#the entire show just fills my chest with like

[nottswitch]

⋆˙⟡ you give cult leader!theo a blowjob during a sermon

hello, hi. here i am, with probably my favourite and the most challenging to write au. hoping that y’all will match my freak with this one.

warnings: 18+ mdni, cult dynamics (duh), power imbalance, religious terminology, public blowjob, mentions of gagging, praise

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; theo m.list ; cult leader!theo

the whole main area of the temple is taut with anticipation as soon as teacher theodore walks onto his podium. he sits down onto his black leather chair, raising his hand to silence everyone, although it’s already pretty quiet – but now even the smallest of whispers die down. his calm gaze slowly drifts over the room, making every single one of your fellow believers shiver, and you’re no exception. you watch with awe as the man scans the room, and eventually, his fascinating blue eyes land on you.

"you, my dear," he drawls, his voice enveloping you like the warmest blanket and simultaneously igniting a fire inside your body that not a single soul can put out except for him. "come here."

excitement nearly bubbles over in your stomach as you stand up from the floor, trying to keep your legs from trembling – you have to show him that his choice tonight is worth it, that you’re worth the grace he’s shown you. as you approach him, you can feel the stares of others burning into your back, but you don’t mind them, you barely even notice – your entire being is filled with theodore, him, him, him.

your reverent eyes never leave his face as you kneel between his spread legs and kiss the back of his hand, your hands obediently resting on your thighs as you wait for your cue. you can’t help clutching the fabric of your white robe just a little as you feel the heat starting to spread in your stomach – but it’s all about him right now, and it always is.

theodore looks down at you, his gaze lingering on your awestruck face, and nods. giving your best to staying collected, you nod in return and lift your hands up to unbuckle the belt of his trousers. theodore watches you for a moment longer, and then his attention shifts to the room filled with the rest of the disciples. his soothing voice begins to waft through the air like silk and honey combined, and you try not to get completely lost in it. you have to focus. you have a task.

as quietly as you can, you pull the zipper down, then his trousers and briefs. his cock is already half-hard, which makes you simultaneously salivate, and your chest fill with pride – usually, the other girls and guys have to work a bit to get him to this state. you don’t know if it’s your luck, but you wouldn’t dream of questioning it; it’s your first time being picked for the pleasure purpose, and you’re determined to make a good impression in hopes of becoming a new favourite.

you lean in, your breath ghosting over theodore’s skin, and notice his cock twitch at the sensation. even the smallest movement makes you preen, but you try not to get lost to your selfishness. your hand comes up to grab him at the base, and you feel him harden more, his cock now standing straight in your hold. he’s so big – you’ve been dying to get a taste ever since you first saw it, but have been patiently waiting for your turn until now.

your tongue sticks out to lick a wet stripe up to the tip, where your lips wrap around it. you give an almost tentative swirl, knowing that you can’t rush – the sermon can last up to an hour, and you have to draw it out until the very end. you don’t want to disappoint the teacher. you starts sucking in the tip, and your mind fills with the overwhelming sense of adoration – you still can’t believe that you’re the one given the honor of pleasing theodore tonight.

you fail to register the words he’s saying, which makes your cheeks heat up with shame – just because you’ve been chosen doesn’t excuse you from taking in the preachings. yet you can’t help yourself – his cock fits too good in your mouth, like it was made to slide right in and out. as you take him deeper, the tip hot and pulsating against the roof of your mouth, a wave of tingles washes over your belly. your hand itches to drop down between your legs, but you’re fully aware it’s not allowed. if you’re good and lucky enough, teacher theodore will give you release after the sermon is over. until then, he’s the center of your world.

as the minutes pass, your jaw starts to hurt a little from being stretched to its absolute limit around theodore’s thickness. your head slowly bobs up and down, the slick sounds of your saliva coating his cock quiet enough not to disturb the sermon, yet you’re sure the entire temple can hear them. this knowledge makes you proud of yourself yet again – they know, they should know that you’re the one making theodore feel good at this moment. you know you shouldn’t feel possessive of your teacher, yet you allow yourself the weakness, even if only deep inside your soul.

when theodore’s hand lands on the top of your head, you know it’s a sign. the sermon is close to an end, which means you have to speed up. a bit too excited, you take him in fully, making the tip of his cock suddenly hit the back of your throat. you gag, immediately knowing that you shouldn’t have – your eyes flicker up, meeting theodore’s ocean blue ones, and his eyebrow is raised. you’re unsure if it’s a sign of disapproval or amusement, for his expression is usually hard to read. you can’t apologize – you’re filled with him to the brim, but when his attention shifts back to the crowd behind you, you take it as a sign to continue.

you taste the saltiness of precum soon enough, and you can only hope that the timing is right. theodore’s hand tightens a bit in your hair, signifying the fact that he’s close – and he doesn’t stop you, meaning you’re doing a good job. your pace picks up, saliva dripping out of the corners of your mouth as his length disappears into the tightness of your mouth over and over again. you gag again, yet at this point it doesn’t really matter – theodore’s cock starts throbbing, and the warmth of his seed coats the walls of your throat. his voice never falters above you, but you can feel the way his fingers dig into your scalp, and it’s the most pleasant sting you have ever felt on your body.

as you lick him through the orgasm, throughly cleaning him up, theodore closes the sermon, dismissing everyone with a wave of his hand. you don’t dare to pull away until he tugs at your hair, his other hand softly caressing your chin, lifting up your face. you look up, your eyes filled with endless devotion. theodore takes in the sight of your swollen lips, your jaw which hangs slack due to being open for so long, your glassy eyes that are nearly tearing up, and his gaze softens.

"you did well, darling. very well," he murmurs, and your heart grows a few sizes too big for your chest. you did well. his praise is all you could ask for yet could never dream of.

"meet me in my room in ten minutes. you deserve a reward, my dear."

if you weren’t on your knees already, they would surely buckle. you nod, accepting his invitation for what it is; you know the others will notice you heading to his house on the grounds later, and it fills you with a sense of accomplishment. it’s rare to earn yourself an honor of getting a reward from the teacher, and it certainly feels like a win. maybe, just maybe you could become a new favourite, after all.

[moonriizing]

Goodbye Summer | l.anton (18+)

Crazy what two years can do to a person. What do you mean the cutie pie, adorable ball of sunshine Chanyoung Lee, has turned into this tall, grumpy, and unfairly hot specimen who calls himself Anton?

Genre: childhood friends to lovers Pairing: Lee Chanyoung|Anton x afab!Reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) Notes: 19k words. Listening to Goodbye Summer by F(X) ft. D.O. Posted a little late because I got carried away, lol. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally, nor do I claim they would ever behave in real life like they were portrayed in this story. ALSO, if you see a similar story from a different blog for a different idol, that is me. xoxo, cal.

You rolled the car windows down, letting the salty air fill the car as you hummed along to the music playing through the speakers. It had been two years since you last made this drive, but every curve of the road was ingrained in your memory. You remembered how you used to count the palm trees as a kid, making up silly games to pass the time while your mom laughed at your endless energy. Back then, the beach house felt like the one constant in your summers, a place where time moved slower and the world outside didn’t matter.

Two years away felt like an eternity, but now, as the Lee family’s beach house came into view, it was like no time had passed at all.

Your mom stirred in the passenger seat, stretching as the car slowed down. “Did you sleep well?” you asked.

“I would’ve, if you hadn’t been singing off-key the entire time,” she replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

You gasped in mock offense. “Off-key? Excuse me, but that was a performance, mom. You’re just not cultured enough to appreciate my artistry.”

“Artistry, huh?” She laughed, shaking her head. “Is that what we're calling it now?”

You parked the car in front of the house, taking a moment to soak it in. The Lee family’s beach house looked exactly as it always had—whitewashed walls with a wide porch and tall windows that reflected the warm glow of the setting sun. For a second, it felt like you were stepping back in time, like the past two years hadn’t happened at all.

Aunt Hyejin was the first to greet you at the door, her arms wrapping tightly around you as she exclaimed, “Look at you! You’ve grown so much! You’ve gotten prettier too.”

You laughed, leaning into her embrace. “I could say the same about you, Auntie. You are glowing! What’s your secret?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she teased, brushing your hair back to study your face. She squeezed your cheeks lightly before kissing your forehead. “Come in, come in! Junyoung is dying to show off how tall he’s gotten.”

Junyoung was quick to make good on his mom’s words, bounding down the stairs with a grin. He too greeted you with a hug, crouching down to your smaller frame.

“Told you I’d be taller than you one day!” he declared, puffing out his chest.

“And I told you I’d deny it when it happened,” you shot back, ruffling his hair and gasping because you had to tiptoe to reach the top of his head. “Wow. You really did grow up.”

The house itself was almost exactly as you remembered it. The same yellow curtains fluttered in the breeze, and the faint smell of ocean air and Aunt Hyejin’s cooking permeated the halls. It was comforting, familiar.

But there was one thing—or rather, one person—who didn’t match your memories.

He was sitting on the sofa when you walked into the living room, one leg crossed over the other, a phone in hand, and not the slightest hint of acknowledgement on his face. His hair was darker, longer, falling into his eyes in a way that seemed deliberate. His clothes—a loose linen shirt and tailored shorts—looked like they belonged to someone who spent their summers at yacht clubs, not building sandcastles on the beach.

“Chanyoung, greet them properly!” Aunt Hyejin chided with both affection and exasperation in her tone.

The man on the sofa finally looked up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, you froze, searching for something familiar in the sharp line of his jaw and the effortless confidence in his posture.

“Welcome back,” he said, his voice lower than you remembered, more measured.

You blinked, trying to reconcile the image in front of you with the boy you used to know. Before you could say anything, your mom appeared beside you, greeting Chanyoung with a hug. He rose to his feet, smiling genuinely as he let your mom embrace him.

“You’ve grown so much!”

While they were catching up, Junyoung approached you quietly, whispering in your ear. “I know what you’re thinking.”

You glanced sideways at him. “I’m sure you do,” you scoffed. “When did this happen?”

Junyoung shrugged. “Dunno. He went to college and came back like this. He’s called Anton now by the way.”

“Anton? He hates that name.”

“Right?” he agreed, chuckling. “Dude gained some muscles and turned into this emo cool kid.”

The rest of the day passed without a single meaningful interaction with Anton. Not for lack of trying on your part—you simply didn’t get the chance.

It was subtle, his avoidance. The kind of thing no one else would pick up on. Your mom, Aunt Hyejin, and Junyoung didn’t seem to notice anything, too caught up in catching up. But you? You noticed. Every time you entered a room, Anton was suddenly walking out. If you so much as glanced his way, he was already looking elsewhere, pretending to be engrossed in his phone or staring at some invisible point in the distance.

And then at lunch, he didn’t even sit down to eat with everyone. “I’m going out. Back before dinner.” he said nonchalantly, already halfway out the door.

“Probably off to the clubhouse to meet his friends,” Aunt Hyejin explained with a shrug, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You nodded along politely, but inside, you were itching with curiosity. What friends? Since when did Chanyoung—no, Anton—have a social life so demanding that he couldn’t sit down for a meal?

Eventually, the guessing—and the long drive—caught up with you. You slumped into your room, the familiar comfort of the bed almost tricking you into thinking nothing had changed in this place. But the moment your head hit the pillow, your eyes grew heavy, and the next thing you knew was waking up to the faint glow of moonlight and a dim bedroom.

You groaned, blinking at your phone. Dinnertime.

Throwing on a sweatshirt, you stepped into the hallway, still half-asleep and thinking only of food. You turned the corner—and walked straight into a wall.

Or, well, what felt like a wall.

“Ow,” you muttered, stumbling back and clutching your nose. You looked up to find Anton standing there, looking as unfazed as he had been since you got here.

“Oh, it’s you,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say a word. Without thinking, you blurted, “What did you do to your hair?”

Anton didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head, like he was deciding whether to entertain your question. Then, he reached out and rested his hand on top of your head.

“What are you—”

Before you could finish, he brought his hand down to his chest, his eyes flicking between the two points as if measuring your height.

You scowled. “Hah! Wow. I see you got a few inches taller. Congratulations,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Anton’s lips twitched, just barely, but he didn’t say anything.

“Ugh, whatever,” you huffed, spinning on your heel and stomping down the hallway toward the dining room.

Behind you, you didn’t see the way his lips curved into a small, teasing smile.

By the time you reached the dining room, the table was already set, laden with dishes that made your stomach growl on the spot. 

The dining table was a sight to behold, as always. Aunt Hyejin had gone all out—steamed crab, grilled shrimp, roasted vegetables, and enough side dishes to feed a small army. The familiar spread made you smile; some things never changed.

The family had already gathered when you arrived, and everyone greeted you with warm smiles. “Sweetie, can you go get Anton?” Aunt Hyejin asked, beaming at you as she placed bowls of rice on the table.

You turned your head just in time to see him walk in, his hair still damp from what must’ve been a shower. He wore a plain white t-shirt, its loose fit and sleeves doing nothing to hide his defined shoulders. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d walked out of a magazine ad.

Anton glanced around the table before taking the empty seat next to his mom. “Where’s Dad?” he asked simply, reaching for the pitcher of water.

“His trip is getting extended for a few more days,” Aunt Hyejin explained, placing a rice bowl in front of Anton. “He’ll be back next Saturday.”

You made a point of sitting as far from Anton as possible. Not that you were being petty or anything. Okay, maybe you were a little petty.

“Dig in, everyone!” Aunt Hyejin said cheerfully as she sat down.

You didn’t need to be told twice. The meal was as delicious as you remembered, and for a while, the conversation was light—updates on Junyoung’s basketball team, your mom recounting a funny story from work, Aunt Hyejin asking about your classes.

Then, inevitably, the focus shifted to Anton.

“So, Anton,” your mom began, her tone warm and curious. “What have you been up to lately? Your mom tells me you’ve been very busy.”

Anton looked up from his plate, his expression polite but detached. “Just the usual,” he said. “School, work, hanging out with friends.”

“Oh, right! You’re working at that startup now, aren’t you?” Aunt Hyejin chimed in proudly. “He’s been so dedicated, working part-time while keeping his grades up.”

You tried to hide your surprise. The Chanyoung you remembered hated being busy. He used to complain about school work piling up, always looking for an excuse to go to the beach instead.

“Wow,” you said, before you could stop yourself. “Who knew Chanyoung Lee would turn into such a responsible adult?”

Anton’s eyes flicked to you, and for a moment, you thought he might actually smile. Instead, he just shrugged. “People change.”

The casual way he said it annoyed you more than it should have. “Clearly,” you muttered, stabbing a piece of shrimp with your fork.

If anyone noticed the tension, they didn’t comment on it. The conversation moved on, but you couldn’t help sneaking glances at Anton throughout the meal. He barely spoke, answering questions with short, polite responses and deflecting anything too personal. It was so unlike the boy who used to dominate every dinner table conversation with ridiculous stories and bad jokes.

At one point, Junyoung leaned over to whisper, “You’re staring.”

“I am not,” you whispered back, cheeks heating.

“You are,” he insisted with a grin. “What’s your deal?”

You glared at him. “What’s his deal? He’s acting so weird.”

“If you ask me, I think you’re the one acting weird,” he whispered back.

You were about to retort when Aunt Hyejin’s voice prompted the attention of the table. “So, Anton, are you spending time at the clubhouse tomorrow too?” she asked.

“Yeah. A few friends are back in town, so I’ll be there a lot,” he replied, his tone casual.

“Oh, the clubhouse,” you deadpanned, unable to resist. “Sounds very exclusive.”

Anton’s eyes flicked to yours, something unreadable passing through his gaze. “It’s just a place to hang out,” he said evenly.

“Hm. Fancy.” You stabbed at your food with a bit more force than necessary.

Junyoung snickered beside you, “She’s jealous.”

You elbowed him hard, making him yelp. Across the table, Anton’s lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything.

When dinner was over and the plates were being cleared, Anton finally turned to you, his tone deceptively casual. “You’ve got some rice on your face.”

“What?” You froze, quickly swiping at your cheek.

“No, other side.”

You wiped again, glaring at him when his expression didn’t change. “Is it gone?”

He shrugged, standing up and grabbing his plate. “Sure,” he said, walking off, and you could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle under his breath.

Beside you, Junyoung was laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

The morning light filtered through the open window, and the cool breeze made the thin curtains sway gently. You stretched lazily, the familiar sound of waves crashing against the shore reminding you that you were in the Lee family’s beach house, finally back after two years. 

You got up and brushed your teeth, observing your face in the mirror for any changes. As you stepped out of your room, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and waffles made your tummy growl. You could hear your mom and Aunt Hyejin talking.

By the time you made it to the kitchen, they were already preparing to leave. Your mom turned to you with a smile. “We’ll be downtown all day to see the market and buy some things for the house. What are your plans for today, sweetie?”

“I think I’ll go for a swim,” you replied, grabbing a mug from the cupboard.

“That’s nice,” Aunt Hyejin chimed in, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I was thinking of asking Anton to show you around or take you to the clubhouse, but he went out for a jog early this morning.”

“Thanks, Auntie, but it’s okay,” you replied quickly, almost too quickly. “I don’t really care to see the clubhouse anyway.”

Your mom raised an eyebrow at your tone, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she kissed your forehead before grabbing her purse. “Alright, enjoy yourself. Don’t forget sunscreen!”

“Also, sweetheart,” Aunt Hyejin prompted, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Could you tell Anton when he gets back that I left a note for him? It’s on the fridge and tell him he needs to do it as soon as he’s back from his run.”

“Of course, Auntie. I’ll let him know.”

You walked them to the door, waving them off as they left, then headed upstairs to change. A swim sounded like the perfect way to spend your first real morning back—just you, the ocean, and some much-needed time to clear your head. Usually, Anton would wake you up early on your first day back and drag you to the beach for a swim, but you weren’t counting on it today.

When you made your way down to the beach, you weren’t expecting to find Junyoung and his friends there.

“Oh, it’s the old lady!” Junyoung called out to you as soon as he saw you, a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

“I’m not old, you brat,” you shot back, squinting at him. He’d gathered quite the group, and a few familiar faces smiled at you from where they sat on beach towels.

“Wow, you’re really here,” one of the girls, Hana, said with a laugh as she stood up to hug you. “It’s been ages!”

“It’s only been two years,” you chuckled, hugging her back. “But I can see that you’ve all grown up so much,” you added, marveling at how much they’d changed in two years. The boys were taller, the girls more polished, and there was an air of confidence about them that made you miss being a teenager a little.

“You sound like my grandma,” Hana teased, shaking her head.

“Don’t encourage her,” Junyoung interjected, smirking. “She’s ancient.”

You rolled your eyes, flicking sand at him playfully. “Whatever, I’m going for a swim. Enjoy roasting me while I’m gone.”

Junyoung laughed, holding up a hand as if in surrender. “Don’t drown, grandma!”

You flipped him off as you walked toward the water, grinning.

The water was cool and refreshing, lapping against your skin as you waded in deeper. From the corner of your eye, you noticed the beach slowly coming to life. Families were setting up umbrellas, kids were building sandcastles, and a couple was walking hand in hand along the shore. It was a scene you’d witnessed countless times over the years, but it never failed to make you smile.

Your thoughts drifted to the summers you’d spent here as a kid. Each year brought new faces—tourists you’d befriended for a few fleeting weeks, locals who became your seasonal playmates. You’d always been quick to mke friends and form bonds, though many of them faded as quickly as they’d formed.

And, of course, there were the crushes. The endless parade of cute boys who caught your eye. Some of them, you tried to shoot your shot. Most of them, you’d never had the courage to talk to. As usual, those feeling faded when the summer was over.

Well, except for one. Sungchan.

He’d been your longest-running crush, a boy from the neighborhood who was a few years older. Every summer, you’d spot him on the beach or at the local shops, always surrounded by friends, always smiling. You never got beyond the occasional shy wave or stolen glance, but that didn’t stop you from swooning over him every chance you got.

You smiled to yourself, wondering what he was up to these days. Was he still living here? Still as effortlessly cool as you remembered?

Your gaze drifted toward the lifeguard tower, the only unfamiliar fixture along the beachline. It wasn’t there last time you were here, but that wasn’t the reason you couldn’t keep your gaze away. Sitting there, casually surveying the beach, was none other than Sungchan. And he looked even better than you remembered.

His features had sharpened with age, his shoulders broader, his smile just as dazzling. He wore a red lifeguard tank top and sunglasses, looking relaxed and confident as he chatted with another lifeguard.

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath, treading water as you stared. “He’s still ridiculously handsome. Great.”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look away. You weren’t that starstruck kid anymore, and you weren’t about to start crushing on him all over again.

Soon, the water started to lose its allure when the morning sun climbed higher and the heat started to prick your shoulder. With a content sigh, you decided to head back toward the shore. You ran your fingers through your wet hair, mentally noting how good the ocean always felt no matter how many summers you spent here.

But just as your feet hit the shallows, a sudden shout caught your attention.

“HEADS UP!”

Before you could react, something smacked into your forehead with a dull thunk. The world turned slightly as you stumbled backward, landing awkwardly in the sand.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” A boy hurried over, looking horrified as he grabbed the Frisbee floating on the water.

“It’s alright,” you muttered, waving him off as you pushed yourself up.

“Hey, are you okay?” another voice called out—calm, authoritative. You turned your head, and there he was, Sungchan, jogging toward you.

The boy with the Frisbee immediately began apologizing again, but Sungchan dismissed him with a quick, “It’s alright, just be more careful next time.” His focus shifted to you. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, trying to brush sand off your legs. “No. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Sungchan cut you off, gesturing at your forehead. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” You blinked, reaching up to touch your temple. Sure enough, there was a faint smear of blood when you looked at your fingers.

“Just a small cut,” he said, helping you up. “Come on, let’s clean that up.”

You barely had time to protest before Sungchan was already leading you toward the lifeguard tower. You waited by the steps as he grabbed a first aid kit with urgency.

“Sit,” he said as he stepped down. You sat and watched Sungchan do his thing. “This’ll sting a little,” he warned, dabbing at your cut with an antiseptic wipe.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. The proximity was overwhelming—he smelled like sunscreen and saltwater, his face far too close for comfort.

As he finished cleaning the cut, Sungchan grabbed a band-aid and carefully placed it over the small wound. His hand lingered for a second longer than necessary, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” he asked suddenly.

Of course, he didn’t remember you. “I guess,” you said, offering a small, nervous smile as you told him your name. “From a couple summers ago.”

Sungchan’s hands paused for a second, recognition lighting up his face. “Ah! Yes. I remember you now.” He let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Wow. You’ve… changed.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you quipped, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “You’ve changed quite a bit too.”

He smiled and pointed at yout cut. “You’re lucky it was just a small scratch,” he said, eyes lingering on you. “Or else I might have had to go full lifeguard mode and perform some CPR.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back on the lifeguard tower. “I’m pretty sure I’d survive without the dramatic rescue.”

Sungchan chuckled, his voice dropping just low enough for you to hear. “You sure? Because I don’t mind saving you each time you need me to.”

A small laugh escaped you, feeling more at ease now. “Why, thank you. But I think I can handle myself.”

“Oh I don’t doubt it,” he said, his tone shifting to something a little more teasing. “But I really wouldn’t mind seeing more of you.”

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smirk. “Is that so? Are you flirting with me, Sungchan?”

He shrugged, pretending to look innocent. “Would it be so bad if I was?” he asked back, gaze flicking at your lips for a split-second.

Before you could respond, you caught movement from the corner of your eye. When you glanced sideways, it was Anton. He stood just a few feet away, his expression dark and unreadable. His eyes moved from you to Sungchan, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

You waved at him. “Hey! You’re back!” you called out, remembering Aunt Hyejin’s instruction to remind him of a chore.

Anton didn’t respond, his eyes flicking over you briefly before he turned and jogged toward the house, his pace quick as if he had somewhere to be.

You frowned slightly, unable to dismiss the attitude. “I’ve gotta go,” you said, standing up quickly. “Thanks for this. And see you around, Sungchan.”

“Oh, you’re leaving?” Sungchan asked, his tone still light, but there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes. He stood up too. “Will I see you at the party tonight? 8pm at the clubhouse?”

You didn’t give it much thought as you glanced at Anton’s retreating figure. “Yeah! See you there!” You flashed a smile, already jogging after Anton.

“Anton, wait up!” you called, sprinting after him on the sand. Your feet sank with every step, making it harder to keep up. He didn’t even glance back, his strides deliberate and fast, like he was on a mission to get as far away from you as possible.

“Seriously? Are you even listening?” you shouted, frustration lacing your voice.

Still nothing. By the time you made it to the house, your chest was heaving, partly from running and partly from annoyance. Anton was already in the kitchen, chugging down a glass of water.

“Your mom left a note for you on the fridge,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended.

He didn’t say a word, just set the glass down, turned the fridge door, yanked the note and held it up for you to see without a word.

“What? It’s for you, not me,” you blurted, crossing your arms.

Anton simply folded the note in half, shoved it into his pocket, and walked away. You stood there, fuming, watching his retreating figure disappear around the corner. What was his problem?

Something was definitely wrong. Leaning against the counter, you tried to make sense of what just happened. Was it something you said? Something you did? You wracked your brain, sifting through every interaction you’d had with him, wondering if you somehow did something to offend or anger him in any way.

The last time you’d seen him was at your high school graduation two years ago. He’d been his usual self then—kind, supportive, making jokes to ease your nerves before the ceremony. If something had happened between then and now, it would have to be major for him to act like this after two whole years. But try as you might, you couldn’t think of anything.

And maybe that was true, this wasn’t about what you did. Maybe nothing had happened at all. Maybe this was just him now—more distant, more mature. The kind of guy who had outgrown childhood friendships.

Your chest tightened as the realization slowly crept in. Anton has changed. He doesn’t even look like the Anton you knew anymore. The messy bangs that used to fall into his eyes were gone, replaced by a clean, swept-back look that showed off his sharp jawline and cheekbones. Back then, he had that cute, boy-next-door thing going on, but now? Now he looked like he’d stepped out of some posh fashion campaign.

Even his eyes were different. They were the same shade, sure, but the warmth was missing. Instead, they felt sharper, like he wasn’t just looking at you but sizing you up, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of you anymore.

It was weird. And upsetting. Because no matter how much you tried to shake it off, it felt like the guy you used to know was gone. And you weren’t sure if you should feel proud of the man he’d become or mourn the boy you’d lost.

The tinkling sound of the door chime signaled someone’s arrival, jolting you out of your thoughts. Your mom popped her head in from the main door, flashing you a quick smile. “Hi, hun. Can you come down and help with the groceries? We’ve got bags of stuff to unload.”

“Yeah, sure,” you said, grateful for the excuse to stop spiraling. “I’ll go change first.” You pushed off the counter and headed for the stairs, trying to leave thoughts of Anton behind.

Chatter filled the kitchen as you unpacked groceries with your mom and Aunt Hyejin. They worked efficiently and synchronously, the kind of rhythm that only came from years of friendship.

“I’m telling you, we did not run into a celebrity at the market,” Aunt Hyejin said, waving a carton of eggs for emphasis.

“Then why did he look exactly like Gong Yoo?” your mom shot back, her tone smug.

“Because you see Gong Yoo in every man with nice hair and a sharp jawline,” Aunt Hyejin retorted, placing the eggs on the counter.

“What about that one time at the airport…”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as they continued their playful bickering. And just as your mood started to lighten, Anton walked into the kitchen. Without a word, he handed an envelope to Aunt Hyejin. His mom looked at it briefly and set it aside, mid-sentence with your mom.

Anton turned to leave, but then paused. “I’m heading to the clubhouse,” he said, his tone flat.

Aunt Hyejin looked up with a casual smile on her face. “Why don’t you take her with you?” she asked, nodding toward you. “I’m sure she’s bored hanging out with us.”

Anton’s eyes flicked to yours, holding your gaze for a moment longer than necessary. His expression was unreadable, but something in his stare made you shift uncomfortably.

You waved it off quickly. “It’s fine, Auntie. I’ll go next time.”

Anton tilted his head, lips curving into a faint smirk. “She doesn’t need me to take her there anyway,” he said, his voice laced with a condescension that set your teeth on edge. “She’s already got someone’s invitation to tonight’s party.”

The insinuation hit its mark, and for a second, you stared at him, trying to process the shade he’d just thrown. He didn’t wait for a response, though. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you simmering in annoyance.

Your mom and Aunt Hyejin exchanged a look. “Did you two fight?” your mom asked, eyebrows raised in concern.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, slamming a box of cereal onto the counter. “He’s been grumpy since this morning. I don’t wanna deal with it. And seriously, what’s up with his hair?”

“I think it looks great on him,” your mom said, glancing at Aunt Hyejin. “He’s grown so much in just two years. I almost didn’t recognize him at first.”

Aunt Hyejin nodded, a fond smile softening her features. “Yeah. Junyoung kept saying he’s got a glow up. We’re a family of late bloomers, you see.”

Their conversation continued, shifting to reminiscing about childhood antics and growth spurts, but you weren’t paying attention anymore. Your hands moved automatically, storing away groceries, while your mind replayed Anton’s jab over and over. Annoyance bubbled to the surface, threatening to spill over.

By the time the last bag was unpacked, you were practically seething. If this was the new Anton, you weren’t sure how much of him you could take.

The clubhouse was already crowded when you arrived. It was the same lively scene you remembered from previous summers: groups of people chatting at small tables, others lounging by the bar, drinks and snacks being passed around, strobe lights, and noisy music.

“Hey, you made it!” Sungchan’s familiar voice rang out above the noise. He was by the pool table, his grin as easy as ever, as he waved you over.

You smiled and headed his way. “Barely,” you teased. “This place is packed.”

“Summer crowd,” he said with a shrug. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Sungchan was effortlessly charming, bringing you into conversations with people you’d only vaguely remembered from previous summers—or didn’t know at all. He had a way of making things feel casual, light, and fun, and it wasn’t long before you were laughing with his friends.

Somewhere in between introductions, Sungchan leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially.  “Did you come here with Anton?”

Your smile faltered. “No. Why?”

He tilted his head toward the bar. “Because he’s been looking this way every five seconds since you walked in.”

You followed his gaze, and there he was—Anton, leaning casually against the bar, a drink in hand. His relaxed posture contradicted the sharpness in his eyes as they flicked in your direction. He was talking to a group of people you recognized as the self-proclaimed elites of the clubhouse—the rich kids, the ones he’d always found insufferable.

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. Since when had Anton started hanging out with them? He used to avoid this place altogether, grumbling about the kids who were too rich, too smug, and too full of themselves. And yet, there he was, laughing along with them, fitting in like he’d belonged there all along. 

Before you could dwell on it, a voice called out your name. You spun around to see Yejin, one of the friends you’d spent countless summer days with.

“There you are!” she called, waving from a nearby table. “Took you long enough!”

Grateful for the distraction, you turned away from Anton and made your way to Yejin, Hana, and Sohee, who greeted you with the kind of warmth and comfort that came from being with people you’d known for years. You got swept up in a hearty conversation—reminiscing, teasing, catching up on the details of two summers you’d missed. They bombarded you with questions, half-complaints about your absence, and enough inside jokes to make you laugh until your cheeks hurt.

“But seriously,” Sohee said, narrowing her eyes at you. “Where were you?”

“Life just got crazy, okay?” you explained, putting your hands up in mock surrender.

“Crazy? You ditched us for two whole years!” Hana chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “That’s two summers.”

“I know. So instead of holding me hostage for being gone, how about filling me in on what I missed?” you shot back, laughing.

Yejin leaned closer, her voice dripping with mischief. “We’ll fill you in, all right. But first—what’s going on with you and Sungchan?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but before you could, Sungchan appeared beside you, an innocent smile plastered across his face.

“Am I the topic of conversation?” he asked, his elbow nudging yours as he stood beside you. “I see, you’re catching up with your friends.”

Yejin narrowed her eyes at Sungchan, feigning suspicion. “Mr. Jung Sungchan, what’s the meaning of this?”

Sungchan glanced briefly at you. “Nothing. Your cute friend just happened to be generous enough to spare some of her precious time for me.”

Your friends exchanged glances and burst out laughing. Sohee was uncannily loud. “Generous enough? Surely you knew she was head over—”

You lunged at him, covering his mouth before he could finish talking. “This party is amazing, isn’t it?”

Sungchan just chuckled. “It is. Like I said, summer crowd.”

The chat continued, most of the attention directed at you because obviously, they wanted to catch up with you.

“So, are you two like a thing now?” Yejin asked, her tone playful as she raised an eyebrow at you and Sungchan.

“Definitely not,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

Sungchan clutched his chest, feigning hurt. “Wow, didn’t even hesitate. And here I  was, thinking we had something special.”

“Dude, we only started talking like five hours ago,” you retorted. “You’ll live.”

The group erupted in laughter, and Sohee grinned. “I don’t know, man. You seem to have some competition.”

“Competition?” Sungchan repeated.

Before Sohee could elaborate, Anton appeared beside him, clapping a hand on his back. “Don’t mind him,” he said, his voice smooth but pointed. “Sohee thinks everything’s a competition. Remember last summer’s beach volleyball? He still claims he didn’t cheat.”

Sohee gasped, his hand to his chest. “I didn’t!”

“Sure,” Anton drawled, his gaze flicking briefly to you before shifting back to Sohee. “Just like you didn’t accidentally trip over Hana to block that shot.”

“Speaking of beach volleyball,” Sungchan slid back into the group seamlessly, his charm lighting up the conversation. He nudged your arm playfully. “Weren’t you a former MVP?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “I used to be. That was three years ago, though. I think I’ve gotten rusty.”

“Don’t be modest,” Yejin teased, grinning at Sungchan. “She was a menace on the court. You’ve seen her, right? Our team was unbeatable because of her.”

Hana pointed at Sungchan. “Remember when we massacred Bay Area-3 four years ago? Must’ve sucked,” she added, shaking her head in exaggerated pity.

You hummed contentedly, leaning into the lightheartedness. “Too bad the season’s over. I would’ve loved to do it again.”

“Hey, I was on that team too,” Sohee interjected, pouting as if his contributions had been forgotten.

Sungchan’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I think we need a rematch. Let me know when you’re ready to lose.”

Yejin scoffed. “You’re on.”

“I’ll referee,” Anton offered unexpectedly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Someone’s gotta keep things fair, after all.”

“Oh, because you’re so unbiased?” you quipped before you could stop yourself.

Anton glanced at you, his gaze steady but unreadable. “I’m just saying, someone needs to make sure Sungchan doesn’t get away with calling fouls on every play.”

“Hey, I don’t do that!” Sungchan protested, laughing.

“You totally do,” Yejin chimed in, pointing a finger at him. “Remember last time? Every time you missed, suddenly it was, ‘The sun was in my eyes,’ or, ‘That wasn’t regulation height.’”

The group dissolved into laughter, and after some playful banter, a spontaneous agreement was made to hold a beach volleyball rematch in a few days. Sungchan excused himself first, saying he needed to spread the word to his Bay Area-3 team.

To you, he added, “You can find me back at the pool table later. Have fun catching up.”

As Sungchan walked away, you felt a prickle of awareness. Anton’s gaze was on you again. You met his eyes and raised an eyebrow. What? you mouthed, a silent challenge.

Predictably, he didn’t respond. His expression didn’t change, but he looked away, taking a slow sip from his drink. The moment passed as one of his new, polished friends called him over. He offered your group a brisk goodbye before heading back to their circle.

You exhaled, but your chest felt tight. It was weird seeing Anton blend so naturally with people he’d once disliked. You hadn’t realized how much it bothered you until now.

“Since when has he been hanging out with those people?” you asked, unable to keep the curiosity—and maybe the faintest trace of disbelief—out of your voice.

Hana leaned closer, lowering her tone conspiratorially. “He went to the same college as some of them. It’s actually kind of impressive, in a way. I didn’t think any of them were smart enough to get into a good university.”

You nodded absently, your thoughts tangled. “It’s just... weird seeing him with them when he used to complain about them all the time.”

“Well, people change,” Yejin said with a shrug, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Maybe he likes them now.”

You didn’t respond. There was no point in sharing the discomfort curling in your stomach when no one else seemed fazed. Instead, you busied yourself with your drink as conversation shifted to lighter topics—new schools, old gossip, and what everyone had been up to since high school.

You smiled and laughed along, but your thoughts kept drifting. No matter how much you tried, they always found their way back to Anton.

The night was in full swing by the time you found yourself sitting at a round table with Yejin, Hana, and a few other familiar faces. Sungchan leaned back in his chair beside you, his easy grin practically lighting up the conversation.

“So,” one acquaintance said, raising an eyebrow as she swirled her drink, “how does it feel to be back after two years? Like nothing’s changed?”

You smiled, though the question struck a little too close to home. “It feels great, honestly. I didn’t realize how much I missed everyone until now.”

“You’re lucky we even let you back in,” another one teased, leaning forward with a mock stern look. “Two summers is basically an eternity.”

Yejin chimed in, pointing her straw at you. “I told you she’d just waltz back in like nothing happened.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but a new voice cut through the chatter. “That’s kind of her thing, isn’t it?”

Your head whipped toward Anton, who had been leaning casually against the wall nearby. His voice was calm, almost disinterested, but there was a sharpness to it that pricked at your skin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, forcing a laugh that felt a little too light.

Anton glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before looking back at the group. “She’s good at jumping back into things like nothing ever happened.” Then to you, he said slowly and clearly, “That’s just how you’ve always been.”

The table went quiet for a few seconds too long. Sungchan shot you a look—half amused, half wary—while Yejin frowned, the corners of her mouth twitching as if unsure whether to laugh or intervene.

You felt your cheeks burn, but you refused to let it show. “Well, some of us don’t go through drastic changes in just two years,” you shot back, forcing a smile.

Anton’s gaze flicked to you for a moment, his lips curling in a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. “Guess not.”

The conversation resumed, though the tension lingered in the background. Yejin quickly steered the group onto lighter topics, and soon enough, the table was filled with laughter again.

But you couldn’t shake away Anton’s words. They sat in the back of your mind, nagging at you even as you tried to ignore them.

Sungchan leaned closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “You okay?” he asked softly.

“Fine.” You smiled at him, grateful, but the knot in your chest didn’t loosen. Instead, your eyes found Anton again, now standing by the bar with a drink in hand. He didn’t look your way, but you were swearing at him in your head, determined to get to the bottom of whatever his problem was as soon as you were alone.

The wait didn’t take long. While you were squeezed beside Sungchan on a plush couch, his arm draped over your shoulder, feeling more carefree after several drinks, Anton appeared before you with his brows furrowed.

“I’m going home,” he said flatly, his eyes flicking between you and Sungchan.

You scowled. “And? What does that have to do with me?”

He sighed, taking your drink away and placing it on the table with a pointed glance. “Your mom would kill me if I left without you. Come on.”

You rolled your eyes and stood up, bidding Sungchan a quick goodbye. He let you go with a soft kiss on your cheek, his voice warm as he said, “Text me when you’re home, okay?”

You nodded, though you knew you’d probably forget. Your focus was already on Anton, who was heading out the door without waiting for you.

You struggled to catch up with his long strides, but you didn’t complain, knowing he’d just ignore you if you did. The alcohol made your annoyance simmer louder, and in your head, you practiced the scathing words you’d unleash as soon as you were alone with him.

But Anton had other plans. The car stereo blasted as soon as the engine started, drowning out any attempt you made to speak. You knew he was doing it on purpose, and it made you angrier.

The ride felt like an eternity, tension crackling in the silence between the loud beats of the music. When the car finally pulled up in the garage, Anton got out without a word, leaving you to stumble after him. He was already halfway inside the house when you kicked off your heels and stormed in.

“You’re back early,” Aunt Hyejin greeted from the living room, where she and your mom sat in their pajamas watching a movie. “Oh, what’s wrong?”

“Hi, Auntie. Hi, Mom,” you said briskly, barely glancing their way as you followed Anton up the stairs.

“What happened?” your mom called after you, but you didn’t stop to answer.

The alcohol made it easier to ignore the logic telling you to let it go. You caught the door just as Anton was about to close it, your hand slamming against the wood.

“What’s your problem?” you snapped as you pushed your way into his bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

Anton didn’t even flinch. He casually walked over to his closet, rummaging through it for a fresh shirt. “What is it this time?” His tone was too monotonous, almost mocking.

“‘That’s just how you’ve always been.’” You gestured wildly, your voice rising with frustration as you mimicked his indifferent tone. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Anton?”

His brow twitched, and for a split second, you thought he might actually look sorry. But no. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms like he had all the time in the world to deal with your meltdown.

“It’s not that deep,” he said, his tone infuriatingly calm. “You’re overreacting.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Overreacting? You’ve barely said two words to me since I got here, and when you finally do, it’s to throw some passive-aggressive jab about how I’ve ‘always been’ like that? What is it exactly? Too loud? Too much? Too—”

“Annoying,” he cut in, his voice low but sharp enough to slice through your tirade.

The word struck a nerve, silencing you. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him.

“Annoying?” you echoed, your voice shaking. “Wow. So that’s what you think of me now? Or have you always thought I was annoying?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if this conversation was physically exhausting him. “Why are you so hung up on this?”

“Am I?” You took a step closer, your pulse quickening as anger spiked through you. “Alright then, sue me for always being like this. I didn’t change like you did. I’m still annoying, and I’ve—” You made air quotes, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “—‘always been like this.’”

“Enough,” Anton sighed, exasperated.

“What other grievances do you have against me, Anton?” you shot back, your patience worn thin. “Come on. Let’s hear it.”

“That’s enough,” he said firmly, uttering your name warningly in a way that made your stomach flip—not with fear, but with something far more complicated.

But you weren’t about to back down. “No, I’m not done. You don’t get to act like you’re some untouchable, brooding—”

Before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist—not hard, but enough to make you freeze. His other hand settled on your waist, and in one swift motion, he pulled you closer. You opened your mouth to protest, but his lips crashed into yours before you could even make a sound.

Anton kissed you.

It wasn’t soft or tentative. It was messy and careless, born of frustration and something you couldn’t put a finger on. Your hands pressed against his chest instinctively, not enough to push him away but not quite pulling him closer either.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was warm against your cheek. His grip on your waist loosened, but he didn’t let go completely.

“See?” he muttered, smirking as he took a small step back. “Still annoying.”

You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind a storm of confusion and something else you couldn’t quite name. Anton seemed completely unfazed, tugging his shirt off and changing right there in front of you. You were still frozen in place when he glanced back at you, flicking your forehead with an almost playful arrogance.

“Ow!” you groaned, snapped back to reality.

“It's just a kiss. Don’t obsess over it,” he teased, his eyes flicking to your lips for a moment before he turned, striding toward the door.

You stood there, the words echoing in your head—‘Just a kiss.’ He didn’t even look back as he walked out, leaving you standing in the middle of his room, heart still racing, mind still reeling.

You first met Anton when you were seven. It was the first of your many summers in their little hometown by the sea. Your mom had just finished unpacking your bags when Anton’s mother brought him over to say hello.

He didn’t say much, hiding behind her skirt and eyeing you like you were some strange creature he wasn’t sure he liked yet. But that didn’t last long. Later that afternoon, when the adults were chatting over iced tea on the porch, he shyly tugged at your sleeve and said, “Do you wanna see my pet turtle?”

You had gasped at the time, pleasantly surprised. “You have a turtle?”

“Yeah! It looks like a dinosaur!” he had responded with gleaming eyes.

That was all it took. One look at the tiny turtle swimming in a glass tank on his bedroom windowsill, and suddenly you weren’t just visiting strangers—you had a friend.

Summer after summer, the two of you grew closer. You didn’t get to spend Christmases together or birthdays, but summer break was sacred. Your families would get together at their beach house like a tradition, and that house quickly became a second home to you. Its wooden floors creaked under your bare feet, and the salty breeze always carried the sound of seagulls and laughter.

Anton was funny in a way that always caught you off guard, soft-spoken but bursting with energy when the mood struck. He had a wild streak too, like the time he dared you to jump off the pier into the ocean—even though you’d both been warned a hundred times not to. You ended up doing it, and you both got grounded for the rest of the week.

When you were eleven, he taught you how to ride a bike—well, tried to. He kept insisting he wasn’t laughing at you every time you tipped over, but you could see the way he bit his lip to hold back a grin. And when you finally managed to ride down the dirt path without falling, he cheered so loudly the neighbors peeked out their windows to see what all the fuss was about.

He wasn’t always the wild one, though. There were quieter moments too—like when the two of you built sandcastles on the beach and argued about whether a moat was necessary, or when you’d sit under the teepee in his room, eating popsicles and reading comic books.

For years, he was a head shorter than you, something you loved to tease him about relentlessly. “When are you gonna catch up, Anton?” you’d giggle, ruffling his hair.

“You’ll see,” he’d retort with a determined pout. “I’m gonna grow taller than you someday. Dad said it’s gonna happen soon.”

It became an annual joke, one he stubbornly refused to give up on even as the years passed and your height difference barely changed. Then, when you were sixteen, it finally happened. You came back that summer and found Anton waiting at the door, looking taller than he’d ever been. At first, you didn’t believe it, but the smug grin on his face told you he waited for you at the front door on purpose.

“You’re standing on something,” you accused, squinting at him.

“Nope,” he said, grinning wide as he tapped his bare feet against the porch. “I told you, didn’t I?”

By then, he wasn’t just taller; he was different in ways you couldn’t quite put into words. It was sometime after that same summer that you realized your feelings for Anton weren’t as simple as you thought.

You were teenagers, going through all the awkward, messy stages of puberty. He was becoming more handsome by the day, his boyish features sharpening in ways that made you notice things you hadn’t before. His smile seemed more charming, his laughter endearing, and you were left grappling with a new, inconvenient truth—you had a crush on your best friend.

It wasn’t like it was hard to fall for him. You’d never given it much thought before, but Anton had always been attentive to you. Having a crush on him made you see him in a different light, and his kind nature soon made your heart flutter. He teased you mercilessly, sure, but he always knew when to stop. If you were upset or sulking, he had this uncanny ability to bring you out of it without even trying.

He’d wait for you at the end of the dock whenever you hesitated to jump, his hand outstretched with a soft smile on his lips. If you got hurt—whether it was a scraped knee or a bruised ego—he was always the first to check on you. He never let you carry heavy things, always taking your bag without a word even when you protested. Sometimes you’d be shivering after a late swim, he would throw his towel over your shoulders and grin, saying you looked like a wet puppy.

He had this way of making you feel like you were the most important person in the world, even when he was teasing you. Like the summer he spent two hours untangling the kite you’d accidentally gotten stuck in a tree, refusing to let you help because “you’ll just make it worse.” Or the time he taught you how to skip stones on the water. He’d stood behind you, guiding your arm with his, his chest brushing your back as he whispered instructions, so close you could barely focus. 

For a while, you were convinced you were in love with him. But even then, you knew better than to say anything. What if it ruined everything? What if your confession turned your friendship into something awkward and strained? What would his parents—your second family—think if you jeopardized the bond your two families shared?

So, you buried it. Tucked away that silly, puppy love into the deepest corners of your mind, letting it stay there as a bittersweet secret. You told yourself it was fine. You didn’t need him to love you back. It was enough just to be around him, to laugh with him, to call him your best friend.

And it worked. For years, it worked.

He went back to being your platonic soulmate, the person who knew you better than anyone else. The crush faded into the background, becoming a harmless relic of your teenage years—something you could look back on with fondness but without longing. Anton was family. Almost like a brother, considering the way you’d grown up together.

Or so you thought..

Now, you lay in your dimly lit bedroom, staring at the ceiling with your hand pressed to your chest. You could still feel the sensation of his lips on yours, and the memory played on a loop in your mind. 

Anton had kissed you. On the lips. And you didn’t know how to feel about it.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. You did know.

The affection you’d convinced yourself was long gone—that you’d painstakingly buried under layers of denial—wasn’t gone at all. It had been lying dormant, quietly waiting for something to wake it up. And now, with one impulsive kiss, Anton had yanked it out of its slumber.

What made it worse was Anton himself. He didn’t seem the least bit affected. He’d walked out of the room as if the kiss meant nothing, leaving you to deal with the fallout alone. Did he even care? Did he even think about what it would do to you, kissing you like that and walking away?

You let out a frustrated sigh, pressing your palms to your eyes as if you could physically stop your thoughts from spiraling.

It was too much. Anton had been too much these days. And now, he’d managed to unravel years of carefully built denial with one impulsive, reckless kiss.

What are you supposed to do now?

The next few days were unbearable. You tried your best to pretend nothing had happened between you and Anton, but that had never been your strong suit. Pretending didn’t come naturally to you, and something as major as that kiss was impossible to ignore. And Anton? Oh, he must have been having the time of his life watching you squirm.

He didn’t ignore you anymore—not like before—but a big part of you wished he just stayed indifferent and mean. He’d sit beside you at breakfast, close enough for his knee to bump against yours under the table. He’d call your name just to ask something unimportant, so casually too like the kiss didn’t even happen. Then, every once in a while, he’d throw in a remark that made your stomach flip.

“Still thinking about it?” he asked once, leaning against the dock railing as you peered down at the clear water.

You’d nearly dropped your phone in the water. “About what?”

He raised an eyebrow, a sly smile pulling at his lips. “You know what.”

You wanted to strangle him.

And the worst part? He didn’t care if anyone else was around when he did it. Around family, he kept his teasing just vague enough that no one else would catch on, subtle enough not to raise suspicions. But his remarks were bold enough to set your heart racing and leave you panicking that someone might pick up on your little secret.

By the time a week had passed, you were on the brink of losing it.

Anton’s dad had arrived back from work, and to celebrate, the family decided on a big barbecue dinner. Naturally, you and Anton were tasked with picking up groceries. It was something you often did together, but that was before. Now you just wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

Still, you didn’t argue. Obviously you couldn’t risk drawing attention to yourself and raising questions. Since the kiss, you hadn’t yet been alone with him, and the thought of sitting in a car with just him was making your stomach churn.

When Anton leaned over to buckle your seatbelt—his hand brushing your arm in a way that felt entirely too intentional—you swatted him away.

“I can do it myself,” you snapped.

He smirked, leaning back into his seat as if you hadn’t just scolded him. “You’re welcome.”

At the grocery store, things were mercifully normal. The conversation stayed focused on the errand. You stuck to the list, pointing out items while Anton grabbed them, and for a moment, it felt like those times in the past when you did the same errand. But then, as you were scanning a shelf for the right brand of barbecue sauce, you saw a familiar face along the aisle.

“Sungchan!” you called out, waving a hand in the air and failing to notice Anton scowling behind you.

The sight of him brought a welcome distraction, and you walked over with a smile creeping onto your face. You exchanged pleasantries, and he introduced you to his mom, who seemed just as charming as he was. Over the past week, you’d been texting with him and had even gone on a few strolls along the beach. He was funny and easygoing, and things seemed to be going well—if only you could focus on this rather than having Anton occupy space in your head.

“Didn’t expect to run into you here,” he said, his gaze flickering briefly to Anton, who stood a few steps behind you, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Small town,” you replied with a laugh.

You chatted for a few minutes before his mom gently reminded him about their errands. Before leaving, he leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek. It was quick and casual, but it made your cheeks burn nonetheless.

“See you soon,” Sungchan said, stepping back. “Volleyball match is on Tuesday. Don’t forget,” he added, glancing between you and Anton before walking away.

You turned back to Anton, hoping he hadn’t noticed your flushed cheeks, but of course, he had.

“You’re blushing,” he said, his voice teasing but sharper at the edges than usual.

“It’s hot,” you muttered, grabbing a random bottle of barbecue sauce and tossing it into the cart without even looking at the label.

Anton reached over, grabbed the bottle, and placed it back on the shelf. “This one’s for pasta. You’re a mess today.”

You glared at him. “Maybe I wouldn’t be if someone wasn’t constantly trying to mess with me.”

“Who, me?” Anton’s expression was pure mock innocence.

“Yes, you!” You snatched another bottle off the shelf, shoving it into the cart with unnecessary force before walking ahead.

He trailed behind, his voice light but carrying a certain edge. “So... you and Sungchan, huh?”

“What about us?” you said flatly, not bothering to look back.

“Oh, nothing,” Anton replied, leaning casually against the cart handle. “It’s just cute, that’s all. The way he looks at you like you’re a goddess or something. And that kiss on the cheek?” He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Real smooth.”

Your brows furrowed, genuinely wondering if he was being sarcastic. He looked at you and added, “Bet he writes poems about you in his free time.”

You scoffed. “Do you really think he’s that kind of guy? Have you seen him?”

Anton shrugged. “How would I know? I’m just making a guess since you’ve had the biggest crush on him for a long time and you once told me he looked like the kind of guy who writes poems for their girlfriend.”

You grimaced. “Ew. When did I say that?”

“When we were twelve,” he answered with a nonchalant shrug.

Your eyes widened slightly before you huffed. “Well, I was twelve. And I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

Anton scoffed mockingly. “No. He is that kind of guy. Romantic, spontaneous, and totally not like other guys who party till sunrise, chase after pretty girls and hookup for funsies,” he said sarcastically, smirking.

You turned to face him, your annoyance now outweighing your embarrassment. “What’s your problem?”

“No problem,” he said with a too-innocent shrug. “Just thought it was cute, that’s all. You’ve got a little admirer.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a pack of skewers and tossing it into the cart. “Whatever. It’s none of your business, anyway.”

“Nice, sure,” Anton drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I do hope you don’t end up as another notch on his bedpost by the time summer ends.”

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” you shot back in frustration.

He straightened up, his smirk softening into something you couldn’t quite read. “What? I’m just looking out for you. Making sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“By mocking me?”

“By being honest,” he corrected, leaning slightly closer, his voice dropping low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You huffed, staring right back at him with no intention to back down. “Whatever I do this summer, whoever I do it with, is none of your business, Anton. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing since I got here. Keep ignoring me and continue acting like a total prick, because I’m done trying to figure out what I did so wrong to deserve this treatment from you.”

Anton’s smirk faltered, replaced by something harder to read. His jaw tightened, but instead of snapping back, he turned away. Without another word, he pushed the cart down the aisle, leaving you standing there, fuming and wondering if it was possible to strangle someone with barbecue tongs. 

The silence that followed felt heavy, pressing against your chest, but you refused to dwell on it. Let him walk away if he wanted. Let him stew in whatever self-righteous attitude he’d decided to adopt this summer. You’re done walking on eggshells around him.

In the evening, you gathered in the backyard with your mom and the Lee family, everyone moving around busily to prepare dinner—setting up the table, checking the grill, and bringing out the salads and sides.

The sound of sizzling meat, the laughter and chatter, along with the faint echo of the waves lapping at the beach made you feel nostalgic. Barbecue nights like this had been a staple of your summers here. You hadn’t thought about them much in the two years you were away, but now that you were experiencing it again, you realized how much you’d missed it.

You focused on your tasks, determined to push away the tension from earlier at the store. The last thing you wanted was to let Anton get under your skin.

But Anton had other ideas. He was stuck to you like glue. Every time you moved to do something, he was right there, offering to help.

While you were helping Aunt Hyejin arrange side dishes, you were also trying to brush off the occasional bump of Anton’s shoulder as he reached for something nearby. It was hard to ignore the way he hovered close—not enough to draw attention, but enough to keep your nerves on edge.

“Need anything?” he asked as you washed the lettuce.

You glanced at him, your expression flat. “No, I’m good,” you said, shaking the excess water off the leaves.

He didn’t seem to take the hint. “You sure? I can—”

“No,” you cut him off, tugging the lettuce away when he reached for it. “I can do it myself.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, but instead of arguing, he grabbed a tray of meat and started skewering it—purposefully working a little too close to where you were standing.

The family, oblivious to your silent war, carried on. Junyoung teased you about your time abroad, nudging you playfully. “Bet you missed this, huh?”

“Missed what?” you asked, playing along.

“This. You can’t get this kind of barbecue anywhere else.”

You laughed but didn’t answer because Anton spoke first. “Junyoung, didn’t Dad ask you to get the charcoal?”

“Oh, crap. Right.” Junyoung hurried off, leaving you and Anton alone at the counter.

Your eyes flicked toward Anton who seemed too immersed in his task. “Move. I need space for this,” you demanded, motioning to the tray in your hand.

His gaze shifted to you for a moment, before he returned to the meat and vegetables. “If you’re done with that, come help me with these,” he said flatly.

Scoffing, you picked up the tray of washed greens and headed outside.

Once everything was set up, you took a seat at the long table, intentionally placing yourself as far from Anton as possible. Plates were filled, glasses poured, and lively chatter filled the air. But just as you lifted your fork, Anton’s voice caught your attention.

“Junyoung, move over. I’m sitting there.”

Your eyes widened as Anton casually nudged his brother out of the way, sliding into the seat beside you without hesitation. Junyoung gave you a confused look, and you could only shrug.

Anton glanced at you as he settled in. “You don’t mind, right?” he asked, his tone almost too sweet, like he wasn’t giving you a choice.

You grimaced. “Do whatever you want. It’s your house.”

To your surprise, Anton became uncharacteristically attentive. He refilled your plate with meat, made wraps for you, and handed over dishes you couldn’t reach. You tried to focus on the conversation around you, but it was impossible to ignore the sincerity in his actions—or the way his gaze lingered a little too long.

It wasn’t long before Anton’s father spoke up, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. “Well, it’s nice to see you two getting along again,” he said, his gentle gaze flicking between you and Anton.

Anton raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “What do you mean?”

“The two of you,” his father replied, pointing at you and Anton. “I heard whispers about how you two weren’t speaking while I was gone. Did something happen?”

“You noticed that?” Anton asked.

Your mom chimed. “Oh, we all did. You’ve been inseparable since you were kids. Of course we’d notice if you suddenly act like strangers.”

“It’s good that you’ve made up. I thought we’d have to mediate some big falling out,” Aunt Hyejin added with a laugh, glancing between you and Anton.

Anton’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t say anything, focusing instead on the wrap he was making.

“It was weird,” your mom continued, clearly enjoying the opportunity to tease. “These two were like peas in a pod growing up. They’d even sneak out at night to stargaze on the beach together. Remember that?”

You groaned inwardly. “Mom, please.”

“Oh, don’t act embarrassed,” your aunt said, waving a hand. “It’s cute! We all thought it was adorable.”

Anton’s father narrowed his eyes playfully. “So, what happened? Did you fight?”

Before you could stammer out a reply, Anton finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. “Nothing happened. We’re fine.”

“That’s it?” his father pressed, clearly unsatisfied.

Anton glanced at you, his gaze lingering for a moment too long. “That’s it.”

The table erupted into laughter, with your mom and Aunt Hyejin exchanging knowing looks.

“Well, I guess all’s well that ends well,” your mom said, smiling. “You two were always quick to make up anyway.”

You tried to laugh it off, focusing on your plate and ignoring the way Anton’s arm brushed against yours under the table.

As the meal wrapped up and people began clearing plates, Anton stood abruptly. He didn’t announce anything to the table, just leaned down slightly toward you, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Air?” he asked simply, gesturing toward the beach.

For a moment, you hesitated. Then, realizing the family’s focus was elsewhere, you pushed your chair back and followed him.

Anton led the way down the path toward the beach, hands in his pockets. You followed, keeping your eyes on the back of his head as your feet sank slightly into the cool sand. The sound of waves crashing on the shore stirred something in you—restlessness, maybe. Or nostalgia.

Then he stopped by the shoreline, where the water lapped softly, and sat down.

“Are you planning to stand there all night?” he asked, glancing up at you and tapping the space next to him.

You rolled your eyes and plopped down a few feet away, deliberately creating distance. The breeze tugged at your hair, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, letting the sound of the waves fill the silence.

“They think we’ve made up,” you said finally, breaking the stillness.

Anton huffed a quiet laugh. “They’ve got no idea, huh?”

“Not a clue,” you replied, smirking faintly. “I don’t even know why we were fighting. Or if it was even a fight in the first place. This is your fault.”

His brow quirked at that, but instead of biting back, he chuckled softly. “Maybe it was me. I’ll take the blame.”

“You’ve been sticking to me all night,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Acting all nice, making wraps for me at dinner… What’s that about?”

Anton tilted his head toward you, his expression unreadable. “Why? You don’t like it?”

You shot him a look. “No, it’s just weird. You’ve been a prick all week, and now suddenly you’re trying to play nice. What’s your deal?”

He leaned back on his hands, eyes drifting to the horizon. “Maybe I just felt bad,” he said finally. “For these past few days, I mean.”

You snorted, trying to hide the way his sincerity caught you off guard. “So, what? It took you this long to feel bad?”

His gaze slid back to yours, and this time, it lingered. The playful edge in his expression softened, replaced by something quieter, something heavier.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

The words hung between you, stirring up emotions you weren’t prepared to unpack. You wanted to brush it off, to throw a snarky remark his way and shift the mood back to something you could handle, but the look in his eyes kept you rooted in place.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but he beat you to it.

“I didn’t mean to treat you like that,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I didn’t mean to change… us.”

Your heart twisted, but you forced a scoff. “You didn’t mean it? Could’ve fooled me.”

Anton didn’t respond right away. He simply stared at you, his eyes tracing your features like he was seeing them for the first time. The ocean breeze carried the faint scent of the summer evening, and the sound of waves crashing filled the spaces his words left behind.

And for a moment, you thought he might close the distance. His shoulders shifted, his posture leaning ever so slightly toward you, his gaze dropping to your lips—so brief you almost thought you imagined it.

But just as quickly, he pulled back. His expression returned to the smirk you were all too familiar with.

“Welp, let’s not get too sentimental,” he said lightly, brushing sand off his hands as he stood up. “You might actually start thinking I’ve changed for the better.”

You blinked, caught somewhere between frustration and something softer, as he offered you a hand to help you up.

“I still haven’t decided if I like this version of you,” you muttered, brushing past him as you started back toward the house.

He chuckled, walking ahead of you and gently bumping your shoulder as he passed you. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

A part of you wondered if the conversation was done for the night. But as you glanced at the back of his head, you couldn’t resist one last question.

“Why did you do it?” you called out.

Anton slowed but didn’t stop, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Do what?”

You caught up, falling into step beside him. “Why’d you kiss me?”

He didn’t react right away, his gaze shifting back to the path ahead. “You’re asking me that now? Have you been thinking about it all week?” he asked with a teasing lilt in his voice.

“I’m serious. Come on,” you said, keeping your tone light but steady. “It’s not because you wanted to, right? I was just getting on your nerves, and there was no other way to shut me up. Right, Anton? Right?”

Your heart thudded in your chest as the silence stretched. Anton finally came to a stop, his hands slipping into his pockets as he turned to face you. The moonlight caught the faint curve of his smirk, but his eyes were unreadable.

“Wrong,” he said simply.

“What?” you blurted, waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

Anton turned and kept walking, leaving you standing there, staring after him as the word echoed in your mind.

The weekend at the beach house passed in a blur. After your conversation with Anton, things between you weren’t awkward anymore, but they weren’t exactly normal either. You talked like usual, bantered like usual, interacted like usual—everything was as usual. Except for when his eyes would focus on you every now and then—the kind of look that seemed to communicate something your mind couldn’t comprehend, but you knew they meant something.

Sometimes, when it was just the two of you—bringing drinks outside or crossing paths in the hallway—you found yourself running through a dozen different scenarios in your head. Ones where the air grew heavy, his hand brushed yours, and somehow, the silence ended in a feverish kiss. You weren’t sure where these thoughts were coming from, but they made you giddy and nervous at the same time, unsure how to handle the growing interest that crept quietly under your skin.

Soon, the day of the volleyball game rolled around, and you headed to the beach with your friends. Sungchan was easy to spot near the net, casually chatting with a group while fiddling with the ropes. When he caught sight of you, his smile stretched wide as he jogged toward you.

“You finally showed up,” he teased, hands on his hips.

You rolled your eyes at his dramatic tone. “I’m literally on time.”

“Late, early—it’s all relative.” He grinned, taking a step back and gesturing to the setup. “So, wanna be on my team? I’m giving you a chance to switch sides before we kick your team’s ass.”

You scoffed. “How generous. But I’ve already pictured your defeat in my head, so, no thank you.”

His laugh was easy, but you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze softened as it lingered on you. That familiar charm of his—it was almost effortless, but you knew what you had to say.

“By the way, I have something to tell you,” you said, glancing past the others before looking back at him.

“Sure,” he nodded, his smile dimming just slightly. “That look is making me nervous, but let’s hear it.”

You took a breath. “You’re a fun guy, you really are. You’re nice too. And to be honest, I had a crush on you since I was like—” you shrugged—“twelve? I think?”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, and I really enjoyed hanging out with you, but  I don’t think I want to be anything other than friends with you.”

For a second, you worried how he’d take it. But Sungchan just stared at you, then let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “I knew you’d break my heart eventually.”

“Sungchan—”

“I’m kidding,” he cut you off, flashing his usual grin. “It’s cool, really. You didn’t drag it out, so thanks for that.”

Relief washed over you. “I just didn’t want to keep you hanging.”

“I know. I really appreciate that,” he replied, his grin turning teasing again. “Gives me more time to get to know other people. Lots of pretty girls in town this summer, you know? They’d be thrilled to know I’m still available.”

You couldn’t help chuckling. “Did you really just say that out loud?”

“Why not?” he said, smirking. “We’re friends. There’s no need to filter my words around friends.”

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, but the laughter that followed between you both was easy and genuine.

The volleyball setup was simple but lively—teams were already strategizing, with Sungchan’s voice ringing out as he rallied his group together. You lingered near the sidelines, soaking in the warm sun and salty breeze, until a familiar figure stepped into your peripheral vision.

Anton.

His hair was a little tousled from the wind, and he had that usual air of nonchalance as he approached. You noticed the faint furrow in his brow as his gaze shifted from Sungchan back to you.

“Are you ready for this?” you asked, keeping your tone casual.

Anton ignored the question entirely. “What were you two talking about?”

“Sungchan?” you asked innocently, tilting your head. “Nothing much. Just clearing the air.”

Anton narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything, his jaw tightening slightly before he turned his attention to the players warming up.

“Didn’t think you’d actually referee,” you teased, eyeing his rashguard and short outfit.

“Someone has to keep things fair,” he replied, his tone dry as his eyes flicked to Sungchan, who was busy high-fiving his teammates.

You raised an eyebrow, catching his not-so-subtle focus. “What’s that look for?”

He shrugged, but his casual tone didn’t match the sharpness in his gaze. “Just wondering why you were all chummy with him.”

“What?” you said, rolling your eyes. “I told you. We were just talking. We’re friends. He’s nice.”

“Too nice, if you ask me,” Anton muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening. “You do remember that he’s older than us, right?”

You tilted your head, amusement tugging at your lips. “Is that jealousy I hear, Anton Lee?”

“Not jealousy,” he shot back quickly. “Concern. You shouldn’t be fraternizing with the enemy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Enemy? Aren’t referees supposed to be neutral and not pick sides.”

Anton’s lips twitched, but his expression remained guarded. “Not when it comes to him.”

“Sounds personal,” you teased.

Before he could reply, Sungchan’s voice called from across the net. “Hey, MVP! You ready to show us what you’ve got?”

A confident grin spread across your face as you turned to him. “Hope you’re ready to lose,” you shot back, adjusting your stance.

Anton muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “cocky,” but you ignored him, stepping onto the sand with the kind of ease that came from years of practice.

The game started fast, with energy running high as the teams gave their all to the game. You were quick on your feet, diving for saves and landing precise spikes that sent the ball flying past the other team’s defenses more than once.

“Still got it,” you muttered to yourself after a particularly clean shot, wiping sand off your knees.

“Nice!” Hana cheered, and you all huddled for a high-five.

Sungchan whistled, shaking his head as he retrieved the ball. “Alright, I’ll give you that one. But don’t think you’re getting another easy point.”

“Easy?” Hana echoed, smirking playfully. “Your team’s been missing half your serves. Why don’t you concede?”

“Less talking, more playing,” Yejin retorted, clapping her hands loudly.

The banter drew a laugh from the sidelines, where Anton stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Still, you caught the slight twitch of his lips whenever you scored, even if he didn’t say a word.

During a quick break, Sungchan jogged over, tossing you a water bottle. “You’re making me work harder than I thought,” he said, flashing his signature grin.

“Good,” you replied, taking a sip and wiping your brow. “I’m just getting started.”

Sungchan stood there for a few seconds, watching you. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “So, how are things with Anton?”

The water caught in your throat mid-sip, and you barely managed not to spit it out. Coughing, you waved him off as he laughed and patted your back. “What? Why would you even ask me that?”

“Has he told you about it yet?”

“About what?”

Sungchan raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Don’t make me spell it out. The guy’s practically wearing a neon sign over his head that says, ‘I’m in love with her.’”

You rolled your eyes, brushing off the warmth creeping up your neck. “You’re so dramatic. He doesn’t—”

“Sure, sure.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But you’ve noticed, haven’t you? The way he gets all broody whenever we talk?”

“Broody?”

“You know, sulky. Jealous,” he grinned, casually draping an arm on your shoulder. “I didn’t think it would be so fun to tease him.”

Without thinking, you glanced over. Anton stood with his arms crossed, stealing glances at you and Sungchan. His face was unreadable, but the tight set of his jaw and the sharpness in his gaze gave him away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, turning back to Sungchan, though your pulse quickened under Anton’s gaze.

Before he could respond, a sharp whistle broke through the conversation.

“Break’s over,” Anton called, his voice firm as he motioned for everyone to get back into position.

Sungchan glanced at him, then back at you, grinning like he’d just cracked a code. “See? Broody.” He threw you a wink before jogging back to his side of the net.

As the game resumed, you couldn’t help but notice Anton’s slightly biased officiating—whistling a little too loud when Sungchan’s team scored, or muttering under his breath whenever their team celebrated.

By the time the final point was scored—your team taking the win with a flawless spike—you caught Anton watching you again, his expression softening just slightly. But as quickly as it came, it was gone, replaced with his usual cool detachment as he blew the whistle to signal the end of the game.

The sound of cheers and laughter filled the air as your team huddled together, celebrating the win. Sohee slung an arm over your shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

“Still the MVP, huh?” he teased, ruffling your hair playfully. “I don’t know why I thought this would go any other way.”

“Because you’re overconfident,” Hana chimed in, nudging Yejin with her elbow. “And we’re, you know, actually good at this.”

You smirked. “Don’t beat yourself up, though. You guys put up a good fight.”

“Good fight, my ass,” Sohee grumbled, flopping onto the sand dramatically. “We got obliterated. I’m never playing against you guys again.”

“Come on, Sohee,” you replied, tossing him a grin as you helped him up. “It’s just for fun. You didn’t do that bad.”

“He missed three serves in a row,” Hana deadpanned, earning a loud groan from Sohee.

“Okay, no need to rub it in!” Sohee huffed, dusting the sand off his hands.

Anton approached the group, his whistle still dangling from around his neck. “You all done patting yourselves on the back?” he asked, his tone neutral but his eyes briefly meeting yours.

“What exactly are we winning? Do we get a prize?” Yejin asked, looking around.

Sungchan shrugged. “Bragging rights?” he said with evident uncertainty in his tone and expression.

Your team groaned, unsatisfied. Sungchan stammered. “Hey, we didn’t decide on a prize when we talked about this game.”

Sohee raised a hand. “Okay, guys, since I’m basically responsible for our loss, ice cream’s on me for the winners. Losers can fend for themselves.”

“Wow, so generous,” Sungchan deadpanned, but he followed anyway, dragging his team along.

“It’s okay, dude,” Yejin said, clapping him on the back. “You’re rewarded enough. It’s not every day you get to play with an MVP.”

“You mean lose to an MVP,” Sungchan corrected, nodding toward you. “You’re a beast out there, seriously. Respect.”

“Respectfully defeated, you mean?” Hana teased, crossing her arms.

Sungchan shrugged, unfazed. “I’m not bitter. I’d rather lose to a skilled player than Sohee.”

“Okay, man. Low blow,” Sohee sighed, shoulders sagging in defeat.

Sungchan flashed you a knowing grin before his gaze flickered toward Anton. “Guess you’re proud of her too, huh, ref?”

Anton’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, but he only shrugged. “She’s decent.”

“Decent?” you echoed, narrowing your eyes at him. “Pretty sure I just carried my team to victory.”

“I’d rather not inflate your ego,” he retorted, smirking.

As the group headed toward the snack stand, you lingered for a moment, brushing sand off your legs. Anton hung back too, his gaze lingering on the horizon before he glanced at you.

“Decent, huh?” you said, crossing your arms as you turned to him.

His lips twitched. “You heard me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You could just admit you’re impressed.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he replied, turning toward the snack stand without waiting for a response.

Shaking your head, you followed, the playful energy from the game lingering in the air.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the group gathered around a bonfire on the beach. Drinks were passed around, the conversation flowing easily. More people arrived as the evening deepened, including some of Anton’s posh friends. They blended effortlessly into the group, their polished smiles and designer outfits standing out against the casual beachwear.

At some point, Sohee handed Anton a guitar with a knowing smirk. “Would you play something for us?”

Anton chuckled, adjusting the strap before strumming a few chords. The group around the fire cheered, and soon everyone was singing along, their voices blending beautifully with the melody Anton was playing.

You leaned back against the driftwood bench, watching him as his fingers glided over the strings with ease. There was something captivating about how relaxed he seemed—more confident, more self-assured. The shy boy you’d grown up with had always seemed happiest when he was off to the side, letting others take the spotlight. Now, he was in the center of it, getting attention without even trying.

In hindsight, this should’ve made you happy. Seeing him like this—more mature, more comfortable in his own skin—should’ve felt like a victory for the both of you. But you didn’t have time to process this because the joy of his transformation had been buried under your indignation, your frustration at being treated like a stranger.

You sighed and turned your gaze to the fire, trying to push the thoughts away.

Later, as the party stretched into the night, Sungchan plopped down beside you with a drink in hand.

“Long face at a party?” he teased, nudging your arm lightly.

You smiled faintly. “Just thinking about stuff.”

“Stuff like Anton?” he asked, raising a brow.

You gave him a side-eye, but his grin was disarming enough that you found yourself nodding. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” he echoed, leaning closer like he was fishing for details. “Come on, you can tell me. I’m great at giving unsolicited advice.”

That earned a laugh out of you. “Why are you nosy?”

He shrugged. “This is the most interesting thing that happened here since summer break started. I’m a little too invested.”

“Fine,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “Get ready.”

And so, you told him everything—how you and Anton had grown up together, spending every summer side by side, how he used to be this sweet, shy boy you adored. You told him about your silly teenage crush on him, how you’d skipped the last two summers, and how things were so different now that you were back. Sungchan listened intently, nodding along as you spoke.

“And then he kissed me,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “And now I’m… I don’t know. I can’t tell if I’m falling for him again or if I’m just confusing old feelings for something they’re not.”

Sungchan leaned back, letting out a low whistle. “That’s a lot to unpack,” he said, then smirked. “But hey, you’ve got options. If it’s real, great. If it’s not, at least you’ll know. Either way, you win.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not exactly helpful.”

“Look, all I’m saying is, maybe stop overthinking it. You’ll figure it out,” he replied. “But if you’re asking me? I think you’re not confusing old feelings. It’s just that the old feelings are stronger now that you’re older and wiser. Well, not so wise, but still wiser than when you were sixteen.”

Your laugh came out startled. “What makes you think so?”

“Just a hunch,” he said, winking.

Before you could respond, a shadow fell over the both of you. You looked up to see Anton standing there, his expression unreadable as he glanced between you and Sungchan.

“Time to go,” Anton said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You frowned, leaning back against the bench. “It’s still early.”

Anton huffed, unfazed. “I’d hate to ruin your night, but I’m tired, so let’s just go.”

You groaned, glancing at Sungchan, who gave you an exaggerated pout. “Guess this is goodbye,” he said dramatically.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you retorted, but you smiled as you stood. “Thanks for listening.”

He gave you a two-fingered salute as you turned to follow Anton.

As you walked up the beach, the sounds of the party fading behind you, you glanced at Anton. “Can’t you go home by yourself?”

“You think I’m dragging you along because I want to?” he asked back, glancing sideways at you. “Take it up to your two moms if you have a problem with it.”

You huffed. “I probably should. One can’t go home without the other? What are we, fifteen?”

Anton didn’t respond, but you caught the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he walked ahead.

The car ride was too quiet for your liking. Anton kept his grip tight on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched, and you couldn’t ignore the hint of annoyance on his expression. 

You’d been stealing glances over at him, but he didn’t meet your eyes. The way he was acting—the sudden coldness after the bonfire, the way he pulled away emotionally—it was all too confusing and infuriating. 

“Anton, you’re angry,” you said, your voice low but steady. “What’s going on? Another mood swing?”

He finally looked at you, his eyes dark, the frustration in them almost raw. “Can you mind your own business?”

“I can if you stop making me feel like this was my business too.”

Anton let out a sharp exhale, and with a swift turn of the steering wheel, he pulled over to the side of the road, stepping on the brakes so abruptly, you were jolted forward, the seatbelt digging into your chest.

“What the hell—”

“What do you want me to say?” he cut you off, his voice rough.

“What do I want you to say?” you echoed, heart pounding as anger rose in your chest. “Are you serious? You’ve been treating me like a stranger since I got here. You’ve barely talked to me, and when you do, it’s like I’m the last person you want to be around. What do I want you to say?”

You scoffed incredulously. “I want you to tell me what I did so wrong to deserve this.”

Anton’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw clenching so hard it was a wonder it didn’t crack. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, quieter, but no less intense. “I missed you. So fucking much.”

For a second, his words knocked the wind out of you. But the anger came rushing back. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense. You missed me, so you’re treating me like crap? What the hell, Anton?”

“I don’t know!” he snapped, his voice breaking slightly. He groaned, leaning back in his seat and pressing his hands to his face. “I don’t know, alright? I just—I couldn’t reach you. I couldn’t talk to you. You were supposed to be here, and you weren’t. And now you’re back, and I’m—” He broke off, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration.

You blinked, caught off-guard by the vulnerability in his voice. You opened your mouth to speak, but you didn’t know what to say so you closed it again. At that moment, it was as if the only thing you could do was reach out your hand and place it on his arm, squeezing gently in hopes that it would somehow comfort him, that it would be enough to express what your words cannot.

His head turned toward you, and the look in his eyes made your breath hitch. His gaze flicked to your lips, and before you could process what was happening, his hand was on your arm, pulling you toward him. Then his lips crashed against yours, desperate and unrestrained, like he couldn’t stop himself anymore. 

And you couldn’t pull away—not that you wanted to. Everything you had been holding back, everything you’d been pretending not to feel, was suddenly pouring out in that kiss.

He tugged you closer, his other hand sliding to your waist as the kiss deepened, raw and messy, with a kind of desperation that matched your own. You could feel his heavy breathing against your lips as his body tensed beneath you, and it only made you want to close the distance even more.  You wrapped your arms around his neck, clutching a handful of his hair because you needed to hold on to something—anything—that was real.

Anton’s hands moved to your neck, his touch possessive, as if he was trying to assure himself that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere. You pulled away for a breath, your chest rising and falling quickly as you stared at each other, both of you trying to catch your breath.

“Anton…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say it. Just—don’t say anything right now.” He kissed you again, one hand slipping under your shirt but you stopped him.

“No.” You pushed him away gently, your lips curving into a small smile. “Not here. Come on, dude. Not in the car. Let’s at least make this special.”

He leaned back, a short, dark laugh escaping him. “I just kissed you till you’re breathless, and you call me dude after?”

You laughed lightly, still breathless yourself. “Are you seriously gonna hold that against me instead of focusing on more pressing matters?” You glanced at the unmistakable bulge in his jeans.

Anton grunted, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he shifted the gear stick, suddenly looking more determined than ever as he stepped on the gas.

You couldn’t help grinning at the look on his face. You reached for his chin, pulling him close just enough to press a soft kiss on his cheek. As you sat back, Anton’s fingers brushed against yours, holding your hand with a light squeeze as the car sped down the highway.

The house was quiet when you and Anton arrived. It was past 1am, and the soft hum of the house was the only sound that filled the air as you both tiptoed down the dimly lit hallway. Your footsteps were almost inaudible on the hardwood floor, but your heart raced in your chest. When you passed by his parents’ room, you both paused for a moment, checking for any signs of movement, worried that someone might wake up and catch you sneaking.

When you reached the upper floor landing, Anton grabbed your hand, pulling you closer to him. His lips brushed the side of your neck as you walked down the hall. The thrill of the risk only heightened your need for each other, and you couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at your lips as his hand slid to the small of your back, pressing you against him for a second.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” you whispered, though the mischief in your voice gave  away the fact that you were enjoying this too.

He groaned impatiently. “Why is your bedroom so far away?”

“It’s not, you’re just dramatic,” you chided softly, pressing a soft kiss on his lips and slipping away when he moved to cage you in his arms.

The need for each other was overwhelming, but you couldn’t risk waking anyone up, couldn’t let anyone see this side of you two yet.

When you finally reached your bedroom door, you turned to face Anton, curling your fingers in his shirt. “Don’t you dare go in there without me,” you said, pulling him toward you for another kiss, the same fervent kiss he’d been giving you all night.

As you both stumbled into the room, the door clicking shut behind you, everything else disappeared—the house, the people, the secrets. The room was quiet except for the sound of your uneven breaths. He was so close, his familiar face somehow different now, his eyes tracing yours like he was seeing you for the first time.

“This is insane,” you whispered, a shaky laugh slipping out as you broke eye contact. “Are we really gonna do this?”

“Oh, it’s totally up to you,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower as he tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear. “But right now, I can’t stop thinking about you… like this,” he added, his fingers brushing on the sleeves of your shirt, tugging it off slowly.

You let him undress you as your stomach fluttered at his confession. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned forward, your lips meeting his. It started soft, tentative, like you were afraid to push too far. But then his hand found the back of your neck, pulling you in, and suddenly it wasn’t soft anymore.

The kiss deepened, years of restraint unraveling all at once. He laid you back against the bed, his weight hovering over you. As his lips trailed down your neck with slow and careful kisses, your mind began to spiral with a sensation that was both new and unfamiliar.

When he got rid of your bra and revealed your bosoms before his eyes, he had to take a moment and look at you—really look at you, with a face of disbelief and amazement. That gaze made you shy, but you tried not to show it, hoping he liked what he was seeing. 

“This feels… a bit different,” he murmured, meeting your gaze. His voice trembled slightly, and it struck you that he was just as nervous as you were.

“Because it is,” you whispered back, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “But it’s still us.”

That seemed to settle something in him. He leaned down to kiss you again, only for a short while before abandoning your lips and moving to your neck. He licked and nipped at your skin, leaving a slight sting that sent shivers down your spine—a delightful balance of pain and pleasure. His lips trailed down to your collarbone, the center of your chest, and the soft hollow beneath your breast before moving to suck on your nipple.

The sudden jolt of pleasure made you arch your back, stifling a gasp that almost tore out of your lungs. Anton continued, eyes locked with yours, studying every expression you were making.

His hands grew bolder, fingertips traveling to your belly, down to your sex with curiosity and reverence. His motions were gentle at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But with each soft gasp or subtle shift of your body, his confidence grew. When his thumb brushed a spot that made you shiver, he paused, repeating the motion with a soft hum, like he’d just unlocked a secret meant only for him.

He already knew you so well—the way your eyes lit up when you were excited, the way your laugh sounded when you tried to muffle it, and the things that made you fold into yourself when you were upset. But this—this part of you—was new, uncharted territory neither of you had thought you’d ever explore.

“Didn’t know you could make that face,” he teased, tickling your ear.

A quiet laugh slipped out of you when his hand fumbled at an awkward angle. “You lost it,” you giggled and he let out a soft chuckle in return.

“Sorry. Where did it go?” he asked, grinning toothily. “Guess I’m not as smooth as I thought.”

You shook your head, still grinning, and cupped his jaw in your hand. “You’re doing fine.”

The laughter didn’t last long. It faded into urgency when you reached between his legs where his manhood was trapped in his tight jeans. Anton let out a pained grunt when your hand brushed it, murmuring “Fuck,” before backing away from you and stripping out of his clothes in a matter of seconds.

He dived back to your lips, crashing with intense fervor while his hand spread your legs wider. He held you tight as he positioned himself, shushing you gently as he slowly fitted himself inside. Every fiber in your body stood in attention, anticipating the delightful pain to shoot through you. And when it came, it was infinitely better than what you imagined.

Instinct took over as you clung to him, your pulse racing as he began to move at a languid pace, familiarizing before going at a steadier pace. The sheets twisted under your fingers, the soft rasp of his name escaping your lips as he pressed harder.

Every thrust ignited something inside you, every whispered murmur of your name leaving you more breathless than the last. You could no longer keep track of what was happening, too far gone to think clearly, but conscious enough to know you wanted more—more of him, more of this pleasure that was driving you insane in the best way possible.

After who knows how long, a throaty moan ripped out of you, your back arching as you let the high engulf you in waves. Anton kept his thrusts steady, riding through your high until your knees shook with too much stimulation. Then you fell back on the bed, limbs weak and your energy depleted.

When it was over, you lay tangled together, your pulse still racing as he held you in his arms. In the atmosphere was a quiet kind of understanding that didn’t need words. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, slowly pulling you out of the haze of desire.

You shifted slightly, looking up to find him already watching you. He was smiling, a little shy but undeniably happy. His hand slid up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face before letting his fingers linger on your jaw. 

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you smiled. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

The next morning, you woke up with Anton’s arm still wrapped around you, his warmth enveloping you nicely. The sunlight poured into the room and for a moment, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered. Your body was still tingling from the night before, but you were content and happy.

Anton stirred beside you, his arm tightening instinctively around your waist. He buried his face in your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“You awake?” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly along your jaw.

You smiled faintly, glancing up at him. “Yeah. We need to talk.”

He nodded, exhaling deeply as he stretched, the movement shifting you slightly before he pulled you close again. “Figured you’d say that,” he said, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. But then his expression softened. “I know I’ve got a lot to answer for.”

The night had brought you closer, but it had also left things unanswered, things that neither of you could avoid any longer.

You stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“I was an idiot,” he began, his tone quieter now. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away when you came back. I just... I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You blinked at him, watching his face and saw the faint flicker of guilt and uncertainty in his eyes. This was a side of Anton you hadn’t seen in a while—the one who let his guard down, even if only for a moment.

“I thought I’d lost you for good,” he continued, his voice steady but low. “You didn’t come for two summers. No calls, no texts—it felt like you disappeared, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

You frowned. “No one told you I was away for uni?” you asked sarcastically.

He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I knew. But…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. We didn’t talk much in the last two years. Different time zones, schedules, and all. You were out there, living your life. I see your posts online. You were killing it in school, making new friends, living your life. Hell, you even had a boyfriend at one point.” He chuckled bitterly, the sound more self-deprecating than amused. Then he continued. “I guess I got insecure and thought you were content living a life without me in it.”

“Come on. That’s not true,” you defended, scowling.

“I know,” he said quickly, cutting you off. “I know that now. But back then, it just... I don’t know how else to say it—it messed me up. Like I said, I was insecure.”

“So I decided to live my life too, and it was good. I learned lots of new things, met lots of people, and discovered interests in fields I didn’t know I had interest in. It was great.” He paused, swallowing hard, then muttered, “Then mom said you were coming for summer this year and suddenly, I was thinking about you again. I realized that I wasn’t mad because I felt abandoned and forgotten. I was just… in love with you.”

You gasped softly, pulse racing at his confession. Anton smiled at you as he continued. “I didn’t know how to deal with that and I knew you’d leave eventually, so I thought if I acted like you were a stranger, it’d hurt less when you’re gone. Obviously it didn’t. It just made everything worse.”

You could feel the sincerity of his words, the honesty finally breaking through the wall he’d built.

“You didn’t have to go through all that,” you said gently, your hand cupping his cheek. “I never forgot about you, Anton. I could never, even if I try. You and me, we’re like, stuck with each other.”

A faint smile broke through his solemn expression. “You make it sound like a punishment.”

You chuckled softly, your fingers brushing through his hair. “I mean, for me, it kind of is.”

His eyes widened slightly, surprised. “For real?”

“No,” you replied quickly, grinning and wrapping your arm tighter around him.

Anton chuckled. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re one to talk,” you retorted, your voice gentle and light.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet between you filled with the soft hum of the morning. Then Anton sighed. “I don’t want to screw this up,” he said. “Not with you. Not again.”

“You won’t,” you promised, your head resting against his chest as his arms wrapped around you. “I’ll kill you if you do.”

Anton’s expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I’ll do my best. I love living my life, you see.”

You nodded, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. There was no need for more words right now. You were finally on the same page, and for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

No one knew, and that was the beauty of it.

To the outside world, nothing had changed. You and Anton had always been close, always spent summers attached at the hip, so when you were together—laughing over shared inside jokes or disappearing for hours at a time—it wasn’t out of the ordinary. No one thought to question it. But for the two of you, everything was different.

You snuck out late at night, barefoot and giddy, to watch the stars from the beach. Anton would bring a blanket and a bottle of his dad’s wine he swiped from the kitchen, and the two of you would lie there for hours, trading stories and stolen kisses. Sometimes, you’d just sit in comfortable silence, your fingers intertwined, his lips occasionally pressing against your temple.

In the mornings, you’d meet for coffee at the little café down the street, pretending it was a casual thing when your families asked. But as soon as you were alone, Anton would squeeze himself beside you, smiling as he held your hand in his. 

“Think they’re catching on?” he’d tease, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“No idea,” you’d reply, grinning. “We’d probably get married and they’d think it’s just us being silly.”

Anton gasped, covering his mouth. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

You rolled your eyes, feigning exasperation. “Oh my god. Can you go back to being nonchalant? I don’t miss your old dramatic self.”

“Aw,” he said cutely, leaning his head on your shoulder. “Come on, baby. You don’t mean that.”

You revisited the places you’d loved as kids, seeing them through new eyes. The old treehouse near the playground became your hideout, where you’d sit together, legs tangled as you reminisced about summers past. 

“You used to boss me around so much here,” Anton would say, laughing when you nudged him. “Still do, actually.”

“You love it,” you’d shoot back, and he’d smirk before kissing you, his hand slipping beneath your shirt in a way that made you forget whatever you were about to say next.

There were days when you explored each other in ways that left you breathless—your skin tingling, your heart racing. Anton was patient and attentive, his touch both gentle and electrifying. He’d study you like he was learning a language, his lips tracing paths across your body as if trying to commit every inch of you to memory. You discovered parts of him, too—little things he liked, the way he shivered when you kissed just below his jaw, the way he whispered your name like a prayer whenever you gave him the ride of his life.

You got to know him in ways you never had before, and it made you fall harder. Behind his teasing and occasional grumpiness, there was a gentle boy, a vulnerability that he only ever let you see. And you held it close, cherishing every piece of him.

Together, you built a world of your own—one filled with secret smiles, lingering touches, and endless laughter. No one else was privy to it, and you liked it that way. The privacy made it feel more sacred, more yours.

You were looking for some cards in the drawers in Anton’s room when you spotted something familiar. Pulling it out, you found an old photo tucked between the pages of a dusty book. It was from one of those endless summers, taken when you and Anton were maybe sixteen. The two of you were sitting side by side on the wooden dock, feet dipped into the water. His grin was wide, his arm slung lazily over your shoulders, and your expression was somewhere between laughing and rolling your eyes.

“Hey, Anton,” you called out, walking into the living room where he was sprawled out on the couch. He glanced up lazily, but his eyes immediately sharpened when he saw what you were holding.

“Where’d you find that?” he asked, reaching for it.

“In your room. You didn’t think I’d find it tucked safely in your old guitar book?” you teased, holding the photo out of his reach.

He shook his head, smiling faintly. “Man, I looked so good back then.”

You snorted, flopping down beside him. “You’re ridiculous. You look the same, just taller and with more expensive haircuts.”

He raised a brow at you. “And you?”

You grinned. “I peaked at sixteen. Obviously.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You were annoying at sixteen.”

“Funny you say that,” you said, leaning back into the couch, the photo still clutched in your hand. “Because I had a crush on you back then.”

The confession rolled off your tongue casually, but the way Anton’s head snapped toward you was anything but casual.

“You what?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “No big deal. It didn’t even last long.”

Anton stared at you for a second, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he crossed his arms and pouted, sulking like a child.

“That’s unfair,” he muttered.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What’s unfair?”

“That you stopped liking me,” he said, scowling. “Because I was in love with you around that time.”

Your mouth fell open. “No, you’re not.”

He grumbled something under his breath and refused to meet your eyes, but the tips of his ears were red.

“No, you’re not,” you repeated, half-laughing, half-shocked. You grabbed his arm and shook him playfully. “Come on, be serious. You’re lying, aren’t you?”

Anton just tutted and gave you a side-eye. Her mom walked in at that moment, struggling to hook her necklace.

“Sweetheart, come help me with this,” she asked, handing the jewelry to you. You quickly rose to help her. As you did, she narrowed her eyes at Anton and said, “Now, what’s going on? Are you guys fighting again?”

“Anton’s a liar,” you teased, glancing briefly at him. “He said he had a crush on me when we were sixteen.”

“Really?” Aunt Hyejin asked, tilting her head a little. She looked at you just as you finished locking her necklace. “You’re only finding out about it now?”

“Mom!” Anton interjected, standing up and dragging Aunt Hyejin away.

“What? I thought she knew the whole time,” Aunt Hyejin said, laughing as they disappeared into a corner.

You stood there dumbfounded and confused, though your heart was fluttering so much it made your cheeks burn.

Later that evening, you found yourself standing in front of a mirror. “Can you believe it?” you scoffed, turning toward Anton, who was buttoning up his shirt. “Me, going to Belle’s cocktail party?”

Anton, leaning against the doorframe as he adjusted his cufflinks. “If you hate it that much, we can just ditch.”

You rolled your eyes, smoothing out your skirt. “No. I’d love to see how you ended up being friends with those stuck-ups.” You paused, catching Anton’s gaze in the mirror. “Sorry, I forgot they’re your friends now.”

He smirked, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Well, they’re still stuck-ups. But they’re chill when you get to know them.”

You snorted. “We’ll see about that.”

Surprisingly, you did see. The cocktail party was better than you’d expected. The rich kids, despite their reputation, were easygoing and friendly once you got past their posh exteriors. Anton, fit right in as a rich kid himself, but his attention was never far from you.

At some point, someone mentioned Anton’s ‘first love’, and your ears perked up.

“He told us about her once, when he was drunk,” Belle said with a grin, sipping her drink. “ We’ve never seen Anton act and speak so cutely.”

You raised a brow, curious but playing it cool. “Really?”

Belle nodded, leaning in conspiratorially. “Yeah. Apparently, she used to tease him so much he wanted to strangle her half the time, but he also couldn’t imagine life without her.”

One guy added, “He even said she had this little laugh, you know, like a giggle that always got him. Man was a goner.”

“Yeah. He said she was his everything, but he was too scared to tell her. Isn’t that cute?”

Your heart skipped a beat as Anton avoided your gaze, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Later, as you walked down the beach with Anton, your high heels dangling from one hand and your other hand holding onto his arm, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The waves lapped at your feet, cool and soothing, as you glanced up at him.

“So,” you began, grinning, “I’m your everything, huh?”

Anton groaned, closing his eyes. “Don’t start.”

You laughed, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his jaw. “You’re so cute.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, but his hand tightened around yours.

You leaned against his chest, enjoying his warmth in the cool summer night.

“You were right,” you admitted, glancing up at him. “Your new friends aren’t so bad.”

“Told you,” he said smugly.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get cocky. I still think it’s hilarious you used to hate them and now you’re all buddy-buddy.”

Anton gave you a dry look. “Of course you do. I sometimes can’t believe it myself.”

You grinned mischievously. “Anton Lee, a social butterfly. Who would’ve thought?”

He chuckled softly. “Not me.”

The moonlight reflected off the water as you walked in comfortable silence, stealing kisses here and there. Your fingers were laced together, his thumb occasionally brushing against yours.

You glanced at him, the soft glow of the moonlight highlighting his features. It was hard to believe that this was the same boy you’d grown up with, the one who used to argue with you over who got the last piece of pizza or who could jump farther off the dock.

Being with him now, like this, felt surreal. But it also felt right.

“I still think you’re a loser, though,” you teased. Anton narrowed his eyes, and you saw the flicker of mischief in them a second too late.

“Take it back,” he said, his tone warning.

“Or what?” you taunted, stepping backward, a playful grin on your face.

He didn’t reply, already kicking off his shoes and rolling up his pants.

You shrieked, spinning around to run, the cool sand shifting under your bare feet. Anton’s laugh echoed behind you as he chased you down, his longer strides closing the distance easily.

“No!” you squealed, laughing so hard you could barely keep running.

It wasn’t long before he caught you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he lifted you off the ground. He spun you around, your laughter and shrieks echoing in the air.

Romantic relationships between childhood friends weren’t without their risks. You knew that. There was always the fear of ruining what had been there for so long, of losing not just a lover but a best friend. But as you glanced down at your intertwined hands, you realized you weren’t afraid.

Because no matter where life took you, as long as you were with Anton, you’d figure it out together.

[fin]

[harryspurpleloofah]

Just next door

Summary: the guy who just moved in next door invited Y/N over for coffee and she saw a sex toy. Him hearing her touch herself later that day evolves into phone sex

Warnings: swearing, female and male masturbation, fingering, phone sex, guided masturbation, mentions of reader hearing moans from Harry’s apartment while he hooks up with someone, I think like a tiny bit of swearing?

The warm scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the small apartment as Y/N set two steaming mugs on the table near the window. Across from her, Clara perched eagerly on a chair, her fingers drumming against the ceramic mug in her hands.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Clara said, leaning forward like she was about to deliver life-changing news.

Y/N arched a brow. “What? Did someone steal your parking spot again?”

Clara shook her head, a grin already tugging at her lips. “No, it’s way better. I was coming up the stairs earlier, and guess who I saw?”

“Unless it’s Freddie Mercury, I’m not guessing,” Y/N replied dryly, taking a sip from her cup.

“A man,” Clara said, her grin growing wider. “A hot man. Like, ridiculously hot. And he was moving boxes into the apartment right next to yours.”

That got Y/N’s attention. She straightened slightly, setting her cup down. “The apartment next door? The one that’s been empty like…forever?”

“Exactly!” Clara practically squealed. “And let me just tell you, this guy is no ordinary neighbor. He’s tall, has this messy, curly hair, and..oh my God—he was wearing a sleeveless shirt while carrying all those boxes. His arms, Y/N. His arms. I swear they look like they belong in a museum.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though a flicker of curiosity was in her. “Sounds like someone’s trying to show off.”

“Um, if you had arms like that, wouldn’t you?” Clara quipped. “He’s a walking thirst trap, I’m telling you. You should bake him cookies or something, just so I have an excuse to come back and see him again.”

“Yeah right,” Y/N scoffed. “The last thing I need is to deal with a cocky neighbor who probably spends more time flexing in mirrors than unpacking his boxes.”

Clara snorted, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Don’t write him off just yet. You haven’t even met him. What if he’s sweet? Or mysterious? Or—”

“Or obnoxious,” Y/N interrupted. “Or loud. Or the kind of guy who blasts terrible music at all hours.”

“Or the kind of guy who’s so hot you won’t care,” Clara shot back.

Y/N shook her head, laughing softly. “Let’s just hope he keeps to himself and doesn’t cause any trouble.”

Y/N was halfway through folding laundry on the couch when she heard a knock at the door. Her brows furrowed as she glanced at the clock—7:30 p.m. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Clara had left hours ago, and most of her neighbors preferred to keep to themselves.

She padded over to the door and opened it. There he was.

The first thing she noticed was the curls—a messy tumble of dark brown waves that framed his face just right. Then her eyes caught on the white T-shirt stretched across his chest and the tattoos that peeked out along his arms, ink twisting down his skin like art in motion. He had a lazy, easy smile, the kind that could disarm anyone without trying.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm, slightly raspy. “Sorry to bother you. I’m Harry—just moved in next door.”

Y/N blinked, forcing herself to recover. Of course, he’s stupidly attractive, she thought, Clara’s earlier words ringing in her ears.

“Oh,” she said quickly, gripping the edge of the door. “Hi. Welcome, I guess.”

His smile widened a bit, his dimples appearing. “Thanks. Umm, I hate to be that guy, but do you happen to have a screwdriver I could borrow? I can’t find mine in all the boxes, and my bookshelf is dangerously close to collapsing on me.”

She hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not she wanted to prolong this interaction. But then she caught the faintest trace of hope in his eyes, like he wasn’t entirely sure she’d help. That, and the hint of an accent lacing his words, made it hard to say no.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got one. Hold on a second.”

She left the door slightly ajar as she went to the kitchen drawer, rummaging around until she found the toolkit. When she came back, Harry was leaning casually against the doorframe, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.

“Here,” she said, holding out the screwdriver. “You can just bring it back whenever you’re done.”

He took it, his fingers brushing against hers briefly. “Thanks. Lifesaver.” He paused, tilting his head slightly as if studying her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Y/N,” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral.

“Well, Y/N,” he said, his smile turning just a touch more charming. “I owe you one. First favor in the books already. You’re making it hard for me to be a bad neighbor.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out, even as she tried to suppress it. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

He grinned, taking a step back toward his door. “I guess we’ll see. Thanks again, Y/N.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving her standing in the doorway with a slight flush creeping up her neck and an unfamiliar warmth buzzing in her chest.

A month later, the café was buzzing with quiet chatter as Y/N stirred her iced coffee, the clinking of the ice against the glass the only sound between her and Clara for the moment. Across the small table, Clara was mid-bite of her sandwich, but the look in her eyes told Y/N she was just waiting for the right moment to drop something.

“What?” Y/N finally asked, narrowing her eyes.

Clara grinned, swallowing quickly before leaning forward. “Nothing. Just…how are things with your very hot neighbor?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she felt the faintest blush creep up her neck. “They’re fine. He borrowed a screwdriver the other day. That’s the extent of our interactions.”

She smiles, “Well when I pulled into the lot, your new neighbor..Harry, right? He was coming back from a run.”

Y/N looked up, her fork hovering in the air. “A run?”

“Uh-huh,” Clara confirmed, grinning now. “And let me tell you, it was a sight to behold. He was wearing these black running shorts and a tank top, and he was like, glistening in all the right places. I swear it was like watching one of those slow-motion workout montages in a movie.”

Y/N groaned, dropping her fork onto her plate. “Clara.”

“What?” Clara said innocently, though the glint in her eye betrayed her. “I’m just saying, the man has no business looking like that while casually jogging. And he looked so…relaxed about it, like he didn’t even realize every living being with eyes was staring at him.”

Y/N took a sip of her iced coffee, trying to hide the heat creeping up her neck. “Okay, you’re being dramatic.”

“Oh, am I?” Clara shot back, crossing her arms. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. The guy looks like he walked straight out of a Calvin Klein ad. How are you living next door to that and still functioning?”

“He’s just being neighborly.”

“Neighborly, my ass,” Clara said with a snort. “If he comes knocking again, you better invite him in for more than a tool. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Clara!” Y/N yelled.

“What?” Clara said with an exaggerated shrug. “I’m just looking out for you. If I had a neighbor like that, I wouldn’t waste a second.”

Shaking her head, Y/N stabbed at her meal, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere. But Clara’s words lingered, teasing at the edges of her thoughts.

Because as much as she hated to admit it, there was something about Harry that made her wonder just how long she could keep pretending not to notice.

Lunch wrapped up soon with banter, but as the pair strolled back toward Y/N’s apartment, Clara looped her arm through Y/N’s, still buzzing with energy.

“So,” Clara said, bumping her shoulder. “What’s the plan for the rest of the day? Because I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to go home yet.”

Y/N smiled, unlocking the door to the building and holding it open for Clara. “What are you saying? You want to stick around and steal all my food again?”

“Obviously,” Clara replied with a grin. “Your popcorn is better than mine, and you know it. Besides, it’s been ages since we had a proper movie night. You’ve been sooo busy.”

Y/N rolled her eyes as they made their way up the stairs. “I’ve barely been busy. You’re just dramatic.”

“Whatever you say,” Clara said breezily. “So…movies? Wine? Popcorn?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Okay, fine. But you’re in charge of picking the movies this time. If I pick, you’ll just complain the whole time and then end up watching them anyway.”

“Fair point,” Clara said, shrugging. “Alright, deal. I’ll find something good.”

They reached Y/N’s apartment, and as she unlocked the door and pushed it open, she glanced over her shoulder. “Just don’t pick anything sappy, alright? I’m not in the mood for tearjerkers.”

She opened the cabinet where she kept the popcorn. “Butter or kettle corn?”

“Both,” Clara said, plopping onto the couch and grabbing a pillow. “Oh, and maybe I’ll grab a blanket in case it gets cold. Can’t be too prepared.”

Y/N smiled. Clara’s energy was infectious, and as much as she liked having her space, she was glad for the company.

“Alright, movie marathon it is,” Y/N said, grabbing a bottle of wine from the counter.

As the familiar hum of the TV filled the room and the scent of freshly popped popcorn wafted through the air, Y/N couldn’t help but smile. Despite Clara’s endless teasing, she was glad for the distraction.

Soon Y/N and Clara were sprawled on the couch, surrounded by empty bowls of popcorn and half-finished glasses of wine. The action movie Clara had insisted on watching blared from the speakers, explosions and dramatic one-liners filling the space.

Y/N shifted under her blanket, stifling a yawn, when Clara suddenly sat up straighter, her head tilting to the side.

“Wait,” Clara said, holding up a hand to shush Y/N.

“What?” Y/N asked, frowning as she paused mid-sip of her wine.

Clara’s eyes narrowed, her expression a mix of confusion and amusement. “Do you hear that?”

Y/N froze, listening. For a second, there was nothing but the sound of the movie. But then, faintly, she heard it—a muffled rhythm, like the creak of a bedframe, punctuated by soft, indistinct noises.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Oh shit.”

Clara’s mouth dropped open, and she slapped a hand over it to stifle a laugh. “Oh my God,” she whispered, leaning toward Y/N. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Shh!” Y/N hissed. Clara ignored her, pointing toward the wall that separated Y/N’s apartment from Harry’s. “It’s coming from his place, isn’t it? Your neighbor?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N muttered, gripping her glass a little too tightly.

But Clara wasn’t letting it go. She reached for the remote, pausing the movie mid-explosion. The silence that followed was deafening, except it wasn’t really silent at all. The noises became clearer without the distraction of the TV, and there was no mistaking it now. A low, breathy moan filtered through the thin walls, followed by another creak of the bed.

Clara gasped, her eyes wide with delight. “It is him!” she whispered dramatically.

“Do you think it’s…like, a one-time thing?” Clara whispered, barely able to keep a straight face.

“I don’t want to think about it at all,” Y/N whispered back, sinking deeper into the couch and covering her ears.

Clara grinned, clearly reveling in Y/N’s discomfort. “I mean, hey, at least you know he’s good at something. Not that you’ll ever find out, of course.”

Y/N grabbed a throw pillow and smacked Clara with it, eliciting a loud laugh. “Shut up!”

The next morning, Clara had left at about 9 AM and now Y/N had just settled on the couch with a mug of coffee when a knock at the door startled her. Setting the mug down, she padded over to open it, her heart skipping a beat when she saw who was standing there. Harry.

He was leaning against the doorframe, holding her screwdriver in one hand. His curls were disheveled, and there were faint shadows under his eyes. He looked as though he hadn’t slept at all, but somehow he still managed to pull it off in a way that was unfairly attractive.

“Morning,” he said, his voice low and scratchy, like he hadn’t used it much yet. “Thought I’d return this before I forgot.”

“Oh, thanks,” Y/N said, taking the screwdriver from him. She hesitated for a second, her eyes scanning his face. “You okay? You look… tired.”

He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, you could say that. Had a bit of a rough night.”

She leaned against the doorframe, curious despite herself. “Oh? Something happen?”

Harry hesitated, his lips twitching in what might’ve been embarrassment or amusement. “Let’s just say I had one too many drinks… and some questionable company.”

Y/N blinked, her stomach doing a strange little flip. “Oh.”

He gave a dry laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s not exactly my proudest moment. Went out to blow off some steam, ended up bringing someone back. She left early this morning, and now I’m regretting pretty much everything about it.”

Y/N tried to ignore the sudden tightness in her chest. It wasn’t her business..he was an adult, and hookups happened. But still, the thought of someone else being with him, hearing those same soft, raspy tones directed at them, made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Well,” she said, keeping her tone light, “I guess everyone has those nights, right?”

Harry smiled faintly, leaning against the doorframe. “Guess so. Just…doesn’t feel great, y’know? She was nice enough, but it was all a bit…empty.”

Y/N tilted her head, surprised by his honesty. There was something raw about the way he said it, like he wasn’t just brushing it off as a joke or a casual story.

Harry chuckled, a low, warm sound that sent a tiny flutter through her chest. “Lesson learned,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not exactly my proudest decision. I guess I was just…blowing off steam, y’know?”

Y/N tilted her head, curious. “Rough week?”

He hesitated, leaning against the doorframe. “Something like that. Moving’s been a bit of a whirlwind, and… I don’t know. I guess I’m still getting used to being here. New city, new place, no familiar faces. It’s a bit… lonely.”

Her expression softened. “I get that. Moving can be tough. When I first moved here, I didn’t know anyone either. It took me ages to feel like this place was actually home.”

He smiled faintly. “Yeah? What changed?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just…let myself settle in. Met a few people, got into a routine. Eventually, it started to feel right.” She paused, feeling a pang of sympathy. “You’ll get there. It just takes time.”

Harry’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, the air between them felt heavier, more intimate. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Y/N cleared her throat, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. “Anyway, you should probably get some coffee if you’re running on no sleep. It might help.”

He smirked, tilting his head. “You offering?”

She managed to keep her voice steady. “Sure, if you don’t mind instant coffee and a very stubborn coffee machine.”

Harry laughed softly. “Instant coffee sounds like heaven right now.”

“Well, come in then,” she said, stepping back and gesturing for him to enter. “It’s the least I can do after you brought back my screwdriver.”

The apartment was warm and filled with the lingering scent of fresh coffee. Harry glanced around, his gaze landing on the cozy setup in the living room. “Nice place,” he said.

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, heading into the kitchen. “Make yourself at home. I’ll get the coffee started.”

As she fiddled with the coffee machine, Harry leaned casually against the counter, watching her with an easy smile. “You’re sure I’m not interrupting anything? I don’t want to mess up your morning.”

“You’re not interrupting,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “It’s nice to have some company, actually. Most mornings it’s just me and my to-do list.”

Harry chuckled. “Sounds thrilling.”

“Oh, it’s the height of excitement,” she deadpanned, pressing the button on the coffee machine—only for nothing to happen. She frowned, pressing it again. Still nothing.

“Uh-oh,” Harry said, stepping closer. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Yeah definitely not.”

“Is if broken?”

“I think so,”

He smiled softly, “No worries we can go to mine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Besides, I really need that coffee.”

Harry’s apartment felt like stepping into a place that was truly lived in..a home, not just a space. The walls were painted a soft, warm cream, and natural light poured through sheer curtains, casting golden streaks across the wooden floors. Potted plants thrived in every corner, adding bursts of green to the room. A woven throw rug lay beneath a large, overstuffed couch that was piled with mismatched cushions, some knitted, others patterned with earthy tones.

The coffee table was a mix of practicality and personality, a stack of books with worn spines, an old mug filled with pens, and a half-melted candle that smelled faintly of cedar and citrus.

In one corner, a record player sat atop a weathered wooden stand, surrounded by a scattering of vinyls leaning casually against the wall. Above it hung a cluster of Polaroid photos strung on twine with tiny wooden clips, each one capturing moments of laughter, travel, and faces Y/N didn’t recognize but instantly envied.

The kitchen blended seamlessly into the living space, its counters lined with signs of use: a ceramic bowl of fruit, a drying rack with a couple of dishes, and a cheerful tea towel hanging over the edge of the sink. The faint scent of fresh coffee wafted through the air as Harry stood at the counter, pouring steaming liquid into two mismatched mugs.

“You’ve got a really cozy place,” Y/N said, her voice soft as she took it all in.

Harry glanced over his shoulder with a small grin. “Thanks. Took me a while to get it feeling right. Guess I’m a sucker for a homey vibe.”

“You nailed it,” she said, her gaze drifting again.

She wandered over to a small shelf tucked beside the couch. It was cluttered in the best way…books stacked horizontally and vertically, a framed photo of what looked like Harry and his family standing on a windswept beach, and a small globe with the paint chipped in a few places. Everything about it felt warm and personal, like every item had a story.

“You can sit if you want,” Harry called out, his voice easy and light. “Promise I won’t be offended if you don’t want to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.”

Y/N smiled. “I’m fine. Just…looking.”

She continued her slow circle, her eyes catching on a door slightly ajar at the end of the short hallway. The bedroom, she guessed, though she quickly looked away, not wanting to seem like she was prying.

But then, as her gaze traveled to the other side of the room, something caught her attention.

It was on the floor by the edge of the couch, partially hidden beneath the throw blanket that had slipped off the armrest. At first, she thought it was just a random object—a stray remote or maybe some kind of gadget, but as she stepped a little closer, her stomach flipped.

A sleek, unmistakable shape came into view. It was a vibrator.

Small and simple, but undeniably there, lying just slightly out of place amidst the cozy, domestic warmth of his apartment. Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly looked away, her face burning. Had he seen her notice it? Did he even realize it was there?

“You okay over there?” Harry’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts, and she turned to see him leaning against the counter, a mug in each hand, his expression amused.

“Fine!” she said quickly, her voice a little higher than usual. She walked toward him, hoping he didn’t notice her awkwardness. “Just…admiring your plant collection. They’re very..healthy.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it but too polite to push. “Well, thanks. They get all the credit. I just water them and hope for the best.”

As he handed her a mug, their fingers brushed briefly, and Y/N swore she felt a spark. She took a sip, letting the warmth of the coffee ground her as she avoided glancing back toward the couch.

But no matter how hard she tried, the image of the toy was burned into her mind, along with the unwelcome but undeniable thought of Harry using it on someone.

“So,” Harry said, oblivious to her spiraling thoughts, “tell me about yourself, Y/N. What do you do for fun when you’re not rescuing broken coffee machines or lending out screwdrivers?”

Y/N forced a smile, hoping he couldn’t see the pink still dusting her cheeks. “Oh, you know. The usual. Reading, bingeing bad TV, trying to keep my plants alive…” She trailed off, her voice softening as she met his eyes. “Nothing as interesting as this place, though.”

Harry shrugged, his lips quirking up in that easy, lopsided grin. “Guess it depends on your definition of interesting. My life’s not as exciting as it might look.”

Harry followed her line of sight, his brows furrowing in confusion at first. But then his eyes landed on the object partially hidden beneath the blanket on the couch, and his expression changed instantly.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “You, uh…you saw that, didn’t you?”

Y/N’s face flushed, and she quickly looked away, trying to pretend like she wasn’t dying of embarrassment. “Yeah, I did.”

“Damn,” Harry said, his voice soft with a mix of awkwardness and apology. He stepped around the counter, closing some of the space between them. “I didn’t realize—I mean, I should’ve—I didn’t know it was just sitting there. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Y/N said quickly, waving a hand as if to dismiss it. She could feel the heat crawling up her neck and cheeks, and she desperately wanted to escape the situation before it got any more mortifying. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. I wasn’t—”

“Still,” Harry interrupted, running a hand through his hair. “That’s…not exactly something you want to stumble across when you’re just trying to have a cup of coffee.”

She laughed nervously, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “It’s fine, Harry. I promise.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his green eyes searching her face like he wasn’t sure if he should drop the subject or keep apologizing. Then he sighed, shaking his head.

“This is so embarrassing,” he muttered, a small, sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “I swear I’m not like having sex 24/7. It just…happens to be there, and I didn’t think—”

“Harry, seriously,” Y/N cut him off, her voice firmer this time. “It’s fine. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

She glanced toward the door, her heart still racing, and gave him a tight smile. “I should probably get going, though. I’ve, uh, got some stuff to do.”

Harry’s smile faded, and for a second, something flickered in his expression—disappointment, maybe? But he quickly masked it, nodding as he stepped back to give her space.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, his tone light and casual, though it didn’t quite match the look in his eyes. “Thanks for, you know, not freaking out.”

She smiled faintly, already moving toward the door. “It’s not a big deal. Really.”

He walked her to the door, his hands shoved into his pockets as they reached the threshold.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the frame, “thanks for the company. Even if I managed to completely ruin it.”

“You didn’t ruin it,” Y/N said, her smile softening. “It was…nice.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, his grin returning, though it was smaller this time. “Good to know.”

She hesitated for half a second before giving him a quick wave and slipping out into the hallway. As the door closed behind her, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her heart still pounding.

Y/N leaned back against the headboard of her bed, her room dimly lit by the soft glow of her bedside lamp. The book she’d been trying to read lay forgotten in her lap, her mind betraying her with images of Harry—standing in his kitchen, the sleeves of his T-shirt stretched over his toned arms, that damn crooked smile on his face.

Her face burned just thinking about him, but no matter how hard she tried to shake it, the memory of the vibrator on his couch kept flashing in her mind. She bit her lip, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the blanket draped across her lap.

It was reckless, she knew that. But the way he’d looked at her earlier..the way his green eyes had lingered, the way his voice had dipped when he said her name, it had left her feeling more restless than she wanted to admit.

Her hand slid lower, beneath the blanket, her breath catching as her fingers grazed her skin. She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the fantasy. She pictured him leaning over her, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice low and teasing as he murmured her name.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but the sound sent a shiver through her body.

On the other side of the wall, Harry froze. Their rooms must be back to back because he could now hear faint moans of Y/N.

He had just stepped out of his shower, towel slung around his hips, when the faint sound reached his ears. At first, he thought he was imagining things, but then it came again, soft, breathless, unmistakable. His name.

From Y/N’s apartment.

He stood there for a moment, completely still, his damp hair dripping onto his bare shoulders as he listened. The sound came again, and this time, there was no mistaking the hushed moan that followed.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, his heart pounding.

It wasn’t intentional..he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But now that he’d heard it, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. The wall separating their apartments was thin enough to carry the faintest sounds, and the realization sent heat rushing through his body.

He leaned back against the wall, torn between guilt and an intense, undeniable arousal. He should stop. He knew he should stop. But the sound of her soft, needy gasps of her whispering his name was doing things to him that he couldn’t ignore.

Inside her apartment, Y/N was oblivious, completely lost in her own world. Her breathing quickened, her movements becoming more urgent as she pushed two fingers in and out of her pussy and imagined his hands on her, his lips trailing down her neck, his voice rumbling in her ear as he told her exactly what he wanted to do to her.

“Harry,” she whimpered again, her body trembling as she edged closer to cumming.

He shouldn’t call her. He knew that. It was crossing a line, stepping into territory they hadn’t even begun to discuss. But the memory of her soft gasps, the thought of her lying in her bed, touching herself while thinking about him…

It was too much.

With a low groan, he grabbed his phone and scrolled to her name in his contacts. His thumb hovered over the call button for a second before he muttered, “fuck it,” and pressed it.

The phone rang once. Twice.

“Harry?” Y/N’s voice was soft, hesitant, and he could hear the slight tremor in it, like she wasn’t sure why he was calling.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I was…I’m awake,” she said quickly, though there was something breathless about her tone that told him she hadn’t quite recovered from what she’d been doing.

He let out a quiet laugh, leaning back against the couch. “Good. Because we need to talk.”

There was a pause, and he could almost feel her tension through the line. “About what?”

“About what I just heard,” he said, his voice dipping lower, more serious.

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Oh my God,” Y/N finally said, her voice barely audible. “You heard that?”

“I did,” Harry admitted, his lips curving into a small smile despite himself. “Walls are thin, love.”

She groaned, and he could hear the embarrassment in the sound. “Harry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupted, his tone firm but gentle. “I’m not mad. Not at all.”

“But—”

“Y/N,” he said, cutting her off again. “Listen to me. You don’t need to be embarrassed, okay? I’m not judging you.”

She didn’t respond, but he could hear her breathing on the other end of the line…quick, shallow, and uneven.

“Are you still in bed?” he asked, his voice softening.

“…yes,” she admitted after a moment.

“Good,” he said, leaning his head back against the couch. “Stay there for me.”

“Harry…”

“You were saying my name,” he continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Weren’t you?”

Her breath hitched, and he smiled, knowing he’d caught her.

“I—”

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his tone soothing but commanding. “You don’t have to lie. I liked it, Y/N. Hearing you like that…knowing you were thinking about me…”

Her breathing quickened, and he could almost picture her lying there, her cheeks flushed, her body tense with anticipation.

“Harry,” she said again, her voice a mix of nerves and something else..something needier.

“Let me help you,” he said, his hand drifting down to his cock as he spoke. “Let me show you how good it can feel. Can I do that?”

There was a long pause, and for a moment, he thought she might say no. But then she whispered, “Okay.”

“Good girl,” he said, his voice like velvet. The words sent a thrill through him as much as they did her, and he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face.

“Are you touching yourself right now?” he asked, his tone low and deliberate.

“No,” she admitted, her voice shaking slightly.

“Then start,” he said. “Slide your hand down, just like you were doing before.”

He waited, his own hand slipping below as he imagined her doing exactly what he’d asked.

“Touch your clit,” he murmured, his tone thick with heat. “I want to hear you as you feel the warmth of your own touch.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her body still trembling from the intensity of their conversation. But his voice was like a magnet, drawing her in, and before she knew it, her fingers were moving against her skin, tentative at first, then more sure of themselves as she followed his instructions.

“Good,” Harry whispered, his voice growing rougher. “Now, gently slide your fingers in and out, slowly. Feel every fucking inch.” “Good girl,” he murmured, his words sending a thrill through her. “Just like that. You’re so good for me, Y/N. I can hear how much you’re enjoying this.”

“Now add a third finger for me.”

She did as she was told, she let out a slightly louder moan this time.

“That’s it baby just like that. I know you can handle it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so desperate for my cock would you? How are you gonna take it all for me if you can’t even take three of your own fingers? That would just be pathetic.”

She breathes out as she fingers herself deeper, just trying to forget theyre her own and imagining his ringed ones instead. “Harry..”

“That’s right love just like that,”, he started moving his hand up and down his own cock, holding back moans. “You wanna come over to my apartment tomorrow? So I can actually fuck you good?”

She barely even comprehends what he’s saying with the feeling of being stuffed with three fingers, win the reassurance that soon it would be even more filling than that with his dick. All she can muster is a soft hum of affirmation.

“Yes or no?”

“Y-yeah of course. Just text me what time.”

He sighs, adjusting himself to get more comfortable as he feels the orgasm coming. “I will. I’ll use that same vibrator on you then will you like that?”

“H-”

“And trust me it wasn’t the only thing I have at my house. I have a whole drawer you can have. Pick anything you want out of it tomorrow yeah, baby?”

“Yes Harry, fuck-oh god I’m cumming.”

“Just like that baby.”

Harry almost cums instantly as he hears her moans and then her clamming down afterwards, her breath heavy. And soon enough he does, groaning himself as the hot ropes shoot out of his cock to the towel now underneath him.

After everything settled into quiet, Harry’s voice, still thick with desire, came through once more.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and she could hear the satisfaction in his tone. “You did so well.” His words lingered in her ear, and she could feel the warmth of his praise seeping into her skin.

Y/N’s breath was still uneven as she slowly, hesitantly, lifted her fingers to her lips. “Lick them for me, love,” Harry coaxed, his voice soothing but laced with a hint of command.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, the request sending a shiver down her spine, but the sound of his voice, so commanding yet affectionate, left no room for doubt. Slowly, her fingers moved to her lips, her tongue darting out to meet them, and as she did, a soft gasp left her mouth.

“Good girl,” Harry said, the words slipping out in a near whisper. “So good for me. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

The promise of tomorrow hung in the air between them, leaving her pulse racing, her thoughts swirling with the anticipation of what was to come.

“I’ll make sure we have a good time, baby,” Harry reassured her, his tone still warm and low. “You deserve it. You’re perfect.”

Y/N let out a quiet sigh of contentment, still basking in the afterglow of everything they’d just shared, and though she felt a lingering desire, she could also feel the weight of satisfaction in the quiet moment.

“I should let you go now,” Harry said, his voice now gentle, as if sensing her need to breathe. “But tomorrow, we’ll have all the time we need.”

“Goodnight, Harry,” Y/N said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

“Goodnight, love,” he replied, his voice lingering in her ear as if he was right there with her. “Sleep well.”

The call ended, leaving Y/N with a soft smile on her lips, her body still buzzing from the connection they’d shared.

[paperclip-skz]

Crashing Waves

fem*Reader x Jeongin

*WARNING*

WC: 1.2

Contains: mentions of unproteced sex, this is mostly a fluff story so.....

****

As the opening credits of the next movie in your Harry Potter marathon danced across the screen, you nestled deeper into your cozy blanket, the warmth wrapping around you like a comforting hug. The familiar music filled the room, creating a perfect atmosphere for a night in. Just as you began to lose yourself in the magical world, a soft, almost hesitant knock echoed through your apartment, pulling you back to reality.

You glanced around at the takeout spread before you, the enticing aroma wafting from the containers, and sighed. It was unlikely to be food; you knew your delivery should be safely in your possession. Outside, flurries of snow swirled gently, blanketing the city in a soft white layer, ensuring that your friends and coworkers would be snug at home rather than out and about. Your neighbors were on vacation for the winter, leaving you puzzled about who could be waiting at your door.

“Who could it be?” you murmured to yourself, a mix of curiosity and apprehension stirring within you. You pressed the pause button on the remote, unwilling to miss a single moment of the enchanting world of wizards and magic, and padded quietly toward the door. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you slowly turned the doorknob, glancing through the crack you had created.

Peering out, you found a lone figure standing in the dim light of the hallway, their massive hood casting a shadow over their face. Instinctively, you stepped back slightly, your heart racing at the sight of the stranger.

“I- I’m scared,” he said, his voice barely breaking through the stillness of the air. The tremor in his tone lodged a sense of unease in your stomach. 

“Hello?” you managed to say, trying to gauge who this person might be. He hesitantly lifted his head, revealing familiar features that sent a jolt of recognition coursing through you. “Jeongin?” you exclaimed, surprised to see him here at this hour.

“I- I think I’m in love with you, and I’m terrified,” he confessed in a rushed breath, vulnerability shining in his wide eyes. The weight of his words hung in the air like cigarette smoke in a cramped space, leaving you utterly stunned, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling like the snow outside.

“What?” one word. Thats all you’ve managed to come up with as a reply. 

“Y-yea,” he’s shivering, no doubt from the cold outside. He might be standing in the hallway to your apartment, but it looks like he just climbed a mountain of snow a minute ago. You’re hyperventilating as you step out of the doorway to let him in. 

No words are exchanged as he crosses the threshold into the warmth of your apartment, but the depth of his glossy eyes is a silent plea for you to speak, to fill the heavy silence with something meaningful. “Y/N—”

“I’m not good at expressing things,” you rush to cut him off, your heart racing. His eyes widen a mixture of surprise and concern, urging you to continue. “That’s why I’ve never really been in a relationship for long. I struggle to put my feelings into words, and while I’m somewhat better at showing them through actions, the truth is, I’ve never truly understood what that kind of love feels like.” His expression visibly falters, the hope in his gaze dimming slightly.

Taking a tentative step closer, you reach for his hand, a lifeline in this tense moment. “I love my family. I love my friends.” You pause, gathering your thoughts as you gently lock your eyes onto his, searching for understanding. “But the love I feel for you is something entirely different; it’s deeper—like a gravity that pulls me in.”

His head snaps up, an ember of hope igniting in his eyes as he processes your words, piecing together the emotions you’re struggling to articulate. “Say the words, please,” he pleads softly, knocking his forehead against yours, breathing mingling in an intimate dance. “Say the words, and I promise to show you just how deeply I love you for the rest of our lives.”

You bite your lip, your mind flooding with memories of every laughter shared, every tear shed, every celebration and hidden moment that has woven your lives together. All of it leads you to this point, and your heart swells with the weight of truth. “I love you,” you finally whisper, and everything around you fades away when your lips touch his.

His kiss is fierce yet tender, a collision of warmth and longing. Teeth clash softly; tongues intertwine in a rhythm that feels both exhilarating and familiar, as if you’ve been doing this for lifetimes. In that kiss, he tastes like home on a cold autumn night—a comforting embrace that wraps around your soul. The world slips away, leaving only the two of you, as his arms encircle your waist, pulling you into a tight embrace that feels like the safest place you’ve ever known. You find solace in his strength, blissfully lost in the warmth of his love, knowing you are exactly where you belong.

******

The entire world constricted of his touch, his lips on your skin tracing every inch like solving a puzzle in his mind. Your back arched into his hands, and your fingers dragged against his scalp, relishing in the smoothness of his hair. 

You hooked your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. “Don’t stop,” you whispered against his lips.” He pulled back a furrow, caressing his brow. 

He hesitated for a moment, his head resting against your chest as he kissed the spot where your heart raced wildly against your ribs. “If we keep going, I won’t be able to stop at all.” 

His words sent a chill through you, a sinking feeling settling in your chest. The idea of him locking away all his emotions, desires, and thoughts out of fear was almost unbearable. Overwhelmed by a wave of emotion, you gently cupped his jaw, guiding his gaze to meet yours. With a tenderness you’d never felt before, you kissed him softly, pouring every ounce of sincerity into that moment. You wanted him to understand that this wasn’t just a fleeting spark of passion but something deeply real and profound. “Give me everything,” you pleaded, your voice trembling with earnest hope.

At that moment, his eyes glistened with a mix of vulnerability and wonder, reflecting a light you had never seen before. And when he smiled, that adorable dimpled grin broke through the tension, shining like the dawn after a long night, illuminating the space between you with an almost blinding warmth.

Within the next few minutes, you rush to remove clothes and garments until Jeongin is on top of you once again, kissing your forehead. “Hold onto me,” he whispers, and you comply, grasping his shoulders like they are your lifeline. 

As the night rolled on, you both moved together like waves gliding across the sand, unending, undisturbed. And when you went over the edge, Jeongin was right alongside you - crashing with you. 

[vampiricstoryteller]

Are You Even Real?

Two smut stories in one night, whew I really do love these two characters and their relationship. I hope y’all enjoy this quick smut filled one shot.

Summary: Richter often wonders, especially when they’re in bed together, if Annette is even real

All mistakes are my own

Read fic on A03 here

Warnings: Explicit smut, swearing

The sun peeking through deep orange curtains, is what wakes Richter from his slumber. The rays have caught the reflection of a crystal charm that hangs from a vanity dresser mirror across the room. Richter knows this because he’s asked about the various charms all over the room on more than one occasion. Annette’s got one for every important person and event in her life, and the one currently blinding him at 6 in the morning is the one he’d gifted her as a birthday present.

Richter supposes it shows how far he’s truly come. Five months ago, being awaken at the crack of dawn by a trinket would have soured his entire day. But this morning, Richter breathes deep and says his thanks for being able to greet a new day. Then he rolls onto his side and wraps his arm around Annette. She’s still sleeping but when the weight of his arm on her waist settles, she wiggles until her back is pressed to his chest.

Richter smiles into her head scarf, the silk cool against his face which had obviously started being cooked by the sun rays. He curls to the shape of her, aligning their hips and tangling his one leg between both of hers.

Her breathing stays even, the dark skin of her chest rising and falling underneath a baby blue tank; one of his favorites that she purposefully wears when he stays over. Richter kisses her shoulder, obsessed with the softness of her skin and the way her body wash scent clings to her.

Relaxing into the pillow they share, Richter’s thumb rubs slow circles into the skin at her sternum and he let his mind drift a bit; enjoying the early morning calm.

Every day since he’d met Annette two years ago at Maria’s 18th birthday party, Richter had been completely into her. She was smart, funny, gorgeous and knew what she wanted in life. She brought purpose, serenity and sunshine to his finely structured but empty life; and though they may have only been dating five months, Richter loved her.

He’d been uninterested in much besides work and making sure his little sister was cared for when Annette crashed into his life (thanks Maria) and kept him on his toes every single time they had a conversation.

Some of his favorite memories of the time they spent together before they started dating were the days he would drop Maria and Annette at their 4pm college course on his way to work. Evening classes were teaching his little sister the responsibility of time management and Richter enjoyed teasing her with Annette.

For an entire semester the three of them spent more time in Richter’s car trading music, discussing life and just being all around goofy than they spent anywhere else.

He’d come out of the daily experience with a massive crush, much to Maria’s delight, and a need to spend every single day of the rest of his life with Annette.

She was a goddess to him, her rich brown skin always glimmering like fine sand and her gorgeous thick hair a halo above her perfect face.

From the bottom of his soul, Richter loved Annette.

His thoughts are broken by the change in her breathing, her back stuttering against his chest as she emerges from sleep slowly.

Richter nuzzles her neck, kissing slowly along her shoulder line before biting the round curve gently. Annette’s hands blindly reach for his, interlacing their fingers and squeezing in appreciation when his thumb continues its rhythm on her thigh.

“Good morning.” He murmurs.

“Hi,” Annette smiles, “someone’s up early.”

“Your birthday gift was treating me like an ant.” He quips, chuckling at the confusion that wrinkles her brow as her still sleep brain struggles to make sense of his words.

“I did tell you that hanging it there would be hazardous.” She murmurs, turning her face towards the pillow.

She had told him, but Richter chuckles against her soft skin and bites it gently when her hips push back ever so slightly. Warmth spreads through his chest, his spine tingling when Annette slowly starts grinding back. Her movement gradually growing bolder each time he ticks his own hips up to meet hers on the roll back.

“Richter,” she murmurs, her pearly white teeth digging in her bottom lip and plumping the flesh.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing one of her sweet spots behind her ear. His hand on her thigh begins to knead the flesh, fingers clutching hard enough to leave marks.

“I—I love you too.” Annette whimpers, lifting her hips when he starts to tug at the waistline of her black panties.

Richter dips his hand down, pushing his knuckles past her panty line and brushing his fingers through the damp curls they never tire of finding between their thighs.

His other hand skims and squeezes her breasts through her shirt, pinching at her nipples and tugging them each time the fingers between her thighs swipe down her pussy lips.

Annette sighs and whimpers, hiding her face in an attempt to muffle the steady rise in her voice. Richter nips at her jawline, his voice rough as he whispers into the skin,

“Don’t hide from me, baby, I wanna hear all those pretty sounds you make.”

He taps one finger on her hot clit, rocking his hips up against hers and stroking a second finger through her slick lower lips. Annette arches into him, shoving the skin he’s playing like an instrument into his welcoming talented hands.

She reaches back blindly, her hands shoving at the boxers he’d worn to bed last night. Richter helps her pull them down his thighs, leaving the material bunched just above his knees.

Richter’s cock is long, thick and painfully hard by now so he can’t help the shaky moan that escapes his throat when Annette’s pretty fingers wrap around the shaft. She strokes him twice, her hand holding him lightly so she can twist her wrist on the way down before she runs the sensitive head over her hip and the lace of her panties.

“Annette.” Richter growls.

He dips his fingers down to her soaking opening, circling it as he places his mouth next to her ear and whispers filthily,

“So small, don’t know if I’ll be able to fit, Princess.”

Annette jerks, the moan that leaves her mouth primal and she lifts her leg in invitation. Richter tugs her panties to the side, wanting to watch his cock slide not only in and out of Annette but leave a mess on the black fabric as well.

She shivers when he hooks one arm under the back of her knee and tugs her legs open wide, her small hand guides his cock towards her hole; helping him nestle the head there and Richter bites at her earlobe.

“You gonna breathe deep like I taught you baby?” He asks, chuckling at her immediately nod of response.

Richter squeezes his hips forward, once, twice, three times and then on the fourth lets the flex glide into a full thrust. Sliding all the way in until the head of his cock meets the opening of her cervix.

“R-Richter.” Annette clenches around him, her nails digging into his hip as she scrambles for something to hold onto.

“What do you need Princess?” He asks sweetly, his tongue flicking at the shell of her ear.

“Need….nmph…need you to….fuck! I need you to fuck me.” Annette cries out, the words tripping over her tongue. “Please, fill me up Richter!”

He grins into the curve of her neck, nose brushing her earlobe as he growls and locks his hand into the crook of her bent knee; letting go of the last bit of his control now that he has her permission.

The first couple of thrusts give Richter the chance to set a brutal pace, jerking Annette back onto his cock hard enough that the bed creaks dangerously beneath them.

Richter fucks into Annette hard and deep, her moans and pleas urging him to use her as he saw fit. The head of his cock finds the sensitive sponge like space inside of her on a particularly hard thrust and Annette shrieks.

Her orgasm rippled through her body like water, cum gushing around Richter’s cock and effectively dragging him down with her. He stiffens, erratically slamming deep inside of Annette as thick, hot cum paints her core and inner walls. His vision blurs out, his grip on her tightening as they shudder through aftershocks together.

They stay straining against one each other for a long moment, only relaxing when Annette’s body collapses. The only sounds being their huffs of exhaustion for several minutes until the clock at the end of the hall chimes eight times.

“We should go back to sleep.” Annette murmurs, her body already sagging backwards slumber.

Richter chuckles, agreeing with a kiss to her temple. He starts to shift away from her, but her dark slender hand shoots back and grips at his hip in desperation.

“No, don’t.” She whines quietly. “Stay right here.”

Richter laughs, his face and ears heating up as he settles back into the mattress. Annette pulls her thick comforter back over them, sighing contently as she wiggles to find the most comfortable spot.

She interlaces their fingers, resting their hands against her stomach as she says,

“I love you Richter, you’re the sweetest man I’ve ever known.”

He kisses her cheek when she finally does settle, brushing his lips along her jaw as he whispers,

“I can’t believe you’re real.”

She looks at him over her shoulder, an embarrassed but pleased smile on her lips.

“That’s the best way you’ve said it back yet.”

He watches her drift back to sleep, truly mesmerized by her beautiful face and the fact that she wants anything at all to do with him; let alone share the most intimate parts of her with him.

Richter burrows into her neck, content to shut out the rest of the world forever if it meant he could stay connected to Annette and be the only person to know the face she makes when she comes apart.

The End

As always, thanks for reading! I hope y’all liked it. Like, reblog, tell me what you think! 🤟🏾

[dixons-sunshine]

Night Breezes Seem To Whisper “I Love You” | Connor MacManus x Fem!Reader

Summary: During another late night tending to your daughter, you and Connor had a heart-to-heart. It made you realize just how much he loved you and how much he appreciated everything you did for him.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: One joke/slight allusion to sex, possibly (most likely) OOC Connor.

Word count: 909

A/N: This is my first time writing for Connor, so if this sucks, I’m so sorry. But this man has been living in my head rent-free for the last few days, and I fully blame (thank) @dixonsdarkelf for it. Also, staying true to my bio, I dad-ified him lol (also an idea given to me by @/dixonsdarkelf). Anyways, I hope this is somewhat okay!

The light of the moon trickled in through and past the curtains, followed closely by the breeze. The show that played on the television served as soft, barely audible background noise, mixed with the soft blow from the fan, and when looking on the nightstand, the clock showed the time in bright red numbers. 3:37am. It was early, way too early to be awake, but you were anyway. You had been tending to your little girl.

It all still felt so surreal. Even after a whole month since you got to hold her in your arms for the very first time, you still had those moments where you couldn’t believe that it was real. That you were a mom. That the little girl currently being rocked by your partner was yours, and his. Sure, being new parents to a newborn wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t always all sunshines and rainbows, but the good moments far outweighed the bad, and it made it all worth it.

“I can feel you starin’.”

You smiled at Connor, watching as he softly and tenderly fed and rocked your baby girl. “Don’t mind me,” you started, leaning back in the rocking chair you were sitting in. “Just admiring the view.”

Connor’s beautiful ocean-like eyes flickered up to meet yours, that radiant smile that you love gracing his beautiful features. “Like what you see?”

“Oh, I more than just like what I see. I love it.” You stood up from the chair and walked over to him, wrapping your robe tighter around yourself. You stopped next to him and leaned into his side, feeling content as Connor pressed a loving kiss to your temple, the sound of your baby’s soft coos filling the air. “How did we get so lucky?”

Connor hummed, before a playful smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “Teachin’ you about what happens when people have unprotected sex wasn’t on my agenda tonight, but I guess I can squeeze it in.”

You let out a laugh, albeit a quiet one as to not disturb your daughter whose eyes were just beginning to droop with tiredness. “You’re a jerk.”

Connor’s grin was bright enough to light up an entire room. At least, in your opinion. “And yet ye love me.”

“Against my better judgement.” You let out a small sigh, resting your head on his shoulder. “But seriously, I still can’t believe it sometimes.”

“I know how you feel, love,” Connor voiced in agreement. “I mean, just a year ago, we were still in Boston with shitty jobs and Murph and I had a bar tab to pay. And now—”

“We live on a farm in Ireland with your dad and brother, and have a baby we get to call our own,” you finished for him with a smile.

Connor nodded, turning his head to look at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you. I mean, you uprooted your life for me. Moved to the middle of nowhere, gave me her…” He looked down at the now sleeping baby in his arms, the bottle that he had been feeding her with nearly empty. “Just… Thank you.”

His heartfelt confession made your chest ache in the best way possible. The decision to move here with him had not been one you made lightly. It had taken you a while to process and come to terms with the fact that Connor and Murphy had become crime fighting vigilantes. And when Connor had asked you if you would go with him, both to keep you safe from the heat that had built up because of what they did and because he didn’t want to lose you, it had taken days of contemplation and coming to accept what had happened.

Agreeing to move with him might have been one of the best decisions of your life. Now you were safe, living on a farm and had started your own family.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you told him softly. “I love you, Connor. I would move heaven and earth for you if I could.”

Connor’s heart sped up at your words. His smile grew bigger, more sincere. He felt like the luckiest guy on the planet at that moment. Sure, you had your ups and downs, but at the end of the day—as cheesy as it sounded—your love overcame all of it. Nothing would make his love for you and your family go away.

“Love you too, lass,” he replied in a soft whisper. “I love ya more than you’ll ever know.”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of just how much,” you murmured, leaning forward to press a soft, tender peck to his lips.

Connor hummed and pressed a kiss to your forehead when you pulled back, before turning his attention back to the sleeping baby in his arms. “Get back in bed, lass.” He nudged his nose up to the direction of the bed a few feet away. “I got ‘er.”

You made no protest against his suggestion. “Okay,” you agreed, removing yourself from his side and taking a few steps back, eyeing the crib that stood against the wall. “Hopefully the transfer goes smoothly.”

“Pray for me,” he joked, a twinkle in his eyes as he turned around and stalked towards the crib, careful not to wake the baby.

Yeah, you decided right then and there. This definitely was one of the best decisions you ever made.

[theshittiesttriangle]

it is fucking tragic that i will never get to experience watching this show for the first time again

one of the best shows ive ever seen, loved the shit out of it. need to find a place where i can watch it again

this is one of the few pieces of media i am comfortable rating at an 8 or 9/10, up there with prince of egypt

[orcelito]

Haven't been able to watch too much naruto recently. Been watching Maybe an episode a day ish. I just finished ep 419 tho and WHAT an episode to have ahead of me for grand number 420. Can't watch it rn tho bc I need to sleep and also I'm too tired to give it the full attention that I want to. Bc when I watch it, I will be embracing !!!!THE!!!! legendary Guy vs Madara fight in its FULL FORM!!!!!!

So exciting. God they're laying some major death flags lol, between the flashbacks stuff and the gate of death and well the saying he's gonna die 😂😂😂 I know he does survive it tho. But I'm also embracing this part with the Possibility of him dying. Bc that's what the others are reacting to too. And I wanna experience the full depth of emotion....

Excited for watching this next episode!!! It just cannot be right now.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Career Day

Tags: teeth rotting fluff, crack, jjk men as dads / fem!reader

An: Your child comes home and says tomorrow is career day at their school. They want to bring you and their daddy to school to show off how cool you two are, but.. their dad doesn’t exactly have the most conventional job.

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA

SATORU

“My daddy is the strongest!” Your son explains to a room full of his peers. Satoru is proudly beaming next to him. You note how much they look alike. The white hair, the bright blue eyes. Your son looks like he came straight from Satoru and had nothing to do with you.

But your son, Aoi, definitely had your personality.

“Nuh uh. He can’t be the strongest. Superman’s the strongest!” Another kid protested with an unconvinced frown.

“Well, my daddy is like superman!” Aoi retorts, keeping his headstrong personality like his mama. “Actually, he’s even better than superman!”

“He’s not even wearing a suit!” A different child speaks up. You share a nervous glance with Satoru. He’s enjoying this all too much.

“He doesn’t need a suit to be the strongest, dumbass!” Your sweet boy yells, and you promptly cover his mouth. Satoru is laughing his ass off, making the entire situation worse.

Correction, Aoi trying out his dad’s signature hand signal and saying “domain expansion” made the entire situation so much worse.

“You’re grounded, Aoi. You can’t say those things to other people. It’s rude and hurtful.” You say as you and Satoru walk your young boy home. Aoi lets out a small frustrated groan.

“I’m still getting him ice cream.” Satoru interjects with a proud smile. “My boy tried to cast his first domain at just six-years-old. He deserves a sweet treat.” Two wide smiles look up at you, and you realize you’re outnumbered here. Rolling your eyes, you nudge Satoru.

“I want a girl next.”

SUGURU

Mimiko and Nanako begged Suguru to come to their school’s career day. He was of course hesitant to do so, given that Jujutsu sorcery was still a hidden art in Japan. He didn’t exactly know how to explain his career to a bunch of kids.

He had a plan though. He would just tell the children that he was a preacher at a church. It’s not… completely a lie. He was a leader for.. a type of church.

You and Geto walk into the cozy looking classroom and see a load of other parents there. Your husband grimaced at the thought of having to interact with all these… people.

You give Suguru a reassuring squeeze of the hand. “It’ll be okay. Anything for the girls, right?” You whisper into his ear, making him nod. Anything for the girls.

When it’s finally Mimiko and Nanako’s turn to explain what their daddy does for a living, your small family gathers at the front of the classroom. Plenty of small innocent faces and reassuring smiles fill the room.

“Okay girls, tell us what your parents do for a living.” Their teacher prompts with a warm smile.

“My daddy swallows balls for a living!” Nanako says proudly with a beaming smile.

The kids erupted into laughter while their parents gave you two disgusted looks.

To make matters worse, “He also hates filthy mo-“ Mimiko tries to add on, but Geto quickly covers her mouth with his hand.

After explaining what a vivid imagination your twins have, you go on to explain that Geto is a leader at a church, and well, that doesn’t go over too well either.

“Homeschool?” Geto suggests as the four of you walk home.

“Most definitely.” You agree. Mimiko and Nanako are now educated by you at the home, where they can’t out their dad for swallowing balls.

TOJI

“Mama, make papa come to career day.” Your young son, Megumi, demanded. He had a small little pout on his face, and his arms were firmly crossed over his chest. Behind him, Toji stood, shaking his head at his son’s determination.

He often did this: telling you to make Toji do something because you were the only person who could make Toji do anything. After all these years, mans was still wrapped around your finger.

“Baby, Papa’s job is kinda private.” You explain quietly as you pet Megumi’s soft hair.

The small boy’s look of determination shifted to a look of reserve. Even as a young child, he wasn’t great at showing when his feelings were hurt, but you could always tell.

“Gumi.” You say his name softly, bending over to look at the boy’s flat expression.

You were also the only one who could coax Megumi into showing his real emotions.

Tears welled in his eyes, and his bottom lip started quivering. “I don’t wanna be the only one whose parents didn’t come.”

“Oh baby.” You frown as you pull your son into a hug. You glare upwards at Toji, and his eyes widened slightly. He knew what that look meant. “You’re going to career day.” You say to him, leaving no room for argument.

The next day,

“Okay Mr. Fushiguro, what do you do for a living?” The teacher asks Toji as he’s sat next to Megumi. Your son is actually smiling, enjoying the fact that Toji actually came to career day.

“People pay me a large sum of money, and I take care of someone for them.” Toji explains vaguely.

“Oh! Like a doctor?” One of the kids asked with an impressed smile.

“Sure, like a doctor.” Your husband lies, knowing that he does quite the opposite of what a doctor does.

SUKUNA

The look on the kids faces as your tall, muscular, tatted husband walked into the classroom was hilarious. Most of them were completely mortified, giving Sukuna frightened stares.

Your husband was completely unfazed. If anything, he was soaking in the kids’ fear. He sat at the front of the room with a look of arrogance.

Your nephew, Yuji, sat between you two. No, he was technically not your kid, but he didn’t have anyone else to bring to career day. So, Unc Sukuna and Auntie Yn were to the rescue.

“And.. what do you do for work, sir?” The teacher asked in almost a judgmental tone as she eyed Sukuna. You couldn’t tell if she despised him or wanted to fuck him.

“I don’t work. I live off tithe.” Sukuna bluntly answered with a shrug. His lopsided smile never left his face.

“What’s a tithe?” A small child asked quietly.

“It means people pay me out of fear of that I’ll harm them if they don’t.” Your husband gives a child a sharp stare with a challenging smile. He wanted the kids to keep asking questions. The thought of scaring multiple children all at once fueled him.

“Like… beat them up?” Another child asked.

“Like eating their snot-nosed children.” Sukuna answered with a toothy grin. The children all shrieked and cried in terror. Hell, even their parents looked frightened.

“Ryomen.” You chide as you look over towards your husband. He was laughing maniacally, even slapping his knee like the old man he was.

Yuji never invited you two to another career day.

[peachylynnie]

wine

word count: 1.3k

synopsis: in which sylus is obsessed with your lips.

contains: sylus x mc!reader (not dating because i like tormenting him like that), alcohol consumption, horny sylus (not smut tho), suggestive themes, mentions of violence and blood, and LOTS of cussing.

a/n: i told myself i wouldn't write anything until i finish finals but sylus won. i'm also avoiding his myth spoilers since i didn't pull his pair yet. enjoy reading! do NOT copy or translate my work. sylus does NOT endorse plagiarism.

sylus wants to kiss you right now. he wants to kiss you so fucking badly, it hurts. 

you can't blame the man. you looked absolutely delectable right now. hair up, ears jeweled, eyes hooded, and back bared, oh, you looked so good in the dress he handpicked for you; he could just devour you whole and leave nothing to spare. 

and he would have no remorse for doing so either. the auction you two were at was filled with fucking nobodies. how dare they look at you, let alone breathe the same air as you? he's lost count of how many times he felt the urge to just demolish this shithole of a place. 

sylus sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. he knows he's being irrational. after all, he was the one who suggested you two attend this auction. you showed interest in an old manuscript that just so happened to be available only at this auction, and he would be damned if he didn't get you everything you could ever want. hell, you could even ask him for his heart, and he would tear it out of his cold chest, deliver it to your divine feet, get on his fucking knees, and beg for you to demand more of him. 

so, actually, you can blame him for the situation he is in. he was the one who picked the set you're wearing right now oh so ravishingly. he was the one who brought you to this stupid auction that's taking so long to get on with it already—where the fuck is the manuscript? but most importantly, he was the one who made your lips look so damn kissable right now. 

he knew what he was doing when he picked your lipstick for you. deep scarlet that would match his eyes and look good on you. but he never thought it would look this good on you. sylus curses under his breath, feeling his pants tighten around his crotch after remembering you bent over the sink to gaze at the mirror and paint your lips. he recalls how it took him everything not to stride over to you, spin you around, and slam his lips onto yours, hoping to get a smear of that majestic shade. 

oh, but it wasn't just the shade of your lips that drove him crazy. it was the texture, too. you must've been feeling heated because you go to take another sip of the wine in your hand. the matted, creamy lip print you leave on the glass has the silver-haired man inhaling sharply and tightening his grip on the table. what he would give to have such a work of art printed on him instead. he wants it all over him. his face, his neck, his fingertips, his cock—everywhere until no single part of him was unmarked by your luscious lips. until there was no room to even question who he belonged to. 

that's how badly sylus wants to kiss you right now. but he stops himself using the single thread of patience he has left. yes, the two of you were technically alone, standing at the table in the far back. thank god he reserved a table just for the two of you so only he could marvel at your lip-stained glass. no one would interrupt if the two of you were to just have a full-blown make-out session right now.

but sylus knew better. he knew that you were still wary of him. this, you can blame him. after all, he's not a saint. his entire being is smothered in blood, down to the very tip of his designer shoes. he built his lavish empire of protocores and guns from the taking of lives. hell, he even threatened you the first time you met. though, he only did that to push you to your full potential. he could never truly harm you. but sylus knows you. you, in your most beautiful human form, who dwells not only on the past but also on the lives of others. you, whose empathy is so strong, sylus can't help but admire, even though he sometimes wishes you would just let loose and bring hell upon all those who dare to cross you. thus, your continued, empathy-driven wariness of him. but, sylus knows how to compromise. he's okay with being the one with bloodied hands and fucked-up morals so long as it means seeing you, even if it means from afar. besides, you haven't reported him to your little hunter friends yet. he supposes that's a start, and he could settle with that. he could also settle with this: 

"is the wine to your liking, sweetie?" he asks smoothly. 

you flinch, taken aback by sylus' sudden question. you were wondering when he would stop staring at you and actually start paying attention to the auction. not that you mind having sylus' eyes on you. it's just that the borderline depraved look in his crimson eyes was making you feel all hot inside and you really wanted to stop feeling all hot inside whenever you were near him, let alone thinking about him. 

"uh yeah," you nervously chuckle, setting the glass down. "it's better than i thought." you turn your gaze to a waiter nearby, hoping to get a glass for sylus since he seemed so interested in yours for some reason. "here, let me get one for you too." 

you try to catch the waiter's attention by raising your right hand, but sylus stops you. he grasps your hand with his left and rests it on the table. you furrow your eyebrows at him, wondering why he stopped you. sylus, the man who appreciates (that's the nicest way you can describe it) alcohol passing a chance at a complimentary drink? you're utterly confused. 

"no need," sylus gives a gentle squeeze, trying to ease your confusion. though, you're not prepared for what happens next. 

sylus picks up your glass with his free hand, plants his lips on your lip print, and takes a slow sip. your eyes widen, feeling the heat that was coiling in your stomach spread all around your tense body. holy shit, did he just—? 

the aggravating godsend of a man next to you finishes your drink with a satisfied sigh, wiping the garnet droplets from the corner of his lips but not the paint left by yours. "hm," sylus drags his tongue along his lips, a smirk threatening to show. "it is better than i thought."

you flush, seeing your lipstick smudged on sylus' succulent lips. you don’t know what to say. he totally did that on purpose. there's no way he didn't. does this mean the two of you technically kissed-

you don't allow yourself to finish that last thought. you blink rapidly, trying to get your now parched mouth to say something. anything. but you can't. you're completely flustered to the point where all you can do is just gape at sylus with a blush the shade of his eyes tinting your cheeks. 

sylus grins, the tip of his canine peeking out from his now-tainted lips. this is better than he thought. perhaps, he should settle more often if it means getting to see you so cutely aroused and embarrassed like this. though, he knows he won't be able to settle for long. he knows one day, he won't be able to hold himself back anymore. one day, he'll conquer your lips for himself and relentlessly indulge in the real thing. but for now, sylus is content. for now. 

"cat got your tongue, sweetie?" sylus teases, tilting his head to meet your shaky gaze. 

you jerk your head away, trying to get the image of his lips out of your mind. "eyes on the prize, sylus." 

sylus chuckles, but not without placing his elbow on the table and propping his face on his hand to get a better look at you. "oh, my eyes are on the prize, sweetie. my eyes are on the prize." 

[sttoru]

your boyfriend sleeps on the couch after an argument you both had earlier that day. after calming your nerves and taking time for yourself, you realise that you might have been a bit too harsh on him.

☀︎｜tags. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. fluff / angst / hurt + comfort. age gap (reader early 20’s & satoru early 30’s). nicknames used; ‘(little) baby’. he’s honestly just the perfect combination of gentle and teasing. subtle mentions of size difference.

satoru shifts on the couch whilst letting out an inaudible yawn. he was tired after an entire day at work and finally had the chance to settle down in the comfort of his apartment.

though, he couldn’t really relax just yet. the reason why being the undeniable tension hanging in the air. he was in fact home, but it didn’t feel like it. not when you were missing.

you had holed yourself up in the master bedroom after an earlier argument the two of you had. it wasn’t a big fight — just a little squabble between lovers. satoru didn’t rush after you when you had decided to walk away midst argument. you clearly weren’t in the right headspace to properly articulate nor communicate your feelings.

he figured that you just needed some time alone and thus decided to leave you be. he didn’t want to risk losing you by annoying you any further.

satoru scrolls on his phone out of boredom. the light radiating off the screen starts to bother his already sensitive eyes. with a sigh, he shuts off the device and puts it down on the coffee table.

it was dead silent in the apartment that was usually filled with your lively chatter. the sorcerer wants nothing more than to cuddle up with you under the covers and fall asleep. but, you needed space and he wasn’t going to disturb you.

he drapes an arm over his eyes and pulls the thin blanket over his chest. his breaths were steady and his thoughts were surprisingly calm. satoru almost drifts off to sleep, however his body lightly jolts awake once he hears the creaking of a door.

careful footsteps echo throughout the hallway and stop right at the doorstep of the living room.

satoru moves his arm to the side so his vision wouldn’t be obstructed. his eyes land on the figure standing at the doorframe — one he could recognise instantly.

it was you, standing there with your head held low and your fingers curled around the hem of your nightgown. you didn’t take another step forwards and just lingered in your spot for a few seconds without saying anything.

“hey, baby.” satoru breaks the silence. his voice was as soft as it could be, not an ounce of annoyance or frustration in it. even if he had all the reason to be upset according to you.

you remember just how childish you acted earlier; you had lost all rationality, shouted at your boyfriend out of frustration and ran off mid sentence instead of properly addressing the issue at hand. the way you handled that situation was wrong and immature.

in contrast to your immature behaviour, satoru had stayed calm and collected throughout the entirety of your argument. he hadn’t raised his voice at you even once nor did he blame you for anything. you felt bad for acting like a bratty kid who didn’t get her way.

you eventually move towards the couch, still not making eye contact with your boyfriend. he sits up and simply watches you with a raised eyebrow—curious as to what you were about to do.

you knew you had to apologise for your behaviour, but what you needed first was his validation. you wordlessly climb onto the couch and under the blanket satoru was using.

your arms wrap around his torso and you hug him tightly to your body, face buried in his shirt to cover your embarrassed and remorseful expression.

satoru’s eyes widen a bit at the sudden show of affection, though he wasn’t complaining. he reciprocates the gesture and nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head.

“my little baby.” he chuckles, hands rubbing your back in attempt to reassure you that everything was and will be fine, “i’m happy you decided to come back to me — thank you.”

again. that tender tone satoru uses only with you and for you. the guilt from earlier hits you like a truck and your eyes well up with tears before you could stop the process.

“sorry,” your voice cracks once you finally muster out an apology. the warmth engulfing your cold body was enough to make you sob in his comforting embrace. satoru sighs and closes his eyes. he rests his chin on top of your head whilst holding you like his life depended on it.

no words were exchanged between you two for a good minute. satoru silently encourages you to cry it out and so you do. after calming down, you sniffle and pull your head away from his chest. your eyes were watery and a bit red.

the pad of his thumb sweeps the stray tears away from your cheeks, his touch precise and careful. he smiles softly at the sight of his teary-eyed girlfriend. you were so adorable and precious to him. even when you looked like a mess — a pretty mess.

“i just..” you start off, small hiccups interrupting your sentence, “i wanted to apologise for acting so childish. i shouldn’t have said nor did any of those hurtful things. i apologise for that as well.”

your lover nods along to your words. he hums in delight and kisses your forehead, his lips lingering there for longer than intended, “don’t worry, baby. i understand. thank you for apologising, though.”

you mutter a small ‘of course’ in-between sniffles. that was all the reassurance you had needed to hear from your boyfriend. though, you still felt bad and the guilt of your immature actions seemed to linger in the back of your mind.

you lay your head back on satoru’s chest and listen to his heartbeat — hoping that the constant sound would drown out any other thoughts. your lover lays on his back and pulls you down on top of him. his hands rub your sides, slender fingers toying with the silky material of your nightgown.

“i’m sorry for being immature sometimes. i’m sure it must be troubling to deal with.” you whisper as you enjoy the feeling of being back in satoru’s arms.

he grins and shakes his head in response. he loves every side of yours — even your immature one. if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here right now. he truly loves all of you.

the older man places another soft kiss on top of your head and closes his eyes afterwards, “heh, i’d be lying if i said that you trying to act all tough earlier wasn’t cute.”

satoru snickers at the memory. he remembers how you pointed that little finger of yours in front of his face and how you tried to subtly stand on the tips of your toes so you could look him in the eyes properly. your attempts at looking intimidating were quite endearing.

it’s not like he was invalidating your feelings with that comment — he was genuinely trying to lighten your mood. and it wasn’t like it didn’t work.

“whatever.” you huff, playfully swatting his biceps and gaining an over exaggerated ‘ow!’ in response. you’re glad that things have gone back to normal between you two. if the situation had continued for any longer, you’d have lost your mind.

you aren’t the only one who is extremely relieved. satoru is beaming with joy because he gets to hold and talk to you again. that small period of silence between the both of you felt like an eternity to him.

no matter how many times you have those little arguments, satoru will still love you all the same.

[urfriendlywriter]

How to write angst ?

@urfriendlywriter | req by @everynowandthenihaveacrisis @aidyaiden :)

know your character. from their deepest fears to what they cherish the most. know your deepest fear, ask yourself how you will react and feel at that moment. "oh shit, if this happened to me I'll lose my mind" what's that type of scenario for you? write it. :)

decide on the type of angst you are going for!

major, minor, physical, emotional, paranormal, spiritual, verbal, abusive, quarrel, misunderstanding, etc.

and then, decide on--what reaction you can take out of your character by doing what to them.

are they gonna be, held at a gunpoint to give something up? or have their soul wrecked by whom they thought were close to them? or is it going be horror, or etctec, decide on it.

moving on to actually writing it-

Tip 1 - Use sensory details.

her eyes brimmed with tears

his chest heaved

pain clawed at his heart, as his face twisted with hurt

his scream pierced my heart

her lips quivered

she dug her nails into her palms (to distract herself, to stop it from shaking, etc)

show what is happening to ur MC, instead of telling it.

Tip 2 - how to actually write it.

If they're panicking, make them notice too many things at once, show every detail that they're seeing, feeling, from touch, to that burning sensation on their eyes, the blood on the ground, that dryness of their throat, the buzzing in their head and their parted lips unable to trust their own sight, and--and, boom! have them register that they're really really in trouble. and that they've to act fast.

use short, very minimal type of writing for this. make it long, but not long enough that it feels like it's being dragged.

the readers should hold themselves back from skimming the page out of curiousity, they should be in their toes to find out what happens next.

what does your MC do in times of panic? do they chant calm down to themselves, do they get angry, or start crying.. or?? what makes your character genuinely feel an emotion so hard that they'll burst?

there's always something, someone that'll always give them love and easily can be that something or someone to take it away. yk.

Tip 3 - crying.

what is close to your character that u can deprive them of? will it make them cry? beg for it?

what will make ur character cry so hard, that their scream fills everyone's ear, stays in their minds like ghosts and always haunts them?

make a character who never cries, burst out with tears.

while writing crying, focus on the 5 senses, one after the other.

focus it on their breath, make them run out of breath, gasp for air, feel like they're being choked, cry so scrutinizingly. it shud punch the reader's gut.

have them replay what had just happened over and over again in their head

best books and writing styles (for angst) to analyse and learn from (in my opinion);

3rd book in the AGGTM series (yk it hit hard like a truck. it got me depressed in bed the entire time lmao)

Five Survive by Holly Jackson. The moments of red outside of the truck, and moments leading to it.

there's this book called " Warm by @untalentedwriter127 " in wattpad. the author served angst for breakfast, lunch anddd dinner.

and if there's more angsty ones, drop em in the comments! :)

Hope this helps, tag me when yall write a masterpiece! ;)

[nanaslutt]

PLEASE write more of geto being a perv🙏🙏

“pt.1” here

Geto x reader, in showing you how sorry he is for being a creep<3

perv!geto is my obsession atm

contains: fem reader, non consensual photography (reader is kinda ok w it), pervy roomate!geto, crack, gojo makes an appearance, talk of gojo wanting reader, sexual tension, cunnilingus, masturbation(geto), degradation, soooooooo much dirty talk, sweet!geto at the end<3

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

About a week ago you were watching a scary movie with geto on your laptop, drinks placed on the table next to it; dumbly.

So of course when the scariest jump scare you’ve ever seen in your life occurred, your legs jerked into the glass of liquid, spilling it all over your laptop and absolutely ruining it.

“God- Fuck! Noooo! nonono!” you shot up to grab a blanket, pillow, anything, to soak up the liquid, “TAKE YOUR SHIRT OF NOW,” you yelled in a panic to your dark haired roommate, who; you noticed throughout this entire excursion had barely moved a muscle to help, besides the muscles used to laugh at you.

“Babe I hate to be the one to tell you this, but that shit is beyond saving,” he laughed, placing his hand over his chest while he did.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck, I use my laptop every single, and day I absolutely cannot afford to buy a new one right now.” you placed your head in your hands in defeat.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” geto said, at the end of his fit of giggles at your expense.

“Yeah right, ur broke as shit too, that’s why we’re living together.” you said, muffled into your legs as your body had now fully collapsed in on itself.

“Yeah ur right, but that kinda hurts my feelings,” he said, smirk showing through his faux pout, “thought you liked livin’ with me,”

The two of you bickered back and forth for a while. You ended up putting the laptop in a bag of rice; to no avail, it was completely ruined.

Geto had been nice enough to let you use his laptop in the meantime; only when he was with you though, which you found slightly weird but at least you had access to it to some degree.

Right now you had the house to yourself though. Satoru had picked him up half and hour ago, saying something about wanting to try some new coffee shop with word famous sweets; that meant you had free range of his laptop.

You knew how to clear search history, so you would be fine. You just wanted to watch a movie anyways, nothing criminal.

Sneaking into his room, you unplugged the silver electronic, sliding it under your arm as you took it back to your room. Placing the laptop on your bed and getting comfortable against your pillows, you cracked it open, You had accidentally seen him type in his password before, so getting in was no problem.

What was a problem is what was on the screen when the laptop came to life. An entire folder of up skirt panty shots; and not just anyone’s panty shots; they were yours.

Scrolling through the decently filled folder, you noticed ones that dated back months ago. You saw a picture of you laying on your bed, head in your hands while you kicked your feet behind you; the short skirt you were wearing gave geto the perfect view of your unobstructed ass, slight pink peaking between your cheeks.

Other too, you doing more mundane things like sitting on your knees on the barstool you had in the house, poking out your ass, once again giving that dark haired pervert the perfect shot of your clothed mound.

You were almost impressed at how many there were, and how make different angles he was able to get without your knowledge.

Trying to wrap your head around the idea that yes, your sweet roommate who has never attempted to come onto you once, had a secret folder filled with lewd photos of you.

Saving the file, you sent it to yourself. Once you heard the chime on your phone you quickly copied the link, and sent it to the culprit himself, no other message attached to it but the folder alone.

——

“Ummm ooh, I’ll also get the triple chocolate cream filled crepe cake please! What do you want suguru?” gojo chirped.

Geto started at him with disbelief, he had just ordered 5 full size deserts with the longest name he’d ever heard; all sounding like a stomach ache and a half; and they were all for himself.

“Right..uh, i’ll just get the vanilla scone and a black coffee please.” Geto politely spoke to the man taking his order.

Gojo continued conversing with the cashier, finishing up ordering any last minute items and paying.

Geto felt his phone buzz in his pants, checking it quickly while gojo finished up the interaction; both of them starting to walk to booth in the corner of the cafe.

Suguru’s heart sank to his balls when he opened your message. He knew you were mad too, because you didn’t say anything else other than a link to his private folder of your panty shots. “Fuuuuuuuuuck haha,” geto laughed, hand coming up to cover his smirk as they slid into the booth.

“Huh? let me see, what happened?” Gojo nosed, trying to peek over the table at geto’s phone when he noticed it was the source of his distress.

“I might have to sleep at your house tonight, maybe for the rest of my life I don’t know.” he said, hand dropping back into his lap as he shut his phone off.

“Did you forget to do your dishes or somethin’?” he asked, knowing how angry you got at Geto when he didn’t pick up after himself.

“Yeah maybe, or maybe my roommate just found the upskirt pics i’ve been taking of them for the past couple months.” he giggled, slight remorse in the back of his head. Not from doing it, but from being caught.

Gojo’s jaw dropped, covering his own mouth as he let out a boisterous laugh. “Hahaha oh man, you really are fucked.” the blonde slapped his own knee, “I’ll let you co-sign my lease tonight,” he said, scared that if suguru went home, he might actually get murdered.

Geto kicked satoru’s shin underneath the table, making him wince. Their giggles died down at geto’s misfortune after awhile. “So..” gojo started, “Yer’ gunna let me see the pics right?” he asked, “Already hurt you didn’t tell me about this,” he pouted,

“In your fucking dreams satoru,” geto snorted. He already saw the way gojo looked at you when he was over, always making passes at you and touching you any chance he got.

He would be damned if his bestfriend got his hands on you before he did. “WHAT???” gojo yelled a little too loud for the tiny space they were in, resulting in him getting shushed by geto, “pleaseeeee, I know how good you are at taking pictures I bet they’re soooo gooood.” gojo wined, crossing his arms on the table and laying his head against them.

“Keep dreaming satoru.” he laughed. The whine haired man kept his pouting up for awhile, calling Geto selfish and unfair, his sorrow immediately being forgot about when the massive tray of his deserts finally came out.

——

When you heard the front door to your shared apartment finally crack open open a couple hours later, you were in your bedroom.

His laptop had been tucked away in your bedside table in confiscation, while you awaited with a racing heart, for him to knock on your bedroom door.

You heard him place his keys on the table through the thin walls, then you hear his heavy footsteps as he starts to make his way to your room.

The air was still when the footsteps came to a stop in front of your door. You were feeling a lot less confident than you were before he got here, now the thought of confronting him made your mouth feel dry; heart beating out of your chest.

Finally, the knocks were being rapped on your door, you swear you died for a second when you heard his familiar voice call your name, followed by him asking politely if he could come in.

"Its open," you yelled back. When the wooden door creaked open and his frame came into view, you had to fight off all the neurons in your brain telling you to look away from his hooded eyes.

You felt like you couldn't breathe, the tension in the room was so thick it could be cut through with a knife. You had no idea why, but the current situation was admittedly arousing.

You stayed silent for a while, just staring at each other, neither one of you daring to break eye contact first, "So? What do you have to say for yourself?" you asked, voice coming out a lot less confident than you wanted.

"Im sorry." he replied, swallowing thickly, quickly sucking his lip into his mouth to wet it.

"You're sorry for what?" you asked clarifying, This wasn't going how you expected.

"I'm sorry for being a pervert and taking panty pics of my roommate." He said, taking a couple steps towards where you were sitting at the edge of the bed.

"Are you really sorry?" You asked, voice full of need, as you did your best to supress it, trying to ignore the growing heat in your stomach.

"So sorry" he answered, having made his way inches away from you, eye contact still not being broken. You both noticed how heavily you were breathing, his eyes flitting down to your lips for a second before he sucked his lip into his mouth again, and letting it slide out, dark eyes meeting yours again.

The only thing you heard was your heart beat loudly in your ears as you spoke your next words, "Show me how sorry you are."

----

"Mm so fucking sorry," geto's voice vibrated against your clit.

"F-fuck ohmygod," You moaned at the feeling of him wrapping his lips around the bud, tongue peeking through to flick at it.

"A-again-" you whined,

"'M sorry," he groaned, staring up at you with a smirk as he released your clit, flattening his tongue over the sensitive bud.

You were laid back, ass placed at the end of the bed, Geto was sitting back on his heels as he perched himself on the floor between your thighs, hand rapidly stoking over his throbbing cock.

"W-wipe that sm-ile off your face" you wined, trying to keep the little hold you had over geto.

He didnt stop smiling, but you could'nt tell when he burried his tongue inside your pussy, pressing his face hard into your wetness and shaking his head. His pointed nose rubbed your clit in the most delicious way when he did that.

"S-so fucking dirty" you chastised at how sloppily he was eating your cunt. He was trying to fuck his apology into your pussy with his tongue, really trying to prove how sorry he was.

Loud slurping noises bouncing off the walls and going straight to your head; and to his cock; making you both dizzy at the situation.

"Sorry I'm so nasty," he groaned, muffled by your folds as he tongue fucked you like his life depended on it.

Quickening the pace of his hand against his cock, he was squeezing it the same way your walls squeezed his tongue, trying to mimic the feeling. Pre was dripping steadily from his cock and onto the floor, leaving a little puddle there.

Geto was getting off on this so hard.

Every time you squeezed your thighs around his head and degraded him, his abs clenched, balls tightening with the need to blow his load.

"O-only thing youre good for is eating my pussy, f-fuck" you said meanly with a whimper, eyes dropping down to his handsome face and seeing how fucked out he looked from your words, as he nodded his head and moaned into you, agreeing with you.

He needed to you keep talking to him like that, to keep humping his face, suffocating him, treating him like a bitch, he needed it.

"Use me-" he cut himself off as he moved his mouth back up to your clit, making out with the little bud messily, "wanna show you how sorry I am." he drunkenly smiled at you.

You gripped his hair in a makeshift bun, rolling your hips against his face as he stuck his tongue out for you to get yoruself off on.

Groans of "mhm mhmm" could be heard from Geto between your legs, pumping his cock impossibly faster feeling your wetness gush out of you from his minstrations.

"Ohmygod feels so good- shit-" You wined, tipping your head back, feeling your orgasm build quicky as you rubbed against his tongue just right.

His chin was absolutely covered in your slick, pretty eyes rolling back in his head as he felt himself get pushed towards the edge as well, abandoning his hand keeping your thigh spread to join his other between his legs. He massaged his balls between his fingers, increasing the pleasure he felt while you worked towards your end together.

"Fuck t-tell me your sorry again," you whimpered out, teetering on the edge of your orgasm, "Sorry" his deep voice immediately groaned out, cock throbbing when you yanked on his hair.

"Ag-ain" your moans broke up your speech,

"Sorry, m' sorry, sorry-" He kept babbling against your pussy, sending delicious vibrations through you.

You were feeling hotter at the strange power dynamic going on, using that to your advantage as he kept mumbling the word into you, sending you straight into the most mindblowing orgasm of your life.

"Coming f-uck fuck f-" your voice getting cut off as your stomach started contracting and jerking, you rode your high out on his tongue while he groaned a lengthy moan into you.

Behind where your vision was blocked by the bed, Geto was cumming all over his hand and the bottom of your comforter.

Geto's eyes repeatedly rolled back in his head, hand massaging his cum out of his balls as he stroked himself roughly through his orgasm.

Finally being able to breathe when you loosened your legs from their hold on his neck, dropping your hands from his hair as you laid back on the sheets. Geto's hands wet with his seed came up to massage your thighs, his head rasing from between them.

You both took a second to breathe heavily into the open air, your cunt as his cock alike twitching in the aftershocks of your orgasms.

You felt his hold on you cease for a moment, a couple seconds later something was bouncing heavily next to your head. When you turned your head you were faced with a brand new, rose gold laptop, still in its packaging.

You looked back up at geto, who was now standing, running one of his damp hands through his hair, "If me eating your pussy didnt prove how sorry I am, I hope this will." He smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fuck, Geto are you serious?" you beamed, picking your limp body up from the sheets and holding the package in your hands, he smiled at you fondly, watching you tear it open like a kid on Christmas.

Peeling the plastic from the cardboard you spoke, "Still making you delete all those photos by the way," resulting in him tipping his head back in a loud groan of defeat.

[http-tokki]

have you ever tried this one?

and it’s just you ontop of viktor

look, i’m not saying he hasn’t fucked (look at him, he has had partners before but never like you, never someone who puts his pleasure before their own) so when you slide a pillow beneath his hips and make sure he is comfy over everything else, oh how his heart stutters in his chest. Viktor already looks at you like you hold the universe in your hands but as you perch yourself above him, hands braced on either side of his head as you grind your sopping cunt over his cock before sinking down on his aching length, he swears you begin to fade into starlight. the edges of his vision blurs as heat blooms in his stomach, pure indulgent undiluted ecstasy fills his veins and tingles in the tips of his fingers. mans is TRANSFIXED on the sight before him as your hips begin to move, slick dripping down your thighs in pearls of opalescent blue in the lowlight of the hexcore (the cot that had been set up in the corner of the lab for when he is too tired to go back to his room has been getting a little more action that it had originally been intended for) Viktor has no idea where to put his hands, what to grab or how hard to hold so you guide his hands to your hips, squeezing his fingers beneath your own before settling your palms on his chest. his heart thumps beneath your skin in a steady rhythm, his breaths shallow as his body adjusts to pleasure coursing through his veins.

“are you okay? nothing hurts?” you’re quick to check in, brows furrowed as your eyes slip down the pillow beneath his hips.

he nods, pushing his head back into the plush cushions as you tense your muscles, squeezing him so deliciously tight he might pass out.

“don’t worry about me, love. just-“ words fail him as his breathing turns ragged, your hips grinding in slow circles above his. “fuck…i-“

Viktor has always been quick of wit, a retort poised on the tip of his tongue at all times but as you begin to drag your hips up and down, cunt sliding over his pulsing cock in slow strokes that has his jaw slackening and eyes rolling, the concept of language leaves him entirely. for a moment it’s as if it is his first time all over again. awkward hands and quick breaths, unable to tear his eyes away from your perfect form as you bounce and grind above him. it’s cute, how innocent he looks beneath you, how bright his cheeks blaze, how red his lips bloom as he bites on the flesh.

“you’ve never done this?” your question is breathless, cheat tightening as the angle has your stomach twisting.

Viktor shakes his head, afraid that if he opens his mouth it would be nothing but whimpers and moans.

“do you feel good?”

another wordless answer in the form of a nod and he thinks he has retained some sense of dignity for the time being, but as you tense your muscles again, his mouth opens and his answer is a whimper.

your body stills above him as your brain registers the sound that has just spilt from your lover’s mouth.

“did you just- was that-?”

“shut up. This is a new thing for me,” Viktor grumbles but he can’t stop the grin that has spread over his cheeks. his hand reaches for your, wrapping around the nape of your neck to pull your face to his. “no one’s ever treated me like this. I can’t expect to know how I might react.”

a/n: pls be nice this is my first arcane fic i just love viktor so much gimmie a hair tie, a pillow for his hips and five minutes i’ll show piltover the real arcane

[alg3a]

auspicious (pt. 2)

jayce x f!reader x viktor / jayvik x reader

3k, MDNI, no use of y/n

description: After confronting the boys and teasing them for long enough, you finally get what you want.

warnings: nsfw content, full complete total smut, MMF threesome, f!receiving oral, double penetration, all characters are sort of switches i suppose, double creampies! hooray!

a/n: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE ON PART ONE!!! it was entirely unexpected, but i loved hearing that all of you enjoyed it. it was my first ever tumblr fic, but there will be plenty more and my request box is VERY open.

Something in their eyes turns dark when you utter those words. Not utter, exactly, they were more of a proclamation. Maybe it was your confidence that threw them off so intensely, but how could you not be confident in a dress like that, after two glasses of wine, and knowing that the two most attractive men you’ve ever laid eyes on have been wanting you for months?

It made all the late nights and restless mornings worth it to be sprawled out on their cozy lab couch wearing practically just a strip of fabric, watching them eye you like dogs.

“What is it with you two? Do I need to write you a formal invitation?”

Surprisingly, Viktor moves first. When he gets to the couch he drops his cane as if it was a crumb off his coffeecake. Then Jayce follows, filling the spot behind you as you face Viktor on the other end of the couch. Jayce’s calloused hands wrap around your waist, feeling every inch of the delicate skin exposed by your low hanging dress. Viktor’s delicate hands cup your jaw.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this,” Viktor says, his voice raspier than you’ve ever heard before.

“Hey–” Jayce squeezes your hips firmly and pulls you back into his chest. His fingers trace the long slit up the side of your leg and brush the fabric to the side, exposing your thighs. “How long we have been waiting for this.”

“Did you ever talk about me–about this–with each other?” You have a million dirty questions to ask them now that you have them at your disposal, and this seems like a good place to start.

“It’s hard not to,” Jayce says. “Every time you would come into the lab in that little skirt…”

“Things as small as lingering touches when passing tools…” Viktor added, his mouth dipping low to kiss your exposed collarbone.

“Anytime you did anything vaguely exciting… let’s just say the thought of sharing you is very familiar to us.” Jayce’s low, rough voice mutters against your neck. He punctuates his sentence with a nip at the soft skin as Viktor pulls away from your clavicle.

“Would you like that?” Viktor asks, his fingers delicately wrapping a strand of your hair around his long, slim finger. “For Jayce and I to share you?”

And suddenly they’ve monopolized this interaction. So much for all that confidence–thrown out the window as soon as they show a sliver of dominance.

“Speak up,” Jayce says, grasping your chin firmly and lifting it so that your face is flush with Viktor’s.

“Yes,” you finally utter. “I’d like that very very much.”

“Good,” Viktor says, his accent thicker and his voice raspy.

His thumb traces along your jaw until his hand seats itself on the back of your neck. His fingers slide into your hair. You’d never realized how big his hands were until then, as one wrapped around the back of your head, tugging softly at your hair as Jayce rubbed your bottom lip with his thumb, pulling gently downward to part your pretty lips. They really were fantastic partners, aiding each other in research. And there you were, their perfect little assistant, providing them with something to study.

You don’t realize how heavily your heart is thudding against your ribs until Viktor’s lips are exploring yours and your heart is the loudest thing in the room, second only to your little whimper as you realize Jayce is doing some exploring of his own. His calloused fingers brush your bare thigh beneath the slit of your dress and dip between your legs as his chest presses against your back. With the hand that once rested on your chin, he pulls the apex of the slit higher, so that your lacy black panties are exposed to the cold air of the lab.

“Fuck,” Jayce mutters at the sight of them. You feel as his hardening cock twitches against your back, eliciting a moan from your mouth that vibrates against Viktor’s lips.

You whine as he pulls away from the kiss to take a look at what Jayce has discovered.

“Don’t everyone look at once,” you joke, but your breathlessness and heaving chest don’t exactly contribute to the punchline.

Viktor smiles for a moment, but his eyes drift to your shoulder. More specifically, the fallen strap of the dress which leaves your shoulder exposed.

“You’ve been in this dress all night,” Viktor says, smiling as he looks at Jayce over your shoulder. “I can’t imagine it’s very comfortable…”

“Do you often imagine how uncomfortable my clothes are, Viktor?” You ask, returning his smirk as Jayce slips the remaining strap off of your other shoulder.

“All the time,” he says, taking the next step off of Jayce’s hands and sliding the bodice off your dress downward, then letting Viktor return to pushing down the remnants of the dress so that it pools around your ankles.

“And much more, it would seem…or sound, rather.” Jayce laughs in a low tone, the vibrations of his chest against the bare skin of your back causing your stomach to flutter. “Loudest housemate ever.”

“Oh really?” You ask, mouth agape as Viktor slides off the couch with a smirk on his face, bringing your legs with him. He pivots you so that you’re sitting with your back against the cushions now, and he’s kneeling between your parted legs. Only your cute little panties separate his face from your best kept secret.

“Hearsay,” Viktor rolls his eyes as he kisses up your thigh. “And from the man who doesn’t even close his door when he thinks of you…”

“I close it. The walls are just…thin.” Jayce replies, placing his hand on your chin once more to turn your face to his. “And I can’t help how much noise I make.” His voice lowers and his eyes flutter shut, preparing for his turn with your lips.

Jayce is a much rougher kisser than Viktor. Handsier, too. His hand slides up your waist, grazing your chest, before finally landing on the expanse of your tilted back neck. If he choked you to death right now, you could die happy. But he won’t. He just squeezes gently as his tongue explores your mouth, his grip a reminder that he’s been wanting you for three long months. You can imagine how it must have felt for both of the boys to have you within arms reach, pushed away only by their own semblances of professionality. Actually–you can taste it, too. And you can feel it as two fingers press against your clothed cunt and you let a moan echo into Jayce’s persistent mouth.

Viktor lifts a leg onto his shoulder, and you feel two of his calloused fingertips pulling aside the lace of your panties. With only the tip of Viktor’s tongue, you’re a whining mess against Jayce’s. Jayce pulls away from you with a condescending laugh, wanting to catch a glimpse of Viktor’s meal.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “I never thought my lab partner and I would have our tongues on the same girl at the same time.”

“Don’t lie,” Viktor looks up, a grin on his glistening lips. “I’ve heard my name through those thin walls, too.”

“Shut up,” Jayce groans, and guides Viktor’s head back to your cunt. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes,” you manage to utter, miraculously. You’d heard Jayce tease Viktor time after time about his inexperience with women. You’d be surprised that Viktor was this good at eating you out if you weren’t familiar with what a meticulous learner Viktor was. A true perfectionist.

As Viktor sucks on your clit, Jayce lowers his head and sucks marks onto your neck, one hand still on Viktor’s head, feeding you to him.

“Please…” you whimper, not sure exactly what you’re even asking for until you feel your impending release.

Viktor laughs against your core. “Please what, my love?”

“Please, I’m gonna… mmph! I–” The leg that rests on Viktor’s back bends so that he’s pulled closer.

“Don’t stop, Vik, she’s close.” Jayce’s grip on your jaw tightens and he pulls you ever so slightly downward to watch Viktor. “Is that right, sweetheart? Use your words.”

You nod emphatically, opening your lips but fuck it’s so incredibly difficult for you to form words when there isn’t an adjective on the planet that can describe how he’s making you feel. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna cum, please, please don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” Jayce says, his grip loosening as he goes in to kiss you again while your climax hits you like a tidal wave. Jayce feels the impact of it against his mouth in the form of your own, needy, whimpering moans.

Your legs begin to shake, but Viktor’s hands wrap around your thighs, holding you still as he shows no signs of stopping. He’s going to grant your begging wishes and ride this out with you, his tongue dancing along your clit, his fingers spreading you wide so it’s certain he won’t miss a spot.

Once you’ve settled, Viktor pulls away, wiping the arousal from his lips with the back of his hand. You’ve seen him exhausted, aching, and messy, but you’ve never seen him with such a powerful glint of desperation in his eyes.

“Did that feel good, sweetheart?” Jayce asks, his fingers combing through your hair.

Viktor seats himself on the couch again, drawn to your collarbone again, this time using his fingers to navigate the delicate clavicle.

You nod, but it takes every ounce of effort you have to lift your head up repeatedly.

“We’re not done with you just yet,” Jayce says, getting up off of the couch, “if that’s alright with you.”

The request is almost rhetorical. Of course it’s alright with you. He knows that. If the wanton, needy little noises you were still making in agreement were any sign of the pleasure you derived from this arrangement, you could go on until morning.

“Viktor, take your pants off,” Jayce demands, standing over the two of you.

“Who decided you’d be calling the shots for tonight?” Viktor asked, breathlessly, raising one eyebrow.

“If you don’t want to, I’ll gladly take your pla–”

Viktor rushed to take his pants off. You helped him with the belt buckle and in sliding them down his legs. As you do, Jayce fully removes your panties. It doesn’t make much of a difference, now that the two men have seen every inch of you.

As Viktor’s pants come off, you see the impressive imprint of his cock underneath his boxers.

“Can I?” You ask gently, lowering your hand to hover over his cock.

“We’re past that,” Viktor says, grinning as he takes your hand and guides it to his length. You dip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and pull them downward so that they pool at his thighs.

Wow.

You’d always sort of assumed that since Viktor was so skinny that he couldn’t be hiding much. How wrong you were. Your lips part slightly, already salivating for him. You begin to stroke his cock, ready for him to push your head onto his shaft until you can’t breathe, but you hear a tongue clicking behind you.

“No need for that,” Jayce says. “I think we’ll save that treat for the workday. For now…”

Jayce’s strong hands find their grip on your waist on your right leg, pulling you to straddle Viktor’s lap.

“I don’t think either of us can wait any longer for this,” you look back at Jayce as he speaks, watching as he unbuckles his own belt and shed his pants along with his dress shirt.

Now this one, you expected. With the amount of female “advisors” you’ve seen watching Jayce in the forge, there’s no way he wasn’t packing.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Viktor says, his hands falling at either side of your waist and lining you up with the wet tip of his cock, already ruined with precum.

“I should start preparing you back here…” Jayce says as his large hands find purchase on the round of your ass.

“Are you ready, my love?” Viktor asks with a kiss to your wrist as he lines the tip of his cock up with your entrance, swiping it a few times to ensure you’re wet enough for his entry. You’re beyond wet enough. “It would seem you are…” He laughs as he pushes your hips down on him.

Even though you hadn’t taken your eyes off of Viktor’s cock since you took it out, the size still surprised you as he pressed into your wet cunt.

“Fuck…” Viktor groaned as his neck fell back against the couch cushions. “You feel…even better than I imagined.”

You can’t even form a sentence to reply. The stretch is so intense you’ve forgotten every word in the English language. You can’t even move, paralyzed on his length. Luckily, Viktor solves that problem for you, thrusting up into you suddenly, so that all you can do is let out a strained squeal. Your hands grip his shoulders but you can’t even worry about how your nails might be hurting him, although if his grin is any consolation, he might even be enjoying the pain.

Jayce trails a line of kisses down your spine and when you look back, he’s kneeling on the ground, spitting on two fingers. You barely have time to process what that might mean before those two fingers plunge into your unfilled hole.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, the first word that you can remember in these trying times. The pain lasts only a second before the feeling sends flutters into your stomach, and elsewhere. With renewed vigor, you begin to let yourself bounce on Viktor’s cock, eliciting a lovely little whine from him.

“Tell me how he feels, baby,” Jayce says, removing his two fingers.

“So…so good.”

“I know you can be more descriptive than that,” Jayce laughs as he gets up to stand, wiping some spit onto his plump tip and stroking it.

“I’ve wanted this for so long…” you say, the truest sentence in your head the first full one you can form. “So long… it’s so long…” Okay, back to putting the “senseless” in “fucked senseless.”

The boys laugh, but Viktor’s is a strained, breathless laugh.

“Please Jayce…” you beg, looking back at him over your arched back. “I want both of you…”

“Whatever you say,” Jayce says with a crooked grin as he wraps his hands around your waist, just above Viktor’s, who finds it in him to stop you from bouncing to allow Jayce his entry.

With a full, unexpected thrust, Jayce is completely in you. The stretch burns like Hell at first, but God you’ve never felt so full before.

Jayce lets out a desperate groan, not moving for a few more seconds. When Viktor thrusts into you, Jayce reacts with a moan.

“Fuck, I can…I can feel your cock, Vik,” Jayce says, letting out a breathy laugh.

“Lucky you,” Viktor laughs as he continues to lift his hips to meet your cervix.

With a dismissive scoff, Jayce finally finds the will to thrust again, even if it just results in more wanton, wasted little moans from his mouth: noises you didn’t even think he could make.

With both of them inside you at once, thrusts alternating and hitting spots within you that make you scream their names, it won’t be long until your second orgasm of the night.

Jayce’s hand reaches for your hair, taking a cluster of it and pulling you so that your back arches and your shoulders are flush with his. He cheeks your cheek with a contrasting delicateness and whispers in your ear, “Such a good girl for us. Isn’t she the best, Vik?”

“Better than our hands, absolutely,” Viktor jokes as his chest heaves and his forehead contorts. He’s close, you can tell.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Jayce says, releasing your hair and focusing all of his efforts onto your tight little hole, stretching you impossibly wide.

“I-I don’t think I can take much more,” Viktor utters.

“Me neither,” you whimper, pressing your head into the nook between Viktor’s head and shoulder. “Oh fuck…”

“Cum for us, baby,” Jayce says, squeezing your ass cheeks as his last few thrusts are used up. It’s not long before you feel his cock twitching, sending spurts of hot cum into your bottom. “Gods! Fuck, baby!”

The sight of the two of you losing your composure above Viktor is enough to send him over, and as you fall onto the full length of his cock after riding out your own orgasm, he pumps you full of his seed as well, whimpering like a wounded puppy as he ruts into you helplessly one final time. You’re all a pile of spent, sweaty, fucked out messes.

Jayce reluctantly pulls out of you, leaving a splatter of cum falling from your hole onto Viktor’s lap.

“Sorry,” he laughs as he collides with the couch beside Viktor.

You try to pull off Viktor's cock to provide him some relaxation, but he holds you still. “Please, don’t…don’t move yet. I want this to last as long as possible.”

“Feeling sentimental, Vik?” Jayce teases, running a hand through his lab partner’s sweaty hair.

“Feeling…like I’d like to memorize this feeling before I go to bed tonight.”

You laugh and kiss the bridge of his nose before resting your head on Jayce’s neighboring shoulder. “I should’ve put ‘handling two cocks’ on my resume. Maybe then you two would have actually read it.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to list us as references on future resumes,” Jayce laughs, rubbing your hand softly as the three of you come down from your shared highs. “I’m glad you decided to come tonight. To the gala, I mean.”

You and Viktor both laugh.

“Next time, you won’t have to deal with crude men asking you to dance,” Viktor says as he kisses the top of your head. “You’ll be busy at our side the whole night.”

“I’m never going to move past the pretty little lab assistant allegations, am I?” You smiled into Jayce’s sturdy, shuddering shoulder.

“Maybe not,” Viktor said. “But why should you? You are our beautiful little lab assistant.”

@jeromeslilhoe @justaproudslytherpuff @onyxistired @sseleniaa @clearlycaffeinated-blog @darknessbyme @shoyofroyoyoyo

(pretty much just tagged everyone that commented asking for part two)

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 10th. tom riddle — oral sex, experienced!tom.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: your ex couldn’t make you orgasm, so you were certain you were broken. tom shows you just how wrong you are.

warnings: 18+, SMUTTT MDNI, tom riddle can eat me aliv—sorry who tf said that?, tom riddle is such a realist; he sees a problem and he finds a solution, tom is a munch, praise kink, oral f!receiving, experienced tom, hufflepuff!reader.

Months pass, and your project remains the only thing Tom ever prioritizes when it's you asking.

Progress is slow—slow because you're usually far too busy talking to actually focus—yet, he always stays. He listens, even when the things you say should bore him, even when they mean nothing at all. He sits there—giving you hardly the barest scraps of himself in return as you fill the space between you with everything that crosses your mind.

Things he'd never waste a second hearing from anyone else.

And tonight, to no-one's surprise, you're doing it again—rambling on about nothing and everything all at once. You've got this way of talking—weaving tangents into something almost poetic, and usually, he lets it fade into the background as he works. You're saying something about the differences between the seasons, or maybe it's just some other kind of sentimental nonsense—at this point, he's not entirely sure.

It's easy to tune out. He tells himself he's not really listening.

Until—

"Actually, I guess I should clarify that—it's all hypothetical. I don't date," he doesn't know what you said before this, but he's certainly intrigued by it now. "And really, it has nothing to do with like, self esteem or anything, I'm just broken. Best to save someone the trouble."

That stops him cold. It's not so much the declaration that you don't date—he could have guessed that himself—but more so the way you've just called yourself broken.

It's not a word he's ever heard you use before.

"What do you mean, broken?" He asks, the question coming out far more blunt than he probably intended.

It just seems so out of character for you—you've always been an optimist, far too annoyingly positive to speak of anything this way. He blinks when you freeze, and blinks again when a moment of self consciousness seems to pass over your face—and he notes how that's a first for you, too.

"Broken...as in, uh, not normal," your eyes flit down to your lap, tracing the wood beneath where you're seated on the floor in his dorm. "My ex made that very clear in his assessment of me."

The mention of an ex is something he'd been anticipating—you're in your twenties, after all—but it's the idea that your ex is the source of you calling yourself broken, that he can't quite swallow.

"You're 'broken' because of one ex?" He says, and he can't stop how derisive and skeptical his voice sounds. He doesn't care to try. "I'm not following."

"I'm what you'd call, damaged goods, I think," you murmur, and there's an almost self-deprecating smirk on your face. He can't help but think how he's never seen that look on you, either. "I've got a slew of unhealthy baggage that comes along with me. You know, childhood traumas, abandonment issues, daddy issues—"

He snorts at that—daddy issues—and your head snaps up, smirk deepening despite yourself.

"Don't snort at my daddy issues," you huff, and there's a familiar annoyance in your voice that puts him at ease. "They're valid and real."

"I'm not denying their validity," he counters, his own smirk beginning to surface. "But daddy issues? Come on. You're not some tired cliché ripped out of a teenage romance novel. I refuse to accept your declaration of brokenness until you give me factual reasoning."

You laugh at that—alive and genuine—and for a moment, he's reminded of why he even tolerates you in his space at all.

"Fine," you cross your arms over your chest. "What do you want to know then?"

He makes a low, contemplative sound at that—because there's a million questions that come to mind with the words damaged goods—and after a moment, he settles on the one that falls out first.

"What is it, precisely, that makes you broken?"

You sigh, a bit theatrically—he knows you're just putting on a show and he wants to laugh at you for it—but he reigns that in, for now, while you figure out how you're going to respond to that.

The truth is, you don't know how to tell him the real reason you're broken—the part that has nothing to do with the laundry list of emotional baggage you could rattle off with ease. It's something...different.

Something more physical.

"I don't know, okay?" You're getting defensive. You're not sure why but you are. "Just—forget I said anything. We have this assignment to—"

"You dodging the question tells me it's more than just psychological," he cuts you off, leaning back into the couch. The way he's looking at you makes it clear—there's no way he's letting this go. "You getting defensive tells me you're embarrassed by it."

You sigh again, leaning back on your palms to mirror his body language, though it doesn't feel half as natural on you as it does on him.

"And you, being an insufferable arse, is telling me I never should have mentioned it in the first place."

His smirk at that makes you want to glare at him.

"Stop dodging," he says. "You brought it up. You don't get to take it back."

It's a challenge—the gleam in his eyes is practically screaming so. You're not sure why the sight of it makes something low in your stomach clench, and you're even less sure of why you want to tell him something like this—something you haven't told anyone else—not friends, certainly not family.

Whatever the reasoning, you can feel yourself relent.

"Maybe," you pause, the look on his face makes you second guess yourself. "...maybe I don't want to tell you because I'm afraid you'll look at me differently." You glance down at your lap, fingers twitching against the yellow pleats of your skirt before finally meeting his eyes again. "And I kind of like the way you look at me now."

Something like curiosity passes over his expression at that—but it's quickly hidden by the type of skepticism that tells you he still doesn't believe you're being serious.

"You're overthinking it," he replies, unmoving. "Whatever it is you think you're going to tell me, I'm not going to look at you differently. You're still you—no filter, unabashedly verbal—"

"Too verbal. Too positive, too loud," you finish his sentence for him—because you know that's how he thinks of you. "Too annoyingly optimistic. Far too hufflepuff for your cold snake skin. I know."

"Exactly," he says, tongue running over his bottom lip in attempt to quell his smirk. "So I reiterate. There's nothing you could tell me that would change that."

"Fine," you relent, giving in begrudgingly because you know there's no other option. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

He just lifts a hand at that, as if to say; whatever you think it is, I can handle it. The action makes you suck a breath into your lungs, trapping it there.

"You're right," you say after a long exhale. "I have a slew of psychological bullshit that would take the span of a year for me to fully go over in one sitting—but, I'm fine with it. That's...that's not the thing that made me call myself broken."

He says nothing, just makes a motion with his eyes for you to keep going.

"It's, uhm...physical." You whisper, and your brain is moving too much and too fast and you're not even completely sure how to say it without sounding insane. "And...I don't know, I just...I can't orgasm. No matter what. I just can't—it's frustrating and embarrassing and it's the reason my ex ended things."

There's a silence that follows, and he knows if it were anyone else, they'd probably find a way to comfort you. Reassure you. Tom, however, isn't anyone else—

"You're joking," he says, and his tone is incredulous again.

A self-depreciating laugh leaves your lips involuntarily, the sound of it making you almost want to cringe.

"Would it be less embarrassing if I was?"

He's still just watching you, dissecting your words as if waiting for you to crack a smile and confess this was all some stupid joke—and the vulnerability of it aches like a stab to the gut.

"This is the reason you think you're broken?" Is what he goes with when he finally realizes you're being serious. "Because you haven’t orgasmed?"

The bluntness of it makes you flush, makes you wish you could sink into the floor. "I know it's not normal, okay—"

"It's not an abnormality, either," he asserts, with casualty. "You might just have a disconnect."

You blink, caught off guard—not just by his choice of words, but by how matter-of-fact he sounds, like this isn't the mortifying confession it feels like.

"A disconnect?"

"A disconnect," he repeats, looking you over, something clinical slipping into his eyes. "Between mind and body. And considering how loud your thoughts are—"

"Hey—" you snap, suddenly feeling a bit indignant, but he just continues on.

"—it's not surprising that you can't get out of your own head."

You open your mouth to argue, to tell him he's not a therapist, so what the hell does he know? But the certainty in his expression makes you pause. He doesn't look patronizing or condescending, just...assured. Like he knows exactly what he's talking about.

You hesitate, lips parting, a protest forming on your tongue. Before you can say anything, though, he raises a hand to stop you.

"Come here," he says, standing up from the couch.

You blink, trying to decipher what the hell he's implying—because if anything, the last thing that's going to make you less paranoid about intimacy is proximity.

"What?"

He just looks at you, making a motion with two fingers, beckoning you to stand.

"Don't ask questions. Just come here."

It's an order, and it makes your spine tingle in a way that's definitely not comfortable—but you get up from the floor, and move closer to him anyway, closing the distance between you with only a few steps until you're close enough to him that you can practically feel the heat that seems to come off him in waves.

It's weird—he's suddenly too much all at once—you're so much more aware of him being in front of you than you think you've ever been before and it does not help that he's just looking at you—as if studying you—blinking only once as he raises those same two fingers to your neck, resting them against the pulse point at your throat.

Your entire body tenses. His touch is far more gentle than you ever imagined it being, something disarming that makes your pulse beat faster against his fingers as a result—and because this is Tom, with all his smug and certainty—he gives you a look that tells you he can feel it before he slides his fingers up to rest on your forehead.

You scowl at the motion, but he clicks his tongue, the sound as condescending as it is amused.

"I told you, you're an overthinker." He murmurs, eyes dipping to your lips. "Too much noise."

You want to refute that—mostly because you're not overthinking, you can't be—he's just so unequivocally overwhelming—

"I'm not—"

You start, but he moves his fingers from your forehead and places them against your lips—

"Quiet." He scolds, and that makes something low in your stomach clench. "Your body knows what to do. You're just letting your thoughts get in the way."

You long to protest again, just for the sake of defiance—but then his fingers are against your collarbone, and that motion in your stomach becomes a bit more of a squirm—

"Your body is trying to tell you something," he whispers, watching each little hitch in your breath. "But you're too busy talking over it to hear what it's saying."

You realize—with a sort of horror that's laced with something a little more uncomfortable—that he's right. Your body is trying to say something. It's communicating through the unsteady force of your breaths, through the clench of your fists against your skirt—

Of course, he notices. He's noticing far too much.

"Relax," he murmurs, and now he's trailing those same two fingers in an unhurried path down your shoulder. You suddenly regret every decision that led to you wearing a T-shirt. "I'm not going to bite you."

Something about the way he says it makes you wish he wasn't quite so convincing—the familiar banter you long for gone with the sharp exhale that comes out of your mouth as his fingers encircle your wrist—

"Your pulse is racing," he says casually, far too casually for how much effort it's taking you not to scream. "Does that seem broken to you?"

Gods—you want to respond—you really, really do— but your thoughts flatline when you realize his touch has shifted. He's no longer just holding your wrist; he's guiding your hands to rest against his chest, and—

"There you go," he whispers, and the tone of it tells you he knows exactly what it is he's doing to you. "See? Your body's doing exactly what it's meant to do. You—" his fingers trail up your arms, and his voice gets lower. "—are not broken."

You swallow hard, acutely aware of your hands on his chest and the way your palms are clammy against the fabric of his shirt. He's shifting you now, deliberately crowding you, and it's only when you feel the edge of the couch press against the back of your calves that you realize—perhaps a second too late—exactly what it is he's doing.

You stumble back onto the leather, and he follows—crushing his lips to yours.

You gasp, startled, because despite everything you truly hadn't seen this coming. The kiss is messy, clumsy, and his hand finds the nape of your neck, tugging at your hair with just enough force to make it sting. And inevitably, when you gasp again, he takes it as an invitation to work his tongue into your mouth, other hand slipping under your shirt—trailing up your stomach.

You're trembling now, and he makes a low sound at the realization. Your brain is racing to catch up, and the irony of this isn't lost on you—he'd just claimed you weren't broken, but he might as well be destroying you himself.

He parts from your lips only to trail his own across your jaw—

"You're shaking," he murmurs with a smirk against your throat—as if he's taking immense pleasure in the fact—you hate how smug it makes him sound. "Do you want me to stop?"

You want to tell him he's being a bastard, but then his lips press to that spot on your neck—the one that makes your breath hitch and your pulse stutter—and you find yourself whimpering at the sensation.

"No," you breathe, and you'd be embarrassed by the pleading tone in your voice if you weren't so lost in the moment. "Don't stop."

He makes another low, satisfied noise at that.

"Good," he whispers. "No thinking. Just feel."

You swallow—throat dry. It's unfair how easily he's dismantling you with nothing but his mouth and hands. Unfair how he's leaving you breathless and unraveling while somehow making you feel seen in a way you can't explain, even with your eyes shut.

"Tom," you find yourself whimpering, and you aren't even sure what you're asking for—you just know you want more as his lips trail lower—as his fingers work to tug down your skirt. "Gods."

"Shh. Feel me," he murmurs, almost possessively, his lips brushing lower, grazing over your stomach, then your pelvis. "Let your body do the talking."

You've got your hands tangled in his hair before you even know what you're doing, and you hate the fact that you're pretty sure you'd melt into a puddle if he weren't holding you together.

"I feel you," you whimper as he kisses lower. "You're all I feel."

He makes another low sound at that, and you just know it's the response of ‘yeah, that’s right’—but then he's between your legs, panties shifted out of the way, and the first sweep of his tongue against your clit makes all coherent thought shift to static.

"Oh! God," you gasp, the word barely escaping before dissolving into a whimper when he does something with his tongue that makes your vision blur. "Tom—oh, fuck."

He just makes that smug, satisfied noise against you again before his tongue swirls over your clit and you find yourself almost cursing whatever deity made him so good at this, because it's not fair how quickly he reduced you to a whimpering, shaking mess beneath him and—

"Don't stop," you find yourself babbling, digging your nails into his scalp and knowing you look like a goddamn wreck as he makes a meal out of you—tongue lapping up your slick and swirling your clit before sealing his lips around it and forcing your back off the leather beneath it. "Please, don't stop, please—"

It's all you can manage to say. Your thighs are shaking now, and you're sure he's got you dripping all over his face with how soaked you are. He knows you're falling apart and he just keeps going— your brain ceasing function in favour of just focusing on how fucking close you are—how close you are to something you've never felt before in your life—and you're not even sure what you're begging for anymore but it's incoherent and loud—

"I need—" you whimper, your hands tightening in his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan against you. You don't know what you're asking for, but you know he has it. "I need—I need—“

"Let go," he murmurs against you, the roughness in it vibrating up into your belly. "I dare you."

There's still a little bit of you functioning on autopilot, just enough to tell you that when he murmurs those words—vibrations rattling up your cunt and into your chest—you're completely done for.

It’s merely a few seconds later that your high reaches its peak and he just keeps lapping as you shake apart beneath him with an intensity you've never felt before in your life—orgasm shredding you apart at the seams. Your thighs clamp around his face, your eyes squeezed shut, ears ringing so loud you barely register his low, muttered praises: "good girl," "so good," "there you go."

You’re fairly positive your legs will never be able to support you again when you finally come back down, feeling entirely like jelly as he pulls back, tongue flicking over his lips to clean off whatever's left of you.

And without thinking, you grab him and pull him up, crashing your lips against his in a messy, desperate kiss. He tastes like you, like him, like something you can't quite describe—and it makes everything feel intense and unbearably real all at once.

He gives you a moment, as if letting you recover, just languidly kissing you back—and you have to be honest with yourself and admit that this kind of makes you want to scream.

"A disconnect," he smirks against your mouth, the tone still smug. You manage a weak smack to his shoulder, though it does nothing to wipe the satisfaction off his face. "Still sure you're broken?"

You hate that he's right. Hate that he's managed to pull a reaction from you that you didn't think was possible. But as you sit there, shaky and spent, you know you can't deny the truth: no, you're not broken.

"Not broken." You whisper back. "You will be though, if you don't stop smirking at me like that."