his hands off: Roman is a deeply unsettling, troubling man, who deserves to rot in prison for things much worse than- Tim: Bruce. Don't bullshit me. Bruce: Fine. Yes. What is the problem? Damian, spawning behind them randomly: There is no problem, except for the fact that you failed to check your data. You are not Todd's second favourite object for bullying. It is grandfather. Bruce: What- Damian: That being said, mother called and asked you to do something. Todd is back at League, trying to fasten Ra's cardiac arrest. She would appreciate some assistance. Bruce, on his last strength: This can't be real. Tim, patting on his back: You will get there... some day. Bruce, exhaling: I am fine. Bruce: Tim: Damian: Bruce, a minute later: RA'S AL GHUL????????????????????????????????????????????????????

[lancestrollsgf]

# THE BETTER NORRIS ! F1 GRID X ADOPTED NORRIS! READER, SMAU

introduction master list request list

part one, part two, part three.

# WARNINGS : cussing, i know nothing about the parents of lando so everything is fictional. lowercase intended, spelling errors (english isn’t my first language). lando's actual siblings are not really mentioned in this since I don't know anything about them. reader hitchhikes. an excessive usage of emojis such as “🙄, 🤫, 😝, 😭,😊,😉”. reader is 17 in the story btw (the age isn’t really mentioned so i guess you can imagine it however you want)

# SUMMARY: the adventures of the formula one driver lando norris adopted sibling, y/n norris.

# AUTHORS NOTE : this is my first smau (that i’m posting). there’s no meaning behind this story i really just wanted to make it for fun. backstory for how reader (you) were adopted is not explained. reader is kinda of portrayed as bisexual, sorry only like three times. pretend lando is a soccer/football fan (and likes messi). some of these scenarios/comments actually happened to face claim.

# FACE CLAIM : marian guevara/theatomicbabe on instagram (i love her so much)

VOTE FOR FUTURE LOVE INTEREST (now closed)

— instagram !

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 529,289 others

thebetternorris visited jamaica once again, spent every moment with the children and made memorial memories that i will remember forever, thank you @junglenonprofit for making this event happen🤍🇯🇲

landonorris: very cool hair style in the last photo is that your new look?

-> thebetternorris: maybe it is. you should also try finding a new look instead of looking like a washed up mop you have on your head that you call curls

-> carlossainz55: ay no, she got you with that one 🤣

-> landonorris: I WAS LITERALLY BEING NICE. WHY DID YOU COME AFTER ME??

landonorris: since when did you go to jamaica???

-> thebetternorris: since two days ago, man keep up with the times 🙄🙄

maxverstappen1: y/n does your mom know you’re in jamaica??

-> thebetternorris: no.. don’t tell her, she doesn’t have instagram 🤫

-> ciscawauman: y/n norris.. you said you were with friends for this week?

-> thebetternorris: hi mama 😊😊 im with bsf/n. but im on my way home! (max emilian verstappen this is all your fault, im coming after you)

-> maxverstappen1: sorry y/n.. hi mrs.wauman!

-> ciscawauman: hello max 👋 y/n please don’t threaten someone through comments

username1: y/n’s interactions with the drivers will never fail to make me laugh

username2: i love you y/n!!!

username3: will forever appreciate how y/n is not pr trained. her posts and comments heal me

-> mclaren: that will change very soon, sadly.

-> thebetternorris: @.mclaren YOU WILL NEVER CATCH ME ALIVE

lewishamilton: good work, little norris, very proud of you, keep doing good in the world 🥰

-> thebetternorris: I LOVE U SIR LEWIS

-> lewishamilton: love you too

-> landonorris: lewis please ignore her

username4: y/n’s reply to lewis’ comment is so real

username5: the third picture is so cute 🥹

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april 21, 2024 (dates are for the post above ^^)

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 661,201 others

thebetternorris 🍸🪩🌃🍾

landonorris: who is that guy in the last photo?

-> thebetternorris: i have no clue, i js chose it because i looked good. i think he was trynna lure me into a cult?

-> landonorris: WHAT?? CALL ME RIGHT NOW

username4: you can always rely on y/n to never disappoints with her outfits 😫😫

oscarpiastri: how come you never invite me to party out with you?

-> thebetternorris: because you steal all the girls and guys too 😕😕 also you’re too old

-> oscarpiastri: i’m barely 23??? and thank you or sorry idk man, you confuse me

username6: y/n’s life is so entertaining

username7: i wanna be like y/n when i grow up

username8: my goal in life is to party like y/n does

view all 6229 comments

april 25, 2024

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, girl3, and 786,929 others

thebetternorris no caption 🌞 👤: @.girl1 @.girl2 @.girl3 @.guy1

girl3: i had so much fun y/n see you soonnn

-> thebetternorris: me too! see you soon 😊😊

-> landonorris: y/n what is this???? what do you mean see you soon???? ANSWER MY CALLS Y/N

landonorris: who are those girls and guy on the last two photos???

-> charles_leclerc: leave your sister alone, as if you weren’t doing crazy stuff this week either 🤣

-> thebetternorris: @.landonorris they have names you know, you shouldn’t just call them “those girls”. i thought mama taught you better. 🤨🤨

-> landonorris: @thebetternorris sorry..?? but you didn’t answer the question.. also please @charles_leclerc don’t expose my doings of this week onto the internet

username9: you’re the loml in a another universe 😔

-> thebetternorris: why not this universe 😉

-> danielriccardo: damn little norris has more rizz than her brother 😭 @.landonorris

-> landonorris: why do i keep getting attacked 💔

username10: having the caption as “no caption” is having a caption

-> thebetternorris: 🤓🤓

username11: does y/n like girls cause that third photo is a bit suspicious LMAOO

-> username12: i think so, especially because of her response to oscar's comment on her previous post

view all 3620 comments

april 27, 2024

liked by landonorris, newyorkcityfc, and 887,292 others

thebetternorris thank you @.newyorkcityfc for inviting me to document the New York City fc vs charlotte game. visiting the new york city fc game made me want to try out soccer, turns out it might be time that i change career path 😝

landonorris: you’re in new york??? since when. and @.newyorkcityfc just invited you???

-> thebetternorris: since two days ago and is that an insult?

-> landonorris: who are you staying with?

-> thebetternorris: man stop asking so many questions 😕

charles_leclerc: weren’t you in jamaica like less than a week ago?

-> thebetternorris: weren’t you in china less than a week ago? why you judging where im traveling, i don’t judge you. you literally fly somewhere each week for your go karting 🙄

username13: y/n’s post are so unpredictable each time 😭 she was just helping children in jamaica and is now at a soccer game in nyc

-> thebetternorris: gotta keep y’all on your toes 🤫

-> username13: toes 🤤

-> thebetternorris: NAH GTFO LMAOOO

username14: y/n becoming a soccer player when??

username15: all of the norris siblings are so talented

view all 2928 comments

april 29, 2024

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 997,929 others

thebetternorris miami grand prix day 2 & day 3 🤙. found out some guy with the same last name as me won? idk but congrats @.landonorris

username16: dang her brother just won his first race and she doesn’t even make a post about him?

-> username17: for real, like everyone congratulated him right after but not even his own sister

-> username18: @.username17 well she is adopted 🤣

username19: it was so fun meeting you y/n!!!

-> thebetternorris: thank you pretty

username20: thank you for the water y/n 😊😊

-> thebetternorris: of courseee, had to give you that rich voss water 😉😉

-> landonorris: you gave a stranger water?? when?? you were with me the whole time???

-> thebetternorris: hey man you gotta start appreciating the people that support you, he was a worker ✊🏼

username21: hey i was the guy you were signing “way 2 sexy” with lolll

-> thebetternorris: AYY MY MANNN, i posted u on tiktok look at it 😉

jamescharles: omg i met you!! you’re gorgeous 🥰

-> thebetternorris: JAMESS HEYYY, i put you in my tiktok 🤙🤙

username22: omg you hugged me, remember i picked you up 😭

-> thebetternorris: I REMEMBER YOUU, that hug was great thanks man i needed that 🫵🏼 posted a full tiktok abt you

username23: your first outfit is so art teacher-coded

-> thebetternorris: is this a compliment or?? thank you though 😭

-> landonorris: @.username23 THATS WHAT I TOLD HER

landonorris: the number of people commenting that they met you is insane. @thebetternorris

-> thebetternorris: what can i say i'm js that guy 😼

view all 6282 comments

may 5, 2024

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 1,000,010 others

thebetternorris congrats to @.landonorris for winning your first grand prix, in america 🦅🇺🇸, i’m so so proud! turns out having an adopted sister isn't so bad for your racing career after all 😜. btw to everyone in the comments section getting their gears all tangled because I didn't congratulate him sooner, chill out. I was busy practicing my own racing skills. yk, just in case he needs some real competition 😴 sorry @.maxverstappen1. i’m so proud of you, i'm forever grateful that i got picked from the “bin” i was found according to you 18 years ago, and it resulted in me being your sister :) 👤: @.landonorris @.oscarpiastri

landonorris: thank you for the congratulations, but did you really have to use those photos of me?

-> thebetternorris: damn you got your congrats just be grateful man 🙄

oscarpiastri: so this is why lando was crying, btw thank you for using a good photo of me

-> thebetternorris: OSCAR ARE YOU SERIOUS. @.landonorris YOU CRIED?? LMFAOOO

-> landonorris: @.oscarpiastri YOU SNITCH.

maxverstappen1: thank goodness you’re not a f1 driver, you’d be some real competition. we need to try go karting together soon 👍🏼

-> thebetternorris: i know this is a joke but thank u max 😔 we should go karting soon so i can beat you at it 😈

-> username24: i would pay to see y/n kart against max

username25: i don't even know anything about f1 but this made me tear up

username26: y/n getting hate for not congratulating her brother is insane

username27: people getting mad about y/n not congratulating lando as if they know anything about them

username28: y/n was one of the first people to congratulate lando, yall are hating a literal kid for smth so little 💀

view all 4593 comments

may 7, 2024

liked by landonorris, leomessi, 1,102,920 others

thebetternorris pov that one unemployed friend on a tuesday (saturday). thank you @.mles for the invite and for letting me meet the goat @.leomessi 🩷🩷

joyboy: finally found someone that is everywhere like me

-> thebetternorris: paris fashion week next 😉?

-> landonorris: NO???

username29: IS THAT LIONEL MESSI??

-> thebetternorris: that’s literally oomf what are you talking abt 🙄

ueername30: y/n is literally everywhere but home

username31: y/n's smile 🥰🥰

carlossainz55: Real Madrid CF>>>

-> thebetternorris: carlos get outta here 😕😕

username32: te encantaría ser un hombre nunca lo vas a ser y eso es lo que te jode (you’d love to be a man and you’ll never be a man and that fucks with you)

-> thebetternorris: @.username32 me encanta ser mujerrr (i love being a womann)

-> username32: @thebetternorris pues lo disimulas fatal (well you hide it well)

-> thebetternorris: @.username32 que es ser mujer para ti? (what is being a woman to you?)

-> username33: SHE GOT YOU THERE 💀@.username32

landonorris: you meeting messi before me insane 😔

leomessi: gracias por tu apoyo 🩷 que chistoso la caption 🤣 (thank you for your support 🩷 how funny the caption is)

-> landonorris: oh you’re joking.

-> thebetternorris: @.leomessi 🩷🩷 (i’m so normal abt this..)

username33: i wanna be y/n's camera man

username34: who is taking these pictures of y/n

-> thebetternorris: for this game, some guy named jarvis took these photos idk but we're homies now

-> landonorris: WHO IS JARVIS???

view all 12920 comments

june 5, 2024

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 1,293,021 others

thebetternorris i look sunburnt, swear it's just the lights 👤: bustarhymes

bustarhymes: it was nice meeting you little norris

-> thebetternorris: it was great meeting you man, your music is great

danielriccardo: mate i think you need a new cameraman because most of these are blurry...

-> thebetternorris: my pictures look better than yours, you're letting your jealousy show

landonorris: nah bro how did you meet busta rhymes before me.

-> thebetternorris: because i'm better than you

username35: you dead ass look like han jisung omg

-> thebetternorris: thank you, idk who that is but i get that a lot 😭

username34: y/n looks so much like young miko it’s insane

charles_leclerc: you look scary in the first picture

-> thebetternorris: i saw your paparazzi picture from the beach, your shoulders look scarier, learn how to put on sunscreen 😬

username36: y/n’s style is so 🥰

view all 5934 comments

june 30, 2024

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 1,304,393 others

thebetternorris back at the big apple 🍎🏙️

itsyoungmiko: hi twinn

-> thebetternorris: hey twin, we should meet up soon

lancestroll: how do you travel everywhere?

-> thebetternorris: walking and hitchhiking

-> lancestroll: hitchhiking? be safe norris

-> thebetternorris: yea hitchhiking. not all of us have private planes that our daddy pays for🙄(just joking, love u @lawerence_stroll pls give me money)

-> lancestroll: your brother literally flies private. please don't ask my dad for money 😭

lawerence_stroll: hello y/n, how much money do you need?

-> thebetternorris: HI MR.STROLL, thank you for the offer I was just joking, you're so nice. see you at the next gp 😊

username37: who is that on the last photo?

-> thebetternorris: THATS ME. LMFAOOO

username38: ain't no way you're in new york city rn, you were in florida a day ago.

-> thebetternorris: that's what hitchhiking is for, duh

-> username38: you dead ass hitchhiked a ride from florida to new york city. that's like 20 hours...

-> thebetternorris: “that’s like 20 hours…” ☝🏼🤓

username39: are you gonna go to the british gp?

-> thebetternorris: yes sadly 💔 lando is forcing me against my will 😕

oscarpiastri: don’t forget my keychain pls

-> thebetternorris: ofc man ill give it to you soon 🤙

zhouguanyu24: very cool pictures y/n and cool outfit

-> thebetternorris: HI ZHOUUU, i got you something for you and sweet corn 🥰 thank u for the compliment 😙

username40: future mom lore is gonna go insane

-> thebetternorris: 😈

landonorris: y/n are you ever not in the US. come back home..

-> thebetternorris: USA 🇺🇸🦅🦅

-> logansargeant: USA USA 🇺🇸🦅🦅

-> landonorris: @.logansargeant logan please don’t lure my sister into your cult that you americans have

-> logansargeant: @.landonorris we don’t have a cult in america 😭 well… don’t quote me on that 😔

-> username41: “you americans” is crazy 💀

view all 4402 comments

july 1, 2024

comment to be tagged in the next part 🤫🤫

[meowmeowriley]

Retired Ghoap AU where they didn't serve together but both worked with Gaz and Price at different times, and both retired and started TV shows that are recorded on the same lot.

Soap started a painting show where he quietly instructed his audience in how to paint a landscape, going by John Mac (a la Bob Ross, who served in the Air Force and was a Master Sergeant. Fun fact, he used to be the guy who yelled at people to do shit, and vowed to never yell at anyone after leaving the service)

Ghost, a few doors down, was simply Mr. Riley, a kind and gentle man who wore sweaters and helped children understand their emotions and become good people in his little pretend neighborhood. (Mr. Rogers never served and didn't have any tattoos, but I love those rumors and Ghostie hiding his skull and flame tattoos under bright sweaters so he doesn't scare the children or parents makes me laugh)

Both men are aware of the other, but don't know their pasts and who they were, just see eachother in passing and have small talk on occasion. Until they both get a call from Gaz: "Ultranationalists have Price." And they know they have to go back.

John leaves his studio to find Mr. Riley in the hall, a hand over his eyes, clearly trying to Steele himself. "You alright there, Mr. Riley?"

The fact that the other man didn't remind him that he could call him Simon spoke volumes of his mental state. "Yeah, just got a call from an old... friend. Gonna have to be away for a wile, sad to be leaving the studio is all."

There was no way it was a coincidence, the timing was too perfect... "Any chance that friend went by Gaz?" Mr. Riley's eyes had never seemed to sharp before, John nearly started when they landed on his own.

"You worked with Price?" John nodded, trapped in a rare moment where words evaded him. Mr. Riley had straightened up and squared his shoulders. A chill down his spine and a thrill in his gut accompanied the realization that the other man towered over him. Mr. Riley was suddenly... intimidating? "What was your callsign? For Gaz to have called you you must've been good."

"They called me Soap."

Mr. Riley's face pinched in confusion. "You're Soap? The loud-mouthed angry Sergeant with a problem with authority? I don't believe it." He shook his head and scoffed, the smallest of playful smiles on his face. He started walking towards the exit, and John fell into step beside him.

"So you've heard of me." John couldn't help but preen. He couldn't say he was proud of his military career but he did love that his reputation preceeded him. "And what was yours?" He couldn't help but ask.

"Ghost."

Soaps legs stopped taking orders from his brain. He watched the other man continue a few paces before stopping as well and barely glancing over his shoulder. "Oh, so you've heard of me." The bastard had a sparkle of mischief in his hooded eyes, suddenly a completely different person than the one Soap had known before. The scariest man alive, according to anyone who'd worked with him.

"Cheeky bastard." Soap couldn't stop from grinning as he jogged a bit to catch back up. Maybe one last mission wouldn't be so bad.

***

I also like to imagine they'd dig at each others shows and reference them themselves the whole time. Ghost's stabs someone and Soap goes "now that's not how we're supposed to handle our big feelings". Soap blows something up and Ghost says over comms "what a happy little mushroom cloud." Ghost sniping people from on high, "oh won't you be" *headshot over the shoulder of one of his men, covering them in blood but saving them from being strangled* "my neighbor."

[jaellyfishh]

The Corner Where We Met · Part 4

trope: art teacher!azzi x PE teacher!paige

content: fluff, little jealousy. also, let’s pretend aaliyah’s birthday is not in july

word count: 7.1K

thank you for patiently waiting! i’ve drafted the storyline for the next two chapters, but i’m open to suggestions. let me know what you think of this chapter and if there are confusing elements i can address/change.

Several days later

Between free periods during school hours and late-night FaceTimes after work, Paige and Azzi’s relationship grew even closer. No one around them, not even themselves, could put a label on their current dynamic. It would likely be in a grey area of casual and committed, nothing official, yet only kept for each other.

“See? It looks prettier now, right?” Azzi beamed as she looked at a picture of Paige’s new bedsheets from her phone.

“Yeah, maybe you should redesign my entire apartment,” Paige mused, tucking her phone away in her pocket as the pair walked towards the gym.

“Maybe you should invite me sometime,” Azzi teased, earning a small chuckle from the blonde.

The pair took their seat in the back among the teachers, greeting each other with simple nods and smiles.

There was an ocean of excitement among the students during morning assembly as Principal Auriemma announced a reminder of Moore’s upcoming annual October Sports Day, which will take place in almost three weeks. Paige had curated a stacked list of activities—ball sports, track, a cheer dance competition, and other fun activities—and the students couldn’t sit still in anticipation, especially knowing the teachers would be participating as well.

Azzi gave Paige a proud look, placing her hand over hers as she mouthed ‘you did so well’. The blonde gave her a shy smile before her attention focused on the chatty students around them, squirming in their seats, talking to each other in excited whispers about the games. Nika, who sat behind them, gave Paige a surprise shoulder squeeze.

“KK and I are so gonna beat you in two-legged race,” Mühl deviously muttered in her ear, her hands pressing down on Paige’s shoulder,

“Can y’all make strides long enough, though?” Paige retorted with a smug face.

Nika squeezed a little too hard, causing Paige to wince in pain.

As the volume of the students grew, Principal Auriemma tapped on the microphone, bringing them back to reality for the rest of the morning assembly announcements, the quietness overtaking progressively. As everyone’s attention turned back to him, the blonde couldn’t help but notice Azzi’s hand still on hers, her thumb absentmindedly caressing it while she listened to the old man.

Paige’s heart almost fluttered at the small gesture, one that spoke the most volumes in the way Azzi cared for her. The blonde gave a small smile before stroking Azzi’s pinky with her thumb that was closest to it. And they stayed like that for the remainder of the assembly, unnoticed by others but highly noticeable to the pair.

After Principal Auriemma dismissed the assembly, the crowd slowly separated towards their respective quarters, while the pair still walked together in tandem, almost attached to the hip, almost always in their bubble.

As they reached Azzi’s classroom door, the curly brunette turned to Paige with a large sigh, getting herself ready for the day.

Paige smiled and gave a knowing nod. “I’ll see you at lunch”.

“Don’t miss me too much,” Azzi smiled back.

“I’ll try not to,” Paige grinned, scanning Azzi’s face as she shoved her hands into her jacket.

Suddenly, a small figure stopped beside Paige.

“Ms. Bueckers, you’re in my way,” a voice scolded, surprising the pair.

“Oh, my bad. Sorry, Li’l Leo,” Paige stepped back.

“If you keep staring at Ms. Fudd like that, it’s gonna make her uncomfortable. Right, Ms. Fudd?”

The boy folded his arms as he stood sternly in front of Azzi, raising one brow trying to assert dominance over the tall blonde. The gesture earned a light laugh from Azzi while Paige scoffed in disbelief, eyeing the boy down.

The curly brunette patted the young boy’s shoulder as she glanced at Paige.

“I appreciate the help, Leo, you learnt well. But I can handle it. Go ‘head inside,” Azzi tried to keep a straight face.

The boy gave one last look at Paige before walking inside the classroom.

Paige shook her head. “Didn’t know you had bodyguards”.

Azzi snorted. “It’s important these young boys know when someone needs help.”

“Wow,” Paige sang. “Am I a threat to you, Ms. Fudd?”

“Sometimes. When you stare at me long enough,” Azzi hummed, her eyes looking into her classroom.

“Hm, thought you liked it. Well, next time I’ll make sure when I wanna stare at you, I’ll tell you beforehand,” the blonde grinned, waiting for Azzi’s reaction.

Before the brunette could say anything, a pair of loud, fast footsteps were heard approaching their direction.

“Head back to class, Ms. Fudd. Now!” Kayla yelled just enough for the pair to hear, already walking right past them towards her clinic.

“How many bodyguards do you have, for real?” Paige joked, making the younger woman laugh.

—

“C’mon, Lili. We’re getting nowhere with your decision-making,” Nika whined.

The same group of teachers were having lunch together discussing plans for Aaliyah’s birthday celebration, except the celebrant herself couldn’t care less.

“Guys, things are tight and I don’t want y’all to do something you’re not comfortable with either. Maybe bowling?” Edwards shrugged.

“I got a splint on, so maybe not,” KK frowned, raising her right hand to show her finger splint, an injury she acquired from playing basketball with her cousins over the weekend.

“What about a p-“ Kayla chimed in before being interrupted by Azzi.

“If you say picnic like you always do, just remember it’s gonna be 62 degrees this weekend”

As the group grumbled while chewing on their food, Paige's ears perked up as she thought of an idea.

“What about potluck? Nothing too crazy. We can cook or buy food, enjoy each other’s company in the comfort of your own home. If we have leftovers, it would be a plus to save up on groceries for a couple days. Hm?”

The group nodded in unison as Aaliyah stared at Paige.

“Y’all better remember I’m vegetarian or else no one’s coming inside,” the tall woman reminded before the group did a small celebration on the final decision.

As the last bell of the hour rang and Moore had now been emptied out, Paige and Azzi were seen walking towards the blonde’s car.

“Thanks for offering to drop me home, you didn’t have to,” Azzi smiled before Paige opened the passenger’s door for her.

“Your house is on the way to mine. I was more than happy to, but only if you’re comfortable with it. And, honestly, I’d even be fine to do it everyday, if it’s easier for you. If anything, I should’ve done this earlier,” Paige rambled casually causing Azzi to giggle.

“Paige, I don’t want to trouble you with all that. Besides, I’ve been driving myself to school for years just fine,” Azzi lightly responded.

Paige scrunched her nose briefly. “I’m sorry. That was a bit much wasn’t it?”

Azzi stared at her momentarily before shaking her head in disagreement. “Not at all. It was… shockingly chivalrous. Thanks, though. I’ll know who to hit up if I need a ride”.

Paige laughed through her nose before staring at the ground. Azzi, who noticed the blonde being a little shaken up, gently placed her hand on her arm, causing Paige to lift her head to face her.

“Paige, you’re fine. If it’s something you did, I’ll let you know,” Azzi reassured her.

Paige could only nod before responding. “Why don’t you get inside? It’s freezing out here”.

As Azzi watched Paige settle in the driver’s seat, she couldn’t help but feel endeared by all her small gestures. Adjusting her seatbelt, checking the mirrors, taking time to pick her playlist. As soon as Paige held on the shift to reverse, it was already getting way too obvious.

“You know, I think Li’l Leo got it all wrong. Somebody else has a staring problem,” the blonde smirked as she focused on her rear view mirrors.

The curly brunette cleared her throat. “I just find it interesting to see how other people drive. And it’s my first time seeing you drive, so don’t get it twisted”.

“Right, right. How am I doing so far?” Paige played along.

“Well, you checked both sides before reversing, so you’re already better than me,” Azzi joked.

“So can you finally not get mad at me for telling you off on your driving that one time?” Paige chuckled, her eyes focused on the road, remembering the day they went out to buy Azzi’s art supplies.

“I drive with caution. I can’t afford to crash the side of my car again, okay?” Azzi groaned while the blonde surrendered.

“Alright, alright. Well, you’re the passenger princess now, so you can relax as much as you want”

“Yeah, maybe I could get used to this,” Azzi softly hummed as she relaxed back into her seat, Paige laughing through her nose.

The drive continued in comfortable silence, Paige’s old school R&B playlist resounding. The sun was almost setting, casting a tinge of orange on the pair’s face, a mix of warmth and coolness lingering in the air around them.

Paige quickly glanced at the woman beside her, who looked like she was lost in her thoughts.

“Hey,” the blonde poked at Azzi’s thigh. “About Lili’s party. Do you wanna… cook at my place before we head out?”

Azzi shuffled in her seat, straightening her position. “Honestly, when you suggested a potluck, I thought I was cooked.”

Paige laughed. “What? Why?”

“I suck at cooking. I practically know how to cook, at most, three good dishes? Otherwise, I just throw in a salad with chicken breast with the same seasoning I put on everything and call it a day”.

The blonde chuckled. “I can help you with that, if you’re down. And, hey, Caroline can come with, if you want that extra support”.

“Hmm, sounds like a good idea. Wait, are you officially inviting me to your place?” Azzi teased enthusiastically.

”Woah, excited much?” Paige snickered.

“Okay, what if I just wanted to see the rest of your poorly designed living room?” Azzi counteracted.

“Way to hurt a woman, Ms. Fudd,” Paige shook her head. The curly brunette rolled her eyes playfully before melting back into her seat.

—

Saturday early afternoon

Paige heard a knock on her apartment door before placing the last bit of groceries on the kitchen counter. She washed her hands before making her way towards the door, unconsciously fixing her ponytail before swinging it open.

“Hey,” Azzi’s soft voice echoed.

Paige was greeted with a refreshing, familiar smile. The woman in front of her had her hair slicked back into a clean bun, her face with little to no makeup, and her outfit something casual that was prepared to have the scent of food latched onto it.

Yet, she looked the most beautiful Paige has ever seen her yet. Natural with a charm that could turn anyone to stone if anyone stared hard enough, something the blonde was guilty of.

“Can we talk about Caroline’s divine timing because how does this happen twice?” Paige already started joking, stepping aside so Azzi can come in.

The brunette laughed. “All coincidental. If Aaliyah needed her help with cooking, I can’t blame her. It was either you or Car. And you already had plans, so…”

“Yep, so just you and me again. I’m really lucky this year, huh?” Paige smiled, causing Azzi to scoff.

As the younger woman walked further inside, she couldn’t help but look busy at her surroundings. Paige’s apartment was simple, a modern design with a chic monochromatic grey colour scheme, something like it was directly off of an IKEA showroom.

“Oh, that’s pretty. This is cute.” Azzi muttered under her breath as she slowly walked around.

Paige looked amused, her eyes following Azzi who was making herself familiar with the space.

“Need me to show you my bathroom, too?”

Azzi darted her eyes back at Paige before smiling sheepishly. “Whoops, forgot you were here”.

“How flattering,” the blonde sarcastically commented, shaking her head as she headed towards the kitchen. “You can place your stuff on the couch. Have a drink of this when you’re done”.

After Azzi dropped her bag on the grey couch, she followed to where Paige was in the kitchen, who had taken a tall glass of water and handed it to Azzi.

“Mmm! Did you infuse this with lemon?” Azzi stared animatedly at the glass after taking a sip.

“Lime,” Paige corrected. “And with mint and cucumber.”

“Okay, now you’re making me look ridiculous with the plain water I gave you at mine,” Azzi said disappointingly as she placed her glass down on the kitchen counter behind her, slightly leaning on it.

“And plain water is just fine,” Paige reassured her. ”Let’s just say I do this… occasionally. For special guests”.

The blonde’s tone was lower this time as she strategically placed her own glass beside Azzi’s before hovering over her, arms trapping Azzi on both sides.

Azzi’s head tilted, eyes partially squinting. “And how many of these special guests have you invited over?”

Paige’s face inched closer, a smirk forming on her lips. “Just one”.

Azzi bit on her inner cheeks as she analysed Paige’s expression, unsure if she was satisfied with the answer, but even more unsure as to why she was feeling dissatisfied. Paige was quick to notice how Azzi was not as receptive to her antics as usual, pulling away just slightly to have a good read on her.

“It’s just you, Azzi,” Paige reassured her, scanning her face in noticeable concern.

The brunette lowered her head before looking back up at Paige in guilt. “I’m sorry. This is sweet of you, genuinely. You sure do have a talent”.

A small upward curve formed on Paige’s lips as she completely pulled away, gesturing to the groceries and taking Azzi’s attention to it. “Well, you haven’t seen the rest of it yet. I’ll show you why I’m the best cook in all of Minnesota”.

“Is that what you tell yourself every night?” Azzi teased.

“Find out for yourself, Ms. Fudd,” Paige shrugged before handing Azzi some of the supplies to open.

For a brief moment, the pair couldn’t shake away from their recent exchanges. Paige had noticed the younger woman reacting similarly when they had sex for the first time. Giving Azzi reassurance that there was nobody else besides her. However, the blonde understood enough to not push anything until Azzi was ready to open up. After all, it wasn’t like Paige didn’t have her moments either. As they both grew closer each day, Azzi was beginning to feel a turbulence in Paige’s confidence whenever they were around each other. Being overly cautious and withdrawing her words more than when they first met.

After a quick couple hours of chopping vegetables, stuffing pasta shells, and washing dishes, the pair had finally finished cooking two separate dishes for Lili’s potluck. Paige dusted off her apron as she smiled triumphantly at her work and her ability to get Azzi involved.

“This looks so yum! Paige, you’re insane,” Azzi exclaimed as she stared at the glass containers, the blonde busy wiping the last few bits of scraps off the kitchen counter.

“Yeah? How ‘bout a final taste test?” Paige stood beside Azzi, who was nodding with excitement. “Whadyou wanna try first?”

Azzi immediately took two tortilla chips from the bag and handed one to Paige with a smile. “The one I picked out, the buffalo cauliflower dip”.

The tray was still steaming, freshly baked in the oven. The aroma of Paige’s buffalo-style hot sauce mixed with parmesan and chopped caramelized cauliflowers filled their nostrils. Paige nodded before the pair dipped the tortilla into it, taking a barely noticeable amount off before eating it.

“Damn, that’s so good. I might make these for my prep meal. You made it look so easy,” Azzi slightly leaned on Paige, earning a small chuckle from the taller woman.

“Didn’t I tell you I’m the best cook in Minnesota? Alright, now let’s try this one,” Paige handed Azzi a spoon as she pointed towards the glass container filled with pasta shells stuffed in spinach and ricotta topped with a tangy, tomato sauce that had a bit of Paige‘s special seasoning.

“Paige!” Azzi whacked the blonde’s arm after taking a bite, incredulous over the flavours in her mouth. “Thank God we made a lot because these are coming home with me”.

Paige laughed at Azzi’s reactions, feeling a sense of pride knowing her cooking skills never failed her. As she watched Azzi chew on the food, she couldn’t help but look at her fondly.

“You know, you can always come over if you wanna have a good meal,” Paige innocently nudged on Azzi’s arm, who was now washing down the food with the lemon-mint-cucumber infused water.

Azzi thought otherwise, glancing at the woman beside her with a playful smile etched on her lips.

”Yeah? What kinda meal?” The brunette tilted her head as she inched closer towards Paige, her fingers playing with the drawstring of Paige’s sweatpants.

The blonde could only clench her jaws realising what she had said, her eyes darting down to Azzi’s lips before staring back at her eyes. She could melt in the way Azzi flirted, it was way more alluring and entrancing, something that could raise the hairs of one’s skin in an instant.

“Whatever you crave”

Paige, who now played along, had her hands on Azzi‘s waist, pulling her closer towards her. Instinctively, Azzi trailed her other hand up to Paige’s jaw, dragging her face closer and connecting their lips.

It was a slow and passionate kiss that made their muscles weak with every movement. Azzi rested one hand on Paige’s shoulder while the other remained caressing her jaw. The touch made Paige’s delicate grip on Azzi’s back tighter, squeezing a fraction more as she sucked on Azzi’s lower lip.

They smiled into their kiss, their mouths moving in sync as their bodies grinded subtly onto one another, warmth radiating throughout.

Suddenly, a default iPhone alarm blared across the kitchen, causing the pair to jolt.

“We have to get ready soon,” Paige whispered as she switched off the alarm, her arms still holding onto Azzi.

“Yeah,” Azzi gave her one last look before pulling away, almost disappointed.

“Wait,” Paige leaned forward again, giving Azzi a quick peck before letting go. “Okay, I feel better now”.

“You always try to steal a kiss, it’s ridiculous,” Azzi laughed lightly.

“It’s for just in case. To seal the deal, you know,” Paige joked, causing Azzi to shake her in now proper disappointment.

“Seal the deal? You’re lucky that face of yours compensates for being so lame,” Azzi walked off towards her bag.

“I don’t know how to feel about that,” Paige furrowed her brows at the backhanded compliment.

—

“Happy Birthday, Lili!” The pair greeted Edwards with wide smiles, who was also beaming at excitement for the arrival of her new guests.

“Guys, this is so cute! Oh my god, you sure did make a lot. Thank God we’re all big backs,” Aaliyah laughed as she stepped back to let them in.

Paige and Azzi entered the apartment, welcomed with semi-loud 2000s recession music and colourful balloons stuck on the walls, some bouncing on the floor. There was a section of Aaliyah’s bare wall in her living room that had a ‘Happy Birthday’ banner plastered across just above ‘LILI 26’ in balloon letters.

The pair were soon approached by Kayla, Nika and Caroline, who helped take their containers away, placing them on the long dinner table filled with different containers of homemade and store bought food.

“KK’s coming soon. Here, help yourself,” Aaliyah informed them before gesturing towards the drink station with an assortment of alcoholic to non-alcoholic beverages.

As they stood by the kitchen, Caroline nudged on Azzi’s arm. “Hey babe, how’d cooking go?”

Azzi smiled at Paige before answering. “Really fun. Paige taught me a thing or two, so you might come home to better meals from me.”

“So no more of the same salt-and-pepper-old bay-cajun-whatever-the-fuck seasoning anymore? Thank God,” Caroline joked before Azzi smacked her arm, Paige laughing at the comment.

Caroline added with a smirk. “You guys happy I wasn’t there, huh?”

The pair widened their eyes, their body movements awkward as Caroline relished in the scene unfolding before her.

“It’s not like that, Car,” Azzi dismissed, her cheeks warming up while Paige shook her head.

“Whatever you say, Azzi,” Her roommate winked before resuming casual conversations.

Soon enough, the group of women settled in their seats. KK had arrived just a few minutes after Paige and Azzi did, and everyone was now looking at Aaliyah in anticipation, who stood at the end of the table with a glass of champagne raised up for a toast.

“To my new and old friends and our future moments together. To surviving my twenties and reaching financial stability. And to still be thriving and looking this good even at 40. Cheers!” Aaliyah yelled.

“Cheers!” Everyone chimed in, clinking their glasses together.

The evening went by quickly, every person full of food and alcohol as they continued to share stories and complain about adulthood, accompanied by bursts of laughter and sarcastic commentaries.

Paige was the only one completely sober, taking only small sips of her first glass while everyone was on their third, always managing to enjoy the company.

As the conversations continued naturally, the topic of love life was explored.

“And that’s why I’m so glad I’m single,” KK grimaced as Nika finished complaining about yet another incident with her boyfriend.

“So, who else here is off the market now? Oh, still just me and Nika?” Aaliyah was surprised to see Mühl’s one hand raised.

In the silence, Edwards contorted her face in confusion, her eyes darting to Paige and Azzi who were sitting next to each other.

“But I thought- nevermind,” Aaliyah shook her head as the pair shifted in their seats.

KK ‘s interest was piqued, eye’s half opened. “No, no, wait. I do apologise if I have to ask this, but is there something going on between y’all or have I been hallucinating it the past couple weeks?

Nika agreed. “I’ve been dying to know, lowkey. I mean, we’ve all had our moments and I’d like to believe we’ve outgrown judging inner circle relationships, anyways. So forgive me for being this curious, but what’s going on here?”

Paige and Azzi could only glance at each other in nervousness, pursing their lips together as they waited for each other to see who would answer first.

“Uh,” Azzi started, looking at her plate. “There’s…there’s no label”.

Paige nodded slowly, also staring at her own plate.

“Huh,” Kayla, in a half-drunken state, chimed in amusement. “That’s better than nothing.”

A chorus of agreeing hums buzzed across, the girls looking almost half dead at this point to give a much more enthusiastic response.

“The problem now is whose side we’re picking if things don’t pan out,” Nika questioned absentmindedly.

“Not you tryna instigate a civil war right now,” Caroline laughed, causing the rest to follow suit.

“I’m going with Paige. At least she can cook me a nice meal,” Aaliyah reasoned.

A mixed roar of agreements and disagreements erupted as they tried to rationalise their decisions. Then the conversation started shifting between random topics again and they suddenly landed on conspiracy theories on how the Pyramids of Giza were really built.

Amidst the chaos, the pair just exchanged quick glances at each other, sometimes sharing a small smile or a soft laugh.

It was past 2 am when the Edwards headquarters grew completely silent, except for the soft sounds of a random movie playing on the TV. Nika’s boyfriend had picked her up and KK had ubered home, Kayla and Caroline decided to stay overnight to help clean up after whatever time they wake up, leaving just Paige and Azzi as the last people to leave.

Paige decided it would be safer for Azzi to return to the blonde’s place since she’d be more familiar knowing where things are in case Azzi needed anything. Even though the curly brunette wasn’t as knocked out as the rest of her friends, she knew it’s better to be safe than sorry.

But, also, it wasn’t like she’d blatantly admit that she wanted to go back to Paige’s place knowing it’d be just the two of them alone again.

After Paige carried Azzi bridal style into her bedroom, she gently laid her on her bed before pulling the covers over her to keep her warm. Just as Paige was about to leave to the living room where she decided she’d sleep on her sofa for the night, she felt a tight grip on her wrist.

“Who said you can leave?” Azzi croaked, her voice hoarse.

“Just thought you needed your space for tonight,” Paige reasoned, looking softly at the woman below.

“You’re sleeping on your bed,” the brunette demanded, tugging her wrist towards her.

“Okay, princess,” Paige smiled as she crawled into the space next to Azzi, settling in her spot before pulling the covers over them both.

Azzi shifted her body so she could nuzzle her head into the crook of Paige’s neck, kissing it a couple times making Paige sigh from the feeling.

“You’re telling me you were sober enough to walk yourself to my apartment?” Paige teased in a whisper, poking at Azzi’s cheeks.

Azzi smiled. “I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to be carried bridal style. By you. Twice”.

A light laugh escaped through Paige’s mouth before she looked down at the sleepy woman in her arms, who was staring at her with half-opened eyes.

“So no label, huh?” Paige mumbled.

Azzi faintly smiled. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it”.

“You know, for a second, I thought you were gonna say friends with benefits”

“Oh my god. No. That sounds way too immature. Or I dunno. I panicked”

“Yeah, they put us on the spot real bad. I can’t blame them, you make it way too obvious,” Paige smirked.

“Me? Obvious? Who’s the one consistently lingering around my classroom door like a lost puppy?”

“Don’t act like you don’t get excited every time I pop up. Your kids are starting to notice, by the way”

Azzi could only groan in defeat as Paige laughed. Then they went silent again.

Paige stared down at Azzi’s lips, always drawn to them. But she didn’t move this time, just licked her own lips as her eyes darted back at Azzi’s.

“If you wanna kiss me goodnight, just do it,” Azzi whispered casually.

“I’ll kiss you, but I don’t wanna say goodnight just yet,” Paige hummed.

A small air escaped through Azzi’s nose before pushing herself up so she could hover over Paige. Straddling her hips, Azzi leaned down and gave the blonde a slow, passionate kiss under the covers.

—

It was another gruelling Monday, several slow and heavy steps dragged across the school hallways, the kids half awake trodding towards the gym for morning assembly.

“Man Big G makes the slowest announcements. Let’s skip, man,” a young boy whispered to his friend before tugging on his arm with an intent to sneak out from the crowd into their classroom.

But before they could move, the boy felt a strong flick on the back of his head.

“Ow, what the fu-“

“Language, James,” a stern voice warned. Bueckers was towering over them, her hands turning the two boys back to walk with the crowd as they groaned in annoyance.

Beside Paige was Azzi, who struggled to stifle a laugh, amused at how quick the blond reacted.

“The lack of discipline here, jeez,” she muttered to herself as Azzi continued to smile at her.

When the crowd took their seats, the teachers noticed a new face sitting behind Principal Auriemma. Curious, they all looked at each other before they heard that all-too-familiar voice catch their attention.

“Good morning, Moore. I’ll just start off with our only announcement for the morning before we begin our day. As you all know, Mrs. Bettencourt will be missing the remaining half of this month and the entirety of November with maternity leave. So, behind me is a new face who will be temporarily covering for your music lessons before her return. Moore is happy to welcome, Ms. Rae Burrell, as our new faculty member until December”

A chorus of quiet applause filled the gym as Ms. Burrell stood up, lifting her hand to wave while a sheepish small formed on her face.

She was quite tall, light-skinned with natural curls falling perfectly on her shoulders, her outfit nothing out of the ordinary. She looked reserved, but seemed to be friendly. One would even mistaken her for a supermodel.

In a blink of an eye, Principal Auriemma dismissed the assembly and the crowd began to disperse. As the usual duo was about to head out, they jolted after hearing the old man call out for Paige to come towards the stage. The blonde gave Azzi one last look before heading off. Azzi continued to stare curiously, putting her observation skills to use.

It looked like Principal Auriemma had introduced the blonde to Ms. Burrell, the teachers shaking hands before they focused their attention back to the old man. Azzi couldn’t make out the rest, but before the gym was out of sight, she saw the pair of teachers walk out together with a smile, already chatting about something.

Several ideas ran through Azzi’s head within the span of seeing their interaction, it was hard to pinpoint exactly one thought. As she tried to process everything, Azzi felt a nudge on her arm.

“She’s pretty,” Nika expressed.

“Yeah, she really is,” Azzi answered dryly.

As soon as lunchtime rolled in, Azzi made her way into the teacher’s lounge when she caught two figures in her peripherals sitting at the girls’ usual spot. With a quick glance, she recognised it was Paige and Ms. Burrell, who were seen talking casually, smiling at each other with a fews laughs.

As Azzi turned away to heat up her lunch, she couldn’t help but bite on her inner cheeks. If she were to admit one thing, she knew she wasn’t too keen seeing Paige chat with another woman. However, how was this any different to when Paige first talked to Nika? Or Aaliyah? Why does this make Azzi feel more unsettled? Even if she was a little jealous, she knew herself that there was nothing official between her and Paige, no labels.

While the curly brunette was gathering her thoughts, her lunch had finished heating up and the next thing she had to do was sit at the table. With no time to waste, Azzi walked cautiously towards the pair, not wanting to interrupt their deep conversation they looked fully engrossed in.

Before Azzi could sit down, Paige sensed her, turning her head with a bright smile when she realised who it was.

“Hey, Az! You won’t believe it, but Rae just told me that she’s Inês’ cousin. And that she can play the drums. You think Inês could be completely replaced?” Paige shared jokingly, the woman beside her laughing.

Azzi raised her brows in amusement. “Wow, the one instrument she’s been trying to play, yet still sucks at? Don’t tell her I said that”.

“I’ve teased her about it way more times than you’d think,” Rae laughed again before looking at Azzi. “Azzi, right? Paige showed me around your classroom this morning on your free period. You designed it so beautifully. She said I could draw inspiration from it. You just have such raw, creative talent. It’s incredible!”

Azzi felt relieved. “Aw, thanks, Rae. I haven’t heard you sing, but I’m sure you have crazy talent yourself. So, how’d your first class go? ”

Rae gave an animated expression of uncertainty accompanied by a big shrug. “They have…passion. It’ll definitely take a few more practices, but I’m determined they’ll be ready by December. Don’t worry”.

Paige laughed at her response, while Azzi chuckled.

“Thanks for showing me around, by the way. You’re actually pretty funny,” Rae turned to Paige, who smiled in appreciation.

“My pleasure. I’m surprised you were able to catch up to me at the end. I thought I could tire you out,” the blonde expressed playfully, causing the taller woman to erupt in laughter.

“Oh ye with little faith. I dunno if you haven’t noticed, but I’ve got quite long legs, so,” Rae played along making Paige chuckle.

“Aight, no need to show off,” the blonde scoffed. The taller woman noticeably leaned closer to Paige as she laughed once again, her eyes never leaving her.

Azzi could only laugh awkwardly while the pair shared the moment together.

The rest of the teachers joined in moments later, introducing themselves and giving Rae a warm welcome. While everyone was busy talking, Azzi couldn’t help but glance at Paige randomly, noticing how her attention was mostly at the new teacher, trying to talk to her when she could.

Azzi knew there was no one to blame for her suspicions but herself. Rae was new and had a bubbly aura that can intrigue people, it’s no doubt someone like Paige could be drawn to her. After all, there were no strings attached between them.

Before Azzi began to feel disappointed in herself, she felt a sensation rub against her calf. She was immediately drawn away from her thoughts as her head turned to Paige, who was giving her a small nod asking if she was okay. Azzi nodded back, giving a faint smile before immersing herself back into the teachers’ conversations.

Several periods later and the relieving sound of the final bell ringing, Fudd was left alone in her empty classroom after the last student had filed out. Busying herself with her papers, she couldn’t help but realise a particular blonde wasn’t at her usual place by the door with an eager expression ready to leave the building. Curious, Azzi left her class after organising the papers in her bag, and walked towards the gym where she would usually expect Paige to be.

Just as she was about to turn towards the entrance, she heard that same laugh from lunch again. She paused, peeking out her head by the edge of the wall to not be seen.

There stood Rae. And next to her was Paige. The pair seemed to be cleaning up some of the equipment left in the gym, sharing what seemed to be a playful conversation as Paige had a funny grin on her face.

Azzi’s heart raced, the sight before her twisting her stomach. The last time a teacher went out of their way to help Paige at the end of school was Azzi herself, to which the blonde declined later on. The reason being that she didn’t want Azzi to ‘overtire herself after a long day of work’. Which Fudd appreciated. But for some reason, the scene in front of her compelled Azzi to want to ask Paige to take her words back, to offer to spend more time together.

Before her thoughts could spiral, Azzi shook her head.

This is ridiculous. We’re not even dating, she thought.

The curly brunette turned her heel immediately, making her way out of school with a troubled feeling on her chest.

—

Later that night

[8:10] Paige: Hey, this yours? 😂 (Image attached)

Azzi’s phone buzzed with a message from Paige, attached to it was a picture of Azzi’s pink bonnet on her bed.

[8:11] Azzi: I knew that’s where I left it. Sorry. You mind bringing it tomorrow?

[8:11] Paige: Or I could drive to yours now?

[8:12] Azzi: But it’s easier if you bring it tomorrow

There was no response immediately after. Azzi was deflated, regretful at how bluntly she responded, acting before she could think. She had lightly flung her phone next to her face where she laid in bed, the scenes of Paige and Rae from this afternoon still replaying on her mind.

Ding

As Azzi looked at her phone screen, she could hear her own heart thudding within the quietness of her dark room.

[8:15] Paige: What if I just wanted to see you?

Azzi chewed on her lip. Usually, she could easily snap back with a flirtatious remark or lame joke, but this time her thoughts raced. Who would’ve thought one person could alter Azzi’s perception of her relationship with Paige.

In her clouded judgement, the curly brunette thought of no reason for Paige to be this committed to seeing her this late.

[8:18] Azzi: I’ll see you tomorrow

—

The next morning

Tranquility loomed over Azzi’s middle school classroom where she decided to stay during her free period instead of sitting at the teacher’s lounge like she usually does. Immersed in her lesson planner, she heard a faint sound on the door.

Knock, knock

The curly brunette looked up to find Paige, who was standing there with her hands behind her back. Azzi withdrew from her desk, shaking her head with a small smirk as Paige stepped towards her.

“Delivery for Miss Azeray Jazlyn Fudd?” the blonde said in a low, animated tone.

“That’s me,” she played along, standing up to face Paige who was now less than arms’ reach.

They stood there staring at each other with a playful tint in their eyes, Paige unable to control a ridiculous grin on her face. Soon enough, she lifted one of Azzi’s arms and placed her pink bonnet on her hand.

“Thanks, Paige,” Azzi responded before looking down at her bonnet and fiddling with it in silence.

“You good?” Paige rubbed on the same arm with a small concern etched on her face.

Azzi was expressionless when she lifted her head, staring momentarily to gather her thoughts before briefly smiling. “Of course”.

“You know, it’s hard to tell emotions on text sometimes. I’d rather talk to you face-to-face,” Paige smiled.

Azzi’s expression immediately turned to guilt. “I’m sorry”.

“For what?” Paige contorted her face in confusion.

“I dunno. For coming off dry. I guess it’s gotten a bit much trying to catch up with the high schoolers’ art lessons, they’ve got a ton to work on and some of them have been neglecting their assignments, so now I have to go extra hard on them,” Azzi sighed, only partially lying.

“My door is always open if you need somewhere to escape. Consider my home your third space,” Paige consoled here.

Azzi chuckled. “I appreciate that”.

“I’ll sit here with you while you do your work. Just until your period ends,” Paige suggested, already taking her seat on the small chair closest to the front.

Azzi stared in disbelief as she watched Paige already making herself feel at home. Sighing in defeat, the curly brunette sat back down, resuming her work in comfort.

—

A week had gone by and nothing out of the ordinary at Moore had occurred. If anything, Ms. Burrell was beginning to settle well, getting along with the teachers and finally remembering where the entrance to the teacher’s lounge was. Surprisingly, she had spent a lot more time with Paige, who always found herself drawn to the piano in Moore’s music class, but was never allowed to touch it. Now that Rae had control over the classroom, her more lenient and personable attitude didn’t scare Paige away, compared to Inês, who always scolded Paige for doing so.

Between finalising the arrangements for the Winter recital and seeing a positive progression with the kids’ vocal capabilities, Rae communicated with Azzi regarding the sets in adjunction with the songs being that Fudd was completely in charge of the background props this year.

Right after Rae’s class had ended, she heard a slight knock on her door.

“Ms. Fudd!” she beamed towards the door as a small head peeked out.

“You needed to see me?” Fudd approached the taller woman who was rearranging the chairs for her next class.

“Yes! Just about the recital. I made some changes, but hopefully it’s nothing major at all. The kids were pleading to put in a Frozen song, so I decided to swap ‘It’s The Most Wonderful Time of The Year’ with ‘Do You Wanna Build A Snowman?” Rae explained.

“No way. I love Frozen, but ‘It’s The Most Wonderful Time of The Year’ is a classic,” Azzi replied, shocked.

“That’s what I’m saying! But if it’s what the kids want, it’s what they’ll have. Spare me the trouble,” Burrell rambled.

“Good thinking,” Azzi commentated.

Rae continued. “But that would also mean swapping the jazz section with the pop section. So, what I’m trying to say is that the last two sets are swapped and we probably need a snowman prop now”.

Azzi laughed, looking at the disgruntled teacher. “Damn, I was really hoping we were successful at avoiding songs involving a snowman. Our ol’ Frosty from last year is straight beaten up.”

“I’m sorry, Azzi. I tried. Like, really tried,” Rae apologised.

“No, I get it. It’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle,” Azzi reassured.

A brief silence filled the room before Rae fully turned to Azzi, the chair arrangements done.

“I do wanna ask one random, silly question, though,” Rae asked shyly.

Azzi slightly furrowed her brows, her head tilting as an answer.

“Do you know if Paige is single?”

Right after hearing the question, Azzi‘s breath hitched. She froze, expressionless.

“W-why ask me?” Azzi could only breathe out.

“Oh, it’s just ‘cause you guys seem really close, so I was hoping you'd be the best person to ask. U-unless I got it all wrong and you both are dating! Then, I totally respect it and won’t pay any mind to it, at all!” Rae defended, her mannerisms awkward.

Azzi shuffled slightly in her feet, her thoughts were trying to gather an answer she’d like to say before replying. When Azzi had thought about the term ‘no label’, there isn’t technically a restriction for the persons involved to see other people. It’s a no strings attached, non-committal, casual relationship. The pair aren’t officially dating, despite having a specially intimate bond the past two months, so there’s no reason for anyone to claim one another. And that is what Azzi decided.

“She’s…single,” Azzi hesitated.

“Hmm, so she’s definitely not seeing anyone?” Rae tried to confirm.

“You can ask her that,” Azzi replied, now unsure herself.

“Whew. Okay, thanks, Azzi,” the taller woman sighed a breath of relief, still shaken from her first question.

“You planning on asking her out?” Azzi asked curiously.

“Maybe? We only just met. I guess I’ll try to…suss her out or something,” Rae mumbled the last sentence, her shyness resurfacing.

Azzi took a deep breath before smiling. “All the best with that”.

Burrell gave her a sheepish smile before Azzi turned to leave the classroom.

As Azzi walked further away, her spirits were somewhat dampened and her heart grew heavier with each step.

[peachesofteal]

Simon and Johnny love a good game. 

They get bored, when they're not at work. Climbing the walls and lurking for long hours in the gym, at the bar. You can only watch so much television, can only read so many books. They try to broaden their horizons when it comes to cooking, but so far, they're slow learners. 

But games. Games can be fun. Not board games, metal pieces and paper money, folding maps and cards. No. 

Simon loves a cat and mouse game. The most dangerous game. A game that ends with catch but never release.

And Johnny's always more than happy to oblige him. He's even better at it, in a way. Simon skulks and sticks to shadows, where Johnny roams in the sun, smiling at old women and babies, chatting up whoever's behind him in the check out line. Finding a mouse is never hard for him.

Tonight’s mouse is a touch too skittish for Simon’s liking. Even though he enjoys them scared, the last one pissed herself when he threw her over his shoulder. He wasn’t a fan.

Still, Johnny likes you. Simon would never deny him, though you do throw a curveball.

You’re scared, but you’re smart. You pick up on them sooner than your predecessors, head half turned over your shoulder, clocking the shadow from the corner of your eye. Survival instincts lead you to stick to the crowded street, avoiding the left you’d usually make to head home to your apartment. You zig, cross to the other sidewalk, you zag, weaving through couples and groups of people taking their time, you have your keys between your knuckles.

You’re managing until you make the fatal error.

The train.

Why do they always think a confined, underground space is a good choice?

One time they chased a mouse through a fucking tunnel.

Made her pay for it, at least.

Simon laughs out loud, Johnny chuckling in his earpiece. “She was doin’ such a good job.”

“Just as well. I’m getting hungry for dinner.”

“Are you having fun?” Simon cocks his head, arms crossed over his chest, and you shake your head rapidly, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. His cock grows heavy, and he squeezes it over his pants, Johnny licking his lips. Fuck. He loves it when they cry.

“Fun?” You croak, confused little wrinkle in your brow. “Wh-what?” Your mouth is hanging open too, and without thinking, he rams his fingers into it, shoving them back past your tongue until you gag. Johnny clicks his tongue, strokes your jaw before cupping it, immobilizing the hinges and forcing it wide.

“Want to have a bite before we get ‘er home?” There’s another man in the same car, on the other end, watching. He hasn’t said anything, done anything, moved at all. He’s only watched. A sick fuck like the rest of them. Simon knows he won’t intervene, so he pulls his fly down. The man pretends to glance away.

“Have you sucked a cock before?” You make some awful hissing noise like a strangled cat.

“C’mon bonnie, hold still.” Simon forces himself past your teeth. You’re shaking so hard it’s like your bones are rattling, and when you stay frozen, Johnny guides you, dragging the heat of your mouth back and forth on Simon’s cock. It’s hot, and wet, and his toes curl. It’s like getting high, like a cigarette after a huge dinner. Euphoric. Satisfying.

The man at the other end of the car turns to give the situation his full attention, but not to stop him. Instead, his hand creeps down the front of his pants.

“Aww mouse, I think he likes ye.” Johnny’s cock is also hard, swollen against his thigh, and he rips your tense grip free from the seat to press it to his erection, kissing your temple. “It’ll be my turn, when we get home.” You try to jerk free, thrash, but it only forces the blunt tip of Simon’s cock deeper, and you start to gag uncontrollably. Johnny’s practically shivering with excitement.

“Don’t puke.” He grunts, fucking your face, slamming deep as he pumps his cum down your throat. You moan, eyes slipping closed. Defeated. Trampled under foot. Poor little mouse.

It’s adorable. You’re helpless. There’s too much going on, him, Johnny, the fucking creep still rubbing away at his crotch, and he feels bad. They should be taking better care at this point. They always need to butter them up before setting them free in the maze.

“Lights out, Johnny.” Fingers find those pressure points on your neck, and then the next thing they know, you’re slumped over, asleep on Johnny’s chest. What a cutie.

“Think we can keep her for a bit?” Simon rolls his eyes.

“We’ll see.”

[peterm4rker]

(𐙚⋆.˚) nine years shy

⋆ 𐙚 ⭑.ᐟ [johnny x reader] ...୨♡୧... wc. 3k w. age gap, swearing, very slightly suggestive! fluff ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

spending time in bars was never your preferred activity.

sure, it was fun to have some drinks with your friends in a place where you could meet new people. but still, there were a million things you could have been doing instead.

thats what you thought before your eyes settled on the handsome man by the bar, anyways. 

there was a big group, maybe around ten people that sat close to where the drinks were flowing from incessantly. still, even when surrounded by many other attractive men, your eyes could only focus on him. he was tall, his hair brown and his body looked like it was sculpted by the gods themselves. 

“quit staring, you’re drooling,” one of your friends spoke with a small laugh, taking your attention back to the conversation at hand.

“sorry, what were you saying?” you mumbled, trying your hardest to focus once again and ignore the gorgeous man. to no avail, of course. your eyes seemed to naturally gravitate towards him, watching as he spoke and made everyone laugh; how one of the girls that accompanied his group was very clearly trying to seduce him, and how he rejected her so politely and naturally that you almost didn’t feel bad about it.

at some point of the night, two of his friends had approached your table and somehow managed to whisk away two of the girls you were with, and yet he still stayed exactly where he was in the first place. ultimately, he was the only one left on his table, and your chance was presented.

his eyes were piercing as he watched your every move when you approached, one of his eyebrows lifting ever so slightly in curiosity.

“hi, i’m yn,” you greeted, standing by his table and not daring to sit down just yet. “can i buy you a drink?”

he studied you for a couple seconds before speaking up for the first time. “i just got one, but we can pretend you did. i’m johnny, by the way,” he introduced, reaching out to pull a chair out for you.

you let out a small chuckle, sitting down and nodding at his words. “perfect then, nice to meet you.” 

he seemed to be amused by your attitude, judging by how the sides of his lips quirked up the more he looked at you. “nice to meet you too,” he said before taking a slow sip of his drink. “can i ask to what i owe the pleasure to?”

you could feel the nerves begin to form in the pit of your stomach, starting to doubt at what point of the night you thought it was a good idea to approach someone like him. 

“well, i wanted to ask you if you would like to go out sometime… assuming you’re not taken?” you said, putting aside the fear and masking your shaky voice with taking a sip of your own drink.

“i’m not taken,” johnny shook his head, the amusement still twinkling in his eyes as he noticed your nervousness. “may i ask how old you are, though?” the question took you by surprise. it was a little odd, but nothing bad.

“i’m twenty three, why?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

a scoff escaped his lips, once again taking you by surprise. 

he watched as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion rather adorably, and he almost felt bad for the words that left his mouth next. “i’m nine years older than you.”

he expected you to grimace, to give him some type of sign of discomfort at the newfound information. “okay, and?”

a small laugh of disbelief escaped him as he studied your face and looked for his next words. “nothing,” he settled for something simple. “mind telling me what a very attractive twenty year old is doing here with me instead of with the other attractive twenty year olds that were very clearly hitting on her?” his words seemed to start clicking in your head, a small smile making its way to your perfectly glossed lips as you shrugged. “twenty three year-old,” you corrected, “and to be honest, i already know them and i figured you’re far more interesting.”

“yeah? how come?” he asked, his deep voice making the simple question sound millions of times hotter than it should have.

“well, i’ve been watching you for a little while,” you admitted, crossing one of your legs over the other, “you didn’t talk much but everyone laughed when you did, you haven’t really drunk that much and you’ve rejected every girl that has tried to approach you.”

he let out an impressed whistle, leaning back on his chair and taking the opportunity to give you a once over. your clothes hugged your curves beautifully, and you carried yourself with incredible confidence for someone your age.

“you sure are observant, i’ll give you that,” he muttered, amused, “you must be really confident if you thought you could be different.”

he expected you to falter, but you chose to surprise him for a second time that night.

“that, and i’ve also been talking myself up to this and getting courage for the last two hours.”

your sincerity caught him off guard, it was honestly refreshing after a night of dealing with fake smiles and high pitched voices.

“how much courage did you need, exactly?” he asked, his eyes travelling to your glass for an instant. “i’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you assured, setting the glass aside for his sake, “but it’s nice of you to check.” he smiled again, nodding softly. “how confident are you feeling?”

you thought about it for a couple seconds. “pretty confident.”

he raised an eyebrow at you, his smirk still present on his lips. “and why is that?”

“well, i’ve made you smile quite a few times, you’ve called me attractive and you were clearly paying enough attention to me to know that i was getting hit on before i walked over.” you listed, smile still confident as your gaze didn’t falter once.

johnny had to admit he was impressed by how observant you were, but there was still something that didn't sit right with him. “i was a legal adult when you were nine,” he noted.

“and now we are both legal adults, it's funny how time works,” you joked, looking at his reaction before you stood up from your seat. “but i can see that it bothers you, so i’ll get going.”

he thought about asking you to stay, he really did, but his words betrayed him. “thanks for the drink.” you chuckled as he lifted the drink you hadn’t bought him towards you, mirroring him with your own. “you’re very welcome.”

with that, you walked back to your own table. your mood didn’t falter, the sour taste of his rejection fading with one swing of your bitter drink and your friends loud laughs. johnny watched you from his own seat, admiring the way you laughed and continued your night like nothing had happened. after a couple minutes of admiring the back of your head, he decided he was going to leave. his body had another idea, though, and it always seemed to win.

so really, he wasn’t half surprised at himself when he realised he was tapping on your shoulder. you turned back to him with a stunned expression. “hi?”

“hi,” he greeted shortly, giving you a smile that could’ve easily knocked all the wind out of your lungs if you hadn’t been staring at him for the past couple hours, “mind if i ask you some questions?”

the request was odd, but the way his eyes twinkled was completely overshadowing. “sure, shoot.”

“what's your favorite drink?”

“i don't know… margarita?” you asked, a little confused about the whole ordeal.

“okay… what do you do?” his arms now rested on the back of the booth you were sitting at.

“i study fashion and i’m currently working at ralph lauren.”

“oh shit, very rachel green of you.” he smiled, genuinely impressed by your accomplishment.

“i actually get that a lot,” you chuckled, now invested in his questions.

“do you have siblings?” he asked, back to whatever game he was playing.

“yeah, two, both older,”

“what’s your relationship with your dad like?”

and well, that kind of explained where he was trying to get to.

“great, actually.” 

“yeah? what does he look like?”

“the complete opposite to you.”

“perfect, can i buy you a drink?”

“of course,” you smiled, completely satisfied at how the conversation had gone.

“i’ll be right back with your margarita,” johnny assured, winking at you before moving to go to the bar, leaving you to turn back to your friends and let out a small, completely silent squeal at what had happened.

you didn’t have much time to continue your celebration before he slipped into the booth, handing you your drink and very slickly placing his arm over your shoulders on the booth. “hi ladies, i’m johnny,” he introduced himself to your friends with a polite smile.

both of the girls greeted him back, not missing a beat after checking their phones a second later. “oh, would you look at that? it’s time to go.” chaewon smiled, showing you the screen. 

“is it really?” you asked, masking a glare at her direction at how obvious she was being. 

“yep, i’m so tired,” she faked a yawn and you resisted the urge to hit her.

meanwhile, johnny was clearly not stupid and very, very amused at the entire situation. “do you guys have a safe way to get home?”

“yeah, the boys are here to pick us up,” she nodded, giving him a small smile before waving one last time. “okay bye, enjoy your night!”

just like that, you were abandoned by your friends in a bar with the most handsome man you had ever seen.

“i assume ‘the boys’ are the rest of your friends?” he asked, his attention now fully focused on you.

“yeah, the boyfriends,” you nodded with a small smile.

“either of them yours?” he raised an eyebrow, amused.

“nope, i’m free as a bird,” you smiled.

“good.”

...୨♡୧...

johnny’s lips felt entirely too good as they danced with your own.

they were on you the moment that you got to the door of his house, immediately pulling your focus to him as he pressed you onto the door while juggling with his keys to open it. it had been long overdue, and so much better than you thought it would be to have him pressed up against you. his hands travelled to the underside of your thighs to pick you up, closing the door with his foot and walking with you until he set you on the kitchen counter. his body settled between your legs, his hands pressed against the cold surface as he almost devoured your mouth in the most delicious way.

the moment continued when his hands travelled under your shirt to rub gently at the skin of your waist, pulling you even closer as you arched towards him. his lips began moving down your jaw all the way to your neck, leaving gentle nibbles on the skin.

your breath was labored once he moved away, his eyes hooded as he watched the faint marks beginning to form. “so pretty,” he mumbled, stealing another kiss from your lips.

you felt like you were positively going to explode when his hand slowly made its way under the fabric of your skirt, dangerously close to where you needed him the most. 

as the night progressed, you realized that feeling was constant when being with him.

...୨♡୧...

“so… i’m guessing i should call an uber now?” you spoke up softly after some minutes of comfortable silence. your head laid on johnny’s shoulder, his fingers running up and down your arm gently.

“no, i’ll drive you if you want to leave,” he said, his voice sounding almost offended that you thought he’d make you take an uber at such an unholy hour. “but you don’t have to.”

his words almost made you gasp in disbelief. a man that actually didn’t mind you staying after having sex with you? that was new.

“i’ll stay if that’s okay,” you answered, your voice small as if you were scared to say that.

“alright then,” he sat up a little, giving you time to move away before he stood up. you watched him as he moved, going to the adjacent door for a few seconds before coming back with a damp towel. he sat back down next to you and tapped your thigh gently to tell you to open your legs. you did as he asked you, utterly bewildered by the way he cleaned you up. “how about a drink? i’m an incredible bartender.”

oh, he had already ruined every other guy for the rest of your life.

“yeah, that sounds good,” you nodded, still a little in disbelief. he nodded and went back to what you assumed was the bathroom, returning seconds later and pulling out some clothes from the closet. he slipped into a pair of gray shorts and handed you a white cotton shirt which you put on wordlessly.

he watched you attentively when you stood up, your legs a little wobbly still when you walked towards him. 

“already sore?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

“shut up and make me a drink, come on,” you rolled your eyes and fake annoyance as you made your way back into the kitchen.

you heard his laugh behind you as you settled onto a stool, watching him do his magic while he prepared a cocktail with alcohol that looked far too expensive to be used in a drink for a hookup.

“so, ralph lauren then?” he asked as he handed you the glass, looking at you with interested eyes.

“yeah,” you nodded, feeling oddly happy at the fact that he remembered. “what do you do?”

“i work in music, production mostly,” he smiled, leaning forward over the counter. “nothing too interesting.”

you chuckled at his humbleness, shaking your head. “that’s really interesting, actually.”

“meh, if you say so,” he shrugged, an amused  expression on his face. “it gives me enough free time to do other stuff, so that’s fun.”

you took the moment to really look at him, eyes running down the skin of his arms. you had already proven he was quite strong, and it made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“i’m guessing you go to the gym a lot?” you raised an eyebrow, looking up at his eyes again.

“yeah, how did you know?” the man asked, tilting his head in mocked curiosity.

“well, apart from the past experience,” you began, following his little game. “you look like you could lift me up like in dirty dancing.”

it was a joke, of course.

except apparently it wasn’t.

“man, do i have a surprise for you.” he set his glass down, watching amused how your jaw almost fell to the floor.

“you’re kidding,” you said in complete disbelief.

“try me,” he dared, already having surrounded the kitchen island until he was standing in front of you.

“oh, i definitely will,” you set your glass down and stood up, eliciting a small laugh from him.

he moved a couple meters away, making sure you had enough time to get some impulse before he showed you his stunt.

“ready?” you asked, the anxious feeling in the pit of your stomach being overshadowed by the excitement.

“ready, go,” he nodded, putting his arms out for you. you couldn’t help the giggle that left your lips as you ran towards a perfect stranger you had just had sex with, trusting him with literally hauling you up in the air.

his hands wrapped around your waist before moving you into the air, having you hovering above his head as he looked up at you. you did your best to keep your body firm when he moved in slow, deliberate circles for a couple seconds before pulling you back down and safely on the floor.

“holy shit, you can actually do it,” you breathed out.

“told you,” he smiled, his arms still wrapped around your body. you looked up at his handsome face for a couple seconds before standing on your tiptoes and joining your lips together again, which he welcomed more than gladly.

“is that some type of move you do to get laid?” you asked as you sat on johnny’s lap on the couch, his hands rubbing the skin of your hips under his shirt.

he shook his head with a small chuckle, “surprisingly enough, no girls ever ask if i can lift them up like in dirty dancing,” he said, mocking your earlier words.

“so you’re telling me you had never done that before?” you asked, growing apart from his torso to look at him properly.

“no, but now i know i can,” he smirked, amused by your fake offense.

“i could’ve fallen,” you complained, hitting his chest playfully.

“but you didn’t,” he answered, wrapping his arms tighter around your waist and bringing you closer. “besides, it worked.”

“what worked?” you asked, trying your hardest to bite back the smile on your lips.

“i have a pretty girl sat on my lap right now,” he gestured at your position. “that’s a successful move if you ask me.”

you rolled your eyes with an amused scoff. “you’re terrible.”

“sure i am,” he nodded, looking down at your lips before capturing them again.

...୨♡୧...

“i can see your eyes closing,” johnny interrupted himself mid sentence, smiling at your sleepy figure.

“no you can’t, i’m listening,” you shook your head, adamant to ignore how much your body was screaming for sleep. you didn’t want the night to be over, even when you could see the sun beginning to rise behind the curtains of his room.

“sure, what was i saying?” he questioned you, feeling an unfamiliar tug in his chest as he watched you trying to stay awake rather adorably.

“something about jackson's party, you found a dog there?” you tried, clearly making stuff up from the small fragments you hadn’t missed.

“hmh, sure,” he laughed ever so softly, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him until your head laid on his chest. “you can sleep, i’ll tell you the story in the morning.”

his words made your heart swell with hope.

in the morning.

“ugh, okay,” you groaned, cuddling further into his chest. “but just because you insisted.”

johnny couldn’t make himself stop smiling as his hand went to your hair, scratching it ever so softly.

“yeah, it’s not like you’re-” he nodded, stopping as he realized you were already completely asleep.

maybe a couple years didn’t have to be an issue when it came to you.

𐙚 blue's corner ;; hi there ! soooo, this was originally written as mark tuan fic but since i dont post got7 i adapted it to be for johnny bc i LOVE that man thank you 𐙚 taglist ;; @neozon3nha @winwintea @spacejip @dudekiss3r @yizhrt @lyvhie @mae3xoxo @taroddori @hollxe1 + let me know if you want to join the permanent tl ! 𐙚 back to the masterlist. 𐙚 please do not copy, adapt or steal any of the content !!!

© peterm4rker, 2025

[slepiesheep]

SpongeBob Truman show AU lets gooo!! Discussing with friends and feeling motivated. Setting takes place decades later. I will analyze, include about my theories, and intentions how the series ends. I made this for FUN, don’t take it too seriously. It's likely that you might not fully understand this if you haven't watched The Truman Show or are unfamiliar with the television theory by Alex Bale. I highly recommend watching the Television theory.

Just a quick note before we start: in the SpongeBob SquarePants universe, the show is canonically a show within the show. For instance, we've seen pirates getting excited about the first SpongeBob movie. Even Patchy the Pirate, the biggest SpongeBob fan, knows about SpongeBob's existence in real life (within the show). If i remember correctly, in the Sponge out of water movie, a child even saw SpongeBob and called out his name. I think that Scientists will do anything to make the show interesting and profitable.

There will be 2 parts of this story.

Part 1

SpongeBob, Squidward and Mr. Krabs gets to celebrate The Krusty Krab anniversary. Mr. Krabs wanted to set sail on a boat trip with SpongeBob, a father-son bonding experience. Mr. Krabs dressed in his sailor hat, a dark blue trenchcoat, and SpongeBob also wore sailor clothes. Yeah Mr. Krabs fucking dies because he took 50% of the show's profits and didn't perform his duties properly 😂 The producers decided to eliminate him from the show, leaving SpongeBob traumatized for his life to increase viewer interest. A horrible thunderstorm hit. SpongeBob tried to pull up Mr. Krabs, but his scrawny arms couldn’t do it. He only managed to grab his trenchcoat. Mr. Krabs’ body was never to be found. Now, SpongeBob is the manager of the Krusty Krab, responsible for keeping the secret formula safe. He opens a notebook to write down important information. Due to aging, SpongeBob started wearing glasses. Plankton tried to exploit his naive nature, but SpongeBob slowly became more mature and courageous like Mr. Krabs. It began to feel like a repeating pattern for SpongeBob. He wanted to get out from Bikini Bottom and experience a new life and travel around the wonders of the nature before growing old and dying. However, when he tried to purchase a ticket for a trip outside of Bikini Bottom, he found that it wasn't an option for him. Strange events happened to keep SpongeBob preoccupied and ensure his continued stay in Bikini Bottom. On his way to work, SpongeBob accidentally bumped into an elderly man, only later recognizing him as Mr. Krabs. Unforeseen, two men appeared, abruptly pulling Mr. Krabs away. creating a distraction with a group of anchovies.

Mr. Krabs boarded a bus as SpongeBob began to question why Mr. Krabs, who was presumed dead, was somehow still alive but never came back to him. Confused, he shared his thoughts with Squidward, who dismissed it and pretended nothing was wrong. Feeling unsettled, SpongeBob decided to visit Sandy at her treedome to talk about what he had seen. Just before putting on his water helmet, it hit him, how could Mr. Krabs have drowned when they all lived underwater? The thought made no sense, and the more he thought about it, the more his suspicions grew. He used to believe this kind of logic was normal. Unsure of what to believe, SpongeBob went to Patrick’s house to tell him about the strange encounter. Patrick seemed confused but not entirely surprised. It felt like Patrick knew something too, as if he'd experienced something similar, but he wasn't ready to talk about it. To distract SpongeBob, Patrick suggested they head to Goofy Goobers for ice cream, hoping to lift his friend’s spirits. The next day, SpongeBob had his driving test. Ms. Puff sat next to him in the boat, still baffled by the fact that after all these years, SpongeBob had yet to earn his license. Determined to do something different, SpongeBob unexpectedly drove off the course, speeding up. Ms. Puff panicked and shouted for him to stop. She was about to take control of the wheel but hesitated, knowing a sudden turn could cause an accident. Despite her pleas, SpongeBob kept going, lost in his own thoughts.

When he drove out of town, he encountered a crowd of people blocking the road. He slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid hitting anyone. A police officer quickly approached and explained that there had been a toxic gas leak in the area, and the entire place was being evacuated. "There’s no way through," the officer warned. Before letting him go, the officer added, “Make sure to drive slower, SpongeBob.” Hearing his name snapped something in SpongeBob, and without thinking, he floored it, trying to make a run for it. The police swiftly caught up with him, arrested him on the spot, and threw him in jail. He was locked up for just one second before they kicked him out again, sending him back on his way.

.

.

.

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I'm exhausted. I just ate 15 bite-sized waffles while writing this, and honestly, I have no idea what I just wrote. I'll reread it tomorrow morning and fix any mistakes.

[lovesuhng]

right time

angst, fluff, best friends to lovers / w.c: 3.3k / doyoung is reader's fiancé, a lot of flashbacks, kinda slow burn (?)

The church doors opened. Beside you, your father held your hand, moved to tears because his only daughter was about to get married. The wedding march began. But you… you couldn’t hear a thing. You looked stunning in your wedding dress, but at that moment, you weren’t moved by the fact that you were getting married. Your heart pounded in your chest when, from a distance, you saw your groomsman—and best friend—Johnny Suh. The man who truly held your heart. That’s when memories of your childhood with him rushed into your mind.

Johnny had laughed out loud when you tripped over your own bike and fell into the grass at the neighborhood park. “You really suck at this!” “And you suck at helping!” you pouted. Johnny came closer and held out his hand. You had grass in your hair, scraped knees, and you were whining about something while Johnny laughed at the whole situation. “Alright, I’ll teach you... but only if you promise that when we grow up, we’ll still be friends and ride bikes together.” “Of course, Johnny.”

As you took your first steps into the church, another memory flooded your heart. This time, you were teenagers, navigating all those sweet, confusing feelings that come with that age. That’s how Johnny made you feel: like a free and hopelessly in love teenager.

You were in Johnny’s backyard, wrapped in an old blanket, sitting side by side on a makeshift inflatable mattress. It was summer, but the night had brought a cold breeze. The sky was filled with stars, and you had been staring at them for a while. You called his name. “Do you know what I always think when I look up at the sky?” you asked, turning your face toward him. He simply replied with a “hm,” his eyes still on the vast sky. “That everything seems so far away and yet so close. Like some things are only beautiful from a distance.” He chuckled softly. “Deep thoughts, huh? Turning into a poet now?” You laughed too, even though you tried to sound serious. “I’m being serious.” “Okay. I was just thinking… do you think it’s possible to like someone so much and never be able to say it? Just keep admiring them from a distance, like seeing the stars in the sky?” You held your breath. The question felt like it came from a deeply honest place in Johnny. “I think so.” You answered slowly. “Sometimes we’re so scared of losing what we have that we’d rather keep it inside.” Johnny turned his face to you. His eyes sparkled more brightly than all those stars. “Even if the other person might feel the same?” You hesitated, but replied, “Even then.” “Have you ever felt that way? Like… about someone specific?” Johnny asked, almost without thinking, but he wanted to know. “Maybe. What about you?” “Maybe,” he said, echoing your response with a soft smile. “But that person is kind of blind.” “Or maybe just pretending not to see.” You both smiled, but sadly—like two people recognizing each other, yet unsure if you could take the next step. A comfortable silence settled between you. “If one day we fall in love with someone for real…” Johnny said, “Promise me you won’t forget me?” “You’re my best friend, Johnny,” you whispered, lightly touching his face. “How could I ever forget you?” He didn’t answer. He just reached out and gently interlaced his fingers with yours. And there you stayed, under a star-filled sky, two teenagers full of unspoken feelings, experiencing the kind of love they didn’t yet know how to name.

A sad smile crept onto your lips as you remembered that night. You swore everything would change that day, that you would finally give voice to the feelings in your hearts. But a few years later, Johnny introduced you to his first girlfriend—and your heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

You were waiting for him at the usual café, sitting at your usual table with a partial view of the park and that retro decor you both loved to make fun of. Then came his message: “On my way. Don’t hate me, okay? I brought company.” You frowned. Johnny never brought anyone along to your meetups, so it felt off. When you saw him walk in, your smile faltered for a second and your stomach turned. Johnny was with a girl. She was beautiful—long hair, flawless skin, confident gaze. He was holding her hand. “This is Yerin,” Johnny said, nervously smiling. “My girlfriend.” Girlfriend. The word echoed in slow motion. “Oh…” you eventually managed to react, though your voice was quieter than you wanted. “Hi, Yerin. Nice to meet you.” “Nice to meet you!” she replied, overly friendly. “I’ve heard so much about you.” You did everything you could to keep a smile on your face. You laughed at their jokes, pretended to be interested when Johnny talked about how they met. But inside, everything screamed. You had remembered the night in the backyard. The touch of your interlaced fingers, the words between the lines. But apparently, none of that had meant the same to him. Maybe you had misunderstood everything. “You’re quiet today,” Johnny said when Yerin went to the bathroom. “Just a little tired, that’s all.” He looked at you for a few seconds too long. Like he knew that wasn’t all, but also didn’t want to ask. “Are you happy for me?” The question caught you off guard. “Of course I am,” you said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible. Johnny smiled, relieved. “You know, no matter what happens, you’ll always be my best friend, right?” You never imagined how much that title—best friend—could hurt. When you got home, you cried silently.

From that day on, you decided to move on. You remained friends, but kept some distance because of Johnny’s relationship. It didn’t last long, but even so, you stopped hoping for anything beyond a strong friendship. At that moment in the church, your eyes met Doyoung’s—nervous, waiting for you at the altar—reminding you of the first time you introduced him to Johnny.

Same café, same nervous hands fidgeting with a menu you knew by heart. You looked more elegant than usual, something Johnny noticed right away. “You’re too dressed up just to have coffee with me.” The comment made you both laugh. You were about to answer when Doyoung appeared with his dark hair, pristine shirt, and kind smile. “Johnny, this is Doyoung… my boyfriend.” You said the word boyfriend almost in a whisper, like you were afraid to say it in front of him. Johnny raised an eyebrow, surprised that you were dating your coworker, but he quickly masked it with a polite smile. The conversation flowed well. Doyoung was polite, asked questions, laughed at Johnny’s jokes naturally. But there was something different in Johnny’s eyes. “Since when two have known each?” Doyoung asked. “Since forever” Johnny answered before you could. You laughed, trying to ease the tension in Johnny’s quick response. “He was the first boy who beat me at video games.” “And she was the first girl who called me an idiot for missing our first group project.” Johnny added, with that nostalgic gleam in his eyes. Doyoung smiled, seeming to understand that this friendship was older—and deeper—than he had imagined. “I’m glad he’s in your life.” “Me too,” you said, looking at Johnny, who smiled back. Doyoung insisted on paying and went to the counter. That gave Johnny the chance to lean closer and speak softly. “He’s a good guy. You seem happy.” “Yeah…” He nodded, biting his bottom lip lightly. “You deserve to be happy.” “You too.”

A tear fell as you remembered Johnny’s words. It was your wedding day. You should be happy, thinking about your groom—not reliving moments with your best friend. But even so, you remembered when you asked Johnny to be your best man.

“Johnny?” “Hm?” He was distracted. It was just another Friday. You were both in your living room, watching something on TV, laughing, saying silly things, making time feel lighter. But you were tense and Johnny could tell by the tone of your voice, by the way you nervously twisted your engagement ring around your finger. “I wanted to ask you something.” “Go ahead.” Johnny replied, smiling and turning to look at you. “Would you... be my best man?” Johnny froze for half a second, and you noticed. “Like… during the ceremony?” “Of course. Right there, next to Doyoung.” You gave a nervous laugh. “You’re my best friend, Johnny. It wouldn’t make sense to get married without you there. I need you for this.” He looked away for a moment, staring into nothing. “Of course…” Johnny said, sighing. “Of course I’ll do it.” You smiled, a little relieved by his answer. “Really? I thought you’d think it was weird…” “Well, I still think it’s weird that you’re getting married, but life’s been weird ever since you showed up with that ring on your finger,” Johnny admitted, giving a small smile to mask his feelings. “I don’t want this to change what we have.” "Nothing will change what we have. We’ll be friends forever. But I want you to promise me one thing.” Johnny looked into your eyes as if trying to memorize your face at that moment. You nodded for him to go on. “If at any point, you’re not sure about what you’re doing… tell me.” You stayed quiet. You tried to understand what Johnny meant by those words, but you only answered softly, “I promise.” Johnny just smiled, kissed your forehead quickly—just enough to make your heart race. “I’m gonna be a pretty best man,” he joked. “Prettier than me as a bride?” “Impossible.”

You looked at Johnny again, and you could swear he was about to cry—something that almost never happened. You questioned once more if you were doing the right thing, especially after the conversation you had with Johnny the night before.

It was already past midnight when you heard the doorbell. You were wearing one of Doyoung’s old T-shirts and sweatpants, getting ready for bed and your heart skipped a beat when you saw Johnny standing at your door, his hair slightly messy, carrying a subtle scent of whiskey. It was clear he had been drinking—but not too much. “I know, I know… it’s crazy to come here at this hour, the night before your wedding…” he said, leaning on your doorframe. “Did you drink?” you asked, arms crossed in a mix of worry and nervousness. “Just a little. Can I come in?” You stepped aside to let him in. The apartment was so familiar to him. He sat down on the couch, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. “Tomorrow’s not the best day to be hungover,” you said, handing him a glass of water. “After all, tomorrow’s my wedding and you’ll be up there.” Johnny drank the water, set the glass down somewhere nearby, and looked at you. The way he looked at you was so intense that you felt like he could see right through you. “Johnny, are you okay?” He took a while to answer. He ran his hands over his face, as if trying to sort through his feelings. “No.” You were startled by his honesty and immediately worried. “Johnny, what’s going on?” “You’re marrying an amazing guy tomorrow. He loves you. And I should be happy for you. I tried to be happy for you.” “But clearly, you’re not.” “I keep thinking…” he continued, his voice a bit shaky, his eyes fixed on his hands, fidgeting with the skin around his fingers, “if maybe… we let our feelings slip by. If at some point, just one word could have changed everything.” “You know it’s not that simple.” “But it could’ve been,” Johnny replied. “If I had told you I loved you that night in the backyard, when we were looking at the stars… I didn’t say it because I was a coward. I am a coward. I’m afraid of losing you.” Your eyes welled with tears. You completely understood what Johnny meant. Silence fell over the room for a long moment, until you spoke. “I tried to forget, Johnny. I tried to move on, especially when you introduced me to your girlfriends. I couldn’t wait forever.” By now, both of you were crying. Johnny, slightly drunk, was wiping your tears. “I know. I don’t blame you.” Johnny whispered. “And that’s why I’ll be there tomorrow.” You were surprised by the decision he had made. “You’re still going to be my best man?” “Of course I am,” Johnny said, looking you in the eyes with a faint smile. “Because even loving you, I never stopped being your best friend. I’ll always want to see you happy, even if it’s not with me.” The tears rolled silently down your cheeks again. Johnny gently held your hand, as if that gesture was the last thing he could offer. Then, before standing up and leaving, he said, “If you say ‘yes’ to him, I’ll accept it. But if you have even the slightest doubt… I’ll be there for you. Always.”

You had reached the altar. Your father kissed your forehead, then shook hands with Doyoung, who smiled at you—but you sensed something different in his eyes. “Hey…” he said softly. “Can you come with me for a second?” You were confused. That wasn’t the right time for the two of you to leave the altar. “Doyoung, what are you doing?” you asked, following him into a side room of the church, as the murmur of the guests filled the background. “I know everything’s ready and it’s kind of late to have this conversation, but I want to ask you something.” You nodded for him to continue. “You love Johnny, don’t you?” Your breath caught. Tears instantly filled your eyes. “Doyoung…” “You don’t have to answer,” Doyoung said with a half-sad smile. He took a deep breath and went on. “I felt it since the day you introduced us at that café. And today, I was sure of it. You looked at him the moment you walked into the church.” Silence. You couldn’t answer your fiancé. All you could do was cry. You tried to speak, but Doyoung gently interrupted “Hey… it’s okay.” He took your hands in his, and said as sincerely as anyone ever could: “You were someone really special in my life. I was so happy with you. But I couldn’t live with myself knowing you’d never be truly happy by my side. So, I’d rather let you go.” “You’re amazing, Doyoung,” you said through tears, hugging him tightly. “I know,” he smiled, trying to make a joke. He looked at you deeply one last time, taking a deep breath, holding back tears. “Well, I’m going to go tell everyone. Stay here a bit.” You stayed there for a while, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to figure out how you’d explain everything to your family and thinking about how Doyoung was an incredible man for seeing the truth in you, even when you hadn’t said a single word. When you realized everyone had already left, you decided to leave the church too and go straight to the one place you always turned to when life felt confusing: your favorite café. You couldn’t help but smile at the looks people gave you as you walked in still wearing a wedding dress. But one particular look caught your attention. Johnny was sitting at the table you two always sat at when you came to that café — the same one where you had introduced Doyoung to him. You walked over naturally and sat across from him, still catching that look of admiration in his eyes. “You really are the most beautiful bride there ever was,” he said. All you could do was laugh at your best friend’s comment. “And you looked really handsome as the best man,” you replied. Johnny gave a small smile, going quiet for a moment but his eyes said so much. It was a silence filled with stories, memories, questions never asked and answers you both already knew. You leaned your elbows on the table and looked at him. “You knew I’d come here, didn’t you?” “Of course,” he said. “It’s your place. It’s our place.” You nodded slowly, biting your bottom lip. “It’s crazy to think I almost got married today.” “I know,” Johnny said softly, playing with the napkin on the table. “It’s even crazier to think that you’re here.” You sighed. “Here with you.” “I told you I’d be here if you had doubts.” He looked you in the eyes like it was the most certain thing in the world, like he had always known that, somehow, you’d end up there with him. You rested your head on your hand, watching him play with the napkin. “So now what? What should I do?” you asked, almost in a whisper, as if he held the answer. Then Johnny leaned in closer, elbows on the table too, eyes fixed on yours. “Now… you breathe. And then, when you’re ready… you tell me. No rush, no labels. Just you and me.” You smiled through teary eyes, feeling for the first time that, despite everything, you were doing the right thing.

Weeks went by filled with long talks, quiet meetups, and laughter, like the two of you were discovering each other all over again. Johnny was always there, patient and tender, as if he hadn’t already waited a lifetime to have you by his side. You were sitting together on the same park bench where you used to go as kids and early teens. Johnny was sneakily taking a photo of you — a habit he'd had ever since his mom gave him a camera for his seventeenth birthday. “You should be more subtle when you take pictures of me,” you said, one brow raised and a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Who says I’m taking pictures of you? I’m photographing the sunset. Not my fault you keep getting in the way.” You laughed at how shameless he was, then paused just to look at him. He was like that sunset in a city that never sleeps: impossible to ignore, quietly breathtaking. His smile was warm and real — the kind that calms the storms inside you with just a curve of his lips. And in that moment, in that smile, you knew it was time. “Johnny?” “Hm?” “I’m ready.” He furrowed his brows slightly, lowering the camera and turning to face you. “Ready for what?” You gently held his face, your thumb brushing his skin in a tender caress. “To be happy with you. I think we’ve waited long enough.” Johnny looked like he couldn’t quite believe what you were saying. “Are you sure?” he whispered, already close enough that you could feel his breath. “I'm more than sure.” And you kissed him. It was a soft, deep kiss — full of all the feelings that had waited in silence for so long. When your tongues met, it felt like the most right thing you had ever done. Johnny held you gently, knowing you weren’t going anywhere, that this time you were his to keep. When you finally pulled apart, Johnny rested his forehead against yours, smiling against your lips. “Well, that was way better than holding wedding rings at the altar.” You laughed and replied, “And you were a very handsome best man.” “Just imagine how I’ll look when I’m your fiancé.” “Cocky” you teased, brushing a strand of hair from his face and tracing his eyebrows with your fingertip. “Thanks for waiting so long for me.” “I would’ve waited forever, because you make my life worthwhile.”

[fairestwriting]

Hello there! Love your writing! How about my sweet Savanaclaw boys finding out that their crush (or S/O) sleeps cuddling a plushie of their respective animals (like a wolf for Jack). Thanks! I love Jack so much :)

me while jumping at the opportunity of writing the man: i hate leona

Leona Kingscholar

He is canonically a very smart and perceptive guy. But somewhere in my heart I just know he wouldn't fully make the connection for a while. Just trust me on that one.

Kind of pokes fun at your "cat" plushie. What's with that thing, Herbivore? Aren't you a little too old for stuffed animals? Though he steps back if it makes you genuinely upset, which isn't what he's going for, he's just being an ass as a joke again. A part of him thinks it's really endearing, even before it really clicks for him.

He kind of feels vaguely jealous of the plushie. If you bring it while you two are sleeping together he'll pull the what do you need this thing for, I'm right here kind of shtick.

Confused on why you sleep with a plushie in the first place, more confused about why this stuffed cat looks so weird... oh, wait.

He's stupidly proud when it actually clicks. Of course he won't tell you it went over his head for the longest time, but all of a sudden, he's all smug whenever he sees you with the plushie, saying you could've just called if you missed him so much.!

Ruggie Bucchi

Takes a hot second to make the connection, but a lot less than Leona. The delay is mostly because he's never expected to see a hyena plushie of all things.

Actually loves it because it reminds him of the kids back home a little. He asks where you bought it, how much it was, tells you a little story about a kid he knew who wanted one just like that.

He won't explicitly ask to hold it but you should offer it, he loves your little buddy, he's already said you should come to him if you ever need to get a tear patched up. Doesn't even have it in him to make a joke about it being childish, at most tells you he'll keep it a secret if you look embarrassed.

When he does notice though, while poking at the plushie's little ears absentmindedly, he's the one who gets flustered. Oh no, that's really cute kind of realization.

He wants to sound cool when he says that, you know, if you want to sleep with him, you can just invite him over, but he does fail pretty hard. He can't help it, though, it's just way too endearing to him.

...Besides, he's already offered to co-parent the toy. If it doesn't have a name, it's just a matter of time before Ruggie asks and "jokingly" comes up with suggestions.

Jack Howl

Only one who thinks it might have to do something with him... but he's kind of too flustered to say anything about it for a good while.

He bashfully reassures you there's nothing wrong with keeping plushies around even if you're not a kid, maybe letting it slip that he thinks the little wolf is pretty cute... then pretending he didn't say anything.

Jack overthinks it a bit. Wolf plushies aren't that uncommon, right? You probably had it before you met him. He's too shy to ask if you had it before you met him.

He'll settle on... asking about the plushie itself. It might not have anything to do with him, but he knows pretty quickly that he wants it to. If you're not dating yet, he'll use the almighty excuse of asking about it because he needs to get his little siblings a gift.

Either way, though, the next excuse he gets, whether it's Christmas or your birthday or whatever, you find yourself with a very neatly wrapped box in your hands, and Jack nearly hiding behind it. Just saw it in a shop near home and thought you might like it, he says.

Whether your previous plushie was based on the exact same type of white wolf he is doesn't matter. If it is, it's getting a twin. You bet he scoured the shops to find it, blessing his luck on wolves being animals plenty of people love. He has a small, shy smile on his face when you take it.

if you wanna support my work, you can buy me a ko-fi or commission me!

[sweetfuchsia]

ex bf! sae x reader who likes to play around w/ him pt 7

m.list

“okay, now; all you gotta do is just.. pretend we’re getting married!” you beam, a hand reaching up to pat aiku’s broad shoulder. the man’s built well, you’ve got to admit. though, part of you thinks that ex bf! sae is still hotter.

“sure.” aiku purrs, tilting his head at you. his lips curve into a smile, eyes narrowing just a little. he looks good. the man’s wearing a nice suit, fit for a fancy event; because, well. . .

the two of you are having a fake wedding! you even hired all of your friends and even rin to attend. you had to make it believable, after all. how else would you continue to get your revenge on ex bf! sae?

the actual ‘ceremony’ wasn’t too bad. honestly, it was very fun— but if you really think about it, you kind of wish that you could have an actual wedding. a real one, with someone you love.

you wanted that person to be sae— you wanted to marry him and you really wanted it to last. but, unfortunately; the man’s already married to his career. soccer.

so, you don’t feel too bad posting the ‘wedding’ pictures you took with oliver. the guy’s real hot, (not as much as sae,) and you’d be cool with meeting up with him again . . .

but he seems way too into you for someone who you met not even a few days ago. and you’re just not ready for that— i mean, how do you explain to your new partner that you need to prank your ex boyfriend so you don’t feel too bad about the breakup?

when ex bf! sae sees this on his feed, he’s absolutely stunned. you really went through with it?! you married— you married oliver aiku out of all people?!

he doesn’t have a right to be mad and he knows it— but that does nothing to soothe the ache in his heart. did he just get shot? it sure feels like it. his girl isn’t his anymore. but he guesses you stopped behind his ages ago.

so why does this grind on his nerves so badly? he scrolls through the comments— eyebrow twitching in irritation as people gush over you and that— that— that old man! how could you marry someone like that?!

“this was such an unexpected couple but i’m totally here for it!” a comment reads— and ex bf! sae swears he’s about to explode out of pure frustration.

after a day of stewing in his irritation, ex bf! sae hears his doorbell ring. the thought of it being you crosses his mind for a moment, but he has to remind himself thst you’re married. to the most mediocre man he’s ever met, but that’s no matter.

he stands back up, walking over to the door with a sigh— though, the breath gets stuck in his throat as he stares back at you after opening his front door. it’s you.

and… rin?

ex bf! sae’s really confused now. you’re a married woman, yet you’ve come to his doorstep with his brother still wearing your wedding dress and holding a bouquet of flowers. he will admit, this bouquet is much prettier— that can’t mean anything, though.. right?

rin clears his throat, pulling out his phone.

then the second wedding ceremony begins.

“name, do you take sae to be your lawfully wedded husband, to to live together in matrimony, to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him in sickness and health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward as long as you both.. uh, shall live?” rin starts, looking over to you. he feels a little awkward doing this; it’s his first time.. acting as a priest for a wedding.

“i do.” you say, your mouth curving into a wide, giddy smile. this is the funniest thing you’ve done in a while— the look on ex bf’ sae’s face right now is better than the one from the death prank.

“cool. now, do you, sae, take this.. beautiful, gorgeous, funny.. name,” rin pauses, sighing. it seems you edited the script a little. “do you take her to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you live?” rin continues, the tips of his ears flushing a subtle pink. he sometimes wonders how he got pulled into this.

and with that, you glance to rin; a clear signal to him to.. switch to another app and click on a video. it’s an interview of ex bf! sae, where he says..

“i do.”

ex bf! sae’s face pales, and he shakes his head quickly— this isn’t fair! he’s so confused?! marriage!? is this real?! you’re crazy—

you immediately burst into laughter, lifting your hand to show a cute ring on your finger.

“name, hey—“

he can’t even say anything else before you turn, running down the pathway again as you hold up the skirt of your pretty wedding dress.

[romana-after-dark]

Dirty Old Man

Dark!Old Man!Logan x fem!reader

Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist

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Summary: Logan is your driver, and one day he gets tired of keeping his hands to himself. Logan's POV.

Warnings: NON CON! DDDNE!!!!! Alcohol consumption, breeding kink but reader is on birth control. slapping. big, girthy, throbbing, rock hard age gap. crying, dirty talk. Absolutely wild slut shaming and misogyny in Logan's head. Seriously yall he's bad here. Theres nothing redeeming about him.

1.5 K words

Minors DNI, DEAD DOVE!!!

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He’d been watching you for longer than you realized.

Logan was used to taking odd jobs, having just enough to get by and when he tires of one place or another, he quits and finds somewhere else. But this right here? Yeah, he was sticking around for a bit.

You were a stupid little thing, silly and bubble head with a great pair of tits and a niave view of the world. He was your driver, taking you all around the streets of New York, anywhere from fancy gala’s to Sex and the City style luncheons -wait no it’s called brunch-, Sex and the City style brunches, to sleepovers with friends. Every time you hoped in the pretentious car, you slid in the back with a hello, and hopped out with a goodbye and a thank you. Today was no different.

A little crisp out for such a small dress, don’t you think?

Fall was coming, even if it grew later and later every year for the leaves to turn yellow and the wind to cool around you. Still, it never stopped dumb girls like you from dressing in the skimpiest little things, just tempting nasty old men like him, testing, teasing, until there was a consequence. You really needed to learn a lesson, didn’t you? One by one, Logan dropped off your slutty little friends, all dressed in an aray of orange and red and black and all the fall colors that were fashionable for bimbo’s like them to pay attention to. This wasn’t all your friend he’d driven to the club, some of them probably went off to get railed by some horny college student who just had to compliment them once or twice and they were sliding their underwear to the side.

You weren’t like them. You were wearing white, as pure as the day you were born, your sweet little head too filled up with thoughts of sunshine and flowers to be someone who’d let a man touch you like that. That’s why Logan wasn’t going to be ‘let’, he was going to take.

Drunk like your father every evening trying to drown out your nagging mother, you babbled on about the evening to him after your last friend left, filling him in on all the innocent fun you had at the club. You weren’t like the others, you didn’t grind on men or kiss your friends for attention or snort coke, you were happy with a several drinks and a good time.

“Back home, bub?” He asks you, looking through the rearview mirror.

“Yes, please, Mr. Smith.” You replied with his alias. He wanted to make you scream Logan, Logan, Logan. A pause. “Where are we?”

Logan had pulled into an empty alley, smirking at the knit of your eyebrows in confusion. “Gotta check the back tire, bub. Seems off.”

You were too drunk and stupid to question him. Naive girl, so trusting. He went to the back right tire, near wear you sat, and bent over pretending to look, knowing you well enough to know you’d open the door and peek out.

“Wha- *hiccup* what is it, Mr. Smiff?” 

He chuckles at you slurring his faux name. 

“You can just call me Logan, kid, I told yuh that.” Logan stands, bracing his arm over the car frame, leaning over you. “Everything, I’m afraid.”

You blink up at him in confusion. “Everything?”

“Yeah baby, looks like we’re gonna have to kill some time.” He makes his move, pushing you onto the leather seats and shoving you down. For a moment, you don’t struggle, just a yelp of surprise but Logan can see the realization of what's happening dawn in your eyes. Then, you slap him.

“Big mistake, kid.” Two slaps, one after the other in quick succession, are delivered to your sweet face, letting you know that however you fight, you’ll be punished. “Won’t help yuh to fight, sweetcheeks, only gonna make it worse.” He watches the tears well up in your eyes, your pretty lip quivering, but you don’t fight. You give in. He chuckles. “Well that was easy.”

Logan spreads your legs, grinding his clothed erection over your white underwear, making you whimper. “P-please don’t… I’m sorry, I-I I don’t-”

“Shhhhh, princess…” Logan wipes a tear from your face, nuzzling his beard against your neck. “Just be good for me, this will all be over soon, okay? But be that sweet girl I know you are.”

A dizzy, tired ‘okay’ and Logan leaned back to undo his pants where his crisp white shirt was tucked in. As expected, you simply stayed laid back and didn’t fight or try to get away. Such a good girl. “Take your panties off for me.”

You shake your head. “Don’t make me…”

All he had to do was narrow his eyes at you and you were scrambling to do as he said, making you complicite. 

“See? I knew you wanted this.”

Sliding into you was heaven, feeling you clench around him in fear, the tension of your body manifesting in squeezing him cock even as you got wet around him. He was your first, he knew that. Inside himself, he knew that, even if you hadn’t said. Because of course you hadn’t? Who would share that with her driver?

“Fuck princess, look at you…” Logan grunted as he began to thrust, watching your tits in that braless dress bounce. “Taking this old man cock so good, aren’t’cha? Yeah, just look at you…” He grabbed your hair harshly, yanking you up so you were bent over. You scream in pain, but quickly quiet yourself with little sobs instead as he forces you to watch him violating you, entering and withdrawing and entering again until he lets go, letting you flop back once more.

Logan’s cock slams inside you, and Logan bets you can feel him inside you, feel him prodigy at your womb, ready to be bred like a good girl like your deserves. 

“Are you on birth control?”

“Y-yes” You cry, covering your face in embarrassment. Are you lying? No, no he can see the little rod in your arm. He grab your tender flesh, and you cry out briefly again as he feels the stupid fucking implant in you, thumbing over it as he growls in frustration. He wanted to get you knocked up, make sure you were the stupid girl who got herself pregnant after he ditched town, but there was nothing he could do about it now. 

He gropes your tits through the dress, slapping at the side to make you yelp before moving on downward. You were awfully wet for someone who was crying. 

“Poor girl… is the mean old man taking your virginity? I know, I know, I’m the worst.” He swirls a finger over your slicked up clit, making your body jolt. “Fuck, such a sensative girl around you. Been years since I fucked someone so sweet and innocent, you’re -fuuuuuck, princess- you’re every dirty old man’s dream, you know that?”

He felt your cunt tighten at that, and he barks a laugh. “Ha! Don’t think I didn’t feel that, sweet cheeks. That make you hot? You like knowing old creeps think of our naked body while fisting their cocks?”

You cover your face. “No!”

“Princess, don’t fucking lie to me. Come on.” Logan touched your body, knowing he could bring you pleasure, wanting to feel your first orgasm gushing on his cock. “Give it to me, come on this old man cock, be the dirty whore I know you wanna be.” 

Your cry into your hands as your body betrays you, orgasming hard enough it pulled his own climax out of him. Even though he knew you wouldn’t get pregnant, Logan loved knowing that he was pumping load after load of his hot seed into your virgin pussy, knowing it would leak out of your for days. Morning after morning you wake up to his cum sliding out of your, reminding you that you’re nothing but a dirty old man's whore.

The whole ride to your penthouse, you laid in the back of the car, never moving from where he left you. When Logan pulled up to the building, he put his arm on the other backrest, looking down at you. “You tell anyone about this,” He let his claws fly out of his fisted hand. You could only flinch, your eyes drooping heavily. “I’ll end you, and whoever you tell. Got it?” Logan waits until you nod. “Good. Now get the fuck out of my car.”

Later…

You lay in bed, staring at your phone though the tears in your eyes. A shower couldn’t wash off the feeling of him in and on you, so you just gave up, stumbling into bed with your most comfortable clothes.

Your screen showed a message your forgot to respond to before getting drunk.

Remy Boo <3: Bon soir, cher. Text me when you’re home so I know you’re safe.

 You couldn’t tell him. Logan said he’d kill you and whoever you told… but if you didn’t respond, Remy would pull up to the penthouse and check on you. You did give him a key, and you owed him a response. He was your boyfriend, after all.

You: I’m home!!!! Had a great night with the girls. Im tired. Ttyl.

*************

Thanks so so so much for reading!!!! I might do a part 2 IDK. I kinda wanna see remy finding out what happened and that it was logan of all people.

If you like dark logan, check out my masterlist!

Our Gentle Sins is my logan series rn! I also wrote a lot of joel miller if thats your thing!!!!

Every single like, reblog, and comment means the world o me!

if you want to be tagged in my dark logan, check out my tag list!

If you want more logan bt not dark, check out @romanarose for my normal stuff.

@del-ightfulling @miraclesabound @oldloganslittleslut @shybluebirdninja @hornystan

[gothamite-rambler]

Lian Harper readied her bow and arrow, then let the arrow fly toward the target, hitting it on the fourth ring. Jon clapped supportively, while Damian’s was more sarcastic—golf claps.

Lian: I need a catchphrase… what’s a good one to use when I shoot arrows?

Jon (energetic): I never miss my target!

Lian: No. Pretty sure grandpa uses that one.

Damian (holding out his arm): Arrow... away.

Lian laughed, shaking her head.

Lian: How about, I’m here to kick ass and chew bubblegum, and I’m all outta gum!

Jon: That’s taken. Awesome line, but taken… from an old video game.

Damian: I thought it was from a movie in the 1900s. Then it was in a video game. Let’s ask an old person.

The trio headed into the fancy kitchen of Oliver Queen’s mansion, where they approached Roy and Oliver.

Lian (uncensored): Where did the phrase, “I’m here to kick ass and chew bubblegum, and I’m all outta gum!” come from? An old video game or movie from the 1900s?

Oliver (sorrow): …Am I that old? Because I know where the line’s originally from.

Roy (pretending to read the ingredients on a water bottle): Um… yeah, you’re the old man. Not me. You’re a grandfather too.

Oliver sighed, feeling older with each passing fact about himself.

Oliver: I’m actually a young grandfather, thanks to you. The line is from an ‘80s movie called They Live, but the video game Duke Nukem used it afterward.

Damian: Oh, it was an ‘80s film from the 1900s.

Jon (checking his phone): Yeah, he’s right. They Live was released in 1988, and Duke Nukem came out in 1991. The movie’s 37 years old!

Oliver dropped his beer glass in shock, realizing he was older than the movie! Roy laughed, surprising the kids. Oliver rested his head on the counter.

Oliver: Sweet Jesus, I was a teenager when that movie first came out!

Roy: Don’t lie to yourself. You had to be a young adult.

Oliver: Let me pretend! Time has flown by, and you never notice. Like an arrow soaring through the wind... Time’s arrow marches on.

Roy: I’m impressed you managed to work in an arrow motif while having a mid-life crisis.

Lian (scratching her head): Mid-life? Isn’t grandpy—

Oliver: Don’t mention my age, Li-Li. It’s rude!

Just then, Dinah entered the kitchen in her pajamas, seeing her husband looking crestfallen, her stepson laughing, and the kids all confused.

Dinah: Did you bring up some old piece of media?

Lian: Yeah? This movie from the 1900s—

Oliver: Stop saying ‘1900s’! It was from the ‘80s.

Roy (teasing): Still the 1900s.

Dinah: You were saying, Li-Li?

Lian: Right. This old movie called They Live and a video game, Duke Nuddy.

Roy (laughing more): Duke Nukem! You meant 'nukem'.

Lian (laughing now): Imma call him Duke Nuddy. Anyway, we wanted to ask where a line came from that I wanted to use as a catchphrase. “I’m here to kick—”

Dinah: No, no, don’t finish the line. I know it very well, I sat through that terrible movie too many times to count. You can’t use it, period, because you’re a kid. Now put the bow and arrow away and go watch a movie.

Lian: Aww, fine… You guys want to watch that Winnie—

Jon (shouting, angry): No, we’re not watching the sequel to that horror—

Damian (covering Jon’s mouth): Let’s just watch something from Disney so you don’t give him more nightmares.

Lian: Ugh, fine. We’ll clean up the arrows and stuff in the back, Nana.

Dinah: Good girl.

After Lian and her friends left, Dinah approached Oliver to comfort him. Though she was technically older, she and Oliver didn’t look it—Oliver just didn’t like being reminded he was over 50.

Dinah (patting her husband's back): There, there sweetie. Roy, you realize you were alive in the ‘80s too?

Roy: Yeah, but I got used to being old, mostly because I haven’t aged badly in years. I look great; he looks old.

Oliver: Stop making me feel worse.

Dinah: You’re both doofuses, but at least Lian’s having fun with her archery. You were right about that, Oliver.

Oliver (feeling a little better): I told you archery was a good hobby for her. One question though... What Winnie the Pooh movie was she talking about?

Roy (remembering he was a parent, sighing): I don't want to talk about it. Just know I had to put a parental lock on my computer a few weeks ago.

Dinah and Oliver: Welcome to parenthood.