#no one can make fun of me and no one can make me feel like im a bother

[muniimyg]

♡ 05: i bet we'd have really good—

series m.list // taglist

note: wowie,, thank u for 1.5k and for being so patient 💛 i’m so happy to be ending this mini fic and to have been interacting with u all :) my apologies if this ch sucks LOL i'm so sick rn but i'm tired of rewriting n writing... so enj !!! it's been so fun and i can't wait for more fics to come in 2025 !!! kisses my kitties😽💓

⏱️ this part goes thru time skips!

💭 which bed chem jk moment was ur fave?

warnings: tension/slow burn (friends first yk),, mean!jk trying to figure out how to be nicer to oc,, jk calls oc baby and kitty !!! teasing/dry humping (bc jk has glasses on. jk plays with her titties/nipples & jk cums thru his sweatpants),, jealousy (v teeny tiny),, virginity talk/actual sex; oc loses her virginity to jk (jk eats her out/fingers her, ass slapping, dirty talk, rawdogging,, missionary, doggy, blowjob/headpushing & face cumshot)

//

it’s been a week since jungkook kissed you, and he has made it your problem.

truth be told, he has made a game of this—hovering without hovering… just close enough to test the line. whatever way he plays, jungkook is always shameless in the most subtle and maddening ways.

sometimes his hand brushes yours as you walk, light and fleeting… and it’s impossible not to notice the way his fingers twitch. it’s like he’s debating whether to grab it or not.

you don’t make it any easier on yourself, either.

there’s this suffocating tension between you two and some days are better than others… like today.

“why are you so quiet?” you ask, glancing at him over your shoulder.

he tilts his head, feigning confusion. 

“why? does the silence make your heart race?”

you scoff, rolling your eyes, and that’s when he strikes—his foot nudging yours mid-step. it’s just enough to throw you off balance, making you stumble slightly, your bag slipping again.

“jungkook!”

he’s already reaching out, catching the strap before it can fall. 

“careful,” he says, his voice all mock concern, but the way his lips twitch gives him away.

you glare at him, yanking your bag out of his grip. 

“you’re the one who tripped me.”

“prove it."

"seriously?"

"if you can't prove it... you have to kiss me. you know, as compensation for accusing me so unjustly." he says, wide-eyed and innocent, though the corners of his mouth are curling into a smirk.

it’s infuriating, but it’s also... not. 

not when he’s looking at you like that, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin and is thoroughly enjoying it.

“do friends kiss?” you narrow your gaze at him. “do friends trip each other over? do friends—“

“do friends wait for each other?” jungkook leans towards you. “mhmm? do friends have ulterior motives—”

“you have ulterior motives?”

“oh, absolutely.”

friendship. 

it’s odd to say the least—the way you and jungkook have fallen into this friendship. that’s what you’ve both agreed on. 

friends. 

but the lines are blurry. 

so blurry they might as well not exist at all… because what kind of friends kiss on the cheek as casually as saying hello? what kind of friends text each other goodnight every single evening, or linger too long in conversations that could end with a simple goodbye?

the rules of your agreement feel more like suggestions—ones jungkook seems intent on bending just enough to keep you guessing. and you let him, which might be the strangest part of all.

… because deep down, you know this isn’t just friendship. not with the way he looks at you, his gaze lingering a second too long, or the way his touch always feels like a question he’s waiting for you to answer.

but maybe that’s the thing about blurry lines—they give you just enough room to pretend you don’t already know where you’re headed.

yet, even with all his teasing, there’s a hesitancy to him sometimes—a split-second pause when your hands brush, a quiet shift in his expression when he catches you looking at him. it’s like he’s still figuring out how to balance whatever this is between you, testing the waters but not wanting to dive in too fast.

and honestly?

you feel the same.

it’s why you let him get away with stuff like this. why you don’t pull away when his hand accidentally-on-purpose brushes yours for the third time in as many minutes. why you don’t tell him to stop following you to your study spot or showing up outside your class with some excuse about “just being in the area.”

because the truth is, you like having him around. 

you like the way he keeps you on your toes… even if it’s by trying to trip you up, only to catch you before you fall.

and maybe—just maybe—you like the way his smile softens sometimes when he thinks you’re not looking.

tonight, the group decides on a night out.

the street food spot everyone agreed on is already buzzing when you get there, the warm glow of string lights crisscrossing above the narrow alleyways, casting soft shadows on the busy stalls below. the air is alive with the scent of sizzling tteokbokki and freshly steamed hotteok, mingling with bursts of laughter and the occasional pop of oil from a nearby grill.

you arrive late as usual. 

by the time you weave your way through the crowd, the others have scattered, splitting up to hunt down whatever caught their eye. 

that’s when you spot him.

jungkook leans lazily against a lamppost near the edge of the main street, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a stick of half-eaten odeng. the glow from the lights above reflects faintly in his dark eyes, making them look warmer than usual, though his expression stays comfortably neutral—like he’s been waiting.

but he doesn’t mind.

“you’re late,” he says as you approach, not even bothering to straighten up. his voice is low, unbothered, but there’s something teasing in the way his lips twitch into the barest hint of a smirk.

“i’m literally 5 minutes late.”

“still late.”

jungkook takes one last bite of the fish cake before tossing the stick into a nearby bin. he steps closer, casual but deliberate, and before you can come up with a snappy reply, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

it’s smooth—too smooth.

it’s like he’s been doing it forever.

you barely have time to register the warmth blooming in your chest before he’s grabbing your hands, shoving them unceremoniously into the front pocket of his hoodie along with his own.

“jungkook—”

“your hands looked cold,” he says simply, his tone light, like this is the most natural thing in the world.

his fingers shift slightly, brushing against yours, and though his expression stays neutral, you catch the subtle curve of his mouth—the smug kind he tries to hide but never quite manages.

you roll your eyes, more out of habit than anything else, and let out a sigh...

but you don’t pull away.

“i have gloves.”

“they're ugly."

you glare at him.

"... and you have me."

the air stills.

“what?” he asks, his shoulder bumping yours as he starts walking, steering you toward the first row of stalls.

“nothing.”

but the corner of your mouth twitches. you try to hold back your smile.

he catches it, of course. 

his grin widens, soft and slow.

jungkook nudges you again, this time with more intention. you can feel the warmth of his hand through the fabric, steady and sure, even as the cold night air bites at your skin.

you can't help but give in. a laugh escapes your lips as you nudge him back. jungkook laughs too, but pulls you close at the very last second.

he breathes you in.

the first stall serves fresh tteokbokki, steaming and spicy. the scent alone makes your stomach growl, but jungkook is already a step ahead, paying for the food before you can reach for your wallet.

“you didn’t have to do that,” you say, trying to grab a pair of chopsticks from the tray.

he beats you to it, of course, picking up a piece of tteokbokki with the kind of exaggerated precision that makes you squint at him. then, he places the chopsticks in between your fingers.

“feed me," he says.

“absolutely not."

he steps closer. 

“okay, fine. i’ll feed you—”

you shove the tteok in his mouth. 

he chews, chuckling and enjoying your choice. 

“you’re so annoying,” you tell him as he swallows.

“really? am i?”

“really. you are."

jungkook shrugs. 

then, he takes the chopsticks and picks up a tteok, and feeds you. he watches closely as you chew, his wide eyes fixed on your face in a way that makes you feel exposed.

“how annoying?”

in between chews, you fixate on his smirk. as he leans into level with you, you almost choke at how his nose nearly brushed yours. you can feel the weight of his gaze, daring you to say something.

“jungkook…” you warn, your voice flat, but your hands betray you. they reach up to cup his cheeks, and though your intention is to shove him back, you don’t.

instead, your thumbs press lightly against the soft skin of his jaw as you squint at him.

“what’s this smile?” you ask, narrowing your eyes. “what are you so excited over, bestie?”

his expression flickers for a second, his brows twitching in annoyance at the word. you know he hates it when you call him that. bestie? who are you even talking to?

“your lips look cold. can i warm them up for you?” he asks suddenly, his voice dropping low enough to send shivers down your spine.

you scoff, warmth creeping up your neck. “nice try—”

“no, no, i insist,” he interrupts, tilting his head slightly, pretending to think it over. “don't want you to be all cold and shit.”

“jungkook.” your tone is sharp, but it’s laced with amusement, and he knows it.

“what?” he murmurs, leaning in closer, his lips curving into a smirk. “you said you want to take things slow. i’ll kiss you real slow—”

your jaw drops. 

“you’re impossible.”

he stands back up with a grin, his hands still in the pocket of his hoodie, keeping yours snugly tucked inside. he rocks back on his heels, clearly pleased with himself. 

“let’s not pretend we don’t know what we know.”

“i don’t know much,” you retort, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “i’m not a nerd—”

“yah! hurry up!” taehyung’s voice booms from a stall across the street, breaking the moment. you glance over to find him waving dramatically, his other arm slung around yoongi, who looks less than thrilled. 

“we found the mandu!” taehyung adds.

“mandu sounds good,” jungkook says as he gives your hands a small squeeze. then, he gently pulls you toward the others. "let's go." 

“stop dragging me around,” you complain, though you don’t actually try to pull away.

“you’re walking too slow.”

but you aren’t. 

you know you aren’t and so does he… but you let him hold your hand anyway.

a week later, jungkook feels like he might piss himself.

he leans against the edge of his desk, scrolling through his phone for the 5th time in as many minutes. his thumb hovers over the screen, debating whether to check his messages again, even though he knows there’s no point. 

you haven’t replied yet.

the fundraiser for marine conservation is tonight, and he’s been pretending it’s no big deal... but fuck.

he was so nervous when he asked you to go with him and now he feels like all his efforts are being wasted.

...

“so, uh,” he starts, his voice a little too casual, “there’s this fundraiser gala thing on friday night. save the dolphins thing—a-and… it’s no big deal but—”

you glance at him, eyebrows raised. 

“yeah? sounds fancy.”

he shrugs, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “i guess it is. it’s a black-tie kind of event… and i, uh… i was thinking... maybe you’d want to come with me?”

you blink, caught off guard by the sudden invite. 

“i hate dolphins.”

“i know.”

you sigh, pretending to be burdened by his request. “but i’ll go. if you want me to.”

“i do want you to.”

“okay.”

“good,” he breathes, glancing over with a lopsided grin that he hopes hides how nervous he actually feels. “you’ll make me look good. people are suckers for pretty dates.”

“oh, so you’re using me as a prop?” you tease, though your lips twitch into a smirk.

“obviously,” he replies smoothly, though his grip on the wheel tightens slightly. “but, hey, it’s a dinner, you get to see my in a tux which is practically dessert—.”

you shake your head, laughing softly. 

“you’re ridiculous.”

“so ridiculous that this can count as our first date?” he presses, glancing over again, this time with a flicker of uncertainty he hopes you don’t catch.

after a beat, you sigh dramatically, turning in your seat to face him. 

“it’s a date.”

just as he’s about to make another comment, you lean over and press a quick kiss to his cheek, catching him completely off guard. his hands freeze on the wheel for half a second before he recovers.

“you missed—”

you laugh and hit his chest. then, he gets out of the car, helps you out, and walks you to your doorstep. 

...

now, as he sits alone in his room, the anticipation bubbling just under his skin, his phone buzzes on the counter. his heart skips for a moment before he grabs it, only to feel it sink as he reads your message.

yn [4:31PM]: nurse said it’s food poisoning  yn [4:32PM]: she gave me some meds to help but i literally feel like shit  yn [4:33PM]: i don’t think i’ll be able to make it tonight, baby :( i’m so sorry nerd [4:34PM]: don’t apologize. i’ll be over in a bit yn [4:35PM]: what ?? no !! get ready for your event. it’s important nerd [4:35PM]: so are u yn [4:36PM]: i’ll survive. go save the dolphins :p

his brows knit together as he reads it again, leaning back into the couch with a frustrated sigh.

he knows he shouldn’t feel disappointed—you can’t control being sick, and it’s not like this event means anything special. 

at least, that’s what he’s been telling himself.

still, he stares at the message for a long moment, debating whether to reply right away or wait a few minutes so he doesn’t seem too eager. his fingers hover over the keyboard before he finally types out a response, keeping it short and light, like he’s unbothered.

nerd [4:40PM]: get some rest. i’ll be telling everyone you ditched me tho  yn [4:41PM]: be sure to let the dolphins know too 🙂

he lets out a chuckle, but the weight in his chest doesn’t go away. 

he tosses his phone onto the coffee table and rakes a hand through his hair, wondering why the idea of showing up without you feels so much worse than he’d expected.

then, his phone buzzes with messages from the fundraiser committee. 

yet, he can only think of you… it’s a sinking feeling in his chest. 

you’re sick. 

the thought of going to that event while you’re home feeling miserable doesn’t sit right with him.

he sighs, grabbing his hoodie and pulling it over his head. he knows this is unprofessional and such an pussy excuse but—forget the event. 

it’s you that matters to him the most right now. 

so, jungkook calls his event and lets them know that something came up. he tosses aside his tux and puts on comfier clothes before heading to the kitchen to make you some chicken noodle soup.

before he heads out, jungkook hears a familiar groan from the living room. he turns, already annoyed, knowing exactly who it is.

jimin and taehyung are stretched out on the couch, looking like they’ve been hit by a truck. 

their faces are pale, eyes glassy with fever, and they groan as they shift under the blanket. it’s obvious they’re just as sick as you, if not worse.

“yo, jungkook,” taehyung calls out, voice nasally, “did you make soup? be a good boy and give us some—” 

jimin, equally pitiful, sits up a little and gives jungkook a pleading look. “yeah, we’re starving, man. plus, you’re not gonna leave us to die alone, right?”

jungkook raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“you won’t die from starvation.”

“how are you so sure?”

“cos i’ll kill you first,” jungkook snorts. “you guys got my girl sick with that stupid omelet you made her.”

the two of them groan in response, sitting up slowly. taehyung rubs his face with his hand. “we didn’t mean to! bro, look at us. you think we wanted this? we’re sick, too, you know.”

“yeah,” jimin adds, “there’s two friends sick here for you to take care of.”

jungkook just looks at them, his gaze hard. 

“who do you think i’m gonna choose right now?”

jimin squints, looking him up and down. “don’t you have that gala tonight?”

jungkook hesitates for a split second, but quickly shakes his head, giving them a dismissive wave. 

“it got canceled.” he lies. 

then, he turns away to head out the door. before he leaves he yells; “i’ll text yoongi hyung to make you some soup. don’t bother me. not coming home tonight.”

about 25 minutes later, jungkook stands in front of your doorway and his gaze falls on you as you open the door.

you're wearing his oversized t-shirt, hair up in a messy bun, and a pair of shorts—looking exhausted and a little pale. his stomach churns with worry, but he keeps his cool as always.

"what are you doing here? the gala..." you trail off, but before he can answer, you quickly turn and rush to the bathroom.

"shit," he mutters under his breath, following you at a steady pace.

when he enters the bathroom, you're already kneeling over the toilet, retching. his heart drops, but he doesn’t flinch. moving to your side, he gently pats your back.

“it was this bad?” he grumbles, a frown pulling at his lips. “why were you downplaying it through text?”

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, barely acknowledging him.

“i’m fine, seriously. just... just a little nausea.”

“fuck, ___..” he snaps, but his voice isn’t angry, more like exasperated. "this is stupid. you can’t be alone if you can’t even handle standing up to get the door without throwing up. are you fucking serious?." his eyes are narrowing now, the concern clear despite his snappy tone. “what the hell, ___?"

you sit back on the floor, leaning against the wall, your face pale. 

“i already bailed on the date. i couldn’t let you bail on the gala entirely.”

he shoots you a look, incredulous. 

“you think I’d rather be at a gala without you? honestly?”

“i just—"

“shut up,” he interrupts, his voice softer but firm. "you need someone. i’m here. deal with it."

there’s no room for argument in his voice.

you give him a tired smile despite the situation, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“you shouldn’t be here, though.”

“say that again.”

your lips tighten.

then, you gag and rush back to the toilet bowl. jungkook remains by your side, rubbing your back as you deal with another wave of nausea.

the moment is quiet except for the soft sounds of you breathing in between. for a second, it almost feels like everything has stopped, like it’s just the two of you in your small bathroom, nothing else in the world mattering.

after 40 minutes of hovering over the toilet, jungkook gets you settled on the couch.

he brings you water and asks if you’re down for some food. he brought over chicken noodle soup and you need to have something in your stomach before taking your medicine. you simply agree and wait for him to serve you. 

as you eat the soup, he scrolls through netflix and plays something. he talks for most of it and it helps distract you from feeling the full extent of your sickness. after you’ve eaten some of the soup he brought, you ask him to grab the medicine from your bag. 

“can you grab the other medicine bottle from my bag? the one the nurse gave me?”

jungkook, of course, doesn’t hesitate. 

he gets up and finds your bag in your bedroom. he pulls open your bag and begins rummaging through it, looking for the bottle. when his hand brushes against something thick and solid, he pulls out a book titled, “everything you need to know about dolphins a to z.”

his eyebrows furrow for a second as he stares down at it.

he doesn’t know why, but a strange warmth spreads through him. it’s pretty obvious why you have this book—but seeing it in your bag... it makes him pause.

his lips tighten slightly as he puts the book back down in your bag, quickly hiding his reaction. he doesn’t want you to see how much it’s affecting him right now.

when he returns with the medicine, his expression’s back to its usual, nonchalant self. as much as jungkook wants to pretend like he didn’t see it or that seeing it didn’t matter—he can’t. 

to him, it mattered. 

it mattered a lot.

a few days later, you’re sitting across from jungkook in the library. 

the late afternoon sun streaming through the tall windows and casting a golden glow over the table. textbooks and notebooks are scattered between you, his handwriting messier than yours but still oddly charming. you’re mid-sentence, asking him about his opinion on a the newest theory you learned during your lecture when he suddenly tugs off his crewneck, revealing the black t-shirt clinging to his frame underneath.

it’s warm in the library, the kind of cozy heat that sneaks up on you, and he doesn’t think twice about it. 

but you do.

“woah—” you blurt out, your question forgotten as your gaze catches on his arms. you've seen his tattoos before but for some reason... they look different to you now.

they appeal different to you.

jungkook looks up from his notes, brows raised.

“what?”

you blink, trying to refocus, but your eyes betray you, flickering back to the ink winding its way down his arm. 

“your tattoos,” you say, almost dazed. “they’re... really hot.”

“think so?”

“yeah,” you admit. “gets me horny. ”

you then feel the warmth crawl up your neck as the words leave your mouth. you quickly look back down at your notes, hoping the earth might just swallow you whole.

jungkook freezes for a moment, the tips of his ears turning the faintest shade of pink. then he shakes his head, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. it’s not his usual confident grin—it’s softer, like he’s caught off guard but not in a bad way.

he doesn’t say anything, just ducks his head slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s trying to hold back a laugh.

you try to ignore the way he shifts in his seat, casually stretching his arms behind his head like he’s showing off—not that he’d ever admit it...

for the next two weeks, jungkook suddenly seems allergic to long sleeves. 

he starts showing up in short-sleeved t-shirts, rolling his sleeves higher than necessary when he wears his uniform jacket, and leaning in just a little closer when he knows your gaze will drift.

“you’re shameless,” you mumble one day, catching him flexing—not subtly—while reaching for a book on the top shelf.

“what?” he asks innocently, glancing down at you with those wide eyes that don’t match the smirk tugging at his lips.

you roll your eyes, biting back a grin.

“you’re annoying.”

“why? are you horny?” he says, his voice low enough to make you want to shove him.

you don’t answer, but the way you avoid his gaze—and the small smile tugging at your lips—says enough. he notices, of course, because he always does.

after a few moments of silence, you huff at him.

"is everything you say always so... dirty?"

he shrugs.

"you brought up being horny first..."

"yeah, but—"

"you think i'm dirty?" jungkook interrupts you. "should i shower?"

you scoff at him. before you can say anything, he adds;

"you’d join me though, right?"

a month later, jungkook does it again. 

you find yourself standing in the middle of your apartment—he shows up.

your phone is clutched tightly in your hand as you try to blink away the tears threatening to spill. the call you just had—a frustrating, heart-wrenching argument with your family—leaves you feeling raw and small. the weight of their words presses heavily on your chest, and all you can do is stare blankly at the mess of papers scattered on your desk.

a sharp knock on your door pulls you out of your thoughts. you freeze, wiping at your cheeks hastily, but the door creaks open before you can say anything.

"is that my hoodie?"

"jungkook—"

“you haven't been answering my texts all day,” jungkook says, stepping in without waiting for an invitation. he’s holding a bag of takeout.

"everything okay?"

“i’m fine,” you say, your voice shaky despite your best efforts to sound convincing.

he narrows his eyes at you, placing the takeout and hoodie on your coffee table before crossing his arms.

“yeah, no.”

you try to argue, but he’s already moving, shrugging off his jacket and plopping onto the couch like he owns the place.

“whatever it is, you don’t have to talk about it right now,” he says, pulling out containers of food. “but you do have to eat. and i’m not leaving until you do.”

your throat tightens at his matter-of-fact tone, his presence somehow both comforting and overwhelming. he doesn’t pry, doesn’t demand to know what happened.

“you didn’t have to come,” you murmur, sinking onto the couch beside him.

“yeah, i did,” he replies, handing you a pair of chopsticks. “and don’t even think about pretending you’re not hungry.”

a small, shaky laugh escapes you, the tension in your chest loosening just a little.

“you’re so annoying.”

“friends are supposed to annoy each other. learned that shit from you.”

jungkook’s door swings open with a suddenness that startles him. 

the faint squeak of the hinges cuts through the quiet. he’s mid-motion, towel slung around his neck, tugging a loose white shirt over his head when you stroll in without so much as a knock. he’s also wearing grey sweatpants… 

wet hair, white shirt, and grey sweats? 

the holy trinity.

“you know,” he begins to scold you. “boundaries exist for a reason.”

he shakes his damp hair as you plop onto his bed like it’s yours.

“boundaries?” you scoff, grabbing your plushie. your precious hello kitty plushie. “this is practically my second home.”

he doesn’t argue, just lets out a quiet chuckle as he pulls the hem of his shirt down. 

holding up the plushie like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever seen. “can i take her home today?”

“sure,” jungkook says, his voice carrying that infuriating mix of teasing confidence and barely veiled challenge. he leans against his desk, arms crossed, watching with a smirk as you clutch the hello kitty plushie tightly to your chest, as if it’s your only lifeline against his charm. 

“can i be your boyfriend today?”

you groan, throwing yourself back onto his bed with a dramatic sigh, the plushie landing on your face. 

“seriously? you’re really holding this poor plushie hostage?”

he laughs, low and amused, pushing off the desk and taking a few steps closer. 

“a deal’s a deal,” he says lightly, but there’s a glint in his eyes as he towers over you. “you can take her home—when you’re my girl.”

you yank the plushie off your face, sitting up sharply. 

“do you think we’re better friends?” you huff, your tone indignant but your heart racing under the weight of his gaze. 

jungkook crouches slightly, leaning in until his face is just a few inches from yours. his smirk softens into something more playful, but the shift in proximity makes your stomach flip. 

“i think so…” he murmurs, his eyes flickering between your face and the plushie pressed against your chest. “aside from me trying to kiss you every chance i get and you being horny every time you see my tattoos—”

you narrow your eyes at him, holding the plushie tighter, as if it’s a shield against the way he’s looking at you. 

“you’re unbelievable.”

“and yet,” he starts, his voice dropping an octave as he moves even closer, one hand bracing on the bed beside your knee, the other reaching out to gently brush his fingers over the plushie’s soft fabric. “here you are.”

his free hand slides around your waist, tugging you just slightly toward him, and your breath hitches. “but if you don’t want her…” he teases, his voice trailing off as his face inches closer to yours. his gaze dips briefly to your lips, and before you can fully process it, he’s leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

except you shove hello kitty between you two just in time.

“nope!” you say quickly, holding the plushie up like a barrier, your cheeks flaming as you hear him laugh, the sound vibrating through the air between you.

“seriously?” he says, pulling back just enough to raise an eyebrow, though his grin never falters. his hand stays firm at your waist, his thumb brushing the fabric of your shirt in slow, lazy circles. “you’re really using her to block me?”

“you started it,” you shoot back, glaring at him even as your grip on the plushie tightens.

“fair,” he admits with a chuckle, straightening up slightly but keeping his hold on you. his other hand moves to tap the plushie’s head. “but the deal still stands. not my girlfriend, not your hello kitty.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

he tilts his head, his grin softening, though his hand still lingers at your waist, his warmth impossible to ignore. 

“i don’t know,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost coaxing. “sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

you glare at him again, this time with less heat, and shove the plushie into his chest.

“you’re insufferable.”

he laughs, taking the plushie from your hands but not letting you go.

“maybe,” he says, “but you’re still here.”

hours later, the room is quiet except for the soft scratch of jungkook’s pen against paper and the occasional shuffle of his chair as he shifts at his desk. you’re curled up on his bed, the hello kitty plushie still clutched against your chest, your breaths slow and steady as sleep overtakes you.

he glances back at you every now and then, a small, unspoken fondness softening his features. when you stir, rubbing your eyes and sitting up, he turns back to his notes, feigning nonchalance.

you pad over to him, your steps muffled against the carpet. without a word, you slip onto his lap, one arm draping lazily over his shoulders as you pluck his glasses from his face.

“good nap?” he asks, his voice a mix of amusement and exasperation as you slide the frames onto your own nose. “those—”

squinting dramatically, you nag him; “ugh, how do you even function with these? everything’s blurry.”

“that’s because they’re prescription, genius,” he says, reaching for them, but you lean back, keeping them out of his reach.

“maybe i’ll keep these,” you tease, poking at the side of his head. “you can’t study without them, can you?”

“give them back, or i’m kicking you off my lap,” he warns, though his hands settle firmly on your waist instead of following through on his threat.

“yeah, sure... because you hate this so much.”

“try me,” he challenges, his grip tightening just slightly as if to prove his point.

“you’re so bossy,” you grumble, sliding the glasses off and placing them haphazardly on his desk. “happy now?”

“ecstatic,” he says dryly, though his lips twitch upward.

you lean closer, your face just inches from his, your playful smirk softening into something quieter, more genuine. 

“you know, you’re really cute when you’re all serious, studious, and grumpy.”

“and you’re kind of annoying when you don’t let me finish studying,” he shoots back, though there’s no real bite to his words.

“fine, fine,” you say, preparing to climb off his lap with exaggerated dramatics. “go be a nerd. i’ll be over there cuddling hello kitty—”

“i could use a 5 minute break.”

you fix your posture, perking up. 

“really?” you tilt your head at him. “i mean… i’d hate to distract you.”

“really?” he mocks you. “you’re sitting on my lap and moving your hips and yet—you’d hate to distract me, huh?”

you nod innocently. then, you shrug and confess;

“i’m bored.”

“what do you want me to do about that? this final is really important—f-fuck. ___, don’t move like that.”

you shift again. 

“like what?”

“you know what you’re—”

“what am i doing?” you ask, leaning your body closer to his. you caress his face and pout at him. “is 5 minutes even considered a break? don’t you need more time?”

“more time for what?” jungkook lowers his gaze at you. 

“i don’t know,” you giggle. “what do you wanna do?”

jungkook can’t take it. 

playing cat and dog or whatever this bullshit is. 

you’re on top of him, prettier than ever. you’re wearing a low-cut tank top with a fucking bow in the middle… and he can’t breathe anything in except you. what is he supposed to do right now? 

“___… if you don’t get off me—”

“if i don’t get off you… what?”

you smile at him softly. shifting again, you drag your hips towards him. his eyes widen. 

“i might cum.”

you pout. “really?”

jungkook swallows. 

“keep moving your hips like that and you’ll find out soon.”

“oh…”

a beat. 

“like this?”

before he knows it, you’re humping him. 

he grunts as he feels himself harden under you. you bite your bottom lip as you drag your hips back and forth. you feel the pressure against your clit as your clothes rub together. 

jungkook hisses at your pace. 

“f-fuck..”

as he bucks his lips, he places his hands on your waist, helping your movement. you let out a few breathy moans and jungkook feels like he could die. 

you’re so pretty. 

his hands tighten around you when he senses that you’re close. 

“am i doing this right? it feels—feels g-good.”

“yeah? feels good, baby?” jungkook breathes.

“mhmm…”

“do you feel my dick?” he asks. “feel how hard it is against your fucking pussy?”

“i do,” you moan. “so big, jungkook. can i take it soon?”

he hisses. 

“promise me,” you whine. “promise me that you’ll fuck me soon.”

jungkook’s breath hitches. 

he was wrong. 

that time he ran his mouth about your virginity being too much or a burden or something—fuck was he wrong. 

it’s not a burden.

it’s the greatest privilege he could ever be given… now to have you like this? begging like that? holy shit is he more than ready to give you anything and everything you want. 

“promise, baby,” he says. “promise it’s gonna be me.”

you nod, happy with his answer. 

and just as you’re about to continue, you take his hands to your tits. first, he squeezes them… then you guide them to the strap of your tank top. taking the cue, jungkook tugs your straps down, revealing your bare tits. 

“___…” he moans. “shit.”

you bring his hands to your tits again, helping him cup them. as you hump him with more intensity, jungkook’s mouth parts. your tits bounce up and down and it sends shivers down his spine. your tits are so full in his hands and so fucking perfect up close. he loves all of it—the shape, the size, the way it feels… so soft. he’s always been an ass type of guy but holy shit—your tits are a game changer for him. 

nevertheless, he tries to focuses on you. 

“bouncy.”

“yeah?” you pant. “you like them?”

jungkook nods pathetically. 

he fights shutting his eyes. he wants to remember all of this. every detail. 

how hard he is right now. how hard your nipples are and how they feel being played in between his fingers. he runs his thumb around them, pressing, squeezing, and tugging… he loves how your moans sound—like they’re music to his ears… he can’t… he can’t picture anything else. he can’t hear anything else. he can’t breathe anything in but you.

“jungkook…” you cry, feeling yourself about to climax.

“s-shit,” he hisses as you begin to whimper. 

the humping is great. 

amazing in fact—but the way you’re whimpering right now? 

fuck.

“jungkook,” you breathe, trying to catch your breath. “a-are you close? mhmmm… f-fuck!” 

you hump him faster and harder. he lets out a few moans before sharply inhaling—

“o-ohh,” jungkook moans. “nghhhh… fuck.”

you grind on him slowly, easing his release. his crotch area is wet, making an obvious stain on his grey sweatpants.

he throws his head back. you lean over and kiss his neck. he bites his lip, attempting to hide his smile. 

a silence fills the room. 

you two are in total disbelief. 

then, you shift and he places his hands on your waist again. 

“did you cum?” 

he lets out a chuckle. “yeah. did you?”

“i think so? i don’t know.”

“sorry,” he sighs, a little disappointed you didn’t get to finish. “do you wanna—”

“it’s fine that i didn’t come. i had fun…”

jungkook shakes his head. “no, it’s okay. i can—”

“can i see?”

jungkook blinks at you. 

“what?”

“you came right?”

“yeah—”

“can i see what your cum looks like?”

some days with jungkook are so easy, it’s almost laughable.

the dynamic feels less like a friendship and more like a game you’re both playing—teasing, flirting, seeing how far you can push before one of you finally gives in.

but then there are days like this.

it’s been 3 month and a half since the kiss, and the comfort between you has grown in a way that makes everything feel light, almost effortless. you’re more yourself around him, and he’s let down his walls in ways you didn’t even realize were there. 

still, sometimes, you push his buttons just a little too hard.

today is one of those days.

it starts with a series of texts.

your usual banter that, for whatever reason, strikes a nerve.

maybe he’s stressed, or maybe you’re just too good at knowing exactly how to get under his skin. either way, it doesn’t take long before his responses turn clipped, each word laced with an irritation you’re not used to seeing from him.

yn [1:41PM]: C₄₃H₆₆N₁₂O₁₂S₂ nerd [1:48PM]: 😳 yn [1:50PM]: am i speaking ur language  nerd [1:53PM]: fluently, yes yn [1:54PM]: cool. dohwan taught me it  yn [1:55PM]: what does it mean nerd [1:59PM]: not funny. yn [2:00PM]: why am i laughing then seen yn [2:01PM]: aw don’t get all mad nerd [2:08PM]: not mad. jus uninterested in this topic. yn [2:10PM]: i’m sorry seen yn [2:14PM]: sorry :(  yn [2:15PM]: jungkook !!! yn [2:16PM]: wanna make out? typing… nerd [2:21PM]: yes

you don’t mean for it to escalate, but by the time you realize he’s genuinely annoyed, it’s too late to fix it over text. you bite your lip, staring at your phone, debating your next move.

and then, because you’re you, you grab your bag and head straight for his lab.

jungkook’s reputation precedes him on campus.

professors practically gloat about having him in their classes, like his achievements are trophies they get to display. it isn’t just his grades or his research—it’s the way he carries himself. sure, he's a little antisocial but he's focused, driven, and somehow still effortlessly cool.

you always knew he was smart, but seeing him in his element, tucked away in the chemistry lab during his solo hours, is something else entirely.

the lab is a world of its own.

notes scrawled in sharp, precise handwriting cover the workspace, surrounded by neatly labeled vials, bubbling solutions, and meticulous arrangements of equipment.

jungkook stands at the center of it all, wearing a crisp lab coat with the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the ink decorating his forearms. protective goggles perch on his nose, and his brows furrow as he scribbles something into a notebook. he’s intimidatingly focused, and for a moment, you hesitate in the doorway.

he notices the movement immediately, his sharp eyes snapping up to meet yours. for a beat, his expression doesn’t change, and your stomach churns with nerves under his scrutinizing gaze.

“what are you doing here?”

“i, uh…” you shift awkwardly, trying to find your footing under his intense stare. “i wanted to check on you. you seemed upset earlier.”

jungkook exhales, a hand dragging through his dark hair, slightly disheveling the strands sticking out under the goggles. his posture stiffens slightly before he stands straighter, folding his arms across his chest. 

“i’m fine,” he says, the words clipped and automatic, like he’s said them a hundred times before.

he doesn’t look at you again after that, instead turning back to the dense notebook in front of him. his pen taps against the edge of the table, a sharp, rhythmic sound that fills the silence between you.

you glance around, taking in the scrawled notes and bubbling glassware, and suddenly, you feel like an intruder.

this isn’t just a workspace; it’s his domain, and you’re a trespasser.

“right,” you whisper. “sorry. i just—”

your words catch as his head snaps up again, this time really looking at you. his dark eyes flick to the way you stand there, hands shoved deep into your jacket pockets, shoulders hunched slightly, and chewing the inside of your cheek.

the tension in his jaw softens, and he exhales again, but this time, it’s quieter, almost resigned. his shoulders relax as he sets the pen down, giving you his full attention now.

“do you want a tour?” he asks, his voice losing some of its earlier sharpness.

you blink at him, caught off guard. 

“really?”

he shrugs, a small, almost reluctant smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“yeah. just… don’t touch anything.”

you hesitate, unsure if this is a genuine offer or just him humoring you. but the way his gaze lingers—softer now, like he’s extending an olive branch—makes you take a small step forward.

“you’re sure?” you ask cautiously, your weight shifting between your feet.

“wouldn’t have offered if i wasn’t,” he says, already turning to gather a few items from the cluttered table.

his words are casual, but there’s something unspoken in the way he says them. it’s as if he’s acknowledging your effort without outright saying it, inviting you into a space you know he doesn’t share lightly.

“okay,” you say softly, stepping closer as he gestures to the setup in front of him.

jungkook guides you through the lab, his hand casually finding its way to the small of your back as he gestures to the next setup. the touch is subtle but grounding, the heat of his palm against your waist sending a quick flutter of awareness through you. his fingers rest there, steady, as he moves you along with a quiet confidence, his focus more on the equipment than the way your heart picks up its pace.

“this is my catalytic synthesis project,” he starts, motioning to the crowded workspace. his tone is calmer now, almost instructional as if falling into the rhythm of explaining makes it easier to let his guard down.

as he starts detailing his work, his body language shifts. his shoulders loosen, and the furrow in his brow disappears as he picks up a flask of pale yellow liquid. his hand moves with precise confidence, holding it up to the light as if to showcase his work.

“what does that even mean?” you ask, leaning in closer to inspect the array of equipment.

“it’s about creating biodiesel,” he explains, holding up a sheet of paper covered in equations and diagrams. “basically, i’m optimizing the reaction process to make it more efficient. fewer byproducts, higher yield.”

you blink, squinting at the equations like they might magically make sense. 

“that’s cool… i think. but how do you even do that?”

he chuckles, the sound low and surprisingly soft. 

“this,” he says, holding the flask again. “this is the feedstock. it’s like the base oil we start with. i mix it with methanol and a catalyst—”

“wait,” you interrupt, raising a hand. “what’s a catalyst?”

his lips twitch into a small grin, clearly amused by your cluelessness. 

“a catalyst is a substance that speeds up a chemical reaction without being consumed in the process.”

you nod as if you understand, but the tilt of your head gives you away.

jungkook sets the flask down and leans a hip against the table, crossing his arms loosely. “okay, think of it like this. imagine you’re cooking something. the catalyst is like the pan—it doesn’t get eaten, but it helps everything cook faster.”

“ohhh,” you say, the metaphor finally clicking. “why didn’t you just say that from the start?”

he raises an eyebrow, biting back a grin. “because i thought you were smart enough to keep up.”

“wow,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. “i come here to check on you, and this is the thanks i get?”

he shakes his head, a quiet laugh escaping him as he nudges your shoulder lightly with his. “first of all, you annoyed me. second of all, you’re the one who wanted a tour. i’m just giving you the full experience.”

“oh, sorry—” you let out a shallow laugh. “should i leave then—”

jungkook shakes his head and points to another setup—a small beaker bubbling over a hot plate. 

“look! this is the reaction in progress. that bubbling? that’s the methanol reacting with the oil. and over there,” he gestures to a series of tubes and a larger flask, “that’s where i separate the biodiesel from the glycerol. basically, the good stuff from the leftovers.”

you narrow your eyes at the apparatus. “this still sounds like you’re making moonshine.”

jungkook snorts, shaking his head. “i’m not making moonshine.”

“sure,” you mutter, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “that’s what someone making moonshine would say.”

he rolls his eyes, but the faint smile pulling at his lips betrays him. 

“you’re really annoying today.”

“you like me, though,” you shoot back, leaning against the table with newfound confidence.

jungkook pauses, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment too long. his lips part, and you catch a flicker of something in his expression—something softer, almost vulnerable.

“yeah,” he says quietly, almost under his breath, before turning back to his work. “i guess i do.”

as you lean over a neighboring table to inspect a beaker filled with an ominous-looking solution, your elbow bumps against it, sending it teetering dangerously close to the edge. the moment stretches out, everything moving in slow motion.

his words catch you off guard.

what did he just say?

holy—

“shit!” you yelp, reaching out instinctively to steady it. but before you can, the beaker tips over completely, the sulfuric acid inside spilling onto the floor—and dangerously close to your feet.

jungkook moves faster than you expect, his hand darting out to grab your arm as he yanks you backward with enough force to make you stumble into his chest. the acid splashes onto his hand as it hits the ground, and the sharp crack of shattering glass fills the room.

he flinches, a quiet hiss slipping through his teeth as he pulls his hand back.

“oh my god, jungkook!” you gasp, panic knotting your stomach. his hand lingers briefly on your arm before he steps away, already moving toward the nearest sink.

“stay there,” he orders, his voice clipped but steady, as he flips on the cold water and thrusts his hand under the stream.

your eyes are locked on his injured hand, where faint discoloration is already starting to show.

“are you okay? does it hurt?” you ask, your voice shaky.

“it’s fine,” he says tightly, jaw clenched as the water rushes over his skin. “are you okay? nothing got on you, right?”

you take a step closer, your gaze flicking between his face and his hand. he looks calm—too calm—but the way his lips press into a thin line tells you otherwise.

“no. nothing got on me… jungkook,” you say softly, guilt and worry twisting in your chest. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to—”

“don’t,” he cuts you off, shaking his head as he grabs a paper towel to dry his hand. his voice isn’t harsh, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s holding something back. “this is why i don’t give tours.”

you wince, the weight of his words making you shrink slightly. “i—i’ll make it up to you,” you blurt, your voice desperate to fix this. “whatever you want.”

he glances at you then, finally letting out a soft, exasperated laugh. his expression softens, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint smirk. 

“you’re giving me that much power?”

“jungkook,” you warn, narrowing your eyes, but your voice wavers. you’re still too focused on his hand, your own tightening into fists at your sides. “this is serious. do you want to go to nurse or hospital or something—”

“relax baby,” he says, his tone lighter now as he flexes his fingers experimentally. “it’s not that bad. really. it was just sulfuric acid.”

“acid—”

“stop,” jungkook sighs. “seriously. it’s okay.”

“you shouldn’t have done that though,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

he shakes his head, smiling faintly—half amused, half surprised by your concern. 

“what, and let you burn yourself instead?”

a beat.

"i'm dating a klutz," he chuckles, the words slipping out so naturally it takes you both a second to realize what he’s just said. his eyes widen slightly, but instead of backpedaling, "guess i should get used to you fucking my shit up, right?"

your chest tightens.

dating?

jungkook clears his throat. 

“don't over think it," jungkook grumbles.

"jungkook—"

he doesn’t let you finish, his jaw tightening.

“___, what are you doing here if you don’t think we’re dating?”

“what does that even mean?” you fire back, crossing your arms defensively. “you can’t just say shit like that and expect me not to overthink it.”

“then maybe don’t think so much,” he mutters under his breath. "you're good at that anyway."

“don’t think?!” you huff incredulously, stepping closer. “jungkook, you’re impossible.”

he glares at you, setting down the equipment with a loud clink. “and you’re confusing. ___, you’re acting like—”

“acting like what?”

“like you don’t want this.”

the tension doesn’t ease as you both leave the lab. 

he grabs his bag, muttering something about not wanting to talk here, and before you can argue, he’s already halfway down the corridor. you jog to keep up with his long strides, half-annoyed, half-confused, as he leads you across campus.

the walk is silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the faint chatter of students in the distance. his jaw is tight, his shoulders stiff, and you can tell he’s barely holding himself together.

“jungkook...” you try, your voice softer this time, but he doesn’t respond, doesn’t even glance back.

by the time you reach his place, your confusion has morphed into frustration. 

he unlocks the door without a word, stepping inside and leaving it open for you to follow.

you hesitate for a moment, then step in, the familiar scent of his space wrapping around you. before you can say anything, he drops his bag on the floor and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“sit,” he orders, pointing to his bed.

your brows knit together.

“i’m not a dog,” you snap, but the weight in his tone makes you obey anyway. you sit at the edge of his bed, crossing your arms and glaring up at him.

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his already messy hair. his pacing starts then, a restless back-and-forth motion across the small room. the air feels heavy, thick with unspoken words and the lingering tension from earlier.

“okay,” he starts, his voice low and strained. “let’s just… get this out in the open.”

you raise a brow, waiting for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. instead, he keeps pacing, his hand dragging down his face as if he’s trying to physically pull the words out of himself.

“get what out in the open?” you prod, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “jungkook, what’s your deal? one second you’re fine, and the next—”

“fine?” he cuts you off, his tone sharper now. he stops pacing to face you, his hands planted on his hips. “you think i’m fine?”

you blink, taken aback.

“well, no, obviously not. but you’re also not making any sense—”

“you want to talk about making sense?” he scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping him. “you’re the one who’s impossible, you know that? one minute you’re here, acting like we’re—like this is something, and the next you’re…”

“the next i’m what?” you challenge, standing now. “go ahead, say it.”

jungkook looks at your sternly. then, he gives you his heart.

“i can’t keep doing this, ___. i need to know—are you in or are you out? because i get the whole wanting to make me miserable part. i get it. i’ve been awful to you. i’ve put words in your mouth and i’ve said shit that i can’t take back… but i’m trying. it feels like you aren’t.”

the weight of his words crashes over you, leaving you rooted in place. you want to respond, to say something, but the lump in your throat won’t budge.

he steps closer, his eyes searching yours.

“just… tell me what you want. because if you don’t want me, i need to know now.”

the silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. you feel his gaze burning into you, his desperation palpable.

“i don’t know how to have you,” you say, your voice breaking slightly.

his shoulders drop, and for the first time since this started, he looks less angry and more… hurt.

“what do you mean?” he asks, his tone gentler now.

“i don’t know,” you breathe. “i’ve never… gone this far. guys give up after the chase… you’re… you’re still here. what happens now? sex?”

he shrugs. "is that all you want?"

"no."

"then no."

silence.

“___, i'm here. i've come this far and i want to go further. sex or not—whatever,” he says, taking another step closer, his hand reaching out to lightly brush against your arm. “is that what scares you?”

you nod.

“am i… am i supposed to just—” your chest tightens, and the room feels too small, too charged. his words hang in the air, and you know there’s no going back after this. “i don’t know—”

“why are you here, ___?”

“you asked me that already.” you retort.

“yeah, and you didn’t answer,” he shoots back.

you sigh, exasperated. “i’m here because—i don’t know… you’re my friend, okay? or whatever.”

his laugh is sharp and humorless. “friend. right.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means i don’t want to be your friend,” he says plainly, his eyes burning into yours. “i haven’t wanted that for a while now.”

your breath catches. “jungkook—”

he steps closer, and for a moment, you think he might kiss you. but he stops just short, his voice low and rough. 

“i want you to stop pretending like there’s nothing here. i want you to stop running every time i get close.”

you open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat.

“again, if you don’t want this—me—then tell me,” he continues, his voice softening. “but don’t keep showing up, acting like i don’t drive you as crazy as you drive me. don’t… please, don’t make me feel stupid.”

the room feels too small, the air too thick.

jungkook’s hand lingers on your arm, his touch grounding even as your heart races wildly. his dark eyes search yours, flickering with emotions you can’t fully decipher—hurt, hope, frustration.

“you don’t have to know everything right now,” he says softly, his voice carrying a steadiness that contrasts with the storm raging between you. “i’m not asking for perfect, ___. i’m not even asking for easy. i just…” he exhales shakily, the vulnerability in his tone cutting through your defenses. “i just need to know you’re willing to try.”

your throat tightens, his words hitting you in a place you’ve tried so hard to ignore. the thought of trying—of letting yourself fall completely, with no safety net—terrifies you. but the thought of him walking away? it’s unbearable.

“i want you,” you whisper, the fear laced in your voice so raw it feels like you’ve just exposed every guarded corner of yourself. “i want you, jungkook.”

his fingers trail down your arm, stopping just above your wrist. 

“say it again,” he says, his tone almost exasperated, but not unkind. “please?”

you bite your lip, the weight of his words pressing down on you. everything about this moment feels pivotal, like a single word could either shatter or rebuild everything between you.

“i want you, jungkook,” you admit, your voice trembling but resolute. “i… i want us.”

his expression softens, relief washing over his features like a tidal wave.

“good,” he murmurs, stepping closer, so close that his scent—clean, familiar, entirely jungkook—invades your senses. then, his hands come up, gently cradling your face as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze.

“i… i want us too. i think it’s all i ever really wanted. to be yours…”

his thumbs stroke your cheeks, and before you can overthink it, he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. the tension in the room shifts, softening but no less charged.

“does this mean i get to take hello kitty home today?” you whisper, your voice barely audible. 

“is that all you really care about?” he says, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. 

“i care about other things.”

“like what?”

“like you.”

and then he kisses you.

you and jungkook have been dating for 6 months when you suddenly say; "happy 6 months, baby! wanna have sex?"

jungkook practically jolts out of his bed and takes the plushie. he places it on his desk and turns hello kitty over to face the wall. (no, you haven't taken it home. for some reason, it suits being in jungkook's room more than yours).

you laugh as he turns back to you and says;

"good timing, ___. i'm ovulating."

jungkook can't breathe.

… and you? you never expected it to feel this way. 

the thrill of it… the intensity—the intimacy. 

as jungkook towers over you, he pulls his shirt over his head. the minute his chest is bare, your hands find your way to roam around his body. his abs, his biceps, and down his—

“wait,” jungkook pleads, eyes hungrily looking into yours. “wanna take this slow with you. wanna do it right for you.”

you nod slowly, understanding what he means. 

the truth is; your virginity is your virginity.

there isn’t much to it aside from that the fact that it’s not taken. you were never wronged but you were also never pursued right… sure, it’s special… but it isn’t everything. 

jungkook treats it like it is though. 

you don’t mind. 

for the past 6 months, he's been really careful with how he acts around you sexually. sure, a few pussy eating moments and heated make outs have been happening... but not the full thing. actually, you've never really seen jungkook's dick yet.

he refuses to let you give him a blowjob.

said something about how easy it is for him to cum at the thought of you—he isn't ready to embarrass himself in front of you just yet.

but today, at your 6 month mark, it's different.

jungkook can't hold it in anymore and you showed up extra pretty. you planned this, didn't you?

(yes.)

gently, he helps you undress.

he takes your shirt off for you and takes a deep breath when you arch your back for him to unclasp your bra. nervously, he does so. then, he tosses your bra aside and takes in the view. 

the prettiest fucking tits he’s ever seen. 

jungkook reaches, cupping and squeezing your boobs. you watch him as he does so, unsure of what to do. 

he then lowers himself, placing kisses over your tits and down your stomach. positioning himself more comfortably, he finds himself in between your legs. lifting them up, he takes your pants off… then, his eyes flicker from you to your panties. 

his fingers play with the hem of your panties. then, he scrunches them together, tugging them up so your folds are exposed. 

“fuck,” jungkook groans. “so pretty…”

“yeah?” 

“yeah,” he breathes, watching your pussy begin to swell. “think your kitty can be good for me? think you can be patient? that’s it… good kitty.”

you tilt your chin down to look at him. 

he’s licking his lips, lowering himself down to your pussy. 

“be a good kitty, okay?” he says, as he begins to massage your pussy with his hands. your panties are still on so the friction of the fabric make you a little annoyed. 

aren’t you having sex soon?

shoudn’t this shit be off be now?

“jungkook—”

“i know, baby,” jungkook pouts at you. “i know it’s hard to wait… look at your pussy… so wet and your panties aren’t even off.”

“i get more wet than this?”

“if i play my cards right, yeah.”

you whimper. “please, jungkook… just.. take them off.”

“you want me to?”

“yes,” you huff. “want you to take my panties off.”

he nods slowly… as if he’s thinking about something—considering something.

then, he decides to give in. 

jungkook tugs your panties down entirely, leaving your pussy out in the open. he throws his head back in admiration. it’s like he’s been hit by cupid or something.

without warning, he buries his face inside. 

jungkook begins with a couple licks and spreading your folds a part. his tongue brushes against your clit—up, down, side to side—everywhere. god, you feel him everywhere. after a few licking and sucking moments, he pulls away and rubs his thumb against your clit. he spits on your pussy—letting his saliva drool down slowly. 

you watch. 

“you like that, baby? you like when i spit in your pussy?”

tongue-tied, you nod obediently. 

he grins before giving in again. 

jungkook eats you up, devouring every inch of your pussy. before you know it, he’s shoving a finger inside you as he sucks on your clit. you almost yelp at the sensation—a feeling completely new to you. 

“ohhh… yeah… f-feels so good, jungkook…” you moan, throwing your head back. 

honestly, the added finger burns. 

but he’s gentle with it. he moves his finger inside you with lots of intentions. he gradually shoves it in deeper and deeper too.. it just… it feels good. 

so good. 

you throw your head back and grab a fist full of his hair. 

“uh, uhhhh… mhmfffph—” you moan. “ohhh…. f-fuck…”

jungkook looks up and watches the way your lips twitch. how your body reacts to him eating you out… and it all just boosts his ego. 

he’s so glad to be here. 

jungkook then pulls away, taking his tongue out of the equation. he focuses on fingering you, making sure you’re enjoying the way it feels. you two catch each others gaze and continue to look into each others eyes. 

as jungkook picks up the pace fingering you, you bite your lip and love the way his eyebrows furrow in concentration. 

“f-fuck,” you utter. “i’m gonna—o-ohhh!”

you cum on his fingers. 

jungkook pulls them out, taking your cum and spreading it around your folds. he massages it in like lube before taking his fingers to his mouth. 

he tastes you. 

then, before you can catch your breath, jungkook leans down and kisses you. 

he kisses you deeply. 

when he pulls away, you ask; “c-can we…”

jungkook chuckles. 

“soon,” he assures you, tucking your hair behind your ear. he presses his lips against your cheek. 

then, his lips find yours with a hesitance that feels almost reverent, like he’s afraid to ruin something sacred. and then, slowly, he deepens the kiss—tentative at first, but with a growing confidence that feels utterly jungkook.

it’s the kind of kiss that feels like discovery. like he’s studying every angle, every curve, every reaction, cataloging them in his mind like a scholar with his favorite subject. his hands hold you as if you’re delicate but unshakable all at once, his thumbs brushing tenderly against your jawline.

when he tilts his head, changing the angle, it’s with a deliberate slowness, as though he’s savoring the moment, pulling apart the layers of this kiss to commit it to memory. you can feel the way his lips curve faintly against yours, like he’s smiling, like he’s finding joy in every second of this new experiment.

and you realize—he’s not just kissing you. 

he’s learning you.

nerd.

you gasp when he pulls you closer, your arms instinctively wrapping around his body. his lips part slightly, and the way he kisses you now feels like a question, like he’s asking for something without saying a word.

he’s meticulous, like he wants to explore every inch of you through this kiss, leaving no detail untouched. the way he holds you is tender but firm, grounding you while setting your pulse on fire.

when he finally pulls back, his breathing is uneven, his forehead pressing lightly against yours. his eyes flutter open, and they’re soft, full of something you can’t quite name but feel all the same.

“i want you forever,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with awe, as though he’s just unraveled the world’s most beautiful equation. 

you giggle at him. “great. can we start now?”

“way to kill the mood—”

“please, for the love of god!” you squirm. “fuck me already.”

jungkook can’t help but laugh. 

but he gives in. 

jungkook shifts out of his pants, revealing his hard cock. 

you stare at it.

it's pretty.

it's thick all around and his tip looks like it's angry. you like the way it looks though... looks delicious. his cock has you completely mesmerized. you almost want to crawl to it but he saves you the journey as he brings it close to you. 

truth be told, jungkook's a little nervous.. he doesn't want to fuck this up.

“you know…” he begins, as he jerks himself off in front of you. “i want to be mean. like, really fucking mean. i want to make you beg. i want to make you choke on my fucking cock and have you scream my name but—fuck, ___… i look at you and i can’t…. i can’t even do all i want with our fucking foreplay because i fold so easily when it comes to you. you want me to fuck you? fine. i’ll fuck you.”

“be mean,” you whimper. “come on. don’t be a pussy. just because this is my first time—f-fuck! holy shit, jungkook—”

jungkook has slowly puts his cock inside you. 

you gasp for air. 

he caresses your face as you adjust to him being inside you. then, he drags his tongue around your neck. he sucks on it a bit, causing you to grip the sheets.

“o-oh my… j-jungkook…”

“you okay, baby?” he asks, slightly moving himself in deeper. 

you take a deep breath and exhale from your mouth. “f-fuck…”

he’s so big. 

you can feel every curve of his dick and vein. when his tip entered, it felt funny. like, uncomfortable but also really fucking good. as he begins to thrust in and out, you breathe through the sharpness of his movement. 

“hurts…” you confess. 

jungkook shifts, and kisses your neck. against your skin, he murmurs; “i’m sorry, baby… do you want me to—”

“no,” you tell him, as you open your legs wider. you wrap yourself around him and hold on tight. “think… think i’m okay. can you move more?”

jungkook nods and kisses you once more. 

he begins to fuck you.

slowly but surely… he begins to drill himself into you. 

missionary isn’t his favourite but having you this way… especially for your first time? god, did he love this. as you dig your nails into his back, you whimper every time he thrusts back inside you. 

“f-fuck,” you moan. “jungkook… it’s…”

“what?” he almost panics. “a-are you okay?”

“yeah,” you breathe. “it feels good now… can you… go harder?”

jungkook hisses, feeling like he could lose his mind. 

“can we switch position?” he pitches.

you agree.

jungkook then pulls out of you, and you suddenly feel the emptiness. he goes on his knees and takes you by your waist, guiding you to turn over and go on all fours. 

doggy. 

jungkook helps you position yourself before angling himself. he licks his hand and spreads your entrance. he then guides his dick inside you. as he begins to thrust, you suddenly feel him reach around and start to rub your clit…

and oh my god. 

does it feel heavenly. 

“oh,” you hum. “feels so good.”

jungkook leans over, and kisses your shoulder. as he pulls away, he takes his other hand and grabs a fistfull of your hair. he pulls your hair back and you moan at the tightness. 

“you like that, my little bitch?” he grunts as he fucks you. 

he feels your pussy clench. then, he smriks. 

“oh? you like being called a little bitch, huh?” jungkook then takes his hand off your clit and uses it to slap your ass. "my fucking cockslut. always so fucking horny but you're just a little dirty minded virgin, right? not anymore, okay? i'm taking it. taking all your sticky fucking cum. you're all mine, baby. you know that, right? you're mine, bitch."

smack. 

your pussy tightens around his cock again. 

smack. 

you moan his name. 

“jungkook…”

he inshales shaprly and moves both hands and grabs your waist. he pulls you into him with each trust, adding more intensity. 

jungkook fucks you harder and harder and you can’t help but love the way it feels. you moan his name, whimpering pleads like; “please… please, fuck me harder.” you can’t help it… it’s the way that his hard cock feels inside you that make you say shit like that. it’s the way that his hands roam around your body and you feel him everywhere… because he is everywhere. 

his mind goes dizzy. 

he goes blank actually. 

then, when you reach back and wrap your arms around the back of your thighs—jungkook feels like he might lose it. 

how do you know how to move like that?

god, you’re so hot. 

“mhmm. that’s it…. fucking me so good, nerd.”

then, jungkook loses it. 

like… really. 

he fucks you harder and harder until you’re whimpering his name and almost near tears. he doesn’t realize how hard he’s fucking you until you’re near climax—

“i’m cumming!” you cry. “baby, i’m gonna—ahh, a-ahhh! fuck..”

it happens so fast. 

suddenly, you cum and you lose your balance. 

jungkook helps you lay down properly. he gets on top, continuing to fuck you in missionary. he fucks you through your orgasm. as you catch your breath, you feel him hiss against your skin. 

“fuck.”

just then, jungkook pulls out. 

as he jerks himself off, you tug on his hand and pout at him. he tilts his head, a little confused but quickly catches on. 

“cum right on me?”

(i mean, camaraderie)

a few seconds later, jungkook straddles your face. 

he places his dick inside you mouth and you focus on licking the tip of his dick. you do it softly, not adding much pressure. it sends shivers down his spine… then, you use the topside of oyur tongue to add more stimulation. you dig your face deep, licking his balls a little. 

he moans. 

you suck him off—slow but so fucking intense. 

jungkook can’t take it.

he places one hand on the back of your head and helps control how deep you take him. 

his dick reaches the back of your throat and it’s fucking toe-curling for jungkook. you take him in so good. as you suck him off, he can’t help but not last long. 

“ahh–aahhhh.. f-fuck—” jungkook moans deeply. “nghhh.... fuck, ___! holy fucking shit...”

jungkook pulls out seconds later and cums all over your face.

as his cum drips down your face, you catch it with your finger and look at it. 

“ohh,” you pant. “that’s what cum looks like…”

jungkook rolls his eyes at you before dipping his head low and kissing you. you two laugh as you pull away, completely in disbelief of everything that had just happened.

1 month later...

“you’re such a bad boyfriend,” you say, crossing your arms dramatically as you sit on the couch, watching jungkook fiddle with the back of your laptop.

he pauses, turning his head slowly to look at you over his shoulder. his glasses are sliding down his nose, his hair is a bit messy from pushing it back so many times, and he looks entirely unimpressed.

“bad boyfriend?” he repeats, sounding genuinely offended. “you asked me to fix your laptop. i'm a chem major, not tech.”

“smart boyfriends are supposed to be well rounded."

he glares at you. "again. you asked me to fix your laptop. i'm doing my best, baby."

"yeah, but like... i asked you over an hour ago,” you tease, leaning back and pretending to sigh. “you’ve been ignoring me ever since.”

“ignoring you?” he scoffs, turning back to the tangled mess of wires. “i’m literally upgrading your RAM so you can stop complaining about how slow it is. if anything, i’m the best boyfriend.”

you hum thoughtfully, pretending to consider it. “debatable. the best boyfriend wouldn’t make me sit here in silence while he nerds out over motherboards or whatever.”

“okay, first of all,” he says, setting the screwdriver down and turning to you fully now, “it’s not ‘whatever.’ this is your motherboard’s lifeline. without it, you don’t get to binge your little dramas.”

“so you’re saying you’re not doing this for me—you’re doing it for the laptop?”

“i’m doing it so you don’t keep stealing my ipad to ‘watch just one more episode’ and kill my battery in two hours,” he fires back, but there’s a little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips now.

you tilt your head, grinning. “i think you just proved my point.”

“fine,” he says, pulling his glasses off and tossing them onto the table. “what do i have to do to reclaim my best boyfriend title, huh? flowers? chocolates? fixing this annoying laptop isn’t enough?”

“hmm,” you pretend to think. “i’d say… maybe you stop being a nerd for five minutes and come cuddle me instead.”

he rolls his eyes but moves toward you anyway, tugging you into his lap without hesitation.

“there,” he says, wrapping his arms around you as you snuggle into his chest. “am i forgiven, or do i need to sit in front of a claw machine and lose $200 again?”

“hmm,” you hum, grinning as you tap your chin. “hello kitty does look a little lonely. but maybe she deserves a friend when you really screw up.”

“you’re planning for that?” he asks, incredulous.

“not planning,” you tease, shrugging. “just preparing. i’ve already picked cinnamon roll for when you really drop the ball.”

he stares at you for a long moment, narrowing his eyes. “you know, this feels like extortion. i bet you mess with me on purpose just to stock up on plushies.”

“maybe,” you say sweetly, poking his cheek. “but you can’t prove it.”

he sighs, leaning his head back against the couch dramatically.

“great. i’m dating a scam artist.”

“you’re dating a genius,” you correct, grinning.

“genius or not,” he counters, tightening his hold on you, “you’re stuck with me.”

you tilt your head up to look at him, biting back a laugh at the slight pout on his lips.

“wow, jungkook, that’s so nerdy of you.”

he groans, letting his head fall against your shoulder.

“i’m never fixing your laptop again. let me know when you need help naming all the isomers of butanol—"

"baby, did you hear that?"

"hear what?"

"you put the dolphins to sleep. good job! yay, your marine conservation bullshit finally came in handy—"

"wanna break up?"

"meanie."

"you're mean."

"sure, let's break up," you tell him. "how about never?"

"never?" jungkook asks, tucking your hair behind your ears. "sounds good."

you glance at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

"it's you, me, and the fucking dolphins forever, nerd."

[planetaryupscaled]

Fabricated Persona

Male Reader x Wonyoung

Tags: 28k, smut, anal, creampie, oral, dub con, tw

The story is not ours; we are simply alter the original story to our preferred settings.

It was 1:32 a.m. when the doorbell rang. Curious, I went to the door and peered through the peep hole. Wonyoung was standing outside the door. It took a moment just to admire her pretty face, she was gorgeous.

I unlocked the door, but before I could greet her properly, Wonyoung had pushed past me and made a beeline for our kitchen. I closed the door hastily and followed her, just in time to see her bend over our sink. Several of my lustful fantasies were given a sharp kick in the groin. She raised her arm and waved angrily at me as I stood awkwardly in the hallway.

“Where’s my sister?”

“Sleeping.”

“Get over here,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Hold my hair back!” she hissed.

I approached her from behind and grabbed the bunched hair she was holding in her right hand. I turned on the faucet and let it run. Wonyoung seemed to react to the sound of running water and sighed, bending over the sink and pushing her ass into my crotch, unconsciously, I think.

“If you think you can make it,” I said, ignoring the warmth of her behind, “I can take you to the bathroom. I don’t want you to clog the sink.” She gave an annoyed groan. “Fine then,” I said, sweeping more of her hair behind her ears as we both leaned over the sink, waited for her to get sick again. “Fun night?” I inquired.

“Oh fuck you,” she grumbled, placing her hands on the sink’s rim and relaxing a little. “I didn’t know you were back in town,” I said.

“Stop talking,” she grunted. I realized that Wonyoung was drunk, and it probably took as long as it did for me to realize it because I was gradually sobering up. I realized, however, that she was probably more drunk than I’d thought, and I reminded myself not to let her fall asleep with us in this precariously impolitic situation.

Wonyoung heaved. The strain on her body drove her ass backward into my groin forcing me to reach out to keep from tipping off my feet. I grabbed, unsurprisingly, at the prominent curve of her anatomy, her right breast.

She didn't shrug me off because she was probably too drunk to care. I used the handhold to get myself back on my feet but then, failing to be slapped, I kept my hand where it was. Wonyoung groaned as she leaned over the sink, ass straight out. I realized too late that I was unapologetically copping a feel.

Was it worth it? Definitely. It reacted against my fingers with a springy vitality, its swollen roundness so elegantly pronounced on an attractive woman in this inelegant state. I squeezed. Here this poor girl was trying to barf in my sink and I groped her like any drunken frat boy. Call me an asshole, I regret nothing.

I gave one more tentative squeeze before she swatted my hand away. My dick stirred in my pants and I hoped that she didn’t feel it, or was too far gone to care.

“I’m fine!” she barked. She must have thought I was trying to keep her on her feet. “Keep your hands off my tits,” she told me. Maybe not.

“It was an accident.”

“Yeah,” she said with a smirk. We waited together for her to vomit again but after fifteen minutes she finally asked to be sat down in the kitchen and given a glass of water. I had brought her a blanket and was about to retire when she grabbed my wrist and told me to get her purse. She had left it on the kitchen table when she smashed into the kitchen. I picked it up, handed it to her.

I sat down next to her on the couch and watched her cross her legs. The jeans had so many holes and rips that I could clearly see the muscles in her thighs flexing against each other. She searched for something inside the purse and I saw no harm in taking the opportunity to stare right down her cleavage while she had her head bowed. I had never had such an unobstructed view of her chest and after leaning over the sink for so long her breasts were now fully in view. But I was satisfied with the sight before me, her chest expanding greatly as she regained her breath from the awkward crush of bending over the sink.

Wonyoung pulled her hand away from her purse and pressed something against my forearms. “What’s this?” I asked.

“Money.” she said. Right. Wonyoung snapped her purse closed and put it on the ground at her feet. She kicked off her shoes. Then she laid her fingers over her bare knees and finally looked up at me. Clearly the girl was pissed, but she wanted me to see her anger, not the fear behind it. I saw both and was curious, not to mention still buzzed enough to want to take my new mental images with me to the bathroom.

“I need you to hold this for me.”

“The money?”

She let out an annoyed grimace. “I can’t believe my sister dating a dummy.”

“Hey,” I said, handing the money back, “if that’s the way you want to be.” She shoved her hands against mine. “No, sorry, God. Just take the money.”

“Jinyoung…”

“Don’t!” she hissed. “Don’t let her know. Put it someplace she won’t find.”

“Um,” I said, trying to put my thoughts into words. “I don’t—”

“Please,” she said. That was new.

“Okay,” I said, more from exhaustion than common sense.

“And I won’t tell her you touched my tit.” I chuckled. “That was an accident.”

“Whatever. You stare at them all the time.”

We left it at that and Wonyoung curled up on the sofa. I took the money and hid it in the same panel of my toolbox where I hide my cigs. The next morning Wonyoung was gone. According to Jinyoung she was staying with their parents for a few days. I actually forgot about the money for a few weeks until I tried to sneak a cigarette the next month. Wonyoung called her sister a few weeks after that to invite us to her new place. We drove over. But Jinyoung hardly spoke the whole time and I realized that she’d actually been fairly distant for the last week. I asked if there was something the matter. After some cajoling, she told me that a few weeks back, some money were stolen from her parents’ house. The money had been saved for a rainy day. Instantly I thought of the cache of bills stashed in my toolbox.

“Do they know who took it?” I asked. Jinyoung shook her head. “Nothing else was taken so whoever stole it must have known it was there.” She paused for a moment, “…that means it must have been someone in the family.” Jinyoung was visibly shaken. I wondered if I should say something but decided to hear the rest first.

“Who?” I asked. Jinyoung sighed. “They’re not sure. The last time they had anyone over was weeks ago and they just realized the money was missing this week.”

It had to have been her sister. I wasn’t sure for what, and I definitely didn’t know why she thought she could get away with stealing something so conspicuous, but there it was. Yet a shred of doubt clung to my mind. Maybe it was a complete coincidence. Maybe last month Wonyoung had just come into a fortuitous quantity of money and wanted to unload it somewhere without telling her sister. Yeah… Right.

We were on our way up to Wonyoung’s apartment when Jinyoung suddenly stopped. “I forgot the wine,” she said. I myself had forgotten we were here to celebrate Wonyoung’s birthday. “I’ll go,” I said. “Just tell me what to get.”

“No, no,” Jinyoung was already putting a list together in her head. “I also need to get a card and that chocolate she likes.”

“Alright, well, let’s go.” I started heading back towards the car.

“No,” she said. “Stay here. I think Wonyoung’s setting up for the party later.”

I didn’t relish the idea of spending time alone with Wonyoung. She had never been my biggest fan. But it might give me a chance to find out what was going on with the enigmatic cash. After Jinyoung gave me a quick kiss and sprinted back to the car, I walked up the slightly damp stairs to Wonyoung’s place. When she opened the door, she was beaming. But the smile vanished when Wonyoung saw it was me alone.

“Where’s my sister?” she said flatly.

“Had to go pick up some things. She asked me to help you.” I followed her into the apartment.

“Everything’s already set up,” she said distractedly. As she crossed to the kitchen, I got a look at her swivelling bottom. The party was not for several hours and she had yet to get fully dressed. Wonyoung was wearing gym shorts and a black cropped top. She trod barefoot through the small but welcoming apartment. Banners and streamers hung from the ceiling and a table stacked neatly with cups and an assortment of alcohol was pushed against the wall. When I closed the door, Wonyoung was all business.

“Do you still have the money?”

“Uh—” I started. “Yeah.”

“Is it with you?”

“Why would I have it with me?”

Wonyoung rolled her eyes as if somehow it was her great misfortune to be partnered with so inept a criminal companion. Her lips, which were pressed together in a firm arc of disapproval, were a deep red. She began to speak again but I volleyed first. “Where’d you get that money anyway?”

She narrowed her eyes and placed her hands coolly on her hips. Even half-dressed she was a knockout. Her black hair was a little longer than shoulder length and straight and shiny as leaking oil. Her skin was pale and smooth like a porcelain. Then of course there was her chest, amply stacked below her round shoulders. Wonyoung’s painted nails tapped against her hips, probably wider than she liked but undeniably curvaceous. She had thighs that looked like they could wrap around a man’s back with dire consequences.

“Before you ask if that’s my business,” I said, raising a finger to staunch her bubbling protest, “bear in mind you did leave the money in my care.”

“What…” she spat. “‘Bear in mind,’ ‘in my care,’ who the hell talks like that?”

“Are you angry because I’m choosing my words carefully or because you’re trying to figure out an excuse?”

Wonyoung gave me an icy glare. “It’s just money,” she said. “I started a new bank account and I hadn’t withdrawn all the cash from my old one. I didn’t want to be walking the street with that much on me so I wanted Jinyoung to hold it for me.”

“But you told me not to tell Jinyoung.”

Wonyoung’s lips twitched. “You were a little drunk, maybe you don’t remember,” She said “…and I didn’t want her to see me drunk,” she said quickly. “That’s all I meant. You could have told her about the money.”

“Should I tell her when she gets back?”

Wonyoung swallowed hard. I could see the gears working overtime behind the white cloud of her eyes. I wanted to see how much she would admit to before I brought up about the burglarized. “No,” she said slowly. Then, “Where is it?”

“The money?” I asked.

Wonyoung nodded. A few strands of bangs fell over her eyes fetchingly. I couldn’t help notice her breasts jiggle slightly too. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

“It’s… safe,” I said. A strange but powerful notion peeked from within the dark recesses of my brain.

Wonyoung wiped the hair back from her face and bit her lower lip. We were standing roughly ten feet apart from each other, she at the counter of her kitchen and I very close to the front door. “It’s not my money,” she said.

“Oh?”

She narrowed her eyes again. “You jerk.”

I held up my hands. “Hey, I didn’t take the money. And I’m pretty sure I know where you got it from.” This shook her. “What do you mean?” she said.

“It’s your parents, isn’t it?”

“How did you know?” was out of poor her beautiful mouth before she knew how to reattach her poker face. She winced and brought her palm to her face. “My sister…”

“Yes, Jinyoung is really upset about that.”

“Does she know?” she said frantically.

“Not yet.”

Wonyoung sighed. She leaned her head to one shoulder. “Okay. So, what?”

“You tell me.”

“Are you going to give me the money?”

“I don’t think so. I feel pretty bad about your parents.”

“They can spare it,” she said acidly. “Do you want to know what I need it for?” I thought about that but I realized I didn’t really care. “No,” I said simply. This pissed her off. “God, you’re so— Fine! Let’s just sit here until Jinyoung gets back so you can tell her all about it!” Wonyoung began to tromp out of sight, into the bedroom, when I raised my alternative.

“Who said I was going to tell her?”

Wonyoung stopped. “You’re not?”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet. You need the money, I guess, but I don’t know if that makes it right to keep it.”

“If you give it to Jinyoung she’ll ask where it came from.”

“True,” I replied.

“So… what?” Wonyoung asked, frowning and looking at me over an open mouth. “Are you gonna give me the money?”

“I could be persuaded,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Wonyoung asked. “You want some?”

I grinned. “No.” My eyes were unapologetically lingering on her cleavage. Wonyoung actually followed my gaze to her own chest. When she looked up, she had this rage in her eyes. “You better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking.” She said.

I crossed my arms. “What am I thinking, Wony?”

“You’re a fucking jerk,” she said. “I’m telling Jinyoung.”

“Tell her what? That I stared at your chest because you stole the money?” She stared at the ground for a half second before looking up at me from under her dark fringe of hair. “What do you… want?” she asked.

“Well let’s get one thing out of the way first. What do you want?”

It took longer than it should have for Wonyoung to realize we were making a transaction. But she got it eventually. “I want…” she stopped herself and cleared her throat. “The money. I want you to bring it to me.”

“Okay,” I said. “You took it for your own reasons. I wash my hands of that. One day maybe you can square it with your family.”

“What do you want?” she asked apprehensively. There was a note of tension that eased into an uncertain fear.

“Um,” I said. “Take off your shirt.” Wonyoung looked offended but also surprised. “That’s it?”

“No. But that’s the start.”

Wonyoung seemed to weigh herself on either foot. She glanced at the door. “If… Jinyoung will be back soon.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. Outside I tried to project a cool control. Inside I was equal parts giddy, excited, fearful. Part of me was given over entirely to the lustful query of how far this could possibly go. I knew exactly what I wanted to do… But part of me didn’t see how Wonyoung could submit to it. She must have really needed that money.

“You want to see my tits?”

“Well, that and a little more,” I said.

“I’m not going to fuck you.”

I smiled. “Wony, I don’t want to have sex with you—”

“Then what?”

“How about a titjob?”

Wonyoung made a face. “Ugh. You’re disgusting.” I shrugged happily. “Okay. I’ll give Jinyoung the money when we get back, you and I can just sit here on our hands until she gets back.”

“There’s no way I’m letting your dick anywhere near me.” She said. I looked over at the chairs arranged by the door and sat down. I hooked my ankle over my knee and sat back, arms folded.

“You scumbag…” Wonyoung growled. Then she took three steps forward and crossed her arms over her taut belly. Her fingers grasped the thin fabric of her shirt and she pulled up. I was so excited I almost forgot to say, “Slowly…”

Wonyoung grumbled from somewhere in her shirt but that sound was swallowed by the smooth glide of fabric rushing against her bare skin. Wonyoung pulled up with her lithe arms and then all of a sudden, the swollen undersides of her pale breasts dripped from underneath, sprung from the cotton like fat dewdrops. I saw the first and then the second pink nipple peek from the black top and then sink down with its sister, falling solidly against Wonyoung’s chest and giving a beautiful trembling quiver. She must have been glaring at me as she balled up her shirt and tossed it onto the drink table. But I was enraptured. I drank in just the sight of Wonyoung’s full, exposed breasts. They stood out from her chest, the beautiful nipples pointed not at me but at my forehead, almost the ceiling. The areolas were smaller that made the slope of her unfettered bosom so much sweeter somehow, it was delicate. That, ultimately, was the defining attraction to Wonyoung’s breasts. They were the budded fruit of all her womanly sweetness, a blossomed youth that was sexual and feminine. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Wonyoung crossed over to me. She stopped when she was standing only about three feet away and crossed her arms under her boobs and tried to look bored. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s—”

“No,” I said. “The less you talk the easier this will be to explain.” Wonyoung was furious. But half naked. So, the effect was diminished. I was horny as hell and my dick was doing everything it could to grow hands and undo my zipper itself. “Squeeze yourself,” I said.

Wonyoung grabbed her tits in either hand and squeezed, quickly, and dropped them. She gave an evil grin.

“Do it better than that,” I said. She sighed and raised her hands.

“You’ve just been waiting for this day, haven’t you?” she sneered.

“Oh yes, ma’am,” I replied cheerfully.

“What’s the matter? My sister’s tits not big enough?”

“About the same, but I like yours more, apparently.”

“You freak…” she mumbled as she drew her index fingers across her dark red buttons. “Spit on your hand,” I said. Her eyes snapped open. “What?”

“Spit on your hand and rub it on your tits. Rub it all over.” She licked her hand defiantly and smeared it over her left breast.

The skin on her nose wrinkled. It looked like she was ready to hurl another insult but glanced fretfully at the door for an illuminated realization that if her sister walked into the door she’d have both tits in her hands, presenting them to her boyfriend in lustful supplication. Wonyoung brought her palm up to her chin and spat in it, glaring at me. “Spit on your hand again.” I said. This time she did it without protest.

Wonyoung rubbed her saliva into her skin. “Do it again,” I commanded. “Ugh,” she said. She spat again and rubbed it over her breast. It was beautiful. The smooth sheen of her pale skin was now glistening under her apartment lights. I told her to repeat the same for her right tit.

“Lick your palms.” Wonyoung licked her palms and ran them over her breasts. She ran her hands down her chest, to her taut belly. I made her do it several more times. After a minute both of Wonyoung’s breasts were coated in the sticky lather of her saliva. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I reached down to my pants and yanked down the zipper. I’d barely unhooked the button before my dick popped out of my boxers and stuck straight out at Wonyoung. She actually jerked back at the sight of it.

“Holy…” she stammered, looking a little ridiculous, her cheeks shiny from the excess moisture of her spit. ‘Oh my god,’ she moaned. “I can’t believe you’re going to do this. This is so fucking gross.”

I kicked off my shoes and pulled my boxers down with my jeans. I stood up to hook them off my ankles and faced Wonyoung. Separated by less space than we’d ever shared, I gazed down into her muddy brown eyes. “Your dick is poking into my stomach,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Spit on your hand again.” I smiled as she glared up at me and spat what she had left into her palm and rubbed. A wet smacking sound of sticky skin arose between us and I gently pried her hands away and laid my hands on her tits.

I let Wonyoung go on glaring as I ran my fingers over her wet chest and weighed each breast in my hand. Her skin yielded to me. I leaned down and sniffed the spit on her chest and ignored Wonyoung as she slapped ineffectually at my shoulders. I gave her nipples two very welcoming kisses and she pushed me away.

I sat down heavily in the chair, dick sticking straight in the air. I asked her to squeeze herself a few more times before commanding her to get on her knees. Surprisingly she did this without comment. Wonyoung was now sitting with her head and neck more or less aligned with my lap. Her raven hair trailed down over her shoulders. She stared at my dick as it wagged before her nose. Her tits were inches from brushing against my balls. “Let’s get this over with,” she said.

“How do I do this, I’m not that big, it’s not gonna work.”

“Make it work, Wony, rub in it.” I said. Wonyoung didn’t answer. She just leaned in and rubbed her palm over the top of my cock, pressing it hard against her chest. “Is that what you want?” she murmured.

“That’s what I want.”

“You want me to rub my tits over your dick, you shit?”

“Harder,” I commanded her, and she complied. I stroked the back of her neck and humped forward to rub my balls against the sticky surface of her slick stomach. “Ugh,” she groaned.

“You don’t like my balls rubbing against you?”

“No,”

“You don’t mind that dick though.” I said, she didn’t say anything. I couldn’t help myself. I figured if she was willing to go this far, she couldn’t protest to a little dirty talk. “Aren’t you a little slut.”

Wonyoung knew what I was doing. She kept her eyes trained down at my cock peeking up through the tops of her breasts and bent low until it almost hit her neck. Then she flexed and came up again, my swollen dick rubbing down her cleavage and leaving a slimier trail of precum on her smooth pale skin. “Yeah, I’m a little slut,” she replied. “You like getting off on your girlfriend’s sister? That get you off, asshole?”

“Yes,” I said. I grabbed her shoulders and ordered her to rub her tits. “Harder,” I told her. “You want to fuck these tits harder?” she spat. That gave me an idea.

“Spit on it,” I told her.

“On what?”

“You know what.” — A long white trail of spit left Wonyoung’s lips and dribbled over the slit and onto my cockhead. “Kiss it.”

“No,” Wonyoung said. She didn’t look up. Her raven black hair framed her hands wrapped around my cock.

“Spit on it again.” A thin line of saliva left her angry mouth and missed my cock. It hit the wet surface of her breasts and she shook her chin to separate it from her mouth, finally using her hand to wipe it off her lips. “Don’t bother.” I told her.

“I can’t… I’m out of spit.”

“Then use your mouth.” I said as she continued to rub my dick with her breasts. She looked up at me defiantly.

“Use your mouth, Wony. I want my dick wet.”

“That wasn’t what you said you wanted…”

I pulled her hands away. Wonyoung stayed on her knees and wiped at the streaks of spittle on her chest. I cupped her boobs in my hands and rubbed them over my dick. “What am I doing to you right now, Wony?”

“You’re fucking my tits.”

“Good girls don’t let boys rub their dicks all over their tits.”

“Stop,” she said. “You said I could. Say it. Tell me you’re a good girl.” I grabbed her hands and pressed them to her breasts. Together we rubbed my dick in and out of her sticky cleavage. Wonyoung had to arch her back and sit straight while on her knees to let me fuck her tits. She tilted her neck back to keep my dick from banging her face. I wrapped my hands around her bare shoulder and drew her close. “Say you’re a good girl, Wony.”

“I’m not a …” she started “Then say you’re a bad girl.” She glared. “I’m a bad girl,” she muttered.

“Tell me how slutty you are.”

“I’m a slut.” — “How slutty are you, Wony?”

“I fucking hate you,” she said. I wiped some dry spit from her cheek. She almost bit me. I leaned back, bringing her with me. I still had my hands on her shoulders. “Tell me what you’re doing.” — “I’m giving my sister’s boyfriend a titjob.”

“I wouldn’t say this was a titjob” — “Fuck you!”

“Well, I’m going to. Do you let lots of boys cum on your breasts?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want you to say it.” I said. Clearly no one had ordered her around this way before. Her anger was close to being spent and now she just looked incredulous. “I let boys cum on my breasts,” she said flatly. She kept my gaze the entire time, her tits rubbing up and down, up and down, the precum oozing from my dick starting to leave a thick, sudsy trail down her skin. I watched it ooze down her chest and groaned appreciatively.

“You let boys cum on you, Wony?”

“All the time,” she said. “Do you cum on my sister?”

“What do you think?”

“Does she let you cum inside her?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Say you’re a slut.”

“No.”

“Say it, Wony.” — “I’m a slut.” she repeated.

“Say you’re my slut.” — “I’m your slut,” she said.

“So put your mouth on my cock,” I demanded. Wonyoung’s eyes widened. She stopped rubbing her tits against me. For a moment she looked, instead of angry, perplexed. Then she looked down at my dick as if she’d forgotten what she’d been rubbing her tits against for the past five minutes.

“Can you spit?” — “No…” she said, still staring down at my cock. It was red and a little chafed but damn it was worth it. “Open your mouth, Wony.”

Her hair fell forward over her forehead as she leaned down. She bent over until my balls were smothered in her breasts and she could breathe over my cock. “Agh,” she said. “God, I can smell your dick.” I leaned up and felt Wonyoung’s puckered lips suck my cockhead. Running my fingers through her hair. I reached down and pulled my dick from her mouth. Mid-suck, I pulled a string of saliva and cum from off her tongue.

I pushed forward. Wonyoung tumbled backward onto the carpet. Her thick thighs widened to let me follow her down. I was suddenly intensely aware of how close I was to fucking a pussy that was not Jinyoung’s. Then again, I’d just had my dick in her sister’s mouth. I crouched over Wonyoung and pinned both of her hands with my own, my dick almost balanced on her chin. Wonyoung stared at it as if it would bite her.

“You don’t deserve my sister,” she hissed. I stroked her hair over her forehead and gazed into her eyes.

“Use your mouth, Wony. Make it wet. Just use your tongue. I’m keeping the money until you make me cum.”

Wonyoung shut her eyes and parted her lips, silently allowing me to slide my shaft across her open mouth. From underneath she stuck out her tongue. I popped my cock back and forth along her mouth, dragging my balls against her lips and pressing my shaft against her high cheekbone, and she dutifully licked it each time it entered her mouth. “Say you’re a slut,” My dick retreated from her face. “I’m a slut,” she repeated. I slipped my dick back over her mouth. “Say it again.”

“uhmaslot,” she mumbled as I entered her mouth. Then I pulled out of her lips and trailed my dick down her cheek and neck until it was resting on her breast.

“You’re asshole,” she hissed. “I hope my sister comes home right now and sees you jerking off on me.”

“I’d fucking love it.” Clear precum was oozing out of my cock and pooling in the hollow of Wonyoung’s neck.

“What about when I tell her what you did to me?”

I trailed my dick down her stomach and rested the base of my shaft against her clit. An expected tremor radiated out of her every limb and her protests were silenced by my mouth over hers. I slid my dick back up her stomach and watched the sticky mess it made of her curvaceous body. “I just needed to get you out of my system,” I told her. “I’m going to cum.”

“Don’t cum on my face,” she said. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she threatened softly. In her eyes was the spark of defiant seduction. “Don’t you dare cum on my face,” she spat. I held my shaft over her neck and made her grab me. As soon as her fingers slipped over my cock, she started jerking me.

“Don’t you dare,” she spat as she tried to point my cock away from her. “Don’t you fucking dare cum on my face.” She repeated. The heels of my palms dug into the carpet and I felt everything between the nape of my neck and my heels seize up. I drove my knees into the carpet beneath her shoulders.

“Jerk me off, Wony. I’m gonna cum.”

Wonyoung pulled at my cock, causing me to cum over her mouth. She closed her eyes as thick ropes of jizz splattered across her nose and hair. She cried and let go. I snatched my dick from her and continued to stroke myself, cumming down her chin and neck before grabbing each breast to rub my cum over her tits.

“Do you like cumming on me?” Wonyoung gasped. I watched my cum stretch over her opened lips and immediately squirted again over her neck. “Is this how you fuck my sister?”

“Never,” I huffed. It was true. It was never that intense. Wonyoung lay on the floor and let me rub my dick over her boobs until every string of sperm had escaped. When I was done, I sat down hard beside her and gathered myself. Wonyoung sat up beside me. I reached above us and pulled down a kitchen towel and handed it to her. She took it wordlessly and wiped at her face and breasts.

“You’re awful,” she said quietly but let out a little smile and smirked. It was weird to see her smile. I sort of just nodded.

“Okay so do I get my money now or do I have to perform some other depraved sex act on you before you give it up?”

I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Regardless, I was spent and knew in the back of my mind I had to get cleaned up — that Wonyoung had to get cleaned up — before her sister got back.

“I don’t know if that ‘titjob’ was worth the money,” I said. ‘But yeah, I’ll get the money to you.’ After she got up, I said, “And happy birthday.”

Wonyoung rolled her eyes. “Don’t even think about following me into the shower to try to exact more payment from me. I know you haven’t given me the money yet… But that would just be wrong.”

She walked across the carpet and disappeared into her room. The word "wrong" echoed in my head like thunder, and the image of her wet smile was as bright as the lightning behind it.

Jinyoung and I were making love. It was Thursday night, and it had been about a month since I'd cum all over her sister's face and tits. It had worked in a faithless and uninterrupted way, and by the time Jinyoung returned from the grocery store, Wonyoung and I had both cleaned up and pretended that nothing had happened.

I had promised Wonyoung I’d return her ill-gotten money the next time she visited, and I’d meant it. Four weeks later Wonyoung was coming to visit us, ostensibly to see the family who hadn’t been able to make it for her birthday.

Where was I? Jinyoung and I were going at it. She planted an adoring kiss on my mouth and shifted in the bed. I turned her over gently and pulled out. She scooted forward and laid her head on the pillow, raising her slim bottom to me. I got up, planted my hands on her waist, not looking, and prodded forward enthusiastically. A sudden “Yow!” alerted me that I’d mistakenly jabbed a sensitive place.

“Wrong hole,” Jinyoung said, giggling.

“Sorry,” I replied, and grabbed my offending member. Jinyoung reached between her legs and helped guide me into her body. When my head rubbed against her slit, she gave an appreciative moan and we continued our previous motion.

Later, sitting in bed together, spent but not really sleepy, I willed myself to ignore the urge to smoke. Jinyoung thought I’d quit a year ago. She was curled around my arm and rubbing her fingers over my chest. She kissed my chest and murmured something.

“What?” I asked, looking down.

“You were going to deflower my butt,” she teased. Jinyoung grinned at me from my elbow. I smiled and stroked her hair.

“Never,” I said. She looked puzzled. “Would you ever want to?”

I thought about how best to answer this. She might not have remembered, but one night early in our relationship we’d actually become almost startingly drunk together and proceeded to try anal sex. It didn’t go very well and I’d managed to get my half limp dick about an inch into her bottom before she pulled away and made me swear never to ask her to try that again.

“I dunno,” I said casually.

Jinyoung grinned at me. “I bet you’ve thought about it.”

I laughed. Well, truth be told, I had, but I never thought of asking Jinyoung to submit to something so degrading. At least not when we’re sober.

“Why, do you want to?” I asked.

Jinyoung wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Yuck. Like I really want your dick, or any dick — up my ass.”

I teased. “You might like it though.”

Jinyoung pinched my sides. “No way.” She settled into me and laughed. “I have a few girlfriends who’ve done it. Most of them hated it.”

“Most of them?”

“Hey, don’t get any thoughts,” she said smilingly, “actually, there was one who said she might like it.”

“Who?” I asked. Jinyoung shook her head.

“Oh, come on.”

She got defensive. “Why are you so interested?”

“I’m just curious.”

“It was Wonyoung,” she said.

My dick gave a throb of longing. My skin prickled at the memory of Wonyoung’s lovely breasts rubbing my cock. “You think she like it?” I asked, trying not to sound weird.

Jinyoung grabbed a pillow and smacked me. “Hey, don’t tell her I told you!”

I laughed and pulled the pillow away. We fell into a groping, tickling match and that was the last time we discussed Wonyoung’s backdoor proclivities.

The next day Wonyoung showed up early. I was washing the dishes in the sink and Jinyoung was getting ready for work. I listened to Jinyoung go to the door of our apartment and squeal with delight. She and her sister immediately fell to talking over each other and laughing. The rush of the faucet blotted out most of the ensuing mania.

As I scrubbed the dishes clean, I listened to them clatter over our hardwood floor in their heels, commenting on new pieces of furniture or the mirror Jinyoung had just purchased. They quieted for a moment and I figured they were either whispering about one or another family members or boyfriends or preening themselves in the mirror. I tried not to think too hard about what Wonyoung might be wearing. Unconsciously, my crotch did the thinking for me.

A few hardy knocks on the wood and Jinyoung were at my cheek with a quick kiss and a smile. “I told Wonyoung she could stay here and gave her the spare key. You’re leaving at eleven?” — “Yep.” — “I told her not to touch your desk.”

I grabbed Jinyoung’s fingers with my soapy hand and kissed her soft knuckles. “Thanks, babe.” She smiled and strode out of the kitchen. She and her sister exited the apartment together, their voices echoing down the three flights of stairs to the street. Then there was silence broken only by the door to our apartment building swinging open and shut. The old staircase made new protest at the swift stomping back up to the top. I heard each creak over the gushing water. I heard the apartment door swing open and shut. Then silence.

Wonyoung’s heels went clack on the hardwood five or six times until the final step emptied out into the kitchen. I turned around. Wonyoung was standing with her arms crossed and her long legs planted in black, open-toed heels. She had on, a plain black skirt that cut off at about the mid-thigh and a white blouse that was fairly conservative except for a long loose decolletage that draped over her breasts and bared her cleavage. She had her lips pressed tightly together and her thin eyebrows furrowed on her forehead. To say she was squinting would be the wrong way to describe it. But her eyelids fought hard to keep it that way.

“Where’s the money?” she growled.

I pointed to the faucet and then at my ear. “I can’t hear you,” I yelled. “The water!” I pointed at the faucet again.

“Where’s the money?” Wonyoung repeated, lower, actually, than last time. I lifted a sudsy plate to reiterate my handicap. Her white eyes flared. “It’s not in your desk.”

I switched off the tap. “Jinyoung told you not to mess with the desk.”

“You fucked my tits.”

“Fair enough.” I wiped the plate dry, taking great care to scrub every inch before setting it carefully on the rack. “How’s your day?” I asked.

“Where. Is. The money?”

“It’s safe,” I said. “Misses you. Says it’s been feeling a bit lonely.”

Wonyoung brought her hand to her mouth and bit at her nails. She was annoyed. She was very annoyed. She spat a bit of chewed nail at the floor and leveled her gaze at me. “I will stab you,” she said.

“Interesting notion,” I replied. “It gives me an idea, actually.”

Wonyoung shook her head. “What do you want?”

I grinned. “Is it that obvious?”

“I can see your hard on!” she nearly screamed at me. I looked down quickly. I was indeed sporting something of an erection. But Wonyoung was beyond being offended. “I knew this was going to happen. I was going to spend all day hunting through your stupid apartment to get the money because I knew—” she jabbed an accusing finger at my dick, “I knew you wouldn’t give it to me! This is bullshit…” She shut her eyes tightly and groaned.

“The gods must be crazy,” I assented.

“Shut up!” she hissed. Her eyes snapped open. “Give me the money!”

“I don’t have it with me.”

“Then GET IT.” She looked at me with white fury. Wonyoung brought a hand to her left breast, almost unconsciously. “I gave you…” she started. Her frown became a dark mask. “You…”

“I know, call me whatever you want.”

She shook her head, purposely crossing her arms over the obvious gap in her shirt. “I’ll just wait till you have to go to work and find it when you’re gone.”

“That would be a very cunning plan. If the money were still here.”

“You’re lying.”

I shook my head. “When we got back, I put it in the bank. I figured I wouldn’t risk Jinyoung finding it.”

“Smart,” said Wonyoung. She lowered her arms until she was holding her forearms to her waist. “You think you’re so fucking smart.”

I didn’t say anything. I just smiled, triumphant.

“Whatever you want,” Wonyoung said, grasping her thin belt between her fingers and pulling it loose from her waist. ‘Whatever you make me give you,’ she went on, dropping the belt on the floor and reaching under her shirt. My breath caught in my throat as she pulled her blouse over her shoulders and stretched it over her arms.

Her jet-black hair slipped from the loosened neck. The black bra that clutched possessively to her chest was nearly the exact shade of her hair. She reached behind herself, her elbows sticking out and then springing back around as she effortlessly unhooked the snap and slipped the straps over her shoulders.

“I’ll tell Jinyoung,” she said, wrinkled her nose as she shrugged the bra off her breasts. It dropped carelessly to the kitchen floor. The bra lay at her feet. Her fists were balled at her hips. She squared her shoulders and leaned back, her pinkish areolas tilted up to the window and her beautiful abdomen bare from the waist up. “You want me to suck you?” she intoned, arching an eyebrow. “You want to fuck these tits again?”

I smiled.

She sneered. “Of course you do. I’ll tell Jinyoung everything. I’ll tell her everything. I don’t care if you do give me the money.”

“Oh you’ll get the money,” I said.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take off the skirt?”

Wonyoung bent down and unzipped herself. She carefully stepped out of her skirt, still wearing her heels, drawing one knee and then the other up and over the fabric. She let it, like the bra before it, drop unceremoniously to the floor. She wasn’t wearing panties. Wonyoung’s small pubic hairs glistened in a trimmed tuft between her naked thighs. The light from the kitchen glanced across her flat stomach and made her skin glow. She stood proudly, arms akimbo, long legs lean and toned, open heels tapping at the floor.

“How badly do you want to fuck me?” she asked.

I swallowed. “Turn around.”

She did so. She pivoted in place slowly, giving me time to watch the way her muscles moved underneath her skin, the way her tight ass flexed and rippled between the small of her back and her taut calves.

“Take the heels off,” I said.

She bent over, affording me an unobstructed view of her naked ass. I heard her heels clatter over the floor and watched her stand up again, her legs suddenly less defined, her height reduced by a few inches. She was completely naked.

“Get in the shower,” I said. Her big eyes seemed to observe me from somewhere inside herself. Her mouth set in a firm line and she gently turned her head, her body following and padding rhythmically to the bathroom. I followed her as if I were invisible and she were traipsing alone through her own apartment. As we passed through the threshold together, she grasped the door and turned back.

“I’m going to tell her,” she said.

I was dumbstruck by her lips. They were always hard, always curving down, always dark, twisted away. Now they were lighter, without anything to harden them, suddenly soft and without guile. I traced the line of her soft neck down to her breasts. My eyes found their way back to her face.

“Get into the shower and soap yourself.”

“My tits, right?” — I nodded.

“You don’t care if I get my hair wet?” She rolled her eyes. ‘Right. How stupid of me.’ I watched her ass wiggle as she stepped over our fluffy bath mat and bent down to twist the knob. “Are you going to take your clothes off?” she asked without looking back.

I pulled my shirt over my head and threw it in the sink. I whipped off my belt and struggled with my zipper. By the time I’d pulled my socks off Wonyoung was standing in the shower running her fingers through her dark hair and frowning into the spray. She mushed her lips together and blew out the water that mixed with her mascara and dripped down her face. She wiped at her cheeks a few times until she’d cleaned her face and then reached for the soap. A generous blue glop of body wash squirted into her hands and she began to soap her tits, making sure she drew her fingers up her ribs and tightly scooped at her bosom the way boys like to see. She massaged her nipples until they were pointing majestically into the cascade. For a moment she held herself and glanced over at me, specifically my dick. She watched it hover over my aching balls as if hypnotized by her moistened hips.

“I guess I should thank you for not making me spit this time.” Said Wonyoung as I closed the door behind me and moved in. Wonyoung watched me apprehensively and drew back to the far side of the shower. I joined her, standing with my back to the spray.

“Can you get on your knees?” I asked. Wonyoung looked worriedly at my dick, her hands drawn up over her breasts and glanced down at the bath mat. “I don’t want you to hurt your knees,” I said.

“Gee, thanks.” She glared at me as she tilted her neck up. The bathroom was getting good and misty now and Wonyoung reached for the rim of the tub as she set herself down in front of me.

“Is it alright?”

“Just rub your dick between my tits…” she said. I did as I was told. Except I had to sit on the edge of the tub to make it work and not slip. I reached behind myself and braced against the toilet bowl. Wonyoung leaned forward and rubbed my shaft up through her breasts and heaven kissed my cock with buttered sunshine. I leaned back and closed my eyes, listening to the overpowering patter of water and humping my hips forward as Wonyoung rubbed her breasts over my cock head and stroked me up and down against her soapy skin.

“Is it worth it?” I heard her say under the spray.

“Yes,” I said. I opened my eyes. Wonyoung had to shut her eyes against the downpour of the water. To keep water from slipping up her nose she had to open her mouth. Wonyoung was blindly rubbing my dick with her tits, mouth open, water streaming down her cheeks, lips and chin and splattering off her eyelashes and bouncing against my chest. I leaned forward and slipped my lips over her wet mouth. Wonyoung jerked back.

“No,” she said. I reached down and sifted through her slit. Instinctively I found her clit and watched an uncomfortable shudder wrack her body. “No,” she said again.

“How much no?” I asked.

“No, no,” she replied. My index finger glided over the entrance of her pussy and she leaned back further. She kept trying to open her eyes under the spray of water but was deluged every time.

“Stand up,” I said. We stood up together. I helped her out of the tub and made her kneel on the carpet. Wet and shining under the bathroom light, she put her hand on the bathroom counter and softly went to her knees. She took her tits in her hands and presented them to me with her lips curled to the side.

“Bend over,” I told her. Wonyoung was flushed, confused. Her black hair was plastered to her forehead and clung to her shoulders and back.

“What?”

“Jinyoung said you wouldn’t mind.” I said as I caressed her ass.

She stared at me for a solid second uncomprehending and then suddenly her eyes went wide. I put a finger to my lips. “Ah, I wasn’t supposed to say anything.” I smiled and drew a hand over her wet shoulder. “Will you bend over for me, Wony?”

“No,” she said, “there’s no way…”

“I’ll be very, very gentle.”

Wonyoung’s neck seemed to swing on a hinge. “No, you won’t.”

“I really want to fuck your ass.” I said matter-of-factly.

“I bet you do! You want to fuck my tits, you want to cum in my mouth, you want to fuck my ass! You just want it all, don’t you?”

I held her gaze. “No, please…” she plead.

I leaned forward and kissed her neck. She shoved her fists against me. ‘Never,’ she said. I kissed down her neck, sucking at the water that collected in her clavicle. I held her hands back, thrilled at the feeling of her nipples swiping against my chest. I wrapped my arms around her and slid my hands down her ass, clutching at her cheeks. Wonyoung had to shove her arms under my armpits to get around me and beat on my back. I easily pulled my left arm back and felt down her abdomen to her hairs.

The shower roared and filled the bathroom with still more fog and Wonyoung and I silently struggled as I rolled beads of water across the soapy surface of her clitoris. “Ever…” she groaned, her body convulsing forward, instinctively attuned to the massage of her privates. “Do you want me to stop?” I asked.

“Yes,” she whispered. I sent an exploratory ring finger along the edge of her labia and dipped my middle finger inside of her. I rolled the tip of my finger along the inner front of her vagina, searching for her spot, wondering if it was possible to find it with so much hate firing back at me.

“Yes,” she grunted again, leaning against me and sinking her teeth into my neck. Suddenly she gasped as I swung my finger along the fleshy inside of her slit. “Do you know how…” she stammered.

“How what?”

“To… to put it in…?”

I continued rolling along the inside of her pussy, my thumb gently slipped against her clit. I felt her breasts relax against my chest. “I do.”

“Do you have the money?” — “I do.”

“This is the last,” she said. “You have to give me the money.”

“Bend over.” — “Promise me.”

I looked down at Wonyoung. Her nose and mouth were buried against my neck. She glanced up at me, squinting. “You know that promise is no good,” I said.

“Jerk,” Wonyoung groaned. She pushed forward, pushing me out of the way. All of her black hair tumbled forward from her shoulders and neck and I leaned back on the balls of my feet. I traced my hand over the curve of her spine, drew it over her plump ass. Then I reached back, grabbed the bottle of shampoo and squirted it into my hand. I stepped beside her and kneeled down. When my gooey palm slipped into her ass crack she tensed forward on her knees.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “it’s water based.”

“Asshole,” she muttered.

“Exactly.”

Fanning my fingers together, I drew my palm over her crease, rubbing the thick solution over her posterior and vulva. Wonyoung shuddered again and presented her ass to me. I dipped a finger into the shampoo and gently tickled her clenched asshole.

“You have to relax,” I told her.

“Enh,” she huffed. “Then don’t put it in my ass.”

With my other hand I softly stroked her clit, swept back over her pussy. She gave an involuntary release. I took advantage. I wormed my finger into her behind. Wonyoung gave a sudden “Oh!” Then her canal clutched at me like an anemone. Generously lubricated, I had no trouble slipping my finger in to the first knuckle, then the second, and after a minute all the way down.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this…” Wonyoung groaned. Her shoulders were like the hackles of a cat. “You’re going to fuck my ass…”

Hearing her say it, I couldn’t wait anymore. I drew out my finger. Then I grabbed her hip, grabbed myself, and gently encircled her anus with the head of my cock.

“She doesn’t let you, does she?” Wonyoung said from the fluffy carpet.

“No,” I said. Her body was shaking. “You want to fuck my ass?” She asked as I pressed the head of my dick against her asshole.

“You want to fuck my ass?” she repeated.

“Yes,” I said. Suddenly, or magically, her sphincter gave way and accepted the head of my cock. Her asshole slurped at me greedily.

“Fuck my ass,” she huffed. “Slowly…” Wonyoung threw her head back. A wave of flexing muscle swelled against my dick. “God I hope I rip it off.” She groaned. Just for that I pushed another inch inside. The slimy shampoo gave me easy access between Wonyoung’s crack. “Ah,” she stammered.

I drew my hands lovingly over her hips. There was no need to hold onto myself anymore: already a third of the way inside the girl, the walls of her rectum cautiously squeezed my cock.

Wonyoung hung her head. “Your dick’s too big...” Smoothly, but probably not gently enough, I pushed myself another half inch inside. “Ahh…” Wonyoung moaned. Her little fingers disappeared inside the carpet.” How far?’ she panted. “How far is it?”

“Almost half way,” I told her. “Unnh fuck…” Wonyoung groaned as I pushed inside her. “How much money?” she asked.

“All of it.”

“I’m your slut for ‘all of it.’”

“Say it again.” — “No.”

“Say it again, Wony.” — “M-make me…”

I pushed myself another inch inside and her asshole squelched around me. This time I groaned. I felt myself resonate along Wonyoung’s wet hips.

“Harder…” she coaxed. I pushed deeper inside her. I looked down. The shaft of my cock was almost buried between my girlfriend’s sister’s ass cheeks. “Make me say it,” she gasped. I slap her ass. Wonyoung moaned. “You’re my slut for ‘all of it.’”

“I’m your slut,” she breathed. “I’m…ah fuck…” She bowed her head and flexed her thighs. She actually pushed herself back. She slowly, achingly, thickly impaled herself on me. “Your… slut…” she grunted.

I squeezed inside of Wonyoung until I was balls deep. I dragged my nails against her shoulder blades and watched her muscles shiver up and down her ribs. “How does it feel?”

“Full,” she said, swallowed even. “It feels so full.” I gently pulled out. “Ah,” she sighed. And then, mercifully, I pushed back in. “Awnh,” Wonyoung shuddered. “Not… too… hard,” she pleaded.

“Promise,” I said.

“Oh no,” she moaned, as I pulled out slowly and sunk myself back inside her. Wonyoung laid herself on her forearms and put her head to the floor. The warm mist of the shower settled over us and I squeezed myself inside Wonyoung’s tight ass and imagined her sister, fucking Jinyoung softly, and watched myself fuck Wonyoung’s beautiful ass. She made tiny sounds of relief and anticipation as I pulled myself from deep inside her, and plunging back again with more vigor.

“You got it,” she moaned. “You got what you wanted…”

“You like it up the ass?”

“Punish me…” she groaned to the floor. “Don’t…” But I was never sure just what ‘don’t’ meant. I pulled out and thrust back in. Her asshole gripped me tightly but it was getting easier to slide in and out of her.

“Fuck…” Wonyoung cried into the carpet. She twisted and squeezed the shag between her thin fingers, her knees drawn together, her feet curled under her thighs and her elbows pressed to her ribs as if trying to keep my dick from poking her insides. I kept one hand on her bottom and reached between her legs to fiddle with her clit.

“Oh fuck,” she spat as she shoved herself against my dick. It was almost too good; I almost wasn’t there at all. I was suddenly back, cock buried inside Wonyoung’s rectum. And she was crying out. “Fuck me!”

I slammed into her. Wonyoung pressed her forehead into her fists and swung her pelvis back to meet me. Over the gush and senseless waste of water the sounds of our skin slapped angrily against each other — my thighs against her glistening, naked ass — bounced from tile to linoleum tile. I shoved as many fingers as I thought Wonyoung could take up her pussy and raked her ass with my other hand. “Fuck you!” she screamed. “Fuck you for being inside me!”

I’m not sure if she came. I’m not sure if the wild spasm that wracked her tits and made her belly twitch as if a million lustful worms had suddenly ejaculated inside her, made her glutinous bottom clench and the hair on her neck stand on end, was a release or some kind of guilty vibration, but Wonyoung suddenly shut up and growled low, long and deeply.

“I’m going to cum,”

“Don’t cum inside me,” she panted. I pounded her ass again, the soap, sweat and slick mucous of her insides dripping from where we connected. “I’m going to cum, Wony” I repeated.

“Don’t…” Wonyoung grunted, utterly incapable of turning or removing herself, her upper body spent. “Do you cum in my sister?”

“What do you think?”

“Don’t…” she repeated.

“I cum inside her all the time.”

“Don’t fill me with Jinyoung’s cum,” she moaned. “I can’t take her boyfriend’s cum.”

“Take it, Wony.”

“Don’t!” she groaned. “Don’t! Don’t! Don’t!”

The cum shot out of my cock like a cannonade. Wonyoung’s rectum instinctively tried to pinch me off but I was buried so far inside her it felt like I’d ejaculated into her stomach. “Annnh!” Wonyoung growled again. I pumped harder, and harder. I shot my load deep inside of her. I fucked and emptied my seed into her ass. I came, unapologetically.

Wonyoung remained on her knees and let me squeeze handfuls of her ass. I pushed in as far as I could go. My balls beat against her exposed pussy and her asshole shuddered all around me. I pulled myself up to kneel — with my knee up I was able to shove myself another quarter inch inside, then a half. Wonyoung just stuck her head back like I’d straightened her posture. When my balls finally stopped quaking, Wonyoung murmured, “Are you done?” I slid my hands over her body, my fingers pressing the supple flesh of her back. She remained on her knees; gaze locked on the bathroom door.

“I have to…” she started. She jerked her head over her shoulder, most of her face buried in her tangled black hair. Her eyes regarded me sardonically. “I have to use the bathroom,” she said. “Number one or number two?” I asked.

“Asshole.”

“Exactly.”

I pulled slowly. Wonyoung’s hips shook again. She didn’t try to hide the relief and slight pleasure of my shrinking penis exiting her body. A trail of cum followed me out, oozing from her twitching muscles. She didn’t look at me again. She just reached for the sink and pulled herself up. I sat up, too, turned off the tap, and took the door, grabbing a washcloth on my way out and rubbing myself down.

“Wonyoung,” I wanted to say something but for the life of me I didn’t know what. She was pulling her wet hair behind her ears, glaring at the two of us in the mirror.

“I’m not interested,” she said.

After Wonyoung had finished in the bathroom. It was my turn, she glared at me as I stepped past her. I soaped down to the alternating sounds of Wonyoung maybe breaking things and asking when we would go to the bank. By the time I was done Wonyoung was already dressed and holding her cell phone.

“Was that the promised call to tell Jinyoung how much fun we had?” I asked but Wonyoung wasn’t looking at me. “I have to go,” she said blankly.

“What?”

“Jinyoung called. She’s leaving work. Our grandmother died.”

“I- I’m sorry.”

“I…” she started. She seemed to think better of whatever she started and clattered past me to the front door. “I won’t be able to sit for a week, asshole.” She said, “I’ll be back for the money.” Then her world class legs were stomping down our creaky old stairs and taking her out the door and across the street.

For the funeral, her family had invited everybody, and somehow everyone got their own rooms, Jinyoung and I included. It was a surprise to me, but then again Jinyoung and I were both adults, with jobs and responsibilities. Speaking of jobs… I was sitting up in the bed. My underwear was hanging over the side of the mattress, and I glanced at it when Jinyoung’s brown hair dutifully lowered over my tight member. She was beautiful to me in that moment: in her bra, her plain pajamas on, her hair in a loose ponytail. It was the casualness of the act. She had been getting ready for bed, had taken her shirt off, and begun to comb her hair in the mirror, when she turned to me. Quietly, she’d approached me when I’d just gotten my shoes off, and helped me remove the rest of my clothes. Then she pulled the sheets back and had me sit down. I did, naked. She crawled up on the bed beside me and kissed me, then kissed my chest, then kissed my cock until it grew hard. And then she started sucking.

She did it quietly, for the most part. The house was full, though mostly quiet now that everyone had gone to bed, and we didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves. I had to wonder why she was going down on me now, today of all day, but I wouldn’t question it, not in the middle of the act.

It gets messy. I didn’t tell Jinyoung I was going to cum and she had me pretty deep. She spluttered, coughing suddenly. When she pulled her mouth back my dick was still ejaculating. Strings of cum leapt from the tip of my shaft while driblets of it stained the corners of Jinyoung’s flushed lips. She wiped her mouth and glared at me. “What the fuck?” she said. She was angry, angry enough to curse. “Ugh,” she groaned. She coughed again.

“Babe, I’m sorry,” I tried.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said. She sat up on the bed, in her bra, her tight stomach tensed. “It felt so good,” I said. “It’s… kind of a compliment?”

She shook her head, eyes narrow “That’s so gross.”

“Well,” I said, trying to sound dignified while my cock twitched and my sperm dried on my stomach, “if you swallowed it, maybe it wouldn’t get everywhere.” Yeah, that was not the right thing to say.

“Jesus,” said Jingoung as if that explained everything. “Sorry, I thought I was making you happy.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” I said. “I’m sorry. What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I have to take a shower.”

“I’ll join you.”

“I don’t want you to.” She got up off the bed and made for the bathroom that adjoined the guest room. She came out just as quickly with a thick towel and folded it neatly on the edge of the bed. “You can use the one in the hall.”

“Okay,” I said. “Are you mad at me?” Jinyoung coughed in reply. I sighed and let her disappear back behind the bathroom door. In a moment the light was on, she coughed again, and then the shower started.

I understood her anger, at least. We had a system, and I’d blown it. My obsequious attempts at placation were always disheartening to me, because all the ‘honeys’ and ‘babies’ in the world couldn’t make me feel like I’d reclaimed my balls. It was a very real threshold Jinyoung and I were on. Not that had anything to do with cumming in her throat, though. That was my bad.

It had everything to do with where my mind wandered, and maybe why I was never relaxed with her anymore. I wiped myself off with the towel and reluctantly stepped off the bed. I’d been at war with myself for a long time, and it had only been a week since I’d cheated on her with her own sister. Yes, I was the bad guy, there was no denying that. All Jinyoung wanted was commitment and trust. I wrapped the towel around my waist. ‘You know your problem,’ I said quietly to myself, turning the bedroom knob, ‘you just can’t be trusted.’

I smiled in the dark hallway. It was true. I was a creature of instinct, but cunning instinct, and I probably didn’t deserve Jinyoung, or I didn’t deserve her. The truth was, I did love her, but it was a comfortable, uneasy love. It was affectionate, and safe. Who could ask for more? but then…

A knife at your throat.

A knife at your throat brings a lot of focus. A knife at your throat can torch your self-loathing into a sudden brick of ash, leaving you with nothing but a bath towel and dried cum on your balls. In the dark hallway, right at the edge of the bathroom, a long, sharp knife emerged from the shadows and met my neck; lightly pressed against it. It was, to put it mildly, not what I was expecting.

“Get inside,” a voice whispered.

“The… uh, bathroom?”

“Yes, idiot.”

That would be Wonyoung. I sidestepped slowly into the bathroom, the knife held firmly against my neck the whole time, Wonyoung following me into the room. She shut the door behind us, locked it, and flipped the light on. Reflexively, I had my hands up. The towel was wrapped loosely around my waist, but other than that I was naked to the world — at least the house. Wonyoung, under the light of the old-fashioned bathroom, was still in her funeral attire, minus the sport coat. The tight black blouse strained to contain the girl’s ripe breasts. The thigh-length skirt still molded to her body and, surprisingly, she was still strapped into her black high heels. Most of her makeup had been washed off, except for the thin mascara that seemed to eternally circle her eyes. And her dark, dyed black hair seemed thicker, longer now that it had ever been, like a wild mane. The full lips, the upturned nose, the familiar sneer; all of it combined with her haughty, tight body to communicate something arrestingly unattainable. It occurred to me suddenly that I was fucked, because a straight razor was in her hand, and the hand was at my skin.

The blade rose and lowered on my neck. I swallowed, “W- what happened?”

“What do you think?”

I wasn’t sure if she wanted me to answer that, but I tried anyway, “This might be because we… had sex?”

“You fucked my ass in my sister’s apartment.”

“You’re upset about that… now?”

The knife pressed against my neck and I tried to raise my hands in as unthreatening a manner as possible. “Okay, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Where’s the money?”

“It’s not here.”

She pressed the knife harder. Enough to actually draw blood. “Whoa! calm down… why would I bring it here?”

“I gave you what you wanted. It’s your fucking turn.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you wanted it now.”

She surprised me by taking a swift stride forward and taking my shoulder in her other hand. The grip was tight. She was half a head shorter than me but her eyes burned up to mine with an unmistakable malice, and her hands did not waver. She was so close to my face I could have slipped my lips into the soft tresses of her bangs. The smell that came off of her was some thick but unsweetened perfume. I recognized, too, the vague smell of sweat, her sweat; in the tiny room evidence that she was human, and not entirely cold. Her breasts, unavoidably, brushed the bare skin of my chest. The two tight pinpricks I felt through the fabric alerted me to the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. In blind defiance of my fear, my cock began to harden.

She practically spit her next words: “When did you think I wanted it?”

“It’s in the bank — I told you.”

“You…” Her eyes searched mine for an interminable moment. Then she seemed to decide something. “You’re never going to give it to me, are you?” The knife between us was like a third person interrupting the conversation. Everything I could think to say was stopped by its contact with my skin.

“Of course I’m going to give it to you. The knife is very convincing.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, without humor. “Get on the floor.”

“What? Why?”

“Get. On. The floor.”

My palms towards her, my eyes widened slightly, trying to grasp what was happening. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to get on the floor. Lie on your back.”

I took a deep breath. There wasn’t much for me to do otherwise, so I slowly bent at the knees, and went down on one, then the other. In the process, the towel caught under my right knee and fell off, piling on the floor behind me. “Uh—” I started but Wonyoung said, “Leave it. Get back.”

So, naked now, hands still raised, I slowly lowered them to sit on the big, thick bathroom rug that lay between the sink and the bathtub. Wonyoung came with me, the knife ever at my neck, her other hand digging into my shoulder. We lowered together to the bathroom floor until I was on my back, the towel splayed out beneath me on the bathroom rug, and Wonyoung slipped her legs over my hips, just below my cock, and sat on me.

“You’re already hard.”

“Sorry, can’t help it.”

“I know,” she said as she reached down with her right hand and tugged at her skirt. The fabric clung to her so tightly she had to pull at one side first, then the other, then back again, to get it up her legs. When she’d tugged and pulled enough, I could see her bare thighs under the bunched skirt. A sheer pair of black panties hugged her bald pussy. It was completely shaved, and just visible through the nearly translucent fabric. She was practically sitting on my balls, and that sight made my dick grow harder.

“Hope you’re enjoying yourself,” she said.

“I have a lot of mixed emotions right now.”

“Shut up.” She brought her right hand up and planted it beside my head. She leaned forward. Suddenly I felt the silk material of her panties shift over the base of my cock. The fabric tingled where it slid over me, and I could feel the unmistakable cleft where the panties had ridden up into her pussy. Wonyoung dragged the panties over my cock, slowly, until she reached the head, and sat on it. Buried under her pussy, my cock was swamped by the heat that emanated from inside her.

“Does that make you hard?” She asked. I didn’t answer. But my cock twitched with a reflexive throb.

“That’s what I thought,” said Wonyoung. “Rip my panties.”

It was hard to know where to look. With the straight razor against my throat, it was dangerous to look anywhere but up into her cold eyes. Her tits pushed her shirt down, until they hung over me, ripe and within reach. But I didn’t dare move my hands. You know, in case Wonyoung was crazy. I replied with a clueless, “Huh?”

“Rip. My. Panties.” The words hissed through her gritted teeth. “Asshole.”

“Wony, I don’t understand.” She dragged the razor lightly over my skin. “Shut up and do it.”

I reached up. My hands couldn’t find her by sight, so I lifted my fingers into her flat stomach. She made a face but seemed to understand it, so she allowed me to drag my fingers down her waist, and the bunched-up skirt, until I reached the gossamer material between her legs. The straps that bound her hips were barely there at all. I reached deeper, until I brushed her mound, and pulled the fabric between my fingers.

I tore them. They ripped so easily I wondered what woman in her right mind would buy such fragile things, but the pulsations deep in my cock cleared that mystery up right away. In Wonyoung’s eyes was the registered shock of feeling our bare genitals suddenly in contact, but she didn’t do more than issue a tight gasp from her mouth. I ripped, and continued to rip until the panties were in tatters. They still hung around her hips; I hadn’t touched the band; but her pussy now lay atop my cock, its lips snugly parted over my shaft.

She shifted to roll me between them. “Was it worth it? Being a prick?”

With my cock inside Wonyoung. it was difficult to answer. She leaned down until our noses almost touched. “Are you going to give me the money?”

“Yes,”

“I don’t believe you. And I fucking hate you.”

“Is that right?” — She pressed the knife against me to shut me up.

“Here’s what I’m going to do.” She reared back until she was sitting on me again. My cock was still hard, flattened against my stomach and underneath her pussy. She laid her right hand over my mouth. “Lick it,” she said.

…..

“More,” she said. I licked her palm. I licked the creases in it and the spaces between her fingers. Then she reached down, underneath her, and lifted herself up on her knees. The breach of contact between us alerted me to the coolness of the bathroom air. Above me, Wonyoung rubbed her palm into her labia. The fingers slipped in. She returned her palm to my mouth, laying her pussy over my cock again as she leaned down. ‘Lick it,’ she said. I did. This time I tasted her pussy on her hand, and my mouth lingered over the taste of her fingers. She pulled back after I planted a kiss in her palm. Wonyoung rubbed the hand into her cunt again, coating herself with my saliva. She pushed her hand into my mouth. “Lick it,” she said, more hoarsely than before. This time her thighs trembled a bit when she rubbed herself. “Again,” she said. My lips and tongue danced over her fingers. This time when she reached down, she took hold of my dick. Her moist fingers clenched, rubbing my head until the precum oozed from the slit and mixed with the saliva.

“You want to fuck me?” she asked, finally pulled my dick upright. It bulged against her belly. “You were staring at me all day.” She said. It’s true, can’t deny it.

“You fucked my mouth… You fucked my ass…” With every word her thighs contracted and released. I felt her heartbeat through her stomach, and every contraction was simultaneous with a tight stroke of my cock, like a rough caress. “You had everything. And you still fuck my sister…”

“Yes,” I said, though it was more of a groan. She leaned forward slightly, not so easy to do with my cock pressed stiffly into her. She was relentless, squeezing it in her hand. If Jinyoung hadn’t blown me minutes ago, I would be ready to cum, but the earlier ejaculation had relaxed my body. It did nothing, however, for my burning urge to reach up and pull that blouse down her beautiful chest. But she kept the knife to me at all times.

“You just want more… and more, don’t you?” She looked down.

I could see her looking at my cock but I couldn’t remove my eyes from her face, even in this state, she was gorgeous. I felt the first drips from her pussy land in my pubic thatch. “Were you going to make me fuck you?” she said. “You want my pussy? Do you want my pussy?” She rubbed my shaft against her pussy. I had to lean my head back against the tile.

Then, her knees hugging the carpet and my hips, I heard the toes of her heels clatter on the tile, she rose up; she positioned my cock straight up, and wiggled it between the lips of her pussy lips, she gasped; it made her stomach jiggle, her breasts, too, and sank down.

We both groaned as my shaft plunged in, in to her naked flesh. “Ah,” she said, as if in pain. She was wet, but not dripping. She stopped about halfway and pushed her right hand down into the carpet.

“You like that?” she hissed as she sank her hips down, forward. My cock slid along her uterine wall. Then, to my pleasure and utter shock, she bucked her hips forward, dragging my cock in and out of her, gyrating on top of me.

“I hate you…” she said. “Your fucking cock… inside me… forcing me.” Her eyes burned down into mine.

“I didn’t force you,” I said. Her pussy was so tight. For some reason I’d imagined that her being such a bitch it would only make room for a big, loose pussy. But Jinyoung’s younger sister had a tight, wet snatch. It was like a trap, and I could feel it squeeze more precum out of me, to mix with the saliva she’d forced me to lubricate her with, to mix with the juice of her own body.

“You think I wanted you?” she hissed. She clearly had an agenda, and she took to it with forceful fervor, but it was impossible for my dick to elicit no effect that deep inside of her. I realized she was trying to work me in and out of her methodically, almost mechanically.

“If you cum before I do,” she started, “I’ll cut you.” Again, still with the knife at my throat. “And tell my father you raped me. And then Jinyoung will know what a piece of shit you are...”

Wonyoung wasn’t going to cum, that’s what she was saying… “If you cum before I do?” I said, “you won’t cut me?” She sneered. I suddenly thrust my hips up, and she had to grab at the floor. I pushed my feet into the ground and thrust again. The knife could cut me while I tried but I realized now that might be inevitable.

“If you cum before I do, you won’t cut me?” I repeated.

“You can’t make me cum,” said Wonyoung.

I raised my hands up and placed them on her hips. I forced her to go down, deep down, until her tight pussy was opened over the thick base of my cock, her ass practically riding my balls. “Anh,” she gasped.

“Do you want me to make you cum?”

“Fuck you,” she said. “Tell me how badly you wanted this pussy?”

“Badly,” I said. My fingers bit into her hips. I ran the fabric of her blouse up against her ribs until I was grasping her tight skin. I made her hips swivel against me. I pushed inside her.

“What about the money?”

She leaned back. She had to keep the knife on my throat but she leaned back, very business-like, her back almost straight, while I made love to her vagina like she wasn’t even a part of it.

“You wanna give it to me now?” she said. “If you give it to me right now, then pull out. Pull out of this pussy.” She flexed her ass on top of me.

“But then you wouldn’t get a good fucking,” I said.

“If I wanted a good fucking, I wouldn’t be fucking you.”

“You just want to make me cum?”

She sneered again, the coldness in her eyes dire contrast to the heat below her waist, and the movements, almost gymnastic and snake-like, of her writhing, curvaceous body. It was her body that was built for sex; every undulation, every inch of her soft, pale skin, was meant to attract attention, meant to draw the eye, meant to force lewd fantasies.

Did Wonyoung know the men in her wake were left with no recourse but to stroke themselves to ejaculation at the thought of her wide hips under their palms, her tight ass clutching their cocks, her fearsome eyes hating them as they squeezed their manhood between her tight, moist crevices? Of course she knew.

“You’re going to cum,” she said. “You’re going to cum inside me. I’m going to squeeze your f-fucking cock until you can’t take it anymore… and, then, you’ll do it. You want to do it.”

“Yes,” I said, my hands forced her hips deeper down.

“Better slow down,” she gasped.

“I’m just getting started.”

“Oh yeah?” She reached up to her blouse. No, I thought, it’s too cruel. Her fingers slid over the slopes of her upper breasts. Her finger dipped into her cleavage. “You want these tits?” she whispered breathlessly. I didn’t say anything, but I did slow my strokes.

“That’s what I thought… You can’t handle me.”

That would not stand. I grabbed her ass and plunged my cock deep, thrusting my hips hard towards her pelvis. She bumped forward; her hand fell beside my head. Her breasts swung over my face.

“Does that make you mad?” she hissed. She leaned down until her nipple, under the black fabric, grazed the skin of my lip. I couldn’t stand it. I stretched my mouth forward, trying to catch it through the shirt. Wonyoung leaned up, laughing. “I don’t think so,” she said. “You can’t handle it.”

I didn’t like being told what I couldn’t handle. I dropped her hips suddenly, and reached for her chest. She let out a stunned “What-?” before I grabbed the blouse between my fingers and tore, like I’d torn the panties.

Her breasts freed from the rent fabric. At first, they just rolled forward, freed from the pressure but too full, too squished to leave the shirt. Still stunned, Wonyoung was pinned by my dick plunging into her behind and her hand bound to stay at my throat, so she couldn’t stop me from grabbing the torn shirt and ripping it the rest of the way. Her gorgeous breasts were freed from her clothing, plump and swollen, the bottoms still tightly trapped but the nipples, the soft skin at their sides, exposed, even held so that each bounce of her ass on my thighs, at every increasingly wet thrust and gyration, they make little jiggled forward.

“Prick,” she said.

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes,” she gasped. My thrusts were merciless now. She tried to right herself, to get more rigidly on top, but I angled my hips so that she was forced to lean forward, forced to keep her one hand planted in the tile, I hoped her knife hand was getting tired. Her breasts were beautiful, and I adored them. She shut her eyes tight.

“Do you want me to touch them?”

“N-no…” she groaned.

I thrust harder, faster. “You bastard…” she rasped. “Don’t…”

It was beautiful. The way breasts swung over me, forced to bounce with every push of my cock. It hurt her, but there was an open, hungry pout to her mouth that proved that some tangle of nerves caught in the strain forced her to like it. I couldn’t bear to see her like that any longer.

I reached up and held her breasts. Their thickness filled my hands. The hard nipples practically carved her initials into my palms. I squeezed them, and she let out a deep moan. I reached down and tore the rest of the shirt. Her breasts flopped out all the way and I scooped them hungrily between my fingers. Sweat had built up between our waists; I could feel it trickling down from where her skirt bunched up against her hips. One hand slid behind her back, the other pulled her in to me. I took one pale, puffy nipple between my lips and sucked on it.

“Suck it…” she whispered. “Is that what you want? You want to suck my tits?”

I just groaned assent to her dirty mouth. I slowed my strokes to savor the taste of her breasts. My tongue dragged over the slopes of one, licking deep between them to the space in the middle of her chest. I felt her right hand on my shoulder, maybe pushing me, maybe trying to stay steady, as I scooped the left breast towards my mouth and suckled on it, bit it lightly, tried to get as much of it in my mouth as I could fit.

I sucked harder on it, loving the taste of her, the hot, angry taste of her, and the wondrous texture of her bumpy areolas. It occurred to me, only then, at the height of my arousal and hunger for her, that I had stopped thrusting, that her pussy was slipping and gliding over me, that her left hand had gone limp — had not dropped the knife — that her stomach was quaking over mine.

“That what you needed?” she said huskily. “Needed these tits in your mouth? I know you did.” I let her nipple slip from my mouth and reached up. I took her face in both hands and pulled her mouth to me.

“Fuck you,” she spat into my mouth. She actually spat.

I wet my lips and cupped them over her own. Her tongue slithered out and tippled over mine. I thrust. She pushed. Her breasts squashed against my chest. I reached down and gripped her ass fiercely, forcing it up and down on my cock. Our spit mingled while she acted like her tongue in my mouth was there by protest. I, for my part, sucked on it, kissed her mouth, and reached for her hair. “Cum,” she whispered when our lips peeled away from each other.

“You wanna make me cum?”

“I make you cum,” she said, her face still inches from mine. She rested her breasts on top of me. “You came inside my ass.…I had to… push it out…”

“You didn’t like that?” I groaned. “You didn’t like shitting out my cum?”

“You are sick,” she gasped. “Ahn. You’re vile. You fucked me. Your big dick. In my ass.”

“Are you going to cum?”

“You can’t make me cum!” she whispered violently.

“You’re wet.”

“I’ll cut your throat.”

I got a good grip on her ass cheek. My right arm braced against her side. “You want to cum, Wony? You want it good? You want it rough?”

“Don’t—” she said. She could feel my arms’ tensed strength. “I’ll… cut…”

“Do it,” I said.

“Cum,” she said. “Ah!” She said it as I shifted my weight. She said it as I pulled at her tight ass and pushed up into her pussy with my hips. She said it as I grabbed her back and torqued her to the ground. The knife at my neck was there, but suddenly wasn’t. It clattered to the floor as we tumbled. We seemed to be a ball of wet limbs and tangled clothing for a breathless, sightless time, then suddenly she was on the ground, on her back, her fingers scratching at my neck, and I was on top, plugged inside her, and I reached down and pulled one long leg up against my body to open her pussy wider.

“Take it, Wony…”

“Ahn fuck…” she hissed. Her eyes went wide and to the toilet bowl just above her head. I pulled her hands off my neck and pinned them to the tile. She fought against me the whole time but my muscles bulged, hot with lust, and my grip on her wrists unyielding. Her open palms grabbed at nothing, her outstretched arms forced her exposed breasts up, so that their full, rippling bounty was flattened over her torn shirt. I heard her high heel knock the bathroom floor. And of course, between her legs, between her open, limber legs, where her bare pussy shed its juices under her torn, mangled panties, was me, slipping it to her, guiding my tight, insistent cock between the hungry lips of her devious sex.

“You like it better this way?” I whispered into her ear. “You don’t have to do the work. You can just let me fuck you until you cum.”

“Can’t… make me… cum…” Wonyoung panted.

I laid a wet, passionate kiss on her mouth. It was devoid of love and full, bursting with all the ravenous urges I’d built up since I’d seen her this morning. I was glad the knife was now somewhere behind the toilet, but I was plunging harder and harder into her body and I wanted to cum. Yet I refused to unless I could make her do it, and believe it. The squelches of our sex only made the hot air stink more fragrantly of two angry people fucking. I grabbed her hair and tilted her head back.

“You like it dirty?”

Hands freed, she reached down between our bucking hips. I felt her fingers work at the skirt, try to free it from my pounding hips.

“You got cum all over my skirt,” she gasped.

I reached down and pulled at it. She worked it from her side. I felt something give in the material. Something snapped. Her other hand reached down to take the clasp and open it. Then it was off, ruffled and pinned under us, like the towel and the rug and the shreds of her shirt and panties. I slowed my strokes enough to savor the curved entrance to her soft pussy.

I bent my neck to pop one of her breasts into my mouth. It was dotted with quivering perspiration. Her breath was ragged. Suddenly she reached up and clutched my shoulders. I licked up her chest to her neck and chin. And her eyes burned into me.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you.”

“You gave me everything,” I gloated to her, on top of her, my fingers biting her ass cheek and hiking her leg even higher.

“You took everything,” she rasped.

“I’m going to make you cum, Wony.”

“Can’t force me…”

“I’ll force you.”

“Force me,” she said. Her mouth now refused to close. Her upper lip was spotted with sweat; her pink tongue was writhing in her mouth. She had to breathe through that mouth, had to kiss me with it when I made her, but she couldn’t close it; the sound that issued out of it, a high but deep groan that pressed up against her flat stomach, wouldn’t allow it. Her teeth grit together for a rough instant.

“Force… me…”

“You’ll love it,”

“I hate it.”

Her leg had ridden as high as I could get it with my hand in that position. I reached under so that I was now holding it up from underneath, the back of her knee between my thumb and forefinger. The sweat running down from her calves, from the tight straps of her high heels, flowed over my knuckles and to my wrist. Our hips slapped together. Her other leg went up, the knee pointed to the ceiling. The heel scraped over the floor.

“Your dick,” she ranted. “Your fucking dick…”

“Inside you.”

“Inside me…”

“Cum on my cock, Wony. Cum for me.”

“Forced me…” she gasped.

“You forced me.”

“I didn’t force your dick between my tits.”

“Give it to me, Wony.”

“Didn’t… ah… nah… force your… cock…”

“Into your ass.”

“My ass.” She shuddered. ‘Now,’ she said. “Don’t stop…”

“Let me hear it.”

“Oh… Fuckngh…”

My dick slid back and forth, never stopping, her ass slapped the bathroom floor. She lunged for my neck. I felt her teeth bite into my shoulder. I reached up, pushed her moist back up, curved my pelvis up to meet her bucking pussy. She came silently, biting into my shoulder, her whole body a wicked vibration.

An instant later I came as well. My cock stuck bolt upright and ejaculated, pumping Wonyoung full of my cum. The thick deluge that I’d been holding back, it all came, shooting, unending. Wonyoung let out a little shriek when it happened — nothing loud enough for the house to hear — nothing that sounded pained, but a tail added to her own unleashed orgasm, something that ended her quivering and transformed it into full body squeezes. She clamped over me, with her legs, her arms, her mouth, and released all of them. If my hand hadn’t been behind her head, she would have knocked back against the toilet bowl.

The two of us shivered together without speaking, her arms draped loosely over my shoulders.

Somehow, and sometime later, we got to our feet. We gathered the pieces of clothing and the towel, into the middle of the room. She bent down and undid the straps on her heels. Then I started the shower.

-

It was the practical thing to shower together. We did it without speaking. I let her use the water first, then I came forward and soaped myself. Finally, however, it was just too much to see her splashed in water, the white suds dripping all down that buxom body. I pushed her against the shower wall, my hands cupping her breasts, then her ass, my tongue forcing its way into her mouth. She kissed me weakly, a hand skating down my back but not knowing, truly, where to go. I thought I might even feel another tingle in my crotch. But it was Wonyoung pushing me away.

“No,” she said quietly. “I really mean it.”

We parted. She finished shampooing her hair, then she stepped out and grabbed a towel from the sink cupboard. When I shut off the water, she handed me another one. She had already bound the ripped articles of clothing in another towel. I didn’t ask what she planned to do with it. The straight razor had been returned to its place.

She sort of nodded, not looking at me, and reached for the door. But I stopped her with a hand on her wrist. She didn’t say stop, she didn’t say no, she just looked at my hand, and then at me. It wasn’t really an angry look; it was tired, and more than a little ambiguous.

I started to say, “I want…”

But she cut me off with, “Yeah.” Her eyes burned into mine, without hate, but without anything I recognized. She opened the door and was gone, her hips under the white towel shifting, sashaying, into the shadows.

I shook my head. Well, who’s to say what I wanted, or what Wonyoung wanted beyond the money? I didn’t know, and other than the fact that I’m a bad boyfriend, I wasn’t going to know anything more. At least not tonight.

I went through the door to the guest bedroom, to the little yellow light by the side of the bed. Jinyoung was sitting up with her glasses on, reading a book from one of the ancient shelves.

“You were in there for a long time,” she said, looking up.

“Yeah,” I said, suddenly exhausted. I threw my towel over a chair and wandered heavily to the other side of the bed. I slid in next to her and turned over.

“Hey,” she said.

“What?”

Her voice rose. “Where’d you get that bite mark on your neck?”

Two months. Two fricking month later and all I needed is a date.

My company was hosting a large end-of-year celebration at a downtown hotel, and they were providing the rooms, food, and everything else. We only needed to show up and have a good time. There was business to be done, as well as some late afternoon seminars to attend, but the most important thing was that I needed a date. Because after the dancing and drinking, I'd have a whole hotel room to myself.

Nice guy that I am, I thought of calling Jinyoung first. But nice as I am, I’m also an asshole. It didn’t take me long to remember.

The breakup was bad. The hicky Jinyoung found on my neck began a series of questions that led to a series of shouts that led to me leaving the house before the entire family was involved. Of course, that didn’t stop it. There were angry phone calls, from both Jinyoung and Wonyoung—Jinyoung about Wonyoung and then Wonyoung screaming for her money or to get her sister off her back.

Things weren’t easy when Jinyoung and I shared an apartment. I had a head start but it wasn’t enough to get all my shit packed up and out the door. When she came home, she immediately set to tearing the place apart. She threw my toolbox out the window, and it came very close to shattering and spilling out all the money that was hidden inside of it.

I had to find someone to sub-lease my half of the apartment, which was a nightmare in this economy. I had Jinyoung’s friends calling me, leaving text messages, telling me what a monster I was. Yes, me, a monster. Well…

Comes the end of the year and I need a date for this shindig. I hadn’t even thought about it, was planning to just feel sorry for myself, drinking and try not to slit my wrists alone in the hotel room. But a chance encounter in a coffee shop changed my mind.

-

I had been sitting in the corner of the cafe with my laptop for about ten minutes. I’d been in there for an hour already, catching up on work, trying to get everything in my docket finished before the company party, when I noticed a girl come in through the door with a group of friends.

Her friends were fine, but she had a long trail of raven black hair, the unapologetic cleavage in her low-cut top clued me in to her breasts; the mini-skirt tipped me off to the ass. It was Wonyoung. For five minutes I didn’t know what to do. On the sixth minute, I shut my laptop.

She excused herself from the group to use the restroom, and when she did, I followed her in. She was closing the door behind her when I slid my foot between the door and the jamb. She started fuming even before she saw me. “Hey…” She stopped.

We regarded each other with quiet, calculating grimaces, and then, as if on cue, she opened the door and we entered the restroom together.

“What the do you want?”

“To give you your money.”

She snorted. A puff of air escaped her lips and tossed one of her bangs back over her ear. The action was adorable. “Right,” she said. “What do you want me to do, fuck you in this shitty bathroom?”

“No, but good guess,” I said.

She crossed her arms and gave me a nasty smirk. “My family thinks you’re just the sleaziest shit right now. It’s awesome.”

“What about you?”

She shrugged. “Like I give a shit. No one’s thinking about the money right now. My sister won’t stop giving me shit about you but whatever.”

“So, I guess you don’t need the money anymore?”

She bugged her eyes as if receiving some sort of revelation. “Oh, wow, you mean you’re really going to give it to me? I’m not stupid!”

“No,” I said agreeably. “No, Wonyoung, you’re a smart one.”

“Look,” she said, “you’re not my sis’s boyfriend anymore and I don’t care what you do with the money. So, uh, I think we’re done here.”

I nodded. “We can be, if you want. But I have a proposition for you.”

“Fuck that.”

I threw up my hands. “Oh Come on, Wony. Didn’t we have some laughs?”

She sneered. “Yeah, Riiight. All those times you fucked me when my sister wasn’t around? Yeah, those were great times.”

“I didn’t hear any complaints though.”

“I literally complained the entire time. Or did you not hear me calling you out, while you were cumming in my ass?”

“Good times,” I said.

She rolled her eyes. “Will you please leave? Or do you want to watch me piss now?”

“No,” I said, “my perversion does not extend that far. However, I do have a proposition for you and I ask only that you hear me out before any further profanity.”

“Fuck you.”

“Right,” I said. “I’m willing to give you your money back.”

“If…?”

“If you come to this company party with me. You’d come as my date. You’d be there with me.”

“And that’s it?”

“No, that’s not it.”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah, I thought so. You really get off on getting off on me, don’t you?” She made a grand show of searching the ceiling with her eyes. “My sister hates you right now.”

“I understand that.”

“So, what, I have to wear a nice dress, pretend you’re my prince charming?”

“You’d only be there for the drinking and food. The boring business stuff is earlier in the day.”

“Right,” she said. “And I should believe you because…?”

“I’ll bring the money with me. I’ll show it to you as soon as you get into the hotel lobby. If I don’t have it, you can walk out and leave. If you stay, I’ll give it to you.”

“When?”

“After.”

She laughed. “You think you’re so smart,”

“Actually, I thought I sounded desperate.”

“You do,” she said. “You are. You’re pathetic. Why don’t you get some other girl to come with you? Oh, that’s right. Cause you’re an asshole.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe I’d rather go with you.”

“I bet you would.” She leveled her gaze at me. “When is it?”

“End of next week. I can send you the directions.”

She took a deep breath, and without another thought, just nodded. “If I show up and you don’t have the money, I will stab you in the lobby, I don’t care who sees it.”

“I believe you,”

“Now leave, I have to piss.”

“Can I watch?”

-

The weeks stretched by like they were laden with lead weights. On the day of the party, I tossed the ill money in my duffel bag. The seminars were excruciating. The small talk was boring. But at about 7 PM, when the company members were coming downstairs in their finery, my boss was already drunk, and I was waiting in the lobby, the night, quickly, and briefly, was all worth it.

Wonyoung arrived. She had a small bag with her, enough for a night’s stay, and it was taken by the bellboy without much fuss. She knew what number the room was. And she strode towards me on the wide red-carpeted floor.

She was in nothing but a straight white dress, and I mean nothing else. She did have a pair of white heels that went all the way up, but there was not a bra strap in sight over her bare, brown shoulder. Her breasts were squeezed into the outfit, that shimmered and bent the light, and the hem went to just about thigh-level. Just about. When she walked the fabric slithered over her ass. And the eyes of the hotel did likewise.

I opened my mouth to tell her what she already knew but she cut me off. “Money,” she said. Her eyes were rimmed with dark mascara, her cheeks blushed. The money appeared in my hand and swiftly returned to my pocket.

“How do I know it’s all there?”

“It’s all there,” I said.

“Liar.”

“It’s all there,” I said. “Do you want to tell the bellboy to bring your bag back?”

“If it’s not…” she growled.

“You’ll cut me, I get it,” I said. ‘Fair is fair, I know. Now, look,’ I said, I looped my arm through hers, “you’re here as my date. So, you have to make believe you’re having a great time.”

“My imagination isn’t strong enough.”

But it was decent enough. I introduced her to my co-workers as Wonyoung, which she was, my girlfriend, which she definitely was not. They all wanted to know what she did and where she came from and she smiled and nodded whenever possible, laughing when she absolutely had to, and only tensed and flinched when I slid my hand down her backside. After thirty minutes of small talk while we waited for the bar and dance room to clear, she bent her mouth to my ear. “Where’s the expensive wine, you promised me?”

“Inside,” I said.

“Your co-workers are boring.”

“Yes… Yes, we are.”

What followed would only be more of the same. My boss came over to ask me who I was with, and I happily told him she was in love with me, a woman who believed in all the great qualities I possessed, who supported me, was faithful to me, who was not necessarily prettier than her sister, but much hotter, and fucked like a wild rabbit. My boss smiled and nodded, drunk off his ass. He had to find it first and Wonyoung sneered at his wife as she gave us both a dirty look and carted him off. “Wine,” said Wonyoung. “He drank it all, didn’t he?”

We were back at the table, everyone loosened up and drinking freely, and Wonyoung was giggling with my co-worker about how smart I thought I was, and I was just laid back enough to let them have at it.

-

The four of us broke away from the group as the night wound down, and we all helped each other find the way to the elevator and up to our floor. They said goodnight and tried to look casual as they strolled off to their room. As soon as they had their backs to us, I pressed Wonyoung up against my hotel door and kissed her.

She kept her eyes wide, watching them down the hall. I could feel her body tense, waiting for them to disappear into the room. And I kept my eyes open too, to drink in the sight of her angry eyes, feel her charged muscles, while I slid my tongue deeper into her mouth.

My hand gently pushed her to the door, while my other found her backside. I fondled one curvaceous ass cheek, almost reaching the hem of her skirt. She reached behind herself and pulled me away, but she didn’t break the kiss.

Her mouth was wet, her lips was puffy. Wonyoung pushed me off. “Ah,” she groaned. She wiped her pink-colored lip with the back of her hand. “You bit me.”

“Thought it would help your concentration.”

She gave me a withering look. “Just let me in so I can get my bag and get out of here.” I smiled in the most diabolical way that I could. Mostly for her displeasure, but the motivation behind it was very real. “You’re not leaving tonight.”

Her brows knit together. “Fuck that,” she said. “I did what you said, showed up to this stupid thing, now pay up.”

“Nope,” I said. “I told you I needed you here for the event. Tomorrow morning is when we leave. How’s it going to look if I show up tomorrow and my date’s high tailed it out of there? They’ll think you were some kind of escort.”

Wonyoung looked furious. Her eyebrows came down over those blazing eyes. I had to wonder if she genuinely hadn’t known, or if my company disgusted her that much. Down below, in my pants, I hoped it was both.

“I’m not…” she started.

“You know what you’re here for,” I said. “Don’t waste my time.”

“Don’t waste your time?” she fumed. “Okay I’m going.”

“Really? You put up with everything tonight to go home empty handed?”

“I’m not spending another second here,” she hissed. “Especially not to…”

I put my hand on the door, barring her way. “I have some of your money in my pocket. The rest is inside,” I said. “You want it, you can look for it.”

She shook her head.

“You can always just tell me no.”

The skin on her nose wrinkled, her whole face joining in to grimace. “No,” she said. “No, I won’t do anything your sick brain wants.”

“It’s not my brain,” I put in. I leaned in closer. Our bodies brushed together against the door. “Do you want the money or not?”

“It’s mine,” she said.

“So, you’re welcome to take it. Inside.”

Her eyes studied mine, the wicked gears inside calculating, maybe ways to subdue me, maybe how to kill me. I could see, though, that tonight had been no joy for her and to walk out now would only compound her fury. “Fine,” she said. “Open it.”

“Not until you know what you’re going in there for,” I said.

“To get the money.”

“To honor our deal.”

“You said I had to pretend to be your girlfriend for the night,” she said quickly, spitting the words out without thinking.

“Oh yeah,” I said.

Before she could protest, I’d swiped the key into the card lock and we pushed inside. Wonyoung’s bag was set primly beside the bed. My suit and bag were on top of it. Wonyoung stalked to the bed, to my bag, and I was treated to the sight of those long legs flashing in the striped light of the blinds, the lamp inside and the hall’s diminishing radiance. The door swung shut, and Wonyoung was at the bed, my bag unzipped, rifling through it.

I let her search, closing the door. Should I lock it? I wondered, and casually strolling into the room. It was a good room the company had provided. There was a bathroom on my left, a small kitchenette behind it and running from the door to the wall. On my right was the sliding closet, with both doors’ full-length mirrors. The bed was on the far-right side of the room and the bathroom was across from it, beside the TV.

Wonyoung’s face only grew darker as she flung my shit further across the room, to no success. A gray undershirt hung from the TV, and one of my socks had even caught in the half-lidded Venetian windows. I savored the movements of her, her bare arms scouring the bag, the fine muscles beneath the skin twitching with unconcealed tension. This was the first time, I thought, the first time my proper girlfriend wasn’t sleeping around the corner or waiting for me to return, the first time her family wasn’t around to threaten me with. We were two people in a hotel room; for all intents and purposes, as far as my colleagues knew, she was happy to be here, doing the things that couples did.

My body stirred, even as I stood motionless in the center of the room. My manhood stiffened. She had stopped going through the bag. She’d turned it upside down, finished with it in a petulant fury, its flattened fabric deflated, just like her hopes to finish this without another word to me. But if her hope was deflated it did not stop her anger. It radiated out of her, making every glistening surface of her shine that much brighter. We were both lightly sweaty from the dancefloor downstairs. Some of it had evaporated in the intervening hours. I could smell myself, sort of, but I couldn’t ignore her. Her perfume and shampoo were still lingering in her hair but her sweat, a pure, natural aroma, filled the room. She sat on the edge of the bed, one leg drawn up under her skirt, one leg heading down, way down, to her white heel in the carpet. Her hemline, which had started low, was drawn up and stuck under her bottom, so half her ass was visible on the bed. Her breasts pushed at the fabric of her top, the deep shadow of her cleavage lined with sweat. Her hair trailed over her shoulders, almost reaching the tops of her breasts.

“It’s not in there,” I said simply.

She was up, she was moving. She was in front of me, breathing in my face. She didn’t shake with all that energy; she kept it bottled and bound inside. I imagined it swirling behind her eyes.

“Give it to me,” she said.

“I will.” My eyes fell over her full lips; the bright eyes that lacked the inquisitive earthiness of her sister but were filled with something more obvious, sinister, and lancing.

“Where is it?” she said. Her lips came together, puckered. “Give it to me,” she said darkly.

“Take off your shoes.”

…

I did not expect the slap. It came so quickly, one minute I was leering at her, the next I was staring at the floor. I shook myself, and cocked my head back. Wonyoung still looked mad, but satisfied.

“You can do that again, if you want.”

“You…” she started.

“Take them off.”

She remained planted to the ground, a buxom statue, a sweaty, organic embodiment of all my sexual demons. I wanted to peel off her clothes and taste every wet crevice she hid underneath them. My cock only hardened to think I had the time to do it. Provided she didn’t castrate me in the attempt. What tickled me, though, insofar as I could be tickled, was the glimpses of superiority that I caught from her time and again. She knew I wanted to fuck her; there could be no mistaking that; but did she recognize how hard I wanted to fuck her, how strenuously I needed to sink myself inside her, how badly I wanted to hold her, and squeeze her, and hear her curse me and groan? She thought I wanted her tits and ass. That was true enough. But did she know I wanted her, inside her body, her ignorant, evil little heart?

I reached into my pocket. The money appeared, slightly damp from the sweat of my body, but neatly folded in a metal clip. Wonyoung’s eyes registered the cash, but her mouth betrayed her. It was surprise that I saw. I smiled and tucked the cash away again.

“You said that was half of it.”

“No, that’s all of it. I just didn’t know how else to get you inside. And believe me, when I lose my clothes, you’re free to take it all. I’ll keep my word about that at least,” I said. “And you’ll get it. But the night’s not over.”

“No,” she said.

“Take them off, Wony.”

Without taking her eyes off me, she fiddled with her heel beneath her. I didn’t break the stare. I watched her descend, heard the clop of her heel hit the ground, then the other. Her toes slid the shoes from her feet, and slid them behind her. The heels must have been several inches, because now her nose was about level with my chin. We stood there in silence for a moment, her seething, me letting my cock harden against the fabric of my slacks. I could do anything with her, I thought. Malevolent thoughts swirled in my brain, but if I had to be honest, I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

“You know what you’re here for?” I asked.

Her lips hardened to a tight line. My eyes led down her chin to the stiff, proud neck, to her deep cleavage, and the sparkling white dress. I wanted to throw her down and make her say my name. She never would, I thought.

“Are you going to say anything?”

“Let’s get this over with,” she said.

I reached out and drew her to me. She came without protest, though still stiffly. I let her feel me against her mound, our bodies still hot from the dancefloor. My mouth went to hers. But I was only kissing her lips. She didn’t open.

“I don’t have to put on a show for anyone,” she muttered into my tongue.

“Just me,” I said.

“Fuck you,” she said matter-of-factly.

I pulled away and nodded. “Go to the wall.” I pointed to the wall between the bathroom and the TV. She went. I waited so that I could watch her ass shift and sway under the shimmering material. How, I thought, how could a man know that was in the world and not want it? And how evil would he have to be to get it?

She turned when she reached it, looking only partly confused. She probably expected me to tell her to take it off. That wasn’t going to happen yet.

“Face the wall, Wony.”

She put a hand on it, then narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?” she said.

“I’m telling you what I want, No more questions. Face the wall. Put your hands on it.”

She did it quickly enough. She turned and laid her palms flat on the wall. But she didn’t trust me — and I couldn’t blame her — so she kept glancing behind, her eyes not failing to show her trepidation.

“Bend over,”

For once she did it without protest. This she understood. This she could see in her mind’s eye. Me, wanting her, plunging into her. Wonyoung’s hand slid down the wall as she bent at the waist. The skirt rode up the backs of her thighs, up to the bottoms of her tight little ass.

I slid the skirt the rest of the way. It nearly took my breath away. Wonyoung’s bare ass was taut, moist from the night’s exertions, the delectable handfuls of her bottom perky, round. And she wasn’t wearing a strip of clothing under there. No panties. Her pussy was shaved bare. I could tell because she bent over far enough for me to see it. I reached for her cheeks and pried them apart, to get a look at her asshole.

“What are you doing?” she growled, nearly sliding off the wall.

Annoying her, I thought. “I said no more questions.”

“Stop,” she said. My fingers dug deeper into her. Was it her asshole she was worried about? I wanted to spread those cheeks to make her uncomfortable. And it was working.

“You can yell out for whoever you want,” I said. “It’s just us tonight.”

She was turned from the wall, her hands still planted on it. “Just take it out and do it,” she hissed.

Almost business-like, I thought. I gently released her, letting her ass cheeks wobble, loving every bouncing inch of them. But I didn’t do it, at least not what Wonyoung intended. I got a good grip on her left hip, and arced my hand back, and delivered a swift smack to her right ass cheek.

Wonyoung let out a choked cry. Her hair whipped as she sank a demonic glare over her shoulder, at me. “Face the wall,” I said. She did. She pushed her hands into the wall and leaned back. I rubbed the reddened skin of her ass and swung back. I laid a second smack on her cheek, making her reel forward on her toes. “Ah!” she gasped.

I gripped her right hip, and raised my left hand. “You got me in a lot of trouble,” I said mildly, and brought my palm down on her thick little ass.

“AH!” She didn’t even try to stifle her gasp.

I slid my hands down her thighs, not stopping the slow journey of my fingertips until I reached the backs of her knees. I bent forward, my nose at her tailbone, and kissed between the fleshy meeting of her cheeks.

“Don’t…” she pleaded.

I stepped back. “Don’t what?” I spanked her again.

The white dress hung off her waist and I had to imagine what her breasts were doing under there. Without a bra, she must be hanging right against the fabric, something I could see if her long hair wasn’t in the way. But she was half naked, from the waist down, all that elegance bundled up and wrinkled at her waist, lower body planted in the carpet, anticipating her next spanking. ‘You knew what tonight was about,’ I said. I grabbed her ass roughly and spanked her hard on the right cheek. This time she swallowed her cry and released a tight exhalation. I could see her calves tense. “Didn’t you?” I said. I spanked her again. She went up high on her toes.

“Nuh!” she said.

“If you were my girlfriend, you’d be enjoying this right now,” I said.

“Fuck you,” she said.

I gave her another slap on the ass. She pressed closer to the wall.

“I asked you to come to my company retreat, and you show up without a bra and panties? Not very lady-like,” I said as I squeezed her cheeks. Then I gave her a sharp underarm smack, right between her thigh and ass.

“Ah!”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I bent over her. My lips drank in the sweat on her spine, wending a wet trail down to her tailbone again, down her cheek, to the flushed skin on her rump. “Can I kiss it better?”

She wiggled me off.

I pressed close to her. My hand sunk into the cleft of her ass until I found her labial folds. Without warning, I slipped a finger high up into her snatch. She was soaked.

“Agh!” Wonyoung growled. She peeled one hand off the wall and I pinned it back with my own. My shoes slid behind her heels to keep her at the wall and I bent over her while my fingers rimmed the inner edges of her pussy. “You… shit…” she groaned.

I bent my mouth to her ear. “What did you tell your sister?”

She laughed. This close I could smell and see the sweat running down her face, and from the line in her forehead I knew that my fingers in her were not without their reaction. Still, she laughed, ass out and bent over against the wall. So, I lubed up my thumb in her sticky pussy and pushed the button of her asshole until it sunk in.

“No,” she groaned.

“Push back, Wony.”

She did. My knuckles vanished within her tightness, and she drew herself closer to the wall, her orifices nearly free of my fingers.

“Push back.”

She sank herself back onto them.

The thought of her orifices just made me hotter, and I couldn’t stand the wet mess I was making on the inside of my slacks. With my free hand I reached down and undid my belt, telling Wonyoung not to stop pushing herself back and towards the wall. I pulled my pants and boxers down, my dick flipping up from the waistband, and hurriedly kicked my shoes off, kicking it all in a pile in front of the bathroom. I came up closer, till my cockhead was rested against her butt cheek, and snaked a finger of my free hand across her mouth, until my index broke past her lips. She tried to bite, but I ignored it. And soon she was sucking on my finger, pushing my left hand in and out of her ass and pussy.

“What did you tell her,” I said, returning to her ear. I wrapped my wet finger under her lips.

“I told her you liked to fuck me,” she said. “That you’re a pervert.”

“That’s true,” I said. I rubbed my dick back and forth on her tight cheeks. “But is that what you really told her?”

She laughed again. “Do you actually think you’re getting back together with her?”

It was something I still considered, but hearing Wonyoung say it didn’t make it sound any saner. I shoved my fingers deeper inside her.

“Ah! Don’t!”

“Don’t?” I said again. “Do you not know what you’re going to do tonight?”

She spat back her answer, the only honest answer, the one we’d both known since she’d hit the dancefloor. “I’m going to fuck you,” she said.

“That’s right,” I said. “I think you’re wet enough.”

She didn’t have an answer to that. But her body answered for her. Her juices were running between my fingers and dripping down the inside of her bare leg.

I pulled my fingers out and slid them up to her waist. She shuddered. Her whole body shook. Wonyoung sank lower into her position, the muscles in her back and legs straining, but not giving out. She was built for this, I thought. She was hard in all the necessary places to let me fuck her the way I wanted, to stay bent over against this hotel wall, soft in all the best places to take me standing up, deep. I had no doubt how deep I could go, as hard as I was for her, as wet and wide as her legs could spread. But I refused my aching cock, and that lathered pussy. I reeled back and spanked her again.

Wonyoung let out a shocked growl. “Stop!” she said.

I spanked her again. “You want to be fucked but not spanked?” I said.

“Fucking… asshole…” she growled, but it sounded half-hearted, caught in the lie.

“You were going to tell your dad I raped you when I’m not?” I said. “The knife at my throat. Your pussy on my cock? I didn’t think that was very funny.” I brought down my palm on her firm cheek. Its jiggle gave me a deep satisfaction.

Wonyoung growled again, but she laughed. It was a forced laugh, but still high, higher than the growls she made when my fingers were inside her. “I would have…” she said.

I spanked her again. Her head swung closer to the wall, but she was lower now, expecting to be fucked. She couldn’t pull herself away without falling, and I was locked behind her. She had to take the humiliation.

I pulled her dress farther up her back, exposing her smooth porcelain skin. I trailed my fingertips over her shoulder blades, digging my fingers gently under her ribs, wending down, squeezing her cheeks like I owned them.

“Why don’t you call him now?” I said. I swung back and spanked her left cheek. She rocked forward. “Unh.” I spanked her again. “Do it. Call for daddy.”

“You sick…” she groaned, then I slapped her ass — her shivering, red, tight ass — “Pervert!” she cried.

I squeezed her. My fingers teased, one after the other, the line of her moist pussy. “Say it,” I said.

“Ah!” she hissed as she felt my hand leave her skin, but she stuck her ass further out in readiness. When the spank came, she rolled with it, her hair brushing the smooth wall. “Ah!”

Pressed up against that wall I knew exactly where I fit. I grabbed myself, forced myself between her cheeks, and plunged my cock as deep into her soaked pussy as she could take me.

“AH. FUCK,” she cried.

Just as lightning fast, I slid out. Her juices came with me. There was a thick sheen of her fluid coating my cock, and a short trail of it that followed when I pulled out. Inside her, even for a moment, I knew my resolve would melt. I wanted back inside her as soon as possible. Wonyoung, however, was shaking, her legs quivering, her body rocking back and forth on her heels and toes. Her ass bent farther, and farther back, her waist gyrating, twisting like she had on the dancefloor, seeking my cock.

To my surprise, she pushed off the wall and reached behind her, pulling at the white dress and clawing it off her head. She was naked in an instant, the dress thrown beneath her. I reveled in the sight of that strong, supine body, braced against the wall.

“Just do it!” she screamed.

“Did you miss it, Wony?” I asked, rubbing my cock in the cleavage of her ass. Her body jerked at its sudden contact. “Do it,” she hissed.

“No,” I said as I put my hand on her ass. “Call for daddy.”

“You…” I spanked her. “Ah!” I spanked her harder on her tight right cheek. I gripped her cheeks possessively and laid another harsh smack on the other.

“Daddy…” she groaned.

“Say you’re sorry,”

“Fuck…” Wonyoung moaned, for the first time sounding tired. She relaxed against the wall. “Sorry… I’m sorry… daddy.”

I patted her rump. Then I gripped her hip, and guided my cock, between her pussy lips, up into that hot, wet lips.

“Ahh,” Wonyoung growled.

“Not so bad, is it?” I said. “When you apologize.”

“I hate you…”

I pulled out of that lovingly tight canal and dragged my wet cock along her leg. “Say it,”

“No,” she whined.

I spanked her.

“Fuck! I’m sorry daddy! Are you happy?”

“Yes,” I said, plunging my cock up inside her.

Wonyoung let out a breathless moan. “Harder,” she gasped. “Oh, God…”

I pulled out. Reeling back, Wonyoung let out a grunt of frustration. When she pushed her ass back to me I spanked it hard.

“Enough!” she shouted.

She whirled. The sound of her back colliding with the wall was loud, a fleshy thud. She tried not to wince when her tender bottom brushed against it. Her eyes were wide, not mad but almost crazed.

Her chest rose and fell. She was breathless, her sweat forming a trail that shined from her cleavage to her clean-shaven pussy. My hands were on her breasts in an instant. Then my mouth was on her.

“Just… do it!” she stuttered between my kisses.

“You don’t want to be spanked anymore?” I said, bending down. I rooted in my crumpled pants until I found the folded bills. I pushed them between her lips until she clamped down on them with her teeth.

I pulled off my shirt, then my socks. I trailed my hands down her arms and dragged them up above her head, then I descended on her chest, slathering her soft skin with wet kisses, popping one nipple in my mouth, balancing her full breasts in my greedy palms. Wonyoung didn’t protest. She kept her arms above her head, the money in her mouth, and I sank lower. I lapped up the sweat between her tits, drank it up from her bellybutton, going lower and lower, until I was at the wet trap of her pussy. Descending to my knees, I attacked her pussy like it was ripened fruit, first sucking up the wetness that collected at the vulva, then suckling at her exposed clitoris. Wonyoung grunted through the cash. Her hands jerked off the wall.

I dug in deeper, using my fingers to open her wet pussy, darting my tongue deeper inside her. Wonyoung jerked again, then sank her fingers into my hair. She had to, I realized. It was getting harder for her to stay on her feet. I listened to her groan again through the cash and let her unconscious sounds guide me further into her vagina.

I drank her up, what came pouring out of her, and it was danker than her sweat, unmistakeable vaginal fluid, thicker and pungent. Wonyoung ground her pussy into my face. I was so involved I didn’t notice her leg on my shoulder at first. But I felt it when the heel dug into my back.

Wonyoung pressed my head deeper between her leg, tilting her hips up to force more of herself into my mouth. She lifted her leg to steady herself, opening herself up wider. The cash tumbled from her mouth and hit me on the head. It fluttered to the ground, forgotten, when Wonyoung gave her first scream.

Like a lot of sounds Wonyoung made, it was hard for me to tell if this one was pleasure or exasperation, but suddenly she was sawing her pussy back and forth on my lips, insistently rubbing her clitoris on the soft indent in my upper lip. My tongue lapped at her, diving into her. The flood of her juice made me spit some back. It washed back over my mouth, covering it with sticky residue.

My cock was stiff as a pole between my legs. I reached down and gave it a firm squeeze, then ran my hand lovingly up the inside of Wonyoung’s knee. She slid down the wall slowly, the leg that was bent over me taking some time to roll off my shoulder. Cock in hand, on my knees, I presented it to her.

“You’re going to suck this now,” I said.

Wonyoung was past the point of arguing. She wiped her hair out of her eyes and leaned forward. I grabbed her shoulders first, her chin. I tilted her face up to mine. What I saw in her eyes was an exhausted sullenness, still the smoldering rebellion.

“Do you want to taste yourself?” I asked.

My tongue was out and her lips were on it, sucking up her own juices, letting her own stickiness coat her soft lips. I broke away and put my palm gently at the back of her neck.

Wonyoung’s lips wrapped around my dick.

I leaned back. I groaned deeply, at every fervid lick. She lapped at the slit, slathering her tongue around the swollen head, then took my member deeper to the back of her throat. Like a pro, she reached down to cup my balls.

I balked at the first sound of a gulp. “Don’t swallow,” I said. “Spit it out.”

She gave a rude noise and suddenly my balls were coated with precum and her saliva. Very soon the wetness was dripping from the base of my shaft to the floor, and Wonyoung’s fingers were massaging my balls, squeezing them just hard enough to make me groan.

She bobbed down lower. Her hand pushed my stomach, and I went back, my knees folding under me. Wonyoung crawled forward until she was on top, her throat opening above my cock until her lips were buried in my pubic bone. I twitched, and my cock bulged, and I had to pull her off or I would have cum right then and there. She came up gasping.

Her eyes were so wide I could see the whites in them under her long black lashes. She was mad, yes, but she was always mad at me; her nostrils flared as much from anger as from having her breath choked off by my wet cock.

“You like that?” she said proudly. “That make you feel big?”

I sat up on the floor, eye level with her. “Get on your hands and crawl to the mirror.” With only an eyebrow she squeezed all her contempt into that look. “Prick,” she said.

“Crawl,” I said. “Let me see that tight ass wiggle when you do it.”

She scowled, but she leaned down to the floor just the same. “Is that what it takes to make your dick hard?” she said.

“You would know.”

Wonyoung crawled, on her hands and knees, to the sliding closet and the full-length mirror. I watched her pass, every sweaty muscle on her lithe, slinking form gliding. When her ass moved past, I saw how red both cheeks were. She would be sore tomorrow, maybe even bruised. I remembered how long it took for the bite on my neck to heal and thought it might have been an even trade. That wasn’t true, but it made me feel better.

Just like it made me feel better to stand up and follow Wonyoung’s slow crawl to the closet mirror. My eyes travelled from her swaying rump to her body in the mirror. And her eyes were watching me. Her full tits were full on display. The tight ass on her rolled each time she drew up a knee to travel closer to the far side of the room. She didn’t say another word when she reached the mirror, just waited on her hands and knees for me to arrive.

I made her spread her legs. Then I kneeled down behind her.

My cock was hard and red, slick with her spit and the cum from her pussy. She was so wet it took little more than an insistent push for me to enter her. And when I did, I got to watch Wonyoung’s face as it filled her up. It made her mouth tilt down, in not quite a frown but a stiff little moue. And she got to see my smile as I kneeled behind her and placed my hands on her ass. I fucked her, and mounted her and mounted her, slowly, slowly wedging myself in. Wonyoung’s mouth widened, her shoulders broadening, her chest jutting out. The muscles in her neck and clavicle pulsed, then became more prominent as she took the weight on her arms.

I liked her on her knees. I would have said as much to her, but she knew that already. “See? That’s hard.” Then I spanked her.

She hadn’t expected it, but this time she got to see it. Her body rocked forward; her tits bounced against her arms. And I got to see, to my surprise, her shut her eyes and press her lips together, not wholly from pain but from something else, something that made her frown very much like pain, cross her brows very much like she was trying to expel my cock from her body, but something very much like she endured as much knowing what came next.

“Fuck me,” I said.

Her eyes opened slowly in the mirror. She leaned towards it, slowly pulling herself off my dick. Her thick pussy lips eased from my cock, leaving a glistening coat on my naked shaft. She pulled herself slowly and slowly, all the way until my head was just hanging on the tip of her pussy lips. She left it quivering there, her bent back shivering; not from the cold; there was enough heat radiating off the both of us to make a whole new layer of sweat burst from our bodies.

I spanked her.

Wonyoung cried out and drove herself back down on my cock. The jolt to my senses radiated from the base of my member to all the nerves in my body, and Wonyoung let out another cry when her tailbone impacted with my pelvis. Her eyes weren’t open anymore.

“Fuck me,” I said.

Wonyoung slid off my cock, this time on unsteadier limbs. She tried to speed it up, and it would have felt so much better if she had, but I gripped her hips fiercely and made sure she did it slow, slower even than the first time. This time I held her at bay, with my cockhead balanced at the outer edge of her pussy. With my other hand I wet my middle finger in her leaking sex and plugged it into her asshole. She bit her lip, but didn’t protest. I shoved it farther in, almost losing it up to the second knuckle. I let go of her hip and spanked her again.

Wonyoung cried out. She nearly bounced forward on my dick but I held her hip and pushed in tighter, grinding my dick deeper and deeper inside her. She barely muffled her breath, suddenly letting out a sharp, “Ah. Ah!”

“Fuck me, Wony” I said.

She slid off my cock like an uncoiled spring. I spanked her hard, my finger deep in her asshole. She drove herself back down on it. She buried me in her sopping sex. She was so wet now that her fluid was dribbling down my balls. I wormed my finger deeper into her asshole, until the only thing stopping it was the rest of my fingers. I thrust my hips, and Wonyoung thrust back until her ass mashed against my palm.

I pulled my finger out to sink my cock deeper inside her. She gasped when I curled my fingers over her hips. She pulled herself towards the mirror and shoved her body back onto my cock. She thrust so hard her breasts shook, her hair snapped, but the eyes stayed shut, clamped. I spanked her.

“Harder,” she grunted. I spanked her again.

“Harder!” She pulled off me and slammed her pussy down on my cock. I slapped her ass so hard my hand stung. ‘Ah!’ she growled. “Harder!” I spanked her again and she backed up on my cock, until she was drawing it in and out of her, and the thick sound of our mingling wetness made rude squashing and smacking noises.

I barely thrust, letting her do all the work, pistoning herself back and forth on me. Her hips were locked under my palms, ensuring that she always came back to my hard, straining member. I slapped her ass, spanking her with every downthrust. Wonyoung’s screams for harder melted into guttural cries that built in intensity. She was bouncing herself on my dick, lost to the world, moaning, screaming.

“Is this what it’s like to be your girlfriend?” she hissed.

I held onto myself as long as I could, letting the girl work her wicked power on my body, trying to hold myself back as well as I could, but it was only a matter of time. Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore her pace dropped off, and she arched her back, driving herself up and then down on my cock, instead of back and forth. She whipped her face up to the ceiling.

“Don’t…” she said. “Don’t pull out…”

I did the exact opposite. I lunged forward, forcing Wonyoung up on her knees. Her hands wildly thrust out in front of her, bracing herself on the mirror. Suddenly we were pressed together, up against the full-length mirror. I slid my hands around her chest and squeezed her breasts, hard. I had enough strength left to angle my hips and shove up, deep into her pussy. Wonyoung cried out.

“Open your eyes,” I said. Wonyoung’s eyes fluttered open; her mouth wide as she watched my face. I thrust her again and again against the mirror. Her body fell back against mine.

“Watch me cum inside of you,” I said.

“Ahh.” She moaned.

The rest of her response rose higher, breathlessly higher, as I came hard, and spilled my seed. She felt my balls twinge and I unleashed my thick ejaculate deep inside her pussy. Wonyoung was grinding herself down on me with extreme prejudice. For every spurt she pumped down harder, bouncing herself on me without ever pulling up too far. She kept me in her, rolling her hips around the base of my cock to milk her own panting climax.

“You never ask,” she moaned.

I sunk my teeth into her shoulder. She arched her neck back. Our bodies rolled in twisted motion, our sweat mingled, the stench of our bodies burning together steaming up the mirror. Her hair was thick and matted stuck to the skin of my neck, and her bare pussy lips ate up my cock, pressing harder and harder, her legs opening wider to fit me further inside while my balls clenched and continued to force my ejaculate up her canal.

“I’m going to fill you up,” I breathed into her ear, “and when you get my cock hard again, I’m going to do it again…” My dick swelled as I thrust. Her breath caught in her throat. “And again…” I pulled down and plunged up again. “And again…” Wonyoung’s hands left sweaty smears down the mirror’s face. The closet wobbled each time we pushed. “And again,” I said, and she grunted. “And again,” and she moaned.

Each time I spoke I thrust harder, and my dick stayed ramrod straight in her body, even as the cum dripped out of her and ran thickly off her lips and over my aching balls. I spanked her.

“Unh,” she groaned.

Her ass tightened and tingled under my palm. “Unh!” I spanked her again, my other hand leaving her breast to wrap around her stomach, forcing her down on my cock each time the spanking bounced her to the mirror. ‘Unh!’ she grunted. “Ahn! Ahh. Ahn. AHHN.”

Together we slid off the mirror. The perspiration on her tits and belly were enough to smear our reflection on the glass. She dropped to all fours again, me firmly planted inside her. I had begun to soften, but I wouldn’t leave her sopping pussy.

I let my cock slip in and out of her as I continued her spanking, letting them land rhythmically, gentler than before, in time with her breaths. All the while I watched the soaked space between her legs, the base of her pale ass cheeks red and smeared with sweat and our cum. At length I popped out, my dick softened but far from flaccid, still half-turgid at the sight of Wonyoung prone beneath me, and the grace of her body’s lithe muscles. I reached down to caress the thick fluid that collected at the lips of her pussy. Wonyoung hissed and leaned forward. I slid my fingers in. Her pelvis rocked back against my hand.

“Hard again,” she said.

I could no longer see her face in the mirror but I could practically hear the sneer that came with it. “Like you could get it up. You just blew your load inside me. You’re done. Let me get up and wash your cum out of my pussy.”

I rolled my fingers inside the front of her pussy lips. She shivered, her ass jiggling. “No, I think I’m going to let you squeeze me out one drop at a time.”

Without another word Wonyoung’s butt cheeks clenched and she thrust her hips out. I watched her pussy lips tighten over my hand, and squeeze a thimbleful of white cream from her slit. Her legs relaxed, and then she did it again. Both times she released a soft sigh as her tight pussy clenched on my fingers. Despite her orgasm, her body was still aroused.

“If you’re going to wash, I’m going to make sure you wash every one of your dirty little holes…” I murmured.

I pulled my fingers from her snatch and drew my fingertips up her crack. Her skin twitched, dancing away and then to my glistening digits. I found her anus and teased it with my fingered until I could shove two fingers inside with minimum difficulty. Her rectal muscles clamped down, but I was lubricated enough to slide deeper, and deeper.

Wonyoung let out a low mewl.

“If you’re so obsessed with my ass…” she groaned. “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is? You’re done. Let me go wash so I can get the fuck out of here.”

“I got a better idea. Why don’t I put my mouth where your money is?”

I pulled my fingers out of her. I leaned down, gripped her ass cheeks with both hands and spread them apart. While Wonyoung was still yowling about that I brushed the tight bud of her asshole with my lips, and then I kissed it.

Wonyoung jolted forward as if I’d stuck her tailbone in an electrical socket. But my fingers bit into her soft flesh and kept her from wriggling free. My tongue darted out — and I won’t lie, it didn’t taste like peaches and cream; but the tight squirm of her muscle, the sudden reeling of her hips, the bewildered tone of her screech, was worth it. “Eugh!” she cried. ‘You pervert!’ She said it once more; hissed it, rather. “You sick pervert! You like that? You like to eat my ass? I bet you want to stick your dick in that again.”

I gave her asshole a big fat kiss and pulled back. “I know that’s right where you want me, Wonyoung.”

“Not gonna happen,” she said. She tried to pull away again, on her hands and knees, but I held her hips. It didn’t really seem like she tried that hard anyway.

“Your limp dick couldn’t even if you tried.” She said.

But she was wrong about that. Her pussy was wet and her body writhed at my touch and already I was hard again. I wiped my mouth on the back of my wrist and angled my cock towards her juicy ass. Lovingly, I brushed it up that winding curve.

“Is that right?” I said. “Tell me, do you think you can take the whole thing?” The muscles in her back rippled like a startled pond where I brushed my palm against it. I was growing even harder, and Wonyoung’s shoulders were shaking.

“Your little dick?” She laughed. “Please.”

“Yeah?” I said. I grabbed hold of my dick and slathered the wet head in the clear honey that dribbled from her slit. “My little dick huh?” I slid it between her tight, puffy pussy lips. I pushed and pushed, filling her again, taking my time, letting my blood course through my cock and widen me to my full girth again, straightening my cock and getting it tight and hard as I led it, slow inch by soaking inch, to the top of her uterus.

“Ah. Fuck...”

“Since it’s just a little dick, you shouldn’t have a problem fitting inside your big ass.” Wonyoung’s face suddenly appeared over her shoulder. My fresh bite marks were just beneath her burning eyes. “I do NOT have a big ass.”

“No,” I said. I pulled out of her. Her pupils temporarily rolled back inside her head. With my hand, I guided my cock up to that tight brown button hidden between her cheeks. ‘You have a beautiful ass though’ I said. “But I think it’s just the right size.” I rubbed the head against her asshole. “Why don’t we give it a try?”

Wonyoung’s hips must have been on a different wavelength than her mouth, because her pelvis curled and fell, rising like a sultry snake.

“Fuck you.”

I gripped her haunches and pushed. Her asshole was tight. “C’mon Wony. Don’t make me beg.”

“I do NOT have a big ass.”

“Why don’t you let me and my small dick decide on that?” I said. “Maybe you’ll barely even feel it.” With enough pressure I had managed to squeeze my head partway into her asshole. Her hips shook beneath my steadying palm.

“Anh,” Wonyoung moaned. “You’re obsessed with my ass.”

“Sure am,” I said. I pushed harder; she leaned back on her knees. “I’m obsessed with your tits, your ass, and your dirty little mouth. Open up.”

“Give it up,” she said. “I can still taste your cock at the back of my throat. Pull it out and get off me.”

“Not yet,” I said. “I haven’t given you the ass fucking you wanted.”

“I don’t…” she started, but I had my first inch inside her, and that choked off the rest of her words. “Ah…”

I squeezed her buttocks. “Ease up,” I said. “Let’s see how much you can fit.”

“Nuh…” she said. “No…” Her sphincter relaxed slightly, letting another half inch of me slide up her butt.

“I’ll push in,” I said, “and pull it out. And when I’m done, I’ll cum up your ass, and you can wash that out too.”

“No…” she groaned. She lowered her head. All that wet and tangled black hair fell over her shoulders, sliding off her neck and hanging to the ground. Her anus relaxed a little more and I plunged my wet cock further inside her tight rectum.

“Ah. Ahhn…”

“Think you can take the whole thing?” I said as I pushed in deeper.

Wonyoung grits her teeth and pushed air through her cheeks. She didn’t say another word. She bent forward on her hands and leaned back, and I retreated some, gave her tight ass a reprieve and a caress, and then gently slid forward again.

“Your sister said you were a real slut for an ass fucking,” I said darkly, watching my cock disappear inside Wonyoung’s butt cheeks. Her sweltering tightness was making my dick even harder. With the flat of my palm, I scooped the sweat from her back towards her cheeks, letting it trickle down her crack, then using it to soak my shaft as I held it and jerked myself into her asshole.

“Ah…” she whimpered. “She didn’t… tell you… shit…” she said.

“Pretty trusting of her,” I said, “telling her boyfriend what a slut her little sister is. Do you want me to stop? How’s that little dick?” I was halfway inside her and I could now let go of my shaft, letting Wonyoung’s muscles squeeze me deeper. I laid my hands on her ass and gave her another gentle spank.

“A-ha…” Wonyoung gasped.

“Good thing I’m such a gentleman,” I said. I reached up between her legs and found her clit. Slowly… I rolled the engorged button back and forth with my fingered, her juices soaking down to my knuckle. I slid my thumb lightly over the line of her slit. “Otherwise, I might take advantage.”

“Shut up,” she groaned. Her head rose with each push of my cock, each circle of my finger, and each gentle grazing of my thumb. I laid another soft spanking on her right buttock. “Stah-stop…”

“Do you really want me to stop, Wonyoung?” I said. “Or do you want me to fuck… your slutty…” I squeezed into her with my hips, “little ass. Can you take the whole thing?”

“I can take it…”

“Deeper?”

“Deeper…” she groaned.

Her whole body shook like she was about to have a fit. I couldn’t stand seeing those perky tits in the mirror, so I leaned forward and cupped them. They rose in my hand, the nipples zig-zagging in my palms. I bucked my hips, gliding my shaft up her colon. “Anh… f-fuck…”

“Deeper.”

“That’s a good girl.”

My stomach finally rested against her buttocks. She’d taken me all the way, the full length of my cock, every inch now stuffed securely in her quaking, writhing anus. I flexed my penis inside her, feeling the precum squirt, and Wonyoung uttered a sharp cry. We both rested for moment. I massaged her tits, rubbing them up and down her moist chest. Her nipples were hard as diamonds. I tweaked one; Wonyoung bit her lip and groaned. Then I pulled myself gently out, about halfway, before guiding it back into her hot depths. ‘Good thing your sister was wrong about you,’ I said. “I’d feel bad if I was fucking the slutty sister. She couldn’t help herself.”

Wonyoung seemed to struggle to find her words. My left hand still groped her tits but my right hand gone back between her legs to play with her pussy and clit. Wonyoung’s hips were alive with squirming sharp and herky jerky twists.

“I am not a slut,” she said.

I spanked her for that. “Where can you taste my cock, Wonyoung?” When she didn’t answer right away, I spanked her again when my cock was as deep inside her ass as I could fit it. I felt the spank resonate on her skin, and the vibration made my cock buzz inside her. Taking the cock and the spanking at once made Wonyoung’s ass writhe beneath me and her upper body swing lower to the floor.

“In my mouth…”

“Who went up to my hotel room without a bra or panties?” I drove my cock inside her and spanked. We both shivered.

“I’m not… a slut” she whined again, taking me up her ass.

“Whose cum is that I can feel leaking out your pussy?” I spanked her.

“Yoursss…”

“Whose cock is up your butt?”

Wonyoung whipped her hair back. She nearly screamed the words to the wall.

“My sister’s fucking boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend,” I said. “Does that turn you on?” In response to my push, she opened up her anal muscles and let out a throaty groan. “Do you like that I can’t keep my dick out of you?”

She growled. “I don’t care where you stick your dick.” I thrust hard and she bent her elbows. “Ahn… fuck!”

With an audible squelch I pulled out of her. The thick coating on my cock was from the cum I’d unleashed inside her pussy, the new precum slathering my head and glans, her vaginal juices and sweat and more than that. I watched it drip off my cock and from her anus for a moment while she remained prostrate on the floor. I grabbed her hip; she tried to swing me off but I pulled her to the side. It didn’t take much strength at all to roll her on her back. She hardly fought it at all. Her perky tits were heaving, her body covered in sweat, her hair plastered to her face.

I crawled up on top of her, my dick slapping against her tummy. My mouth found hers, and we kissed furiously. Her hands found my dick and started jerking me. Hard and faster. “Not yet,” I groaned into her mouth.

“You’re gonna cum,” she said. “I can feel it...”

“Get up on the bed,” I said. “I’m going to cum in your ass.”

“No,” she groaned.

“You’re going to take it, Wony.” I growled back.

“You’ve cum enough,” she said, refusing to let go of my cock. She pumped it faster, and faster in her hand. My fingers wrapped her wrist like a vice and flung her off. She didn’t miss a beat, grabbed me with the other hand and kept pumping, a cruel smirk on her face.

I swatted the hand away. Panting, I got up on my knees. Her chest heaving, my eyes barely able to tear themselves away from the sight, I grabbed her arm. She didn’t come easily. I had to pull her; I had to heave her up, and she slapped at me and tried dodging me all the way; but I got her up on the bed and I rolled her on her back. She locked her legs together.

“Make me,” she said.

I pried them apart. That beautiful tight pussy looked sweet as heaven with its vertical smile but I was after the road less travel. I tilted her hips up until I saw her brown eye. I gripped my lubricated dick in my hand and rubbed it against her asshole. “Unh…” she groused.

I could actually see the twisted upturned nose this time, her folded brows. Her hands still pushed against me but her anus opened up. Before long I was pushing up inside her like her muscles were coated in grease. More or less, they were.

I rolled it up inside her until my balls were dangling on the mattress edge. Wonyoung grunted all the way. “Unh… uhh… unnh.” This position was a lot more uncomfortable for her, and her angry eyes told me so, but there was a hunger in those angry eyes that jolted and flared each time I retracted and slid myself back in. And from this position I now had full access to her pussy.

Better than that though, best of all, was that on her back, my dick up her crack, Wonyoung no longer could brace herself on her hands and knees. Her legs were in the air, her arms wide open on the bed. She couldn’t claim submission here; her limbs were free to flail and strike me as she pleased. But both arms and legs stayed open and limp, as she watched me spit and apply them, in vibrating circles, to her engorged clitoris.

“Fuck… you…” she groaned.

My balls were begging for release. My shaft was thick and tight inside her. But I nearly made myself blind trying not to cum. I slipped a finger and then two, up Wonyoung’s streaming cunt and she kept screaming, groaning, taunting me, gyrating her hips to pull herself up and down on my cock.

“Just cum… I know you wanted to.”

All pretense to gentleness in her ass was gone. I was thrusting myself in and out of her rectum like a racer pounding for the finish line. Wonyoung’s legs widened, her thighs clung tightly to my sides, her toes curled suspended above the bed. The bed slammed the headboard, the coils squeaked. And she reached out to brace herself, her palms on my stomach, not to stop me, to keep her body steady while her belly rolled and undulated. Her irises rolled back in her head till I saw the fluttering whites of her eyes.

“You first, Wony,”

“N-no…” she stammered out.

Then, sweat coating her forehead, her hair fanned wildly all about her head, she cracked a twitching, feeble grin.

“Jinyoung… said you were… such a nice guy.”

I thrust deeper up her asshole. “I do,” I panted. I was coming to the edge as I watched Wonyoung’s juices flow over my knuckles.

“Balls deep in my ass,” she grunted. ‘You want to see me cum?’ Her mouth hung open, her tongue bright pink beneath her white teeth. A trail of clear saliva left the corner of her lips. “You want to see me cum on your fucking cock?”

“Cum for me, Wony.”

“Grab my tits,” she groaned. I slowed my strokes and reached out, my hip pistoning slower to bend forward. I took two handfuls of those perky tits. Wonyoung’s hands splayed flat on top of mine and she arched her back.

“Harder…” she grunted. I plunged deeper, not faster, pulling out, then bucking my hips against her pelvis.

“Ahh… It hurts,” she grunted, but didn’t tell me to stop.  “Squeeze me,” she said. She repeated it: “Squeeze me.”

I squeezed her tits. Sweat burst from under my arms and on my forehead. I was at the end of my rope. I had to cum in this girl. She was gorgeous, wet, writhing, legs wide open and her butt plugged tighter. “Cum...” I said.

“Can’t… force me,” she said.

“Cum with my cock up your ass, Wony.” I arched my hips up. Her feet twitched, toes curling…

“Not a… slut,” she grunted.

I squeezed her tits. “Cum for me,” I said. “Show me what a good slutty little sister you are.”

“Anh,” Wonyoung grunted as I slid my left hand down her flat tummy and laid my thumb gently on her fat pink button. She hissed and bit her lip.

“Give your sister’s boyfriend a show, baby. Cum for me.” I punctuated each word with a smooth thrust into her tight asshole.

“Ah. Ah-ahhhh,” Wonyoung cried, rubbing her pussy against my hand and the fingers dancing over her clit.

“You know how badly I want to cum inside you. Just give it up,” I groaned.

Wonyoung shoved the fingers of her right hand into her mouth and began sucking and biting on herself. Her left hand cupped her breast. “Ahh god, you fucker…” she groaned. “Don’t…” she started. “Don’t stop. Don’t… don’t… don’t—”

“Give it to me, Wony,” I grunted. “Be my little slut.”

“Nah…”

“Be my pretty little slut.”

“I’m not… a slut,” she muttered, back arching, forehead shining.

“My slut.”

“Oh God!” she gasped. “Annh!”

“Yes,” I groaned. “Yes— Yes— Yes—” She grabbed my hips, and grabbed my sides. “Now,” she commanded. “Cum in my ass, you asshole!”

When she felt the initial spurt of my cum, she let out a full throated scream. It wracked her body and made her belly dance. She threw my hand off her clit and ground her ass way down on my cock, her ass tensing, toes curling. My ejaculate was nothing compared to the first, but her climax came like an operatic crescendo. She wriggled on me, letting the weight in her rectum tingle in her tightness, her clitoris engorged, and she screamed. She tightened every muscle on her body, every beautiful muscle. And she came. She came so hard I was almost frightened. But I’ve got a soft heart.

After I pulled myself out, she practically ran to the bathroom. It shut hard and stayed closed for a long time. I heard the shower, I heard her washing, and I heard the toilet flush. And I sat on the bed, stinking, wet and my balls limp on my inner thigh.

After more than a half hour, she emerged from the bathroom, steaming wet, wrapped in a towel with another wrapped over her head. She picked her way, queen of dignity, over the mess of clothes on the ground and pulled the money from the pile. She counted it.

“The bathroom’s free,” she said simply.

I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure she would be there when I finished, or even that my clothes and bag would be. But I was coated in enough residue to never mind that for the moment, and took my time cleaning, took my time in the shower thinking about Wonyoung, her body, and us — whatever that was.

I emerged from the shower to a quiet room. The one lamp was on, giving off a dirty yellow glow in the corner, and it smelled now of a mixture of dirty sex and freshly washed bodies. Wonyoung was a dark shadow under the covers, her wet hair on the pillow furthest from me.

I sat down on the bed. “Are you sleeping?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. Soon, I was too.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up. There was a warm body beside me, almost curled against me. The breasts rose and fell on my ribs, the nipples rolling. And she felt good, whoever she was. So I slid my fingers down her back and grasped her tight buttocks.

“No. I’m so sore…”

“Did I hurt you?”

“You always hurt me,” she said. “You’re always rough with me. That’s how you fuck me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“No, you’re not.”

I noticed that she hadn’t pulled away from me, even as drowsy as she was. Tentatively, I slid my hands up her shoulders, up her back. “Don’t,” she warned.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” I said. “I’m just…”

“Just go back to sleep,” she murmured. “I’m staying here because I’m too tired to leave.”

“I am sorry,” I said adamantly. “I don’t mean to… actually hurt you.”

“Yes you do. Stop being an asshole,” she said.

In the solid darkness of the hotel, I could see absolutely nothing. All I could sense of her was her breath on my neck and the weight of her body. And her voice, rising up from the sheets.

“Rough sex is rough,” she said. “And that’s how it is.” Suddenly she bit my chest so hard I shrieked. “Jerk,” she said, when I’d tumbled back to the mattress. I leaned down to kiss her cheek, but she pulled away. “I said go back to sleep.”

“This might be the last time I ever see you,”

“Probably.”

“I didn’t…” I searched for the words. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

She gave a mordant little laugh. “Yes, you did.”

“Okay, yes I did,” I said, “but I didn’t—”

“What are you trying to say?” she said. “Do you always babble like this after sex? Jesus Christ, and this is what my sister got.” She was unnaturally quiet. When she spoke again it was after she shifted against me under the covers. Her thigh draped over my cock.

“I’ve got my money back,” she said.

“So, this is the last time?”

“Probably,” she said. “Do you know what I actually hate about you?” She was quiet for a moment, then let loose a husky laugh. When she resumed speaking again, she was quieter.

“I wanted to fuck you,” she said. “That’s what I hate about you. I wanted a nice guy. I guess I didn’t want my sister’s nice guy. I wish you were a nice guy. I wish you were a better guy. If you were, you’d still be with Jinyoung and you never would have fucked me. But I wanted you to fuck me. I could have told you no. I didn’t even need the money. But it was wrong to fuck you, so I wanted to fuck you. I wanted you to show me how bad you had it. And you had it so bad, and then when you fucked me, you fucked me like you owned me, fucked me like you had to, like you couldn’t stand not being in me. All the teasing, your selfish arrogance. I really did hate it. I hated it so much it turned me on.”

“And it would be fine,” she went on, “if we met each other and it was like, hey, we hit it off or something. But I never would have met you if you hadn’t been fucking my sister. And you never would have fucked me if you hadn’t fucked my sister first. So, you are a scumbag. And you made me cum. You made me cum.”

“Wait,” I interrupted. ‘Maybe,’ I said, “maybe this works. Maybe that’s what it took to—” She cut me off with a harsh laugh.

“Are you serious? You don’t want to be in a relationship with me. You just want to fuck me. You don’t even know me.”

“I could start,” I said.

“No,” she said, laughing. “No. This is the situation: we have freaky stupid sex, and that’s it. Every time you tried to make it something more than that, it never was. If I hadn’t been into it from the beginning it never would have happened. But I am into it because… I don’t know.…Because, I did like you, actually. And when I found out you were just the same as any other guy, well, Surprise, surprise…”

“But you still fucked me.”

“You blackmailed me.”

“You said you didn’t need the money.”

“I didn’t,” she said. “I also didn’t need the fucking. But that didn’t stop you from taking what you wanted. I took, too.”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “So do you like me or not?”

“You’re useful for one thing, at least. Jinyoung never went overboard talking about your sex life but I know for a fact you never fucked her like you fuck me.”

“No,” I admitted.

“Why? Cause I’m the other sister? Cause I’m hot? Don’t answer that. The answer’s yes.”

“Yes and no,” I said. “There’s something in you that I recognize, something in me. I’m not that nice of a guy, fine, but I was never honest with myself or with Jinyoung. I kept putting up a front.”

“You think you don’t do the same thing with me?”

“You do the same thing with me,” I shot back.

Her breath was hot on my face. “So, what’s your point?”

“Just that I do want to fuck you.”

“Great, I’m glad we cleared that up.”

“And I do… sort of… like you, in a weird… not entirely practical way.”

She was quiet. “Remember when I said you’re not as smart as you think you are?”

“Okay, fine. I don’t understand what this is but I don’t want you going away thinking this was all about just fucking your—”

“—my tits, and my ass and my pussy—”

“And your mouth, too. Yes, I wanted you, but I shouldn’t have ever asked you to demean yourself for me.”

“No,” she agreed. “But that’s what you wanted. And that’s what I wanted. And we let it happen. If I didn’t care more about fucking than about my sister, I would have told her a long time ago. You think good sex is enough to break up a relationship for? No. But it wasn’t my relationship. Jinyoung’s good at lots of things, lots of things that aren’t about fucking.”

“So, you’re saying I made the wrong choice.”

“Yeah.”

“Because it felt good.”

“Of course it did,” she said. We lapsed into a hot silence. Cautiously, I stroked the back of her head with my palm. She didn’t push me away.

“So where does that leave us?” I asked. “I mean, if I want to see you again, do I just call you up?”

“You really think you can fuck me whenever you want?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.

“Well, we don’t have to find out. My sister would kill me if we dated. And I don’t want to date you.”

“So, I lost both of you.”

“Yeah,” she said, ‘but I was only in it for the sex.’ She rubbed her thigh against my cock. During our conversation it had grown until it pressed into her skin.

“Do you want to…” I started.

“No. I told you I’m so sore… you’re not getting another fucking from me tonight.”

“Yeah, well... How about a blowjob?”

[luvyeni]

( drabble ) intoxicated ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 방찬 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ chan comes home drunk with only one thing on his mindヾ

boyfriend!chan・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ sex under the influence, unprotected sex, breeding kink, pregnancy talk wc ・ ‎0.8k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. can you make one of Bangchan? please, he is drunk and horny after a party and he is obsessed with getting her pregnant ?

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 i loved writing this idk why i hope you like it <3

looking at the clock it was way past midnight when you heard the door open. “baby!” you heard your boyfriends slurred voice. “baby where are you!” you shook your head — shrieking when he came bursting through the door. “baby!” he yelled out. “hi baby!” you laughed at how drunk he was. “hi chan.”

“hi baby.” he smiled, face flushed as he stumbled over his own feet. “not that drunk i swear.” he said, but his actions said otherwise. “i missed you so much.” he kicked his shoes off; unbuckling his pants. “wished you would’ve came out tonight.” taking his shirt off, tossing it. “it was fun.” he clumsily climbed into bed, falling flat on top of you. “bang christopher chan!” you yelled, slapping his bare back. “get off you are heavy.”

“why.” he whined , wrapping his arms around you. “why are you being so mean?” his face pressed against your stomach. “i love you so much and you’re being so mean.” his eyes closed, you shook your head, thinking he was going to fall asleep. “chan let’s lay down now.” you tapped his cheek. “come on baby.”

it was silent; you thought he had actually fallen asleep — that was until you felt his hands lifting up your shirt. “channie what are you doing?” he hummed. “just wanna feel my girl.” he rubbed all along your waist. “you smell nice.” you chuckled. “it’s your body wash.” you ran your fingers through his hair. “i know, but im talking about your natural scent, smell so sweet.” he kissed your bare stomach. “ch-chan.” you warned.

“what?” he said softly, slurring his words. “let’s lay down.” you said, trying to get him to sleep, even though he was slowly turning you on. “o-okay.” he said, before sitting up, quickly pulling you down, your head hitting the pillow. “let’s lay down.” he kissed your neck. “ch-chan you’re intoxicated, we’re not having sex tonight.” he whined against your ear. “you’re not taking advantage of me , i know you feel how much i want you right now.” he took your hand, running it down his abs, down past his waist. “see.” he groaned, placing it on his cock.

“ye-yeah but you’re still not in your right mind.” you didn’t want to egg him on, but he wasn’t having it. “im well in my right mind to know how much i want to put a baby right here.” he pointed to your stomach. “wanna fuck you so full that it has no choice but to stick.” the air was too thick, you could still smell the alcohol on his breath. “let me finally put a baby in you.” his hand working into your panties. “chris.” you moaned. “see you’re so wet, you want this, you want to be fucked full of my babies.” he groaned. “let me do that.” his fingers slipped into your dripping cunt. “gonna get you pregnant tonight.”

chan was insatiable when he was sober, but it was nothing compared to when he was drunk. you were on your 4th orgasm, chan on his second; the clock beside you was almost at 2:30 am, but he didn’t plan on stopping — determined to have you swollen with his kid by the end of the night. “fu-fuck baby.” he groaned, his hips snapping against yours. “fuck i love this sweet pussy so much.” he groaned, his face flushed. “chan.” you moaned out. “so fucking tight , taking my fat cock like the good girl you are.”

he was pinning you to the bed as he plowed into you. the squelching noises from your previous orgasms filling up the room. “fuck you hear that baby -fuck- you pretty pussy is talking to me.” he huffed. “she wants to be bred so bad , she crying for my cock.” his necklace dangling in front of you. “you wanna cum for me?” you nodded dumbly, you were now intoxicated but not like alcohol, but his cock, you sobbed out. “so bad.”

“cum for me.” he whispered in your ear. “fuck chan!” you screamed out, you sweet juices spraying all over his abdomen. “ye-yes fuck baby.” he groaned. “fuck cum all over me.” he continued you to fuck you. “that’s it -fuck- fuck me im gonna cum again.” he moaned, cock twitching as his filled you up for the third time that night. “fuck im gonna breed you , fill you with my seed, give you a pretty baby.” he groaned. “fuck i love you so much.”

feeling his warm cum pouring inside you, he sighed falling against you, your bodies sticking together. “chan , channie get up we have to clean ourselves.” you could feel his heart beating as he softly snored on top of you. you ran your fingers through his sweaty wet hair. “told you , you were tired.” you kissed the top of his head. “you big goof, you know you can’t hold your alcohol.” he wrapped his arms around you , holding you close. “sleep now.” you chuckled. “fine.” you said, finally drifting off to sleep.

almost a week later the two of you were standing over the sink in your bathroom , a positive pregnancy test sitting right in front of you.

©️LUVYENI

[goldfades]

★ 'cause she's watching him with those eyes / and she's loving him with that body, i just know it / and he's holding her in his arms late, late at night / you know, i wish that i had jessie's girl / i wish that i had jessie's girl / where can i find a woman like that? ───JB⁹

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 18k (a lot more than i expected...)

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | a college student navigates her complicated feelings for her charming yet infuriating neighbor, joe burrow, while dating the seemingly perfect linebacker. after a series of missteps, flirtatious teasing, and an unexpected kiss, she finds herself caught in a whirlwind of tension, confusion, and unexpected sparks, all while trying to avoid the loud, chaotic presence of joe and his ever-constant parade of girls.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | unedited (sorry... i got lazy), NSFW (with lots... and lots... AND LOTS of plot), unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it, kids) praise, teasing, lots of kissing/foreplay, p in v, uhhh.. descriptions of big dick joe??? enemies to lovers, roommates, mentions of drinking/alcohol, cheating (not on reader), joe being an asshole, cocky joe, lots of fighting, heated arguments.

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | this has been in my drafts for a good 2 months and finally decided to finish it up on the sunday before american thanksgiving! so... yaya! please let me know your thoughts!

The muffled sound of Ja’Marr Chase’s bass-heavy playlist seeps through the thin walls of your apartment, rattling the picture frames you swore you hung up straight last week. The tiny LSU apartment complex, with its peeling beige paint and eternally broken elevator, has its charms—like the way the front door doesn’t lock unless you kick it just right or how the air conditioner only works when it’s below 70 degrees outside.

But Joe Burrow? He’s not one of those charms.

No, Joe Burrow is the bane of your existence, the human equivalent of a pothole on a road you have to take every day. His name alone makes your best friend, Ella, roll her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck in the back of her head. “Just ignore him,” she says every time you come storming through the door, ranting about whatever fresh annoyance he’s cooked up that day. “He only bothers you because you’re fun to mess with.”

Right. Like that’s supposed to make it better.

Living next door to Joe and Ja’Marr was tolerable at first. Sure, they were loud, occasionally messy, and probably violating a dozen lease terms, but it wasn’t personal. Then, you had one small misunderstanding—okay, so maybe you yelled at Joe for leaving his bike in front of your door after you tripped over it—and now it’s like he’s made it his life’s mission to drive you insane.

Sometimes, it’s harmless: an obnoxious smirk when you cross paths on the way to class or his sarcastic comments about how you always seem to be spilling coffee on your shirt. Other times, it’s borderline infuriating: stealing your parking spot, taking the last box of cinnamon rolls at the grocery store, or claiming the shared apartment complex grill for “official game day business” every single Saturday.

Still, there’s something annoyingly magnetic about him, even when you want to wring his neck. The way his eyes crinkle when he’s laughing at his own jokes. The stupid mop of curls he somehow manages to pull off. The effortless confidence that borders on cocky, though you’d never say it out loud because that’s exactly the kind of thing that would go straight to his head.

Ella always jokes that you two are like an old married couple, constantly bickering but secretly loving it. You disagree. Mostly because Joe already has enough people falling at his feet—like the swarm of girls in purple-and-gold jerseys who show up at the apartment complex every other week, giggling like they’re auditioning for a reality show.

You sigh, brushing a stray crumb off the countertop as Ella flops onto the couch behind you, textbook in hand. And if his stupid grin when he sees you on your balcony later tonight is any indication, he’s already got something planned.

You just don’t know it yet.

The parking lot outside your apartment complex is a war zone at 11 p.m., with far too many cars crammed into a space that was clearly designed with only half the residents in mind. You circle the lot for the third time, your headlights cutting through the dark like a searchlight on some hopeless mission. After eight grueling hours at the campus library helping undergrads figure out why their printers are possessed, your brain feels like oatmeal, and all you want is to collapse into your bed.

But, of course, tonight isn’t going to be that simple.

Because there he is. Joe freaking Burrow.

He’s in his Jeep—windows down, music playing softly, and, naturally, there’s a blonde perched in the passenger seat laughing at something he said. Of course, he found the last available spot. Except—it’s not his spot, because you saw it first. Your blinker’s been on since the beginning of time (or at least the last 30 seconds), and you refuse to back down now.

Your grip tightens on the steering wheel as he slowly starts to reverse into the spot, like he hasn’t noticed your very obvious claim to it. Heart pounding with a mix of exhaustion and indignation, you tap your horn. Just once. Polite, but firm. He stops, glances in his rearview mirror, and then—of course—he smirks.

Oh, hell no.

You roll down your window and lean out. “Hey, Burrow! I was waiting for that spot.”

He leans his elbow casually against the window frame, his curls catching the faint glow of the streetlight. “Were you? Didn’t see your name on it.” His voice is slow, lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world to be a pain in your ass.

You glare at him, barely suppressing the urge to snap. “I was here first.”

“And I started reversing first,” he counters, raising an eyebrow like it’s a debate class and not a parking lot at nearly midnight. The blonde giggles beside him, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Just let me have it. You look like you could use the exercise.”

Oh, he’s done it now.

“Excuse me?” Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you’re too far gone to care. “I’ve been on my feet for eight hours dealing with entitled freshmen, and if you think I’m about to let you—”

“Alright, alright,” Joe interrupts, hands raised in mock surrender. “Relax, I’m not trying to ruin your night.” He throws the Jeep into drive, and with a dramatic sigh, he pulls away, leaving the spot open for you. But not without one last parting comment. “Don’t scratch the paint when you park. Oh, wait—you’re really close to that pole—”

You park with excessive precision, throwing your car into park before leaning out the window to call after him. “I didn’t ask for your help, Joe!”

His laugh echoes across the parking lot, carefree and infuriating. You slam your door shut a little harder than necessary, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you trudge toward the building. Finally, peace.

Or so you think.

Because just as you reach the elevator, its ding announcing its arrival, you hear the telltale sound of sneakers scuffing against concrete and—because your luck is absolute trash—Joe freaking Burrow strolls in behind you, Blonde Giggles McGee still glued to his side.

“Hey, neighbor,” he says casually, stepping into the elevator with you like he didn’t just steal and relinquish a parking spot out of sheer pettiness. The blonde gives you a wide, vaguely clueless smile, her gum snapping between her teeth.

You press the button for the third floor with a pointed jab and cross your arms, leaning against the elevator wall as Joe and his date take their sweet time figuring out which floor they’re going to. The door finally slides shut, and the tension in the small space is unbearable.

“So,” the blonde says brightly, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “you guys, like, live here? That’s so fun! Like, neighbors and stuff. Wow.”

Your lips press into a tight smile, trying to avoid eye contact with Joe, who you can feel grinning at you like this is the highlight of his week. “Yep. Fun,” you reply curtly, forcing the word out like it’s laced with acid.

Joe’s shoulders shake slightly, and you realize he’s laughing. He glances at you, and there’s that damn smirk again, like he knows exactly how close you are to losing it. “She’s real talkative tonight,” he says, tilting his head toward you. “Usually, she’s got more to say.”

You turn to him with a withering glare. “Don’t you have something else to do, Burrow?”

Before he can reply, the elevator lurches slightly as it comes to a stop on your floor. You step out quickly, muttering a polite “Good night” that is entirely devoid of warmth. Joe follows, his pace annoyingly casual as he throws one last look over his shoulder.

“See you around, neighbor,” he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

You don’t look back.

The smell of cheap ramen hits you the moment you open the door to your apartment. It’s comforting, in a way—familiar, like Ella’s answer to every late-night craving or bad day. She’s in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove, barefoot and wearing the oversized LSU sweatshirt you’d bought together during freshman year.

“You’re late,” she says without looking up, her voice light with mock reproach. “Was the library on fire, or did you stop to fight Burrow in the parking lot again?”

You kick off your shoes with a sigh, tossing your bag onto the couch. “Option B. Obviously.”

That gets her attention. She turns, spoon in hand, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? It’s, like, midnight. You two are going to give each other aneurysms before graduation.”

You slump into one of the kitchen chairs, letting your forehead hit the table dramatically. “He stole my parking spot. Had the audacity to smirk about it, too. And then—get this—I got stuck in the elevator with him and some girl who wouldn’t stop talking about how ‘fun’ it is to have neighbors.” You lift your head to glare at Ella, who is now struggling to hold back a laugh. “I’m cursed. That man is my curse.”

Ella snorts, pouring the ramen into two mismatched bowls. “He’s not your curse. He’s just a guy with too much charm and not enough common sense. And clearly, you’re living rent-free in his head, which, honestly, is kind of impressive considering he’s got a playbook in there.”

You accept the bowl she slides across the table, your stomach growling despite your lingering irritation. “I don’t want to live in his head. I want him to stop being so… so Joe all the time.”

Ella sits across from you, propping her chin in her hand with a sly grin. “Are you sure? You seem to spend a lot of time talking about him.”

You glare at her over a mouthful of noodles. “Don’t start.”

But she’s already started, her grin widening. “I’m just saying, it’s giving sexual tension.”

You nearly choke, coughing as you wave her off. “Nope. Absolutely not. There’s no tension. Only irritation. And rage. And an overwhelming desire to see him move to a different apartment complex.”

Ella laughs, leaning back in her chair. “Whatever you say, babe. But for the record, I think you secretly enjoy it.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can form a retort, there’s a knock at the door. Both of you freeze, staring at each other like deer caught in headlights.

“You expecting someone?” Ella whispers, her tone suddenly conspiratorial.

“No,” you whisper back, your heart sinking as a horrible suspicion creeps over you.

Ella gestures for you to check, and with a deep, resigned breath, you shuffle to the door, bowl still in hand. You crack it open just enough to see who’s on the other side, and—because the universe apparently hates you—there he is. Joe Burrow, in all his smug, infuriating glory, holding a box of cinnamon rolls.

“Hey, neighbor,” he says, his grin infuriatingly wide. “Figured I owed you something for stealing your spot.”

You stare at him, speechless, for a moment. Then, finally, you manage, “It’s 11:30 at night.”

He shrugs, as if that’s a perfectly reasonable time for a peace offering. “Better late than never, right?”

From behind you, Ella’s voice rings out, barely containing her amusement. “Is that Joe? Invite him in!”

You turn to glare at her, silently vowing revenge, but when you look back at Joe, he’s already stepping inside like he owns the place.

“Nice place,” he says, glancing around before holding up the box. “So… cinnamon roll?”

You sigh, shutting the door behind him. It’s going to be a long night.

Joe leans casually against the counter, still holding the box of cinnamon rolls like he’s been invited to stay for a late-night hangout. You narrow your eyes at him, folding your arms. “So, what’s this about, really? Cinnamon rolls aren’t exactly your style.”

“Wow, judgmental much?” he says with a mock-wounded expression. “What if I just wanted to be neighborly?”

Ella snickers softly behind you, spooning up her ramen as she watches the exchange like it’s prime-time TV.

Joe grins, ignoring your skepticism. “Actually,” he says, setting the box on the counter with a little too much flourish, “I’m out of sugar. You wouldn’t happen to have any, would you?”

You blink at him, incredulous. “Sugar? You came over at almost midnight to borrow sugar?”

“Yup,” he says, popping the “p” for emphasis, completely unbothered by your glare.

Ella, ever the peacemaker—or enabler, depending on the situation—sets her bowl down and gets up to rummage through the cabinets. “We’ve got some,” she says reluctantly, pulling out a small bag. She walks over and places it in Joe’s outstretched hand, but not without narrowing her eyes at him. “You better bring this back, Burrow. Or at least repay us with something better than cinnamon rolls.”

“Noted,” he says with a charming smile, tucking the bag under his arm. He turns to you, his grin softening into something almost teasing. “Thanks, neighbor. You’re a real lifesaver.”

You don’t bother replying, instead stepping aside so he can leave. He makes his way to the door, pausing for a moment. “Oh, and don’t forget to check your parking job in the morning,” he says with a wink before slipping out into the hallway.

The second the door clicks shut, you groan, slumping against the counter. Ella bursts into laughter, practically doubling over as she grabs her bowl again. “You two are ridiculous,” she says between bites.

“I’m moving out,” you mutter, dragging yourself to the couch. “I don’t care if it’s to a cardboard box in the quad. It’ll be quieter than this.”

You think that’s the end of it—Joe’s random sugar-borrowing adventure, Ella’s endless teasing—but of course, you’re wrong. Because a few hours later, just as you’re finally starting to drift off in the tiny bedroom you call your sanctuary, you hear it.

A muffled giggle. A low, rumbling voice you’d recognize anywhere. Then, unmistakably, the rhythmic creak of a bed frame against the wall.

Your eyes snap open, and for a moment, you pray you’re imagining things. Maybe it’s a nightmare—a cruel joke your overtired brain is playing on you. But then you hear it again, louder this time, followed by a very enthusiastic “Oh my God, Joey!”

You groan, grabbing your pillow and pressing it over your ears.

From the other side of the wall, Ella’s muffled voice reaches you through the darkness. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” you hiss, your voice barely audible through the pillow. “It’s him.”

She snorts, and you can hear her shifting in her bed. “Well, at least he’s getting good use out of that sugar.”

You let out a strangled laugh, torn between exhaustion and disbelief. “I swear, if this goes on all night—”

As if on cue, there’s another creak, louder this time, followed by more giggling and exaggerated moaning.

Ella sighs. “Thin walls, huh?”

“Apparently,” you mutter, rolling onto your side and glaring at the wall like it’s personally offended you.

The noises continue—giggles, muffled moans, the occasional thud that makes you wince. You bury your face in your pillow, silently cursing Joe Burrow and his audacity.

It’s going to be a very, very long night.

The next morning comes too soon. Despite the symphony of creaks, giggles, and thuds that plagued the night, you manage to drag yourself out of bed, bleary-eyed and cranky. The coffee pot sputters as you pour yourself a life-saving cup, muttering curses at your neighbor under your breath. Ella, still in her pajamas, watches you from the couch with an amused smirk.

“You look alive,” she teases, spooning cereal into her mouth. “Barely.”

“I hate him,” you say flatly, taking a long sip of coffee.

“Sure you do,” she singsongs.

You don’t dignify her with a response, grabbing your bag and heading out the door.

As luck—or fate—would have it, the universe isn’t done with you yet. Because just as you’re locking your apartment door, you hear the unmistakable sound of high heels clicking down the hallway.

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret it.

There she is. Last night’s Blonde of the Hour, strutting toward the elevator with a walk of shame so confident it might as well be a victory lap. She’s wearing Joe’s oversized LSU hoodie, paired with last night’s skirt and heels. Her hair is tousled, but she doesn’t seem to care.

And because the universe apparently has a sense of humor, she notices you at the same time you notice her.

“Morning!” she chirps, her voice way too chipper for someone who clearly didn’t sleep much.

You press your lips together to keep from laughing, nodding in acknowledgment. “Morning.”

The two of you step into the elevator together, the silence stretching awkwardly between you. You steal a glance at her from the corner of your eye, wondering if she has any idea that her night of “fun” ruined yours. But then she sighs and adjusts the sleeves of Joe’s hoodie, completely unbothered, and you realize she probably doesn’t care.

The doors slide open to the lobby, and you step out first, your pace brisk as you make a beeline for the exit. But as you push through the glass doors into the bright morning sunlight, you nearly collide with none other than Joe Burrow himself.

He’s leaning against his car, coffee cup in hand, looking far too put together for someone who should be as tired as you. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, then flick over to the blonde trailing behind.

“Morning, neighbor,” he says, his voice laced with amusement.

“Morning,” you reply dryly, brushing past him toward your car.

But of course, he can’t just let it go. “Sleep well?”

You stop dead in your tracks, turning to glare at him. His smirk is infuriatingly smug, and you can’t tell if he’s genuinely clueless or just messing with you.

“Thin walls,” you say pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

His smirk falters for half a second before he recovers, lifting his coffee cup in a mock toast. “Noted.”

The blonde, oblivious to the tension, giggles. “Joe, you didn’t tell me your neighbors were so fun!”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead unlocking your car with more force than necessary. “Oh, we’re a blast,” you mutter under your breath, sliding into the driver’s seat.

As you pull out of the parking lot, you catch a glimpse of Joe in your rearview mirror, still leaning against his car, watching you leave. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—amusement, maybe, or curiosity—but you don’t have the energy to figure it out.

Later that afternoon, when you’re back in your apartment trying to catch up on work, Ella pops her head into the living room with a mischievous grin.

“Guess who I ran into at the coffee shop?”

You glance up warily. “Who?”

“Joe,” she says, plopping down on the couch. “He said he’s planning a little ‘building mixer’ this weekend. Invited everyone on the floor. Including us.”

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch. “No. Absolutely not. I am not going to some Burrow-hosted mixer.”

“Oh, come on,” Ella says, nudging you with her foot. “It could be fun. Free food, free drinks… awkward encounters with your mortal enemy…”

You glare at her, but she just laughs. “You’re going,” she says firmly. “I already RSVP’d for us.”

And just like that, you realize your week is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Saturday night rolls around faster than you’d like, and with it comes the so-called “mixer” that Joe Burrow somehow convinced Ella you had to attend. You’d held onto the slim hope that it would be a small, quiet gathering of your neighbors in the building, with maybe some snacks, polite small talk, and an early exit for you.

Instead, you step off the elevator into what can only be described as chaos. The hallway is packed with people, the distant thrum of music vibrating through the walls. Someone’s yelling about finding the keg, and the faint scent of spilled beer and cologne wafts toward you.

“This is not a mixer,” you mutter to Ella as you both navigate your way through the crowd.

Ella, of course, looks thrilled. She’s dolled up in a crop top and high-waisted jeans, her hair and makeup perfectly done. “Relax,” she says, looping her arm through yours. “It’s just a party. Have a drink, let loose. Who knows? You might even have fun.”

You highly doubt that, but before you can argue, she spots Ja’Marr Chase leaning against the doorway to Joe’s apartment and perks up immediately. “I’ll catch up with you later!” she says, already untangling herself from your arm and heading toward him.

“Ella!” you call after her, but she’s too busy tossing a flirty smile Ja’Marr’s way to notice.

Great. Now you’re alone in the middle of a party that feels like half of LSU showed up to, surrounded by strangers and sticky floors. You push your way toward the kitchen, hoping to grab a drink and then find a corner to blend into until Ella decides it’s time to leave.

But, because the universe apparently loves messing with you, you hear his voice before you see him.

“Well, well, look who decided to show up.”

You groan internally and turn to see Joe leaning against the counter, a Solo cup in hand and that ever-present smirk on his face. He’s dressed casually in a fitted t-shirt and jeans, but somehow still manages to look like he owns the place—which, technically, he does.

“I’m only here because Ella dragged me,” you say, crossing your arms. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Joe chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “Come on, admit it. You’re having the time of your life.”

“Yeah, sure,” you deadpan. “Sticky floors and loud music are exactly my idea of fun.”

He grins, clearly enjoying your irritation. “You know, if you wanted to hang out with me so badly, you could’ve just asked. No need to pretend Ella dragged you here.”

“I—” You stop yourself, realizing there’s no point in arguing. It’s exactly what he wants. Instead, you grab a bottle of water from the counter and turn to leave.

“Hey, hold up,” he says, stepping in front of you. “You’re not just gonna drink water all night, are you?”

“Yes, Joe, I am,” you say, trying to sidestep him, but he moves to block you.

“At least let me get you a real drink,” he says, gesturing toward the makeshift bar someone set up on the other side of the room. “I make a mean rum and Coke.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, stepping aside, but not before adding, “But you’re missing out. My bartending skills are unmatched.”

You roll your eyes and head toward the living room, finding a spot near the wall where you can observe without being dragged into the chaos. You sip your water and watch as Joe works the room, effortlessly charming everyone he talks to.

About an hour later, you’re starting to regret not leaving when Ella abandoned you. You’ve been stuck making awkward small talk with strangers, and the music is only getting louder.

Then Ella appears out of nowhere, grabbing your arm with a giggle. “Come with me,” she says, pulling you toward the corner where Joe and some of his teammates are lounging on a worn-out sectional.

“Why?” you ask, resisting her tug.

“Because Ja’Marr wants to introduce me to his friends, and I don’t want to go alone!”

You sigh, reluctantly following her over. Ja’Marr greets Ella with a grin, and she practically melts under his attention. You, on the other hand, find yourself stuck sitting next to Joe, who looks far too pleased about the arrangement.

“Miss me already?” he asks, leaning closer so you can hear him over the music.

“Not even a little,” you reply, glaring at him.

He chuckles, clearly unbothered. “You’re really bad at hiding how much you enjoy my company, you know that?”

You open your mouth to retort, but before you can, one of his teammates interrupts. “Yo, Burrow, who’s this?”

“This,” Joe says, gesturing toward you with a dramatic flourish, “is my lovely neighbor.”

“Neighbor, huh?” the guy says, raising an eyebrow. “You two seem… close.”

You snort. “Not even remotely.”

Joe grins, slinging an arm over the back of the couch behind you. “Don’t listen to her,” he says. “She’s just shy.”

You shoot him a withering look, but he only laughs, clearly enjoying himself.

As the night drags on, Joe makes it his personal mission to annoy you. Every time you try to leave, he finds a way to pull you back into the conversation, teasing you relentlessly. His teammates, to their credit, seem amused by the dynamic, occasionally chiming in with their own jokes.

By the time Ella finally decides she’s ready to leave, you’re exhausted—physically and emotionally. You practically sprint for the door, eager to escape Joe’s smirk and the endless teasing.

As you step into the hallway, he calls after you, “See you around, neighbor!”

You don’t bother responding, instead dragging Ella toward the elevator. But as you press the button for your floor, you can’t help but feel like you haven’t seen the last of Joe Burrow tonight—or any night, for that matter.

The next week at LSU passes like any other, but somehow, Joe Burrow has managed to worm his way into your daily routine. It starts small—running into him at the mailboxes, hearing his muffled laughter through the thin walls at ungodly hours, and the occasional “good morning, neighbor!” shouted across the courtyard when you’re clearly not in the mood.

It’s maddening, really, the way he seems to delight in being everywhere you don’t want him to be. And yet, despite your annoyance, you can’t deny that his presence makes life just a little more… interesting.

FRIDAY NIGHT

Ella bursts through the apartment door, her face lit up with excitement. You’re sprawled on the couch, flipping through lecture notes and wishing the week would end already.

“Guess what!” she exclaims, tossing her bag onto the counter.

“Let me guess,” you say dryly. “Ja’Marr invited you to another party?”

“Close,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Ja’Marr and Joe are throwing a tailgate tomorrow before the game, and we’re invited.”

You groan, already dreading the idea of spending yet another afternoon dodging Joe’s incessant teasing. “I’m busy,” you lie.

“You’re coming,” Ella insists, plopping down next to you. “It’s practically a campus tradition, and besides, you could use a little fun.”

“Fun,” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling being forced to socialize with half of LSU now?”

Ella rolls her eyes. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Food, drinks, and—” she grins mischievously—“a chance to hang out with your favorite quarterback.”

You glare at her. “Joe Burrow is not my favorite anything.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, clearly not believing you. “Wear something cute. We’re leaving at noon.”

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

The tailgate is, unsurprisingly, a spectacle. Rows of tents stretch across the field, decked out in purple and gold, with grills smoking and music blasting. Students and alumni alike mill about, laughing and chatting as they gear up for the game.

You follow Ella through the crowd, clutching a plastic cup of soda and trying to blend in. She, of course, makes a beeline for Ja’Marr, who’s manning the grill with an ease that suggests he’s done this a thousand times.

And where there’s Ja’Marr, there’s Joe.

He spots you almost immediately, his trademark smirk spreading across his face as he waves you over. “Hey, neighbor! Glad you could make it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter, but he’s already stepping closer, his easy confidence making it impossible to ignore him.

“What, no hug?” he teases, holding his arms out dramatically.

“Not in this lifetime,” you reply, sidestepping him.

Ella, now fully engrossed in a conversation with Ja’Marr, leaves you to fend for yourself. You glance around, debating whether to make a run for it, but Joe blocks your path, clearly amused by your discomfort.

“You’re really bad at this whole socializing thing, aren’t you?” he says, leaning casually against the nearest table.

“Maybe I just don’t enjoy your company,” you retort, taking a sip of your drink.

He grins. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be here.”

Before you can respond, one of his teammates calls his name, distracting him long enough for you to slip away. You find a quieter spot near the edge of the field, letting the noise of the crowd fade into the background.

But, of course, Joe finds you again.

“Thought you’d try to escape, huh?” he says, appearing at your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I wasn’t escaping,” you lie, crossing your arms.

“Sure you weren’t.” He pauses, glancing at the crowd. “Not a fan of tailgates?”

“Not a fan of crowds,” you admit.

He nods, surprisingly serious for once. “Fair enough. They’re not for everyone.”

You glance at him, caught off guard by the genuine tone in his voice. It’s a rare moment of sincerity from someone who seems to live for getting under your skin.

And then, just as quickly, the moment passes.

“Still,” he says, his smirk returning, “you’ve got to admit, the food’s pretty good. Ja’Marr’s burgers? Best on campus.”

The party stretched well into the night, turning the once-bustling tailgate into a dimly lit, hazy scene of music, laughter, and scattered conversations. You’d almost forgotten how much you hated these kinds of events. The air was warm, the smell of grilled food and spilled beer thick, but for once, you weren’t faking a smile just to survive.

Instead, you were leaning against a folding chair near the makeshift DJ booth, chatting with a guy named Wes. He was a linebacker for LSU, though, by his own admission, mostly a benchwarmer. Shy, soft-spoken, and refreshingly normal, Wes wasn’t at all what you expected to find at a party like this.

“You’re telling me you’ve never been to Mike’s cage?” he asked, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the music.

You laughed. “I don’t know, it just never seemed like a big deal to me. It’s a tiger.”

His eyes widened in mock offense. “It’s not just a tiger. It’s our tiger.”

“Okay, okay, maybe I’ll check it out sometime,” you said, grinning at his enthusiasm.

From the corner of your eye, you caught movement, and instinctively, you glanced over. There, leaning against the bar table, was Joe.

His usual smirk was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his jaw was tight, and his eyes were fixed on you and Wes.

The sight of his uncharacteristically cold expression sent a jolt through you. Was he annoyed? No, that didn’t make sense. He didn’t care about you, not really.

Wes was saying something about the tiger habitat, but your attention flickered back to Joe. His knuckles whitened around the edge of his red Solo cup, and he seemed to be muttering something to Ja’Marr, who only shrugged in response.

“Everything okay?” Wes asked, his brow furrowed as he followed your gaze.

You blinked, forcing yourself to refocus. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

Joe, however, was impossible to ignore. At one point, he stormed past your little corner of the party, brushing close enough that you could feel the heat of his arm against yours.

Wes had just finished telling a story about his first LSU practice, his nervous laughter making you smile, when Joe’s voice cut through the conversation like a jagged knife.

“Nice to see you making friends,” he said, his tone just sharp enough to raise the hairs on your neck.

You turned to find Joe standing a few feet away, his trademark smirk forced and strained. He wasn’t looking at you but at Wes, his gaze heavy with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Hey, Burrow,” Wes said, his voice even but noticeably quieter.

Joe stepped closer, ignoring you entirely as he clapped Wes on the shoulder. “Wesley Evans, right? Linebacker extraordinaire.” His words were light, almost teasing, but there was a strange undertone to them.

“Uh, yeah,” Wes said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Though ‘extraordinaire’ might be a bit of a stretch.”

Joe chuckled, his laugh cold. “Oh, come on. Don’t sell yourself short. I mean, someone’s got to keep the bench warm, right?”

The group went silent.

You froze, your stomach dropping as the words settled over the conversation like a wet blanket. Wes’s easygoing demeanor faltered for just a moment—just long enough for you to catch the flicker of hurt in his eyes.

But he recovered quickly, letting out a forced laugh. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta do it.”

“Joe,” Ja’Marr said sharply, stepping forward. “That was uncalled for.”

Joe raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk faltering. “What? I was just joking.”

“No, you weren’t,” Ja’Marr said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You stared at Joe, your chest tightening with a mix of anger and confusion. What was his problem? You’d seen him tease people before, but this was something else. This was cruel.

Joe’s eyes finally flicked to yours, and for a brief second, something like regret flashed across his face. But just as quickly, he turned away, muttering, “Whatever,” before stalking off into the crowd.

The group stood in awkward silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

“I’m sorry about that,” you said softly, turning to Wes.

He shook his head, forcing a smile. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time.”

But you could see the way his shoulders sagged, the way his fingers tightened around the edge of his cup.

Ja’Marr sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s not usually like that.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered, still staring at the spot where Joe had disappeared.

Ja’Marr shot you a look but said nothing. The group eventually dispersed, the easy energy of the night soured by the encounter.

And as you followed Ella home later, you couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your head, trying to piece together why Joe Burrow seemed so determined to ruin the night—not just for you, but for Wes, too.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the faint buzz of crickets and distant party music filling the air as you and Ella navigated the dimly lit sidewalks. The night had been long, and your head was still spinning from Joe’s earlier outburst. You’d always known him to be annoying, maybe even a little infuriating, but tonight was different. There was a sharpness to him, an edge that left you unsettled.

Ella broke the silence first, her voice soft. “What do you think that was about? With Joe, I mean.”

You shrugged, kicking a loose pebble down the pavement. “Who knows? Maybe he ran out of people to torture and decided to branch out.”

Ella laughed lightly but didn’t press further. By the time you reached your apartment complex, the cool night air had started to seep into your skin, making you shiver. All you could think about was collapsing into bed and forgetting this day ever happened.

But, of course, Joe Burrow had other plans.

There he was, right in front of your door, pressed up against yet another blonde, her manicured nails tangled in his hair as they made out like the world was ending.

You stopped dead in your tracks, Ella nearly bumping into you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath.

At the sound of your voice, Joe broke away from his hookup, turning to face you with a smirk that was equal parts shameless and infuriating.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite neighbor,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “Didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Wes not invite you over for a post-party study session?”

Your jaw tightened. “Get out of the way, Burrow.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “What’s the rush? You don’t want to hang out? I can introduce you to…uh…” He glanced at the girl beside him, snapping his fingers as if trying to remember her name.

The blonde giggled, clearly unbothered. “Stephanie,” she offered, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Right. Stephanie,” Joe said, his grin widening.

Ella groaned softly beside you, crossing her arms. “Joe, move. We’re tired.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, stepping aside but not before leaning casually against the doorframe, effectively blocking your path again. “But seriously, where’s Wes? Thought you two were hitting it off. Or is he back on the bench already?”

“Are you serious right now?” you snapped, finally losing the last shred of patience you had left.

Joe straightened up, clearly surprised by the sudden bite in your tone. “What? I’m just messing around.”

“No, you’re being a jerk,” you shot back. “First, you humiliate Wes at the party, and now you’re standing here, rubbing it in like it’s some kind of joke. What’s your problem?”

Stephanie shifted uncomfortably, her gaze darting between you and Joe. “Uh, maybe we should—”

“Not now,” Joe cut her off, his tone sharper than you’d ever heard it. He didn’t even look at her, his eyes locked on yours.

Stephanie’s mouth fell open in shock. “Excuse me?”

“Just go,” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm.

For a moment, the three of you stood frozen, the tension hanging thick in the air. Then, with an indignant huff, Stephanie grabbed her purse and stormed off, her heels clicking angrily against the pavement.

Ella’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Wow,” she muttered under her breath.

Joe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply before turning back to you. “Happy now?”

“No,” you said, crossing your arms. “You’re still here.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re acting like I committed some crime. I was just joking, okay? It’s not my fault you can’t take a little teasing.”

“Teasing?” you repeated, incredulous. “Joe, you embarrassed Wes in front of everyone tonight. And for what? To make yourself feel better? To prove you’re the big man on campus?”

His jaw clenched, the cocky facade cracking ever so slightly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then enlighten me,” you challenged, taking a step closer. “Why do you always have to be such an ass?”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze dropping to the ground. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and tense. “Maybe because it’s the only way to get your attention.”

Your breath caught, his words hitting like a punch to the gut. Before you could respond, he turned on his heel and walked away, the sound of his door slamming echoing through the quiet hallway.

Ella let out a low whistle. “Well, that was…something.”

You stared after him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Something.”

“Did he just…?” Ella’s voice was barely a whisper beside you.

You swallowed hard, not trusting yourself to speak. What the hell was that supposed to mean? It wasn’t like Joe to be vulnerable—hell, he practically lived to get under your skin. And yet, there it was, hanging in the air: the truth you never asked for, wrapped up in all his stupid teasing and annoying antics.

“Forget it,” you finally muttered, fumbling with your keys as you moved to unlock the door. “He’s just trying to mess with me.”

“Uh-huh,” Ella said slowly, following you inside. “Because, you know, the guy who just ditched a hot blonde to argue with you at midnight clearly doesn’t care.”

You shot her a glare, unwilling to entertain the idea. “I’m going to bed.”

Ella raised her hands in surrender, smirking knowingly as she headed for her room. “Okay, but don’t act surprised when he shows up tomorrow. He’s not exactly the type to let things go.”

“Goodnight, Ella,” you said firmly, shutting your bedroom door behind you.

But as you lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t get his words out of your head. Maybe because it’s the only way to get your attention. Was he serious? Or was this just another game to him, a way to throw you off-balance and make you question everything?

With a frustrated sigh, you rolled over, punching your pillow as if it was somehow Joe’s fault that you couldn’t sleep. Whatever his deal was, you weren’t going to let him get under your skin any more than he already had.

But deep down, you knew it was too late. Because whether you liked it or not, Joe Burrow had already wormed his way into your thoughts—and no amount of denial was going to change that.

The next morning, you woke up to a series of loud knocks on your door, far too early for any sane person to be awake. Groaning, you pulled the covers over your head, but the knocking continued, persistent and unrelenting.

“Go away!” you yelled, but the noise didn’t stop.

With a huff, you threw off the blankets and stumbled out of bed, yanking open the door with every intention of giving whoever it was a piece of your mind.

But, of course, it was Joe.

He stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe like he hadn’t just woken you up at the crack of dawn, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Morning, neighbor.”

You stared at him, too stunned and too tired to muster a response.

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” he said, his tone annoyingly chipper.

“I wasn’t,” you snapped, rubbing your eyes. “What the hell do you want?”

His smile widened, and he held up a to-go coffee cup, the LSU logo bright against the paper sleeve. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up.”

You blinked at the cup, then at him, suspicion rising. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he said, still holding it out. “Just coffee. Truce?”

You hesitated, the words from last night still lingering between you. But, against your better judgment, you reached for the cup, your fingers brushing his for a brief second. “Fine. Truce. For now.”

His eyes gleamed, like he’d just won some kind of invisible battle. “I’ll take it.” He turned to leave but paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, and by the way—I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you standing in the doorway with a coffee cup in hand and the distinct feeling that, somehow, things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Things between you and Wes have been going really well. You’ve been texting each other daily since that first meeting in the quad, and his messages always seem to bring a smile to your face. Some days, you talk about classes and the usual college chaos—complaining about professors who seem to thrive on assigning last-minute papers, laughing over campus gossip, or sharing music recommendations.

Other days, the conversations drift into deeper topics: family, future dreams, and the things you never thought you’d share with someone you’d barely known a few weeks ago. It's easy, effortless, and you feel like you've known him forever. There's a connection that grows stronger with each passing day, his texts becoming a constant you look forward to amid the swirl of college life.

When game days roll around, you make sure to watch, even if football has never been your thing. You learn enough of the basics to text him encouragement before each game and tease him when his team makes a stupid play. And every single time he wins, you get a photo of him in his jersey, sweaty and glowing with victory, his smile so wide you can feel it through the screen.

One crisp Saturday evening after a particularly big game—a win that had the entire stadium roaring and chanting for more—your phone buzzes. It’s Wes, as expected, but this time the message is different.

Wes: Big win tonight. You should come out to celebrate—party at the house. It'll be fun, promise.

You hesitate for a moment. Frat parties aren’t usually your scene, but the idea of seeing Wes in person after weeks of building up this text-based connection makes your heart beat a little faster. It feels like the right time to finally break out of the comfort of your phone screen. You don’t want to overthink it, so you respond quickly.

You: Okay, I’ll come! What time? Wes: Perfect. Starts at 9, but I’ll be there around 10. Meet me out front? I’ll make sure you don’t get lost.

You can’t help but laugh at that—his protective side has become more apparent lately, and you find it kind of endearing. The rest of the evening passes in a blur of anticipation. You try on half your wardrobe, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness that makes your stomach flutter. After way too much deliberation, you settle on something that’s cute but comfortable—a black crop top, jeans that fit just right, and your favorite sneakers. Casual, but you don’t want to come off like you’re trying too hard.

The party was in full swing by the time you and Wes went in, the familiar buzz of laughter and music filling the air. His arm rested loosely around your shoulders as you made your way through the packed house, a red solo cup already in his hand. It was a typical LSU post-game celebration—teammates hyped up from their win, students eager for a reason to cut loose, and just enough chaos to keep things interesting.

Wes, ever the golden retriever type, was all smiles as he greeted his teammates. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as you plastered on your own smile. Wes was great—sweet, thoughtful, and good-looking to boot—but there was something missing. Conversations with him always felt a little too polished, like he was sticking to a script.

Still, you weren’t going to let your wandering thoughts ruin the night. As he led you toward the makeshift bar in the kitchen, you decided to let loose a little, leaning into his world for the evening.

You were two drinks in when you felt it—a shift in the air that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Glancing across the room, your eyes locked with Joe’s. He was leaning casually against the wall, his cup dangling from his fingers as he laughed at something Ja’Marr said. But his focus wasn’t on his teammate—it was on you.

That look.

You’d seen it before, the one that screamed I’m up to something. Your stomach twisted as his lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.

“What’s wrong?” Wes asked, his voice breaking through your thoughts.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

Wes didn’t notice your distraction, too busy rambling about the game. You nodded along, but your attention kept drifting back to Joe. He was still watching, and now he was moving.

Straight toward you.

“Wesley,” Joe said, his voice louder than necessary as he clapped a hand on Wes’s shoulder. “Man of the hour! Hell of a game tonight.”

Wes beamed, his chest puffing out a little. “Thanks, Burrow. That means a lot coming from you.”

“Oh, don’t mention it,” Joe said smoothly, his grin sharpening. “You’re really making a name for yourself out there.” He paused, his tone dipping just enough to make the compliment feel off. “You’ve got a solid five minutes of playing time this season, right?”

Wes laughed, missing the sarcasm entirely. “Yeah, Coach says I’m improving every week.”

Joe nodded, his expression the picture of sincerity. “No doubt. You’re an inspiration, man. Really showing the bench how it’s done.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back the urge to step in. Wes didn’t deserve to be Joe’s verbal punching bag, even if he was too oblivious to notice.

Then Joe shifted his focus.

“And this,” he said, gesturing toward you with his cup, “is the girl everyone’s been talking about?”

You stiffened, already bracing yourself.

“She’s great, right?” Wes said proudly, tightening his arm around your waist.

“Absolutely,” Joe said, his eyes locking on yours. “Smart, pretty, patient.” His lips twitched as he added, “Definitely one of a kind.”

The room felt hotter, smaller. You knew what he was doing, and you refused to let him win.

“Wow, Joe,” you said, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. “That’s almost a compliment. Are you feeling okay?”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward. “What can I say? I’m a generous guy.”

Wes chuckled awkwardly, clearly missing the tension simmering between the two of you. But the people around you weren’t as oblivious. Conversations around the kitchen began to quiet, heads subtly turning in your direction.

Joe leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Though I gotta say, Wes, you’ve got your hands full. She seems like the type to keep you on your toes. Always ready with a snappy comeback.”

You took a step forward, your jaw tightening. “Maybe because some people deserve it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re talking about me,” Joe said, his smirk widening. “But hey, you’ve got to admit, I keep things interesting.”

“Interesting?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You mean infuriating.”

By now, you were toe-to-toe, the space between you charged with unspoken words and something else you refused to acknowledge.

Joe’s eyes flicked down to your lips for a fraction of a second before he smiled again, softer this time. “Guess that’s one way to put it.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you were certain everyone in the room could see the way your cheeks flushed, the way your chest rose and fell faster than it should have.

Joe straightened, patting Wes on the back. “You’ve got a good one here, man. Don’t screw it up.”

And just like that, he was gone, disappearing back into the crowd with that stupid smirk still on his face.

Wes turned to you, oblivious as ever. “Man, Joe’s great, isn’t he?”

You didn’t answer, too busy trying to calm the storm raging inside you. Because as much as you hated to admit it, Joe Burrow had just gotten under your skin again. And this time, you weren’t sure you could shake him off.

The days blur together after the party, each one bleeding into the next with a heavy quiet you can’t shake. Joe hasn’t teased you, hasn’t made any more snide comments in passing. It’s almost like he’s disappeared entirely, and the silence he’s left behind feels suffocating.

But it's not the kind of peace you wanted—it's the kind that echoes, that bounces around inside your skull, replaying the things he said over and over again until you can’t ignore them anymore. You try to focus on Wes, try to let his easygoing, good-natured attitude soothe the irritation that keeps curling under your skin, but the more you think about Joe’s words, the more they fester. Suddenly, everything about Wes feels too soft, too careful. He’s kind, yes, but there's a blandness to it, a safe predictability that only makes you itch for something sharper.

Then, days later, you find yourself in the apartment lobby, bundled up against the late autumn chill, glaring at a maintenance form on the wall. The hot water’s been out for days, and you’re halfway through filling out a complaint when you hear footsteps behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is—the shift in the air is enough.

"Wow, fancy meeting you here," comes Joe’s voice, smooth and mocking, with just enough bite to make your spine stiffen. You don’t turn around, don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you keep writing, the pen pressing hard enough against the paper that it almost tears.

"Cold water bothering you too?" he continues when you don’t respond, his tone amused. You can feel him looming behind you, a little too close, and you grit your teeth, willing yourself to stay calm.

"Just trying to get it fixed," you reply curtly, finally turning around and catching the cocky smirk tugging at his lips. You’re not in the mood for whatever game he’s about to play, but of course, he’s not about to let you off that easy. His gaze slides from the form in your hand back up to your face, one eyebrow quirking up in that infuriating way that always makes you want to wipe the smugness off his face.

"Surprised you’re handling it yourself," Joe drawls, his eyes bright with something almost like delight. "Thought you'd get your little boyfriend to do it for you."

Your fingers tighten around the pen, and you force yourself to take a breath, ignoring the way your pulse quickens. "Not everything revolves around Wes," you shoot back, but your voice wavers just enough to make Joe’s smirk widen. His eyes flick over your face, and you hate the way he seems to read every expression, every crack in the mask you’re struggling to hold up.

"Really?" he says, the word heavy with skepticism. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall like he’s settling in for a show. "Could’ve fooled me. He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, huh? I bet you’re the perfect, supportive girlfriend." His voice drips with sarcasm, and something inside you snaps.

"Shut up, Joe," you hiss, your voice low and dangerous. You turn back to the form, determined to ignore him, but he doesn’t move. In fact, he leans in closer, his breath warm on your ear.

"Why?" he murmurs, his voice soft but taunting, like he’s got all the time in the world. "Hit a nerve?"

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because the truth is, he did hit a nerve. And he knows it.

"Come on," he pushes, a note of genuine curiosity in his tone now. "Don’t you ever get tired of it? Playing nice, doing everything right, sticking with someone who’s… I dunno, safe?"

You spin around, eyes blazing, and Joe’s face lights up with triumph. "You don’t know anything about him," you snap, but there’s a waver in your voice that makes Joe’s eyes narrow with interest. "Wes is kind, and he’s decent, and he actually cares about people, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for you."

Joe’s smile doesn’t falter. In fact, it only grows wider, almost wolfish, and you hate that it sends a thrill through you, a charge that leaves your heart racing. "Yeah," he says, his tone almost pitying, "he’s safe. Boring. He’s exactly the kind of guy who’d never get in your way, never challenge you, never push back. And you’re happy with that? Really?"

You glare at him, your blood boiling, but you can’t look away. Because some part of you—the part you’ve been trying to silence for days—knows he’s right, and it makes you want to scream. "What the hell is your problem, Joe?" you demand, your voice shaking with anger. "Why do you even care? What does it matter to you if I’m with him or not?"

For a moment, something flickers in Joe’s eyes, something you can’t quite read, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by that infuriating smirk. "I don’t care," he says, too quickly, his voice a little too smooth. "I just think it’s funny, that’s all. Watching you pretend like he’s enough for you."

You step closer without realizing it, your fists clenched at your sides. "You don’t know what you’re talking about," you insist, but it sounds weak, even to your own ears. Joe’s gaze drops to your lips for a split second, and you feel a jolt of something hot and dangerous twist in your stomach.

"Don’t I?" he murmurs, and suddenly, you’re standing toe-to-toe, your breath mingling with his, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. He’s so close, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the way his smirk softens just enough to be dangerous.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

There’s a beat, a moment suspended in time where it feels like the whole world has narrowed down to just the two of you, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy in the air. Then, suddenly, Joe’s expression shifts, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across his face as he leans back, breaking the spell. He claps you on the shoulder, his touch light but lingering.

"Good talk," he says, his tone infuriatingly cheerful as he pushes past you towards the elevator, leaving you standing there, breathless and rattled.

"Have fun with Wes," he throws over his shoulder, and the door slides shut behind him before you can find the words to reply. You’re left staring at the closed elevator doors, your chest heaving and your hands still trembling around the pen, the echoes of Joe’s taunting voice ricocheting in your mind.

And for the first time in days, the silence feels even louder.

The days drag by, and every one of them feels heavier, weighed down by Joe's words. They hang over you, echoing whenever you try to ignore them, seeping into your thoughts when you're with Wes. The way he holds your hand, the way he smiles politely at your jokes, the way he never raises his voice or teases you too hard—it’s all safe. It’s what you thought you wanted. But now, thanks to Joe, it’s all starting to feel empty, like a shell with nothing inside.

As if to make matters worse, Joe's been louder, more present, and more irritating than ever. He’s upped his game, bringing a new girl home almost every night, the kind who giggle just a little too loud in the stairwell, whose heels click sharply against the tile floors, waking you and Ella up in the middle of the night. You hear them laughing through the paper-thin walls, their voices carrying long after you wish they’d shut up. Ella throws a pillow at the wall one night, groaning in frustration, but you just lie there, staring up at the dark ceiling, the annoyance mixing with something else—something you refuse to name.

And then Wes’s birthday sneaks up on you, like a storm you’d been pretending not to see on the horizon. Everyone's talking about it—the party of the semester, hosted at his parents’ mansion on the outskirts of Baton Rouge. You know it’s a big deal. Wes’s parents are the kind who throw events instead of parties, the kind where everyone’s wearing their best, and you’d feel out of place if you weren’t on Wes’s arm. You spend way too long picking out your dress, ignoring Ella’s teasing smile as you change twice and then settle on something classy, something you think Wes’s parents will approve of.

The mansion is even more extravagant than you expected. Tall, stately, and glowing with warm light spilling from every window. A string quartet plays softly near the entrance, and there’s enough champagne to drown in. It’s a perfect picture of Southern elegance, the kind of party where everyone’s on their best behavior and no one dares spill a drink on the white marble floors.

You’re almost able to relax, standing with Wes as he introduces you to old friends and relatives, his arm around your waist like you’re some kind of prize. But then, from across the room, you catch sight of someone familiar stepping through the grand double doors, and the air goes still.

Joe. And he’s not alone.

On his arm is a girl who looks like she’s stepped straight out of a beauty magazine—perfect curls cascading down her back, a dress that hugs her curves in all the right places, and a pageant smile that could light up the whole room. She’s everything you’re not: polished, pristine, and undeniably beautiful. And Joe’s leaning in close to her, whispering something that makes her laugh, the sound light and carefree, echoing above the music.

Your heart sinks. You should have known he’d be here. You should have known he’d show up with someone like her.

The moment he walks in, it’s like the temperature drops. You feel him scan the room, his gaze sliding over the crowd until it lands on you. There’s a flicker of recognition, a half-smile that tugs at his lips, and for a second, you swear he’s going to make a beeline for you, but then he turns to his date, all easy charm and confidence.

You look away quickly, swallowing down the hot, bitter twinge of jealousy that rises in your chest. Beside you, Wes is oblivious, laughing with some cousin or another, completely unaware of the storm that’s building in your mind.

The party moves on, but you can't shake the weight in your chest. Every time you turn around, Joe is there—always in your peripheral, laughing with his date or effortlessly sliding into conversations with people he’s never met, commanding attention without even trying. And it’s driving you mad. You hate that he’s here, hate the way his presence seems to seep into every corner of the room, hate that you can’t stop looking for him, even when you don’t mean to.

Wes’s parents announce dinner, and you find yourself at a long table, perfectly set with silverware that you don’t even know how to use properly. Wes is on your left, chatting away, and you force yourself to smile and nod at the right moments, though your gaze keeps drifting over his shoulder. Joe is at the far end of the table, but his eyes meet yours—bright and full of something that feels like a challenge. He raises his glass in your direction, and you don’t miss the way his date practically glows under his attention, leaning into his side.

You grit your teeth, focusing on Wes, who’s completely unaware of the way your stomach is twisting. He’s sweet, attentive, a perfect gentleman, and you wish you could ignore the itch under your skin, the restlessness that grows with each passing minute. But it’s there, burning hotter every time you catch sight of Joe, laughing too loud or leaning in too close to whisper in his date's ear.

By the time dessert is served, you’re practically vibrating with frustration, and Wes’s voice is starting to blur into the background. He’s telling some long-winded story about his summer at the family lake house, but all you can think about is how easy it would be to just walk over to the other end of the table and—

“Hey, you alright?” Wes’s voice breaks through your thoughts, and you force yourself to focus on him, pasting on a smile that feels hollow.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie, reaching for your glass of champagne and taking a sip that burns all the way down. He seems satisfied, squeezing your hand gently under the table, but his touch feels distant, almost suffocating.

And when you glance back at Joe, he’s watching you, his smile sharper than you remember. There’s a glint in his eyes that makes your skin prickle, like he’s waiting for something, like he knows exactly what kind of game he’s playing. His date is still chattering away, oblivious to the way his gaze keeps flicking back to you, like a tether he can’t quite cut loose.

You look away, your face heating, and try to drown out the feeling with another sip of champagne. But it's no use. The night has only just begun, and you already know—it’s going to be a long one.

You escape upstairs, the noise of the party fading as you climb the grand, spiraling staircase. It’s quieter up here, with the muted sound of conversation and laughter drifting up from below, and you can finally breathe a little easier. You’re not even sure what you’re doing—just that you need a break from the suffocating conversation, the polished smiles, and the feeling of being watched. Wes is deep in conversation with a teammate, and it was easy enough to slip away unnoticed. You tell yourself you're only going to the bathroom, but you don’t even bother finding one. You just wander down the hall, hoping to collect yourself, to calm the thudding in your chest.

But then, of course, you see him.

Joe, leaning lazily against the wall at the end of the hallway, like he’s been waiting for you. There’s no sign of his date—she’s probably downstairs, lost in the crowd—but Joe’s here, and he looks too damn comfortable, his tie loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He gives you that infuriating half-smirk the second your eyes meet, like he’s been expecting you. Like he knows you’re going to stop.

“Lost?” he drawls, his voice a low, lazy tease, and you freeze, every muscle in your body going tense.

“No,” you snap, hating the way your heart skips when he pushes off the wall, taking a step closer. “Just getting some air.”

“From Wes?” he asks, eyebrows raising, and you can hear the taunt in his tone, the way he draws out the name like it’s a joke. “Or from this whole perfect little party of his?”

“None of your business,” you shoot back, but he’s closer now, and you hate how your breath catches, how the air between you feels thick and electric. He’s looking at you like he’s stripping away all the layers you’ve put up—the polite smiles, the careful charm—and seeing straight through to the part of you that’s restless and hungry for a fight.

“You know, I can’t tell if you’re actually enjoying yourself,” he says, his voice dropping lower, almost intimate. “Or if you’re just playing the role of ‘good girlfriend’ to make everyone happy.”

“Shut up, Joe,” you warn, but your voice is weaker than you want it to be, and he notices. Of course he notices. He takes another step, and suddenly he’s way too close, the heat of him radiating into the space between you, making it harder to breathe.

“Or is it that Wes is just…too boring for you?” he presses, and something snaps. You step forward, shoving him hard enough to make him stumble back a step, anger flaring white-hot in your chest.

“Why do you care?” you demand, your voice rising. “Why do you always have to ruin everything? You can’t stand seeing me happy, can you? You always have to get in the way—”

“Oh, please,” he cuts you off, his voice sharp with irritation. “Don’t act like I’m the one ruining things. You’re the one who can’t stop looking at me. You’re the one who’s pretending this perfect little relationship is enough for you.”

You don’t even think. You just react, stepping closer, your chest heaving with the force of your anger, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “You don’t know anything about me!” you shout, the words tearing out of you before you can stop them. “You don’t know what I want or what I need, so stop pretending like you have me all figured out!”

He’s laughing now, a low, mocking sound that sets your teeth on edge, and you want to hit him, to scream, to do something to wipe that infuriating smirk off his face. But then he’s had enough. Suddenly, he moves, quick as a flash, and before you can even blink, he’s grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you up as if you weigh nothing, throwing you over his shoulder in one swift, effortless motion.

“Put me down!” you shout, struggling against him, but he just tightens his grip, carrying you down the hall like you’re some kind of rag doll. Your fists beat uselessly against his back, and you’re half-cursing, half-panicking as he ignores you, kicking open the nearest door and stepping inside.

The door slams shut behind him, and you barely register the darkened room—a guest bedroom, dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the curtains—before he’s setting you down, pressing you up against the wall with a force that steals the breath from your lungs. You’re too stunned to move, your back hitting the cold plaster, and suddenly his body is pinning you there, his hands on either side of your face, caging you in.

“Finally shut you up,” he mutters, his voice rough, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the way his breath brushes your cheek, hot and fast. His eyes are dark, burning with something you’ve never seen before, and the space between you feels like it’s crackling, alive with an energy that makes your skin prickle and your pulse race.

“Why do you have to be such a—” you start, but he cuts you off, leaning in closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his chest pressing against yours. His mouth is inches from yours, his lips twisting into a wicked smile.

“Go on,” he taunts, his voice low and dangerous. “Say it. Tell me what you really think.”

You’re breathing hard, your anger warring with something hotter, something that’s been building between you for months, and you can’t stop yourself. “You’re an asshole,” you spit, your hands coming up to shove at his chest, but he doesn’t move. He just leans in, his nose brushing against yours, the air between you thick and suffocating.

“And you,” he says softly, his voice almost gentle, “are a liar.”

You don’t know who moves first—whether it’s him closing the distance or you surging up to meet him—but suddenly his mouth is on yours, hard and desperate, and you’re kissing him back like it’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted. The kiss is furious, full of all the things you can’t say, all the frustration and the longing and the anger that’s been building up for so long it feels like it’s going to explode. His hands are in your hair, his grip almost painful, and you’re clinging to him, pulling him closer, gasping into his mouth as he presses you harder against the wall.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers against your lips, his breath ragged, and you shake your head, too far gone to think, to lie, to do anything but pull him closer, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Shut up,” you breathe, and he laughs, the sound vibrating against your skin, before he kisses you again, deeper this time, slower, like he’s savoring the taste of your surrender. The room feels too small, the air too thick, and you know you should stop, you know this is wrong, but you can’t, not when his hands are sliding down your sides, not when his body is pressing into yours, not when he’s kissing you like he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have.

And then, suddenly, it’s too much. You push him away, your breath coming in short, harsh gasps, and he lets you go, stepping back with a grin that’s all arrogance and triumph. Your lips feel swollen, your face flushed, and you hate that you can’t stop looking at him, that you want more even though you know you shouldn’t.

“See?” he says softly, his voice maddeningly smug. “I do know you.”

The words barely have time to leave his mouth before you’re on him again, shoving him away from you, your hands hitting his chest with more force than you intend. He stumbles back a step, a flash of surprise crossing his face before his eyes harden, that infuriating grin vanishing. You’re both breathing hard, the air between you heavy with everything unspoken, with all the sharp words that have been building up since the day you met.

“You don’t know anything!” you snap, your voice cracking, and he just laughs, a short, humorless sound that makes your blood boil.

“You keep saying that,” he shoots back, his voice low and dangerous, “but here you are. Every time, it’s the same thing. You want me to stop? Then say it. Tell me to leave.”

You open your mouth to say exactly that, to tell him to go to hell and stay out of your life, but the words won’t come. They catch in your throat, tangled up with the truth you can’t face, and he sees it. He always sees it. His gaze softens, something like understanding flickering in those dark eyes, and it pisses you off more than anything.

“See?” he murmurs, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “You can’t. Because you don’t want me to.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, but it’s too late—he’s already crowding into your space, his hand curling around the back of your neck, tilting your face up to his. You hate him for the way he’s looking at you, like he’s unraveling you with a single glance, like he knows exactly how to break you down, and before you can stop yourself, you’re surging up, your hands fisting in his shirt as you kiss him again, harder this time, angrier.

His arms come around you instantly, pulling you closer, and you hate that it feels good, that it feels right, even as you’re pushing against him, your nails digging into his shoulders. It’s a mess of teeth and tongues, the kiss desperate and furious, and you’re drowning in it, in the heat of him, in the way his fingers are tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

Then the door swings open, and you both jerk apart, your breaths coming in ragged, uneven pants. You barely have time to process what’s happening before you see Ja’Marr standing there, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. He looks at you, then at Joe, and lets out a long, frustrated sigh.

“Really, Joe?” he says, his voice laced with disappointment. “In the middle of Wes’s birthday party? Do you have a death wish or something?”

“Calm down,” Joe says coolly, like he’s not the least bit bothered, his gaze still fixed on you, as if daring you to run. “We were just talking.”

“Yeah,” Ja’Marr scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Talking, right. Because making out with your teammate’s girl is totally a normal conversation.”

You feel your cheeks burn, and you step back, smoothing down your clothes like you can erase what just happened. “This—this was nothing,” you stammer, trying to ignore the way Joe’s lips curl into a smirk at your flustered tone. “We’re done here.”

Joe just gives you a lazy, almost triumphant smile, like he’s won some unspoken battle, and turns to Ja’Marr with a shrug. “She’s got a mind of her own, you know,” he says, and you want to punch him, to scream, but Ja’Marr just shakes his head, looking equal parts disappointed and resigned.

“Whatever,” Ja’Marr mutters, grabbing Joe’s arm and pulling him out into the hallway. “You need to get your act together. Wes is going to notice if you keep pulling this crap.”

Joe’s eyes flick to you one last time, something unreadable in his expression, before he lets Ja’Marr drag him away. The door clicks shut behind them, and you’re left alone in the darkened room, your heart racing and your thoughts spinning out of control. You know you should follow them, that you should go back downstairs and pretend like nothing happened, but your knees feel weak, and it takes you a long moment to gather yourself, to steady your breathing.

By the time you make your way back down to the party, your face feels numb, and you’ve forced on the brightest smile you can muster. Joe is already back in the thick of things, his arm slung casually around his date’s waist, laughing like he doesn’t have a care in the world. You want to be angry, to hate him for making it look so easy, but then Wes catches sight of you, his eyes lighting up as he excuses himself from his conversation.

“Hey, there you are!” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. You try to smile, but it feels fake, like your skin doesn’t fit right anymore. “Where’d you disappear to?”

“Just needed a minute,” you say, your voice sounding hollow even to your own ears. You’re about to say something else, anything to fill the awkward silence, when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye.

Joe’s watching you, his gaze flicking from your face to your mouth, and that’s when you realize—his lips are still stained with the faintest trace of your lipstick, a dark, telltale smear at the corner of his mouth.

Wes follows your gaze, and his smile falters, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Joe, what’s on your—”

But Joe cuts in smoothly, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, his grin widening as if he finds the whole thing hilarious. “Guess I got a little carried away,” he says, his voice dripping with mock innocence, and you feel the ground sway beneath you as Wes’s arm tightens around your shoulders, his confusion shifting to suspicion.

“What’s he talking about?” Wes asks, his eyes narrowing, and you open your mouth to respond, to deny, to do something—but nothing comes out. Your voice has abandoned you, and all you can do is stand there, frozen, as Joe’s smirk deepens and he lifts his drink in a mocking toast, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Good party,” Joe says casually, his tone almost friendly. “Really enjoyed myself.”

You don’t remember what happens next—just the blur of faces, the noise of the party swelling around you, and the hollow ache settling deep in your chest as Joe turns away, laughing with someone else, like he hasn’t just blown everything to pieces.

Wes's smile is strained when he pulls you aside, away from the music and the crowd. There’s a tightness around his eyes you haven’t seen before, something almost defeated, and for the first time that night, you feel a genuine pang of guilt. This is the part you were dreading—the confrontation, the disappointment in his eyes. But instead of yelling, instead of demanding an explanation, he just looks... tired.

“Hey,” he starts softly, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t wanna make a scene, okay? But I think... I think maybe you should go.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words die in your throat. There’s no anger in his voice, just resignation, like he already knows the answer before you can even try to lie. You can’t tell if that makes it better or worse.

“Wes, I—” you begin, but he holds up a hand, a weak, defeated smile pulling at his lips.

“It’s okay,” he interrupts, and there’s something achingly kind in his voice, which somehow makes it hurt more. “I think we both know this... isn’t what you want. Not really.”

You feel relief flood your chest so suddenly that it’s almost nauseating, and that’s how you know he’s right. Because instead of being devastated, instead of scrambling to explain yourself, you just feel lighter. Like a weight you didn’t realize you were carrying has finally been lifted.

You reach out to touch his arm, but he steps back, shaking his head. “Don’t,” he says quietly, and you let your hand drop, nodding numbly. There’s nothing left to say. You don’t try to apologize; you don’t try to make excuses. You just turn and leave, the buzz of the party fading behind you as you slip out the front door, the cold night air hitting you like a slap.

The walk back to the apartment feels like a blur, your mind whirling with everything that just happened, everything you don’t want to think about. You don’t know if it’s the relief of being free from something you never truly wanted, or the shame of how it all went down, but by the time you reach your building, your hands are trembling and your breath is hitching.

You let yourself into the apartment, your eyes already burning with unshed tears, and you find Ella curled up on the couch, half-asleep in front of the TV. The moment she sees your face, though, she sits up, worry creasing her brow.

“Whoa, what happened?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep, but you don’t even know where to begin.

“Everything,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, and then it all spills out. You tell her everything—about Joe, about the kiss, about Wes’s sad, tired smile and the way he let you go without a fight. You’re talking so fast you’re stumbling over your words, your emotions a chaotic tangle of regret and relief and frustration, and by the time you’re finished, you feel completely wrung out.

Ella listens without interrupting, her expression shifting from shock to disbelief to sympathy as you pour your heart out. When you finally go quiet, she just sighs and pulls you into a hug, squeezing you so tight you can barely breathe.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, and you don’t realize how much you needed to hear that until the tears start falling. She doesn’t tell you that you screwed up, she doesn’t lecture you about Joe, she just holds you while you cry, rubbing soothing circles on your back until the tears run dry.

By the time you pull away, your throat is raw, and you’re exhausted. Ella doesn’t say anything, just gives you a look that says she understands, that she’s on your side no matter what, and that’s enough. It’s more than enough.

But then, just as you’re wiping your eyes and trying to compose yourself, you hear it—a loud burst of laughter echoing through the thin wall you share with Joe’s apartment. It’s followed by the high-pitched giggle of a girl, and your stomach twists. Of course. Of course.

Ella catches the look on your face and scowls. “He’s such an ass,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “You want me to go bang on the wall and tell them to shut up?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s... it’s fine. Let’s just go to bed.”

You don’t even believe yourself, but you can’t deal with Joe right now, not after everything. So you go to your room, shut the door, and try to block out the noise. You tell yourself you don’t care. You tell yourself it’s over. But sleep doesn’t come easily, and all you can hear is Joe’s voice in your head, his mocking words echoing long after the sounds from next door have finally gone quiet.

Over the next few days, you try to fall back into a routine, but everything feels off-kilter. Wes doesn’t text you, and you don’t reach out, letting the silence stretch between you until it feels like a mutual understanding—something that was always going to happen. Ella hovers, supportive but careful not to push, and you appreciate that. You just need space, time to sort through everything.

Joe, however, is a different story.

You barely see him around the complex, but when you do, it’s impossible to ignore him. He’s still bringing home girls—more than ever, it seems—and they’re always loud, obnoxiously so, like he’s doing it on purpose, like he’s rubbing it in your face. And maybe he is. Maybe this is his way of proving a point, of showing you that he doesn’t care, that he never cared, and the worst part is... you don’t know if you care either. Or maybe you care too much.

One night, after a particularly sleepless stretch of listening to laughter and footsteps pounding through the walls, Ella finds you staring blankly at the ceiling, dark circles smudged beneath your eyes.

“He’s doing this on purpose, you know,” she says bluntly, her tone halfway between irritation and pity. “He’s trying to get to you.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, rolling over to face the wall. “It’s working.”

Wes’s birthday party fades into memory, and a few weeks pass. It’s easier to pretend you don’t care when you don’t have to face the fallout. You focus on classes, avoid places where you might run into Joe, and try to ignore the way your heart sinks every time you hear his voice next door.

Then, one Friday night, there’s a knock on your door. You’re half expecting Ella’s latest Tinder date or a package, but instead, you find Joe leaning against the doorframe, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. There’s something almost hesitant about the way he looks at you, and for a second, you don’t know what to say.

“Hey,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, and it catches you off guard.

“What do you want?” you ask, and you hate how defensive you sound, how you can’t help but put a wall between you.

Joe’s eyes flicker, and he shoves his hands in his pockets, glancing down the hallway before he looks back at you. “Can we talk?” he asks, and you can’t tell if he’s asking because he wants to or because he thinks he has to. “Please?”

You hesitate, every part of you screaming to slam the door in his face, to tell him to go to hell. “Talk?” you echo, as though the very idea is laughable. “What’s there to talk about, Joe?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his hands still deep in his pockets. “I just—” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. For once, he doesn’t look cocky or composed. He looks tired. “I screwed up, okay? I know that. And I just… I want to make things right.”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Now you care about making things right? Weeks later? Where was this when you were busy humiliating me in front of everyone at Wes’s party?”

Joe flinches, and the sight of it sends a small, mean thrill through you. You want him to feel every ounce of the anger and hurt that’s been simmering inside you since that night.

“I was drunk,” he mutters, like it’s an excuse. “You know I didn’t mean half the shit I said.”

“Oh, so you only mean half of it?” Your voice rises despite yourself, and you take a step closer. “Which half, Joe? The part where you said Wes was too good for me? Or the part where you implied I’m some kind of charity case?”

Joe groans, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “That’s not what I meant! You’re twisting it—”

“I’m twisting it?” Your laugh is sharp, humorless. “No, Joe. I’m finally calling you out on your crap. You think you can just waltz in here, throw out a half-assed apology, and I’m supposed to forget how you treated me? Newsflash: I’m done being your punching bag.”

“Punching bag?” His voice spikes, and you can see his patience starting to fray. “Are you kidding me? You think I don’t care about you? That I’d say that stuff to hurt you on purpose?”

“Then why did you say it?” you snap, stepping closer until you’re almost toe to toe. “Why, Joe? If you care so much, why do you always find a way to make me feel like I’m not enough?”

He stares at you, his jaw tightening, his chest rising and falling as he tries to keep his temper in check. But then he snaps, his voice loud enough to make you flinch. “Because you drive me crazy, alright? You’re in my head all the damn time, and it’s like I can’t think straight when I’m around you!”

You’re stunned into silence, your heart pounding in your chest. The air between you crackles with something electric, something you can’t name but can feel in every nerve of your body.

Joe’s eyes are blazing, his chest heaving as he takes a step closer. “You think I wanted this? That I wanted to feel like this about you? I didn’t, okay? But I do. And it scares the hell out of me.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry. “Joe…”

He shakes his head, his voice softening just a fraction. “I’m sorry, alright? For all of it. I just—I didn’t know how to deal with this, with you.”

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, the space between you is gone. Joe’s hands are on your arms, his grip firm but not rough, and you’re looking up at him, your breath catching in your throat.

Joe doesn’t step back. He doesn’t let the anger rise again. He stays close, his hands still resting on your arms, his grip grounding and firm. His gaze softens, something vulnerable breaking through the tension in his voice.

“You think I like being the guy who gets under your skin?” he asks, his voice low, but there’s no bite to it now. Only honesty. “You think I enjoy pissing you off just for fun?”

You stare at him, caught off guard by the sudden shift, the rawness in his tone. “Don’t you?”

Joe lets out a sharp exhale, shaking his head. “No. That’s just the only way you ever seem to notice me.” His words hit like a punch to the gut, and your breath hitches. “If I’m not in your face, annoying the hell out of you, it’s like I don’t even exist to you.”

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. He’s too quick, too honest, and you don’t have a defense ready for the truth.

“That’s why I invite them over,” he continues, and there’s no cockiness in the admission. Just exhaustion. “Those girls, the loud music, the stupid games—it’s not because I want them. It’s because I’m trying to get you to see me. To pay attention. Even if it’s just so you can yell at me.”

Your stomach twists, a lump forming in your throat. You want to stay mad, to cling to your anger like a shield, but it’s slipping through your fingers. Joe doesn’t stop; he steps closer, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“I don’t know how else to get through to you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m tired, okay? I’m tired of pretending like I don’t care when I do. So much more than I should.”

Your breath catches, and your heart pounds in your chest like a drum. You don’t know what to say, what to feel. Joe watches you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, his hesitation palpable. And then, before you can process what’s happening, his lips are on yours.

It’s not rough or demanding like you might have expected. It’s soft, tentative, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. His hands slide from your arms to your waist, anchoring you gently, and you can feel the tension in his body as he holds back.

For a moment, you freeze, torn between the urge to push him away and the overwhelming need to lean into him. But then your walls crack, and you kiss him back, your hands clutching at the front of his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Joe pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. His breathing is unsteady, his expression a mix of relief and something deeper. Without a word, he steps forward, his hands tightening around your waist as he gently pushes you through the door.

You don’t resist. You can’t.

He closes the door behind him with a quiet click, then sweeps you off your feet in one swift, effortless motion. You let out a small gasp, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carries you down the hall toward your bedroom.

“Joe…” you begin, but he silences you with a look—a look so tender, so unlike the Joe you thought you knew, that your words die on your lips.

By the time he lays you down on the bed, the anger and frustration from moments ago have evaporated, replaced by something else entirely. Something that hums between you like a live wire.

He hovers over you, his weight supported by his arms on either side of your head. His eyes search yours, silently asking for permission, for understanding. And when you nod, so small and uncertain, he dips his head to kiss you again, this time deeper, more sure of himself.

Your hands find their way to his hair, tugging gently as he trails his lips down your jaw, your neck, every touch making your pulse race. He’s careful, almost reverent, as if afraid to break the fragile moment you’re sharing.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—Joe Burrow isn’t the selfish, cocky guy you thought he was. Maybe, behind all the bravado, he’s just a boy who wanted you to see him. And now, you finally do.

Joe’s lips trail along the curve of your neck, leaving a warm, electric path in their wake. He takes his time, his breath hot against your skin, and every deliberate touch makes your pulse thunder louder in your ears.

His hands glide over your waist, fingers pressing lightly, almost teasing as they trace the hem of your shirt. You feel his smile against your neck when you squirm slightly beneath him, a soft laugh rumbling in his chest.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “No more yelling? No smart remarks?”

You swallow hard, trying to find some semblance of control, but the way his hands move, the way his lips hover so close yet don’t quite touch, leaves you breathless. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say to you right now,” you shoot back, though your voice wavers.

Joe chuckles, lifting his head to look at you, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, I don’t believe that for a second,” he says, his thumb brushing over the strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up. “You’ve always got something to say to me. Even if it’s just to tell me to fuck off.”

You glare at him, but it’s half-hearted, your resolve crumbling as he dips his head again, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I like it when you get all fired up,” he whispers, his tone teasing. “But I think I like this quiet side of you even more.”

You huff, trying to ignore the way your body betrays you, leaning into him despite yourself. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Joe smirks, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His hand slides under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin, and you shiver at the contact. “Maybe,” he admits, his tone smug, “but you’re still here, aren’t you?”

You want to retort, to wipe that cocky grin off his face, but before you can, he shifts his weight, his lips capturing yours again. This time, the kiss is slower, deeper, and you feel the teasing edge in his movements as he kisses you until you forget whatever comeback you had planned.

His fingers inch higher, tracing light patterns on your stomach, deliberately avoiding the places where you want him most. It’s infuriating, how easily he has you unraveling, and when he pulls back just enough to smirk down at you, you let out an exasperated groan.

“You’re infuriating,” you mutter, tugging at his shirt in frustration.

Joe leans down, his nose brushing against yours, his lips curling into a playful grin. “But you’re not telling me to stop.”

He shifts again, his hands sliding up to frame your face as he kisses you once more. His lips are soft but insistent, drawing you in until all you can focus on is him—his weight pressing you into the mattress, the warmth of his skin, the way his touch sets every nerve in your body alight.

“Say the word,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft but laced with a challenge. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You stare up at him, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. But the word never comes. Instead, you pull him down again, your fingers threading through his hair as you kiss him with all the pent-up frustration, anger, and longing that’s been building between you for weeks.

Joe groans softly, his hands sliding down your sides, his teasing touch giving way to something more intentional. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs against your lips, his tone smug but laced with something warmer, something that makes your stomach flip.

Joe's lips find yours again, the kiss deepening as his teasing facade begins to slip. His hands roam your body with more purpose now, fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s memorizing every curve. He nips lightly at your bottom lip, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Still hate me?” he whispers, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. He moves back slowly, before pulling off your leggings, his eyes never leaving yours.

You bite back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, you pull him closer, your nails grazing the back of his neck, and the quiet groan he lets out is enough to make your pulse race.

The leggings are long forgotten now, leaving you exposed in your underwear. Joe chuckles softly, his breath fanning against your lips as he trails kisses along your jaw, then lower, his teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin of your neck. His tongue follows, soothing the faint sting, and the combination has your hands fisting in his shirt.

“You’re not as tough as you act, you know,” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. His hands slide beneath your shirt, his palms warm against your bare skin as he pushes the fabric up slowly. “I think you like this way more than you’re letting on.”

“You talk too much,” you manage to gasp, but your retort loses its bite when his thumb grazes just beneath your ribs, sending a rush of heat through your body.

Joe pulls back just enough to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. He takes a moment to look at you, his blue eyes dark and filled with something you can’t quite name, and for a second, the teasing smirk is gone, replaced by something softer.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard.

Your breath hitches, and you feel your cheeks flush under his gaze. Before you can overthink it, his lips are on you again, softer this time but no less insistent. His hands trace slow, deliberate patterns along your sides, his thumbs brushing just beneath the band of your bra, and you arch into his touch without meaning to.

Joe grins against your skin, clearly pleased with your reaction. “That’s more like it,” he murmurs, his lips trailing lower as he presses kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, and then to the edge of the fabric.

He pauses, glancing up at you as his fingers toy with the clasp, his expression both playful and questioning. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says again, his tone softer now, without the usual cockiness.

But stopping is the furthest thing from your mind. Instead, you pull him down to you, your lips crashing into his with a fervor that answers his unspoken question.

Joe groans against your mouth, his hands moving to unclasp your bra with surprising ease, and you feel the shift in his demeanor as his teasing gives way to something more raw, more urgent. His lips trail lower, leaving a path of heat in their wake, and every deliberate touch has your body humming with anticipation.

“Still hate me?” he asks again, his voice rough and teasing, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes as he looks up at you.

You reach for him, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer. “Shut up, Joe,” you whisper, your voice breathless but firm, and for once, he listens.

Joe's smirk returns, but it’s softer now, laced with something warmer than his usual arrogance. He lets out a quiet laugh, the sound low and full of disbelief, as if he can’t quite believe where the night has led. But he doesn’t argue. Instead, he lets his lips and hands do the talking, his touch reverent but still filled with that undeniable fire that seems to burn between you.

He slowly pulls away, looking up at you with a small smirk before he gets up. Before you could start questioning him, he takes off his shirt and sweats swiftly, your eyes widening at his body.

Joe’s smirk deepens as he catches the way your eyes widen, lingering on his toned frame. His confidence seems to grow with every second you stay silent, your gaze betraying the sharp tongue you usually use to deflect him. He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to drink him in.

“You’re staring,” he teases, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes burn with something more primal. “I knew you liked looking at me, but this is a new level.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat rushing to your cheeks gives you away. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter, trying to sound dismissive, but your voice wavers slightly, betraying the effect he has on you.

Joe chuckles, leaning down to brace his hands on either side of you, his face inches from yours. “Too late for that,” he says, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “You’ve already done it for me.”

Before you can fire back, he trails his hand down your side, fingers skimming over your waist and hip with maddening slowness. He presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another to the swell of your chest, each one softer than the last, as if he’s savoring the way you shiver beneath his touch.

You can feel his hardened bulge against your stomach, and you're just about done with his teasing. You need him, now. “Joe,” you whined as he pulls back with a smirk.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he says, his voice low and raw. “But I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Before you can reply, his lips are on yours again, his kiss stealing whatever snarky comeback you might have had. His hands move with purpose, sliding over every inch of bare skin, and the slow, deliberate way he touches you has your body aching for more.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against your lips, the words a quiet challenge. But you don’t. You can’t.

Instead, you pull him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him with all the frustration and longing you’ve been holding back for weeks. Joe groans, the sound vibrating against your lips as his teasing slips away entirely, replaced by something deeper, more desperate.

“God, you’re impossible,” he mutters, his voice laced with both exasperation and awe. But his actions betray the truth—he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He finally pulls away, breathless as he gazes down at you, his eyes filled with adoration and lust. “I'm gonna fuck you, alright?” he mutters before leaning closer. “And for all those times you pissed me off, and annoyed me, I'll forget about all of that if I can just... hear you.”

You're caught off by the request and you almost think he's joking, but you're mistaken. He's dead serious. All you could was nod slowly in response and Joe leans away, pleased.

Joe’s control starts to slip, and it’s evident in the way his kisses grow hungrier, more urgent. His hands tremble slightly as they trail over your body, mapping out every curve like he’s afraid this moment will disappear. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide and his breathing uneven.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispers, his voice raw, the cocky edge completely gone. “You’ve been driving me insane for months.”

Then finally, he slowly peels off his briefs, and his large, hardened cock falls out.

Joe lets out a small groan as his head falls back, relief in his expression. His pink tip is already leaking with pre-cum. You practically faint at the sight, you couldn't help but let out a whimper. His hands find his cock before he slowly begins to pump it, his eyes finding yours again.

He spreads your legs open before leaning in, his lips finding yours as his hands lead his cock to your cunt. His forehead falls against yours as he slowly begins to insert himself, a heavenly groan leaving his lips at the feeling of your warm, tight walls.

You felt like you were being split in half, in the best way possible. You can't even describe how good his cock felt, he wasn't even a quarter inside of you, but you still felt like you were filled to the brim.

“O-oh, fuck, Joey,” you moaned as your swollen lips form an O, your head falling back onto the plush pillows. Now you understood why the girls in his apartment were so loud—they definitely weren't exaggerating.

His hands grip your hips firmly, pulling you closer as if he wasn't inside of you already. His lips crash against yours again, the kiss filled with desperation, like he’s trying to pour every suppressed emotion into it. It’s intoxicating, the way his need for you feels almost overwhelming, and you find yourself clutching at his shoulders, wanting to be as close as possible.

He bottoms you out slowly, and he tries to give you a second to adjust—he really, really tried. He just couldn't. He slowly started thrusting in and out of you, and before you could even process the change in speed, he was rocking his hips against yours like the world depended on it.

The bed was creaking loudly underneath the two of you, the only sounds that could be heard was your loud moans, his grunts of pleasure, and the sound of skin against skin.

His cock was dizzying, to say the least. It hit all the spots you swore nobody had ever reached, making you question all your previous partners. You couldn't even form a singular thought about anything else except for Joe's huge cock and the way he was making you feel.

“Joe!” You manage to gasp as he begins to pound into you impossibly harder, but he cuts you off with another kiss, groaning softly against your lips.

“Say my name again,” he demands, his voice husky and edged with desperation. He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that makes you gasp as his hands spread your legs wider, pinning you to the mattress.

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours again, his kisses growing more frantic, more needy. His hands are everywhere, exploring, worshipping, as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away. The way he touches you, the way he whispers your name like a prayer, leaves you utterly undone.

His words make your head spin, and you can’t find a response. You're too caught up in the way he was pounding into you, like a fucking animal.

But Joe doesn’t seem to care; he’s too caught up in you, his hips moving faster and faster until you're practically crying out loud. His hands roam your body as if he’s memorizing every curve, every inch of skin. There’s no pretense now, no games—just raw, unfiltered desire.

You begin to feel the knot in your stomach begin to form, tight and persistent. You begin to grip his shoulders even tighter, your head falling back into the pillow as you moaned.

“O-oh, fuck! I'm gonna cum, please.” You began rambling as your legs wrapped around his waist, his hips not faltering one bit—if anything, he began going faster.

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” He grunted out, his own impending orgasm. “Cum for me, baby.”

That was all you needed. The knot in your stomach snapped violently, your whole body spasming as you cried out in utter pleasure. The orgasm washed over you perfectly as Joe's hips began to falter, and a few moments later, his cum spilled into you.

You both lie there, tangled in the sheets, your breathing ragged and your hearts racing as the room settles into a heavy, satisfied silence. Joe’s arm is draped lazily across your stomach, his fingers tracing light, absentminded patterns on your skin. The intimacy feels different now—softer, quieter, as if the storm that had built between you for so long had finally passed.

He exhales deeply, his chest still rising and falling against your side. “Well,” he says, his voice low and hoarse, “that was... long overdue.”

You glance over at him, your lips twitching into a faint smile despite yourself. “You think?” you reply dryly, the lingering warmth of the moment making it hard to muster the sharp edge your tone usually carries with him.

Joe turns his head to look at you, his hair mussed and sticking out in every direction, his cheeks still flushed. There’s that cocky grin of his, but it’s softer now, tinged with something you don’t think you’ve seen before—contentment, maybe. “Yeah,” he says, chuckling lightly. “So overdue I’m almost mad at us for waiting this long.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. His grin widens as he props himself up on one elbow, leaning over you. His gaze flicks across your face, and he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. “But hey,” he says, his voice taking on a playful tone, “now that I’ve finally got you right where I want you, I think it’s time to make this official.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you tilt your head at him. “Official?”

Joe nods solemnly, though the sparkle in his eyes gives him away. “Yup. A real date. No fighting, no yelling, no storming off. Just you, me, and a public setting where we try very hard not to tear each other’s clothes off.”

You snort, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Oh, is that so?”

“That’s so,” he replies with a grin, catching your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, his gaze softening. “Come on, let me take you out. I’ll even behave. Swear.”

You arch a skeptical brow, though the warmth in your chest betrays you. “Behave? You? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Joe leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “Guess you’ll just have to say yes and find out,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but undeniably sincere.

You roll your eyes again, but there’s no hiding the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Fine,” you say, trying to sound reluctant but failing miserably. “One date. But if you embarrass me, it’s the last one.”

Joe’s grin is blinding as he flops back down beside you, pulling you against his chest. “Deal,” he says, his voice full of triumph. “You won’t regret it. Best date of your life, guaranteed.”

You shake your head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he counters, his tone smug as his hand tightens around yours.

Maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[sonarspace]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆STUDY BREAK (FT. GOJO)

꒰ synopsis. being in the same class as gojo satoru was bad enough; having him as the professor’s insufferably smug assistant made it worse. content. college au. nsfw. (teasing. slight praise kınk. fıngering. oräl. p in v. multiple ōrgasms.) wc. 5.3k. an. to clear up any confusion 😭.. satoru’s a senior student + the professor’s assistant in the course you’re both taking. (fic is kinda all over the place so idk if this works but let’s pretend like it does).

there’s something about gojo satoru that drives you insane. not in the fun, heart-fluttering way that comes with a secret crush or the thrill of banter. no—this is the kind of insane where you want to hurl something, preferably at his stupidly smug face.

“class,” he drawls, leaning lazily against the desk at the front of the room, his shirt slightly rumpled like he doesn’t give a damn—and he doesn’t. “these papers? a mixed bag. some of you really impressed me. others… well.” his lips curve into a smirk. “let’s just say the recycling bin was hungry.”

you groan inwardly, already sensing where this is going. he’s done this before, holding your work hostage like it’s part of his routine entertainment.

“and here,” he continues, brandishing a paper like a prop. your paper. “is a prime example of someone… almost getting there. strong ideas, decent execution, but the conclusion? oof. fell harder than my GPA sophomore year.”

a few students laugh. your jaw tightens, the heat in your chest bubbling up into something sharp and biting. he doesn’t have to name you; everyone knows exactly whose paper he’s waving around.

“anyway,” he finishes with a shrug, tossing the paper onto the desk like it’s disposable. “there’s potential. keep at it.”

you don’t even wait for class to end before your resolve solidifies: you’re going to kill him. maybe not literally, but metaphorically? absolutely.

you don’t plan on storming to his dorm room. it just… happens. one moment, you’re replaying his smug grin and the way his eyes gleamed when he mocked your paper, and the next, you’re standing outside his door, your fist raised to knock.

he answers quickly, and the sight of him makes you falter. his hair is damp, sticking out in soft tufts like he just got out of the shower, and his plain white t-shirt clings to him in a way that’s almost—no. you shake the thought away.

“well, this is unexpected,” he says, leaning against the doorframe with a grin that’s all teeth. “if you wanted private tutoring, you could’ve just asked.”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you snap, brushing past him into the room without waiting for an invitation.

he whistles low under his breath. “feisty tonight. to what do I owe the pleasure?”

you spin to face him, your hands clenched at your sides. “what is your problem with me?”

he blinks, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second before returning full force. “problem? sweetheart, i don’t have a problem with you.”

“you humiliate me in class,” you say, your voice rising. “you make these comments, you single me out—what, are you that bored with your life?”

“humiliate?” he echoes, feigning a wounded look. “i think you mean ‘motivate.’ you’re one of the smartest people in that class. if i don’t push you, who will?”

“that’s bullshit,” you fire back, stepping closer. “you don’t ‘push’ anyone else.”

“because no one else is as fun,” he replies easily, his grin tilting into something sharper. “the way you react, the fire in your eyes—it’s addictive.”

your breath catches, the heat in your chest spreading to your cheeks. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, here you are,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to make the air between you feel heavier. “in my room. alone.”

“because you drive me crazy,” you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

his eyebrows lift slightly, as if he’s genuinely intrigued by your outburst. “good crazy or bad crazy?”

he takes a step closer, too close. the kind of close that makes your pulse stutter and your instincts scream at you to step back—but you don’t. instead, you stand your ground, your jaw clenched as he waits for your answer, his gaze steady and almost daring.

“what does it matter?” you mutter, your voice quieter now, the heat of your earlier anger ebbing into something more uncertain.

“it matters,” he says, his voice low as his eyes flicker to your lips. “because I need to know if I can do this.”

before you can ask what he means, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. but you don’t. his hand finds your waist, tugging you closer as the kiss deepens, his mouth hot and insistent against yours.

it’s like a dam breaking. weeks—months—of tension and unspoken words all come crashing down in a rush of heat and urgency. his other hand slides into your hair, tilting your head to kiss you deeper, and the sound you make in response is embarrassing and needy, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

you should stop this. you should push him away, tell him he’s crossed a line. but the way his thumb brushes against your waist, the way he tilts his head just right, the way he kisses like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as you have—it’s addictive. you can’t stop. you don’t want to.

but then reality slams into you like a cold gust of wind. what are you doing? your chest tightens as the weight of it crashes down all at once, the heat between you dissolving into something sharper, more terrifying.

you pull back abruptly, your breathing uneven. “i can’t.”

he blinks, his expression softening from one of heat to confusion. “what?”

“this—this is a mistake,” you stammer, backing away. your hands feel clumsy as they fumble behind you for the door. “i shouldn’t have come here.”

“wait.” his hand reaches out, almost instinctively, but you’re already opening the door, your chest tight and your mind racing as you step out into the hall. you don’t look back, even as the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin.

────

you avoid him after that. in class, you sit as far from him as possible, claiming a seat in the back corner, close to the door. the usual tension he brought to the room—his teasing remarks, his piercing gaze when he caught you rolling your eyes—feels conspicuously absent. he doesn’t call on you, doesn’t glance your way, doesn’t even acknowledge you.

it’s been weeks since that night in his dorm, and as the semester nears its end, the distance feels heavier with every passing class. his silence, once the thing you desperately wanted, now presses on your chest like a weight. you wonder if he regrets it, if he’s just as caught in the what-ifs as you are—or if he’s already forgotten.

the final project looms, deadlines creeping closer, but the distraction isn’t enough to stop the quiet ache that’s settled in your chest. you remind yourself it’s for the best. boundaries were crossed, a line you know you shouldn’t have stepped over. it doesn’t matter how he made you feel, how his kisses left you breathless and yearning. none of it matters.

and yet, every time you leave class, you rush, head down, praying he won’t stop you. and every time he doesn’t, the ache grows.

when class ends today, the air feels heavier than usual. your peers chatter around you, their voices blending into background noise as you pack your things quickly, eyes fixed on the door. if you can just slip out unnoticed, avoid another day of walking the tightrope you’ve been balancing on since that night—

but then a hand wraps gently around your wrist, warm and familiar.

“you’re avoiding me,” he says, his voice low and steady. there’s no edge to it, no teasing grin or smug undertone. just quiet certainty, like he’s stating a fact.

you freeze, your heart thudding in your chest. it’s been so long since he’s said anything to you that the sound of his voice directed at you feels foreign.

“i’m late,” you mumble, tugging your wrist weakly in an attempt to free yourself. “let me go.”

“you don’t have any classes after this,” he says, his grip loosening but not letting go. his eyes meet yours, calm but resolute. “i checked your schedule.”

your jaw tightens, irritation flashing through you. “you shouldn’t have access to my schedule.”

“probably not,” he admits with a shrug, a hint of the old satoru creeping into his voice, “but i’m me.”

you open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him to back off, but he cuts you off first. “come have coffee with me.”

you blink, caught off guard by the casual offer. “what?”

“coffee,” he repeats, his tone light, as if this is perfectly normal. “you like coffee, don’t you?”

“that’s not the point,” you snap, yanking your wrist free from his grasp. “what is this, some weird apology?”

“it’s not weird,” he says, his smirk faltering slightly now, his expression open and strangely earnest. “it’s just coffee. with me.”

you stare at him, struggling to find the right words. “gojo,” you begin, your voice heavy, “you and i are not friends.”

his face falls, the shift so quick and unexpected that it makes your stomach twist. you see the way his shoulders tense, the way his gaze drops for just a moment, but you force yourself to look away. without giving him a chance to reply, you turn and push past him, your steps quick and unsteady as you leave the classroom.

the ache in your chest grows with every step, and even as you round the corner, out of sight, the image of his expression lingers. there’s no relief this time. only guilt.

────

you don’t know why you’re here. no, that’s a lie—you know exactly why you’re here. the memory of his expression, the slight drop of his shoulders at your retort, has been looping in your mind, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

your feet carry you down the familiar path to his dorm, the ache in your chest twisting tighter with every step. before you can talk yourself out of it, your fist is already knocking on the door.

it opens almost immediately, and the sight of him steals the breath from your lungs. his white hair is a mess, sticking up in chaotic directions, and his glasses are perched crookedly on his nose. there’s a faint crease on his cheek, like he’d been leaning against a book, and his shirt hangs loosely off one shoulder, rumpled from sleep or hours spent working. he looks… soft. disarming. almost painfully cute.

“coffee,” you say, holding up the cups like a white flag. “can i come in?”

his lips twitch, a hint of a smile breaking through the haze of surprise as he steps aside. “bribery, huh? didn’t think you had it in you.”

his dorm is as cluttered as you remember—papers and notebooks sprawled across his desk, a blinking laptop shoved precariously to one side. you set the coffee down on the edge of the desk, your gaze catching on the scrawled notes and dense blocks of text.

“grading?” you ask.

“research,” he replies, dropping onto the edge of his bed with a tired sigh. his hand rakes through his already-messy hair, making it stick up even more. “finals prep. you know, glamorous TA things.”

you hand him a cup, your fingers brushing against his as he takes it. the simple contact sends a jolt up your arm that you stubbornly ignore. “thought you could use it.”

he hums as he takes a sip, his lashes fluttering briefly before he lets out a quiet sound of approval. the noise is so low, so soft, it makes your stomach twist. you glance away quickly, your grip tightening on your own cup.

“about the other day,” you start, the words quiet and tentative.

he glances up, the coffee still in his hands. his expression is unreadable, but his fingers still against the cup, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. “you don’t have to explain,” he says, setting his cup down on the desk. “if you don’t want this—if i got it wrong—just say so.”

“it’s not that,” you blurt, the words tumbling out too fast, too raw. warmth floods your cheeks, creeping down to your chest. “i just… i don’t know what this is.”

he doesn’t respond immediately, doesn’t fall into his usual teasing deflection. instead, he stands, crossing the small space between you with deliberate steps. his gaze holds yours, steady and unguarded, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you can’t control.

“let me show you,” he says softly, his voice low, uncharacteristically serious.

he’s so close now, his hand brushing against yours, his touch light, almost hesitant. and then his lips are on yours, and everything else fades away.

this kiss is nothing like the first. there’s no uncertainty, no restraint. his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moves against yours, hot and insistent. your grip on the coffee slips, the cup hitting the floor with a dull thud as your hands find his shoulders, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

when his hands slide under your shirt, the roughness of his palms against your bare skin makes you shudder. he guides you backward, his body pressing into yours until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. you sink down, the weight of him grounding you as he follows, his lips trailing fire along your jaw and down your neck.

his hands are everywhere—tracing the curve of your waist, brushing the underside of your ribs, exploring like he’s memorizing every inch of you. when he pulls back to look at you, his lips are curved in a wicked, breath-stealing grin.

“you’re infuriating,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as his eyes rake over you, drinking in every detail.

“you’re worse,” you manage, though your voice is barely more than a whisper.

his grin widens, and his laugh is warm against your skin as he dips his head, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “you’re already so worked up. it’s cute.”

“shut up,” you snap, though the way your hips arch into his touch betrays you.

“make me,” he challenges, his lips brushing against yours before descending lower, kissing down your collarbone and tugging your shirt higher with every inch. his hands roam greedily, tugging the fabric over your head and tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.

his mouth is back on you immediately, nipping and kissing along the swell of your breasts as his hands work the clasp of your bra. when it comes free, his lips part in a satisfied hum, his hands kneading your soft skin like he’s savoring every second of this.

“so fucking perfect,” he mutters, his voice husky as he leans back slightly to take in the sight of you. his gaze is heavy, filled with something dark and hungry that makes your stomach twist in the best way.

“stop staring,” you grumble, though the heat in your cheeks betrays the sharpness of your words.

“can’t help it,” he says, his grin tilting into something softer, more genuine. “you’re gorgeous.”

before you can respond, his mouth is back on you, his tongue flicking over your nipple as his other hand trails down your stomach, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of your pants. your breath hitches as he pauses, his gaze flicking up to meet yours.

“can i?” he asks, his voice quieter now, his expression serious.

you nod, and he wastes no time. his fingers hook under the fabric, tugging your pants and underwear down in one swift motion. the cool air against your bare skin makes you shiver, but the warmth of his hands is there immediately, coaxing you to relax under his touch.

“look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick as his hands part your thighs, his gaze drinking in every inch of you. “so fucking pretty.”

your cheeks flush, and you try to turn your head away, but his hand cups your chin, gently coaxing you to meet his eyes. “don’t hide from me,” he says, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “not tonight.”

his other hand slides between your thighs, his touch featherlight at first, teasing. when his thumb brushes over your clit, a jolt of heat shoots through you, and your hips buck involuntarily.

“sensitive,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a wicked grin. “i barely touched you, and you’re already squirming.”

“shut up,” you snap, your voice shaky as your fingers clutch at the sheets beneath you. but the way your body reacts—arching into his touch, chasing the pressure—makes it clear that his teasing isn’t far from the truth.

“you don’t really want me to, do you?” his voice is low, almost a growl, and the sound of it sends a shiver down your spine. “i think you like when i talk to you like this. when i tell you how good you’re doing, how fucking beautiful you look right now.”

your chest heaves as his fingers dip lower, sliding through your slick folds with infuriating slowness. every movement feels deliberate, calculated, like he’s savoring every second. when his fingers finally slip inside you, the stretch makes your head fall back, a gasp tumbling from your lips.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his thumb circling your clit as his fingers begin to move, slow and deliberate at first. “you feel so fucking good, baby. so perfect.”

your hands fly to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he curls his fingers, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur. “oh my god—gojo—”

he tuts sharply, his fingers pausing inside you, his thumb stalling its maddening rhythm. your head snaps up, breathless and confused, to find him staring down at you with a dark look, his lips curving into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“no,” he says firmly, his voice low and commanding as he tilts his head. “say satoru.”

“w-what?” you stammer, your heart racing as his fingers remain perfectly still, the tension building with every passing second.

“not ‘gojo,’” he says again, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, his grin sharpening. “say satoru.”

you hesitate, your breath hitching as your body trembles beneath him. he presses his fingers deeper, curling them just enough to make your toes curl, and your resolve shatters.

“satoru,” you gasp, your voice breaking on the syllables.

his smirk widens, something dark and triumphant flickering in his eyes. “good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb resuming its slow, torturous circles on your clit as his fingers pick up their rhythm again, harder this time, deeper.

your head falls back against the mattress, your body arching into his touch as the pleasure builds again, higher and hotter than before. his name tumbles from your lips like a mantra, breathless and needy as he drives you closer to the edge.

“that’s it,” he coaxes, his voice dripping with praise as his free hand slides down your body, his touch possessive. “just like that, baby. let go for me.”

the coil in your stomach tightens to the breaking point, and when he curls his fingers just right, pressing against the perfect spot, it snaps. your orgasm crashes over you, white-hot and overwhelming, and his name spills from your lips in a broken moan.

“satoru—fuck—”

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough with approval as he works you through the waves of pleasure, his movements slowing but never stopping until your body goes slack beneath him, trembling and spent.

he pulls his hand away slowly, his gaze fixed on you as he brings his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with a deliberate, satisfied hum. “even better than i imagined,” he says, his voice dripping with arrogance, his eyes gleaming as they roam over your flushed, trembling body.

you blink, your breath still uneven as his words settle over you. “wait—” you say, your voice catching slightly. “you’ve thought about this?”

his grin widens, slow and deliberate, and he leans down, bracing himself on his forearms so his face is just inches from yours. “oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “you really think i haven’t?”

your cheeks flush even hotter, your pulse racing as his words sink in. “you’re—” you stammer, at a rare loss for words. “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculous?” he repeats, feigning offense, though the wicked glint in his eyes never falters. “i’d say i’m a man of focus. you’ve been in my head for weeks, driving me insane with that sharp mouth and the way you look at me when you think i don’t notice.”

“i don’t—” you begin, but his lips curve into a knowing smirk, cutting you off.

“you do,” he insists, his tone softening just slightly. “and every time you glared at me, every time you rolled your eyes or bit back some little retort, all i could think about was how much i wanted to shut you up. like this.”

his lips capture yours again, and this kiss is slower, heavier, laced with an intensity that makes your toes curl. his hands roam, sliding over your bare skin with a reverence that feels almost out of place against his words.

when he finally pulls back, his gaze is still on you, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “and now that i’ve got you,” he says, his voice dipping into something darker, “i don’t think i’ll ever get enough.”

the weight of his confession leaves you breathless, and before you can respond, his lips are trailing down your body again, his hands parting your thighs as he settles between them.

“what are you—” you start, but his eyes flick up to meet yours, and the look in them steals the rest of your words.

“relax,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a soft, almost mischievous smile. “i’m not done tasting you yet.”

his hands slide to grip your thighs, pulling you apart with ease as his lips descend, brushing over your inner thighs, teasingly slow. his tongue flicks out, hot and wet against your skin, and when his mouth finally finds you again, you feel your body arch instinctively, your breath leaving in a sharp, unrestrained gasp.

he’s relentless. his tongue drags up your folds in a languid stroke before circling your clit with maddening precision. his mouth is hot, the slick, wet sounds mingling with your soft moans, and his breath—warm and uneven—fans against your skin with every movement.

his hair brushes against your thighs, soft and messy, and your fingers thread through it again, tugging sharply enough to make him groan against you. the vibration of it sends a jolt of pleasure straight through your core, and your hips buck against his mouth.

“satoru,” you gasp, but it’s barely coherent, your voice breaking as he latches onto your clit, sucking just enough to make your toes curl. “oh my—”

the cold press of something against your inner thigh pulls you out of the haze, just barely. it’s sharp, unfamiliar, and you glance down—his glasses. they’re still perched on his nose, slightly crooked, the metal frame fogging faintly from the heat of his breath. he’s so lost in the moment, so focused on the way his tongue works against you, that he hasn’t even noticed.

your hand drifts down, brushing against the cool frame, and you slip them off without a word. the absurdity of it—the way he’s been eating you out with his glasses still on—makes you want to laugh. the corners of your mouth twitch, and a soft sound bubbles up in your throat, but then his tongue presses flat against your folds, dragging up in one slow, deliberate motion, and the laugh dissolves into a sharp moan.

your head falls back against the pillow, your hand tangling back in his hair as you toss the glasses onto the bed with the other. the noise they make as they hit the mattress is faint, drowned out by the obscene wet sounds of his mouth, the low hums of satisfaction he lets out as he devours you.

“fuck,” you whimper, your thighs trembling as his tongue flicks against your clit again, faster now, more insistent. your body arches instinctively, chasing the pressure, and his hands tighten on your thighs, pulling you even closer to his mouth.

he growls against you, the sound low and rough, vibrating through you in a way that makes your toes curl. his tongue dips lower, teasing your entrance before sliding back up, and the sharp scrape of his teeth against your swollen clit has you seeing stars.

“so fucking sweet,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your slick skin. “can’t get enough of you, baby.”

you can’t respond, can’t think. the only thing you can focus on is the way his tongue works against you, precise and relentless, building the heat in your stomach until it’s unbearable. your fingers twist in his hair, pulling harder, and the groan he lets out in response sends you spiraling.

“satoru—” his name falls from your lips like a prayer, breathless and broken. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, his mouth dragging you closer and closer to the edge until you can’t hold on any longer.

your orgasm hits you hard, ripping through you in waves that leave your entire body trembling. your hips jerk against his hold, your moans loud and unrestrained as you ride it out. his tongue slows, working you through every aftershock until you’re left panting, boneless against the bed.

when he finally pulls back, his chest is heaving, his lips and chin glistening with your slick. his hair is a mess, strands sticking up where your fingers had tugged, and his eyes—those impossibly bright blues—flick up to meet yours, gleaming with satisfaction.

“twice,” he says, his voice low and teasing as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

he sits back on his knees, his hands smoothing over your trembling thighs as he takes in the sight of you—flushed, panting, your chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. his grin is lazy, self-satisfied, like he knows exactly what he’s done to you.

“you’re staring,” you mutter weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“hard not to,” he replies, his tone low and full of amusement. his fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, his touch soft, teasing. “you look so fucking good when you come.”

your cheeks burn, and you want to glare at him, to tell him to shut up, but the words catch in your throat as he reaches for the hem of his shirt. in one fluid motion, he pulls it over his head and tosses it to the side, the movement effortless and maddeningly confident.

your eyes follow the shift of his muscles, the way they ripple under his skin, lean and defined. a faint sheen of sweat glistens across his chest, catching the dim light, highlighting every sharp line and curve. your gaze drifts lower, down to the sharp ridges of his abdomen. the faint trail of white hair starting just below his navel draws your attention, leading your eyes further, until his hands move to the waistband of his boxers.

he doesn’t rush. he hooks his thumbs under the fabric, dragging it down slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation coil tighter in your stomach. as the fabric falls away, your breath hitches.

he’s fully bare now, and your mouth goes dry.

his cock is… breathtaking. thick and flushed a deep pink at the tip, already leaking beads of precum that catch the light as they drip down the length. it’s long, the kind of length that makes your thighs press together instinctively, wondering how he’ll fit, but the heat pooling low in your stomach burns hotter, overriding any hesitation.

his hand wraps around it, and he strokes himself slowly, his thumb swiping over the head to collect the wetness there. the motion is deliberate, almost lazy, and the soft groan he lets out sends a shiver down your spine.

you’re staring—you know you are—and he notices, his lips curving into a wicked grin as his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing as he leans forward, the head of his cock brushing against your folds, slick and hot. “i’ll make it fit.”

his words send a shiver through you, his voice low and dripping with confidence. the weight of his cock against your folds, hot and heavy, is enough to make your hips twitch instinctively, chasing the friction. but he doesn’t push in right away—of course he doesn’t. instead, he drags the head up and down your slick, letting it catch on your clit with every pass, teasing you until you’re squirming beneath him.

“satoru,” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. you’re not above begging at this point. “please.”

his grin widens, his head dipping to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “what’s the rush, baby? we’ve got all night.”

“satoru,” you repeat, more insistently this time, and he groans at the sound of his name on your lips, his cock twitching against you.

“fuck,” he mutters, his voice tight now, losing some of that smug edge. “you sound so pretty when you beg.”

he lines himself up, his hand still wrapped around the base as he presses the head against your entrance. the stretch is immediate, a sharp, overwhelming mix of pleasure and pressure as he pushes in slowly, inch by inch.

“holy shit,” he breathes, his voice rough as his head falls forward, his hair brushing against your cheek. “you’re so fucking tight.”

your fingers clutch at his shoulders, your breath catching as he sinks deeper, the fullness stealing every coherent thought from your mind. he pauses halfway, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his.

“you okay?” he asks, and there’s something softer in his voice now, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.

you nod, your voice shaky as you answer. “yeah. just—keep going.”

his jaw tightens, and he exhales slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he starts to move again. every inch feels impossibly deep, your walls stretching around him, and when he finally bottoms out, you both pause, your breaths mingling as you try to adjust.

“fuck,” he groans again, his voice strained as his hips twitch against yours. “you feel so good. better than i ever—” he cuts himself off with a shaky laugh, shaking his head. “shit, you’re perfect.”

you can barely respond, the stretch and fullness leaving you trembling. but then he starts to move, pulling out almost entirely before sliding back in with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. the drag of his cock against your walls is enough to have you moaning, your head falling back against the pillow.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his voice rough and approving as he sets a steady rhythm. “good girl. taking me so well.”

your hands trail down his back, your nails scraping lightly against his skin, and the groan he lets out sends a fresh wave of heat through you. his movements quicken, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, and every thrust has him hitting that perfect spot deep inside you, making you cry out.

“satoru—” his name falls from your lips again, and he leans down, his teeth grazing your neck as he thrusts harder, deeper.

“you’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips tighter, holding you in place as he drives into you. “you feel so good—so fucking perfect for me.”

the coil in your stomach tightens with every roll of his hips, the pressure building higher and higher until it’s unbearable. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in tight circles that make your vision blur, and your moans grow louder, more desperate.

“come for me,” he demands, his voice rough and low in your ear. “let me feel you.”

the command sends you over the edge. your orgasm rips through you, your body arching into his as you cry out, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. your walls clench around him, and the sensation makes him groan, his thrusts growing erratic as he chases his own release.

“fuck—” he gasps, burying himself as deep as he can go as he comes, the heat of him spilling into you, thick and warm. his head falls to your shoulder, his breath ragged against your skin as he rides out the last waves of pleasure.

the room is quiet except for the sound of your heavy breathing, the air thick and charged as he finally pulls back, his weight pressing into you as he collapses onto the bed beside you. his arm slides around your waist, pulling you against his chest as he presses a soft, lazy kiss to your temple.

“told you i’d make it fit,” he murmurs, his voice still rough, but there’s a hint of smugness there, his lips curving into a small grin.

you can’t help the laugh that escapes you, your body still trembling against his. “you’re such an asshole.”

“yeah,” he agrees, his tone light, teasing, as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “but you like it.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no heat to it, your lips curving into a faint smile as you bury your face against his chest. “shut up, satoru.”

“never,” he replies, and the warmth of his laughter vibrates through you, grounding you as your breaths slowly even out.

an. gojo with glasses... *hnnggghh*

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

[nicodiangelato]

Here's what I do that helps me get stuff done on time without stressing myself sick:

Split tasks up into their bare, basic components. Then, make a checklist of each component. Planners are my best friends, because I have an easier time remembering to do something if I write it down.

I find it a lot easier for me, motivation wise, to get through an essay by writing :

"do research/ find sources,

find quotations and create citations,

create an outline,

write paragraph (1,2,3, etc.),

edit rough draft,

create final draft"

because I can check off each little part and still feel like I'm making real, tangible progress vs. just putting down "turn in essay by (deadline)" in my planner.

Then, figure out what's the absolute *bare minimum* you need to do each day (or any other incriment of time that fits your schedule) to meet your deadline. Whatever it is, make sure to add an extra day or two as padding, so you can meet that deadline even if something comes up. Don't be afraid of asking for extensions or setting up accomodations. Be realistic with your limitations and time constraints.

For example: I have 5 hours of lecture I need to get through over Thanksgiving break to meet a deadline. Over 6 days, I need to watch at least 45 mins of a lecture each day. For me, 45 of lecture time is doable over a day because I know I dont have to do it all in one sitting. Realistically, I know it will take me anywhere from 1-5 hours to watch and take notes for these 45 minutes of lecture, because I am preemptively assuming I will need to take some breaks in between.

Breaks: when I get bored, I dont fight it. Instead, I take time to pivot. This is particularly helpful when I find myself doing something I have no interest in, and my brain does not for any reason want to let me do it. I take the time to scroll aimlessly, but also to get a drink/eat/use the restroom. I'm actually writing this while on a hw break right now. And when I get back from my break, all my stuff is in the same place where I left it at my desk, so I have a much better time easing my way into being productive again. If I still don't wanna work on what I was before, I start working on something relatively quick & easy from my to do list that I *do* want to do and ride the wave of productivity I get from finishing that.

The last part: reward yourself for the small victories. Yes checking things off a to do list is fun, but so are stickers. My planners are FULL of gold stars, smiley faces, and cute character stickers. There's a reason teachers use them, they are amazing motivators.

There's a bunch of adhd advice out there that's like "people with adhd tend to work better under deadlines due to the anxiety so here are ways to artificially induce a stress response in order to get you to get work done" and it's like well what if I don't want to be stressed out all the time in order to function

[pedroscurls]

touch starved (one-shot)

summary: logan agreed to go out with wade, having been promised a low-key night, but he should've known than to trust wade for his word. he didn't agree to spend his night at a strip club and he's just about ready to leave until he sees you. pairing: worst!wolverine x fem!reader content warnings: explicit smut (18+, mdni), porn without plot, lap dance, grinding / humping, striptease, one night stand (you take logan back to your apartment), unprotected p in v (be safe folks!), cowgirl, reader takes charge (and logan's more than happy to let you take the lead), oral - m receiving, swallowing logan's release. basically this story is all about catering to logan and his needs 🙂‍↕️, reader description (only clothes and hair), no use of y/n. word count: 3k a/n: coming at ya with yet another one-shot of logan filth lol. my own headcanon is that logan / worst!wolverine is touch starved (just as much as he craves to be part of something bigger than himself). anyway, hope y'all enjoy - it's a spicy one 🤭 song: closer by nine inch nails

“You promised a quiet night out, Wade,” Logan snarls at the other man, hand gripping his glass of whiskey. It’s too loud in here, the music blaring from the speakers, the flashing dark red lights illuminating mainly the stage where women are performing. There are plenty of men surrounding the stage, alcohol in one hand and dollar bills in the other.

“I promised no such thing,” Wade grins. “I said let’s go out and you agreed.”

Logan’s jaw tightens and he looks at Wade with narrowed eyes. “You’re a fuckin’ liar.” 

Wade laughs. “Come on, peanut! Have some fun. Let loose. Just sit back and relax–”

“I’m leavin’,” Logan interrupts, downing his entire glass before slamming it on the table. He stands up and gets ready to turn on his heel when he catches a glimpse of you at the corner of his eye. He turns slightly and watches the way your smile meets your eyes. You don’t look like you belong in a place like this, the other women wearing too much make up and revealing so much that it leaves little to the imagination. But you… You look absolutely breathtaking and Logan feels like he can’t move, can’t tear his eyes away from you.

Your hair cascades past your shoulders, your make up remaining light and natural. You’re dressed in an all black sheer robe with a lace cuff and satin waist belt. The robe is loosely wrapped around your frame, giving Logan a glimpse of your sheer mesh bra, the top of your bra trimmed with lace and when you undo the belt of your robe to reveal your lower half, he feels his breath catch in his throat. Your panties – or rather, your thong – matches the same style of your bra. 

It’s so innocent in comparison to the other women in the strip club, and yet, Logan can’t seem to take his eyes off of you. It’s only when he hears Wade’s voice that he finally looks away, even though he’s yearning to just look at you again.

“Oh, someone’s caught your eye,” Wade grins, swaying in his seat. “Want a private dance, Mr. Wolverine?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan says. “Like I said, I was leavin’–”

“So soon?” you interrupt and glance between both men. You flash a smile in Wade’s direction who looks like he’s about ready to combust with excitement. He’s sipping his drink with a straw, grinning in your direction. Then, you glance over at Logan whose eyes stare directly into your own. 

“Actually,” Wade says. “How much for a private dance…” he trails, staring up at you as he waits for you to say your name.

“Kitty,” you finish for him. “You can call me Kitty.”

“Very fitting,” Wade winks. “Well, Kitty, it’s my friend’s first night out in a very long time and I figured I can treat him to a private dance.”

“That’s very nice of you,” you respond, but your eyes never leave Logan’s. You can see his eyes flit over your frame, lingering on your exposed skin.

“Listen, you ain’t have to and–”

“How about the first one’s on me?” you interject. 

“Sweetheart,” Logan mumbles. 

You bite your lower lip and gently reach up to rest a hand on his arm. You can feel the muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt, can feel him flex it underneath your fingertips. Logan inhales sharply as he looks down at your hand, clearing his throat at your soft touch. 

“His name’s Logan, by the way,” Wade chimes in, cutting through the tension with a quiet giggle. 

“But only if you want to, Logan,” you whisper, moving your hand down his arm and to his forearm. You bat your eyelashes up at him, trying to ignore the obvious attraction you feel towards him. Truthfully, you’d rather spend the rest of your night with him rather than give dances to other men in the club – men who didn’t look like Logan. 

Logan feels his resolve diminishing, but when he hears his name leave your lips, he nods slowly. “Y– Yeah, sure.” 

“Great, come with me.” You smile and gently take his hand in yours. He looks down at it, taking notice of the way his large hand encompasses yours and he allows you to lead him towards the back of the club and into a much more private room. 

Once inside, Logan hears the door shut and he turns to face you, his eyes lingering on your frame. He watches you walk towards him, hips swaying to the muffled sound of the music until he feels your hands rest firmly on his chest. 

“You’re a shy one,” you point out, tongue darting out to lick your lower lip. 

“Not shy,” Logan mumbles. “Just bein’ respectful, sweetheart.” 

“Sexy and a gentleman?” you smile. “Mind if I keep you for the rest of the night?” you tease.

Logan feels a blush rise in his cheeks and lets out a quiet grunt when he feels you push him back against the large sofa. He stares up at you, eyes obviously now trailing your frame. He keeps his hands on his lap, though he yearns to reach out to touch you. 

“Logan,” you whisper, moving your hands to rest on the backs of the couch as you lean in until your lips are mere inches from one another. You’re slightly bent over to be at eye level with him and you smile, catching the way he clears his throat. “If you don’t want to do this, all you have to do is say so, okay?” 

“Okay,” he responds quietly. 

You smile and gently press a soft kiss on his cheek, slowly pulling away to see that his eyes had fallen shut. You turn on your heel and walk over to the speaker to put on a couple of songs that you normally play when you give a private dance. Pressing play on the first song, you then turn around to face him once more. He looks so large in this room – his legs spread open on the sofa, broad shoulders and chiseled muscle beneath the fabric of the flannel he’s wearing. This was only ever a job to you, never finding anyone all that interesting or attractive, but Logan – well, you’d risk your entire job if it meant you can have him for one night. 

As the first song plays and filters the room, your eyes meet Logan’s who is staring at you with an anticipated look on his face. His eyes move along your legs, up to your midsection and then up to your breasts and back down. Slowly, you remove your robe and let it pool around your ankles as you strut towards him. Your hips sway with each forward step and Logan lets out a shaky breath. 

Once you’re standing in front of him, between his legs, you lean down and gently brush your lips against the corner of his lips. His facial hair tickles your lips and you pull back enough to stare into his eyes, lips slowly grazing his own. “You can touch me,” you whisper and move your hands onto his strong shoulders, slowly straddling his hips. “To be honest, I’d let you do anything you’d want to me,” you say quietly into his ear. 

Logan’s large hands immediately move to your hips, gripping it tightly as you sit firmly on his lap. He’s so hard and he feels so embarrassed, but the look on your face when you feel him alleviates some of the uncertainty he’s feeling. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve felt a man’s erection while giving them a lap dance, but it is the first time that you actually let out a quiet moan as you slowly roll your hips against his own, to the beat of the song. The tension between you thickens in the air and you stare deeply into his eyes as you try to remember the routine that you normally do for this song. 

You let me violate you 

You let me desecrate you 

You let me penetrate you 

You let me complicate you

Logan’s hands slowly move from your hips to your thighs, his fingertips digging into the meat of your flesh as your hips roll against his. He clears his throat and watches as your eyes flutter with each movement. He has to wonder if this is all part of your act, that maybe you’re just acting like you’re enjoying this. 

“Logan,” you whisper, moving to slightly lean back in his lap. You move one hand from his shoulder to reach behind you and rest on his knee as you lift your hips before coming back down on his lap. Logan groans quietly, almost inaudibly, as he moves a hand to splay on your abdomen, slowly moving it upwards towards your breasts. 

I wanna fuck you like an animal

I wanna feel you from the inside

I wanna fuck you like an animal

My whole existence is flawed

You get me closer to God

When his thumb brushes against your nipple, feeling it peak beneath the sheer fabric of your bra, he has to wonder if maybe he crossed a line. Logan moves his hand away from you but you grab his wrist and move it back over your breasts. He smirks and wraps his free arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he leans forward. 

You let out a quiet moan and feel a wetness settle between your legs that you have to lift your hips off of him, not wanting to stain his dark jeans with your arousal. Slowly, you stand back up and hear him let out a quiet, disapproving groan. You stand between his legs, moving one hand in your hair as you use the other to run along your body, grazing your own breasts and down between the valley of your thighs as your hips sway to each beat of the song.

You tear down my reason

(Help me) it's your sex I can smell

(Help me) you make me perfect

Help me become somebody else

Logan can smell your arousal, can smell just how excited you are and the uncertainty he felt earlier is now completely gone. His hands move up your legs, fingertips hooking into the thin waistband of your thong, but he feels your hands move to rest over his. 

“Logan,” you say quietly. Even through the music, he can hear your voice, can hear the desire and yearning in your tone. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

“I want to take you home,” you admit, moving to sit back on his lap. “I know it’s very unprofessional, but–”

Logan grins. “Then take me home.” 

—

Logan had told Wade what happened, the other man all too excited for him. He hadn’t expected this night to turn the way it did and there’s some part of him that doesn’t feel like he deserves it, but when he sees you step out of the club with that same sweet smile that meets your eyes, he pushes those feelings out of his mind. Because all he can think about is what’s going to happen next. 

The drive to your apartment was short and the moment you step out of the car, Logan’s quick to follow you. He steps inside of the apartment with you and you shut the door behind him before you’re on him almost instantly. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and Logan’s hands move to rest on your hips. You stare up at him before you lean up to press your lips firmly against his. 

Logan groans instantly against your lips, eyes falling shut as he follows your lead. You move one hand down his chest to his abdomen until it reaches the waistband of his jeans. He feels your tongue slide past his lips and he whimpers against you – he fucking whimpers. Logan’s used to being the one in charge that it takes him by surprise when you’re more than willing to take control. 

When you undo the button and zipper of his jeans, you pull away. Your gaze darkens at the sight of him and you bring him further into your apartment, once more pushing him against your couch as he sits down with a grunt. Standing in front of him, you pull down your shorts and panties in one motion, grabbing the ends of your shirt to lift over your head. You stand in front of him, completely bare and exposed for him that Logan doesn’t know where to look first. 

You’re so fucking breathtaking that he feels his manhood strain against the fabric of his jeans. Logan slowly pushes his jeans and boxers down his legs, catching the way your eyes widen at the sight of his erected length. He smirks to himself and undoes the buttons of his flannel, pushing it off his shoulders. 

“Fuck me,” you whisper under your breath. “You’re so fucking hot, Logan.” 

Logan bites his lower lip. He doesn’t have time to respond, to tell you that you’re the one who’s so fucking hot because you straddle his hips and take hold of length. He groans at the feel of your hand wrapped around him, lining him up to your opening. He doesn’t know how long he’s going to last – it had been such a long time since anyone’s wanted him like this, since anyone looked at him the way you did. 

In his universe, everyone hated him. 

But in this one – Logan has a second chance at living life the way he should have in the first place. 

When you slide down his length, Logan’s hands move to your hips. He groans loudly, your walls surrounding his length – so warm, so wet, so tight. Your walls slide down every inch of his length until you’re seated fully on his lap. He looks up at you, sees the way your eyes flutter. 

“God, you’re so deep,” you point out with a quiet moan, moving your hands to his shoulders. Holding onto him, you slowly begin to lift yourself before you slide back down. You can feel every inch of his throbbing manhood within your depths and he fills you so fully in a way that you’ve never felt before. 

He shifts to lie on his back on your couch, staring up at you. Your hands move to rest on his chest, rolling your hips forward and backward. You can feel the hair at his base brush against your bundle of nerves with each movement, quiet moans escaping your lips. 

Logan moans in surprise when you reach for his hands, lacing your fingers together as you press them above his head. He knows that he’s so much stronger than you, but he finds that he likes being at your mercy. You’re gripping his hands so tightly, pressing your joined hands further into your couch as you begin to bounce along his length. You lift yourself until his tip is the only part of him that’s within your depths before you slide back down, your tight walls sliding down each inch of him.

“Sweetheart, fuck,” Logan groans, squirming slightly against your grip. He feels your walls begin to tremble around him, can feel you tightening even further around his manhood. 

“Lo– Logan!” you exclaim, moaning loudly as you slam down onto him. You shut your eyes tightly, slowly moving your hips forward and backward to ride out your high. You release his hands to brace yourself on his chest, the feeling of his hair at his base providing just the right amount of friction. 

Logan feels a tightness building in the pit of his stomach and he gently lifts you off of him. You gasp, whimpering at the sudden loss of him before you realize that he’s close. You move down the couch and settle yourself between his legs as you take hold of his length, stroking him with a firm grip as your lips wrap around his tip. 

“Fuck!” he groans, not expecting you to fucking suck him off. Logan moves a hand in your hair, tangling his fingers in your locks as he guides you along his length. Your hand strokes what your mouth can’t and when you hollow your cheeks to apply more pressure around him, Logan tosses his head back against the couch. 

It’s sloppy, spit trickling down your chin as you keep your eyes focused on him. You move along his length, flattening your tongue on the underside of him as you feel each throbbing vein against you. Logan’s grip around your hair tightens and he lifts his hips slightly off the couch to push himself further into your mouth, feeling his tip hit the back of your throat as you gag around him.

Slowly, you pull away from him and smile. “Come for me, Logan.” Then, you wrap your mouth around him once more and bob your head rapidly, stroking his base. Logan shuts his eyes tightly, the tightness building once more as he lets out a loud moan. He gently pushes your hand away as he grips himself, using his free hand to pull you back from your hair as he releases into your mouth. He opens his eyes to look down at you, his seed filling your mouth and you eagerly swallow. 

Logan groans, stroking himself to release every last drop of his spend into your mouth. You smile against him – you fucking smile with his cock in your mouth – and it’s an image that Logan will never forget. When you pull away and lick your lips, swallowing every last drop, you lean up on your knees and stare at him.

“Yum,” you grin. 

Logan’s breathing heavily, moving one hand to rest behind his head as he looks at you with a small smile. “Didn’t expect this to happen tonight,” he admits. “But I’m glad it did.” 

“Stay the night?” you ask. 

Logan nods and sits up, gently pushing you onto your back as he settles himself between your legs. “Oh, sweetheart, I ain’t even done with you yet.”

[withwritersblock]

That's So True

~That's So True by Gracie Abrams~

Author's Note: requested! this was fun to write. do I know what i wrote exactly, no I don't lol. Also another late post lol italics are flashback as always Summary: Luke ends his fwb with Y/N Warnings: implied smut Word Count: 8,980 Luke Hughes x fm!reader

She sat on the couch beside Mark, her childhood best friend. They went to UMich together on full athletic scholarships. He went for hockey and she went for volleyball. It wasn’t often that her friends and his friends got together. 

Many people assumed they were dating since they were always together but they were practically raised as siblings. There was a few years where they actually lived together because of her parents financial problems. So they would always brush off the dating rumors. 

Especially since they used to argue constantly exactly like siblings. Right now, they weren’t arguing but silently having a conversation. 

She kept watching Luke and the new girl make eyes towards one another from across the room. She was sure that the new girl was trying to get with Luke with the eyes that she was sending over to him. But Luke was probably trying to figure out what her intentions were. 

Luke was laying on the beanbag, scrolling through his phone as he mostly kept to himself. The new girl, she didn’t even know her name, was sitting beside Kaleigh. Y/N assumed the two were friends but the lack of conversation between them felt odd. 

Mark delicately tapped his hand against her arm forcing her gaze towards him. He gestured if she wanted a drink. Nodding, she stood up and they walked towards the kitchen together. Mark shifted his gaze towards Luke, rolling his eyes as he followed Y/N.

They stepped into the kitchen alone. She walked towards the fridge to take out another drink. 

“Are you alright?” he asked as he leaned against the counter.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled as she popped open the Truly can.

“Right, because we haven’t been sending daggers towards Luke since you stepped into the house,” he said half jokingly.

“I have not,” she mumbled before taking a long sip. Mark raised his eyebrows as he met her gaze. She clenched her jaw as she held the can below her. “Okay, maybe a little bit,”

“I know he’s my teammate and roommate but you’re you so if you say we hate him, then we hate him,” he explained as he walked towards her. She nodded as she stared towards the floor. Pressing her lips together, she nodded again. 

Lifting her gaze up, she began to blink rapidly to prevent the tears falling onto her cheek. “We hate him,” she let out barely above a whisper. Without hesitation he wrapped his arms around her, submerging her into a tight embrace.

“Then fuck him,” he whispered.

She sat on the couch beside Mark in his new house that he shared with five of his teammates. She’s known them for as long as Mark has. Because of how close she was with Mark she found herself always around.

Tonight was obviously no different. The house was getting crowded as more people were piling in for the party they were having. Mark was talking to a blond girl sitting in front of them. Her gaze kept switching towards Luke.

For the last few weeks they have been texting more and more. Mark knew that she had a crush on him, but he swore he wouldn’t say anything. So either he felt the same way, or she was obvious with her feelings.

He was typing on his phone, a smirk toying to his lips. After a few more moments she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Glancing towards Luke, she met his gaze and she watched his cheeks pink. She pulled her phone out to see a text from him. “Meet me at my room in five,”

Lifting her gaze, she met his eye, he smirked as he slowly stood up from the beanbag. He smirked as he walked past her and Mark. A shaking breath left her lips as she brought her knees towards her chest. 

Mark glanced towards Luke as he walked past him before he looked towards Y/N. He fought the grin forming to his lips before he looked back towards the blond girl in front of him.

Y/N brought her Truly towards her lips and chugged the rest of her drink before delicately placing it onto the floor. “I’m gonna get another drink,” she said. 

“Uh huh,” Mark let out while laughing. She smirked as she rolled her eyes playfully. 

She wasn’t entirely lying, she walked towards the kitchen to get another drink before she slipped into Luke’s room.

She took another Truly from the fridge before she urgently walked towards Luke’s room. Her heart was beating out of her chest as she tried to add some liquid courage to her body. 

Delicately, she raised her hand up and knocked onto his door. It didn’t take long for him to open the door and allow her to step inside. He shut it, twisting the lock in the process.

She stood in front of the door, awkwardly holding her drink as she scanned his room. His bed was made and his room was nearly spotless, it was slightly shocking. He took a small step back towards his bed as he took a deep breath.

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” he asked as he pointed to his bed awkwardly. She smirked as she nodded. “Ethan invited like every person on campus, so the house is gonna get really crowded,” he explained as he sat down on the bed, looking up towards her.

Stepping towards him, she brought her drink towards her mouth; taking a long sip. After a few seconds, Y/N placed her drink on his nightstand before she sat beside him on the bed. Bumping her thigh against his, forcing his gaze towards her. He nodded as he scanned her features.

“What do you wanna watch?” he asked softly. Her gaze drifted towards his lips for a moment before she took a deep breath.

“Any recommendations?” she asked softly. His lips curled upward slightly as he nodded. 

He stood up from the bed, taking a hold of the TV remote on the nightstand as he walked towards the light switch. He turned the light off as he turned on Netflix. She slowly leaned against the headboard, pulling her knees up to her chest. Luke walked around the bed and laid beside her, adjusting the pillow beneath his head. 

She looked down towards him as he met her gaze. A toothy grin formed to his lips as he looked towards the screen. 

Luke put on a movie that both of them have seen hundreds of times. The movie had only been on for a few minutes when Luke turned onto his side to meet her gaze. 

“Hi,” he mumbled. Looking down towards him, she smiled softly.

“Hi,” she replied as she looked into his blue eyes. He waved his finger asking her to lay down. “What?” she asked, a soft chuckle leaving her lips.

“Come ‘ere so I can kiss you,” he let out barely above a whisper. Her eyes widened slightly as another grin formed to her lips. 

“Oh really?” she asked softly as she slowly laying completely down on her side. Luke nodded as he took a hold of her thigh, pulling her closer to him. Their lips were only a mere inch apart. He hummed before he rubbed his thumb against her bare thigh. Her breathing started to quicken as she looked deeply into his blue eyes.

“Then what are you waiting for?” she asked barely above a whisper. He smirked before he leaned towards her, devouring her lips. A moan left her lips, as her fingers ran through his hair. Slowly, he raised his hand up from her thigh, trailing his hand up her body.

Slowly, she climbed onto his lap with their lips still connected. His hands glided up and down her thighs. She took a hold of his shirt and started unbuttoning it. He began to sit up, pulling the shirt away from his frame. He laid back down, her lips started trailing down his neck. 

She began to bite and suck the skin, swirling her tongue to sooth the skin. He swallowed hard as his hands started hiking the dress up her frame, wanting it off of her body. 

Her lips trailed back up, meeting his lips urgently. Grinding against his lap, his breathing caught in his throat. “Fuck,” he mumbled against her lips. She smirked as she slowly pulled away from him. 

Luke began to lean towards her, desperate for her lips again. Smirking, she climbed off of his lap. He reached towards her but she slipped off of the bed. “Hey,” he let out, breathing heavily. 

Standing beside the bed, she took a hold of the dress and started pushing it off of her frame. He smirked as he watched her slowly reveal her body. He dragged his tongue along his bottom lip as she stood in front of him.

Mark waited until she pulled away from the embrace, not wanting to rush her. He hated seeing her sad, but he was always going to be the one to hold her and make her feel better. It took another minute before she slowly slipped away from his body. She kept her gaze on his chest as she fought the tears forming to her eyes. 

After a long few seconds she lifted her gaze and met his eye, “I’m gonna go home,” she mumbled. His eyes widened as he stepped towards her, taking a hold of her arm.

“Because of him?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. She shrugged as Kaleigh walked into the kitchen. Stopping short, she crossed her arms over her chest shyly. “Hey, what’s up Kale?” Mark shifted his gaze towards her. Y/N wiped her hands across her cheeks. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she mumbled.

“You didn’t-” both Mark and Y/N said at the same time. She shifted her gaze from Mark at first and then towards Y/N. 

“I’m gonna head home,” she muttered as she delicately placed her drink onto the counter.

“Y/N,” Mark let out softly.

“I’m going home,” she said more sternly as she started walking out of the kitchen and out of the house. 

She stepped into the living room to see the new girl sitting in Luke’s lap as the group was laughing loudly. Luke lifted his gaze and met her eye. His smile faltered slightly as their eyes were connected. She stood still, watching her run her hand across his jaw to force his gaze towards her. Luke looked back towards the new girl, smiling widely again. 

He quickly looked back towards Y/N, nearly rubbing it into her face. Swallowing hard, she continued to look into his blue eyes. Her eyes squinted slightly as she watched him, run his hand up and down the side of her thigh. 

A huff fell from her lips as she continued to walk out of the house. She stepped onto the porch, a dry angry laugh left her throat as she turned her gaze towards the sky. Her eyes continued to tear up. 

Her house she shared with a few of her sorority sisters was only a few streets over. It was normal for her to walk from the house to Mark’s house. It was quiet as it was quite late at night. She started down the street like she always did. Usually, Mark or Luke would walk her back to her house.

“Hey, hey, hey-” Mark shouted as he followed her out of the house. She spun around to meet his gaze. She took a deep breath as he walked towards her; somewhat breathless.

Luke was on top of her, both of his hands on either side of her as he was kissing her urgently. Her hands were gliding along his cheeks and into his hair. He slowly pulled his lips away from hers as he started trailing wet kisses along her neck down towards her exposed collarbone.

“Fuck,” she whispered as she tilted her head back. He smiled as he tugged at the fabric of her tanktop. 

Her hands glided along his upper back, pulling his hoodie up his back. He sat back, smiling down towards her before he pulled his hoodie from his frame. He tossed it towards the floor before he climbed on top of her again, devouring her lips. 

After a few seconds, there was a loud knock against his unlocked door. Luke pulled away from her, laying beside her. He pulled the blanket beside them and tossed it over their frame as the door was pushed open.

“She’s my friend Hughesy, every time she comes over she ends up in here. Not fair. Let’s go Y/N,” Mark stood at the door, motioning her to leave the room. She glanced towards Luke, an apologetic smile on her face.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Luke let out while chuckling. 

“Very fucking serious right now,” he let out with a dry chuckle, “My friend who I haven’t seen in weeks because she’s been fucking you every day. I deserve to see my best friend,” Mark explained very dramatically. Luke covered his face with his hands while laughing.

“Mark, seriously?” she said while laughing.

“You promised me when you two started hooking up that I would still see you. So come on,” he pointed towards the door again. Y/N shifted her gaze towards Luke. He rolled his eyes while fighting off a grin.  She slowly slipped off of the bed, adjusting the tanktop on her body. 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” she teased as she walked out of the room. 

“Such a cock block,” Luke let out. 

Mark barked out a laugh. “You and your dick will survive one night,” Mark teased as he shut the door. She stood behind him, crossing her arms over her chest. “You and your-” Mark started before she shoved him. “Fine-alright, come on,” Mark said with a wide grin.

They walked down the hall towards his room and he pushed the door open. Y/N jumped onto his bed to take a hold of the Switch controller. Mark jumped and laid beside her taking a hold of the other one.

“So what’s the actual deal with you two?” Mark asked as he loaded up Mario Party. She fought the grin forming to her lips, her body heated up. She pressed her lips together, feeling Luke’s lips still on hers.

“We’re just-I don’t know,” she mumbled as she waited for the game to load. 

“So there’s nothing else going on?”

“Nope,”

“Just sex?”

“Just sex,” she repeated as she began to pick her character to play. He hummed as he took in a sharp breath.

“What are you doing?” he asked her as he ran his fingers through his hair. She took in a shaky breath as she tilted her head back. Another laugh fell from her lips as a tear fell onto her cheek. 

An image of Luke with the girl in his lap flashed in her mind as she clenched her jaw. Her entire body was shivering as she looked into Mark’s eyes. He was desperate to try and comfort her but there was nothing. 

She’s been heart broken before. Y/N had a few break ups back in high school, Mark was always there to take care of her. He’s even punched a few of her ex-boyfriends for the way that they treated her. She’s always come first.

“I can’t sit in there and watch that,” she forced out. Her lips quivered as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her arms were cold as the wind was starting to hit her skin.

Mark’s mouth fell open as he tried to find something to say to comfort her. She shook her head as she pressed her lips together. Mark stepped towards her again, watching her step back further. “I can’t be here!” she let out again, a sob falling from her lips. “He’s rubbing it in my face! He’s sitting there acting like we weren’t-” she trailed off as she wiped her hands across her cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry-” Mark said softly. 

“We spent-” she trailed off again while shaking her head once more. “I’m so stupid,”

“What?” Mark let out barely above a whisper.

He walked into her sorority house, smiling towards the girl that let him inside. He always forgot her name since he wasn’t at her house that often. She jogged down the stairs smiling towards him. He smiled widely as he held out his arms for her. Without hesitation she practically leaped into his arms. He chuckled while he held her tightly to his chest.

“Come on,” she whispered as she slowly slipped away from him. Luke didn’t hesitate as he followed her towards the steps. She jogged ahead, hoping he followed after her.

Turning the corner, she stepped into her room; spinning around to face him. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Twisting the lock, he stepped towards her; a teasing grin on his lips.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she let out as she looked deeply into his blue eyes. He smirked as he took a hold of her waist, spinning her to pin her against the door. 

“Now, we can’t be interrupted by your bestie,” he whispered dryly. She chuckled as she rested her hands onto his chest.  He raised his hand up, taking a hold of her cheek. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered before he pulled her towards him, kissing her urgently. Slowly, she tugged at his shirt; wanting it off of his body.

He pulled away from her, smiling as he tilting his head to the side. A smirk toyed to his lips as he stepped away from her. “Hey, where are you going?” she asked a small pout on her lips. He pursed his lips forward as he fought a grin forming to his lips. 

She tried to take a step towards him but he reached towards her instead. He took a hold of her waist tossing her over his shoulder. A loud giggle fell from her lips as she stablized herself against his back. Cautiously, he tossed her down onto the bed. 

He instantly climbed on top of her. A giggle fell from her lips as she grinned widely. Delicately, he pressed his lips against hers for a moment before he collapsed beside her, staring towards the ceiling. Rolling onto her side, she faced him. 

He lifted his arm up, allowing her to rest her head onto his chest. Luke ran his fingers through her hair before pressing his lips against the top of her head. Her heart fluttered against her chest as she shut her eyes for a moment. 

“You know,” she started, swallowing hard, “The girls are hosting this event thing where we’re supposed to bring a plus one,” she explained. He hummed. “We’re supposed to let Lydia know who we’re bringing with us,” 

“Aren’t those things reserved for boyfriends?” he asked as he glided his hand up and down her back. 

Scrunching her features together for a moment before she took a deep breath, “I’ve taken Mark to one before. I just thought that maybe since it’s supposed to be a date thing that- you could come along,” she let out barely above a whisper. He pressed his lips against the top of her head again.

“Maybe the next one,” he let out before he took a hold of her chin. He forced her gaze to meet his eye. Subconciously, her lips fell into a pout. He glided his thumb across her bottom lip, “Baby,” he let out softly almost as if it was an apology.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. He leaned towards her, pressing his lips against hers softly. She glided her hands through his curls as he continued to kiss her deeply.

She sniffled as she shook her head, “I need to go home,” she mumbled again as she started walking down the sidewalk. Mark didn’t argue it this time as began to follow her. Slowly, she spun around to meet Mark’s gaze. “Mark.”

“It’s late, let me walk you back,” Mark offered as he started walking beside her. She didn’t argue it as she continued to walk. 

They stayed quiet for a moment as the wind was picking up. She brushed a few pieces of hair away from her face as she kept her gaze on her feet. Making sure to avoid every crack, a childhood habit that she continues to this day. 

“You’re not stupid,” Mark said as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Y/N didn’t stop walking, she kept her gaze onto the concrete below her. Her steps skipping over each crack between the concrete slabs. “You fell for him. That doesn’t make you stupid,” He further explained.

She didn’t reply but he knew that she took what he said to heart.

“You don’t need a guy like him anyway,” he mumbled. She hummed as they turned the corner towards her house. “I’ll hate him as long as you need me to hate him,” he expressed. She chuckled as she rolled her eyes playfully. 

“You can’t hate him, he’s one of your best friends,” she countered.

“Yeah but he hurt my best friend, so we hate him,” he let out, a teasing grin on his face. “But I still gotta play and live with him so I can’t always hate him,” 

After a few seconds, they finally stepped up the porch to her house. They stood outside the door, and her gaze was still staring towards the ground beneath her. Finally lifting her gaze, she looked into his eyes and nodded slightly.

Leaning towards her, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her towards his chest. She wrapped her arms around the center of his back as a shaky breath left her lips. 

For the longest time, she hated hugs. Something about the contact was always so intimate and awkward. It was rare if she ever hugged family let alone Mark. But as her first year at college progressed, needing a hug was all that she ever really needed. 

Anyone’s embraced made her feel better, but right now she wished it was Luke instead of Mark hugging her the way he was.

“Thanks,” she mumbled before she slipped away from him. Keeping her head low, she pushed the door open and stepped into the house. Shutting the door behind her, she continued walking towards the stairs. 

“Hey, who just dropped you off?” Lydia asked as she emerged from the kitchen with her boyfriend, Darren. His arms were around Lydia’s waist as she guided him into the entryway. 

Y/N took in a sharp breath, “Mark,” she let out before she started to walk up the steps again. Lydia slowly pulled away from Darren as she tried to decide if she should follow her up the steps. 

“Normally you don’t come home until the morning if your at their house,” she explained, slightly confused. Y/N paused for a second as she met Lydia’s gaze. 

“Luke and I aren’t-” she waved her hand slightly, “-Anymore. It was awkward so Mark brought me home. I mean is that okay?” she asked, feeling herself get teary eyed in the process.

“Oh yeah, definitely. Just strange. I’m sorry about Luke. You guys seemed great together.” she explained as she shifted her attention towards Darren.

“Good night guys,” she mumbled as she jogged up the remaining steps towards her room.

~~~

His head was rested in between her legs as they were watching a TV show together. She was also doing homework, which is why he wasn’t laying with her and more or less laying on her. 

His hands were gliding up and down the inside and outside of her thighs. There was no consistent pattern in his movements, it was whatever he was deciding to do in that second. His motions were also intended to distract her, pull her attention towards him. 

“Hey,” he mumbled as he pressed his lips against her inner thigh. A hum fell from her lips as she continued to type on her computer. “Are you almost done?” he whined out before he pressed his lips against her skin again, this time longer. Tilting his head back, hoping to meet her gaze instead was met with her back of her laptop. 

“Luke, you know this is due tonight,” she expressed as she continued to type. 

“Tonight, as in we can do stuff now and you’ll still have time to get this done,” he muttered.

His fingertips were gliding up and down the inside of her thigh, watching her skin erupt in goosebumps. His lips curled upward before he pressed his lips against her skin again.

“Not happening until I am finished with this,” she expressed, a laugh falling from her lips. Luke’s lips fell into a pout.

“How much do you have left?” he questioned as he sat up slightly, looking down towards her. His hand was still gliding up and down her thigh teasingly. Looking past her laptop, meeting his gaze, she rolled her eyes playfully before she rested it beside her. 

“You are so impatient,” she let out teasingly. He smirked before he parted her legs once more. Squinting her eyes slightly as she watched him momentarily. Slowly, gliding his hand lower and lower to take a hold of her loose shorts. Luke twisted the fabric between his fingers. He began to tug them from her frame slowly. 

“Luke-” she sat up squirming away from him, giggles falling from her lips. He smirked while rolling his eyes playfully. 

“Fine,” he drew out the word for a few seconds, “I’ll behave while you finish you’re assignment,” he stood up and walked toward the head of the bed. He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers for a moment. 

He pulled away as he delicately took a hold of her chin, “So beautiful,” he whispered before he pecked her lips. “I’ll go get us some food,” he mumbled against her lips before he kissed her again. 

“That’d be great,” she whispered.

“I’ll be back, my love,” he whispered before he started heading out of the room.

It had been a few days since she last saw Mark or Luke. The idea of avoiding their house was already circulating her mind but the fact that they had an away game, made it easier for her to do that.

She hasn’t been bed ridden from a break up since her first boyfriend broke up with her when she was fourteen. But can she even constitute what she had with Luke a break up? They were never officially together. It was six months of spending nearly every day together. It wasn’t just sex. It was the moments before and after they did it that mattered.

She had fallen for him without fulling realizing that she did. One minute, he was just her friends with benefits and the next, she was in love with him. She confessed her feelings for him a month after she realized that she had them. Which led to the end of whatever they were doing. 

Luke didn’t want a relationship. He didn’t want to start up anything with anyone if he was heading to New Jersey. It was always on his mind that one day he would have to drop everything to join the NHL. He didn’t want a single thing holding him back. Which meant no girlfriend. 

Despite Y/N practically being his girlfriend anyway. If he didn’t want a girlfriend, why did he spent all of his free time with her? Cuddling with her? Kissing her? Holding her when she was sad? Why did he do all of that, if it was never that serious.

Deep down, she knew that he never meant to hurt her. He was only doing what felt right and she could handle that, sure, but seeing him afterwards hurts too much right now.

There was a knock on her door and a groan fell from her lips, which the person at the door took as a come in.

“You are going out tonight,” Lydia said simply as she walked towards the bed. She took a hold of the comforter and tossed it off of Y/N’s frame. Another groan fell from her lips as she covered her head with a pillow. Lydia reached over and took the pillow from her grasp. “You need to go to the bar and let hot men buy you drinks and you need to dance,” Lydia said as she smacked her hands against the bed. 

“No,” she said as her voice cracked. She covered her face with her hands.

“You are getting up from this bed, showering and making yourself look hot as fuck and you are going to get drunk,” Lydia begged as she took a hold of Y/N’s arm, physically pulling her from the bed.

“This is peer pressure, you know,” Y/N mumbled as she crossed her arms over her chest. Looking into Lydia’s gaze. A smile flashed to Lydia’s lips.

“It’s only peer pressure if it works,” she said jokingly. Y/N rolled her eyes as she started walking towards her bathroom. Lydia clapped excitedly as she walked out of Y/N’s room.

Stepping into the bathroom, her gaze landed on her reflection in the mirror. It was shocking to see how she looked. She definitely needed a little reset. Maybe it would be good for her. She stepped towards the shower, turning it on.

The next three hours, she spent listening to loud music and taking forever to make sure her hair and makeup looked perfect. 

She stared at her closet, pulling out different dresses. For a while nothing was right, each dress was too tight or too flowy. Each dress it the ground and stayed there until she found a tight black dress with mesh long sleeves. 

She stepped into the bathroom, looking into her reflection; she felt hot and definitely looked that way.

“Y/N, it’s almost eleven, are you ready yet?!” Lydia yelled from the lower level of the house. 

“One second!” she shouted back as she took a hold of her favorite perfume bottle. Instantly, spraying her entire frame with the mist. Delicately, she placed it onto the counter before she leaned down and took a hold of the stilettos beside her. Slipping them on quickly before she heads out of the room towards the stairs.

Walking down the steps, she smiled towards Lydia and Darren as she walked down the steps, “Hot damn girl,” Lydia said as she fanned herself. Y/N grinned as she kept her gaze on the steps, making sure she didn’t trip down the stairs.

Her friends and Mark’s friends were getting together to throw an athletes only rager at Mark’s house. Usually, athletes remained under the radar but one time a year they throw a huge party just for themselves. Making sure, no cameras were around in the process. Everyone’s phones were turned off or kept at home. 

She had on a tight black dress with mesh sleeves that she always felt hot in. She stepped into the house with her teammate and friend, Dina. 

Luke was sitting on the couch beside Ethan. They were engaged in a conversation but Luke stopped talking the second he laid eyes on Y/N. He sat up straighter as he bit his bottom lip while fighting off a grin.

Ethan wasn’t hiding the fact that he was checking her out as well. He dragged his hand across his chin as he stood up and walked away.

“I’m grabbing a drink,” Dina said before she slipped into the party, smiling towards a group of linemen from the football team. 

Y/N smiled towards Luke as she continued walking towards him. He pursed his lips forward as he scanned her frame. It was safe to say that she was the sexiest girl in the room. She stood in front of him for a second before she sat down beside him. He smiled towards her for a moment.

Without hesitation, he took a hold of neck and pulled her towards him; devouring her lips. After a few seconds she pulled away from him, he slipped his hand from the base of her neck towards her cheek. “You are so-” he mumbled against her lips before he kissed her urgently again. 

Slowly, she pulled away from him. “Wait,” she muttered before she leaned fulling back. She dragged her thumb across his lips, trying to clean the lipstick left on his mouth. “So impatient,” she mumbled before standing up from the couch. He leaned back on the couch trailing her steps with his eyes. 

He ran his hand across his lips as he shook his head as a chuckle fell from his lips. 

She continued to walk into the kitchen in dire need of a drink. The house was already pretty crowded with most of the hockey, football, and volleyball team were there. She walked towards the counter and immediately started pouring out a vodka shot.

“Some show,” Mark teased as he walked up beside her. She chuckled as she instantly took the shot. A groan fell from her lips as she shook her head. “He’s obsessed with you,” 

“I don’t blame him,” she mumbled with a smirk on her lips. Mark barked out a laugh as he started pouring himself a mixed drink with vodka and lemonade. She poured out another shot; meeting Mark’s gaze. After a few seconds she took the shot, this time it went down smoother. 

“Can you at least keep his tongue out of your throat in my living room,” he said half jokingly. She laughed while turning to meet Mark’s gaze.

“I’ll think about it,” she teased as she continued out of the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Y/N mumbled before she stepped off of the last step. “Let’s go before I change my mind,” she explained as she chuckled.

“Darren go, go, go,” Lydia said while laughing. Darren tossed his head back while laughing. He took a hold of his keys as he began the charge out of the house. “Everyone’s meeting us at that bar a few streets over,” she explained as she happily swayed her hips back and forth towards Darren’s car. He was already at the car unlocking it. He climbed into the driver seat and turned on the car. 

“As long as I can drink, I’m okay with anywhere,” Y/N said as she climbed into the backseat of the car. Lydia reached for Darren’s phone to start searching for a playlist to listen to on the short ride to the bar.

The ride to the bar was fast as they truly only listened to one song the ride there. Darren put the car into park and immediately turned the car off and jumped out. Lydia was not too far behind but Y/N stayed inside the car. Her eyes were watching the line form outside the bar. It was crowded, like it always was on a Friday night in their college town. 

It was easy getting ready; putting the makeup on and doing her hair was easy and fun. But now that she actually has to step foot into the bar; her legs felt like jello and her mind was hazy. Lydia stood outside the car door and pulled it open for her. 

“Come on, sexy thing,” Lydia said as she reached over and unbuckled the seatbelt. Swallowing hard, Y/N reluctantly stepped out of the car. “It will be fun,” Lydia whispered. Y/N nodded as she glanced towards the entrance. “After a few shots maybe,”

“Yeah, maybe,” she mumbled as she followed after the pair towards the entrance to get in line for the bar. It was cold but her body ran hot from the debilitating anxiety all over her body. 

The line moved fast and majority of the people in line had IDs. There were a few people that needed X’s on their hands. After they stepped inside, the music was loud and vibrated her chest. Lydia leaned into her, whispering something but she couldn’t hear anything. 

Her eyes landed on all too familiar sight. Luke was sitting against the bartop with the girl from the other night. She was standing in between his legs laughing as she ran her fingers through his hair. Y/N was near the entrance, people cussing at her to move but she refused. She kept staring towards the pair. 

The girl shifting her gaze towards Y/N. Their eyes met and her smile faltered before she took a hold of Luke’s chin and kissed him urgently. Clenching her jaw, she forced her gaze towards the floor. Lydia took a hold of her arm trying to drag her deeper into the bar. 

“Don’t look at him,” she shouted towards her as they walked to the opposite end of the bar to get away from him and the girl. God, she wished she knew her name. 

Leaning against the bartop, Lydia shouted towards the bartender. He shifted his gaze towards Y/N and she took a deep breath. “Espresso Martini please,” she yelled towards him. He nodded as he started making the drinks. Shifted her gaze down the bar to see the girl sitting alone and Luke no where to be found.

It didn’t take long for her to get her drink. The bartender handed her the drink and she brought it towards her lips instantly. It was the best drink she’s had in ages. Especially since for the last few months all she’s been drinking is seltzers. 

Lydia sipped her rum and coke and began to walk towards the center of the bar that had a dance floor. Y/N stayed put as she chugged her espresso martini. She placed the empty glass onto the bartop; already feeling hot from the alcohol in her system. 

The bartender smirked. “Another?” he yelled. Y/N leaned against the counter top and nodded with a smirk on her lips. “This ones on the house, pretty girl,” he continued. Y/N smiled widely as she winked towards the bartender. It didn’t take long for him to place another drink in front of her.

“Thank you,” she hollered towards him as she walked towards the dance floor. It could’ve been the lack of food in her body or the placebo effect but she was feeling tipsy already. It definitely was the placebo effect and she was grateful for it. 

The bar was playing early 200s rap music and she was swaying and singing along without a care in the world. Lydia, Darren, and her were dancing for an hour. A new drink in her hand every fifteen minutes. Lydia and Darren were dancing with each other, swaying and singing in each other’s faces. While she was dancing alone, dancing away from any guy that tried to dance with her.

It was probably her fourth or fifth espresso martini within an hour and she knew she was going to regret it later. But right now, dancing and drinking away her heartbreak was everything she needed. It didn’t help that she kept getting glimpses of Luke dancing with the girl. 

Y/N couldn’t tell if Luke saw her but she knew that the girl did. Every time that she saw the pair, the girl kissed Luke urgently. Almost as if to brag that they were together. For the first time in a few days, she didn’t care. She didn’t care that he was with someone else. Didn’t care that she was single, alone, and heart broken. It was like she was normal and happy.

But she knew that was the espresso martinis and she would feel awful in the morning but she was happy. 

Tapping her hand against Lydia’s shoulder, she took her attention. “I’m gonna get some air,” she shouted. Lydia nodded before she began to dance with Darren again. Y/N slipped through the crowd towards the patio. She shoved the door open and stepped outside. Taking in a deep breath, she walked towards the fence blocking the patio in. 

Leaning against it, she began to watch all of the people walking towards the entrance, trying to figure out what their stories might be. 

“Y/N?” a voice rang out. A voice she’s gotten used to hearing for months. 

She sat on the couch with Mark beside her as they were both playing Mario Kart. Luke wandered out of his room, a wide grin on his face as his eyes lit up once he saw her. “Markie, keeping my girl all to yourself?” he asked teasingly. He walked towards the couch, taking a hold of Y/N’s chin and delicately leaning down and kissing her softly. 

“Hughesy, she’s my best friend,” Mark said while laughing. “Not like she’s your girlfriend,” Mark expressed as he leaned forward while starting a new game. Her smile faltered for a second before she pushed it back onto her lips. Luke fought a grin forming to his lips before he squeezed his way onto the couch. 

Dramatically, he wrapped his arm around Y/N’s shoulder; pulling her to his side. He pressed his lips against the top of her head as he started gliding his fingertips across her exposed shoulder and into her hair. His gaze was admiring her side profile. 

“When’s that happening by the way?” Mark asked, teasingly.

“Mark don’t,” she scolded. Luke didn’t even blink as he switched his gaze towards his phone. “Luke, do you want to join? Mark’s got another controller in his room,” she questioned.

“Yeah, why not,” he mumbled as he stood up from the couch and wandered towards Mark’s room. 

“Will you stop?” she paused the game as she shifted her gaze towards him. Mark dropped the controller into his lap. “I told you we’re just hooking up,” she whispered.

“I’ve had my fair share of friends with benefits and I’ve never done anything that you two do,” Mark said as he leaned towards her. “I’ve never done this,” he trailed off as he pressed his lips against the top of her head, “Only done that with a girlfriend.” he said with a smirk before he leaned back. 

Pressing her lips together, she tilted her head back against the couch. “Don’t talk about it with him around,” she muttered. Mark nodded as Luke walked back out into the living room. He squeezed himself back into the couch as he reached his hand over and took a hold of her thigh as she restarted her match with Mark. 

Luke delicately dragged his fingertips along her thigh as he waited for his turn to join the game. His gaze was admiring her side profile again. He leaned towards her as he delicately pressed his lips against her cheek. 

Shutting her eyes, slowly she spun around to see Luke standing behind her. His cheeks were red and sweaty. His hair was a little messy but he looked good. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, stepping towards her.

Lowering her gaze towards the floor, she took a deep breath, “I’m fine,” she mumbled or slurred she couldn’t tell. 

“Let me take you home,” he let out, stepping towards her.

“I just got here,” she said while crossing her arms over her chest.

“You’re drunk,” 

“I’m fine, Luke,” she let out while shaking her head. 

“You can barely stand up,” he said as he took a hold of her arm. Yanking it away from him, she looked into his eyes.

“Don’t touch me," she forced out.

“Please let me get you some water at least,” 

“You don’t get to look at me, you don’t get to care about me,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. He took another step towards her, “You don’t get to pretend to love me anymore,”

“Do you seriously think I was pretending?” he asked while furrowing his eyebrows. He clenched his jaw as he tilted his head to the side. Trying to see if she truly meant what she said. 

“I was in love with you, don’t you get that?” he let out while shaking his head. Scrunching her features together, she tried to sober up to fully process what he was saying. He took a hold of her cheeks. Her eyes softened as he glided his thumbs across the apples of her cheeks. Her hands rested onto his chest. 

“The moment I realized I was in love with you I had to step away because it won’t be fair to you when I leave,” he expressed, he looked over her features as he looked deeply into her eyes. “I tried keeping my distance from you, keep as casual as I could but you are literally impossible to not fall in love with,” 

“If you’re in love with me then why is her tongue down your throat every other minute,” she choked out. Shaking his head, he shifted his gaze towards the sky. 

“I don’t know,” he let out.

“You don’t know?” she let out while laughing. “Goodbye Luke,” she mumbled as she started walked away from him. 

“Y/N, please,” he delicately took a hold of her arm. 

“I’m drunk, I’m not doing this,” she forced out as she pulled her arm away from him and continued walking back inside of the bar. He stood in the patio watching her walk away from him. 

~~~

“Hey,” he whispered as he stood in the doorway. Y/N lifted her gaze from her phone, a smile formed to her lips as he slowly stepped inside. He twisted the lock as he walked towards the bed, tossing his jacket to the floor. 

“How was your practice?” she asked. A huff of air fell from his lips as he walked towards the bed. He sat on his bed, his shoulders slumping. Slowly, he fell onto his back. She rolled onto her side, he lifted his gaze to meet her eye. “Not good?” she questioned, a soft chuckle falling from her lips.

Her fingertips glided through his hair. Shutting his eyes, a smile of content formed onto his lips. “Coach made us skate lines. Fucking exhausted,” he mumbled. A soft giggle fell from her lips. 

“I’m sure, baby,” she whispered as she continued running her fingers through his hair. “What can I do?” she asked softly. A smirk formed to his lips before he puckered them. She smiled before she leaned down and kissed him softly. After a few seconds, he slowly sat up and looked down towards her. His blue eyes softened as he continued to admire her features. “What?” she let out quietly. 

He shook his head as he leaned down and delicately pressed his lips against hers. After a few seconds, he pulled away. “Wanna watch a movie an-and actually watch it?” he asked, a sleepy grin formed to his lips. She smiled softly as she nodded. He laid on his back, holding out his arms for her to lay with him. Without hesitation, she rested her head onto his chest. 

His hands glided up and down her back soothingly. Her fingertips glided along the fabric of his t-shirt. “Got any ideas?” she asked, lifting her head up to look down towards him. 

“Anything’s fine by me, baby,” he let out as he scanned her features. She nodded as she delicately rested her head back down onto his chest. He reached for the remote on the nightstand before he handed it over to her. “Harry Potter’s always an option,” he said before clearing his throat. Rolling her eyes playfully before she turned on the TV. 

“Which one?” she asked softly.

“Wait really?” 

“Which one before I change my mind,” she teased.

“Prisoner of Azkaban, obviously,” he muttered.

“Such a nerd,” she said as she began to turn on the movie. He hummed before he pressed his lips to the top of her head. Slowly he started running his fingers through her hair, twisting the end of it between his fingers.

Around an hour into the movie she was asleep, but Luke was still wide awake. Tilting his head to the side, he looked down and admired her sleeping features. His heart pounded hard against his chest. 

She was so beautiful and so perfect. She was everything he’s ever wanted in a girlfriend. But she was in Michigan and in a year from now he could be in Jersey. He clenched his jaw as he shifted his gaze towards the ceiling. His hand continued to glide along her back, he slipped his hand beneath her shirt, to feel her skin against his fingertips.

All he’s ever wanted and now he needs to let her go.

When she woke up, the first thing on her mind was her conversation with Luke last night. She was hungover, but not as violently as she thought she was going to be. On the other hand, Lydia and Darren were so drunk, they were passed out in her bathroom. She drank liquid IV before she fell asleep, knowing that it would help her in the morning.

Her memory was hazy but his words ran through her mind on repeat. He told her that he was in love. Which was nearly impossible to wrap her mind around the idea that he was. She was in love with him, she was sure of it. But there was no way he felt that way towards her. 

Instead of wallowing in bed, she decided to climb out of bed to cleanse the night away. Her shower lasted nearly an hour. Her music was loud and all she wanted to do was stay in the shower letting the water wash away all of her problems instead of facing it head on.

After the water started to run cold, she was forced to leave the safety of the shower. After washing every inch of her body and smelling like vanilla; she was satisfied as she covered her body with a t-shirt and a lose pair of shorts.

She walked towards the bed to see her phone vibrating on her bed. She sighed as she flipped it over to see Luke was calling her. No longer showing the contact photo she had of him. Sighing she brought her phone close to her ear as she answered. 

“Wanna go for a drive?” Luke asked, skipping straight to the point. Her mouth fell open as she tried to find something to say. “Y/N?” he let out.

“Uh, sure? Why?”

“Come outside,” he mumbled before hanging up. Slowly, she pulled the phone away from her ear as she stared towards it for a second. Sighing, she began to walk out of her room. Lydia yelled at her about being quieter, but she ignored her as she continued down the stairs towards the front door.

She pulled the door open and stepped outside to see Luke’s car in front of the house. Walking towards the car, she opened the passenger door and sat in the seat without looking towards him.

“Hey,” he let out quietly. She didn’t say anything, instead she put on her seatbelt as she kept her gaze in her lap. He put the car in drive as he started to pull out of the neighborhood they shared. “Can we talk about last night?” 

Ignoring him, she reached over and turned up the soft country music on his radio. Reaching a light, Luke shifted his gaze towards her. Their eyes connected for a moment before she shifted her gaze down towards her lap.

“Y/N, do you remember last night?” he asked quietly. 

“I remember,” she mumbled, “I just don’t want to talk about it,” 

“Y/N,”

“You told me you were in love with me but your tongue was done another girl’s throat minutes prior; and I was supposed to believe you?” she forced out. His mouth opened before it clamped shut, “Since you want to talk about it, let’s talk about that, Luke.”

“Everything I told you last night was true,” he explained. She huffed as she switched her gaze out the window. “Do you really think I was pretending?” he asked. She took in a deep breath as she tilted her head back fighting tears.

“We spent nearly every day together for six months and out of no where you end it over text; what else am I supposed to think?” 

“I ended it because I was scared,”

“Scared of what Luke?” she let out harshly.

“Hurting you,”

“Well, you did that anyway,” she mumbled. 

“Y/N,” 

“Seriously, Luke, how can you say that you love me and just makeout with another girl right in front of me?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” he let out while shaking his head. “I really thought I could keep enough distance from you to keep it casual. And then it stopped being casual and I was falling for you,” 

“What are you doing right now?” she asked while rolling her eyes. 

“I’m trying to fix this,” he let out as he pulled into a parking lot near one of their favorite restaurants they used to go to together.

“There is nothing to fix, Luke! You ended things with me and then two days later starting making out with a girl right in front of me. The only reason I got in this car was to tell you that you can’t tell me you love me after the way you treated me for months. We can be friends because of Mark but that’s it. Now turn around and take me home,” she explained as tears fell onto her cheek. 

He swallowed hard as he met her gaze. He chewed his bottom lip for a moment before he took a deep breath. “I really was trying to do the opposite of hurting you,” he mumbled. She nodded. 

“I know,”

[thanergetic-hyperlinks]

Tamsyn Muir's writing beyond The Locked Tomb

Y'all, turns out there's lots of imagery and themes in TLT that Muir was already playing with in her earlier fiction. A lot of it is easily available online, in which case I'll link to it. (The short stories that aren't can also be easily read if googled, to be quite honest—that's how I read The Deepwater Bride and Why the Mermaids Left Boralus). • The House That Made the Sixteen Loops of Time (2011)

5K. Short sort-of-cozy romance (?) with (you guessed it) a time travel loop. Explores a very queer potential relationship. CamPal enjoyers might find a similar sweetness.

• The Magician's Apprentice (2012, Lightspeed Magazine)

5K. This is the one that stopped me dead on my tracks. It features an older, male mentor figure called John (a “very ordinary man” with “dark eyes”) who introduces the young, female main character to magic that has a terrible cost—and to literature such as Lolita. This excellent post by @familyabolisher does an incredible job of analyzing the very deliberate intertextual links between TLT and Lolita.

• The Woman in the Hill (2015, Lightspeed Magazine, originally for Dreams From the Witch House anthology of Lovecraftian horror by women)

4K. Possibly my favorite! It's a straightforward Lovecraftian horror, centered on the image of the woman (is it human though?) trapped in an unnatural pool inside a cursed cave. Chain imagery too. It does something different from Alecto, mind, but you can see links, ways of playing with facets of a strong central image. It's fun to consider how reliable the two narrators are. Here's an analysis and afterthought from Reactor Mag.

• Chew (2013) 4K. Zombie abuse and cannibalistic revenge story ft. an uncanny woman revenant, told from the eyes of a traumatized German boy. I was strongly reminded of Harrow's conversations with the Body. Tamsyn gave an interview on the themes and her intentions. Interesting to read in light of Alecto, I think, although I don't think she's going the same route in TLT: “the idea of post-war rebuilding connecting to rebuilding the body of the zombie; a Frankenstein who once rebuilt doesn’t act as planned or desired. […] I love cannibalism […] it’s innately spiritual […] any afterlife she goes to, he’s going too.”

• Apothecia (2014, published on Tumblr and tapas.io)

Short webcomic where an alien monster tries to corrupt the ruthless human girl who holds it captive. Musings on responsibility and murder, mention of child abuse. The alien's speech patterns remind me of a Resurrection Beast. You get wonderful dialogue like “Murder is a profession. Job. Employment, you tiny leg dog. There you are, walking along. Walk walk walk. Now you are a walker. Good job. Special child. Murder is like this.” Art by Shelby Cragg.

• The Deepwater Bride (2015, Fantasy & Science Fiction Magazine)

The opening line is: “In the time of our crawling Night Lord's ascendancy, foretold by exodus of starlight into his sucking astral wounds, I turned sixteen and received Barbie's Dream Car.” Need I say more? Extremely fun. A novelette where a young queer girl from a clairvoyant family struggles with an apocalyptic event while being annoyed by another very plucky girl. Lots of descriptions with nerdy marine zoology terms. Close in tone to Gideon. In the background, someone dies EXACTLY like that one death at the end of Gideon, which makes me wonder what happened to make Tamsyn interested in this particular image. I also liked that Tamsyn is aware of Nightwish. No link, but you'll get a PDF immediately if you Google.

• Union (2015, Clarkesworld Magazine)

5.5K. Very weird, extremely Kiwi story about a town that gets sent lab-grown wives by the government, but they're not made the usual way so they're Weird and people have feelings about it. Fascinating and eerie description of non-human (in some people's eyes, sub-human) women (?) who cannot be observed to have recognizable feelings or thoughts, yet have some sort of inner life. Quite touching, very uncanny.

• Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower (2020)

Short novel (~200 pages). Very funny. I was reminded of Coronabeth because the whole plot is “princess finds herself branching out into decidedly non-princess-like activities”, but other than that—this is a fairytale for adults about people who make eachother worse. No particular links to TLT but a very fun read with some gut punches. Extremely Tamsyn through and through, what with the dubious morality and all.

• Why the Mermaids Left Boralus (2021, in Folk & Fairy Tales of Azeroth by Blizzard Entertainment)

Set in the World of Warcraft universe. Haven't read this one yet, will report back lmao. As with The Deepwater Bride, no link but I easily found a PDF of the entire compilation. It's illustrated!

• Undercover (2022, from Into Shadow, Amazon Original Collection)

Haven't read it either. Will edit once I do.

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

six | chapter list

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you. 

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, implied chubby!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“Why aren’t you hitting me?” James asks. 

The safety mat under your feet does little to assuage your fears. James Potter is perhaps the last person on earth you’d expect to hurt you, and yet you can’t shake the image of him deflecting your punch and sending you reeling. 

With his lovely curls slicked away from his face, his nice mouth, the curve of it where he’s smiling encouragingly, you don’t really want to hit him. 

“I can’t,” you say. 

“Yes, you can. One day you might have to, and I need to know you can do it without breaking your own hand.” The no nonsense tone he’d tended to sport when you first met barely three weeks ago is seemingly gone, replaced by a friendly, almost cavalier tone. Like this is fun. “It won’t hurt you much, I swear. And you should get your revenge. I hit you pretty hard.” 

“You didn’t hit me,” you say. “The door did.” 

“It was my fault.” He smiles, readjusting his stance with feet planted firmly against the mat. 

“James…” 

“Just hit me,” he says. 

You tense your fist around your thumb and hit him square in the chest. It’s not a punch by any means, a weak landing of your knuckles that doesn’t move him. Still, you’re surprised with yourself, checking his face for a sign that you’d done any damage. 

“There are so many people who’d love to punch me,” he laughs, nodding to your hand, “you can do better than that, if only to do what they couldn’t.” 

“I don’t want to hit you, James.” 

“I know, you have to. Come on, it’s easier than you think. You bring your first back to your shoulder and you move into it, okay? Use your weight to do the work. You’ll never hurt anyone if you don’t.” 

“I’d rather not, though.” 

“I know that, too, but you might need to. God forbid you be in a situation where I’m not there to protect you,” —here he does something strange with his eyebrows you’ve yet to encounter, sending a straight shot of butterflies through you, their wings fluttering in the soft part of your throat— “but you don’t have to be defenceless if I’m not. Give me a good swing and I’ll make sure Marlene has that pear ice cream at dinner tonight.” 

“Marlene would make it if I asked,” you say unsurely.

“But if you hit me, I’ll ask for you.” 

“You can be very manipulative.”

“Sometimes. Alright, hit me. Or I’ll tackle you again. You didn’t like that last time.” 

Obviously you hadn’t enjoyed being tackled, because James hadn’t hurt you, he’d simply overpowered you. In one sense, it had been panicky to realise you were at someone’s mercy. James had grabbed you simply behind the back with your chests pressed together and hooked his calf behind your legs, taking them from under you, and following you to the ground. You didn’t like it because he didn’t hurt you, he’d pressed his weight into yours with an arm tight across your chest, just under your throat, and you could smell his hair. Smell almond or jojoba or– or something warm. 

It isn’t that you have feelings for James. You don’t know him well enough. But having someone like James pressing down on you was impossible to ignore, consciously and subliminally.

You really don’t want to do this, drawing your arm back, tightening your first two fingers. James’ eyes widen, his lips falling open as you hit him hard enough to bruise a half inch from his heart. He stumbles and you follow, before flinching back hard, tucking shameful arms to your chest. 

“Sorry!” you burst. “Fuck, sorry! I thought you were ready!” 

“I was ready.” James grins widely. “Awesome. Do that again, yeah? Let’s have one on the cheek this time.” 

“I am not punching you in the face.” 

“You could always aim somewhere softer. The point is to incapacitate me. Hitting me in the chest won’t do that.” He rubs a hand into his shirt, the dark compression material barely moving. “You might have bruised me, though. I’m a good teacher.” 

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” you say. 

James deliberates. He tips his head back, showing you the rather nice point of his chin and his neck. A beauty mark sits nestled atop his Adam's apple. 

“Alright. Sorry. No more hitting. Maybe we’ll give the offensive a break for a while and go back to defence again in a few days?” he suggests. 

You relax. 

You’re wearing clothes you’re not used to, a compression shirt like James’, a pair of dark trousers of a similar material with loose ends. Sirius had done some online shopping with you, not worrying as your elbows brushed. He pointed at things and you’d given weak yesses or resolute nos. The total had climbed and climbed, and Sirius had taken your choking for self-preservation. “Not to worry,” he’d said, grinning, “the royal coffers will pay for this lot.” 

It doesn’t feel real. Endless money with no limit nor reason. He’d opened Curry’s swiftly after and asked you what laptop you wanted for uni. He’d attempted to goad you into two. 

It’s alien. All of it, even James across from you where he’s sitting now to put his trainers back on. He doesn’t feel anymore real than the day you met, this handsome, tall boy tasked with keeping you safe. You’ve never been someone’s number one priority. 

“Come and put your shoes on, lovely.” 

You’re not sure how to cope with that, either. He and Sirius both seem quick to coddle when you’re distracted, and you’re distracted often. You shrug away your thoughts, relaxing your tight shoulders as you cross the empty gym to sit next to him. Your trainers are new, too, a sporty pair that cost more money than your last three pairs combined. 

“It’s nice to have new things,” you confess, “but odd.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I’ve been wearing the same pair of converse for two years. I had one pair of proper shoes, and one bag. One purse. And I didn’t mind it, just… just, it makes you feel sick sometimes when you want stuff. It’s embarrassing.”

If James is surprised at your sudden admission, he doesn’t show it. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of in wanting things,” he says, hands braced on his knees, “but I can guess why you might’ve felt like that. We try not to think about the things we want because that can make not having it worse.” 

What couldn’t you have? you think, searching his expression for a hint. 

“I’m glad it’s nice,” he furthers, tapping his heel against yours. “They look good. Are they comfortable?” 

“They feel like I’m wearing socks half the time.” 

James nods appreciatively. “Well, get them on. We’ll nip into the pharmacist before we go home, do you have your sunglasses?” 

“It’s too grey outside for sunglasses, we look ridiculous.” 

“You look like the front page of every newspaper. Ever. In the entire western world. Here, put your hoodie on.” 

You and James leave the gym with a wave to the women at the front desk and begin down the street. James hates the city obviously, wrinkling his nose at the grey cobbled streets and all of its sooty puddles. He walks from place to place rigid as a tentpole, swerving in front of you the second that someone looks at you too long. You wonder if this is what having a boyfriend is like. James is constantly making sure you’re safe, that you’re on the right side of the pavement, that you’re warm and fed and smiling. But you don’t suppose a boyfriend gets paid to spend time with you, nor do they spend nights on the lumpy sofa in the living room when they’re too tired to drive home at the end of a long shift. 

You think without wanting to of James climbing into bed with you, a split second of his warm arm over your back, and shake it away as he pulls you into the pharmacy. 

“Can you look at something else?” you ask, turning to him as you pull off your silly sunglasses. 

James raises his eyebrows. “Whatever for?” 

“I need stuff.” 

“I know you need stuff. You asked me if we could come here. Which, by the way, you don’t need to do. You’re supposed to boss me around.” 

You look over a shelf of shampoos and deodorants and begin reading their labels. James took you shopping the day after you got back, but you’d been stuck in your old ways and what you didn’t skimp on, you forgot. You eye a large bottle of shampoo that brags deep moisture for your hair type and take it from the shelf, then the matching conditioner, and then its hair mask. Your shoulders curl forward, worried James will think you greedy or sad or something in between, but he just says, “Pass them here, Princess.” 

“It’s fine, I can–”

“I’ll have them. I’ll go get a basket.”

He scoops everything into big hands and walks back to the pharmacy’s entrance. 

It’s a big pharmacy, modern, with white walls and bright fluorescent lights behind shelves. You catch yourself in a mirror next to a stand of cosmetics and wince. You look odd in these sporty clothes. Your nose is shiny. 

You wipe your face with your sleeve and stare at the cosmetics with no clue what to get. Should’ve asked Sirius to come. Or better yet, someone who regularly wears makeup. Only thing is, you don’t really know anybody who does. 

“You don’t have to rush,” James says, joining you at the makeup section, such a long walk from the shampoos. “Did you sprint down here?” 

You’d speed-walked past the sexual health aisle actually, but James doesn’t need to be privy to that information. “You don’t want to be here all day.” 

“I want to be exactly where you are. If that’s looking at lip gloss, then so be it.” 

You smile, a little shy, a little rueful, and turn your attention back to the lip glosses in question. There’s browns and pinks, blush-rose red and moodier cherries. “I don’t…” 

“That one,” James says, poking a barrel with confidence, “would suit you. And this one, too. You’ll look lovely.”

You don’t know what to say. The colours he’s chosen get added to your basket without comment, after you’ve wrestled it out of his unwilling hands. You spend a few minutes spready tester shades of concealer against the back of your hand, where James again recommends the one that matches your skin tone best. He leans behind you, and he does his job, sweeping the aisles and giving the shop a long up and down every once in a while, but for the most part he acts like he’s there to be there. 

You get to the bit of the pharmacy you’d come for initially, the shorter but well-stocked supplement and vitamin aisle. Realistically, you aren’t going to take ten different vitamins a day, and with Marlene’s cooking it isn’t as though you need them, but there are things you’ve always craved. Biotin and collagen, for healthier hair and nails. Multi-nutrient sachets for every day, the good stuff, and so expensive your eyes initially skip over them. 

Your hand hesitates in front of a box and James makes a warm humming noise. 

“They look promising.”

“I’ve never had them before.”

“I have a killer magnesium deficiency,” James says. “I usually take the magnesium and zinc, but that throws my copper out of whack.” 

You can’t tell if he’s messing with you. You smile at him, not quite stickily but getting there, your cheeks appled with it. “Not your copper.” 

“It’s not funny, Princess. It makes me want to sleep all day.” 

“Not funny,” you agree, grabbing the box of sachets and placing them atop the new electric toothbrush you’d fancied. You feel gluttonous and weird with it, because you don’t suppose you really need one, but James had only said That’s a nice colour. 

“James,” you say, meandering with him toward the tills, “you didn’t need anything, did you?” 

He grins at you like you’ve said something different. “I have everything I need, don’t worry.” 

“You sure?” 

His eyes seem lighter, then. Amber flecks in the browned honey of his irises. “Promise.” 

He tries to get you to visit the perfume counter, but the basket is getting heavy and you’ve spent enough as it is. Not even a tenth, a hundredth, a thousandth of what you have now at your disposal, but so much more than you ever would’ve before. 

The lady at the till eyes James behind you. She beams when James opens his wallet and passes you the card you were given by Sirius for expenses, and laughs when you refuse to take it. “I have mine,” you say, “this is all for me, I can pay.” 

“Technically it’s your upkeep,” James argues. 

“James.” You pass the cashier your card as James frowns. 

“I wish my boyfriend offered so quickly,” the cashier says. 

You go hot all over, but before you can tell her James isn’t your boyfriend, he’s laughing and taking the handles of your heavy pink carrier, pulling it toward him as the cashier sorts your receipt. “I shouldn’t have tried, really.” 

“It’s the thought that counts.” She hands you your receipt. “You should to let him pay, chick, especially if he’s offering.” 

“Maybe next time,” you appease. 

You’re still flushed when you and James break outside again, the cold a blessed relief. James lets your pink bag rest in the crook of his arm, while the other hovers behind you, looking around the street unhurried. “Anywhere else you want to go, chick?” he asks. 

You laugh. “She was nice.” 

“Very motherly.” 

“I want to go home, I think. Did you need anything else?” 

“I do all my shopping when I’m not working.” 

“When aren’t you working?” you ask genuinely. “You spend more than half the day at my flat, and when you leave– if you leave, it’s night time.” You give him a sideways glance. “I have nothing else to do today.” 

James contemplates this. “I– I’ve been meaning to get Sirius a gift. It’s his birthday next week, did you know?” 

“No! When?” 

“The third.” 

“What does he like?” 

James beckons toward a neon signed music shop. “He loves music. Music and the macabre, you know, like, horror movies. And he reads, despite what he might have you believe.” 

You fall into step. “Alright. You’ll have to tell me what to buy.” 

Again, he gives you a look like you’ve said something different, like you’ve said something lovely. 

“I can do that,” James says. “I won’t steer you wrong.”

—

Later that evening, after another tentative hour in the car with James’ patient coaching, you return home to shower. It’s luxurious and strenuous simultaneously. The new hair mask is fragrant and silky between your fingers, leaving the bathroom thick with its smell, the warm air clouding the windows. You hurry between the bathroom and your bedroom in a bath sheet and pretend you don’t notice James’ head tipping in your direction. 

“Everything alright?” he calls to your bedroom door. 

You spy on him through the gap. “I’m fine. Sorry I took so long.” 

“Remus has asked if he can come early and have dinner with us.” 

“He doesn’t need to ask!” you call, closing the door soundly. 

It will be nice to have Remus for dinner. He doesn’t have to tell you what fork to use here, you only have one kind, but he explains the heritage or main flavours of each dish and doesn’t make you feel embarrassed when you don’t know the Genovian Marlene uses. Honestly, you hadn’t even realised Genovia had a language, a hodge podge, Remus says, of Italian and French. And Remus has a steady voice that feels evidence of his more humble background —he’s like you, you’ve found out, working class and humbly brought up. He attended their boarding school on a scholarship of academic prowess, and served as a prefect for all seven years. 

“How exhausting,” you’d said. 

“With those two? You wouldn’t believe it.” 

His disdain was feigned, mostly. It’s why you’re excited to have him for dinner. When the boys are together, they end up telling you stories about their hijinks at school, and you get to peek into the window of their lives, see their fondness for one another in praises and shoulder squeezes and their ridiculous nicknames. 

You haven’t managed to ask about them yet. They slip out every once in a while, and in multiple variations. Moony, Moons, Moon and Pads, Pad, Padfoot. Remus’ you’ve deduced from a story they told, how Remus could be oh so moody when he wasn’t very well, like a wolf, a werewolf. Isn’t that clever for a gang of twelve year olds? Lupin, the wolf boy. You have a feeling it didn’t start out as a particularly kind nickname, but it morphed into a loving moniker later on. Sirius’ nickname, however, you’ve no chance at working out. Padfoot? 

And Prongs? You assume James had a nasty run in with a fork. 

You dress in soft, new clothes. Prongs, you think, doesn’t suit him at all. The James you know is only ever prickly when you’re at risk. He doesn’t flinch when you panic, never hardens. He has a soft hand for your back whenever you need a pat. 

Your socks slide on the living room tiles as you make your way in. James is clicking away on his phone, a dark business phone with many, many buttons. It’s dwarfed by his hand. He swears under his breath. 

“Everything okay?” you ask softly. 

James looks up and his gaze snags on you, his head tilted to his phone and his eyes steadfast where they look you over. “Fine. Nice shower?” 

You’re rich now. Every shower is nice, the boiler turned to a high six, hot water neverending. 

“It was good. Where’s Sirius?” 

“I’m actually not sure.” 

“Isn’t that your job?” 

“No. And if it were I wouldn’t know anyways.” He turns back to his phone. “He’s a slippery one, Pads,” he murmurs, “I couldn’t really keep track of him if I tried.” 

You feel as though you’ve caught him at a bad time. Restless, you turn away from him and head for your small kitchen, unsurprised to find Marlene still cooking and the continued remodelling of your kitchen. Old countertops find themselves housing new oiled cutting boards. Your grody cooker seems small beneath a HexClad Dutch oven, where oil bubbles and spits lightly, dough cuts set on a baking sheet beside it. 

“Hi, Marlene. What are you making?” you ask curiously. 

She grins at you from over her shoulder. “Apple cider doughnuts. I’ve made cinnamon sugar, do you mind it?” 

“What’s the thermometer?” you ask. 

She laughs at you lightly. She’s used to you dodging questions. “Just making sure I don’t set your house alight. At home I can do this by eye, but it’s finicky with your oven. She’s temperamental.” 

“Sorry.” 

Marlene waves a hand. “You want to try?” 

“I’ll just be in your way.” 

“No, you won’t. Frying doughnuts is fun, here. I’ve put each of them on a bit of greaseproof paper. They slide right off.” 

Marlene doesn’t usually take no for an answer. She’s not bossy, but decisive. You’re hesitant at first of the boiling oil and the greaseproof paper doesn’t cooperate when you try it, but eventually you’ve freed a crispy bit of paper from the dough, watching patiently as Marlene turns the doughnuts. She tells you about the dark colour you’re searching for, “I’ve put apples in the dough, see, so they’ll come to a brilliant dark colour without burning. We’ll have them with ice cream or whatever you like.” 

”James told you I wanted it?” you ask shyly. 

“James didn’t mention you at all, he just begged a bit for it. He can be quite pathetic when he needs to be.”  

“I resent that!” James calls. 

Sirius and Remus arrive in their usual pair, Remus tall and light to Sirius’ tighter darkness. Remus wears glasses today, black thin frames perched atop a scar on his nose. Sirius is being himself, poking at them and reminding Remus that just because he is an insufferable swat doesn’t mean he has to look like one. 

“You’re worse than insufferable,” Remus says. When he sees you, he brightens. “Ah, Princess. James hasn’t injured you, that’s brilliant.” 

“And you clearly haven’t killed him in a motor vehicular disaster,” Sirius says cheerfully. “Praise be.” 

“We’re both fine,” you say. 

“Were you worried about us?” James asks. 

“I wasn’t worried about you, James,” Remus says with a smirk. 

You eat as you have every day for the week since you’ve been home: around the coffee table, five plates and drinks rearing to get knocked over and ruin it all. Your knees press into Remus’ on the left and Marlene’s on the right. James sits across from you now that Frank’s shown up for his night shift, digging in with vigour, beaming around his fork as Sirius gives him a good nudge. So many people in your crammed flat. It doesn’t seem real. Half the time, they’re just here to keep you company. 

Paid to keep me company, you think, biting your tongue as you do. This isn’t… real. 

Something taps you under the table. James’ hand, you find, long fingers pressing soft into your kneecap. You quickly lift your head again to find him frowning at you mildly. Okay? he mouths. 

“Bit my tongue,” you say. 

“Ouch,” Remus says. 

James pokes his lip with his tongue. “Be careful,” he says eventually. 

You ignore whatever it is he’s not saying and pick at your food instead. For dinner, Marlene has made a traditional Genovian pasta dish heavy with red pesto and steak. It isn’t what you’re expecting, used to the paler whites and greens of the last week's worth of dinner. James couldn’t be enjoying it more, and Sirius has pledged his undying love to Marlene three or four times since you sat down. 

“Jesus, I barely miss Genovia when you cook like this,” he says. “I will happily serve my country.” 

“Unlike before, when you were here unhappily,” Remus teased. 

Sirius looks you dead in the eye. “Princess, I would follow you anywhere. Marlene is an added bonus.” 

“I– I really wish you guys wouldn’t call me that.” 

Sirius looks gently chastened. “Sorry, sorry. It’s muscle memory at this point. If I called Princess Julianna by anything but her title, she would’ve had me drawn and quartered in the royal courtyards, is all.” 

“And the rest,” James snorts. 

“I try not to address her at all,” Remus says to himself. 

Everyone laughs. You join in a second later, wondering about your unknown cousin. “She was rather spoiled, wasn’t she?” you ask. 

“You’d think she’d tone it down some. Her royal status is rather tenuous, you know.” 

James gives Sirius a look. Careful, it says. 

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

“Well, she’s a royal by marriage, not blood. We explained that, didn’t we?” 

James had said it was complicated. You’d been too startled about your own royal status to inspect it any further. “She’s not a Renaldi?” you ask. 

As it’s explained, your uncle (uncle! who is indeed royal by blood, and the eldest son) forwent the throne when it became clear he wouldn’t be allowed to marry a divorced lover otherwise (reminiscent of certain British scandals). Said divorced lover already had a daughter, a young Julianna. And so your uncle remained a prince but not a king, and Julianna became a princess, to the ire of half the country. 

Traditions have changed in time, but Julianna still lacks Renaldi blood. 

“It drives her mad,” James says. He’s leaning back against the armchair now, dinner finished, a big glass of apple cider in his hands. 

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you say. “Sorry, I sound horrible, just. She wasn’t super friendly.” 

“It would’ve been better for everyone if she was,” Sirius says. 

You wait for him to continue. Marlene prompts him, “You think so?” 

“Well, yes, I suppose. Anything is better than a country ruled by Baron Riddle. Evil, loathsome man. He thinks that nobody knows he’s had a nose job, you know.” 

“Who’s Baron Riddle?” you ask. 

A hush falls around the table. You look down at your plate, eyes on the red shine of pesto and olive oil where it’s grown cold on your plate. A hunk of soft bread is discarded beside it. You poke at it with your nail until crumbs flake away, lips parted, not sure what to say. “Is he–?”

“He’s a bad man, Y/N,” Sirius says. His voice has turned soft but not thin. “He’s prejudiced and cruel. If nobody of Renaldi blood takes the throne when your grandmother steps down, he’ll rule Genovia. And he’ll run it into the ground.” 

James isn’t looking at you when you drag your head up. He downs the last of his cider and stands up, murmuring about clearing the table as he carries his and Sirius’ plate to the kitchen. 

“I didn’t know,” you say. Well, you’d known someone would ascend to the throne if you didn’t. But you didn’t know about Riddle. A guilty heat builds in your throat. “I had no idea.” 

“James asked us not to tell you,” Remus says pointedly. 

“She has a right to know,” Sirius says. They glare at each other, but the heat in Sirius’ voice doesn’t rescind. “What? She does. She’s a grown up.” 

You shake your head. “Thank you, um, for telling me. I’ll just take these out, should I?” You gesture to the plates and stand up quickly. You can’t escape the feeling that Sirius is very angry with you, and you don’t want to face it, so you escape the room instead. 

James’ shoulders are tense in the kitchen. He scrapes his plate clean into the food recycling bin, offering his hand without looking for your own. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

“Of course.” 

Silence blossoms like an achy bruise. 

“James–”

“Thank you for having me for dinner, but I really should be going now. I promised my mum an overdue call.” 

He’s angry. 

You cringe away from him. “Okay. Yeah, no problem.” 

“Okay. Stay safe while I’m gone, yes? Remember your panic button.” 

Your hand inches up to the opposite wrist, where your tennis bracelet of sapphires sits tightly. You’d forgotten all about the panic button embedded in disguise under one of the gemstones. 

He smiles at you briefly, and in a minute or two he’s gone. Sirius goes out after him, leaving you and Remus and Marlene to the heap of dishes, a bad taste lingering on your tongue that has nothing to do with dinner. 

[adimouze]

post-las vegas WDC max/daniel, rated M. ~1300 words. @girlsdads mentioned something about a lil bit of LL hating in a fic so. I did a lil bit of LL hating too.

-

A face floats into Max’s field of vision probably three hours into the fifth different party Max had been shepherded to since the race ended. He’s about ninety-percent sure he’s still in Las Vegas. He blinks blearily at it, hoping at least it’s pretty enough to look at. It has been a while since. Since.

Liam Lawson blinks back. Not who he was expecting. Gross. 

“Max,” he says, sounding too sober for whatever time it is. The club is loud but Max can still unfortunately hear him. “Are you okay?”

Max attempts a sweeping gesture, he’s carrying a glass of something and it hits someone’s back, making Max drop it with a smash. Liam cringes, looking like he’s about to complain. “This is my party, mate,” Max says, cutting off whatever Liam was going to say. “I’m fucking great.”

“Christian just left,” Liam says, and Max kind of hates how he talks but what can you do. Maybe he just doesn’t like Liam. “I think there’s another party happening a few blocks from now, do you want to join me?”

If Christian left that means Max can leave without theoretically offending anybody, even though it is his party. Half of the people around him don’t seem like people he knows anyway. “Nah man, you go on ahead, I’ll head back to the hotel –”

“Oh then I’ll head back with you,” Liam’s probably the most cheerful he’s been since Max met him. “Yuki scored and left me here.” 

Pity isn’t something Max feels often, but he does feel a bit of pity now. In his first year he was never left alone in clubs, either Carlos or Daniel were always there making sure they were around to get him back to wherever before they took someone home or to their hotel rooms. More often it was Daniel, and more often Daniel didn’t take anyone home, because they were sharing a room and more often it was just fun to watch onboards together, side by side. 

No one else but them. 

Then again, Max was a teenager in his first year and Liam’s twenty-two. He wouldn’t need babysitting. 

“Alright,” Max isn’t sure where he is. He doesn’t know how to ask Liam without sounding like an absolute idiot. 

“I have a car waiting,” Liam adds, after Max stared off into the distance for a few seconds, willing someone to appear with a car. Maybe Max isn’t being as subtle as he thought he was. 

_____

Red Bull and VCARB drivers are often put up in the same hotel, usually the standard room but Helmut had finangled him a penthouse upgrade on Thursday, telling Max that he deserved a proper room to party in, like Max was going to bring home an orgy. 

He’s pretty sure Liam couldn’t possibly have gotten a penthouse upgrade too. He’s sure hotels only have one penthouse? He’s sure. If he was less drunk he would be surer. But Liam makes no move to push any buttons. 

“Mind if I come up for a nightcap?” Liam asks, smiling. This is the most Max has seen him smile ever since he got Daniel…ever since Daniel left and he jumped in the car. Max does not want him to come up for a nightcap but Max is feeling generous tonight. 

“Sure, why not.” Someone had spilled what seems like a bottle of champagne on him at some point in the night and his shirt is sticking to him. He’s too tired to shower. Meh. It’ll be a problem for hungover Max tomorrow. 

The lift goes up insanely fast but still feels too slow for Max tonight. He’s WDC, four times WDC, he’s used to faster things, sue him. Liam is still staring at him. 

“Good driving tonight,” Max says, for want of anything better to do or say. He has no idea where Liam finished to be honest. 

“I finished 16,” Liam says flatly. Yikes. Well. 

The door dings open onto Max’s floor. And. 

Daniel’s sitting on the giant sectional of the penthouse living room. 

He looks gorgeous. Max wants to stare forever. He looks broad and good and tanned, his beard has filled in a lot more than when Max last saw him in Monaco, his hair thicker. The sweatshirt he’s wearing looks less oversized than usual, fitting his shoulders instead of drooping over them, and his trousers make his thighs look great. 

He’s smirking. He looks like a frat guy. He looks like one of those men from Victoria’s magazines that Max definitely didn’t jerk off over. 

Max is probably drooling, and Liam runs into him as he’s stepping out of the lift. 

“Oh sorry mate I – Daniel, hello.” Liam’s voice is a bit high. Confused. Probably scared. “Didn’t realize you were in Vegas. Red Bull didn’t…”

Daniel stands up and comes over. Max is still staring. Daniel moves like an apex predator and Liam’s just the runt of litter in this.  “Hey Liam. Well. Red Bull doesn’t own me anymore mate, do they? I can be wherever I want.”

He claps Liam on the shoulder in greeting then grabs Max’s limp hand. “Came to see my boy be the World Champion again.”

Liam’s probably saying something but Max doesn’t care, because Daniel’s pulling him in, arms going around Max, sticky shirt and all, and Max is going to swoon because Daniel smells good, good, good, their lips meeting after ages, Daniel’s lips and tongue the best, most refreshing thing Max has tasted all night. Someone’s moaning. 

It’s him. 

“Um…”

Liam’s still there. 

Max tries to pull back but Daniel’s got his hands on his ass, lifting, lifting, and Max’s legs going around him in response, and Daniel’s got them on the sofa in a second, Max perched on Daniel’s wide wide thighs without even separating their lips once. It’s the hottest thing Max has ever felt. He’s going to come just from the thought alone. 

“Liam,” Daniel’s saying, pulling back a few centimeters to give Max some breathing space. “I’m going to fuck my husband on this sofa right now, and he’s going to be screaming loud enough to be heard from the moon. So like,” he pops the k, and Max’s dick twitches, precome dripping into his underwear, “unless you want a front row seat to that for some reason, shouldn’t you be heading to bed?” 

“Husband?” Liam’s stuttering. “Excuse me? You can’t – Does Christian know? He’s going to be so mad at you, Max what the fuck –?”

“Get out,” Daniel says. Max has never heard him sound like that. “Now.” 

“I’m calling Christian,” Liam says as a parting shot. “He won’t – he’s not going to allow this.”

“Yeah you do that, mate,” Daniel rolls his eyes then squeezes Max’s ass harder. God, he’s so hot. Max feels insane. Husband husband husband. “What’s he going to do, fire me again?” 

The lift dings shut again. They’re blessedly alone. 

“Husband?” Max snorts, shivering as Daniel’s fingers undo his pant buttons. “Bit presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”

“The ring’s in the suitcase, baby,” Daniel says, smiling like a wolf, fingers curling around Max’s dick. Max grinds into the feeling, needing Daniel inside him right now. This is the best day of his life. “Was hoping you’d say yes.”

“Let me think about it,” Max laughs, and Daniel bites his nipple through his shirt. “Liam’s probably told the Herald by now.”

“I’ll personally send him the wedding photos,” Daniel cackles, licking up Max’s neck, leaving wet trails in the cold air con of the room, “if he promises to send me photos of Christian when he tells him I was about to fuck him in front of you.”

“Stop talking about Christian and fuck the World Champion already, husband,” Max says, his laughter turning into moans when Daniel all too willingly complies.

[cevansbrat0007]

I saw this and thought of Ari and his Bird right away 😂 Now how would he react? 😌

Dinner is Served...

Summary: You surprise Ari with his favorite meal: You.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Implied Smut, An Appearance from Bucky Barnes, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Brief Discussions of Body Image, High Heels, Naked Fun in the Kitchen, Manhandling, Clothed Male Nude Female (CMNF), Pussy Eating, Very Mild Chase Kink, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: I think someone actually asked me this a while ago. Maybe. I vaguely remember my answer. However, instead of rehashing that, this is how I think that would go - with a twist! Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

“I sent you the files this morning, Buck.” Ari winces as he shoulders his way into your house from the garage. “It’s not my fault you don’t know how to open ‘em.”

“Just resend them in a different format.” His friend and business partner responds, sounding frustrated. 

“Why don’t you just give-in and ask Pixie to help you already?”

“Because she’s been giving me the silent treatment since Tuesday. Why would I want to risk breaking the streak?” 

Rolling his eyes, he drops his bag by the door – only to be surprised when he spots a pair of your panties laying innocently on the floor. Upon closer inspection, he realizes that it’s actually one of his favorites. It was part of a set he’d bought you just last month. 

“What’d you do, Barnes?”

“Uh…” A heavy sigh can be heard coming from the other side of the phone. “I accidentally broke her fancy little coffee maker.”

“Wow.” He responds, disapproval evident in his tone.  

“Hey! I just said it was an accident. She said she had a bad night and so I tried to make her one of those latte…macchiato…things she likes. And then I broke it.”   

“Make it right, Buck.” After toeing off his boots Ari begins making his way towards the kitchen, following the sound of music in the air. He frowns when he spies your blouse in the middle of the hallway. Closely followed by a pair of black leggings. 

“How?” God, his buddy could be so goddamned obtuse sometimes.

“Fucking apologize. And then buy her another one – a better one.” 

“Ugh!” The former soldier whines. “I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for a replacement. How about I–?”

Wait. WAIT. Was that your bra? Just what the fuck was up with this strange trail of clothes?

“Buck, you’re a grown man. And google is your friend.” Ari snaps as he picks up your fallen undergarment, his confusion growing with each passing second. “Restore peace to the land before that woman feels compelled to drop a nuke.” With that he ends the call, now ready to solve whatever mystery he’s just stumbled upon. 

But what it’s he sees when he rounds the corner that has him stopping dead in his tracks.

“Well, shit.” His mouth goes dry as he watches your hips sway to the music pumping out of the speaker. 

A low whistle of appreciation has you glancing over your shoulder. 

If you were being honest, you’d known he was home the moment you’d heard your garage door open. Which was also why your bathrobe was now hastily balled up in your pantry. 

“Welcome home!” You chirp, not missing the way your man’s eyes darken as they drink you in. “Did you have a good day?”

“What’s all this?” Ari’s already deep voice dips an octave as he holds up your previously abandoned bra, dangling it from his finger. But you know he’s not mad. This question is coming from a man who clearly likes what he sees.

Which just so happens to be you. Happily cooking in your kitchen. Wearing nothing but a little makeup and a pair of red heels. Oh, and oven mitts. Can’t forget those.

You’d come across this scenario while aimlessly scrolling on Instagram. And since you were growing more comfortable with the body you saw in the mirror these days, you figured that it might be worth trying your luck. If only to see your man’s reaction.

“Oops!” You gasp, trying your best to look apologetic. “I just haven’t had a chance to clean up yet. I’m sorry.”

“Baby…” Ari drags a stunned hand over his jaw. “That’s not even – ah fuck. Cleanin’ up is the absolute last thing on my mind right now.” Dropping the undergarment on a nearby table, he begins making his way to you – only to come up short once again when he catches sight of your heels. 

“What? I’m just tryin’ to break ‘em in. That’s all.”

“Fuck meee.” He groans under his breath, his eyes going wide at the sight of your latest surprise. 

“Hold that thought, sugar.” With a wink, you turn back towards the stove before bending over to retrieve tonight’s dessert from the oven. You’re forced to bite the inside of your cheek when you hear your bounty hunter’s sudden intake of breath at the sight of your bare ass. 

“There we go.” You hum, playfully fanning yourself with a checkered mitt. “Hope you like homemade cinnamon rolls with whipped cream cheese frosting." Tendrils of feminine pride unfurls in your belly when you notice Ari’s impressive hard-on tenting his jeans. "They’re the perfect after-dinner treat.”

“That’s–I’m not…” He cuts himself off, surprising you both with his inability to speak. “We–that ain’t the kinda treat I’m hungry for, little Bird.”

“Hm.” You nod as you stretch your arms above your head. Giving into temptation, you rise up on your toes before giving a little shimmy, calling attention to your breasts. “No problem. What’s the point of talkin’ about dessert when we haven’t even discussed the main course?”

“Huh?” Ari clears his throat, his rapt gaze now focused on your pouting nipples. 

“Tonight we’re having roasted potatoes –” 

“I don’t give a good-damn about no roasted potatoes, woman!” The bounty hunter rumbles, cutting you off before you can finish telling him your menu. “You don’t need to cook nothin’ else. I already know what I’m hungry for.” He takes a decisive step in your direction. “It’s just a matter of where I’m eatin’.”

“But you don’t even know what we’re havin’ yet!” Comes your incredulous laugh as you bat away his eager hands. 

“This right here.” He growls, broadly gesturing at your naked body. “All of this. That’s what I want.” Without warning, he grabs the edge of his t-shirt with both hands before yanking it over his head, revealing his muscled chest. “I'm fuckin' starvin'.”

“But I’m not on the menu!” You shriek, throwing a dish towel at him the next time he gets too close. The next thing you know, this man is now chasing you around your own kitchen, his long legs quickly eating up the space between you. 

Fuck it was hard to run in heels! 

“Now I don’t mind where I dine, darlin’.” Your man purrs, his already sexy voice pitched to arouse. “We can take it to the bedroom. The living room…”

“Beast!” You burst into a fit of giggles as you attempt to fend him off with the help of a chair. “Need I remind you that we are in the kitchen?”

Now that makes him pause. But only for a second. 

“It ain’t the first time I’ve had you in here.” The chair you’ve been holding is gently ripped from your grasp. “Pretty sure I’ve devoured that pussy in every room of this house.” You watch in defeat as he sends your last little bit of protection skidding across the floor. “Did you forget how wet you got the last time I splayed you out on this-here table? Because I haven’t.”

One rough, slightly calloused hand grips the back of your neck – drawing you closer. 

“Remember how I made you hold yourself open for me?” His lips ghost over yours – the sharp nip of his teeth causing your heart to beat erratically in your chest. “Remember the way your thighs shook every time you gushed around me?” He moans softly, the erotic sound going straight to your dripping cunt. 

“I–If you don’t want the potatoes, we’re also having…um…” You can’t help but whimper when he abandons your throat in favor of grabbing a hearty handful of your ass. “Herb roasted chicken…”

“I get so hard whenever I think about the way you drenched my fuckin’ beard, baby.” Ari gives you a playful squeeze before lifting you by your hips and depositing you on the table as if you weigh nothing. “My good girl always makes such a mess for me. Don’t you?” 

“Could I perhaps interest you in some honey glazed carrots?” However, your weak attempt at redirection is completely ignored.

A heady thrum of excitement courses through you when you feel your back connect with the cool, wooden surface. And then Ari’s hands come to rest on your knees, gently prying them apart, baring your most intimate flesh. 

“Look at you.” He rasps, tenderly stroking your slick folds. “Fuckin’ soaked already. And here we are just gettin’ started.” He parts you with thick fingers before leaning down to press a kiss to your puffy clit, making your hips buck. 

“Yeah,” he continues. “This is the only honey I give a fuck about tonight.” Gripping your ankle, he drapes your leg over one broad shoulder, opening you up to him even more. And then he reaches for the remote to your speaker, turning up the volume of the music that had since become little better than background noise. 

“Don’t want any interruptions while I enjoy my meal. Especially since you spent so much time preparin’ it.” Ari drags your body towards the edge of the table before taking a seat in a chair and placing a napkin across his lap. “And don’t worry about me needing any silverware, sweet Bird…” He murmurs as his mouth descends upon your vulnerable, quivering pussy.

“I don't mind gettin' my hands dirty.”

END

Official Tag List

@katymae12344

@identity2212

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@blackhawkfanatic

@jamneuromain

@queerqueenlynn

@pono-pura-vida

@daykrisr999

@ninacutebee16

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@emerald-writes

@gh0stgurl

@blogbog710

@sincerelytlh

@gummydummy19

@steviebbboi

@missaprilt23

@scorpiosaintt

[dracophile]

I like this version too, but I still think the original is important. Because in the original, at least the one I heard, the other animals don't give reasons. They just say "Not I", and usually have them doing something fun in the pictures like fishing or playing ball. Some versions I've seen had them making excuses that were obviously flimsy or lies. So the Hen ends up doing all the work herself because no one wants to help her, not because they're busy or tired. But when the reward comes the others are eager to have the bread. My version did have the hen refusing to share the one loaf she had, but said if they help her next time they can make more and have a party.

My mom explained it to me like this: If ("when you're older") you don't pitch in just because you don't feel like it, don't believe you're entitled to the reward. You aren't entitled to someone else's work you're not paying or trading for or helping them do. It's up to them whether to share it with you.

Now this version is different--the other animals give a REASON why they're busy or tired. Not an excuse, a reason. And the Little Red Hen obviously accepts those reasons because these are her friends and she can see them working and is still happy to share at the end and made enough for everyone regardless. But the others are also sorry they couldn't help and not expecting or demanding to get bread since they couldn't help. Everyone is understanding and gets a reward.

One quiet day on the farm, the Little Red Hen found some wheat seeds and decided to make bread.

"Who will help me plant these seeds?" the Little Red Hen asked.

"I would." said the Horse "But I'm a workhorse, and I'm too busy moving carts around."

And so the Little Red Hen planted the seeds by herself. And they grew into bountiful golden crops.

"Who will help me harvest the wheat?" the Little Red Hen asked.

"I would." said the Dog "But I'm a guarddog, and I'm too busy keeping away burglars and predators."

And so the Little Red Hen harvested the wheat herself and made it into flour.

"Who will help me bake the flour?" the Little Red Hen asked.

"I would." said the Pig "But I'm a mother of 5 newborn piglets, and I'm too busy taking care of my young."

And so the Little Red Hen baked the bread herself into twenty beautiful loaves.

"Who will help me eat the bread?" the Little Red Hen asked.

"We would." said the Farm Animals. "But we're ashamed, for we didn't do anything to make the bread."

"Nonsense!" said the Little Red Hen. "You, Horse, helped move around the stones that built my oven. You, Dog, kept me safe while I worked. And you, Pig, are raising a new generation of Farm Animals, who will too contribute to our Farm one day. You've all helped me so much by simply being you."

"Besides," the Little Red Hen added. "I couldn't possibly eat all the loaves on my own, most of them would go to waste. Come, eat with me."

And so the Little Red Hen and the Farm Animals ate the bread together. And all saw their own, and each other's, worth.

[neostellarjpg]

inner mono-dialogue

the more time i spend being davepeta with you the more i realize almost every single problem in my life was caused by my obsession with being this unfeeling cool dude

but youre cool already

like in the way that actually matters

youre chill and friendly and just nice and thats all there is to it

youre shamelessly yourself even if everybody around you is a jackass and gives you shit for it

youre similar to jade and john in that way

i really envied that about them

but its different actually being at the control panel and feeling where that earnesty comes from

it makes me wanna match your energy and keep that pawsitivity ball rolling even if it ends up being weird or cringe or whatever

fuck man do you know how exhausting it is building yourself social hoops to leap through all the time and when you trip up even once its suddenly the end of the world

what kinda dumbass does that its like dealing with life in hard mode for no reward

fuck that noise

i like your way better

Nepeta's heart burns and shines inside you.

:33 < thank you :))

:33 < but you know

:33 < i dont think doing things your way is unrewarding

:33 < its like

:33 < a shield!

Dave scrunches up with discomfort.

X33 < i dont mean that in an insulting way!

:33 < the fact is that shields are just purractical sometimes

:33 < it doesnt make you cowardly to hide behind one

:33 < in the same way that it isnt cowardly for a predator to hide in the bushes when stalking prey

:33 < its just a way to make sure you dont get hurt!

:33 < purrsonally i found shields too cumbersome

X33 < im a hunter after all!

:33 < and i guess maybe the same goes for my personality

:33 < its not really that im purrticularly brave for being myself

:33 < i just didnt have a say in the matter in the furst place!

:33 < honestly if i had a choice i would have loved to be more like you dave

:33 < you can befriend people almost effortlessly

:33 < and its beclaws youre also just a nice person

Dave recoils in surprise, but Nepeta passionately pushes forward.

:33 < fur real! i f33l it inside you! theres a really strong sense of empathy there

:33 < its just like mine! just smarter, and a bit more analytical

:33 < whenever we encounter someone mew, its like i f33l you lock onto them, and you gather so many insights into their purrsonality without even trying

:33 < and you can use that to bond with others without giving every part of you away

:33 < which unfortunately

:(( < i never really knew how to do

Nepeta sours with unpleasant feelings. Your brows scrunch together with both pain and sympathy.

Nepeta has a big and complex heart. She tried her best to keep it from spilling over, but it always did in the end. And it was embarrassing. It was embarrassing when your friends dismissed your hobbies or focused in on your strange quirks. It was embarrassing when they revealed they knew about your crush on Karkat that you'd worked so hard to hide. And it hurt whenever he would say mean things about you. He and anyone else.

But you always puffed out your chest and sucked it up. You stuck to your guns no matter what. Because it was fun! The things you liked, the people you liked, were fun, and they made you feel good. Why couldn't anyone else see that? And why did it seem like they never gave a single thought to who you were?

You curl in on yourself. Your chest hurts. You suddenly really miss Equius.

And you miss Rose. You miss Jade. You miss John and Karkat and Aradia and Tavros and Terezi and all the others. You miss all the people you can go outside and see whenever you wish, and you miss all the people that you have no hope of ever seeing again. You feel the choral echo of all the times you've ever felt this need for comfort, this thrumming pain searing hot inside you, like hunger wracking your stomach.

You clench your teeth. You remember being on your bed, curled in blankets, not having eaten a proper meal in days. You remember holding your stomach and sneaking to the kitchen, turning your shoulder at every step to look fearfully behind you, only for your fingers to falter hopelessly on the handle of the refrigerator, knowing there was nothing for you inside.

You shake with anger. You know that feeling. The feeling of being chased by something much bigger than you, a hulking silhouette of menacing strength following your scent through the thicket. You'd clutched a beast carcass to your chest, barely breathing as you stalked clumsily through the trees, performance wavering from exhaustion and hunger.

You'd almost died. You'd almost died often. And then after escaping death so many times, it one day claimed you. Casually. Unflinchingly. And the world beat on without you, leaving you stunned by your own insignificance. You'd looked out onto every preceding moment of your life, wondering if there was anything to truly be proud of in the face of your friends accomplishing all these fantastical things. You'd felt lonely before, but after that, you were truly walled off from every single person you knew.

And now, despite everything, you're alive again. Twofold, together with someone.

A warmth coats the ache inside your body. The two parts of you swirl together, feeling and tasting each other, trying to understand themselves.

It feels like a hug.

[mononijikayu]

water — gojo satoru.

"Satoru, lover….oh." you gasped again, your hands fisting in his hair as he kissed his way down your neck, your body arching into him. "I want—" "I know, I know." he whispered against your skin, his voice low and husky. "Just hold on, babe. I'm gonna take you exactly where you need to go." And with that, he surged forward, capturing your lips in another fiery kiss, his hands moving to grip your thighs, holding you steady as the intensity between you built, hotter and hotter until you felt like you were about to burst.

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: afab!, romance, smut, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, exhibitionism, kissing, making out, fingering (f! receiving), oral sex (f! receiving), rough sex, p to v sex, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (lover, babe, etc), characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, sorcerer! gojo satoru, sorcere! reader;

WORD COUNT: 5.5k words.

NOTE: this song hasn't been out of my head since it came out and now tyla has new music out and i just know it will slap and i will dance to it. i wanted to make sure satoru's first since i haven't written for him in a while!!! this begins this playlist!!! i hope you enjoy side 2000!!! i love you all and see you in the next one <3

masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 2000;

if you want to, tip! <3

YOU JUST WANTED TO ENJOY THE PARTY. It’s been a while since you’d found yourself trying to destress from work and the busy push and pull of life. And with Satoru’s schedule being the chaotic mess it was, it was always so rare for the two of you to go out for way too long and have fun together, with schedules that contradict each other.

So, when your next door neighbors finally debuted their pool at their house, they decided to throw a barbecue party for the neighborhood. When you told Satoru about it, he told you he was willing to take a day off. And knowing that, you knew you were taking the opportunity, even just for tonight, to loosen up. Isn’t that what life’s all about?

The evening sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the pool, the perfect backdrop for a party that was only just beginning to heat up. Laughter and music filled the air, but your eyes were locked on one person. 

There he was, that bright eyed man Gojo Satoru, standing at the edge of the pool with his signature grin, a drink in hand. His bright snowy white hair was damp from a quick dip, droplets of water clinging to his skin as he watched you approach.

You could feel the heat of his gaze as you slid into the water, your body moving effortlessly through the cool pool. The tension between you was thick, the playful banter from earlier simmering into something much more intense as the night wore on.

"Looking a little wild tonight, babe." Satoru teased, his voice dripping with amusement as you swam up to him. He set his drink aside, his blue eyes glinting with a challenge. "Think you can keep up?"

Normally, you’d throw a sarcastic retort his way, but tonight was different. Tonight, something in you wanted more. The playful banter wasn’t enough. You wanted to feel his hands on your skin, to see if he could really make good on all those teasing words.

"You think you can handle me?" you shot back, your voice low and sultry as you moved closer, the water swirling around you both. The music pulsed in the background, the beat matching the thrum of anticipation coursing through your veins.

Satoru’s sly little grin widened, his fingers trailing lazily along the edge of the pool. "I don’t know, babe." he drawled, his voice laced with mock uncertainty. "But I’m more than willing to find out."

Without another word, you pushed forward, closing the distance between you, pressing your body against his. The cool water contrasted with the heat of his skin, and the contact sent a shiver of desire through you.

"Normally, lover boy…." you whispered, lips brushing against his reddening ear. "I can keep my cool. But tonight, I think…I think we need some heat, don’t you think?" You trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air between you.

Satoru's hands found your waist, his grip firm and possessive as he pulled you closer, his breath hot against your neck. His blue orbs clashing against your own, mischief echoing in their very color. 

"Good that you agree with me." he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your throat. "Because I like it when you’re a little wild."

Your heart pounded in your chest as his hands roamed over your body, the slickness of the water making every touch feel even more intimate. His fingers dug into your hips as he lifted you slightly, pressing you against the pool's edge, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

The intensity of his gaze pinned you in place, blue eyes darkened with desire. "Can you handle this, babe?" Satoru’s vibrating voice was a low, dangerous rumble, full of heat and promise. “Can you really?”

Your breath hitched, the tension between you unbearable. "Why don't you show me how hard you can go, lover boy?" you challenged, your voice breathless, your body already burning with anticipation. “I’m sure….I can try.”

With a wicked grin, Satoru leaned in passionately. It was almost immediate, the way he was capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His ferious tongue teased yours, slow and deliberate.

Your lover always makes it a point to have a shot in tasting every inch of you as his hands explored your body under the water. You moaned into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his damp hair as the kiss deepened, the world around you fading away.

Every brush of his lips, every caress of his hands set your body on fire, making you sweat despite the coolness of the water. You could feel him, hard and ready against you, and the need for more, so much more. Everything about him was overwhelming. And you loved it, you loved it too much. 

"Satoru, oh—" you gasped as he kissed a trail down your neck, your body arching into him, desperate for every ounce of contact. "You're making me lose my breath like always."

"Good." he murmured against your skin, his hands sliding lower, gripping you tighter. "Because like always, I’m not done with you yet."

His mouth found yours again, the kiss deeper, hungrier this time, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. The heat between you both was scorching, your bodies pressed together in the water, moving in perfect rhythm. His lips traveled down your throat, his teeth grazing your collarbone, leaving you gasping, breathless.

"Then make me sweat, lover boy." you whispered against his ear, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw as his hands moved under the water, teasing your thighs, pulling you closer. “Make me feel good, like the water.”

Satoru groaned, a sound that sent a thrill through you. "I plan to, babe." he promised, his voice thick with desire as his hands gripped your waist.

He grins as he is lifting you slightly, pressing you harder against the pool's edge. "And when I'm done, you're gonna be begging me for more."

His words sent a shockwave of heat straight through you, and you could feel yourself trembling with need. The water around you felt like it was boiling, every touch from Gojo Satoru was igniting sparks of pleasure that raced through your body. He was taking over you, every bit of you — like he always does.

"Satoru, lover….oh." you gasped again, your hands fisting in his hair as he kissed his way down your neck, your body arching into him. "I want—"

"I know, I know." he whispered against your skin, his voice low and husky. "Just hold on, babe. I'm gonna take you exactly where you need to go."

And with that, he surged forward, capturing your lips in another fiery kiss, his hands moving to grip your thighs, holding you steady as the intensity between you built, hotter and hotter until you felt like you were about to burst.

Everything was just getting started.

And Gojo Satoru was still pretty hungry.

He liked having his fill of you every single time.

Your heart raced as Satoru’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to keep you anchored while the rest of your body felt like it was spiraling out of control. Every kiss, every brush of his lips against your skin sent jolts of electricity through you, making you lose track of time, place, and everything else that wasn’t him.

The party noises faded into the background. The splashing of the pool, the music, the chatter of distant voices, none of it mattered anymore. It was just you and Satoru, bodies pressed together, the water swirling lazily around you as if time itself had slowed to match the intensity of the moment.

"Still think you can keep up, babe?" he whispered against your lips, his breath hot and teasing. His eyes sparkled with that familiar mischief, but beneath it, there was a hunger. There was this endless raw, desperate need that mirrored your own. “I wanna go as fast as I can with you.”

"Don’t worry about me, lover boy." you shot back, breathless but determined, your hands sliding down his slick chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath. "I can handle you."

Gojo Satoru’s grin widened at the challenge, his lips pressing hard against yours in a bruising kiss. All you could do was let him win, as you groaned against the pleasure of his searing touch. Even the heat of the passion was burning on water. 

His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, every dip, as if he wanted to memorize the feel of you beneath his fingertips. The water between you only heightened the sensation, the cool liquid a stark contrast to the heat that burned where his skin met yours.

"I’ll make you sweat more, babe. I promised you." he murmured, his voice low and rough, as if he could barely contain himself. 

His lips trailed down your neck again, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed and nipped his way down to your collarbone, making you gasp with each new touch. You could feel your body responding to him, heat pooling low in your stomach, your breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. 

"Satoru, lover boy. Oh, you’re…." you moaned, his name slipping from your lips before you could stop it, the intensity of the moment overwhelming. 

His hands slid down to your hips, gripping you tighter as he pressed you back against the edge of the pool. His lips were relentless, moving across your skin like fire, making you tremble beneath him. You were losing control, your body melting under his touch, every nerve lit up in anticipation.

"That’s right," he whispered, his voice dark and full of promise. "Let go for me."

You didn’t need any more convincing. Your hands tangled in his wet hair as you pulled him closer, your lips crashing against his in a feverish kiss, your body moving against his as if you couldn’t get enough. His hands slipped lower, teasing you, making you gasp as the pleasure built higher and higher.

"Satoru. You’re so…." you breathed, your voice trembling with need. "I can’t—"

"Yes, you can." he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "You can take it. I’ll take you there."

The heat between you was unbearable now, the tension building with every kiss, every touch, every whispered word. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge, your body straining for release, every nerve in your body on fire.

"Come on, baby," Satoru murmured, his hands gripping your thighs as he pulled you closer, his lips hot against your skin. "Just let go for me."

And you did. The pleasure hit you all at once, like a wave crashing over you, stealing your breath and making you cry out as your body shook with the intensity of it. You clung to Satoru, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he held you steady, riding out the aftershocks of your release with slow, deliberate kisses that left you trembling.

"That’s my pretty babe, hm?” he whispered, his voice soft now, his lips brushing yours in a tender kiss. "You did so good."

You could barely catch your breath, your body still buzzing with the afterglow as you leaned back against the edge of the pool, your legs still wrapped around him. You looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest, and saw that familiar, lazy grin on his face—the one that said he wasn’t quite finished with you yet.

"Think you’ve still got some energy left?" he teased, his hands moving up your sides, his thumbs brushing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. "You think I can’t keep up? Haven’t I shown you something good, lover boy?"

His grin widened, and he leaned in close, his lips hovering just above yours. "Oh, I know you can, babe." he murmured, his breath hot against your lips. "But I’m not done making you sweat just yet, you know?”

You both disappeared, finally slipping away from the crowd and into the shadows, your lips still locked in a feverish kiss. The night air was thick with the scent of chlorine and heat, but all you could focus on was Satoru. Only him. His hands, his mouth, his body pressed against yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

The two of you managed to find yourselves in a secluded corner, hidden from prying eyes. His lips trailed down once more your neck, and before you knew it, you were pressed up against the cool tile wall, your skin burning with need as his mouth worked wonders against your throat.

“You’re wild tonight, babe.” Satoru murmured, his voice thick with desire, fingers grazing your hips, teasing. His usual cocky grin spread across his face as he kissed you again, this time slower, deeper, as if savoring every second.

“And you love it, don’t you?” you shot back, breathless as you tangled your hands in his hair. The thrill of the night, of being wrapped in his arms, made your pulse race, your body crave more.

Without a word, Satoru dropped to his knees before you, and your breath hitched. You knew what he was doing. His hands parted your legs as his gaze burned into yours, the heat of his anticipation palpable in the air. 

The smirk on his face sent a shiver through you, but that shiver turned into pure heat when his lips met your inner thigh, trailing kisses up, up, until you could feel his hot breath against your core.

“Satoru…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your body aching for his touch.

He didn’t hesitate. His tongue found you, and your head fell back against the wall, a soft moan escaping your lips as he devoured you like a man starved. You bit your lip as a plethora of pleasured moans released from your lips. 

There was no restraint, no gentleness—just hunger. His mouth was messy, his tongue moving in ways that had your legs trembling, and the slick from your arousal coated his chin as he worked you with an unrelenting passion.

The sounds he made, deep, guttural groans of satisfaction, it only heightened the pleasure, and the way his hands gripped your thighs, holding you steady. Everything about it made you feel like you were about to come undone at any moment. 

If anything, he was too hungry for your cunny. And he wouldn’t stop even if you wanted him too. He was hungry for you. He always was. He lapped at you, his tongue swirling and flicking with precision, like he was trying to draw out every moan, every gasp from your lips.

“Satoru… oh my god….” you gasped, your fingers threading through his white hair rougher as your body arched towards him, desperate for more.

He pulled back for just a moment, his chin glistening with your slick, eyes dark with lust as he grinned up at you. He’s having fun with this, he always has. If anything about Satoru, he doesn’t like playing fair when it comes to eating. 

“You taste so damn good, babe.” he growled, his voice low, feral, before diving back in. “How come you’ve become sweeter?”

“You…You tasted me last night, oh—”

“What can I say, babe? You always just get sweeter for me. And I love it.”

You groaned against his words. But he just laughed once again and dived in. If one had thought that he couldn’t go any deeper, any rougher, any hungrier, any messier — they would be wrong. He can go even more than that. You knew your lover way too well.

The way his mouth moved against you was nothing short of sinful. Sloppy, messy, and so damn good. It was as if he couldn’t get enough, like he was trying to consume every part of you. Your body was shaking, legs threatening to give out as the pleasure built inside you, and all you could do was grip his hair tighter, riding his tongue as he pulled you closer and closer to the edge.

His fingers slid inside you while his mouth never left its place, curling perfectly as he stretched you out. The combination of his fingers and his mouth working together had you spiraling, your moans echoing through the air, louder now, unable to hold back as your body begged for release.

“Fuck, Satoru, don’t stop. Please, don’t.” you moaned, barely coherent, the intensity too much, but you didn’t want it to end.

He didn’t slow down, he had no reason to. Not when you’re egging him on. Not when he wants you too badly. Not when it all just felt so good. You could feel his tongue moving with expert precision, his fingers thrusting deeper, harder, until you were teetering on the edge of oblivion. 

You could feel the tension building, that delicious, overwhelming pressure that made it impossible to think of anything other than him—his mouth, his fingers, the way he was devouring you like you were the last meal he’d ever get.

And then, without warning, you shattered. The orgasm ripped through you, your body convulsing as pleasure flooded every nerve, and Satoru didn’t stop. His fingers continued to move, his tongue still lapping at you, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until you were trembling, breathless, completely undone.

He pulled back slightly, his lips and chin slick with your sweet decadent release, and he looked up at you with a satisfied grin. That sly look, he always has that excitement when he makes you feel this way. Gojo Satoru believes he always has to win, one way or the other. 

“You taste like heaven, babe. A hundred percent heaven.” he murmured, his voice rough, hoarse, as he licked his lips, savoring the taste of you. 

You could barely catch your breath, your body still trembling as you leaned back against the rough brick wall for support, staring down at him with a dazed smile. Sweat permeated through your skin as you caught yourself back to some sense again.

“You’re unbelievable, Satoru.” you muttered, chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to recover from the intensity of it all.

Satoru took a moment to meet your orbs. Once more, they echoed that same desire. He was still hungry, he was still wanting more. Your lover rose to his feet, his body pressing against yours once again as he captured your lips in a heated kiss once again. 

You moan against the roughness of his desire, pushing against his tongue with your own. Almost instantly, you could taste yourself on his lips, the remnants of your slick still clinging to him, and it only made you crave him more. 

“You love it, babe.” he whispered against your mouth, his hands sliding up your body, possessive, confident. “And well, so do I.”

You couldn’t deny it. The way he had you, completely under his control, yet giving you everything you wanted, was intoxicating. You were hooked, the moment you met Satoru. You knew that when you let him get deeper and deeper, you couldn’t live without him. 

Without his kisses, his eyes, his warmth, his touch. One way or another, you were trapped with your want. You wanted more of him, like a greedy little vixen who won’t stop until you get what you wanted. And there was no turning back.

As you both pulled away and began dressing once again, the heat of the moment still thrumming between you, Satoru watched you with that mischievous grin, his cerulean eyes glinting in the low light. His hands brushed over your waist, teasing, as you adjusted your clothes, but there was still that lingering tension, that promise of more to come.

As you both stepped out of the secluded spot, you shot him a playful wink. “Try to keep up next time, Satoru.”

He chuckled, his smirk widening. “You think you can outlast me, doll?”

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him roughly, your lips pressing against his with that same intensity from earlier. “Oh I know I can.”

And you wanted to prove that yourself.

Instead of going back to the party, it was your turn.

It was your turn to be just as hungry for him.

You took his hand, grinning at him and pulling him away.

There were still unoccupied guest beds after all.

Gojo Satoru couldn’t shake the feeling that he loved making you sweat even more than before. The heat of the moment radiated between you as you found yourselves in one of the bedrooms, the faint thump of the party still audible in the background, but all you could focus on was each other. The room felt electric, filled with anticipation and desire, and the scent of your skin only heightened his need.

You weren’t sure whose bedroom it was, but that hardly mattered. What mattered was the way he had you bent over, your hands gripping the edge of the bed as he pressed into you from behind. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious mix of pleasure and pressure that sent shivers through your spine.

“God, you feel amazing.” he murmured with desire. “Babe, how are you always so good?”

You could hear how his voice reverberated low and rough as he playfully ran his hands over the mound of your ass, savoring the way it responded to his playful touch. Each squeeze elicited soft gasps from your lips, and he couldn’t help but smile wide at how perfectly you arched for him, begging for more of him in you.

With one hand pressed against your back, you guided him deeper and deeper inside of you, ensuring your body was perfectly positioned for him. The way your skin glistened bright under the low light was nothing short of divine, and every movement sent waves of heat coursing through every fiber of Satoru’s being.

The greedy echo sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, a rhythmic echo that felt almost sacred to him. Gojo Satoru likes to think he was a worshiper and your body was his temple. And you were his god. You were his everything. 

Each and every time he made love to you, it was like holy hymns reverberating through the air, fueling his desire further. He loved the feeling of being so deeply connected to you, the way your bodies moved together in perfect harmony.

“Tell me you like this, babe.” he demanded, his voice husky with lust as he picked up the pace, driving into you with a steady force. “Tell me you feel gooddddd, oh—”

His hand shifted from your back to your hip, fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you closer, using his grip to push you further onto him. Everything felt like a burning pandemonium as he got deeper in crevices in you that you never thought existed before. 

You could feel your mouth watering, drooling as he pushed in and out of you, like he memorized the map and was finding it again, over and over. It was an interesting thing, how you could feel ever so alive just by being in his arms. By being so full of him. You know your lover boy feels the same thing too.

“Yes, yes, Satoru!” you gasped, your breath hitching as he hit that perfect spot, the pressure building with every thrust. You could feel the heat pooling low in your stomach, and each of his movements only intensified it.

“Good girl, my good girl. My pretty little babe.” he praised, the raw satisfaction in his voice making your heart race even faster. 

Gojo Satoru seems to thrive on this, every single time. He’d always been crazy. He knew that much. Much more so in bed. It was hard to find that genuinity of intimacy. Not only in the innocence of adoration, but the crazy roughness of sensuality. 

So when he met you and you matched his crazy, he found himself thriving. He found himself living pleasure through you, in ways he’d never known before. And he’d been glad for that. He’d been glad for you.

It was the way you responded to him, the way you melted under his touch every time you made love. It was the sweat that bound your flesh together. It was the way you would bite him as he pounded deeper into you. It was the way his fingers would dig onto your thighs and mark them. 

It was the way your nails would create a mess of bloody constellations on the neatness of his skin. It was the feeling of his fat balls slapping against your ass, the way your body reacted, was intoxicating. Every sound you made, every gasp, felt like music to his ears.

Everything you did, everything you gave him — it had made him feel so alive.

He leaned over you, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Just for me, hm? Just for me.”

His words sent a thrill through you, and you couldn’t help but push back against him, wanting more, craving that deep connection that seemed to pulse between you. “More, Satoru. Please, don’t stop.”

He smirked slyly and immediately pushed to oblige, driving into you with renewed fervor> You cried out as the heat of the moment enveloping you both, his body pushing closer and closer to you, as though he wanted it to merge. 

Each thrust sent shockwaves through your body, igniting every nerve ending as you lost yourself in the rhythm, caught in a world that existed only for the two of you. You could care less if anyone were to walk in and see how deplorable this situation was. You could care less if someone screams in shock. 

No, nothing else mattered. It was pleasure that mattered. There was only you in this universe, only him and you — wet by the water of sweat that pools between the desire to make each other whole. 

“Damn, you’re perfect, babe.” he groaned, the sound vibrating through your body as he leaned into you more, the weight of him pressing you down, anchoring you to the moment. “So, so perfect.” 

The way he played with you, using your body to bring himself pleasure, sent you spiraling into pure ecstasy. Nothing else has come close to making you both feel alive. It was just this moment that made you feel that life was worth living. 

Just the two of you, the heat, the pleasure, and the way he made you feel alive. This was all that life needs. This was all what the Strongest needed to feel alive. Jujutsu was given to him from the moment he was born, it was as natural as breathing. But this moment with you, taking you as his own. Everything about this was his humanity. 

This was primal. This was instinct. It was trial and error.  And it was crazy. Nothing else will come close to how much he loves to be an animal with you. You groaned as you bit his shoulder hard, blood spoiling against his sweat. He groaned in pleasure, before grinning. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, and the anticipation built until you could hardly contain it, ready to let go and embrace the bliss that awaited you.

Satoru's pace quickened, each thrust becoming more urgent, more desperate. You could feel him deep inside you, filling you completely, and every time he drove into you, your body responded with a jolt of pleasure that made your vision blur. You were utterly lost in the moment, overwhelmed by the sensations he was drawing out of you.

“God, you’re so tight, babe.” he groaned, his voice strained as he struggled to keep his composure. “How do you always know how to cage my cock? How do you always make it know where it belongs?”

He loved the way your body wrapped around him, how every inch of you seemed to beg for more. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixing with your soft moans, creating a symphony of pleasure that echoed around you.

“Don’t hold back, Satoru.” you urged, your voice a breathy whisper that barely escaped your lips. “I want all of you, Satoru. Just like this. Come. Just do it.”

That demand of yours sent a rush of adrenaline through him, and he grinned against your shoulder, he himself biting there as you groaned like a prey against the hunter. He lifted his mouth, and stared at his masterpiece for a little while longer. That was surely to leave a mark. He snickers. 

“You asked for it, babe.” He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you up against him, using his strength to drive you deeper onto him. The change in angle had you gasping, your head falling back against his shoulder as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

“You feel so good.” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “I could do this all night.”

“Then do it.” you urged, your body instinctively arching back into him, eager for every thrust, every delicious stretch. “Make me feel it.”

He laughs as he hits hard at one thrust, making your body shake against the covers. You groan hard as you try to hold on for dear life. You knew what you egged him to do. Then continued thrusting into you with a fierce intensity that had you moaning his name, your body responding eagerly to each movement. 

It was as if the world outside had faded away, and all that existed was the connection between you—his body, your body, moving in perfect unison. The pleasure built inside you like a coiled spring, tightening with every thrust. You could feel that familiar tension, that edge creeping closer, and all you could think about was how good he felt, how right it all was. 

“Satoru, I’m coming. Oh my god—” you started, but the words died on your lips as he hit that sweet spot again, sending shockwaves through your body.

“Yeah? You gonna come for me?” he teased, his voice thick with lust as he leaned closer, kissing down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. The sensation made your entire body tingle, and you could only nod, the words lost in a haze of pleasure.

“Tell me how much you want it, babe.” he demanded, his voice a low growl that made your heart race even faster.

“More, please! I need to—ah!” The plea escaped your lips as he thrust deeper, the pleasure overwhelming. “I need to come, Satoru!”

“Then let go,” he urged, his voice dripping with seduction. “I want to feel you fall apart for me.”

With his words wrapping around you like a spell, the tension finally snapped, and you cried out as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before. It was like you had seen the light for the first time with him.

It was so delicate and pure, that echo of unadulterated bliss that sent your body shuddering in pleasure. Satoru continued to thrust into you, riding out your orgasm with slow, deliberate movements that sent aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you.

“Just like that, babe. You feel so fucking good.” he groaned, his own breath ragged as he watched you unravel beneath him. 

The sight of you losing yourself was intoxicating, even more so your juices mixing with his in a watery flow within your crevices. And he couldn’t help but feel that rush of pride at how he could make you feel this way.

As you came down from your high,  Gojo Satoru slowed his movements, still keeping you close as he pressed kisses along your back. The warmth of his body enveloped you, and you reveled in the afterglow, the way your heart raced in time with his.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with genuine concern as he pulled back to look at you, his blue eyes searching your face.

“Better than okay, babe.” you replied with a breathless laugh, turning to meet his gaze. “That was… incredible.”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “Just wait until round two. I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your smile. “You’re insatiable, Satoru.”

“Maybe so, babe.” he replied, leaning in to capture your lips in a soft kiss. “But I think you love it.”

You couldn’t deny it. The thrill of the night, the way he made you feel—it was a heady mix of excitement and desire that left you craving more. As you both pulled away, he gently squeezed your waist, a teasing smile playing on his lips. 

“Let’s give them something to talk about when we go back out there.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what do you have in mind?”

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “I’ll show you.”

And with that, he swept you into another kiss, ready to take on the world outside, but knowing that this was only the beginning of your night together. You had a lot more to sweat in water together, whatever the form.

[prettyboykatsuki]

mixed messages | r. sukuna

✮  tags ; gn + afab!reader, unhealthy relationships, not cheating but reader flirts with gojo while tipsy for fun, undefined relationships, fingering / making out, jealousy, modern!sukuna, sukuna and yuuji r brothers 18+

✮ wc ; 2k

✮  a/n ; a snippet / extension of my modern sukuna post for @arguablyferal. i hope it gives a clear-ish idea of what he's like!!

some more like. relationship explanation in an authors note at the end.

✮  synopsis ; you've never been able to get a good read on him. would he really come to a party just to keep you from flirting with another guy ?

somehow you doubt it.

He's hitting on you.

Gojo is, you think. Though you can't be sure since it feels...a little conceited to believe that a guy like that suddenly developed a genuine interest in you. You can think of a couple reasons he would hit on you, all of them to do with getting on Sukuna's last nerve in their never-ending rivalry.

But it's weird because it doesn't really feel like he's just messing around. As in, it doesn't seem like it's just for that reason.

You know Gojo. Not as close as Shoko or Getou might but enough to comfortably call yourself a distant friend. A little more than acquaintance but less then close.

He's facetious—melodramatic, really—totally by design. By necessity, some of it is an act, but you're good enough at reading him to know what's playful and what's not.

That's why you think that Gojo is really hitting on you. He's using the fact Sukuna, your...whatever, isn't here attending with you. He was supposed to be here but he flaked last minuted on coming with you. You ended up taking Yuuji and his friends though, anyhow.

You're letting him do it. He's serious about hitting on you, and he probably knows you're not very serious about returning his feelings.

But you're entertaining it, despite yourself.

Everyone you know is looking the other way while it happens too. Gojo is leaned close, sitting next to you in a plastic chair, and you're just a little bit buzzed. Humid summer air warms your skin, makes you want to sink into the night.

You're not touching, but you're too close for not-quite-friends. Gojo edges on touchy. A soft nudge here and there, the kind of proximity you shouldn't have. Gojo is a breath away, sober because he doesn't like alcohol.

And he's super friendly, which is nice.

A beat of silence settles between you as the night rolls in a little heavier.

Gojo says you what you assume he's been thinking about all night, without any real introduction.

"You should break up with him," He says, just over a can of soda with a kind of sincerity that makes you restless. You feel your nerves flip.

Your mouth moves before your mind has a chance to fill in the answer. You laugh. "I know."

"You're really too good for him, tsk," Gojo laments, clicking his teeth. Playful again, using just enough drawback so that you don't suffocate in the honesty. You shouldn't entertain this but the attention is nice. "And gosh, you're so much more fun without that dark cloud hanging around you, y'know"

You giggle unconsciously at the thought of Sukuna as a dark cloud. Big and broad with a deep voice—it's an astute comparison. Shaking your head, you give him a playful glance. "Am I really more fun? I feel like I'm not as good a conversationalist as a certain someone,"

Gojo smiles at you proudly. "I'm having fun at least."

You close your eyes and take another, much longer drink. "Yeah, me too."

"If you know you can do better, why bother with him? I figure that bastard might be holding you hostage but," He's serious again, brows raised. "You've got more options, you know?"

You shrug, absently. You don't know the answer yourself. It's one thing that Sukuna never quite lets you leave but it's another thing you come back to him every time. You settle on your reply with closed eyes then laugh a little too loud. Gojo doesn't startle.

"Who knows? But you know, thank you anyway. It's good to have options. Maybe it'll knock some sense into me,"

Friendly again. He's a nice guy you think.

"If it doesn't, make sure to give me a call. I'm pretty great too, y'know."

You give him a lighthearted smile.

It's hard to hear much over the loud thump of music. You're not very in touch with your surroundings and the pleasant air around you all but swallows you.

It takes you a minute. Longer than you care to admit, to realize that someone is approaching you. Even longer to realize who.

Sukuna is looming over you and Gojo when you finally look up.

"Having fun?"

You blink, pulling away to make sure you're hearing correctly. Sinking back into your chair, your eyes flicker up to whats casting shadow overhead. His voice almost bellows, deep and coarse but not loud.

"I thought you weren't coming," Is all you can think to say. Sukuna rolls his eyes.

"Yeah. I thought so too,"

He doesn't ask you to get up as much as he tugs you towards him. He's careful not to pull too hard but you come up still on a stumble, drink still in hand, and face in his chest. Your heart thumps, embarrassed by the sudden warmth. His hand sits on your lower back and suddenly there's a conversation happening overhead.

"Quit sticking your nose where it doesn't belong," He spits. He's talking to Gojo you realize.

"Be careful there, nii-san. You're gonna make it seem like you care."

Sukuna tenses under you before he relaxes again - rolling his eyes. He's not happy about it but you can hear that he's trying not to let it show.

"Stay out of it." Sukuna demands. Gojo whistles.

"Sure, sure. You two have fun there."

Sukuna turns you around like that, your face still in his chest as he drags you away. You hear Gojo laugh faintly as you walk further away from the crowd.

__

You don't really get any explanation from Sukuna as he packs you and himself in the backseat of his car.

He's quiet the entire walk there, and the air is so heavy your lungs can't find a breath around it. He doesn't say anything to you even as he opens the back door. He tells you to get in but doesn't show any emotion you discern.

Instead you end up laying in the backseat with Sukuna over you - cramped as his tongue slips all the way into your mouth and his hands grab your waist. All too sudden, without any ceremony at all.

You kiss back because he's being so suffocating and it's all you can think to do to appease him. As soon as he lets you breathe, you put a hand on his chest and push him away.

You make eye contact but he still hasn't said a word. "Are you mad?"

He sneers. "You tell me,"

He ducks down again to kiss you and you let him this time, doing your best to gauge what exactly he's thinking. You know he's upset, rather - but it's weird. Something is different about it.

His mouth is hot as he hands slide underneath your shirt further- his knees keeping your legs apart as his thigh presses against your clothed sex. You shiver, moaning into his mouth and Sukuna swallows the noise. Gasping, you pull back again.

"All you do is piss me off you brat," He tugs your lip back between his incisors as he speaks, voice bordering on a snarl. "You should know better than to cozy up to that idiot."

You squirm. "I wasn't cozying—"

"You think I'm fucking stupid? Think I don't got eyes to see with?" And then, like he's predicting your next question. "Yuuji texted me."

"And you came?" You stop, keeping him from going any further. "You came 'cause Yuu-chan sent you a picture of me and Gojo-kun....?"

He ignores your question. "Take your pants off,"

You make a face at him but oblige, hands unbuttoning your jeans as Sukuna practically tugs you out of them and your panties in one go. He sits back up on his legs and maneuvers carefully to keep his hands between your thighs. His middle finger runs through your slit, palm putting pressure on your clit.

He's rushing more than normal, mouth crushing yours again in a kiss so heavy it makes you gasp. You feel like you're imagining it but each time you pull back - his teeth sink into your lips until they're throbbing from how hard he's bitten them up.

He's possessive. Always has been. He's territorial over you in one way or another over everything, but it's usually only when you threaten to leave. There's a merit to what Gojo said about keeping you held down. But even in that, there's never any emotion stronger than annoyance to follow your little tantrums. You wouldn't call what you feel now desperation by any stretch.

But it's something more then simple possession and it makes you ache.

"I wasn't gonna do anything with him." You say half-way between a breath. You see his jaw tick with irritation at the mere thought. "It was just for fun—"

He quiets you with his fingers. With his hands, rough - spitting hard on your clit from where above making it splatter against your thighs. His fingers fingers the thick layer of spit and drag them down against your throbbing clit to make it wetter. He touches you hard and fast, places kisses against your jaw and collar before sinking his teeth into the clothed shape of your tits.

His fingers find your pussy not long after. Thick, scarred, intrusive - he slips them in one at a time. As much as he knows you can take until he touches that spot inside of you that leaves your whole body tingling. Knuckle deep, he presses his palms up against your clit to make sure you have the right friction. You moan his name loud, eyes rolling up into your head,

The windows are starting to fog.

"Sukuna,"

He grabs hold of your face with free hand, bordering on a snarl. It's mean you think, but more then that there's a genuine frustration to it that makes you shiver almost shamefully.

"You're mine." He sneers. You feel your cunt twitch unhelpfully at but Sukuna doesn't budge. Doesn't even go to make fun of you He just keeps growling, leaning in to kiss you - forcing his tongue into your mouth and pulling away again. "Get close with that bastard and I'll kill him."

Your stomach flutters in arousal at the aggression in it. The unreasonable, unhelpful, trained part of your brain nearly screams. He wants you, he wants you, he wants. It makes you wanna—

"G-gonna—gonna cum, fuck, Sukuna."

He kisses you again, murmuring against your lips. "Cum,"

Your thighs clamp around Sukuna's wrists as he continues to finger you, grinding yourself the edge of his palm as you ride out your high. Your voice pitches into a high whine, spine arching. It's rushed but intense, scratching the itch but not enough to tamp down the heat completely. You squirt around his fingers in a full blown gasp and find you can barely get your head above water.

You cum hard, convulsing. He doesn't move his hand until you grab him by the wrist and shake your head. Surprisingly, he listens easily and pulls away.

You pause and stare at him after you've caught your breath.

"What's wrong with you today?"

"Stay the fuck away from that guy."

You roll your eyes. "He's right. It's starting to sound like you love me or something. I wasn't gonna sleep with him anyway so chill out."

He scoffs. "Don't even fucking dream of it. I'd kill you both."

You take a second to look at him. You can't read him to save your life. But he's looking back at you, into you maybe, in a way that makes you wonder if there's something about him you're missing. You wrap your arms around his neck just to see if he'll tell you to stop clinging.

He doesn't though.

"Did you really come all the way here 'cause of what Yuu-chan sent you?"

He glares at you. "Are you deaf? Didn't I say that?"

"But then it sounds like you were jealous."

He rolls his eyes. "You're stupid."

"....You were jealous? Really?"

"Shut up already," He says. And maybe it's the alcohol but you swear his face goes warm. "And seriously stay away from that idiot. If I see some shit like that again I'm locking you in the house and chaining you to my bed."

"Weird proposal but okay."

"Dumbass."

"You love me,"

He rolls his eyes and goes to kiss you. Doesn't deny it, you notice. You pretend not to be giddy.

"Whatever."

✮ extended authors note ; hi!! i hope sukunas personality made sense here.

my point with sukuna in modern is that i think it takes away a lot of his unsavory aspects but the deep sense of possession and ownership sort of stays. this is a modern au so he's different from canon in many ways.

he has a hard time committing but he also does not do things he doesnt want to so him spending time with you and wanting your loyalty are both genuine desires. he understands why you're entertaining gojo's flirting and rationally knows it's unfair to want loyalty from you.

but he's into you so he gets. fucking pissed anyway. skjsjd. anyways i hope u liked it and i hope it made sense!! i just wanted to add this incase!!!