#just leaving NOTHING to the imagination here

[burgojo]

DISTURBIA. MAHITO / M!READER

summary. in the golden age of jujutsu, mahito had you, and lost you. a thousand years later, he seeks to bring you back.

wc. 9.1k

tags. smut | sub bottom mahito, top reader, heian era!mahito & cursed spirit!reader (manifestation of fear of night/absence of light), reader had a cult/worshippers. mention of blood & gore. mahito with a pussy, size difference, breeding kink, mention of babytrapping. fingering + oral (mahito receiving), doggystyle, exhibitionism (mention of others overhearing), jealousy, praise, multiple orgasms (mahito receiving), creampie, ahegao (?), god kink (reader), temp play (reader is naturally cold)

notes. obligatory ooc warning. also, i made up a lot of lore for the reader('s abilities), so scroll down about halfway to skip it and get to the good part :)

[ requested ]

Deep in the beech forests of Northeast Japan, Geto Suguru stands delicately amongst the verdant green undergrowth. He glances around, petting his large winged cursed spirit absently, and gathers his long dark robes in a hand. He glances over his shoulder.

"Despite your insistence on coming here, you've been awfully quiet. Is it not what you imagined?"

Bent at the waist to inspect massive green leaves as large as his face, Mahito looks up. "Huh? Oh, I was just curious about how they went about their plan. This place is maaassive. How are we supposed to find him? Maybe they cut him up? Sprinkled him from the highest mountain?" He sighs. "Whatever they did – they chose a green place to do it. Hanami would probably like it."

Dismissing his cursed spirit with a wave of his hand, Suguru chooses a direction and begins to move. He doesn't so much as walk as glide, his long skirts and the heavy undergrowth obscuring his steps. The tall, slim beeches are set just far enough apart for one person to slip between their trunks, and Mahito is forced to fall into step behind Suguru.

He flexes his fingers; stretches his arms; kicks ferns. Twigs tug at his hair and he huffs, glaring at the tree that dared touch him. He clasps the section of hair to his chest, dragging his slim fingers through it obsessively.

"You're twitchy," Suguru says without turning around. "You never did say how you heard of this curse. Seeing as you're not busy running your mouth, why don't you tell me now?"

Mahito sighs, skipping over a fallen log overrun with moss. He gazes up at the trees and notices the way the thick emerald canopy filters the sunlight until all that's left is an even, misty glow. Shadows are soft and deep around here.

"Not much to say," he hums thoughtfully, knocking a branch out of his way. "Lotta curses back in the day. Just makes sense to have some hidden around the place."

"Yes, but how did you come across such old records? Surely sorcerers would've kept something like that far, far away from prying eyes."

"Humans get tired. They get clumsy. They misplace things."

Suguru raises a brow. "And you kept it? For a thousand years, without purpose?"

Airily, he says, "So what if I did? You really expect me to act like one of you, doin' things with reason and purpose? C'mon. I liked the pictures on it."

He may think Suguru falls for it, but Suguru is nothing if not perceptive. Mahito flings his arms out too wide. Each stride is too long, each twirl around a slender beech too motivated – no, he sees it all. He's playing at carelessness when it couldn't be further from the truth.

Absurdly human of him, really.

Suguru hums, halting in his tracks. Mahito almost bumps into him. Again – too eager. Suguru lifts a hand, palm down and fingers splayed, and closes his eyes. Thrums of warm sorcery crackle through his veins – weak, barely trace amounts. Expected for thousand-year-old jujutsu. To be able to feel it still was a feat all in itself. Just how intense was the battle that raged here?

"We should be right in front of it," Suguru claims, dropping his hand and opening his eyes. They stand before a slight ridge of the earth, exposed tree roots weaving in and out of rich brown soil. A heavy blanket of moss hangs over the ridge and ivy grows beneath their feet. "Yet... I don't sense any spirits nearby."

"Hey," says Mahito suddenly. "The scroll mentioned a 'tomb'. You said in front of ya, yeah?"

Nodding, Suguru folds his hands within his robes. He watches as Mahito's arm lengthens into a massive cleaver, and he steps back at the wicked smile that spreads across his lips.

Mahito lifts his arm, pale eyes glinting dangerously. "Man, I so hope I'm right!"

With a slam that rumbles the ground beneath their feet and strips the nearby trees of their leaves, Mahito splits the earthen mound before him clean in two, leaving a shallow ravine that extends into the horizon. The soft earth parts like melted butter, soil and chipped wood exploding forth with such strength that Suguru narrowly avoids a pointed root that embeds itself into the trunk behind him.

When the dirt and leaves settle, they reveal the chiselled stone set into the earth. Split not quite perfectly in half – for Mahito loves chaos, and halves are better off-kilter – is a room carved into stone, hollowed out with a single podium erupting from the centre.

Upon the roughly-carved podium is a mid-sized box plastered with ancient seals and talismans. Peeking inside reveals that the inside of the 'room' is covered in the stuff, too – old, yellow, and faded, they flutter from wind they haven't felt in aeons. One peels off and comes to rest gently at Mahito's feet.

"Huh," he says eventually, staring at the cuttingly-familiar brushstrokes. He reaches for the wooden box, soft and rotted with age. The moment his fingers brush the surface, he pulls back with a jerk and makes a face. "Ouch! Spicy."

"Strong seals," Suguru comments, making no move to help. Mahito huffs and blasts the talismans away with a burst of cursed energy, testing the now-bare box with the tips of his fingers like one might with a freshly-microwaved plate.

He cracks the box open. Inside, innocent as a fresh lamb, lays a shallow, red-lacquered suzuri-bako.

"A... writing box?" Mahito murmurs to himself. He reaches in and takes the smooth box into his hands. It feels much heavier than it should, and an oppressive weight shudders through him, dark and cold and familiar. "Geto-san? It's a cage. I don't have the key."

"Let me take a look." Suguru stretches out a hand.

For a fleeting moment, Mahito hesitates – the slightest tilt of the box towards his chest. And Suguru knows.

With a growing smile, Suguru folds his hand back into his long sleeves. "Ah... I see. You know this spirit."

"I—" He pauses. "Maybe. Once upon a time."

"Interesting," says Suguru, "that something as old as this still has an effect on you."

"Nah – boring, actually. I'm old and sentimental." He pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. He chuckles and tosses his hair over his shoulder, tracing the edges of the box. Power tingles against his skin. "Pretty thing, for a cage. Maybe I could just – ease it open—"

Suguru raises his long sleeve to shield his face as the box pulses with a sudden, growling shockwave, forcing him to step back to keep his balance. The ferns sway around his knees.

Mahito clicks his tongue, a pout forming on his lips. "Damn it! This should be simple!"

The second attempt has the birds squawking and flying into the skies as the surrounding trees shudder violently. For the third, Suguru winces slightly as Mahito slams his fist – a giant mallet – against the box, resulting in another shockwave of barbed cursed energy. He lifts a hand, placating.

"Ah, Mahito... Perhaps I can give it a go?" he suggests. "It may need a... sorcerer's touch."

Mahito's eyes widen. Of course! Those ancient douche-canoes probably knew he would come for what was his. It only made sense to weave his name into the seals.

"By all means," he replies, stepping aside. "Take a gander."

Stepping forward, Suguru tugs his sleeve to his elbow and scoops up the box from the floor. He dusts off the cover. "Lovely craftsmanship," he muses and hovers his palm over it despite every nerve in his body writhing and begging to pull away. Some instinctual, ancient force warns him off it. He lets energy seep into the age-made cracks in the seals, and from within, gently burns away the net holding its prisoner still – like taking a lighter to the end of a frayed rope, creating spaces big enough to squeeze through.

The lid cracks open.

Like a floodgate opening, freezing shadows and smoke pour out of the gap, forcing the lid to clatter uselessly to the ground. Darkness bleeds down the walls. Suguru's eyes widen as his pale fingers, deep within the thick black smoke continuing to billow forth, begin to turn blue at the tips, visible frost surging over his skin. Smoke fills the air around them, fading out the sun until it could be a misty grey night. Rivers of shadow pool thickly around his knees until he can't see his feet, and he hurries to set the box on the podium.

As he lets go, a shadowy tendril curls around his exposed hand and arm, burning white frost into his skin. His breath hitches.

A freezing hand seizes his wrist. Inch-long black nails dig rivulets of blood – his red, all-too-human blood – out of him, and his heart plummets at the sight of the hand, wrapped completely around his forearm as if it's a thin piece of rope. On instinct, he yanks back, and the hand comes with.

Then, a flood of smoky shadow spews from the open box – and a cowled figure claws its way out, formed from the very shadows that plunged them into a sudden night. It rises and straightens, towering over them both.

Suguru's arm hurts. He clutches his wrist, his blood coagulating over the delicately-patterned frost, and chances a glance back at Mahito.

Arms spread wide and palms open, an unnervingly breathless smile plastered on his lips, Mahito gazes up at the wispy figure unblinkingly. Wide-eyed and panting softly, he laughs – bright and jubilant, victorious.

"Yes! Yes! There you are!"

He skips past Suguru, giggling madly as he takes one large, clawed hand in both his own. He presses the palm to his cheek as he hops in place, stretching up to reach for the round silver brooch pinning the cloak of shadows together over the shoulder. He hasn't seen his eyes in so long, and this stupid hood is in the way!

Mahito?

The voice comes from within Suguru's head. But, unlike Hanami's, this voice slithers among his own thoughts, slipping between them as light as a ghost. It could've been his own, for all he knew, except for the fact it carries a sorrow so profound it eclipses every other thought – he can focus on nothing else.

—

Everything is on fire. Everything is on fire and it is all because of you.

Of course, the fire was the easy part. One day, perhaps your beloved will forgive you for using such an overzealous amount of cursed energy to make your grand entrance. It completely overshadowed his own.

Everything would change here. It would be your end, or your beginning. Before you stand the most powerful sorcerers in the land, all gathered to rise against you one final time – or die trying.

All so tense. A sigh flutters through your lips as you brush a stray lock of hair out of your eyes. Mahito has influenced you too much – you are bare from shoulder-to-waist, oil-slick blood coating your arms up to the elbows, and facing the strongest adversaries you have ever met. Yet, all you can fret about is your poor hakama, now no more than a shred of memory. You donned your best silks for this, and the first thing the cruel little bugs did was burn it off you.

At the very least, your sashinuki may be salvageable.

"You are strong," a white-haired sorcerer calls above the roar of the flames towering into the sky. "Some call you divine and pray to you for aid, but you do not listen."

"I listen," you reply coolly, and slick back your hair with a blood-soaked palm. "I help them to lose the burden of their regrets and relieve their physical pains. I daresay I help more than you."

"They call you a healer, but what you do is not healing. Once, you numbed a man to his wounds until he fell to exhaustion fighting in your name. You are a spiteful creature. Desperation is your lure."

"If I hear it, I answer. If they think I am their saviour, who am I to disagree? It's a rather pretty title – though, it is amusing to be lord of maggots. I like to watch them squirm."

How did a curse of night, of the endless dark, grow so powerful? Every secret done in the dark, every lie and gnawing shame, was yours. There had always been something different about you, and they were fools to ignore it, even upon your first meeting:

You, tall and regal, kimono the darkest shade of navy blue damask, had been nothing like their other curses. You looked quite human. Perhaps there was something godly in your stride, something primordial in your voice, that cowed them all like children. You spoke to them, soft and paternal, and suddenly, each and every one of them was afraid of the dark and you were their only solace against the monsters beyond the window.

Enchantment, they'd called it, upon blinking awake and finding you gone. Perhaps it was your domain, to cull their thoughts until all that remained was the ancient instinct to fear the black night. Had you heard them discussing you, hands shaking and faces drained of blood, you would have laughed.

—

Suguru's eyes flicker, and the scene flips to a forest clearing.

—

"Mahito!"

The cry of his name is guttural, a thousand voices coalescing into a roar and a shriek. Across the battlefield, he falls, and you catch the flames reflecting in the shine of his widened eyes as he grasps the unfamiliar black blade piercing his chest. His soul writhes around it, pierced by it, unable to slip away unscathed as he has so many times before.

In that split second, your attention lapses, and black chains lash your body, slamming you to your knees. You snarl, straining against them.

"Surrender," the sorcerer before you orders, white hair stained red with blood. Despite his injuries and the loss of an entire arm, he stands tall and steady above you. "We will let him go if you choose to die."

"If I choose to die?" You run your thumb over your knuckles, regenerating three lost fingers. A rather good trade, you think, for taking off his arm in the process. "You'd allow a spirit, able to shape the soul into something inhuman and unrecognisable, to walk free in exchange for my life? My, my. I must be particularly disruptive to your little society."

"You're beaten." His voice is sharp despite his clear exhaustion. He struggles to restore his arm. "No matter how many of us you kill, you will lose first. Give up."

"Such misplaced confidence. 'Choose to die'..." You sneer and the black iron chains wrapped around you tighten, far colder than you are. You have warmed, somewhat, in Mahito's presence. You cannot be bitter about it when it is he who marks your soul. "Hah! Nothing stops you from killing him anyway – so, politely, I decline. There are only so many of you. You will run out of bodies before I do."

As you speak, your image flickers in an attempt to split your consciousness into the deep shadows around you. The chains chew into your skin and you hiss as your control dissipates like a candle blown out.

"Interesting," the sorcerer murmurs, gazing down at you pensively. The red flames swirl behind him. "Interesting that your bond with that curse truly did win us this fight. I admit – I was sceptical it would work. You're... not what I expected."

You turn your gaze to Mahito, crumpled on the ground with his long, straight hair creating a curtain over his features. He grasps the handle of the blade, trembling slightly, and his breaths are shallow and rapid as he attempts to pull it out. He can only whimper in pain – too quiet for anyone to hear. But this battle is a secret under darkness and belongs to you. You close your eyes to his furious cry and panicked breaths as the blade refuses to budge and saps more of his strength with every second.

Run, you implore, and his head shoots up, pale eyes meeting yours. Cursed energy surges beneath your skin, rippling and bubbling with bloodthirst. Run and don't look back. Mahito, you must survive at all costs. Do you understand?

The chains quiver and the links bend out of shape, their strange unearthly metal creaking. Your body strains against it, fingers elongating into claws and mouth growing jagged fangs. Your skin rips and flickers, bleeding dead galaxies. The chains bite into your shadowy flesh, but you grow larger despite it.

The sorcerer takes a step back.

Go, your voice rasps in his head, syllables rough and struggling in the monstrosity of your own body. Mahito's eyes widen as the chains groan, shuddering with effort – and snap.

He pulls himself to his feet, pale grey kimono tattered and stained. He grips the blade lodged in his chest and stumbles away, chasing the safety of the tree line.

You roar, twice as tall as the sorcerers around you, cutting them down with rapid, decisive blows. In his state, he doesn't notice the sorcerer turning in his direction.

But you do. With a shriek, you launch yourself at him, breaking through the ranks of sorcerers trying to stop you in a burst of viscera and bone. You seize the man giving chase after Mahito, and his whip-like technique is nothing against the overwhelming strength of your new form. One slash of your razor-sharp claws and his technique putters out in his limp hands.

Mahito spares you one last, desperate look, before turning and running into the darkness. You pull the shadows closed after him, deepening the shadows around him until you have him in your grasp.

Live, you say wistfully, releasing him from your shadows as far away as you can by a riverbank. He collapses and attempts to slip the blade out from between his ribs. He quivers with effort, and you don't turn back to the sorcerers picking themselves up for one last push. As long as none of them find Mahito, you will accept the consequences of your hedonistic actions. Live for me. Please.

You languish in your prison for one thousand years.

—

Mahito beams, nodding so hard his head threatens to fall off. "You remember me! I knew you would!"

Slowly, as if learning how to move one muscle at a time, the hand cupping his face brushes its knuckles down the edge of his cheek. When it reaches his chin, long fingers wrap around his throat as if to choke – then, they release. Using the first three fingers, the shadowy spirit grasps Mahito's face, turning it further up towards him. The top of Mahito's head only reaches the spirit's ribs – or where they would be on a human.

Mahito, the spirit calls joyfully, lifting its other hand to cup his face with a flourish of a long, wispy sleeve. Draped over him, the spirit's shadowy robes engulf him almost entirely. Oh, Mahito, my darling pale bone-shard...

He laughs, accepting everything with a smile that seems too ancient for someone like him. It's the smile of one who's known loss – not his usual grin of frivolous naivete.

"You look awful," Mahito says, with a little pout and a frown. "Come! I'll get you back to full strength. But I suppose that guy behind me will want introductions. No number of old scrolls or tomes would get him your name."

That name was never mine, the curse declares. Humans could never know me as you do. My strength is not theirs to invoke.

"Alrighty," Mahito says. He spins on his heel, hair bouncing, and points above him, where the spirit stands – floats – behind his shoulder. "Geto-san! This is YN! I knew him back in the day. He had a bit of a cult, too, so I think you'll get along splendidly."

That piques his interest. That white-haired sorcerer – probably a member of the Gojo clan, Suguru thinks with an achy little throb, if his paleness was a family trait – had mentioned something about your perceived divinity. He wonders why you'd pay attention to any of those ignorant monkeys.

"You're probably thinking about the whole cult thing, right?" Mahito comments offhandedly, tossing and catching the silver brooch he stole from you. Despite this, you haven't pulled down your hood. The straggly ends of the cloak hang by your arms.

"I won't say I didn't wonder."

"Don't worry, it's not a long story." He clears his throat importantly. "Back in the day, we didn't have curtains or anything to hide the results of our actions, so what we did must've seemed like magic or something paranormal to humans. My YN was often seen before and after destruction like plagues and floods, so word began to spread of a beautiful man who would save those he appeared to. Of course, this was survivorship bias. If he killed 'em, not like they could say that to anyone, right? So that's how people began to worship him."

"How fascinating," Suguru murmurs, eyeing you up. "Before, I saw your... memories. Was worship how you grew so much stronger than a normal curse?"

You finally look up, having been concentrating very hard on Mahito and his new appearance. His clothes are strange, but you're beginning to come around to them. Apologies. My body is not quite... complete. Some portion of me may have passed through you as I formed. You touch Mahito's hair, rubbing the strands between your fingers, and he giggles up at you. Perhaps you are right. Evolution was always within Mahito's portfolio, not mine. I should have been constant, unchanging, like the night. Odd, isn't it?

"The form you gained right before you were sealed away – do you still have it? Or was it a result of their belief?" If he could sway you to his side – gain your abilities – it might be enough. Just enough.

You consider his question. Human emotion is potent. I may no longer have shrines made with my image or prayers whispered in my name, but there are infinitely more humans now to draw from. I may gain it back – in time.

"Fascinating," Suguru repeats. He extends his uninjured hand with a kind smile. "Then please – allow me to be your host in this new era. I own a temple with a not-insignificant number of human visitors. It may help you recover."

You glance down at Mahito. He nods encouragingly. "He's not a bad guy to be around, I promise! A little uppity, but with the strength to back it up. You'd be with me. We'd be together again."

You pause, your large hand halting on top of Mahito's head, where you'd been petting him. He blinks up at your featureless face, and shadows waft from your shoulders –  a sigh, or what passes for one with your inhuman anatomy. Very well, you relent, taking one of his ponytails and tugging lightly, I will follow. Be grateful that I bow to you.

"Oh, yes," Mahito giggles pleasantly, leaning into your stomach. He props his chin on your ribs, staring up at you with a grin. "Verily, my lord. When we arrive, I'll even show you how grateful I am."

You cup his face gently, squishing his cheeks. You run a thumb over the stitches below his eye. Dubious little creature... Lead on – we have much to talk about.

—

Recovery, you find, requires mostly time. The first thing you do when you regain sufficient strength is create a new body – one Mahito is familiar with, and which looks almost entirely human. For all your distaste, their physical anatomy is simple and useful, and you can spend less effort holding it together than most other shapes. Geto Suguru, as you come to know him, is incredibly interested in you and your capabilities, almost invasively so, and hates humanity quite a lot. You avoid him where you can.

You enter the room you were given by ducking under the lintel, one which Mahito now shares with you. Once you heard where he used to reside and what it was had been explained to you, you had been firmly insistent he come with you rather than you with him. Sewers, you claimed, were no place for the beloved of a god.

He is at the dresser in a grey kimono, which grabs your attention. He runs a brush through the pale blue-grey hair swept over his shoulder. He opens his eyes at the sound of the door sliding open, a smile automatically tugging at his lips.

"You're back," he says warmly. "What did Geto-san want this time?"

"He has trouble sleeping," you reply, taking a seat on the bed. It is odd, you thought once, that a traditional temple like this would incorporate such modern furniture, but Mahito seemed to like it, so you kept your mouth shut. "I drew him to slumber."

Mahito hums knowingly. "Humans, right? So messy. Him especially. Man, emotionally, that guy is a wreck – gets so worked up over nothing."

Politely, you ignore the invitation to complain. You may be a curse, but you have some dignity. "He freed me from a thousand years of imprisonment, Mahito. It's the least I can do to repay him."

He frowns. "I freed you."

"The seals prevented you from doing very much, Mahito," you say, amused. "If he wasn't there, you'd still be banging away at it. However, you did figure out where they kept me and kept me alive in your memories when no other did. I am grateful for that."

"If you were less judgemental of the other curses, I'm sure they woulda remembered you fondly," he rebuts. "You were too much of a lone wolf. 'Ooh, Sukuna's eating my worshippers 'cause I told him he's not cool! Kenjaku badgers me way too often about his dumb plans!' If you didn't complain about them to their faces, I'm sure they would've been happier to remember you."

You scoff. "Why should I care? I have you."

The tone of your voice warms what passes as his heart. He turns on the stool to face you, setting down the brush and picking up his hair ties. He begins to section his hair into three parts.

"I mean that much to you, do I? Little old me, more important than the favour of the great King of Curses," he coos, rising to his feet. He offers you a hair-tie with a soft smile, and you accept it. He crawls into your lap, sitting with his back to your chest. He hums as you comb your fingers through his hair, fumbling only slightly with the intricacies of a braid. It's been a long time since you've had hands.

"What does the King of Curses have that I care for? He is strong, but has many enemies. He is an arrogant, fickle creature and desires no equal, only slaves and followers." You adjust the thick locks of hair you've left loose to frame his face. He seems to like threes, so you'll keep it similar. "I like to do as I please. He is feared – I am fear."

You consider your next words. "He is also very rude."

Mahito barks out a laugh. "Careful. If he hears that, you'd be sliced up quicker than you can say 'oops'."

"You say he is now little more than a set of relicts. I wonder – if I kicked him around, would he know it and come later to kill me?"

Mahito presses a finger to his lips thoughtfully. "I don't think so. They don't seem to hold any sentience by themselves. Even curses empowered by the fingers don't look like they contain any part of 'him'."

"Interesting."

"Remind me to never let you carry his fingers."

"Of course." You tie off the end of the braid, sitting back to admire your handiwork. A human had come in with something similar, and you'd been too preoccupied with how it might look on Mahito to really care for what Geto was doing.

(You didn't care much for what any of them were doing, truthfully. Their idea for a world of curses was not quite uninhabited enough for you, as the god of the endless night and the perfect, empty void. It was only because of Mahito's unique technique that you let him live beyond your initial meeting, after all.)

"You kept your hair long," you say, voice a low murmur.

Mahito glances over his shoulder, gazing up at you through his messy bangs. A sly smile curls at his lips. "Oh, you know," he waves a hand carelessly, "you liked it better this way."

You prop your chin on top of Mahito's head. He grins. "You always wore it like this?"

"Well, I sat like a rock at the bottom of a river for a couple hundred years, so no, not always. But when I did like to have hair – yes, it was long."

You rest your hand around his throat, like a collar. Mahito smirks, dancing his fingers over your knuckles. "Hey, now... What's this doin', big guy? Careful – I'm half your size."

"You do not have to look like you do. I would adore you regardless."

"How cute! But it's no fun when we're both too big for the bed." He turns in your lap, straddling your thighs, and playfully plucks a thread loose from your haori. He cocks his head to meet your eyes with a smile when a brief scowl crosses your face. "C'mon, lighten up! You're out of the slammer! What better way to celebrate than with me? If you want, we don't have to do it on the bed. Maybe on the floor... Out in the forest... Drenched in human blood..."

"Mahito, Geto is across the hall. You are loud."

"He can plug his ears. I'm sure he's got a curse somewhere in him for that." His grin broadens freakishly. "I also want a curse inside me."

"Mahito," you growl, your grip tightening on his hips.

"Oh, say that again." He shows the whites of his eyes briefly with a teasing moan. He drapes his arms over your shoulders, wiggling around and settling comfortably in your lap. Your shoulders tense. "Such a bore. Hey – I'm better with my technique nowadays. Y'know how much fun we could have?" He leans in with a giggle, lips brushing your earlobe. "Gimme ideas. I'll make you feel so good."

Concentration was always the common denominator. He was once easily overwhelmed – he'd like to think he improved.

"I still tire quickly," you say, and not even you can obscure the annoyance in your voice. "Belief is so hard-won these days. I fear you'll have to be gentle with me."

He giggles, though his expression softens – or as much as it can for him; perhaps 'less-crazed' is a fairer term –and he drags his tongue hotly against your jaw. It's a kiss – his version of one.

"Okay," he sighs dramatically, kicking his legs childishly. "Hm... How about this? Tonight, shall I be your prince, princess, or," he winks, "your master?"

Your lips purse. "Gods do not have princes or princesses. 'Divine right'." You scoff. "Don't make me laugh."

"You'll always gimme your 'divine right', though, yeah?" He wiggles his brows cheekily. "Your sacred sceptre. Your god rod—"

"Mahito."

He sulks for only a moment before perking up again, tugging at your sashes and collar to open you up for his eyes only. He traces the marks on your skin with a hum.

"You and Sukuna have a lot in common, you know."

"He's a fool. I hope that's not what you mean."

He snorts. "Relax. I didn't mean it like that. I like you more, anyway."

"I'd certainly hope so." You flex your fingers, lifting one hand to measure against his waist. "I endured a thousand years of imprisonment for you."

"You're gonna bring that up constantly, aren't you?"

"Only when important. Do you know how small it was on the inside?"

He sighs. "I'm never winning an argument again."

"You've already won my heart."

"Your heart!" He laughs. "What a human thing to call it."

You lean back, allowing him to push your kimono off your shoulders. "Call it what you like. Be what you like. I've spent too long away from you to care for names and titles." You trace the stitches running across his hips. You lift your eyes, and Mahito's breath hitches at the hunger in them. They swirl with empty galaxies and dead stars, and he finds himself subconsciously leaning in, longing for that cold, dark and very gentle place. One day, at the end of all things, you will bring him there, lord of nothing and lord of everything. Perhaps he'll learn how to touch his soul to yours, like bubbles, and you'll never have to leave him again.

"Is this what you want?" he whispers as you strip him bare, his grey silk kimono pooling on the floor. "Me? Just me?"

"I have no need for anything else. Power, armies, what have you... Sukuna, Kenjaku, even this Geto – their plans are so short-sighted. Everything will come under my hand eventually. Until that day arrives, I am content with you."

"So romantic," Mahito murmurs, a coy smile pulling at his lips. "Can I also come under your hand? Pretty please?"

"Must you ruin everything I say with a filthy joke?"

He pushes you backwards onto the bed, hovering over you with a grin. He grinds down on your lap under the pretence of getting comfy and he relishes in your groan. "You just set them up so perfectly for me! How could I not?"

You click your tongue. "I indulge you too much."

"Not enough, I'd say. Took me way too long to get into your pants. Do you know how desperate I was at times? You expected me to see you doused in human viscera and not want you all up in my guts, too... Ridiculous, in my humble opinion."

"Sex is such a human notion."

"You say it like it's a bad thing," he whines. "I have to say, it's pretty fun. You like it, too, don't you?"

"Hm."

"C'mon, we're both here because of humans. We aren't, like, appropriating anything." He reaches down, palming the bulge below your kimono. His grin widens. "If you don't like it, why did you give yourself the parts for it? Ha! Checkmate."

He yelps as you grab him and toss him down onto the bed, pinning him under your weight. He stares up at you with wide, innocent eyes, his loosened kimono gaping at the chest and stomach.

You rake your eyes down his lithe, pale body, humming when his breath hitches at your touch. You glide your hand down his side, tracing the smooth curve of his waist and hip.

You reach down by his hips and part his kimono further. When the silk falls open, you are greeted by a neat patch of grey hair – and glistening pink folds.

He giggles at your expression. He twirls his hair around a finger and bats his lashes, which might be thicker and longer than usual. "Now we match."

Clicking your tongue, you curl your fingers around his slender thigh and part his legs, eyeing him unblinkingly. He's not sure if he should be aroused or offended – you're hard to read and he's never sure what you like. Perhaps that's part of why he stayed – you were like a game – but now, a thousand years later, he can't help but feel... unsure? Nervous?

Afraid?

He wants to laugh at the concept. Him? Afraid of your opinion of him? How disgustingly fragile.

You're talking now, and the sound of it snaps him out of his spiralling thoughts. You've always had that effect on him.

"I'm not sure how we match at all, Mahito," you're saying. "As spirits, we are incapable of siring spawn. I would say we match less."

He whines. "Hey...! I put all this work into looking nice for you, and you're telling me now that you don't like it? Besides, who're you to say we can't have some little curse babies, asshole? There's never been another me – maybe I'm the exception. Maybe I'm better than the rest of 'em."

At last, you lift your eyes. Mahito wants to curl up beneath your gaze – you are terrifying and comforting all at once. "No," you say softly. "You are one of a kind."

A smile splits his face, cocky, and he sits up, leaning back on his palms. His kimono slips teasingly from his shoulder. "Mmhm, that's right... Boy, you sure know how to make a guy feel special."

You tilt your head, considering something. You stroke his thigh, absent-minded, and he presses into your touch. "You don't know for certain – about spawn."

"Obviously not. I was sitting among the rocks of the Shinano River for, like, eight hundred years. You want me to fuck a fish?"

"Why?" You lift a hand as he opens his mouth to snark at you. "About the river, Mahito. Not the fish."

He frowns, his lower lip jutting out slightly. "You told me to survive! I did just that. I'm not sure why you sound so disappointed."

"You, resting in the same place for hundreds of years? Wouldn't you have grown bored? I'm sure it did not take that long to heal from your wounds."

He huffs, crossing his arms. He tugs his leg out of your grasp. His hair falls over his features. "You were dead, for all I knew! When I didn't know much about anything, you were there to teach me. For the first time ever, you were gone, and if they'd managed to kill you, what would they do to me?" He flicks a wrist, sleeve whipping your side. "You told me to live. To survive. So I did, okay? After all, it was the last thing you ever said to me. I had nothing else left of you."

The air is heavy. Neither of you moves a muscle.

"Mahito," you say softly.

He throws himself backwards onto the bed with a bounce and a soft thump, hands over his eyes. He tries to kick you, but you catch his ankle. He scowls. "Stupid. Asshole. Jerkface. Don't say my name like that."

"Mahito."

He gulps as you close the distance between you, your palm pressed to the mattress beside his head. His breath hitches as your hand glides from his ankle to his calf, holding it over your shoulder. You don't quite pin it there, but you leave your palm open, steady against the outside of his knee as it presses against you.

"You've grown soft," you observe.

He crosses his arms and tries to glare. It's a little hard when you're kneeling between his legs, your lips six inches from his own. Do you still taste the same? "No, I haven't. You just knew me before I lost everything."

"Let me return this to you, then." You part his kimono fully, the silk pooling on the bed. You reach for your own clothes, though your eyes remain trained on his. They remind him of a fox, quick and clever and sly. "Can I make it up to you, Mahito?"

He sniffs, glancing aside. His arms uncross. "Fine."

"Thank you."

You're so stupid. And polite. Ugh.

Your fingers travel down between his thighs. His throat bobs as you slide your middle finger between his wet folds, coating it in his slick. He shifts as you thrust it in gently, exploring him. Your warm palm cups him, something possessive in your touch, and as he relaxes around you, you slip a second finger in.

He gasps sharply, his hands shooting up to wrap around your biceps. You halt, buried in to the knuckle. It's hard not to be – his walls pulse around you, sucking you in.

"Am I hurting you?"

He shakes his head. He offers a brief, breathless grin. "Nah. Just feels different. Good different. Keep going."

You nod, sitting back on your heels to watch the way his cunt flutters around you. You stroke the leg thrown over your shoulder, kissing the ankle, and Mahito lets out a muffled mewl as your thumb presses against his clit.

"Sensitive," you murmur to yourself. You glance up. "Have you done this before?"

He licks his lips, steadying his voice. "What, changing myself like this?"

"Yes. For your own pleasure, rather than for battle."

"No," he admits, legs tightening around you. "This is the first time."

Humming, you glance up at him, allowing a smile to grace your features. "Then we can explore it together."

You pull your fingers from him – and with a thoughtful look, you place them in your mouth. Mahito's breath hitches as you swirl your tongue around your fingers, relishing in the taste.

"Sweet," you declare, and place his leg gently down on the bed. You settle at the base of the bed and tug him down by the thighs, staring up at him with playful eyes. "You wouldn't mind if I had a taste from the source, would you?"

He shakes his head, and it tips back with a moan as you bury your head between his thighs. You lap at his soft pink folds, and as you push your tongue inside, he slickens up, walls hot and pulsing around you. He squelches as you push in deeper, slick dripping from his eager hole. He grips your hair with both hands, moaning in delight as you fuck your long tongue in and out of him, curling roughly against the spot inside him that makes his head spin.

"Awh, fuck," he whines, laughing breathily as his spine arches and hot pleasure laps at the base of his spine. "F-Feels even better than I thought it would—! Ah, hah, gimme more!"

You draw your tongue out of him, making him whine and pull your face further into his fluttering cunt. You suck at his clit, lifting a hand to raise the hood of it as your tongue circles and your teeth graze it – he jolts in surprise, hands tightening in your hair. 

"Patience," you purr, tongue laving over his reddened clit. You push it inside him, wriggling about experimentally as his throbbing walls stroke the length of it, hungry and devouring.

"I already waited a thousand years!" he says, almost angrily. His heels dig into your shoulders as he lifts his hips, chasing a high. Your tongue is so long – it massages that rough patch of nerves at the back of his cunt and he seizes, crying your name as you grip his hips and lift him to your lips.

He takes what he wants rather inconsiderately, slick dripping down your chin as you kiss his hot folds. He's practically humping your face, grinding against your mouth and the tongue sinfully deep inside of him. You groan as his moans pitch higher, whorish, and he begins to tremble around you.

So quickly? You're amused. He's missed you more than he's willing to let on.

You fuck him with your tongue, saliva and slick mixing on his fair skin, and he's positively dripping, every thrust squelching and pushing out a sweet gush of pleasure into your waiting mouth. You swallow it blissfully, your thumb circling the wet nub of his clit.

With a wobbly, high-pitched cry, he shoves your face into his gummy cunt and comes on your waiting, writhing tongue, thighs seizing around your head and locking you in place as he coats your chin in his hot, sticky slick.

With your tongue buried deep inside him, flicking about and pressing curiously against his soft walls, he lets out a shaky whine, grinding against you with rough rolls of his hips. It's not an unfamiliar motion. He takes you so prettily, soft smooth folds now dark with lust.

Shakily, Mahito releases you, body sagging into the mattress. He pants and gasps, the tense heat between his legs unbearably achy and needy. He wants to melt.

"S-So… good," he sighs, a broad grin crossing his face. You lap at him lazily, and he twitches. "Mm… Now gimme your cock, 'kay? Nice 'n' deep. Promise me."

"Promise what?" you ask, licking your lips and wiping away his come. Your eyes glint with satisfaction as you set down his unsteady legs and crawl between them, the bulge in your trousers straining in its confines.

"That you'll fuck me up," he whines, turning onto his stomach and lifting his perky ass. He gazes over his shoulder at you, wiggling his hips and spreading his knees further to show off his tight holes. "You can have either one – jus' want you in me, okay? I miss having a big cock in my belly, miss being fucked and filled up until 'm all swollen and can't move." He pouts, his eyes half-lidded, and presses his ass against your bulge, grinding lazily. "C'mon, big guy. Don't you wanna put your baby in me?"

His eyes shoot wide open and his jaw drops as a thick, throbbing intrusion splits his pussy apart. He can't help his eager moans as you set a steady pace, his loosened pussy sucking you in with ease. He scrabbles at the sheets as your grip tightens on his waist and drags him down to match every thrust – he grabs the headboard as your cock kisses his cervix, making his eyes roll back.

"Oh! Y-You're cold – big – so muh – much," he cries brokenly, pressing his palm against his stomach. He shudders at the icy temperature of you inside him, making his hot walls ache and throb with such need that it borders on pain.

On every harsh thrust, he feels you glide against his palm, filling him up so completely that he can barely breathe – that feeling, of every breath physically restricted, makes his eyelids flutter and his pussy clench and flutter. His wet warmth surges down your thighs with his high, and you groan as he jolts and whines.

"You can handle it, Mahito," you note with a soft hum. Your touch grazes his clit and his breath stutters. "You have before, haven't you?"

"I-I'm rusty," he tries to joke, but it comes out flimsy as you shift and he clamps down punishingly around your cock with a moan. "Oh, fuck!"

Your hips snap into him and he fumbles slightly, grabbing one of your hands on his hip. He slumps into the mattress, lifting his hips as you fuck into his swollen heat, slick and soft around you. Little chained moans fall from his lips as he twists the sheets in his fist; his body jolts back and forth with your thrusts, his long blue-grey braid bouncing over his shoulder.

"Feels so g-good," he slurs, legs shaking like leaves. He spreads them, reaching down to split his sticky pussy lips with the V of his fingers. His lower lip quivers as he gazes at you over his shoulder. His bangs are a mess over his lust-blown eyes. "More – more, more, I want more—! Make me yours again, ah, right there—"

"Quiet now," you murmur amongst his choppy moans. "Geto will hear you."

"Wh-Whose fault is that?" he whines, the expression on his face fucked out and deeply flushed. "H-Hah – bet he'd be jealous, anyway! He wants you but you're all mine! Mh—"

You chuckle softly, leaning over him with a palm braced by his head. He feels small like this – protected. He whines into the bedsheets, his pussy dripping down his inner thighs.

"Mahito," you say, almost admonishingly. "Are you jealous?"

"Of that – ah – human? No!"

You trail your lips up his shoulder and neck, nipping at his ear. "Mm, of course. But I do think it would be prudent to watch him carefully. That technique of his may prove... troublesome."

Mahito sniffles, come-slick walls clamping around you and making you grunt. "S-Stop talking about him."

"So you are jealous."

"I just don't like it when you talk about other people when you're inside me." He attempts a glare, but his ruined expression quivers when your cock kisses his womb, tears welling up along his lashes and sticking them together. "Th-That's a normal, hn, r-reaction."

"Would you like me to talk about you, then?"

He averts his eyes and nods, tiny, into the sheets. You press your lips to the stitches trailing over his shoulders, admiring the contrast between the dark lines and Mahito's pale skin. You pick up the pace, thighs clapping against his ass, and his moans grow louder, more desperate, as his pussy flutters dangerously around you.

"My Mahito is so sweet to me, greeting me with this little piece of heaven here," you purr with a particularly teasing thrust into his cunt, nuzzling into his hair as he grips your forearms for stability. He nods reverently, lips parting and eyes rolling as you shift your hips and fuck him quick and hard into the mattress. His toes curl as he cries out, every thrust knocking a whiny moan from his throat. "My Mahito did so well, listening to me all that time ago... You're so good at obeying me, aren't you?"

"M-Mmhm," he whimpers. "Yes! Yes, I did, I always listen to you, oh, god—"

"Ah-ah-ah... You've been spending far too much time around humans, Mahito." You kiss his neck, and he shudders, your cock filling his belly until he can think of nothing else. He whines as you stroke his side, fingers fluttering over his stomach.

"I am your god," you murmur. "I taught you. I saved you. Perhaps I can even..." You press the smooth bump in his stomach and he lets out a ruined noise, muscles tensing. "Gods create, don't they?"

A choked, whorish wail rips past his lips. The glide comes easy – hotter, wetter. Waves of heat pulse through his core. His hole squelches as a thick ring of white forms around your base.

"Mahito." You tug his braid sharply and he whimpers as his head jerks back. "If you cry out to a god, it will be my name on your lips. You are mine. I won't tolerate anything less than your total loyalty. Do you understand?"

He babbles, whimpered half-words slipping from his lips. He nods to the best of his ability with your grip on his braid, arousal curling hot and powerful in his gut at the growl in your voice. "Yes!" he cries, his ass ricocheting off your hips. The rough pace makes his knees knock together. "Yes, yes, I'm your bitch, 'm sorry – you're my god – hnn, f-fuck, don't stop—!"

"Good, Mahito. Always so obedient for me."

Perhaps he reshapes himself because suddenly he's vice-tight, throbbing around you with a gooey slickness that tugs pink around your shaft when you try to draw your hips back. You suck in a sharp breath.

"Mahito," you coo, stroking his stitched cheek, and he whimpers, tears clouding his vision. "Let me go, dear. I can't give you what you want if I can't move."

"I don't want you to leave again," he sobs, curling his fingers through yours.  He can't think straight.

If – if he gave you a child, an heir... you wouldn't leave him, right? You couldn't. You liked him for his uniqueness – he wasn't like any other curse you'd ever met. You told him so. With the return of the Six Eyes, each day brings forth more powerful spirits, and you are like Ryomen Sukuna, whatever you say. You, too, are fickle, and you are cold as the night over which you reign. If some other curse – or, fuck him, a human – catches your attention, it's not impossible you might drop him for them.

After all, you're so much older than him. What is he but an indulgent curiosity?

As his thoughts spiral away from him, his body reacts to you – his glossy, silken pussy hugs your twitching cock, and the smell of sex lingers heavy in the air. "Oh god, oh god," he whimpers sweetly, brainless and drooling and pierced on thick cock, "oh, god—"

"Yes," you hiss. "You belong to me." You bury your nose in his hair, skin slapping rhythmically and rocking the bed. You bury yourself in his sloppy cunt over and over again, wrapped so perfectly around you. With a low growl that has Mahito's pussy throbbing, ropes of thick come paint his insides, filling him up and dripping from his hot, slippery folds.

He arches into your cold, firm embrace with a frenzied wail of your name, a sound wrecked with pleasure and pent-up desire. He trembles as he creams around you, milking your cock with a hungry desperation, and the pale curls over his pussy are damp with a filthy mixture of slick and come. He throws his head back. His tongue lolls out of his mouth and his eyes roll back at the feeling of your seed spurting deep within him, his insides so much more sensitive.

Or maybe he's just missed you. Either way, his throat feels raw, and the shattered whimpers that crumble from his lips as he collapses into the bedsheets are all he can manage, his pale eyes half-lidded and fluttering as you continue to pump him full. You stroke his stomach as if he's something sacred and murmur sweet nothings into his ear as he twitches in your arms.

He mewls, panting, as you eventually pull out, his gaping pussy clenching around nothing as your seed dribbles down his thigh. Without your grip on his hips to keep him up, he crumples to the bed in a dazed, soiled heap. His cunt squelches when he moves and he licks his lips, trembling slightly as he raises his head to look at you.

You're beside him now, gazing back with those beautiful eyes of yours. If he stares into them long enough, deep enough, he might catch a glimpse of clashing black holes and dying stars.

That battle an age ago left you with something inescapable. Things used to be easier – you were of the night, and the night was simple with the whisper of something shadowy within the dark. Now you have sparks of something hotter within you. Evolution, change, all of it – Mahito had more of an effect on you than anyone could've guessed.

He presses himself into your side and you wrap his lean body in your embrace. You stroke his hair with a soft hum, combing your fingers through his bangs and tucking them behind his ear.

At last, he speaks up, head resting upon your chest. "I got all dolled up for you," he says quietly. "You made a mess of me. Ruined my hard work."

You kiss his forehead. "Is that not what you wanted?"

"Hey... Don't twist my words."

"I'm sorry."

Silently, he leans up and nips at your jawline, soothing the spot with a kitten lick. He settles back down and you trace the stitches crossing his body, making him hum as you reach the ones following the V of his hips.

"I won't leave you, Mahito. Not again."

He glances up, a fist curling gently on your chest. "Really?"

You nod, staring at the ceiling. He fits perfectly into your side and you clutch him there, protective and possessive in the way he adores. "Yes."

He stares up at you, an unreadable look in his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitches.

"Okay," he says, and closes his eyes with a secret little smile.

[floodflameschosen]

"You're shaking." – "So are you." or "You're mine now. Say it." with Noah please? I can't decide which one so you choose🥹

CW: first time, unprotected sex (p in v), fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), lots of fluff and gentleness, best friends to lovers, open/happy ending.

🔞 nsfw, minors please dni.

You hadn’t meant to say anything.

It just slipped out one night while you curled up next to Noah on your couch, the battered old thing in the tiny apartment you’ve been sharing ever since you had to move away for college.

You still remember how terrified you were during your last year of high school, when the time to leave started closing in on you. You were terrified of what it would mean to step out into a new life, of what it would mean to leave Noah behind.

You didn’t know how to exist without him. You didn’t want to.

But just when you were trying to figure out how you were supposed to say goodbye, he looked at you with those steady, sure eyes and said: “What if I wanted to go with you? You know there’s nothing left for me in this deadbeat town, anyway. Not if you’re not here.”

You couldn’t believe it at first.

Couldn’t believe he would choose to follow you, to start over somewhere unfamiliar, just because he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else if it wasn’t with you. And maybe it was selfish, but when he suggested you move in together—split rent, save money—you said yes so fast you barely remembered to breathe.

God, you were so excited.

Excited to finally move away from home, to meet new people and have all the privacy and independence you’ve always dreamed of. Excited by the prospect of living with your best friend, of not having to say goodbye when night came and it was time to go home for dinner—as childish as the thought could be, it was still true.

Now, six months into classes, the excitement had started to wear off a little—not the living with Noah part of it, but everything else. Being in a bigger city, surrounded by people who all seemed so grown up, so sure of themselves, you couldn’t help but feel like you were falling behind.

They talked about internships and life plans like it were all so simple. They talked about hookups and dating and sex—and you couldn’t even pretend to keep up. You didn’t even have the basic experiences they all seemed to take for granted.

You just felt a little… small. Inadequate.

And somehow, in the haze of tiredness and cheap beer and the warm, safe weight of Noah beside you, the words just slipped out.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, sounding almost pouty. “Maybe I’ll just… pick someone tomorrow at the party. Get this whole virginity crap over with, at least.”

You felt him freeze beside you. The air shifted, like the room itself was suddenly holding its breath.

When too many seconds passed and he still hadn't said anything, you turned to look at him, and the way Noah was looking at you—like you’d just given him the worst news in the world—made your heart stutter.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he said quietly. His voice was low, tight, so heavy it almost cracked.

“Why not? You did.” You tried to argue, all of a sudden feeling uncomfortable talking about this with him. Still, you kept going. “You lost it to some random girl at that high school party when you were like, eighteen, remember? Why would it be different for me?”

Noah’s jaw clenched as he looked away, and the arm he had draped around you tightened, pulling you closer for just a second before his fingers curled into a fist in the soft material of your shirt, like he physically needed something to hold on to.

He didn’t answer at first, just stared at the TV, but when his gaze finally snapped back to yours, there was something raw and fierce and possessive flickering in his brown eyes.

“Because it is different.” He said, his tone almost angry. Like it was that simple, just because he said so.

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.

“I didn’t think it through, alright? I was drunk and just went with it because it was there.” He shook his head, a rough, humorless breath of a laugh scraping out of him—and it made something inside you feel heavy.  “I was going through some shit back then, so I just thought maybe if I fucked someone else, I’d stop feeling so fucking alone.”

You blinked at him.

“Wait. What?” You asked, pushing yourself up a little, trying to meet his eyes. “You never told me you were going through anything back then. What's that about?”

Noah faltered for a second, eyes darting away from yours again, and for a moment, you saw something almost panicked flicker across his face.

“It’s not important,” he said quickly, dismissively, his fingers tightening in the fabric of your shirt. “It was a long time ago, and that's not the point. What I’m trying to say here is that you’re not me, and it doesn't have to be like that for you. You have options.”

You swallowed hard, heart picking up speed inside your chest at the words, the mention of another option.

“It didn't mean anything to me, and I don't want you to have the same shitty experience.” Noah’s voice softened, but there was still an edge of something rough in it. “You deserve to have your first time with someone who actually cares—someone who’ll notice if you’re scared, who’ll be patient. Someone who’s gonna make sure it’s good for you.”

A lump formed in your throat, because—this was it, wasn’t it? You knew exactly where this conversation was headed, and it terrified you. This was the moment, the tipping point where everything could change.

The safe route would be to dismiss it entirely—just go to bed and pretend this talk never happened, try to protect that friendship you’d always had with Noah. But as you sat there, your stomach fluttered with a warmth that twisted something inside you.

With a rush of heat flooding your veins, you made your choice, and instead of shying away from this, you opened your mouth and went down the scary route, voice barely a whisper when you asked him:

“And who would that someone be, Noah?”

For a long moment, Noah didn’t say anything.

He just stared at you, his eyes holding you in place as if he were searching for something. His breathing was measured, controlled, like he was trying to hold himself together, but you could see it, just barely—that quiet breaking point inside of him.

You weren’t sure what to do, or if you even could do anything at all to make this easier. The silence between you two stretched long enough that it almost felt suffocating, but you didn’t dare look away. You needed to know.

His voice was barely audible when it finally came, hoarse and vulnerable.

“Me.”

The word hung there between you, fragile and burning.

You stared at him—at the boy who had been your best friend for years, who had held you through every heartbreak, who knew every single one of your fears and dreams—and suddenly everything made too much sense.

The way he touched you sometimes, lingering like he didn’t mean to. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way he held you, like he never intended to let go if you didn't make him.

Your heart raced in your chest, thumping against your ribs like it wanted to break free. Your mouth felt dry as you stared into his eyes and realized the truth that had been there all along:

It was Noah.

It had always been Noah.

That feeling you hadn’t named yet, the things unsaid, were now slipping through the cracks.

“If you’ll let me,” he added quietly when you took too long to speak, scared, voice breaking at the edges. “I could be that person.”

You didn’t know what to do with that realization, but you didn’t need to figure it out right away. Not with him. Not at this moment. And for once, you didn’t overthink it. You didn’t run.

Noah was still staring at you, eyes wide and vulnerable, like he was waiting for you to reject him, to make everything easier to walk away from. Instead, you reached out and threaded your fingers through his, squeezed.

“Okay,” you whispered, the words trembling in your chest. “You, then.”

Noah froze for the second time that night.

His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might’ve misheard you. But then his eyes darkened with something intense—relief, yes, but also something much stronger, something you haven't seen in him before.

He reached out for you, fingers brushing your cheek softly before cupping it, his touch a mix of reverence and disbelief.

“I trust you,” you said, stronger now, your voice steady, even if your heart felt anything but. “I want it to be you, if that's an option.”

His mouth opened, like he wanted to say more—anything, everything—but all that came out was a shaky, amazed chuckle. He closed his eyes for a split second, like he was gathering himself, before looking back at you with such intensity you almost couldn’t stand it.

“We’ll take it slow,” he promised, his voice barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything he was feeling. “As slow as you need.”

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand grounding you even as your mind raced. Turning your head slowly, you nuzzled against his palm, feeling the roughness of his skin against your cheek.

The tenderness of the moment overwhelmed you in the best of ways, the heat between you building, and with it, the longing you’d tried so hard to pretend wasn't there for all those years.

And then, barely above a whisper, you breathed out:

“I’m not so sure I want slow now.”

Noah’s whole body seemed to tighten at the words, as if he were holding back a storm. The groan that left his chest was low, almost helpless, and when he finally kissed you, it didn't feel like just a kiss—it was everything he’d been holding in, all the years of tension and want finally crashing over you both like a wave.

It started almost shaky—his lips molding over yours carefully, tasting, testing.

But when you sighed into him, when your fingers curled into the soft fabric of his hoodie and tugged him closer, it snapped something loose. Noah kissed you harder, one hand sliding around the back of your neck, the other spanning your waist, big and warm and there as he pulled you into him.

You shifted without a second thought, climbing into his lap, straddling him on the couch. Your bare thighs bracketed his hips, your t-shirt brushing against the skin of his arms where he’d shoved the sleeves of his hoodie up. He groaned softly into your mouth at the feeling of you settling over him like that—like you belonged there—and let his hands roam.

He caressed his way up your thighs, squeezing lightly, making you gasp. Over your hips, your waist, the small of your back—exploring, learning, like he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

You gasped louder against his mouth when the tip of his fingers slipped under your shirt, barely skimming over your heated skin, and he shuddered, breaking the kiss just long enough to look at you.

“Tell me if you want me to stop…” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, already breathing hard.

“I don’t. I won't.” You whispered, breathless, and kissed him again, deeper this time.

After that, it got heated fast—hands everywhere, breathing uneven, small needy sounds spilling from you without thought.

Noah’s hoodie was bunched up between you, and you tugged at it blindly, a frustrated noise crawling up your throat because you wanted it off, making him chuckle against your mouth before helping you pull it over his head and toss it aside.

You flattened your palms against his now bare chest—feeling the steady thud of his heart, the solid warmth of him—and he squeezed your hips like he was grounding himself, trying to keep control, to be careful.

But you didn’t want careful, so you pressed your body closer, hips rolling without even meaning to, grinding your center against the soft front of his basketball shorts. You could feel his already hard length pressing against you through the thin material, and when you hesitantly grazed your fingers over the fabric, that seemed to do the trick—Noah groaned, swiftly wrapping his arms around you and lifting you effortlessly off the couch along with him.

You squeaked in surprise, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, arms around his neck, but he just chuckled—a breathless, beautiful sound—as he carried you down the hallway. Catching your gaze, his lips curved into that crooked smile that always made your breath catch.

“Bedroom,” he muttered before ducking down and pressing his soft lips to your throat, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses there as he walked. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on a couch.”

Noah kicked the bedroom door open and crossed over to his bed in two quick strides, laying you down gently, like you were something breakable, something precious. And when he climbed over you, bracing his weight carefully so he wouldn't crush you, and looked down with those stormy eyes of his—so full of want, so full of need—you just knew.

You were never getting over this, never getting over him.

You didn’t want to.

Noah just stayed there, hovering over you for a breathless moment—his chest heaving, arms trembling slightly from how hard he was holding himself back. You reached up without hesitation, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging gently on the soft strands.

The reaction was immediate: he groaned, low, borderline broken, and leaned into your touch like he couldn’t help himself—like you were gravity and he had no choice but to fall.

His hand reached up and closed around your wrist, gentle but firm, and he pulled your hand from his hair to bring it to his mouth instead, pressing a slow, lingering kiss into your palm, his eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured against your skin, voice rough and tender all at once.

“So are you,” you whispered, accompanied by a shaky little laugh, heart slamming against your ribs.

That made him smile—small, a little unsteady. Like he was just as nervous about this as you were. He turned his head and kissed your wrist next, lingering there for a moment longer before finally letting your hand go.

And then he was leaning back in, sealing his mouth to yours again—slower this time, deeper—like he wanted to taste every single breath you gave him. His hands started moving again, reverent and hungry, skimming down your sides, over your hips, down to squeeze the soft skin of your thighs.

When his mouth finally broke from yours, he didn’t go far. He just kept kissing a path across your jaw, down your neck, leaving a few more warm, open-mouthed kisses that made your whole body arch toward him, desperate for more.

“You feel so good, baby… so soft,” he murmured against your throat, his voice low and raspy, like the words were being dragged out of him.

You whimpered his name, and he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes.

“Tell me if I do something you don't like, yeah?” He said softly but firmly. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, like he couldn’t help himself, needing to touch. “At any point, you tell me if you don't like something, and I’ll stop. I mean it.”

Your heart cracked wide open for him.

“I trust you.” You whispered, eyes shining as you nodded and reached forward, pulling him back.

Something flickered across his face at that, and then he was moving again. His hands slipped under your t-shirt fully this time, fingertips ghosting up your ribcage, and you gasped at the feeling of his palms against your bare skin. Noah eased your shirt up, pausing with a questioning look, and all you could do was nod again, breathless, heart in your throat.

Carefully, he peeled it over your head and tossed it aside, leaving your upper body bare to his gaze—his eyes darkened instantly, raking over you with a reverence that made your skin prickle. For a long moment, he just stared, like he couldn’t believe you were real, like he needed to burn the sight of you into memory.

“Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, and then he ducked his head down, kissing along your collarbone, giving it his full attention before trailing lower.

You gasped when his mouth closed around your nipple—gentle, teasing—his tongue flicking slow, delicious circles over the sensitive skin. He gave it a soft, careful bite before soothing it with his tongue, pulling a broken little sound from you that made him groan against your chest. Moving to the other side, Noah gave it just as much attention, his big hands holding your ribs like he was scared you might slip away if he didn’t anchor you, if he didn't hold you down.

You arched up into him instinctively, needing more, needing everything, and Noah’s hands slid lower, gripping your waist, kneading the flesh there like he couldn’t get enough of you.

His fingers found the hem of your shorts at some point, toying with the waistband as he pressed his mouth lower, kissing a slow, hot path down your stomach, the scruff on his jaw dragging against your skin in a way that made you shiver. When he reached your lower belly, just above where your shorts sat, he nipped softly at the sensitive skin there, earning a whimper from you.

That’s when Noah stilled, mouth still pressed to your skin, and looked up at you through heavy, hooded eyes—his gaze burning. One of your hands threaded into his hair again, tugging lightly, and the way he closed his eyes at the feeling made your heart stumble. Wordlessly, you nodded once his eyes set back on you, giving him the permission he so clearly needed.

He kissed your stomach again, reverently, before hooking his fingers under the waistband and carefully, slowly, tugging your shorts down—inch by excruciating inch—exposing more of you to his hungry eyes. Once he pulled your shorts off and tossed them somewhere over his shoulder without taking his eyes off you, you were left trembling beneath him, stripped down to just your underwear, and Noah looked at you like you were a miracle he didn’t deserve.

You felt his gaze like a physical thing, heavy and hot, making your skin prickle and your breath catch in your throat over and over.

Slowly, he ran his hands up your legs—starting at your ankles, dragging his palms over your calves, your knees, your thighs, until he was cradling your hips, thumbs stroking circles into your skin.

“You’re killing me, you know that?” He rasped, voice shaking, raw with emotion. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

And the way he said it—not just like he wanted you, but like he worshipped you—made your whole body ache with need, the throbbing between your legs almost unbearable by now.

You couldn’t stop the way your body shifted restlessly, legs spreading just that much wider, silently begging for more, needing him. It made Noah chuckle softly—like he could feel the way you were unraveling for him—and then he was lowering himself again, dragging the tip of his tongue just above the waistband of your panties, from one hipbone to the other.

You whimpered, and your hands found his hair again, tugging him closer without thinking.

Noah groaned deep in his chest at your touch, and his hands slid higher, smoothing up your sides, tracing the curve of your waist, your ribs, until they found the swell of your breasts, squeezing gently. He paused, and looking up at you through his lashes, he grinned—slow, wicked—and moved lower to mouth over the damp fabric of your panties, pressing an open-mouthed kiss right against the heat of you.

You gasped, arching off the bed with a choked sound, and Noah groaned again, deeper this time, and kept going—kissing, licking, sucking, teasing through the thin barrier until you were clutching his hair in both hands, tugging hard, trembling.

“Fuck,” he moaned quietly against you, voice low and hungry. He nuzzled his face into you like it was the most natural thing, breathing you in, already addicted. “Oh, baby… you’re already soaking wet for me.”

Another slow, filthy kiss through the fabric, so warm it felt like burning. Another whimper ripped from your throat.

He lifted his gaze to meet yours again—eyes dark and glazed—and while one hand continued to tease your breasts, the other slid up your thigh, thumb stroking along the sensitive crease where your hip met your core, making you shiver.

“Been thinking about this for so long,” Noah rasped, kissing the damp cotton again, mouthing at it lazily. “Thinking about you like this. How fucking sweet you’d taste.”

You couldn’t stop the helpless little whimpers spilling from your lips, your hips rolling instinctively against Noah’s mouth as he kissed you through your underwear—slow, purposeful, almost torturous.

Your hands tightened in his hair yet again, needing something to ground yourself to, your heart hammering against your ribs like it was trying to escape.

“Noah,” you gasped, the sound broken, desperate, and you felt him smile against you—the smug curve of his mouth pressed right where you needed him most.

“Patience, baby,” he murmured, breath hot against you. “Gonna take my time with you.”

You tried to bite back a moan, but the second he sucked gently at the damp fabric again, your thighs trembled around his head and the sound tore free from your throat. You felt dizzy, drunk on the feeling of him, every nerve in your body sparking to life under his touch.

“Noah, please,” you whimpered, not even sure what you were asking for anymore—just more, just him, just now.

He hummed, pleased, and the vibration sent a sharp bolt of pleasure shooting through you.

“You sound so pretty when you beg,” he said, and your face flushed so hot it nearly burned.

But you didn’t stop—you couldn’t. Not when he slipped two fingers under the soaked fabric, finally pushing it aside, and leaned in to taste you properly, giving you a long, slow lick—flat and firm, from your entrance to your clit—and so good it made your whole body jolt. 

You arched up into him, crying out his name again, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

All you could do was clutch his hair, hips rocking helplessly against his tongue as your voice broke again.

“Don’t stop, Noah, please—don’t stop—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even pause.

As he kept tasting, taking, he groaned against you like he was the one falling apart, sucking your clit gently into his mouth and teasing it with the tip of his tongue until your thighs shook around his head.

“Fuck,” he muttered between kisses and licks, voice hoarse, lips slick with you. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

His free hand still around your breast started squeezing again, teasing your nipple with his thumb while his mouth worked you over relentlessly, eating you out like he was starved. You whimpered something broken and incoherent, tugging at his hair hard enough to sting, nails scratching his scalp. Noah just hummed against your clit as he enjoyed it, sending another ripple of pleasure straight through you.

“That’s it, don’t hold back.” He encouraged, tongue teasing you mercilessly, “Let me hear you. Let me feel you.”

And you did—because with the way he was worshiping you, savoring you, there was no way you could stay quiet, no way you could survive this slow, devastating pleasure without falling apart in his mouth.

You were already spiraling toward the edge, your body tensing and shaking and aching for release—and the way he kept murmuring sweet, filthy things against your skin only dragged you closer, unraveling every last bit of you.

It was too much.

It was not enough.

It was perfect.

You were so close—so close—your whole body tightening, hips stuttering against Noah’s mouth, and then a sharp, involuntary clench ripped through you.

Noah felt it—you knew he did, because he groaned low in his chest—and then he pulled back.

You sobbed out a desperate sound, trembling beneath him, but before you could even form the words to beg, he was hooking his fingers into the waistband of your soaked panties, finally dragging them down your legs and tossing them somewhere across the room.

“Shh, baby,” he rasped, voice rough as he soothed you. “I’ve got you.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, still shivering from the edge he’d left you dangling from—and then he was crawling up your body, covering you again with his weight, kissing you deep and slow. You whimpered against his mouth at the taste—your taste—on his tongue, and the filthy intimacy of it made your head spin.

He swallowed every broken sound you made, one of his hands cradling your jaw, the other braced beside your head, arm trembling slightly as he supported his weight, grinding his hips down against you.

You gasped into his mouth when you felt him—hard and so warm, even through the thin material of his shorts, pressing right against your core.

“Can you feel that?” Noah whispered against your lips, his voice low and hoarse. “Can you feel how hard you make me, baby?”

He rolled his hips again, harder this time, deliberately, and you whimpered helplessly.

“Do you get now just how fucking crazy you make me?”

Your hands scrambled at him, fingers digging into skin, desperate to pull him closer, to feel more.

“Noah,” you breathed, a pleading note in your voice you didn’t even try to hide.

He kissed you again, devouring—and rocked against you one more time, dragging yet another choked little cry from your lips.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, your throat, retracing a path he’d already explored. “And you’re mine, aren't you? You’re mine.”

You nodded frantically, your body straining toward him. Noah chuckled softly at your eagerness and kissed down your chest again, lavishing attention on every inch of you until he reached the curve of your stomach.

He paused there, hands sliding down your trembling thighs, gently spreading you open wider for him.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with need. “Gonna stretch you out on my fingers real nice now, get you ready for me.”

Your breath hitched loudly at his words, a rush of heat surging through you as you watched him settle between your legs again—this time with a kind of determined adoration that made your heart ache.

Noah pressed a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another, closer to where you needed him. And then he lowered his mouth to you again.

You gasped, hands flying to his hair like before, fingers curling tight when you felt the first slow swipe of his tongue over your aching core again, the wet muscle parting your slick folds.

You barely had time to process the overwhelming feeling of his warm tongue directly against you again before you felt one of his hands joining in, his fingers teasing lightly at your entrance, slick and desperate for him.

“Can I?” he asked against your clit, mouth still working you over in soft, devastating licks.

“Yes,” you gasped, tugging his hair, needing him, needing everything.

Noah moaned, and slowly pushed one thick finger inside you, the sensation making you whimper and arch into him.

“So tight, baby.” He muttered brokenly when you clenched around his digit, kissing the inside of your thigh like he needed to ground himself, too. “So fucking perfect.”

He moved slowly, working you open with careful, patient strokes of his finger, all while his mouth never stopped—licking, sucking, devouring you like he couldn’t get enough. When he thought you were ready, he slid in a second finger, stretching you wider, deeper, and you cried out for the millionth time, hips rolling down against him, chasing the friction you craved.

“That’s it,” Noah groaned. “Take it, princess. Gotta get you ready for me.”

You couldn’t even form words anymore, your whole world narrowing down to the feeling of him—his mouth, his tongue, his fingers, the heat of his breath, the filthy praises falling from his lips between long strokes of his tongue.

All the while, you could feel it—the slow, steady build of pleasure winding tighter and tighter inside you, ready to snap. You were so close again, completely at his mercy, and you didn’t want it any other way.

Noah felt it, too—of course, he felt it—the way your walls fluttered helplessly around his fingers as they fucked in and out of you, the way your thighs clamped around his head as if trying to keep him there forever.

“Go on, baby,” he rasped against you, voice thick and breathless, hand moving faster. “Let go for me. I’ve got you.”

Then he crooked his fingers, hitting something inside that almost made you scream, and that was all it took. You shattered completely, reduced to nothing more than a whimpering, broken mess as pleasure tore through you like a tidal wave.

Your whole back arched off the bed, your fingers fisting tight in Noah’s hair as he kept going, working you through every last pulse, every desperate little aftershock. You were vaguely aware of Noah moaning, too, while he licked all over your core, around his fingers still stretching you, like he was addicted to the way you tasted, the way you fell apart for him.

You barely registered when he finally pulled back, kissed his way up your shaking body, and hovered over you—his face flushed, his mouth and chin slick from you, his eyes dark with something wild.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered against your lips, kissing you slowly, deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue again. You whimpered into his mouth, still shaking, still high from your climax.

Noah kissed you again and again as he cradled your face in his hands like you were something fragile and precious, patient as he waited for you to come back down from your high.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured when your breathing wasn't so loud anymore, resting his forehead against yours.

You nodded, still breathless but less so now, still blinking back the tears of overwhelming pleasure pooling behind your eyes.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Fuck, I’m more than okay.”

Noah smiled against your mouth—small, crooked, so full of love. He pulled back just enough to look at you—really look at you—and brushed a stray strand of hair off your forehead, his thumb stroking your cheek in soothing, grounding circles.

“Do you wanna stop here for tonight?” He asked, voice low and careful, gentle with the kind of patience that always made your heart ache. “We can, if you need to. We don’t have to do everything all at once. I’m not going anywhere.”

You blinked up at him, still flushed, trembling, and felt panic bloom in your chest at the thought of stopping now, at the thought of not feeling him completely.

“No—no, please,” you rushed out, voice cracking, hands sliding desperately up his arms, his shoulders. “I want you, I want all of you, Noah. Please.”

Noah’s eyes softened, so full of emotion that it almost hurt to look at him.

“Hey, hey, it's okay,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours for a second before soothing you with a kiss to your temple, your cheek, your mouth. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. We’ll do it, okay? I want it too, princess. I want you so fucking bad.”

He said it like a confession before kissing you again, slow and lingering, like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn't achingly hard and craving relief himself. You could feel him, though—hot and hard through his basketball shorts, pressing against you—and a frustrated little sound broke from you because it wasn’t enough, the layers between you feeling unbearable.

Without second-guessing, you let your hands slide down his bare chest—hot and solid under your touch—until you were pulling impatiently at the waistband of his basketball shorts with clumsy little tugs.

Noah pulled back just enough to look at you, a soft smirk tugging at his mouth, his eyes dark with heat.

“You want them off me, princess?” He teased, voice rough and sweet all at once, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

“Yes.” Your face burned, but you refused to look away—you nodded, all flushed and desperate, and whispered, “I—I want to see you.”

Something about that—the honesty of it, the way your voice trembled—made the teasing fall right off his face.

Noah sat back on his heels between your spread legs, kneeling there, before he pushed his shorts down slowly, the fabric sliding over his thighs until it bunched at his knees. He kicked them off the bed without ever standing up, leaving him in just his tight black underwear.

The sight of him made your whole body clench, heat flooding your core all over again.

His cock strained against the thin fabric, thick and heavy and leaking, leaving a dark wet spot at the tip, and your mouth parted at the sight, a needy little gasp slipping from your lips before you could even think to hold it back.

Noah’s smirk returned, lazy and devastating.

“See what you do to me, baby?” He rasped, palming himself through the thin material, deliberately showing off for you. He stroked himself lazily, the pressure making his hips jerk slightly, a low groan rumbling out of him.

Your entire body ached at the sight, heat flooding between your legs, making you shift restlessly on the bed. Noah watched you squirm, his hand still working himself through the cotton, and tilted his head slightly, voice rough with need, but still amused.

“Is this enough for you?” He murmured. “Or do you wanna see more?”

“More,” you whispered immediately, almost desperate.

He smiled again, much too pleased, and reached for the waistband of his underwear, fingers hooking into the sides. But before he could push it down, you shot forward, sitting up fast enough to make his eyes widen in surprise for a second.

Your hands closed around his wrists, stopping him.

“Let me,” you whispered, voice shaking with how badly you needed this, needed him, needed to touch, to see.

For a moment, Noah just stared at you, like you’d knocked the breath clean out of his lungs. Then he nodded, slowly, amazed, his hands falling away, surrendering himself completely to you.

“Go ahead,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m all yours, princess.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and hooked them into the waistband of his underwear. Noah stayed perfectly still—watching you with that reverent look you’ve seen so many times tonight, like you were something sacred—as you slowly peeled the last barrier down his hips, revealing him inch by agonizing inch.

You sucked in a shaky breath when his cock finally sprung free and you saw him fully—thick, flushed, perfect. Your mouth watered at the sight of him, and Noah groaned at the way your eyes visibly darkened, pupils blown, his cock twitching slightly under your hungry gaze.

"Jesus, baby," he rasped, voice unsteady. "You’re gonna kill me."

You didn’t even realize you were biting your lip while you stared at him until he reached out, brushing his thumb over your mouth, tugging it free with a soft, coaxing touch.

"You don’t have to be nervous," he murmured, so gentle, so patient. "We’ll go slow. I promise I'll take care of you."

"I know," you breathed, meeting his gaze. "I—I’m not nervous. I just..." Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t lie. Not now, not to him. "I want you so bad, Noah."

Something inside Noah snapped at the confession. His hands slid back to your body, pulling you against him as he kissed you hard—hungry—his cock pressing hot and heavy against your bare stomach.

He swallowed every whimper, every soft little moan you made, kissing you so deep it felt like you’d never be able to catch your breath again. His hands were everywhere—roaming your body, tracing every curve, every dip, like he couldn’t get enough of any part of you.

One of them slid down to your ass, gripping you firmly and pulling you tighter against him before Noah ground his cock against your stomach as he kissed down your neck. The weight of him there made your insides flip, heat pooling between your legs as your thighs tried to press together instinctively.

You couldn’t help it—you kept glancing down between your bodies, your face flushing deeper the longer you stared. You didn’t have much to go on—no frame of reference, not really. You’d never seen a dick in person before, let alone had one pressed against you like this, but Noah looked big.

Thick, too—perfectly thick. The kind of heavy weight that made your breath stutter in your throat, made you ache to feel him inside you even though you had no idea how you’d possibly take him.

Noah must’ve noticed where your gaze kept flickering, because he let out a soft, breathless chuckle against your neck.

“You’re gonna make me lose my mind if you keep looking at me like that, baby.” He teased, his voice a low rasp as he nipped at your skin. His hand squeezed your ass again, pulling you closer so you could feel every inch of him pressed right up against your belly, precum dampening the skin.

You swallowed hard, pulse pounding in your ears as you dragged your eyes back up to his, cheeks burning.

“I just—” Your voice cracked, and you bit your lip before forcing the words out, quiet and breathless. “I didn’t know it would be like that.”

“Like what?” He asked, tone soft but still dripping with amusement as he pressed a trail of kisses along your jaw again, following it up until his lips were lingering just below your ear.

Your breath stuttered, embarrassment and arousal tangling together when you whispered, “You’re just… really big. I guess.”

Noah cursed softly at that, his hips grinding against you harder, teeth grazing your skin as his grip on you tightened, the motion sending sparks of heat straight through your core.

You chuckled shyly at his reaction, cheeks burning hotter, but couldn’t stop yourself from looking down again—your curiosity overpowering the lingering nervousness fluttering in your chest.

You hesitated for half a second, and then, in the smallest, breathiest voice, you whispered, "Can I touch you?"

Noah’s whole body jerked—a rough sound breaking free from his chest, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or moan or cry.

"Fuck," he hissed. "Yeah, baby. God, yes. Please."

He let himself fall back a little, settling more heavily on his heels as he knelt between your thighs, giving you the space, the invitation.

Your fingers still trembled a little as you reached out, but the moment you wrapped your hand around him—finally—a sharp, broken moan tore out of Noah’s throat, hips giving an involuntary little twitch at the first brush of your hand.

His cock was hot and heavy in your palm, the silky skin stretched tight over the thickness of him, pulsing faintly against your touch. You stroked him slowly, experimentally, mesmerized by the way the muscles in his stomach tensed, the way his breath hitched with every little movement.

He was—God, he was beautiful. Thick and long, with a perfect flushed tip that leaked precum, making your palm slippery as you slowly started to move your hand up and down a bit more confidently.

Noah’s head dropped back slightly, his mouth falling open in a choked-off groan. His hands fisted in the sheets beside your hips, like he was physically stopping himself from doing something reckless.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, wonderingly, tightening your fingers a little just to see his stomach twitch in response.

“Fuck, baby—” he gasped, his voice a wreck. He cracked his eyes open, looking at you through heavy lids, pupils blown wide. “Jesus, princess, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You bit your lip again, utterly fascinated by the way his body responded to even the lightest touch from you—every little gasp, every shudder, every twitch of his hips.

Encouraged, you shifted closer, wrapping your other hand around the base of him too, stroking him with slow, careful movements, getting bolder as you watched him come undone. Noah growled low in his throat, his hips jerking helplessly into your hands, his entire body tensing.

“Fucking hell, baby, you keep doing that,” he panted, one hand coming up to cradle your jaw, “and I’m not gonna last long enough to be inside you.”

You tightened your fingers a little at the praise, dragging your hands up and down in slow, careful strokes, watching the way his cock twitched and leaked under your touch. Your mouth watered for a second time at the sight, a wave of arousal crashing through you so strong it made your lower abdomen ache.

You blinked up at him, heart stuttering—and then, reckless with the heady rush of control you had over him, you whispered, “Can't have that, can we? Need you to fuck me. Want to know what you feel like stretching me open.”

You could see the moment Noah snapped.

He surged forward, kissing you hard, swallowing the whimper that escaped your lips. His hands slid back down your body, urgent now, needy—one guiding your hips back down against the bed, the other gripping the back of your thigh, hitching it up around his waist as he settled over you.

“Tell me you’re ready,” he breathed against your mouth, voice hoarse and shaking, pleading. “Tell me you want this.”

“I’m ready,” you gasped, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. “Please, Noah—I want you. I need you.”

He groaned like you’d just handed him the world—and then he was reaching between you, lining himself up, the thick, leaking head of his cock sliding through the slickness between your thighs, making you both shudder.

But just as he pressed a little harder, enough to make you gasp, Noah squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to stop. He let out a shuddering breath against your lips, almost in pain.

“Wait—wait a second, baby,” he rasped. His hand slipped away from you, fumbling blindly toward the nightstand. “I need to grab a condom.”

“No,” you gasped immediately, your hands flying to his chest, stopping him. “No, please—I don’t want one.”

He blinked down at you, stunned.

“Baby—fuck—I don’t wanna risk anything, and I don’t wanna—”

“I’m on the pill,” you rushed out, desperate. “Ever since we moved here I've been on the pill, I swear. I just—” You swallowed hard, flushing. “I want to feel you. All of you. Please, Noah. I want to feel it when you come inside me.”

Noah made a sound you could only describe as wrecked, his whole body shaking above you, hands trembling against your skin as he tried, tried, to hold on to the last shreds of his sanity.

“Jesus Christ, princess,” he groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

You kissed the side of his head, wrapping your arms around him, feeling the way he was already giving in. He always gave in to you.

“Please,” you whispered again, right against his ear. “I want all of you. I want you to make a mess of me.”

That was it.

Noah let out a harsh, broken sound, and then he was lining himself up again, nudging his hips forward, the thick head of his cock pressing in slowly—just a fraction before he froze, a strangled groan ripping from his chest.

The heat of you, the way you squeezed around just the tip of him, nearly ended him right then and there.

“Fucking hell,” he choked, voice broken. “You’re so tight.”

You whimpered, clawing at his hips instinctively as the thick stretch made you burn and sting, pleasure and pain knotting together deep in your belly. He felt huge inside you—too much and somehow not enough all at once.

Noah immediately stilled, chest heaving against yours, his hands finding your hips to anchor you—and himself—gently stroking over your skin in soothing, grounding motions.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered against your forehead, lips pressed to the already damp skin. His voice trembled with restraint. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. The pain won't last, I promise. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You nodded, desperate tears prickling the corners of your eyes as you tried to relax, breathing hard against his chin as you angled your head up. You didn’t want him to stop—you just needed a second, needed to get used to it.

Noah kissed you then, deep and soft, while he held himself there—barely inside you—until he felt the iron tightness in your muscles start to ease, your body slowly learning to open for him.

“Good girl,” he murmured into your mouth, voice breaking. He brushed his thumb over your trembling hipbone, breathing you in like a prayer. “You feel so good—so perfect around me, baby.”

You whimpered again, nails digging into the small of his back, desperate for more even through the burn.

“More,” you breathed. “Please, Noah—more.”

He let out a shuddering groan, forehead pressing against yours—and then he pushed in deeper, just an inch more, stretching you open around the thick weight of him.

You gasped, a sharp, choked sound against his mouth as the sting sharpened—your walls fluttering desperately around him—and Noah immediately kissed you again, swallowing your sounds, his whole body shaking from the effort it took to stay gentle, to stay slow.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispered raggedly against your lips. “You’re taking me so good, though. Just a little more, I promise. Here, let me—”

His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit with careful fingers, and he started circling it in slow, featherlight strokes—barely there at first, coaxing, soothing, trying to pull you back into pleasure.

You gasped again, but this time the sound was softer, needier. The burn didn’t vanish completely, but it dulled, blurred, eclipsed by the sweet rush of pleasure blooming low in your belly as Noah worked you open with his cock, his hands, his words—every part of him devoted to making it good for you.

“That’s it,” he rasped, voice shaking. His forehead rested against yours as he rocked his hips ever so slightly, still shallow, still slow. “That’s my good girl.”

You moaned, clenching helplessly around him again, and Noah nearly lost it—gritting his teeth, fighting to keep control as he felt your body start to yield to him, start to welcome him inside.

He slid deeper again, hips rocking before giving you time to adjust, to breathe through it, to feel every inch of him. And when he finally bottomed out, when his hips met the insides of your thighs and he was fully buried inside you, both of you just clung to each other—panting, trembling, overwhelmed.

You whimpered after a while, hips shifting instinctively beneath him, desperate for more, for him to move, to do something.

“You can move,” you breathed, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging, scratching his scalp. “Please, Noah. I need you to—”

But he shook his head, forehead pressed to yours, his whole body shuddering like he was hanging on by a thread.

“I—fuck, I need a second,” he rasped, voice breaking apart. “You feel so good, baby. Too good. If I move right now, I’ll lose it.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, running your hands through his hair now just to soothe him.

“How long’s it been for you?” You whispered curiously, smiling against his mouth.

Noah pulled back a little—just enough to look you in the eye—and what you saw there made your smile falter.

The rawness. The fear. The love.

It was too much for him to hide.

“Since I was eighteen,” he said hoarsely.

You blinked, stunned, your heart stumbling.

“What?” You breathed, sounding as surprised as you felt. “But—”

“My first time was my only time,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours like he needed the contact, like he needed you close enough to survive this.

You stared at him, struggling to make the dots connect through the haze in your mind.

Eighteen.

He was twenty-two now.

Only once, and nothing since.

Because—?

You barely dared to ask. Your voice cracked when you whispered:

“Why?”

He exhaled a broken little sound, closing his eyes for a second like he didn’t even know how to explain it. Then he opened them again, and you nearly drowned in the weight of his gaze.

“Because it wasn’t you,” he said simply, helplessly. “I tried, okay? I thought it would help drown out the way I felt about you.” His thumb brushed your cheek, reverent. “But it didn’t. It just made it worse. It made me realize I didn’t want anyone else. Couldn’t want anyone else.”

Your throat closed up, your eyes stinging with sudden, overwhelming tears. The full force of it crashed into you all at once—

All these years. All this time.

And he’d always loved you. Even when you hadn’t known. Even when you hadn’t seen it. Even when you pretended not to.

A shaky sob bubbled up in your chest, but you didn't want to cry, not now, not like this—so you kissed him, kissed him like you were trying to pour all the shattered pieces of yourself into him, your hands frantic against his bare skin, grabbing, gripping, squeezing.

“Noah,” you whispered, a broken plea, barely able to speak, to breathe. “Please, I—I’m yours, I’ve always been yours, and I need—”

He didn’t answer, because he didn’t have to. He knew exactly what you meant, and he gave you what you needed, like he's always done.

Only this time was so much better, because there was nothing else between you now. Nothing else in the world.

Noah drew back, just enough to pull his hips away—and then he pushed forward, sinking into you again with slow, reverent force, filling you until your back arched and a sharp gasp punched from your lungs.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back, and he groaned against your mouth—deep, guttural, broken—as he moved in you, moved with you, careful, patient, trying so desperately to give you time, to give you everything.

He rocked his hips once, twice, three times, and you whimpered, wrapping your legs tighter around him like you couldn’t bear even an inch of distance.

“More,” you gasped. “Noah, please—more.”

He kissed you again, messy and breathless, and you could feel how badly he wanted to give it to you, how hard he was holding himself back just for you.

And then, when you tilted your hips to meet him, when you whispered one more desperate, wrecked, “Please” against his lips—he finally gave in.

Noah’s rhythm deepened, the slow roll of his hips picking up force, each thrust dragging another helpless sound from your throat. The ache, the stretch, the sweet friction—it was overwhelming, it was everything. It set every nerve ending alight, made your fingers scrabble at his shoulders, made your body arch into his with reckless need.

“You feel—” he choked out against your ear, losing the words as his pace quickened, as your walls fluttered around him and your moans filled the space between your bodies. “Jesus, baby—you feel so good. So fucking good.”

You couldn’t even answer—you could only hold onto him, feeling him drive into you harder, deeper, until every thought dissolved. The feeling of him inside you was almost too much, too good, driving you higher with every deep, perfect thrust.

And there was only him, only this, only forever.

Noah’s hand slid between you, finding your clit again, rubbing tight, desperate circles that made you cry out, made your body clamp down around him without warning.

“Fuck,” Noah choked out, voice breaking against your mouth. “You’re mine. You’re fucking mine.”

You were—you always had been—and the way you clung to him, the way your body responded, said it louder than any words ever could.

“I’m not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like that,” he groaned, hips stuttering as you tightened again, your body greedy for him, for all of him, the pleasure spiraling fast and out of control.

You whimpered, threading your fingers through his hair, dragging him closer, needing him deeper, needing everything.

He shifted his weight slightly, pulling one of your legs up higher around his waist, and the new angle made you keen—made him press against that devastating spot inside you with every roll of his hips.

“Right there?” he murmured, smiling against the skin of your cheek when you writhed beneath him.

“Yes, yes—oh my god, please—” You gasped, voice wrecked and high and desperate. “I’m—I’m so close, I can’t—”

“Me too,” Noah groaned, picking up his pace now, hips slapping into yours harder, faster. “You feel so good, baby—fucking made for me.”

He shifted his hips, grinding against you in a way that made the pleasure snap like a live wire through your entire body—and then you broke.

Your orgasm ripped through you so hard it nearly blinded you, your whole body locking up tight around him, shuddering, trembling, sobbing his name.

“Fuck, that's it, that's it, pretty girl,” he rasped, forehead pressing against yours, the muscles of his back flexing under your palms as he fucked you through it, driving into you faster, chasing his own high. “Fucking come for me, baby. Make a mess on my cock.”

Noah cursed low and broken against your skin, thrusting deep one last time before he lost it too—burying himself to the hilt as he came, hot and overwhelming, the sound of your name on his lips like a prayer as he spilled inside you.

You clung to each other through it all, panting, shaking, completely wrecked—completely his.

When you were both done, neither of you moved for a while.

Noah stayed buried deep inside you, pressed as close as he could get, breathing hard, holding you like he never wanted to let go. His hands were everywhere again—petting your hair, tracing your spine, rubbing slow, soothing circles over your hips.

“You okay?” He finally whispered, voice hoarse, broken with tenderness.

You nodded against his shoulder, still trembling, still trying to breathe him back into your lungs.

“I’m perfect,” you whispered back. “Because of you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and the way he did it—like you were everything, nothing but unfiltered adoration in his eyes—made you feel like you were simultaneously suffocating and coming up for air.

Slowly, carefully, he eased out of you, murmuring soft apologies at the sting, and you whimpered at the sudden emptiness. But before you could even miss him, Noah was gathering you into his arms, cradling you against his chest, covering every inch of your bare skin he could reach with adoring, lingering kisses.

You both stayed like that, tangled up in each other, sweaty and shaky and wrecked, until your heartbeats finally slowed, until the only sound was your quiet breathing and the soft brush of Noah’s lips against your hair.

“I love you,” he whispered against your temple, so soft you almost thought you imagined it.

But you heard it—you heard it, and you knew, without any fear or doubt or hesitation, that you loved him too. And when you whispered it back, he pulled you impossibly closer, as if he was stitching you into his soul.

You fell asleep like that—wrapped up in Noah, wrapped up in love—knowing deep down that nothing would ever be the same again.

You couldn't have been more okay with that.

hiii, v! 🤗 i chose the "you're shaking" – "so are you" dialogue prompt for this one 'cause nobody's asked for that one yet and i wanted to try it hehe. also, i'm sorry it took me this long to post your request, but i got so carried away with this one and it turned out way bigger than i planned, so it took me a moment there to finish lol. i hope the 9.3k words of pure fluff and smut made up for the delay here. hope you enjoyed this, friend! x

[strawberrystepmom]

nsfw. dante x f!reader. mutual masturbation but mostly reader, vibrator usage, he talks reader through it, established relationship. um i wrote this with my pussy so i dont have much else to say about it... | wc: 2k, reading time: greater than 5 minutes.

The sound of your own feathery light moan fills your ears, echoing through the walls of your currently empty-aside-from-you home. 

It’s the only reason you’re masturbating with the door wide open, your beloved and trusted vibrator pressed against your body while your imagination spurs you on with a very vivid memory of the only man who you ever want to be between your legs that is currently off on a mission, leaving you to tend to your needs on your own.

“Dante...”

Clearly more than just your heart calls for him, your mouth forming his name as soon as something feels exceptionally good, the vibrations on their second strongest setting while you imagine his mouth and his hands.

“Say his name and he app– oh.”

He’s pretending to have walked in on you for your sake, whether it be for pleasure or permission depends on how you take it. The reality of the situation is that his astute senses let him smell your arousal from the front door, while he was locking and chaining it behind him, the blood draining from his face down to his cock long before he rounded the corner to stumble up as you spread open before him.

He also heard you let his name slip from your lips but he’s feeling generous and will tuck that little fact into his pocket for another day.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” he continues with a smirk, pulling his shirt off over his head to drop it to the floor and unbuckling his belt. He’s startled you, the look on your face gives away at least that much, leaving you to scramble to think of what to do now that you’ve been interrupted. You reach for the button of the vibrator to turn it off but he shakes his head, sliding onto the bed to lay on his belly. 

He tilts his head to the side, resting his scruffy cheek against your inner thigh.  “Why stop if you’re enjoying yourself?” 

“Because you’re here now?” You mutter as if it’s obvious, the toy lifted away from your body but still buzzing in the background. 

The king of your heart laughs, turning his face to kiss your sensitive, feverish skin. 

“Keep going,” he encourages, using another drag of his lips along your inner thigh to bolster it. His eyes fall between your legs, to your pussy glistening with wetness, your body responding by shuttering in delight when he kisses you yet again. A bead of wetness drips from your empty hole and he sighs dreamily, reaching to press the vibrator down. 

Tipping your head back and squeezing your eyes shut, you moan in delight.

The droplet slides down your skin and into the little puddle on the sheets beneath you. He bites his lip and barely stifles a groan in the process, still embarrassed to seem overly eager after all this time. 

He is eager though, heavy and hard bulge straining against the zipper of his jeans. You smell as delicious as you look and he knows that if he touched you you’d be soft and warm and…

“Need more, baby.”

Your whine brings him back to reality. He can take one good look at your desperate, messy pussy and see just how badly you do need more but if he takes over for you then it’ll be over for both of you and he can’t give in that easily, can he?

“Use your fingers.” 

He nods toward your hold that responds with another clench around nothing, your body writhing across the sheets.

“Use yours,” you pout, thrusting your hips upward and toward his face to entice him. 

It almost works, or at least you think it does when his fingers flex and twitch where you can see them on the outside of your thigh, until he shakes his head and sighs exaggeratedly.

“Don’t forget that this is your show, I’m just the audience.”

As badly as you want to huff at him out of frustration and demand, again, that he take care of you the way he always does, his encouragement shifts your petulance and impatience into something more erotic. 

Why not see just how much torture you can put the audience through until it decides to participate? 

And inclined as he is to understand the way you work, he picks up on the shift in energy as soon as you spread your legs wider to give him an eyeful of even more of you. He responds as predicted, baby blues widening while he whistles in a low, slow pitch. 

“Isn’t that something?” He asks with a delicious, devilish smile. 

Nodding, you press the vibrator to your clit and let out another hum of delight. You know that you’re dripping, wet down to your ass and beyond, and it would be no problem to add a finger into the situation. The hand you were using to grope your breast with slides down your belly and snakes between your legs, your breath catching when you feel just how wet you really are.

Dante hisses behind clenched teeth, finding himself far more susceptible to your wiles than he may have assumed. 

Not that that’s anything new.

“Need more,” you whine again, slipping one of your fingers inside of you. The length of it feels good but it’s nothing compared to Dante’s thick fingers and even less compared to the girth of him that stretches you every single time you take it no matter what. Imagining that stretch leaves you hissing, finger pressing against the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

“Two of your fingers are as thick as one of mine.” He reminds you, stretching the last syllable while exhaling sharply out of his nose, said finger brushing the outside of your thigh to remind you of its exact size and shape.

Your muscles tense around your ring finger, pulling it out just enough to add your middle finger alongside it and slip them both inside. A gasp spills from you, hips grinding against the added pressure.

It feels better but it’s still just not quite enough. You’re satisfied but not as satisfied as you could be, something Dante can tell simply by the way you hum and moan rather than babble and swear and squeal and make all those pretty little noises he is so terribly fond of. 

The audience has been swayed. He leans forward, licking his lips, sliding the hand that was resting on the bed between your legs toward the warmth of your sticky, spread folds. Dragging the digit through it wet it, he presses it at your entrance which stills your movements.

“You’ve got your hands full,” he smirks, slipping his finger inside of you while an utterly sinful moan rips itself from your throat. “Looked like you could use a little help.”

Turns out two of yours, one of his is almost as thick as his dick. Who knew that you could still learn new things about one another?

He cannot - will not - move his eyes from the sight of you, spread obscenely and leaving a wake of shimmering wetness in your path. His finger is enveloped by warmth. His mind is enveloped in the thrash of your rocking hips, your toes curling and head turning back and forth on the bed. 

The hand that gently grips the outside of your thigh moves to unzip his pants, pulling the waistband of them down enough so that his slick, blushing tip can spring out. You fight the urge to squeeze your thighs together, moaning at the mere sight of something so beautiful that you’ve wanted very, very badly for hours.

“Please,” you beg breathlessly but he isn’t quite sure what for. He props himself up on his knees, one finger still pumping in and out of you in rhythm. 

He hesitates for the briefest moment approaching you, rising above you between your spread legs like a benevolent God. You sigh contentedly, walls clenching, obviously pleased by the sight of his partially stripped body. 

Must you make everything so hard on him? A moment ago he was content to let you suffer and now he wants to stuff himself so deeply inside of you he may get lost on the way back out. 

He thinks better of this with the few remnants of his right mind that are still intact. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to fuck you. In fact, every single one of his instincts is screaming to do just that. His body yearns and aches, flushed just as you were when he found you. Unfortunately, right now, fucking you would ruin all this fun. 

Far be it from him to ruin the fun, well, ever.

Dante uses his thumb to angle his tip downward, dragging it through your wetness and thrusting his hips so that it passes just over your clit and nudges the vibrator ever so slightly aside. The sensation of both him and the toy makes your jaw drop wide open, another gasp ripping from you. 

An orgasm sneaks up on you unexpectedly, gripping tightly onto all that is inside of you to keep it in place, your arm tensing while you hold the vibrator against yourself to ride it out. Dante continues to thrust his hips against you, a mix of his precum and your slick providing more than enough glide while he pinches your outer lips together around his shaft and the bulbous head of the vibrator and squeezes.

“Wish you could see this right now,” he pants, entranced by the utterly filthy sight. Every bit of you is occupied with every bit of him and perhaps he didn’t realize how close he was before deviating this plan. His mind is so foggy with pleasure he just lets his body do what it likes, every movement drawing more of those rhapsodic sounds from you.

It surprises him when he cums too, thick spurts out of him that find their way across your clit and pussy. He lets go of his shaft and it springs upward, his chest heaving while he attempts to catch his breath. You squirm beneath him, clearly pleased by his quick, excited finish with the vice grip you have around his finger and yours.

Another lightbulb goes off in his head, still interested in keeping this going. He releases his finger from you which of course earns him a whine and a sharp huff. 

Crooking his finger, he scoops his release into the curve of the digit and slowly sinks it back in to join yours. Your wet, soft cunt invites him right back in, hips gently rocking while you whimper. The vibrator remains pressed against your sensitive clit on its weakest setting. The muscle backs of your legs twitch with overstimulation so you lift the vibrator ever so slightly off of you, something Dante clearly takes issue with once again.

“Nope.” 

He looks up from your pussy, brow arched, using his unoccupied hand to press the vibrator back down against you. You squeal, hips jumping and walls constricting around all of the fingers inside of you. 

“You’re so close, so fucking close gorgeous.” He marvels, ocean eyes meeting yours, his complexion still tinged with red. “One more, for me.” His voice is a rasp, a pant, a song that calls to the part of your body that wants to do just that for him. 

Weakly, your muscles spasm once more. You tense and relax almost in an instant, panting brokenly and turning the toy off to toss it aside. Dante slowly lowers himself down atop you, between your spread legs, resting his head between your breast to listen to your rapid heartbeat. 

You giggle and look down at him with a smile, petting snow white strands of hair off of his sweaty forehead. 

“Hey,” you offer slyly, biting your lower lip to keep from bursting into exhausted sounding laughter and failing. 

“Well hello you,” he offers in return, a heart stoppingly handsome smile on his face. “Did you miss me?”

“Just every minute you aren’t here.”

You nod, leaning down to kiss him once. And again. Exhausted and sweaty and spent and covered in both him and you, you continue to kiss him with no plans to stop until he forces the issue or you both fall asleep.

It’s anyone’s guess which will happen first.

[occamstfs]

Evo Bio 101

Annoyed at the prospect of wasting time during his simple lectures, Craig's misplaced ambitions lead to a first hand lesson in (d)evolutionary biology.

Was possessed by the idea and couldn't not write it haha! Here's a story taking hair growth and brutification to the extreme ! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

It’s not that Craig didn’t want to teach the class, he was grateful to have a chance to instruct on anything even remotely close to his research area. Intro to Evolutionary Biology was directly in his wheelhouse and given how cutthroat his department was he was more than happy to jump at the chance.

It’s just- the class was so introductory it’s insulting. The course is required for all students in the university’s tiny biological anthropology program and judging by the recommended syllabus given to him by the department head, there’s not a day where Craig is going to teach his students anything they don’t already know.

Complaining under his breath as he makes his way to the classroom across campus, the doctoral candidate wonders if any of his undergraduates are even going to show up given how remedial the material seems. Kicking the air he wishes to himself that he’ll get the chance to teach them something novel. To show them what their field is all about, how man became man rather than droll lectures on Darwin’s finches and Mendel’s peas.

As soon as he utters the words to no one he shivers and his skin prickles with goosebumps before he fully stumbles over himself just outside the classroom door. There’s a quiet buzzing in the air and he looks around to find its source before noticing the time on an overhead clock and realizing he’s already late. Bumbling into the classroom he adjusts his tie and apologizes as he rushes to get his laptop set up.

“Sorry guys! Always forget these dinky 101 courses are relegated to the middle of nowhere,” there are a few quiet laughs but the lecturer is sure they’re just trying to appease him. He knows because he’s laughed at countless half-jokes from professors over the years. Craig continues to awkwardly mumble to the class as he waits for his equipment to bootup. After getting his introductory powerpoint running he wipes his brow and for the first time turns to look at his small class.

It’s then that he notices how warm it is in the room. Wiping his forehead, his stuffy sleeve wicks sweat from his brow and he assumes it’s just from nerves at standing in front of the bored faces of students who have done nothing today but go over reading lists and play icebreakers. Might as well get this over with. “Welcome all to the intro course on Evolutionary Biology! I’ll be your instructor, Craig Stoll. See a few familiar faces around here from courses I’ve TAed, you guys can just call me Craig. I assume this is no one’s first rodeo-” 

Craig opens his mouth to slyly complain about how basic the material is, to mock the university requiring people well on their way to becoming experts in the field to waste time going over the most absolute basics. But before he can speak, it’s like his throat has been zapped free of moisture. He tries to clear his throat a couple times, stretching open his mouth in between doing so as he struggles in front of his few students. 

Smiling awkwardly as his forehead sweats even heavier under the bright lights above the lectern he turns and digs through his bag for the water bottle that scarcely leaves his side. Still turned away from the class he forces it to his lips and guzzles for a few seconds straight. After a moment he pauses and breathes heavily for a few seconds, gasping for air just as hungrily as he was gulping for water, and then he gets right back to it. Lifting the bottle perpendicular to the Earth as he drinks like he’s dying of thirst.

All students present eye him apprehensively, most of them had seen him countless times over the years sitting performatively uptight as he graded assignments and aided professors as needed. Never could they imagine him doing something so uncouth. One sophomore whispers to her neighbor, Dawson, concerned at how nervous the researcher seems. He replies mocking Craig, excited to see the meek man who gave him a 79 on a final last semester crash and burn.

Letting his bottle fall away once more there isn’t a thought in his mind questioning how peculiar what just happened was. He was thirsty, and now he no longer is. Simple. Craig turns back with a wide smile at his classroom clearing his throat once more this time successfully. He doesn’t notice how his voice echoes through the lecture hall, decidedly deeper than it should be, “Ahh, that’s better! Sorry again y’all!” 

In the front row a student motions for him to wipe his face as water is clearly dripping down his ever-so-slightly shadowed jaw. Craig’s face burns red as he does so, for the first time realizing himself that he’s acting a tad strange. This is only more apparent as he feels a burp begin to rise. He did drink that water awfully fast. Before the thought even occurs to him to silence it he lets it loose, producing the loudest burp he’s ever heard. Stunning the classroom to silence.

Even the student eager to watch Craig fail was shocked enough to grimace in second hand embarrassment as he sees the man’s eyes dull while burping like an animal in front of his class before scrambling back to his senses. “Oh jeez, I don’t know what’s gotten into me today- Let’s just, uhm, get to it.”

Directing his class’ attention to the slides he squirms and adjusts his tie with sweaty palms as he realizes how uncomfortable his clothes feel all of a sudden. Struggling to get the thing loose he grunts and flexes his feet as he suddenly feels confined. Trapped in his shoes. Shaking his head to stay focused he pointedly ignores the feeling of his toes poking the front of his dress shoes and starts lecturing.

Clicking past the introduction his brow furrows as he sees the title of the first slide of substance, ‘What is Evolutionary Biology?’ Grunting once more, Craig scratches his chest as he can’t help but address what he thinks to be the elephant in the room, unaware of the eyes staring at him as his arms seem to be stretching out from their sleeves. Not noticing as his perpetually clean shaven face suddenly begins to sprout stubbly sideburns and a scratchy neckbeard.

No, suddenly the rising anger in his mind can’t help but address how stupid it is that his boss is making him explain to these people essentially majoring in evolutionary biology what those words mean. Clenching his jaw as he yanks the tie from his neck and tosses it to the floor he speaks up, his voice clearly rougher than it was even seconds ago, “This is- You all know what evolutionary biology is, obviously,” his voice cracks deeper as he tries to remove his jacket, ignoring how it gets stuck on arms that have impossibly begun to lengthen. Hanging lower and heavier as he struggles against clothes that suddenly feel like they’re holding him captive. “You all know already!”

He hammers a fist down onto his lectern and hears the sound of his shirt tearing from the back. Students flinch in shock and a few begin to gather their things as Craig stares at his arm. His hand shouldn't be that big. Isn’t that big. Seeing the few thick hairs starting to pepper his bulkier wrists, Craig turns to look down at his chest as it begins to grow, grunting ever deeper he stares as two meaty pecs begin to strain the button-up. 

Hairs poke through the straining placket as they start to spread above the neckline. Every movement sends further sounds of tearing garment through the classroom as Craig tries to understand what he’s seeing. His voice sounds even duller, brutish even as he cries out,  “What goin- What’s, grgh, happening to me-” Thicker fingers yank off his shirt sending sweat and buttons flying into the classroom, freeing pecs that were not there even a minute ago.

Many students begin to flee the classroom as their instructor begins feeling up his chest with hands growing hairier. The student who was initially concerned dials emergency services as she ditches her laptop and begins to race out the door, terrified as Craig’s thickening brows start to just out further from his forehead. The man who was waiting to watch him awkwardly stumble over his words rather than join his fleeing cohort just watches enthralled. Staring at his widening jaw as it is promptly covered with a thick beard. 

Unaware of the small horde of students in flight from his lecture as his newly fat palms cup itching pecs as they grow meatier, Craig groans and apologizes to whoever remains as he leans underneath the small podium to deal with the sharp pain in his shoes. His ass bursts free from his pants, exposing briefs barely holding up and cheeks that are rapidly being decorated by a forest of fur. His wider back bumps into the lectern as he struggles to free his thick feet from shoes that were already a tad too snug. 

Speaking accompanied by the sound of his tearing at leather shoes, Craig tries to continue the lecture in between increasingly common grunts, “So me, unh- I think you uhhh- you know this evo- uhh” The one remaining student, Dawson, begins creeping closer, deadset to see this through to the end. Slowly pulling out his phone and setting it to record what is clearly some impossible miracle of science. Some reversion towards a more primal state, a devolution. Dawson smirks as he imagines how far this will set him ahead in the field.

Craig finds himself suddenly much less preoccupied with said science as he frees his newly hairy feet from their binds, leaving sweat steaming off of their wider soles as they continue to crack larger. Instead, mind leaking intelligence, he begins to drool and quietly grunt to himself as his cock begins to throb. Buried in a bush of thick and curled pubes which are themselves haloed by massive burly thighs, his rougher hands easily claw off his briefs to free his bobbing cock. Dripping with pre he sees veins visibly pulsing as what must be a foreskin begins to encroach towards a head almost purple and pre-covered. 

Dawson sneaks onward, zooming in to capture how Craig’s beard raises higher on his face to meet with the hair on his head growing wild. His eyes flicker across strange bulging muscles on his instructor’s shoulders as they’re rapidly blanketed by a forest of curls thicker than his own pubes. The student's mouth slightly waters as he adjusts the frame to capture the man’s massive hands as he begins to masturbate in the classroom. And then he drops his phone. 

On high alert, the man-no-longer jumps with a start and hits his head on the lectern, guffawing as he rubs the spot he foolishly bumped. Falling to the floor himself, Dawson is torn between fleeing like the rest of his wiser cohort and staring at a living breathing caveman. He can’t resist simply being the first man to witness prehistory. 

Beyond that, Dawson can’t help but stare at the exposed pits of a man he assumed was as smooth as marble. He’s almost possessed, staring at the wild jungle of pit hair that flies free from the brute’s raised arm, dripping with sweat. There are almost visible stink lines as body odor that hasn’t been found on the earth for thousands of millenia begins to fill the room. And the longer he stares, the longer he smells, he begins to lose any will to do anything but submit.

Perhaps it’s simply a biological reaction that Dawson finds himself rooted to the spot, taking in heady breaths of the fetid scent. Why else would his mouth fall open as his cock starts to rise at the sight, Craig speaks up seeing his own remaining pupil sitting there in some state between primal lust and fear. Feeling his cock bob against the podium and seeing himself nude in this clinical classroom, some semblance of self returns to the once-doctoral candidate.

“Dawsugh- Need help. Cra-ug ugh- Crag need help, nowugh” His jaw stings with pain as it widens more, his lips struggling to create sounds he knows he should be able to. As he stares down on the male planted on the ground he feels those bizarre instincts begin to return once more. His skin prickles, back cracking as it compacts while his chest grows wider with every heaving breath. Putting on mass as his mind begins to grow foggy once more.

Crag struggles to stay focused, struggles to remember who he is, what he’s doing. What that strange rectangle is at this lesser man’s feet. But with every precious second his twenty-first century concerns begin to evaporate. Worries about the grind of academia, disdain at being shoehorned into reading powerpoints no one cares to hear, the monotony of driving home in rush hour traffic. Everything begins to fade. Everything that is, besides the need to dominate the hairless, beta man staring at him.

Dawson can scarcely make heads or tails of what happens next as he sees the brute pounce on him. He feels the man’s calloused hands tear at his clothes and lies in repose, waiting for whatever Crag, apparently, is to do next. Desperately wanting fulfillment no man has experienced before. His hands clutch the caveman-apparent’s back, feeling the scratch of hair thicker than man can grow and the bulging sticky muscle beneath. 

Feeling the man’s river of precum dripping down his abs, Dawson begins to feel the prickle of his treasure trail regrowing as his feverish mind realizes his future far too late. Every inch of skin touching the man begins to change likewise. Arms he was never shy of lengthen just as he saw his least favorite TA’s did minutes ago, decorated with hair and bulging larger with thick muscle. 

Even quicker than he witnessed happening to Craig er, Crag, hair begins to engulf him. The concerted efforts towards maintaining his clean-cut appearance is absolutely erased as every inch of his form prickles with thick, dark hair growth. Crag sloppily kisses him and leaves a growing beard in the wake of his tongue. Forearms that have had the lightest coat of blonde peach fuzz erupt with fark jungles of hair before launching even further, coating his increasingly clumsy fingers and biceps twitching stronger with every haphazard movement.

Dawson’s hips reflexively hump into the man dominating him. His changing cock scratches against the man’s essentially fur covered torso which only heightens the student’s rapturous delight and accelerates his transformation. In no time at all the complexities and desires of the life he lived are wiped and replaced by a need to do nothing more than seek sustenance and pleasure. To serve and be served by the Crag who begins to hoist him against a wall and hump.

His handsome face changes, bones restructuring as hands he doesn’t recognize as he clings to Crag who is more monster than man. Feeling his rising cock rubbing against his new alpha’s as it begins to change he knows he is on the fast track to join him. He feels his vocal chords thickening as he cries out in ecstasy, Crag finally claiming what is his. Longer toes burst through tennis shoes, curling on the floor as nails yellow and thicken. 

Dawson’s sharper and larger teeth bite Crag’s shoulder as they continue to frot and fuck. They continue until their sweat and ancient semen coats much of the room, their new balls having apparently quite the short refractory period. When they finally tire or get bored their snores sound loud enough to break glass as they curl up together somewhere behind the podium. Bonded mates of a world that hasn’t existed for hundreds of thousands of years.

Well before the pair were done with consummating their new forms, the whole building was placed on lockdown. Quarantine crews working hastily to contain whatever impossible pathogen has apparently begun to infect the campus. Scientists across the world wait with bated breath from some update on whatever impossible goings on are hidden behind that yellow quarantine tape. Hearing the horrified testimonies of those students that escape does little to sate their curiosities, though it does invite them to be lab rats as scientists watch each and every one of them hoping to observe their own prehistoric changes.

It’s only a matter of time before some foolhardy explorer or researcher desperate for a discovery breaks the seal and finds something they could never be prepared for. Sooner rather than later the mounting need to know will be insurmountable. Sooner rather than later whatever this plague of the past they tried to keep behind lock and key will spread. And then those foolish enough to remain nearby will get a first hand experience on the nature of evolutionary biology. And to think, Craig Stoll was so concerned that nothing of note would come of the course.

[nugwon]

baby making s3gss with soft husband jungwon hehe

🐦‍⬛ i’m getting so many jungwon reqs and im lwk here for it. geeling kinda soft so i made this a really sweet drabble 💔

it starts slow, almost innocent, with jungwon brushing your hair back and whispering, “let’s make a baby tonight.” the way he says it, low and serious, makes your whole body heat up instantly. there’s nothing rushed about the way he touches you, but there’s an urgency buried deep under his gentle hands, like he’s been thinking about this moment forever. “do you really want to?” you raised your eyebrow, “we’re so young and..”

“and we’re married.. come on baby. imagine it, imagine us. a family?” the two of you were still young and while jungwon promised you he’d be with you forever… a baby is a hug step. “i really want to.” he smiles, looking at you while cupping your cheek softly. he kisses you like he’s starving, palms roaming your body with purpose, memorizing every inch of skin he’s about to claim.

every time his lips trail down your neck, your stomach flips, because you know exactly what’s coming — and so does he. it’s not just about pleasure tonight; it’s about creating something together, about belonging to each other in the most permanent way. “i’ll make it special,.” he assures you, sitting up and body towering over you. you took a deep breath, he had been asking for updates on your calendar—doing his research for when the best time to get pregnant before he’d even asked you this.

he undresses you, slow and sensual. taking his time—every inch of skin was left with kisses. delicate kisses. jungwon wanted you to know how much he wanted this—how much he wanted you. how he adored you. “i love you baby.” he whispered against your skin, hands caressing it. your bare, cold skin—riddled with chills every time he touched you. jungwon took off his clothes, eyes and lips only leaving your body when discarding of his shorts and boxers.

we could say it was expected but you were soaked.. you loved when jungwon came inside of you but it never lead to what’s gonna happen tonight. “look at me,” he hums, brushing your hair back. he could tell you were nervous, and he wanted to distracted your mind. you’ve talking about expanding your family for so long now.. you knew you wanted this. “it’s gonna be okay baby, i’m right here.”

when he finally slides into you, it’s different. it’s heavier, deeper. jungwon grabs your hips firmly, holding you still under him, filling you so good you’re gasping, clutching at the sheets. he doesn’t hold back — his thrusts are slow but so deep, grinding his hips into yours like he’s making sure you feel everything. he leans down, pressing hot, desperate kisses against your mouth, your jaw, your throat, all while murmuring things that make your body tremble.

“gonna make you mine forever,”

“gonna fill you up so good, baby,”

his words make you whimper, clenching tighter around him, and he groans low in his throat, pushing even deeper, hitting that spot inside you that has you seeing stars. his pace gets rougher, needier, the closer he gets, hips slamming into yours with every thrust. you’re barely hanging onto reality, body writhing under his, pleasure building so fast it feels overwhelming.

jungwon grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together and pinning it above your head, his other hand gripping your thigh and pushing it up higher so he can get even deeper. every sound he makes — every broken moan, every desperate grunt — feeds the fire inside you until you’re crying out his name, legs shaking around him. he loses it not long after, slamming deep one final time, spilling into you with a guttural groan that sounds almost like a sob, holding you so tight like he never wants to let you go.

he doesn’t pull out right away, buried deep inside you, chest heaving, forehead resting against yours. you can feel him trembling, feel how full you are, and the thought makes you shiver. he kisses you again, slow and messy, and whispers against your lips, “you’re gonna be so perfect, baby. carrying our little one.” and you believe him, because right here, wrapped in jungwon’s arms, nothing’s ever felt more real.

but jungwon wasn’t finished. he was going to make sure, you were stuffed with his seed, there was no excuses tonight. “turn around baby.”

[twstedfreak]

The Disappearance of Y/N L/N | PRELUDE - 00

Pairings: Various! JJK x Reader (Sukuna, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Naoya, Toji)

Synopsis: Y/N L/N has vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a trail of confusion and unanswered questions. Sukuna, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Naoya, and Toji are all pulled into the investigation, each one a suspect. They all believe Y/N is still out there, but none of them know what really happened. Their fragmented memories and conflicting stories of their last encounters with Y/N only deepen the mystery. As Detective Higuruma digs deeper into their pasts, he uncovers dark secrets and hidden motives, but the truth remains just out of reach.

Genre: Dark Romance(?), Mystery, Thriller, Psychological

Warnings: Mature Themes, Mentions of Death, Violence, Abandonment, Graphic Descriptions (crime scene), Trauma, Psychological Distress, Unreliable Narrator

A/N: Hey, it's been a while, but I’m back! Here’s the start of The Disappearance of Y/N L/N. If you like stories where a character lingers in the background and haunts the narrative (you know, that character), then you’re in the right place. This one's got a little mystery, a little kick, a little suspense, and a whole lot of unanswered questions. Hope you enjoy the ride! and as always, thanks for reading! I really appreciate the follow, reblogs, and likes so w/o further adeu,, let's all begin :3

teaser | masterlist | drabbles | headcanon | playlist

—Some people vanish quietly. She didn’t.

The rain hadn’t stopped for three days. The city pulsed under a curtain of gray, neon signs bleeding color through the wet streets. Inside the station, Detective Hiromi Higuruma stood before a case file that hadn’t been touched in weeks—until now.

Y/N L/N.

Age: 25.

Status: Missing.

Presumed deceased.

No body. No note. No witnesses. Just absence.

The kind that wraps itself around you like smoke—clinging, stinging, impossible to ignore.

He flipped open the folder, slow and careful. Her photo was clipped to the front page, eyes too alive for a still image, lips curled slightly like she was about to laugh—or lie. It unsettled him. Most victims’ photos looked hollow, frozen in the past. Hers seemed to look back.

She had disappeared six months ago. No signs of struggle. No sign she ever planned to leave. Just a single call to emergency dispatch—never traced—then silence.

There was no family listed. No one had come forward when she vanished. No concerned boyfriend, no best friend sobbing into the receiver. Only one person had even noticed she was gone.

An elderly woman from the neighboring apartment.

Hiromi’s jaw clenched as he read over her initial statement again, scribbled in loose, looping handwriting with parts underlined and circled.

"She waters her plants every morning. Always the same time. I could hear her singing to them sometimes. But then… she just stopped." "The cat started meowing more. Crying at the door. I saw it getting thinner. Day by day. I knew something was wrong when the leaves by her doorway started to brown. She never let them wither." "I called the tenant. Told him something was wrong. We went in." "Her apartment—it looked like someone had been living there and then just left. Just… left. Plates were still on the table. Food rotting. Worms in it. The sink had dirty water. Like she got up in the middle of lunch and never came back. The cat was still inside. Barely alive." "Please find her. That sweet girl. Where could she have gone to..."

Hiromi imagined the scene. The stench. The silence. The way abandonment settles into a room like mildew. Her cat, bones beneath its fur, curling into itself, waiting.

And the apartment, it told a story, even if no one else would. No signs of forced entry. No indication of a struggle. Nothing stolen. No signs of packing. It was as if she’d simply evaporated into the walls.

That’s what got to him.

He’d seen crime scenes drenched in violence. But this? This was worse. This was absence. An unnatural quiet. Like she had been erased.

Hiromi leaned back in his chair, the old wood creaking beneath him. The city outside blurred through the glass—neon signs bleeding red and electric blue onto slick pavement. Tokyo was wide awake, uncaring. But inside this file, inside this room, was something unfinished. Something rotting.

The more he read, the less he understood.

Until he found the envelope.

Tucked at the back of the file was a thin, unmarked envelope. It hadn’t come with the report. There was no label, no sender. Just one handwritten note on the outside.

“Reopen. Start with them.”

Tucked inside the folder were names. Six of them.

He read them once. Then again.

Ryomen Sukuna

Satoru Gojo

Suguru Geto

Kento Nanami

Toji Fushiguro

Naoya Zen’in

No prior connection between them, not on paper. No overlapping records. No reason to suspect them, yet here they were, listed under Persons of Interest. Not suspects. Not witnesses. Just men with suspicions.

Y/N.

What stood out wasn’t their reputations— all though some were notorious in their own right, it was how different they were. Different lives, different worlds. And yet, somehow, all tangled up in hers.

The deeper Hiromi read, the stranger it got. No official record of romantic ties. No clear motive. But there were letters. Notes. Photos. Snapshots of a woman who meant something different to each of them. A chameleon. A muse. A mistake. A memory.

It was like piecing together a puzzle where every piece belonged to a different picture.

Still… No one had reported her missing.

Not one of them.

That bothered him the most.

He sat back in his chair, the storm outside echoing his thoughts. Any time now, he’d begin the interviews. But for now, all he had were names and questions and the heavy knowledge that someone wasn’t telling true.

Was Y/N dead?

Perhaps, she is alive.. somewhere

Was she hiding?

And if she was hiding... from who?

But what terrified Hiromi wasn’t what they would say. It was what they wouldn’t.

Two months have passed.

A girl with no trace. An apartment like a tomb. A cat barely breathing, clinging to hope in the only way it knew how.

And now, six men. Each one who might have a story.

But only one of them, Hiromi was certain, would know the truth.

And the truth? It would not come easy.

This wasn’t just a missing person case.

He was intrigued.

Maybe, this was something else.

Maybe something cold.

Maybe something violent.

Maybe something personal.

. . . . Who knows?

“Someone needs to be looking for this girl.”

The next morning came with no sun. Just a dull, smothered sky pressing down on the city like a weight. Hiromi walked into the precinct with the file under his arm and the envelope of names secured inside. The halls were half-awake, the scent of burnt coffee and cold sweat lingering like ghosts from the night shift.

He didn’t wait to be called in. He headed straight for the chief's office.

Detective Masuda barely looked up from his desk when Hiromi entered. He was an old dog, worn thin by decades of rot in the system, and even thinner on patience. His tie was crooked. His shirt wrinkled. But his eyes, sharp as broken glass lifted the moment he saw the folder in Hiromi's hand.

"You're early," Masuda muttered, leaning back.

"I'm taking the L/N case," Hiromi said, setting the folder on the desk with a dull thud. "Nearly two months missing. No family, no formal report, but a witness. We’ve got signs of abandonment, starvation, possible neglect, and names. Some big ones."

Masuda raised an eyebrow. "You're wasting your time on a cold ghost story?"

Hiromi’s tone didn’t waver. "It's not cold. It’s buried. There's a difference."

Then, Hiromi reached into the file—past the grainy photographs, past the neighbor’s written testimony, past the preliminary notes from the patrol officer who first stepped into that hollowed-out apartment.

He pulled out a plain, creased envelope.

Unmarked. No return address. No police seal. Just a thin fold of paper that felt heavier than the rest of the file.

He slid it across Masuda’s desk with two fingers, slow and deliberate.

"Look at this," Hiromi said, his voice low, unreadable. “Someone wanted this case reopened.”

Masuda raised an eyebrow, then opened it.

Inside were six names, printed on a small sheet of paper like they’d been clipped from some confidential database. Clean type. No context. No explanation. But they hit like a punch.

Ryomen Sukuna.

Satoru Gojo.

Suguru Geto.

Kento Nanami.

Toji Fushiguro.

Naoya Zen’in.

Masuda’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you proposing?”

Hiromi straightened. “I’m requesting search warrants. For her apartment. For their personal records. Surveillance near her building from the last 90 days. We reopen this case—formally.”

There was a pause. The silence between two men who had seen enough in their lives to recognize when something felt off.

“You’re going to stir up a hornet’s nest,” Masuda warned. “These men. Some of them have influence. Money. Ties to people who don’t like being watched.”

“I don’t care,” Hiromi said. “There’s a girl no one’s looking for. And the longer she stays missing, the colder she gets.”

Masuda looked at Hiromi and frowned as he reached for the file. 

He frowned.

“I know some of these names,” he muttered. “Whispers. Trouble. One of them’s a consultant for a private security firm, isn’t he? Another was tied to that Shibuya case, but never charged.”

Hiromi nodded slowly. “They all move in different circles. None of them clean. None of them ever in the same room at the same time. But somehow , it seems like they’re all connected to her.”

“And you’re saying this girl… Y/N…?”

“She’s the thread,” Hiromi replied. “I think she somehow ran through each of their lives like clockwork. One by one. I don’t know what she meant to them, or what they meant to her. But she’s gone. And they’re all still here.”

He leaned forward now, tone darker. “But not one of them filed a report. Not one of them called to check in. Not one of them even pretended to be concerned.”

Masuda exhaled slowly, tension creasing his brow. He looked down at the names again, like they might rearrange themselves into something less dangerous. But they didn’t.

Hiromi’s voice dropped to a near-whisper.

Hiromi didn’t stop with just the names.

He reached into the envelope again, this time pulling out a series of photographs—old, slightly worn, printed on glossy paper like someone had developed them by hand. Not police-issue. Not digital. Personal.

He laid them out on Masuda’s desk, one by one, like cards in a tarot reading.

The room seemed to quiet with each photo placed down. You could nearly hear a pin drop.

First Photo:

It wasn’t a posed photo. It looked like it wasn’t meant to be taken at all.

The grain of the image suggested it came from an old CCTV still or maybe a camera phone shot from behind tinted glass. Y/N was sitting on the floor of what looked like a stairwell—somewhere dim and industrial, like the back exit of a club. Her knees were tucked to her chest, cheek resting on them, hair messy, mascara smeared like she’d been crying.

Sukuna Ryomen was standing a few feet away, partially turned, as if caught mid-motion. His fists were clenched, jaw tight, but he wasn’t looking at her—he was looking at whoever took the picture.

His stare was dead-on. Unblinking.

Unmistakably a threat.

The only thing more chilling than the fury in his eyes was the stillness in hers. Not scared. Not begging. Just… resigned.

It wasn’t a couple caught in a sweet moment.

It looked like the last quiet moment before something terrible happened.

Second Photo:

It wasn’t the typical carefree shot. At first glance, it seemed playful enough—Y/N and Satoru Gojo laughing at something only he could’ve said, her mouth open in a wide grin, eyes squinting from the brightness of the neon lights reflecting off her face. Gojo’s trademark shades were pushed up to the top of his head, his grin wide, almost too wide.

But there was something off.

Y/N was leaning back, hands bracing against a wall as if she was about to pull away—but Gojo’s hand was still on her wrist, fingers curled around it tightly, a little too tightly. The carefree nature of the moment felt staged, the way he kept her just close enough to hold on—and the look in her eyes was no longer one of amusement. There was a flicker of unease, a momentary hesitation before her smile flickered and she tilted her head, like she was waiting for something.

Third Photo:

This wasn’t a photo that seemed like it belonged in a keepsake album. It looked like a stolen moment—an uncomfortable one. Y/N and Suguru Geto were in a photo booth, yes, but there was no fun, no laughter. The graininess of the image made it almost feel like it had been taken from some hidden corner.

In the first frame, Y/N was giving a peace sign, but her smile was strained, too tight. Her eyes weren’t on the camera, they were glancing sideways at Geto, as if she had just said something, but his reaction didn’t match her expression. 

It seems like his hand was resting on her knee in the second frame, and while she looked down at it with an almost imperceptible frown, his fingers were draped too casually. The tension between them was palpable, even in black and white.

In the third frame, she leaned in closer, but instead of the intimacy one might expect, her shoulders were stiff, her body angled away from him. Geto, on the other hand, stared straight into the camera with an unnerving, cold intensity, his eyes unwavering. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even pretending to.

In the final frame, her peace sign had dropped. Her face was half-turned, lips parted as if she was about to say something, but the silence in the booth felt suffocating. Geto’s gaze, though, never wavered—sharp, calculating, as though he was looking right through her.

This wasn’t a photo of affection.

Fourth Photo:

This was not a moment anyone would expect from Kento Nanami. The photo showed him and Y/N in what seemed like an ordinary moment at a cozy, well-lit café—her hands wrapped around a coffee cup, his resting on the table beside her. They were sitting close, but something about the image made it feel wrong.

Y/N’s expression wasn’t one of comfort; it was a mixture of betrayal and shock. Her lips were slightly parted, but she wasn’t speaking. Her eyes were focused on something—no, someone—behind the camera, and the tension was palpable. Nanami’s face was unreadable, but his eyes, usually calm and steady, had a flicker of something unsettling—guilt? Regret? His hand, which was placed casually on the table, was pressed against hers in a manner that, on the surface, seemed simple. But looking closer, you could see the slight tremble in his fingers, like he was holding back something. His eyes never met hers, not in the way they should have. Instead, he was staring down at the table, at the spot where their hands touched.

What was truly shocking, though, was the small, crumpled letter partially visible under the coffee cup, its edges bent from being squeezed too tightly. It was addressed to Y/N. But there was no smile, no warmth in her expression. Instead, there was a quiet, unspoken question hanging between them.

Had he written the letter? Had he given it to her? And why was it so clear from the photo that she was already done, even if she hadn’t said a word?It wasn’t a moment of love or affection. It was a moment frozen between a decision and a realization, the weight of something left unsaid hanging heavily between them.

Fifth Photo:

The photo was nothing like anyone would expect from Toji Fushiguro. He was known for his cold demeanor, but this shot caught him at his most vulnerable—at least, in a way no one would have anticipated. Y/N and Toji were locked in a heated kiss, but it wasn’t romantic—it was almost primal. His hand was tangled in her hair, gripping it with a force that made her head tilt back, exposing the vulnerable line of her throat. There was no gentle approach here. No slow build. It was pure, raw need.

Y/N, completely caught up in the moment, looked a mess. Her lipstick was smudged, her hair was tangled and falling wildly around her face, and her eyes—when they weren’t squeezed shut—held a dazed and frenzied look, as if she couldn’t even fully comprehend what was happening. In one hand, she carelessly held a cigarette, the smoke curling up toward the ceiling, forgotten and almost abandoned, as if it didn’t matter in this moment. Her other hand was gripping the back of Toji’s neck, nails digging into his skin, as if she were holding on for dear life.

The intensity between them was palpable, raw—there was no tenderness, no softness in the way their bodies collided. Toji’s chest was pressed against hers, his grip firm, almost possessive, and Y/N was lost in it, her body leaning toward him, caught in the urgency of the kiss. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t graceful. It was reckless.

The background was barely visible, a dark, dimly lit room, adding to the feeling that this was a fleeting, chaotic moment—one that wasn’t supposed to be captured, yet it was. It felt like something that should have been erased, but instead, it was frozen forever. The cigarette, the way her body was slanted against his, the way he held her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded—it wasn’t just a kiss. It was fire and danger, a reckless dance that neither could stop once it had begun.

Sixth Photo:

The image was caught mid-motion grainy, distant, probably taken by someone on the street. Y/N was stepping out of a sleek black car, one heel already on the curb, the other still inside. She looked furious. Her lipstick was smudged like she’d bitten her lip too hard. Her hand was raised in a sharp motion mid-gesture. They seem to be in a mid-argument. Naoya Zenin was still in the driver’s seat, leaned over, clearly shouting something back at her through the open door. His jaw was clenched, face twisted in frustration.

You couldn’t hear the words, but the body language said enough. She was done. He wasn’t.

No smiles. No poised elegance. Just raw emotion between two people unraveling in real time.

It was the only photo where she looked like she wanted to leave

—and the only one where someone was trying to stop her.

Masuda stared at the spread of a mess on the table.

Six men.

Six moments.

Six different versions of Y/N.

“She’s a ghost stitched into all of them,” Hiromi said, voice low. “A different girl in every photo. The question is, who was she really? And why did she vanish without a trace?”

Masuda looked back up at him, face unreadable.

Hiromi tapped the photos one more time.

“Someone slipped this into the file, chief. No initials. No trace. Just the names and these photos. That’s not random. That’s someone telling us where to start.”

He let that sit for a moment.

And then, like a hammer to glass, he added, “I think we’re not looking at a disappearance. I think we’re looking at something worse. And someone out there, someone who knew her. Wants us to dig.”

Masuda didn’t answer right away.

But Hiromi could tell by the way his fingers tightened around the edge of the envelope.

The case is open now. Whether the department liked it or not.

Ꮺ ⋮ TAGLIST OPEN ! comment to be added to the official list of this series (in the making) —

@ratedrrrr @barbare2 @artist1936 @tojis-ball-sack @mangiswig @levimaids @poopooindamouf @ukhtlindi @gremlinartstudio @stardustquills @kingshitonly @levifiance @sakanelli-afc @theanaoevre @yu-uwu @personally4runa @indiewritesxoxo @sunahsvt @sakanelli-afc @ivy-vivii @gojoslovelylover @sukunaslilsocks @amberbrevily @eolivy @miniv1x3n @grignardsreagent @noooo-onee @penguinotapioca @ladytamayolover @getomeatrider01 @lucilles-witchery @van9lla

˚ 　 ⤹ 　 ❝ ©twstedfreak | all rights reserve to the owner. . . . do not plagiarize, steal, translate, or modify my work

[silens-oro]

Slowly We Unfurl (Well Enough Alone Companion Piece)

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Cut the Loss (companion piece) Part I Part II Chicken Hawk (companion piece) Part III Part IV Trespassing (companion piece)

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist

General Synopsis: A quiet night reflecting. Word Count: 927 Content Warning: no warnings. all fluff. A/N: This companion piece is brought to you by Lotus Flower by Radiohead. Here's some fluff to buffer the absolute nightmare to come :) please comment & reblog :)

Hawk let out a sigh when she reaches over to Pope’s side of the bed and feels nothing but rumpled sheets. Her eyes cracked open and saw that the room was still dark, stars twinkling in the sky outside of her sliding door, and she laid there for a moment contemplating whether or not she wanted to get up out of the comfort of her mattress. She could hear an indistinguishable sound coming from the living room, the television, she surmised, and decided to hoist herself up. 

Hawk threw a t-shirt and pajama shorts in, barely opening her eyes as she padded down the hall until she reached the back entrance to the sunken living room. A small table lamp illuminated the room in a soft, warm glow that didn’t quite reach the ceiling. The back of Pope’s head was facing Hawk, and Pope was sitting up on the sofa as the tv’s glow fell over his bare torso. She gently rested a hand on the junction of his neck, just at the edge of his curls, and she felt him twitch beneath her. 

“Didn’t mean to startle you.” Hawk breathed out as she kissed the top of Pope’s head before rounding the sofa and dropping down next to him. He was only wearing his boxer-briefs and his legs were spread just far enough to leave nothing to Hawk’s imagination. 

Pope’s arm instantly wrapped itself around Hawk’s shoulders to pull her flush against him, while his other hand pulled her legs over his thighs. His fingers trailed up and down her calf, down to knead under her foot for a moment, then made its way back up. He repeated those motions over and over, switching from leg to leg as they watched the tv. 

“What are we watching?” Hawk asked, eyes opening and closing as she fought the pull of sleep from Pope’s ministrations. Her arm was wrapped around his waist, palm flush against his chest as she also tenderly rubbed the bruised skin. 

“How the Earth Was Made” He replied with a shrug. The History Channel was already on the tv when he hit the power button in the remote, and he was oddly fascinated with the show the second he sat down. 

“Huh.” Hawk raised her own brows in response as she looked up at him. “Is it any good?”

“Stimulating.” Hawk chuckled at Pope’s dry response. Pope had been living with her for nearly a month and it had only been a week since they finally decided to take the proverbial plunge. The time they spent together felt natural, like they had been together for twenty years -and in a way Hawk guessed they kind of were. Kind of.

They were comfortable with each other because they knew one another. Knew their quirks, their likes and dislikes. Knew how the other operated.

Hawk and Pope lounged comfortably in the ambiance of the History Channel for a while before Hawk quietly broke the silence. 

“Something keeping you up?” Pope shrugged again, eyes staying locked on the tv. He was watching it, sure, but there was something going on inside of his mind that kept him occupied enough to not stay in bed as he had the previous nights. 

“Nothing in particular. Just couldn’t sleep. Old habits.” That wasn’t entirely the truth. A lot of things haunted him when he closed his eyes at night, things he couldn’t ever tell Hawk, so he did the only thing he was proficient at -he suffered in silence. Hawk shifted her legs off of him and scooted over to the other end of the sofa. 

“Come here,” Hawk beckoned Pope, patting her lap. Pope twisted to lay on his side, his face pressed into her thigh with a heavy sigh as he brought his legs up to stretch out. He rubbed his cheek against her, finding comfort in the warmth she radiated as he wrapped his arms around her waist. The feeling of his muscles against her body was her own kind of comfort that he provided, whether he knew it or not. Pope was strong, protective, and nurturing in his own way that Hawk was discovering through his own love language. 

Acts of service were big for Pope when it came to Hawk. He’d do things for her, not because she asked or expected it, but because he knew she appreciated it when he did them. He’d bring her coffee in the morning before she got out of bed because he got up before she did. One day she found him weeding the garden because he noticed some pesky intruders popping up in her bed of clarkias while they were hanging out by the pool the night before. Pope carried in groceries without being asked even though she told him she’d get them. The list went on and on in Hawk’s mind of little things here and there, and as she looked down at Pope, it scared her to think what life was going to hold with him.

It scared her even more to think of a life without him. 

Hawk flipped the switch off to the lamp next to her and darkness draped where the tv’s beams didn’t touch. She ran her fingers through Pope’s curls, occasionally letting the pads of her fingers run over his brows and his eyelids when he finally closed them. Hawk pulled the throw blanket that was hanging over the back of the sofa to cover them as she shifted just enough to get comfortable. It didn’t take long for both of them to pass out, finally getting some well needed rest.

please comment & reblog :)

[moni-logues]

Pairing: Bangchan x reader (afab)

Genre: friends-to-lovers but mostly just smut

Summary: Chan has just returned home from tour and you hope you aren't wrong that something has changed between you. Only one way to find out…

Word count: 7.8k

Content: hand job, oral (f receiving), chan pov in the last part

me: i won't repost stuff from the old blog Also me: ....

anyway, @minisugakoobies reminded me that this fic exists yesterday and I have been writing for Chan recently (don't ask, it's gonna take ages) so here we are. unedited. {note this was originally written as a single drabble and then I wrote two more parts to it so if any bits feel a little disjointed, that's why.}

* * *

It wasn’t weird and it wasn’t uncomfortable. But it was different. It was definitely different this time.   

Chan sat in front of you, between your legs, his back against your chest and his head in the soft space between your shoulder and collarbone. You leant against the arm of the sofa with your hands on his stomach-   

That was different. You had the hem of his T-shirt between your fingers, toying mindlessly, while your other hand rested on his warm, soft skin beneath it. He had one hand resting over yours, his fingers not exactly entwined with yours, but not exactly not.    

You’d held hands before. On occasion. Entirely casually, platonically. Except for the part where you wished it wasn’t casual, wished it wasn’t platonic.    

You’d had feelings for Chan for as long as you could remember, since you first set eyes on him. Honestly, you were used to it. Comfortable with it even. You knew you weren’t going to do anything about it and that meant it didn’t worry you. It would be your little secret and you would soak up all the time with him you could, you would enjoy all the friendship privileges he offered you and you would clutch them close to your heart in the absence of any actual body to hold.    

It was only before he went away this last time, a couple of months ago, that you felt something change. Something about how clingy he had been the night before he left, a little more tactile than he usually was. He was ants-in-his-pants fidgety and wouldn’t sit still. He was wrestling you into a hug one minute and then pushing you to the other end of the sofa the next. He held you so tightly and for so long when you hugged him goodbye that you had joked it was like he was going off to war. He had laughed only half-heartedly, which, for Chan, might as well have not been laughing at all. He had pulled back and looked at you intensely with his hands still on your waist and you had waited and waited for him to say or do something else but he just kept looking.   

“Are you going to like, actually leave?” you had asked.   

He snapped out of his trance and ruffled your hair.    

“Course I’m going! Why? Trying to get me to stay?”   

You weren’t, because you knew he was going to leave, anyway, that he had to go, but he sounded hopeful (or were you imagining it?).   

“Yeah. I did consider locking you up for a second, but taking care of one animal is enough; I’m not sure I could cope with having to feed and care for you, too!”   

He had done a proper laugh then and you were reassured that whatever had just happened, it was a blip, a glitch, nothing more. He had hugged you one last time, shorter, looser, and then turned to leave with a salute.   

Then he was back, hugging you just as hard, fresh off the plane (rather un fresh, actually, and he had the cheek to ask to use your shower!).    

And it was the same as it had ever been.   

But it was also different. Because he had told you so many times while he was away that he missed you; he had said ‘wish you were here!’ so often that you actually believed it; your gallery was full of ‘found you!’ photos of ugly statues and ‘thought you’d like this’ shots of architecture and souvenirs—souvenirs he’d actually bought and brought home for you. He didn’t usually do that.    

And now, there you were, with your hands on his skin and your cheek resting lightly on the top of his head and he was laughing at the film you were watching and taking your hand from the hem of his top, crossing it over his torso and holding it there. He closed his fingers over yours. Holding hands. You flattened your palm over his stomach and stroked sideways, the circle of your arms tighter around him, and you wanted to ask what this meant. Did it mean anything? Had he just been lonely on the road? Did he just want some physical contact? Were you just... there?    

You weren’t one to be stuck in indecision. You didn’t have the patience for it. You decided, when you first met, that you weren’t going to act on your feelings because trying to date an idol was an insane thing to do. And you didn’t need the stress.    

But you also didn’t need the long, drawn-out stress of a ‘will they? Won't they?’ scenario with one of your closest friends.    

And, if you were going to be really honest, you kind of did need a good fuck. And you’d thought about fucking him a lot, one might say too much. And if he was interested, if something had changed and he saw you differently now, well, then the bedroom was calling for you.    

“Chan?” you said quietly.   

He twisted his head a little. “Yeah?”   

“Can I... touch you?”   

You drew your fingers back, softly grazing your nails against his abs. He giggled.   

“What do you mean? We already are touching!”   

You slipped just the tips of your fingers beneath the waistband of his jogging bottoms and the waistband of his boxers.   

“No, I mean... touch you.”   

“Oh, sh-… Uh.”    

You didn’t move your hand; you felt his heartrate quicken, thumping back against your chest.    

“You don’t have to say yes. It’s ok if the answer’s no.”   

“Yeah, no,” he said. “I mean, the answer’s yes. It’s ok.”   

“Are you sure?” you asked.   

He swallowed and nodded and put his hand over yours, carefully encouraging it lower. “Yes, I’m sure.”    

His hand left yours as it disappeared beneath the fabric of his clothes and you couldn't breathe as your fingers ran over the velvet skin of his soft cock, which twitched on contact. As you pushed his trousers and his boxers down, you almost couldn’t look, couldn’t bear the thought of disappointment, after all this waiting, after every fantasy, but you needn’t have worried. Of course, it was fucking perfect. Just like the rest of him. You wrapped your fingers around his semi-hard length and he shifted.   

“You don’-” Then he hesitated.   

“Don’t what?”   

“Uh, you don’t have to be gentle...”   

Then he wrapped his fingers around yours, squeezed a little tighter, and your thighs squeezed, too. You chuckled, a little embarrassed, a little shy actually, a little over-awed.   

“Channie likes it rough, huh?”    

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was blushing; you could feel the heat radiate from his cheeks.   

“Um, well, uh-”    

He was stammering now and you were amazed that he could be bashful with his cock in your hand, shy even though he was directing you.   

“I like it,” you whispered and you felt a shiver go through him.    

He kept his hand over yours and you smiled to yourself because you should have expected this. Control freak Chan, perfectionist Chan, Mr ‘I’ll just do it myself’ Bang. It was cute. But you weren’t going to let him get away with it. You let him control you, let him show you how he liked it, let him get himself to the point where his breathing was heavy and his bottom lip was bitten between his teeth and his brows were furrowed.    

“Hey,” said, nudging his head with yours. “Who exactly is giving this handjob? You want me to just leave you to it or...?”   

He spluttered and stopped and immediately let your hand go. “Sorry, I-”   

“You don’t have to apologise; I know you. But I want to do this for you, y’know?” You turned your head and gently bit the top of his ear before pressing a kiss to it.    

“Yeah, got it. All yours.”     

“Thank you.”   

You had him panting again in seconds, because he had already given you his secrets, and when he tipped his head backwards and whined, it made your cunt pulse.   

“Ok, you’re right, you’re right,” he gasped. “This is better. Fuck... Oh shit.”   

He was moving like he couldn’t help himself, his hips snapping up, fucking himself in your fist and you could feel his thighs twitching, feel the tension coiling in his body.    

It was building in you, too, as you soaked through your underwear. He wasn’t quiet and every moan, every grunt, every gasp of your name made your head spin. You hoped it wouldn’t stop here. After all this time, something was finally happening and you needed it to keep happening, you needed him to feel you, too. A moan fell from your own mouth as you imagined him fucking you, imagined that it wasn’t your hand around his cock but your cunt. That he liked it even rougher when he was inside you. That the deep black intensity he had inside him came out. That he fucked you like he danced, with every inch of his body and every ounce of strength.    

“I’m-.. I’m-…"    

You didn’t need him to tell you. “I know, babe. Go on, make a mess. Make a mess for me.”   

With a shudder and a cry trapped low in his throat, he came, over your hand, over your fingers, over his stomach and his T-shirt. He was gulping in air with his eyes closed and a hand clenching and unclenching at his side.    

“Oh, shit,” you whispered as you swiped a finger through the mess on his skin. “Who’s going to clean all this up?”    

You raised your hand and brought it almost to your own mouth, then pretended to think twice before pressing down on his bottom lip. It was a bold move, you knew, but you were feeling emboldened.    

Then he opened his mouth and took your cum-sticky fingers in without a second’s hesitation. Would the night’s surprises never end? He licked your fingers clean and ran his tongue over your palm before he swiped his finger through the mess on his stomach and lifted it to your lips. You laughed.   

“I can do you one better.”    

You shuffled and climbed out from behind him, pushing him down and straddling him. It was the first time you had been face to face; you both blushed when your eyes met and you couldn’t stop the giggle that rose in your throat. He giggled back and you recognised that you were on the verge of hysteria; if you let that giggle become a laugh, it wouldn’t stop until you were both crying. You tried to rein it in, this strange, self-conscious shyness that was gripping you, this wild giddiness that made you want to scream with laughter and cry ‘I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!’. You were looking at Chan and you knew he felt it, too; his eyes glittered and then all but disappeared as his smile widened. He bit his lip to try to keep it in, but it was no use.    

He snorted and covered his face with his hands as a loud laugh bellowed forth. You never could resist his mirth. You were helpless to it at the best of times. He was curling over, his whole body shaking, and you were climbing off him, flopping to the floor, weak with it, the laughter sapping your strength and overriding any capacity for being serious. It was too absurd. That this had just happened. That one day—one moment —you were friends and the next you were making him come over himself, that he was licking his own cum from your fingers. That you had wanted this for such a long time and sworn off it. That you had no idea it might be something he wanted. That you never even thought to ask! That it could have been this easy? All this time?    

Your brain was elsewhere as your breath shuddered and tears streaked your cheeks. You thought you had got yourself under control: your breathing was shaky and your stomach hurt but your eyes were dry and you sat yourself up. Then you looked at Chan, face also tear-streaked, flushed with glee, and you both collapsed again.   

“Don’t look at me,” Chan said, his voice thick and wobbly with laugher some minutes later. “Don’t look at me, please, I can’t laugh anymore, but can you get me a fucking tissue or something?”    

You shut your eyes, scrunched your face, and pressed your fist to the bridge of your nose; you couldn’t laugh anymore, it would kill you. But you knew that if you turned to look at him, helpless and messy on his back, that another fit would catch you. You crawled to the end table and threw the box of tissues in his direction.   

“Thanks.”   

You leant back against the edge of the sofa and let your breath resume its normal rhythm, let your heart slow down, let Chan wipe himself up and tuck himself away. You felt him sit up as his knee knocked your shoulder and you turned so you could just see him out of the corner of your eye. He looked down at his cum-stained T-shirt and gingerly pulled it over his head. Then he looked at it, displeased. 

“This was clean on like, an hour ago.”    

“Oh, shit, sorry, dude. You want me to take the handy back or something?”   

He looked alarmed for a second. “Do you want to take it back?”   

“No.”   

“Good, neither do I.”   

“I would kind of like to know where the fuck it came from though.”   

“What are you talking about? You started it! You offered!”   

“Chan, you were holding my hand . We don’t hold hands! Look at all this shit you bought me!” You gestured broadly to giftbags and boxes, trinkets and jewellery on the coffee table. “Besides, I’ve always wanted it; you haven’t.”   

He stared at you, mute, looking like you’d just asked him a long division question. “You always wanted it?”   

“Yep.”   

“Why didn’t you say anything?!”   

“Because you didn’t want it!”   

“How would you know?! You never asked!”   

“Ok, well, did you?”   

He looked up; he looked down. He looked thoughtful. He looked a little apologetic. “I don’t really know,” was his eventual answer.   

“Well, there you go. That’s why I didn’t say.”   

Silence reigned and you didn’t want this to collapse, to fizzle into awkwardness.    

“Do you want it? Now?” you asked.   

“Yeah.” At least he sounded sure about that.   

“What changed?”   

When he looked at you and caught your eyes, there was a look there you hadn’t seen in them before. It was almost painfully soft, tender in a way that pierced your heart. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you like he was looking at something precious, something sweet. Then he shrugged.   

“I’ve never been away from you that long before.”    

“And?”   

“I didn’t want to be. It made me not want to go at all. And I couldn’t work out why it mattered so much. I’ve been away before. I’ve been here , even, and just been busy and not seen you for a while. But it felt different this time, somehow. I really didn’t want to go. And I talked about it and everyone told me I was like, the world’s biggest idiot. They all apparently thought—or knew?—I had feelings for you already and they all just said ‘tell her! You’ve got to tell her! Go for it!’ and I wanted to. I was going to, the night before I left, but then I realised I’d be confessing all that stuff and then just... fucking off. I didn’t want to do that. So, I... did nothing, I guess.”    

“Fair enough.”    

“You wanted it all this time? Me, you wanted me?”   

That he even had to ask was adorable, broke your heart a little. Who wouldn’t want him? He was everything you could have asked for and more; he ticked every box; he made your sad little heart sing like a songbird. And he still had to ask.    

“Since the moment we met.”   

“Shit.”   

“Shit.”   

“I had no idea.”   

He looked like he meant it, too: a little dazed, a little confused, just a hint of wonder on his face.    

“So, what now?” he asked.    

You shrugged. “You mean right now, or general future ‘now’?”   

“I guess both?”   

“Can I be honest?”   

“Yeah.”   

“Right now, I would really like to do something about how badly I want to fuck you.”   

And he was bashful Chan, again, his eyes wide and the tips of his ears pink, his mouth slightly open with surprise. You watched his Adam’s apple bounce as he swallowed.    

“I... am amenable to that.”   

“Want to try that again with something even slightly sexy?”   

And he blushed bright, covering his face with his hands. “Fuck, ok, give me a second.”   

You laughed and moved from the floor to sit opposite him on the sofa, your knees touching. You waited patiently for a second or two, then tapped his leg.   

“I’m flustered, ok!” he cried. “You’ve got me all... flustered. I don’t know... I-.. Agh. I swear I’m not this bad usually. I promise. I just--… this has really taken me off-guard! Fuck, I didn’t know. I-”   

You interrupted him to climb into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. He lifted his face to yours and you kissed him, just a light peck on his petal pink lips.   

“How about you let me lead, then?” you asked, your voice soft and low. “Can you do that? Can you let me take control?”   

He looked at you pleadingly, his eyes round and wide, and you were worried that it meant no, that he was going to say he didn’t want that.   

“Yes, please.”    

Fuck.    

With your hands on either side of his face, you pulled him closer and kissed him again, deep this time, deep and slow and breathless. He tasted of honey butter chips, which you had never liked before that moment. His tongue rolled with yours, soft and sweet and every bit as good as you had imagined. He whined quietly, just barely, when you pulled back, when you sank your teeth into the plush pink of his lower lip. When you looked at each other, nose-to-nose, his eyes were wide again, sparkling and bright and looking at you like you were the whole world.   

It wasn’t weird and it wasn’t uncomfortable and it wasn’t awkward; it didn’t feel like crossing a line or pushing a boundary; it felt like you should have been doing this all along. It was different for the two of you, sure, it was different. But you’d been ready for this change since you learnt his name, since he held his hand out to you and smiled politely. This different was good. This different was everything you’d ever wanted.    

* * *  

You could have kissed him forever. Would have were other parts of you a little more patient, a little more willing to take things slow. But you’d wanted Chan for weeks, months, almost years, and now he was finally here, beneath you, kissing you, hands skating softly up the curve of your waist, hesitating at your ribs.   

You weren’t hesitating. Not anymore. You pulled back from him so you could strip yourself of your top and you threw your bra with it. Didn’t give him a chance to react, to take you in. Just took his face in your hands and his bottom lip between your teeth again.   

“Touch me,” you mumbled, mouth still pressed against his, and you guided his hands upwards, cupped them over your breasts, prayed you wouldn’t have to keep coaxing action out of him.   

Because he had said he wanted it. He was kissing you like he wanted it. He had said so. Well, he had said he ‘was amenable’ to sex, which wasn’t exactly gushing enthusiasm but you would take it.   

“Chan,” you whispered, taking a beat.  

You sat back on your heels, inhaled deeply, and looked at him. He looked at you, colour high on his cheeks, ear burning, a little dazed, a little unsure.   

“Are you sure you want to do this?” you asked.   

You were crossing a line. That was certain. You were pretty sure that, if you stopped now, you could take it all back. You could rewind this evening and just be friends again. If he wanted. But going forward meant going forward . No returns. You would rather have him as a friend than nothing else, so you needed him to be sure now, right now at this moment, with your toes just over the line.  

“Yes!” he said, urgent, emphatic. “Yes, I do. I’m just...”  

 He groaned and dragged his hands down his face. He didn’t look at you when he spoke next. “I’m fucking nervous.”  

“Why?”  

“Because it’s you.”  

“What am I?”  

He looked at you then, wide and open and the cutest he’d ever been. His hands hesitated in the air, not quite reaching out for you, but not not. You held them, shuffled yourself forward on his lap again, pushed his hair from his forehead.   

“Hmm,” you said, contemplating his brow. You tapped it lightly with one finger. “I think you might be thinking too much about this.”  

“That doesn’t sound like me,” he laughed.   

“Close your eyes, Channie.”  

You didn’t. You kept them trained on his face. You needed to think now; you needed to slow yourself down so he could catch up. You’d had months to think about this, fantasise about it, dream about it: a thousand scenarios, a thousand acts, a thousand kisses... You had had time, you reminded yourself, to wait for this. Much longer than he had.   

And you still had time. This wasn’t a race. The ache in your core was persistent, was impatient, but you didn’t have to be.  

You put your lips to his and kissed him. Slow. Deep. It didn’t have to go anywhere, you told yourself, hoping that Chan was somehow getting the message, too. He didn’t have to be nervous, because you wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want to.   

You just needed to know what he did want and you would give him the time to tell you.   

Eventually, you felt his body relax a little; he leant back, shuffling down on the sofa and pulling you with him. He let his hands roam, grazed a nipple with his thumb a little experimentally until you moaned into his mouth for more. His hands were warm, like his heart, and firm, kneading at your breasts, pinching at your nipples and then pushing you backwards.   

With no hesitation this time, no nervous giggles, no shy glances, he put his lips around your tight bud and sucked. He kissed and he licked and he carefully grazed his teeth over you, fully absorbed in the moment. His hot breath against your skin made you shiver and his wet tongue made you wetter.   

When you felt as though he had traversed the peaks and valleys of your chest quite enough, you gave a tug at his hair and he finally flicked his eyes to yours. They were black and glazed and the look in them was like nothing you had seen from him before. It sent a thrill racing up your spine and you were about to tell him: how much you wanted him, how good that mouth was, how you wanted it elsewhere, but he spoke first.  

“I want to go down on you.”  

You choked, shocked out of your lustful stupor. You laughed. “I thought you were nervous!”  

His eyes lightened then, eyebrows raised. “Are you? We don’t have to- I-”  

“No!” You were quick to cut him off, desperate not to let him start thinking again, very happy with where his feelings were leading. “I want to. I want you to. Just... wasn’t expecting you to say it like that.”

The blush was back on his face but he wasn’t so bashful this time. Not quite. There was too much desire there, too much greed.   

You stepped off from the sofa and, in one smooth motion, pushed your leggings and underwear to the floor. You kicked them off your feet and rejoined Chan on the sofa, swinging one leg over him, leaning down onto your elbows to resume where you had left off. Your lips were almost touching when his hands came down onto your hips and he swore.  

“Fuck! Fuck, you are naked.”  

“Yes, that tends to happen when you take your clothes off.”   

His touch rounded your backside, another curse escaping on an exhale as his hands roamed this undiscovered territory. You took the opportunity of the distraction to kiss him, but it didn’t last long.  

“You’re fucking naked ,” he said again, as if it were really a wonder.  

“And you’re not ,” you countered.   

“Fair point.”  

And he slapped lightly at your bum to encourage you off him, so he could push his own trousers down, discard his own underwear.   

“Now we’re both naked,” you pointed out.   

When your eyes met, there was a frisson of tension that you’d felt before, and you knew where it was going, but you forced the laughter down, couldn’t collapse into hysterics – not again, not right now.   

“Is this weird?” he asked, thinking again. Always fucking thinking.   

“Only if you make it weird! Do you want it to be weird?”  

“No.”  

“Because it’s going to be if you keep saying it is.”   

You sat back in his lap, arms draping over his shoulders, as he rubbed at his face again.  

“It’s just...”   

He swore quietly as he nuzzled his nose into your neck, dragged it down your jaw and across your cheek until his lips found yours again. 

You could feel him beneath you, stirred, re-awakened, and it sent a spasm through your walls. You’d held him in your hand but what you wouldn’t have given to squeeze him in your slick cunt.   

“Chan,” you breathed out. “I want to fuck you.”  

He was kissing you in reply, moaning for half a second before he stopped. “Wait- no. I want to go down on you.”  

“Can’t we just fuck first?”  

You pressed your forehead against his, rolled your hips over him to make the point for you.   

“I just want to fuck you,” you whispered. “Please.”  

He shook his head slowly, carefully, still pressed against yours. “Later. I want to go down on you.”  

And you couldn’t deny that hearing those words, not once, not twice, but three times now, made you want it, too. Made you think about his lips and his tongue and fingers and the piercing, blinding reality of this. That it was happening. That none of this was a dream.   

“I owe you one,” he continued and you paused.  

“Owe me what?”  

“An orgasm. I had one. You haven’t.”  

“Are we counting?”   

He snorted and denied it. “No, I just think- I just want it to be even.”  

You smacked a kiss against his cheek. “Well, if we’re keeping score, we’re going to need some kind of chart.”   

He couldn't stifle his laugh and you joined him, letting a little of the tension go, aware that this could easily careen out of control, abs still hurting from the fit you both had earlier that evening.  

“I don’t want a chart, I just...”  

He looked at you and you looked back. The merriment fell away, discarded in an instant. Because this wasn't actually funny. Not really. It was hot. It was thrilling. It was frightening. You could see him thinking in those dark eyes, trying to find the right words; you wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to try so hard. Not for you.    

You could see him thinking in those dark eyes, trying to find the right words; you wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to try so hard. Not for you.   

“I want this to be good for you.”  

You resisted the urge to scoff, because you knew he meant it, and because this meant something to you. Something. Everything.  

“It is good for me,” you told him, lips close enough to touch his. You closed the gap and kissed him, firmly. “I want you so fucking badly.”   

He tightened his arms around you, crushing your body to his as he latched his mouth to yours. He still tasted like honey butter chips and you knew you’d never be able to eat them without thinking of him, thinking of this. You were definitely crossing a line. The line. And you could not contain your excitement. It smeared between your lips, slick beneath you as you rolled over Chan’s hot, flushed cock.   

“I want-” Chan broke away, breathing heavily, “I want to go down on you,” he said, with greater determination this time. “I want to eat you out.”  

Without waiting for a response, he tipped you carefully, moving out from under you, pulling your hips to the edge of the sofa and pushing your thighs apart.   

“Oh shit,” he breathed, just looking at you.   

His hands squeezed at your inner thighs as his jaw clenched. You had seen this kind of focus in him before: on stage, powerful and performing and dripping with sweat, determined to leave everything he had out there, to die before he gave up. A shiver of anticipation rippled across your skin and no sooner had it settled than Chan shifted closer, dropping a surprisingly chaste kiss to your thigh. Another followed it, then one more on the other side. He kissed you all over, some barely there, some that you knew would leave a mark.   

“You know you’re literally dripping?” he asked and there wasn’t so much as a hint of his former nerves, his bashfulness, but there remained a quiet awe, a slight disbelief at what was about to happen.

There was also his cheeky, little smirk, and eyes black as pitch, wide like an open mouth. Hungry.   

“I’m very fucking aware,” you retorted, the admonition undermined by your breathlessness. “Get on with it.”  

He rolled his eyes at you, playfully, like he had done a thousand times before. Then he did something he had never done before. With one hand gripping each thigh, he put his mouth to your lips and licked a broad stripe up to your clit. You quivered, whimpered, swore when he did it again, when he gathered all your arousal on his tongue and swirled it over your swollen bud.   

It made you forget every fantasy you’d ever had. You couldn’t remember if you thought he’d be like this or not. Couldn’t remember if you’d imagined correctly the soft, sweeping pad of his tongue flat against you or the hard flick of its tip. Couldn’t recall for even a second if you’d thought to imagine the way his hands would squeeze and pull at you. Had you guessed that he would moan like that? Had you dreamt the feel of his hair between your fingers?   

Your hips were moving on their own now, uncontrolled by you. Uncontrollable. You couldn’t stop them rutting against his mouth, couldn’t stop the noise resounding from yours.   

“Chan, fuck ,” you gasped as he sealed his lips tight around your clit and slipped two fingers inside you. “Like that, oh shit, like that. Please... Please...”  

He moaned in response, continuing precisely as he was, like that. Just like that. His tongue flicking at your clit like a switch that only turned on. His fingers curling, pressing hard inside you, pushing and pulling in one direction only. He was firm and precise and confident.   

You remembered the way he had, just minutes ago (was it really minutes ?), taken your fingers in his mouth, sticky with his own cum, after he had finished. You shivered with the heat of it. The thought of the taste of him mixing with the taste of you sent fresh arousal flooding into Chan’s hand; he was quick to catch it, his lips popping as his tongue slipped down to swipe at his sticky fingers pushing the juices from your pussy. The slick sound of it all made you blush, the noise of his enjoyment deepening the heat in your cheeks and your core.   

He let his fingers work for a second, his breath washing over your flushed cunt like a hot wind.   

“Fuck,” he panted, leaning back on his knees and tipping his head towards the ceiling.   

You opened your eyes when you felt his other hand leave your thigh, watched him squeeze at the base of his cock – so dark, so hard, so wet with precum.   

“You ok?” you gasped, still rolling your hips against his hand.   

He nodded, still looking skyward. “You’re so fucking hot,” he replied.  

His head fell forward and his eyes caught yours, the look in them making you suddenly shy, a giggle slipping out before you could stifle it. Though you needn’t have worried it would start the hysterics again because it was stopped short, cut off by the gasp elicited by Chan’s tongue, licking up your lips, circling your clit, teasingly light and then harder with every rotation.   

You gripped the sofa cushions tight, knuckles white, as the slow ticking of the pleasure bomb inside you grew faster, accelerating towards explosion with great intention. You knew it all too well: the tightening, the quivering, the deep, heavy drag that, in a split-second, sprang high, ricocheting from head to toe, gushing forward in a scream of delight.   

You flopped back into the cushions, sticky with sweat, chest heaving, head lightly spinning. Chan left a playful trail of kisses up your torso, onto your chest and your neck and then your mouth. He grinned at you, dopey and sparkling.   

“One all.”  

* * *  

“Please,” you gasped, voice still high and tight, breath caught in snatches. “Please, can we fuck now?”   

And the starting pistol was fired. You moved off the sofa and Chan moved with you, stumbling towards your bedroom, though he didn’t know why. Didn’t know why the sofa wouldn’t suffice, why it was somehow sullied now. Didn’t care. As long as this happened, kept happening, as long as he got to see you and hear you and touch you some more; his desire yawned open in his chest, awake and hungry. Let out of its cage.  

These past months, away from you, Chan had thought was for the best. His confusion and these feelings that he didn’t believe, didn’t understand, he didn’t want to face you with them. Didn’t want to face them at all. Because it wasn’t what you were. You were friends. That was all and he didn’t want to ruin it. Thought that he was sure to, somehow.   

But now it was a tangle of limbs and sticky skin against sticky skin. All sweat and salt and a kind of feverish urgency he hadn’t expected, hadn’t even dreamt of. He had kept his feelings on lock-down, thought they might go away if he didn’t prod at them, didn’t acknowledge them, but he couldn’t ignore them now: now with your mouth on him like that, with your hands roaming his body, as he swallowed your moan down his throat.   

This pent-up desire was free and he was dizzy with it. Tripping over his feet and tumbling to the mattress on top of you; making up for his clumsiness with kisses on every inch of skin his lips could reach.  

And you, asking, begging, again, one more time, still, even when his lips crushed yours and cut off your words; the second you broke free, you were saying it again. Fuck me. And he was going to, was about to, was pushing himself to his knees and then it hit him.  

“Oh shit,” he breathed, sitting back on his heels with a sigh, hands braced on his knees to try to catch his breath.  

“What?” you asked, similarly panting. “ What?”  

“Condom?”  

“ Fuck!”  

He watched you twist, your legs trapped between his, to scramble at your bedside unit. He watched your hand search and come up empty, drag open the second drawer and repeat its motions.   

“Do you have one?” you asked, head turned away, struggling to get to the bottom drawer without moving off the bed completely.  

“Why would I have one?” Chan asked back in a squawk though he wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt self-conscious, defensive even.   

“I don’t know; don’t guys carry them in their wallets or something?”  

“You’re my friend ; wouldn’t it be weird if I came here with a condom?”  

You turned to look at him, then. Sat up, naked, still squared in with his knees either side of you. You looked at him. Blinked.  

“I don't know, dude, you tell me what the fuck we’re doing here, then.”  

And it came out harsh. Chan blanched. Because what were you doing? Were you really asking? Had this ruined it? Because he felt guilty that he didn’t have a condom in his wallet. Like he usually did. Always did, though he couldn’t really have said why. It was the same fucking condom he had in his old wallet that he transferred over to the new one. The same one that he looked at before coming here tonight. That he wouldn’t have thought twice about before—wouldn't have even remembered it were there. But it was you and something was different and something told him that he shouldn’t go to your place with a condom in his wallet as if he expected something. As if something could ever happen between you. It was presumptuous. It was arrogant. It was foolhardy.  

But nothing about the night had gone the way he had expected it to and now... That fucking condom. If only he had it.   

“Sorry, you’re rig-”   

Apologising on reflex, his chin dipping to his chest, because he’d only gone and fucked it up by overthink-  

Then your hand was on his face and your lips on his, your fingers sneaking into your hair.   

“It’s fine,” you murmured. “It’s fine.”  

And he didn’t know if it was, but you kept kissing him all the same, so he kept kissing you back. Was it fine if this was as far as it went tonight? His cock said one thing and his head said another. Maybe it was better this way, he thought. Maybe rushing headlong into sex would be a bad idea. Mayb-  

You pulled away.  

“I’ve got some,” you whispered, your urgency returning as you scrambled off the bed. “One sec.”  

Oh, thank god. He watched you walk away, the fingers of one hand encircling his hot, heavy shaft, unconsciously, automatically, unable to stop himself. Unable to stop his heart racing as he looked down and remembered your own fingers around him. The softness of your skin. The jolt of arousal when you had teased him, like you usually did but also nothing like that.  

You returned before he had time to think more and extracted one shiny packet from a box which you then let fall to the floor. There was something about you that was shy: lips a little pursed, eyes looking away. He knew you well enough to tell that much.   

“Forgot I had these,” you said quietly, still not looking at him as you knelt on the bed and made your way towards him. “Bought them earlier.”  

Chan’s shock made him laugh.  

“In anticipation of this...?”  

“No!” your denial was swift. “No, it wasn’t like that! I wasn’t planning anything! I just-”  

But he didn’t care. Was laughing because it was he all night who had been flustered by this. It was he who kept saying the wrong thing, wrongfooted all the time by the turn the night had taken. He enjoyed it being you. Enjoyed that the dynamic between the two of you didn’t have to be entirely different. You could still tease him. He could still tease you.  

“I didn’t plan this,” you said, performatively sullen, pouting.  

“But you want it, right?”  

You laughed and pushed him back towards the head of the bed, not bothering to answer with words. You made him sit, made him once again cede control of his cock to you; he let your fingers wrap around him, watched as you stroked him slowly, as your wrist twisted. His eyes fluttered closed for a second, just a second, and when he opened them again, you had the condom packet between your teeth, tearing it open with your free hand. It was boring, really—a mundane gesture—but his dick throbbed, a drop of precum leaking from the top as you spat the empty packet away from you.  

“You sure about this?” you asked, with the tip of his sheathed shaft at your entrance.  

He nodded eagerly, barely able to stop himself lifting his hips to push into you himself. Then he stopped nodding, flicked his eyes to you because why were you asking?   

“Aren’t you?” he replied, a swoop of doubt flying through his guts.  

You nodded back. “I’m sure.”  

A swoop of relief. “I’m sure.”  

And then he placed a hand on your hip and used his other to hold himself steady, so you could sink down on him, slowly, with a long moan stretching to the ceiling. And, truth be known, if he could have, he might have asked for a second, just a second, to get used to it. The feeling of you. All warm and wet and tight and your burning skin so soft, and your lips so sweet and your eyes dark and sparkling like the brightest night sky. And his heart hammering in his chest like time was running out; his blood boiling, reduced to a thick, sticky syrup that he told himself wasn’t love, not exactly, but wasn’t entirely not. Just a second to gather himself not just because you felt so good but because it was you .  

You didn’t give him a second. No sooner than you had lowered than you raised yourself up again; you set an impatient pace, urgent, running towards something at breakneck speed. Chan, too, then was running. Chan, too, was urgent in his kisses, in his praise, in the way your name caught at the back of his throat when he felt your walls squeeze around him.   

He wished he’d had longer to think about it. Because he hadn’t given himself the chance to imagine this, to get used to the idea of it, to think about how good you would feel, how sweet you would taste. He hadn’t had the opportunity to picture you in his head before you were right there in front of his very eyes. Real. More than real. A kind of hyperreal that made him able to smell the sound of you and hear your taste. He could feel every one of your gasps in his chest. He could moan out the taste of your skin. He could smell your hair and it would feel like satin.   

It would’ve been less overwhelming, he thought, if he’d given himself an imaginary dry run-through. He would be doing better if he’d had a second. If he got a second to get himself together, he’d be able to get over the shock of it. He’d be able to get a hold of his senses and-  

You slowed. Sank down on him, as deep as he could get, and took his face between your palms. Took his lips between yours then slipped your tongue between them. Rolled your hips and moaned into his mouth. It was the tiny bite of pain when your teeth sank into his bottom lip that brought him to his senses. Like the tug on his hair before, the little jolt was enough to bring him around and he pulled back, determined once more to make the most of this for you.   

“I wanna move,” he said, mumbling the words against your mouth in a final kiss before you slipped off him.   

The fact that you then knelt, waiting to be told where he wanted you, made his guts clench. He traced his fingers lightly over your face and then pushed at your shoulder, encouraging you onto your back. He slipped his hands beneath your ankles and lifted, your knees bending as your thighs reached your chest.  

“This ok?” he asked.  

You nodded, settling your ankles over his shoulders, then crossing them and using them to pull him towards you. He laughed, because it was just like you, to never let him get the last word, to never quite let him be in control. He laughed because he liked it, in this capacity even more than any other. In the seconds before he sank himself back into your hot, wet cunt, he imagined you testing him, pushing at that boundary because you could, because he’d let you, because he knew that you liked this as much as he did and if tussling for control was the game, he wanted to play. Even if he let you win.  

As he snapped his hips with his hands tight around your calves, as your walls spasmed and clenched around him, as his ears filled with the slick squelch of his cock in your heat, his head felt clearer. Still hyperreal but in a way that made sense. When he tasted the sound of his name on your tongue, it tasted right. When he smelt the brush of your soft skin against his like roses, he knew. All his anxiety about fucking it up, ruining your friendship, everything that he had been hiding from while he was gallivanting about the globe, it was pointless. It was wrong. It was useless noise in his brain. Because he’d always believed he wasn’t worth it, wasn’t worthy of you, wasn’t worthy of getting what he wanted. But there you were, beneath him, every bit what he wanted and more. Every bit his.  

*   

“You know there’s no going back now,” you said, lying on your bed, stretching your arms and legs long, still naked and glistening.   

“What do you mean?” he asked as he returned to join you, condom neatly disposed.  

You turned on your side to snuggle into him, pressed a firm kiss to his lips.  

“This,” you answered. “We’ve had sex now so you can’t turn around to me and say you actually just want to be friends.”  

He laughed. It was preposterous to him that you might think he would be the one to change his mind. “I don’t want to be your friend.” 

“Good.” Then you piped up again. “I never really liked you much anyway.”  

He chuckled, knew it was a joke; knew it because it was followed by a smile that was all syrup, that left a sticky sweetness on his mouth after you kissed him.  

“Fat chance I’ll believe that. Horse is out of the barn, mate; you just said it yourself: you can’t take this back.”  

“Fuck. I guess you’re stuck with me.”  

“I think I can live with that.”  

[ageingfangirl2]

Imagine Being Bonten's Receptionist (Bonten x F Reader) - Tokyo Revengers

PART 9: DETECTIVES COME KNOCKING PT 1

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT TEN

The office is eerily quiet. It’s the kind of stillness that comes when everyone’s away on business or taking a rare break. Your desk is the only one occupied, with Bonten, the kitten, curled up in your lap, purring softly. You’ve been doing some light paperwork, occasionally scratching behind the kitten’s ears, when you hear the soft click of the front door opening.

Two detectives step in. You’re not sure how long they’ve been watching the office, but it doesn’t take long to know they’re not here for a friendly chat. Their suits are neat, pressed, a little too perfect for the casual chaos of the Bonten office. One’s taller, broad-shouldered, while the other is smaller, quicker, scanning the room with sharp eyes.

The taller one speaks first, ‘You’re the receptionist, right?’

You nod slowly, setting Bonten on the desk, noticing how the kitten’s tail flicks with uncertainty.

‘We need to talk to you,’ the other detective says, standing next to his partner.

Your calm demeanour never falters. You lean back in your chair, ‘About what?’

The smaller detective pulls out a notepad, flipping it open, ‘We’re investigating a series of serious crimes involving members of a local criminal organisation.’

Your pulse doesn’t skip. You knew exactly where this was going. You don’t react. The kitten is now on your shoulder, alert and curious.

The taller detective steps closer, setting his gaze on you with the kind of cold precision that usually breaks people, ‘We know what’s going on behind closed doors. We’re certain Bonten’s involved. And we think you can help us bring them down.’

The words are calculated, trying to push you into a corner. But you remain steady.

‘You think I’ll turn on them?’ you ask quietly. Your voice is light, but there’s an edge to it now.

The smaller detective tilts his head, trying to get a rise out of you, ‘We know you’re close with them. You’ve seen things. Heard things. Maybe you’re in over your head.’

You smile, and it’s all teeth. The kitten’s purring stops, and it seems to feel the shift, too. ‘I don’t roll over, detective,’ you say, your voice smooth as glass, ‘I don’t betray people who’ve had my back.’

The taller detective seems to hesitate for just a moment, sensing the wall you’re putting up, but then he doubles down, ‘We’ve got evidence. And we’ll make sure you’ll be right there when we bring them in.’

Your eyes don’t leave his, ‘You think I’m scared of your evidence?’

The smaller detective smirks, clearly trying to be intimidating, ‘We’ve got recordings, photos, witnesses…’

You raise an eyebrow, shifting in your seat, ‘You want to bring me in? You’ve got nothing. But how would it look if I reported you for intimidation and harassment? You chose to target a lone female, believing as men, you could overpower me, and when that didn’t work you threatened me. You want my employers, but you’re so scared of them, you came after a lowly receptionist.’

The two detectives exchange a glance. This isn’t how they expected things to go. The bigger one steps forward again, his tone dropping into something more forceful, ‘You’ve been with them for a while now. Surely, you’ve picked up something. Even if you don’t want to admit it, you must know the truth.’

You exhale slowly, hands folded neatly on the desk, Bonten hopping off your shoulder to curl up beside your keyboard. You let the silence drag out just long enough for them to feel the pressure. Then, you lean forward, your voice deadly quiet, ‘I know the truth.’

You stand, walking slowly over to the filing cabinet behind your desk. The detectives watch you, unsure of what to expect, but you don’t hesitate. You pull out a folder, thick with documents, ‘Here’s what you’ll need,’ you say, placing it down on the counter.

The smaller detective flips it open with a flick of his wrist, eyes scanning the pages. It’s a series of alibis, photos, and timelines — everything meticulously organised. He narrows his eyes, ‘You’ve been collecting evidence?' he asks, voice sharp with disbelief.

You simply nod, ‘I’ve been covering Bonten’s tracks, detective. You’ll find they weren’t anywhere near the crime scene you’re talking about.’

‘We’re not blind,’ the larger detective growls, ‘You think your precious Bonten can get away with everything?’

‘I don’t think,’ you interrupt, your tone now cold and controlled, ‘I know.’

You let him flip through the alibis and evidence — timestamps, photos, and text messages proving exactly where every single Bonten member was when the supposed crimes happened. The names of people who vouched for their whereabouts. Even a few more clandestine notes she’d taken herself, showing the members' business dealings that don’t line up with what the detectives think they know.

The smaller detective, realising what she’s done, pauses, ‘You’ve been watching them for a while…’ he mutters, voice tinged with frustration.

You smile again, cool and calm, ‘I’ve been watching out for them.’

You watch them for a moment, feeling the heat rise in your chest. They aren’t getting away with this. They can’t.

‘Here’s what you’ll do,’ you say softly, but with deadly intent, ‘You’ll take that folder. You’ll leave this office. And you’ll never come back. Because if you do, you’ll regret it.’

The taller detective bristles, ready to fight, but the smaller one puts a hand on his shoulder, sensing they’ve lost this round. He glances at the folder one last time and then locks eyes with her, ‘You’re protecting them, huh? Even after everything?’

‘No.’ Your voice is sharp, ‘I’m protecting myself. And you’re about to find out just how far I’m willing to go.’

They stand there for a moment, tension crackling in the air, but in the end, the detectives have no choice but to turn and leave. The door swings shut behind them, and the air in the office feels heavier.

You exhale, your shoulders slumping only slightly as you look at Bonten, who’s still lounging innocently on your desk. The kitten yawns and stretches, utterly unbothered by the near-miss.

‘That was close,’ you mutter, more to herself than to anyone.

You know this isn’t over. The detectives will be back. But you’re ready. You’ll be ready for whatever comes next. And if anyone dares to mess with your family again? You’ll be there, protecting them with everything you’ve got.

[whowrotethenote]

𝐀 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐕𝐢𝐞𝐰

A/N // A short set in the universe of Biggest Fan. This takes place four months after the Prom Night short.

Warnings // Angst // Profanity // Fluff...I think lol

Word count // 3.8k

Disclaimer // Part Three // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist // Main Masterlist

September 27, 2024

Well—he’s doing it again. 

I haven’t heard from him or Paul in over a month. Counted the days as they passed me by in a blur. The color in my life glitching. Just like it was the months leading up to that first time in the Hamptons. 

I don’t know who or what has captured his attention this time around. It’s irrelevant. My life has to keep moving or else I’ll fall into the deepest pit of misery, trying to fill the void he leaves every time.  

The trip to Belize was everything to me. It unlocked an entire new universe of feelings toward him. Deeper than anything romantic. I felt bound to him in a way that I do with people I’ve known for years. The way I can recognize the weight Demi’s footsteps in the dark. The way I can immediately acknowledge Chanel 9 and picture my mother’s face because it's been her signature scent since I knew what smell was. The kind of binding and familiarity only associated with one thing. That forbidden four letter word. 

I thought that week meant something to him. I was terribly wrong like I always am when it comes to him. Summer is over. No longer in paradise. The leaves are starting to turn. Nights getting unbearably colder. 

In a desperate-adjacent attempt to ignite some type of spark or color back into my life, is how I find myself fresh off a first-class plane ride to Green Bay and seated in one of the most upscale restaurants I’ve ever been in. Under the comforting ambient lighting, seated across from me, smelling of that overpowering and alluring Creed scent—is a man that promises so much more than what I’ve been given—and he hasn’t even said it outright. 

It’s wedged in the lines of how he had everything already planned, to the point where I haven’t lifted a finger or dug into my pockets once. The way he felt the need to emphasize that this is in fact a date. The way he spoke of the future and included me in it. 

I’ve said it before. There’s no guess work with him. I know what it is at all times. It’s healthy. It’s loud. It’s rejuvenating. I can breathe around him. I don’t feel so overwhelmed with emotions that I’m suffocating. I don’t have to hide, duck and dodge. I’m not in an underhanded competition with anyone or anything else. If I am, he does a damn good job at concealing it. 

I hate to compare the two. There’s nothing to be compared. Two different ends of the spectrum. Spiraled into my life at two different paces under completely different circumstances. Serving two different purposes. Receiving two different Lana’s.

Maybe I’m being spiteful being here with him. I don’t know entirely. I don’t know what to feel or even how to feel. The lines between right and wrong have been skewed since he inserted himself in my life. Only thing I was certain of, is that I needed a change of scenery and different company. Anything really that doesn’t remind me of him. The sad truth is he’s become a parasite. He’s attached hisself to all the best parts of me and most memorable factions of my life now. Making it nearly impossible to evade him. He’s everywhere. Everything reminds me of him. Even the man in front of me right now. 

Jaire Alexander. I already knew the basics about him from previous late night car conversation or the occasional FaceTime. But tonight he’s dissected himself in a broader manner. Summing up twenty-seven years of life into a nearing hour conversation. 

He and I have closer roots than I imagined. He was born in Southwest Philly. Only an hour away from where I grew up in New Jersey. His family packed it up and moved to the midwest just before he hit middle school. He’s the only boy, with two older sisters—which explains the unadulterated softness he displays despite being outline in secure masculinity. You can always tell which men have actually known and been around women before. They just move a little differently. 

He was a beast in high school—at least that’s the picture all the articles he showed me painted. Everybody just knew he was going places. The NFL was written in his story before he even received his diploma. That is until injury after injury sat him down earlier than he ever intended. 

“It was as if the devil had his hands on my shoulders, pushing all his weight down on me,” he describes. 

This all happened after the pillar of his family—his grandmother passed and his father went shortly after. His father wasn’t dead—but he might as well had been. Just left one day and never came back. So the injuries and clipped ball dreams hit him harder than he’d ever knocked any quarterback on the field. 

Offers reneged, benched for half the season of his senior year, and all hope disintegrating—he almost gave up on all of it. 

“But I’m resilient. And I knew if I wasn’t gonna do it for myself—the least I could do, was do it for my grandma. My mother and my sisters.”

And he did. He pushed through. Molding a way when there wasn’t one to begin with.

He tells me tales of his college years. Says he felt untouchable. The way he glided through the four years like a stingray in the ocean. Earning privileges his peers couldn’t fathom. More girls  than he could count, dropping to his feet—literally and figuratively. Willingly finishing his homework and him, for nothing in return but just the opportunity to say they did so.

“If I could spend a day and go back in time to any portion of my life—I’d go back to undergrad. They treated us like gods on campus, man,” he told me. A glint in his eye projecting the past. 

“And when I got drafted, it was like undergrad times ten. Only it was more on the line. Money just didn’t stop rolling in. Sponsorships—parties with people I had only seen on TV before—people breaking their neck to make me comfortable.”

He said he got a taste of that world and went a little too off the deep end. He was fresh meat. He had a target on his back and the vultures didn’t waste any time. 

“I almost got drowned out—almost lost myself, but God threw me a lifeline. I’m good now.” 

All in all, Jaire is a man. Filling in the gaps his dad left behind, he made something out of nothing. And after hearing him break down all his fears and the hurdles he hopped to get to where he is now—he’s earned a newfound respect from me. 

My phone lights up on the table next to my half empty plate. Wiseman. My heart skips a beat. Reality of the situation hitting me immediately after. Instead of racing to unveil the contents of the text message, I flip the phone face down. Cupping the back of my neck trying not to let these thoughts infect my brain and mood, but they double down. 

Who the fuck does he think he is? Who the fuck does he think I am?

I can’t even believe I let it get to this point. Spending nearly my entire summer in Miami in that condo where the ghost of him lingers every time he leaves. His scent burned into the sheets and the pillow. Steamy and woody smell of his body soap lingering after we shower and he leaves for the day. His shirts—wrinkled and thrown everywhere, leaving a footmark and telling the story of where we started and ended up upon his arrival. Background noise of Love Island playing, as we opt for the entertainment of each other instead. 

I’ll forever remember the summer after I graduated college as his summer. Actual days, lost in one another—following the endless trails, walking the different path’s of each other’s brains—mixed with long humid and lustful nights, turned to morning all over again. First time flying out of the country—exploring the world and seeing how other people live—and it was with him.

“You need to get that?” His voice thrusts me back to the present after sinking into a pit of nostalgia. Sinking so deep I didn’t even feel the consistent vibrating of my phone against the wooden table.

Flipping the phone back over, my lips tighten reading Wiseman again. I push hard on the lock button to reject the call before tossing it deep into the contents of the Dior bag hanging on my chair. 

“Nope.” 

“Hot commodity, I see.” He laughs.

“Not really.” I rest my chin in the palm of my hand. “What?” A smirk tugs at my lips as our eyes tip toe over each other’s faces. I can’t suppress the giddiness around him. Even in the wake of all the bullshit he’s ignorant to. 

He shakes his head. His tongue resting over his perfect top row of teeth for a second. “Still in shock I got you here.” A sting of guilt in my chest forces me to break our trance. Would I even be here if he wasn’t on his shit? “Am I overstepping by asking what all the apprehension was for?” He asks.

I blow out a breath searching for the right words. I don’t even have a rational answer for him. Playing house with a married man all summer had me taking the biggest step back from him. Calls unanswered. Texts responded to only when I got a second to duck off and coach Demi on what to say. No more parked car conversations. And all for what? For somebody that left me in the same state I left Jaire in? Ghosted, without any communication as to why, leaving my head to make up all the worst scenarios. 

“I think I have an idea.” He speaks again.

“Let me hear it,” I encourage. 

He pauses for a minute. “The normal. I was tryna sit in a seat already reserved for somebody else.”

If only he knew. I call myself forging a seat that is already full. The seat merely exists in my dreams. He never fails to wake up to this harsh and cold reality—that everything about us is temporary and none of it is for real. That he occupies way more space in my life than I ever could his. 

I adjust the diamond studded bracelet, now overflowing with different charms he’s added. 

“It's complicated,” I finally say.

“We all got complicated,” he counters. I stop for a second, really digesting him and his words. I’ve been so wrapped up in the telenovela that is my life, I think I’ve abandoned the fact that Jaire is still his own person. Selfishly, I’ve reduced him to just a character in my saga when he has own life, his own goals, and challenges—just as I. Women on his line probably in the same predicament I am with him. 

I need an anecdote for this hole inside of me. And no—not another person. The anecdote has to work with just me. Just Lana. People are going to come and go as they already have. They’re going to keep coming and keep going because that’s just the natural order of things. The toughest lesson I had to learn as a teenage girl—tossing and turning in the wee hours of the night, thinking every time the phone rang, it was the hospital calling to tell us the cancer had won. While the rest of my peers got to live in fantasy and fairytales—life was teaching me the darkest lesson that everything has to go eventually. Life, people, money—all of it.

I have to figure out how to be okay without anybody else. I have to be able to go on after he goes. Cause he clearly will go. 

His head flicks to the right in a slight nod. “Come on—I wanna show you something.” He stands, reaching into his pocket counting off bills. I’m stunned and mostly confused as fuck. Too many Benjamins for me to count land on the dinner table and he holds a big hand out inching to my side of the table.

So, I take it. Willing to go anywhere with him if it means not sitting here to wallow in self pity as the phone rings all night.

He leads us out the maze to exit the restaurant, stopping twice to sign his autograph and take a few pictures. I clutch the fox fur coat tighter to me upon meeting the brisk air of Wisconsin. The consistent fever of Miami had me spoiled. I almost forgot what cold really felt like.  

We’re not even all the way out the glass-door entrance of the building and onto the street before we’re being jumped. White and yellow lights at every turn from the faceless men shouting things I can barely make sense of.

He’s so chill and down to earth, I forget he is in fact famous. I use one hand to cover my eyes. The other rests comfortably in his while he leads me to the passenger side after retrieving the keys from valet. He moves with such confidence and ease, as if there isn’t a herd of photographers in his personal space—snapping pictures of a moment as intimate as a first date.

“You’re okay with that?” I study him while blinking at the blinding lights of cameras. 

He hooks his seatbelt before resting one tatted hand on the steering wheel. “Yeah, why? You got somebody you need to be ducking?”

It's so far off from cheating but this rush of excitement and anxiety is very reminiscent of cheating. “I can pay them to get rid of them.” He informs after I pause. 

Without thinking too deeply into it I shake my head. “No, we’re good.”

The phone buzzes in my hand again and I ignore the fuck out of it like the previous ten times. 

In Jaire’s territory, I couldn’t tell you where we are. We flew on the highway for a while, exiting onto a back-way of some sorts, until he led us to a dirt road with land that stretched for miles it seemed, with no signs of human life. I probably should’ve been scared. In this secluded space with a man I didn’t know, in a state I never been. But his energy—familiar and comforting like a hug from an elder—has me suppressing any type of anxiety. The occasional swipe of his thumb on my hand where we connected atop the center console, paired with glances that read, “are you okay,” every other minute—was enough to settle me. 

The headlights of his car cascade along a fence with a clear DO NOT ENTER sign hanging from it. Despite the obvious, he hops out anyway. Somehow unhooking and unlocking the chains to open one side for entry. 

I use this time to finally open the thread, floored by the endless texts in grey. 

He’s asking for you You left Miami? Is everything okay? I’m concerned now Call me back when you get a chance WiseMan 13 Missed Calls

I let all the angst out in the air that puffs from my nose. The fucking nerve. It’s been nearly two months and now I am expected to jump for him? Draining. That’s what this whole thing has been. He’s lifted me up—taken me to heights I never even thought I’d see at this age. Just as quickly he’s popped the bubble and I’ve been free falling since I last saw him.

It might sound ungrateful. He’s done so much for me in such a small amount of time. Got me through my last year of school. Gifted me a G Wagon straight off the lot and filled it with my favorite flowers. I live comfortably in the heart of Manhattan. Blending in with general wealth and nepotism. 

My life looks the way it did in a young Lana’s dreams, who snuck to binge Sex and The City and took day trips uptown just to gawk at all the designer through the window. This newfound peace of mind means nothing if it can be taken away just as easy. It’s stupid. I should take what I’m given, be grateful for the adventures and opportunity, and just leave with my memories at best. But that’s the thing. I’m past that now. It can never be just memories anymore. And it puts a chill in my bones to think it's just memories to him—if that. 

So when Jaire cuts the engine before rounding the car to open my door—I leave the phone and him behind. 

“You gon’ be okay walking?” He eyes my Shark Boots. “It's further up.”

“Uh…” I peak down, assessing the two thousand dollar, leather boots. 

“Just jump.”

“Huh?” I look back up. My confusions stumped, seeing his back to me.

I hop on and he carries me the whole way effortlessly. No huffing and puffing—not even breaking a sweat. 

Letting me down gently, I scope the scenery. I figured from the walk up—with all its twists and turns that we’d end up on a cliff like we are now—but the sight before me exceeds any imagery I thought I’d find at the top.

The whole entire city of Green Bay from a single vantage point. I felt like a god having access to this much of the world in one sitting.

He’s quiet and I’m grateful for it. The day turning to night. A pink glow on top of the skyline. Nothing but the whistle of wind surrounding us. Everything up here is just…quiet and still. So easy for your mind to go blank. 

“Surrounded by noise all the time. Big family. Always apart of a team. Games packed out with thousands of people screaming.” His hands rest in the pockets of his black jeans. “I come up here to drown all that out. Get a break from all the noise. Always so deep in everybody else—in the crowd—I forget about Jaire. Standing up here I remember. I can remember I’m still somebody too.” He steps down sauntering back to me. Sage eyes putting a spell on me. “You just seemed like you needed a second to remember Lana is somebody too. I don’t care who come and go—what’s easy or complicated.” I giggle as he bows his head making wide eyes. “Don’t let nobody drown you out,” he continues. “Not me. Not Mr. Complicated. Nobody.”

I never felt more seen by a man in such close proximity to the first time meeting him. It usually takes moving mountains to get a man to come to his senses and hone in. Not with him though. He’s almost too good to be true. 

I nod. Tears threatening to spill, but I suck them up. No more sad girl. I’m better than that. It’s a shame it took a man that barely knows me to tell me so. 

“Promise?” He holds out a long pinky adorned with a ring that winks at me. I hook mine onto his.

“I promise.” 

He steps back allowing me a path to the spot he left. In these less than comfortable Givency boots, I step carefully over and around the scattered rocks, over the sand and patchy grass until I’m on top of the same flat plated rock he came off of. 

The view is unreal. I can see everything up here, but it’s still nothing but echoes of silence. No noise. No world. No expectations. No worries. Just me separated from them. Separated from him.

“I got a game in two days,” he informs me. “I’d really like if I knew you was out there in the stands—watching me.” 

I turn still on top of the rock so his voice isn’t hitting my back anymore. “And you better not lose.”

He snickers. “With my good luck charm there? Never. I’ll have to give them motherfuckers the greatest pep talk of their life in that locker room.” 

My smile grows. The battle of my heart he didn’t even know he was affiliated with before today, lingering. Yeah, he lost a couple rounds in the beginning. He had all the right materials and couldn’t do anything with them because my attention had been abducted by someone who didn’t even deserve it. 

The better man might just win this time. 

Finally back in the five-star hotel room, I stare at the name on the screen calling again. I let it ring two more times before swiping.

“Paul?” But I can tell it's not him. I don’t know how I know—I just know.

“You left Miami?” His voice is authoritative—making the question sound more like a statement. “I don’t see your suitcase here.”

“I did,” I confirm after a moment. Heart skipping a few beats. From guilt? Excitement that I resent from hearing his voice after months? I don’t even know. 

“Where’d you go?”

“Back home,” I lie. Eyes shut tight. I’ve never done that with him. I never had to. 

He doesn’t say anything for a while. Every second that passes feels longer than the one before. And for a split second, I feel like he knows the truth or at least knows what I’ve told him isn’t the truth. Like he has his own eyes on me at the moment.

“I’d really appreciate if you came back, Lana.” 

Theres almost an underlying desperateness in his voice. Like his wellbeing depends on my presence—when he’s just demonstrated to me that it doesn’t. I remove the phone from my ear. Eyes opening at an agonizingly slow pace to face myself in the mirror. Why do I always feel so weak for him? So helpless like I don’t have any say over my own actions—my own body.

Staring back at the girl in the mirror I shake my head at her. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare fall for it…fall for him.

This game he’s been playing—it's unfair. It’s cruel. He’s set it up so he’s the only winner.

The overwhelming feeling he brings to me—congesting my mind and making me forgo all the contempt and smoke I previously had in the chamber for him. Then, the promise I just made to Jaire not even an hour before, forces itself to the forefront of my mind. He won’t drown me or my intuition out this time. 

I stick the phone back to the side of my face. “I can’t,” I tell him. Voice so delicate and pliant—not even hiding the fact that I can be easily persuaded. So, to eliminate any chance of it—I press that red button. He won’t win this round.

A/N // it’s been so long friends. so much has happened since my last update…still in shock btw. so let’s disassociate and be delu together in this au😂

1. what the helly is going on with Joe? why has he gone ghost again?

2. do you think Lana genuinely likes Jaire or is she just trying to fill the space?

3. this girl spent her whole summer in Miami—what do you think happened between them? (don’t worry a good portion of the rest of the shorts take place during this time)

4. he took this girl out the country😂 any thoughts?

5. do we think him going ghost again paired with Jaire’s new presence is enough to make her split from Joe?

As always, so grateful for everyone reading especially in light of recent events. Feedback is always welcomed💗

Next update will be another short about Wrestle-mania 40. It will be up every soon. If not tonight, tomorrow night.

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[sheaabuttaababyy]

Put on a show- JU

Jey x Lakiyah

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, flirting

You can read my other fics here

It was a warm summer afternoon as Joshua leaned against his car, adjusting his oversized Jorts that hung low on his hips, as usual. his chain glint in the sun, as his white tank, showing off his tatted muscular arms. His eyes focused on

Lakiyah.

His neighbour.

She was always so effortlessly confident— moving through the world like she owned it. Always catching her across the street, with her big gold earrings shining, her wrists weighed down with chunky gold bangles, fingers decorated with rings. Her style was always on point— low rise jeans, cropped shirts, a seductive aura that made every man’s head turn.

She was a kind of woman who didn’t have to try. They’d exchanged plenty of flirtatious glances and teasing words over the months, but that was about it. Nothing serious. Just the kind of playful banter that hung in the air. A "good morning, you looking good today," or a teasing wink as she passed by his front porch. Their silent connection had been enough to keep his mind occupied, and if he was being honest, he’d spent more time thinking about her than he cared to admit.

Today was different though.

When Joshua stepped out his house, stretching, the heat of the day setting in. And that’s when he saw her.

Lakiyah was out In her driveway, washing her car. She was bent over, back arched, her denim shorts so short that they barley covered her thick ass, leaving just enough to tease. And the way she was scrubbing the car? It was almost like she was putting on a show, for him. Every time she moved, body moving fluid and effortless, made his pulse quicken. He tried not to stare, but it was hard not to when she was right there, her drenched body, long legs and curves hypnotizing him.

Her white crop tank top was sticking to her skin, wet from the soapy water, and the way it clung to her body left nothing to the imagination. He couldn’t stop himself noticing the way her hard pierced nipples poked hard and visible beneath the thin see - through fabric. Josh’s pants became uncomfortably tight, his breath catching his throat.

She must’ve felt his eyes on her because, without a beat, Lakiyah turned her head, catching his gaze. Her lips curled into a smile, that familiar, mischievous smile. Josh could see the flicker of amusement In her eyes as she looked at him up and down.

"Like what you see?" Facing fully towards him leaning her palms behind her on the hood of the car.

Joshua smirked, crossing his tatted arms over his chest. "I do. But you already knew that"

Lakiyah’s smile only grew, and then she did something that made his heart race. A curl of her finger, the kind that could only mean one thing.

Come here.

He didn’t even hesitate. His steps were slow, as he crossed the short distance between them. The air Between them was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that’s been building for months. And now? Now it felt like it was going to break, wide open.

She didn’t move as he reached her, standing there, watching him with that same knowing smile on her lips. The way she looked up at him, her chocolate brown eyes full of fire, made his body tingle. He wanted her. Bad.

"So you’ve been watching me, huh?" Lakiyah teased, stepping closer to him, her breasts brushing against his hard chest. The heat of her skin sending a jolt through him, and she noticed. Her lips parted slightly, like she was enjoying every second of his reaction.

"I can’t help it" he murmured, voice low and raspy. "You make it hard not to"

She giggled, a sound that went straight to his dick. "Yeah? Well, now that you’re here, why don’t you help me out?" Her hand slipped up his chest, her nails brushing against his shirt, and then she tilted her head, gripping his chain tugging him forward, her voice a sultry whisper. "Come on inside…I’ve had a issue with a leakage, maybe you can take a look and fix it"

Lakiyah didn’t wait for him to respond, grabbing his hand she turned around, walking slowly toward her house with a slow, seductive sway to her hips. Every step she took caused her ass to jiggled, as Joshua watched every movement of her body. His body on fire as she led them in.

As soon as that door clicked shut behind them, Joshua felt his body get pushed against it, trapping him between the door and herself. His heart thumping as she gazed up at him.

"Been waiting for this" she whispered, stepping closer, lips brushing against his ear. "You’ve been staring at me for months baby… now it’s time to see how much you want me"

Not being able to hold back anymore he gripped the back of her damp thighs lifting her up, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist as she let out a gasp at the sudden motion. His lips crashed against hers into a heated kiss, their tongues clashing as her arms wrapped around his neck gripping a fist full of his hair.

"Been wanting to kiss these lips forever" he spoke against her lips and she moaned at his words.

"I wanna taste you"

Lakiyah pulled away smiling, standing back on her feet. She walked towards the open kitchen, where the marble island was. Slowly she pulled her shorts down her body along with the black thong, bending over a little just so Joshua could get a peek at her pussy lips, before taking off the thin piece of fabric, showing her pierced nipples.

She hopped on the counter, spreading her legs apart slowly, exposing her glistening cunt to him.

He blinked, not believing this was happening right now. The neighbour he’s been attracted to for months is here naked for him. His dick was rock hard.

"Come here baby. You said you wanted to taste me? Go ahead then" she giggled spreading her lower lips apart.

He walked to her, dropping down on his knees. Without another word he dove right in, groaning at the sweet taste of her. "Oooh shit" she whimpered gripping his hair as he devoured her like a starved man. His thick tongue flicking at her clit, before dipping inside her hole. "Fuck Joshua, you eating this pussy so good" pushing the hair that came loose from his bun back, his eyes set on her as he continued to eat.

He stopped just for a second to put two fingers in her, his eyes watching her react to what he was doing to her. "You taste so fucking good kiyah, pussy so fucking wet" the sound of his fingers thrusting in and out was so loud. His tongue came back onto he clit, sucking it softly into his mouth causing her back to arch, slightly thrusting her hips against his face.

"Oh shit I’m coming." His lips sealed tighter around her bud, his fingers moving faster, greedy to taste everything she had to offer him.

With a loud moan she came. Gushing against his fingers and face as he happily lapped it up.

She sighed as Josh came from between her legs, face wet and messy with her juices. She laughed lightly, gripping his face lazily, pulling him close to her. Her tongue darted out licking the remaining juices around his mouth.

"Look at you. Ate my pussy so greedily don’t even know where I’ve been. Your such a nasty boy Fatu."

"I’m your nasty boy" he moaned out wrapping his lips around her pierced nipple.

"Yeah? Come on and fuck this pussy then" her hands reached for his pants tugging them down. She bit her lip seeing the size of him, and hummed. Thick with a slight curve.

She spit in her hand, holding it out to him so he could spit into it too. Spitting onto it, she placed their mixed saliva on his dick, jerking him off. "Ahh shit" he groaned leaning his head onto her shoulder. Spreading her legs she guided him to her entrance, teasing his tip on her clit.

They both moaned out as she pushed the head of his dick into her, stretching her out, taking a deep breath as she pushed him into her.

"Oooh shit, your big" hissing a little at the stretch as they both watched it going fully into her. He let her adjust before, pulling back a bit. He thrusted into her, as she yelped.

He repeated the motion, wrapping a hand around her neck, the other gripping a hand full of her ass, right leg wrapped around his waist. "Yes fuck me just like that" Lakiyah moaned straightening up, wrapping her arms around him, matching his thrusts.

"Your pussy so good Kiyah, you gone get me even more obsessed" both hands gripped her ass, lifting her off the counter, bouncing her on his dick, titties jumping up and down in his face.

"Look at you making a mess on me mama" she leaned back, arms still around him so she didn’t fall, as they looked at the creamy, wet, beautiful mess between them. Her cunt clamping around him tightly.

"You gone make me nut, fuck Kiyah" he groaned bouncing her on him faster. "Me too Joshua, fuck" she came with a scream, squirting all over his lower half and onto her wooden floor.

"Fuck, fuck. Where you want it mama?" He asked his thrusts becoming sloppy.

"In me." She murmured against his ear, biting it. His body shuttered, stumbling over back to the counter, leaning her against it as he came deep inside her.

"Whew shit" he breathed out kissing her lips. "I think I fixed that leak" playfully nibbling her neck and they both laughed.

🏷 @charmed-dreamssss @usoinked @mselenalovebug @theusotwinzcom @bloodlineslut @trippinsorrows @catxo @whowrotethenote @uceyliyahh @adoreesun @christinabae @mjonthetrack @4milly @punksyeet @luvrsluxe

[unholybacon355]

Extra Credits

G!P Winter x Im Nayeon

Word Count: 9.2 K

Masterlist

A/N: Do you still remember me? ahahahah I have been busy lately, but finally manages to come back with something "new". Well, if you follow me you will know this is a rewrite of one of my stories from my Kinktober run from last year. I loved so much writing this the first time, so i had to do it again but adding some thing. I didn't knew it gonna ended being this long, but at least was fun to write.

Hope you have fun reading it too.

Of course there were rumors, but there always has been rumors about professors doing that. Not just here, but probably at every university around the world. The thing is that Minjeong never imagined herself being involved in something like that. Also Minjeong never thought that she would need to be on her knees in order to approve this class. She came to Professor Nayeon's office to ask, or beg if necessary, for a chance to earn some extra points to increase her grade and pass her class. Minjeong was thinking of something like extra homework, a special test, maybe even doing Professor’s laundry,  or in the worst case giving her a massage. But nothing remotely close to being on her knees with her face buried between Nayeon’s thighs.

To be honest she had to perform that massage, that was exactly what led to this situation. Because when her professor saw she was willing to do almost everything for not failing her class she took advantage of that. “You should have paid more attention to my lectures instead of gossiping with Yizhuo at the back of the class.” The stare on Nayeon's eyes was severe. “You can’t do a special test, that would not be fair for the rest of the students, those who really paid attention to what I said, but you still can earn those points.” Minjeong was waiting patiently to know what that assignment would be. “ See. Being an attractive and young professor has its pros and cons, and one of their cons is that I have to wear these heels every day.” Minjeong wasn't understanding where this was going, but didn’t dare to interrupt her professor. “ My feet feel so sore that I would really use a massage.”

So this was her task, just give her professor a simple massage on her feet. Just a few moments of discomfort for her and with that Minjeong could save her semester. It wasn´t that terrible, at least she won't have to touch Nayeon's dirty laundry. “I can do that. I’m not an expert but I'm going to give my best to leave your feet all rested and feeling good.” 

“Good girl. Of course you can´t tell anyone about this. This would be our little secret.” Minjeong moved her head in a sign of aprovation. “Now let’s get into it.” Without hesitation Nayeon reached her feet and slipped her heels off. A moment later her feet were resting over her wooden desk, waiting for Minjeong to touch them.

“No- Now?” The student wasn’t expecting to do such a thing right now. Nayeon didn’t even cleaned her feet or something, she just got rid of her shoes and that was all. 

“I have to report the students' grades by the end of this week. If it isn't right now then going to be never.”

So Minjeong was left with no option. Or she gives Nayeon a massage on her feet or better be looking for a good excuse to give to her parents to explain why she failed this class. To be fair, the first option looked so much better, that’s why Minjeong rolled up her sleeves and began giving the older woman the said massage. “Mmmm… Mis Nayeon. By any chance do you have lotion or some kind of corporal cream?” Minjeong saw in a movie that they were doing massages with that kind of things, so she decided to give it a try. For her luck Nayeon was vain enough to have lotion on one of her drawers. 

Minjeong poured lotion into her hand and then spreaded over Nayeon’s foot. The professor let out a sign of relief  when the cold lotion touched her skin and Minjeon’s finger started to work. In fact Nayeon’s feet felt like she was needing that massage with urgency, and her student was giving her best here.

“That actually feels good, maybe you’re earning those extra credits.” To be fair the student was doing a good job, even with her lack of experience in the matter. Nayeon was sitting very comfortably with her head hanging back and her hands resetting over her tummy. The professor was for sure enjoying this. Minjeong wasn’t.

Nayeon’s feet were quite popular among her weird classmates, males mostly, but Minjeong wasn’t one of those freaks. Even with her pedi being impeccably done in a silver tone, matching with her hands, Minjeong felt nothing doing this because she was touching someone else's dirty feet. Well, Nayeon’s feet weren’t dirty, the professor was spotless; but Minjeong still was a little bit disgusted by this. 

The only good thing she was getting for this agreement was that she had free rein to look at Nayeon’s legs, and that was something she liked a lot. Her professor had perfectly sculpted legs with fine calves and in some way, for a woman with her contexture, meaty thighs. Nayeon’s silky legs have always been a great distraction for Minjeong, and now that she is resting with her head hanging back and her eyes closed, is the perfect moment for her to appreciate them. 

The student's eyes wandered from Nayeon’s ankles to her thighs, and came back to her ankles again. Not missing any detail and trying to carve into her memory how absolutely wonderful Nayeon’s legs were. Was where her eyes ventured further into her professor´s thighs that she noticed something that made her blush. 

In order to sit how she was doing, and being able to open her legs to let Minjeong perform the massage, Nayeon had lifted her skirt. But maybe she lifted it a little too much because her inner thighs were on display, and Minjeong could swear she saw something more; maybe it was her imagination or maybe not. In any case the student focused again on what she was doing, instead of looking like a horny teenager at her professor's legs, with her face blushing because of the shame.  

But there is a saying that goes "Curiosity killed the cat", the thing is that Minjeong is not a cat, so she looked again. This time was more evident, or maybe the skirt magically rolled a little bit up, Minjeong really could see a glimpse of her professor’s underwear. Still not much but enough to tell the garment is white. 

A sound of satisfaction came from Nayeon's mouth and made Minjeong move her head so fast that if this were a cartoon instead of real life, her neck would have sounded like a whiplash. Her face was red, she could feel her cheeks burning. She should just focus on the massage instead of checking out her professor. Better do this quickly and return home because it was getting late.

“You said you aren’t an expert, but you’re making me feel like I was wasting my money paying for massages.” That probably was a lie, but Minjeong appreciated it anyway. “ Can you stretch my toes a little? Wearing heels all day compresses them a lot.” Saying that Nayeon sinked  more on her chair and separated her feet a little bit. 

“Ok Miss Nayeon. I’ll do it.” Minjeong tried to sound normal but from inside she was panicking. She just saw her professor’s underwear, a dream for what some of her classmates would have killed. Nayeon was quite popular among the students for being pretty and always acting funny. She was not as mean as the other professors, and always was wearing formal outfits that accentuated her figure. Nayeon was hot and she knew it, but she has never insinuated to any student. Of course there were rumors, but hot professors always got those kinds of rumors on them. 

Again with the thought that she wasn’t a cat, and with her face feeling considerably less red, Minjeong was debating if she should look again or not. Maybe a little and quick look just to have something to remember, that could not do any harm to her. So taking her time, and without stopping the massage, Minjeong’s eyes started wandering again across her professor's legs. Going up at a slow pase in case she needed to look away, but never stopping to go forward. Soon her gaze reached the point she was looking for, but what she saw this time almost made her jaw drop to the ground.

There was Nayeon, her professor, laying on her desk chair with her skirt wrinkled around her waist and her legs slightly open. Minjeong didn’t look when Nayeon changed her position, but now she was clearly seeing a lot; because with the skirt out of her way and with her legs this open the student could perfectly see her professor’s panties. 

Of course Nayeon was wearing lingerie, and of course was a thong just big enough to cover her private parts. That sight made Minjeong droll almost immediately, and leave her feeling like she was witnessing a work of art that wasn’t meant for her eyes, as if she were standing in the middle of a private galley.

Minjeong swallows hardly the knot that has formed in her throat. If her classmates would gladly commit crimes for touching Nayeon's feet she was sure they would do terrible things to have the chance she's having now, to be able to see her professor's crotch as she was seeing right now.

And as far as Minjeong could see, her professor was completely shaved. She could swear that Nayeon's skin on that spot was softer than her legs, and she really wished she could massage that tender skin instead of Nayeon's feet. Minjeong even could swear she could see something through the lace fabric of the panties. All she needs to do is close her eyes a little to have a better focus on the spot, and…

“Ahem!! Are you enjoying the view?” Poor Minjeong was so focused on checking Nayeon that she forgot to keep her hands moving and she was just holding Nayeon’s feet in place. Now her professor was staring at her with fire in her eyes and a crooked smile. After all, maybe Minjeong was a cat.

“N-no. Miss- professor. I… I…” The words were crowding in her throat and could not come out. Minjeong could feel how her face became as red as ever has been before, she was sure her face could serve a lighthouse in the middle of a storm. She practically could feel her cheeks burning for the shame of being caught looking at her professor´s crotch. “I can explain-”

“Explain what? That you are a pervert?” Despite calling Minjeong like that ,Nayeon didn’t cover herself, her skirt was still around her waist. 

“Nooo was just an accident. I didn’t mean to spy you.” Minjeong knew she was fucked up because she was caught staring directly at Nayeon’s crotch, there is no way she could get away from this. Maybe instead of failing one class she would end up being expelled, what an improvement. 

“I knew you were a pervert, like all your classmates, but never expected you to be so blatant.” Nayeon still didn't cover herself and Minjeong didn't know where to look. Her eyes were wandering across the decorations and various graduation certificates that suddenly became very interesting. Everything to no laid her eyes on her professor’s face. “Why don't you want to look at me? You were staring a moment ago.” Nayeon had her in her hands.

Suddenly Minjeong fell on her knees and gathered her hands making a gesture as she was praying to a superior being. “Please don't tell anyone.” There was no way that Nayeon could explain this to someone without getting herself in trouble, but she could lie and tell that Minjeong snuck in her office to do perverted stuff. Being a professor could guarantee easily getting away with a lie and put all the blame on her student.

“Aaaawwww!! You look so cute begging, maybe too cute.” Minjeong was waiting for a “but” and then Nayeon would sent her to the dean's office. What wasn't expecting was Nayeon, who still has her legs parted, to caress her ear with… a foot? Minjeong was frozen in the spot because her professor was using her bare foot to play on her ear. 

This was much more inappropriate than her massaging her professor's feet, but what came next was worse. Nayeon moves her foot across Minjeong cheek to her mouth and presses her toes between her lips. The student still didn't understand what was happening but for some reason allowed her professor toes into her mouth. 

“Suck it, come on. Now you need to be more proactive if you want those extra points.” The original deal was just a massage for those points, but being honest Nayeon never really said what were the characteristics of their deal; so poor Minjeong had no option but suck.

The taste was bad, after all Nayeon's feet were covered in lotion, so that was what Minjeong felt in her mouth. Feet wasn't her thing, so Minjeong put zero effort on sucking it, and after a moment the foot was separated from her mouth. “Ok, fine. If you don't like it then you can suck something else.”

If putting a foot in her mouth and making her suck it wasn't enough to earn those damn extra credits, the next idea Nayeon had definitely has to be. To Minjeong's surprise, for like the third or so time in the evening, Nayeon raised her hips and with a long single movement slid her panties down her legs. “Come here to have a better view and put your mouth to work.” 

The foot came back to Minjeong’s face but this time was used to press her head closer to Nayeon, and because she was on her knees it was impossible for her to resist. So Minjeong now was facing directly Nayeon’s most private area, and as she could see, her professor was completely waxed and pristine. “Hurry up and start eating.” Nayeon said with her knee resting placidly on Minjeong's shoulder.

“But.. But this is too much. I wouldn’t do it.” The student shook her head protesting for the new task given to her, but her eyes were still glued to her professor’s crotch. 

“So you don’t want to pass my class? Ok, but you will have to take this course next semester and I’ll make sure you end up in my classroom again.” The smile on Nayeon's face shows how she was enjoying pushing her student between the sword and the wall. “You already know I’m head of the Chemistry department. Is so easy for me to make you fail again and again…”

In Minjeong's opinion, and despite that she was enjoying the view, this was so unfair. She just came here for a few extra points, just a little help to not fail this class, and now her professor is taking advantage of that. But what Nayeon said left her with not much options, if she reprove Chemistry her parents are going to be so disappointed and mad at her that probably going to have her studding during all the vacations. All that because Yizhuo couldn’t stop updating her about the most juicy gossip in the campus. But these stories weren’t as juicy as what she had in front of her eyes.

Honestly Nayeon was hot, Minjeong has no problem admitting that, so hot that is definitely out of her league. A young professor so smart that she is already head of her department, a respected academic, an extortionist, in short a very hot woman offered to her on a silver platter. And who was Minjeong to say no? She was already salivating and all she had to do was eat her professor. Give her a good moment, also enjoy the process, and at the end of the day she will pass her class and luckily don't have to deal with her again.

“Ok…” The tone was much more of defeat than she actually felt. “I’ll do it.” All what she received in return was a giggle and a gentle push on her back. With Nayeon thigh pressed against her cheek Minjeong finally sealed her lips over her professor’s other pair of lips, in a shy kiss. Was no surprise to her that Nayeon was already excited for this, her folds were already beginning to shine with her own nectar like dew on the grass in the morning.

The taste was a hundred times better than that of her feet, an improvement that sent Minjeong in an ecstasy that she wasn’t expecting to reach anytime soon. The girl wasn’t getting laid and this is the closest she has been in months to actually having sex. Not because she didn't want to or because she wasn’t popular, but because she was so busy studying. Studying other things because obviously not chemistry, otherwise she wouldn't be in this situation. 

As Minjeong thought Nayeon’s skin was so soft there, so delicate, she felt like she was kissing silk or something similar; not even Nayeon’s legs were as soft as her private area. Suddenly Minjeong has the urge to know if her professor’s insides were as soft as her skin outside, so she softly pushes her tongue between the delicate folds parting them and gathering some of the nectar. The muffled sound of a sigh came from Nayeon´s mouth, a single proof that Minjeong was doing good to use her tongue.

The tongue was going deeper and deeper and soon Minjeong was eating with a new found hunger, putting on it all the effort she didn't put into sucking Nayeon's foot.

Nayeon used her hand to cover her mouth in an attempt to shut her moans, which were slowly increasing in volume. Minjeong wasn't that good at giving head, but clearly she was doing something good here. Much better than the massage. That, or maybe her professor wasn't getting laid either. The other Nayeon’s hand has a tight grip in the chair.

With gentle touches with her heel, more like rubbing than anything else, Nayeon encourages her student to keep being proactive. Her hand is now more busy than ever trying to mute her moans because even when this part of the building is almost empty at this time of the evening, never is good having such sounds of pleasure coming out of a professor's office.

As Nayeon tries to mute herself, Minjeong's tongue keeps exploring the insides of her entrance. Soft, warm and wet was all that Nayeon’s cunt was, the ideal environment to maintain Minjeong busy eating and drinking all of her nectar. A task that the student was doing gladly because it is the best nectar she has drunk in a lot of time, or maybe in all of her life. That to be honest hasn’t been a lot of times.

Minjeong keeps eating using her tongue and lips to do a proper job, just navigating by instinct to finally earn those extra points. Maybe being a little bit more proactive, as Nayeon said, would help her in this task. So Minjeong decided to do a bolt movement and push apart her professor's leg. Making more room for herself. The new position allows her to eat better, and Nayeon seems to be grateful for that because she uses her heel to rub Minjeong’s back once again. 

When Minjeong was spacing out just thinking about eating and how good her professor's taste was she felt a gentle hand over her head, long fingers interlocking with her hair and capturing her to maintain Minjeong in position. As if she wasn't already trapped under Nayeon's knee. Besides that, who would try to run from this? Certainly not Minjeong, despite being reluctant at the beginning now was enjoying the process of eating out her professor.

It wasn't long before Nayeon let go of Minjeong's head and used her hand to grab the arm of the chair again. If the student had been able to see, she would have noticed how her professor was gripping the chair tighter than ever. It was very clear that Nayeon was close.

Even when Minjeong was sure she wasn't that good at giving heat, especially to women, she made her professor come really fast. If this would have been a male professor it would have been really embarrassing for him, but since it was Nayeon there was no shame in having an orgasm in just five minutes. Maybe after all Nayeon wasn't getting laid at all.

After a few uncontrollable shakes of her body and holding Minjeong in place to rub her vulva against her mouth, Nayeon finally released her student for the embrace of her legs. “I was needing that.” The professor said still having trouble breathing normally, the only visible aftermath of her recent orgasm. Well, that and the fact that her hair was a little messy.

“Now you earn the right to have a special test.” Nayeon said, putting her feet on the ground and approaching Minjeong to clean out her own juices from her mouth and chin. After rubbing the sleeve of her blouse in the face of the student for a few moments Nayeon decided she was clean and let her go.

“Test?... But…. But… You said after eating you out I'll earn those points.” 

“I didn't say anything about that.” Nayeon had a sinister smirk on her face. “You had to give me a massage, and since you didn't do it because you were busy checking me out, consider giving me a head as compensation.” That wasn't fair, but once again the professor was right since she never said oral sex was part of the deal for the extra credits. 

Minjeong needs to be more careful here or Nayeon would keep changing the deal and adding tasks. Now she's talking about a test, what next? “A test?” Minjeong asked with puppy eyes and fearing the answer. “But you said you couldn't.”

“Yes, but I'm the head of the department. Also no one besides you and me is going to know about this.” As she said that, Nayeon grabbed some baby wipes from god knows where and used them to clean her crotch of all the remnants of her orgasm and Minjeong's saliva.

“Ok, but Professor. You have to promise this is the last thing I have to do.” Minjeong didn't know why she was still on her knees since no one was stopping her from standing up, but for some reason she thought defying Nayeon's authority wasn't a good idea. Even when she was drawing a line and making her point.

“Look who is getting brave” Nayeon still maintains that smirk. “But ok, this test is going to be the last thing you have to do. I promise it.” In a gesture never shown before, Nayeon pets Minjeong's head. That was weirdly satisfying to Minjeong. “Now get on your feet and take your pants down.”

 “Wait, what?” Took Minjeong a few seconds to understand what she just heard. “N-no… Why? No, wait noooo.” 

“It's an important part of the test.” Nayeon moves her hand in a gesture telling Minjeong to stand up. “Now, don't make me waste my time and get your pants off.” 

Minjeong was back on her feet but making no move to open her pants zipper. “Professor, we can't do this. This is too much. We can't have sex.”

Nayeon lets out a loud burst of laughter covering her mouth with one of her big hands. “You already ate me out. Oral sex is sex.” Another audible laugh. “But I know what you mean, and no. We aren't fucking like that. I bet your little weiner isn't worthy of that.”

“I'm not that small.”  Winter interrupted her professor’s laugh to defend her honor. “Isn't huge but also isn't small. I'm average size, and…”

“You're just giving me the reason. Just accept it is small, there is no problem…” Minjeong didn't realize that her professor was just making fun of her and didn't actually know the size of her penis.

“Isn't small!!” Rising her voice more than she probably should, Winter opens her zipper and yanks her pants down as well with her boxer. “I'm average.” Driven by the humiliation she undressed her lower part with even thinking about what she was doing.

In fact Minjeong dick wasn't that small. As she said she was average, even semi erected as it was that was easy to tell. But that doesn't seem to stop Nayeon from making fun of her.

“Ok, you aren't small.” Nayeon rolled her eyes and stopped laughing. “Maybe tiny is a better adjective.” Another loud laugh. Nayeon's smile was so big that not even her already big hand could cover her mouth.

“Professor I'm not-” Suddenly Nayeon laid a hand on Winter's right thigh and made her shiver. “... I'm not tiny. I'm…” She finished the sentence lowering her voice with each syllable until her voice was just a whisper. For some reason she was staring at the floor. And for another unknown reason that hand was raising the temperature in her crotch.

“Turn around and bend over my desk.” Wasn't a suggestion, it was a command given with a calm voice and emphasized with a small squeeze of Minjeong's thigh. Maybe that's the power, the spell, Nayeon uses to control her students. Or more accurately, her alchemy.

Minjeong did as she was told, turning around with small steps because her pants were around her ankles. She immediately missed the warm touch of Nayeon's hand over her skin. Her hands were so big, and in Minjeong’s opinion so pretty too, they were surely much bigger than Minjeong hands.

If Nayeon's feet were popular among male students, the equivalent were her hands being popular in the female population of her classroom. Or at least that was what Minjeong thought because to her feet were a weird thing to be horny about. But hands were a different story.

Nayeon has big hands, with long and slender fingers. But that far from being weird is so attractive. The professor always has her nails done and her fingers decorated with rings. One clearly could tell she was using lotion and other methods to maintain her skin soft and tender, even when she wasn't old enough to need to care about that matter.

Nayeon was smart, young, pretty, and very capable of doing whatever she would like to achieve. But she also was proud of how beautiful she's, of the effects she causes on people and the attention they give to her. She always could notice when a student or another professor was staring and eating her with their eyes, and she enjoys that.

Minjeong was thinking about Nayeon's hands when she felt one of those hands on her lower back, pushing her further. A shiver ran through her spine. “Bend over.” Nayeon repeated her command, and again Minjeong did obey without protesting. “What happened to being proactive?”

The student still didn't understand what her professor wanted from her, all she was told was to bend over the desk. “You have a nice little butt, and your balls look cute from this angle.” The touch of a single finger in Minjeong's scrotum made her tremble, this time a shiver ran through all her body.

The finger left quickly and now Nayeon puts her hands over her students butt. In fact Minjeong has a little ass, beautiful and round, pale and very soft. Nayeon's hands completely covered her buttocks and separated them revealing the wrinkled entrance of her anus. 

“Also cute, and clean too.” Nayeon murmured for herself before finally standing up. The student couldn't see what her professor was doing due to the position she was in, but she felt when her buttocks were released. No jiggle, they just returned with one single movement to their natural form hiding her rear entrance.

“Spread it for me.” Nayeon spanked the beautiful ass in front of her. For some reason her hand was cold and wet now. “Come one. I have other things to do.”

“Why spreading my ass is part of the tes-” The professor poked Minjeong's scrotum again, causing the latest to interrupt what she was saying to release a pathetic whimper. That single touch seems to be all Nayeon needed to convince her student.

Minjeong reached her own butt and spread it as she was told. Her face was bright red for the embarrassment of exposing herself like that. “Let's get it to it.” Another cold touch from Nayeon, this time her fingers landed in Minjeong's perineum and slowly went up to her wrinkled entrance.

Two fingers were making circles and daubing in her ass what Minjeong only could guess as the same lotion she previously used to massage Nayeon's feet. The substance was cold, making her tremble because of that freezing touch in such a private area. 

Nayeon's fingers were tracing circles and applying a little pressure, but never treating to go inside, to invade Minjeong in such a perverted way. Just circling around and smearing the viscous substance between Minjeong butt crack.

Despiste her initial doubts, all that action in her rear was making Minjeong dick hard. But her pulse was rising and with every pump was also a bit of shame drumming in the back of her heart. She was leaning over her professor's desks, with her ass wide open, and Nayeon threatening to do only God knows what to her. This was an abuse of power no matter the angle one could look at it.

But Minjeong was still enjoying it. She ate her professor's cunt, at some point her delicious nectar was covering her mouth and lips, and now was being touched in an inappropriate way. Has been so long since someone touched her like that, since she fucked someone or someone fucked her. That's why arousal was taking over her despite not being comfortable at all, that why she was softly whimpering when Nayeon was just spreading lotion in her ass.

“Ok, I think you're ready.” Nayeon pressed one single fingertip over Minjeong anus and opened it a little bit. Just a few millimeters went inside and then quickly left, but the finger reminds over her poor back entrance. “Rules are simple. I'm going to ask you five questions, if your answers are correct something good is going to happen to you. Answer the five correctly and those extra credits are finally yours.” Nayeon uses her free hand to fix Minjeong's blonde short hair in the back of her ear. “But if you fail this test, you fail my class.” Nayeon closes the distance between her and her student to whisper to her ear. “ Are you following me?”

Minjeong hardly swallowed the saliva that was gathering in her mouth. “Yes Professor. Five right answers and I will pass your class.” What that has to do with pressing a finger against her ass was something Minjeong didn't understand at all at that time. Maybe that would be the punishment if she fail a question, sexual torture gonna be the way to discipline her.

“Good, first question. What have the neutral atoms of all of the isotopes of the same element?”

“What? This is hard, how I am supposed to kn-” Nayeon tapped Minjeong's ass with her finger, cutting her words.

“If you attend my class you should know that. Now answer, this is just the first question.”

“Ok. They have… they have… The same number of electrons!” Minjeong answered maybe too excited to be right about something that basic. 

“Good girl, that's right. You have one good. Now your reward.” Without warning and against all Minjeong was thinking was gonna be her reward, Nayeon pushed her finger against her anus. This time she didn't stop after the tip but kept pushing until the two first phalanxes of her finger were inside her student.

Minjeong's body shivered due the unexpected invasion and the wave of pleasure that action caused her. More pleasure than she should be feeling for this, for her professor taking advantage of her and finger-penetrating her ass. But Nayeon’s finger felt so good opening her rear entrance, invading her. Wrong but pleasant at the same time.

With a single movement a big portion of that long and slender finger went inside her rectum. Minjeong could feel the icy touch against her walls and anus. Thank God that digit was coated with lotion and entered really easily. More easily than Minjeong would like to admit here.

With the intrusion a pathetic whimper leaves the student's mouth. One that she was fast to mute using her hands, but that means she leaves her butt.

“You need to pack yourself and maintain your butt open for me. Bite your lip or something because I swear to God if someone hears your pathetic moans you are going to know what is good.”

“Why is putting a finger inside of me a reward?” Minjeong asked in a tone of protest and defeat. However her hands returned to spread her butt cheeks.

“I ask the questions here. Now get ready for the second one, this is very easy.”Nayeon changed the tone to the one she uses when giving her lectures, before continuing. “How many p electrons are in an atom of rubidium?”

That was an easy one? Really? Minjeong could not get herself to remember at what time of the semester she learned that, she wasn’t even sure to know what element rubidium was. Maybe shutting her eyes could make her focus on remembering the information she needed and not on the fact that Nayeon was moving her finger. At a tortuous pace, but still moving it. 

“Eighteen.” That sounded more like a question than a proper answer, luckily for her her professor didn’t notice that and counted it as a good answer. 

“Ok, another good one.” This time Minjeong was prepared for what was coming, but that didn’t help at all to dilute the feeling of a second finger penetrating her. The student has to rest her forehead against the cold surface of the wooden desk, and press her lips together to not let any sound escape from her mouth. A really hard task that she failed to archive when a new, and more pathetic, whimper echoed throughout the room. And the finger was still midway when that happened. At least this time she didn’t let go of her cheeks.

“Ok, that’s all. Open your mouth.” If she was commanded to not make sounds why Nayeon now wanted her to open her mouth? That didn’t make any sense to Minjeong until she felt something soft pressed against her lips, something made of a thin laced fabric. Not just her mouth but her eyes were wide open when she realized that what Nayeon was trying to put inside her mouth to mute her was in fact, the pair of panties she was using today. The same pair she removed to allow Minjeong to eat her out. “For now if you're not answering one of my questions you're going to keep that in your mouth.”

This new punishment was really humiliating, maybe more than the others, and Minjeong was feeling sick for enjoying it. The used underwear inside her mouth as well as the two fingers going slow but relentless in the task of invading her rectum cavity have her leaking. Her dick was pressed against the edge of the desk, and that was the only relief she was having, but with every new centimeter on Nayeon’s fingers that went inside of her, her shaft throb as if it were alive.

But at least with the garment inside her mouth she was able to moan more freely, even when being honest the thong wasn't really big. It was just a small triangle with some laces, that actually didn’t cover much of her owner’s anatomy. The other good part was that at least the underwear wasn’t stinky. 

“Look who is being a good girl and is taking my fingers very well.” Nayeon giggles at her own words. “Move your head if you are ready to continue.” However, making fun of her, Professor Nayeon waited for the confirmation that her student was doing ok before making the next question. “ Ok so. What of this alkaline earth metal is located in period 3. Lithium, sodium, calcium, magnesium, or strontium?”

So far this was the hardest question, but Minjeong was sure she knew the answer. She was sure Nayeon talked about this one day that Yizhuo didn’t attend her class, that was why she was able to focus on what her professor was saying. So when the underwear was taken from her mouth she was ready to give an answer. 

“I’m sure is lih-” When she was mid sentence Nayeon, in a diabolical act, separated those fingers she had inside her student. Not enough to make her cry of pleasure but far enough to make Minjeong reconsider her answer. “ Magnesium, it is magnesium. I was just kidding.” She tried to justify herself, because she knew Nayeon helped her with this one.

Soon the used underwear was back in her mouth and Nayeon was separating her fingers once again, this time pushing them far away than the first time. Forcing Minjeong’s anal walls to adapt to this new dimension, preparing them for what was coming. 

When the professor decided that her student was ready patted her head before pushing a third finger inside her rectum. Another long digit slowly goes inside Minjeong, pushing her to her limit, spreading her ass wide open. The poor student never before has taken something as big as three of Nayeon's fingers together. They were slender, sure, but three at the time was still too much for Minjeong. 

Electricity was running through her spine as that third finger was invading her. The loud moans almost weren't contained by the underwear so Minjeong still had to press her lips together, putting all her strength on that and into maintaining her buttocks open so her professor could continue ruining her rear. 

Her poor hole was stretched to a new whole limit, and that has Minjeong's dick twitching and leaking more precum. At this point she was sure the desk had a big stain and maybe the carpet under her feet too.

Minjeong felt so pathetic exposed as she was, with her ass being stretched by her professor, and her small dick arching for some real friction. Not just the illusion that was the contact with the wooden surface but real action, like a hand wrapping around her length and stroking her until she exploded. Maybe if she's a good girl Nayeon would allow her to cum, who knows.

For her part Nayeon was enjoying this too. Her private parts were glistening again with her own arousal. Maybe having total control over her student was turning her on, or maybe how dangerous it was for her career to do that in her office. If someone sees her with her fingers buried inside a student that definitely would be the end for her, and that risk has her cunt throbbing with emotion.

Despiste those malicious rumors a jealous coworker spread about her some years ago, Nayeon never has done such a perverted thing as having sex in her office, much less with a student. Maybe one or two times she snuck a hand under her skirt to help her to deal with the stress of her work, but never was more than rubbing herself for a few minutes. This time with Minjeong was actually the first time she actually had an orgasm in her office.

Obviously Nayeon is a pervert, she never gonna try to deny that, otherwise why would she have three of her fingers buried as deep as she could inside her student’s butt? And obviously she has done some things like this in the past. But it has been so long since she actually had sex with someone, since the last time she had someone bending like that for her. She isn't a natural top, but being in charge does inexplicable things to her. The power of having someone surrendered over her, completely devoted to her, with their attention centered on what she’s doing, is so intoxicating that she’s feeling how her arousal is rising again. So when she saw an opportunity with Minjeong, she jumped at the chance.

“Are you good?” Despite taking advantage of her position Nayeon isn't a sadist, she has no intention of harming her student, just wanna ruin her a little and release some stress in the process. 

Obviously Minjeong couldn’t speak because of the garment in her mouth but she moved her head up and down in an energetic way to point out that she’s doing ok even with her ass being full of her professor’s fingers.

“Ok, then just two more questions.” Minjeong kinda panicked when she released that there are two more questions left, the same number of fingers that Nayeon hasn't put inside her yet. Is she going to fist her? That idea made Minjeong’s blood pressure rise to the sky, because there is no way another finger fits inside her, let alone a whole hand. But she didn't have time to think about it before her professor made the next question. “What is the approximate pH of a solution labeled 0.050 M HClO?”

“Hoomm iimm gamma kmmon?” Minjeong's voice was muffed by the underwear and only an unintelligible murmur was heard. At that, Nayeon removed the garment from her mouth.

“What? You have the solution that fast?” Nayeon was surprised that Minjeong had the answer so quickly, given that she wasn’t putting too much attention on her lectures. 

“No, but how am I supposed to know? I can’t do the math in my head?” How Nayeon rolled her eyes was imperceptible for the student, also was how the professor opened a drawer and took a small notebook and a pen from there. All she could see was when Nayeon tossed those things in front of her face.

“Ok, fine. You can let go of your buttocks and do the math, your ass is already open. But for god sake be quick.“

Minjeong never had been so fast to grab a piece of paper and a pen before, but this time she did it as if her life depended on that. After writing the first scribbles, she crossed them out with such force that she almost tore the paper. Now, more carefully, she started the calculations again, but she found it hard to concentrate with her ass so full. It was as if her rear was burning and protesting to come back to their original wrinkle form, not this madness of being stretched up like that.

For her luck Nayeon didn’t try to open her finger this time, or do any other trick. After all, the professor knew if she wasn't gagged, so any attempt to play with Minjeong would result in her student making noises that neither of them wanted to be heard outside the office.

“I… I have it.” Minjeong was sure this time after checking her answer a few times. “It is four point forty one.

“Who could imagine that you would know so much? Maybe I should do the same test to Yizhuo to find out if she learned something too.” The tone was playful, as if Nayeon were contemplating the idea of having Minjeong's classmate in the same position as her. Perhaps a fantasy too greedy. “Here comes your reward, so get this in your mouth again and relax…” 

Minjeong never knew what was the rest of the phrase because she tried to protest but the underwear was forced into her mouth again. With that all she could do was shut her eyes and press her lips tight waiting to feel another intrusion into her ass, expecting to feel how the four finger was forced into her already stuffed entrance. But that never came to happen because what Nayeon did was caress her scrotum and then grab her hard dick.

And involuntary shiver ran truth Minjeong’s entire body when she felt the touch over her balls, and what was yet the most pathetic whimper she had ever released, escaped from her mouth when Nayeon grabbed her dick. She was needing that touch so bad that almost came at the instant.

In fact Minjeong’s penis felt almost tiny between Nayeon’s fingers, a combination of her length and the fact that her professor had big hands. In any case Minjeong’s dick fit perfectly in the warm embrace of that hand, so perfect that her scrotum was receiving some stimulation too. Her dick and balls were at the complete mercy of her professor.

What came next had Minjeong whimpering as a little puppy, because Nayeon moved her hand three times, just three times. Giving but at the same time denying the long-awaited friction on her private parts. A motion perfectly calculated to torture Minjeong.

The poor student was ready to let all go and release her semen directly into her professor's hand, but as suddenly as the motion started, stopped a few seconds before. All that was given to her were just three pumps and nothing more. Something that made her very frustrated, and yearning for more.

“Huuughh! I just touched you and you already made a mess in my hand.” Minjeong was leaking so much precum that her professor could feel how her fingers were coated in the viscous and crystal clear fluid. 

Obviously Minjeong could not say sorry for that, but that doesn't stop her from feeling embarrassed. She was being so pathetic, completely folded over Nayeon's will, ready to serve her and for what? For just a few extra credits. At this point this was about something else, because Minjeong was feeling like she was giving too much for just passing a class, this wasn't an equivalent exchange. But once again that turned her more.

The feeling of her small dick completely covered by Nayeon's big hand, with her long and pretty fingers wrapped around her length, was intoxicating. For the other part the hand in her rear was feeling so good too, much more that she will ever be willing to admit. But how would she pretend that that isn't true if she was already leaking after the first finger went inside her?

Minjeong's world almost fell apart when that wonderful hand left her shaft. She thought it was going to be wrapped around her all the time.

“Time for the last question. Again you can do the math.” The student didn't notice that Nayeon made a pause to lick the precum out of her fingers,  she thought she was just being dramatic. “What is the volume of a 2.50 gram block of metal whose density is 6.72 grams per cubic centimeter?”

Fuck Yizhu for getting her on this trouble, was what came to Minjeong's mind when she heard the last question. She never has been good enough in math, and that was her less favorite part about chemistry. But now that was what was separating her from owning those damn extra credits and finally getting those fingers out of her butt, because notwithstanding that in fact that was very pleasant her sore sphincter was getting tired of being open like when a snake engulfed an egg.

“It is 0.372.” Was the answer she gave to Nayeon when the latest once again removed the used underwear from her mouth. This time took her longer to calculate it, but she was sure she was right at the first attempt. Maybe it was the urge for being touched again that made her focused on the given task.

“That's right. I'm impressed that you actually did it, and have to inform you that you have successfully passed this test and my class.” After all, she was able to put more than fingers inside Minjeong and actually made her learn a thing or two. That has to count for something, and Nayeon would have given her student a congratulatory clap if her hands weren't so busy.

“Thank you professor. Now can I- Aaanngghh!!” Of course Minjeong was a fool for thinking that that  was all, that Nayeon was going to release her just like that. Her professor separating her fingers was proof enough that she was wrong.

Nayeon didn't separate her finger too much, just a few millimeters, but that was enough to let her student know that they weren't done yet. And once again Minjeong was covering her mouth with her hands, she even put Nayeon's underwear back inside her mouth when she had the chance.

“Before you can go there is one last reward.” Nayeon's voice was calm, comforting in some way, but still could listen in there a glimpse of enjoyment. As if she were making fun of her student reactions. “Just be patient and cover your mouth.” This time was the whisper to her ear that made Minjeong shiver, how Nayeon pressed their bodies together to reach her and say that only for her, as if they were surrounded by a crowd and those worlds were meant only for her.

Everything started with a gentle touch on Minjeong's scrotum, just a caress over her balls, and then Nayeon's fingers slowly going down until they were wrapped over her hard shaft. 

The whimpers were not long in coming because poor Minjeong was so sensitive there that having her professor's fingers descending as snakes over her skin was already too much. The fingers inside her were warming her guts in a way that she never has felt before, and the ones on her shaft were sending jolts through her spine.

Her dick felt so small in the embrace of that hand, smaller that it actually is, perhaps embarrassing her or perhaps turning her on. Or maybe both at the same time, because Minjeong’s feeling were overwhelming even when Nayeon hasn't moved her hand yet again.

When the first movement happened Nayeon could easily hear her student's muffled moans. She was no longer whimpering but moaning, all with just one pump of her hand. By the time she reached a stable rhythm her hand was covered in Minjeong's precum. The girl was leaking so much that was making Nayeon's work easier. Her own leak was serving as lotion to masturbate her.

As if that wasn't enough the other hand was moving too, just that slowly, fucking Minjeong in the ass. Making a complete mess out of the poor student that came to this office just to ask for a few extra credits.

Her butt was sore. Stretched to its maximum for so many minutes, but the burning feeling was good. Lotion made Nayeon's task easier and as long as her professor didn't push too much inside her she was just feeling pleasure. The nerves endings inside her rectum where being more stimulated than ever before, so Nayeon could have easily made her student cum just by finger-fucking her ass. But that would have been too easy for her.

“God, you're so pathetic with your cute ass stretched and you small dick being milked.” Nayeon says just to assure the power she has over her student, and Minjeong couldn't defend herself because she was busy covering her mouth, and in fact she was feeling pathetic too. Also there was the thing that she had completely surrendered to her professor. What else could she do with a hand buried in her ass and another stroking her dick?

All that was left to her was moan and tremble while waves of pleasure were crushing inside her body. That hand in her shaft was making pervy wet sounds since it was completely coated in her precum, and the other hand has stopped but replaced the movement for being buried as far as it could.

Nayeon increased the rhythm of her strokes to a point that was unsustainable to her student, clearly attempting to make her reach her limit, and Minjeong once again did as she was told. Only that this time she wasn't told with words but actions.

The young student's final climax did not disappoint Nayeon. With shivers and moans, and contracting her rectum like crazy, Minjeong spilled her semen into her professor's hand. A lot more semen that one could imagine those small balls could store.

If Nayeon's hand was already coated in fluid now it was worse. But she didn't stop stroking, milking her student until the last drop of semen left her body. For Minjeong was a totally new experience because she was feeling how her dick was submerged in her own semen, and that was like floating in a viscous cloud.

The student was still covering her mouth, trying to not make any noise audible outside the office, when Nayeon pulled out her fingers. All at once and without saying anything. If Minjeong could have had another orgasm instantly, but her balls were already empty.

Having her asshole stretch was one thing, but the sudden absence of the fingers inside her left her anus yearning for more, in so short time she had already gotten used to the feeling of being full. But her ass was now empty and started to close slowly, remaining open for a few seconds in a very nasty and perverted way that Nayeon obviously admired and found cute.

Now it was the turn of the other hand to leave Minjeong's shaft. At the instant some drops of semen leaked to the floor and over the student's clothes that were around her ankles. Minjeong's dick still was covered in her semen and her ass was sore, but she was finally free from her professor's claws.

“You can clean yourself before leaving.” Nayeon said casually sitting on her chair, as if she hadn't just ruined her student’s rear. “There is my private bathroom. It's small but works.”

Minjeong was still catching her breath, still with the underwear in her mouth. The orgasm she just experienced was powerful enough to make her dizzy. Her dick was still twitching against the air, and her ass was sore until the point she was sure that she was going to have some trouble walking normally.

Trying to compose herself, the student lifted her clothes in an attempt to cover at least her thighs, since her crotch and butt were smeared with semen and lotion and she didn’t wanted to stain her underwear. Indeed her asshole made that task difficult and uncomfortable.

“Come on. I have other things to do.” The professor was cleaning her hands with the same wipes she cleaned her crotch before, and casually as if it were nothing she licked some rest of semen between her fingers. Minjeong wanted to say something but words didn't come out of her mouth, in part because she was still gagging with Nayeon’s underwear.

She just spat the garment out of her mouth and left it over the desk, covered in her saliva, maybe completely ruined. Ruined as she was, with her ass sore and her small dick now soft. And with that, without saying anything, Minjeong walked bow-legged, and with occasional whimpers due the soreness of her butt, to the small bathroom. To clean herself from the aftermath of the special test.

Minjeong swore to herself that she wouldn't get distracted in class again, and obviously, that she wouldn't listen to the gossip Yizhuo told her again. Never again.

[blastzachilles]

— Girls .ᐟ

CHARACTERS: BASSIST FUTCH!PAT x FEM!READER WORD COUNT: 2.3k CW: SMUT 18+, afab reader. fingering, oral (f!receiving), somewhat inexperienced reader, mentions of alcohol/cannabis, author has an unpacked hand kink and really likes bassists????, author who has never been to a party and gotten drunk tries writing about a party and getting drunk

a/n: happy late challengersversary!!!! baby’s first smut <3 . even if im posting last (need to even out the angst and smut). kind of happy with how this turned out. also thank you mel for the band name nod 100 emoji link to main post!

— You don’t know why you’re here right now. 

You have tons of homework you should be doing, and finals season is just around the corner. But your friends swore you were in dire need of going out, and that was that. They got you ready and (literally) dragged you off to this party. 

This party that your friends said would be fun. Sure, fun. Fun’s the reek of alcohol and weed, couples making out, and intoxicated people passed out, everywhere. They clearly don’t know you. 

Empty solo cup in hand, you make your way through the crowd to the backyard for some fresh air, sitting on the edge of the patio and basking in the cool breeze that comes with the late hours of the day. 

Until you see a crowd of people walking back inside the house. Oh yeah, your friends had told you about this. There was going to be ‘live entertainment.’ Which usually meant some shitty college boy band that was just trying to get into people’s pants. No thanks.

But for some reason, you find yourself walking back inside anyway, pushing through the crowd to get a few rows in front of the makeshift stage. Then the band walks out, and you look over the members. 

When you see them, you short circuit. 

You tune out every other noise but the sound of rushing blood in your ears as your heart starts to pound, hands going clammy with sweat. Thank god the lights are dimmed, is your only thought as you feel the blood rushing to your rapidly warming cheeks. 

You miss the band’s name, and their little introduction leading up to their first song. But you don’t really care, your eyes don’t leave whoever that is up there, playing the bass. 

The hottest person you’ve ever seen. 

Dark curls, broad shoulders, and a face that looks like it was carved by Michelango himself. They’re in a tight white tank that leaves little to the imagination, and black cargos with a statement belt. You’re mesmerized, and you feel yourself staring in a way that many would deem disrespectful. 

When you manage to tear your eyes away from their face, as the band introduces their next song, you decide to look them over. 

Big mistake. 

The first thing you settle on is their casual stance, almost like nothing can bother them. Then follows their legs–they definitely work out–and then comes their shoulders.

Those are great. Both of them. 

But it’s their hands that really get to you. Their fingers plucking the strings like it’s nothing. Like it’s second nature to them. It gets you thinking about what else they– 

That thought immediately goes south, and you feel the need to squeeze your legs shut, just a little more. 

Using what feels like superhuman strength to rip your eyes off their hands, you look back up to their face, only to be met with their eyes already locked onto you. A slow smirk crawls onto their face, and you feel like you’re going into cardiac arrest, like you’re not really alive and instead in some sort of dream sequence. 

The world falls away as your eyes bore into theirs, like you two are the only people who exist. You hold their gaze for what feels like forever before they tear theirs away again to play the next song, and while the moment feels broken, it doesn’t exactly feel over.

Especially when their set has finally finished, and while the band you still don’t know the name of packs up, you turn on your heel to rush to the bathroom. You need a moment after that. 

But you don’t get twenty steps in before someone catches your arm, stopping you in your tracks. Turning around, you find yourself meeting the gaze of them. The bassist. From the band. The one you were ogling so hard, it probably looked like you had googly eyes. 

“Pat.” 

“Huh?” you stammer out. 

“The name. It’s Pat.” 

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, of course.” you say, introducing yourself. “You were great up there. You–you all were. I really liked your band, uh–” 

“Phil’s Tire Town?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. That.” 

“Yeah,” a small breath escaping Pat’s lips as they chuckle softly. It’s confident, like they know they’re hot and run with it. “Saw you staring at me the whole set. You here with anyone?” 

“Was with my friends, but they’re… elsewhere. Around.” You look around the room to see if your friends are anywhere, but they’re not. They’ll check in later, that’s how this usually goes.

“No… partner?” 

“Oh!” you laugh. “You mean that way. Oh, no.”

Pat laughs back, and you feel like your heart has skipped at least five beats. “You sound so sure of that.”

“Well, yeah, I am.”

They let out a little ‘hm’ at your words, nodding with interest before looking down at your solo sup, still empty. “You, uh, you drinking anything?”

You catch Pat’s gaze, and look down at your solo cup, trying to play it off like it hasn’t been empty the whole night. “Oh, yeah. Just finished the cup. Was about to head over to the bar to get myself another cup.”

“Definitely.”

“Yeah, definitely.” you laugh awkwardly. 

Then Pat walks past you, and your smile falls, your gut dropping as you prepare yourself for the worst.

But then they turn around to look back at you. 

“You coming?”

And you’re following behind them faster than ever. 

After you get to the kitchen and start drinking with Pat, the night goes by like something of a blur. You spend upwards of an hour laughing as you slowly progress further and further into an intoxicated state, and eventually, sometime around two, decide it’s time to get up and leave.

“I should, uh, I should head out.” you giggle, the alcohol starting to get to you.

“You sure? The party’s just starting.” Pat chuckles. 

“Yeah, positive…” 

“Let me walk you home then.” They say, with a tone that indicates they’re in it for something else.

“No… you don’t hav’to–” 

Pat grabs your arm, and you quickly shut up. “Please, I insist.”

“Okay.”

The walk back to your dorm is slow but enjoyable, you and Pat basking in the early morning breeze, giddy with intoxication. 

When you stop outside your door, Pat’s still with you, and the air feels charged. There was tension at the party, but not to this degree. You swear you could cut through this with a butter knife. 

“Well, I guess this is goodnight.” they say.

“Yeah. I guess this is. Goodnight, Pat.” 

“Goodnight.”

Neither of you move though. 

Instead, you’re both staring into each other as though trying to decipher who each other is just from a glance. Like you’re trying to crawl inside them and find out who they are, what makes them tick, and what gets them going. At least that’s what you’re doing. You can only hope they’re doing the same.

Heart pounding and hands clammy, you inspect Pat, their eyes, their face all over, and you sense your thoughts starting to wander and–

That’s why they call it liquid courage. 

Your lips crash against theirs, your kiss hungry and desperate, like their breath is the only oxygen you need. 

It happens in a matter of seconds. 

You pull them into your dorm, the kiss barely breaking, clothes being torn off and forgotten on the floor, as it registers in your head what you’re about to do.

“I’m–I’m not–” 

Pat helps you to your knees, sitting on the edge of your bed and spreading their legs. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you.” 

You nod, leaning in to rest your head on their thigh, kissing at it, getting soft gasps out of them that leave a grin on your face.

Pat’s hand finds its way into your hair, bringing your mouth closer to where they’re expecting you, and you look up at them, eyes wide in a way that shoots south. 

When your tongue darts out to give a small lick at their cunt, you grin against their folds when they let out a soft moan.

“Fuck yeah, baby. You feel that? That’s all for you.” 

As you lick again, a long stripe along their cunt, they push your head further in between their legs, your eyes still looking up at them. 

“Oh god, yeah. Yeah, that’s good.” They moan, head falling back as you keep going. 

You’re not really sure if you’re actually doing that good, but if they’re making those noises, you can only hope you’re doing something right. 

Burying your face deeper in their cunt, you circle their clit with your tongue, sucking softly before moving a little lower to delve your face into their folds once more, pushing your tongue inside Pat as their moans become louder and more frequent. 

“Oh, yeah—Fuck, I’m gonna—Fuck! I’m so close—Just a little more. Just—Oh!” Pat cries, their legs shaking around your head, grip in your hair tightening as they reach their climax, coming all over your face as you try to lap it up, prolonging their orgasm. 

When they’re done, they’re breathing heavy, head falling forward as their hand falls out of your hair, and you press a few kisses to their inner thighs. 

After a few moments, they perk up again, and smile down at you. 

“Okay. Your turn.” Pat huffs out, clearly spent from finishing, as they help you up and lead you over to your bed, lying you down. 

“Okay.” You gasp, grinning, face still glistening with their orgasm.

“Let me take care of you.” they whisper, leaning in and pressing their lips to yours again, before peppering them along your jaw, to your neck, to your collarbone, and then your chest. The intensity of it all makes you gasp, your mind fuzzy as though you’re in some sort of haze. You’re half aware of Pat’s hands rubbing your thighs as you watch their tongue circle your quickly hardening nipple, before they close their lips around it and begin to suck softly. The action elicits small mewls from you, your back arching and pushing your chest further into their mouth, making the feeling all the more intense. 

You feel like you’re in a dream, but come back with a protesting gasp as Pat lifts their head up and removes their mouth from your chest. 

“Hey!–” 

“Easy, babe.” they chuckle, a satisifed smirk on their face, their green eyes on you as they squeeze your thigh slightly. “Saw you staring at my hands while I was playing. You like ‘em?” 

Your face somehow manages to feel even hotter than it already does, but you give a small nod regardless. “Yeah. Who wouldn’t?”

They make a face as though to contemplate that answer, bobbing their head side to side. “Eh, good point. You wanna learn what else they’re good for?” 

It’s such a stupid line, but that paired with the cocky smirk on Pat’s face absolutely destroys any sort of self-preservation you have, and you’re quick to give in. “Yes. God, yes, please. I’ve been thinking about it since I first saw you.” 

“I know.” Pat’s voice is low, quiet, as they drag their fingers up along your inner thigh, reaching your cunt and running a finger along your folds, getting a few whimpers from you. “Yeah, that’s it, baby. Just like that. Such pretty noises, just for me. So wet, just for me.” 

It’s not a question, but you feel the need to answer it anyway. “Yeah–yeah. Wet, just for you.” 

Pat’s smirk widens at that, and they begin to ease a finger inside you. “That good? Yeah?” 

If the way you moan and your back arches is any indicator, it’s very good. So good Pat eases in another, sliding the two fingers in deeper as you grab at their shoulders. “Easy, baby. That’s it. Yeah, that’s good.”

And then Pat starts to curl their fingers inside you, repeating the motion, and you think you just might black out. You’ve never felt anything like this, and it’s like Pat’s been doing this to you forever, as if know every little thing that makes you moan and gasp and whine like never before. 

And when you start squirming, hips rolling erratically against their hand, signaling you’re close, Pat pushes their fingers knuckle deep to work you to your brink.

“Fuck, Pat! I’m gonna–gonna–”

“Yeah, that’s it. Come for me, baby.” 

“O-ok–Yeah–Oh! Fuck!” you moan sharply, finally being brought to your brink as you release all over their hand, releasing a stream of liquid as you squirt. Your legs shake, and Pat keeps working you through your whole orgasm. 

“That’s it, baby. Yeah, just like that. Beautiful.” 

Your chest is heaving with exertion, a wave of exhaustion coming over you after enduring such a brutal orgasm. 

“God, that was…” 

“I know.” Pat grins. 

You grin up at them, and with a final kiss, you say your goodnights, Pat’s warm body wrapped around you from behind as you fall asleep, spent and satisfied.

The next morning, when you wake up in your dorm, your hangover leaving you with a killer headache and your clothes still strewn across the floor, you feel it before you look to your side. The spot where they were sleeping, now empty and cold, the clothes they threw on the floor now gone. And when you reach for your phone, you feel a sticky note on top of it, taking it off to read it. You scoff to yourself, looking at their number on the note, on top of a ‘call me ;)’ written underneath.   

Maybe your friends were right. These parties are fun.

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[accio-victuuri]

“last two days in shanghai”: A completely fake series of events typed up by a cpf. 🤡🤡🤡

well, i think the title of this post is disclaimer enough as it is. lol. i’ve initially talked about this here and here. this will be about the events that happened after the second link. so it’s the morning of the race and there are videos of wyb and xz here and there. i am actually slightly changing my stance on xz’s intention. i think he wants us to know that he is there. enough to be photographed leaving his hotel and nothing else. the usual plausible deniability card he and yibo are so good at.

so let’s start with a run down of events: we all know yibo won. by 5:00 PM we had videos of WYB’s win already. it was a happy affair. then around 8PM we received news that WYB is nominated for Huabiao Awards. after that, we got some talk of XZ attending Stefanie Sun’s concert at around 9:30. this was later confirmed by videos and XZ posted about it himself so much later in the day. please note that the 9:30 time when was the news made it to the internet, when it actually happened was earlier.

now here comes the clownery-interpretation.

no one knows where xz is after he left his hotel. yibo already won by 5PM, tho there was still time in the podium. so was that enough time for him to attend Stefanie Sun’s concert? absolutely. please see below:

so proximity wise. it’s very possible. there are also talks of how xz came in late. some attendees said he was there during the 3rd part of the concert, and was seen leaving the audience section before the program ended. well, i’m thinking he might have already been there, backstage or whatever VIP section earlier. people only learned he was there when he came out and stefanie mentioned him. this is his idol and his fandom lol so i would imagine that he wanted be there on time. tho being a bit late is okay too cause he still had to spend time with his champion racer boyfriend 🙄🙄🙄😤😤😤 there is a repo from a concert goer that he left around 9PM. yibo on the other hand was seen leaving the track at 9:30. so coordinated!

xz was again spotted returning to his hotel at around 11PM. so it is possible that xz watched wyb’s race, watch the concert and they still had time to go celebrate. 🎉🎉🎉🎉

XZ being spotted at a concert is the perfect alibi of sorts. he can say he was there to attend the concert. but if you look closely and observe the time, there is a huge window that is unexplained. Of course i’m not removing the fact that XZ did want to go. this specific concert is to celebrate her 25th year anniversary as a singer so it’s really special and any fan would surely want to watch. but it also happens to line up perfectly with bobo’s race.

now i’ll quickly run down a few cpns floating around……

first is how the caption is formatted, it’s so similar to yibo’s birthday post

the photo of the nutcracker that he shared was during the song 真的 ( really ). maybe he just liked how it looked but the song itself is pretty telling. if we are talking about this and interpreting it in the CPN context. that weekend specifically, they both had to go through a lot to spend time together. but they did. love is not always easy!

⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

i love his caption for the concert but i have a feeling that the last part was for someone else. for his racing win and the awards nomination.

I fly forward, fly across a sea of ​​time, and the best youth is you. I wish you happiness every day! Forever!

He specifically mentioned this song 尚好的青春 that she did not sing during the concert. but of course it’s important to him and yibo cause this was the song he performed during the 11.11 concert where WYB was supposed to introduce him 😭😭😭😭

https://youtu.be/B2cF9NzGO0Y?si=pB_aOWI0jkkELQR2

i’ll stop here and there’s probably some more if you clown hard enough 😋😋😋 you can also add him talking about being a “shining adult” and how that related to Chen Shuo.

Moving on —Sunday, was another race day and sadly, yibo couldn’t continue competing. he made it in time to attend Huabiao Awards. XZ then went back to Beijing and was spotted around 10PM. again. so much time in between for XZ to watch Bobo again!

what a great weekend in shanghai 😉😉😉

lastly, i wanna address the cpn about the black tent. some are saying that it’s a possible place for xz to be in there but was later was said to be where tires are stored. others are saying that for sports like this, the emergency contact should be present. i was holding off talking about that cause when cpfs are hyped up, we tend to over interpret. and that’s dangerous. we all fall for that one way or another, and i think it takes time to be more discerning. all cpn pieces should be taken as what they are — cpn. made up. fiction. i don’t know how i can make people understand that xz being there is not a fact. it’s not a matter of what “evidence” was there or whatever “washing” was done. the default fact is that xz wasn’t there.

so i hope people will not be too glass hearted when a different explanation for cpns comes up. this is all fiction. we won’t know. just enjoy the fandom! don’t take it too seriously. 💛💛💛

-END.

[cryingdew]

dean winchester w/ m!reader drabbles

i can imagine dean being so angry after a hunt, angry to the point that he's shaking, and you won't let him drive the impala because he just got done with slaughtering more creatures than he bargained for. and the moment you get back to the motel room you're on him, pulling him by the lapels of his leather jacket and yanking him forward until your lips are on his.

it's mean and angry, and dean is still seething when you pull away from him. but he doesn't look pissed, not with how wet and pink from how feverishly you had kissed him. “you're a fuckin’ prick- can't believe—” he's cut off a second time by another kiss, equally as passionate as the last one, but this time your teeth sink slightly into his lower lip, and fuck— dean moans, and he sounds sinful.

“you’re gonna swear at me baby? you're gonna complain like a fuckin’ brat?” the second time you pull back, the rage in dean's eyes has dwindled and burnt out, only leaving a pathetically horny hunter. slowly a smirk crosses your lips at the sight of him the second time around, because it really shows you how needy he is when he's angry. “that’s what i thought, dean.”

not even moment later, dean is face down, ass up, in the motel bed, and all you can do is laugh as you slowly roll your hips, pushing your cock deeper into him and watch as he writhes and grabs at the sheets. “c'mon baby, aren't you able to take it?” you coo into his ear, and he tries to squirm away, his hands helplessly grasping the sheets and broken moans and cries escaping his lips.

he's already cum once, the sheets messy with his spend, and you already teased him about how easy he was, all while he whined and complained about how you're not being fair. oh how you quickly put an end to that.

dean hiccups, his body finally getting the idea, and his hips try and move in tandem to your thrusts, though he's so loopy, so it's all in a pathetic attempt on his half. “nghh— hah- you're still— still a bitc—" you chuckle to yourself when you thrust a little harder, and a high pitched moan comes from dean, one that makes him hide his face in the pillows. “oh dean.. you're the real bitch here, getting manhandled and fucked like this? you probably love it.” and all he does is whimper and push his hips back against yours.

the entire room is filled with the scent of sex, your groans, and dean's little moans and cries— muffled by the pillow he hid his face in. your thrusts are relentless and unforgiving, and with the way dean moans, it's obvious how rough you're being when you snap your hips against his and he moans again and again. each time louder than the last.

a shudder wracks dean's body, he came again, and you're still rocking your hips into him, chasing your own release. your hands go down to his hips, pulling him back to meet your thrusts, and his hands claw and grab at nothing, clenching into fists and shaking.

“hgg- ah— please—" it's all broken, his cries and moans are messy, and your own hips are stuttering, yanking him back by his hips, your cock pressing into his gummy walls at every right spot makes him clench, and you cum, spilling everything deep inside of him, painting it all white. “easy baby, did so good for me..” you murmur, and one of your hands drifts from his hip, up to his shoulder, rubbing the tense muscle with a tender hand.

he's dean winchester, and he's all yours, in every way, shape and form.

© cryingdew

[havecouraqe]

Reconnection

Pairing: Go Hyuntak x fem!reader

Summary: Having known of Hyuntak from his training days of Tae Kwon Do, you never thought you'd run into him again. What started as admiration from afar quickly turned into the beginning of something more.

Word count: 1.7K

Warning: Slight trigger warning of SA if you squint, but other than that, none.

A/N: Wrote this for me. My first fanfic in years, and God, it felt good to write again. I'm happy with it.

Go Hyuntak was someone you've never imagined crossing paths with again. Attending different schools. Having different friend groups. Only ever catching glimpses of him from the window when you would walk past Hu-min's father's chicken restaurant across the street on the way home. Sometimes, it was hard not to notice the bruises and wounds he and his friends bore. You began to wonder if he's still as skilled in Tae Kwon Do as you remember. Of course he is. You shook your head. He was the best.

Rumor had it he hurt his knee and couldn't compete anymore. When you heard, you felt devastated. Someone as talented and hardworking as him, only for his dream to be taken away. It wasn't fair. You could only imagine how he felt. Did he suffer through the pain alone? Does he still think about what could have been? To be the best Tae Kwon Do athlete and have it all?

You'll never know. But from where you stood, the injury doesn't stop him from fighting. From protecting his friends. The five young men laughed at a joke Baku made and then dug in at the feast placed before them. Hyuntak's smile still dazzled you, even from a distance. As you start to worry whether he is taking care of his injuries properly, you hear your name being called.

"y/n!"

You turned and quickly rejoined your friends who had walked further ahead.

"Staring at Gotak again?" One of them teased, using his well-known nickname. Your face instantly blushed, and you looked away, unable to deny it.

"Hey, leave her alone. I think it's cute," your best friend piped up, putting an arm over your shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with a little yearning every now and then."

That made you laugh, "Shut up." You both giggled and continued going about your way.

After you said goodbye to your friends, you decided to stop by a convenience store before finishing your walk home. You were thirsty and wanted your favorite cold drink: a strawberry and banana smoothie. It was probably the best part of your routine. You grabbed your favorite bread to go along with it and headed for the register.

You thanked the cashier and just stabbed your straw into the drink when a rowdy group of boys walked in. They were a noisy bunch, and their uniforms told you they also attended Eunjang High, the same school as Hyuntak and his friends. Your eyes scanned the store, looking for a way to exit without having to go through them. Luckily, the aisle that was next over was free, and you kept your head down, making your way to the door. Due to your short stature, you didn't have to crouch much, being 5'2 and all.

You stand straight and head for the door, pushing it open when you feel someone pull you back from the strap of your backpack, hard. Somehow, you were able to maintain your balance and look up at the face who deprived you of your freedom. Hair dyed blonde and a scar across his left eye. He sneered.

"What do we have here?" His friends behind him snicker as he pressed forward, making you bump against some of the merchandise.

"Is that for me?" The blonde placed his hands over his heart as he feigned gratitude, noticing your drink and pastry. As he stepped closer, you looked away and felt him take your bag with the bread. He threw it on the ground and stomped on it, smearing the delicious treat on the floor with his foot.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep, shaky breath. Never imagining yourself in this position before, you decided not to go down without a fight, no matter what their intentions were. You held your breath as he took one more step closer, and that's when you jammed your right knee against his crotch with all the strength you could muster. It was enough to distract him for a moment, and you ran out, throwing your drink at him, focusing only on getting out of there.

As you heard him and his group start to run after you, you heard a voice. Not just anyone's voice. His voice.

"Hey!"

You stopped in your tracks and turned back around. Being a good distance away, you noticed Hyuntak and his friends a few feet apart from the entrance of the convenience store where the blonde and his group were also stopped in confusion. The blonde looked pissed, whether from being hit in the nuts or stopped from chasing after you, you couldn't be sure.

"This has nothing to do with you!" He screamed in rage.

All the while, Hyuntak remained calm. His eyes scanned the area, first seeming to count how many of the goons there were, and then to the blonde covered in your drink. Hands in the pockets of his pants, he glanced over at you, and you both locked eyes. Your heavy breathing from the adrenaline and run began to slow down, and you felt a sense of peace take over you.

He turned back to the blonde. "It does now."

The next word was said at the same time. You in your head and the blonde aloud, "What?"

Before you had time to think it over, Hyuntak's fist connected with the blonde's face, knocking him to the ground. You gasped, stuck in freeze or flight mode. The decision was made for you when one of the goons charged after you. The last thing you saw before running away was three of Hyuntak's friends joining in on the fight, including Baku.

You ran as fast as you could, not daring to look back. You knew the area pretty well and figured you would be able to hide somewhere once the coast was clear when you felt a pair of hands slam you against a wall. Your face and body were pushed into it, holding you in place.

"We weren't done with you yet." Said an unfamiliar voice, his hot breath fanned against your ear, and you struggled to get away.

Before you could scream for help, someone threw the boy off of you. You turned around, back towards the wall, as you watched Hyuntak beat the guy to a pulp. With his back towards you, you badly wanted to tell him to stop, but you couldn't find your voice. It wasn't until Baku walked up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, and said, "Enough, Gotak."

Hyuntak stopped fist midair and let go of the boy, his limp body making a thud as he hit the ground. He was breathing heavily, and yet there didn't seem to be a scratch on him. Baku looked untouched as well. As if he read your mind, he turned to you and smiled.

"Are you alright?"

You nodded, still a bit in shock and unsure of how to thank them. Hyuntak took a breath and finally turned to face you. His eyes looked into yours again, and this time, you felt your heart start to race for a different reason.

"I need to hear you say it," his voice was soft, yet stern, "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm okay." You managed to get out.

His eyes softened, and he looked at Baku. With a nod of his head, he turned and walked back from the way we came. Hyuntak looked at you and simply said, "Let's go."

The walk back to his friends was silent. You tried to fix your school uniform and composure as discreetly as possible. With no idea of how your hair looked, you figured it was what it was. You peeked at Hyuntak, and he looked lost in thought. Up ahead, two of his friends were waiting, and it appeared that the blonde and his goons had run off. You wondered where his other friend went. The one with the glasses.

"Nice job, Sieun! Suho!" Baku threw his arms over their shoulders with a wide smile. "Where's Juntae?

As if on cue, the one named Juntae comes out of the convenience store with what looked like your drink and a pastry bag. He smiled shyly and handed you the items. "We hope you're alright. I wasn't sure of the pastry, so I just got one I recommend."

The day's toll hit you instantly, and tears welled up in your eyes. You quickly wiped them and looked at the five boys who rescued you. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

The boys all smiled, apart from Hyuntak. He cleared his throat, adjusted his blue hoodie, and faced his friends, "I'll walk her home. See you guys later."

They waved goodbye to you, and you waved back with a smile. You then noticed Hyuntak staring at you with curiosity. You blushed and turned to the general area of your home. "It's this way."

Even though the distance was short, they say time lasts longer being with someone you like. The sun was beginning to set, and the breeze felt nice against your skin. It was a comfortable silence until you heard Hyuntak say, "Drink."

You stopped walking and looked up at him confused, "What?"

He sighed, "You must be dehydrated. Drink." He gestured to the strawberry banana smoothie.

Oh. You hadn't even realized how thirsty you were until he mentioned it. Your lips covered the straw, and you drank. The cold drink felt good traveling down your throat. You eagerly drank some more, and that's when you heard Hyuntak chuckle. You watched his smile, and up close, it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. You blinked and took in your surroundings, and saw that your home was just a few houses down.

"I'm fine here. Thank you for walking me home. And thank you for helping me today."

"You can thank me by letting me walk you home for a while." He said.

Shaking your head, you began to protest. "There's really no need. You don't-"

With what looked like slow motion, Hyuntak leaned over. He maintained eye contact until his lips touched the straw of your drink. You held still, letting him finish it and at the same time not believing this was happening. When he stood up, he smiled at your reaction. You couldn't tell if it was his smile that blinded you or the sun setting behind him.

He walked past you and said over his shoulder, "See you tomorrow, y/n."

A/N: may or may not continue this. Gif is made by me. Feedback is appreciated :)