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capslocked · 3 months ago

Text

PARIS

male reader x sana minatozaki

30k words

"City's a shithole," you tell Sana, stepping out of a taxi. "Absolutely rotten."

"It is not a shithole."

"It is a shithole, Sana."

"You just got off the plane. Can we reserve judgement on Paris until we've seen the fucking place?"

(This is the one where you get over a fear of flying, of falling - and Sana's breeding kink goes a little further, gets a little more complicated - and neither of you give up much ground. It's an ordeal, that one. You really oughta stop surprising her in hotels.)

"Little known fact," Sana says to you near the beginning and looking for once a little less ethereally put-together, a bit more like she wants to go back to sleep. "St. Valentine was actually an incel who died in jail."

She's slumped onto your kitchen counter in a sweater several sizes too large - the one with your college crest, a hole in the armpit - and shorts, her long bare legs dangling above the tile.

"So, y'know."

And you haven't a fucking clue.

She shovels another spoonful of cereal into her mouth, "spending the holiday insufferably alone is something of an homage."

"What?"

"An homage," she crunches, happily.

Oh, you're charmed by her, have been for weeks now, and you chuckle despite yourself, pour her coffee while you're waiting for the toaster to finish. You've decided she's going to eat fruit today whether she wants to or not - it's barely breakfast if it's just a bowl of sugary carbs; and in a pair of fuzzy socks, a stolen crewneck, with last night's makeup still slightly smeared at the corners of her eyes and her hair mussed to shit, Sana makes you feel sorta responsible for her health. Your infatuation must be showing.

She lifts her chin, blinks lazily.

"I guess that makes us both artists by extension, or something," you say.

"Incels?" Sana snorts.

"No." Your toast pops. "Homage-payers."

You watch her mouth quirk around her spoon. "I kinda like that," she allows.

This morning, for the record, is only different than others in terms of superficial details - today Sana woke up with your hand cupped over her cunt, three fingers sinking slowly into her heat - annoyingly slow, the way she likes it least and best, depending on what she gets out of the teasing: her morning orgasm, in this case - and it was different enough that she moaned high and pretty, back arching as she squirmed on your palm, the sheets, whispering a delirious good morning against your jaw when her wits finally cohered into something more linear, understandable.

It's your new normal, sure: sleeping together - and its odd, comedy-forged counterpart, waking-up together.

It's eating breakfast, it's Sana stealing your clothes, sitting on your counters like breaking convention is some sort of biological imperative.

It's her legs wrapping around your waist while she kisses you soft and open-mouthed, leaving it to you to decide how much morning breath you can tolerate - and maybe that's a routine worth indulging, for a bit. At any rate: it's February 7th, which means there's this sword of Damocles hanging over your head that a whole financial system has been built around monetizing, a day people probably buy chocolates and flowers and write sonnets over - except Sana is jetsetting next week and you'll be spending February 14th in your apartment, possibly taking a shower, definitely sleeping in until noon, not being in love.

She's a once-in-a-generation talent, a gorgeous face, a fantastic fuck - this is just what's in the cards for you.

"You're going to miss me," says Sana, flat-out declaring it, threading her fingers beneath your chin, hooking her ankles loosely in the small of your back.

The cereal bowl clatters as you set it in the sink. "I might," you say, noncommittal, enjoying the way it makes her press further into your body, clinging tighter. "How long did you say this trip was going to be, again?"

"Oh, forever, maybe," Sana breezes, waving her other hand.

"You're gonna change your mind about the whole concept of romance and think about texting me within five, ten minutes of dropping me off at the airport. But then you won't actually do it, because you'll figure that I'm busy, and then you'll spend the rest of my flight kicking yourself for not sending me, like, an emoji, or something, and that it could've been enough to bridge the gap, and instead I'll be off somewhere all dolled-up and glamorous, probably surrounded by hot models, and that's when I'll meet someone new. I mean, there'll probably be no comparison to well, y'know-" She palms your crotch, fingers skating across the fabric. You recoil, almost scowl, and she snickers. "-but that's what happens when you don't text me. We're not in contact for one week and I replace you with a French man named Pierre. Or Jean. Jean-Pierre, honestly. If I were you, I'd play it safe and shoot me a Valentine's text."

"Wow." You push your thumbs under the hem of her shorts. "You got it in one, I think."

She shrugs, faux-modest. "Naturally. Jean-Pierre knows what's up."

You slip your hands up further and her expression shifts as you meet skin under the heavy fabric: all suggestion, no pretense. Sana sighs contentedly, leaning back onto her wrists so that you have to chase her, tilt your head to follow the movement. This is natural. She takes your lip between her teeth and sucks, gently. The angle puts a crick in your neck. You let her get away with it anyway, press further in between her thighs, spread them wide - and then she bites harder, the flesh of your bottom lip giving under her canines.

There's a spark there, it makes you want to pull her hair, kiss her harder, dig your fingers into her hips and leave bruises that'll last through the next couple weeks of international press junkets and glitter-eyed meetings with like-minded, like-pretty strangers. You're starting to suspect she's psychic - because she slides a hand up your shirt, letting her fingers skate over your stomach, the dip of your hips, the places that make you tick.

You clock the twitch in your pants, growing, filling. You've slept with this girl an awful lot. It's a problem.

"Possessive," is Sana's assessment, with all of the derision of a tease.

"Cool it," you warn her, sliding your grip up from her legs to her hips, pinning her solidly to the countertop. "I've got a full enough schedule this morning without you making a mess of things."

"Mmm, you don't." She's petulant, kissing you again and letting the touch linger on your bottom lip. It's a strong argument.

"I do," you try.

"You really don't," she says, sing-song, breathless with expectation, anticipating rough treatment.

Her smile is syrup-sweet, oozing indulgence: the sight of her sprawled beneath you is a pure profligate pleasure. Like she's an apple you stole fresh from the orchard, red and shiny and dripping juice down your forearm, dribbling sticky on the grass, rotted with temptation. You wonder if she's always been this way - begging to be held down, fucked hard, edged beyond the realm of possibility - and recently her appetite for filth seems endless, like she's come into a taste for it. Sana Minatozaki doesn't often say no.

For all intents and purposes, your answer should be a given.

"Well," you drawl, thumbing the soft cotton of her shorts, that spot just above the waistband, where her inner thigh meets the crease of her pelvis and you can make her voice go to velvet. "Did you say he died in prison?" You pull away from her a bit, switching tactics, letting the subject slide from bedroom talk to regular breakfast chatter. "Of what, heartbreak?"

"You'd think," she says, almost curt, irritated at the prospect of edification and sorely lacking a good fuck. It's a pleasant mood to find her in - very manageable, easier if you slip your tongue between her legs, though still relatively straightforward. "It turns out the dude got beaten to death with clubs, then beheaded; hence the martyrdom bit, which I think is fair. Pretty metal death to warrant sainthood."

"Seems a little redundant."

"So does giving a holiday to people who are already, like, super in love or whatever, but." She gathers her hair off her neck - lets it fall, satisfied. "I guess romanticism and pragmatism are just mutually conclusive."

"Exclusive," you correct, lightly.

"What'd I say?"

You exchange looks: it's definitely something you've already joked about before. It's easy, like the rest of your dynamic. Sana smiles, slow-burn, and all you can do is try and one-up her: you shrug, sigh, like there's a lot to consider.

Her fingers work open one of the buttons on the front of your shirt, hover on the one beneath it - her patience is dwindling.

"Fine," you relent, rolling your eyes, feigning reluctance. "But we need to be quick about it. Fifteen minutes, twenty max. Then I absolutely need to leave and go sit silently in a room doing jackshit for eight hours."

Sana kicks you lightly in the shins. "Let me get on top, and we'll have time to cuddle, too."

"No dice," you tell her. The negotiations continue, as they always do. "Face-down-ass-up, princess. You can clean up the kitchen afterwards."

"Ugh. You're gross," she says, as you help her down from the countertop, maneuver her toward your room with one wrist tucked firmly in your palm, already rucking up her sweater to skim your fingertips along her ribs. Sana goes easy, her joints loose, willing to bend. "And annoying. And unaccommodating. You're totally wasting my last few days in town."

"I know. I'm sorry about it," you respond, stepping behind her up the stairs, her fingers gliding gently up the rail.

"Liar." She shoots you a half-smile, laughing with no bite behind it. You think, just a bit, that she'd let you get away with just about anything - that is to say, she'd get off on a great many things: you'd let go of your own guilt, just for a moment. For someone so hot and cold with her control, it'd be easy to slide the pendulum to the other side. Maybe she'd beg for it, and it'd sound real: a small part of you thinks she's close enough already. Sana tosses a smirk over her shoulder and your mouth goes dry. "But i'm sure you will be," she tells you, her gaze somehow already unfocused. You suppose all the daydreaming is beginning to affect her too. "In, like, four and a half minutes, give or take. Probably closer to four."

"Careful, Sana," you intone, pitching low; it's like warning a child not to touch an open stove. "Your ass gets red fast."

Sana wiggles her eyebrows in an endearingly ridiculous way - you can't believe this is the girl getting checks from all these designer brands - and twists your way for a second, pressing a soft kiss to the hollow of your neck.

"Promises, promises." She bats those unequivocally long lashes up at you. "You better know I'll hold you to 'em."

In any case, she was right: St. Valentine got fucking wrecked. It's the whole morning's lesson. Maybe there's something to be said for dying in a spectacular way, one so fantastically morbid that it has to have happened in another era.

Sana gets on top, sorta, in spite of any negotiations; Sana kisses you stupid; Sana talks nonsense while you eat her out; Sana cums when you get two fingers deep inside her ass and slam her cunt full of another, curling the tip of tongue right across her clit. She goes easily from her knees to bracing herself against the headboard; and you follow her up the mattress when she scoots forward so you can fuck her with her back flush against your chest, head tossed on your shoulder, throat arched so she can choke out sounds you've never heard from anyone, ever. She's not a screamer, but she makes these high, keening noises when she's close - when you're giving her just the right pace, the right rhythm, the right depth - and you lean back on your heels, slap her ass, pinch her hip, "make me cum, baby," and god, her pussy grips down on you greedily, hungrily, swallows every inch and fucks you back until the condom swells full, deep inside her heat.

"You." You say it like it's a half-formed threat, kissing her sweaty, satiny shoulder, nosing the bra strap barely clinging to her skin. "Are such an insufferable cocktease."

"That's me," she quips, out of breath, entirely too pleased.

It's such a familiar refrain now, her elbow bent back, hand trailing your neck, head tipped - she sinks her fingers into your hair and holds you against her pulse where it jumps sporadically under her skin. You flip her around - somewhat elegantly, somewhat not - nestle her soft, creamy thighs over your hips, warm your cock inside of her as she falls back from the clouds, pressing your hand to the tightness of her waist - she wasn't exaggerating: there's time to spare, to kiss her like a movie ending, and to come up smiling.

It's not just all the risky, illicit sex and reckless abandon already in play: it's also the entire lexicon and etymology of fated ends, of doomed sentiment - each verb conjugated twice and three times and five times over. She's got the filthiest parts of your imagination reined in with that face alone, like you're drowning in divinity; this is a girl so pristine and peerless and utterly without vice, staring up at you from underneath mascara-dusted lashes, waiting for her own devastation - always daring you to indulge her.

"You think you're corrupting me," Sana laughs in your ear, serenely, almost self-aware. "Is that it?"

"Well," you start, and there's a self-reflection somewhere in there - your fingertips on her jaw, her heartbeat in the hollow of her throat. The skin's so impossibly soft. Fragile. "It's a thought."

She lifts a shoulder, smiles lazily. Her mouth has that permanent imprint of sin, somehow simultaneously a crime scene and a place of worship.

"Baby," she drawls, all sugar-sweet. "I'm sure that's a given. I was such a good girl before I met you."

"Yeah," you reply, nipping the hinge of her jaw. "Such a sweetheart. So well-behaved."

"I'll take it."

Sana rolls the condom off of you, sitting cross-legged on your bed as you fold a pillow in half and prop yourself up, watching her do her thing.

She’s got so much control like this - wringing the thick mess out into her palm, then sitting back onto her calves. With two fingers and her thumb, she pinches at it, lets it drip back down. A beat later, she makes another string, decides she's all for swallowing today. That's an art. And it's mesmerizing, the way she concentrates with delicate precision, tipping her chin up and staining her lips, her tongue diligently slipping through the spaces between her knuckles.

"You're really cute," you inform her, and she flushes while licking up the rest - you love it, the little contradictions. "But that is filthy."

“Could’ve been inside me instead,” she muses, casually. She’s just testing it out, rolling the syllables on her tongue.

You raise your eyebrows. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” repeats Sana, quietly. She reaches forward, runs her thumb along your slit, a little lower - just a semi-circle of pressure. Yeah, you’re still achingly hard. She eyes you and her focus shifts; she seems to come to a conclusion, nods her head once; this girl, really, with all her unpredictable tempers. She takes the length of you in her hand, a loose, idle grip, more to be playful than sexy. It works both ways, apparently: your eyes roll up at her, and you suppress a gasp, grabbing hold of the pillow.

It's those dreamy, half-lidded eyes, glazed over and vapid - ah, the total and utter loss of any brain capacity. Something like a prelude to the sweet surrender; Sana does the drooling part for you.

“You wanna go again?” you ask her, and this is another bit: the whole I-say-one-thing-and-do-the-other game, the winding, unwinding tension.

When she wants something, she talks to you like she'd burn a church down for you, then tuck her arm right into yours like the fire doesn't exist in the first place - Sana blinks prettily up at you, strikes the match behind her back. For her part, she doesn’t lie as often as she could, as often as you would expect her to; in the beginning, at least, you assumed she was a bad liar, a good flirt, that kind of contradiction.

If you didn't know better, you'd fall head over heels.

"Or are you just stroking me off because you like the way it feels in your hands?" you go on. You'd like to find out, actually.

Sana smirks, and slides her palm lower, gets a second hand involved, slow and steady - the friction is aching, fantastic. "Aren't you supposed to be working?” she asks, twisting both. You could cum again, but maybe you shouldn't. "Is this really how we spend all our time?"

“How conscientious of you,” you say, drily, and she laughs before tucking her hair behind her ear, kneeling on the sheets and bringing her lips to the end of you, letting her spit run down the head and catching it with her knuckles; just once, she licks. Then, twice. Okay, well - you could probably afford to stay away a while longer. In theory. Three times, four times - oh, her mouth is hot and silky and there's really no way around it.

You grab your phone, shoot off an email or two, and slip your fingers into her hair.

Sana's someone you know from work, in a real roundabout sort of way. That's the whole sordid story.

You've got the cushy office job, the creative credentials, she's art, the product; and the optics surrounding that means you're supposed to never, ever lay a finger on her; oils mixing like they shouldn't - the finished, the half-baked, the polished to a gleam versus the raw unvarnished clay; but she'd wandered into the employee-only elevator and said good morning with that smart, sarcastic little voice and you'd turned around, thinking of some entitled manager in the process of haranguing you - only it wasn't a suit-and-tie corporate climber, oh, no, no-

"Hey," you said, too stunned for eloquence, too dumbstruck for wit.

Because here's a perfect, pouty-lipped princess, dressed like an angel and grinning like she's ready to rob a bank; like the moon landing and Shakespeare rolled into one, fantasy and classic literature and a pastel linen shirt, with what felt like half the buttons undone.

You blinked, remembered to breathe.

"Hi." She tipped her head and let a curtain of copper-spun hair slide off one shoulder. Took a slow, appraising sip of her iced-coffee. "You're new. Or - new to me, at least."

The doors shut, and suddenly there was no going back.

The signs are there. Four different conditioners on the bath rack, her lotion on the bathroom counter, her shaving cream next to the soap. She prefers peppermint to vanilla. And date night takes a turn from red wine to ramen; you'll end up on your couch watching crime documentaries because Sana will hook her fingers into the loops of your jeans, saying, can't we just, like, stay in?

This morning, too: her hand clings around your forearm a little longer when you kiss her goodbye and help her find the shoes she's wearing home, make her promise to return your sweatshirt soon.

But you know that if anyone asked, Sana'd shrug and laugh, say I dunno, it's not really anything at all.

You're hooking up. You're being idiots - this whole thing, from the very start of it, was so off-the-rails, so questionable. You remind yourself she's never met anyone she didn't like.

She doesn't think about consequences, and she certainly won't start with you. You figure things will fester, get murky and muddled and frustrating - and the worst part isn't how she's ruining you for anyone else; it's how you're going to miss the idea of her, the impossible promise. She's living the glamour, the ceaselessness, the adventure. It's all planned out. She'll keep living her life this way until she doesn't. It's an occupational hazard.

And she won't pay it any attention once some Jean-Pierre becomes her next hot, enigmatic, incomprehensible, asshole genius plaything - hypothetically speaking.

(Or maybe he'll be the first one to really, really figure her out, and that's the more disconcerting thought.)

So you're just...you don't even know what you are, frankly. Friends who text? Sure, whatever: that makes sense. You can cling to that. It's the most sensible explanation so far.

Sana: i was promised an apology text (´;︵;`)

Sana: the pregnant man emoji seems wildly inappropriate given the circumstances

You, at ten fifteen in the morning on February 8th: i'm in a staff meeting, first of all.

You've been getting nonsensical, arbitrary stuff since, like, October: grocery lists, links to memes, notes on things she remembers in the shower. Occasionally, it's horny stuff - a water droplet emoji, the wink, and the peach; then a photo of her skirt lifted in the mirror and her naked ass in a pair of heels - and occasionally, you oblige it.

You: second, I don't want this to come off as arrogant or anything, but I didn't realize you think about me the minute you wake up

Sana: um, soooo arrogant lol wtf

Sana: but also ur not wrong, im desperate for some relief <333

You: poor, pitiful baby 🙄

You: go find miyeon

Sana: she's ignoring my calls

Sana: just send something nasty please PLEASE 😭

Sana: tell me how hard i make you

You: i'm in a meeting, sana.

Sana: I WILL RIOT.

Sana: jk don't tell me. i'm just looking at pics of us rn and i'm going to die.

Sana: (send a dick pic u coward)

She sends you a heart. And an eggplant. Then the tongue.

You: I'll see what I can do

She follows up with: thank u thank u god bless <3

Oh, it's dangerous, working in the same office, dealing in all that proximity - even with the floors between you.

You're constantly resisting the urge to slide by, to try and catch a glimpse, to find excuses to bump into her in the hallway, listen to her talk, say hi. So maybe you're a sucker for the devil, or maybe it's all just because she's Sana, and she's a vision in a pencil skirt, a beauty with her legs crossed and her chin tipped high; or it's worse: you'll catch her in yoga pants, hair mussed and shiny with sweat as she flits from practice room to practice room, to get water, to take a phone call, to rub chapstick over her mouth - the daydreams write themselves.

But it's not like you know any details of her job other than, 'singer' or 'professional tease' or the occasional tangential reference. She never really talks about work.

You walk through the halls, eyes flitting around every corner; there's a standing appointment, of sorts, and it has been for the past month, maybe longer - you've got your doubts that today will break the streak. You've never actually agreed to meet her; it's sorta an unspoken understanding, and you find her exactly where you thought you might, after you've made a loop around the seventh floor, wandered as slowly as humanly possible - as if stalling could stop you from inevitably descending the same stairwell you do every time. It's an awful, terrible descent and it's gonna get you both fired - or killed, if her manager finds you first. It's a miracle you're still here.

Sana's leaning against the railing, flipping through her phone; when she hears your approaching footsteps she looks up and meets your eyes. Smirks.

"Ms. Minatozaki," you say, like this is a high school and she's one of the tardies you can't stop calling out.

It's the nth time this has happened, and you have to know she comes looking for you, too.

"So," she drawls, standing and sweeping all her hair up off her neck, clipping it like it's habitual, and the way her hands rest at your waist is a scandal in itself. The watch on her dainty pale wrist glitters in the fluorescent lights, slides down her forearm as she pushes her sleeves past her elbows. You're not really thinking about things like propriety, restraint; Sana's very good at convincing you to shed all pretense of ethics, morals. You're slave to the thousand-kilowatt smile, the short skirts and thigh-high boots and every calculated display of skin. This girl has her agenda written plain on the walls and you've made it known in ten different languages: it's one hell of a view, and it's impossible not to stare.

"You here to escort me somewhere?" asks Sana, in a way that sounds vaguely dirty - which it is. "Need to go looking for pens again?"

She takes a step closer, presses a palm flat to your chest; hums a low, delighted sound.

"Or you could bend me over the railing and stuff me right here." Sana tilts her chin and squints upwards, assessing the metalwork. She drops her gaze, presses her fingertips to the knot of your tie; and then, a show of pity or mercy, drags her eyes back to your face, pretty lashes blinking slow. "Wouldn't be complaining."

"I really wish you could hear yourself sometimes, sweetheart."

"Trust me, it's been on my mind all morning," she confesses, all soft, wicked intimacy. "Distracting me. I doubt you want me keeping it to myself, either."

"No," you admit. "You've got that right."

Her fingers toy with your top button, pop it open. You grab her wrist, stop her, gentle and warning. Her hand goes limp in your grasp, acquiescing easily; this is the part where she likes it, getting pulled back on the right side of polite. "You should kiss me," says Sana.

Like she has to. Like this girl, rich and famous and inexplicably out of your league, a glamorous songbird living high up in her nest, and still wanting for the little taste of heaven she thinks she can steal away from you in dark corners

"Where?" You're playing, and the moment you brush your mouth over hers, the second her breath meets your lips, you've gone and forgotten all your prior reservations about fucking her at work. You let go of her wrist, allow her hand to wander lower, unbuttoning, dipping past the waistband of your pants. She slides her palm beneath the material of your underwear, tugs them just low enough that her slim, small fingers can encircle the base of your cock.

"Anywhere," Sana decides, and kisses the answer into your mouth, sighing into it - enough to pull you under, to submerge and suffocate.

It's funny; she smiles like she's the heroine of your life story, like the storybook star on the cover of an epic, or an infallible leading lady - like someone to love, like someone to admire and aspire to. Or maybe it's a touch sinister: her eyes sparkle and your worldview snaps a little sideways, just to accommodate her; she could be the villain all the same - not your protégée, not the good girl, not an angel or a miracle. There's your poison, and it's in her blood - it's a flashpoint of pure greed, and Sana doesn't need a mirror. She knows every single sin.

You drop your hand from her hair, the pretense, and give in: the railing creaks a quiet noise of protest as she wrenches her ass against the unforgiving steel, and then she's arching into your body, sighing again; it's a sound you've committed to memory, ingrained it, the sweet taste, the sharpness of her exhale when your hand wanders high up the hem of her skirt.

"Anywhere?"

"Sure," breathes Sana, fingers spidering further into your open zipper.

It's so incredibly risky, it's bad practice, not to mention illogical: the stairwell is a public, communal space, no escape, nowhere to hide - there's only seven floors to the building, seven opportunities for someone to stumble in, and none of these numbers are in your favor.

"I'll be quiet," she mutters, lips ghosting along your jaw. "I promise." She knows that's not what you're concerned with, but you appreciate the thoughtfulness; oh, who's fooling who? "We can just-" Her hips hitch up and press firm against yours. "-see where it goes."

And, well - you have the rest of your career to be responsible, probably. Professional, obedient and boring and ethical and so many other useless terms you could drag up and wave in the face of the fact Sana's fucking gorgeous. She's holding back from giving you the full-on pout, but just barely - you catch the shadow of it on her lips; the thinly concealed ache, the pretty agony. She kisses you like she's not gonna breathe until the second after you're inside her - then that's that, like some sorta ritual. A tradition, an instinct, it's a swan-song for every shred of decorum she's begging to burn up.

You hoist her, balance her on the railing. When your grip tightens, she shuffles forward, draws her legs up a little - that's the key, letting her settle just right: the end of the world could come now and she'd still feel fucking divine, pussy dripping through her underwear straight onto the crotch of your pants - there's a wet spot now, you can feel it on the side of your thigh where you've got a fistful of her skirt scrunched, rolled up above her thighs, all bare creamy skin, something to remember this by: her in the height of perfection, full of good intentions and eager to fall apart.

"Panties," you tell her, palm up, hand held out.

"You're fucking crazy," she exhales, but she's fiddling with her waistband and shifting on her ass in seconds - they're tangled around her boots - you're a goner from the start, it's like your soul leaves your body with a wet little snick. "Get - get them off," and it sounds so sweet in her voice, whining, ragged - not that it was in any danger but her own breath renders her resolve for composure pointless.

"Your little cunt's dripping," you note, with your hand cupping it, two fingers teasing along her soaked slit; no part of the conversation has ever needed to go in circles with Sana, or anyone else. You just sort of lean into it. "Been wanting me since you got dressed, huh."

"Your fault," she tells you, nose sliding over yours, seeking affection. "Explicitly. Never got those pictures out of my head."

"Um," you say, slipping into another finger, because she's hot and slick and insatiable and the friction will melt her right to goo - you think Sana's orgasms might be getting a little violent, these days. You're more inclined to inspire them. "I didn't actually send you anything provocative."

"See?" She grins at you, breathless. "Here lies my problem."

"Such a hard life." You crook your fingers a little deeper; Sana collapses against you, a flower drooping from too much rainwater. "Such a burden, being you, hm?"

"So I'm the issue in this scenario," she mutters, pushing back into your hands, squeezing her thighs. "Causing problems, all by myself, sluttly-little-me."

"I never said that."

"You called me a fucking cocksleeve, the other night."

"Sana."

"Which is absolutely correct. Like. One hundred percent. But don't act like you don't get off on it."

"Well," you say, innocuous: stroke up inside of her, stretch, reach - crook - and there's a breathy moan in your ear. "So do you."

"Shut up," she says, "this is about your inability to compartmentalize," and her cunt is so slick that it makes a delicious, lewd squelching sound as your fingers dip and curl in further, the walls of her pussy clenched tight, suffocating your skin - every time you roll a condom over your cock and sink inside her you do have to wonder if it's really, genuinely necessary.

"Wanna cum?" you ask, deflecting a bit, and stroke her with intent, relishing the way her little pink mouth drops open to exhale.

"Gotta be better than getting psychoanalyzed by a guy who has my fucking panties in his pocket," she grits out, hips rolling to the tempo of your fingers, now scissoring apart. You're only touching her cunt and still she moves against you like you've been railing her for hours - you think she's so wet you might hear it down the hall, down the street. "Might be a good tradeoff. Maybe." Then, more resolutely: "Fuck. Yes. Please."

It's hard to take her seriously like this, with her pretty features drawn up, all the facets of a statue rendered beautifully human, transient, falling apart in the pleasure. In moments like these, Sana looks most ethereal; when your thumb's fast on her clit and you croon compliments and the sweetest-bittersweet filth in her ear until her whole body becomes liquid-fire, sloppy and hot, desperately keening.

"On my fingers?" you ask, because maybe you're a lot like Sana: an insufferable tease.

You slip your fingers down to the next knuckle and curl it up against the slick heat, deep, until she's making soft, whimper-like sounds, brow furrowing in focus, straining for release, and Sana can't even look you in the eyes, too far gone already, lost in this. "Or," and here's the dangerous part - "I could get on my knees and eat this pussy until you can't see straight." You're dangerously close to taking the panties from your pocket and sliding the lace under her tongue just so you could see how pretty she looks like that, huffing, groaning, eyes flickering shut at the sensation - not the actual taste of herself, but just the way it's so undignified.

She looks pretty at any angle, any moment - you wonder if you can fuck it into her so she'll always know it's true: the kind of egomaniacal narcissism Sana might get off on. It seems appropriate.

Sana just hums at this, arching a delicate brow, considering.

"How about you give me your mouth and watch me fuck the hell out of it, hm?"

"Mildly threatening, but okay." You take one hand, smooth over her ribs until it's cupping the slope of her jaw, and draw her gaze upward, until she's staring into your eyes. "You always taste like a godsend - could get addicted to it, probably, baby - would you wanna ruin my throat? Make me drool all over you? Turn it into a little fucking mess, just the way you like?"

The sound she makes then is unearthly, somewhere between a moan and a groan. A reverb.

You know it's out of hand because you've started using the same euphemisms she does - breeding her, ruining her tight little pussy, stretching it out nice and full. Getting a second opinion, then a third and a fourth. It's a little crass for your typical repertoire, but she makes the sweetest, most ruined noises at that. You're an equal opportunist, and her whiny submissiveness is just as good - maybe a little less effortless. More demanding: there's always the feeling she's lording it over you.

"No, really." You're stroking your fingers in solid, even thrusts as you speak: gentle, measured, nowhere near enough. "You're fucking soaked," you remark, the corner of your mouth tilted up. "Like you can't stand not having something inside you, huh?"

"Something big," she grits out.

You laugh a little, amused. She's practically leaking down the heel of your hand.

"The problem is," breathes Sana, swallowing once, twice, eyelashes flicking lower, her cheek pliable in your palm and her nails scraping gently against the hair at the nape of your neck - she's dissolving. She's all yours to own, consume, to make cum. She's drenched and warm and perfect and there's a whine threaded through every expletive. She always likes things better when you're nastier to her; it's probably fucked up. Everything is, and it's Sana - so that should go without saying. "Fuck - whatever - please. Just-"

You laugh again, and the noise twists a little meaner this time in Sana's ear.

"C'mon," you say. "Tell me about this - about my issues. Your ideas. How badly you're gonna, what was it, destroy my life, I think? Just talk while I go down on you. Might help take the sting out of it." You pause. "Or make it all the more worse, really."

Sana whimpers, broken, liking the sound of that, judging by the way her cunt drips, swollen and fluttering and you can feel her pulsing against your fingertips.

"I'll tell you if you start to go in the wrong direction," says Sana, petulant and lovely as ever. "How's that - how's? Oh, my fuck-"

Sana's words drop off. It's well-warranted. You're hungry for her, insatiable; you sink down to the floor, get your mouth on her pretty little aching cunt and that's sorta how this always starts.

She gasps out and tangles her fingers in your hair, fucks her cunt against your tongue and cries out like this isn't a scandal.

You pray to god no one comes for a smoke, for the breeze to cool them off: because nobody needs to know how thoroughly you ruin the company's golden goose, their pristine girl-next-door, pop-sweet baby-princess. You pray because she's going to cum like the rest of your brain won't remember it tomorrow, like every teary-eyed scream won't stick to your lips like static.

Your tongue moves, pressing harder to her clit; she rides your face. Grinds down your lips while your gaze remains rapt, transfixed.

You won't blink, won't look away for even a moment. Not when Sana's falling apart above you: a complete fucking mess, a spitfire and a divinity and a filthy-wet-dream in heels, panting so hard that you're gonna need an excuse. That everyone's gonna see you've done it, broken the perfect facade and left her absolutely mangled. It's fucking obscene the sounds she's making. High, aching whines, squelch, wettened suction; her fingers tearing through your scalp; those god damn lip-gloss-flavored moans - they echo on your neck and chest, run down and through your rib-cage. They land in your gut and rest heavy and stale, ruminant, too thick. Sweet and molasses and unbearable, all stuck inside your throat. Fuck, fuck. She cums; there's your paycheck in the line of her body, arched into an acute, cataclysmic peak, an upstretched needle to pierce the surface.

It's a moment in a crystal-clear shot, one you'll try and lock in the bank, the hallows, your mind.

She's beautiful, obviously: in the aftermath, ragged, inelegant - you figure it's the fact that the poor thing's so damned unused to being fucked, has gone on for all her teenage years, then her early adulthood, barely scraping a few fingers, a low buzz of some unremarkable toy; no - she's used to the admiration. The flattery. The rapture and praise.

But you doubt anyone's made a thorough wreck, a beautiful slobbering, sloppy mess - and who would? She's worshiped like she's an icon. Some half-baked notion of reverence, like she's holy. An angel in the wrong hands - oh, the imagery's much too flimsy. Fawning. Unending, untethered; you might be a sucker, but you wonder when you'll meet the next guy in her rotation, and, not wanting to spend much thought on him, wonder instead about Sana and her subterfuge.

You've wondered on and off why the hell she chose you.

"You don't deserve that," says Sana, after, a little breathless but otherwise unfazed and smug, like it isn't a big fucking deal to talk back to you while your jaw is still covered in her slick.

"Pretty sure I do." You wipe at your mouth, come up closer to her again. "Seemed like it helped."

"I have a whole monologue prepared," says Sana, a touch irritated - ah, well, she might be spoiled after all. "It wasn't easy to put together. The idea of you fucking me is kind of distracting, just for the record."

"Sweet of you, baby."

"Oh, fuck off," says Sana, promptly.

You smile. It's charming and cheeky and Sana blushes, suddenly off her game. "I'm serious," she says, scrambling back to her point. "You deserve nothing for leaving me alone and miserable and not showing up for ages. You're so - I'm mad at you."

"Oh," you say, and raise an eyebrow, mock-horrified. You kiss her bare, sweat-sticky neck, trace a finger from her navel down past her hips. Sana shivers. "I had no idea."

It's just Sana's axiomatic response: all snark and sass and sly one-liners until you've got your finger against her clit, and then all at once she's begging, sobbing, falling to pieces, whining your name like it's a mantra. She doesn't give a damn about your apology now. The state of your relationship has hardly progressed - but it doesn't matter. It's only the sex, the endless hours spent with Sana's thighs bracketing your head, her lipstick imprinted on your throat, the red lines she paints over your shoulder blades. It's only that. Sana's cunt, clenching and raw from orgasm and soaked like you can never fill her up: dripping, drooling.

And, okay. Yeah, maybe you didn't show up when she asked you to, didn't listen. You admit it. She's needy every second, craves praise and your cock in equal measure - but you are guilty.

(What's that she said earlier - that you didn't deserve it? Right.)

You aren't really in a position to say shit about being ignored either, so.

Sana has you pegged to her whims: she doesn't have to do a damn thing, she just breathes and has you around her finger.

Well - actually, she's very proactive. She likes making demands. Well, really: she wants things.

It's February 9th, for anyone keeping track - the shortest month of the year and the one with a few more grey days in the bank than the others, which makes sense since you're deep into the heart of winter by then. On December 28th you and Sana had spent nearly three hours on the phone discussing the latest installment of this netflix miniseries of very questionable quality. There were a lot of different points to be made, apparently: you think both of the leads are, objectively, fairly attractive, but Sana wouldn't admit she had a crush on the lead until you got to the third season.

Anyway, she was upset on her birthday because of it.

"Happy new year, by the way," you told her, somewhere in the middle of the call. Sana had to speak quietly so her parents wouldn't hear, but she sounded kind of moody. "How are you gonna celebrate?"

"My ex," Sana groaned, ignoring the question completely, "made fun of my taste in guys. Like, my type or whatever."

You cocked your head. "And what is your type?"

"Oh, you know," she said, dismissive. "Hot." You laughed, and then she said, "A little less old and a little more muscular," and that shut you up, quick. Sana hesitated.

"Shit," you said.

"Shit," she agreed. "I really, really like you, though." And then:

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And you've been kinda done for ever since.

Right, okay. You get sidetracked, easily. It's a running gag. Sana gives you shit for it, but then again she gives you shit for a lot of things.

On February 9th, evening leaking through a skyline cracked open and gushing like an oil spill, and the stars dripping silver - auspicious, potentially, on Sana's side - she turns up at the door of your apartment, tapping snow from her boot-clad feet, mouth tight.

"It's fucking freezing," she snaps at you, as a greeting - the hello goes unsaid. You open the door wider and she sweeps past, takes a glance around like she owns the place. You should have known - in hindsight.

Work was fine but felt lengthy. Sana shot photos for some designer brand you'd never heard of and felt pretty proud of the day's accomplishments. She talks your ear off about it while you lean against the counter and nod attentively, put water on to boil and think about getting a fish, a dog, maybe a plant; you haven't quite figured it out. Sana might have opinions about it all.

You make tea for both of you. It's this rose hibiscus thing that supposedly soothes the mind. It was a gift from a coworker at some point. Or maybe it was going to be a gift to a coworker and you just never got around to sending it; either way, it had a bow and everything. At some point in time, when someone received it, there was a bow involved. You'll work out the details - at the very least, you'll say the explanation was very elaborate and poignant, and it'd get Sana smiling. She'd trace your hand, thumb skimming your knuckles. All of a sudden you'd be sitting across a small table, talking and talking as a stream of conversation ebbed and flowed; you'd think about the stars in the sky, like blood in water. You'd kiss her neck and tell her you're not tired, ask her if she'll stay the night - it would be easy.

"So he's a total prick," finishes Sana, chin in one of her palms, blowing over the lip of the mug, "but at least he's good with a camera. Otherwise, I swear I would've left the label years ago."

"Wow," you say. You weren't paying attention.

"Mhmm," she continues.

You blink at her, slightly disoriented.

"I was talking for like, twenty minutes. You should have noticed."

"Were you," you say mildly, "seriously? Shit. I'm sorry. I guess I tuned out, just - went somewhere else."

"Huh." Sana leans on her arm. There's a lacy white ribbon tied in her warm, amber hair. It suits her, matches the gauze-thin chiffon sleeves of her sweater, the floaty skirt she's wearing, dark gray tights adorning her legs - a cossack blouse, maybe, would describe it. She's so fashionable, all the time, like it comes from the tips of her fingers, unbidden and instinctive. It makes sense; Sana's a muse for the finer things in life, all light and lovely like gold. Like - rose quartz, the blush of dawn. It's an indescribable sort of attractiveness - the kind that is rooted in her mind, in her character.

You're glad she hasn't made you spell this sentimentality out.

"Do you have a secret girlfriend you need to be confessing to?"

"I ran into Momo earlier," you say instead, which - bad timing, maybe. Sana's bright-eyed, brow lifted, curious.

"Where?" she asks.

"That cafe place. The one by the second-hand shop she likes. Near the theater."

"I've never been to a movie with you," she remarks, instead of pointing out that your explanation could apply to like, twenty places around the city alone. "Is it because you'd rather die than be seen with me in public? Like, are you worried I'm ruining your reputation?"

She's playing. Obviously. The script here is flipped: you're the secret fling, the casual affair, the quick fuck that isn't meant to mean anything, no strings attached - but maybe the implication in Sana's question is that she'd consider it otherwise. She'd like to go to the movies, or out to dinner. Somewhere crowded. Not exactly an ideal date, but you could see it on her. You want to take her places. Maybe you already do, anyway.

You roll your eyes. "Right," you say.

"Does she know?" Sana taps her bottom lip. "About us."

"Yeah," you say, too quickly.

Sana makes a face. "How? When?"

"She's your roommate," you explain, kind of at a loss. "And - you talk to her. I figured. How could she not know?"

"Dude," says Sana.

"Is this gonna be one of those moments where you pretend to be way angrier about something than you actually are?"

"Obviously, yes." Sana tilts her mug toward you in accusation. "What'd she say?"

"She asked if we were dating."

"What'd you say?"

"No," you say. "And then she asked if I wanted to be, and then I ran into traffic, like, literally, to escape."

"Do you," begins Sana, in her best innocent voice. "Or don't you?"

She looks delighted. You stare at her flatly. "Ask Momo," you tell her, and she dissolves into that creased-eye smile that sends all your faculties reeling. The gorgeous little tri-tone of laughter and her fingers combing through the silky length of her hair - she's still teasing you. You've figured out the steps, memorized the way this game moves forward. It's an indulgence and it's an obsession - and it's the same thing for you as well, really.

"Can't," she says, still laughing. "She'll lie on your behalf."

You have no clue what that means - but you guess that's just Sana.

So here's an inflection point, right before Valentine's day, because you have terrible timing - right before Sana ships out to Bruges, or Milan, or wherever the fuck it is for Fashion Week: you'll only catch a few days, maybe less, before she jets again for some other assignment. It's part of how her job works, and the situation's all roundabout, because she's probably spending the holiday eating French toast with a model and waiting in an airport, watching the world go by from the plane. So, sort of backwards. You should get the bouquets and heart-shaped boxes and share a plate of pasta, you suppose - but the main thing here is you'll only get a weekend. Then you won't even see her in person until the 28th.

Or not at all. Whatever the outcome - maybe she'll stand you up and have her revenge for you being so goddamn difficult and antagonistic in the first place. Who knows. Not you.

She's studying her reflection in your bathroom mirror, tying off an elaborately loose bun, pulling some curls free, working around the headband that she seems hell-bent on keeping in her hair, in case you should ever forget she's a total living doll. A pair of shorts reveals the creamy expanse of her thighs; she doesn't have a bra under her tank top. Your mind wanders.

"You look fine," you say, yawning, elbow to the sink's countertop.

The sound of the shower running is white noise in the background, droning away, and the door's cracked ajar so steam wafts into the hall. Sana doesn't spare you a glance, focused as she is on arranging herself back to magazine-cover perfection.

And it's not unreasonable: you've seen in her high heels and on runways, with cameras flashing, with a toned physique and carefully sculpted makeup and hair to match - but you think there's an authenticity here, the clothes she keeps in a bin above your dresser that have somehow mixed themselves in with a tube of mascara and a stick of deodorant, a set of bristled hairbrushes - the toiletry bag from her makeup case. If you were a more emotionally intelligent and honest man, perhaps you'd say something to the effect of, you look beautiful, or maybe, I'm going to miss you, you know, so if there were any big revelations that you might be having, if you might have something important you've neglected to bring up-

(Maybe it's not healthy - but you'll admit to some oddness, some habits: Sana sleeps better after she's been fucked senseless, her forehead pressing to yours; the sheets need washing more than once a week. It's a very regular development in her life and the fabric softener she prefers, the lavender and verbena, has started appearing in your cabinet; you're using that type now automatically.

And that's not nothing. That's probably an invitation for some sort of talk. It's not - well, yeah. Anyway: no one will ever accuse you of being great at communicating.)

You wrap your hands around her waist, pushing the cotton of her shirt up, spreading your palms flat to trace her skin, feeling the tight muscles in her stomach flex and quiver - your touch skates to the valley of her cleavage and back, around her side, shoulders to collarbones and the front of her ribs, then her hipbones. She squirms a little bit; her skin pebbles where you're touching her. She's sensitive - ticklish, maybe.

"Feels good, that," she admits, half into the sink.

And in the reflection, watching, you see her lean back, lean into you, without thought for herself; the familiarity of your touch. The easy intimacy of it.

"Well," you tease, "yeah, it's a bit of a problem for you lately."

The shower's still running. You kiss the side of her throat.

She smacks a hand down on your wrist - she's playful, though, teasing in her chide. "Get out," she says. "Unless you're getting in with me."

It's 11:34PM. You're already halfway to fucked-out; there was a particularly intense stretch, her thighs clenching and trembling on either side of you as she rode your face, hair falling and hitting her cheeks, her mouth parting open into the hottest sound you've ever heard, her shoulders arching; your palms braced tight against the soft skin of her hips, holding her just above your tongue as she whimpered please, more. She'd came on your face - like, all over - and then fell to your lap and was just so, so eager for a second helping. So you held her there, at the edge of your mattress as she took it so prettily; moaning and pleading until she'd sobbed through another and collapsed in a messy heap of satisfied flesh, slumped against you like the physical stress had stolen whatever architecture her bones had remaining.

It's not an unusual turn of events - and now, there's the two of you. A routine; a domestic dance, almost. A morning-evening-afternoon affair.

"Nah," you say, pressing a kiss to her hairline, her jaw, the nape of her shoulder. "You could use some space, baby. Wouldn't wanna infringe."

"It'd be worth it," she says - not even flirtatious. Just blunt, honest.

You run your hand through your hair, intimate deep-in-thought.

"Oh, c'mon." Her reflection scoffs at you. "Momo doesn't call us a pair of sluts with a love story because you're the uncomplicated, mature one."

"So you did talk to her." She shoots you a glare through the glass - but no fire to it. She's relaxed in your grip, compliant. "And listen, maybe it's my character arc, honey, let me have it. I think I'm really coming into my own."

Sana flushes just a little at the pet name. There's a roll of her eyes, too. It's intentional, and you adore her for it. "Are you?" she snipes, but you're her favorite frustration and this is all just prelude; there's heat in her tone, an anticipation of wanting to be grabbed, to be slammed down into the pillows and fucked hard until her thighs can't tremble anymore. It's an indulgence in familiarity. You understand - but you don't quite give her what she's looking for.

"I hope so." You lean further, push deeper into her space. Your arms bracket her in. She's a beard-burn shy of looking completely debauched. It's tempting. "One of us has got to get their shit together, and you're obviously not taking any interest," you continue, all clandestine and shrewd and serious. Your free hand presses at her thigh. It doesn't matter which one.

Sana rolls her eyes again. "You bitch," she mumbles, shifts her weight - nudges you a bit with her elbow. She keeps you close, either way. "I'm being serious."

You'd beg to differ, but the way she reaches her hand back into your hair and looks at your reflection is so loaded: lips plush, jaw smooth, a shadow resting across her shoulders. The honeyed quality of her hair. The rough shape of her collarbones, half-hidden beneath her loose cotton top, gray as gunmetal and baring her smooth, gorgeous shoulders. Sana is, above all, an attention-getter. It's hard not to fixate on the physicality. All parts of her - legs, ass, tits, hair, the swan's neck, the way she's just tall enough that you'd need her standing on tip-toe to kiss her, chin lifted, eyes down - that sweet little pout of a mouth - they're all an aesthetic intent; her waist has been grabbable since you've known her, and you would die to tug the ends of her hair free, ruffle the order and let them fall, a wavy-brown disaster, to her bare shoulders, frame her eyes with her eyelashes. That would make you soft, for sure. Or, anyway - more soft. As though you hadn't spent the past three months staring her down in the mornings, sneaking glances like she'd catch you at it, fixated and lust-ridden: Sana has all the elements to break you down.

You snap her waistband to make her flinch.

"You know what our problem is?" The water's still running - maybe she likes the sound of it, is trying to tune you out. "I always have to watch you for like five minutes before you kiss me," she chides, lifting her hair like she's fishing for compliments. "It's fucked up."

"A serious dilemma," you agree, without hesitation. Your thoughts are: 5'4", 120 pounds soaking wet, a perfect proclivity for being manhandled and made to feel cherished and worshipped and slutty as she needs. It's what you know of her, more or less. There are more things not on record. Things of consequence, weight. It would require context. "Truly."

"I mean, your mouth is never where it should be."

"Everyone's a critic."

Sana leans into you. Tips her head back. "Pay attention," she whispers, "be good," and lets her lips begin to part.

"Yeah?" your reflection replies, unkind.

She rolls her eyes again. Again again. There are many moments for this: the attitude, the incredulous stare, her naked body pressed to the marble walls of a bathroom she's becoming dangerously fond of - she sighs, like her heart's in it and it aches her. It's dramatic. "I'll teach you."

She spins away from the mirror and cups her hand around your mouth: another gentle touch, in contrast.

You think, all over again, of her thighs. Of the weight in her shoulders. The fine points of her wrists. She loosens the ribbon from her hair and places it on the counter. You don't know why that's so poetic. It feels like you've won something.

"Do I need to go get another condom?" you ask, dry, when your head goes south and your gaze gets low, right there - the cut of her clavicle, the way she'd probably like being handled rougher, hiked up on the bathroom counter, forced to submit like she's letting you do it.

Sana doesn't smile, but her lips twitch.

"Maybe," she says.

(You have an inkling, or two, or more.)

"Maybe you should take your clothes off before we talk logistics, huh?" she teases, and she does smile now. You laugh, despite your better judgment. "Don't look at me like that."

"I'm not looking at you like that."

"I swear," she mumbles - it's accusatory, the way she leans her weight against you. It's her signature move. "I think your new thing is just a dirty girl complex."

You stare down at her. "Oh, okay."

Her lips crease: disgusted. "Just a thought," she says. Her eyes are hooding, and it's what she does when she's letting herself slide. Her hands come down slow, so slow to your neck. You could bite her if you wanted to. There's plenty to mark, plenty of skin to bruise: she's at your mercy, and she loves it like that. She licks her lips and waits. "You're out of them, by the way. Like - the condoms. I grabbed the last one from your nightstand and - you know." She's shaking her head - something solemn about it. "No more. I'm telling you for your own benefit. So, um - yeah, that's your warning."

"My warning?" you repeat.

You take her jaw, watch her cheeks bloom pink - it's nice. Pretty. Very charming. Well, that's Sana - well, at least it fits.

"What I'm trying to say," she begins, slowly, uncharacteristically bashful, "is you could, like, do whatever you wanted, probably."

"Dirty girl," you repeat, quiet.

She blinks at you. A furrow forms, impervious, in her pretty brow.

"This isn't - I don't - listen, no one says that- they only do that shit in the movies."

You grin.

"But you're like, a guy in real life."

She swats at you.

"I can't believe I have to clarify the fact that-"

"You want me to fuck you raw," you interrupt, gently - and when Sana looks at you there's something guarded, and soft, and caught, and it's almost like-

Well, what's the word?

"I just mean I trust you," she mumbles.

You think: well, you could've led with that.

"Oh," you say, instead. "Oh - sweetheart," and then she blushes harder, but it's not because of you. She has a sudden and surprising sense of embarrassment, and you just blink at each other for a couple seconds - maybe you weren't expecting that from her, the sentimentality - and she doesn't want to apologize. "Listen-" you begin, and then cut yourself off. What is there to say? What did you just spend the better part of an evening trying to avoid mulling over?

(A fleeting, untoward notion. Some sort of unsolicited idea, illicitly tangible. As in: maybe you're both going a little insane.)

"I have a couple questions," you add, like an afterthought.

"I can't with you." Sana ducks her head, pulls on the bottom of her top. "Sorry, just," she starts, but lets the rest slip. "You don't need to make a thing of it."

"You seem - conflicted, is all." You catch her by the hip, guide her a little closer. There's a slow-simmering feeling stirring in your gut - something incessant, demanding of attention. "A little regretful. Look at me."

"I wasn't asking." She looks. It's a direct hit: she has a mean glare, one with the same capacity to bore through you, tear you limb by limb. She has the capacity for cruelty, is what you're getting at. "If you're that curious about the specifics, it was an expression of trust. Take it or leave it."

"Now you seem upset."

She arches an eyebrow: the normal one, the regular sardonic-you're-so-hot-I-hate-it eyebrow, not the sexy-sultry-dirty eyebrow.

"Five minutes," she huffs, without explanation. "Five whole minutes and I'm still not being kissed, like, why-"

Your laugh comes from somewhere in your chest; deep, surprised.

"There's no winning with you," she grumbles, but when she looks up you can already see it - it's in her eyes, she's not actually that upset. There's no stormy undertow, just the fondness lurking like a tidal wave underneath everything else. You feel the current a bit before it swallows her: there are hands tugging, winding, drawing the whole mess closer and closer. It's affection, an entire sea's worth of it, flooding and indiscernible. You can see all the stars that shimmer. It's just: her hips are so fucking grabbable, you know that already, that it's to the point of being inescapable, an absolute truth - and she wants to get off, she always wants to, but there's some greater, darker purpose to how her breath ghosts on your neck. How she blushes like it's the first time.

"I want," she breathes. It comes with intent.

(Yeah, a lot of fucking intent.)

"I know, baby," you tell her, low - and press a kiss to the juncture of her jaw, one hand lifting her top, palming her breast, the other sliding into her underwear. "You always want more," you murmur. Sana nods like a doll - you've reduced her, again, into a bundle of fussy limbs and breath and gasps, begging you to get inside her pussy. "I've got you," you coo, a bit darkly: and, well, Sana isn't wrong - it is a kind of dirty girl syndrome. At least for her.

For you, it's more like a daily reacquaintance with your sins.

Your mouths meet, clumsy and off-kilter; Sana's tongue is heavy, languid in the wet heat of your mouth, and the kiss tastes like everything else: her hair like flowers, her makeup, the faded sweat, her cherry lip balm, the flat, glassy quality of the cum dried on her thighs, her underwear around your fist. There's a lingering scent to her sex that reminds you of how badly you wanna fuck her; your finger ghosts at her cunt and it's wet again, dripping-pink and sensitive, ready, open, a bruised thing.

"You," she breathes into your mouth, and her teeth skim your lip, "are so fucking hard." She's skated her palm down into your sweats, taken a rough hold of your cock, as though to prove something: and she's so right. She doesn't break the kiss. Her thumb smears a bit of your pre-cum over the slit, spreads it up and down your length. You're already aching-hot and throbbing for her. "Baby," she murmurs, sounding devious, feeling it, too. There's more to say, more of that floodgate left to open up:

"You're going to cum so much in me, aren't you?"

(It's rhetorical.)

You hoist her onto the counter, shove her shorts down, pull your cock out of your pants: it's just muscle memory, the way the rhythm works itself out - and if Sana was trying to push you, she's definitely succeeding.

"You should be careful what you wish for," you offer, half-nonsense, half the judicious side of an agreement. The devil on the shoulder's not exactly in the business of sticking to your promises: "I should probably pull out, you know," you go on, mindlessly - but she's got her arms around your neck, is rolling her hips impatient and insistent like the conversation isn't even important enough for her to properly listen to.

"Gonna cum on all over me instead?" she asks, too quiet. "Is that the plan?"

And it's the least combative you've heard her be in a hot minute. You slicken your fingers with her cum and rub your digits along the flushed, throbbing surface of her clit: the only way you know to deal with her filthy mouth.

"Right on my tummy, or all over my chest," she goes on, heedless, dragging her fingertips over her shirt like you need a demonstration. She's just spewing bullshit for the thrill of it. The grin accompanying that is sly, cheeky, like her whole self; she rubs her nose against yours.

You gather her panties and let them ball up in your palm.

"Maybe a mess all over my ass?"

"Oh, definitely," you sigh, finally, and work her apart as the kisses fall out of line.

She looks up at you from beneath long, delicate lashes, fluttering like she knows the effect it's having on you: it's un-fucking-fair, the way she uses it, wields it like the weapon it is. A sigh slips from her, ragged, fucked: she's bracing herself, chasing the tip of your cock, leaning into the nudge. "Maybe you can push me onto my knees, shove your dick down my throat and gag me with it until I swallow every drop, yeah?"

"Sana," is your reply. "Of course." It's the conscientious, mature, adult thing to do.

She's batting her eyelashes. You should do something about it, maybe: you line your cock up against her entrance, holding steady, and slap your hand on the smooth expanse of her right thigh. "Spread," you snap at her, and then grin back.

Her face scrunches: genuine exasperation, tight cunt, real feeling.

She huffs, opens her thighs wider, gives herself up to you - and that's another victory. Her fingers reach up and dance against the scruff on your jaw like it's a fond curiosity. You watch her search your face for affirmation like it'll fix everything. There's not much to do but to slip your arms around the waist, let her wrists cross over your shoulders like she needs the anchor to survive.

"So pull out then, mister-good-ideas-at-work," she taunts, nosing at your throat, the underside of your jaw, up to your ear: "Show me, if it's so easy."

You can barely breathe, it's so tense; the way she teases the shape of it, her cunt slick and open against you. She'll stretch like she was tailored for the fit, easy and familiar, taking, taking, taking - she's always such an angel, but she's halfway in hell already, legs spread out, slick pussy lips bumping against the blunt head of your cock, so wide, so vulnerable.

"Sana," you hear yourself say, voice like sandpaper, throat drying. Her smile twists her features to something more-knowing, all full-lipped and curving at the corners - she's a little more practiced in sinning, knows the game better. It's an act and it isn't, all at once.

"C'mon, I need it," she drawls, but the soft little plea comes back: "please."

Your hand drops from her mouth, smoothing over her chin, down the swell of her breasts, her ribs. You slip your cock inside her and can see the exact moment her face blanches - it's so sweet, so sharp: her eyes widen and her jaw goes slack, lips falling open as her brow furrows. She's so wet around you, taking you, swallowing up every inch like it's no work at all, her perfect pussy clenching just as it hits the base: like it's muscle memory, like she's been molding herself for it, opening for you. The very thought makes you want to fuck her even deeper: you tighten your hand at her hip, drag yourself out of the slick squeeze of her cunt.

"Oh," Sana breathes out, eyes half-lidded. "Holy- oh, you're-"

Your cock sinks deeper. The word gets lost in her moan; a crease forms on the bridge of her nose, between her brows, and she presses her fingers to your nape, clutching at the skin like she's unsure of the support. One of her palms strokes across your cheek: a wonder, a mercy, a favor, all of it. You'll ruin her, just like she wants, just like you promised. You're sure of it.

You have to fight the urge to ask if she's okay, because you know what kind of face she'd make: exasperated, disappointed, incredulous. Instead you snap your hips and drive yourself inside of her again.

All her thoughts and her confidence - the casual faux-command, the playful, arrogant tilt in the turn of her words - unspools, dissolves, crumples in her eyes, collapsing to dust around you: she can't even choke out her filthy demands, let alone the sugar-soaked slights and slander that came first. The innuendos, the bullshit, all those deliciously-subtle negotiations. She blinks, and the second you slide a couple inches back in and in and in, her eyes flicker shut and you both exhale into the same breath: an oh-my-fuck-Sana, and the answering whimper-moan that falls so effortlessly out of her mouth. Your palm burns against her hip bone, sinking deep, trying to press her tight against your cock, skin-to-skin and full-to-the-brim.

"How," Sana gasps out, sounding delirious, out-of-it, her brain rattled by nothing more than the full, perfect fit of your cock inside her. Her fingers lock behind your head, pulling you even closer. She gasps against your mouth, "-how does it- fuck, oh my god, fuck-"

You see what she's getting at.

There's nothing separating you, and it feels - well, her pussy is unbelievable. The realization is hitting you harder with each glide you sink inside her; just like everything else with Sana - charged, thrilling, slightly inappropriate and hotter for it.

And you'd tell her if you had the words - how fucking good she feels, the grip around your shaft as you hilt inside her, the exact feel, taste, texture of Sana's perfect, pretty, slick-squeezing cunt. Oh, you're slaking a kind thirst here they write stories about, the kind you die for: it'll never be sated, you'll always be seeking, and the deeper you go the further you drown.

"Yeah," is all you can say. "Fuck." The only explanation.

Her voice goes tighter with each stroke, her legs wrapping around your waist like rope. You're touching everything of Sana that can be touched: you kiss her hair, suck marks into her collarbone, cup her face and force her eyelashes open; you fill her up so deep you can feel her throat tremble when your name just brushes the roof of her mouth.

Oh, it's rough, messy, somehow incandescent; you're pounding her right there on the counter, against the sink. The showerhead's hissing just loud enough for you to miss the string of expletives you know she'd be spitting, the half-bitten curses. She keeps her ankles hooked like she's afraid you'll fall, afraid that you'd slip out of her, leave her empty, unoccupied, unfulfilled, wanting.

"Fuck, baby," you hear, feel against you: her lips are near your ear. She shivers. "If I knew," a pause as Sana swallows, her hair clinging damply to her forehead. "If I knew- felt this good- you're going to- your fucking cock, I swear, ohmygod, I swear-"

You press your mouth right at her temple, harshening the rhythm and loving the way her fingernails dig hard, bright crescents into the skin of your back; there'll be marks there tomorrow, the perfect imprints of her grasping, coming apart, holding on.

"God, Sana," you mutter, almost desperate. It's such a fucking disaster. She's wet on your skin, soaking everywhere. It's so fucking hot.

You want her cumming on your cock; you want her on her back, knees up, shaking; you want her a sweat-shining mess, breathless and glassy-eyed. You'd worship her body if you didn't have your hands clenching her ass so you could push her (one, two, three, four) times (five) against the tile, (six) against your skin.

It's more imperative than religion, really.

Three months later and you suppose there's been a lot of perfect, sopping-wet, begging-and-creaming, broken-off, rough-thrusting, sinful fucking, and sometimes it's in her apartment or in the backseat of her car or in your fucking kitchen, her braced up against the island countertop with her legs spread and you railing her in her pajamas. Sometimes it's when Sana whimpers in this awful way when she's kissing you, pressing a soft, barely audible "ruin me," into your mouth - it's then when she gets really, truly fucking filthy: you're actually going to fucking cum inside her, sobbing and stupid, if she doesn't fucking knock it off. If this doesn't just kill you both - and that's how it'll go: her legs locked so tight around your waist, hands white-knuckled around your shoulders, face-to-face and with the base of her cunt kissing your cock so sweetly.

Sana makes a weak, overwhelmed noise, like the same thought's gotten the best of her, too.

"My pussy," she says in this high, thin whisper. "It needs you. Like I fucking - oh, fuck - like I think I was made for your cock." Her words have gotten little manic, voice edging at hysterical: "It's a perfect fit. Just feels fucking-" A whine pitches in her throat and she grinds her clit against your lower stomach, her abs quivering like she's had three cups of coffee.

You thrust once - no, you really, truly fuck her: you snap in and in and in - you hold her fast to the sink basin and bury your cock all the way to her deepest point, to where Sana clenches and her muscles ripple around you.

She's always so sensitive. Like in a smearing-lipstick, fucked-through-half-a-box-of-tissues, you-absolute-angel kind of way.

But there's no tease, no falsified modesty to it - none of the push-and-pull from either of you; your expressions are blissed-out, stuck in awe, in reverence. Jaws dropped and punching out each hard, deep fuck into her, gasping for air. "Oh my god," she's saying, head lolling like there's no rigidity left to her spine, nails digging into the hard muscle of your back. She's saying other shit - and you're talking, too, talking a bit: it's the kind of delirium that strips language to the bone. "Holy fuck- I know- Yeah. Fuck, I know."

The nodding is excessive - but in your shared defense, so is the sensation of fucking each other raw. Who the fuck coulda guessed?

She's hot and tight and god-blessedly gorgeous - and you tell her that. From the first time you watched her stretch a condom over your cock, roll it down with her palm, and felt her pussy sink onto you inch by inch and the pressure was immediate and aching - "It feels so fucking good," she'd been saying - to the fifth, to the fiftieth. To her draining you dry, her moans winding you up and around her finger - even that first time in a filthy, nasty, cramped bathroom stall, drunk as all fuck, and then the next morning. "More, more, more," and now, too, all: "It's everything, please, fuck, keep going," all the other times where your tongues have turned to satin, curling into the place of your own destruction, where the warmth is licking out all sense.

In the worst of moments, in the best - she's clung to you, body arched up, hips up, heels dug into you so hard you might be bruised under her.

All her moans are punched-out, high-pitched, shuddering with her exhales.

It's everything: "Don't stop."

And that's really how the last shred of coherency slips past, disappears down the drain: her voice twists as you graze the spot inside her you want her to cry at, and you sink into a pleasure so intense, a release so in-tune, it's like it'd only be complete after you both sank to hell.

"Such a good girl," you kiss into her skin, sinking your fingers into the round fullness of her butt, spreading her apart so she knows, even better, exactly where her cunt ends and your cock begins. "The prettiest fucking girl; your fucking pussy is so tight; hot and soaking wet for me." Your voice sounds worse with each dirty little nothing: you've both been babbling for a while. Maybe ten seconds. Maybe since the beginning. "I think I could fuck you forever."

"Cocksleeve," she agrees, and tips her chin to the ceiling, blinking hard at nothing, trying not to lose it, but maybe also, in the same sense: "Literally could just - be my cunt. For the rest of time. Cocksleeve."

"Gorgeous," is what comes next out of your mouth; and, in some warped parallel to the truth, "All mine."

For her, too, really: she likes being tossed around, told how much you need to breed her, how slutty she is - but then you watch how her brain fries with the softer, sweeter stuff. Oh, you're making love to the thoughts she keeps trapped under a box in the back of her head, and all the things she'll only dare admit to under dim lamplight; when she thinks she can disguise how they might come across as anything at all besides absolutely fucking tragic.

You could bottle her tears for how sentimental this shit is - well, you could do that anyway - the whole messy situation. You say her name once and she whimpers out your own. That's the state of affairs. Just one look at her face is all you need. It's an instant trigger, it's how the electricity rushes and buzzes through the wires.

"You're stunning," you say, totally earnest.

And the heat goes straight to her guts.

It's the transparency of it all, or the bordering bratty-tilt to it, or something, you're not a therapist - it's just what sends Sana toppling, fluttering like a heartbeat as her hips stutter into your own, legs spasming, pussy clenching - and right on the heel of that, with a strangled: "So fucking good to me, I swear, please-"

The moan barely passes the boundary of her lips as it breaks like dawn over her body, sending her spine arcing, chest heaving. It's a kettle-whistle pitch and you think your neighbors are sick of the screams, the late-night-to-early-morning, pounding rhythm against the thin walls, the laughter, the headboard beating like a drum. And they would have to be blind, to not look at her and see a sin they want to taste, too - she's divine like this, moans broken-off and falling into each other, a slur, a blur, her tits bouncing under the flimsy tank, rising higher with each stroke - the fat, firm weight of them; and this is when you know she's going to cum on your cock, the way her muscles go loose, pliant, willing, relaxed - it's all an afterglow in the waiting, she's wriggling into her death, in anticipation, arching up to meet you.

When you pull your hand out from under her ass to grab a fistful of her shirt, right at the center and pulling up to keep her back arched off the counter, her breasts spill from the loosened material and up, and up - they bounce higher, tighter; you're pounding her sopping-wet pussy harder than you have any right to.

There is no heaven to compare.

You'll tell her, if you'll survive the sight of it: Sana is an absolute fucking wreck. Her jaw is slack, her lipstick has long smeared to obscurity and she is a vision in the sexiest, sluttiest sense. She is the kind of fucked that's worth staying dead for. Worth taking last breaths to witness, dying to witness.

And, the moment her lips graze yours: your insides crackle and smolder.

Her hand hits the counter, knocking whatever's next to you onto the tile - the clatter would've been distracting, but you're balls-deep and you think it'd break her if you hit it any rougher-

"Ruin me," Sana pants into your mouth, barely audible. "Fucking ruin me, please, ruin me-"

"Sana," you manage through the hot clench of her around you, the near-painful crush of her arms tight at your waist.

"Need your cum," is what she sounds like. "Like fuck, do you feel that?" She's breathing into your ear. "God, fuck, your cock is right against my tummy, right here," she mewls, one slender hand slipping down to tap a knuckle right below her belly-button, "can feel it pressing up against me," and your mind's gone off, racing down every back-alley, all the old dirt-road streets: "You'd cum right up my little womb. You could. If you wanted, you could breed me up - pump me full, fuck me full. Give me- just - give me everything," and she has no idea - no idea what she's saying, what she's doing, how hard it is to think around a girl with such a perfect, pretty, slick-squeezing cunt-

"Sana," is all you can manage, warning and plea in one. "Careful." It's stupid: you have half a foot on her, outweighing her by more than the other direction, and yet Sana makes you weak. You're like clay for her to mold, bending beneath her fingertips and falling straight through, like the word please: a request. You don't know how she has you all figured out. It's no fun this way.

"Or else what?" Sana smirks, winning. "Gonna get me pregnant?"

You swear you see stars, that it's going to end embarrassingly fast for you, and the thought of you hilting right into Sana's tight cunt, knocking up against her insides, breeding her like your stupid fucking cock knows it wants, that's so, so fucking filthy - no, no, fuck no: that's not what this is, this is supposed to be innocuous, or some approximation of it - you're gonna put her on her knees, cum on her face, fuck a load across her tits, in the bowl of her cupped palms and watch her lap it up and lick clean her long fingers, maybe push the whole, aching head of your cock between the lips of her plush, pink, sweet-as-can-be mouth. Send the load directly down her throat, tugging those gorgeous tresses while her brown, liquid eyes peer up at you. A mess: a sopping, fucked-out, splayed-out, mess.

"Filthy fucking mouth," you deflect, because you can't keep on track with how pretty Sana's perfect cunt's clutching you like a fucking fist, her tiny frame somehow matching you, thrust for thrust.

"What about it," and Sana isn't even flinching.

"Gonna cum in it," you snap, a growl, and it's supposed to be a threat, but then it hits - right at the crease between her torso and legs, your favorite place to pound into her; you're fucking her like a toy, treating her like the easiest little hole you've ever had your hands on, and you'd never pull out, you'd never give this up and Sana knows it, too - you have to make sure to take the base of your cock and work your cum deeper into the bowels of her perfect, hot cunt.

"Yeah?" she hums resplendently.

Somehow, fucked-out and blissful, soaking your cock as you split her open, there's a note of tease in her voice - and an echo in the swell of her womb, clenching, just as willing; Sana's a genius, so she must have found all this shit out already - but it's the type of thing you have to admit, privately and to yourself, through gritted teeth, not within hearing-distance of a girl whose smile could undo every thread in the fabric of time: it's kind of really, ridiculously hot.

"Can you promise?"

"Yeah," you choke.

"Go on," breathes Sana, a dare and a request in one. "Love hearing you say it."

"On your knees," you try to swallow, "gonna pump your cute little throat full," you groan, a man unmade, "gonna have to fuck you like this again, baby. I'm going to make you-"

Make her what: a mother? A whore? A wife, a baby, something she'll be afraid to call out loud, but will say anyway-

"Yours," and that's Sana, fucking the thought out of your head, "so you could use me up, so you'd make me take it, give me everything - cum, cum in me, I need it- please," her voice climbing, crescendoing, "Cum in me," a broken record, all instinct. Sana and her tight, creamy little pussy, you pumping full, you flooding her insides and spilling out, the messier the better - it's how she gets off, her voice wavering until you can feel the shivering, the shaking, the quivering; that perfect moment of collapse, where you're there with her, just the same.

There's a certain kind of pure, self-destructive stupidity in trying to rationalize it, you know, but that's the fucked-up part.

"Oh," she breathes, deep and deliriously hot, and it's an aftershock of its own.

There's no reasoning with how badly you're pounding into her, fucking your cum as deep as it'll go, letting her soft curves rut against your body, to meet her rhythm in turn, to fill her up to the brim and then just a bit over.

"Oh, I can feel it," and Sana sounds like you've done the unthinkable: as if you'd broken a prayer, a hymn, the key to heaven held beneath the wetness, the heat, the fluttering pulse, the tightness, the sex, this body of yours. Like she could die. Like she should die. "That's - oh, oh - your cum's filling up my pussy," and it doesn't register that she shouldn't say it, and you should be telling her to shut the fuck up, but it just doesn't cross your mind at all: "Oh, God. You're - it's so hot inside of me, can - feel it," and it's all true.

There's nothing like it, her silken, creamy, slushy warmth surrounding your softening cock, the way you fit so easily against her.

"I told you," is the first thing out of her gorgeous, swollen mouth. Her lips brush your jaw, your neck. Sana's breath tickles, light on your skin. "No shot you were pulling out."

"Shut up," is the best you've got - it makes her laugh, eyes creasing, throaty and sweet; oh, there's that quintessential Minatozaki charm.

(That's it: she has your number; you watch her smile, watch the way her legs shake when you slip out of her, watch her warm brown eyes flit upwards. You can't let her leave. And she knows.

Sana's fingers graze the curves of your cheeks as she holds your lip between hers, tongue tasting, teasing. A long beat before she releases you, and her smile spreads over the line of your face, slow and steady, like a sunrise. She's impossibly gentle, all silk and sweetness. Unthinkingly soft as her palm smooths your hair out of your eyes - her skin on your skin. Sana's eyes are dreamy like this. The radiant gleam in her irises clashes with the moonlight on her lashes.

She's glitter, gold.)

The pharmacy. The one by your apartment that's open a little after 1 am on a Saturday.

And this should be your cue: walk on by, look forward, straight ahead.

Walk, like you have somewhere to be. Toss some distractions into the basket, drain cleaner, detergent, a fifth, new, foreign bottle of conditioner; maybe some light beer, too, to fit the stereotype, to balance things out.

You tell yourself you have no place here, amidst boxes of birth control pills, gels and patches and syringes and capsules of every single kind. Don't dawdle - don't linger.

Sana's milling the aisles in pursuit of candy, or a bag of those heinous fucking Takis, probably. A bottle of gatorade, realistically; she likes the blue one, says it tastes like putting your tongue to a nine-volt. What an eloquent princess, you think, and find it hard to hide the smile, the simpering stupidity, the tenderness.

She's someone you text about shitty things, who complains to you about her coffee stuck in the vending machine, Mina's ongoing billionaire-affair and Nayeon's chattering over some boy she likes from way back when. Someone whose high ponytail can be found above a pair of comically large glasses, a paperback novel pressed between the bend in her arm and her ribs (bitch, of course there is, she'd said when you'd asked, there's smut in everything these days); whose laugh, tinkling and lilting and silver-bright, has no right to sound as rich or as deep or as richly deep as it does.

Someone who looked in your eyes and found it - that gaping hollowness, a vacancy in the marrow - and who laughed at that, too. She makes it worse. You might actually love her.

"You're like, really nervous," she tells you, not asking.

"Well," and that's when the wall between your mouth and your brain finally collapses: it all rushes through; no air left in the room. "Maybe I'm a fucking idiot."

"I've actually always known this." Sana looks at you, half a smirk. It's almost impossible to imagine the last time you were anything else. "But, like, aren't all men, really?"

"Yeah, yeah. A genius observation." You run a hand through your hair; her smile blooms wider.

"If you insist," and Sana tosses her head, exaggerated, before dumping a shit ton of Twizzlers into the cart. "They're for Tzuyu," she explains. "She's been fucked by her publicist more times this week than she's had hot meals."

"Y'know I actually caught wind of that," you say, moving one step forward in line. "It was neck and neck until she skipped a lunch. Although I don't think those count as like, substantial nutrition. It doesn't negate the other thing."

"Fuck, you're probably right. Gummy bears next time, then."

"Right. Better, slightly."

"That's the spirit," and she peels away, leaving you with her smoky sarcasm - a hand on your bicep as she saunters off to the parking lot. "Also: get some of the good Tylenol from behind the counter. You fucked my brains out and I think I'm coming down with a concussion."

"Jesus christ," you groan. "Again with the outdoor-voice, Sana."

She flashes you her megawatt-grin, flips you off, and the whole transaction at the register is over before you've made sense of it. It's an opportunity for some perspective, a chance to decide you've got it wrong. You should walk home, Sana should ask for a ride, or an Uber - neither of you should need a night-time pharmacy. You could change it if you tried. It's almost absurdly simple, but the way she takes your hand on the walk home is so soft. She's so close: her profile is elegant, poised in the streetlamp's sick, sulfur glow.

You turn the key. There's her laughter again, echoing like windchimes through the city.

And, fuck. It's going to be harder to forget this than you think.

"The internet says it's best to use within twenty-four hours," is all Sana says about it. The tablet's small and green. She hands the plastic bottle to you to check it. Her hair's fallen over her shoulders like ribbons, soft as her eyes. "And the way Momo described it," she explains, almost playfully, "if I wait to take this tomorrow, I think we'd get an excuse to fool around some more."

The look she gives you then is somehow uncharged, despite the suggestion, and she has that habit, when she's laughing or when she's moaning, of chewing on the inside of her lip. She's sitting on top of your breakfast table and looking like starlight. She uncrosses her legs, tips her head.

"What do you think?" and it's everything, a complex trap in four syllables. She's caught you well and squarely. "Do we have a reason?"

"Hm," you say. Sana crosses her legs the other way.

"It's bona fide," she says, teasing you a little, running a finger along the tabletop, her eyes flicking up. She's impossible. It's terrible. "You can creampie me over and over. Can fill up every inch of my pussy - fill my guts right up, and breed me good."

"Huh." It's all you have left to deflect with, when she's laid it all out like that. "That's not what bona fide means, by the way."

Sana lifts a hand, cocks her head. "Means you can do whatever you want." She clicks her tongue, scandalized. There's not much point in refusing, and not even a chance.

"Carte blanche might be what you're after," you offer.

Her laugh is a little breathless, annoyed. "Yeah," and it's like she's flushing pink. "That's what I said. Are you gonna ask me if I know what creampie means too, smartass?"

"Princess," you say, grinning a little, setting the plastic down beside her. You're pretty sure it's rhetorical anyway. "If you read even another sentence from one of Momo's incognito tabs, you'd end up drooling on my sheets." You keep her gaze, eyes locked - well, at least one of you's taking this seriously, you think, as the corners of your lips curve, unbidden - fuck, she's always making you smile.

"Does this mean you're into me, or something?" You tilt your head, pretend to consider. Sana makes a show of scowling. "Or do you just have a thing for being a cumslut," you gesture vaguely, "like, generically?"

Sana leans in and kisses the underside of your chin.

Quick, easy; she snaps back into place like you'd somehow never notice. "A little of both," she says, as breezy as possible. "I'm surprised you're ruling out me taking pity on you." Her eyes have all the mirth you'd expect, and the warmth - the fondness. She looks up at you, and her smile's not as bright or sharp as it used to be. She just seems happy. "Wishful thinking, but whatever."

And maybe Sana's on to something: wishful thinking - but, then again, maybe you're getting close to the part where you've both got it all so, so wrong. You'll have to figure things out from there. Either way, you're at a place where you're genuinely taking medical advice from Hirai Momo.

So, it is what it is.

You don't exactly talk about it. Which is to say neither of you ever bring up how this whole arrangement came to be.

Because it's not romance, it's not sweet, it's not soft or sentimental - it's not even halfway serious: the way everything unfolds haphazardly and with no real, defined idea of what you're getting yourself into, other than a precautionary 'hey, we're not gonna know each other' rule that got broken almost instantly is all that you can divulge, for now. There's all these complexities, layered and tangled and difficult. It's all-consuming. It's an emotional quagmire. It's the kind of thing that'll take years to unpack, the kind that'll never really have an actual explanation; a mistake, probably, you think, one worth repeating, definitely.

"Look. You're leaking out of me," she murmurs from against your pillows, thighs parting - you glance at her cunt, exposed by her twisted panties, and sorta get stuck there. Sana laughs. "Wow," she says, watching you with that wide-open smile of hers, dark hair splayed across the pillows. "Your obsession's worse than I thought."

She's leaving town in the afternoon, so it's been this lazy, lingering fuck all morning, just to pass the time.

You're working from home in the most metaphorical way possible - taking advantage of the daylight streaming in the windows, playing with her hair, fucking her on and off until you get tired of having a mess of a stranger in your apartment. Right. That's the explanation you'll give, when anyone asks. It's a miracle you've slept at all - but then again, Sana gets blissfully and completely tuckered out, turns into putty in your arms, and this is the most dangerous thing of all, the sultry, doe-eyed beauty of her slack mouth in the dark.

You fell asleep together the first time you shared a bed and now never seem to wake up on your own anymore.

She's lax on your mattress, and the blanket's riding low on her thighs, revealing the slopes of her perfect ass. Her little cunt's gaping. Leaking cum. There is no denying it. You think the devil would look a lot like this.

You place your reading glasses delicately on the nightstand, pretend you haven't heard her - or the squelch of her fucked out cunt as she slides a finger down, down, down-

"Oh. Am I distracting you?"

"You have a breeding kink," you say, once she's on a second bottle of water, when her skin's less flushed. You're rubbing between her shoulder blades - she's glowing in your sheets like she belongs there, all white satin and innocence, even with the sweat matted at the ends of her hair.

"Probably," sighs Sana, eyelashes fluttering. "Do I?"

"Definitely," you say, amused.

"Maybe," hums Sana, sounding winded still. You dig your fingers into the nape of her neck, and the next sound out of her mouth is not entirely uncontrolled. You have a point; you're both thinking it. You're just not going to make it. "What's your excuse?"

"Excuse?"

You're not asking her to clarify the question, you're simply buying time to scramble for an answer. Because- "I have no excuse." You shrug. "Just - biology." She rolls her eyes at the apparent insufficiency. "Something about filling up this perfect little body and ruining your whole" - you make a gesture toward her - "pristine-ness."

"Ah, there we go." Sana sits up, the sun casting golden streaks over the angles of her back as she goes.

She stretches like it's an accident, reaches for the hair-tie on the nightstand, and it doesn't matter if you see her do it. "Well." She combs back her damp curls, piling it in an errant bun with practiced ease. It looks good. It's hot, actually. Your cock's still sensitive - but, well, so is Sana's everything. "We're fucked in the head. We get it out of our systems."

"Speak for yourself," you say. She raises a pointed, unmistakably Sana-ish brow. "I'm well-adjusted," you insist. "No baggage."

You watch her go through a moment of disbelief, trying to find some leeway before she snorts. She's climbing on top of you, apparently. Theoretically, you've been keeping an eye on the clock - counting down the minutes before she has to be checking bags and folding up a boarding pass into her purse - first class, because the company believes luxury begets beauty. You'd argue she was both regardless, but-

"That," she says, very matter-of-fact, and settles down so the curve of her ass is over your thigh. It's light pressure. Barely. "Is bullshit."

"I thought that's what you wanted, Ms. Corporate-wunderkind. A therapist type."

"Shut the fuck up." She smacks your chest, too hard to be playful, but a beat later and her hand's snaked back behind her, palm curved over your cock with a promise that makes the rest of the world seem sort of dull.

You shift beneath her, involuntary. Let your hands trail to the warm hollow of her hips, brushing your thumbs over the pink blush marks that blossom on her skin when you touch her for too long.

"Wanting, wanting," she muses, with a strangely alluring sense of casualness, "you've got one track mind - ah - don't even try to hide it." You're more interested in her fingers dragging over your tip, the graceful knuckles that go rigid as she finds your cockhead grazing over the pad of her palm. "For all you know I'll fuck another guy," she says, in a matter-of-fact, it doesn't matter anyway type tone. "Or, god, a dozen."

"Please." Your incredulity and chagrin slip out in equal measure. "Have pity."

Sana cocks her head, intrigued, and takes ahold of the base of your dick.

"No," she decides, "can't say that I can."

There's the stretch, the press. She sinks onto you with no resistance; she's all velvety and wet and you know you were the one who'd gotten her that way. You hiss - so does she. Then it's just quiet again, except for Sana shifting above you, her long legs tangling with yours, the heels of her palms pinning your thighs down to the mattress behind her. She gives a languid little swivel.

"Do you remember," you hear Sana saying, very dreamily, and that's what makes you think perhaps it isn't a serious inquiry and that your input isn't required. She goes, "there was that last day of scheduled rehearsals, that we had before the long winter break. And we got through the numbers in four hours, maybe? Tons of time to kill, and there was nowhere for me to be."

"You came over to my place," you mumble, a vague, wordless reminder of your role.

"Right." Another shift; you're still sensitive as fuck but Sana's weight feels good in your lap and the view of her tits is objectively excellent. "And I took a shower."

"Sure."

She squeezes and rises in tandem, sighing blissfully.

You sit up slightly, support yourself on one elbow and watch yourself disappear, reappear in the wet slit of Sana's pussy. "For a really long time."

"Like an hour," agrees Sana, almost humming, and snaps her hips forward. The jolt forces a groan out of you. She tilts her head up as she does it again, eyelashes fanned, and the reverberation of her movements shakes loose that damned piece of hair clinging to the arch of her temple. You watch a thin stripe of cum leaking out of her, too; that'd been inside her an hour ago. Maybe less. She's fucking you like it doesn't bother her, like she'll never grow tired.

She pulls at the long lock of her hair, seems to examine it contemplatively. She's so perfectly content in her self-aware, blasé, cat-like smugness, purring and untouchable and arching back. Then she says, "That was because I was fantasizing about getting filled with so much cum that I just started running down your shampoo bottle - that's, like, the ultimate breeding fantasy for me, honestly."

"What about that one time," you say, as though unhinged, as though half-conscious, as though every word has the consistency of molasses and there's a bright pulse of blood flooding your brain and rushing out your cock, "when we snuck out to the parking lot, and I made you sit on the hood of my car-"

"Shh, not the same," dismisses Sana, leaning into you, and you hold her there, lock your fingers into the swell of her ass to steady the desperate throbbing inside her pussy. Her tongue darts to the corner of her mouth, but her head lolls to the side, the gauzy curtain of her hair swaying at her waist.

"But," she concedes, an exhale, "that was good, yeah."

"You came really fast - like, so fast," you insist, thrusting up to the sound of her small groan. Her body, all lush skin and ample, unresisting curves, is flushed and gleaming. There's so much of her to take in: the inky fan of her lashes, the ridge of her ribs, the way her breasts hang heavy as she moves. This kind of debauched view feels exclusive, as if reserved just for you. "Remember that?"

"Did I?" She blinks owlishly.

"I'm remembering it for you." Your palm is heavy on her ass; it's what keeps you grounded, lets you get leverage. "What were you thinking about then?"

She bares her teeth in an indecent grin, tugs on the corner of her lip, as if reveling in the memory.

You watch her mouth open, close again.

It clicks: "Right," she answers, finally, and rides you all the harder. "Errant thought, but." She climbs up onto her feet, knees swung wide, her tiny soles balanced perilously atop the duvet - it's all slippery friction and she's so light you could flip her right over. It's all at your discretion. You lean up further. Your arm braces her back, low and hot. "Was imagining how you'd feel in my ass," Sana continues, carelessly, matter-of-fact, as if discussing dinner plans or a movie rental, and you don't expect a laugh from your lungs, but it comes out harshly, all surprise and hot delight, like a confession.

"This was a few years ago," Sana says.

She lifts off, teases your cockhead with the shallowest grip. Watches all the lines in your face start to wobble, and then sinks back down, all the way, burying your cock in her pussy again. Her lips move, you bottom out, you know she's going to ruin your next orgasm like that.

"Someone online posted some bullshit comment about me being - quote-unquote - easy," she tells you, turning her head to the side, to the window. You know the expression on her face: her mouth curved, eyes dark and so, so full of that amused contempt. "Just this thing that you see on the internet all the time. Everyone just doing the same thing - said I probably love it in the ass and - yeah. Can't recall. Fucked off right away."

"Really stuck with you, huh?" Your hips snap, and you swallow hard. "Brought that - image. Up. Didn't it."

"Guess it kind of did."

"Uh-huh."

She licks her lips. "I'd heard worse," she says, and hums, low.

Your grip on her back, her waist, her hip - they're steel-tight. "Felt like someone had put it in my head," Sana remarks, dreamily, then raises an eyebrow. "So y'know. Had a thought and let it take me there. Only made sense. Let myself. Daydream a little, take a long shower," and her smile goes lopsided, her eyes drift, "breathe hard against the bathroom tile, take two of my own fingers up there-"

And she drops, sinks, the lewd, sloshing sound of it resonant; your hands pull her to you by the roots of her hair and she gasps, heaves a small, faltering breath. She's so fucking wet.

"Baby," you groan, completely flat. "I'm gonna cum in you."

"Yeah." Sana looks like she's miles away. She could be. "I know."

She brushes the hair out of your face, holds her nose to your cheek, starts riding you fast, faster - and you do.

This is where the story actually starts - which, in retrospect, is kind of ironic, because everything was technically pre-written, already preordained:

You're in an airport, arriving late and harried, your hair a mess, Sana's luggage slipping from your shoulders. It's snowing biblically outside, the pavement frosted and dangerously slick with ice. The precipitation heavy and thick and white enough to obscure vision. You keep checking your phone, checking your texts, trying to stay grounded even though the forecasters specifically said the skies would clear by sundown.

Flying conditions: sub-optimal - but only barely.

You think serendipity could be something of an old friend to the two of you - if only the pantheon of weather-adjacent gods didn't seem to like her just a little more.

She's calm and unruffled and preposterously cool, with one hand slipped into her coat pocket, her face tipped towards the window so she can survey the falling snow. She looks the part of the chic world-traveller, clad in leather gloves and a tweed peacoat, the collar popped high and stern.

In contrast, you feel like the embodiment of frazzled, clutching anxiously at the handle of her suitcase and turning frantically to ask her which direction to head in; you're not her manager, you didn't plan her flight, didn't schedule any car services for the ride to her hotel. In a few odd hours she'll be on a different continent, standing in a different hemisphere, and you don't really know what to do with your hands.

"When am I gonna see you again?" she asks, pointedly sidestepping all forms of goodbye, bypassing any polite small-talk about the state of the storm.

She's done up in semi-dramatic makeup, a pair of gold earrings swinging when she tilts her head, fixes the edge of her fringe with her fingers: you watch her catch herself, relax - like a true work of art, you suppose, nothing to imply a separation.

There's the duality, you guess. You're looking at a profundity in motion.

And there will be a thousand cameras in her face when she touches down, vying for attention, swivelling and clicking, seeking shots that are just perfect enough - the internet is rabid and frothing at the mouth for a glimpse, some semblance of truth to satiate the rumor-mongers and their constant dissections of the arch of her spine, in the sway of her walk. She's got knee-high socks on and the fashion mags will be desperate to tear her apart at the seams, claim a sliver of all that profundity - they'll never know it's less of an aesthetic decision and more just a stopgap for the thumbprints blooming yellow-bruised in the curves of her calves.

Sana's watching you watch her; expectantly, eyes shining, big enough to fall into.

"Soon," you say, like you have a choice, and hope it sounds like reassurance, not resignation. "Hopefully soon."

She lifts her carry-on to one shoulder, smiles.

The lens you have is quieter, subtler - that's all.

(You can feel Sana turn to look from the terminal, paused, hovering, her jaw catching on her silhouette; and she waits until you're gone before she strides confidently to the desk, brandishing documents and asking sweetly, charmingly, for the check-in. Her walk slows, stutter-stops. Her posture straightens.

She brushes back her hair and keeps going.)

"You better not be romanticizing your melancholic solitude," Momo says later, with a tray of food in her hands.

It's the next day - same time, probably - you'd gotten back from the airport, hailed a cab and stewed in something like self-reflection before deciding you'd bury yourself in your work. You've been letting Sana distract you too much recently - not that you particularly mind it - but if she's not here to drag you into a conference room and drop to her knees, you might as well start making some progress elsewhere.

You roll your pen around your fingers. "What exactly do you think I'm gonna get up to? Staying up until midnight writing shitty poetry and getting blackout drunk?" Momo snorts. "She'll be gone for two weeks, Momo, not ten years. I think I'm gonna manage okay."

"Don't go punching through glass windows just yet, buddy. It's been twenty-four hours, that's nowhere near enough time for your brain to bathe itself in all the wrong chemicals yet." She plops a bowl of instant udon down in front of you. You realize suddenly you haven't eaten in - well, quite some time.

She wrinkles her nose. "God. So morose."

When you glance up, Momo's regarding you with one fist balled tight to her hip. You stare back at her. Her shirt is doing absolutely nothing to contain the top-half of her chest and your coworkers keep passing and rubbernecking. You get it. Her lanyard just goes right through the center of her cleavage; you sorta squint.

Some things never change.

"Um," she says, mock-scandalized. "Can you not?"

You lean back in your seat. "That was totally professional. I looked right at you."

"Yeah, like I'm a specimen." Momo pulls out the chair next to yours and takes a seat.

"I mean, you kind of are," you deadpan.

Momo chortles, pointing her chopsticks at you. "That was almost flattering, thank you." She slurps up the first noodle. "If you're nice to me, I won't tell Sana you're flirting with girls at the office while she's away. I think she'd come all the way back and wring our necks."

"And wouldn't we deserve it," you add. Your computer screen is frozen, blue-tinted with failure. Great. Momo sits down and the sky's falling within seconds. You assure her for the umpteenth time that she's not really your type anyway.

"Excuse you," Momo says, indignant, because that's a joke.

See - Momo's everybody's type, if you had to peg the definitive example of universal attractiveness. She's everyone's favorite eye-candy whether they swing right, left, upside down or none-of-the-above; it's the ass, ostensibly. The big eyes, the gorgeous cheekbones too - her jet-black hair's cut short, practically the opposite of Sana, sleek and androgynous and hanging off her shoulders in the prettiest sort of way.

If they made dolls they'd be collectibles, wildly sought after as a pair, mint-in-box-worthy - the perfect, polished icons of feminine beauty: brains, bravery, strength. But also definitely the ass.

You blink. "Is there something you're here to harass me for, or is my total lack of interest in banging you just something you're interested in re-establishing?"

"I dunno," Momo says around a mouthful of noodles, "it's distracting. It feels weird when Sana isn't here. Things don't feel very funny. Or cute, y'know? I feel like a standup act missing the lead comic relief."

"Are you saying I'm not hilarious and entertaining?"

"I think you're funny, but." She munches happily on some spring onions. "Not intentionally, not usually."

"So why are you getting soup all over my desk?"

"You're pouty for one, all sad-like," Momo says, swallowing. "And you're supposed to be coming up with this advertising pitch and the only thing written in that word doc was 'hey guys'."

"First draft's the hardest," you recite automatically. "I'll figure it out."

"But not anytime soon," Momo drawls.

You slump your shoulders. "But not anytime soon, no."

"If you miss her, just call her," Momo urges, with all the delicacy of an elephant on stilts. "I'm sure she's bored and horny. Like, wicked horny."

Momo is both direct and filthy - there's another difference. Sana's a layer cake: whip it into shape, top it off in pink icing, drizzle white syrup on top; she looks good and acts good and you can swallow her whole, every inch of her tasting sugary, syrupy sweet. Momo doesn't hide that she's the filthiest mess in a five-mile radius; the complete opposite of Sana - well, sorta.

"I heard you dropped a load inside her, earlier." She laughs out loud, true to form. "What the fuck are you thinking? I mean, serious talk: that shit will also rewrite your brain-chemistry. And the farther Sana is from us, the more your neurons are going to start feeling like they're fucking dying, so don't give me your stupid bullshit and tell me you're 'fine' when you're like, a total wreck."

"Can you fucking keep it down?" You rub a hand over your face. "Also wasn't it you who called us 'all-or-nothing?'"

"That was like a month ago. The whole being-casual-and-making-it-work shtick seemed neat and I wanted in. Also it's February 14th, you jackass. I think you two skipped past normal the second you could get into each other's pants." Momo slurps the broth. "Totally unhealthy."

"Also not fucking true." You exhale. "What am I gonna do?"

She gives you an are you stupid? look. "Text her," she enunciates slowly, like you're hearing her wrong. "Call her, I dunno. Romance is all about grand gestures and unreliable narration. Or at least she reads enough trashy Nancy-Meyers-movies-adapted-into-books-style romance to try and extrapolate something. Go out, and find some flowers." The next bite of her noodles is overly enthusiastic. "Make the girl feel special or something."

"Right, she's gonna love that."

"That's what all the books say."

You purse your lips. "So basically all the books have lied, but Sana loves them anyway because they make her cum with how badly they're written, and now you want me to act like they're an instruction manual on fucking courtship. Am I missing any other steps? Like, does this take into account the fact that I'm also really not that romantically inclined-"

"I think you have to do something nice, put some effort in," Momo interrupts, sagely. "Y'know, the gesture's important. A little creative thought. Something better than you've got going on in that empty husk of an advertising pitch. She doesn't actually care about flowers, but it means you think of her."

You slide further into your seat. Momo grins at the glare you give her, too-friendly. The girl is the only person on the premises who can call you out on your bullshit with any actual weight and expect to get away with it. She doesn't technically even work with your department - has more or less established herself as some combination of A-lister, sex icon, social darling - all rolled into the body of a curvaceous woman barely dressed. And everyone's just sorta charmed by it.

If you were a slightly-less-rational person you'd probably try to date her, too.

"Did you know that St. Valentine was actually beaten to death with clubs before getting decapitated?"

It's an aside question, because the only thing worse than arguing a point with Momo is when she happens to be right.

"Where are you pulling this shit from?" Momo wonders, deadpan, wiping her chin. "Why would you tell me that?"

"Thought it might be relevant." You swirl a plastic spoon in the bowl. "Do you have anything else for me, O great and venerated sage of modern womankind?"

Momo snickers at the sarcasm. "Sure," she says. "Tell me your current thoughts on Paris."

You drag a breath through your teeth. "City's a shithole if you aren't rich, famous and absolutely beautiful. In which case, the city exists solely to bask and dote upon your presence. What was the question?"

"Stop checking the travel sites."

"I'm not."

"Are to."

"Don't."

"Do," Momo replies, primly, and waves her hand dismissively. You are very, very mature. This is your professional space. "Keep it simple." She adds, casually: "Or something."

Far, far away and farther still, a girl ducks into a hired car, takes her heels off and turns up the air conditioning, wiggling her toes in relief.

She ends up slipping out of her clothes, taking a hot shower, changing into sweatpants. A private meal is offered to her; she turns down a glass of champagne, instead requesting iced coffee with an obscene amount of espresso shots - pours a ridiculous amount of milk in until the contents are a creamy beige, not even close to being a light-roast.

Later, much later, after a scented candle is extinguished and a notebook is closed shut, the night sky still dark and unchanging, the time zones shift, and then a single, glowing notification flashes across the screen - 4.42 am, her phone says. She's drifting in and out of sleep, dreaming in monochromatic pixels.

It's a mundane, totally insignificant message: nothing fancy, nothing new. A quick update - something along the lines of where are you, what are you doing, are you safe and happy, thinking of you. But it's punctuated with an exclamation point and followed by a pair of hearts - which is something new - like you're thirteen and she's just given you her home-room assignment list on a slip of paper and made you promise to exchange homework with her in the morning.

"How cute," she breathes, softly, and feels warm.

Here are the three rules about falling. Another anecdote; another wish-wash of creative editorializing, again: you really hate that you're quoting Momo on literally any of this, but unfortunately Momo has a lot of practical advice in the form of shitty armchair-psychology.

You know because you have a literal book full of the worst pithy maxims, delivered by her in varying states of drunkenness and hysteria and grudges borne of much heavier drama, all edited to her personal taste. It's a different thread, but also all part of the story: she and Sana are best friends. Take it or leave it.

Anyway: the rules,

1.) Grand gestures. Unreliable Narrations. Know that the idea is romantic, but the process is totally horrifying.

There aren't really any guidelines or requirements, not an exact science, anyway: there are softer, slower and easier ways to love than an impulse transcontinental flight; it comes in different forms, with much fewer headaches, far, far less red tape.

Try a knee nudge in a cab, a smoke-flavored kiss on the back porch, a text me when you get home, murmured in between yawns, the click of heels coming into the house after work - maybe, outside her apartment, making out against a wall of bricks like it's all you'll get, breathless and laughing under streetlights; if Sana were any less captivating (a loaded word if there ever was one) there'd be no good reason to think or to dwell on the semantics.

2.) Bending at the knees makes you less likely to get a concussion when you lose your balance. It's still risky, still a shot in the dark: in physics, there's a certain amount of grace under pressure - Sana's adored not by men, not by people, but by the universe itself.

It feels like: she's too loved, too known. The number of followers she has is, frankly, abhorrent to your sensibilities.

3.) An object at rest remains at rest: it is up to someone else to try and change its trajectory.

For all practical intents, purpose and reasonable application: forget them.

The only lesson that counts is 4.) Fuck logic, and that goes in the book.

February 14th.

Presently, we're flying at an altitude of twenty-eight-thousand feet as we begin our descent into Charles de Gaulle Airport. I'd like to ask you to please fasten your seatbelts, place all tray-tables and upright seats in their fully-vertical positions and power off all personal electronic devices. The local temperature at the landing strip is eleven-degrees celsius or about fifty-two degrees Fahrenheit. The forecast for the rest of the afternoon predicts clear blue skies, and we would like to thank you for flying Air France. Please have your passports and immigration documents handy for quick and efficient processing.

Then the same message in French, you're guessing. Welcome then, to the City of Light.

Your cell service pings back to life as you navigate through customs. Her texts and voice-mails are short, clipped, inane: news bulletins of random things she's heard of, things that catch her attention, new designs, newly-founded associations, this gallery and that gallery, this statue, that museum - all without her own commentary or editorializing.

The deluge of information almost makes her seem impersonal, disconnected from her own thoughts, like you're getting everything secondhand. Like it's accidental.

9:00 AM - Sana: oh btw just saw the 80's hairdressing revival special in studio e. 7000 times worse than the 70's one. nothing. nada. not a single ounce of cool. not like, at ALL.

Sana: never in my life will I EVER, in the history of fashion, agree with it.

Sana: photo attached

The photo is honest-to-god terrible. You have no idea what she's referencing.

11:30 AM - Sana: idk how it happened or why, but there's this tennis match thing i guess i'm supposed to be at

Sana: im honestly too zoned-out to tell whether i actually like this game lol

Sana: how tf does everyone know the rules. what is for-de-all? is that just a made-up thing people scream when a serve bounces into the net???

Sana: we'll see how it ends

Sana: ok the pro in the white suit is kinda hot and like, sosososo talented

Sana: he hits hard and his returns are perfect

Sana: how have i gone so long without knowing how deep i could get into the sports of men in fitted shorts??

There are countless more: small-talk, casual banter, lighthearted teasing, all going at her own speed of 5000 centimeters per second. You skim through, not sure how to parse the implications: she seems at best half-focused, unengaged, probably tired - maybe high on local-jet-lag, more interested in telling you she misses you and that her hotel room bed feels massive than telling you about her afternoons wandering art museums in a designer dress; oh, the magazines are frothing over her.

For reasons you don't feel entirely ready or qualified to address, you're reading between the lines to all sorts of things.

3:00 PM - Sana: could i call you? it'd just be like 5 minutes, i'm not busy or anything but idk if youre busy. not sure if you'll reply to this right away.

Sana: sorry don't mean to disturb you (´;︵;`)

Sana: well tbh i actually kinda do mean to interrupt.

She sends an obnoxiously bright, cloyingly pink 'V-Day' Gif in place of the last text and then doesn't answer. And suddenly, in a way you hadn't considered before - you think you're losing your goddamn mind, trying to construct an actual picture from fragments, assembling all the puzzle-pieces back into a single, discernible whole. She hasn't so much as signed off her text, let alone give you anything concrete to follow up on; this whole chain reads like the equivalent of sending her a lunch break meme, asking what her day looks like.

Inconveniently: it's the 14th of February, and Sana is the kind of person you'd get chocolates for - would tear open a Valentine's Day card and sign the message and seal it off with a stamp. It'd be tacky, and overly sappy and gaudily, horribly romantic - like a suitor from the Renaissance. You've always suspected she was something like an antique, in this very modern kind of way. It's how she looks best, all draped in antique jewels, chiffon and damask, dripping pearl and lace and silver threads, all in expensive, cosmopolitan aesthetic that makes sense within itself: something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

The insanity is that it's making perfect sense right now. You have been ruined in ways unimaginable, and you have not, as Momo kindly warned you, even known.

You are not, in fact, alright - or casual about the situation.

You need flowers, urgently: this is a gift-giving crisis.

It's funny - this winter fling, as ill-fated as they come, a few months in: time seems to pass fast. Too fast, to the point where it starts to slip away in longer and longer increments, faster and faster, further and further intervals - like shadows stretching inexorably towards dusk.

There's no flowers, no cards, no nothing - and that is sort of the nature of it, the romance of the everyday.

You're in the metro so you can't even use your data, can't send her a quick selfie of your charming visage, with the background blurring like you're getting real poetic about it. No moon, no stars, no gaslight illuminating the dark. Just plain-ass subway tracks, a near-soviet expression of concrete, and some stupid ads for full-body waxes. The trains clear the station at 8:57 PM local time. That's Paris's time, Paris's city, her backdrop. The frame of this portrait.

So, in other words: you are not poetic, at all. You've probably got nothing in your hair except dust, dirt, and a bit of airfare grime. You've still got yesterday's cologne and nothing worth sending her except an afterthought.

No photos, no video, no cards, no ring; no pearls or lace, no gold and silk - and this is total luck, by the way; serendipity must still like her more - you look across the platform and watch the lights of another train arrive: the girl stepping off is stunning.

And even further in terms of non-comparisons: she's the type who laughs too hard at your jokes and wipes away the smeared tears on her cheeks afterwards, who will drop a dirty joke at every moment, who lets you see her mouth open in a perfect, dripping-wet gape, who will sink into the mattress after a good, rough fuck, the headboard creaking; a girl who will tell you your coffee is too bitter and when you ask, sweet enough? - she'll still say no; not yet; no; don't; harder, don't you dare stop - that type of girl, is the one inching off the metro, glancing down at the watch on her slender wrist.

The trains start again and the girl is left standing on her own. In another five seconds, someone will probably say, mademoiselle? - which, also: there's a class on language you have not passed; you'll pay that back later - and in response, she'll sigh deeply, stretch her arms out. Tilt her head upwards for some fresh air.

You blink once, twice: and no - that really is her, on the other end. Sana Minatozaki - somehow inexplicably, for no reason you're privy to - has materialized as though she just decided on a whim to visit her home planet again.

You call out across the chasm, like a man possessed, and it is incredibly loud, incredibly embarrassing, incredibly out of character. You hardly notice.

Your voice catches on the draft of the tunnels; it must've echoed. She spins around to see who's calling her.

When she spots you, her face glows.

"Holy fuck," she rasps, trying to catch her breath, putting her forehead to your shoulder. "Jesus christ. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"We were in the same city," you respond, hoarse and almost panting, palms flat against her skin. Your muscles have that third-rail electricity running through the tendons and straight on through, too; Sana feels like pure tension, just burning off. There's something vaguely buzz-high about you. "Couldn't resist. I was gonna call eventually-"

She hits your shoulder like she's mad, but her face has more or less melted in pleasure, her mouth parted into a wide smile, all sharp edges and incisors. Her hair's almost a disaster: you can see the barrette slipping out, the edges of it, the glittery accents; you think about getting your hand all knotted up in the up-do and pulling - just to watch her spill off the end of the spool, tightly wound, twining around you like ribbon, sinking in and refusing to leave.

The doorman tried to ask for your coats before you fell on each other - in the middle of the lobby, if that's possible - and it's not like he even really saw anything, you were sure: just saw her smile when you pressed the tip of your fingers up under her chin, just your thumb grazing her lip before you bent your mouth to hers and didn't come up for air.

The doors of the elevator up shut close, and suddenly there's nowhere left for you to go: no further to climb, to hide, to disappear.

"You," she begins, biting off the end of the sentence in exasperation, settling instead for letting the word trail away. Her lips ghost across the hollow of your throat, the curve of your jaw, the little dip between the column and your ear, pressing hard and insistent - marking her territory.

"Do you just, y'know, pop up in fucking New York once in a while, too, for like a spot of breakfast and then, yeah, I'm good." Her voice sounds tired, worn. It's kinda cute. "No plans to stay, nothing booked, just passing through, huh?" She taps your shoulder, pulling away to run her fingers through your hair. "Idiot," she breathes, in that saccharine way of hers, smiling; you are helpless; you are done for, fully done-for: she can take as many digs at you as she wants. "Also what the fuck, you didn't answer my texts," her face crumples a little when you grab her, haul her against you - holding on, tight. It's an intoxicating rush, seeing Sana falter like that.

She's as stunning off-kilter as she is put together: more real than any human being should be allowed.

"Well," you say, not apologetic at all. "It's a holiday."

"You're making it really hard to be angry right now," she replies, lifting herself in her pumps and slotting her lips over yours. This time, the kiss lingers. It is the point of departure, a threshold of arrival: who knows whether or not she can feel you melting beneath the heat of her fingertips. You want her to take as many soft, easy-going kisses as possible - a stack, a row, a wall. If she keeps leaning into you like that, you'll do just about anything. "Not just to make a boner joke, either," Sana whispers, fingers gripping onto your shoulders for balance. "I wanna go slow for once. Real gentle."

"Say that again?" You hum, unable to leave well enough alone.

"Something slow?" She lilts.

"A boner joke."

"God," she groans. "Would it kill you, you massive fucking prick, to have a modicum of compassion and not act like you're five?"

And look - there's not enough elevator for the whole story, let alone the novel it would be to properly explain everything there is to know about Sana; how the sky goes dusky-hued when the streetlights come on; how she always fiddles with her hands in her pockets when she's bored, the impatient flex of fingers, pulling at the loose threads. How you'd kiss her knuckles to calm her - how she was annoyed that she let you in the first place.

The story of the two of you would take, well - it'd take a few months.

"Actually," you counter, "it would. Probably kill me dead. Obituary, a single photo of a smirking ass in a dress suit. Very sad."

"Christ. I've put up with way too many assholes today," she huffs, shaking her head, "for you to be the way that you are."

"Oh, trust me. It's not my favorite either." You lean back, can't quite help it: she's not at all ruffled - only curious, only teasing. You pull her hips tighter towards you. She kisses you, sighs a little: her neck smells like orange-blossoms. You had no idea that could be as sensual as it is. "You'll just have to deal," you murmur.

"Like always," she complains.

"It is pretty rough."

Sana meets your grin. Her hand cups your face - it feels oddly tender.

"How," she says, slowly, the words very carefully enunciated - "the hell did you think this would turn out?"

You open your mouth: this is what you are capable of.

Sana never actually gets around to telling you the things she meant to say: the confession of a valentine, all sappy and serious, almost candid, with gravitas - a five-paragraph essay, four pages long.

It's a messy affair - you've got a fistful of hair and the other's shoved down the front of her skirt. She's been wanting to be here all day, it seems - you've seen the text-book spread of supermodels and old-money socialites and she's wanted a moment's escape from them all, has been pining for someone, anyone (most certainly you); waiting in her pretty dress and her high heels, a set of pearl earrings, the starlet curls of her hair - the clutch she left on the floor by the door because you shoved your hand underneath the fabric, said: I'll eat you out right fucking here.

So there's a common thread, if nothing else: you and Sana are verifiably incapable of having anything resembling a serious conversation. There isn't a single point of departure: the entire thing starts out casual and remains, firmly, casual.

You are deeply unserious people; this is just how it is. So clear from your head the ideas of saviours, soulmates.

You stumble together into the sitting room of her hotel suite - the luxury is appalling, almost, the floor-to-ceiling windows opening onto a gorgeous balcony and overlooking the Seine - "It's fashion week," is her excuse, "all the good penthouses have been booked since last November," she apologizes, which you can't really wrap your mind around anyway. You nod like that's reasonable, the right answer, pull at her lip with your teeth, and she melts right into the open palm of your other hand - oh, she'll fit well here. It's where she belongs: soft, sweet, yielding to you.

"Don't need your pity," she pants, breaking the contact to speak, to drag her tongue up your collar and up to the hinge of your jaw, grinding her hips down so that you hiss and close your fist tighter in her hair, give her that sudden tug, that sweet little rush: that thing she doesn't need, wants anyway.

Her expression flicks something in you - the eyes, the mouth; the trademark Sana-sneer. And suddenly you need to pin her to the wall, the floor, hold her still for the taste. You look up to get your bearings and find the world gone monochrome: night, cold, grey, grey-on-grey, black, dark - and that's fitting somehow. Sana tilts her head away to observe you back - you have a feeling she's observing how fucked-up you are over her already, and for some reason, you can't give her the satisfaction, not quite yet: can't admit the defeat of how you can't ever take your eyes off her, the thick swell of her legs and the smooth curves of her calves. Can't lay out what you'll do to her.

Though that's about when the storybook romance vanishes, and in its place - a more familiar arrangement; the reality you'd built with her over the past half year, the awful, easy rhythm you're going to settle back into with little ceremony: all playful affection, no sentiment. Zero pressure to pretend - or to pretend anything differently.

(Which brings you to this.)

"Sana," you drawl, grabbing her chin, making her twist in the direction of your touch. "Is that your dildo stuck to the coffee table?"

Because in the middle of all this, that's what she left lying out in plain sight: a some-odd inch silicon cock, unabashedly translucent, obscenely clear; with a ridiculously realistic head, veined shaft, balls - she had gotten her vibrator out of one suitcase and forgot the rest. It's literally sitting right next to the complimentary drinks; so obviously out-of-place, it's impossible that someone could mistake it for anything.

"Oh god," is the only reply, mortified. "Please, dont. I didn't think I'd be-"

"Should I be offended?" You are doing a truly appalling job at sounding seductive. You are, in fact, kind of choking down a laugh.

Sana takes a hand through her half-disassembled hair. Tosses the bobby-pin holding up her bangs: there. Full dishevelment - the effect is startling. You can almost trace the silhouette of a girl so very badly kept together; frayed ends, straying strands, half-gossamer and half-permanent dye.

"It's a toy," Sana explains, like you hadn't pieced together that much. She shrugs off a strap of her dress, the other. "It's just plastic and stuff." She looks at it. You can see the wheels turning, trying to figure out if it's worth salvaging. Then: "Here, c'mon - don't think. Don't," she tries, unconvincingly: "think too much about this."

You raise an eyebrow.

"I was planning to fuck myself senseless, maybe because somebody wasn't answering their texts," she adds, glibly. It is absolutely stunning, watching Sana Minatozaki shamefaced, pouting - trying and failing, failing miserably - to look even a little apologetic. "Just lemme - if you're into it, y'know, we could. Use. It. Or something."

"Or something."

It's too late: you're cracking up.

"This is really what you use on your off hours? On yourself?" You pick it up: it's heavier than you expect, mostly because the thing is made of clear jelly, probably some kind of latex-powdery-water concoction - just the sheer thought is bizarre, foreign to you. The base suction cups to...any surface, you suppose, to provide stability. It's not altogether very practical, now that you're getting a closer look. "Is this," and you hush conspiratorially, "Is this Jean-Pierre?"

Sana smacks the side of your arm, flushing. "Shut the fuck up," she responds, laughing. A beat later, her lips tilt. "His name's Woody."

"That sounds like a conversation starter."

"I shouldn't have to explain the reference."

"You're sure it's a he?"

"It's got testicles don't it?"

"Oh yeah," you say, weighing the toy in your hand. "Look at that."

"Would you just, like," Sana coughs delicately, looks around the room for something interesting. "-put it somewhere."

"Phrasing," you can't help but point out. "Jesus you moved the mirror in here, too."

And you'd caught the moment originally, when the blush had filled her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, all the way on to her ears. She had known. "Maybe you really did corrupt me," she counters, turning her head pointedly away. "Wiped away the good girl veneer and turned me into a degenerate pervert."

"Which is basically how you started," you remind her - and you catch her in your arms. She relaxes almost instantly; you sink a palm down the small of her back to rest in the dip of her spine. You've learned a little: Sana prefers closeness, intimacy, touch. No questions, no fanfare, no gimmicks, just the simple offer of body warmth. She'll curl into your chest and stay quiet, almost content; an ineffable smile leaking up the back of her throat as your nose tickles the side of her neck, mouth open and warm and pressed into her skin.

Her eyes crease. She feels more real, a little less ethereally divine.

"How could you?" she asks, faux-affronted. You can feel how she breaks character, the laughter reverberating against your fingertips. "I'm, like, so fucking demure."

It takes everything to resist kissing her until she moans: which is the danger. You do anyway, but at least the damage has already been done.

She locks her wrists loosely behind your neck. Kisses you slow. Heavy. Giggling - you've been demoted to giggles in the end, it seems, a slip from seductress back to child-like delight. "Seriously," Sana sighs, rolling her shoulders out and circling her hips slowly. Your heart drops. Your entire face turns hot; you're really fucking gone for this girl. "Wanna watch me ride it?"

The thing is, a bed-time story would have paper-hearts, and candles, and maybe a field of birds; an open space, a plush meadow, a wide, beautiful, clean canvas for this little romance to run wild across, uncontained.

Sana instead, reaches for a bottle of personal-lubricant, glances back with a smile; your breath catches - you think it's a momentary trip, a chemical reaction.

You realize it's the lighting instead, the frame of this moment. The simple concept of art, how the hues of the dark deepen, saturate into something a shade off - purples and blues; something to capture and press into paper, inked forever.

She holds the bottle above the end of the toy, pours generously. As you can already tell - no lack of initiative, imagination: she takes both her legs to the edge of the table, stretches them outward - makes a pretty little show of herself, arches her back off the glossy wood - and sets the tip just against the inner junction of her thighs. Sana pushes, tilts: gasps aloud, sharply inhaling, watching you watch her with heavy-lidded eyes. Her shoulders relax and the rest of her muscles follow the tension - easing in a slow, languid circle, hips grinding down. She sighs at the cool feel of it, before pulling it back to rest the edge just in-between her lips, a teasing movement, right where you would reach - two fingers inside, hook up and outwards and open, stretch her wide to fill.

The girl looks like sin, looks like decadence; near-saintly: holy and sacrosanct. You think they've beatified less.

Sana reaches with her free hand for the front of your shirt.

"You," she whispers, and your hands flex involuntarily.

"Yeah," you reply, soft, even-keeled. "Me."

(Romance me, she'd said, only half-sarcastic. Sweep me off my feet and ruin me. Then I'll show you just how obsessed I am with you.)

There's always the itch, the impulse: to undo and dismantle everything around her, take everything to pieces; reduce her to tears until all she knows is your hands and your voice. To stop treating her like a masterwork and treat her more like something you're carving out of a block of stone. Maybe she'd lose that divine edge; she'd fall from that angelic grace into something mortal, and it wouldn't be anyone's fault. Not really.

Well - until now; because this is all you.

"Oh, Sana," you murmur, watching her tear up like it's killing her. "God, look at you."

You’ve got your fingers running through her honey-blonde tresses, got her wet lips slipping down the length of your cock, got the cutest little whimpers coming from her chest when you push a little too far, force yourself a little too deep - got the prettiest girl on her knees, working your cock to the back of her throat and letting her hips grind a few more inches of silicon inside her. The visual isn’t even in competition, in comparison - her huge amber eyes all innocent and glassy, those flawlessly plush red lips - you really shouldn't do it; if she hates something it's being mussed up, but here she is, anyway, because if there's anything she hates more, it's not getting a full serving of exactly what she wants - and she's swallowing your dick down her tight little throat without asking anything in return.

"You love this, don't you, baby," and when she bobs up - sinks back down - your next breath drags through your teeth.

The mirror's behind her; you don't need the nod for confirmation.

You can see it clear as day: her pussy creaming, glistening as she takes it even deeper, leaving a white, glistening trail from the base to the tip of the silicon shaft - how far she's gone; how far she'll still go.

"You love having my cock down your throat," you keep talking, and you curl your fingers gently in her hair, not enough to guide or press, but Sana - bless her - takes it like an indication and does the work for you; she nods anyway.

The waterline of her big doe-eyes is swimming, nearly spilling over - and if this doesn't prove it, then nothing will, certainly not anything she could say herself.

But, really - you can't get over her face, and she must know that.

Prada, Fendi, Chanel, Dior - they've got similar ideas, sure; straight to the gutter, only if they could see how you're replicating their vision - her eyes: too huge, too shimmery, too imploring; her hair spills from your fists in loose, glossy coils; that magazine-cover-ready look all flushed, mascara-thick lashes wet from the strain, jaw a little slack to accommodate the size of you - you're not too much easier to take than the dildo stretching her cunt wide right now, either.

Oh, she's filled up on both accounts.

"Mmnhph," is how Sana hums around you, tongue working obscenely over the head. Her mouth feels velvety-tight on the upstroke.

It doesn't take much to forget her mouth's playing second-fiddle to the work her cunt's doing, and her free hand's curling tight around your thigh, a steadying mechanism - which, isn't that the very root of the matter: the first time you'd cum in her tight little pussy, hadn't it been just like that, where all the pieces slotted right back into place, a certain order to the chaos? The desperate cling of her pretty-fingernailed hand.

Eyes wet and blinking: trust, don't let me down.

And you'll indulge her like tomorrow's the end of the world. Work her through it; watch her fine eyebrows pinch tight together; note how her high-strung breathing sounds muffled in her nose. How she lets you slide to the edge of the chair to fuck her face, lifting your hips and knocking into the slightest gag-reflex possible. She gets progressively filthier, tongue lathing the underside of you, sucking the head with the tight seam of her lips whenever you pull back to give her a second to breathe.

"Jesus." Your fingers loosen in her hair, combing her wild bangs from her flushed face. It's suddenly delicate. Gentle. Doting. Sana's pretty little forehead deserves a kiss for how fast, how deep, she's taking your cock in the softest part of her throat.

"There we go - just relax, sweetheart," you tell her, the very same girl who is making herself cum in the full-length mirror: pussy stretched and pulsing wet around the toy. "Catch your breath."

She doesn't even flinch when you touch your thumb to her cheekbone, carefully pulling her face back, feeling the wet press of her tongue at the crown. But her lips pull into a pout like she's sad you're stopping her. "No more?"

You inhale, deeply, and try not to laugh out loud. Her cheeks have flushed this adorable rose color. "Baby," your voice trails off with a click, and it's entirely your fault for teasing her; you might not get out of this room for the rest of the night, after all. So much for red wine and valentine's on the Seine - the perfect, the picturesque-

"I can't help it," Sana cuts in. She doesn't even hesitate. If anyone can redefine perfection, well. She's wearing that look: her mouth an utterly sinful pucker and her tongue skimming pink up the wet mess her throat's made of you. Her big, heavy-lashed eyes gazing at at you, and her pupils - well, that's no doubt what happens when something hits too hard, and it's the last thing you should notice, really, in this moment.

Her tongue is flat, stuck out. Very pink. She slaps your cock against it. Jesus christ, you think.

But: who can blame you, when the gorgeous, nude, marble-perfect woman on her knees is riding her toy with no qualms whatsoever, gazing straight into your soul?

"The faces you're making are really fucking hot and it's valentines day and you, like, taste and smell so fucking good-"

"Okay." You're twitching in her hands, and it's making her give you the most awful bedroom eyes in the world. "Okay, baby, slow down-"

She doesn't, but she can't do much worse; Sana presses her plush, swollen bottom lip to the crown of your cock, makes a show of licking the precum beading from your slit - licks her lips like it's a present, like she'd flown halfway around the world just for that, and it's an ambrosia she'd rather savor than spill.

"Sana," and your laughter falls out in a gasp, because, fuck - she's got a tight grip on your thigh and the most selfish desire for your orgasm you've ever seen; her other hand is already set, too, the one rubbing away at her own dripping pussy, wrist working just underneath her, catching her clit. "You're going to make me cum like that."

"Okay," she tells you, all round-eyes and wet-mouth; she's so fucking insatiable. "Then cum."

You're not sure how a goddess who worships your cock ends up like this: propped up the hotel-furniture, sinking down a thick, gleaming dildo and the slightest hitch in her breath a fucking non-sequitur. "Fucking hell," you gasp. "Princess-"

And, well - it's not like you really protest; her mouth's already at the tip of you and she's working it there, in and out, with a teasing wetness.

She sighs, heavy, but also blissful; sinks lower in one, rolling agonizing movement; meets your eyes when you go heavy-lidded and biting your lip - like it's a competition for who can end up the worse wreck. She swallows, slowly, so slowly. Lets her nails lightly dig into the sensitive skin behind your balls, drags them back up with her tongue and her throat constricting.

It's her expert mouth, that's the thing. You close your eyes because you think you might cum right then; right down the back of her pretty, porcelain throat. You can hear her humming like she's enjoying it more than you - can hear the clicking sound in her throat when she bobs her head, fucks herself deeper. Can hear the slick, filthy slaps of her pussy taking the cock fastened to the coffee table under her. And, you think, opening your eyes just a crack: when your girl's making a mess of the expensive hardwood with the cream spilling from her needy cunt - that's worth giving into. That's an image so good and perfect and god-damned filthy that you'd bet, when you cum, all the devil will want is a deal for a replica, for a pact to possess every woman out there who fits the mold: this one's yours.

You're fucking her mouth so hard, she's drooling.

"Jesus- ah, fuck. I'm going to fucking cum, Sana," and, not that she listens, “down your fucking throat, honey- I'm, oh," - not that she cares, really - you've just managed to grit your teeth - to arch your back up like that could pull you out from the sensation: it doesn't.

She does moan around you, then. Pulls the vibration deep and uses her tongue, works the pink, slender muscle right down to where you're half-gagging her, making her eyes water.

It's easy to knot your fingers back in the locks of her hair, pull tight.

Easier still, her face is framed with your thighs and the effect's immediate - it feels as hot and wet and tight as a vice and your voice shakes along with the rest of your neurons, firing, collapsing, keening - and, of course: when your hand fisted in her hair tries to pull her hot mouth off your cock, well.

There's a few more inches of sloppy-wet friction and slippery-tight drag you hadn't really budgeted for.

You're cumming all over her face, not that you had much of a choice - it's just one wave and another, your thighs tensing and the breath going out of you in stilted, long, stuttering moans - Sana looks up, when your brain has unscrambled enough to register her name and the light of the world and the absolutely perverted expression she's got: there's a shot of cum that streaks across her closed eyelid and another string making a sticky-white mess out of her button-nose and, god-

You don't mean to cum in her hair, but-

"Fuck," your teeth clatter around a biting-gasp, "Sana, oh fuck," but - as expected, she does have your cock gripped tight at the base, her lashes clumped with the mess, her cheeks sticky-messy.

Sana's looking up with the innocent sort of mischief only she could ever get away with, you figure, cum-covered and beautiful: the good girl with her good girl mouth, all the evil inside of her.

She lets your cock fall out of her hand, down, with an obscene, wet thud, right where she can press it against her face - press it against those sharp cheekbones - and those doe-eyes, and those lips: the ones she draws across the dripping tip, pulls at them with a sultry sort of sigh. Sinking the curve of her nose down the belly side of your cock as you paint her, gasping for air; and it gets worse - when her tongue catches between your balls, when her lips are pouting right around the soft skin there and her soft moans make you pump the white-hot ropes of cum until it's a mess in her hairline, in the silky locks that fall to the crests of her ears and down to where they rest over her tits, hiding the flush of her hard, puffy nipples, her tiny little pink clit-

"Messy," Sana croons, without much of an inflection; one eyelid flutters open and a milky-stream runs down the curve of her cheek; the other seems hopelessly stuck.

Oh, she's usually such a wet blanket about getting anything in her hair (which is more often just an excuse to ride you brainless on the shower bench, but it doesn't come without her grumbling on the way), and even then she's lifting up off her heels and resting her chin on your thigh to make sure you can watch when she spreads the mess along her slender throat and back behind her ear, almost shy, drawing strands of cum into her mouth with her long-lashed eyes locked onto yours.

"It really hasn't been that long," and she says it with some exasperation, with a bubbly little bout of laughter that has the same weight as her pecking kisses along the muscles of your abs, cleaning her cum-hand against the patchy wetness across the flat plane. "Geez - you must've been so pent up -" and she stops for breath, for another suckle to your shaft; your cock twitches in her grip, the sensation too much, but it makes Sana give the most self-satisfied smile. It'd be unbearably irritating if she wasn't your entire universe - she is, so you try not to move as she steadies herself on your thighs; presses her messy face into the side of your throat and mewls. "All mine," Sana decides, sounding quite content about it. "Do you need a few minutes?"

She asks this like she isn't pumping you still, using her delicate fist to keep you upright for her while she speaks into the line of your jaw.

"Um," you say, before anything else. Before thinking about her clinging, wet heat around you. Before anything else: "yeah."

She purses her lips. Presses her free hand to your chest with a needy arch of her body. Pants for you, lashes falling shut - and, there's the problem, she's so much more fuckable like that. She's painted red from her cheeks all the way down her tits and you're just realizing how much drool fell off her chin, how much of a mess is between her tits, how much she revels in it - getting her face-fucked until neither of you can survive the fallout.

"How about," she huffs against you, all breath and the curve of a whine, "I clean this up," her hand's still tight at the base, where your nerves are singing with all sorts of new sensory input - "and god, your heart," she whispers, and her chin hooks over your thigh. She's looking up at you, ruined, flushed and dewy. "-is beating so fast for me -" she says, almost wistful.

That's the point, probably. It's the entire problem: she has a few ideas of how beautiful she is, the kind of destruction she wreaks.

Her breath catches in her chest when her hips shift back and that thick, fake cock pops out of her cunt; it sounds fucking filthy, and the softest of keening moans escapes her - it has the weight of your existence and she probably knows it; her amber gaze fluttering shut as she doesn't move for a second.

You don't either, can't really; Sana sliding up your body as graceful as ever, even naked and used-looking, leaves you barely functional and running on over-stim. "I mean," she starts, like the two words just tumbled out of her cunt with the rest of the mess and that's a great explanation; Sana's moving around in your lap anyway, dropping that nice, hard dildo on the seat beside you, still dripping. "I can't let you cum in my pussy," she says, all gentle matter-of-fact, while her mouth opens across the arch of your jaw and she gets cum down her wrist. "Well," she amends, "-not yet anyway, not right now," and she does look guilty, for some reason.

It makes your smile twist wry and unattractive, probably. "I'm good at controlling myself," you manage.

"Liar," says Sana, which is a reasonable reply. You'd laugh, but her cunt's wet and hot against you, already sinking, settling, just an inch deep into her cunt. It's easy to take in hand - you grip her hips, thumb her little pink clit.

Sana's response is to rut against it, rubbing all over where the swollen head of your cock rests between her thighs. Her smile goes a little blissed out, dreamy.

"There's another place," she's saying, while her hair spills down your arm, between you, sticking in the space between her tits, "that would be a perfect home for this thick, gorgeous cock."

"I think you should let Woody and I sort that out," and, shit, that doesn't make her stop moving, dragging her soaked slit over your shaft. "Maybe he'll be your valentine after all, huh, babe?"

Sana narrows her eyes, tilting her head forward in her best attempt at threatening. It's cute, almost, if your dick wasn't trapped between the wet heat of her body and your belly. You pick her up so, so easily. And that's hot, you think: your strength, her whole lithe-waisted petite-tits everything.

"Hey," her lips part against yours, a protest there - until you move her by the hips, pushing up and watching her spread for it.

And if that doesn't go straight to your ego.

Sana huffs, playing aloof, petulant - a character you draw out when she's really hoping and praying you'll fold her up and show her what the good parts of worship mean. "You think you can share?" she's asking you, voice already growing rough. She's trying to fuck back, take her hips again, but you still her with your palms, fingers sinking tighter and her ass spilling out between your knuckles.

"Get your knees back on the table for me, pretty girl," and you lift her as she squirms; set her down, until her body is arched forward, tits pressed punishingly to the hardwood.

You think you're maybe spending next-century's savings on a wet-dream made real; maybe being too rough, too mean about your hand twisting through that mess of golden-strawberry curls at the base of her spine and making her spine curve deep as she breathes out a heavy, messy curse.

"Give me what I deserve, then," and she can't reach under her body and tug at your cock, but she gets the words out. The order. "I'm aching, it's sore and empty and, it's so fucking tight," and that's not a demand but a whine. She wants you, that's the real point. "You know, I want," and she doesn't finish that, but:

She's blinking at her reflection in the glass, watching it. You really fucked up that pretty painting, and she's appraising the art, tilting her chin just a bit to appreciate the effort: how she's made to be wrecked.

You grab Woody, attach it to the table without thinking; the weight's warm, solid; he's hard-used and wet enough from her body that it's not an issue; there's enough lube leftover to slide your palm once or twice over and drag it wet across Sana's ass, around your length, even over Sana's pink cunt, wet and swollen and bunched with the toy she'd used, stretched deep as you'd seen. She whimpers out the softest sound, then, and you think: what a miracle, and maybe she does too because her hips arch into it like she's begging for praise, for your touch, anything; there's a few seconds of pressure, just enough time for you both to realize what's happened.

"This'll get messy, you know," you tell her, which isn't fair. "It won't feel the same in there," because your baby needs her explanations.

"Want to feel you both in my guts," is what she offers instead, and- yeah, it's so not fair for her to say stuff like that either.

You touch the silicone head to her puffy folds, ease him up and down - just how you would for her, only taking care to feel where she's pinkest. Where's the pressure on your fingers? There, probably, but there, too. Where does she gasp the softest when she's full and tensing in anticipation? Oh.

Her cunt is so slicked she sinks on it, opening fast and beautiful and dirty.

The sound Sana makes is unreal; no way to measure her reaction otherwise. You don't know whether it's good or bad; all you see is the way her reflection dips into nothing, into pain, but: her head jerks up in time to watch and she moans like she's begging - loud and pretty and shocked, eyes fluttering. Her hair falls like curtains around her face, a wildfire behind her. She's stunning; of course you think it.

"See that," she says, through clenched teeth, "the pretty way it pushes out of me-"

"Makes room for me," because yeah, fuck, okay. You know it too.

She's perfect for this: a body like she's the centerfold in a dirty magazine and then a disposition that says yes, you do want me like that. Or, she's asking for a pounding. That's the least you can do - straddle the surface with her, line your cockhead up, push just barely to the resistance - force Sana's hips down until Woody's bottomed and her legs shake for the first time.

"You good, baby?"

"You can," and-

Oh, man. "Let me do it," you tell her, sliding your hand up her back to grab her hair, winding it between the thick of your knuckles. "I'll take care of you, I promise-"

That's another shot in your veins: her lips bitten red, her expression ruined; the way her face falls for you like she's meeting you in that elevator for the very first time, the straw of her iced coffee between her lips, her nose wrinkling for the cliché.

She blinks at you again, nods and keens and oh-

Your cock works in that next fraction of an inch, just the head spreading Sana open.

"Holy-" but she chokes it back, so you'll keep doing this, making her think, fuck- "oh my-fuck-okay," is what she gives you, breathing in pants; what her expression tells you, the lines cutting over her brows and between her nose.

"Sana," is as far as you get, and Sana's grinding, gasping. She'll sob. She'll get loud. You can see from your angle; just feel how much it burns, the way Woody's working inside her, splitting her to the core.

You watch the line of her back work, tense, clench - where it's just that simple and base and human.

And the mirror's got the full story: it all comes up with the same obscene details - Sana's mouth a deep open pink, her eyes rolling closed as she swallows thickly - as she's wetting the air down and relaxing her whole body for it: her toes curling. She sinks another inch onto the toy, you figure, and she makes this fucked-up mewling noise, half-cry, half-begging. Your cum is tacky all over her front, drying sweaty; her makeup's runny. She's a disaster and so pornographically stunning.

You sink deeper, and she bucks, takes her time riding. "Feels- fucking incredible, doll, I'm going to start fucking you, ok?" and you groan; you are. You pull back, seeing where her cunt is creamed out and ruined, where there's the ghostly wet lube smeared on your cock, all sticky like her.

Sana nods, looking back - she finds your face, doesn't falter; she'll see her tits spilling against the table; the dark shade of her nipples. Her cunt's sliding over the toy in a rush; she's shimmying her whole body, impatient. You let go of her hair and touch between her shoulder blades to the base of her spine, marvel in the stretch of it, the pretty flush you're fucking into over and over.

"It feels-" Sana's talking, her forehead bowed against the table, her mouth hanging loose, "feels-good. Good. Amazing. Feels-" and she can't breathe, you know, but fuck, neither can you- "so. Full. Full."

You nod; know. She knows.

She's saying it for herself, in a slur, the words on the edge of a gasp: "I'm-holy-"

Your fingers pinch her ass, just gentle; enough to spread her, catch a view of her stretched asshole. Her teeth knock together - she's trembling for this. She'll cum.

"Trying to kill me," you tease, but fuck- it's good; so fucking good.

You've been brushing your cock to the back of this girl's throat and it's still the hottest thing you think you'll ever see; her personal toy buried to the hilt beneath you, just the tight little opening of her pussy fucked-out and slicked-up, raw and red and utterly ruined-

"Shh, sweetheart," you manage, burying yourself in as far as possible, leaning over. You move the hair falling into Sana's face and trace her features with the tip of your index finger, smudging a fingerprint of eyeliner. You're kissing her hair, her skin, tasting salt, sweat, cum: "Such a slut, taking that big fat toy all in you, opening you up-" and the last you get out isn't her name, it's a murmur- "look what a whore you're being," and her cunt is fucking throbbing-

You lean back, catch a sight of it; her thighs trembling and pinkish and oh, fuck, no. She's got one of her hands worked back and on her clit, stroking it feverishly-

"Baby-"

"I need you," is what she cries out; not an explanation. "So," and it's something mangled- "God, please. Come on."

She tells you twice; she can't help herself. Sana's ass is unbelievably tight. So pretty; so the little fucked-out cocksleeve you always needed. All her eyeliner's fucked to hell and her hair's still a knotted disaster; you've got all your inches inside her, she's pressing the heel of her hand to her clit and drawing patterns over her face with her fingers like she can't remember-

"My pussy, jesus-fucking-christ." Her mouth is falling slack again. "God. God. Harder, it feels too good, don't stop-"

"Such a good fucking girl," and there's this picture-perfect moment-

She cums. You're all up in her guts, spilling to the tight space, that she's fucked beyond the stretch and that's got to burn, paradoxically making her go all crazy with this feeling. Your cock's making space - you'd hate not fucking her until she's overfull and all those slick muscles are clenched and bruised-

"Does my princess need something?" you ask her, while your palm teases the flare of her hips. It's teasing; she won't stop; she'll cum again. You're pounding her ass and that toy's still there, buried to her cervix, her pussy's a mess and it's almost an itchy pleasure, too much stimulation, too sensitive; she's slick, sodden.

Sana is nodding furiously. One hand's doing it again, and the other's got the thumb trapped in her mouth; she's trying for silence; it won't last. Her throat's loud and filthy and you've always probably known, since the very beginning, that Sana loves taking you in whatever gorgeous, wet, tight hole she can.

"Please," she manages. Her hand's moving quicker- "Let me. Let me." And she's grinding against you, taking in every inch you have for her, arching her back; her clit is raw and throbbing and she's a fucking genius. A natural at begging. She deserves the win. She's being good. She's letting you fill her with cum.

You're not even fucking her into particularly fast, particularly deep, just grinding, using the tight ring of muscle, the heavy, bruising press.

"Tell me," and she can't focus- "Tell me when you're going to cum, princess. Can't wait to feel you-".

Oh. And, then-

You want it to last.

Her feet are tapping, toes curling into the hardwood, and it's over: she's tightening her grip against the table and making sure to keep the vibrations direct, her cheek pressed to the wood, drool drenching the corner of her lips. You've seen enough dirty shit, done enough kinky stuff. This - this might actually have you dumbfounded: watching her convulse; watching her bring her hand away, just touching. Her cunt's all milky and soft.

"Stay still, sweetheart," you're saying; as if she can move. You're holding her steady by her hips. You're massaging lightly; taking all the rest you can. "That's it, come here, you're so-" and your cock's easing its way out- "fucking."

She gasps when you slip all the way free; your cum slides back down. Sana's languid and fluid, skin sweating, hair everywhere. She's not crying, but it's the closest she's been in ages; the closest, most pure you can get a girl: your cum spilling out and all over you, and you're telling her it's alright, telling her she's gorgeous; saying it's okay she's already stretched herself so thin, exhaustion pooling, seeping out of her mouth, the line of her thighs and-

"Thank you." It's that genuine, melodic cadence, the honesty - it's that the first time she's looking down and she's blinking tears- "Want you to- right here," and she's moving forward, slowly.

You're cupping Sana's thighs before you can even think; lifting, bending them to her chest, her lips bitten, kiss-swollen. Her tongue darts to the corner of her mouth: Sana knows where this is going.

You can taste her. You can taste your own sins - the vanity, the hubris, the glutton, the greed - taste how wet, how flushed. She's putting that expert mouth to good use and keeping quiet again: a pant, a whine, an ahhhh, a whimpered half-curse. Her chest is flushed the prettiest, sweetest, lightest shade of red.

It's too intimate. You could lie in it, keep her warm like this until the very earth rotted. All the rough, dirty things you could do to her; it's almost sacrilegious that this is what brings the closest feeling of bliss, peace.

You don't realize how still everything is, all stilled, until Sana's small, quivering legs hook your shoulders; until the end of her toe brushes the shell of your ear, presses. Her spine arches into your mouth and the scent of her cunt - the taste. You could stay here, in your hands, and take, and - and give it right back: take, take, and take.

You eat her cunt until her voice is wrecked raw, your tongue dragging across her ass, over your lower lip, smearing her slickness, tasting her from your fingertips. She doesn't beg and she doesn't tell you what to do, she just spreads her pussy and rides her clit against your lips, moaning unashamedly as she rocks herself on your face, coming on your tongue in two, three hard, heavy pulses.

"Good fucking-"

"-God," you finish for her, and it's all the most sacred kind of silent. Your face buried back in between her thighs, just breathing. Just loving her, and holding her steady, because aftercare's a bigger part of the game than either of you let on, and you know she's ready and safe in your arms by now.

Sana pants and heaves, eyes shut. Bites her lips red as she smiles.

The lines of her face relax as if you're soothing her, tucking her in: good job, I've got you. When she isn't such a tender wreck, it'll happen all over again.

"You know," you say conversationally to Sana, who's lying in the fetal position at the foot of the bed, "you look cute right now."

It's another day, same time-zone, different house, same game. You've never stopped in your pursuit of what exactly a muse looks like: perfect, empty, caught in the bright white exposure of her hotel room lamp; all hard black-and-white, tonal range; in the scratch of the pen and the haze of the film developing, on the translucent material of the photo you'll print. There's the image, there's her breathing-

(There's all the ones you don't even know you'll find: her belly growing large, skin smoothing with child, a birth, a growth, a transformation; the dreams.)

-she's told you as much, but you can never know for certain if she really, truly-

"I'm dying," she grumbles. "You fucked me to death."

"You're bad for my ego." You plop down next to her and rub a hand between her shoulder blades. The curve of her back makes your fingers ache and your throat close up. "How do you feel, really."

Sana takes a moment before she replies.

"Hurt," she finally murmurs, quietly. You hum back a soothing noise. "But good. The best. Everything I've always wanted." She pauses. "Also: dead."

"You said that already." You're rolling your eyes, fondly.

She doesn't reply, just pushes herself up, legs crossing, one hip propped up. She's in a hotel bathrobe and she's supposed to be at a runway in an hour. "Hey."

"Yeah?" you're already tilting your head. She's sitting in the middle of the bed now, legs crossed under her; this is definitely a hotel robe, you've never been around her this long. "What's up?"

Sana just tucks her hair back, bares her shoulders and moves the fabric down the curve of her side.

"I told you," she starts, and her teeth snag on her bottom lip, "I think you're good," and she's suddenly shy: this little fuck-off of yours, of yours. "For me."

"You-" you start, and there's a way that things are and you have the gut instinct, the conviction of it, but-

(Then again, a girl with hair the color of a caramel confection and eyes you could be lost in for eons told you the other day without having to say it, eyes widening in the haze and light and gloss, that she could love you forever.)

"Yes," she answers, because it's your question, that slow smile making her features draw inward, the wrinkle of her nose: yes, it's your decision. That she's telling you the truth. "Exactly."

Actually, to frame this right, you probably ought to have started with her, at the girl with idyllic, copper-spun hair and a thousand-watt smile. It reads main-character energy from fifty feet away: you should've pulled the curtain back and simply said, meet Minatozaki Sana.

Your significant other, sorta - few people on earth know that, for a lot of reasons, and depending on the day, you can't be entirely sure if she wants it that way or if she'd rather scream it from the rooftops; Sana is - well, it's tricky. She's beautiful in a way you never got to conceptualize before, that nobody probably does. She's magnetic. It's effortless. It's gravity, and it's only natural that you'd always want to pull yourself back to her, to orbit her; she'd ask and you'd die, right?

She assumes you'll ask to marry her, someday - you're starting to suspect she's probably right.

And there's a pattern of nuance to how you know her, all the definitions of her - you bring her fresh-cut flowers, you call her princess, you fuck her until she begs, you hold her while she rinses her hair in the shower. You run your mouth, you eat her cunt until she can't walk straight. It's a big role, a broad palette to capture.

Sana, in the morning for example:

Can't drink her coffee black; steals sugar packets from cafes and slips them into her pocket; sleeps so still and so quietly that sometimes it almost scares you, worrying that she’s slipped off into a coma. She likes being doted on, likes getting compliments, likes melting under someone’s full attention as if she's waited for that from you her whole life. She says it directly: listen, okay, don't laugh at me, I get needy.

Or, beneath starlight:

Flitting across hotel balconies, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you into open bars.

She'll buy you a drink and loves when you buy her another, her glass never half-empty. She climbs on top of you and presses her mouth to your ear, sings the song in her head for the next five minutes, hips jolting when she sways a bit too far - a light bulb over a diner counter. Tips the waiter extravagantly, rolls her eyes when you lecture her for spending your money. Smiles at you anyway and takes your hand in hers on the way out the door.

Sana Minatozaki, on herself:

A nightmare. I don’t even know. Seriously. An absolute mess. Completely nuts. (You said you were a 'total fucking catch.') Oh, yeah. I guess that's true too.

(Or maybe, Sana, on you:

Well, when you ask on the flight out, she says something sweetly innocuous. When you press her again, she blushes. When she might be feeling especially adoring, she'll look at you and say, with utmost certainty and uncharacteristic lack of sarcasm, 'I mean, it's you. What more can I say?')

#sana smut #twice smut #sana #twice sana smut #kpop smut #male reader smut

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lymtw · 10 months ago

Note

hello Mal!!! i have a nsfw req for toji x shy reader cuz they’re my fav and i literally think about it 24/7.

shy reader who’s not as vocal during sex with toji bc she gets nervous :( so he edges her til she squirts for the first time but only if she uses her voice!!!

A/N: Hello, hello! Thank you for reading and for sending this request in ☺️💙

Toji and His Shy Girl

"What are you doing down there?" Toji asks, finally giving in to the distraction of you sitting at his feet, rather than sitting next to him.

"I'm watching the movie," you respond, with an innocent amount of truthfulness. You don't turn around to look at him, so you're met with a poke to your shoulder. That instinctively makes you turn your head in the direction of the contact.

"The couch is too big. Even for me, doll. Come sit." He pats the spot next to him and shifts where he sits, as if making even more room for you.

Your eyes flit between him and the cushion for a couple seconds before you respond. "I'm okay staying here. I don't wanna make you uncomfortable." You smile, kindly, and turn back to face the screen again.

Toji's brows furrow in misunderstanding. He taps your shoulder again, receiving the same look when you turn, again. You tilt your head in question.

"You wouldn't be making me uncomfortable. Far from it, with the enormous gap of space that would be between us. What if I wanted you to sit between my legs, instead?" He catches the way your eyes widen for a split second, your inhibition cleared for the short span of time. "Come sit, baby," he repeats, this time patting the unoccupied space of the cushion he's sitting on.

You don't want to make him wait any longer. The movie is still playing, you'll both lose track of the plot if you take any longer. You stand from your place on the ground and move to sit next to him. As soon as you bend down to sit, his hands go to your hips and he pulls you so that you fall into the place he wanted you in.

"There you go. Now pay attention to the movie."

–

You try for him. You're trying so hard to ignore the pressure of his forearms around your waist, and the warmth of his wrists against the sliver of skin revealed by your slightly lifted shirt. You can occasionally hear him sigh through his nose, only further adding on to the tension you feel upon sitting between his legs. You don't even know how he's watching the movie. You feel like you're obstructing his vision.

The movie ends and you're left staring at the title screen.

"Okay, movie's over. You probably want me off-"

"No." His arms fasten even more around you. "I'm comfortable. Are you not?"

"N-No, I am. It's just... I wasn't sure if you wanted to keep me here for a whole other movie."

"I could keep you here longer than that, doll." He straightens his posture and readjusts your position, so that he's not slouching and you're not leaning back uncomfortably. He can feel the tension surface on your body as you go rigid in his hold. He can't help but let out a small laugh at how this detail never ceases with you. "Relax, baby. What's got you so nervous?" He rests his chin on your shoulder and turns to get a better look at your face. "Hm?" He plants a chaste kiss to your temple.

"Nothing, I guess. We're just watching movies," you say, more as a reminder for yourself.

"Mhm. Watching movies... on the verge of cuddling..." he mumbles, into your neck. "Nothing to be nervous about."

His hands splay over your lower abdomen and you think he might be caressing your skin so sensually to mess with you after having said all those things to comfort you, but he's not relenting on the joke. He's kissing your shoulder, aiming to relieve you of some of your anxiety so that your body can melt into comfort. It has some effect on you, your nerves being mixed with something hot, now.

"We can do more than cuddling, if you want," he hums, grinning at the way you shudder. "You know, i've been dying to hear that pretty voice of yours."

"What?" you say, laughing nervously, like you misheard him.

"You've got a really nice voice, baby. I swear, I could listen to you talk, endlessly. Wish you would use it when I take you to bed. You don't make a peep, doll."

You go silent. Not because you're upset with him, or because what he said isn't true, but because you can't think of how to respond to that. You didn't think he was monitoring the sounds you make. He never said anything about it before. You figured maybe he preferred the silence.

"It's embarrassing..." you finally mumble, quickly turning around to right what may have come out wrong. "F-For me! Just me. You're fine to make all the sound you want. It's... it's just me." You turn back around to hide the flush of embarrassment on your cheeks.

"Why is it embarrassing? Am I not making you feel good enough?"

You can't let him feel that way.

"No, Toji- That's not- No, no, no. That's not the case, at all." You unwind his arms from your torso and turn to face him. You fully sit on his lap, and though the eye contact that comes after you wrap your legs around him was like having three cups of coffee on an empty stomach for your heart, you summed up the courage because it's not fair to let him think that way when it's the exact opposite. "I just..." you let out a small sigh. "I don't wanna be loud. I don't want you to hear me. God... I can barely even look at you when we... you know." You look down at where your hands absentmindedly rested on his stomach. "Sorry."

He's just smiling at you because he finds your entire existence beside him to be endearing. His hands go to yours. "I get to stare at your pretty face the entire time." He grins, watching the way your cheeks burn and how you try to distract yourself from his gaze by fidgeting with his hands. "You always look so good, ma. Bet you sound just as pretty."

There was so much tension in the silence that followed. He started playing with your hands. He would interlock his fingers with yours before slowly detangling your hands and repeating the process, flipping your hands this time. He got to feel the smoothness of your unpainted nails on the pads of his fingers, and he traced the lines etched into your palms.

Things got out of hand. One minute you were holding hands and laughing to yourselves with thoughts of how silly yet necessary the moment was, the next you were both undressing, and kissing like you missed each other terribly. He has his hands on your hips, guiding you up and down his cock while you hide your face in the crook of his neck. He's groaning and panting at the feeling of your velvety walls hugging him so tightly, and you just release little breaths into his neck, occasionally gasping when he hits a sensitive spot, as per usual.

"Baby," he pants, "let me hear you. Give me those pretty sounds."

"G-Gonna cum," you whisper, your breath becoming heavier with every upwards thrust of his hips.

"Not if you don't let me hear you."

He can feel you clenching around him more frequently. It's a telltale sign of your orgasm rolling in, so he immediately stops. Both of you are unsatisfied, but Toji can handle it for as long as it takes you to make a sound that isn't just your breathing. He can tell you want to, too, with the occasional squeaks that leave you.

"I-I was gonna-"

"And I meant what I said." He's just as edged and frustrated as you are. Despite not getting the sounds he wants from you so easily, you're still make him feel really good. Your touch, the skin-to-skin of you clinging onto him—it's enough to bring him towards the edge as well, and it takes every ounce of restraint for him to stop. He squeezes your waist when he sees the look of helpless desperation on your face. "You know I have all the patience when it comes to you, doll. We can do this all night. I just wanna know—audibly—that I'm making you feel as good as you say I am. Alright?"

You sigh, but nod in understanding.

"Good. Let's try that again."

Despite your gesture of comprehension, you're doing the same thing all over again. You're feeling good, you're comfortable and Toji sounds immensely hot as he continues to drive you up and down his length. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, your face once again buried into the crook of it. All that can be heard from you is your breathing, the warm air fanning over his already heated skin.

"Doll," he calls, feeling the way you mouth at his shoulder and neck.

"Please, just a little longer. Please," you murmur, feeling that spike in pleasure return again.

"Doll, you're not..." he groans. He knows he has to stop or you'll get what you want, and what he wants will be pushed aside. "You're not letting me hear your pretty voice."

"Please, please, please, Toji. I-I'm right there..."

"Uh-uh." With heavy hands weighing down your hips like cinder blocks, you're once again denied of that weakening force of pleasure.

"T-Toji," you utter, weakly. You drag your face down to his chest, and allow all the heavy breaths of the forceful stop to come out. Your cunt is throbbing, viciously. You're aching for more of him.

The man who usually caved to your every want and put your needs before everything, was suddenly being incredibly selfish with your pleasure, stopping every time you say you're close. You think you can find a way around it by just not warning him, but he knows your body like the back of his hand. He knows every one of the signs that come with your orgasms, making it pointless for you to try to evade his torture. He's done it to the point where you feel like mush, sluggishly lying against him.

"Look at me, doll. Lift your head."

"Mm-mm." You shake your head against his shoulder.

"Be good." He chuckles at your stubbornness and allows a hand to rest on your lower back. "I'm trying to give you what you want, so would you just look at me."

You sigh, before you start peeling yourself, little by little, off of him.

He immediately notices the involuntary lift of your lips. "Ooh, look at that pout. Could've just told me you wanted a kiss, doll." He smirks, watching as you turn your head slightly to hide the scorch on your cheeks. It's not the main thing you wanted, but you weren't mad when he did pull you in for a kiss, because he started moving his hips again, the pace slow as your lips remained locked. That slow pace was how every one of these torturous cycles started out, but this time it was different. It was now harder to get what you wanted.

"Eyes on me, baby, or I stop."

"I can't- Please, Toji." You want to bury your face in the crook of his neck, again. You want to hide yourself from those eyes of his that never fail to make you feel vulnerable.

"Eyes on me... or I stop," he repeats, calmly, as if enduring all of these stops is such a simple task for both of you. You look at him, and immediately feel like you're being swallowed whole. You feel like he's eating you alive with just his gaze. The sweat beading on his forehead, the tint of color on his cheeks, the lust that simmers in his eyes… it's an insane visual. It's overwhelming.

He sees it, though. The way you try to still your bottom lip as it quivers, the way your chest spasms from holding it all in, your pleading eyes. It's all so... you. So fragile, so timid, so small. So beautiful.

"Good girl. Yeah... just look at me," he instructs, and you whimper. Your gaze falls to his chest as embarrassment floods you at light speed. Your hands reach out for him like they do when you're ready to wrap your arms around him again, but he intercepts them. The brief noise homed into Toji's ears, and rushed straight down to his dick. He can't afford to be deprived of your facial expressions when he now knows what your pretty voice sounds like when it's laced with need. "Fuck... again. Do it again, princess. I heard that loud and clear."

"P-Please. Please, let me go back." You test the strength of his grip, twisting your wrists in his hold. He responds by pushing your arms behind you, the edge of his palms grazing your lower back with every bounce of you on his cock.

"What did I say, baby? Huh? Lift your head and look at me." When you refuse to listen and keep staring at his chest, he decides to give you a countdown for when he's going to stop. "Three..."

"No! Okay, okay," you say, complying with lifting your gaze. Your pleasure skyrockets when you make eye contact with him. He gives you a little smirk, like he's proud of you for showing him that you'll always be good for him, even if you're stubborn about it.

"Shit, mama. You feel so fucking good. Might just cum before you, if you keep this up."

You moan at the threat and bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from looking away again. Every sound you let slip makes Toji pick up the pace of his thrusts. They're always precise, so with the speed rising, you think you might catch up to his pleasure. "Please, Toji. Please." The second plead comes out as a whine. "Please, i'm... um..." you hum, shutting your eyes briefly at the sensation of him prodding your sensitive spot again and again. "I'm..." Another whimper slips out.

"Yeah?" He murmurs, watching you struggle to finish your thought, through lidded eyes. "Get it out. All of it."

You're cracking. Your little moans are becoming more and more audible. "I'm trying." You gasp, the breath coming out shaky.

Toji is devouring all of it. His focus is unbreakable, and his thoughts of you are greedy. He wants more than what you're giving him. He wants you to be louder, he wants you to scream his name, he wants to make you cum so hard that you let go of all that embarrassment and moan freely for him.

He removes one of his hands from your wrists, keeping them restrained with his other hand, so that he can toy with your clit. The rush of pleasure makes you twitch above him, a sweet moan instantly released by you. You feel so flustered, you can't hold the sounds back as well as before. It's the unfaltering look he throws at you. He has no trouble holding eye contact with you.

He's obsessed with this show you're putting on for him. The way you're crumbling for him, slowly giving in and losing your tentativeness towards making sound. You remain overwhelmed by all of it. The heavy breathing, his groans, the rapid movement of his thrusts, his rough thumb stroking your clit, the way you're so lost in the pleasure of it all that you've become just as greedy as him, chasing even more stimulation by grinding your hips against him. It's a loud scene.

"T-Toji, Toji!" You gasp. "I'm- Oh!"

"Oh fuck. Cum," he growls. "Cum, pretty girl. Cum for-"

Your entire body is trembling on top of him. Loud cries fill the room as your orgasm washes over you, in the most unbelievably messy way. Toji is stunned, entirely speechless as he fucks you through this intense orgasm. Your back is arched in so much you think your spine might snap, and you can't for the life of you stop crying out his name. This is one of the most powerful orgasms he has pulled from you, if not the most powerful. Toji's lap is drenched, your ass and the backs of your thighs are wet. It's never happened this way before. Your mind is so clouded, you can't even think of what just happened.

Not even a minute later, Toji mirrors you in experiencing that feeling of pure ecstasy, heavy pants and groans released, carelessly, by him. His warm load is shot into you, adding on to the mess when it begins to drool out of you and down his length.

You're both breathless, left frozen in your positions for a good amount of time, while you think about what just happened. You come down from your blissful state first and can't even think to look at him. You pull your hands out of his weakened grip and rest them on your thighs and just stare at them until he says something. You don't know what to say, so you'll let him do the talking.

It was a heat of the moment type thing. Completely unexpected and he's shocked to say the least. It takes Toji a couple minutes himself to think of what to say, but ultimately, he thinks this is the best way to break the ice...

"You just squirted... all over me."

You don't even look up at him when he says that. You just might cry from the continuously skyrocketing level of embarrassment you're feeling.

"Do you have anything to say about it?" He asks, to which you just shake your head. He lets a couple seconds go by, just to add an unnecessary dramatic effect to the situation, before picking up the conversation again. "Well, good thing I have some things to say about it, pretty." He grins and wraps you up in his arms, allowing you to return to your safe space. "You know how much I love you, right?" He says, turning his head to look down at your face. You hum in response and nod against his shoulder. "And that I only pushed you so that you wouldn't hide your voice from me anymore?" You nod again. "Well, I was right." He smirks, thinking of how he got exactly what he wanted. "I'll leave it at that so you don't overheat on me."

He sighs, contentedly, at the feeling of you being so relaxed in his arms now, compared to before. "You did so well for me, mama," he says, before pressing multiple kisses to your head.

There's a beat of silence. Toji can't stop thinking of that spontaneous moment. It's stuck on loop in his head. It's not convenient in this moment, since you're cockwarming him, but before you know it, he's half hard inside you again.

"You think I can make you do it on purpose, this time?"

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thepigeonhasapen · 6 months ago

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Finding Them When They're Trapped: Olympian Edition (NSFWish)

(I promise I'm working on requests but the horny bug bit ok)

🩷Aphrodite🩷

"Oh, darling, I'm afraid something simply tragic has happened. One of my suitors has taken advantage of me and left me like this!"

"...In your own bedchamber?"

Aphrodite waves a hand. As well as she's able to with the short chain connecting it to the bedpost anyway. "Sweetheart, it's sex. We don't need to apply logic to it."

"...I see." You sit next to Aphrodite, admiring the way the restraints draw her body into long, smooth curves. She wriggles in her chains, a deliberate enticement. An enticement too is the way she's looking at you, lashes fluttering and eyes locked sweetly upon your own.

"As I was saying..."

"Yes, yes, a horrible man left you tied to a bed and now I'm here to take advantage of that fact?"

"You do catch on quick, my dear."

⚔️Ares⚔️

Ares does not think this is funny. Unfortunately for Ares it is objectively pretty funny.

He glares at you from the bed, squirming against his chains. "Stop laughing and let me loose."

"I can't believe Aphrodite just left you like this!" You giggle. "I'm pretty sure she just straight up forgot you were here actually."

You can tell Ares is positively fuming about the whole thing. The headboard creaks as he yanks at the cuffs, but all the furniture upon Olympus is far too durable to break that easily. He glares at you once more and then sighs.

"Will you please set me free? I have something I wish to discuss with our dear Aphrodite."

Aphrodite has been so kind as to leave your favorite god naked, and you take advantage of this by resting your hand on his groin. You don't miss the sharp intake of breath when your skin touches his own.

"But it would be such a shame to let you go when I already have you here like this."

"I... be that as it may, I-" Ares's pupils blow wide with lust as you swing onto the bed to straddle his lap.

"Aphrodite isn't going anywhere. And-" You laugh. "Neither are you apparently."

"I suppose... my evening might still be salvageable after all."

🏹Artemis🏹

How embarrassing... to get caught in one of her own traps. Artemis is never going to live this down if anyone finds out about it. Too late for her, though, you've already found out about it.

"It's not funny! I just forgot where I set it, okay? Now let me down so we can both forget this ever happened."

Perhaps Artemis might be more intimidating if she wasn't blushing so fiercely. Oh yeah, and hanging upside-down by her ankle from a tree branch. That too.

"So if you're the prey, what's hunting you then? A deer? A bunny?"

You didn't think it was possible but Artemis blushes even harder. "Yeah, yeah, just get me down."

"Deal... but in exchange for not telling anyone about this, you'll owe me."

If looks could kill, not only would you be dead, you'd have been vaporized from existence. You start to walk away. "Or I guess you could just wait for somebody else to come by... Hermes, maybe?"

It doesn't take long for Artemis to break. "Okay, okay, deal! Now cut me loose before somebody sees."

As you're helping her down, Artemis shoots you another dirty look. "You’re just lucky I've got a soft spot for you."

🦉Athena🦉

One of the last places you expect to find Athena is stuck in a hole in the ground, but here you are. She looks up at you, visibly relieved to catch sight of you.

"Hail, Y/N. It would seem the Lady Artemis is leaving her pit traps strewn about the grounds. Again. I really must have a word with her about it. But first I require your assistance."

"Oh yeah? I hope you're not expecting me to carry you out of that hole." Look, Athena's like twice your size. You love her but it's just not gonna happen.

"No, nothing of the sort. If you could run to Hephaestus's workshop and fetch a ladder..."

You sit down at the edge of the hole, elbows resting on your knees. "I might do that. But to be honest, it's kinda hot seeing you be bested every once in a while."

"I was not bested. This was no battle of wills. This was my foolish half-sister being careless once again."

"Still... you being trapped is kinda doing it for me."

Athena sighs. "If you fetch me a ladder, I swear I will let you tie me up to your heart's content. Do we have an arrangement?"

"Done."

And you can't wait to take her up on that.

❄️Demeter❄️

"I'm going to kill that wretched foster brother of mine. We'll see if he can still throw his precious lightning bolts when he's encased in ice."

You've stumbled across Demeter cuffed to the railing of her balcony. You don't quite know what happened, but Zeus had something to do with it from the sounds of it.

"He told me I ought to get more sun! That it would be good for me! Put a smile on my face! Pah, as if there's anything to smile about upon this blasted mountain."

"Ahem," you say.

Demeter softens. "Ah... my apologies. Of course you give me cause to smile quite often."

"Would it make you smile if you said you looked cute in those cuffs?"

Demeter doesn't look in the slightest bit amused. "It most decidedly would not."

"Ah."

🍇Dionysus🍇

Dionysus had asked you to meet you in his vineyard but how strange, he doesn't seem to be here. Well, since you're here, you may as well look around. As you wander deeper through the plants, you hear rustling and the sounds of someone struggling.

He looks almost sheepish when you find him, half-buried in foliage with rogue vines twined around his limbs.

"Hey, so uh... there may have been a little... incident. Would you mind maybe lending a hand?"

"Don’t you have control over grapevines?"

"...These are special grapevines, yeah?"

And how kind of the vines to splay him out so beautifully. And to let him take off his cape first. And that all of his usual retinue is conveniently absent.

Dionysus shivers when you run a hand down his muscled chest. "And how exactly am I meant to help you if even a god as powerful as you can't set yourself free?" You stop just above where you're certain he wants you to touch him. "Shall I fetch someone to help?"

Dionysus whines when you remove your hand. "You’re such a damn tease, man! Just have your way with me already."

"I'm a tease? I'm not the one who's tied myself up in hopes of being ravaged."

"If you want we can switch places." Dionysus offers playfully.

"Hmm. Maybe later." You think you're gonna pass this up? Not a chance.

🪽Hermes🪽

You didn't expect to find the Messenger of the Gods tangled in a bunch of vines, but to be perfectly fair you're pretty sure he didn't intend for you to find him like that either.

"Oh, hi there, boss. I seem to have encountered a spot of trouble here but don't you worry, I'll be out in a jiffy."

He squirms, trying to free himself, but he's really just making the problem worse. Something he soon figures out when he sighs and looks helplessly at you.

"Don’t suppose you'd care to lend a hand?"

"Haha, oh alright," you manage through your giggles. "Hold on just a moment."

"Kinda can't do anything else," he points out.

You wade into the bushes, reaching for the vines that ensnare his wrist. Unfortunately, there's a bit more of them than you bargained for. One catches on your foot and you go tumbling forward, knocking both you and Hermes to the ground.

"Shit, sorry!"

But Hermes doesn't look as bothered as you thought he would. It's probably because your hand has landed squarely on his groin. You hadn't quite been sure if he was blushing before, but now he most certainly is.

He's not quite looking at you as he says, "You know it would really be a shame for you to let an opportunity like this go to waste, you know."

...He makes a valid point.

🔱Poseidon🔱

"Damn that blasted nephew of mine! I swear when I catch him, I'll- oh hello, dear! Would you mind helping your favorite sea god out of the predicament he's found himself in?"

You laugh. You can't help it; Poseidon looks absolutely ridiculous looking at you upside-down from the floor. Somehow he's ended up wrapped head to toe in chains, his arms pinned behind his back and his legs bound firmly together.

"What happened here?"

"That good for nothing nephew of mine, Hephaestus swore to me that he'd created chains so powerful that nothing could break them! I, of course, had to put such notions to rest. Nothing can overpower the might of the sea! Anyway, I uh..."

"So you let Hephaestus do this to you?"

You've never seen Poseidon look quite so flustered. "I, er... well, we don't need to linger on the past. Why don't you set me free and we can both go out to a nice dinner?"

"Not a chance, sea god." You drop to the floor beside him, greedily taking advantage of a sight you so rarely get to see. The might of Poseidon, bound. And looking quite handsome in his chains if you do say so yourself. "I think I've got a better idea than dinner."

It doesn't take Poseidon but a moment to catch your drift. "Ha! You best take advantage of the moment then because I don't imagine it'll be happening again."

Maybe. Or maybe Hephaestus will let you borrow these chains from time to time...

⚡️Zeus⚡️

It's funny... this situation that you've found Zeus in almost seems... familiar.

"Curses! Damnit... that blasted, darn Hephaestus... and my foul brother. I shall have both their heads for this, I swear..."

"Whatcha doin'?"

You've never seen the King of the Gods blush before. And certainly not so fiercely. "I um... well, I've run into a spot of bother. And it is entirely the fault of that wretched brother of mine. He insisted that these chains were unbreakable. Naturally, I had to show him the error of his ways. None can stand against the power of the heavens!"

Well, apparently being a cocky, arrogant idiot runs in the family. You drop to a crouch beside him, unable to keep the amused grin off your face. "And how's that working out for you?"

"Yes, yes," he huffs, "I can have a sense of humor like any other. You've all had your laugh. Now let me loose."

You reach down and squeeze between his legs, just enough that Zeus's eyes start to go hazy. He won't get mad at you for the imposition; he thinks far too much with his cock for that. "Oh, but I never get to top."

Zeus looks as if he's already having trouble formulating words. "Well... maybe just this once..."

Once? Not if you can help it.

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worldsover · 4 months ago

Text

Detonation Mechanism ft. Isa

20k words

It's cute, fluffy, love-at-first-sight romance with Isa, but it turns out the kitten is naughtier than she appears.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

She'll be just like the last one. And the one before that. The one before that. The pattern, you've done everything in your power to break it and have yet to do so successfully. You'd rather not meet her at all if it's going to be that way, but the pressure from your mutual friends to get together for a blind date is akin to trying to turn around a tank with grocery bags in hand. You don't know if it's the same for Isa, but she didn't exactly put up a fight to meet, either, and that worries you a little bit. All you knew about Isa was a list of allergies so extensive that it resembled a complex food import document. You were always complaining about eating out at the same five places, so you were at least looking forward to eating at the trendy vegan restaurant she suggested.

Waiting amidst the bustling pedestrian plaza nearby, you double-check for the time and address on your phone and scan the area again. In truth, you want to get this over with. The air is thick with noise—the roar of traffic, people chatting, a street busker playing her guitar under the shade of an awning across from where you wait. The sun glares down mercilessly and your eyes water without warning, the summer heat already leaving you parched. It feels as though the world itself doesn’t want you to find love.

A notification on your screen.

> "you here already?"

> "Yep!"

> "i'm by the sculpture! of the guy! you'll know it's me!"

You do. Or, you hope. Hope that Isa is the red-haired woman waving wildly and looking around.

As you wave back with more restraint, you smile, because how else can you respond to the warmth of the sun—oh, how quickly you change your tune. You smile because that's how you combat freezing up at her prettiness. On first impression, Isa is already the most stunning person you've ever seen. Her eyes become half-moons when she smiles brightly, and you happily melt under her gaze. But then, there are those jeans holding in her thighs, her tight shirt not holding back her smooth midriff. All in all, very cute. You liken her expressions to that of a feisty cat. You haven't stopped smiling; how can you?

The world wants you to find love.

You can't believe it when she hugs you like she's known you for years. Her perfume wafts into your nose, and she smells sweet, too sweet, like you'd probably go into anaphylactic shock if you kissed her—who's the allergic one now?

"Hi!" Isa gives you one last squeeze before releasing you. "Nice to meet you."

You sputter—great start. "Wow, hi. Nice to meet you too."

"I'm Isa." Her grin is like a curly bracket as she looks up at you, not even close to your height. Her lips are pouty, red like her hair, and it doesn't help that she's looking at you as though you were already boyfriend material. "It's a nickname."

You have to hold back from telling her that she's the cutest thing you've ever seen in your life. "Isa," you repeat, almost stupidly, but then get over yourself. "It suits you."

"Yeah? Thank you." Her eyes turn into half-moons again when she smiles and nods, looking as though she'll purr any second now.

"Hold on, let me guess. You look like a… Sumin."

She laughs out loud. "Oh my god."

You gasp. "Did I get it?"

"No, no, that's one of my best friend's names."

"Damn. I thought I figured you out."

"Nope. I'm Lee Chaeyoung. Nice to meet you." She offers her hand.

You shake it and tell her your name in turn. "So, ready to eat?"

Her smile widens. She takes your bicep in hand, again her innate familiarity surprising you. "This way," she says, squeezing your arm.

"I know, I know," you say.

"I'm glad you agreed to come here. I've only been once, but I love this place."

You're inclined to like the place as well—the atmosphere is bright and vibrant, and the energy is positive like everyone's in their element. The restaurant has large windows with shutters drawn up to let in a lot of sunlight and natural airflow. A large indoor tree sits by a seating area next to the windows, providing a nice feeling of nature indoors. The tables and chairs are all a light-colored wood that matches the decor. You'd never walk into this place by accident—this is clearly a hipster vegan joint meant for millennials who think they can live forever if they just eat the right plants—but with Isa by your side, you don't care.

You care. You haven't felt nerves like these for ages. You're blaming your stuttering on how difficult the menu is to read, but if you're being honest, her beauty is throwing you for a loop. You're afraid you'll misspeak or do something weird like accidentally spill some soup on her, or try to kiss her before you learn her name properly, or any number of other things that can go wrong on a first date.

Isa orders for the both of you as if she knows the menu inside and out (you have no reason to suspect she doesn't), and as soon as she starts talking, you hang onto every word. She sounds passionate about this place, which is so cute of her, so of course, you agree with what she chooses.

The dish that appears in front of you, ratatouille and spaghetti, comes as a surprise because you were more focused on Isa than paying attention to what you ordered. You're embarrassed. If you had one great property about you, it would be your ability to snall talk and bullshit; instead, you're all avoidant eyes and quiet eating. You don't want to reveal too much about yourself, how humdrum your work is, or how many hours you spend on YouTube or reading manga every day. But Isa, she's a force of nature that can't be held back by any of your defenses, and you can't remain so closed off for too long, what with her relentless teasing and prodding at all the right times. She has you smiling in minutes.

A woman of many passions, she talks at length about decorating her house, finding new artists to listen to, and recording vlogs for all the countries she's visited. You're on the topic of travel. "No, I'm serious, there are some nice parks in Canada," you say.

"I could see that. I'm imagining somewhere remote, where the stars are visible and you can stand on top of a hill and breathe in the fresh, cool air." Isa takes in a deep breath as though to demonstrate. "Ooh, have you ever seen the aurora borealis? So pretty."

"Yeah," you say as you keep your eyes on her.

"Wait, you've been?" She's bouncing in her seat now.

You chuckle. "I did, once."

"I'm so jealous."

"It's a long drive, getting far enough from the city lights. Plus, you have to be lucky with the timing. But it's worth it."

"Can we go?" she asks, all sincere.

"Together? To Canada?" you ask.

Isa ducks her head. "Sorry, that's presumptuous, right?"

You pat her forearm. "No, it's okay. I didn't mean to make fun, that would be incredible to do. You really wanna go?"

"Eventually. If the stars align." Isa makes a dramatic face, as if winking but unable to get her other eye to cooperate and stay open.

You burst out laughing, attracting stares.

"What? What?" she asks.

But you keep laughing, and she can't help but join in. In that moment, there's something true and incomparable and fantastical about Isa, and whatever connection the two of you have. Her foot touches yours and neither of you move away. She meets your eyes, drawing you in closer. Every laugh. Every smile. Every quirk of her brow. Her beauty ensnares your attention like a well-laid trap. Beckons you to steal glances, toward her plump lips, her clear skin, the outline of her neck as she drinks from her glass, the graceful slope of her nose, the red hair that frames her face. Her legs, encased in tight denim that stretches beyond infinity, make you linger longer.

"I don't bite," she purrs, leans forward, offers a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. "Unless you want me to."

Your stomach drops. Whatever picture you had of Isa as a wholesome, innocent girl crumbles to pieces, in a good, groin-stirring, mouth-shutting way.

"Hey." Her hand touches your forearm. "I'm sorry if I'm coming on too strong. I'm having too much fun."

You clear your throat. "No, you're fine. More than fine." You squeeze her hand, admiring her delicate fingers and white-manicured nails. "I'm having fun with you too."

"Good! I guess we should, like, actually get to know each other though."

"Yeah," you reply, chuckling nervously. You first share the more basic biographical information: you're a few years older than her, but you agree to drop the formalities as though you were close friends already.

"Oh, by the way," you say, "I'm sorry."

She freezes up. "Sorry for what?"

"About all your allergies, I mean, chicken? Come on. I didn't even know that was a thing."

Isa laughs, and the more you hear her laugh, the more you want to tell jokes over and over just to hear it again. "Well, it's okay. I can just eat everything else. Like this ratatouille. It's really good."

You laugh with her. "Yeah, it is."

From there, it's easy to open up, talk more about yourself when she asks questions, to engage in small talk you wouldn't normally bother with. Just as with her hobbies, she wears many hats in her job, always busy doing something whether it's brand deals or graphic design or one of her million side projects. Somehow, she manages to make your life sound interesting with her unabashed sincerity. The more you ask about her interests, the more your own apathy toward dating seems silly and unfounded, a self-defeating cycle you've made worse by following it.

You're halfway through your meals when suddenly, Isa breaks the rhythm of the conversation with the question: "Why are you single?"

"What?" You snort. "Where did that come from?"

"Well," she begins, setting down her fork, "you're handsome, for one."

You hold back a gasp, not wanting to seem overly affected. "Thank you," you say in earnest, smiling bashfully.

"You're funny, and you're really good at making me feel comfortable with you." Once again, she squeezes your bicep, and more quietly, like admitting a secret, she adds, "And your body is nice. Any girl would be lucky to have you."

You're blushing, if not for her compliments, then for how adorable she looks being so transparent about how she feels. You decide to return the favor. "You're cute. Very cute. And I love your sense of style, especially the red hair, and how much fun we're having talking."

"Really?" Her eyes light up as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Yeah," you say quietly. "I've never met anyone quite like you before."

"And I want to know more about you," she whispers. Isa leans forward and rests her elbows on the table, fingers laced together. "So, explain yourself, why you're single."

"Geez," you say, putting your hands up in defense, laughing again. "Okay, okay. Where to begin? I guess I haven't exactly had the best luck with dating."

She frowns. "Aww, I'm sorry. That's no good."

"I mean, it's tough, right? You have to meet new people and try to get to know them and they might turn out to be terrible dates who dump you in public or ghost you." You laugh, but it's mostly forced. "Or even worse, there are the friends that you dated and then had to stop being friends with because the relationship just didn't work out, and you have no one to hang out with on weekends. And now I sound like a loser."

"Hey, it's not like that." She squeezes your arm. "So you don't bother with dating as much, right? Well, that's understandable, especially after those bad experiences."

You appreciate her empathy; it helps to put your worries into words that feel more grounded, as though your concerns were normal rather than yours alone. "Right, but it doesn't help when people ask why I don't have a girlfriend, as if having a significant other is the only important relationship in your life. As though that's all that matters." You realize you're ranting too much and try to rein yourself in. "Sorry, I didn't mean to lay it on you so thick."

But Isa is already leaning into your arm. "Don't be sorry. It makes me feel better about myself to hear that other people have their own problems they have to deal with." She pauses. "If you're comfortable sharing, what happened before this?"

You straighten up. "Are you sure?"

"Of course."

So you do. Tell her about the failures, the heartbreak, how your ex was still in your friend group after the breakup. You shouldn't. This is the exact sort of first-date taboo that should be avoided at all costs. But she listens. She truly listens, and she understands. It feels good, to be heard by someone so receptive. There's a relief in getting it all off your chest, an intimacy in sharing secrets—and it helps that she's more attractive than any other woman you've met.

You've never taken so long eating such a simple dish.

After finishing up your meal, the mood to something light-hearted, and Isa asks if you want some… She's leaning forward, once more showing off her breasts in her crop top, and you stare in awe. She watches you take in every detail, and slowly, seductively, slightly, parts her mouth open. You blink rapidly and force yourself to meet her gaze.

"I said, you want some vegan ice cream?"

"Sure. We can, um, split it." You swallow.

Like nothing happened, she orders the creamy delight and as you tuck into the shared bowl, she savors each spoonful with slow, tantalizing movements of her tongue. Desire surges in your lower regions, and you attempt to adjust yourself subtly.

Isa flashes a provocative smile. "It's okay to look, you know?"

That ice cream must taste really good for her, how deliciously she's sucking on it. Your mind wanders. How might her lips taste, feel, upon yours, upon your neck, upon your chest, down? Shuddering at the thought, you clumsily shove a large scoop of the frozen treat into your mouth, only to regret it as your brain tries to make sense of the contrasting temperature.

When your face contorts from the chill, Isa laughs, and then she seems to catch herself; her eyes go wide. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. I swear, I don't act this way with people I just met. But, it, you know, feels natural with you for some reason. Maybe you bring out the animal in me. Or, err…"

You clear your throat. "No, it's okay. It's hot. Actually, no, it's not okay, don't bring animals into this restaurant."

Isa laughs—another success, another tug at your heart. Her legs graze yours under the table until every nerve ending is on fire; you and Isa end up having a side competition under the table, both of you taking turns touching the other, to see who can make the other react first.

Isa wins.

Her cheeks flush red and you can't stop glancing at her parted lips.

Music. You were talking about… "You said you like R&B, right?" you ask. "You have a really nice voice for it. Ever consider singing?"

"Actually, I've thought about it," she says, straightening up in her chair. "I even took some lessons in high school. They said I could've been big, you know?"

Picturing Isa on stage is easy; she'd have a million followers. "That's really cool," you say. "Maybe you could sing me a song sometime."

"Maybe. But I might need to be in a more comfortable setting. Like, maybe my home or yours." She winks and your stomach drops again. She is toying with you and it's working, maybe too well. The anticipation of her flirty touches has you wanting more and more, the sexual tension building each time her foot or her hand brushes against yours. It feels like she's already undressing you with her eyes.

"That sounds good," you say.

"Yeah," Isa says, "we could do karaoke, drink a bit if you're down for that."

"You have any more talents or is a million hobbies not enough for you?"

"I also learned dance too. I still do that actually, I'm in a club."

You scoff. "Seriously, what are you doing here instead of performing? You could literally be the top idol, right now."

Isa shrugs. "That's just life. Sometimes, we don't get what we want. But then better things come along. And you get to eat ice cream with them." She laughs again, so carefree and happy—and so sexy that it's hard not to feel confident around her. "You're a pretty good thing, if I do say so myself."

You contemplate Isa's sudden musing. "I'd be your biggest fan, trust me."

"But, you know," Isa says, "I could teach you a thing or two about dancing too."

You imagine Isa dancing with you, her body pressing against yours. It's a delightful thought. Unfortunately: "I'm pretty much a fish out of water when it comes to anything involving coordination. Mmm, maybe one day. I can try and surprise you."

"It's okay. Everyone's gotta start somewhere. Or, you can watch me." Her lips curl up. "I like showing off sometimes." Eating her last bite of ice cream, a large dollop falls onto the bare skin between her neck and clavicle, its white and creamy and sticky nature reminding you of how it'd be to leave a warmer mark there. A streak of desire runs through your body, and you almost feel bad at the sudden urge to lick it off her skin. Instead, Isa whimpers at the cold sensation while her fingers scoop up the excess and pop into her mouth, sucking each digit clean.

"I see that," you reply, voice strained, and look away.

How Isa is able to move on from that so easily, you don't know. Your shirt feels too tight on your shoulders, and you shift in your seat to adjust your trousers.

You call the server over for the check—just in time to save you from your horniness—and Isa thanks you with a peck on your cheek that has you almost melting into her arms. The moment your card is swiped and the receipt signed, she takes your hand in hers as though she never wants to let go.

There's a crowd of people outside, bunches of people coming in and out of restaurants and stores, a group of college students dancing to some choreography, but you feel like you and Isa are in your own bubble.

"Thank you for tonight," she whispers in your ear, as the streets are getting loud with all the people. She's warm, and her breath is warm, and her smile is warm, and every moment makes you feel warm. Isa looks at you like she's feeling the same way, clinging to your arm and to your every word and to the promises of more dates.

You continue to sneak glances, ensure you're not dreaming. The setting sun peeks out behind the skyscrapers, shining light onto her bright skin—she may be an angel in her radiance; you’ve never told anyone that on the first date because a pickup line like that would be too cheesy, but you have to tell her anyway. (“Seriously? Fell from what? Ugh!” She rolls her eyes but with a huge smile on her face. Nothing could be more precious.) You didn't realize otherworldly beauty even existed outside of the internet or the cinema, but somehow, it just ended up on your lap for the price of a vegan entrée and some wine.

As you walk through a nearby urban park, Isa squeezes your hand. "I'm kinda surprised."

"About?" You tilt your head.

"How well this is going. I didn't think blind dates were supposed to go this well."

"So this is your first one?" You nudge her with a playful shoulder. "Lucky. So, you wanna do anything else?"

"Do you?"

You scan the shops, assessing your options. There's a stationery store, a convenience mart, and a plethora of designer boutiques far exceeding your pay grade. "Whatever you feel like." Well, hopefully not the latter.

"Let's go there." Isa points to the stationary shop and drags you there.

You browse the aisles, letting go of her hand to flip through the pages of a journal. Isa decides to get herself some notebooks—one covered in red roses and a kitten in shades of pink. You scan the shelves and notice a book on calligraphy and pull it out. After shuffling some items around, you find some pencil grips and grab them for yourself, then find Isa in the pen and pencils section.

"Cute." Though looking at the things she's holding, you're not talking about them.

"Oh, thanks." She shifts the books in her arms and pokes you on the side. "There are some markers and pencils with kittens on them, maybe you can give it as a gift to a friend."

"You can just say you want them. It seems you've got a whole theme going on there. You don't even have a cat," you tease.

She sighs loudly. "No, don't remind me. I wish I could have one so bad."

"I'm more of a dog person," you say, "but kittens aren't half bad."

"Hmph. Kittens are so cute though." Her pout is even more adorable. "Kittens are small, furry, warm."

"And lazy. Mean. Cranky," you counter.

Isa swats your arm. "Noo, they aren't."

With the kitten pencils and markers now secured in your shopping bag, you exit the stationary store and head to the convenience store nearby. After a few minutes of browsing and chatting, you leave with two bags of snacks and drinks. You offer to help carry her bags home, and the two of you are on a bus.

Isa leans her head on your shoulder as she places a hand on your thigh. "Thanks again for tonight."

"Any time," you say, grabbing her hand. "So, uh, are you free next week?"

She shakes her head, looking apologetic. "No, I'm leaving on a camping trip with some friends."

"Ah, that sounds like fun." Your heart sinks. "Well, how about when you get back?"

"Of course! I'll text you as soon as I'm home."

"Okay, great." You don't know what else to say because all you're thinking about is how much you'll miss her. And the ride seems too short for your liking. The two of you are still holding hands, and it feels as if your hands are made for each other: her fingers are warm and delicate as they intertwine with yours, her touch gentle and tender, and everything you never knew you wanted.

"My stop's coming up," Isa says reluctantly.

"I'll walk you home." You pat the bags in your other hand. "These snacks will be useful later."

"Yeah? Okay."

Isa leads the way to her apartment. Her neighborhood is cozy; the streets are lined with small houses, bakeries and cafes, and a playground.

When you reach the entrance of the building, you hand Isa her bags of stuff, not wanting to let go of her hand.

"Thanks for going out with me today," you say. "I hope we can do this again soon."

Isa doesn't let go of your hand either. "I hope so too."

The moment stretches on, neither of you wanting to be the first to leave, but your heart won't stop beating out of your chest. You finally let go of her hand to place them in your pockets, looking elsewhere, anywhere but her eyes. Her red lips call to you.

Isa looks around—there's no one outside at this hour, the sky darkening and stars beginning to dot the sky. She bites her lip—god, how you'd love to bite down on her plump lips, kiss those curves on her face and body until she was left squirming and moaning on her bed. She takes your face in her hands, stands on tiptoes, leans in close to you, and kisses your cheek. Your heart stops. You turn to look at her, stunned by how forward she was, by how good that felt, and oh—now, her lips are on yours. Your head is spinning: her mouth tastes like honey and mint and every flower in the world; she's pulling you down and closer to her while her other hand wraps around your waist; she's whimpering as you pull her body flush against yours by her hip and ass, kissing her back fiercely, deeper and deeper—

You're left wanting more as she pulls away, swaying from side to side. Her hand reaches to stroke your face. You're dazed and speechless.

Isa giggles. "We should do this again. I really enjoyed myself. I hope you did too."

"Yeah," you say, your voice cracking slightly. "I definitely did."

"Okay. Bye bye!" She waves with a warm smile and then runs into the building before you can say anything else.

You've only just met her, but somehow the world is darker again, like you're reminded that it's nighttime.

A text.

> "you could've kissed me sooner :p"

✦✧✦✧✦✧

The weekend zooms by, and the week lurches forward like a train coming out of the station, slow and dragging until it gradually builds up momentum as the minutes fly by. You wonder where Isa is right now as you sit at your desk at work. You wonder if she's thinking about you the way you're thinking about her. Your coworkers pry about what's making you smile, and you can only be honest—that there's a woman who's made you feel alive for the first time in a long time. Meanwhile, you're forced to endure smug, self-congratulatory remarks from Sullyoon about getting you and Isa together. But you don't mind the jests and good-natured ribbing if it means you get to daydream about Isa for hours on end.

Only when you get home after a long day of work that you realize how far along she's gotten under your skin because you haven't been this distracted in years. She's a very well-formed fantasy: you picture making dinner for her, so you're learning vegan recipes, and cutting out everything from soy to eggs—it's no sacrifice when it's all for her. But your imagination ends up taking other shapes too, her sex appeal oozing out of every pore and action between the cuteness. You'd take her apart with your tongue—and fingers, too—before putting her back together again with your dick. When it feels as though you've lost your focus forever, your mind has never been clearer. Every night, you're thinking of Isa before you fall asleep, dreaming of her in bed with you—holding her tight until the sun peeks through the curtains—

> "hi, hi, i'm back. you free right now?"

You answer the text immediately, despite it coming after midnight.

> "heyy, i'm free"

> "cool! i'm at home right now, wanna come over?"

> "sure, omw"

> "great! see you soon!"

Riding the subway, the hum of electricity and chatter fills your ears, and you wish this were a bullet train instead. When you knock, your hands are clammy and your stomach is twisting itself into knots.

The door swings open. There she is. Your eyes drink her in, radiant Isa clad in snug black yoga pants and a loose tank top, crimson hair falling down her shoulders like lava from a volcano. There's your fantasy, your plaguing distraction, your obsession. Whatever you were feeling hasn't gone anyway: everything that was there was real, made more concrete at the sight of her.

You don't really know her, but it feels as though you've missed her so much already.

Isa doesn't say anything. Simply steps closer, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes full of want, and wraps her arms around your shoulders. Your hands roam over her ass and cup it gently while her mouth presses into you. You both sigh into the kiss, and she tugs on your lower lip, sucking and nipping on it. The door clicks shut behind you.

"Hey," you breathe out after finally breaking the kiss. "That was—"

Isa's tongue flicks your lips. "Is it okay if we keep doing that?" Her voice is like silk on your ears. "Please?"

Because the silk forms a web made to ensnare you, you oblige, pulling her close again to recapture her mouth. She's intoxicating, her taste—like strawberries dipped in dark chocolate—her body—soft skin and sweet perfume—and most of all, her sighs—the cutest little creature in need as your tongues glide over each other. Then you move down to give her neck a peck, and she arches up against you.

"I missed you," Isa sighs out.

You groan softly at that. You're in her home, cozy, warm, and familiar, with the soft light of a candle casting gentle shadows on the walls and scenting the air with a floral aroma.

"I literally texted you the moment I got home," she adds. "Sorry if I had to make you rush here."

"Don't worry about it," you reply, placing a kiss on her collarbone. "I couldn't wait to see you."

"Really?" She beams.

"Of course."

She lets go of your shoulders and leads you to the couch. "I'm sure you wanted to plan a real date, and I want that too, but... I really wanted to kiss you again."

"Well, I can't say no to that," you say.

"We'll have plenty of time for dates later. Let's just watch something on TV," she says, eyes crinkled, and you decide that you are honestly fine with whatever Isa wants.

The two of you curl up on one side of the couch, your arm wrapped around her shoulders and hers around your waist, and she turns on some show about a guy who owns a farm or something. Naturally, your distraction returns, made tangible and real as she sits by your side. You can't stop thinking about what's underneath her clothes, what she'll look like after you make her come over and over again.

Isa glances at you, then back at the TV, then back to you. "What?" she asks.

"Just looking at you," you confess as you cup her cheek. "You're so beautiful that I can’t stop."

"You, you're so, ugh, I can't..."

"But I mean it, sincerely." You point at the cat notebook on the table. "You're like that cute kitten, curled up in me."

She scoffs, pushing the notebook aside and swatting your shoulder. "Yah, you're so cheesy." But there's still a smile on her face, so you'll take that as a victory.

As the two of you watch the show, or at least attempt to, neither of you is truly there in spirit. Isa is playing with your fingers, eyeing you like she wants to devour you; your hands stroke her shoulder as if to silently communicate your desire for something more than talking or watching TV; your faces are angled toward each other rather than the television. Your touch ventures lower, toward her sides, then her thighs, and you massage them through the fabric of her pants.

"Your hands. So warm," she says as she takes one of your hands into her own and kisses the center of your palm. "So firm, and strong. It's nice."

There are photos on the walls of Isa with whom you assume are family and friends, as well as some art from artists you don't recognize. As you suspected, there are plenty of cat-related objects scattered about, an entire corner of the bookshelf filled with picture books, figurines of cats and dogs and other cute animals on every shelf. In addition to that notebook you bought her, you also spot the pencils on a table next to her laptop. There's a mug next to that one, with a cat printed on its side.

Isa nuzzles into your neck, staring at you. There's something about her demeanor that makes her seem more shy and unsure of herself than before. Her fingers play with the hem of your shirt, trying to sneak their way underneath while she strokes your cheek with the other hand.

It's not just her home. She is a cat.

Isa is a cat in how she purrs when you scratch behind her ears just right. In how she arches against your body with every brush of your fingertips against her neck. In how she paws at your shoulders, begging for more and more attention, leaning in for gentle, affectionate kisses to her nose. In how she rubs herself against you like she knows what it does to you. In how she mewls when your palms come down to caress her lower back, then squeezes her ass. Isa, in your arms, is the sort of pet that makes you want to spoil her all the time. You're not sure what you did in a past life to deserve a creature so magnificent and adorable and sexy and sweet and lovable.

You call her as she is. "Kitten." It comes out your mouth like a reflex, like a message to yourself more than anything.

A small gasp escapes her lips, and she looks up at you with wide eyes.

Your thumb brushes along her jawline. "It really suits you."

"Again," she pleads.

You whisper "Kitten" again, this time deeper.

Isa shivers and exhales weakly, her hand reaching for yours in a desperate grip. "One more."

"Kitten." You chuckle to yourself, in disbelief, in awe; how could a woman be… "So cute. Kitten. Kitten." Your lips follow your thumb on her jaw. "You like when I say that?"

"Oh, oh, fuck. Yeah. How... how do you know just what to say to me? How to touch me? No one's ever treated me like this before. I've been thinking about you. Especially when I was out in the woods. I was with my friends and it was fun, but..." She pauses, trying to find the right words.

You squeeze her waist. "It's okay, I'm listening."

Isa nods, biting her lip. "I just felt like I needed to see you again. Like something was missing. And when I got home, I just wanted to meet you again. I know it sounds stupid, we just met."

"No, it's not stupid," you say. "I feel the same way. I swear. More, to be honest."

"Okay, good—hngh." Isa gasps as your lips find their way to her neck, and the taste of her soft skin leaves you hungry for more. "Oh, fuh... you see? You make me feel so, so good, oh my god. I wasn't sure if it was just the mood of that date, but no, it's you, it's definitely you."

Her hand sneaks back under your shirt and caresses your bare torso. But then she stops herself, pushing you back.

"You okay?" you ask and then wait patiently for her to calm down.

"This isn't like me," she says. "Or at least, it hasn't been in a long time, or maybe ever. I don't know why I'm acting like this with you, someone I just met."

As she moves her hands restlessly, you reach for them and hold them tightly in yours. "I understand. And I don't mind at all," you say.

Isa looks down at her lap. "It's just… I feel like I can trust you completely. Even though we just met, it feels like we've known each other forever."

"I'll admit, I'm also a little confused," you confess.

"Yeah," she whispers.

"But… I'm all in. I don't care."

A silent peace of acceptance falls between the two of you.

Isa breaks the silence with a shattering statement even if so quiet as to let the world's hum speak over her. "This, this is going to lead to us having sex, right?" Quieter: "I want this. Do you?"

You do. You want it. You want it more than you want any other woman in this city, hell, maybe in the world. You want to know what it feels like to hold Isa tight while you slide into her, what her cries sound like when you fill her, what it would be like to hold her in your arms after fucking her. You want this gorgeous face right next to yours, her hair tickling your face while you're trying to sleep, waking up to a sweet smile. morning kisses. You want her on top of you, taking your cock, her perfect breasts bouncing as she rides you; to be under her with your mouth between her thighs. You want her body against yours, for you to make her dinner, to go shopping with, to sleep next to on the sofa every night.

If there were one last thing you wanted in your life, then it's Isa. You can only nod, dumbfoundedly.

She smiles, then giggles, and you can't help but join in on her giddiness. "Good. Okay. Yeah. Obviously." Isa turns to look you in the eyes. "I've been doing some thinking. And, um, I want to do this, but, I have one rule."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"When you cum, I want you to cum inside me."

Your mouth falls open.

She stammers, her face turning an even deeper shade of crimson, "I'm on the pill, and I don't like condoms, and I just... I've always wanted to feel a guy cum inside of me. And you're so fucking hot and sexy, and I just want it so bad."

Your heart pounds faster and faster, the same way Isa speaks faster and faster.

"I want you to fuck me. Like an animal. And I want you to breed me. I want you to fill me up with your seed while you call me kitten and good girl and..." After she trails off, she buries her face in her hands. "I can't believe I just said all that."

Cup her cheek and stroke it with your thumb. "It's okay." You nod, and you nod harder as if your acceptance is growing immediately. "Yeah, I can do that for you. You've been thinking a lot about this, haven't you?"

"That's an understatement," she admits. "It's crazy. I shared a tent with three friends, and while they were sleeping, I was touching myself. Rubbing my thighs, my hand down my pants. Thinking about you. You're so... I don't know." She shakes her head, unable to find the words to capture the intensity. "And I've been just going crazy trying to figure out why."

"You figure it out?" she asks.

"Yeah, kinda," she says "I guess it's nothing so complicated, and it's nothing I haven't already said... it's how you look at me, how you talk to me like there's nothing else that matters, how you make me feel safe and wanted. And yeah, all that on top of you being really handsome too. It feels nice."

You choke back your response. It feels like you should have something more meaningful to say in response to all of this, but no matter how hard you try, only banalities come to mind.

"I probably need help or something—"

You put your fingers over her mouth. "Stop. Listen, please." You lift her chin to meet her gaze again. "I love how open you are about all this. I don't know if I could even be this honest with myself. Not without you."

Isa exhales in relief, while her body relaxes against yours. "Thank you. I was so worried you’d think I was a freak or something."

"No way. I think it's incredibly sexy." And now that you're talking honesty. "I think I get what happened. It happened to me too."

"What's that?"

"Love at first sight."

Isa blinks, then bursts into laughter and hits your shoulder. "You're such a dork!" She shakes her head but continues to laugh heartily, eyes crinkled and flashing beautifully.

"But doesn't that describe this?"

Isa smirks and leans her head on your shoulder. "Maybe." She pokes your chest with a finger. "Honestly? Yeah. It does. I felt that, too. God, it's so stupid, right?" She laughs again, this time pressing her face into your chest. "We're seriously screwed, huh?"

"Yeah," you say gently. "We are."

Isa grabs your shirt and tilts her head upwards so that she can look at you again. "Like, who even does this?"

She leans towards you, closes her eyes, and kisses you with a gentle passion and small noises.

You run a hand down her back as the other cradles the back of her head. She groans softly into your lips, then parts them with her tongue as she sits up straighter.

"You and me," you say. "This is the kind of shit that happens when you meet your soulmate."

Her eyes fly open, and you chuckle. "Shut up! Stop!"

"If we're gonna be screwed, let's be screwed together."

"What even are you saying right now? You're so... mmm!" Isa lets out a strangled cry as your lips travel downward, planting light kisses on her jawline, her neck, and the crease between her neck and shoulder, before clamping onto the sweet flesh of her shoulder and sucking.

"I'll take care of you, I promise." Your kisses pause a moment, which earns a whimper from Isa as you look up at her.

Once more the silence falls over the two of you like a thick veil. This moment feels like forever, but in the whole history of forever, it has only just begun, too fast for you to comprehend.

"Please tell me to stop, or slow down if you need to," you say. "Whenever you feel uncomfortable, or don't like something I do, just tell me, okay?"

Isa nods. "Of course. Just…"

You don't remember when the two of you started slouching on the couch, or when you put your hand down your pants, or when she started rubbing her palm over her crotch. Your cock has been stiff this whole time, or that a wet spot has formed on her yoga pants. Her juices stain the fabric enough that you can see the outline of her pussy. You and Isa's hands move in unison, eye contact steadfast.

"So you like when I call you Kitten?" you ask.

She whines as she continues to rub her cunt. "Mhm!"

"I'll make sure to do it a lot. Call you good girl too."

"Ohmygod, fuck." Her other hand clutches her chest, pinching the nipple hardening through her tank top.

By now, you're so hard it's painful like it needs to escape or you'll die in the prison of your pants. "You're such a good girl. I love seeing you like this, kitten."

Her whimpers increase in pitch; the shape of her pussy is more pronounced; her pants are soaked to the touch. She's so wet you can smell it, the scent only furthering your lust. "I need it." Isa shuffles into your lap, ready to straddle and kiss you.

You pull back and grab her by the shoulders, turning her around to face the TV like you're a mere extension of the couch.

Isa whimpers. "What?"

Already, you find yourself slipping into your role, guided by your instincts. "You can be patient, can't you? You've been gone for a whole week. What's another ten minutes or however long is left in this show? Trust me."

"Fine." Isa pouts and crosses her arms and leans back against your chest. "I'll wait."

The two of you resume watching the show, and you have certainly missed what was going on because now they're in space or something. Isa wiggles her ass, and you squeeze her hips to still her movements. You're not sure who's being teased more here: your erection might break through your pants, and Isa seems to be on the brink of something with her sighs, with her thighs pressing together.

You whisper her new pet name Kitten in her ear; in response, she mouths out all sorts of names, Daddy, Sir, Owner, or Master. Each one sounds lovely falling off her tongue. With your chin on her shoulder, you intersperse lazy pecks on her cheek or neck.

As the current show about animal husbandry or astronomy or the world ending or whatever comes to a close, Isa leans back, and her earlobe grazes your lips. When you give a gentle nip, she sucks in her breath, and her hand goes to her mouth to contain a tiny yelp.

"Not too loud," you say, gentle but stern.

"Please, please"—her voice cracking—"I can't wait."

"You've done so well." You kiss her jaw. "What a good girl. What do you want?"

"I want to taste you. Please?"

"Yeah? Alright, you've been patient enough. You can have your treat, kitten."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you." Isa clambers off your lap, and then kneels between your legs, grabs your waistband; your cock springs up in front of her face. Her eyes go wide enough that the whites of her eyes are visible around her irises, and her mouth hangs open. Her fingers curl around you. "You're bigger than I imagined."

You must have an insufferable smirk on your face because she's already frowning and playfully swatting you. But just as quickly, lust washes over her features, her eyes narrowing. Isa's gaze is rapt as she strokes you with a feather-light touch, exploring your length with her palms, savoring the skin stretched over hardened steel. "What did you imagine?" you ask.

"About how you'd feel in my hand, in my mouth... in my pussy." She strokes you slowly, almost like petting a small animal.

"Did you think about me filling you up when you were on your camping trip?" You caress her cheek with your hand and run your thumb along her plump lower lip. "Did you picture me breeding you while you rubbed your clit?"

"Yeah. And I imagined you'd be big too. But this..." Isa becomes motionless, and she doesn't break eye contact with your dick.

"Enjoying the view?"

She nods.

"Show me how much then."

Isa closes her eyes and rubs her cheek against your length. She licks your cockhead, swirls over the crown, and dips into the slit. A kiss at the base of your cock, then another halfway down, and another at the very tip, all in that order and the reverse order and every other possible combination—she plants them all in the span of a few dizzying moments. With half-closed eyes somehow still focused on the task at hand, Isa mouths in the general region of your cock without actually sucking it. Not enough. Nowhere close to where you need to be. Just like the first date, Isa is so deeply aware of the effect she has on you, and yet playing at oblivious innocence and naivety. She's a cat playing with its food, but that makes sense because she is a cat.

You take a fistful of her hair, tug firmly, and let out a soft growl.

With a dribble of spit and precum on her chin, her gaze turns up, eyes wide with wonder. "S-sorry. I wanted to kiss it because it's so pretty."

"And I thought I was being a tease. Come on." You grab her by the chin and press your thumb into her bottom lip. "I thought you wanted to taste me."

"Yeah! Of course, I do." Isa nods. She wipes her chin with her arm, and with your other hand, you point your cock at her face.

"Open wide."

Her tongue lolls out. "Aahhh."

Rub the head of your dick along her lips, and Isa captures it with her mouth to suck. She hums contentedly, slurps on the crown while stroking with her palm. She drags her pursed lips down your shaft like she's worshiping vegan ice cream on a spoon. Isa bobs back and forth, careful at first but quickly gaining momentum and depth. Never once does she break eye contact, so eager to please you, to do good for her new owner. She's the perfect kitten.

You pet your kitten. "That's a good girl."

Simple words, simple touches, but they make Isa whimper into your cock. Her fingers work frantically beneath her waistband while she services you. The sound of her pussy's wetness is almost as loud as the sloppy noises of her blowjob.

"Thih, cock, sgooh," she mumbles on your dick. She spits you out, a long string of saliva trailing from her tongue to your dick, and then she smiles up at you like the happy little cat she is. "So good. I shouldn't have waited this long. I wish I'd done this on our first date."

You groan. "You would've done that? On our first date?"

"Mhmm!" Her tongue pokes out between her lips. "You didn't notice me teasing you the whole time? I swear I was being really obvious. And I was so turned on because of you."

"Yeah? Well, you made me feel like I could barely breathe around you, I was so fucking hot for you."

"I know it makes me a slut—"

"No, it doesn't. If it's because of me... you know... soulmates..."

"Yeah, I get what you mean. Even if you're being silly." She smirks. "You don't have a problem with a slutty kitten though, do you?"

"Of course not."

Isa lets out a satisfied sigh and begins pumping your cock again. "Good. Because I would've gone under the table and blown you then and there if you asked."

"You're wild."

"You make me wild," she counters. She plants kisses along your shaft as she fondles your balls, her other hand still busy in her pants. "Or even when we walked through that alleyway. Do you remember? You were following me to my apartment and I swear I could feel your eyes on my ass."

You chuckle. "You weren't wrong. It's such a nice ass."

"Thank you!" In between words, she licks your sack with broad tongue swathes. "But when we got to the alley, I wanted you to bend me over and fuck me from behind. Or push me against the wall and fuck me. Or just shove me to my knees and fuck my mouth until you filled my belly with cum."

You grab her hair again and pull her away. "Hah. It'll be my pleasure to keep you well fed. But, as hot as that sounds, I think we should save that for another day."

As much as you want to continue this conversation, and as much as you want to hear Isa tell you all of her filthy little fantasies while she strokes you and pleases you and praises you, there's something more that's been occupying your mind: the pussy that's been drenching her clothes and making her moan into your cock with every stroke of her fingers.

"You said you had a rule for me. What was it again?" you ask.

Isa takes her hand out of her pants, leaving behind a damp stain on her pants, and licks them clean, like cleaning a mess of vegan ice cream—the image stuck with you quite profoundly—two fingers in her mouth, in and out, in and out, over and over until she finally pulls them out with a wet pop. "Oh yeah, that. I was having such a good time I forgot. But I… I just need it inside me so bad. I've been craving it forever. I can't believe how horny I am."

"That's not all you said though. You wanted me to do something for you, right?"

"Yeah. Right. I want to..." She falters as if the words have become foreign to her at this moment. Isa opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again, and closes it again before finally spitting them out: "I want to feel you cum inside me."

"That's it." You grab her hand. "I'm not just going to cum inside you though. I'm going to breed you. I'm going to make sure your womb is nice and full of my cum. How does that sound?"

"Yeah." Isa nods, nods harder, and ramps up until you see her happier than she's ever been before; she practically melts into your arms as she gets up and plants a kiss on your lips. "Bedroom?"

"Bedroom."

It is much like you imagined: like the rest of her house, thoroughly decorated, a safe space with all sorts of cute trinkets and animal memorabilia, a plush rug on the floor, and a huge bed covered with a soft blanket, all in soft pastels. But a home is not a home without its pet: Isa lays down on her back and rubs her legs together, your dick still at attention for her.

You unbutton your shirt; she likewise divests herself of her clothing—her tank top rises to expose a bit of her flat stomach, she twists when taking off her bra, her breasts fall free, and she peels off her pants with such a slow deliberation that you can't tell if it's for show or if she's simply so aroused that it's painful to move. Her body is slim in the right places but with plenty to squeeze, her thighs and tits soft like marshmallows.

"Daddy," she purrs in response, patting the sheets.

"My turn to taste you."

You climb onto the bed and kneel between Isa's legs. You trace the contours of her thighs, loving how her nipples stiffen at your touch, how she squirms when your hands come too close to her dripping slit. Your fingers graze against the slick skin of her inner thigh, then brush lightly over her outer lips and clit and inner folds, then find their way back to your own lips, where you can't resist licking them clean, tasting your kitten—bitter yet sweet, salty yet fragrant—and Isa writhes in wanton display before you.

"Please. I want you inside me." Isa whines like a kitten in distress, and you plan on taking care of her distress now and always.

You lift her by the hips and shimmy under her body so that she straddles your face. "This first."

Once you steady Isa above you, your tongue flicks against the swollen bud of nerve endings; Isa cries out your name at the first touch. Then, you're licking away, lapping at her wetness that trickles down your throat. Her pussy lips are plump like the ones on her mouth; her clit is just as red as her lips as you pull the hood back with a finger and flick your tongue faster. Her body is still, frozen in rapture. Grab her ass. Push her closer. As you nuzzle into her folds, she leans forward, pressing her face to your hip, while hands grip your thighs and nails dig into your skin.

"Fuck! Daddy! So good," she squeals. "Ahh! Right there. Ohmygod, you're amazing at this. I can't even think... oh fuck!" Isa squeezes tighter around your head, which can't bother you one bit. You feel her warm and heavy weight on you, her body taut above you, and her breaths on your crotch are equally hot as the air around you. You can hear her muffled voice, though it's impossible to tell what she's saying from how much she's slurring her words and drooling onto your legs.

So you stop, wipe her juices from your face, and say, "What was that?"

"C-can I taste you too?" She looks back at you with wide, innocent eyes. "While you eat me out, can I suck your cock? Please? It looks so yummy."

"Hmm." You pretend to consider her offer for a moment and stroke the small of her back with your hands. "Well, since you asked so nicely."

Isa kisses your leg, lapping up the mess she made, before pecking her way toward your cock. Just when you take another lick, her lips wrap around your shaft.

"Fuck," you curse when Isa starts bobbing her head on your cock again. You push your middle finger into her entrance to feel her walls squeeze around it and then press your mouth against her clit with renewed vigor. You start to hear and feel the gags she's making as she chokes on your cock—you wonder how far she'll go if she can take it down her throat.

Nothing distracts you from your delicious treat—you run the flat of your tongue across Isa's outer folds before switching to short licks inside of her, all while savoring the juices that dribble down your face. Her pussy tastes wonderful, a musty sweetness that is as addictive as a drug and just as hard to ignore. The moans that rumble in her throat and echo around your shaft—she is everything. You want to eat Isa's pussy every day, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. (Does this count as vegan?) As your fingers work feverishly in tandem with your tongue, your hips thrust reflexively into her mouth. She pushes down as if she's trying to impale herself on your dick—until finally, finally, the tip hits the back of her throat. You've never been with a woman who took you so deep so quickly. Here she is managing it without an issue. She was made for this. Your kitten.

Isa pulls back and cries out: "Oh fuck, Daddy, please!" And it's not just that she's gasping for air because of your length: her body goes rigid while her legs squeeze you tight. With a shuddering cry, her juices gush out onto your face while you continue licking and drinking, all the way through the tail end of her climax.

When the trembling dies down, she collapses, body limp atop yours. While aftershocks rock her, two of your fingers slip into her entrance to tease out every bit of her pleasure, curling to find and push that spot deep inside. A third finger eases in, her pussy tender and pliable with arousal, and you can tell that Isa can barely move from how overstimulated she is; yet, when you pull your digits out, Isa whimpers at the emptiness. She nuzzles against your hip, eyes shut tight, and a grin like she's in a dream.

"That's it, kitten," you say. "That's what you deserve."

Isa lets out a cute, pleased noise. "I've never... not like that... I've never felt like that before." Biting her lip, she gazes at your still-erect member, close enough for her warm breath to tickle it. "D-Did you cum? I didn't feel you in my mouth."

"Not yet, kitten. Don't worry." You pat your cockhead against her cheek and nose. "You did such a good job. But I still want to fill you up like I promised."

"Good." She rolls off of you, then curls up on her side and bats her lashes at you. "I'm, um, I'm really, really sensitive now... But, also, I also need your dick inside me. Please."

"Okay, kitten." You sit up on the bed and whisper in her ear, "But only because you said please so nicely."

Isa's legs wrap around you like she's done this a hundred times before. Her eyes are so tender and sweet; it's almost enough to make you want to give up and hold her to your chest forever and forget about sex and cuddles. Almost.

You lay her down in the middle of the bed, a princess, a beloved pet, an object of your desire and adoration. She spreads herself for you, displaying her raw pussy lips and erect clit—she must be desperate for your cock to still be this swollen and needy after such a thorough orgasm. Like a test, you slap your shaft against Isa's pussy, earning a gasp as her body jerks upward in response. "I'm going to breed you, just like you asked."

"Yes," she says, with the widest, most joyful smile on her face while crossing her heels behind your back. "Fill me up with your cock, Daddy. I'm waiting."

"It'll hurt a little though." You thrust slowly along her cunt—her wetness coats the head of your cock as it pushes inside the tiny gap between her clit and the rest of her pussy—snug, snug, too snug for entry without some force.

"I don't care—ah!" She winces when you pull back and rub circles with the tip of your cock. "I've waited so long. And I know I'm safe with you."

You test the waters, dipping your cockhead once again, then a few dozen more times. Despite her discomfort, or because of it, she's trying to push back against you with every movement. She's so sensitive it looks painful—you're barely touching her with your cock and already she's squirming and whimpering.

"Give. Give it. Give it to me," she pleads.

One deep breath, two deep breaths, and then you capitulate, push inside—the hardest thing in the world meets and splits open the easiest/softest. A perfect match. The walls of her cunt stretch around your thickness, clinging on like they're never going to let go. Though you sink deeper and deeper with ease, the friction makes her squeal. Her back arches off the bed, she claws at the sheets, and her mouth falls open with a gasp that becomes a mewl that becomes a squeal that becomes a litany of garbled noises. It's a slow process, taking your time to ensure she can feel every vein, every contour of your cock. When your length carves out space in her pussy and hits that sweet spot inside her, she lets out a sigh and a whimper—she feels fuller than she has in her entire life.

"You good?" you ask.

She nods rapidly and flaps her arms at you; when you're within reach, she yanks you down for a sloppy kiss that mostly consists of sucking on your bottom lip while her tongue explores.

"You're such a good kitten," you whisper between kisses. "So good at taking my cock."

She mewls into your mouth and bucks her hips upwards. "But it's not enough. Need more."

You give a few shallow thrusts of your dick, your forehead against hers as you examine her reaction. "More? Is this better?"

"More." Whatever discomfort or pain is left on Isa's face melts away. She grinds as though to get closer, though she already has your whole length inside her. "Please."

You slam the length of your cock into Isa with a grunt—whatever thoughts are left in Isa's brain evaporate. Your pace is slow and deliberate, so she tries to fuck herself on you faster than you're fucking her; whenever you pull out, her hips follow after you, like she can't stand for your cock to leave her empty for so long.

You give one of her breasts a firm squeeze while your thumb rubs over her firm nipple. With your free hand, you slip two fingers into Isa's mouth; she accepts them readily, her tongue swirling around your digits. She sucks on your fingers till they're dripping with her spit—your other hand alternates between both breasts now. They deserve all the attention they get, and then ten times over. Isa's breasts aren't the biggest, but they're the prettiest: perky with small pink nipples; they bounce enticingly with your movements. When you squeeze them, she starts grazing your back with her nails while her heels dig into you. Her walls spasm and clench around your girth—her orgasm is imminent.

"Daddy, please," she whines. "Need to cum!"

"Kitten, we just got started." You pull your cock out of her pussy and slide it between her labia, between the plushness of her folds. You lean down to plant soft pecks on her forehead, on her eyelids, and then down to her lips again as you continue to rut against her pussy. "Aren't you sensitive?"

Isa lets out the cutest growl and shakes her head. "N-noouh... It, it doesn't matter. You stretch me open so good."

You slide your hands under Isa's ass; she sits up, making it easier for you to carry her off the bed. With her ankles still hooked around each other like a seatbelt, you stand upright, bringing Isa up with you—she's light as a feather as buries her face in the crook of your neck. Even as you take a step back, away from the bed, Isa continues to rub her sensitive core against your throbbing shaft. Maybe here, she's not so much a kitten, but a puppy whose tail wags when happy or excited.

Next to her nightstand, you press Isa against the wall with your body while you adjust your grip on her ass—in this position, your fingers sink deep into the supple flesh. You lower your hips to angle your cock towards the entrance of Isa's cunt and let gravity do its work: she sinks onto your dick with a squeal. Isa gasps sharply as your cock hits a new part of her insides, and she claws at your back harder than ever. You can almost see the outline of your shaft through her taut midriff with how deeply you're penetrating her.

Isa mutters, "So much of Daddy's cock is inside me. It feels so good. Harder. Fuck me harder."

"Alright, don't say I didn't warn you."

You start bouncing her like a cheap toy, pulling her up until only the tip is inside of her, then slamming her back down to the hilt again with enough force to make the pictures on her wall rattle. Isa can do little more than hold onto you for dear life, your cock her only tether to this world—her eyes have gone blank again, and you can feel her going rigid in the same way she did earlier when you made her cum. You continue fucking into her with no pause in your rhythm, no rest for Isa's aching cunt.

"Cum with me, please! Please!"

"Gonna breed you so hard, kitten, fuck, fuck, I'm cumming," you manage to say, and that's all you can muster before the tidal wave of orgasm overtakes you and washes all other thoughts and feelings away. You pump her with everything you have, and it's a struggle to keep your balance, as you're responsible for the weight of both of you.

A strangled sound escapes Isa's lips, head thrown back, a rosy tint on her chest and face, nipples rock hard, breasts squished against your chest, eyes closed, brow furrowed, teeth gritted, thighs squeezing your hips with unbelievable force—it's an allergy-long list.

You know that she's feeling everything you're feeling. With every spasm of her walls around you milking you, your seed erupts inside of her and floods her womb. Your hips are a blur as they pump into Isa's warmth again and again. Her cunt is a hot and sticky mess with juices leaking down her inner thighs—you feel it all around your cock, dripping onto the carpet below—and you're adding thick rope after rope of your cum into the mix. Your knees are weak; they wobble like jello, but you fight to stay upright. Isa is still conscious—somewhat—and she clings to you for support and safety as if she wants to stay connected with you forever. You fuck her until neither of you can take it anymore, her silken heat pulsating with sensitivity. And then, she sighs, and you feel her body go slack, and you're ready to do the same.

The two of you collapse onto the bed, sweaty, tired, satisfied. There's an instant where you consider pulling out, but you don't. You can't; there's nowhere else to go and no one else to be. Isa asked you to cum inside, and you have, so you'll stay inside until your dick softens enough to slide out naturally. You enjoy the hot, slick feel of her insides too much anyway to want to pull out so quickly, the cream leaking out from around your cockhead. You also just want to bask in this afterglow with your precious kitten.

Isa curls up against you as she wraps her limbs around your body and pulls you close, and you feel a strange surge of emotion well up inside of you as you hold her in return. It's not the same euphoria from climaxing or even the physical warmth of sex. It's something deeper, something you've never felt before.

"How was your first time feeling cum inside?" you ask after a moment of silence.

"G-good." She grips your wrist tightly as her face flushes red again. "Even better than I imagined. And the fact it's yours... it makes me feel all fuzzy inside," she finishes softly.

You kiss her cheek. "I know what you mean."

"I can't believe it." Isa purrs as she rubs her ass against your limp cock. "You're really good at that," she murmurs while nuzzling into your neck. "What the hell. And you're telling me you had bad luck with girls before?"

You shrug. "I don't know. They couldn't handle my dick. And maybe I'd get too rough and... ah, never mind." You feel ashamed admitting these things, but Isa is so understanding. She rubs your cheek and smiles back at you.

"Hey, if they can't take it, that's their loss." Isa kisses you sweetly, then giggles.

There's something about the way Isa acts and talks and is, in general, that puts you at ease—as if she can accept you no matter who you are or what you do, which is funny because she barely knows anything about you."Kitten," you say to yourself, like a habit that's formed whenever you see her now. "Seriously, it's perfect for you."

"I love it." Isa responds. "And I love hearing it come out of your mouth."

"Actually. I can think of something better."

She stares up at you, her eyes half-lidded, her smile lazy and contented. "What is it?" she asks.

"Mine. My kitten."

Isa looks away, embarrassed. "Oh, well, okay then, I'm yours."

***

The more Lee Chaeyoung, your lover, opens up to you, the more she reveals how compatible the two of you are. You watch horror movies together, enjoy the same drinks, have similar tastes in food. She confesses a bit too eagerly that she loves to cook, finding it more of a challenge for her than anyone else. Best of all, her sense of humor clicks with yours. You feel like you could just talk for hours, whether it's idle chatter, playing games together, or simply relaxing and enjoying her company. Most importantly, the connection you two feel is immediate; your bodies, your minds, every part of you so in tune.

And then there are those wild fantasies that dance within her mind. It drives you to embark on late-night research sessions, delving into the depths of the internet to discover how best to fulfill her desires. While you cherish these wholesome moments with Isa, the temptation to give in becomes increasingly difficult to resist. With someone as naturally sensual as her, it's only a matter of time before you succumb. You get the funny feeling that Isa might find a way to substitute sleep with sex if given the chance.

After an exhausting day of work, you're at your usual rendezvous point with Isa, but with a few of her friends for dinner. Isa's eyes lock onto yours—you would travel to hell and back if it meant getting to see her smile like that; fortunately, the meeting spot is only a block away from the mundane inferno of your job. She runs up to you and jumps into your arms, her legs wrapped around your waist as she kisses you deeply. Her friends respond with various levels of disgust, amusement, and jealousy.

"How was your day?" she asks as she climbs down.

"It was okay, I guess. A lot better now that I got to see you." You stroke her cheek and kiss her forehead. "Sorry for being late. I had something important I needed to pick up."

"Oh?" A raise of her brow.

You reach into your pocket and pull out a small bag with a collection of hair ties. "Because you lost your favorite one a few days ago," you say.

Her eyes light up when she sees what's inside. "Thank you!" She wraps her arms around your neck and showers your face in kisses.

"Of course," you respond through stifled laughter. "You wouldn't stop whining about it."

She pulls back, mock offense written on her face before she eyes the small gift again with delight twinkling in her eyes. You share an affectionate bump as you return towards where her friends are waiting, the streets alive with the hum of nightlife and the liveliness of the city's residents.

As you all arrive at Sumin's apartment, you feel nervous, excited, and jittery all at the same time. You've only heard about these friends, and now there's all this pressure. Isa keeps staring at you and flashing you little knowing grins, and you can't stop smiling back at her. As you both sit down on the sofa and watch her friends cook in the kitchen, she throws herself into your lap, sitting with her legs draped over yours.

Woah," you say, surprised. "Are you trying to show off in front of your friends? Everyone's watching, you know."

Isa chuckles, leaning back against your chest and looking up at you. "Maybe. Do you want me to stop?"

You smile back at her, squeezing her thigh. "Uhh, a little, to be honest. I don't want your other friends to think of me as some douche."

She rubs her thumb across your palm, nodding in agreement. "I think I've made it obvious how much I like you, but you're right, you're right." Isa pouts, getting off your lap, though it's too late; you feel a stirring in your groin as you look at her slender body.

Just then, her friends finish up the meal, and everyone sits down to eat. Isa insists on sitting next to you, and she keeps smiling and looking over at you as you eat together. "Did you like the beef?" she asks. "I can cook it better than any you've ever had."

"Yeah, it was really good," you reply. You're still hungry. Not food.

"How did you two end up together?" Chaehyun asks before she drinks some more beer.

Sullyoon raises her hand, a grin on her as always when talking about you too. "Oh, it was me." She gives Isa a wink. "I actually set them up because Isa didn't have the balls."

Isa pouts. "Hey, that's not true."

You chuckle, enjoying the way her cheeks are flushed as her friends tease her.

"Besides, that was just the first step. What really sealed the deal was all the snacks he bought for me at the store," she says, grinning proudly.

"Really?" Sumin asks?

"Actually," you interject, "it was love at first sight when we saw each other."

"Eww," she says, rolling her eyes.

You grin sheepishly, putting your hands up defensively. "Well, it's true! We just... I don't know, there's just something about her that feels right."

Isa smiles and bites her lip, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks as she stares at you with dreamy eyes. "Yeah," she agrees softly.

There's a short lull in the conversation as everyone processes what you both have just said. You try to break the mood: "But really, it was the snacks. I'm serious!"

That earns a few laughs from everyone. Isa's hand rests on your shoulder, and you feel her fingers brushing against the back of your neck, brushing the goosebumps she just made. She bites her lip, looks over at you, and you can tell she's dying to get her hands on you, too.

The rest of the night goes along without a hitch as you play some games with everyone, eat more food. Afterwards, you walk with Isa, and she reaches out to grab your hand as you walk. The street lamps act as loyal guides, casting their gentle glow upon the silent, deserted roads, illuminating your path as you journey towards the car.

When you finally arrive at your destination, an electric charge lingers in the air, and if you look up there should be thunder clouds and static electricity where there's an inky black night sky, and kablam—Isa's lips meet yours, and there comes the strike.

As you reluctantly part, gasping for air, Isa leans her head against yours, her finger tracing a delicate path along your cheek. "I had so much fun tonight," she murmurs.

You run a hand through Isa’s red hair, a darker and more faded color. "Yeah. I did too."

"So… my place again?" she asks. It feels like the sort of question she'll be asking a lot.

You meet her gaze, giving her a nod and a renewed kiss. Opening the car door, you allow Isa to slip into the passenger seat.

"Did you like hanging out with my friends?" Isa asks.

"Yeah, a lot." When you step into the vehicle, you take in the new car smell; it's only a few days old. But more overpowering is Isa's hand cream as you take her hand and kiss it again, and again, and again.

She laughs as you tickle her with pecks. "They liked you too! I didn't think you would click so well with them." She pauses. "They also thought we were really cute together."

You start up the car and pull off, eager to get the two of you back to her place. "I'm glad. That means I get to keep being around your friends, which means I get to spend more time with you."

Her cheeks flush and her mouth quirks upward. "Okay, I have a question for you, what do you want to do when we get to my place?" Her tone is teasing and seductive.

"Hmm, I don't know. What do you want me to do to you?"

She grins and giggles, but doesn't answer right away. Her legs cross over each other as she ponders her response. You look at her and smile. You love how cute she looks when she's thinking, and you especially love when she's thinking of you. "We could… cook something. Together. Or, you know, you could read me a book to sleep and—no. Th-the only thing I can think of is last time... God, I don't want you to think of me as some kind of pervert."

"Hey," you say softly. "I like your perversion." Your fingers run along her thigh, brushing against her inner leg. "I've got some things in mind that I'd like to try myself, so it's fine."

"I can't even sleep in my own couch or bed properly without thinking about you fucking me," she mumbles, before biting her lip and staring out the window with a frown.

"I'm sorry."

She waves your apology away dismissively. "No! It's not that bad, I'm definitely exaggerating. But sometimes, before I sleep, I get into the same position and..." Her voice trails off as her eyes close and her eyebrows furrow together. Her hands move on their own, miming the same actions as they had before, fingers running down her torso, over her breasts, her hips. As quick as her hand makes it there, she stops, and the blush deepens on her face. Her eyes flutter open and meet yours, then flick to the road ahead of you. "Yeah," she says, trying to shake off the thoughts plaguing her mind.

"Woah," you say. You reach out and touch her thigh, running your fingertips along the smooth, cool material. "You okay?"

"Yes." Her gaze fixes on the passing scenery beyond the window. "Just... really turned on. And we still have a drive ahead."

You chuckle. "Well, I'll try my best to distract you."

Isa groans as you run a hand up her thigh and squeeze gently. She grabs your wrist. "Ah, ahhh, that feels nice. But don’t get carried away. Crashing isn’t sexy."

You laugh, nodding. "Right, right." You pull your hand back, focusing on the road.

The two of you have more mundane conversations, but somehow the topic comes up: "So you know how you... um, call me kitten?"

A knowing smile tugs at your lips as you lean into her words. "Yep."

Her cheeks flush, and she playfully averts her gaze, her voice tinged with a bashful giggle. "What if, uh, we played more with that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, since I love cats so much and we can't even have one." She holds up the cat plushie you keep in the car for good measure.

You also note the word "we" and smile to yourself. "Are you sure that's the reason? Not just you being horny."

"Yah!"

"Alright, alright," you concede, the playful tone of your voice mirroring hers. "So, what kind of things were you thinking of? Other than a collar, obviously."

"And a leash."

"Well…" Never mind, you don't mind eschewing some realism here.

"But, yeah, that was the start. That I kinda, you know, wanted to try. But also, you were really good at taking charge. How you teased me and made me wait and rewarded me when I'm good. More of that. I want you to claim me and own me and…" She trails off, too embarrassed and blushing to say anymore. It's incredibly cute to watch her squirm as she tries to bring up the rest of her ideas. With your research, you already have an idea of what sorts of things she might be into, but it’s best to hear from her.

"Go on, kitten, talk," you command, putting a heavy weight in your tone, and she almost immediately lets out a sigh of relief.

"Please, be patient," she whines, laughing. Her voice drops to a whisper, the lust in her eyes undeniable. "You could be the, uhm, dominant one and, uh, I would, do whatever you want me to."

"That’s what I figured."

"Right." She can't even look at you. "I meant, you know, really getting into it, the whole roleplay thing."

The mere idea makes you want to put the pedal to the floor and reach Isa's place as quickly as possible, but you calm yourself.

She continues: "So, you could, maybe pet me, and I would purr."

You pat the head of the cat plushie next to Isa, who places a hand on it, giggling. "Yeah, and you have such a cute little kitty mouth and even your tongue is like a little lappy tongue."

Isa turns even more red and stops talking, covering her face with her hands and laughing. You chuckle, and after a moment she gathers her wits and puts her hands down.

"Yeah," she confirms, her voice filled with both excitement and shyness. "And maybe... you can give me commands to learn some tricks. Like waving my paws at you or shaking my head no." Her words spill forth in a rush of anticipation.

And again, you want to note that’s less of a kitten thing and more of a puppy thing, but you don’t mind making an exception for her. A playful glint dances in your eyes. "And you're meant to be my plaything, a slutty... pet kitten for your owner?" you suggest, your voice heavy with desire and dominance.

She nods, her brain slipping like a broken record. "Yes," she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. "Everything you said... and maybe you could really punish me if I'm naughty."

Isa's breath hitches, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she considers the question. "However you see fit. But maybe... you could take your belt and use it to smack my butt when I'm being naughty." She pauses, her voice growing softer. "Actually, I kinda like it when you're really rough with me. Like... how I get all dizzy when you tire me out. And it's hot when you treat me like a toy, like when you carried me… fuck. You could even tie me up or choke me, if that's what you want."

"Or I could just use a gag if I felt lazy," you say playfully, the possibilities swirling in your mind.

Isa laughs, a sound that holds both excitement and a hint of anticipation. Yet, beneath the laughter, a whimper escapes her lips. "Speaking of which," she murmurs, "I wanted to buy some things for this." Her eyes meet yours briefly before darting away. Isa squirms in her seat, her cheeks flushed as she busies herself with searching for the necessary items online. The soft glow of the screen illuminates her face, casting a warm and inviting light upon her features.

A smile graces your lips as you pat her head. "Good girl," you praise, your voice filled with affection. "I like it when you're helpful."

Eventually, she gives you directions to some store, and you continue driving in comfortable silence, each lost in your own thoughts.

The two of you arrive, and you realize quickly that it's a sex shop, the neon sign flickering in the night, windows blackened by curtains. The car engine purrs to a halt.

"I was surprised it's still open," Isa says.

You glance at the shop's entrance, its door ajar, beckoning you inside, even if the rest of the exterior looks quite sketchy. "There are probably customers who can only shop for this kind of thing at night," you reply with a shrug.

Stepping out of the car, Isa leads the way, her stride filled with confidence. The store's interior greets you with emptiness, save for a bored employee who looks as if he'd rather be anywhere else. Undeterred, you grab a shopping basket, its metal handle cool against your palm, and begin to venture down the aisles, searching for the items you need. "I think we could get the collar and leash here," you suggest.

Your eyes scan the shelves until they land upon a display of collars and harnesses. Among them, one catches your attention—a delicate collar adorned with a tiny bell that tinkles with every movement, along with matching cat ears. You pluck it from its hook and hold it up for Isa to see. "This one is cute," you say, excitement lacing your voice.

Isa's eyes light up as she nods in agreement, her fingers reaching out to caress another collar with a keyhole cutout in the front. "This would work too.”

Together, you gather the collars and leashes, placing them gently into the basket. Your exploration continues, which leads you to a section dedicated to all things furry. A playful smirk tugs at your lips as you remark, "I guess we're furries now?"

Isa chuckles "I don't think just wearing cat ears makes me a furry."

Your search within the furry section yields a couple of tail plugs, their soft fur tickling your fingertips. You also grab a simpler metal butt plug, its smooth surface gleaming under the store's fluorescent lights. "But this part of the store has a lot of relevant things for us," you remark.

Isa's laughter echoes through the aisles as she plucks a box from the shelf and holds it up to her head. "Do you think this will look cute on me?" she asks, her eyes sparkling.

Taking the box from her hands, you read the label—a kit to transform Isa into a feline goddess, complete with cat ears, a bushy tail, and mitts made of faux fur for your hands to poke out from. She didn't have to ask—you can already picture it. "Hmm, I think so."

You grab a different set, one without the mitts instead. Your exploration of the shop continues until you find yourselves in the fetish and roleplay section, a realm filled with endless possibilities. Bondage ropes, gags, cuffs, tape, and a blindfold join the basket.

Isa's voice breaks through the silence, her tone filled with awe and amusement. "Wow, we are really going all in."

"Well, I mean, I guess we could gift these if we're not using any of them?"

"That's true. Although, you know," she pauses, her voice lowering to a whisper, "I think I'd prefer to keep them, just in case."

You nod, and continue browsing through the selections, adding more and more to the shopping basket. You eventually end up with a pile of toys and accessories, and you head to the counter to check out. The transaction complete, you grab the bags from the car and begin the journey back home.

The weight of your purchases fills the car. "Don’t think I’ve ever spent that much," you jest, bags as passengers of the back seats. "I could've bought a refrigerator with what we got today. You looked pretty excited."

Isa nudges your elbow gently as you resume driving. "Aww, c'mon. It wasn't that much."

"It's a lot. But nothing says we have to use all of these tonight."

"I had fun anyway," she says, her eyes lighting up with a spark of mischief. "Like, I didn't even know they could sell a dildo in that size."

You shake your head in disbelief. "I definitely did not know that either."

The drive home is quieter now; perhaps both of you need some time to digest everything or maybe exhaustion has settled upon your shoulders, remarkably late to be shopping. Regardless, the silence wraps around you like a cozy blanket, comforting and familiar. You steal glances at Isa, her head nodding as she struggles to keep her eyes open, tiredness finally catching up with her.

As you approach the parking lot of her place, she turns to you, a yawn escaping her lips as she stretches. "So, are we really doing this tonight?"

You study her tired expression, a gentle smile curving your lips. "Looks like you don't have the energy for it."

"Mmm," she hums in agreement, her eyelids heavy. "But we can at least try on the collar, right? And maybe a leash too."

You park the car and enter her apartment hand in hand. Both of you are too weary to engage in anything too active. Sitting on her bed, you gaze into each other's eyes, a silent understanding passing between you. With gentle hands and loving intent, you help Isa put on the collar and leash. In this quiet moment, the weight of your purchases fades into insignificance.

She leans against you and nuzzles her head into the crook of your neck, finding solace in the warmth of your embrace. "Mmm, this feels nice," she whispers with a soft smile.

You wrap your arm around her, your touch grazing her back with tenderness. "Yes, it does," you respond, your voice laced with warmth as you press a gentle kiss upon the crown of her head.

Moments pass as you revel in the closeness and intimacy shared between you two. The weariness of the day slowly takes its toll on Isa, her eyes heavy with sleep as she falls into a peaceful slumber. You gently remove the collar from her delicate neck before joining her in a state of restfulness.

As dawn breaks, the darkness still cloaks the world beyond the windowsill, casting a serene atmosphere within the room. Isa lies beside you, her vivid red hair splayed gracefully across the pillow. Shifting slightly against the headboard, you sit up, observing her serene form.

Isa stirs beside you, murmuring softly in her sleep. Your hand instinctively glides through her hair, caressing her strands in an attempt to lull her back into peaceful dreams. Gradually, her restlessness subsides, and she curls up on the bed, her head resting gently in your lap. You continue to pet her, savoring the sensation of her soft hair cascading through your fingers, feeling the tension in her body gradually dissipate under your gentle touch.

Reaching over to the nightstand, you retrieve the collar and leash. With utmost care, you secure the collar around her neck, clasping it tenderly. Tugging gently on the leash, she shifts, turning onto her side as she gazes up at you with sleepy eyes.

"Hello," she murmurs softly, her voice raspy with sleep.

A playful twinkle dances in your eyes as she playfully paws at your pants, her actions betraying her half-awake state. "Hi, kitten," you respond, your words infused with affection.

Her lips curl into a contented smile, her eyes still closed. "Mmm, that feels lovely," she purrs, the warmth of her breath against your groin causing you to grow. She nuzzles her face closer, her cheek rubbing gently against your clothed erection, eliciting a small moan of pleasure from her lips.

"You like that, don't you?" you whisper, pulling on her leash gently. "You like feeling your owner's cock on your face."

"Mmhmm," she mumbles in response, nodding with sleepy acquiescence. Her tongue slips out to moisten your clothed shaft, tracing teasing patterns that leave droplets of saliva upon the fabric.

You allow her to continue. Your hand continues to caress her hair while pulling lightly on the leash. She is fully awake now, but she maintains the guise of half-consciousness, her hands exploring your thighs, your hardened length, and eventually slipping beneath your waistband to cup your testicles. A quiet groan escapes your lips as her fingers tease and stroke your sac, intensifying the pleasure that courses through you.

Driven by desire and the intoxicating sensation of her touch, you slowly lower your pants and boxers. With closed eyes, Isa remains blissfully unaware of the freedom you have granted your erection. A mischievous giggle escapes her lips as your engorged shaft brushes against her nose.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"It's okay," she says, her voice heavy with sleep. "I love how big and heavy your cock is."

You drink in the sight before you, captivated by the image of her mouth agape, her tongue peeking out in anticipation. She searches for your shaft without needing to see it, her breath hot upon your skin. Finally finding your tip, she lavishes it with lazy kitten-like licks that send waves of pleasure cascading through your body.

Isa begins to take your cockhead into her mouth, her movements unhurried as she places it delicately between her lips, producing a gentle hum of satisfaction. A quiet moan escapes your throat as you feel her warm and wet mouth enveloping your tip, her tongue swirling sensually along your shaft. Her fingers find their way to the base of your cock, stroking it with a gentle rhythm.

The leash tightens around your hand as a surge of heat courses through your veins. Isa continues to suckle on your tip with an air of carefree abandon, contentedly humming and purring against the sensitive flesh. Her other hand tenderly caresses your testicles, eliciting a louder moan of pleasure from your lips.

If not for the telltale signs of her increasing arousal, you might still believe the façade of her half-asleep state. Yet, her hips writhe and rise in the air, her thighs rubbing together in a desperate bid for more. Entranced by this view of her unbridled desire, your hand descends to grab and squeeze her ass through her sweatpants. She gasps in response, her hand quickening its pace along your length. The passion between you intensifies as she strives to maintain her lips around your cockhead while her fingers twist around your engorged shaft. The pleasure becomes nearly overwhelming, the warmth and wetness of her mouth coupled with the tantalizing flicks of her tongue sending you hurtling towards the precipice of climax. It is then that you pull on her leash, your voice laden with a mixture of restraint and longing.

You reluctantly withdraw the pulsating erection from her entrancing mouth, causing Isa to emit a soft whimper as you gently lift her to meet your gaze. Her eyes are wide, her cheeks flushed, and her lips swollen from your earlier intimacy. The sight of her arousal is almost too much to bear.

"How about we pick up where we left off last night?" you suggest, your voice barely above a whisper.

Isa nods eagerly, her eyes lustful and full of desire. "Yes, Daddy," she whispers back, her voice trembling with anticipation.

You tenderly stroke her hair, the gesture eliciting shivers from her delicate frame. "Good girl," you murmur, your voice filled with affection. "Now, take off your clothes for me and get on all fours on the bed."

She obeys your command, her movements graceful as she removes her shirt and sweatpants. Her breath catches in her throat as her breasts bounce freely, their curves captivating your gaze. With each article of clothing discarded, her thick hips are bared to you, an invitation that sets your pulse racing. The sight of her thighs, smooth and inviting, arouses a primal desire within you. Your palm glides across their soft, pillowy skin, reveling in the exquisite sensation.

You reach down and retrieve the bags you left on the floor, your fingers grazing over the array of items until they land on the cat tail plug nestled among the contents. The plug end gleams in the soft light, its sleek surface inviting to the touch. With a gentle caress, you turn it over in your hand, feeling the plushness of the fluffy tail against your skin. Running the tail plug over Isa's body, you revel in the power it holds. The toy traces a path along her bare chest and down her bare legs, the contrast of the cold metal and the soft fur eliciting a delicious squirm from her. Your voice laced with a hint of mischief as you ask, "Have you ever tried anything anal before? Or this type of toy?"

Isa shakes her head bashfully, yet there's a palpable eagerness in her eyes as she holds her hands behind her back, offering herself to you completely.

"I'm going to have to prepare you then," you say, taking out a bottle of lube and applying it generously to the plug. You take the bottle with you as you settle on your knees and crouch down behind her ass, holding the toy in one hand. Your index prods the underside of her tailbone, and she gasps as you reach down, kissing her plump asscheeks. "Is this okay?" you ask, wanting to make sure.

"Y-yes, Daddy," Isa stammers. You drag the pad of your finger against her skin, eliciting a tremor from her and a new gasp that drops into a long moan, and then you take that as a cue to rub it down her crack, tickling her pussy along the way. "O-oh, Daddy!" she whines, humping your hand in need.

"Kitten, remember." As you speak, you press two of your fingers between her plump folds, your thumb and forefinger gently squeezing her clit. She wiggles her ass, squeaking. "If you want to be a good girl, you have to be patient."

"Daddy," she begs, "please, please, more..." She bucks again, her wet folds clamping around your fingers and your knuckles squeezing her entrance. You rub them up and down, spreading her juices. She's a sticky mess, her arousal dripping down your hand, and you grin, pleased.

"No, not yet. We have to get your ass ready first." Your pointer digit now slick, you squeeze a dollop of lube in your other hand, and you smear it along her asshole.

"Ah!" Isa cries, tensing up at the sudden cold. You shush her, rubbing her pucker with your fingertip, then gradually pressing your lubed finger into her, past the tight ring of muscle, feeling the walls of her ass tense around your digit. You move slowly, pushing your finger further into Isa, letting her get used to the sensation. You reach the second knuckle, and you can feel her starting to relax, her walls loosening up around you. "Ohhh," she moans, her hands balled into fists on the bedsheets.

You curl your finger, pushing against her walls, trying to get her accustomed to the sensation. She moans louder, her hips bucking back against your hand. She seems to be enjoying herself, so you continue, slipping another finger into her ass, this time your middle finger.

"Ah! Daddy!" She cries out, her back arching and her ass pushing against your fingers, taking them deeper into her. You continue, working your fingers in and out of her ass, stretching her out. "It feels so good, Daddy," she moans, her voice trembling.

You pull your fingers out of her ass, and you place the tip of the plug against her, gently pushing it in. "Here’s the plug now," you explain, as you press it against her entrance. "You need to relax, kitten, and let it in."

With a whimper, Isa goes pliant, and you exert steady pressure. Her brow furrows as the plug breaches her entrance, slowly sinking into her clutching heat. She winces as the girth spreads her wide, and you pause, giving her time to adjust to the intrusion.

When her expression smooths, you resume pushing, watching inch after inch disappear until only the flared base remains nestled between her cheeks. The furry tail sways with each squirm of her hips.

You caress the warm skin of her backside. "How does that feel, kitten?"

"So good, Daddy," she breathes, gazing at you through heavy lids. "I didn't know my ass could stretch like that."

A surge of pride washes over you as you reward her obedience with words of affirmation. "Good girl," you murmur, pressing a kiss against her ass before redirecting your attention to her dripping-wet pussy. With a teasing motion, you spread her folds apart, running your fingers up and down her slick slit, teasing her entrance. Her thighs fall open with a needy whine. "I think we should have some breakfast first," you say, unable to keep the grin from your voice.

She whines. "Nooo, but I, I need your cock, in me, or your fingers, or anything—"

"Not yet," you say sternly. "You have to be patient. And if I tell you to wait, then you'll wait."

Isa pouts in response, her bottom lip jutting out in a sulky pout, but ultimately nods her agreement. You remove the leash from her collar, and the two of you make your way towards the kitchen. As she walks, there’s a slight awkwardness to her gait, a subtle gracelessness that somehow only adds to her allure. Her posterior sways enticingly with each step, captivating your attention as you trail behind in a purposeful slowness. She knows what she’s doing too: the seductive undulation of her hips from side to side makes her tail bounce playfully, and she casts a mischievous smile over her shoulder.

You follow her lead, entering the kitchen where you open the fridge and begin gathering ingredients. Your eyes flick towards Isa, who’s settled herself onto a barstool. Her legs are spread wide, and her fingers tease and rub at her own clit. The tail plug nestled between her legs seems like the most natural extension of her body. A mixture of surprise and intrigue crosses your face. "What are you doing?" you ask, walking over to her.

She blinks up at you with feigned innocence, but a glint of mischief dances in her eyes. "Just getting used to my new tail, Daddy," she purrs playfully. "Aren't I such a good kitten?"

You shake your head. "Looks like you're trying to make me fuck you." You reach over, taking hold of the base of the tail plug and pulling it out slightly, before shoving it back in. Isa cries out, her body tensing up as you repeat the action, fucking her ass with the plug. "If you can't control yourself, then maybe I'll just have to punish you."

A chorus of moans escapes Isa's lips, her defiant fingers moving faster against her clit in a desperate plea for more. "Yes, Daddy, please," she begs, her voice a symphony of need and longing.

Your grin widens, a surge of dominance coursing through your veins as you grab her arm, pulling it away from her throbbing core. "No, kitten," you assert firmly, your voice commanding. "You're not allowed to touch yourself."

Isa whimpers in protest, her desire palpable, but she obediently complies with your command, her hands remaining bound behind her back. You release her arm, your eyes locked on the sight of her restrained beauty, her need radiating from every pore.

"Since you insist on misbehaving like that," you declare, your voice laced with a hint of playful authority, "I'll have to tie you properly." With purposeful determination, you retrieve the rope you had acquired for this very purpose, expertly maneuvering it around her delicate wrists, binding them securely together. Isa's whimper of surrender echoes through the room as the rope bites into her skin, marking her as yours.

With the task completed, you turn your attention back to the kitchen, resuming your culinary endeavors. The rhythmic sound of knife meeting cutting board fills the air as you deftly chop vegetables and toss them into a waiting bowl. Isa's eyes never leave you, her body wriggling with anticipation and desire, the tail plug nestled between her legs a constant reminder of her submissive state.

"Daddy, please," she pleads, her voice filled with a desperate longing. "I want your cock so bad. I need you to fuck me."

You shake your head, ignoring her, and continue working. You add the dressing to the salad, and you bring it over to her. She glances toward the cutlery in front of her, and you nod—if she wants to be a naughty animal, then she deserves to be treated like one. You also give her water in a bowl for added measure. You smile as you watch her try to pick up the salad with her mouth, struggling to use her lips and tongue to get the lettuce into her mouth. She eventually manages it, and she starts chewing, swallowing the vegetables. Isa also laps up from the bowl with a blush on her face.

You watch her eat, pleased, and you stroke your cock through your pants, teasing yourself. After she finishes the salad and as much of the water as she can, you get up from your seat, and you grab a hold of the rope binding her wrists together, pulling on it and leading her to the bedroom.

You help carefully pull the tail plug out of her ass, and you slip in a new butt plug, smaller and more discreet. "I think you can handle this one," you say, squeezing her ass and rubbing her back. She mewls, her legs quivering.

You grab a pair of panties and slip them onto her, helping her into them and pulling them up her thick thighs. She wiggles her hips, struggling to keep herself balanced as you adjust them for her, before you take out a skirt and help her step into it.

"We're going out today, kitten," you say. "You're going to wear your collar and cat ears in public, and no one will know that your slutty kitten asshole is going to be filled up. And if you’re good, then maybe you’ll get what you really want."

"Really?" she asks, her eyes widening with excitement.

You nod. "Yes, really."

"O-Okay." You quickly dress and head outside, the two of you enjoying the morning and the quiet streets. You don't have any concrete plans today, but there's a list of things in your mind that you would enjoy getting Isa to do: pet her in public, talk her into cumming just from sitting in your lap, even a spank here or there. While you don't bring the leash this time, you might try it some time in the future, and you want her to be comfortable. Right now, she just looks like a fashionable girl wearing animal ears.

As the two of you go on with your day, you try to spot signs of the fact she's aroused: the way she walks, the way she moves her arms, her eyes constantly wandering down and scanning the bulge in your pants. You catch her trying to squeeze her legs together or rub her thighs to get friction. At one point, when you sit in an isolated corner of a coffee shop, she rests her head in your lap and purrs contentedly. You gently rub her hair and scratch behind her ears, whispering for her to "think about Master's cock filling you up while your other hole's all plugged up" but also "not to cum without Master's permission." There's a soft moan against your crotch, then a warm sigh as her cheek rubs into your leg.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

After spending the whole day taking her around and making her go do mundane tasks with the plug, and most importantly having her beg and beg for you to fuck her—"in the park, on a bench, or the bushes in a hiking trail, anywhere please" she said—you're excited, eager for this evening. Isa looks back at you with tears brimming in her eyes, and her knees wobbling, as she's panting and trying to hold back from cumming. "Please," she begs. "I need it. Please, anything."

You think you have her just about at her limit when you both return to the car to drive back to Isa's place. Even the walk from the parking lot to Isa's apartment door has her clinging to you for support as she stumbles.

"Hey, kitten," you say, touching the small of her back under her shirt. "Are you okay?"

"It's fine. I'm just, so, so, worked up, fuck. I want your cock," she pouts, tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. She hunches forward, unable to look at you.

"I bet," you tease, kissing the top of her head. "I'll give you what you want soon, kitten. Just a little longer."

She whimpers. "Please."

"Okay, c'mon, baby," you say, letting go and opening the door for her. She staggers in on her jelly-like legs, her cheeks flushed and her breath hitching. You get behind her and hug her; holding her as tightly as you are, Isa relaxes into you. Her heart is pounding wildly against your palm. You set her down onto the couch, and she gives you a grateful smile, which you kiss in turn. Your hands roam all over her, down her waist and settling between her legs. You slip under her panties and tease the metal plug in her butt, twisting it until you hear a deep sigh from her. "You're so wet," you tell her. "Look at you. So sweet."

She makes a keening noise when you tug on the plug, just so, just enough to remind her of what you both want. Your finger teases along her folds, gently brushing up and down against the seam, up towards the hood of her clit. Isa shivers.

"Do you want me to make you cum?" you ask as you rub her clit.

"Mmhm," Isa nods furiously, her hands coming up to grasp at your shoulders, looking for purchase. "P-please. Make me cum."

At this point, a single digit thrust would probably be enough to push her over the edge. Instead, you remove your hands from her panties, place them on her breasts, squeeze them, and gently tug on her nipples. You love the way the skin of her neck and breasts blush with arousal. "You've been a good kitten," you say, cupping her ass and pulling her closer. "I'm so proud of you."

“Can, can I get a reward?” she asks, almost in tears.

You brush her tousled hair. “Shh, shh, of course. Do you want to cum on Daddy’s face?”

She nods emphatically while her pussy soaks her panties and leaks onto the couch. “Y-yes, Daddy, anything.”

In response, you pick her up and carry her to the bedroom, and she clings to you like a lifeline, as if afraid that if she lets you go, you won’t touch her and she might break into pieces from frustration. You lie down on the bed, and Isa climbs on top of you.

She quickly aligns her pussy with your face, and your mouth waters in anticipation at the sight of her darkened panties. You hook one finger around the thin and wet fabric and pull them down to reveal her swollen pussy, her asshole plugged tightly. “You smell so good,” you say, licking your lips as she mewls. “Sit.”

Isa does as told, and the warmth of her mound rests on your chin. She braces her hands on the headboard as you raise your head a bit to reach her core. You kiss her lower lips with reverence and delicacy, like you would kiss her lips. They're warm, warm and soaked with her honey, and they part easily to reveal the pink insides. Her clit is standing erect, almost painfully so, and the hood has pulled away.

You begin by flicking the tip of your tongue against it. She jumps. Then, you take the sensitive pearl into your mouth. Isa groans at this, but you don't stay for too long. You place wet, loud kisses against her mound and inner thighs, before going back to her clit. This time, you suck on it. A little nip sends her jumping on you again, and she yelps. The next kiss is quick and soft.

As she grows accustomed to the new stimulation, you suck and lick and nibble her clit, all while keeping an eye on her face. You see it scrunch up, her nose crinkling in pleasure, her eyes shut. Her moans are accompanied by whines, little pathetic sounds that let you know she's getting close to her breaking point.

There is nothing quite like eating out Isa while she has a toy in her ass and she's wearing cat ears and a cute collar, but more delicious than any picture is the taste of her cream, musky and tangy and addictive. It drips from the swollen labia that your tongue slides through, coating your tongue and making you dizzy with lust. It's strong and you can't help but groan as you dig your face deeper against her sex, lips meeting lips as your tongue.

Isa grinds down on your mouth, and her hips tremble when you begin to circle your tongue around her clit, giving the firm bundle of nerves light but frequent attention. She's a mess on you, and you're happy to be cleanup duty, your chin and shirt a mop. As she rocks back and forth, you reach up at her nipples through her shirt and twist and pinch and roll the stiff buds.

With that, Isa's hips rock one last time as her thighs close and press against the sides of your head. You hear the distant, muffled, muted sounds of her whining, crying, moaning. By now, you can even feel how hard her heart is beating. Her breaths become erratic, and the trembling of her hips turns into shaking. She leans backwards, balancing her weight on your midsection, and the tension in her body snaps.

For a moment, she's floating, mind empty, then everything rushes into her brain like a dam has broken. For the first time that day, she cums, and she cums hard. She's always thought of it as "seeing stars" but now it feels more like being tossed into space and feeling all the gravity around her all at once. All the weight on her body disappears, but the pressure of you increases. She doesn't hear, she doesn't feel. Isa is the color white.

All of a sudden, Isa feels weak. It feels like the universe is a heavy blanket on her. She can barely hold her weight on her body. You're the only thing that feels real at the moment. That, and her pussy, which still tingles with her orgasm, and you can only imagine how the plug in her ass is magnifying everything.

Isa collapses against you, the softness of her flesh warming your chest. She's still convulsing with little aftershocks, her entire body covered in goosebumps. She hears herself saying things like "I love you so much" and "thank you Daddy thank you". The words leave her mouth on their own as she begins to come down from her high.

For as much as you love being her seat, you pull her down into a spoon. You wrap your arms around her. Her heart pounds against your forearm and hand. The scent of her shampoo and sweat fill your nostrils. Everything is still hot from her body heat, and you take a deep breath and exhale through your mouth. "Was that worth the wait, kitten?" you ask her.

"Yeah," she says weakly, the only word she can manage at the moment. Her legs are still shaking, and she takes a few moments to focus on slowing down her breathing and her heartbeat. "Well..."

"Well? You need more, huh?" you chuckle. You should've learned to never be surprised at Isa's appetite by now, and the plug in her ass isn't making her any less horny.

"Mmm, mhm. I need your cock so badly. Fuck my ass. I need Daddy to claim me."

You kiss her cheek and tell her to flip over so that she's laying on her stomach, her round ass staring up at you. "You did such a good job," you whisper as you rub your palms across her lower back before lifting her skirt to get a good view.

The plug sits in Isa's asshole, glistening with her fluids. A bottle of lube waits on the nightstand, and you pour it generously over her crack. With as much care as you can muster, you begin to slowly draw it out, savoring the sight of her clenched hole stretching to accommodate the thickest part of the toy. There is an audible pop when the tapered plug slips free, causing Isa to hiss in pleasure as her rectum reflexively tightens to fill the emptiness left inside.

Her delicate fingers reach behind to part her plump cheeks and expose herself further to your gaze. You bite your lip, taken by the lewdness of the image in front of you. You add more lube to the area, another spurt on your index, and circle around the ring of her anus to coat it before pushing a finger in, massaging her inner walls. "How does that feel, baby?" you ask, watching the way her head jerks back and she squirms beneath you.

"Amazing," she mutters, her voice sounding far away. Prone on the bed, Isa is powerless to resist as you slowly remove your finger, adding a second digit. Her ass grips you so snugly, sucking you deeper with each pump, like it's a sleeve for your fingers. She trembles at the feeling of fullness inside, at the raw vulnerability of being splayed before you like this, your gaze unabashedly on her naked ass as you work her open. "C-can you bring me a pillow, please?"

You kiss the nape of her neck as you reach down and slide the pillow under her pelvis. Her ass raised, her back arched, Isa is the picture of supplication. "So beautiful," you whisper against her skin, and she shudders with arousal.

"Da... daddy, do you need to stretch me more?" Isa stammers. You place your palm at the small of her back, caressing the dip of her spine with gentle circles.

"No, kitten," you soothe. "You're ready."

"Yes. God, yes."

With one hand squeezing the supple curve of her butt, you pour lube liberally across the tip of your erection. You position the head of your cock at the rim of her ass and begin to apply pressure, using your thumbs to massage her soft cheeks. Even your tip struggles to breach her, her entrance reluctant to admit anything more girthy than a couple of fingers. With more lube, and two hands spreading her ass open, you finally push through her anal muscles' resistance, gasping as the tightness and warmth of her insides engulfs the head of your shaft.

Isa tenses in response, her hands clawing at the bed sheets. The sound she lets out is almost like a pained meow as your cock plunges further into her depths. "Relax," you murmur, using a tender yet reassuring voice to soothe her.

She responds by shifting her hips, attempting to adjust the angle to your thrust, her movements awkward and fumbling due to her precarious position. Her efforts cause her to clench down on your shaft, a wave of pleasure washing over you, before relaxing once again.

A shaky breath escapes your throat as you feel yourself slipping past the ring of her sphincter. "Good, good girl," you praise once you've sunk halfway into her, taking a moment to drink in the erotic view in front of you. "Fuck, you're tight. Almost there."

Her body shudders as she fights to hold still, to restrain her hips from moving on their own accord, a low cry emanating from her lips.

Your hand roams over her waist and upper thigh, seeking out the delicate bud hidden in the cleft of her pussy. You rub a couple of fingers over the tender flesh, delighting in the way her back arches as you stimulate the swollen organ. Savoring her broken sobs, you ease forward, burying the rest of your length in her ass. You gently slap her butt, marveling at the way it bounces with each contact.

Isa moans as you pull your dick out slightly before plunging it back into her ass, beginning with slow, shallow pumps. The motion is easy and fluid, despite her virgin-tightness.

You press your palms flat against the mattress and use your forearms for leverage to piston into her. As you drive your shaft deeper into her ass, the combination of her intoxicating aroma and your lust for her spurs you to move faster and harder, until you find yourself rutting her, your balls slapping against her puffy cunt with each frantic thrust.

"Yes! More," she begs, and you groan in reply. Your eyes are fixed on your cock, sliding in and out of her stretched hole, the ridges of your shaft disappearing and reappearing as you pump. Your mouth goes dry as you watch the way her body clings to your cock, how she's utterly and completely full of you.

"Fuck, look at you, so greedy," you growl as she pushes back against your cock. You pause for a brief moment and she whines in protest, then you unsheathe your dick and slap it against her gaping asshole. She jolts at the impact, her body shivering at the feeling. Your hips pull back, and with a powerful snap, you ram your cock into her asshole. She cries out in pain and pleasure, the sound echoing throughout the room.

"D-daddy, don't tease me!" she exclaims, her voice pleading, yet laced with desperation. You smirk at the familiarity of her tone.

You bend down, wrapping your arm around her torso and pulling her up and flush against your chest, the weight of her breasts pressing against your bicep and forearm. In this position, both of you are sitting up, her in your lap like you're her throne—her master, her god, her owner. She leans into you, tilting her head back to look up into your eyes, the adoration and reverence shining within her gaze unmistakable. Your shaft presses against her lower back, and she wiggles her ass desperately to urge you to keep fucking her.

You kiss her neck, inhaling her scent, her arousal. With such an incredible woman in your arms, you are overcome by the desire to mark her, to stake your claim on her, to brand her as your possession. In one swift movement, you sink your teeth into her neck, biting into the delicate skin. Isa whines, her head thrown back, eyes half-lidded and glazed over "Mine," you utter in a low, possessive voice.

"Yours," she answers breathlessly, her lips curled in a delirious smile.

You wrap two large hands around her waist, angling your hips just so as you lift her up, and then, she's sliding down your cock, enveloping you in her warmth as you fill her to the brim. As she takes you into her, she stretches open and lets out an obscene moan, her hands gripping the sheets tightly.

"D-daddy!" Isa whimpers, her body trembling at the intensity of the sensations flooding her. "You're so big."

Sitting on you like this, your cock feels impossibly thick inside of her. She can't help the way her thighs twitch involuntarily, nor can she ignore the way her pussy clenches at nothing. With both of her hands, she grabs onto your arm and guides your hand down between her legs, right over her pussy.

"Touch me," she breathes.

You grin at her request, and you oblige, bringing your fingers to her clit. At that moment, you roll your hips upward, meeting her downward motions with a rough, deep thrust, the force of which knocks the breath out of her lungs. Any amount of control she has above you evaporates at this point, leaving her helpless as you bounce her in your lap while your digits play at her raw and pink nub, or probe her slick, wet entrance.

The room is filled with the lewd sounds of her whimpers, of the wet slaps of her ass against your hips, of her needy begging, and of your guttural grunts of effort. Despite the intense climax that shook her only minutes ago, Isa finds herself teetering on the edge of another, and she yearns for release. She's not the only one: her walls cling tightly to your shaft, refusing to yield its grip, and your length pulses with the desperate desire to burst.

"God, I want to feel you cum in my ass, Daddy," she sighs, her head rolling back to lean on your shoulder. Her eyes are closed in concentration, and her mouth hangs open as she gasps and pants and cries with each penetration. You grunt, your gaze hungrily drinking in the sight of her: her reddened, sweaty face, the droplets of perspiration that cling to her collarbone, the rapid rise and fall of her heaving chest, the swaying of her heavy, unrestrained tits.

You suckle at the skin behind her ear, grazing her lobe with your teeth. "Then cum, kitten."

In an instant, a tremor shoots up her spine. With a scream of pure pleasure, her body becomes rigid and then goes limp, her senses overloading as her cunt clamps around your fingers—which doesn't compare at all to her ass clenching and tightening around your cock.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum too—"

But Isa's mind is hazy with ecstasy, her body taut with her own release, that she barely registers the hot and sticky substance suddenly gushing into her anal entrance. Yours on the other hand is sharp and clear as day, and you allow yourself to drown in the euphoria that comes with each spurt. She's a perfect fit for you, made to be yours, and you've marked her as such. Every time she clenches in her pleasure, your cock responds with its own throb, its own gush, its own pulse.

When you collapse, she collapses with you, her thighs sticky and wet as she pants on the bed, lying beside you. You grab a bunch of tissue paper, clean the leaky, creamy mess you've made of her ass.

Her eyes flutter shut and you whisper words of affection and praise. You cradle her in your arms, stroking her hair and tracing patterns across the flushed skin of her back and belly, enjoying the warmth of her body. Her head rests on your shoulder, your neck. Your legs are entwined, and the softness of her chest molds to the planes of your own. Her breathing eventually steadies, and her pulse calms.

Isa lifts her head up, placing her hands on your chest to prop herself up. With lidded eyes and a mischievous smile, she whispers, "I hope you know what you started, Daddy."

A wicked grin creeps upon your lips at her implication, and your hands find their way to her waist, squeezing her hipbones. "And what's that?"

Her gaze softens, and she gazes lovingly into your eyes, a shy smile on her lips. "I hope you don't plan on going anywhere. I don't think I can ever let you go, especially now," she says softly, a blush rising to her cheeks.

"I wouldn't dream of it." You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "You're mine. So I'm yours, kitten."

"Good."

Isa smiles, and you'll never fail to fall in love with the sight of her radiance; that smile makes you believe you may never fail again.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Not really in the Christmas/holiday spirit but I figured might as well pull it out of the draft archives before the year end.

#stayc smut #kpop smut #male reader #reader insert

804 notes · View notes

pearlymel · 9 months ago

Text

"The Masks We Wear"

Summary: as a journalist, you are itching to find the identity of this mysterious hero. But could it be that the hero is closer to you than you think?

Wc: 7.3k eat up

Warnings: Wriothesley x afab!reader, gn! reader, modern au, hero and villian au (one of each), reader is a journalist/cameraman, fluff, making out, crack (i laughed a lot writing this), angst (oops), one small sex scene, slightly under the influence, cursing, it's pretty unrealistic, petnames used: sunshine, love, and sweetheart.

Notes: i poured my heart and soul into this, i think it's my best piece so far ^^ give it a chance, maybe you'll love it. (Pleasepleasepleaseplease) Rbs are greatly appreciated!

Credits: banner art by the great @/danijaci

Click!

The city is absolutely beautiful today. No, no. It’s not because of the lights that makes the place brighter and a bit more magical, how it seems livelier with a group of teenagers laughing together while buying street foods together, or the old couple that seem still very much in love, the gentleman kneeling down and tying her shoes just to make sure she wouldn’t trip this time.

Humans can be cute, you think.

But of course, among those innocent ‘humans’ are those who desire destruction.

This time, you think you might have caught something in the shadows, and you stare intently at your camera, zooming it in to see the faintest color blending in with the darkness. Hair? A part of clothes? You don’t know, but you got it.

you have this obsession of finding out who the hero of this city was, or even the villian. Although, you would be technically be walking into death if you try finding out who the villian is.

Where did this hero come from? No one knows. Sure the crime rate has lowered, but it felt like the world became even more messed up.

It all started a couple of years ago when you were in your college days, one day almost dying from a falling building, and you thought you saw the scythe waiting to take your soul at that very moment but, no.

The mysterious hero of the city that you never thought you would never encounter carried the building with his super strength power, apparently.

He who has no name, took your hand and lead you into a safer area with the police.

cliché story, right. But that’s what got you into journalism and media now.

And let’s say… you’re too far into the deep black hole to back down now.

The almost blinding light made you come back to your senses, the sounds of engine roaring in the air as the bike approached you, and your shoulders were already slumped.

“How did you find me?” You raise your voice due to the loud engine running, covering parts of your vision from the light.

“Lucky guess.” Wriothesley replied gruffly, pulling his helmet off and shaking his head slightly to fix up his messy strands.

“Care to explain what on earth are you doing here in this shady alleyway? At nine thirty where the moon is out and wolves could be coming for you?” He starts scolding you, quirking an eyebrow when you give him the bored expression, and he immediately mimics it back.

“Taking pictures.”

“Of the rats?”

“Wriothesley.” You shoot him a look and he raises his hands in the air. “I understand your… obsession. But it could hurt you in the process, mentally and physically.”

You know he’s saying all this because he cares so much about you. Loves you too much that it would break his soul piece by piece if one day what you’re doing will hurt you.

“Hop in, sweetheart.” He hands you the extra helmet, and you take it with a sigh. Securing it around your head before taking your place behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he revved the engine.

The whole ride back was silent, yet traffic, which entirely ruined the whole mood. With the constant car horns ringing in your ear.

You tap at his thigh to grab his attention, “Why’s it traffic?” You grumble, rising yourself from the seat to look at the row of cars trying to get through.

“Not any holidays or events i can think of,” he responds back to you.

Red mixed with orange fills your vision, suddenly the car at the very front explodes. The car parts flying in the air and landing at the other vehicles which makes you frozen in shock.

Wriothesley’s clenches his hands tightly as he turns the bike around, speeding his way far away from the scene. “Hold onto me tight, and don’t look back, you hear?” He yells enough to grab your attention, and your arms tightens around him, but you have your head turned around to see the people yelling and dashing out of the vehicles. You want to capture the moment with your phone so you could submit it in for the news, but you know more than to ignore Wriothesley right now.

It’s not rare to see destruction happen in your city, it’s just… terrifying every time anybody witnesses it.

Maybe it wasn’t an accident, maybe it was planned.

“You’re not allowed to go out after seven.” Wriothesley makes it clear to you with his firm tone as you both step inside your shared apartment, locking the apartment with a click. He then tosses his keys into a bowl on a small table, before turning to look at you.

“Are you seriously setting a curfew for me? Please. what happened was not new—”

Your face is now being cradled by his rough hands, but the way he swipes a thumb under your eyebags really makes you melt. And you forget what you were going to say when his lips curl the slightest.

“I don't want anything happening to you. Ever.” He takes you in his arms, holding you like you were the most precious thing he ever held. “I didn't mean to pressure you like that. I'd hate it if you were in the position of those injured people.”

You pat his back to reassure him that hopefully nothing like that will happen. “And, if, hypothetically, something like that happened; What would y—”

“I'll kill everyone.” he doesn't even let you continue before he answers, though the chuckle against your hair followed after makes your tense shoulders relax.

“maybe not to that extent,” he lifts your head up to lean in and press a tender kiss on your forehead.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“what is it?”

“… something or someone.”

Your boss gives you a nonchalant sharp look when you eagerly showed him the bits you managed to capture last night before you were interrupted by your great boyfriend.

His eyes squints at the more of a blurred photo that sits on the display of your camera, taking the glasses that hanged from his collar.

The sigh afterwards makes you feel discouraged when he hands you back your camera.

“i see it.” He starts and you perk up immediately.

“it looks like a blurred image of a fucking bird taking a shit on the electrical cords.” You press your lips into a thin line at his description. Too detailed of a description,

what a bastard.

It.. certainly didn't look like that.

You clear your throat, pinching the bridge of your nose to compose yourself.

“You're lucky i like your determination or you would've been fired,” he utters out in a lax tone, resting his glasses on his big bald head that you want to spill with ketchup.

“Keep looking, i need the hero's face, details, anything. Just think of the money you and i could both earn.” He seems too enthusiastic about it, showing you determination with his fists pressing together and his wide ear to ear smile.

You leave work early that day, starting your daily walk of looking around for at least two hours or—one hour?

No, Wriothesley would be too worried if you came back after… nine. Your words not his.

You need to rearrange a schedule in your head.

Step one: somehow convince your boss that you need to leave early everyday.

Step two: search every nook and cranny of the city, ask every shady person if they get to talk to the hero in person or got a glimpse of his name.

Step three: go to the dark web— is that car flying infront of you right now?!

Shit. Just why does everything have to go down wherever path you go?

The people around you panics, and you equally panic with them because you're no fucking hero to tell them to get away from that flying car.

You take your camera out hurriedly from its case that slung around your shoulder, pressing record while frantically looking around. The ground shakes, it shakes so much that it feels like an earthquake almost.

“it's him! The villian!” Someone shouts from the distance, and just like that the screams that follows are in sync.

You know why the ground shook, the street has become a battlefield for the hero and villain fighting together with all their strengths, the air is filled with tension as they both clash in an epic confrontation. The ground trembles beneath your feet again as they traded blows, sending shockwaves through the battlefield. The once tranquil street has now been transformed into a chaotic arena of power and destruction. As the battle rages on. The hero and villain continue their fight, each strike more powerful than the last, their movements a blur of speed and precision.

You try capturing anything with your camera, but your hand shakes that it was impossible. When the villian lands a powerful punch on the hero’s shoulder, sending him way back, it makes you think it's time to leave.

You run with the rest without stubbornness this time. You should've listened to Wriothesley, why did you always have to be so curious about everything?

This curiousity will kill you next after the cat.

“Taxi!” You shout, waving your hand at the yellow vehicle, but every taxi seems to ignore the people's pleas, determined to save themselves instead.

Guess it's time to burn calories and run back home.

You were a panting mess once you reached back to your comfort space, eyes zeroing at the running television in the living room. Watching the newscaster talk about today's battle and how it affected the shops and buildings.

It seems like the battle lasted twenty minutes before the villian gave up and fled away.

Your head snaps to the bathroom once you hear the sink water drip, you didn't even think if he would be here this early.

“Wriothesley,” you say breathlessly when you swing the door open, arms squeezing his side as you take a deep breath in.

“woah, easy there. What happened?” He takes you in, hand rubbing at your arm.

“i was…” nevermind. Maybe you shouldn't tell him what you have witnessed, he'll know once he checks the news.

You only realise that he was chest bared at the moment, and you furrow your eyebrows once you see a bruise on his shoulder.

“What happened?” It was your turn to ask, talking a gentle finger and running it over the bruise, earning a hiss from him.

“was changing the car oil at the repair shop.” He mumbles, gaze turning to the mirror, “then accidentally hit my shoulder once i got up.” he turns his arm, swinging it slowly.

“but you don't work at a car repair shop?”

“it's a side hustle, sunshine.”

“why didn't you tell me?” You press on, and he hangs his head low, both of his hands gripping the sink bowl.

Okay, maybe you have annoyed him a little too much now. Upon sensing your incoming apology, Wriothesley smiles at you.

“don't worry your pretty little head too much. The bruise will fade.”

“i can massage you later?” You offer, and he lets out a breathy chuckle. “You're the best.” He gives you a chaste kiss on your lips on his way out, which makes you feel a little fuzzy.

The evening gave way to the night sky, and you found yourself lying on the bed, replaying the video captured on your camera. The footage was far from perfect, shaky and lacking in clarity, but it still managed to capture fragments of the intense confrontation between the hero and the villain. You couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement as you watched the brief glimpses of the clash that had taken place earlier.

How the villian managed to blow a punch on the hero’s shoulder, sending him way back. Must've hurted.

It's almost like the same spot Wriothesley got his bruise on.

…

Wait, the same spot? You sit up on the mattress, replaying the video on repeat of their fight.

The hero was about the same height as him, the same physique, same cake—

You shake your head, focus. Wriothesley can't be the hero, no that's impossible. He was a busy man, doing… side jobs and whatnot.

Sure he was kind, always helping everyone, even walking the neighbors dog because they got sick one day.

But then again… you never saw Wriothesley and the hero at the same time,

Or was it merely a coincidence, a random alignment of physical features?

“Sunshine?” You gasp when you snap your head up to find Wriothesley leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

“y-yes?” You set the camera aside on top of the drawer. He moves closer, seating himself on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixated on you then glancing at he camera.

“dinner's ready.”

You nod, silence fills the room after. You know he's waiting for you tell him more, on why you were so shocked.

“was looking at the hero's pictures.”

“not mine? I'm wounded.”

You roll your eyes, a slow smile creeping up your face, and he loves it. He takes it as an invitation to lean closer, suddenly pinning you down on the bed to capture your lips with his.

It's slow, and gentle. It makes you hum softly, taking his face in your hands to kiss him back, moving your lips together until you were gasping for air.

You forget you were even suspicious of him a second ago.

Your fingers lightly trace his jawline and you feel the pricks of his growing facial hair. A small smile plays on your lips as you inform him in a soft tone, "You need to shave." Wriothesley chuckles softly, the sound warm and low. He reaches up to your hand, gently taking hold of it and bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss on your palm. "Is that why you stopped kissing me?" He says, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "No! I find you more.. attractive. Plus it.. yeah, it feels like little needles on my face.” you admit quietly.

Wriothesley presses his face into your neck, his lips tracing soft kisses along your skin. His hands begin roving your body, each touch sending a gentle shiver across your flesh. He whispers quietly next to your ear, his voice low and smooth as he responds, "I'll shave after dinner." The sensations of his lips against your neck and his hands exploring your body mix together, creating a heady combination that heightens your senses and ignites a slow fire within you.

“I'll.. help.” You whisper, bringing both of your arms to wrap them around his back. “What a sweetheart.” he uttered out, voice muffled from trying to mold into your skin.

Your mind stops working for a second when he presses his knee gently between your legs to pull them apart, “Wriothesley, what about dinner?” You frantically ask him, tugging his hair up so both of your gazes could meet. And the almost drunken expression he has on makes you let out a shaky breath.

“later,” he drawls, his fingers tracing lazily along your sides.

Hero? Pftt, what hero? This is just your wriothesley, it's quite impossible for him to be the hero.

You snap out of your daydream when your colleague hands you a cup of coffee, he raises an eyebrow at you and you smile back awkwardly.

A sip of the coffee to get a bit of energy, but only just a bit, since too much caffeine makes you nervous.

“You filmed the crazy battle yesterday?” Your colleague sneaks from behind you, watching the video replay again on your camera.

“they do movies about them now, insane huh?”

“well atleast the hero knows he's popular.” You reply bluntly, taking anothsr sip from your hot beverage.

“flash news, someone heard that his name starts with the letter ‘W’ or som—”

You spit out your coffee all over your white attire. You both exchange surprised looks, but you quickly wipe your mouth using the back of your hand.

“where exactly did you hear that?” You get straight to the point, gesturing them to sit next to you.

“from my father's friend’s cousin sister.”

His reply makes your eyes twitch, from who and who?

“Okay…” you whisper, turning around and thinking of the utter nonsense they spouted.

“you don't believe me.” he sighed, “I've been telling this to everyone in the building but no one is believing me! Just tryna’ do my job here.”

Let's say maybe you believe him. But the dots are connecting too fast that you want to refuse from believing it.

Was your target closer to you than you had expected?

“I'm clocking out, can you cover for me today?” You inform your colleague, and he crosses his arms while eyeing you up and down.

Your roll your eyes, “I'll be the cameraman for next week. So you could get three days off.” You force a smile and they smile back enthusiastically.

Wriothesley is definitely home. Earlier than the usual time he'd be back.

Oh, he's asleep on the couch. Leaning back tiredly with an almost stern expression on, but his body seems relaxed.

Now is the time to do anything. Investigate? Go through his things without his permission? That sounded all awful… surely he's not hiding any—

“go search his things.” You furrow your eyebrows when the devil on your left shoulder speaks, it makes you rub your face in annoyance.

Then a sudden white little angel poofs on your right shoulder with a disappointed face, “no, don't do it. He's a little scary when he gets mad. But he'd never betray you!” you feel reassured at it's words and you nod in agreement.

“don't listen to it. He could hurt you if you keep it a secret.” The red devil whispers again and it makes you shiver a bit.

“he would never hurt you.” The angel frowns.

“yes he would, he's a man.”

“a good man.”

“yeah? You're no better than me, you just want that—”

“okay shut up both of you. Shoo.” You brush both of your shoulders off before taking a deep breath to brace yourself.

You'll just search his.. clothes.

You feel guilty once you pocket his jackets and pants in his side of the wardrobe, checking every hidden pocket thoroughly while glancing at the door once in a while to make sure he doesn't wake up.

As your fingers brush against his jacket, you notice an unusual sensation – a cool, metal feeling hidden underneath the fabric. Your eyes widen in surprise as you recognize it to be the form of a gun's handle. A mixture of curiosity and concern floods through you, freezing you in place.

It really is a gun. You study it carefully, turning it around and feeling it's heaviness in your palm.

But you feel your heart run out of your ribcage when two pairs of arms wrap tightly around you, his chin resting on your shoulder.

Shit.

“hi,” he whispers next to your ear, but you're too nervous to even look back at him.

“nice thing you got there.” He muses, and you feel like you're losing oxygen once he tightens his grip around you even more.

“… i just found it.” You mutter, mostly to yourself. Your head hanging too low to avoid his eyes.

“Could've just asked me, no?” He clicks his tongue, almost in disappointment.

“i have it on me because—”

“because you use it for the good, right? Because you're the hero?” Your voice is shaky when you ask, the gun in your hand shaking with you, and you're afraid to drop it.

“hero?” Wriothesley repeats, shaking you gently awake and you gasp harshly, taking in big breaths, your boyfriend immediately trying to soothe you.

it was a dream.

“you were mumbling something about a hero in your sleep. Are you okay?” He asks in concern, brushing a strand off your face. You were sweating too much for your liking.

“when did i get here?” You look around, taking your palms to rub the sleepiness off. “Right when you got off work. You slept on the bed without changing your clothes.”

Oh… so you never checked his clothes. Deciding to just sleep instead.

Your head turns back to the wardrobe, staring at it intently. Could the jacket be in the same arrangement as you found it in your dream? Or will the gun also be there?

“you're going to poke a hole through it if you keep staring.” He stifles a laugh, and you couldn't help but try to smile as well. “Drink up. Slow sips.” He offers you a glass of water, and you hold the glass firmly in your hand.

“so… what was your dream about? Even this hero appears in your dreams? Can't say I'm not jealous.”

“You'll have grey hairs too early from overthinking.” You tease, sitting upright in bed, “oh no, you already do, old man.” you frown, tracing the grey strands along with his black hair. He watches in amusement.

Wriothesley lets out a deep sigh, “give your old man a break. They're a badge of wisdom and experience,” he rests his head on your lap, nuzzling close as you massage his scalp.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Breaking news: the ‘’lola” flower shop sets on fire just three hours ago. Our dear hero saves the day yet again, protecting the old lady just in time before her shop explodes. The cause of the fire is still unknown…”

Destruction out of nowhere again. Accidents out of nowhere again.

The voice of the newscaster on the television fades away in this little diner you're in. You drive your attention away from it, instead focusing now on the Polaroid pictures laid out infront of you.

The hero always wore a mask to cover his identity, obviously. But even after watching the countless of interviews he had, the deep tone slightly matches Wriothesley’s voice, or maybe he's changing his tone on purpose. You can see it by zooming in on the video, how he's catching his breath everytime he speaks when he's just sitting down.

Asthma? Nah.

You tap your fingers impatiently on the table, this is not helping at all, and the slightest itch in your brain worsens as the time goes by.

You think about giving up on this, but the possibility of finding the answer on how or why did all of this happen is probably closer to you than you think.

“Bad guys never end with their schemes. Bunch of attention seekers.” The hero speaks on the television, and you hum curiously as the hero salutes the camera playfully before disappearing from the crowd.

Is it possible that there are multiple heros? Working all together in some basement and taking turns to go out and do a better job than the police?

Possibly, and you write down your new theories down on your little notepad.

You check your phone next, Wriothesley still hasn't answered you back from your most recent text to him.

It's nothing to worry about, but the thought that he's busy saving the city is gnawing at you.

Batman?

You shake your head again, gathering your things to stand up from your seat. You should be blunt asking him about it tonight.

It's cold. Colder than usual. Was the air conditioning on? No. But the windows are sure wide open. You look around the living room before closing the windows and curtains from the outside world, as you draw the curtains, the outside world becomes obscured, leaving the room in a soft semi-darkness.

“Wriothesley, honey?” You call out softly, peeking through the bathroom, not there. The bedroom? Nope.

That leaves the kitchen, you slowly peek your head in he kitchen, and sure enough, he was there.

Wriothesley was rubbing his face in exhaustion while mumbling words under his breath that you can't quite hear. Having one singular glass of some drink in his hand.

“hero this.. hero that..” you finally listen to his mumbles, which makes you furrow your eyebrows together.

"Wrio...?" You call out softly, flipping the switch to turn on the light. His sharp eyes immediately dart up to look at you, and you can't help but shiver under his intense stare. You let out a small gasp of surprise as he suddenly stands up, the glass in his hand slipping from his grip and shattering on the ground along with its contents.

Taken aback by his sudden movement, you instinctively take a step back as he approaches you. But before you can even register what's happening, he crashes his lips against yours in a hasty, rushed kiss. Caught off guard, you cling tightly to him, desperately seeking support to prevent yourself from toppling over.

“You love me,” Wriothesley's voice breaks through the heated kiss, his words coming out in a low, guttural groan. He grips the back of your thighs, hoisting you up against the wall and wrapping your legs around his waist. “right?” His voice holds a hint of vulnerability and desperation, as if seeking reassurance and affirmation of your feelings for him.

And when you don't answer him right away, he takes your lower lip between his teeth, nipping at it gently, “answer me.” He almost growls.

“love, what are you taking about? Are you drunk?” You ask breathlessly in concern, your lips feeling swollen.

His jaw clenches, “Why can't you say it?” he inhales your perfume, your scent filling him that it makes him groan, his mouth lavishing your neck and collarbone, leaving kisses and littering marks then soothing the area with his tongue that it makes your pant softly, pressing your face into his hair while your fingers weaving through his black-greyish strands.

“i love you,” you utter quietly, and it suddenly makes him start grinding his hardened length against you. “I'm sorry in advance, sweetheart.”

One minute you're confused about his words, and then the next he's pounding so hard into you like there was no tomorrow.

Strings of “don't leave me,” and “i love you’s,” are echoed in the air. Wriothesley's mouth moves against yours with a sense of urgency and haste, his tongue gliding and tangling with yours in a fervent dance. The bed creaks so loud underneath you that you think it might break anytime, the embarrassment of the headboard banging against the wall immediately gone once he hits your sweet spot rapidly.

Poor neighbors

"Wrio... Wriothesley?” you slowly flutter your eyes open, still in the hazy realm between sleep and wakefulness. The sunlight streams through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room, and you blink a few times as you take in your surroundings. A quiet sense of contentment washes over you as you remember the events of the night before, the memories of Wriothesley's body against yours and his lips on yours still fresh in your mind.

You prop yourself up using your elbows, only to look down at the sight of your sleeping lover with his head pressed up on your chest. You collapse back on the bed with a tired sigh.

You still couldn't understand the reasoning behind his.. desperate actions last night. He seemed so pent up and stressed, you'll forgive him this time.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• It's the day where you're covering for your colleague, being the cameraman for tonight's news. Yes, tonight.

Wriothesley would kill you if he knew you were working so late at night, but only because he cares about your safety. Good thing he's out of the city for a day.

Or he claims to be out of the city for some important work.

You press the button on your video camera, adjusting the lens to focus on the newscaster standing in front of the camera, holding the microphone with a serious expression. The news van is parked in front of a desolate, run-down neighborhood known for its high crime rate and dangerous reputation. The newscaster speaks into the camera, her eyes boring into the lens as she reports on the neighborhood.

“We are now standing in the heart of one of the most dangerous areas in the city. This neighborhood is notorious for its high crime rate and volatile atmosphere.”

Your senses are heightened at this rate and you really try to focus but the moment you hear the faint crunch of leaves, you lose composure just a bit.

Okay you're a bit scared, but as long as your workmates are he—

a group of armed gang members suddenly appear from the alleyways between the buildings, surrounding the news van and the camera crew. The newscaster, taken off guard, gasps and steps back.

The gang members brandish their weapons, circling the news crew menacingly. One of them shouts at the newscaster, waving his gun in the air. “Hold it right there, pretty lady. This is our turf! You ain’t gonna be broadcasting nothing about us!”

You're about to shit your pants for real this time.

“Drop your cameras and get outta here, or things are gonna get real ugly real fast,” he growls, and one of them points the gun right on your camera.

“I'm talkin’ to you too.”

Yeah, you're not going to fight anyone and act all big. You simply drop the camera on the ground to raise your hands in the air.

As the gang members close in on the news crew, the atmosphere is suddenly shattered by the sound of footsteps pounding against the pavement. Everyone turns to see a tall, muscular figure approaching from the distance.

It's the hero.

You watch in awe as the hero strides towards the group of armed gang members, his movements fluid and precise. With a swift swing of his fist, he lands a powerful punch on the leader's face, sending him stumbling backwards. The other gang members are taken aback by his sudden appearance and the display of force, their eyes widening in surprise and fear. They exchange nervous looks, realizing they're facing a much stronger opponent than they anticipated.

“Hey, let's go!” Your workmate calls for your name. Her hand waving at you so you could all retreat back to the van.

And before you could follow, the van explodes.

The sudden explosion catches you off guard, jolting you out of your stupor. Shouting in surprise, you recoil from the loud blast, ducking instinctively as debris and fragments fly through the air. Your colleague, sitting next to you in the van, lets out a terrified yell as the force of the explosion propels the driver backward. The van shudders and lurches from the impact, the windows shattering and various objects sent flying.

“in the building! Let's go!” All three of you dash to protect yourselves inside this tall company building.

“I will call the police,”

“but the hero is here!” the driver of the van speaks, almost yelling in frustration.

“the hero is also a human. Just a strong one. We can't rely on him—” but before you could continue, you all cover your ears once you hear gunshots come from outside.

Ohmygosh. It’s—it could possibly be Wriothesley who's getting hurt right now. What are even the chances?!

“Fine! Just call the fucking police!” The driver gives up, leaning back against the wall while breathing heavily.

You want to go out there. You want to see. It's your chance to see who the hero is if he got hurt. Just to get the crumbs of news in exchange for your life apparently.

When it grows quiet, you peek outside, “it's clear, I'll take a look—”

“No, you're not.” her hand is firm as she grips your wrist, “just let them go.” He, on the other hand, scowls.

“Be safe!” She shouts at you as you make a run for it, running down the alleyway while looking left and right.

Someone's in the area.

You dart behind the nearby dumpster, heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline courses through your veins. Hiding as best you can, you press yourself against the rough metal, trying to keep your breathing steady and quiet. Peeking out from behind the dumpster, you cautiously scan the surroundings, trying to catch a glimpse of someone nearby. For now, the area seems to be clear, but you can't shake the feeling that someone is in the vicinity, lurking in the shadows.

“Where ya at, lil’ birdie?” You cover your mouth when you hear someone speak, it sends a chill down your spine and you can feel your heart drumming in your ears.

Your sharp eyes turn to your side to find a metal rod, you don't hesitate to grab it before smacking the shit out of the guy.

No that did not happen, but you wish it did.

Instead, the minute you see his feet pass the dumpster, with a swift movement, you grab hold of both of his ankles, using your weight and leverage to pull them out from under him. He lets out a pained shriek as he suddenly loses his balance and topples to the ground, his body hitting the pavement with a thud.

Alright, you can be cool sometimes.

Stepping at his hands to hear him cry again, you run put of the place, making turns and finally spotting the hero sitting down against the building wall while panting, seemingly exhausted.

“…” you take slow steps once you approach him, looking down at him with your eyes already glistening.

This is it, you just have to confirm it.

Your hand pulls at his mask, “Wrio—”

Huh?

This…

Is not

Wriothesley.

“Ah, what the fuck?” He grunts, the blonde grabbing the mask from your hands and you take a step back.

“Elias?!” You yell out in confusion, it's your colleague that you're covering for supposedly today's shoot.

“You're the hero??”

“not a word. Scram, you freak.” he mutters, eyes diverting away from you and staring up at the roof. “The roof,” he whispers to himself, making the effort to stand back at his knees.

Is this bitch serious? He's the last person you expected to be the hero. With his stupidly arrogant and lax attitude.

You give him an almost death stare, studying his features again before making your way out.

You need to check the other people that were with you.

But when you arrive back at the building, they were gone.

Did the police arrive? You don't hear any sirens. Could they have possibly went up on one of the floors to hide?

You find yourself in the elevator next, watching as the doors close with your hands clasped infront of you nervously.

You take deep breaths, trying to calm your racing heart and steady your nerves. Hey, at least there's nice elevator music.

As the elevator comes to a halt, the doors slide open with a soft ding, revealing the rooftop and the figure standing in the open space.

There's a figure standing at the edge of the building, you can see the person's silhouette clearly now, but you can't make out their features just yet.

Your steps are hesitant as you slowly approach the figure, the wind gently billowing around you. The city lights twinkle below, but your attention is entirely focused on the person standing at the edge of the roof. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever may come, and call out tentatively, "Hello?”

Your voice rings in the air, that the person's shoulders tense.

When they look around, you're met by the same blue eyes you've known for three years now.

“Wriothesley.” You whisper, in shock, breathlessly under your breath.

He's holding.. a gun? The same gun you remember seeing in your dream.

Something in his mind snaps when you turn around, in fear. Like it was a mistake to ever see him in the first place.

Wriothesley doesn’t even give himself time to think before his body suddenly reacts, suddenly reaching out and circling his hand around your wrist to forcibly tug you back.

He yanks hard enough that you lose your balance and fall against him, his other arm coming up to wrap around your shoulders, preventing you from going anywhere.

“W-wrio—”

“think it's time we talk, sunshine.” He speak into your ear.

When you try to move the slightest from his hold, he grips you around him tighter. You figure it's best to stay still for now.

“what? Are you going to kidnap me now?” You manage to chuckle out, nervously though, your voice coming out more shaky than you intended to.

“Is that going to satisfy your little fantasy? What, I should play into it and shove you into a corner, keep you under my thumb until you’re begging me to set you free? Or no… you want to be saved by the hero.”

"You know you're not helping with your case, right? You really sound like the bad guy now.”

You’ve definitely found his breaking point because that comment makes him snap.

Wriothesley suddenly whirls you around so you’re facing him before he’s pinning you against the nearest wall, his body practically covering your own.

“Well…” He whisper, raising an eyebrow calmly in the way you look being at his mercy. “Aren’t I?”

Your jaw practically hangs at his words. Is he... Playing the bad guy now?

Or was he really… not the opposite of the hero?

He sees the shiver you try so hard to suppress and smirks at that, clearly satisfied with your reaction, “What’s wrong, sunshine? Finally realize that the man you’ve been dating isn’t the hero you've obsessing over?” He chuckles.

“i… i knew it—”

“You didn’t,” he says, his tone suddenly becoming cool and firm.

Wriothesley leans forward, pressing into you so that you’re smashed between him and the wall. His hand suddenly comes up, cupping your jaw so that he tilts your chin up to look directly into his eyes.

“If you’d known, you’d never have come within twenty feet of me. You’d never have been alone with me or spent a single night in our bed.”

He's right. And you hate it. You feel betrayed, lied to, even.

It makes you rethink your life choices.

You've gotten too comfortable with him that you didn't even think about him being the villian. You've gotten too close while you were being a complete idiot.

“you hid it.”

Wriothesley laughs, the sound almost sounding cold, “of course I hid it, sunshine. I wasn’t going to just come strutting in wearing a big, red sign saying ‘look at me, I’m a bad guy!’ was I?”

You clench your fists together, “you tricked me.”

“Tricked? No.” He shakes his head slightly. “I simply… left out key details.”

“Why?”

“ah, there it is.” He steps back, giving you space to breath, to recollect your thoughts.

“why? Because the hero isn't a hero. He started all of this destruction. Why? To get fame, recognition, power, and to be seen, to look like he's doing something when he's not.” He lets out all in one breath, and you lips part again.

“four years ago when the building almost fell on you? He did that, on purpose. then saved you to make it look like he's the one that everyone needs.”

What the hell?

“Wriothesley, we were strangers to each other four years ago. How did you know?” You don't hesitate to step closer to get more answers out of him, but he only stares at you.

You swallow thickly when he draws infront of you once again, “i did this all for you, love. I-i will do everything in my power to stop him, i will kill him so you wouldn't get hurt—”

“Okay, fucker. Out of my way,” Elias, the ’hero’, suddenly barks, and without warning, a gunshot rings out. The bullet pierces through Wriothesley's shoulder, causing him to flinch and stagger backwards.

Your eyes widen in horror as you watch the scene unfold. "Wriothesley!" you cry out, watching as he turns around despite the injury and charges towards Elias.

Despite the pain he must be in, Wriothesley doesn't relent. Ignoring the gunshot wound, he barrels towards Elias with unmatched determination, closing the distance between them.

"Bastard," Wriothesley manages to grit out as he collides with Elias, knocking him off his feet and sending them both crashing to the ground.

You don't hesitate to rush forward, with adrenaline fueling your actions, you move quickly towards them as they roll dangerously close to the edge of the roof.

"Stop!" you shout, your voice filled with desperation. "You'll fall!”

And surely enough, Your two hand clamps down on Wriothesley's, desperately grasping onto anything you can to prevent him from plunging off the edge.

Meanwhile, Elias grips Wriothesley's leg, using his strength to anchor him in place. The three of you hang there, suspended over the city, Wriothesley's body along with Elias’s dangling in the air.

“Sweetheart—”

“shut the fuck up I'm not letting go.” They're both too heavy, the feel of his fingers slipping away from yours increases everytime you try to pull them up.

Elias is purposely pulling Wriothesley's leg down to drop them both, your lips quiver, crying when two of his fingers slip now.

“hey,” his voice is soothing when he calls for you.

“at least… i protected you till the very end, right?” He tries smiling but it only makes the lump in your throat grow.

“i love you.”

“Wriothesley!”

…

“Wriothesley—!” You gasp harshly when you open your eyes so wide, finding that your hand was already reaching out for nothing.

You rest your hand on your chest before leaning back on your seat.

“are you okay?” The newscaster, the friend you made, offers you her handkerchief so you could swipe the sweat off your face.

“i think… continuesly searching about this, is making you stressed.” She points out, looking at the papers and drawings splayed out on your desk.

More theories of the disappearances of the hero and villian. Not their death. Their bodies were never found.

“it's been a year.”

The realization is like a punch to the gut as you bring a sweaty palm to rub at your temples.

“This is not over.” You whisper, more to yourself than to her. “We got no more trouble. No more heroic or bad guy news. The world is back to normal, almost like they never existed huh?”

Never existed.

She then suddenly gasps, which catches you off gaurd, “are engaged??” She eyes at the gem resting on your left ring finger.

The ring you found in one of his jacket pockets when you sorted his things out.

“yeah…” you decide to drawl out before sitting upright on your seat.

“now, if you'll excuse me, i got work to do.”

You're never going to stop searching, to find another answer of the question; 'why?'

Even if it will mean risking your life this time.

#Wriothesley #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin fluff #genshin angst #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley fluff #wriothesley angst #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #fanfic #wriothesley #genshin wriothesley #wriothesley genshin

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 2 months ago

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Who Is My Heart Waiting For? | Jeon Jungkook | One Shot

Summary: Getting closer to one of the staff members on tour didn’t seem like such a bad idea…that is until Jungkook realizes that his feelings for her are more than just platonic. Pairing: Staff f!reader x Rockstar!Jungkook (pov) Word Count: 14k~ (I've legit been working on this since July lol) Warnings: Explicit language but that's it a/n: I made this with Jimin in mind (since it's his song) but no one was really vibing with it (unfortunately) so I figured I'd change it to Jungkook. I hope you guys like it! Inspired by Who by Jimin (Rock Remix)

"Ayo JK!" our keys player Tyler calls out as we all stumble through the green room doors, throughly exhausted after playing our third encore of the night. "Did you see the way that little hottie in the front row was looking at you?" he says, his description of whatever girl he's talking about incredibly vague.

"You'll have to be a little more specific Ty, there were plenty of hotties in the front row" I throw back, rolling my eyes and opening the water bottle one of the staff gave me. "The little blondie in the red dress?" he offers, his description yet still vague helps me sort through the girls that had been screaming our names throughout the show.

"She was practically drooling" he continues poking fun at her and I can't help but want to shift the attention away from her. "I mean I would too if I were her" I say, throwing out a cocky comment like I always do. It's no secret that I know I'm hot and after that concert high it takes a second for me to come back down to earth.

"You're the front man for a reason I guess" our drummer Zach says, sticks still in hand, tapping on whatever surface he can reach. "Don't give him a bigger head than he already has Z" Asher our lead guitarist says, rounding out the rest of our band with Leo our bassist chiming in soon after.

"Gotta give the man some credit though. I think I saw a girl pass out after he made eye contact with her" he teases, leaving Zach clapping me on the back making me stumble from the sheer force of it.

Leo chuckles when he sees the glare I send Zack's way but it's gone when he slumps down on the couch next to him. "Thanks" I grumble while rolling my shoulder, him being the one chuckling now, the intensity he had been using while banging on those drums still in full effect.

"Anyways" Tyler says, bringing the conversation back to where it had started "I bet she's still out there...waiting for you...hoping she'll be your girl for the night" he taunts winking to add fire to flame my protest against the idea.

"You know I don't do that anymore" I mumble, walking over to grab my phone and seeing that Sage is still blowing it up. "Why don't you just block her? She's obviously psycho if she thinks that you're still gonna go back to her after all the shit she put you through" he says, bringing up past memories from my last relationship that I would really rather forget.

"Ty stop" Leo warns, coming to my defense when he sees how tense I've gotten from the way he's been bad mouthing my ex. "Why? We all know she deserves it" he presses, leaving me balling my hands into fists, seriously considering shutting him up but when I turn around Ash's hand is already clamping down on my wrist.

"Just let it go" he mumbles, leaving me relaxing my hands knowing that he's right but I'm still ticked off.

"I need some air" I huff, pulling my wrist out of his grasp and shoving the back door open, leading to the fenced off parking lot behind the venue, a convenient place where I can breathe in the cool night air.

It's become a routine I'm accustom to whenever Tyler gets on my nerves at this point and after clearing my head for what feels like mere moments I hear footsteps making their way over to me.

"I don't wanna hear it Ash, I'm fine" I sigh, my back resting against the side of the building, head hanging low, focused on the rocks I'm toying with.

"I'm not Ash" the voice says and my head pops up, watching as the familiar form gets closer. "And I didn't come here to lecture you" she says, mirroring my posture and leaning up against the wall beside me.

"Hey Strings" I mumble the name I gave y/n, one of our newish staff members. "You probably heard all that huh?" I ask and she shrugs her shoulders. "Not all of it but I'm pretty sure I got the gist of it" she admits, shoving her hands in her hoodie to shield them from the cool breeze that's blown our way.

"You should head back inside. I don't want you to catch a cold" I nod towards the door and she scoffs. "I should be the one saying that to you Mr. Lead Singer. Last time I checked we still have a couple more shows left" she scolds and I chuckle under my breath, shaking my head.

"What happened to not lecturing me?" I raise a brow at her and she crosses her arms, biting her tongue and going back to keeping her promise.

"As long as you're out here, I'm out here" she argues and I mirror her posture.

"Don't come crying to me when you feel like shit in the morning" I say and she scoffs in response "Then you better not come crying to me either" she says and I smile, knowing that she'll be at my mercy if I need her.

"That's your job though isn't it Princess?" I say, my voice dropping and I relish in the reaction she gives me. Her eyes widen a bit but if you blinked you would've missed it and she turns her head to hide the fact that my words effected her.

"Don't call me that" she mumbles and I laugh, bumping my shoulder against her's, "You know I was just teasing you y/n" I say and she shakes her head. "Don't call me that either" she protests and I can't help but want to keep toying with her.

"Why not? That's your name isn't it?" I say, poking her in the side, making her jump and whack my arm without hesitation. "It's Strings, anything else sounds weird coming out of your mouth" she says and I smile.

"I thought you hated that name" I chuckle and she sighs, "It's...grown on me" she mumbles and I hum, content that it seems we've gotten closer.

"Seems like you've gotten a lot better at restringing our guitars though so I might have to come up with a new nickname for you. Perhaps Sticks" I say, tapping my chin and remembering how she dropped a box of Zack's backup drum sticks the other day.

"Strings is just fine since it might as well be carved into my skin from all the times they broke on me" she says in reference to the many many times she had messed up when she started working with us on our last tour.

"I'll never forget the day we met" I say and she cringes, "One hell of a first impression huh?" she scoffs, still embarrassed to this day.

"Well when your first impression of your new crew member is a shy 'Hello' and the next second their thumb is getting sliced open by a rouge guitar string then yeah I guess you could say that's one way to be remembered" I chuckle and she slides down the wall, resting on her heels and curling up into a ball.

"Oh come on it wasn't that bad" I say, crouching down next to her but she shakes her head, "I'm never gonna live that one down huh?" she groans. "Probably not, but it was a great ice breaker...or I guess skin slicer" I say, trying to make a joke out of it but it doesn't go over well when she groans again and refuses to say anything else.

"You're lucky I was able to take you to the hospital since everyone else was busy" I say, my teasing nature with her relentless as always. "I wouldn't call it lucky since I had to listen to your whiney singing the whole way there" she retorts and I gasp, feigning offense but this is the same song and dance we have every time this memory is brought up.

"People would pay to hear this whiney voice sing. Oh right...they do" I retort and she huffs, standing up to lean against the wall again and I follow her in suit.

"You alright though?" she asks and I breathe out, trying to figure out how to keep my temper in check. "I swear that man is more interested in getting me laid than he is in himself" I say and she chuckles, listening wordlessly and waiting for me to get it all off my chest.

"I don't understand why he's so obsessed with the fact that I'm not sleeping around. Sage and I broke up right before we went on tour and all he's been doing is trying to pawn me off to whatever girl he's noticed has got her eye on me. If he doesn't have a girl on his arm yet then he's concerned about getting one under mine" I ramble and she nods along.

"He claims it's gonna help me blow off some steam but the only time I feel the need to do that is when he's ticking me off again" I finish, trying to slow my breathing so I don't get myself too worked up again.

"He's just trying to look out for you but I will admit he's probably not going about it in the healthiest way...but he means well" she tries to remind me and I know she's right, but something about the way he goes about it just rubs me the wrong way.

"Yeah I know" I mumble running a hand through my hair in an effort to brush off the emotions this whole ordeal is bringing me.

"You wanna get out of here?" she asks making me chuckle. "That's my line" a wicked grin spreading across my lips making her push off the wall and walk away. "Suit yourself" she says, brushing off my teasing as me declining her invitation.

"Hey wait up! I didn't say no" I protest jogging over to her and draping my arm around her shoulders, leaning on her so she stumbles and tries to push me off.

"You're pushing your luck here" she says but I wrap my other arm around her as well and follow her to the car that's parked next to the tour bus. "Liz gave you the keys?" I ask, surprised that our manager is letting her take the car for a spin.

"Not in so many words. She told me to look after you so I figured I would need a car to do that properly" she relays and when I walk over to the drivers side first and hold out my hand she tosses me the keys.

"If she tries to chew your ass out about it just tell her it was my idea" I say and she rolls her eyes before we both sink down into our seats. "Can't have my favorite staff member getting fired now can I?" I say and she sighs. "Don't let Liz hear you saying that or I'll really get fired" she warns and I turn the key in the ignition to start the car.

"Everyone knows you're my favorite, Strings" I say and she crosses her arms over her chest and slumps down into the seat. I take that as a good reaction since she usually gets shy when I say stuff like this but I'll have mercy on her this time and just enjoy our night together.

"So what's the plan?" I ask, putting the car in reverse before heading to the exit and out onto the street. "Turn left" she says and I smile, "So it's a surprise huh?" I say and she rolls her eyes. "It's more of you don't need to know until we get there, plus it's not anything crazy so don't get your hopes up" so I do as she says and follow her directions that take us to a diner on the other side of town.

"How did you know where this was without looking it up?" I ask, getting out of the car and walking with her to the entrance. "I have my ways" she says and picks up the pace, leaving me walking behind her and watching her make it there before me.

She's a peculiar one I'll give her that.

"Come on loser let's go! I'm hungry" she calls out and I scoff and jog over to her. "Hungry? From what?" I say and she glares, looking me up and down. "From taking care of you guys all day. What else?".

I know she works hard but it's fun to tease her like this.

"Sitting back and relaxing while admiring me" I say and she rolls her eyes, so much so that I would be concerned that they would get stuck at the back of her head if she tried to do it again.

"More like running ramped and being at all of your beck and call. Do you know how difficult it is to take care of five man childs and one very strict overlord?" she scoffs, the last part in reference to our manager.

"Man child?" I say crossing my arms and she nods her head without hesitation. "You sure there's five of them? And all this time thought we were friends" I pout but she doesn't give in.

"What would you call what we're doing right now?" she asks, sitting down at the booth that the waitress leads us to. "A date?" I say with a smirk on my face and she shakes her head and starts looking through the menu.

"More like feeding a whiney hangry baby who needs my help to survive" she say and now I'm the one rolling my eyes. "I swear, your favorite insult is getting a little bit tired isn't it?" I say and she smirks.

"Well what would you call that thing that you do when you're singing then?" she asks "A cry or sometimes a growl depending on the song" I tease, throwing an arm around the back of the booth leaving her sliding away from me to create some distance but I slide towards her to keep her close against her best efforts.

"Why do you always feel the need to be so close to me?" she grumbles, accepting defeat once we're almost all the way at the other end of the booth with one good scoot, had she taken it leaving her falling on her ass.

"Because I like being close to you. Plus you're always mumbling whenever we're in public places so this is the only way I can hear you" I reply while making excuses and she scoffs, muttering something inaudible under her breath.

"See I couldn't even guess what you could've possibly said" I say to prove my point. "Because it wasn't for your ears dumbass. Now figure out what you're gonna eat before I let you starve" she says, shoving a menu towards me.

I chuckle and flip through it and eventually we're giving the waitress our orders leaving me turning to face Strings once she's gone.

"Why do you always treat me like a nuisance when we're out in public?" I question and she takes a very long sip of her water to avoid answering right away. "Because you are" she answers and pulls her phone out to check a message that just came in and when I see the name 'Alex' pop up on her screen I get a little disheartened for some weird reason.

When she unlocks her phone I catch a quick glimpse of their conversation and it's full of messages planning for them to meet up. "Who's Alex?" I ask and she locks her phone immediately.

"A friend, not that it's any of your business" she replies curtly and her pointed answer kicks me in the gut. "What kind of friend?" I ask, trying to get more information before making assumptions but she gives me nothing.

"Just a friend alright?" she says and takes another drink of water making me let out a sigh, scooting back and giving both of us some air to breathe. She takes it as a chance to respond to the messages and when more come in I catch a hint of a smile and I scoff.

"What?" she asks, clearly confused with my reaction. "Seems like they're a lot more than just a friend from the way you're smiling at their replies" I nod towards her phone and she locks the screen again and places it in her bag.

"Fine, happy?" she says, showing that she'll give me her full attention now in hopes to change the subject and before I have a chance to try the waitress comes back with our food. "Did you two lovebirds need anything else?" the middle aged woman teases, trying to lighten the mood since she can clearly sense the hostility between the two of us.

"Oh we're not toge-" "Could we actually get some hot sauce? My girl loves her food extra spicy" I say, cutting off her denial of our suspected relationship. "Of course" the woman says and takes a bottle from another table and places it right next to Strings. "Just give me a shout if you need anything else" she says and I thank her before she heads off to help another table.

"I don't like hot sauce" Strings says, pushing the bottle away from her and I chuckle, "Yeah I know, but I do" I say and add a few drops on my burger. "You're so weird" she says before popping a fry in her mouth. "At least I don't eat like a child" I retort and she glares at me.

"Chicken strips and fries are the safest option okay? They're hard to fuck up. Unlike the monstrosity of a burger you got. Can you even fit that thing in your mouth?" she asks, watching as I pick it up and smush it down, trying to make it a little easier on myself.

"Only one way to find out" I say, opening wide and doing my best to take a bite but half the topping spill out the other side and she chokes on the water she had been sipping, finding my struggle hilarious. "Yeah yeah laugh it up" I say, rolling my eyes at her and grabbing some napkins for the both of us.

After we both clean up to a certain extent she looks between me and the burger, "You know famous people are supposed to keep up some sort of an image right?" she teases. "Don't remind me" I groan and rest my head against the wall behind us.

"Come here" she says a few seconds later and I look at her questioningly but sit up nonetheless and when I get close enough she grabs my chin and looks at my lips. "What are you do-" I start off but the next second she's placing a damp napkin on the side of my mouth to wipe off whatever sauce that was clearly still on my face.

"Now hurry up and finish eating. Liz will kill me if I'm the one that's keeping you out too late this time, plus I told her I'd bring something back for the rest of the guys too" she informs, tossing the napkin to the side as if that didn't just happen.

I clear my throat and sit back again, eating a fry or two, thankful that my hair is a little longer now otherwise she would've see how red my ears had gotten from something as simple as that.

I stay pretty silent through out the rest of the meal, nodding and humming when a verbal response is somewhat needed since I'm trying to limit the need for me to talk to her after she threw me off like that. Constantly keeping food in my mouth as an excuse to hide my flustered state.

"You're gonna choke if you don't slow down" she says and an image comes to my mind that I would rather not admit leaving me fulfilling her warning and choking on the rest of the burger I had in my mouth.

"I swear it's like you need me to take care of everything at this point" she teases, rolling her eyes at me and giving me the rest of her water so I can clear my throat after half of that bite got lodged in my windpipe.

After getting it all down and being able to breathe again I thank her sheepishly, thoroughly embarrassed with the scene I just caused but luckily the eyes that were watching us were little to none. Our only audience being some men who clearly just got off their overnight shifts and a few drunkards trying to sober up before going home.

"You alright?" she asks after having waved the waitress over to take our to-go order as well as bring over a couple more glasses of water. "Yeah I'm fine, it's just really good" I say, coming up with a subpar excuse and she narrows her eyes at me but takes my word for it.

"Just take smaller bites if you're gonna finish the rest of that, I can't have you throwing up when we get back to the hotel" she warns and I nod my head before taking another bite and making sure to do as she says this time.

"I'm glad you like the food though, I've been here a few times but I've always just ordered the same thing so I was scared that you wouldn't like it. Plus it was the only place around here that was still open so there wasn't really any other option" she admits and when I'm about to ask her why she knows about this place the waitress comes back with the order.

"That was fast" I say and she thanks the waitress before responding to me. "I placed the order a while ago so they were almost done with it and just waiting to box it all up" she says and I nod.

"You know you're really good at this stuff" I compliment and she looks over at me, clearly confused. "Ordering food? It's a pretty simple skill I would think" she says after standing up and grabbing one of the bags but when she tries to grab another I'm quick to carry the rest.

"Well yeah, but like planning things out so that everything is there on time and having back up for everything no matter if it's something like equipment or even a wardrobe change if the guys are being more careless than usual" I say and she nods her head, now understanding a bit more but she just shrugs.

"It's kinda my job to be good at that stuff otherwise I would've gotten fired a long time ago" she says and I shake my head and thank her as she holds the door open for me since I'm the one with my hands completely full otherwise I would argue for it to be the other way around, even though she hates when I do stuff like that.

"I'm here to take care of you and your needs so I'm pretty sure I'll survive if I open the door for you" she would argue but I always win no matter what she says. Although we've come to a compromise with me graciously allowing her to open the car door for herself but even that was a struggle.

"Strings I know you're all independent or whatever but that doesn't mean I can't be a gentleman" I would say when she first started working for us but she would be so against it no matter what.

"Just go live your rockstar life and let me fade into the background alright? I don't need anyone staring at us because you're the one taking care of me" she argues back and although she's right I'm not the kind of guy to let this all go to my head.

Have we had some mishaps because people have seen the two of us alone together? Yes, but that's not something I was ever worried about.

Well maybe not until tonight...

"Do you know where we're going?" she asks me, referring to the hotel we're staying at but I honestly have no clue so I toss her the keys and get in the passenger seat this time and throughout the whole drive I can't help but steal glances at her.

"What's wrong?" she asks when we hit a red light and I'm shocked that she caught me.

So much for being sneaky about it.

"Nothing. Why?" I ask, playing the fool but she doesn't fall for it. "Am I the one with something on my face now?" she chuckles and starts driving again when the light turns green, the roads almost empty making the red lights only last a second.

"No" I say and look out my window so I'm completely turned away from her. "Then why do you keep looking at me?" she asks and when I try to come up with something I luckily find a questions that's been bugging me all night.

"How come you know your way around town already? I mean we haven't had to pull up directions or anything. It's as if you somehow memorized the whole city" I say and she chuckles. "Maybe I did" she teases but I don't believe it for a second. "That's a bit of a stretch even for you Strings" I chuckle and she scoffs at me.

"I thought you said I was good at my job?" she counters but I can't hold my laugh back. "I think I've known you long enough to know that navigation isn't your strong suit" I tease and she shakes her head.

"Remind me to never take you out again" she grumbles and I coo at her. "Aw come on, I'm only joking. You can't just leave me alone to fend for myself with those guys" and she turns into the parking lot and turns off the car once she's parked it around the back next to our bus.

"Aren't you supposed to like your bandmates?" she asks, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the back door to grab some of the food while I do the same with the rest of it. "Of course I like them, but not as much as I like you" I tease and she rolls her eyes at me.

"Sweet talking will get you nowhere Jeon" she says, using my last name to create some playful distance between us. "Aw come on Strings don't call me that...unless you want me to start calling you y/n again?" I taunt and she shakes her head.

"Do and die" she warns and opens the door to the suite a few of the guys are sharing which happens to be where everyone is waiting for us with baited breath from the looks on the guy's faces.

"Where have you guys been? We thought you had left us here to starve" Leo whines, playing it up as if they hadn't already ate the food Strings ordered for them after the show.

"Didn't you guys eat like five pizzas already?" y/n asks placing the food down on the table and stepping back real quick, learning from past experience how they like to pounce whenever there's food around.

"We did but we're growing boys" Tyler says, his face already stuffed with a huge bite of his burger. "You're twenty six" y/n argues and he furrows his brow, "So? I grew five inches the last time I checked my height" he says after swallowing his way too big of bite and drinking one of the sodas that came with their meals.

"That's because the last time you measured yourself before then was when you were sixteen" Zack teases and Ty throws a napkin at him but the smile is wiped off his face once he sees the glare Asher gave him, daring him to throw something again. "Whatever" Tyler mumbles and focuses on eating his food while the rest of the guys pick up the conversation.

"Aren't you guys gonna eat too?" Ash asks but when y/n tries to respond I jump in and hook an arm around her shoulders. "She took me out on a date so we took our sweet time eating together" I say pulling her closer to me when she tries to get away.

"No, I had us eat there since you guys had already devoured all the food I had brought after the show and I was starving and couldn't wait to eat until we came back" she argues while trying to push me and wriggle out of my hold leaving me eventually loosening my grip when she pinches my side.

"Enough, no fighting with the talent. If you wanna fight someone you can fight Zack" Liz scolds while coming out of no where and picking up one of the drinks, absorbed in her phone no doubt checking in with the venue for the next stop on our tour.

"You're only saying that because you know I can't take him huh?" y/n points out and Liz hums in response, grabbing the bag out of my hand that y/n had set aside for her leaving Zack teasing y/n trying to convince her to arm wrestle him or something like that but I leave them behind, opting to follow Liz to see if she knows anything about this 'Alex' character.

"Haven't heard of 'em but from what you've told me it's probably some guy she likes" she offers before taking a bite out of her burger. Looks like all of us were craving burgers tonight but I can't help but notice how unsettled my stomach has been ever since I saw those texts.

"They talked about meeting up though so I'm a little bit confused about that since she's still working for the next few days right?" I ask, having taken note that her days off are usually Tuesdays and Wednesdays.

"She asked to switch her days to tomorrow and Monday. Now that you mention it though she had talked about bringing a friend to the show. I guess you'll figure out who this mysterious Alex is then. Or you could always, ya know, ask her" she says nodding towards where Zack has somehow convinced Tyler to arm wrestle him instead while y/n is on her phone again, trying so hard to ignore them but losing the battle and peering over ever once in a while.

I can't help but shake this weird feeling again and it's driving me nuts. What it could be I have no clue but I decide to just push it aside and head to bed for the night, hoping I can somehow sleep it off.

"I'm heading to bed" I announce to no one in particular but y/n jumps at the chance to follow, her being just as eager to get away from the madness as I am. "Take me with you" she begs and I chuckle and nod, both of us looking over at Liz for approval. "Yeah you're done for the night" she says, waving her off and y/n visibly slumps in relief.

"Just try to keep your phone near you tomorrow. I'll try not to need you bu-" "I'll be there if you need me. Thanks for switching things up for me" y/n says cutting Liz off and she sighs.

"The fact that you're leaving me with this miserable lot on a show night is inconvenient but you've been working hard so go enjoy your time. We'll still see you at the show though right?" she confirms what we had talked about before and y/n nods.

"I'll put your name down for two tickets at the front" she says leaving y/n thanking her again before the two of us leave, throwing a goodnight over our shoulders on our way out.

"So two tickets huh? You bringing Alex?" I ask, addressing the elephant in the room and she hums, not giving me much to work with so I nod as we make the trek back to our rooms which happen to be right across from each other this time around.

"Are we okay?" I ask, hating the air that's settled between us making her look at me, utterly confused as to why I'm asking this. "Yeah...why wouldn't we be?" and I let out a sigh of relief yet I still don't fully believe her.

"I don't know. I feel like it got a little awkward between us back at the diner so I just wanted to double check" this is weird, I've never cared about stuff like this before. I usually just let the misunderstanding stew until things boil over or we eventually stop caring about it.

But not with her...I need to make sure that everything's alright.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow night yeah?" she asks, cutting the night short as we stop in front of our rooms while she fishes her room key out of her tote bag. I don't want to leave things like this between us. I want to spend more time with her, just to make sure that things really are okay.

"Do you-" I start off, making her turn to face me since she had already turned away to open her door. "Do you think you could introduce me to this Alex guy? Wanna make sure he's alright, you know? Can't have my girl hanging out with a loser now can I?" I tease and she smiles a little wider than I was expecting which somehow confuses me even more.

"I'll introduce you after the show" she agrees and I'm shocked that there's no push back about it. From the way she was responding to me earlier you would think that she wouldn't want to bring him anywhere near me.

"I'll be the one in the spotlight" I smile and she rolls her eyes,

"Goodnight Jungkook" she says and disappears into her room before I get a chance to reciprocate her sentiments.

"Goodnight y/n" I mumble, staring at the place she once stood before turning around and getting my key card out to open my room.

"Well that was pathetic" I hear Asher say as he makes his way down the hallway. Did I mention that we're sharing a suite...per usual? "Fuck off Ash" I grumble, opening the door and considering locking it behind me but I don't want y/n to hear us bicker.

"What? I'm just sayin" he holds his hands up in surrender but he's quick to back down since he knows how touchy I can get sometimes, especially after what Tyler pulled earlier tonight. "Yeah well don't" I say, walking through the common room and into mine.

"So who's Alex?" he asks, pushing a bit but I know he's just trying to talk me through all of this since I clearly need to. "Strings says he's a friend or something. She's bringing him to the show tomorrow night but that's all I really know" I say, taking off the rings and the rest of the jewelry I'm still wearing before kicking off my boots and getting a bit more comfortable.

"I thought she said she was single?" Ash says and I come out of my room and lay down on the couch, my mood getting worse and worse as this conversation progresses.

"Yeah I thought so too but she was smiling and giggling at her phone which I've never seen her do before so it makes me wonder..." I say, trailing off as Ash sits on the arm chair next to the couch, the set up to an onlooker resembling some sort of therapy session.

"So you're not gonna tell her?" he asks, his vague question making me sit up just enough the rest on my forearms. "Tell her what?" I ask and he rolls his eyes as if the answer was so obvious. "That you like her?" he says and I sit up completely, looking at him as if he had grown two heads.

"You're joking right?" I scoff and he shrugs his shoulders. "I saw it coming from a mile away dude. I'm surprised you haven't even admitted it to yourself yet" he says, getting up and taking his jacket off, throwing it on the bed and following suit in taking his jewelry and boots off too.

"I don't like her. I mean she's a friend and I like having her around but I do not have feelings for her" I deny, making my stance clear but it takes a lot of effort to actually say that and even when I get it out it feels as though I'm lying to him. I don't like her though...right?

"Whatever you say man" he says turning his shower on and walking back out to talk until the water heats up. "But from what I saw back there" he nods towards the door, the one just on the other side being to y/n's room. "It seems like you were about ready to tell her to not bring that guy to the show tomorrow night" he finishes and I shake my head.

"I think you've been watching too many dramas dude. Y/n and I are just friends, I'm just looking out for her" I explain and I watch as he puts a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. "Keep telling yourself that...but don't forget to thank me later when you realize that I'm right" he finishes and heads into the bathroom without another word.

I scoff and head into my room to take a shower as well and wash off all the sweat and smoke that are no doubt stuck to my skin and try to let the memories of everything that had happened after the show wash away.

The words that Asher said keep echoing in my mind though and I can't shake the fact that maybe he's right, leaving me analyzing and over analyzing everything about y/n and I.

Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep that night.

~~~~

"Rise and shine gorgeous" I hear Ash say, turning my lights on and casually tossing a pillow at me. "Fuck off" I groan and he laughs, the same old song and dance every morning that we're on tour. To be honest though, I'd prefer that over Tyler jumping all over my bed like the hyper active knucklehead he is and I especially prefer it over Zack abandoning me and leaving it to Liz to come wake my ass up.

My ideal wakeup call would be Strings coming to get me but the last time she did I pulled her into bed and she retaliated, kicking and punching me until I let her go. After that there were no more wakeup calls from her, and even if there were she would opt for a tactic similar to Asher.

"What time is it?" I groan, rolling around to grab my phone but of course it's dead. "It's eleven thirty. We need to leave in thirty minutes so we can head to the venue for rehearsal" he says and I hum in response, rolling out of bed and dragging my feet until I'm dressed and ready to head out.

~~~

"Alright everybody that's a wrap" Liz calls out after we've finished up rehearsal, the staff all clapping politely before heading out, only to return a few hours later for the show.

We stumble into the green room like we did last night, slumping on the couches and resting after a good two hour rehearsal and my voice is shot to say the least.

"You gonna be okay tonight?" Liz asks, handing off the hot cup of tea one of the venue staff gave her. "I just need to rest my voice for a while" I say and she places a hand on my shoulder, trusting me and going to address the rest of the guys.

"You guys sounded great today so I think we're all good to go for the show tonight. Anyone got any complaints?" she asks, knowing there's always something someone's gotta say.

"Yeah, where's y/n?" Tyler asks making my ears perk up even though I know the answer already. "She's taking the day off but she's gonna be at the show tonight" Liz says and the group sighs, making her cross her arms over her chest.

"Is that a problem?" she cocks her brow, daring someone to say something and the brave soul this time being Leo pipes up. "Well she just usually has all the food ready for us back here when we're done with rehearsals" he says, trailing off when he realizes how stupid his little comment is.

"Food's on it's way children. I swear people would think I starve you from the way that you're all acting" she mutters and pulls out her phone when a notification pops up. "But some of us didn't eat breakfast!" Tyler whines and she holds up her hand to silence him.

"Not my fault that you slept through it" she finishes and leaves the room when her phone rings, no doubt another person asking her the millions of questions they might have about us and the next stops on our tour.

"Did you guys see y/n before she left this morning?" Leo sighs, slumping back into the couch, this conversation getting a lot more interesting now.

"No" I respond, needing to know more about it. "She was wearing this flowy dress with her hair and makeup done. She looked...girly" he says and Asher chuckles. "I mean she is a girl" he teases but Leo keeps going.

"Well yeah I know, but she never dresses like that. As far as I knew her whole wardrobe consisted of converse, jeans, baggy hoodies and our band tshirts. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen her wearing makeup before" he says and I roll my eyes.

"You obviously don't pay enough attention to her" I mumble and I know I've fucked up as soon as those words left my mouth. "And you do?" Zack asks, clearly way more interested in the conversation than he was moments ago.

"I mean yeah, cuz we're friends" I say, grabbing a water bottle off the table and chugging half of it and I watch with horror as they exchange knowing glances between each other. "Right... friends" Leo says, clearly unconvinced.

"So you guys really were on a date last night huh?" Tyler asks, clearly getting the memo as to why I've always denied his suggestions of hooking up with some of the girls from our shows.

At least he'll give up on that mission now but he's got another one in mind without even trying to find it.

"No, she just took me there so I could get away from your nosy ass for a while" I say to him and he scoffs as if he was offended when he knows damn well what he did.

"Makes a lot of sense now that I think about it. You guys have been getting pretty close this time around. I guess I never really thought that you would be into a girl like her" he continues and the more I come to defend her the more obvious it is to everyone how I feel about her.

"Oh yeah? And what kind of girl is she?" I say, gearing up to tell him off since she's not here to do it herself. All of us knowing that she wouldn't accept any of our help no matter how stupid he's acting.

I would say out of all of us the two of them are the one's who have a clearly fabricated sibling rivalry.

Although everyone of us fights with him every once in awhile. It's never anything deep but he tends to jump at being annoying as hell at any opportunity that arises.

"Well a little bit more on the boyish side in terms of fashion, up until I saw her this morning. Kind of standoffish at times, nags all of us" He lists off and I honestly can't deny that that's the way she comes off but the fact that it's Tyler talking about her behind her back bugs me.

"That's because that's her job" I come to her defense which makes all of them smile wider. "Whatever, fuck you guys" I grumble, admitting defeat this time since I want them to stop looking at me like that.

"So that's why you're stressed about her bringing a date to the show tonight huh?" Leo chimes in and I scoff. "It's not a date, according to her they're just friends" I say, not believing a damn word of it.

"You know this is her hometown right?" Zack chimes in, connecting all the dots now. "It is?" I ask for confirmation just in case they're fucking with me. "You think he would've known that by now" Leo taunts, gaining a glare from me.

"We don't talk about stuff like that" I say, trying to figure out some sort of excuse as to why I haven't bothered to ask her a simple question like that. Makes me feel like shit honestly. Some friend I am.

"And what do you talk about?" Tyler asks, teasing me again. "Everything...nothing, can we change the subject?" I ask nicely, choosing a different tactic this time but it's no use.

"You sure you don't like her?" Leo asks leaving me shaking my head.

"Nope" I deny.

"She's just a friend yeah?" Zach chimes in.

"Yep just a friend" I say getting up to make some more tea to hopefully help me relax after this inquisition.

"So you wouldn't mind if I asked her ou-"

"Finish that sentence and I'll chop your dick off" I cut off Tyler, surprising even myself with how quickly I responded

"Right, friends" He smirks, satisfied with how he got me to pretty much admit it with the other guys as his witnesses.

"You better make a move dude otherwise when the tour is over and she comes back home she's gonna end up with that Alex guy" Zack says, patting me on the back like he always does and yet I'm still never prepared for it, stumbling and almost dropping the cup of lukewarm tea I was planning to refresh but honestly all I feel like having now is a stiff drink.

I open the door to the green room and head out with Asher planning to follow after scolding the guys but I bump into the person that was coming in. I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her close before she falls and as a result we're met with a bunch of 'ooos' and 'awwws' from all the guys but I can't be bothered to shut them up yet.

"I'm sorry I should've paid more attention to where I was going" I apologize to the woman in my arms and it takes me a second to realize that it's y/n. "Strings?" I question and she rolls her eyes, pushing against my chest and stepping back, putting some much needed space between us from her perspective.

"A girl changes up her appearance for one day and suddenly she's unrecognizable" she mumbles and pushes past me and into the green room with me immediately trailing behind her, forgetting what I had planned to do mere moments ago.

"What are you doing here? I thought you had the day off" Leo asks the question all of us clearly want the answer to. "Liz told me that one of you guys weren't feeling well and asked me to bring over some cough medicine" she says, holding up the bottle of said medicine.

"Look at that JK, she came all the way here to give you some medicine so you'll feel better tonight" Leo taunts and I make a motion to show that if he keeps on running his mouth he'll regret it. He's not a vocalist so he wouldn't mind if I knocked a few teeth out of his mouth now would he?

"Of course it's you" she says, turning around and shoving the bottle towards me, clearly in a rush to get out of here. "I told you you were gonna get sick" she scolds, Tyler's description of her coming back to me after witnessing it myself.

A white flowy dress with a matching white bag and sandals is what I'm met with, a casual but appropriate look for a spring day but she shoves me, stopping me from checking her out as it seems that I had been doing it longer than what would be considered even semi appropriate.

"Come on Jeon I don't have time for this. Take your medicine and get back to the hotel so you can rest. We can't afford to cancel last minute so hurry up" she says, checking her phone and glancing over at Asher.

"Can I trust you to make sure he does as he's told?" she asks, one hand on the door already to leave so he nods, assuring her he'll take care of it. "See you at the show" she says over her shoulder to no one in particular as she walks out of the club with all of the guys yelling out their various goodbyes to her.

"What's with her?" Leo asks, all of us caught off guard by her behavior since she's usually not this rough with us, at least not for something like this. She takes on the care giver role when any one of us is sick so this harsh treatment kinda threw all of us for a loop.

"She's probably just irritated by the fact that Jungkook was clearly undressing her with his eyes" Tyler jabs and I glare, the only sort of response I have the energy to give at the moment with him granting me a sickeningly sweet smile. "Fuck off" I grumble, my frequently used phrase when it comes to him.

I open up the meds that she gave me and take them real quick, cringing at the disgusting taste making Leo chuckle. "We should probably get you back to the room tho. Doctor's orders and all" Asher says, grabbing his jacket, phone and wallet while doing the same for me. "I feel like shit anyways so there's no point in hanging around here anymore" I grumble and take my jacket from him.

"You guys are just running away because you're scared of y/n huh?" Tyler taunts and I roll my eyes. "Isn't it obvious?" I grumble and he laughs, leaving me scoffing and walking out to head to the car.

"You gonna be alright tonight?" Asher asks while we wait for them to bring the car around, him having hung back for a couple of seconds to grab the medicine that I stupidly left on the table back there. "Yeah I just need to lay down" I sigh and slump into the car when Asher grabs the door for me and I give him a small nod in thanks.

He rounds the car and gets in on the other side and within the next ten or fifteen minutes we're back at the hotel again, trudging through the hallway to our room.

"You good?" Asher asks again to the point where it's starting to annoy me. "Yes Ash, for the love of God yes I'll be fine" I scold and he holds his hands up. "Alright alright I'll stop. Do you want anything for lunch? I'm gonna check and see if Liz can get one of the staff to get us something. Or we can just order room service?" he offers and I go with my gut on this one.

"I don't care just get me some chicken soup or something please? I need to get this shit out of my system asap and I don't think I can stomach anything other than that" I say, dragging my feet into my room and tossing my shoes and jacket off before getting in bed.

"You're really that sick huh?" He asks, leaning against the doorframe and seeing how my state has gotten worse since we left. "Yes I am so can you go order food and leave me alone?" I say and he shakes his head. "I'm sorry I just feel like shit right now" I reiterate and he hums in acknowledgment. "I know" he says and pushes his weight off the frame and turns to leave.

"Sweet dreams sleeping beauty. I'll wake you up when the food gets here" he says before closing my door behind him and I sigh, happy to be alone so I can pass out for a while...and pass out I do.

~~~~~

Once we've finished eating and I'm starting to feel better Ash starts talking about y/n again.

"So are you gonna tell her?" he asks after cleaning up. "Tell her what?" I groan, not wanting to suffer through this but knowing that if I at least tell him he can tell the other guys for me so they'll hopefully hop off my dick about this.

"That you like her" he says and I sigh, the conversation being a twin to the one we had last night. "I don't know" I mumble and he nods his head. "You probably should just in case this whole Alex thing goes any further" he offers up.

"It just sucks because I'm just barely starting to realize that I like her because I've been put in this situation where I could potentially lose my chance with her if I don't tell her tonight. Who knows, she could've been talking to this guy this whole time and I just assumed that she was single since she's always been so focused on our band and the tour. I mean, I can't even keep a stable relationship going with all the shit we have to do" I say and he sighs.

"That was because of her. Not you" he says, him being the only one I let talk freely about Sage. "I know" I rub my temples, trying to coax this low grade headache away before it gets any worse. "Take the time that you have left to think about it and I'll tell the guys to back off, even if that means putting a muzzle on Tyler" he jokes and I scoff.

"Can't we permanently muzzle him?" I grumble and he laughs. "I'll take it up with Liz. If anything we can get him a shock collar or something and give him a couple volts every time he pisses us off" he offers up and the image alone makes me smile. "Keep the remote far away from me otherwise we might end up with a barbecued bandmate" I joke.

"Noted" he chuckles, "I'm not gonna tell you that you have to tell her but if I were you...I would" he sighs and gets up to finish getting ready to go to.

Should I really tell her?

~~~~~~

As we make our way through the backdoor of the venue and into the green room again we're given our outfits and the rundown one last time.

"Okay, everyone know what they need to do?" Liz asks, the staff having joined us for this little pow wow and everyone looks at one another and nods, all of them more or less having an understanding of what's expected of them.

"Alright guys thank you very much. I need people to double and triple check that the mics and speakers are ready but other than that if you have any questions feel free to ask me or the owner and if you see y/n in the crowd try not to bother her. It's her night off so let's just treat her like a normal ticket holder. Okay?" Liz finishes and the nerves of seeing y/n tonight and potentially telling her how I feel all come back.

"You okay?" Ash asks, having noticed how I've tensed up a bit and I nod, breathing deep and relaxing my body as best as I can. If only it was that easy to relax my mind...

"You guys ready to go? Any last minute wardrobe malfunctions or bathroom breaks?" Liz asks, her tone being a little softer with us this time around since y/n isn't here to ease the burn. "Yeah I think we're good" Zach says, nodding his head after assessing the group for a second and she takes that as her answer, not having time to check up on all of us individually.

"I've gotta get going but break a leg...not for real this time" she says, backpedaling and narrowing her eyes at Tyler who sheepishly scratches the back of his head. "Got it" he mumbles and after a second or two of her making sure he's understood she's out the door without another word.

"So y/n-" "We're not talking about y/n unless Jungkook brings her up alright?" Asher says, cutting Tyler off before he can say anything to piss me off but everything has got me on edge tonight. "Bu-" "Tyler, leave it alone" Zach warns and the subject is dropped, with Zach's word being law per usual and this time I'm thankful for it.

"Let's just focus on the show like we always do" Asher says, breaking up the tension and reminding us that there are more important things in play here. "Right" Tyler mumbles and soon we're walking on stage.

The roar of the crowd hitting us like it always does with the high being just as good as it always is but it's paired with something different this time and I can't tell if it's a good or bad thing.

~~~~

As the set plays on I finally catch just a glimpse of her in the crowd, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glassy, the heat and alcohol being the culprit but the smile on her face is so much freer and genuine, a sight I've only seen a few times and when the song we're performing comes to a close I whisper in Ash's ear to see if we could switch things up.

"Do you think we're ready?" I ask, hoping he thinks we are and when he gives the guys a look they all know, all of them passing on the message so we're all in sync. "Yeah we're ready, you sure you wanna play it though?" he asks, hesitant since the crowd reaction to this switch up is unpredictable but I can't shake the feeling that now is the time that this song was made for and so I nod, the guys go quiet waiting for me to introduce this next song.

"So this one isn't something you guys have heard before but it's one that's been stuck in my head since I wrote it" I say and I watch as the crowd all turns to each other, buzzing with excitement of hearing an unreleased track.

"It's one that's meant a lot to me but I didn't really know why..." I continue and I can tell that they're even more invested now, some of them clearly waiting with bated breath.

"I know my words seem cryptic but I hope that the right person will understand" I end and the murmurs through out the crowd continue, looking left and right to see who I might be talking about...but now I know, I know who she is.

'We never met but she's all I see at night' I start, the strong chords of the guitars and the crisp beats on the drums add power, the crowd cheering at the opening line already.

'Never met but she's always on my mind' and as the lyrics continue I see y/n's brows furrow in confusion, knowing that this song wasn't on the setlist, the sound being familiar to her nevertheless.

'Wanna give her the world and so much more' I continue, locking eye contact with her when she realizes my eyes have never left her.

'Who is my heart waiting for' I sing and the roaring of the crowd brings me back, the first verse drawing my attention back to the fact that I'm still performing. My eyes glance over at her whenever they can and I can see I look of confusion but she sings along and enjoys it with the crowd, not knowing if she's reading my signs correctly.

I focus back on performing, the excitement and reaction from the crowd being something greater than I've experienced in a while. This being our encore tour with no new songs added but I couldn't hold onto it, not tonight.

'I'll take her places they ain't found yet, I'll put it all on the line' I continue, my intentions and understanding behind the chance of pursuing her conveyed in the song without me even trying.

Had I really been writing this about her?

'Is she someone that I see everyday?' I sing, purposefully looking for her in the crowd but when my eyes land on her I see her looking down at her phone and then looking around, making my heart sink at the thought of her not seeing the importance of this.

'Is she someone a thousand miles away?' I continue, turning my attention back to performing and when the mantra of the song plays all the instruments cut out except for the drums and the rest of the guys direct the crowd to clap along with the beat.

'Who is my heart, heart waiting for?' is chanted over and over until we finally kick back into the chorus, a high note I've been dying to sing live being something I fall a little short of in hopes of finding her but to the untrained ear being something you couldn't catch.

'Wanna give her the world and so much more' I sing, coming to a close and finally my eyes meet hers again.

'Who is my heart waiting for?' I end, the crowd's reaction of jumping and shouting in excitement makes me lose sight of her again showing me that I should really try to focus on the performance but all I want to do is run to her.

I turn back towards the crowd and thank them right along with the rest of the band and luckily we're able to take a break since I managed to time it perfectly with the intermission and as always we all tumble back into the green room.

We all reach for the waters laid out for us and down them in entirety, the stage lights feeling so much hotter tonight but I know deep down that it was the nerves that got me feeling like this, just the sight of her making my heart race.

How have things changed so rapidly from me being able to be close to her without a care in the world to me in shambles from just being in her presence. I'm not able to mull over that thought for long as I watch Liz come in behind us.

"Great first half guys but why the hell didn't you tell me you were playing that song? That's not coming out for weeks!" she says, her half praise, half scolding manner being hard to decipher but when I try to own up to it Tyler takes the blame.

"It was my idea. I wanted to keep the attention of a girl I saw in the front row that had been making eyes at me" he says, the statement not being true but I'm sure he still did use the opportunity to his advantage.

"You've got plenty of other songs that make the girls go wild for you so just stick to the setlist next time, got it?" she says, addressing all of us since we all literally played a part in it and so we accept her scolding with promises to never do it again.

"Anyways Jungkook you've got a visitor" she says and I'm perplexed, her never allowing anyone to come back here especially in the middle of a show but when she opens the door and y/n comes into view I quickly take her hand and pull her outside into that same parking lot we had been in just last night, not wanting an audience for this.

"What are you doing?" she asks, dragging her feet now that we're out, not wanting to be pulled along any more but I want to make sure we're out of earshot, the thought of future teasing being painful enough as it is so I just want some privacy even if it's just for this one moment now.

"I just wanted to talk...alone" I say and she nods her head but we stand there in silence until both of us try to say something but I encourage her to go first.

"You guys sound amazing tonight" she says and I wordlessly thank her since I can tell she's got more to say. "That song um...I thought you guys weren't done with it yet" she says, bringing up the obvious elephant in the room and the cause of the tension between us.

"We are, we just weren't sure if we wanted to release it as a single or as part of the next album. Liz wants to kill us for spoiling it...but it felt like it was something I needed to do" I admit and she nods her head and looks down at her shoes.

"You said that the song meant a lot to you but you weren't sure why?" she asks, repeating the words I had said on stage and I nod, waiting for her to complete her thought. "So what's changed?" she asks, the opportunity to do what I had planned to being handed to me so after taking a deep breath I finally just go with what feels right.

"I've never thought of myself as a romantic guy or one that has a way with words but when it comes to song writing things just feel different. That song felt like I was calling out to something...well someone that I didn't have but was longing to meet. Which is pretty obvious from the lyrics huh?" I say, nervously proving my point.

"What I'm trying to say is that I've found my 'Who' so to say, but I'm not sure if it's right of me to say this already since I've only realized recently" I admit and she smiles.

"Recently being...?" she asks, her tone being laced with amusement. "Yesterday" I answer truthfully and she laughs, confusing me.

"This isn't funny" I scoff but it only makes her laugh more, the tips of my ears going pink but I can't deny that her laugh is one of my favorite sounds. "I'm sorry I'm sorry, go on" she says, stifling back her laughter and waiting for me to continue.

"You're insufferable" I huff which only amuses her more. "And yet here you are confessing your love to me" she says, connecting the dots before I have a chance to and I'm left there speechless, neither confirming nor denying her suspicious which makes her start to doubt herself.

"Unless that's not what you're doing...?" she asks tentatively, disheartened at the thought of misreading all of the signs I sent her. "No, it is" I murmur, making her smile again, my heart skipping a beat like a love sick school boy.

"So you like me?" she asks and I have no choice but to nod my head, still unsure of myself but I needed to admit it.

"I know it's selfish of me to say this since you have a new guy in your life so if you don't feel the same way I understand" I say, not wanting to pressure her into it, "I just wanted you to know" I whisper and when she tilts her head in confusion I start to second guess myself.

"New guy?" she asks, scrunching her brows together, the reaction endearing. "Yeah, Alex?" I say tentatively since I feel as though something is definetly wrong here. "Oh! Oh, Alex. Right" she nods her head but I'm still very much confused about her reaction.

"You should probably come inside" she says nodding towards the building and so I suspiciously follow her, this unknown Alex no doubt waiting inside but when all I see is the addition of another girl inside that the guys are all crowding around I know now that my suspicions were very very wrong.

"Alright guys give her some room" y/n says and pulls the girl away from the very engaging conversation she seemed to be having, granting y/n with a pointed glare but she ignores it.

"Jungkook meet Alexis" she says and the girl I now know as Alexis cringes. "Ew don't call me by my government name" she protests making y/n shake her head but Alexis, I mean Alex's vibe changes up completely once she addresses me, an almost nervousness taking over her but I guess it kind of is a given when you meet someone famous.

"Hi Jungkook it's really nice to meet you. Y/n has told me so much about you" she says holding out her hand for me to shake which I do but my eyes are now turned towards y/n who has face palmed at her friends admission. "Oh yeah? Does she talk about me all the time?"

"I mean, well, she might've mentioned you once or twice" Alex quickly backtracks, chuckling nervously when she makes eye contact with y/n as she's giving her a glare that clearly screams 'stop talking' which I can't help but chuckle about.

"I'm just gonna go over here, um you guys have fun" Alex says and politely excuses herself in favor of going to talk to the guys again who have amusedly been watching our exchange.

"Once or twice?" I smirk when we're finally back in our own little world. "Shut up" she hisses and punches my arm leaving me wincing in pain. "I didn't know you would get so violent when you're embarrassed" I tease gaining me another punch on the other arm to even it out.

"Okay okay I'm sorry I give up" I hold my hands up in surrender making her cross her arms over her chest, still not convinced but putting her guard down a little bit nonetheless.

"So you like me too then huh?" I say unashamedly, the way her friend alone gave a few subtle hints at that making me confident in my perception. "I never said that!" she counters but her defensive nature is adorable at best.

"You didn't have to" I say and when she tries to punch me again I grab her wrist before she can make contact and bring it up to my lips, placing a kiss on the inside of it, feeling her elevated pulse through her skin.

"I could think of a better way to expel that energy princess so why don't you hold off on that anger until after the show" I tease and from her many blinks and open mouth at my suggestive wording it's apparent that she got the message.

"I could report you for sexual harassment" she says through gritted teeth, her cheeks no doubt heating up in embarrassment. "It's not harassment if you enjoy it" I say placing another kiss on her wrist which she quickly rips out of my grasp making me chuckle.

"Better get back to the crowd otherwise you won't be able to see my pretty face anymore" I taunt and she scoffs and goes to storm out but stops, stomping over to where Alex and the guys are, ripping her away from them again leaving the boys as the ones protesting this time and seconds later slamming the door behind them.

"So?" Asher asks, the other guys engaging in a conversation that no doubt revolves around Alex making me sigh in thanksgiving, glad I don't have to confront all of them at once. "She hasn't said it...but she basically did" I shrug, acting as if it's no big deal but praying that this show will wrap up sooner rather than later.

"Told you" he says and gives me a friendly punch in the arm. "Yeah yeah I know I should believe you more often" I sigh and rub the area he abused. "So what are you gonna do?" he asks, now bringing the reality of the situation back around.

"All I know is I don't wanna mess this up" I say and he nods, placing his hand on my shoulder to give me silent encouragement but leaves me with my thoughts a few seconds later leaving me grabbing some water and a shot or two to calm the nerves before we're back on stage.

~~~~

The rest of the show is a blur but thankfully from the crowd's reaction it seems as though they're enjoying it leaving me feeling fulfilled once we wrap up for the night.

After the crowd has slowly dissipated and I find it safe to go out and walk around I search the venue on the hunt for a certain girl that's been running around my head for the past twenty four hours.

I duck my head into a few unlocked rooms and even some closets but come up empty handed, thankfully not stumbling upon some people hooking up inside of them but who am I to judge?

"Looking for someone?" I hear her playful voice behind me, calming whatever nerves I felt before confronting her after everything that was said...and sung.

"Maybe" I say, turning around to face her and leaning up against the wall behind me leaving her doing the exact same across from me in this narrow hallway, away from prying eyes. "Just maybe?" she asks and I chuckle.

"No use looking for someone that I already found" I admit making her bite her bottom lip in a seemingly unnoticeable way unless you were staring at her lips...which I am.

"You guys played a really good show tonight. I'm proud of you...well all of you" she says, backtracking a little in favor of being shy making me smile. "Thanks, means a lot Strings" I say in a huskier voice than I had planned on, her physical reaction quick but noticeable at this proximity.

"You nervous?" I cock my head leaving her going into a defensive state. "Why would I be nervous?" she asks, looking away and further proving my point, giving me a clear view of the expanse of her neck, temping me oh so innocently to mark her as my own.

"Oh you know, a fan can get a little intimidated talking to their favorite rockstar" I say, pushing off the wall and taking the few steps that separate us, resting my hand up against the wall, the proximity between us clearly one that would be shared between lovers.

"You're not just some rockstar" she counters, straightening up her posture and in turn making the space between her lips and mine all the more smaller. "No...I'm not" I say, my eyes shamelessly staring at her lips before dragging them back up to her eyes.

"Have you thought about what I said?" my warm breath fanning her face making her shiver, goosebumps clearly visible from the sleeveless nature of this now black fitted dress, a dichotomy to the one she wore earlier.

She hums in acknowledgement, her eyes now the ones flickering down to the way my lips curve around the words making the corner of my mouth turn up.

"And?" I ask, her silence driving me insane, the torture of finishing the show alone making me impatient beyond belief. "And?" she echoes, her coy nature making me chuckle dryly. "You're not gonna say anything?" I ask, my nose nudging against hers, playing a dangerous game before she's even given in.

"You said I didn't have to" she counters, referring to our previous conversation backstage. "I did, didn't I?" I scoff and she hums again, clearly amused with this push and pull between us.

"So if I were to want to do this..." I ask, moving impossibly close, to the point of where if I moved my lips ours would surely touch. "Would you stop me?" I ask just above a whisper leaving her eyes fluttering closed and her lips parted slightly giving me my answer.

"Guess not" I chuckle before pressing my lips against her's in a bruising kiss that leave both of us gasping for breath afterwards.

"I've been wanting to do that for so fucking long" I murmur against her lips making her smile. "I thought you only just realized you liked me yesterday?" she points out again.

"Just because I only realized my feeling for you yesterday doesn't mean that I didn't want to kiss you before then" I say making her eyes open up in surprise leaving me chuckling and pushing off the wall, taking her hand in mine and walking towards the venue exit.

"Wait, where are we going?" she asks, her swollen lips and breathless state making me want to do something that I know I shouldn't making me bite back the original response I had in mind.

"Back to the hotel" I say, giving the obvious answer and she goes quiet at that, unsure of what exactly lies ahead but her stronger grip on my hand once she's come around to the idea makes me smile.

~~~~~

I wanna pull that rockstar shit on her. I want to give into those desires that both of us are clearly craving but she's different. She deserves more than just a lust filled first time together, I want to do this right so when I kiss her goodnight and turn to head back to my room she pulls me back with a puzzled look on her face.

"What are you doing?" she asks, her brows furrowed together in confusion, almost asking if she had done something wrong. I sigh and come back to her, placing my hands on her hips and resting my forehead against her's.

"I don't wanna go too fast" the admission something I hadn't planned on but the need to quell her worries being more important than my vulnerability. "Why?" she asks, her fingers lacing through my hair to hold me close, making my resolve crumble just a bit.

"You're worth more than that. You're worth more to me..." I say the last part a little quieter, hoping my genuine intentions comes out from the change in tone.

"You're too sweet for your own good Jeon" she giggles making me let out a breath, happy that she isn't taking this the wrong way.

"I may be a rockstar but I'm a romantic at my core" I say just to make her laugh more which works as she decides to burry her face into my neck to stifle her laughter. "Please don't ever say that again" she chuckles, her laughter slowly dying down.

"Why not?" I ask, my grip on her hips the slightest bit tighter to bring her focus back to me. "Because it's gonna taint your whole discography with cringe, that's why" she teases making me tongue my cheek.

"You know I have half a mind to put you in your place for that smart mouth of yours" I growl making her shiver at the thought, her lip caught between her teeth again making me drag it down before rubbing my thumb along it, pulling it back when I can see that she's contemplating putting it in her mouth just to egg me on.

"But I won't" I say and pull away leaving her groaning in frustration, the look on her face priceless. "Come on" she groans further, crossing her arms over her chest making her cleavage look all the more tempting.

"Let me take you out on a few proper dates first Princess" I chuckle leaving her angrily muttering to herself as she turns to unlock her hotel room. "What was that? Couldn't quite hear you" I taunt, taking a few steps back over to her.

"I said this was a waste of a dress" she repeats, her angered look adorable. "And why's that sweetheart?" I tilt my head, thoroughly amused by her frustration with me. "Because I hadn't planned on being the one who would take it off tonight" she says and unlocks her door before opening it and slamming it in my face.

I can't help but smirk at her efforts to get me into bed with her tonight, her embarrassed confession endearing. "Sweet dreams Strings" I say through her door hearing what I can only assume is a pillow hitting it with a soft thud in retaliation.

"You're gonna have your hands full with that one" Asher says, popping up out of nowhere scaring me half to death. "Don't do that" I growl and push past him into our open hotel room door that he just came out of. "You guys were the one's that were making a lot of noise. I just wanted to come and enjoy the show" he laughs, shaking his head and closing the door behind us.

"Yeah well better get used to hearing some other kinds of noises from us soon enough" I taunt making him cringe at the thought. "Maybe now Liz will finally let me get my own room" he rolls his eyes leaving that as his final goodnight.

I flop down on the couch in our shared living room and stare up at the ceiling, trying to figure out if this was the best plan of action. The ghost of a feeling of her lips on mine and that alluring look she had been giving me after the show makes me grit my teeth, trying to block the memory.

I get a text seconds later though from Strings knocking me out of my train of thought and smashing me into another one when I open the image of her taking a picture of her reflection. Her dress now discarded leaving her bare torso exposed but the picture only affords me an image of her back, the thoughts of what else she's purposefully hiding from me making my pants grow tight.

'Careful Strings' is all I manage to type out, my willpower waining as seconds pass waiting for her response.

'You knew from the beginning I was never a careful one' she sends putting a new connotation on the name 'Strings'.

'I'm really trying to be a gentleman right now but you're testing my patience' I respond, getting up and pacing back and forth, weighing the pros and cons of what might come of this if I give in.

'I never asked you to be a gentleman' she replies making me groan in frustration, her tactics of temptation were not ones I had expected to have this big of a pull on me.

'Be a good girl Strings and let me treat you right. You'll get what you want. Just wanna take my time with you' I send back, hoping that'll keep her at bay and for the moment it does but when I try to stand up and get ready to pass out she's sending me another message that makes me chuckle.

'Can you at least come over here so we can kiss for a little bit? :(' she's fucking adorable. A temptress but adorable nonetheless.

'No Strings, we both know that it won't end in just kissing' I send back and she just replies with an angry face as expected.

'Goodnight Princess x' I send back and lock my phone, tossing it on my bed and getting out of these clothes so I can take a shower, smiling to myself and thinking about seeing her again.

I want to do right by her and no matter how sulky she might get but we both know that 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder' or whatever that Shakespeare dude said.

In this case meaning I want her to be putty in my hands and begging for it by the time I give in.

'Just a couple of dates Jungkook. You can wait that long' I coach myself after a notification pops up telling me she sent me some more pictures but it leaves me debating on if I should or shouldn't look but I ultimately lose the battle and open our conversation.

My fingers tighten around my phone as she sends me more pictures, still not completely nude but close enough to make my dick rival the wants in my brain, almost tipping me over the edge.

'Behave!' is all I manage to get out before I strip my clothes off and get in the shower, leaving my phone behind but the images of her imprinted on my mind are enough to make this shower a lot longer than intended.

I guess Asher is right, I really am gonna have my hands full.

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f1fantasys · 1 month ago

Text

Thought you were mine all along, guess I was wrong - Part 9

Summary - pretty sure you can guess from the warnings below ;) Can be read as a standalone if you just want smut.

Warnings - filthy smut, minors DNI PLEASE. penetrative sex, unprotected sex, oral sex both m! and f! receiving, blowjob, fingering, squirting, cockwarming, anal sex, swearing, dirty talk.

A/N - THANK YOU so much if you're still following this story. I'm so so happy with how it turned out and I had so much fun writing the never ending smut in this chapter.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8.

6K+ words!

That night was the last time you saw Lando in person. You'd went into it with nerves, fear even, but you left feeling lighter, hopeful. Even though he hurt you, so much, you always knew a part of you could never hate him, but rather always love him, and to somewhat have him back in your life was the best feeling you'd had in recent months, so you'd take it.

Lando was busy preparing for the new season, training camps, assessments, sponsor events, and so he was hardly home in the last couple of weeks, only dropping in for a day or two here and there, never getting the chance to meet up since you yourself were busy prepping, but you were content with how things were at the minute. You'd kept in touch, more so than you'd initially hoped so, but things were going well. Texting through the day, Facetimes almost every other night, talking about everything and nothing. You could see Lando was still reserved, not wanting to push boundaries and make you uncomfortable, for which you were grateful. Things were slowly sliding into place, and you were here for it. Each time you saw his face on your screen, butterflies re-ignited in your stomach, heat crawling through your body whenever he gave you a dimpled-smile, and not to mention how your cunt throbbed for him when he'd called you after his assessment, sweat dripping off his body.

It was the Friday before pre-season testing started next week, so that only meant one thing - a final hurrah at Jimmyz to close in the winter break with all of your close friends, work related and non-work related.

Lando was still in the UK, he was only flying home to Monaco this weekend to pack and then head off to Bahrain. which is where you knew you'd see him again. But as you were getting ready, your phone buzzed with a message from him.

''Flying back home, see you tonight at Jimmyz?''

Your heart pounded. Yes you fucking wanted to see him, but still, a part of you was nervous, shy almost because things were slowly falling into place and it was only a matter of time until there was a shift between the two of you. It suddenly felt like your crush was texting you as a blush crept up your neck and face. But before you could reply, another message came through.

''If you want, I know you'll be there but I can skip it if you're not..ready..no pressure :)''

You smiled to yourself, quickly typing out your response.

''Relax Lan, of course I want you there..can't wait to see you x''

You knew him so well you practically heard him let out a breath somewhere.

Sliding into your white satin dress for the evening, you touched up on your hair and makeup, look finished with a pair of stunning heels. It had been a long time since you've felt this good getting all dressed up, and it may or may not be due to a certain someone.

The night started off well, mingling and dancing, downing drinks like there was no tomorrow, but it wasn't long until you were getting ants in your pants, waiting patiently for Lando to show up. You eyes were scanning the crowds every few minutes, each time disappointing you more and more. You weren't mad, no. Just desperate.

''He's on the way'' George leaned in and whispered in you ear at one point as you tried to straighten your face and not be affected by him telling you that. You responded by downing the little of his drink that was left, walking off and hearing him laugh to himself.

You were currently at the bar, chatting to Carmen when you saw him over her shoulder, greeting fellow drivers but mind obviously somewhere else - looking around until his eyes finally landed on yours, biggest smile gracing his face.

The man looked delicious, if you could say that. He had on a pair of jeans with a black button up, obviously only literally half of the buttons were actually done up, revealing his broad chest and a silver necklace, with a backward cap, a few curls sticking out here and there. You gawked at him as he walked up to you, a heat creeping up your neck as you saw his eyes shamelessly roam your body, spending a few seconds too long on your cleavage, that was barely contained with the dress you were wearing.

Carmen realized the reason for your ''zoning out'' so she not so subtly slid away, leaving an empty spot for Lando.

Finally, he was within touching distance, the smell of his perfume over taking your senses. You legs felt like jelly, suddenly not knowing how to act in front of him, what to say, but you couldn't help but let out a chuckle when his eyes once again landed on your boobs. A deer caught in headlights, his eyes snapped up back to yours as he smiled again, biting his lip.

''Sorry, hi'' he said, leaning in to wrap his arms around you as you did the same. Your whole body was tingling, electricity waking up your nerves. You mentally cursed yourself for being this shy. Lando had seen every inch of you before, the good, the bad, physically and mentally. And vise versa - you'd seen every inch of him. He held you close, tight, and you felt him take a big breath in as he nuzzled his face in your hair. His arms felt strong around you, caging you in and holding you impossibly close against his body.

The next 30 minutes were spent chatting, flirting, touching, the alcohol in both your systems coming to the surface. And it wasn't long until you were on the dance floor with your friends, your ass grinding against his front as his hands roamed your body.

Yes things have gotten from 0 to 100 far too quickly, but you didn't care. You need him. And from the way he was leaving wet kisses down your jaw, he needed you just as much.

You tried to stay put for as long as possible, not give in to you desperation, but when Lando turned your body around to face his, the look in his eyes told you everything.

''Please'' you whispered, not knowing if he'd even hear you but you were pretty sure you were on the same page. That was all Lando needed to hear though.

Before you knew it he was roughly pulling you behind him in the direction of the bathroom, his hands holding yours so tight as if he was afraid you'd change your mind.

Lando opened the door, roughly pushing you inside, locking it. And within seconds he was cupping your face, lips crashing into yours. You were like animals, starved. The kiss was hungry, messy, sloppy, teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance. You won when he took a breath, sliding your tongue across his bottom lip and slipping into his mouth. The first taste you got of him had you whimpering, legs like jelly again because you'd wished for this moment to happen again for months. Lando's hold on your face should have hurt, but it felt anything but that, if anything, it turned you on even more. It almost felt like a claim. A claim he had on you.

You pulled back for air, letting Lando's mouth roam down to your neck, sucking and biting at your sweets spots that he remembered so well while your hands found his head, pulling his cap off and finding his hair, pulling and tugging on it as his tongue soothed over the bruises for tomorrow. His hands slid down to your legs, creeping under your dress as he slowly pulled it up over your thighs.

''This ok?'' he asked, breathless.

''Mm, more than'' you said, pulling his face up back to your for another dirty kiss, letting his tongue into your mouth this time while his hands traveled closer and closer to your throbbing pussy.

Lando pulled back when he realized you weren't wearing any panties, his fingers coming into contact with your sticky juices. His voice sounded raw, hoarse, ''No panties? Should have known'' he said, smirking.

You were about to bite back, but your words got caught in your throat when he quickly thrust two fingers through your hole, deep and hard sending you into a series a moans, biting down on his neck.

His pace was relentless, adding a third finger and repeatedly hitting against your G-spot as you clung onto him for life, not trusting yourself to hold yourself up.

''Fuck, Lando, right there'' you moaned again, already feeling an impending orgasm building up.

''So tight baby, takes me so well'' he whispered in your ear before biting down at it.

''M'close'' you mumbled, concentrating on the way his fingers expertly slid in and out of you, almost to the beat of the muffled music, and before you knew it you were shuddering in his arms, coating his fingers in your milky cum as he slowed his movements, riding you through your orgasm as gasps of air left your mouth.

Lando pulled his fingers out, eyes trained on yours as licked them clean, eyes closing when he got a taste of you while you watched on with hooded eyes, chest heaving.

Time stood still for a couple of moments, the both of you coming to terms of what just happened and what was to inevitably happen next.

You took a few seconds to take Lando in. Your fingers tracing his perfectly contoured jaw, his stubble grazing against you. His own fingers traced the curve of your lips ever so softly, stark contrast to how rough he was just a few minutes ago.

''Ýou okay?'' he asked softly, suddenly worried he'd gone too far.

You quickly nodded your head. ''I am, but..I need more. Please take me home Lan'' you said confidently, because it's what you wanted.

His whole demeanor changed. Worried look disappearing from his face, eyes darkening, his hold on you tighter.

''Yeah?''

''Please''

The next few minutes were a blur. The both of you rushing out of the club, ordering a taxi, you practically on his lap in the back seat as he kissed you senseless, tongues lapping each other.

The uber driver eventually had to clear his throat when you'd arrived at Lando's, and you were sure to leave a generous tip before Lando literally carried you out of the car, throwing you over his shoulder as he practically ran to the elevator.

He put you down before pushing you back to the wall, gently cupping your face as he brought his down to yours for yet another kiss. It was slower this time, so much more meaningful, but still deep and sloppy.

Next thing you knew you were being pushed into his apartment, the door slamming shut behind you as he picked you up again, sprinted to his room and throwing you down on the bed, ripping your dress apart in his hands as you gasped with shock.

''Lando!'' you shrieked, but the look in his eyes was that of a man on a mission. He was ready to devour you and you were so ready for it.

''You look better without it'' he said, eyes trained on your bare boobs, nipples hardening with the cool air.

You watched as he pulled back, unbuttoning his own shirt and discarding his jeans, leaving him in just his boxers.

Before he hovered over you, he had to ask again. ''Are you sure? We can pause if this is too much'' he said.

''I'm sure Lan. I need you so fucking bad right now. Please'' you begged, for the thousandth time tonight.

''I need you too baby. Gonna make you feel so good ok..?'' he said as you nodded in agreement, body tinging with anticipation.

He leaned down to catch your lips again while his hands found your breasts. His touch had you gasping through the kiss, back arching off the bed as he rolled your peaked nipples through his fingers harshly, lowering his head further until he was level with them.

One of his hands reached up, tapping two fingers at your lips to allow you to slide them in, while his own lips closed around your left nipple, sucking on it harshly before soothing over it with his tongue. Your own tongue, was sucking on his fingers, teeth grazing over them every now and then, responding to the overdrive Lando was sending you body into.

You could feel his thick girth through his boxers, a wet patch forming against your stomach as you tried to use your legs to rid him of his briefs, but he was quick to pull back, fingers still pressing into your mouth.

''Patience love, or the night will end before it even begins'' he said, voice stern and hoarse.

''Need more'' you barely mumbled as he removed his fingers from your mouth, a string of your spit still connected to them as he circled them around your nipples, bottom lip between his teeth.

He lowered his hands down your torso, edging closer and closer to you cunt when suddenly he pulled back, completely removed himself from on top of you.

''Why, what are you doi-''

''Touch yourself'' he said, sternly.

''What?'' you asked again, stumped, as he stood back up and rid himself of his boxers. You couldn't help but let out a strangled moan as his cock bounced against his stomach, rock hard, throbbing.

''Lando?'' you questioned when you finally found your words again.

He walked over to his bedside cupboard, fishing out bottle of lube before settling on a couch that was in the corner of his room, a smirk on his face.

''You heard me'' he said, squeezing some lube onto his hand before returning it to his cock, sliding it up and down. ''Wanna watch you get off yourself first''

You let out a sigh as you collapsed back onto the bed, frustrated, turned on, everything. The man was slowly killing you.

''Baby'' he called out, the nickname catching you off guard at the difference in his tone. It was softer this time.

You leaned on your elbows, looking up at him, gauging his reaction to see if he was actually serious, and the look on his face did in fact tell you so.

''Need some lube?'' he asked as your one hand squeeze a boob, while the other slowly made it way down your body.

''No, I'm like fucking Niagra falls right now'' you pressed, sending a smirk his way as his hands quickened on himself.

You finally reached your cunt, sliding your fingers through your dripping folds as you closed your eyes and imagined that it was Lando who was touching you. You thought about his calloused fingers, rough, pressing through your slit before circling at your clit, pinching and pulling at it. Your actions had you let out a whimper, while Lando's own moans left his mouth at the sight in front of him.

You, splayed out on his bed, naked, wet, touching yourself, his name leaving your lips as you finally slid two fingers through your cunt. ''That's it baby, fuck yourself'' he edged you on.

Your walls clenched around your fingers tightly as you set a quick pace, thrusting them in and out, adding a third finger as well. You always needed a good stretch before you had Lando's cock.

''Lan.. I need-fuck, uh'' you whimpered some more, short gasps leaving your body as you felt your orgasm approaching. You managed to open your eyes, look down at Lando who's eyes were fixated on you, his hands moving ridiculously quickly over himself. ''Go on baby, stretch yourself out for me, yeah? Gonna let me fuck you 'til you can't walk?'' he barely managed to say between breaths.

His words were quick to send you over the edge, your body shuddering as you came a hot sticky liquid allover your fingers, crying out Lando's name as you shivered. You don't know how you got the energy, but you somehow mustered some to get up and practically crawl off the bed and down to the floor or reach Lando on the couch, wasting to time in replacing his hands with your mouth as you took him in, sucking hard before deep throating him.

''Huh, fucking hell Y/N'' he stuttered, hands pushing your hair out of your face as he lifted his hips slightly, fucking his dick into your mouth for all of ten seconds before spilling his cum, warm and milky down your throat, screams of your name leaving his own lips.

You pulled back when you sucked him dry, the both of you breathless, chests heaving. Lando looked down at you, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips, contrary to the look he had on not 30 seconds ago. You were a mess.

A complete mess. On your knees, between his legs, his slick juices in your disheveled hair, his cum on your face, dripping down to your thighs, as you let your fingers scoop some up, bringing them to your mouth to suck on, all while looking up at him like a sight for sore eyes.

He reached a hand down to cup your face. ''So fucking dirty, but so fucking incredible'' he mumbled, latching his lips to yours for a slow kiss. ''Think you're ready for me?'' he asked.

You stood up and straddled hi slap, already feeling him growing hard again as your ground yourself down.

''Always'' you said, leaving wet kisses all over his face before eventually moving down to his neck.

His damn thick neck.

Besides his dick, and his hair, and his smile, okay and his eyes, his neck was one of your favorite parts of his body.

You clawed at his neck, nails dragging against his skin as you it down and suckled on random spots, Lando letting out a series of groans, his hands digging into your hips.

''Y/N, no marks. test-fuck. Testing next week'' he mumbled as he bought your face up to kiss you again.

You lifted yourself to your knees, reaching down to take his cock into your hand, pumping him before sliding it through your slick folds. ''Let me ride you?'' you asked, desperately, your pussy clenching around nothing but the feel of him at your entrance.

Lando didn't answer, instead to replaced your hands with his own, his other still at your waist, pushing you to sit down on him with no warning, bottoming out.

You gasped at the intrusion, his thick girth stretching you out perfectly but painfully so, your faces inches away from each others, breaths mingling. Lando's breath cooling your face as he spoke. ''You're so fucking tight'' he said as you braced your hands on his shoulders, lifting yourself up, almost so was fully out of you, before ramming yourself down again, an obscene moan leaving your lips at the feeling.

Lando's head fell back on the sofa, eyes shut and mouth taking deep breaths as you set a relentless pace, slamming yourself up and down his shaft, and with the quick pace you were going, yes it felt bloody amazing but there were sharp pains shooting through your body. You didn't care though, all you knew was that you were right where you were meant to be.

''Lando, fuck, please. Oh god'' you mewled as whimpers, guttural moans left your body, Lando's own matching yours. The only sounds in the room were those of your pornographic groans and skin slapping against skin.

In no time you felt the warmth in your stomach, each movement of yours becoming sloppy by the second, so much so that Lando had to jolt up and fuck himself in and out of you, all while holding your jelly-like body up.

''You feel fucking amazing baby, doing so good f'me. Gonna cum? Then let me take you from behind?'' he said between bated breaths, while you bit down on his shoulder, nodding your head though you weren't even sure if he got your response.

His words though traveled straight down to your cunt, your body trembling in his arms as you came, hard, with a lewd moan of his name, clenching you walls tightly around his throbbing dick.

Lando sat back again and looked down to see his cock coated with your juices, quickly giving him enough adrenaline and energy to stand up, with you in his arms, dick still buried deep within you, and walk over to the bed, flop you both down so now he was hovering about you, setting his own pace of thrusting in and out continuously, ploughing in and out as his mouth latched on to you nipple harshly.

Your mind was blank, the only sense you had was that of Lando's actions, unable to speak, unable to even let out any moans, rather just short gasps for air as you wrapped your legs around his body, tight as possible, hands pulling at his hair painfully.

''Uhhh fuck baby you feel so good, too good, letting me fuck you like this. You like it?'' he asked, nuzzling his face into your neck.

''Fuck-fuck me more. Harder, please'' you pleaded with him.

By now he was like a machine on autopilot. Your bodied moving together like this was all you did all day everyday, perfectly in sync, making a mess of one another.

Sheets of sweat were slowly coating your bodies, sticking to each other in the best ways possible.

Lando knew your body inside out. He knew you were close. You just needed that edge to push you over, and so when he brought his hand down to your clit, barely flicking over it, and you were a mess again.

Body shaking violently in his arms as you released your juices all over his cock again, stars in your eyes, but suddenly it all stopped. He'd pulled out. You opened your eyes, and before you could comprehend what was happening, Lando's tongue was on you.

He was lapping against your pussy, sucking up and swallowing your release while holding your folds open with his fingers. His tongue was hot against you, your back arching off the bed as he repeatedly slid it through your hole.

''Lan I can't! Too much, shit'' you hissed, body already beginning to tremble again.

He pulled back. Lower face of his face messy, dripping, with you. ''Want me to stop?'' he asked, very well knowing your answer.

A blush crept up on your face, because no, you didn't want him to fucking stop. You quickly covered your face with your hands as you said ''no'' but Lando was quicker to stop your movements.

''Don't ever hide your face from me. I want all of you baby'' he said softly, and not waiting for an answer before diving back to your cunt, licking over and over your clit, rolling it between his lips before biting down on it.

Your hands found his hair, tugging at it as you came yet again, you'd honestly lost count of the times of times he'd made you orgasm tonight. But you weren't complaining. You were somewhat surprised at how he was holding on. Yeah, he had the stamina of a fucking bull, but still. He rode you through the orgasm, slowing his movements and being ever so gentle with you.

It wasn't until he rammed into you again with no warning, the both of you grunting at the feeling, his cock throbbing, twitching uncontrollably inside of you as he set another quick pace, clearly chasing his own high now.

''Baby, fuck, I've missed your pretty pussy so much. Gonna fuck you every day for the rest of our lives, stretch your little cunt up and make you mine'' he hissed, spit flying through his mouth as he spoke.

You, for one, were long gone. Too fucked out to react. All you could do was watch, adore him from underneath him, and thank the heavens for putting the two of you together like this. A single tear slid down your face at his words, and he was quick to lean down, take the tear into his mouth as his movements started faltering, barely able to hold himself up now.

''Where do you want it?'' he asked, voice raspy as he was on the precipice of letting go.

''In me!'' you found your voice, all but screaming it out because you needed to feel him fill you up.

And not ten seconds later, you were sent one way, while Lando was emptying his seed deep within you, warm, milky, sheets of cum literally filling you to the brink as both of your bodies shuddering and whimpered in each others arms.

Lando let his weight fall on top of you, both of you panting, chests heaving, bodies shivering from the cool air settling on your sweat.

You wrapped your arms around him, leaving tiny kisses on his neck/shoulder as he continued to tale deep breaths in your neck.

His next words shook you to your core.

''I love you'' every so softly, almost as if he were afraid you'd actually hear what he said.

When you didn't respond, he pulled back, his eyes met with your tear-clad eyes. You cupped his face, running a finger through his bottom lip.

''I love you too Lan, more than anything'' you said.

He smiled, the first proper smile since he'd first laid his eyes on you tonight. No dark, lustful eyes, but just those of love and admiration.

You pulled him down, kissing him for the thousandth time as he softened inside of you.

Eventually though, you both got so cold, so he pulled out, making you wince at the loss of contact before disappearing into the bathroom to get a cloth to clean you up.

You watched with hooded eyes as he returned, and for a split second the darkness returned to his eyes.

Dick half hard (already!) he gently pushed the mixture of cum that was dripping out of your cunt back in, before pulling out, leaning down and licked a hot strip up your slit. You were already numb down there, so hardly even reacted to his motives, but you continued watching him, mouth agape as he leaned down to you and let the cum drip down into your own mouth, before letting his tongue slide in to tangle with yours.

After a few minutes of coming back to earth, he cleaned you up, properly this time, before pulling the covers up, spooning you tightly from behind and whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Just as you were about to fall asleep, you felt his dick twitch against your ass, Lando shifting behind you, letting out a stifled groan. You couldn't help but giggle. Man really had stamina tonight.

''I'm all yours Lan'' you mumbled sleepily, knowing he'd catch on as it was something that you'd done all too well before.

''Fucking hell. You sure?'' he whispered.

''Yes'' you replied, too quickly for your liking.

You shifted your one leg forward, creating just enough room for him to run his dick through your folds, before pushing in ever so slowly, the both of you wincing at the pain of being over-stimulating but not backing out of your motives.

''You ok?'' he asked once he was fully in, pulling your leg back to get you comfortable again.

''Yeah'' you said, a few quick gasps leaving your lips as you got used to the intrusion that was there to stay.

You weren't sure how long you'd been asleep, but at some point Lando shifted, cock still hard as rock, causing your eyes to shoot open, mind scrambling to comprehend where you were.

Then he moved again, and you couldn't help but let out an involuntary moan. You turned your head to look back at Lando, who was still in dreamland, a soft snore leaving his lips.

You should have gone back to sleep, but suddenly your pussy, which was still on overdrive, was throbbing again, painfully clenching around him. You shifted your body again, creating a friction that you so desperately craved, causing Lando to buck

Then, Lando was awake, his hands grabbing your hips tighter than ever and thrusting, hard, deep, slow strokes making you whimper.

No words were exchanged, just the two of your using each other to get off, gasps and moans filling his silence.

You came very quickly, quicker than you did with your other orgasms from the night, biting down on your lip so hard you swore you could taste blood.

His voice then came through. ''Let me hear you'' he mumbled, lips finding your neck, short, labored breathing fanning you.

You listened, letting out lewd moans as you came down from your high, when all of a sudden Lando pulled out, man handling your body to be on all fours in front of him.

He leaned down so his lips were by your eyes. ''Gonna let me fuck your ass baby?'' he whispered as you let out a cry, somewhat excited but nervous with just how much you were pushing each other tonight.

You weren't one to say no though. How could you refuse him?

So you nodded your head, no strength to talk.

''Words, y/n'' he warned. You should have known, he'd never do anything without hearing the words from your mouth yourself.

''Yes'' you managed.

Lando reached for the lube as you braced your hands on the headboard, sticking your ass out in the air and spreading your legs a bit.

You sighed out loud when his finger ran through your folds, collecting your cum before he gentle brought it to your hole, not rushing but rather nuzzling it at your entrance for a few seconds before lightly pushing in. Whimpering, you let your head rest on your arms as your grip on the headboard tightened. Lando was the last you'd had anal sex with, it wasn't something you'd done with Mitch, so safe to say a few months without it had you feeling tight as fuck.

''Feel okay if i add a second?'' he asked, hand gripping your waist tightly as his finger pressed fully into you.

''Yeah'' you barely managed to whisper, gasping some more when he pulled out and applied more pressure when he pushed two fingers in, stretching them out a bit.

''Fuck, Lando. oh my god. Don't-don't know how I'll take you. You're too bi-''

''You'll take me like you've always taken me. So bloody good he said, increasing his pace, letting out moans to match yours.

You were sure you cum just from his fingers, but you tried to hold out as long as possible, getting impatient to feel his cock.

''Lan please, need you'' you said, turning your head back to look at him.

The light shining in the room from the street lights were hitting his face perfectly, making him look angelic even though his actions were anything but. He had a sheet of sweat, dripping down his face and making his curls stick to his forehead, bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he looked down at your ass, concentrating on his task at hand.

He said nothing as he removed his fingers completely, bringing them up to his lips before letting them out with a pop. Then his hands found his cock, squeezing some lube on it and also letting a string of his spit drip down, coating himself.

You internally swooned at the man. Every movement of his hotter than he other.

''Gonna make you feel so good babygirl'' he said, nickname making your curl you toes with anticipation.

You shut your eyes as his tip touched your hole, pushing in inch by inch, grunts along with you, until he was fully in.

''Wait, please'' you asked of him, needing a minute to adjust to the obtrusion.

''Take your time, love, we'll go at your pace'' you said, one hand still pressing into your hips while the other soothes your back, running up and down.

You were definitely high off sex, or Lando rather. You heart clenched at the way he called you 'love,' as a single tear ran down your cheek.

He must have figured you were an emotional wreck when his worried voice came through, pulling you up to rest your back against his chest.

''Baby please. Do you want to stop?'' he asked, wiping away at your tears.

You were quick to shut that idea down, shifting your head from side to side as your hands found his, holding onto them tightly.

''No, I just..I'm glad you're here. I've missed you so much'' you said, saying the last two words so softly you weren't sure he even heard them.

In an instant, his arms were wrapped around your torso, resting his head on your shoulder. ''I missed you too my love. And I couldn't be happier to have you in my arms right now. I'm never, ever letting you go again. I love you too much to even think about it'' he said softly, stifling a sob from you.

You stayed like that for a few minutes, just embracing each other and letting the moment linger. That was until his dick twitched inside of you, making you let out the most ungodly moan.

Lando chuckled at you, eager now. ''Ready?'' he asked.

''As I'll ever be. Take me'' you said, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

His body language changed then and you swooned with anticipation as his hand snaked around your neck, lightly squeezing you as he placed his other hand on your ass, pushing against you to slide himself out, almost fully, before thrusting in again in a long, hard stroke.

Then, it was game on. Lando setting apace that was matching your breaths, hard and quick, rough, thrusting in and out of your ass as you clenched tightly around him, vulgar words and moans flying out your mouths.

''Go one baby, just like that, letting me use you like my whore. Fucking hell'' he moaned, speed increasing but movements getting sloppy very quickly.

''Oh Lan, I'm so close, god it feels so good'' you mumbled in broken sentences, body beginning to tremble.

With no warning an orgasm took over, cum gushing out of your cunt messing all of Lando's thighs and the bed sheets, thick, hot cum leaking out of you as dirty groans left your mouth.

Lando was right behind you. One look at just how much cum had left your body made him spiral, sheets of cum shooting out of him, through you, on your back, everywhere, his hips bucking uncontrollably into yours as he too had to lean over you to grab onto the headboard to steady himself.

You stayed like that, chests heaving, bodies shivering, Lando's cock softening against your ass as neither made an effort to move, until it was all too much and you couldn't hold each other up any longer, collapsing onto the bed.

Your bodies were sticky, messy as you practically let your body onto Lando's, putting all your weight on him as he held you tight.

It was a moment that held a lot, no words needed to be spoken knowing exactly where you were with one another. Lando's hands tangled in your hair, combing it through his fingers while he left soft kisses on you temple.

Turns out you were right, from the beginning.

He was yours all along.

Please please please let me know what you think, and if you have any suggestions on how I can improve my writing. There may or may not be an epilogue coming your way soon because I need to round the story up somehow.

Taglist - @somanyfandomsbruh @lanf1an @annimausi @ernegren @plotpal @hurtblossom @rbv3rstappen @tylerstacobell @wanderingreigns @bowielovesyou @alexanderachillesisgay @sarx164 @xoxomansee @hurtblossom @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @msimpala-67 @jxnellat @chlmtfilms @abq654 @ernegren @stav2004 @myformula1addiction @ayap4paya @l0nelyhe4rts-club @callsignwidow widow-cevans meglouise00 @hoeforsirius @hahdb8 @cmleitora @oscahpastry @maxv33rstappen @saythename-sm @htpssgavi @xoxomansee @anayaverse @rendezvoushn @allywthsr @f1petra @alexisquinnlee-bc @justlando @strawberryy-kiwii @landosnosescar @martygraciesversion381 htpssgavi @fat-meh

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 smut #lando norris #f1 fic #lando x reader #lando norris smut #lando smut

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cosmicporos · 4 months ago

Text

What Arcane characters would gift you for Christmas!

Jinx, Vi, Ekko, Viktor, Jayce

(Semi crack Drabble… sorry for going super long with Viktor’s and Jayce’s HCs. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH)

(Jayce is Hispanic in my hc :3)

ENJOY AND HAVE FUN LOVE YALL<3

Not proofread

JINX

Hear me out… the first thing she would plan to gift you are decorated safety googles.

As a matter of fact everything she gifts you is handmade!

She knows you love to spend time with her when she’s in her workshop and the extra spare of googles she had were pretty crappy…

“Ugh, these old things? Pfft, they look like they’ve been through a freakin’ explosion… oh wait, they probably have! We gotta get you a new pair soon toots!”

They’d be totally decked out! Lots of character as she calls it.

“Okay toots check it out! Maximum protection but most importantly! They got style!”

The googles themselves would be in her classic style, very colorful paint, cute little heart scribbles all around! And of course lots of glitter….

“"I mean, you've got to stay safe while causing mayhem, right? And hey, if we're blowing stuff up together, you'll definitely need these. Plus, I made them perfectly for you. No one else will have goggles like these... trust me!"

I totally see her adding little handmade jewelry from her gears and spare parts, would totally make you a belt or choker out of spare bullets.

She would totally panic on what to get you for Christmas. Like what if you suddenly hate the thing you’ve loved since the very beginning she’s known you???

Would end up both buying and making you something!

She’s make you something small but meaningful

“Okay Okay fine! You can open mine now. Just don’t laugh too hard Cupcake…”

You’d open the poorly wrapped gift to uncover a bright pink scarf she knitted you! The stitching is a mess.. there a hole’s through the project (no doubt a missed stitch) but in all honesty it so cute you feel like your heart might explode.

"Yeah, I know I'm not, uh, the best at this kind of thing," she mutters, scratching the back of her neck, "but I figured you could use something to keep warm... and, you know, 'cause it's winter. And... you're important to me."

Guys please tell her she did an amazing job PLEASE.

She would also totally buy you a pair of combat boots! Totally saved up for months in advance.

She loves the idea of being able to match and have a bit of her style on you!

Ekko

Just like Jinx (sobs) he’d also make something for you!

The first thing he’d give you would be a little sketch book full of drawings of you from random moments throughout your relationship he remembers oh so clearly.

"I've been working on it for a while... It's... it's just a bunch of drawings. I mean, not just anything. Stuff that made me think of you. Stuff we've done, or things I hope we do. I don't know, it just felt like the best way to show how I feel about... well, us."

Okay he would also totally make you matching jewelry (matching clock hand necklaces?)

You’d force him to take the hour hand since it’s shorter (heheheh little man)

Once you explain your reasoning as to why he should take the smaller one he sighs disappointedly…

"Okay, okay, I get it," he finally says, a little less playful now, his voice softening. "I guess if you want me to wear it, I can..."

Then, a grin creeps back onto his face as he adds, "But don't think I'm letting you off the hook with the minute hand. You're wearing that one for sure." He places the hour hand necklace around his neck, the smaller pendant resting there, and looks up at you with that mischievous gleam in his eye.

He pauses, holding up his necklace, "I'm still the one with the bigger job. You'll just have to keep up." A proud smug smirk now rests on his face.

Viktor

FUCK WHERE DO I BEGIN I LOVE THIS MAN

o k a y. He would just like Vi panic… not because he doesn’t know what to get you but because he totally is going Christmas shopping late… very very late.

As much as I would love to say he’d make some little invention to make your day easier and give it to you for Christmas I don’t see it happening.

Not because he wouldn’t do it but because he already does it all the time! A little example, you’re late for work often? A little robot that hits you with a plastic squishy hammer every morning at 7 am waking you up when he can’t!

He’d definitely want to make Christmas special, I see him buying you something and then doing something special for you too!

Christmas morning would be greeted with warm hugs and kisses along with an even warmer bowl of potato soup!

He wanted to make sure he perfected his mother’s Bramboračka recipe. It was a once a year meal him and his mother shared every Christmas day.

He’s not a good cook by any means… but this is the one dish he can make and oh boy can he make it.

"Don't expect perfection," he says with a small, self-conscious smile, as you catch him sneaking a taste of the soup. Viktor looks up, his gaze softening. "I hope you like it," he says, and despite his usual perfectionism, there's a quiet pride in his voice. You take a sip, and the rich flavors of mushrooms, potatoes, and herbs immediately comfort you, just like his mother's love must've comforted him all those years ago.

OKAY for the making gift he planned I see him commissioning something due to the fact a lot of his inventions lack aesthetics.

Specifically I see him commissioning a music box that functions as a a jewelry box as well! He would have loved to make it himself but he was worried he wouldn’t have gotten the look right.

"Do you like it?" he asks, his voice softer than usual, as if he's worried about the reception. "I had it made... I thought... it might remind you of us."

The detail was breathtaking-floral patterns etched into the surface, with tiny gears and delicate metalwork accenting the edges. The craftsmanship was stunning, and you couldn't help but run your fingers over the smooth finish.

you lifted the lid, and a gentle, lilting melody began to play. It was slow and sweet, a tune that felt timeless, and as you stared at the tiny figurines inside, your breath caught.

His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his cane, his gaze flicking between you and the music box. "I commissioned it," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I had the craftsman use a sketch I made. It's how I see us... in my mind. How I feel when I hold you." He paused, his expression softening. "I thought... I thought you deserved something that would remind you of that. Of... how much you mean to me."

Jayce

Oh hon… Jayce would spoil you rotten.

I’m talking presents are overflowing underneath the tree.

You thought you lost your favorite piece of clothing? WRONG! He commissioned for more to be made in different colors and textures for you.

All the fragrances in the world he knew you would enjoy.

Cozy adorable pajamas we would give you Christmas morning so you could cuddle up drinking hot chocolate.

Spends Christmas Eve spoiling you and cuddling and being so tooth rottenly sweet.

It’s Christmas Eve, the scene was almost overwhelming. The living room looked like a perfectly curated holiday catalog-twinkling lights, a roaring fireplace, and, of course, an absurd number of gifts. Jayce sat cross-legged beside the tree, an excited grin lighting up his face as he handed you the first box. He had merely grinned, sheepish yet unrepentant. "What can I say? I got carried away?.”

"Open this one first," he urged, nearly vibrating with excitement. Inside was a bottle of an exquisite fragrance, the glass etched with delicate, swirling designs. It smelled divine-rich, warm, and entirely you.

"I figured you'd like that," he said eyes carefully watching everyone expression you make. You swear if he had a tail it would be swishing uncontrollably right now.

Christmas Day would be you spending Christmas day at his mother’s house!

(Listen I’m hc them as hispanic because for one HIS MOMS NAME HIS XIMENA… and two because why not :3 )

You have a great relationship with his Mother, she absolutely adores you and sees you as her daughter.

There’s lots of yummy food she’s prepared… perhaps too much for just 3 people?

Nonetheless, a pot of pozole, tamales de puerco and de dulce! And of course she made jayce’s favorite choco flan!

God she urges to to eat until you nearly pop! You have to undo your belt by the end of the night…

"Come, sit!" his mom insisted, pulling out a chair for you. "Jayce told me you've never had my tamales. That's a crime! Here, start with this." She placed one on your plate, her eyes twinkling.

Jayce sat beside you, his grin widening as you took your first bite. "Good, right?" he asked, nudging you playfully.

You could only nod, savoring the perfectly seasoned masa and tender filling.

Later in the evening, when everyone was too full to move, Jayce leaned over and slipped his hand into yours. His eyes were soft, his voice low as he said, "I'm glad you're here. This—" he gestured to the lively scene around you, "—feels perfect with you."

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nerdygirlramblings · 2 months ago

Text

more Adam, meeting Ren's family, setting up Simon's rut

a/n: getting to the best part of this idea arc is taking longer than anticipated. hopefully the rut and big talks next chapter 🤞🏻

cw: omegaverse biology (male pregnancy, ruts / knots), fluid sexuality

Before you leave, you make sure to swing by the base admin building. The cold sterility of the grey hallways makes you sad, but Adam's desk near Price's office is always a ray of sunshine. He isn't at his desk, but his lemon cinnamon scent lingers and is perfectly accentuated by the succulents on the shelf. The space feels warm and bright despite being several halls away from a window. There are photos of several task forces tacked over the copy machine. The 141's photo is recent as you're in it, but you have no idea where it's from or how Adam has it.

He comes over as you're staring at the image. You point at it as he sits down and trip over yourself, asking, "Where is that from? How did you get it?"

He interrupts with a finger across his lips and whispers, "I never give away my secrets."

The train of thought barreling away seizes and you stop cold, a smile slowly breaking through. You chuckle and remember why you're here in the first place. "Hey, I wan'ed to thank ya for suggesting to Price I head home for leave."

He starts to wave off your thanks, but the words dry on his lips when you place a pint of Magnum Classic and two Flake bars next to his keyboard. He gives you a look of pure adoration as he stutters, "What in the...how did you know?"

You smile indulgently. "I listen, just like you do," you tell him with a wink. "Don't wait too long to eat that. 'S probably best if ya don't refreeze th' Magnum. And I know if ya try and wait 'til ya get home, Charlie will try an' steal it from ya." You couldn't count the number of times Adam told you about how he and his pack's alpha often fought over sweets around the house to the point where Bridget, the pack omega, kept separate stashes for them both. You loved hearing about Adam's pack. It made you miss your family a little less when he spoke about his.

Adam stands again and walks around the desk to where you are. He holds his arms open in invitation, and you step into the hug. He squeezes you tight for a moment before stepping back. Still holding your shoulders, he says, "Enjoy this time with your family. Be good. Have fun, but not too much. And come back safe, yeah?"

You nod. "Yeah, Adam. I'll be good." Your ride to town leaves soon, and then its a four-hour train ride home. If all the transportation runs on time, you'll be home for supper and can help Mum cook. You feel a little guilty about not letting Dad and the moms you're coming home, but you hope the surprise of your presence will make up for it.

The house doesn't look any different. The brick is a little more weather-beaten than when you joined up, but the shape of the house is unchanged. Three skinny stories with black shingles on top. The dormer windows on the third floor belie the open plan of that floor with the family nest along the back wall. That's where Dad is until the birth. From the curb, all you can see is the pale blue curtains. Somewhere in the back of the house, Mum is probably already starting on supper, Mama corralling your brothers and sisters.

You push the front gate open and step onto the flagstone walk. It cuts across a neat patch of green grass, though you notice the bikes tucked inside the front wall. Clearly with Dad on bed rest, your siblings are taking liberties with putting those in the garage.

Not for the first time, you second-guess the surprise of this visit. You know Mum and Mama won't say how worried they are about Dad and the litter, but you see it in their eyes when you call. Dad, too, teases about being on bed rest, but the last two losses weigh heavily on him.

You take a deep breath and knock. There's nothing for a few moments, but you hear scurrying behind the door and can imagine the triplets arguing about who gets to open it. Your middle siblings may or may not be home from uni, and if they are, they're not going to race for the door like the fifteen-year-olds. The door opens a crack and an eye peeks out. When it catchs sight of you, the owner squeals - must by Norah - and the door flings wide. "You're home!" Norah crows, throwing herself at you. "You're home! You're home!"

"I'm here," you echo, hugging her back. You look over her shoulder for the boys. Ben is making his way to you, but Davy isn't in sight. As he closes in, Ben pushes Norah out of the way and pulls you inside. "Mama was just going to call you," he says. "Or maybe she already called, since you're here?" You shake your head. "Anyway, the moms are going to take Dad to the birth centre-" Your gasp stops him mid-ramble, and his eyes go as wide as saucers. "Oh! No! They don't think this is bad. Mum said something about Dad's internal temperature increasing. They think the litter's ready."

You barely hear Ben's last words as you race to the back of the house and find Mama pacing the kitchen. She stops short when she sees you and flings herself into your arms. "Oh God, oh love, what are you doing here?" she half laughs, half cries, phone cradled in one hand.

"Had some leave coming and thought I'd surprise you. But it looks like I'm the one in fer a surprise!"

Mama's laughter is bright, light and happy. "Yes, you are. Mum's getting Dad's bag. They should be coming down now." She hugs you tight. "I know you just got here, but do you mind waiting here with the triplets?" she whispers into your hair.

Your laughter matches hers. "Not at all, Mama." You definitely owe Adam for suggesting you take leave and come home. You might have missed this otherwise. You shoo Mama to go grab some of her own things, listening for Mum and Dad on the stairs, while you pull together a small bag of waters and snacks for them. You toss in the crisps Mum hides but will want when she stress eats and the candy you know Dad will crave once he's allowed to eat again. You also put some healthy options in for all three otherwise Mama will scold the others the whole time and you do not want to induce that stress.

By the time the moms and Dad are in the front hall, you've pulled the car into the drive, put the snacks in the front seat, and opened all the doors. You help Mum get Dad comfortably into the back seat. Neither was as surprised to see you as you thought, so Mama must have given them a warning when she went to gather her things.

You kiss Dad's temple as you help him settle, then steady Mum with a squeeze to her hand. "Have ya called Michael or Helen yet?" you ask, leaning through the passenger side window. From the look Mama gives Mum you know they haven't. "I'll do it before you're out of the drive," you tell them. Mama puts the car in gear and backs out. You follow, shouting at them to keep you updated. You stand at the bottom of the drive long after their car disappears around the corner.

The team pack is pulling up to their house in the Lake District about the same time as your parents leave. Unlike your family's home in its neat little row on the outskirts of the city you grew up in, the pack's house sits on land nestled between the Irish Sea and the western edge of the Lake District. The cottage, or what was a quaint cottage before the pack expanded the buildings and outbuildings on the property, is a slight distance from any lakes or towns meaning they're fairly isolated. They're not entirely off the grid, but Laswell and Adam know not to reach them for the next week. They haven't told you to go no contact: though you aren't pack yet, none of them are ready to go more than a week without hearing your voice or seeing your face.

Price is already making plans for how long he'll give you before he reaches out to check in. His presence during Ghost's rut is more of a formality as the pack alpha. When they established themselves as a pack, Price's and Ghost's alpha-only ruts were rough. Both men bear a number of scars from the warring instinct to rut and to fight another alpha. Neither man was averse to a cock in his ass, but being bitched was another matter altogether, both alphas struggling to take the others' knot until they had first Gaz then Soap join the pack.

Price's role this week is making sure there is enough food and water for Ghost and whomever is helping him. There's a pallet of waters in the boot and a wholesale box of granola bars. While Soap and Gaz unpack the car, Price sets up the bed in the first floor master suite with protective pads. Price also makes up an air mattress in the second floor office. It's not comfortable, but for a handful of days, it's doable. He works hard not to think about his rut in a few months. How, if you're pack by then, he won't take his rut with Gaz or Soap but with you, sinking into your slick heat.

He knows Ghost's struggling with having you on the team but not part of the pack yet, which is why he brought a little treat for Ghost. As they rolled out of their barracks, Price grabbed the throw blanket from the rec room couch and shoved it into a plastic tote. It was a shared blanket, yes, but you'd been wrapping yourself up in it the last few days because the barracks were too cold for your omega. Despite your scent blockers keeping them from your true smell, there's a lingering scent of citrus from your toiletries. Any of them would recognize it. Price pulls the blanket out and leaves it in the middle of the master bed for Ghost, even though his own alpha growls and scratches about giving the scent of you away.

It's going to be a long week.

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ahundredtimesover · 14 days ago

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Something About You (03) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: friends au, vacation au, slow burn, romcom-ish vibe; adulting; inspired by AYS; PE teacher!JK and researcher!OC; fluff, comfort, smut (?)

Chapter Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption, minor injury (18+)

Word count: 17.9k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series Summary: You and Jungkook have been friends for a decade. And while he’s the charming and dependable, often reserved boy-next-door, he’s also just been a friend - a constant in your life, a part of a whole, and someone who’s seen all the flawed and probably unattractive sides of you.

A resumption of your friend group’s out-of-town trips has caused you to spend more time with him. And somewhere in between the morning coffee in the forest, running around in the snow, and watching the sunset on a boat, he’s become something more. And you’re not quite sure how to deal with it.

🎶: Beautiful Soul by Jesse McCartney || Yes or No by Jungkook

A/N: My favorite Koo look! Hope you're enjoying this series so far!

[From: kook] Leaving in a bit. Be there in 20.”

You turn off your laptop camera and quickly give Jungkook a call, wanting him to hear your cutesy, pleading voice for this request.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asks on the other end.

“Hello to my amazing friend. I’ve run out of tea and I really need one,” you cry out. “Do you think you can get or make me a cup? Please?”

“Sure, there’s a cafe near my place,” he chuckles. “Anything specific?”

“Chamomile or jasmine,” you respond. “Thank you! I’ll see you in a bit!”

You end the call and quickly get back to your meeting, your fourth one of the day, and it’s only been seven hours since you clocked in at work. You’re thankful for work-from-home Fridays but somehow they’re even more tiring, at least recently, given the upcoming holidays and people taking their respective leaves.

Like many at your firm, it’s your last day before you take a few weeks off then return in early January. Everyone’s doing end-of-year meetings and pre-planning for next year. There are financial reports to submit and project updates to consolidate. You were able to get all the paperwork done overnight so you could focus on your meetings during the day and you just can’t wait for it to be over so you can completely switch off.

“I guess that wraps it up,” your manager says after you provide a progress summary of all your ongoing research projects. “You got everything on-track and we’ll be starting next year on a good note. Thank you, ___. You deserve this break.”

“We all do,” you smile. “Enjoy the break, everyone! I’ll see you next year.”

You end the meeting and drop your head on your desk. Today was a marathon and you feel like you’re still running on adrenaline so you take deep breaths to calm yourself down. You’ve got a couple of days of vacation with your friends and then several more with your family when you go to your hometown and that technically starts right now.

So you turn off your laptop, clear out your desk, and do a final check of your things before dressing up in time for Jungkook’s arrival in five minutes.

He’s already standing by the trunk of his car when you scurry down the driveway and drag your luggage to meet him. You apologize for making him wait but he waves you off to say that it’s okay. You load your things and quickly get into the passenger seat.

“Here’s your tea,” Jungkook says, handing you a hot cup that you excitedly receive.

You take a sip and hum in satisfaction at its warmth. The scent and the taste are already making you feel better, and you sink in your seat at the comfort it gives you. Releasing a drawn out hum, you feel your muscles slowly relax.

“Looked like you needed that, huh?” Jungkook says as he starts driving.

You’re both headed to the airport where you'll meet your other friends who are on their way there after work, too. Living close to Jungkook, he offered to pick you up so that there’s only one of your cars you’ll leave at the parking for the duration of your trip to Sapporo.

“Totally. I was up until 4AM getting all of my paper work done,” you sigh.

“And what time did you wake up?”

“7:30.”

“Yah, that’s not a healthy sleeping habit,” he reprimands you.

“Says the guy who used to do exactly that,” you point out.

“Those were college days. I’m an adult now, you know? I get at least seven hours of sleep because any less and I’d be a dysfunctional mess.”

“It’s so weird how we’re at that age where we require a lot of hours of sleep but then in 10 years’ time, our body will just decide it can survive with four.”

“We produce less melatonin as we age,” he informs you. “But you know what’s funny about my 4 - 10 AM sleeping pattern before? People thought I was up studying but I was really just playing video games for most of it.”

“Oh I’m not surprised,” you shake your head. “I already knew you're the one who influenced Jimin’s sleeping habits. He used to follow a strict curfew and then you messed it up.”

“Yeah and now he thanks me because he’s now used to it. He says it’s how he survives his job.”

“Working in advertising requires that, I guess,” you frown. “At least he gets to have a break. At least we all do! I am completely shutting off so please call me out if I talk about work.”

“Sure, that’ll be fun,” he chuckles. “Can I call you out on other things, too?”

You make a face at him and say he’ll do that anyway even if you tell him not to.

You yawn for the third time in the past minute and Jungkook turns to you.

“Sleep. It’s a long drive so might as well get some of your energy back,” he says. “I’ll wake you up when we’re there.”

“Okay,” you say as you yawn again. “If I snore… just suck it up.”

He playfully rolls his eyes then points to the lever that adjusts the seat so you can lie down more comfortably. He puts some mellow music on and you fall asleep instantly, curled against your arms and soft snores escaping you.

Jungkook can only laugh to himself as he sneaks glances at you during the ride. It was about a month ago when he told himself that the way to deal with this maybe harmless and fleeting crush he has for you is to spend less time together. That was only slightly possible because there was some lunch or dinner with your friends every weekend, but it wasn’t as if not seeing you meant he wasn’t thinking about you.

Of course he still was. He thought about you a lot and wondered how you were doing. For the first time, he was thankful for his stressful job and the busy days of making student reports for the end of the semester, which meant he couldn’t always meet you every time you asked if he was done with work or if he was in the area where you were. He was always tempted to just drop things to see you but he knew that would make things more complicated for him.

But then again, he hasn’t even fully grasped exactly what he feels yet. Is it admiration? A newfound fondness? Did he just need to rid himself of some past baggage that he didn’t even realize he was carrying for things to make sense to him?

Regardless, he knew that spending more time with you - for an extended period of time, and in close proximity - isn’t going to make things easier. But Taehyung just had to spring this trip on all of you and no one could refuse because he’s actually the other baby of the group that everyone has a soft spot for and he’s leaving for who knows how long again in a few months.

Jungkook’s not complaining at the least because he’d go anywhere with his friends. He just finds it a bit comical that this is exactly what he said he shouldn’t be doing but here he is now - on another long drive with you asleep next to him, with a two-plus hour flight ahead to a city he always wanted to go to, and a few days of winter coldness that might cause him to seek your warmth in one way or another. Or you might seek his for all he knows and that might actually be worse.

He just shakes his head and focuses on the road after glancing at you again. He’s not really the type to overthink things. He’s fared well in most aspects of his life by going with the flow and dealing with whatever comes his way.

Though his relationships are another story, he supposes those youthful years were characterised by a level of insecurity and lack of trust in himself that made him hold onto things that didn’t feel right. He thinks he’s a lot more mature now - he’ll have conviction in whatever he feels for you, whatever it is, and he’ll accept rejection if that’s where it’ll lead to.

He’ll see where things go but for now, what matters is that he, you, and all of your friends get to enjoy this trip as much as possible.

Jungkook finally makes it to the airport and checks in his car for a few days of parking. He wakes you up and you take a while to open your eyes. He pats your head when you do and reminds you that you’ll have more time to sleep on the plane.

You dazedly drag your luggage and you pout at Jungkook who giggles at your sleepy state.

“I’m so tired,” you pout at him as you both make your way to the check-in area where the rest of your friends are waiting.

“I can tell. Let’s just get through the gates and then you can sleep somewhere there, okay?”

You nod as if you’ll cry any moment, and part of him wants to just pull you close so you can lean on him while you sleep but that might be too unexpected so he just puts his hand on your shoulder to stop you from falling.

“Princess can’t stay awake?” Jimin’s voice cuts through the airport chatter.

“She barely got any sleep last night and she had meetings all day,” Jungkook informs your friends who have gathered where you are.

“Aww, poor thing,” Jimin hums as he hugs you, and you respond by hugging him tighter.

“Let’s get to the gates then,” Yoongi orders. “There are lots of places we can eat and rest at.”

You all line up and slowly get through the check-in line before you’re able to head to the gates. Gyu-rim finds a table big enough for 12 at a restaurant and while all of them order their meals, you stay seated, with your head on Jimin’s shoulder and on your way to dreamland once again.

“Let’s take turns,” Mo-eum tells him, as she finishes her rice bowl first then shifts your head to lean on hers after.

You briefly wake up to have a few spoonfuls of your bulgogi before offering the rest to Jungkook and then taking quick naps again. You’ve seriously never been this tired. But you feel like your body knew it could afford to just shut down because you’re on vacation. It just didn’t plan it well enough because you’re in the middle of the airport, just randomly dozing off.

You finally board the plane and find that you’re seated next to Jungkook who’s on the window seat, and Taehyung and Mo-eum are on the row in front of you, while an aisle separates you from Jimin. It’s a good enough arrangement, and Jungkook helps you load your carry-on in the overhead compartment before you take your seat and immediately rest your head on his shoulder.

It’s a natural thing for you to do, and you suppose your friends are used to you by now. You make yourself comfortable then look up to smile at Jungkook.

“I’m gonna fall asleep once we take-off,” you tell him.

“I’m sure you will,” he chuckles, as he looks through the emergency instructions.

“Have we sat next to each other on a flight before?” You ask.

“Uh, I think this one flight to Jeju,” Jungkook responds. “But that was some time ago. I might’ve been asleep then.”

“Hmm, that’s why,” you hum.

“What?”

“I didn’t realize how comfy you are.”

“It’s probably the clothes, ___,” he reasons, more to himself. “I need them to be fluffy and warm because it’s winter.”

You adjust yourself again before resettling your head on his side.

“Maybe.”

Jungkook doesn’t overthink it. You’ve leaned on his shoulder lots of times before. This isn’t out of the ordinary. But with you pointing out that you haven’t really sat next to each other on flights before reminds him again of how you’ve always just been part of the whole. And now he’s got this time and proximity with you and it’s comforting but also exciting.

Even if yes, he’s just playing games on his phone while you flick through the airplane magazine while waiting for take-off. Once you’re up in the air and the seatbelt light has turned off, you push back your seat and start dozing off.

Your head keeps slipping from the position it’s in, even as he tries to straighten it so you don’t hurt your neck in the process. Perhaps out of discomfort, you briefly wake up to unlatch the table then lay the pillow and your head on it. Even then, it constantly bounces from the slight turbulence so you sit back again and shift your body in search of the right position.

Jungkook sees you cross your arms against your chest and assumes you’re cold, but just as he’s about to cover you with his airline-provided blanket, Mo-eum peeks her head from between the seats.

“She needs to hug something when she’s asleep,” your best friend says.

“Oh, uh—”

You curl your body in the seat and snore softly, and Jungkook can sense your body’s need for a proper position. So he lightly taps you awake, grabs a spare hoodie from his bag on the floor, then places it on his lap. He gestures towards it and you take the offer, immediately pulling up the arm rest and laying half of your body on top of his.

You bend your legs and adjust yourself. You have your pillow on top of his jacket that’s on top of his lap, your blanket over you and then his blanket for you to hug. You release a low moan then your breathing steadies. Figuring out your position must’ve tired you, but with how fast you’ve fallen asleep, he figures you’ve found the right one.

Is he glad it’s on his lap? Not exactly, and only because it’s a kind of closeness he’s not used to with you, and he’s worried he’d look for it. But it doesn’t matter because you’re comfortable and he’d gladly help you get that much deserved rest in whatever way. Even if it’s at the cost of his stupid heart.

Mo-eum peeks again to check on you and giggles when she sees where you ended up. She turns around and kneels on her seat to take a photo of you slumped on Jungkook’s lap while the said man poses.

“Cute,” she smiles, before sitting back down and showing it to her seatmate.

It prompts Taehyung to turn around, too, laughing under his breath at how Jungkook is trying to figure out where to place his hands, now that you’ve hijacked his personal space.

But Jungkook does figure it out, as he holds onto your arm to keep you from falling in case there’s another turbulence. Thankfully there isn’t, and when it’s announced that the plane will now start its descent so everyone must sit upright, he wakes you up and tells you that you’ll be landing soon.

You were in deep sleep and having a good dream that you don’t remember and the next thing you know, someone’s shaking your arm and telling you to wake up. Feeling like you’re on a bed, you shift your body and stretch your arms. But then you hear a groan and you look up to see Jungkook glaring at you.

“Did I hit your face?” You gasp, suddenly sitting up then turning his chin to check any damage. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“You hit my jaw,” he groans. “But yeah, I’m fine.”

“Oops,” you sweetly smile.

“Hey, you don’t apologize like that to me or Jimin when you hit our faces,” Taehyung remarks, turning his head and cocking his eyebrow.

“That’s because Kook has a precious nose that must always be protected,” you reply with a straight face. “You don’t.”

“Yah!” Jungkook exclaims, knowing it’s a running joke in your group.

He pinches you in retaliation but you giggle at him and pinch his cheeks in response.

“I’m kidding. Thanks, Kook. I’ve regained my energy and now I feel ready to take on the day,” you confidently say.

“___, it’s 9:30 PM,” Jungkook deadpans.

“I’m really hungry, too,” you add, disregarding his statement.

“So now we have to deal with an energetic and hungry you? At this hour?” Jungkook groans.

“Order food with me when we get to the hotel?” You ask, not minding his complaints.

“And if it’s closed?”

“The convenience store, then!”

“Now I’m the one who’s tired.”

“No, you’re not! You can’t be!” You pout at him with your puppy eyes.

“Fine, whatever,” he gives in as he always does.

You’re talking about the dream you don’t remember when the sight of the snow-capped streets catches Jungkook’s attention. You see his doe-eyes go wide and he looks so innocent, but you understand the amusement - it looks stunning outside and you can’t wait to bury yourself in the pillowy ice and breathe in the chilly air.

Both of you just look out while waiting to land and disembark. You manage to get all your luggage quickly then head to three separate rented cars to drive to your lodging for tonight.

The hotel restaurant isn’t taking orders anymore so you announce to the group that you and Jungkook are going to the convenience store across the street. Jimin, Namjoon, and Suhyeon join you, and you’re skipping out the lobby to get your snacks in no time.

Jungkook tells you to be careful because the roads are slippery but you show-off your sliding skills that make you feel like you’re ice skating. He copies you and shows off, too, speeding his leg movements as he walks down an icier path.

But then he slips and falls to the ground, and you can’t help the way you laugh at his mishap. You can hear your other three friends laughing as they walk towards you, and Jungkook remains lying on the ground, laughing, too.

“You’re so clumsy,” you mock him, as it’s one of the things he says to you whenever you fall or hit something.

“I was just trying to show you what not to do,” he makes a face before taking the hand you’ve reached out for him to take. “So don’t go skating and shit, okay? You might hurt yourself.”

“I won’t. I’m not a show-off nor a klutz,” you say and stick your tongue out.

He frowns at you then pulls you by your cheek to enter the store.

You, Jimin, and Jungkook stay together while you go around and drop various things in your basket that you think Taehyung and Mo-eum would like, too. You all get some chips, matcha cookies, chocolates, mini-cakes, instant ramen, beer... and about a dozen tuna mayo triangle kimbap because Jungkook is obsessed with them. You meet Namjoon and Suhyeon at the counter where they’ve filled their basket with a bunch of other things as well then head back to the hotel.

As is often the arrangement, the five of you share a suite while your seven other friends share one as well, and you make your way to the living room where all your purchases have been dumped on the table.

Being that you barely had dinner and Jungkook’s stomach is a bottomless pit, both of you make ramen and get one rice ball each while the rest munch on snacks and dessert. Spread across the couch and the floor, you all hold up your beer cans and make a toast to this trip.

Later that night, you watch the snow fall from the window as you sip the chamomile tea that Jungkook bought for you at the store. The city is beautiful at this hour and it feels cozy and romantic and exciting yet peaceful all at once. It’s a kind of feeling you’ve always wanted to experience, and now you know how a place can make you feel that way.

Like all the times your mind has travelled somewhere, you suddenly wonder if it’s possible with a person. And if maybe, somewhere in this town, they’re right by their window, thinking the same thing, too.

You wake up to the sound of your alarm the next morning. For the brief moment right before you open your eyes, you feel that sense of relief over what turned out to be a really good sleep.

Despite being knocked out the whole flight then eating and drinking late at night, you managed to get enough rest. You’ve truly switched off now. All you can think about are the sights you’ll see and food you’ll eat and all the time you’ll spend just walking through the snowy streets.

The last time you all went to Japan, it was an action-packed trip. You went to amusement parks and went partying at night. This time, everyone decided on taking things slow. Sapporo’s perfect for that, and you suppose it’s what you all need.

Sitting up from the bed, you see that you’ve kicked your blanket off the edge while Mo-eum is cocooned under the sheets. You like the cold and you wish you had the aircon at a lower temperature, but your best friend freezes easily so you let the room stay warm.

You tap her on the foot as an attempt to wake her up before heading out to the living area. The boys are in the other room and they seem to still be asleep. Wanting to see how the sun shines on the street outside, you pull open the curtains to let the light in and the way it does makes things look more enchanting.

But then a grunting sound disrupts your moment, prompting you to turn around.

It takes five seconds for you to notice Jungkook, who had camouflaged on the black couch with his black shirt and sweatpants and his arms behind his head. He seems to have slept there, as evidenced by the rearranged pillows and his half-lidded eyes gazing at you. The sun probably woke him up, so you apologize and try to close the curtains but he tells you it’s okay.

“Did you sleep here?” You ask, as you sit on the other end of where he is.

He groggily nods his yes.

“It was too hot in the room. Tae and Jimin had the aircon on fan mode.”

“Oh, that sucks,” you say. “Mo-eum had the temp high, too, and I ended up kicking my blanket on the floor. I like it cold.”

“Me, too,” Jungkook hums. “Good thing the couch is comfy.”

“You and Mo-eum can just switch places then,” you suggest. “The three warmies can stay in one room and you and I can enjoy a cold night.”

If Jungkook wasn’t awake five seconds ago, now he is. It’s not like he’s never shared a room with you before but with his little feelings recently, it might as well be the first time. He knows he can stay up with you just talking or saying nothing at all. You could also pass out and snore like crazy but then again, he wouldn’t mind that either. It’ll just be something new he’d tease you about, as if your snoring video that he shows to your friends isn’t enough.

“Sounds good,” he manages to say.

Yawning as he stretches, he asks you what the itinerary is for the day.

“Do you not read the group chat?” You laugh at him. “The schedule is pinned on there.”

“Not really.”

“How do you ever know what’s going on, then?”

“I wait for Jimin or Tae to tell me when it’s about something important because they know I don’t check messages,” he shrugs.

“You’re weird,” you playfully roll your eyes. “But anyway. We’re gonna have lunch, go to a beer museum, go to a mountain, check the–”

“You’re climbing?” He exclaims.

“We go by cable car, duh! Do you expect me to climb? In this weather?”

“You wouldn’t do it either way.”

“Excuse me, I climbed that mountain in Chungbuk,” you remind him.

“You mean I dragged you,” he chuckles. “And come on, ___. That wasn’t a mountain mountain. It was a short hike because we were already on the mountain. I just wanted to know if I had to drag your ass again or something.”

You make faces while he talks, prompting him to hit you with the small pillow.

“Yah!” You whine, hitting him back.

Jungkook turns into a childish man when he’s challenged or provoked. He tends to be nonchalant about most things but you also know that he likes to play around and tease. He also likes to show off his athleticism and agility because now, as you try to hit him back again, he’s effectively dodging you while landing his pillow shots on your face.

“Kook, I’m gonna get your annoying ass,” you groan, grabbing the bigger pillow and then hitting him a little harder, knowing it’s not gonna affect him anyway.

This dude is built like a brick. It just doesn’t seem like it because he’s always in loose clothes, but you know enough that not much hurts him. But you’re so into the pillow fight that he ends up lying down on the couch while you sit on top of him, your legs wrapped around his waist, and he’s there chuckling and blocking your hits.

You take a rest, essentially giving him an opening. But instead of attacking, he turns to you and places his hands behind his head.

“Okay fine, I’ll let you make one last hit then we call it quits,” he says, challenging you.

You consider it, and as you act like you’re going to smack his face, you instead drop the pillow and make a tiny pinch on the sliver of his stomach that’s been exposed from all his movements. He yelps in pain and you manage to get off him in time, or else he would’ve easily wrestled you or turned you over.

He chases after you to the kitchen though, and you’re definitely not fast enough for the Jeon Jungkook. Before you know it, you’re getting pulled by your shirt and being tickled in your torso that you easily give up, facing him in submission then catching your breath.

“You’re such a brat,” he frowns. “That hurt.”

He slightly raises his shirt and discovers the red mark on his stomach that you caused.

You gasp in surprise; you didn’t realize you hurt him that bad. You pout then hug him - a reflex almost because this is how you apologize to your friends when you get a little too intense - and apologize.

“Nah, a hug won’t cut it,” he says, not returning the act.

You look up at him with sorry eyes.

“Coffee?”

“Nope.”

“A 6-pack in the beer museum later?” You sweetly smile, knowing that’s his weakness.

He gives in. “Deal.”

“Wow, that was easy,” you chuckle as you let go of him.

“You leave a mark, you get me beer. It’s that simple,” he shrugs.

“I bet it didn’t even really hurt,” you cock an eyebrow.

“___, it’s literally red. Look. It might even have a bit of your nail stuck in there.”

He pulls up his shirt again to show you the crescent on his abdomen and though you feel sorry, you also can’t help but tease.

“Show-off,” you stick your tongue out.

“Hey, I worked hard on that.”

“I’m sure, and they look great,” you flash a smile.

“Kook, why are you giving ___ a private show this early in the morning?” Jimin says as he enters the kitchen.

Jungkook tries not to look scandalized at the comment even if he knows it’s just his best friend’s way of teasing.

“She pinched me.”

“The tiny, painful kind?” Jimin asks.

“Yes. And I was just showing her the damage.”

Jimin turns to you with a disapproving look. “You’re a brat.”

“I said I was sorry,” you pout at Jungkook again.

You look adorable and he can’t really be angry.

“She’ll make it up to me with beer at least.”

“That’s not too bad,” Jimin laughs. “Just be her punching bag and you’ll end up with lots of free things.”

Jungkook chuckles in agreement and proceeds to boil water for coffee. It’s 10:30 AM and you’re set to meet the rest of your friends in an hour for lunch, so you munch on another triangle kimbap and some snacks then get dressed.

As you’re going down the stairs to the lobby, you slow down to walk with Jungkook and you turn to him.

“You’re not mad, right? I’m sorry again,” you say softly.

There’s an innocence in your eyes as you utter the words and Jungkook has to stop himself from engulfing you in a hug.

It’s fondness, he convinces himself. It’s this tenderness that always cuts through at the end that gets him. You can be playful and rowdy and unforgiving sometimes but you’re affectionate and gentle and it catches him off guard. He doesn’t know why it’s never affected him like this before because he knows you’ve been like this to him before.

“I’m not,” he says, nudging your shoulder in assurance. “It’s stopped hurting and your nail marks will go away. You’re all good.”

“Good. We don’t want blemishes on those pretty abs,” you wink.

He laughs in your wake. He hopes the fondness he feels for you stays. He also hopes that’s all there really is.

The ramen place you find for lunch is a tiny restaurant that manages to fit all of you. You and Taehyung moan in satisfaction at the richness of the broth, content with your weak people’s palette that can only handle the lowest level of spiciness, whereas Jimin next to you winces because he definitely didn’t expect his level 7 to be that hot. But still, he says it’s one of the most delicious things he’s ever eaten and you’d have to agree.

The restaurant is buzzing in chatter and laughter because of all of you, especially when Gyu-rim calls out Jungkook’s bottomless pit of a stomach once again.

He ordered chashu don with his ramen but is on his second serving of the rice bowl after Suhyeon offered the one she couldn’t finish.

“You know how normal people stop eating after they’re full?” He says. “I end up eating five more portions.”

“Oh, we know,” most of you answer in unison.

“How good is it anyway?” You ask.

“Dude, it’s so good,” he moans, furrowing his brows; he tends to look angry when the food is delicious.

You open your mouth to signal that you want to try it and Jungkook prepares a spoonful for you. He’s about to hand it over but then you stand and lean over the table, so he feeds you and tips the spoon to make sure you get everything in your mouth.

It’s something he’s done with you lots of times before but this feels different. There’s that fuzzy feeling of doing this intimate act for you, even as a friend.

Because it’s just that, he reminds himself - an act of affection towards a person dear to him.

You hum with a full mouth with how good it is and urge Mo-eum to try as well, so Jungkook feeds her, too - something completely normal that doesn't elicit any unusual warm feeling. But he can’t keep his eyes off you still chewing your food while asking for another spoonful with the ramen broth this time after he said it was even better together.

You lean over again and Yoongi tells you to just order your own.

“We’re not in a rush. We can stay here for as long as you all want,” Hoseok - the one who keeps you all on track with schedules during your trips - says.

You smile in response then scurry to the ticket machine to order more. You’re served two bowls not long after, and you announce that you got another one so each person can try it at least once, starting with Jimin who gets two spoonfuls.

You prepare one yourself and lean over to Jungkook to feed him this time. He’s caught off guard but he opens his mouth in time before you complain that he’s taking too long. Returning to your seat, you get another bite for yourself then another.

“Yah, I gave you two spoonfuls,” Jungkook reminds you.

“Get from the other bowl,” you frown at him. “That’s why I got two!”

He laughs, only wanting to rile you up, but he does finish what your friends couldn’t, and there he goes again with his unnecessary fifth portion.

Once you’ve finished, you head to a local park that’s covered in snow. Jimin immediately runs and dives on one of the mounds he sees and you follow, loving the pillowy ice almost as much as he does. Soon enough, Mo-eum, Jungkook, and Taehyung are next to you, lying down and making snow angels, all the while giggling like little kids.

Your seven older friends all stand around and watch with the softest smiles on their faces.

“This is why we came here, right?” Hoseok hums. “To watch them be like this?”

“It’s like I’m watching our grown up children,” Yoongi says.

“We’re two years apart,” Gyu-rim points out. “They’re not that young.”

“I don’t know. I kinda feel like they are,” Yoongi replies.

“You’re just old,” she counters, quietly laughing when the other man chuckles to himself.

It’s a struggle getting off the ground when it’s so soft and cold. But your jacket is also added weight and you’re scolding yourself for not being agile like your friends who can easily get up and then run further into the park.

“Kook, help me,” you plead with your legs bent to your sides and your one arm raised. “I can’t carry myself.”

Jungkook sighs but pulls you anyway. You pant as you try to walk towards the frozen pond and he teases by saying that you probably need a piggyback ride or something.

“Will you give me one?” You smile sweetly.

“Nope,” he smiles back, and you pout at him in return.

He easily could, but Jungkook - normally - likes to tease you. He gives in most times, but he’s been trying to recall how he was prior to these possible feelings surfacing and he remembers that there were times when he turned you down or argued with you first before granting your request.

He’s trying to balance it out for that sense of normalcy he wants to maintain. He can’t have anyone, especially you, suspecting him of treating you differently, even if deep down, he wants to give you that piggyback ride or hold your hand while dragging you all the way to the center of the park.

But he goes with the latter. Similar to what he did during your hike months ago, he pulls you by the wrist until you reach the pond.

He watches you look around in awe. He does the same while stealing glances and he hopes no one notices. He’s not really ready to explain himself to anyone about something he’s still trying to make sense of.

The hour flies by. You spend it just walking around and having mini snowball fights where you all ban Jungkook because he was making snow boulders and burying Jimin in them. You buy coffee from a park stall and finish it by the time you’re back in your cars.

You head to a Beer Museum after. The building itself is stunning and you spend time just admiring it. Inside, you explore Sapporo and Hokkaido’s history and take time reading and watching the information presented. Jungkook, of course, heads straight away to the tasting section and begins eyeing which drinks he wants to sample.

He loves beer, which is ironic for a PE teacher who teaches his students about healthy living but like he says, too much of something is what makes it unhealthy. Plus, there are doctors who have worse vices and so he gets a pass.

And maybe he’s right. Jungkook has a high tolerance for many things and he knows when to stop but you also know he truly enjoys the taste, and not just the social aspect of drinking it.

You’re still exploring, as you’re more interested in learning more than drinking, but most of your friends have already gone ahead, with only Suhyeon and Hoseok walking alongside you.

“Don’t forget that you promised me a six-pack,” Jungkook reminds you once you get to him.

“Why, what did you do?” Gyu-rim asks you, knowing that’s the only reason you’d agree to buy Jungkook something.

“She pinched me on the stomach this morning and it left a mark,” Jungkook narrates. “It hurt like hell.”

“Is that why you were showing your abs to ___ in the kitchen?” Taehyung asks. “I was half asleep but I saw you. I thought you were being kinky or something.”

“I said the same thing!” Jimin exclaims, causing your friends to laugh.

“Yah! I had to show her proof because she didn’t wanna believe me!” Jungkook defends.

“Because you don’t even get hurt!” You answer back.

“Wow, that’s deep,” Jimin hums. “And totally off-mark. Kook is a sensitive one.”

“Yeah, but his body isn’t,” you pout, knowing exactly what your best friend means.

Jungkook laughs it off then returns to his beer tasting, claiming that he wants three cans of two different exclusive flavors. You agree and taste them at his insistence and decide to buy a variety of alcohol as well.

It’s close to sunset when you finish, then you all head to Mt. Moiwa for some scenery. It’s a chilly and entertaining ride to the top, with Hoseok and Jimin going from amused to terrified in seconds, and you’re glad you decided to join their cable car instead of Jungkook and Mo-eum who’d probably be dancing around because they’re not really scared of anything.

As you expected, the view is pretty special. Everything is blanketed in snow and the city lights add that urban charm. You stay there until the sun has completely set before going to your final stop of the night - the Christmas Market. It’s something you’ve always wanted to experience, so all of you walk through the streets and look at every stall for something to buy or taste.

Jimin and Yoongi try some mulled wine and Namjoon buys some cute figurines. Seokjin and Hayoung buy something to commemorate their last overseas trip before getting married, and you and Suhyeon munch on a pretzel.

And then there’s Jungkook - a gourmet sausage on one hand and a donut on the other.

“Kook, we still have dinner. You know that, right?” Hoseok laughs from next to him, clearly amused at how his younger friend can still have an appetite.

“Of course he does, that’s why he’s eating all this now so he has space for more later on,” Gyu-rim states. “Go on, Kook. Eat to your heart’s content.”

You stand next to Jungkook as you wait for Suhyeon who said she’ll order hot chocolate for you.

“Is it good?” You ask.

“Yup,” he mumbles. “Try some!”

Like always, you open your mouth and he feeds you the donut, prompting you to complain that sweets always go last. He just laughs at you and waits for you to finish chewing before letting you bite off his sausage.

“That’s good,” you hum, uncaring about the juice that drips on the side of your mouth.

“Yah,” Jungkook groans. He takes his napkin and wipes it off your face. “Are you a child?”

“You literally eat with sauce all over your face,” you call him out.

“And you’ve never wiped them off. Gee, thanks,” he counters.

“You’re an adult.”

“And so are you,” he chuckles while he continues to wipe you clean.

You stand there, clad in a loose jacket and a beanie that makes you look adorable, and he can’t help but smile once again. You’re such a handful sometimes but he likes this. He likes giving in to your requests and watching you enjoy it and maybe cleaning up your mess, too. He likes seeing you appreciate the things that he does. He likes knowing you’re curious about what he’s up to and then sharing it with him.

He doesn’t recall ever caring this much but he’s down that slope of finding everything you do so captivating that he might as well smile every time you breathe.

Suddenly he feels silly, and he makes a face at you to mask whatever he’s feeling.

You leave him once Suhyeon calls and Jungkook’s left there to shake his head and internally scold himself to get it together.

You return to the hotel, drop your things in your rooms, then head to the restaurant for dinner. It’s a spread of premium meat, hotpot that tastes like cabbage water, and some of the freshest seafood you’ve ever had.

You jump in your seat in delight and Jungkook does the same. After all the bickering, you know that both of you love food so much even if he enjoys it because he knows how it’s supposed to taste, whereas for you, most things are just delicious. It’s just funny that you’re only realizing now that both of you react to things pretty much the same way.

You’re back in the suite by 10 PM, and the five of you take turns in the bathroom while the boys play a card game with push-ups as punishment for the loser while you and Mo-eum act as both penalty enforcer and cheerleader.

The tiredness from the day slowly creeps in so you all retire to your rooms, upholding this morning’s agreement about who’s sleeping where.

Jungkook lies down on Mo-eum’s bed and half wishes that he’ll fall asleep soon so that he doesn’t have to spend more of this time alone with you. The last time that happened, his heart was doing weird things and now that might just happen again.

He starts to slowly doze off when your voice wakes him up.

“Do you want to put on a face mask?”

“Uhm, okay,” he stupidly gives in easily.

You grab two packs and a mirror from your pouch then try to put the mask on properly. You turn to Jungkook who now kneels next to you, as if asking him to fix it. He shifts it a little before putting one on himself. He turns to you as well and you flatten the edges, making sure you spread the serum from his jaw down to his neck, completely unaware of how you’re affecting him.

For some reason, you decide to sit in the space between the beds so Jungkook follows suit. There’s not much distance between the both of you but this isn’t the first time. He supposes he’ll just keep doing what he’s been trying to do - try to act normal while also figuring out exactly what he feels without making it obvious that something has changed.

“Today was good,” you hum. “I liked playing in the snow and walking around. And now it’s 12 AM but we’re not passed out. What a change from years ago.”

“Such a change,” he laughs, reminiscing about your post-university trips where you were finally earning money and spending it on shopping and partying. “Hong Kong was the worst.”

You and Jimin were drunk and entered the wrong hotel, and Jungkook was the one who looked for you and dragged your asses out of there before you fought the hotel staff for not letting you into your room.

You remember that night and smile behind your mask. “Oops.”

“So yeah, this trip is good,” he chuckles. “We just get to relax and do whatever we want and actually remember everything and you know, not end up fighting strangers and stuff.”

You laugh in response.

“I liked the park, too. And my free beer. Thanks again, ___.”

You’re reminded of your comment from earlier about him not getting hurt. It’s not that deep but given the conversations you’ve been having with him and the things you know that the others don’t, it may not have been the best thing to say.

“What I said when we were at the museum…” you start. “I know it might have a double meaning but you know what I meant.”

It takes a while for him to figure out what you’re referring to but when he does, he just shakes his head.

“I know what you meant and it’s totally fine. I didn’t take it the wrong way.”

“But still, I’m sorry,” you mutter.

“It’s okay. Why are you always apologizing though?”

“Because I… don’t wanna do or say anything that’ll hurt you,” you admit. “I mean duh, I don’t want to do that to any of my friends but with you, it’s different.”

Jungkook’s thankful that of all the times he agreed to put on a mask, it was tonight, because at least you can’t see the way his face falls at your statement.

Different? What does that mean? Surely it can’t mean the same different he feels towards you because you haven’t acted out of the ordinary with him at all.

But you’re unpredictable sometimes and he doesn’t really know what to expect.

“What do you mean?” He manages to ask.

“Like… it’s simple and unproblematic. We bicker, we tease, we comfort each other… You’re there when I need you; I’m there when you need me, but we don’t need each other all the time. You get what I mean? We’re close but not–”

“Too close?” He finishes.

“Yeah, and it’s a good thing,” you clarify. “It’s not like with Jimin where we get on each other’s nerves all the time but we worry about the other just as much. But that’s always how we’ve been. And with Tae… I miss him so much when he’s away but I can’t tell him that because I don’t want him to worry. And he worries a lot and that affects him.”

“Tae does worry a lot about you. At one point I thought there was…”

“Something more?” You chuckle, and Jungkook nods in response.

It’s something he asked his friend years ago but Taehyung insisted there wasn’t anything.

“I pushed myself so hard in university. And when I worked there after graduation, I lost myself for a bit and Tae was just always there. I guess I became dependent on him as a friend to an extent,” you explain. “So a bit of that still lingers. I want to tell him things but not every little thing so he doesn’t worry. And Jimin’s like family and families fight sometimes. All of that said, you and I have always been… normal, for lack of a better term.”

Jungkook hums, as he tries to find the right words to say. But he gets it. It’s not like he was ever jealous about your closeness with Taehyung or Jimin; it was just a fact he accepted because it had always been like that. A big part of it was definitely because he had Joo-yun early on, and that kept him from developing a closer bond with you unlike his friends.

And while he regretted the part where he could’ve gotten closer to you much earlier, he supposes maybe it wasn’t that bad. Like you said, what both of you share is simple and unproblematic. There are no expectations, no fights, no secrets.

Well, maybe now there is, and Jungkook is a little guilty for feeling things while you continue believing that everything between both of you is simple. He reminds himself there are no expectations on his end and that as far as he knows, he’s not fully acting on whatever he feels. He’s just… going with the flow.

He recalls that conversation at your apartment about both of you wishing you’d been better friends to each other back then. For him, it was about knowing your struggles and being there for you. Perhaps it was that distance that led to this kind of friendship you have now. He stops himself short of thinking that while this is normal, so is getting used to each other and developing feelings. You’re not a believer of friends turning into lovers so maybe your definition of normal is also different.

He wills his thoughts to stop forming right now, not when you’re in the middle of something pretty serious. He wants to assure you that he’ll keep that unspoken promise you made about being better friends to each other. On one hand, that could mean not crossing any line and keeping things simple, like you said. On the other hand, it might also mean just being honest and making you feel comfortable in being the same.

“I don’t want to do or say anything that’ll hurt you, too,” he finally says. “Tell me if I do, yeah?”

“I will,” you nod, and he can sense a smile behind the mask. “Can I be honest though? It’s hard to continue being serious when you look like that.”

He nudges your knee. “You’re the one who wanted to put this on!”

“I know, but then I got carried away,” you laugh, pulling the sheet mask off your face now and throwing it in the trash. “We’ve been having more deep conversations lately, Kook. It’s like we turned 28 and then poof, we became mature.”

“It doesn’t work that way but sure, ___,” he chuckles, clearing his face now, too. “I think experience does that. We realize what we want for ourselves and others, what we’re willing to tolerate, and what we want to focus our energy on. And we’re barely 30. We’re not even close to our peak.”

“So I’m gonna be even more mature?” You gasp. “Are you gonna be ready for that?”

“Okay, much as I’d like to tease you, you honestly don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re wise and mature and deep and shit, and not just because you’re an intellectual,” he clarifies. “You’re a smart person who also feels things, and I think maturity stems from that.”

“Hmm, I suppose,” you say, yawning as you crawl into bed. “But you’re a lot more mature than I am.”

“I’ll take that,” Jungkook smiles.

He lies in bed and turns off the night light. There’s a beat of silence before your sleepy voice echoes in the room.

“Kook?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for always making me feel better about myself. It means a lot.”

Your deep breathing follows and he supposes you’ve already fallen asleep. He wishes he’d said something right away but he couldn’t find the words, like always.

He holds onto the fact that that was your last thought before you knocked out and he was at least awake to hear it. He’s sure you know he heard you and that should be enough.

You wake up much better the next day, given that the room temperature was what you wanted. You were curled under the covers with your feet warm from your socks, and there’s just something refreshing about feeling cold in the morning.

It’s a much earlier call time today, as you’ll be taking a train to a nearby town. You all get ready, and you’re doing your makeup in the living room while you glance at Jungkook doing his morning skincare routine.

You remember a time when Hayoung used to scold him for not wearing sunscreen despite spending all day outdoors. Eventually he developed that habit, including putting on toner and moisturizer. He has a headband on and it causes you to giggle.

Even without trying, Jungkook looks adorable sometimes. His oversized tan hoodie swallows his body. The way his hair falls over his forehead and his large, bright eyes make him look like a boba ball. There’s something so endearing about him as he alternates between two pairs of sunglasses because he can’t figure out which to wear.

“Second one,” you call out. “It settles cutely on your nose.”

“I can’t tell if that’s an insult or…”

“I’m disappointed you’d even think I would ever insult your nose!” You gasp.

Walking towards him, you adjust the black jacket over his hoodie and fix his bangs.

“You’re so dramatic,” he chuckles, feeling his throat immediately dry up with you being so near him.

It’s another one of those normal things you do often that suddenly means more to him now. You’ve also always looked nice barefaced but when you’re made up and this close to him? He wonders if you’ve always been this pretty.

“I mean it. This nose has super powers,” you say, pinching them out of reflex.

“And what does it do?”

“It keeps me from getting angry when I’m hungry. Too cute.”

“You’re so annoying,” he groans, as you laugh and yell out for your other friends to finish up.

They eventually do and you decide to separate from the older ones at least for today’s coffee run. You find a nice cafe and order some drinks and fluffy pancakes that’s perfect for this weather, and then you meet the rest in the train station for this morning’s little excursion.

The coastal train ride to Otaru, especially during winter, is apparently a must-do. And you agree, as you lean your head on Taehyung’s shoulder while the ocean comes into view. It’s so scenic, as the waves crash on the shore, just like that famous painting, and there’s that enchanting feeling once more in seeing the snow-covered town.

The 45-minute trip is spent looking at the views while talking to Mo-eum who sits in front of you, and occasionally taking photos of Jungkook and Jimin right behind you. You savor the simplicity of the experience and the fact that over a decade in, you still get to enjoy this with your friends. To remain this close and to have them so constant is a blessing, and something you don’t ever want to take for granted.

You arrive in the port city and immediately fall in love with it. From the architecture to the historical mansions and quaint streets, it gives such a unique and warm vibe despite the icy winds and snowfall.

You all decide to get hot drinks while you make your way to the frozen canal. There’s so much to see and just like yesterday, you take your time in taking in your surroundings, with the occasional snowball fight care of Jungkook at the expense of poor Jimin. It’s one of the few entertainment sources of the morning. There’s also making a Yoongi snowman and trying your butts at snow sledding using your puffer coats. The film cameras that Jungkook and Hoseok bring capture it all.

The group separates into two when you find a Music Box Museum that you want to explore while Jungkook and Yoongi choose a brewery to taste their season-exclusive drinks. Jimin and Gyu-rim join them so the rest of you head to the stunning building and look through thousands of music boxes and Christmas decorations. You reconvene after two hours and aren’t surprised when the other group brings back a few bottles of liquor that they said they wanted to try tonight.

You choose one of the dozen seafood restaurants on a popular street for lunch and you really can’t go wrong. This, for certain, is the freshest seafood you’ve ever had, and you spend the majority of your time eating just humming in satisfaction at everything you put in your mouth. And laughing, because while you admit to being dramatic sometimes, your friends overtake you in the eating department.

Because there’s Hoseok clapping after every new dish, there’s Jimin bowing his head down while moaning after every bite, there’s Gyu-rim cursing every five minutes, and then there’s Jungkook jumping in his seat and making the most bizarre hand gestures to express how delicious the food is.

It was definitely an experience, and you’re glad that Taehyung insisted on doing this.

You all walk back to the station to look at the other structures and to digest everything you ate. In less than an hour, you’re back in Sapporo and in your hotel room, needing the short break before the long drive to your next destination.

It’s hilarious Japanese reality TV shows and more convenience store snacks for an hour and a half in the living room before you leave late in the afternoon to head to another town.

You decide to sit in the backseat with Taehyung and Mo-eum this time. If it were with any of the other two guys, there’ll definitely be a lot of smacking and pinching and you can’t afford to be violent during the drive. It’s peaceful enough, as you spend it just talking about random things and before you know it, you arrive at a restaurant for your yakiniku fix for dinner.

The sun has set and you spend most of the ride with the windows down. The cold doesn’t seem to bother anyone and it’s just quiet - perhaps sentimental, too - until you reach your rented home for the next three days.

The place is stunning and you all thank Taehyung and Seokjin’s parents for covering your lodging because they said it’s been a while since you’ve been complete and you deserve the luxury this place brings. It’s something they often did and you suppose it’s just a rich family thing to do and you’re not one to complain.

All four bedrooms are on the first floor and like always, the five of you younger ones take the biggest of them, which already has the mattress on the floor anyways that Taehyung calls dibs on. You climb up the stairs to the living and dining rooms and find a huge open space that’s perfect for all of you. It opens to an outdoor area that houses the hot tub and sauna.

You’re glad it’s a detached house. That way, you can laugh and stay up late as much as you want and it won’t bother anyone. You can’t wait to spend your nights here.

It’s just past 8 in the evening and Jimin suggests going for the hot tub and taking turns because not everyone’s gonna fit.

“Well, not everyone’s gonna dip,” Yoongi shrugs, as if you all don’t know he’s one of those people.

But he’s right. Seokjin, Hayoung, and Hoseok join him in being spectators as they sit on the table outside while the rest of you take a spot around the tub and take turns on entering it.

You feel comfortable in your olive green bathing suit. Despite being out in the open, the heat from the water is enough to balance things out. There’s a spread of alcohol and other snacks that you pick from and like you expected, it’s a lot of laughter and reminiscing and discussing plans of future trips.

You look at each of your friends, the people who have been with you for over a decade, and you think about all the years in between. You’ve all definitely matured. It’s not just in the wrinkles or the responsible alcohol consumption or the complaints about sore legs after today’s walking spree.

It’s in the comfort of each other, the fulfilled promises of making time to be together despite the busy schedules and the distance. It’s in indulging what one person wants because doing anything as a group is the priority. It’s in the relief in your eyes knowing that at a time when people tend to lose sight of the important things, you’ve all made it a point not to lose each other.

That brings you to another thought, something you voice out.

“We are such a good looking group of friends,” you state, almost out of nowhere.

But really, from the camping trip that had you all looking a bit raggedy to this trip where you’ve been bunched up in thick clothes or with barely anything on, like right now, it’s something that just entered your mind.

“I’m surprised no one else decided to date each other apart from Seokjin and Hayoung,” you continue.

It’s not an uncommon topic amongst you. In fact, it’s one of those things you like teasing each other about, given all the history.

“Yoongi and Gyu-rim will. In 10 years,” Jimin states, and the people in question just shake their heads in response because this isn’t the first time and they’re unfortunately used to this.

“Mo-eum and I have a pact that if we’re still single at 55, we’ll marry each other,” you announce.

“___, I was drunk when I agreed,” your best friend laughs.

“No taking it back. We pinky promised,” you glare at her.

“Yah! Both of you will surely find someone before then,” Taehyung exclaims.

“Well, it could’ve been you,” Mo-eum tells him.

A round of “oohs” echoes in the room, prompting her to smile sweetly and Taehyung to chuckle and say that’s probably true.

It’s that kind of history you all like unearthing and resurfacing every once in a while. Come to think of it, it was over five years ago during your trip to Tokyo when your best friend revealed that she actually liked Taehyung during your junior year of college but she never had the guts to say anything, only for him to start liking her right after she got over it.

The confession shook everyone because no one knew, even you. And knowing how your best friend is, it would’ve been something she was really shy or nervous about if she never told anyone.

“Hoseok, care to top that?” Jimin teases now as he smirks at Suhyeon, who understandably splashes him with water.

“No, I don’t,” Hoseok laughs. “Brat.”

“Well, that ship could’ve sailed if someone wasn’t such a coward about it,” Seokjin eyes him.

Hoseok’s “what-if” with Suhyeon happened in real time, where everyone knew they had feelings for each other except for both of them. Despite all of you urging them to just make a move, one made a small step but the other was too scared to risk things and it didn’t fall through.

Both of them now have partners outside of your friend group though, and they’re even better friends this time, something that Suhyeon points out.

“When you think about it, it’s really just about timing,” Namjoon reflects. “Whether it’s liking someone at a certain point or believing you’re ready enough to go for it, it’s about the other person being on the same boat - liking you at the same time and being ready when you are.”

“True. I mean, Hayoung and I luckily liked each other at the same time,” Seokjin nods.

“Liar. You had a crush on her the year before she admitted her feelings,” his younger brother calls him out.

“It was harmless!” Seokjin argues. “We went to a farm where the chickens chased her and she started running and yelling like crazy and I thought she looked adorable. It didn’t mean much until she couldn’t hold herself back from saying that she thought I was handsome.”

“It was still a crush,” Taehyung points out.

“And it materialized a year later! That happens, too. Admiration or affection for someone doesn’t always mean it has to be something more right away,” the older man counters. “Sure, we could’ve dated much earlier if I’d said something but it also could’ve gone nowhere if I went for it right then. Or she could’ve rejected me. I didn’t wanna pressure her or make it feel like she had to return the feeling, which really was just a crush.”

“True,” Hayoung hums. “I probably would’ve thought he was unserious about it or I would’ve kept my distance because I didn’t feel anything then. Like Joon said, it’s about timing. Seokjin held out and thankfully, I got to him in time.”

“She ended up falling more in love with me so… it all worked out well,” Seokjin winks.

Everyone just laughs because you all know the truth - Seokjin is crazy about Hayoung. It’s a given that he’ll be the one bawling his eyes out during their wedding.

Jungkook laughs along as the teasing continues, thankful this time that given his history, people are a bit cautious of asking him about his thoughts when it comes to relationships.

But his friends’ words linger in his mind, even as the conversation shifts to something new.

Seokjin and Hayoung’s love story always seemed so simple to him - two friends who always got along well and one day realized they felt something more. Looking at how they are, it’s as if there’s really no one else made for them but each other.

But of course, it’s never as simple as just confessing their feelings and being lucky that the other person felt the same way. It’s also about knowing what’s worth risking and when to do so. It’s about being ready to deal with the consequences, whether you’re taking a step back, forward, or staying right where you are.

Like what Seokjin said, it isn’t always about being something more right away. Jungkook thinks that maybe feelings aren't something you just have; it’s something you settle into.

The hours pass and Jungkook doesn’t notice them flying by. Between the conversations, the premier Japanese liquor and convenience store snacks, and lying on the snow by the edge of the deck then retreating to the hot tub, there’s a lot going on.

But he’s far from tired, and even if the temperature has dropped even lower, he still wants to stay out here and let his body relax.

The others have gone ahead to wash up and get ready for bed but there’s still you, Jimin, and Gyu-rim with him outside, talking about the latter’s non-existent but probable relationship with Yoongi.

“You’re the most comfortable when you’re together and it’s the same with him,” Jimin points out. “That doesn’t happen overnight and it certainly doesn’t happen with just anyone. I’m just saying that it’s something to think about. Finding someone new isn’t the only option, you know?”

Gyu-rim, who surprisingly hasn’t smacked Jimin yet for all the years he’s been insisting on this, just chuckles in response.

“I admire your commitment to this ship,” she concedes, knowing it’s better to just go along with the teasing than to react negatively.

It’s Yoongi anyway and there’s nothing to feel negative about.

“Let’s just say that I have deep love for my friends and I want them to be with people who know how to love them, or would learn how to,” Jimin responds. “I’ll shut up about it after this but I just wanted to give you that nudge. I’ve learned my lesson with the two what-ifs in our group because we just all stood by.”

She argues that sometimes, standing by is the better option but that she’s also at that age where she just wants a companion. Jimin says that he knows that Yoongi does, too.

Both of them eventually decide to retire for the night and you say you want to stay a little longer since you barely stayed in the tub. It’s just you and Jungkook now and with two people left, you take the chance to stretch your legs and submerge yourself in the hot water that you’ve slowly gotten used to. It even starts snowing and somehow that adds to your relaxation.

“So,” you turn to the man next to you who seems to be in awe of the snowfall as well. “You were quiet during all the relationship talk. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, his head leaned back but facing towards you. “I guess I’m like you when I’m with more mature people. I just listen.”

“And reflect?”

“A bit of that,” he hums, shifting his gaze towards the trees now.

With you in that bathing suit next to him, it’s just another version of you that he suddenly finds pretty.

“About what?” You ask.

“Settling into feelings, I guess. How we don’t always need to act on them right away because they could be mild or fleeting or confusing or just… something that develops over time and that needs time for it to be right or enough. Or certain.”

You let his words linger. It’s something you definitely can’t relate with.

“Wow. I wish I knew that before my past relationships that failed because of my feelings that I immediately acted on,” you laugh, almost mockingly, at yourself.

“Acting on them isn’t always wrong, though. You shoot your shot when you can and you don’t always have time,” Jungkook tries to comfort you. “You could lose your chance completely.”

“That’s true but then like I said before, I get excited and impatient. Looking back, I guess I never really settled into my feelings for the people I liked because, well, it wasn’t something I thought about.”

“Me, too. It’s just something that got to me while listening to them earlier. Nothing too deep. I guess time and experience make you see and realize things that were always there but never really thought much about,” Jungkook states. “Suddenly they mean a lot more now.”

It’s the closest to being honest he could be with you about the thoughts he’s been having. Somehow this makes him feel better. He’s not lying to you or anything. He’s just settling into these newfound feelings for you.

Maybe they are fleeting or mild or confusing. Maybe it just needs time to develop into something that could be right and good enough for you, if it ever gets to that point.

Being with you right now, he’s trying to figure out what it is. It’s still a mix of everything but he’ll be patient this time. One thing is for sure though - he doesn’t want to scare you. If anything, he just wants to keep you close enough for a little while longer.

As you both lie in your beds later in the night - you next to Mo-eum and him next to Jimin - there’s space in between that perhaps resembles where you both are right now. You’re both lying on your sides and you stick your tongue out at him as good night right before you turn the light off.

He smiles to himself. It’s a good view from where he is.

It’s a little chaotic in the morning as all 12 of you take turns in the three bathrooms to get ready. People are washing their faces and brushing their teeth next to and behind each other. The men are dressing up in the hallways and in the living room while the women are behind closed doors.

And then there’s Hayoung and Suhyeon making sure there are enough water bottles for everyone and Hoseok who’s reminding you all about the proper outerwear and boots for today’s activity.

Right as you’re dressed, you feel the energy surge through you. You haven’t gone skiing in years and you’re looking forward to trying it again this time. Everyone else seems to feel the same way, especially Jungkook who keeps mumbling that he’s excited and pretty much skipping all around the house.

You put your heavy coats in the trunk and head out for a fairly long drive. You call shotgun because you like getting a wider view of the snowy streets and everyone agrees because it’s you. Jungkook drives like always, insisting that he genuinely enjoys it.

You arrive at a rest stop shortly after, as you all decided to just get snacks from there for breakfast. You divide and conquer - Jungkook orders the food and you join him because you’re curious, while the rest get the drinks.

Ordering at the ticket machine, you and Jungkook get excited about which snacks to get, even if you were confused about which buttons to press and when to pay. But you manage and buy a few flavors of the fried rice balls and croquettes then head back to the car. You start eating before Mo-eum and Taehyung return with the rest of the drinks and by the time Jungkook restarts the engine, he’s already devoured two of them.

He keeps both hands on the wheel and his eyes focused on the road while the rest of you munch on the food, humming in satisfaction and singing your praises.

You see his gaze constantly flit to the rice cake you’re eating. You think he’s probably itching to have one right now but he doesn’t want to risk putting you all in danger so you take out a piece for him to eat. Knowing he’s wary of the drive, you feed him and cup your hand under his mouth in case a piece falls.

“Hmm, that’s so good,” he moans, angling his head to the side for another bite.

You chuckle as he tries to get as much of it in his mouth so you appease him and say you’ll feed him so he can still eat them while they’re hot. He beams at you so endearingly and with his blue beanie and loose jacket on, he looks like a kid with his bunny smile and innocent doe-eyes.

It’s a complete shift from last night where he was half naked in the tub, toned abs and tattooed arm on full display. Like boys do, he, Jimin, Taehyung, and even Namjoon were all showing off their biceps and posing ridiculously like bodybuilders, triggering a pose-off and tummy ache-inducing laughter from the rest of you.

You can’t say it’s something that surprised you. Jungkook’s always been an athlete. You watched some of his swimming competitions when you were in college. You’ve also had dozens of beach trips. Toned bodies like what your friends have are normal to you and you’re often unbothered. They’re used to walking around without a shirt on and they have never felt shy around you; none of you girls ever felt bothered by it, either.

But you’re still a woman with fully functioning eyes and can appreciate a pretty physique when you see one. Jungkook just happens to possess it and being in close proximity to him reminded you of that. It’s just a funny thing to remember seeing how he is now. There’s just something so charming about him that makes you smile.

You continue feeding yourself and him throughout the drive, with him losing it with the cheese croquette, his favorite one out of everything. You bring up his iced americano to his lips, too. It’s your way of thanking him, you tell yourself, as he’s been taking on the long drives like always.

You finally make it to the ski resort and Jungkook skips all the way to the lobby. You all rent your accessories and equipment then head to the gondola all the way to the top. Despite the powdery snow, there’s still so much of it that it’s a struggle to even walk.

The view is stunning and the weather is cold and bright yet you already know you’re gonna suffer. But it’s the good kind. You’ll just brace through all the falls and face plants you’ll make but you’ll at least have fun.

It’s a group decision to snowboard first. As expected, there’s the group that can do it, and another that can definitely do better. The Kim brothers grew up doing this so their skills are not a surprise. Hayoung has done it a few times since dating Seokjin so she’s not bad at all. Namjoon is surprisingly good with his balance, Mo-eum is just good at anything sporty, and Jungkook obviously quickly relearned the ropes even though it's been years since the last time he’d done it.

And then there’s Yoongi who settles with little hops down the mountain and Gyu-rim just laughing along as they semi slide all the way. There’s Suhyeon content with cheering you on despite constantly landing on her butt, Jimin who falls after every turn, and then you who falls right behind him.

You’re just as tired at laughing at your mishaps than you are with all the face planting and swimming through snow you’ve both been doing. But you always end up turning on your back and marveling at your surroundings and the feel of the snow under you. At one point, you and Jimin almost give up.

You do manage two rounds down the slope while the others end up with a few more. You all rest at the cafe for a bit at Yoongi’s request and watch the few clips some of you managed to get of each other going down the mountain.

Skiing is a lot more doable. It’s something you’ve done more than once so it’s not hard to relearn it. But with now-sore legs and overworked muscles from all the laughing and tensing up, it’s still definitely a lot more than you can handle. But you push through because it’s seriously a lot of fun.

The snow is falling hard by the time you finish. Your hands feel frozen and your nose feels numb. Your legs and knees are definitely sore, and you feel the pain once you start going down the stairs.

Hayoung, who overdid herself a little, climbs on Seokjin’s back. You whine because you’re in pain, too, but you don’t want to trouble any of your friends who might be just as tired.

Taehyung stands next to you and chuckles at your pouty face and your eyes that are focused on your cousin and his brother.

“Do you want a piggyback ride, too?” he asks.

You nod and give him your puppy eyes, waiting for him to offer you one.

“Okay. Kook!” he yells out behind him. “Our princess needs a ride.”

Jungkook looks at him questioningly then you. “What?”

Taehyung eyes the couple not far ahead and Jungkook takes the hint.

“Ah,” he says, looking at your tired form. “Your legs hurt?”

“I can’t feel them anymore,” you wail.

You’re so dramatic that it makes Jungkook chuckle, prompting you to weakly smack his arm. But he gives in this time, seeing how helpless you look.

“Fine. Jump,” he tells you, bending low to help you get on his back then gripping your thighs to keep you steady.

It’s not a long walk back to the car but it isn’t an easy one, so you constantly apologize in between your grumbles of being in pain.

“I’ll pay for your drink at the whiskey museum tomorrow,” you promise him.

“Tempting but you don’t have to,” he says. “It’s fine. Being your carriage is totally a normal thing.”

“Hey,” you cry out. “Please? I’ll treat you something.”

“Or you can just say thank you. Really, ___. You don’t have to pay me back for every good thing I do for you.” He slowly puts you down and turns to face you. “Just… stretch and relax. The hot tub will help so get on it later. And maybe don’t snore too loud tonight.”

You laugh at the last part because of course he’ll sneak that in even if it’s unrelated, but you agree.

Sitting at the back this time, you lean your head on Taehyung’s shoulder as you slowly doze off. He opens the window to let the cold air in to wake you up a little but you still fall asleep shortly after.

Jungkook glances at you from the rearview mirror. His heart did a thing again earlier when you had your arms around his neck, and then again when you sweetly smiled at him and said thank you before you entered the car.

It’s a little different this time though as it feels more like floating. Looking at you peacefully napping, it continues to do just that.

The famous soup curry is famous for a reason. It’s rich despite the thin broth and the meat is soft and tender. It’s exactly what you need after this morning’s adventure and paired with the draft beer, it’s every bit satisfying.

You gain a bit more energy after lunch, which you quickly expend during the car ride. Taehyung is the designated driver this time. Jungkook couldn’t resist the beer earlier, so you sit between him and Jimin and they alternate between teasing you mercilessly and cooing at you.

You play the injured card, quickly clarifying that it’s your ego that's bruised after face planting so many times. Mo-eum from the front says everyone was laughing at Jimin and Yoongi more than they were laughing at you. They expected you’d fall but that the other two looked like adorable baby pandas who couldn’t get their shit together in the snow.

It’s mid-afternoon by the time you get home, which is where you’ll be staying for the rest of the day. Everyone picks their spot in the common room and you take your place on the large couch next to Hayoung. The Switch is turned on and a battle begins but you can barely keep up as not long after, you doze off.

Jungkook manages to win one game of Mario Kart before he heads out with Yoongi to buy what they’ll need for tonight’s dinner. It’s an hour later when they return and when they do, you’re still lying down on the same spot, softly snoring and getting some needed rest. He brings out the muscle spray he bought at the pharmacy and Jimin is the first one to take it. It’s passed around and when it’s returned to him, he briefly looks at you to check if you’re already awake.

You aren’t, even with the shrieking going on because of everyone’s epic fails on Fall Guys. You have your hands together tucked under your cheek and your head laying on a pillow on Hayoung’s lap. There’s this urge to tease you about still being so tired but also to move your hair out of your face and caress your cheek.

He’s a little alarmed when you start opening your eyes, paranoid that he might’ve said something while fondly looking at you or if telepathy is actually real and you’d read what was going through his mind. But you mumble something instead and shift your body for a more comfortable position. He kneels down next to you and asks what you were saying.

“Did you beat Hoseok?” You mutter.

“Yeah, earlier,” he replies. “But I haven’t played since. Yoongi and I bought stuff at the supermarket. I got muscle spray for soreness, too.”

That piques your interest, as you open your eyes wider and ask where it is.

“Jimin’s hogging it. Let me get it from him.”

He gets back to you with the bottle and you lift your pajama pants to expose your legs. Your puppy eyes tell him that you want him to do it for you. He chuckles but gets to it right away, gripping your foot and spraying the liquid on your limbs. You linger, and Jungkook instinctively sits down and lays your legs on his lap, gently massaging them.

You moan in satisfaction and urge him to continue, earning you another chuckle. He works on your joints and your calves, knowing they just need to relax and that you’ll feel better soon enough. You’re lying on your back this time, but then Hayoung says she’ll go to the bathroom so you sit up and watch Jungkook work on your legs.

“You would’ve been a good therapist if you chose that path instead of teaching,” you tell him.

“My dad said the same thing. I used to massage him after a long day of laboring when I was younger,” he laughs. “Glad I haven’t lost my touch.”

“You’re good. I approve.”

Your face contorts in pain when he kneads the tender parts and you try to move his hand towards a different area.

“But that’s where it hurts,” he insists. “I’ll go gentle, I promise.”

You let him, but your hand remains gingerly on top of his just in case. He keeps his word and goes easy on you.

“Get in the hot tub later, yeah? That’ll help,” he advises.

You nod and instead of lying back down, you lean on his shoulder while he continues massaging you. You think you can fall back asleep with how this feels.

But then Gyu-rim suggests watching a horror movie because the last time you did that in the forest was so memorable that she wants to laugh at the scaredy-cats again.

So Taehyung puts some Japanese thriller he finds on the shelf and dims the lights, resulting in 90 minutes of shrieks, curses, the occasional “I give up” from Hoseok, and the timely laughter from the horror enthusiasts. It’s quite the experience but it’s the perfect build up to dinner.

Yoongi lays out a spread of sushi and various salads for your appetizer while baking slabs of premium beef in the oven. Jungkook makes a Japanese pork offal and vegetable soup dish that sounds so perfect for tonight. Everyone else is busy drinking and eating while he’s glued next to the pot so you go to him.

He turns to you and eyes the plate of sushi you’re holding.

“Is it good?” He asks.

“So good. So fresh,” you hum. “Here, have some before they finish it all.”

You feed him some, an act that’s somehow become reflexive for you these past days, and he nods in approval. You get a few more pieces and alternate between feeding yourself and him.

The aroma of the broth wafts through your senses and you can’t wait to dip your rice in a bowl of all that goodness.

“Is it done yet?” you peek inside the pot.

“You wouldn’t know even if you tried,” he teases,

“Oh shush,” you nudge him.

He laughs but he takes out a spoon, fills it with broth, then blows on it before feeding you.

“Yup, my chef palette says that’s good.”

To his surprise, it is, and you make a claim that you’ve gotten better at this.

It’s at the same time when Yoongi says that the meat is ready so you all gather at the dining table and have dinner. You finish with matcha tiramisu and cheesecake for dessert.

You start cleaning up with Namjoon and Taehyung while the rest of your friends either move back to the living room or head to the hot tub. You can hear them laughing and playing around outside, no doubt lying on the snow again or doing something silly, but you focus on your task then get dressed before heading out the deck.

You sit with Jimin and Suhyeon while the others take a rest. Just like last night, you alternate again so everyone gets a chance to take a dip. You end up staying a little longer, hoping the hot water will relax your muscles and get you feeling better for your last full day tomorrow.

One-by-one, your friends leave the tub to wash up, as the temperature continues to drop. You’re left with Jungkook once again and he sits next to you, both of your heads rolled back, and the sounds of the wind and bubbling water filling the space.

“Feel better?” He asks.

“Yup. I wanna stay here longer but I don’t wanna stay up too late and I still wanna drink,” you say, somehow feeling like the day is too short for you to do everything you want, even if you’ve done so much already.

“We can stay for a couple more minutes. Being here for too long isn’t good, anyway.”

“Fine,” you agree. “But today was a good one. Thanks for my massage.”

“What have I not done for you at this point?” He laughs.

“I’m a spoiled brat, aren’t I?” You call yourself out.

“A little bit,” he playfully shakes his head.

“Well, thanks for putting up with me,” you mumble, and he assures you that it’s not as bad as you make it sound.

Namjoon, Yoongi, and Gyu-rim go out to drink at the picnic table on the other end of the deck and they raise their glasses to you in acknowledgement, warning you of Jimin possibly finishing off the sake if you don’t stop him.

You say you’ll wash up soon but remain on your spot, occasionally stretching your legs, until you return your focus to Jungkook and shift to face him.

With his whole lower body submerged in the water and only his neck and his damp hair on the surface, he doesn’t look as intimidating so you start playing around with his hair and attempt to tie a ponytail at the top, resembling a sprout. He grumbles under his breath but he doesn’t say a word. He just closes his eyes and lets you do what you want.

For Jungkook, an attempt to stop you would be futile. That would entail fighting you off and getting a little too close in such a small space, which again would be deemed normal if it wasn’t for his growing fondness for you. He tries to just watch what you’re doing but given your proximity, he thinks that closing his eyes would be better for his stupid heart.

“Ooh, you’re letting me tie your hair,” you point out. “That’s new.”

“I’d have to pry you away for you to stop and I don’t want you falling out of this tub or something,” he reasons.

“Hmm, you have a point.”

You giggle when you finish, and it’s at the same time that Taehyung appears behind the glass door and waves. He spots Jungkook’s sprout and starts laughing, too. Opening the door, he coos at his friend and pulls up his phone to take a photo.

You immediately scoot closer to Jungkook and pose multiple times before your friend gives a thumbs up sign and walks back inside the house. You can see the rest of them still in the dining room, looking like they’re playing card games and downing the remaining bottles of alcohol you’ve all been buying since you arrived.

Jungkook stands up from the tub and turns to the door to see what he looks like through his reflection. He frowns at you in response.

“Okay, sprout off,” you say once he sits on the ledge. “It doesn’t fit the muscle bunny Jungkook vibe.”

“What?”

“Your hair has to match your body. It looked fine when you were submerged in the water,” you reason, pulling the hair tie off him. “Now with these muscles and these abs and this tattoo sleeve, it’s a mismatch.”

“How is it that you analyze even these things?” He questions.

“It’s my brain. It just does.”

He descends back down once the cold air becomes too much and you’re just there, so close yet so far like many times before. There’s that urge to get even closer and just examine your face, now that he’s looking at you in a new light.

Settling in the feeling, he reasons to himself. Figuring out if it’s fleeting or something more.

He repeats the words in his head as he watches you flounder in the tub. You move to the end near the railing and the snow lightly falls on your head. It almost feels romantic, as you sit there with a soft look on your face and a sweet smile as you let the snow touch your skin.

But with you, unpredictability is a thing. Before he knows it, you’re scooting back close to him. You lift his right arm from under the water and start pointing out the tattoos that you think are new.

“I just had them colored. Some were redone,” he explains.

“Ahh,” you reply, wiping off the droplets on some areas so you can see them better, unknowing of the shivers you’re causing. “So do you just wear a jacket every time you’re at the school?”

“Pretty much,” he hums. “When it’s hot, I wear a shirt and then an arm sleeve to cover it up. Thankfully they weren’t too strict about it, although I was almost not accepted because of it. I just made up some story that I was trying to be cool in college so I got them but I straightened myself out and wanted a fresh start so I became a teacher.”

“Wow what a liar,” you respond. “You were getting new ones even after you got the job.”

“I know. But they don’t know that,” he laughs.

“I think it looks cool on you.”

“You called it a muscle bunny vibe,” he deadpans.

“It’s because you have an adorable bunny face but your body’s ripped. Bunnies are fluffy, chunky babies. They have puffy cheeks. They don’t have abs.”

“They could. If they exercised.”

His comment sounds ridiculous and it makes you laugh, as an image of a bunny doing crunches flashes in your mind. You think he imagines that, too, as he laughs right after. It’s a silly thing but it’s one of many things that you talk to Jungkook about. One evening you’re reflecting about feelings and relationships and the next, you’re picturing bunnies exercising.

“Yah, you two,” Yoongi’s voice cuts through your muffled laughter. “It’s getting too cold. You might get sick. Wash up soon.”

“We will already, uncle,” you grin at him.

You stand up and slowly make your way to the steps but Namjoon tells you to stop so Jungkook can help you down and avoid a probable accident. So he does, walking ahead of you then down the stairs before you take his hand and follow him.

Your room is still empty when you get your clothes. When you return after your bath, Mo-eum and Taehyung are on your bed, watching something on the laptop. Clearly yesterday’s conversation about their history didn’t change anything between them, as they’re as comfortable next to each other as they’ve always been.

There are still a few people at the dining table when you go there for a few drinks. You get the sake before Jimin finishes the bottle and you drink it and then some.

One-by-one, they start to retire for the night. You have a glass of beer that you want to keep drinking whereas Jungkook lost to rock-paper-scissors so he’s finishing the cup of mixed alcohol as penalty, so you both stay behind.

You tell him that he can throw it down the drain and you can keep it a secret but he honors the rock-paper-scissors code, he insists, so he’ll finish it off.

Keeping each other company has become a pattern for both of you recently, but you suppose it’s just the timing of everything. He moved into an apartment his cousin owns that’s closer to his school last year; it also happens to be 15 minutes away from you.

Both of you aren’t in relationships so it’s easier to hang out. Plus, you committed yourself to maintaining a work-life balance after you suffered burnout some months ago, and that’s meant switching off during the weekends and being a lot… calmer, you think. Probably less erratic and maybe more bearable.

All of those circumstances just happened to take place around the time Taehyung came home and commenced his role of being the trip planner. Before then, you and Jungkook were either in a relationship or neck-deep into your job or both.

You were definitely a different person back then and you suppose he was, too. Now, you get to spend time together and just enjoy each other’s presence, something you always have but something you get to experience differently this time.

And it’s a good feeling, something that you don’t express out loud. Not that you think he’ll judge you or anything but only because somehow, you think he’s thinking the same thing.

You do your final cheers then clean up before brushing your teeth and heading to your room, ready to finally rest.

Except when you get there, you find Jimin sprawled on the mattress on the floor this time with the phone on his face, no doubt having fallen asleep while playing his games. Mo-eum and Taehyung are fetus-curled on either side of your bed, softly snoring.

That leaves one bed for you and Jungkook, and the realization that this has never happened before hits you. Not that it’s uncomfortable; it’s just that you’ve always been closer to the other guys and he’s always been closer to Mo-eum. Still, you don’t mind but he seems like he does.

“I can sleep on the couch,” he mumbles.

“It’s soft but not as soft as this bed. We can just stay here. You need proper sleep and this is big enough for both of us,” you insist. “Is that okay with you? I mean, I’ve slept next to the guys before.”

“Yeah, and you’ve either elbowed or kicked each one of them. More than once,” he reminds you.

“Is that why you don’t want to sleep here?” You ask worriedly.

He hates it but Jungkook half-lies.

“Yup.”

You think about it for a second but still insist. He’s already slept on the couch in the other hotel and you don’t want him to do that again.

“Nah, you’re strong. You can handle me,” you wink.

“Fine,” he grumbles, mockingly laughing at himself for giving in so easily once again.

“Don’t worry, there’ll be a pillow between us,” you assure him.

“Yeah, whatever. By the way, they left the blinds open. You don’t like the light, right?”

“Hmm, I usually don’t and I know you don’t, too, but uh… Can we leave it up? I wanna fall asleep and wake up to that sight,” you say, gesturing towards the snow-covered branches of the trees right outside the window.

“Sure.”

Jungkook climbs in bed next to you with the pillow in the middle, even if he knows you’ll hog that, too, because apparently, you like hugging something when you sleep.

You’re on your side with your eyes glued to the window and he lays on his side as well, facing you.

“I’ve been so enchanted by this city and how the snow covers everything,” you whisper, no doubt being sentimental at this time. “I just want to ingrain the image of this place in my mind as much as I can. Jimin got me so fascinated with snow. I used to not care much about it.”

“I’ll get you a snowglobe in one of the shops tomorrow then,” he smiles. “That might help.”

“It will,” you groggily smile back. “You’re so sweet, Kook. I’m glad we–”

And just like that, you’ve fallen asleep.

It’s fitting how the night ends, he thinks. There’s a short distance separating both of you but so many years and memories in between. You’ve always been there just as the snow has always been around, yet it takes something, or someone - perhaps a moment - to make him look at things in a different light.

Has it always been like this? Have you always been like that? What was it these past months that made the difference?

He’s unsure but he doesn’t want to overthink. Just like you, he wants to ingrain this in his mind as much as he can. He’ll deal with whatever comes after when it comes.

The first sliver of light cuts through your eyelids and you curl yourself closer to the pillow to hide your face. It works only a little, and you mentally curse yourself for leaving the blinds up. No one else seems bothered because no one’s put them down yet. It would’ve been Jungkook but you suppose he’s too exhausted.

You turn to your side and find his tattooed arm over his eyes and you kind of feel bad. So you get up and walk towards the window, marvel at the trees for a few seconds, then pull down the blinds. You return to bed and go back to sleep, knowing you’ll see it again later on. And tomorrow, too, for the last time.

You wake up two hours later to Jungkook saying that the guys have made breakfast. You stretch your legs and ask him if he can put on the muscle spray again even if you’re feeling a little better. He does, and you smile when he briefly massages your calves before he pulls you up from the bed.

Everyone else has gone up so you head to the dining table and find a spread of scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages, toast, and pastries. Hayoung and Gyu-rim apparently watched a cooking show this morning and immediately craved a Western breakfast, so Yoongi and Seokjin went to the supermarket to grab ingredients and cooked them.

It smells amazing, and you hum in delight at how good it is. It feels so foreign yet it tastes like comfort.

There’s no rush in spending your last full day. You drive to explore a quaint town then hang out at a cafe to play with cats and drink coffee. You go to a whiskey museum and laugh at Jungkook and Jimin doing some role play by the bar.

You try some samplers and end up getting Jungkook one of the bottles he chose not to get because he’s used up all his alcohol budget for this trip. You give it as a surprise while walking back to the car.

“___, I told you you didn’t need to get me anymore,” he groans.

“Yeah but.. You carried me, you've been massaging me… And you’re gonna drive me home tomorrow,” you say.

“So what, should I expect you to get me something every time I do something for you?”

“Uh… no.”

“Exactly, so there’s no need to.”

“Too bad, it’s already paid for,” you shrug. “Plus, you looked so sad when you had to give it up. You were pouting your lips and pep talking yourself into accepting that you weren’t gonna get it.”

“I’m also an adult who’ll get over it,” he points out.

“Well, just think of it as a birthday or Christmas gift or something.”

“You’ve never gotten me either of those,” he deadpans.

“Exactly! So here,” you chirp, placing the bottle in his hand. “Belated happy birthday and advanced Merry Christmas.”

He laughs at your persistence but accepts that this is how you are. Again, it’s the tenderness of your personality that he’s been experiencing these past few weeks that builds on the fondness, that makes him enjoy being around you.

“Fine. Thank you,” he finally smiles and accepts.

Not long after, you go to a street lined with local shops. That’s where Jungkook finds you a snowglobe of this town. He gets you another one of a tree with a deer next to it. He’s also never gotten you a gift so he says it’s for all the years that he missed out on.

Later in the night, after having dinner at a hotpot place and spending the rest of it reminiscing about the trip over tea and milk, you lay on your side next to Mo-eum, as you’ve returned to your original sleeping arrangements. You place both snowglobes on the night table next to you, as if in replacement of the view from your window.

“Careful, you might hit and break them,” Jungkook warns from not far away.

“I think my body can only recognize body parts when it’s hitting something,” you laugh. “But don’t worry, they’ll be safe.”

“They better. They’re your reminder of this place.”

“Well, years from now when I still feel my sore joints, I’ll be reminded of Sapporo,” you laugh.

Jungkook laughs, too, and thinks that while you’ll have those as a reminder, he has this other than the bottle of whiskey you got him - this view of you smiling at him as you fall asleep.

Even if you remain as friends, years from now he’ll think of this trip and how you made it enchanting for him with the moments, the silence, and all your unspoken words.

You leave Sapporo the next afternoon.

It’s quite a drive to the airport and you savor the scenery as you pass the snow-covered mountains and frozen lakes for the last time.

You sit next to Jungkook again on the flight home, with your head leaned on his shoulder while you both look at the photos in the shared photo album. He drops you off at your apartment after you all have dinner at a restaurant and the entire drive had you laughing and teasing each other, same as how you spent the entire trip.

He helps you unload your luggage and walks it up to the entrance to your apartment building.

The snow starts falling at this time and you ruffle Jungkook’s hair and call him out for not wearing his beanie.

“I’ll live,” he laughs.

You just smile in response, thankful that you spent the past week making new memories with this man you feel you don’t have enough of. It’s weird how a trip can do that - make you experience someone you’ve known for a decade as if for the first time.

But you suppose life is like that. We focus on certain things at certain points of our lives depending on who and where we are at that time. We rediscover people and feelings and friendships and maybe that’s what living means. Those that remain are the ones that matter.

“Enjoy the holidays, okay? And have a safe trip home tomorrow,” he says.

You’re riding with Hayoung to Gwangju in the morning and Jungkook’s driving to Busan with Jimin in the afternoon.

“And don’t hurt yourself. Your legs are still a bit sore,” he reminds you.

“I’ll be alright,” you say confidently.

He chuckles and heads back to his car. You wave him goodbye for the last time then head to your apartment.

Five minutes later, you text him.

[To: bunny kook] I stubbed my toe on the couch 🙁

He laughs out loud and decides to call you. You don’t need him to come back, you say, but you wail that you miss him already.

He knows what you mean but it doesn’t stop his heart from doing that thing again. He ends up talking to you on the phone throughout his drive and while you’re both unpacking and then packing again for your respective trips.

You hang up first and Jungkook already dreads what these next few weeks of being away from you would mean.

Settling into the feeling could mean accepting that proximity is the biggest factor and that being physically apart is what’ll make him get back to how things used to be. He could also be convinced it wasn’t much anyway.

It could mean settling into the idea that both of you have changed over the years and have truly committed to just being better friends for each other.

Or it could mean that there really is something more, and he’s gonna have to figure out how to live with that, whether or not you feel the same way.

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