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cumironi · 1 month ago

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THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO GOJO’S D$CK. g.s

feat. gojo satoru

sum. what’s the best sex position ever? loud and clear you said missionary. the result? got called slut by shoko and dared by geto to fuck the stupidest man in the group, gojo satoru. and you, also the stupidest take the bait just to prove a point only to get the best missionary you’ve ever had. which, also got called slut by your friend.

wn. college au, all characters are adults (early 20s), depictions of alcohol and weed consumption, explicit sexual content including graphic foreplay and intercourse, strong language, sexual humor, slut-shaming jokes between friends, emotionally charged intimacy, consensual rough play (e.g. scratching, hickeys), praise-kink, bit dirty talk,

gojo’s basement was a whole ecosystem of indulgence, an architectural fuck-you to minimalism. the moment you stepped off the last step, it was like descending into a pleasure den disguised as a frat boy’s fever dream and a luxury showroom had a threesome with a tokyo nightlife bar and decided to never leave.

soft, dark lighting glowed along the edges of the ceiling, hiding in strips of LED that shifted color every few minutes—right now it was a moody wine red that made everyone look flushed and half-possessed. a speaker system was embedded into the walls, not blasting but thumping low enough to feel in your molars, something beat-heavy and spacey, rhythmic enough to keep your hips rocking even if you were only sitting. the walls were textured concrete, but with art—huge framed prints, some classical, some hentai, because gojo was a pretentious bitch and also a walking disaster.

it was sectioned in loose, chaotic zones. one end had a full bar, real wood counters, glass shelves, and an overhead mirror with LED backlight that made the various alcohol bottles sparkle like gemstones. there were no mixers—just hard liquor and gojo’s “personal stash” of imported shit that tasted like burnt syrup and regret. behind the bar, nanami stood like a reluctant bartender, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight, stirring something too elegant for this crowd. he’d lost rock-paper-scissors and now he was stuck mixing drinks with military precision, ignoring everyone yelling that they just wanted a whiskey coke with extra whiskey and no coke.

a few steps away, there was a billiards table, dark green felt, cue sticks leaned against the wall, and haibara trying to make a shot with his head resting on the cue, eyes squinting like a sniper but swaying like a drunk tree. geto and shoko were stretched on the oversized couch that curved around a low table cluttered with empty shot glasses, an open pizza box with one lonely crust, and the remnants of three joints passed back and forth. gojo had dragged over a bean bag chair and was currently lounging in it like royalty, shirt half unbuttoned, pale collarbones peeking out, sunglasses still on indoors, of course, because he said the lighting was “too aggressive.”

you were on the rug, thighs warm from the alcohol, back against the couch, in the exact perfect spot to feel everyone’s presence all at once—geto’s knee brushing yours every time he shifted, shoko’s lazy hand resting in your hair because she liked to play with it when she was high, gojo’s long leg stretched out so his bare foot kept nudging your ankle. the rug smelled like old perfume and weed and a little bit like someone spilled gin and didn’t clean it up, and honestly? it was perfect.

“i think,” gojo announced, gesturing with his drink, something neon blue in a martini glass, “we should all officially drop out.”

“again?” geto asked, one eyebrow raised as he exhaled smoke and passed you the blunt. “you say that every thursday,” you added, grinning as you took it, the burn sweet and sharp on your tongue.

“yeah but this time i mean it,” gojo said, rolling over onto his stomach like a bored cat, chin resting on his arms. “what’s even the point of college? knowledge? community? shared trauma?”

“you only show up to class to cheat off nanami,” shoko pointed out. “he has such neat handwriting,” gojo said with a dreamy sigh. nanami rolled his eyes. “because i don’t get high the night before a midterm and forget how pens work.”

“that was one time,” you mumbled through a cough, handing the joint off to utahime who looked scandalized but still took it.

“you cried,” geto added helpfully.

“it was a stressful exam,” you defended, but the laughter already drowned you out. even nanami cracked a tired smirk. “okay but like—” haibara missed his shot and collapsed dramatically over the pool table, face pressed into the felt “—real talk. if we all dropped out, what would we do? jobs don’t exist. go.”

“porn,” you said immediately.

gojo made a high-pitched noise like a choking dolphin. “you can’t just say that, baby.”

“i said it,” you grinned, shrugging. “onlyfans. but we make it elite. like art-house, black-and-white stuff.”

“you want to direct?” shoko asked, voice slow, eyes heavy-lidded. “or star?”

“both,” you said. “duh.”

“visionary,” geto murmured, passing you a new joint, already lit. you took it without question. “okay okay okay,” haibara said, still face-down, voice muffled into the table. “but if you had to teach one sex position. like, for beginners. what’s lesson one?”

“doggy,” nanami answered without blinking.

“perv,” gojo coughed.

“efficient,” nanami corrected.

“missionary,” geto said, tapping his ash into a tray. “eye contact, full penetration, kiss access. versatile. emotionally devastating.”

“you’re so romantic,” you teased.

he smirked. “always.”

“cowgirl,” shoko added, licking salt off her hand. “control. visuals. core workout.”

“you’re all cowards,” gojo said, sitting up now, eyes glinting. “nobody said reverse cowgirl.”

“that’s because you’re the only one who wants to get kneed in the stomach,” utahime muttered, taking another sip. “worth it,” gojo sighed, pressing his hand over his chest like he’d been touched by god. and then—he turned, sharp and sudden, and pointed directly at you, mouth curling in a smirk that was all teeth and trouble.

“what about you, pretty girl?”

your throat went dry. his voice was soft now, low, sliding under your skin like warm syrup. everyone else fell quiet. not waiting in judgment—just watching. geto leaned back. shoko raised one eyebrow. even nanami tilted his head like your answer might end a war.

“hmm,” you hummed, tilting your head, pretending to think even as your lips curled. “honestly? missionary. but only if you’re trying to ruin my life,” you add, casually, sipping whatever tragic cocktail you’d ended up with—mostly rum, mostly sugar, entirely chaos—and immediately regretted it, because the second the words left your mouth, the basement erupted. broke in a howl of laughter. shoko nearly dropped her drink. geto choked on his exhale. haibara clapped the table.

“LAME!” haibara shrieked like you’d just confessed to listening to elevator music during sex. “liar,” geto said flatly, but the smile tugging at his mouth made it impossible to take seriously.

“no fucking way,” shoko barked, already leaning over the armrest like she needed to look you directly in the soul. “no. you? miss i make eye contact while ordering food like it’s a come-on?”

you groaned, trying to disappear into your shirt. “shut uuuuup.”

“there is no way your favorite position is missionary,” she said, flicking your forehead with sharp precision. “get the fuck out of here. you’re not fooling anyone.”

“maybe i’m romantic,” you offered weakly, already bracing as the room devolved into shrieks again. gojo wheezed, flopping onto his back and kicking a throw pillow off the couch. “romantic she says. oh my god. oh my fucking god.”

“missionary my ass,” utahime added, kicking your shin lightly with her socked foot. “that’s like saying your favorite food is plain rice.”

“with butter!” you shouted defensively.

“shut the fuck up!” everyone howled in unison.

“full nelson,” shoko said immediately, stabbing her finger at you. “you’re into some demon shit. like tied up, folded in half, legs behind your ears—"

“—that’s not even anatomically possible for most people—” nanami muttered in the background, but no one was listening. “you give power bottom with a penchant for suffering,” geto added smoothly, crossing his legs and resting his chin in his hand like he was about to psychoanalyze your soul.

“stop profiling me,” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “what if i just want soft sex? with love? with candles and eye contact and maybe a backhand to the cheek, but mostly like… romance.”

utahime gagged so hard it sounded real. “you’re disgusting.”

“i am romantic,” you insisted, chin raised, eyes defiant. “i want to be held. i want love.” shoko tossed a grape at your head. “you want to be held in a chokehold with your face pressed to the mattress.” you caught it in your mouth and chewed, flipping her off with flair. “maybe. but gently.”

gojo rolled back upright like a cartoon character, elbows resting on his knees, eyes gleaming under the dim lights. “i can do gently,” he said, voice low and syrup-sweet.

“no,” utahime said flatly.

“you don’t get to volunteer,” nanami said, not even looking up from whatever he was mixing now. gojo grinned and tilted his head toward you, his hand slowly sliding into the pocket of your hoodie, the one you were wearing. “but i wanna,” he said, and his voice dipped just enough to warm the pit of your stomach.

you elbowed him. “we’re still talking about metaphors.”

he smiled wider. “are we?”

shoko groaned. “i’m gonna throw something at both of you.”

geto passed her a half-empty beer can like a gentleman. “use this.”

“missionary,” shoko repeated again, like she couldn’t let it go, couldn’t accept it, couldn’t believe it even existed in your vocabulary as anything more than a punchline. she said it like a curse, her voice thick with smoke and judgment. “missionary. you absolute fucking liar.”

“i’m not lying!” you whined, but it came out with a stupid grin stretching your mouth because you knew—you knew—they were right to doubt you. “nah, you’re lying,” geto said, not even looking up from his delicate task of ash-flicking with the grace of a noble concubine. “you’re lying and you know it and we all know it. missionary. yeah right.”

gojo, who had been half-lying across your lap like a loyal, slutty dog, perked up at the confirmation. “she is lying,” he said, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “i’m hurt. betrayed. flabbergasted.”

utahime barked a laugh from the bean bag she’d stolen from nanami when he went to refill his drink. “missionary only if he’s choking you out and whispering dirty things about your future kids.”

“WHICH IS STILL VERY ROMANTIC,” you argued, throwing your hands up in pathetic defense. “not when it includes the words ‘breed you dumb,’” nanami said calmly from the bar. “YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE,” you screamed across the basement, as if that would help.

haibara was bent over wheezing, red in the face and tears in his eyes. “you—missionary—you’re the same bitch who moaned watching that fight scene in that one show—”

“he had his veins out and a chain around his neck, i was provoked!”

shoko pointed directly at you like she was driving a stake into your coffin. “you want missionary the same way a raccoon wants tap water. not cause it’s good, cause it’s easy access before you crawl into the sewer.”

“i am not a raccoon!”

“you are the racooniest,” geto said. “fucked-up little hands and all.”

gojo, smug and now fully reclined into your lap with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs kicking up a little in rhythm with the music, looked up at you upside down with that shit-eating grin. “no shame in liking missionary,” he said sweetly. “as long as it’s not the only thing you like.”

“oh no no no,” geto said, sitting up straighter now, attention focused, looking deadly and delighted. “you don’t get to backpedal now. no retreat. you committed.”

“i did not commit—”

“you’re committed. one hundred percent. missionary ride or die. all in.”

“you’re making it sound like a cult.”

“IT IS,” shoko yelled, throwing a handful of popcorn at your head that she’d stolen from god knows where. “missionary only when the moon is waxing, the candles are teal, and your playlist is all sad acoustic covers of 2000s bangers.”

“that sounds fucking dreamy actually,” you said, offended but also taking mental notes.

geto leaned over, narrowing his eyes, voice dipping low and daring, that teasing menace blooming in the corners of his mouth like sin: “then do it. with satoru. go full missionary. full eye contact. no jokes. no choking. no freaky shit. vanilla as fuck. and afterward—then tell us if it’s still your favorite.”

the room fell silent.

gojo sat up.

utahime choked on her drink.

shoko slapped her knee and screamed, “YES. YESSSS. YOU WON’T. DO IT. I DARE YOU. PUT YOUR LOVE WHERE YOUR MOUTH IS.”

“THAT IS NOT THE PHRASE,” you cried.

“IT IS NOW,” haibara shouted, fist in the air.

gojo was looking at you like you just became his favorite episode of a fucked-up reality show. slowly, slowly, he leaned in, blinking those pale lashes in mock innocence, like a predator trying to play sweet. “do you want me to hold your hand, princess?” he cooed, voice dragging over each syllable like it was rolling in honey and filth. “whisper how pretty you look while you say missionary is your favorite?”

you flailed, completely red, pressing your palm to his face and pushing him back with a groan. “shut uuuuuup, i hate you—”

“you love me,” he sang.

“you’ll love him more with his dick in you like an afterschool special,” shoko muttered, and you almost died.

“this is not how peer support groups work,” you whined.

“this is how our support group works,” geto corrected, cool as ice, brushing ash off his sleeve. “we support you… into making the worst decisions imaginable.”

“i hate this friend group.”

“you started it!” utahime yelled. “you could’ve said cowgirl and we would’ve moved on!”

“i wanted to be authentic!”

“authentic my ass,” nanami mumbled. “your idea of authentic includes handcuffs and a soundtrack.”

“THAT WAS ONE TIME.”

gojo grinned wider, tongue tucked behind his teeth, eyes narrow with mischief. “baby, you say one time, but your eyes are saying again.” you groaned, staring up at the string lights twinkling on the ceiling like they were your last remaining allies. “i hope you all choke on your weed.”

“romantic choking,” geto said.

“god is dead,” you muttered.

“he died in missionary,” shoko declared.

and the room screamed again.

the yelling hadn’t died down. it had evolved—evolved into a full-blown, unholy ritual, like you’d summoned something cursed just by saying “missionary” in this den of godless chaos. the music still thumped in the background—some bass-heavy beat vibrating low enough to shake the pool cues on the wall—but it was drowned beneath the choir of filthy voices rallying around your damnation.

“come onnnn,” haibara practically whined, dragging himself across the floor like a tragic little beast of pressure and peer influence. “just do it once. like, clinical trial shit. for science.”

“for data,” geto added solemnly, passing the joint back to you with all the pomp of a ceremonial dagger. “you know he’s down,” utahime said, gesturing lazily with her drink toward gojo. “he’s always down. satoru would do it with a smile on his face and his dick already out.”

“i’d do it with flowers,” gojo offered sweetly, chin in hand, smiling like the most deranged boy in a dating sim. “i’d put a little post-it on her hip that says you’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

“you are a menace,” you groaned, tossing the joint in the ashtray, flopping your head against the back of the couch. “okay, but for real,” shoko cut in, snapping her fingers like a sitcom villain. “we have to settle this. you can’t keep saying that’s your favorite and then not test it with the absolute worst candidate.”

gojo lit up. “i’m honored.”

“he’s dumb as shit,” nanami added, calmly wiping the bar down with a cocktail napkin like he wasn’t verbally assassinating his friend. “there’s no way he can make it romantic. not even ironically.”

“he’d come while trying to say something nice and end up crying,” shoko muttered, lighting a cigarette like the world’s most beautiful disappointment. “he doesn’t even know how to look romantic,” geto chimed in, now entirely leaned back and smoking like he was watching live theater. “that man sends memes after sexting.”

“he once tried to dirty talk me by saying i looked like i had good knees,” utahime added. the room died.

“they were good knees,” gojo whined.

“SEE?” shoko shrieked, pointing wildly. “this is what we’re dealing with! that’s who she wants missionary with! that’s what she calls romance!”

you covered your face, weakly laughing into your hands. “you’re all insane.”

“and yet,” nanami said smoothly, pouring himself another drink, “you’ve fucked most of us.”

your head snapped up. “WHAT—”

“you have,” shoko agreed, nodding casually like she was reading a wine label. “it’s canon now.”

“absolutely,” geto said, exhaling smoke like a sexy devil. “you’ve whored your way through 70% of this friend group. missionary with gojo would be the least slutty thing you’ve done.”

“don’t slut-shame me while calling me a slut,” you groaned, laughing despite yourself. “slut is not derogatory here,” shoko said, patting your thigh. “it’s like saying you’re talented. you’re our slut. community slut. the people’s princess.”

“i’m gonna cry.”

“oh, so now you wanna act innocent?” nanami’s voice was ice in a cocktail glass. “not when you were drunk texting me ‘wanna ruin my future?’ at 2am last weekend.”

“i was having a moment!”

“you were also wearing gojo’s hoodie with no pants and humping a pillow,” geto said, eyes glittering like he kept this memory polished for personal use. you slapped your palms over your face again. “can’t a girl be romantic in peace?”

“not in this house,” utahime deadpanned. “but like,” gojo piped up, head now resting on your thigh again, completely unbothered, probably hard, absolutely thrilled, “they’ve got a point.”

you looked down at him, exhausted. “i swear to god, satoru—”

“no no, hear me out,” he said, holding up both hands like he was offering a legal defense. “i’ve seen you horny for nanami just cause he tied his tie right. i’ve seen you get wet over geto saying the word ‘problematic.’ you let shoko suck a bruise into your thigh because she was bored.”

“and that was her fault,” you pointed to shoko. “i was drunk and passive.”

“uh huh,” she hummed, mouth twitching.

“all i’m saying is,” gojo said, sitting up now, hands on your knees, looking up at you like a dog who just learned to beg, “if you’re gonna be a slut, be an honest slut. missionary with me. prove them wrong. show them you’re a woman of taste and tragedy.”

you stared at him, mouth parted, blinking.

“this is sexual peer pressure,” you mumbled.

“this is justice,” geto corrected.

“this is foreplay,” gojo whispered with a wink.

“i hate you all,” you grumbled, cheeks hot, lips twitching despite yourself.

“but you’ll do it?” haibara asked, eyes wide and dumb and so hopeful.

“maybe.”

“HA!” gojo shouted, launching a throw pillow at shoko. “that’s a yes!”

“that’s not a yes—”

“you heard her!” geto called, standing up to stretch like a smug, half-naked giraffe. “she agreed! and now we shall bear witness to the least romantic, most catastrophic missionary session ever.”

“you’re gonna be pinned to the mattress like a frog in biology class,” shoko said, wheezing. “gojo’s gonna forget to take off his socks,” utahime muttered, disgusted. “you know i have those toe socks,” he said proudly.

you groaned again, but deep down your stomach fluttered with heat and laughter, and your thighs pressed together, and despite the chaos—despite all of it—you were already thinking about how it’d feel to have him above you, stupid, naked, sweet, mean, sloppy, and whispering something that almost sounded like love.

and stupidly, in the end, you look behind you as you walk toward the hallway with gojo—your hand clutched in his like a fucking idiot—with the bedroom door at the end blinking at you like it knew exactly how many sins were about to unfold inside it. he’s practically bouncing beside you, grinning with his arm slung around your waist like he won a prize at a fair and it was you, half-drunk, giggling, humiliated, and undeniably curious about how the stupidest fucking person in your friends group was about to missionary the everloving shit out of you.

you glance back once, just once, and of course—of course—the entire couch crew is watching, each one of them grinning like hyenas on bath salts.

shoko, drink in one hand, tongue out like she’s in a punk band photo shoot, flips you off and mouths, “TAKE THE D.”

nanami lifts his glass, deadpan as ever, and mouths, “condoms are in the drawer.”

haibara is full-on doubled over, clapping like you’re being sent off to war.

geto gives you the filthiest two-thumbs-up you’ve ever seen, followed by a pantomimed gesture that can only be described as “jackhammer pelvic annihilation.”

utahime just shrugs like “you brought this on yourself.”

you don’t know if you want to laugh or scream or combust.

you’re all stupid fucks.

and you’re the stupidest one of all.

gojo drags you through the door with a dramatic flourish, like you’re being ushered into a honeymoon suite, except it’s the spare bedroom in his overdesigned basement—dark walls, plush mattress, fairy lights clinging to the corners, a single massive bed that has held too many sleepovers, too many hangovers, too many half-naked bodies tangled under that navy comforter.

he slams the door shut behind him with an unnecessary thud and then locks it.

locks it with intent.

you look at him, raising an eyebrow.

he grins, all bright eyes and too much teeth, and says, “we don’t want anyone walking in on your emotional awakening.” you shove him in the chest, laughing despite the heat pooling low in your belly, but his arms snake around your waist and he pulls you flush against him, the giddiness gone softer now, warmer.

“you really want this?” he asks, murmuring it against the corner of your mouth, lips ghosting, fingers rubbing slow lazy circles against your spine. “you wanna prove ‘em all wrong?”

you tilt your head back, a little buzzed, a little high, heart thumping in your ears from the absurdity and anticipation and just… him—this dumb beautiful man who you’ve known since freshman year, who once drank a bottle of cooking wine on a dare, who calls you names that make your skin warm, who sends you memes at 2am and confesses his feelings with a smirk like it’s not real.

and now he’s asking like it’s the first time he’s ever taken anything seriously. you hum, smirk lazy, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “go on, missionary me, satoru.”

he laughs—not loud, not sharp, just this sweet, stupid, delighted sound that vibrates into your chest before he grabs your jaw, kisses you once, hard and messy and full of promise, and then gently backs you toward the bed like he’s actually going to try to make this romantic.

“i’m gonna missionary you so hard you’ll cry,” he says, completely deadpan.

“you’re such a fucking idiot,” you murmur.

“yours,” he whispers, pushing you down onto the mattress like prayer, like penance, like romance—but only if romance came with a hickey and a headboard slam.

gojo doesn’t even rush you, which is fucking weird. normally he rushes everything—his speeches, his shots, his half-baked plans that end with haibara covered in glitter and someone’s laptop in the bathtub. but now, now that you’ve willingly walked into this basement bedroom with him like some horny lamb in a thrifted hoodie, he moves slow. suspiciously slow. like he’s savoring it. like the thought of doing missionary—actual missionary, not his usual chaotic acrobatic nonsense—has turned into something sacred.

his hands are on your hips first, thumbs dipping just beneath the waistband of your shorts as he leans over you, not yet pushing you down but crowding you close enough that you feel the press of his grin against your skin.

“you sure you don’t want something more… you?” he murmurs, voice like a low vibration against your neck, smug and teasing, but softer than usual.

you blink up at him, lying back slightly on your elbows atop the bed, the fairy lights in the corners of the ceiling casting soft gold against his white hair, making him look like the dumbest, prettiest boy the devil ever handcrafted in a rush. his shirt is wrinkled, half unbuttoned from earlier when he got dramatic during your defense trial in the living room, and you can see the curve of his collarbones, the start of his chest. he’s flushed, high, and still smiling like he’s on a game show and he’s about to spin the wheel of “ruin your life.”

you smirk back. “you saying i’m not a romantic?”

he kisses your shoulder, open-mouthed and slow. “i’m saying you’re a slut with a dream.”

you groan. “fuck off.”

“i will,” he murmurs, mouthing just below your collarbone, “right after i make you fall in love with me like a virgin on prom night.”

you burst out laughing, shoving his shoulder, but your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt and you don’t push him far. his hands slide up your sides, dragging your shirt with them, slow and deliberate, knuckles brushing bare skin. you can feel him watching your face, that infuriating way he always does, like he’s daring you to show how much you want him, how much you feel him even in these dumb, tender moments.

you let your head fall back on the mattress with a sigh, staring at the ceiling, arms up to let him pull your shirt the rest of the way off. the lights glow amber above you. the room smells like weed and gojo and leftover cologne and heat. you’re suddenly aware of how warm you are, how warm he is—kneeling one knee between your thighs now, eyes slow and greedy as they rake over your torso.

he runs his fingers up your stomach, watching the way your skin jumps under the touch. “see?” he says, voice soft but smug. “missionary’s good already. look how romantic this is. i haven’t even said the dumb shit yet.”

“say it,” you challenge, breath catching when he leans down again, kisses trailing over the swell of your breast, hands still warm and splayed along your ribs.

his mouth brushes your sternum. “you feel so pretty under my hands.”

your thighs twitch. “that’s not even a sentence.”

“shh,” he says, nuzzling the underside of your breast. “i’m practicing.”

his tongue flicks out, barely tasting your skin, not even on your nipple, just everywhere else—stupid, teasing little licks and kisses that feel more intimate than any fast-grab hookup ever did. one hand slides down to your hip, the other dragging along your arm, fingers lacing with yours, like he’s doing this half slow to spite everyone outside the door. look at us, he seems to say with every breath. look how fucking tender missionary can be.

“i swear to god if you light a candle—”

“i’m going to whisper how much i admire your work ethic.”

“satoru.”

he kisses the inside of your elbow.

“i’m gonna say i love your playlists.”

“oh my god.”

he climbs up, mouth ghosting over your jaw now, weight sinking into the mattress as he settles between your legs fully, both your hands pinned above your head with his, gaze locking onto yours with that glint—equal parts mockery and reverence. his breath is warm, lips millimeters from yours, teasing.

“i’m gonna make you come while telling you how smart you are.”

you stare, blinking, lips parting like you’re gonna come up with a good retort—and then moan when he shifts his hips, not even grinding, just pressing, enough friction to spark heat through the fabric.

he smirks.

“told you,” he whispers. “romantic’s just foreplay with better lighting.”

you blink up at him, heat crawling up your neck like it’s trying to reach your brain and set fire to what little reason you have left. he’s too close. he’s too warm, too gojo, too smug, and the worst part is—he’s not even being his usual chaotic self. this is worse. this is soft. this is slow, deliberate, dragged-out torture disguised as affection, and it’s working way too fucking well.

your arms are stretched above you, wrists pinned by one of his big, veiny hands—so unnecessarily hot—while his other trails down your side again, fingers curling like he’s mapping you out by touch, like every new inch of bare skin is a piece of his personal love letter.

“you’re so warm,” he says, voice quiet now. a little surprised. “you always run hot?”

you groan, cheeks hot as hell. “satoru.”

“i like it,” he adds, his thumb rubbing slow circles into your wrist. “feels like you’re already worked up for me.”

you glare. “this is supposed to be romantic.”

“it is,” he grins, leaning down just enough to drag his nose along your jaw. “i’m romancing you right now. you’re being romanced. fully seduced. by my incredible personality and outstanding emotional depth.”

you burst out laughing, face turning toward the pillow to muffle the sound, and he takes the opportunity to mouth along your neck, pressing an open kiss just below your ear. not biting, not sucking, just soft and slow, his lips dragging along your pulse point like he’s trying to memorize your heartbeat.

his hand leaves your wrist, and you instinctively move to touch him, fingers threading into his hair as he kisses lower, over your collarbone, across your shoulder, moving down with maddening patience. he pulls at your waistband gently, eyes flicking up to meet yours like he’s asking without words, and you nod, breath catching in your throat.

he slides your shorts down, dragging the fabric slowly past your thighs, kissing his way along your hipbone as he goes. nothing rushed. no bravado. just him and the stupid heat of his mouth on your skin, the gentle press of his hands as he settles between your thighs.

he exhales against your inner thigh like a sigh, like he’s been waiting his whole dumb life for this exact moment, and you shiver. “still think this isn’t romantic?” he asks, glancing up with a crooked smile, his breath ghosting over where you’re already embarrassingly wet.

you tug at his hair lightly. “you’re an idiot.”

“a romantic idiot,” he corrects, pressing a kiss just above your knee. “the best kind.” he kisses higher now, slow and trailing, hands rubbing soft patterns into your thighs as he settles deeper between them, anchoring you there like he’s making himself a new home.

“i’m gonna take my time with you,” he whispers, dragging his lips up toward the place you’re aching for. “gonna make you feel so fucking good… and the whole time, i’ll be looking at you like we’re married and i just made you breakfast.”

you snort. “is that your fantasy? missionary and eggs benedict?”

he hums against your skin, lips curving. “yeah, but you’re the eggs. i’m gonna ruin you.” you squeak, shoving at his head, but your legs don’t move. they can’t, not when he’s got them opened like this, not when his mouth is that close, not when your whole body’s vibrating from anticipation.

he chuckles again, smug and soft, and presses one more kiss just shy of where you want him, before leaning back up and dragging his body over yours, forearm bracing beside your head.

his mouth finds yours again, slow and coaxing, like he’s drinking from you, like every sound you make is holy. he kisses you like he’s got forever. like tonight’s the only night that matters. and even though it’s still teasing, still laced with filth and humor and all the usual gojo mess—you feel the care in it. the attention. the goddamn sweetness.

his nose brushes yours as he pulls back just enough to speak.

“missionary’s lookin’ pretty good right now, huh?”

you can’t speak. you just nod.

“that’s what i fuckin’ thought,” he murmurs, and kisses you again, deeper now, hungrier.

and somehow—stupidly, undeniably—it is romantic.

his kiss deepens and it changes something—slips out of that playful, teasing rhythm and sinks into a weightier kind of heat, slow and intentional. like he’s not just kissing you because he wants to, but because he needs to, like there’s something about your mouth he’s been thinking about every night he lay awake jerking off with his phone on silent and your face stuck in his memory.

gojo presses closer, one arm sliding beneath your back to lift you into him, like even now, he can’t stand a sliver of distance. your thighs fall open around his hips without resistance, your body pliant, high and fuzzy and ready, even as your brain’s still catching up, trying to convince you this is actually happening.

and still—still he doesn’t go for your panties yet. he’s grinding against them through his jeans, slow, careful, more like he’s testing pressure than chasing friction. he doesn’t need to rush, not with you already sighing into his mouth, your nails dragging light patterns over the back of his neck, legs wrapping around him like a question you don’t know how to ask.

he hums against your lips, low and pleased. his voice sounds deeper now, like it’s sitting low in his chest, like lust’s finally dragging it down out of his usual chirpy register and into something that sounds like intent.

“fuck,” he murmurs, breath hot against your cheek, “you feel so fuckin’ good already and i’m not even inside you.” his nose nuzzles yours as his hand ghosts down your side again, over your waist, over the soft of your hip, sliding slow between your thighs—warm and steady, pressing the heel of his palm against your center, not touching anything properly yet, just there, enough to make you buck a little without thinking.

he pulls back to watch you, eyes blown out, grin lazy and eyes focused in a way that’s almost too much—like he’s trying to memorize the way your face changes with each drag of his hand. “don’t hide your face,” he whispers, brushing hair from your forehead. “i wanna see everything. this is the romantic part, remember?”

you glare at him weakly, lip caught between your teeth. “you’re such a dick.”

he beams. “a romantic dick.”

his fingers hook into your waistband slowly, dragging your panties down your thighs, and even then he doesn’t move too fast. he stops just to kiss the crease of your thigh, to mouth the soft skin above your knee like he’s got nowhere else to be. he keeps talking under his breath, too—his filthy little monologue of worship and teasing:

“so pretty. so soft. you always smell this good? i shoulda done this years ago. god, the way you’re lookin’ at me right now—fuck. fuck. this is better than porn.”

you groan, hiding your face again. he just laughs and pulls your hands away, pinning them gently beside your head. “you’re not allowed to be shy now, babe,” he murmurs. “not after all that talk.” then, he grinds again—slow, hips rolling forward against your now-bare heat, his cock thick and hot through his jeans before he slowly push it off his legs, dragging perfectly along your slick folds, not in, not yet, just enough to make you whimper, thighs tightening around his hips.

you say his name and it breaks on your tongue, half a moan, half a warning. his mouth finds yours again, and it’s gentler this time, breathier, softer, like the kind of kiss you give someone after an argument, or a goodbye, or a promise. “this,” he whispers, between slow rolls of his hips, “is what they don’t get about missionary. it’s not boring.”

he kisses your cheek. your jaw. your throat.

“it’s close.”

he cups your breast with one hand, thumb brushing over your nipple until your back arches. “it’s eye contact.” he pushes the tip of his cock just barely against your entrance, just a tease, not even enough to press in, just the heat and pressure and promise, and it’s maddening. “it’s feelin’ every twitch you make.” his other hand cradles your face now, thumb brushing over your cheek, his eyes locked on yours.

“and when i finally fuck you—”

you tremble beneath him, fingers gripping his shoulders like you’re drowning.

“—you’re not gonna be able to look away.”

your breath catches. your lips part. your thighs shake.

and he’s still smiling, so slow, so patient, hips rocking against yours in a way that’s somehow sweeter than anything you’ve done with him before. “see?” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “romance. just with more lube.”

his cockhead slides slick and hot along your folds—slow, teasing passes up and down the length of your pussy like he’s learning you by feel, like he’s savoring every tremble you can’t suppress. he doesn’t push in yet, just drags the tip lazily, catching your clit on the upstroke, smearing your slick over the flushed head with every patient, maddening grind. it’s warm and messy and obscene, his hips rolling slow, the weight of him heavy between your thighs, arms braced on either side of your head, body coiled but unhurried.

you’re breathing through your mouth now, lips parted, chest rising fast. his forehead’s still resting against yours, breath hot, both of you in this sticky, perfect moment suspended just before the fall. you lift one hand, threading your fingers into his hair—so soft, even now—and the other slips to the buttons of his shirt.

“i need—” you start, but don’t finish. he just nods.

you work the buttons open one by one, trembling fingers moving slow at first, then faster, frantic for skin. every button undone reveals more of him—long lines of lean muscle under smooth skin, flushed now, glowing in the golden halo of the fairy lights. his collarbones, his sternum, the subtle dip down the center of his chest, the way he moves above you with every breath—it’s fucking perfect. stupidly, unreasonably perfect.

your palms flatten against his chest, dragging down over the flex of his abs, feeling him shudder under your touch. he’s warm, a little sticky with sweat, skin like silk over steel. your nails graze his ribs and he gasps into your neck.

“fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters.

“shut up and fuck me,” you breathe back, and it’s not even desperate—it’s reverent. his cock nudges against your entrance, hips rolling forward, and then he pushes. slow. impossibly slow. inch by inch, your pussy stretching around him, swallowing him, your breath caught in your throat as the fullness builds, thick and unbearable and perfect.

his forehead presses back to yours. his mouth drops open, eyes squeezed shut, groaning soft and hoarse like the pleasure hurts. you wrap your legs around his waist, pull him in deeper, your hands sliding up his back. your nails dig in—deep—carving red lines into the flex of his shoulder blades and down along his spine. he hisses against your lips, a sound that’s more pleasure than pain, hips stuttering.

“shit—baby—fuck—”

he bottoms out with a shaky grind of his hips, buried so deep inside you that you feel like you’ve been marked from the inside out. every twitch of him against your walls sends sparks up your spine. and he just stays there for a moment, not moving, breathing you in.

“you feel—” he tries, but then laughs breathlessly, shaking his head. “—i don’t have the words. you feel like heaven and punishment and fucking home.” your hands curl tighter into his back, your lips brushing his cheek as you whisper back, “i told you i was romantic.”

“you’re a fucking dream,” he whispers.

then his hips start to move.

his hips begin to move with the kind of slow, reverent rhythm that makes your throat tighten. like every inch he draws back is a silent apology, and every inch he pushes back in is a promise he’ll never leave. it’s not just sex—it's the ache of something bigger pressing down on both of you, thick in the air like incense, like heat, like the way his mouth brushes yours with every shallow thrust, not always kissing, just there, sharing breath, the smallest space between you charged and crackling.

you’re wrapped around him fully now—legs looped over his waist, hands tangled in the open cotton of his shirt that’s slipped halfway off his shoulders, your nails still painting invisible trails down his back. you can feel the burn where you scratched him raw, and he’s still groaning every time your nails dig a little deeper, like it feeds him, like he likes the proof of you on his body.

but it’s slow. fucking unbearably slow.

he’s not slamming into you like some desperate teenage fantasy. no—gojo is making love to you with the body of a sinner and the mouth of a man who knows every joke will hit harder with your cunt squeezing around his cock.

“you’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs against your lips, grinning through a groan, forehead still pressed to yours. “like—fuck, like you’re trying to keep me forever.” you whimper softly, one hand sliding into his hair, tugging at the roots just to feel him react. and he does, hips hitching slightly deeper, eyes fluttering shut as he pants against your cheek.

“that what this is?” he breathes. “romance as entrapment? mm—baby, if that’s what you’re after, you’ve got me.” he pulls out almost to the tip, dragging the ridge of his cockhead against your soaked entrance, then sinks back in slowly—too slowly—and you arch into him, breath catching with a soft, gasping moan.

“fuck,” he whispers, voice cracked. “listen to you.”

his hand slips between you now, palm flat against your stomach first, then lower, his fingers finding your clit like second nature, rubbing soft circles that match the slow grind of his hips. the pressure makes your thighs tighten around him, your hips canting upward, breath stuttering.

“so good,” you gasp, eyes fluttering. “satoru—fuck—don’t stop.”

“never,” he promises, eyes locked on yours now, wide and bright and open, not cocky this time, not laughing—just full of that stupid, terrifying sincerity he hides under every joke. “fuck, you feel so good. so soft. warm. like your pussy’s in love with me even if your mouth won’t say it yet.”

you let out a broken laugh, hands clutching his shoulders, your body moving with his now, rolling into every thrust, every tender rub of his fingers over your clit. “i hate you,” you whisper, dazed, overwhelmed, completely gone.

he grins, mouth brushing yours again. “no, you don’t.”

“i really do—”

“then why’s your cunt fluttering every time i say something romantic?”

you choke on a laugh that dissolves into a moan, and he kisses it off your lips, his thrusts picking up just barely—still slow, still deep, but with a heat that builds under your skin, spreading outward like a wave you know you won’t survive. “missionary,” he breathes, like he’s blessing you with the word. “best position in the world.”

“fuck you—”

“you are,” he laughs, cock twitching inside you. “you’re so fucking mine right now.”

you grab his face, pull him down into another kiss—sloppy, wet, real, all tongue and teeth and heat. he’s moaning into your mouth now, every roll of his hips drawing a whine out of your throat, every filthy little circle of his fingers making your stomach twist tight. “you’re not allowed to be good at this,” you manage to gasp between kisses. “oh, baby,” he pants, forehead pressed back to yours, cock grinding deeper, his voice dropping low and filthy. “you haven’t even seen me try yet.”

his hips drag deep and slow like he’s sculpting the inside of you with his cock, and you’re shaking beneath him—sweat-damp skin sliding against his, toes curled, fingers sunk into his back so hard you know you’ll leave scratches he’s going to brag about for weeks. gojo’s face is buried against your throat, his breath coming out in broken little groans, every sound pitched high and wrecked like he’s unraveling with you, held together by nothing but the rhythm of his thrusts and the heat blooming in your core.

you’re soaked around him, clenching every time he rolls his hips into you with that slow, relentless grind that drags the thick head of his cock across your sweetest spot just right, again and again. the slick sound of him fucking you fills the room, obscene and wet, echoing off the walls like music behind the ragged whimpering of your breath and his deep, shuddering groans.

your thighs twitch around his waist, your head thrown back against the pillows, mouth open, voice cracking as you moan, “fuck—fuck—satoru—i’m gonna—i can’t—fuck—”

“yes, baby,” he pants, voice completely shot, wrecked and desperate, every word punctuated by a thrust that goes just a little harder, a little deeper. “come on, i feel you—shit, you’re squeezing me so—fuck, come for me, baby, come on me, i wanna feel you break—”

your back arches and you scream—loud, raw, real—hands flying to his hair, tugging hard as your orgasm slams through you like a tidal wave, pussy fluttering around him, tight and hot and soaked. your entire body locks up, toes curling, thighs shaking violently as pleasure rips through you in sharp, electric pulses that have you gasping his name again and again—“satoru—satoru—fuckfuckfuck—oh my god—”

he’s losing it above you, losing his fucking mind, his cock twitching hard inside you as your walls milk him with every spasm. his forehead’s pressed to yours, mouth hanging open, breath coming in short, wrecked little moans—“f-fuck—oh fuck, baby, oh my god—your pussy’s choking me—gonna—gonna—i’m gonna—”

he slams into you one last time, hips jerking as he moans so loud right in your ear, deep and guttural and shaking with how hard he comes, cock throbbing as he spills inside you, filling you up, his whole body shuddering as he gasps, "oh fuck, yes—yesyesyes—oh my fucking god—yes."

you’re both panting, legs wrapped tight around his waist, arms pulling him down, needing him close even as your bodies tremble against each other. his cock is still twitching inside you, your walls still fluttering with aftershocks, and he’s breathing your name like he’s worshipping it, forehead pressed to yours as he whispers, “that was—fuck—baby—i felt everything. you—you killed me.”

you laugh, hoarse and fucked-out, body buzzing like live wire. “missionary?” he pants, lips brushing yours. “best fucking position,” you gasp, still clenching around him, making him groan all over again.

he smiles. “god, i love being right.”

his body is still trembling against yours, muscles twitching under your hands as he slowly, reluctantly, starts to move again—like he’s not ready to let go of the feeling, like being buried in you with your legs locked around his waist is something he’d live inside if the world would just let him.

he’s panting into your neck, soft little exhales against your damp skin, and you can feel the shape of every breath, the way his chest stutters against yours like he’s still trying to come back to earth. and inside you, he’s still thick, still sensitive, every subtle squeeze of your cunt making him whimper.

you grin, dazed, half-dead, fully fucked out, dragging your nails up his back with gentle pressure now, tracing along the red welts you carved earlier like a painter admiring their masterpiece. “you’re leaking inside me,” you murmur, voice rough and slurred, hips shifting just enough to feel the warm, wet spill of him dripping down your thighs.

he groans, long and low, and lifts his head to look at you. his bangs are plastered to his forehead, eyes glassy and blown wide, lips swollen and parted as he breathes. there’s sweat at his temple, a flush high in his cheeks, and the expression on his face is somewhere between holy shit and i could marry you right now and cry doing it.

“you keep squeezing me like that, baby,” he says, voice shredded, “and i’ll give you another load without even moving.”

you laugh breathlessly, biting your lip, and he kisses you—messy, slow, full of tongue and heat and that unbearable sweetness that he only ever shows you in quiet moments like this. his hips roll forward just a little, and even though you’re both sensitive, you both moan, gasping against each other’s mouths.

“fuck,” you breathe, nails digging gently into his shoulder blades again. “you came so much, satoru.”

“‘course i did,” he pants, pulling back just enough to look down at where your bodies are still joined. he moves his hips in the slightest circle, still buried inside you, cock twitching, and watches your cunt flutter around him like it’s still begging for more.

“how could i not?” he continues, eyes wide, voice soft with shock. “you—you milked me. i didn’t even get to fuck you hard. you came and just took it from me. you robbed me. you’re a criminal.” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him back down into your chest. “you liked it.”

“i loved it,” he groans, pressing kisses to your collarbone, mouthing against your skin like he can’t stop. “missionary’s never gonna be the same. i’m gonna be useless. this pussy’s got emotional consequences.”

you snort, and he keeps talking like he’s possessed, rambling sweet and filthy things against your skin. “gonna write about this in my journal. not even a sex diary. just regular journal. ‘dear diary, the love of my life fucked me dumb in my own basement. i cried a little.’”

“you didn’t cry,” you say, even as you’re laughing again.

“not yet.”

you’re still full of him, and he’s still twitching inside you like he’s thinking about round two, and honestly—you are too. the room’s still glowing soft with the fairy lights. your bodies are stuck together with sweat and come and the kind of heat that doesn’t cool easy. your thighs are sticky around his hips. his fingers haven’t stopped stroking your side. you can hear your friends still laughing distantly from the living room, and none of it matters.

he presses his forehead to yours again, noses brushing. “you wanna go again?” he asks, voice soft now, full of a wicked little smile. “slow this time. slower than this.”

you blink at him.

“that was slow.”

he grins. “i can go slower.”

your breath catches, your body already aching in the best way.

“what, you gonna put on music and cry while you fuck me?”

“only if you want me to,” he whispers, and then kisses you again, tender and deep.

and god help you—you might.

after a few moments of so-called dramatic silence—it’s not, because gojo’s incapable of shutting up even post-orgasm—you finally sigh, drop your head back with a groan, and sit up on the edge of the bed, still dazed, still soaked, still trying to remember how to be a functioning human being. your thighs stick together when you shift. the air is thick with sex and sweat and that particular smugness that only gojo satoru can radiate like body heat.

meanwhile, he’s half-dressed and strutting around like a peacock that just won a dance battle. his jeans are back on—sloppily buttoned, zipper half-down, belt missing—and his shirt is absolutely not on because it’s somewhere across the room where he tossed it like a used napkin. he’s humming to himself as he pokes through the wreckage of the bed’s surroundings, eyes sparkling like he just found religion.

“where the hell did your bra go?” he mutters, pulling a sock off the lampshade and examining it like it might transform. “jesus, did i eat it?—oh, nope. got it. it was under my back.”

you groan again, arms folded across your chest, hair a tangled halo around your face, watching him with your chin tucked against your knees. “can you just—bring me my shirt before you go on another satoru soliloquy?”

“no can do, miss missionary evangelist,” he says, holding your crumpled shirt in one hand and dramatically placing your bra over his shoulder like a sash. “not until you publicly acknowledge that you were wrong and i, gojo satoru, bringer of orgasmic truth, proved—beyond reasonable doubt—that missionary is the best position known to mankind.”

you throw a pillow at him.

it hits his face, bounces off, and he keeps smiling.

“fine,” you mutter, reaching out as he steps in close. “yes. missionary with you, the stupidest man in our group, was good. amazing. disgustingly good.”

“romantic,” he corrects, kneeling in front of you now, the shirt falling from his hand onto your lap, the bra dangling from two fingers as he smirks up at you. “romantically stupid,” you clarify, grinning despite the embarrassment curling under your skin.

“they’re gonna die when they hear you let me make love to you like a Jane Austen adaptation,” he says, gently nudging your thighs apart so he can help you step into your underwear. “haibara’s gonna combust. shoko’s gonna stage an intervention.”

“shoko’s gonna accuse me of spiritual regression,” you say, lifting your hips so he can slide the fabric back over them. “and i’m gonna prove her wrong. i’m gonna look her in the eyes and tell her: ‘even doing missionary with the dumbest man i know, it was still the best.’ and you know what? i’m gonna mean it.”

gojo grins like the devil with a heart of gold.

“now that’s the kinda testimonial i wanna hear in a courtroom,” he says, fingers dragging slowly up your thighs, hooking your shorts next. “tell the jury, sweetheart. tell ‘em what it felt like.” you swat his shoulder, cheeks flushing again. “just help me put my bra on, casanova.”

he does—surprisingly gently, fingers cool against your back, hooking the clasp with practiced ease before pulling your shirt down over your head, smoothing the fabric over your hips like he’s dressing a doll he won in a fucked-up carnival game. and when he stands up again, you reach for his bicep, eyes catching on the faint red lines blooming just under the curve of his muscle.

your fingers trace one—long, angry, scabbed slightly already. the mark from your nails. from when you came so hard you clawed him like you were drowning in him. your breath catches a little.

“does that hurt?” you ask, voice low, thumb brushing it softer now.

he looks down at your hand. then at you.

and grins.

“hurt? no, baby. it’s proof.”

“proof of what? that i mauled you like a cat in heat?”

“proof that missionary ruins lives.” you choke on a laugh, and he throws his arms out dramatically, flexing the arm with the red lines like a trophy. “i’m gonna show everyone,” he says proudly. “i’m gonna walk out there and tell them: this? this was earned through slow, passionate, eye-contact-heavy fucking.”

you blink. “you’re gonna brag about being scratched during tender sex?”

“hell yes i am. this is a scarlet letter and i’m wearing it with pride.”

you bury your face in your hands.

“i’m gonna have to move cities.”

he leans down, kisses your hair, still giddy.

“no you’re not. you’re gonna go out there, sit on that couch, and smile smugly while they cry about how you got the good shit.”

“what, missionary?”

he winks. “romantic missionary.”

you shake your head, grabbing his hand to stand up with a sigh. your legs still tremble slightly, and he catches you with an arm around your waist. “we tell them,” he whispers in your ear, “but we don’t tell them everything.”

“deal.”

you walk out first, mostly because gojo insisted on dramatically opening the door for you like some fucked-up victorian husband escorting his blushing bride after the most sacred consummation of their union—which is rich, considering there was nothing sacred about what just happened unless you count the part where you saw god for a few seconds while pinned beneath the dumbest man in your life.

the moment the door creaks open, the silence is immediate and vicious. like the eye of a hurricane. the group sprawled across the living room snaps their heads toward the hallway in unison like a pack of wild animals smelling the aftermath of debauchery—and the look on their faces?

oh yeah. they know.

you’re glowing. not figuratively. literally. your skin’s flushed and gleaming with sweat, your shirt slightly off the shoulder, your lips swollen, your hair a disaster that no dry shampoo or dignity could save. a fresh constellation of hickeys blooms across your neck like you had a one-night stand with the concept of poor decision-making. you’ve got that post-sex daze in your eyes—the kind that says your soul left your body for twenty-seven minutes and came back softer.

and gojo?

gojo looks worse. or better, depending on how deranged your standards are.

shirtless. completely unbothered. jeans slung low like gravity’s trying to preserve the last shreds of your dignity and failing. his hair’s a wild mess, fluffed and chaotic, the way it always gets when you’ve pulled it hard—and oh, you did. his face is pink and flushed, lips bitten, pupils blown, and he’s got this grin, this absolutely illegal, felony-level smug grin, like he just won a championship no one else knew they were playing.

his back and arms are fucking wrecked. scratch marks everywhere. some long and shallow, others deep and angry, crisscrossing like tally marks on a prison wall. his biceps? ruined. shoulders? decorated. lower back? absolutely mauled. he’s walking like a man who survived the trenches and wants everyone to know it. he’s not even pretending to be humble.

you both step into the room and immediately—

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—” haibara lets out a guttural scream like he’s witnessing a murder. he drops the pool cue he wasn’t even holding right and clutches his face. “you look—he looks—i didn’t even know backs could bruise like that,” utahime says, pointing, voice somewhere between horrified and hysterical.

shoko slowly sits up straighter, blinking at your neck, her eyes narrowing as she catalogues the damage. “that’s… impressive. Disgusting, but impressive.” geto whistles low, lounging on the couch with his legs crossed like he’s the judge in a porno talent show. “is that a bite on your collarbone? did you actually leave teeth marks?”

gojo throws an arm around your shoulder like a victorious war hero returning home, full of glory and sin and not a shred of guilt. “ladies,” he says, voice hoarse and soaked in self-satisfaction, “gentlemen. sluts of all genders. i am here to confirm that romantic missionary is not dead.”

you smack his chest but don’t move away.

you’re already laughing, breathless, flushed, and shameless. “even with him,” you announce to the room, lifting your chin, “missionary is still the best position. maybe the best I’ve ever had.”

dead silence.

and then the couch erupts.

haibara throws a pillow at you so hard it ricochets and hits nanami in the face. utahime screams. shoko collapses backward, legs kicking, full-body laughing like a woman betrayed. geto claps slow and dramatic, head shaking. “you’ve broken her,” shoko howls, “she’s gone, she’s converted. next she’ll say handholding’s hot!”

“it is,” gojo says, absolutely delighted. “you’re a slut,” utahime says, pointing at you, but her voice is grinning. “every position is the best for you. you could get railed in a dentist chair and you’d moan about how it’s your new favorite.”

“i’m versatile,” you say proudly, flicking your hair like it isn’t a crime scene. “you’re deranged,” nanami mutters, finally lifting his head just to sip something dangerously amber. “no, no, wait,” haibara gasps, pointing at gojo. “he still doesn’t have a shirt on. why doesn’t he have a shirt on? is that blood? IS THAT BLOOD?”

“scratches, sweetheart,” gojo coos, turning around like a model showing off his back to the judges. “proof of passion. her nails did all this. i am but a humble canvas.”

“he moaned when i did it,” you add, deadpan.

shoko screams into a cushion.

“i need bleach for my eyes,” utahime mutters. geto nods solemnly. “i knew missionary would be the one to take you down. i didn’t think it would actually work.”

gojo slumps dramatically into the couch, dragging you with him, arms still around your waist like he can’t let go now that he’s ruined you emotionally and spiritually. he kisses your temple with obnoxious affection, legs spread wide like a man proud of the ruin he left behind.

“this,” he says, motioning to his face, “is the face of a man who made love and won.” you lean back against his chest, sighing like a satisfied villain. “and this is the face of a woman who has no regrets.”

utahime flings her slipper across the room.

“take your slutty love story and get the fuck out.” and all you can do is laugh, tangled with the man who made missionary feel like a religious experience, glowing like a filthy miracle, while your friends spiral in the wake of your post-sex enlightenment.

the scene that follows is nothing short of a cinematic meltdown, a group mental collapse broadcast in full color under the low glow of gojo’s cursed mood lighting. the basement already reeked of weed and spilled cheap whiskey, but now it’s thick with the stench of defeat. your victory. his absolute, unapologetic, shirtless triumph.

gojo leans back into the couch like he owns the fucking place—well, he does, technically, but now it’s like he owns the narrative, the mythos. his arms spread over the back of the cushions, one dangling casually behind your shoulders, the other resting across your thigh like a hand claiming territory. he’s not even pretending to put his shirt back on anymore. it lies somewhere in the corner, forgotten, like decency itself. his chest gleams with sweat and scratches. his hair looks like a bird tried nesting in it during the act. and he smiles.

that dumb, cocky, post-sex smile like he just unlocked a new religion and you’re the first disciple.

you’re still glowing. cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bitten, shirt stretched from being pulled halfway over your head at one point and now just barely covering the constellation of hickeys painted from your neck to your collarbone. you look like you just committed a crime and are so proud of the mugshot.

“it wasn’t just good,” you declare, fingers lazily adjusting your hair with all the grace of a slutty war general. “it was enlightenment. i saw god and she winked at me.”

“was she into missionary too?” geto asks, eyes squinting as he exhales smoke through his nose.

“she invented it,” you say solemnly.

shoko’s lost in the corner of the couch, one sock off, one sock on, a throw blanket over her head as she moans, “i am going to exorcise this entire night from my memory. i am going to bleach my soul.” utahime looks at you, then gojo, then you again, pointing a trembling finger as she says, “the worst part is you’re not even ashamed. you’re not even pretending.”

“what is there to be ashamed of?” gojo grins, tilting his head and stretching his legs out like a lounge chair with a heartbeat. “i made her come with eye contact and emotional intimacy. you’re welcome.”

“you did not make me cry,” you say through your teeth, blushing all over again.

he just hums and presses a kiss to your temple.

“you wanted to cry.”

“you literally told me you’d fall in love with me if i kept clenching.”

“and did you?” he raises an eyebrow.

you flick his nipple. he gasps like a scandalized housewife.

“anyway,” you sigh dramatically, like you didn’t just have your soul rearranged missionary style by a man who can’t name five vegetables, “i stand by it. even with gojo. especially with gojo. missionary is the best position ever.”

haibara’s curled up in the fetal position on the beanbag, face buried in a throw pillow, groaning loud enough to qualify as a siren. “i hate this timeline. i hate this dimension.”

“you’re all just mad it wasn’t you,” gojo chirps.

“no one wants to do missionary with you!” utahime shouts.

“she did,” he says smugly, nudging you with his knee.

“she’s a slut!” shoko yells from beneath the blanket. “every position is the best for her! she’d say reverse piledriver is romantic if you called her ‘sweetheart’ while doing it!”

you shrug unapologetically. “what can i say? i value connection.”

“you value getting railed while someone holds your hand,” nanami deadpans, not even looking up from the book he inexplicably pulled out sometime during this hellish conversation.

“yes, and?”

“honestly?” geto exhales smoke, eyes thoughtful. “it’s kind of poetic.”

“oh don’t you start,” utahime groans.

gojo tucks his chin over your shoulder now, holding you close, his voice a warm hum in your ear. “i’m gonna write a manifesto. ‘missionary for the modern man: an erotic treatise.’ subtitle: with love, and balls-deep penetration.”

you start laughing so hard you nearly fall off the couch.

“you’re insane,” you say, wheezing.

“i’m revolutionary,” he murmurs, planting a kiss just behind your ear. “i’m a pioneer. i’m the christopher columbus of tender fucking.”

“he committed genocide,” you say.

“okay,” gojo says, thoughtful, “then i’m the neil armstrong of romantic nut.”

“you didn’t discover the moon, satoru,” nanami says flatly.

“maybe she’s my moon,” gojo murmurs, dramatically clutching his chest, “and i left my footprints all over her surface.”

you grab a throw pillow and smack him in the face.

he catches it, kisses it, throws it back.

your friends are all either screaming, sobbing, or plotting your deaths.

but you?

you’re smiling.

and glowing.

and still a little sore in the best fucking way.

#jjk smut #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru smut #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru x reader #anime smut #gojo fluff #jjk fic

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mostly-imagines · 1 year ago

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Guard Dog vol.I

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s girlfriend

4 in 1 blurbs

vol. II

warnings: mildly creepy guys, standard protective bf methods

Jason’s good at shutting people up very quickly. You’d almost call it a talent.

He shuts you up with a kiss when you get stuck in a rant, or with a hug to calm your worried rambles.

And when you’re in an incorrigibly teasing mood, he’ll throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to your bedroom to really shut you up.

With other people though, he has…different methods.

You sit atop your kitchen counter, trading lazy kisses in between giggles with your boyfriend. He stands in front of you, hands massaging your thighs as he leans in for another. You happily oblige.

You break off the exchange to lay a series of sweet kisses on that spot under his jaw.

His head tilts back, letting out a groan so low you nearly miss it. “Sweetheart…” he warns.

“Sorry…” you resign with a sheepish smile.

A knock at the door bursts you out of your shared reverie. You press a kiss to his knuckles and hop down to start setting the table.

Jason gets the door, greeting the pizza guy with a nod as you shuffle around the kitchen. The delivery guy hands him a receipt, asking for a signature.

Jason uses the door as a surface to sign, giving the delivery guy an apt view into your apartment, where he sees you getting out plates in the kitchen. More noticeably, he sees you in your boyfriend's shirt, which rides up just a little bit when you stand up on your toes to reach the top cabinet. The lift of the shirt exposes the bottom of your underwear, though it falls back into place again just as quickly.

Now, lucky for this guy, Jason’s facing the door and does not see him checking you out in your own home. Unlucky for this guy, he has wildly misread the vibe of your relationship. Or at least your boyfriend.

“Man, how do you get anything done around here?” He jests.

Jason looks up at him, and the pizza man’s eyes tear away from your legs to meet his hard gaze. It does not take him long to realize his mistake.

“Try again.” Jason behests, arms crossed in front of him.

The pizza boy’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head, stuttering. “I—uh, I said have a good night.”

“Mhm.” He grumbles.

The pizza guy hands Jason the box with shaky hands and scuttles back down the hallway.

Thankfully, you didn’t seem to notice the exchange, but even so, your boyfriend still glowers down the hallway after him.

“Jay?”

His attention snaps back to you, demeanor changing instantly. “Yeah, baby?”

You’re sitting in your usual spot at the table, his chair empty and waiting just around the corner from you.

“Come sit.” You say, with eyes that might as well be hearts.

He gives a reassuring nod and kicks the door shut behind him.

You and Jason are sitting on the floor in his old room at the manor, your legs thrown over his. You lean up against his bed, asking him about posters on the walls and trinkets on the shelves.

His knee is propped up and your arm dangles across it, his hand in yours. He plays with your fingers and periodically leans forward to leave a kiss on them.

You’d just woken up less than an hour ago after spending the night post-gala, and it’s a peaceful, if not unusually quiet morning.

Dick shouts your name from another room, audibly booking it towards you. Yeah. That’s more like what Jason remembers.

He grumbles some annoyances, dropping his head against your intertwined hands.

Dick bursts into the room, clearly incredibly excited.

“What’s up, Dick?” You ask, calm as ever. Jason lets an unseen smile creep up, head still down.

Dick’s practically jumping up and down, “You gotta see the shit that Tim just found in the cave!” His face drops as he directs his gaze to Jason, “You’re not invited.”

“Thank God.”

Dick ignores him and grabs your wrist, yanking you up from the floor. This is one place where he differs from Jason—he’s not always quite so aware of his own strength.

His grip doesn’t hurt really, but it’s firm enough that you imagine there’ll be bruise marks there later.

“Hey.” Jason calls out, nodding his head to where Dick is holding your arm. “Ease up.”

Dick follows his gaze and immediately loosens his hold, apologizing to you before pulling you along once again (this time much more gentle).

You grin at Jason as he tugs you out the door, him returning it with an endeared smile as he watches you go.

Fuck he loves you.

Jason had a decent break from his night job for once, and was happy to let you drag him out to a bar for a little date. You’d been linked at the hip for most of the night, his hands maintaining their ever present home on your waist with yours rested on his thighs as you told him about your hectic day.

He’d usually prefer to stay in bed with you for as long as possible when he gets time off, but you’d looked so excited asking him to go out with you—he never stood a chance.

You look up into the mirror as you wash your hands, a strand of hair falling into your face as you do. You push it back behind your ear and smile to yourself, recalling the several times Jason had wordlessly done the same throughout the night as you rambled.

You make your way back to the bar, smile immediate on your face when you see your boyfriend. It gets replaced rather quickly though, when a man slides in front of you, cutting off your view of him.

“Hey there.”

You have to take a step back because of how close he decided to stand to you. He looks sober (enough) but wildly overconfident in whatevers about to happen.

"Let me buy you a drink, pretty thing."

Jason calls you pretty thing sometimes. It makes the blood rush to your cheeks and an inescapable smile creep up on your lips. When this guy says it, it makes you literally frown.

"Oh no, I'm okay, my—"

"You seem like a dirty martini kinda girl." He expertly ignores you, clearly trying and failing to make some kind of innuendo there.

Jason's sitting back against the bar, watching the interaction carefully. You still can’t see him, but he’s close and you can rest comfortable knowing he’s looking out for you.

With that reassurance, you don’t play this out quite as carefully as you would if you were alone.

"Look, I don't want a drink from you, thanks."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to him because his face contorts quickly to mock-disgust that you figure is really just embarrassment.

“Hey, don’t be a bitch just ‘cause—”

You try to sidestep around him, thoroughly done with this interaction, but he grabs your upper arm harshly, pulling you to an abrupt stop.

Jason stands up real quick, yanking the guy backwards by his collar before you can even process what's happening.

Now, you know that Jason is an objectively intimidating guy. There's not many people that will come face to face with that absolute unit of a man and still decide to keep on trying him. However, you tend to forget that when you're so used to your gentle giant that only ever speaks to you kindly and touches you softly.

But his intimidating status becomes very apparent when the guy spins around, looks up at Jason, and immediately takes four steps back. He actually almost bumps into you in the process, not doing anything to tame Jason’s acute distaste for this man.

"Listen to me—back the fuck off before you get hurt."

“She—”

“I don’t give a fuck. Leave.”

The guy hesitates.

“Now.” Jason adjusts his posture to stand at his staggering full height, clearly with no qualms about putting him back in his place.

That does it for him, the man stumbllng away with half-committed mumbles of “whatever” or “something something lame anyway.”

Jason watches him until he walks out the door, before turning back to you.

He delicately takes your upper arm in his hand, pulling your sleeve up to search for bruising. But as harshly as he had grabbed you, it didn’t have the time to cause a bruise before Jason intervened.

“What’d he say to you?” Jason asks, brow furrowed as he inspects your arm.

“Nothing very interesting.” He looks at you mildly.

You smile and comb his hair back from his forehead, “Don’t worry about him. I’m good.”

He lets your arm go, and exchanges it for holding the back of your head, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You take his other hand and guide him back to your seats.

“Besides,” You look over his shoulder and let out a little shocked gasp. “Guess who just walked in.”

He gives you a questioning look before his face slacks, eyes widening in realization.

“No…” And you smile so brightly it almost makes up for what's coming his way.

You redirect your smile over his shoulder and give a wave to the door. Jason swigs down the rest of his drink, hand finding your waist once again.

“Jaybird!”

Jason’s still exhausted from patrol last night but he’d insisted on going with you to the bar to meet your friends. You’d tried to convince him that it was okay to stay in and rest tonight, you’d be fine. But it was a losing battle.

You suspect it has something to do with him not liking when you go out in Gotham at night, especially when you’re drinking.

So he hangs out in the background of the buzz, with you sat in front of him, in between his legs.

You’re talking it up with Roy, who’s been making jokes about how Jason’s “moody ass” tricked you, “the ray of sunshine” into this relationship somehow.

You laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Right, ‘cause you and Kori were in love at first sight.”

"Oh, fuck off." Roy jeers.

He doesn't say it with the cadence of a joke, but it is.

You know he's joking, he knows he's joking.

Jason, who very well may have been tuned out of the conversation up to that point, does not seem to know he's joking—or he doesn't care.

You don't need to look behind you to know that your boyfriend is in defensive mode, though the look of regret mixed with amusement on Roy's face gives a solid hint.

You hold your hand out to block Jason his path as he moves forward. He lets you stop him, though you're certain he could get past you without so much as blinking, no problem.

"Right. My bad, forgot your guard dog was here. Don't fuck off." Roy backtracks, hands up in front of him.

Jason just rolls his eyes, slouching back down. You reach behind you for his hand, giving it two squeezes. You know he’s tired, so much so that he almost punched his best friend for making a typical joke.

“Five more minutes, okay?” You say softly over your shoulder.

He nods at you blearily, and ducks his head down to rest on your back. You adjust your posture a little bit to make it more comfortable for him and continue on talking, his hand still in yours.

If he hadn’t fallen asleep so quickly, five minutes would’ve been five minutes, but instead it became something more like fifty.

He goes through patches where sleep isn’t always so welcoming, a phase he’s been in for the past couple of weeks. You’d been waking up to find the bed half empty, your boyfriend resigned to doing research on cases in an attempt to at least be productive while he’s awake.

You can’t protect him in the same ways that he protects you—you’re not a fighter or necessarily “intimidating.” But you can protect him like this, in these little ways. Letting him nap on you, making him close the case files and rest with you, holding his hand throughout the night so that when he inevitably has nightmares, he knows immediately that you’re still with him. That he’s safe.

So if he can get some much needed sleep while only costing you a stiff back tomorrow, you’ll happily take that deal as many times as he needs.

vol. II

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buychocolateboxesonline · 1 year ago

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merakidoll · 7 months ago

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blue collar!reiner had fallen in love with the pretty beauty at the strip club. her pretty slutty two piece sets that shined while she clapped her ass in his face had him mesmerized. the brown whisky that burned his throat and only tasted so good because it came for her didn’t help the rush his body felt. she was just as sweet as she was pretty, a little dumb but god he loved it. so of course he wifed her up. the petty little stripper was now a dotting house wife; instead of twirling on a pole she twirled the mixing spoon into pots making reiner everything his husky heart desired. she now lived in her own little pink dream house, catering to him and receiving his love while also giving him just as much.

while reiner got his hands dirty, his wife’s got hers massaged and done; duck nails being such a fan favorite. the same little house wife that was once dancing for other men was now a needy slut! but only for reiner. sitting home with a wet pussy and throbbing clit wasn’t so fun, so as soon as reiner walked through the door with dirt and an empty my melody lunch box she was on him. kissing him sloppily and wrapping her thick legs around his waist as he carried her to their shared room.

now the hot water ran all over them, moans echoing into the bathroom and over the sound of the water hitting tile pavement. “who’s doing this to you baby?” reiner’s words had her stomach erupting with butterflies, his cock fucking into the gushiness of her walls while her legs were over his shoulders. his wife’s back rested against the wall, reiner loving how flexible his chubby beauty was. “y-youu!” her eyes shut tight. his thick head constantly hitting that spot that had her brain going foggy and cream drip all over his cock.

reiner’s balls slapped against her ass, his rough grunts and lip bits, eyes solely trained on her - and her pretty loves faces. her long nails clawed as his back and neck, pussy thumping with every bump his pelvis made to her sensitive puffy clit. “who’s you baby?” reiner, fucked into his wife like she was a slut. ignoring the large wedding band and treating her just how she liked. “m-my husbanddd” the man’s cock jerked inside of her gushy pussy, his head getting thrown back and blond hair getting wet.

“y-yea that’s fuckin right.” he kissed her lips licking at her tears. “your. fuckin. husband.” with each of his claims he fucked his cock deeper - harder, pounding his pussy and modeling her walls just for him. as if they weren’t already fit to perfection. “o-ohgoddddd” she cried, with curling toes and ringing ears the beauty creamed all over her husband. her need to be relieved being quenched that easily. reiner fucked his cum into her, making sure her womb was full and tummy was poking in bloatingness. you just loved your life with your blue collar man.

#— writings!#reiner x chubby reader #reiner x black reader #reiner x reader #reiner smut #reiner braun x black reader #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun smut #aot x chubby reader #aot x reader #aot x black reader #aot smut #attack on titan x black reader #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan smut #anime x chubby reader #anime smut #anime x black!reader

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hoonstrology · 12 days ago

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♯┆ERROR 404 .ᐟ word limit reached. [ 박성훈 ]

"i promise myself, while drinking a glass of water in the morning, to tell you. i'll confess what has been on the tip of my tongue tomorrow. you are pretty." — pretty u by seventeen.

꒰ pairing ꒱⠀⠀park sunghoon x fem!reader.

꒰ synopsis ꒱⠀⠀he wouldn't necessarily call himself talkative. sunghoon is just a normal college boy with normal hobbies and interests, so of course he likes talking about those, and he especially likes talking about you— but talking to you? it's an entirely different challenge. and he knows he has to man up and speak up before you get sick of his silence.

꒰ genres ꒱⠀⠀college!au, classmates!au, slow burn-ish, strangers to lovers, lowkey loser!sunghoon, romance, very fluffy, light angst, but a whole lot more comfort, a bit of jealousy, sunghoon is a stupid dumb idiot lover boy. ✮ featuring: enhypen's 02z + heeseung, ive's gaeul and liz, and seventeen's jeonghan. ꒰ warning! ꒱⠀⠀suggestive content, making out, swearing, pet names, alcohol consumption, parties, brief mentions of blood, unintentional self injury, poor attempts at humor, sunghoon is kind of emotionally constipated but in a good way. sunghoon's taller than reader. lmk if i missed anything!

꒰ word count ꒱⠀⠀18.3k words.┆read the teaser here.

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀my first written work !! i normally write smaus so writing a full oneshot has been daunting. this is my literal brain child so i hope you guys love it as much as i do. i would love to get feedback via asks/replies !! (pls be nice) ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏 ✾ 𝙍𝙀𝘽𝙇𝙊𝙂𝙎 are appreciated.

TODAY MARKED THE FIRST DAY OF YOUR FOUR YEARS IN COLLEGE. you walked past your university’s gates, chin tipped up and proud with a book held close to your chest, thin silver glasses framing your face, and a smile that you spent an entire hour practicing in the mirror yesterday.

you wore the best outfit you could, but not in a trying-hard overdressed kind of way, just enough effort to make you memorable. you wanted to make a good impression, after all.

if you could look lost enough, maybe a senior would notice you. maybe he’d ask for your schedule, walk you to class, make light gossip about the professors you have and in a few years, he’d propose to you in the same spot by the gates, and you’d say i do, and live a happy married lif—

clank!

you get snapped out of your sweet little daydream as pain shoots through your shoulder, down your left arm. “fuck.” you whisper, head snapping up to shoot a frustrated glare at the thick pole in front as if it’s the one who bumped into you.

the impact was hard enough to have your book and glasses falling to the floor with a thud, and definitely hard enough to leave a bruise tomorrow because even merely moving your arm makes you wince.

thankfully, the area was mostly empty— which meant your dream of being a college cool girl was still in play —save for a tall guy just a foot beside you.

shit.

he’s already kneeling down to pick your things up and before you could even bend over to help, he just looks up and gestures to you to stay still by pointing to your outfit. “skirt.” is all he says, his voice deep and quiet.

you’d normally blush at the gentlemanly gesture but instead, you do it out of pure embarrassment.

god, this wasn’t the meet-cute you imagined.

he hands you back your book and your glasses, freshly wiped of dirt from the hem of his faded black hoodie. you slip it on your face again and bow your head out of shame, stepping aside to escape this nightmare of an embarrassment, but before you could even attempt to, he tugs on the sleeve of your cardigan, showing you his open palm like he's telling you to stop.

and against your better judgement, you do.

the stranger slips one of his backpack’s straps off his shoulder, fishing a box out of it and begins scribbling away with a pen cap trapped between his teeth.

you took this time to look at him— really look at him. tall, lean physique, sharp features, fair skin. he wore a pair of black thick-rimmed glasses that framed his kind-looking eyes really well. he’s stylish, no question about that.

and painfully handsome, too.

the pen is closed with a faint click and he slips it back into his hoodie’s pocket and you take that as a sign to stop checking him out lest you embarrass yourself further.

his lips purse into a straight line and his thick eyebrows furrow closer as he gives the box an intense stare, the soft eyes from a while ago turning more serious and stressed as it turns to you, back to the box, and back to you again.

the suffocating silence is shattered by two men shouting from a distance, the shorter one of them comically jumping and waving his hands in the air.

he turns to look at the source of the noise and lets out a small grunt, handing you the box and before jogging away without another word.

you stand there dumbstruck, watching the three boys interact for a while before turning on your heels, slipping the box between your chest and the book. that was odd.

you walk to class with a sore shoulder and cheeks that still feel warm from the whole ordeal. upon finding your room, new faces give you polite smiles or nods of acknowledgement and you do the same. once you're seated and settled, you put the book down on top of your desk.

the forgotten box falls on your lap, urging you to take a closer look at it.

menthol pain relief patches.

you flip the box around and you're greeted by a pastel yellow post-it note stuck on the back.

“for your shoulder. please be careful next time.”

he probably thinks you're a loser with no depth perception. and he wouldn't be wrong for thinking that, but it doesn't stop your cheeks from heating up for the nth time this morning.

you convince yourself it's okay. that your university is big, and you surely you won't meet him again. the fact disappoints you a little bit, but at least you're saved from having to face him after what happened.

you press your fingers against your forehead in stress.

first day in and you’ve already made a fool of yourself in front of a man. not just any man but a handsome one. a very important distinction.

developing a crush feels on him feels pathetic. he just gave you muscle relief patches, an act of kindness that was just a little bit above the bare minimum. and he only said one word to you, for gods’ sake. but you’ve never been one to think logically, so while your lecture starts, your head starts drifting off and it’s already incorporating the good-looking, tall stranger in your romantic fantasies.

turns out, the man in your dreams wouldn’t be a senior, nor would he be gossiping with you about your professors.

instead, you’d be sharing them.

during your third class of the day, the handsome stranger walks in the lecture hall with his two friends in tow and you immediately recognize him because of the glasses. his hands are stuffed into his hoodie as he settles on a seat a couple of rows in front of you, still as intimidating as he looked like when he gave you the box.

you learned of his name when the professor called him to read a passage in the book.

park sunghoon.

you think it’s a pretty name— fitting for a pretty boy like him.

sunghoon’s voice was steady while he read, smoothly pronouncing every word, clearing his throat after a mistake and resuming with the same composure. the speed at which he spoke was just right, slow enough to enunciate every syllable but not too much to bore whoever chose to listen.

"mr. park, care to share your thoughts on what you just read?"

sunghoon only stood straighter, his natural confidence in his voice making you swoon in your seat.

“i don't believe the fable's moral lesson to necessarily be applicable in real life where businesses and industries have become fast-paced. should the readers need to have a takeaway, they should focus on what the hare lacked— humility. his over-confidence is the ultimate reason for his downfall, being a creature that has already been given natural talent and an advantage on the terrain—”

just like that, your small happy crush turned into full-blown attraction. his voice? his eloquence? damn. it’s like he’s trying (and succeeding) to make you want him.

you wish you had sat in front so you could look at him more. you could only imagine how stern he’d look, how his thick brows would meet together making him look even more gorgeous when he’s focused. but for now, you could settle for the view of his back while trying your best to listen to your professor, and not to the voice that suspiciously resembles sunghoon's playing in a constant loop inside your head.

he’s in the rest of your classes today too, which makes the task of focusing twice as hard. you feel like a creep with the way your eyes naturally gravitate to him every time you hear his voice, or when you see a tiny bit of movement from the corner of your eye.

so when it’s almost time to go home, you do the most un-creepy thing you can think of: wait outside the door.

a student, and another, they all step out one by one. then he finally walks out, laughing at something his friend said before freezing mid-sentence as he catches sight of you standing with a familiar box laid out on your palm.

he looked surprised for a moment, before gripping on the single strap hanging on his shoulder, shifting uncomfortably before raising a brow like he was waiting for you to speak.

“oh! i, uh.. i already put some on my shoulder and on my arm a while ago. there’s too much in the pack and i figured i could give it back to you since i don’t really have any use for it.” you explain, pushing it towards him.

one of his friends gasps at the sight, quickly throwing a punch to sunghoon’s shoulder which he receives with a quiet hiss.

“what the fuck, hoon? i was looking for that! you know i have try-outs later!” the boy shouts, his australian accent thick and evident as he snatches the pack from your palm. “tch, can’t believe you lied to me.”

sunghoon gives him a cold stare, taking the patches away again before whispering something to the other boy which resulted in the rowdy blonde getting dragged away by his collar. he flipped the box over once, twice, and raised an eyebrow, seeming to notice that the post-it note was not there anymore.

“is this what you’re looking for?” taking the neatly folded paper from your pocket, you place it on top of the box. “i’m sorry for taking it. i thought it was for me. unless you also have other friends who regularly bump into poles while actively daydreaming and you actually meant to give that to someone els—”

sunghoon cuts you off with his index finger pressed on his own lips. he gives both back to you before flashing you a small smile, one that causes your poor little heart to thump faster.

“for you. keep it.” his words are clipped but you can feel the kindness behind them.

say something, anything, to keep the conversation going.

“i’m y/n, by the way.” you hold your hand out.

“i know. i’m sunghoon.” he murmurs, looking at the hand extended towards him before shaking it.

you sense the slight hesitation but the contact makes you giddy nonetheless. it’s as sweet as it is short lived because sunghoon quickly lets go, hands returning to the safety of his hoodie’s pocket.

“huh? how’d you know? i don’t remember the professor calling me. wait- did he take attendance? shit, i forgot to say present—”

the chuckle he lets out is low and breathy, making the words halt in your mouth. sunghoon shakes his head and his eyes do a quick scan of you before pointing to the small sticker that reads 'yoon y/n's!' on the book you've been holding.

"oh."

another beat of awkward silence.

“uh.. what’s your schedule?” you ask with a kind smile, following sunghoon as he starts walking towards your building's exit, trying not to dwell on how he started walking slower, at the perfect pace for you to keep up with his long strides.

he fishes for his phone to show you the picture and you do the same, eyes looking at your screen then his. “we share most classes! all the ones in the afternoon.” you smile victoriously, and sunghoon releases another quiet chuckle, nodding along.

before you know it, you’ve reached the gate where his friends are waiting. he pauses, squinting his eyes at the duo who suddenly stopped talking to look between you and him, teasing grins plastered on their faces which just made sunghoon rub his temple.

“oh? who is this? a new friend?” the black-haired friend asks, a smirk on his lips while raising an eyebrow at sunghoon.

“y/n.” sunghoon says, pointing to you. “jake.” he points to the blonde boy with an aussie accent, before turning to the tanner friend with a jawline so sharp you’re convinced you’d need more than menthol patches if you touched it. “jay.”

sunghoon must have told them about what happened this morning because they looked at you, eyes scanning you up and down with anflash of amusement showing in their eyes.

“hi.” you give them a shy wave and they return it with a welcoming smile, their hands gently shaking yours.

jake pulls sunghoon away, huddling on one side while whispering, their heads occasionally turning to you every now and then with synchronicity.

“what do you mean that’s her?”

“jake, pipe the fuck down!”

“are they… talking about me?” you turn to jay with raised eyebrows and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's grown familiar to this scenario. “looks like it. please forgive jake. he’s normally more… discreet when he’s curious about someone.”

yeah, there’s nothing discreet about jake pointing his finger at you with a wide smile. sunghoon, on the other hand, is insistent on pushing jake's hand down with a pretty pink flush on his cheeks, looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. very cute.

“do you guys share all your classes?”

“yeah, we share an apartment so we were together when we chose our classes.”

“so i’d take it that you guys are close?”

jay gives you a nod, eyes fond while he looks at his best friends. “met in middle school— and we’ve unfortunately been inseparable since then.”

“that's cute. must be nice to have people you can rely on already. college is kinda scary.”

“you have us!” jake whispers from beside you, making you scream in surprise at his sudden presence. sunghoon shoots him a sharp glare, tugging on your cardigan for the second time today to pull you by his side.

the golden retriever looking boy presses his palms together, whispering a small apology before handing you his phone.

“sunghoon told me you have afternoon classes with us! so you can give me your number and just reach us whenever. not to brag but i’m the most popular in this trio. i'll text you whenever there’s a party. i'll getcha connected to people in no time.” he adds with a wink, pulling a laugh out of you.

“i think i’ll stick to texting you for home work.” you reply with a roll of your eyes, punching your number in jake’s phone nonetheless.

a few more friendly words are exchanged before they wave you goodbye because jay and jake are going to your college’s basketball try-outs. sunghoon isn’t interested but is supposedly "required by law" to go because he’s their moral support.

you laugh and give both of them a fist bump for good luck before walking away, failing to catch sunghoon’s lingering stare as he watches your figure disappear.

that night, you buried yourself under your duvet, congratulating yourself for surviving your first day of freshman year and making three new friends on top of that.

just then, your phone vibrated.

💬 from: unknown number — this is sunghoon. :)

your friendship with park sunghoon slowly blossomed from that day onward. though your first meeting was full of chaos, the following months were anything but.

much like him, it was calm. respectful, even.

you would give each other a smile when you passed by one another in the mornings, he’d shoot you a text to let you know he reserved the seat next to him when you were running ten minutes late in the afternoon, or you'd remind him of tasks due the next day.

he even offer to accompany you to the university’s library when your friends weren't available, headphones on and only taking it off to tap on your shoulder when he notices you dozing off.

one day, you asked him to grab lunch with you under the pretense of not having anyone to eat with, and then it became routine.

usually it would be just you and sunghoon but the boys would tag along every now and then. he would be noisier during those lunches, and you relished it because that’s the only time you get to see him be so comfortable and rowdy.

you pondered what the cause could be, and eventually landed on a theory during one of your sociology classes.

deindividuation, as your professor called it.

she said being part of a larger group can lead to a sense of reduced personal responsibility and accountability which then causes individuals to feel less inhibited and more likely to engage in behaviors they might not otherwise, including speaking loudly or interrupting.

she basically described sunghoon to a perfect t.

because your friendship with him is quiet. his half of the friendship, to be specific.

you mostly got to know him through mere observation– his habits, things he enjoyed and things he disliked. if you didn’t discover things yourself, his friends would be the one offering sunghoon's information to you like when jay told you he has a younger sister he adored, or when jake told you that he once wanted to go to antarctica, a dream that he left behind after he took an interest in photography.

if you were to type out every word he's said to you for the entirety of your friendship in a continuous line, you’d probably be able to fill four pages of a document in arial 11. maybe five.

if you remember correctly, his longest running sentence is “please walk on the inside part of the sidewalk next time, angel— it’s dangerous.” a yet-to-be defeated record of fourteen words. it was also the first time he called you by a pet name and it had you screaming into your pillow as soon as you got home.

initially, you thought it’d be better to converse with him through text. and it was an improvement, yes– but only by a few notches. you’d be able to make twenty pages with the words he said through the phone, but there were still days where he’d just reply with one word.

or a single emoji.

but sunghoon isn’t nonchalant. far from it, actually.

he laughs at your jokes— he even giggles when it's done to his type of humor. if he sees you stressing out during a pop quiz, he’d slyly push his paper towards you to let you copy his answers. and he already knows to take his sweater off and hand it to you before history class because the heater doesn’t work well in that classroom.

almost always, he’d walk out of the classroom with his bag slung on one of his shoulders and yours on the other with the finesse of someone who's used to being reliable. you’ve never had to open your own water bottles or push through doors either because sunghoon would be the one doing it for you. all of that while wearing a proud smile.

and barely any noise.

when you ask him questions, he’d either hum to affirm, shake his head no, or shrug if he didn’t know the answer. if he’s the one asking you questions, he just gestures with his hands or fingers to get his message across.

one morning when you went to class in a new hairstyle, he pointed to it with raised brows. “ah, just wanted to try something new.” you explained. his reply was a smile and a measly thumbs up.

all that to say, he's an acts-of-service rather than a words-of-affirmation type of guy.

you always try to fill that awful silence between the both of you with endless rambles, and like the reliable person he is, he always listens with a hum here and there to let you know that he was still following your story about how your neighbor scared you shitless by trying to open your door in the middle of the night.

"—he shook the knob so hard i had to call an emergency locksmith. it’s literally the second time he did that this week! and he doesn’t even have the decency to pay me back for the fee!”

by the time you end your tirade, you’re slumped over the café’s table, cheeks squished flat on the smooth surface. he just chuckles and taps on your head with a finger and you raise it slightly. sunghoon places a sheet of tissue down and leans back, allowing you to press your face against the table again, but hygienically this time around.

“you care for my skin more than i do.” you grumble, blowing the stray hairs away from your face.

he does it like it’s routine— because it is.

the first time you did it, he shook his head in slight disappointment. “you’ll get acne.” he said, voice flat while pointing to his cheeks. so after months of it happening, he learned to always have tissues in his bag just in case you decided you wanted to have another ranting session.

a few minutes pass and you hear him groan before reaching over to show you his watch. two thirty-seven pm. “man. fuck history class.” you sigh, starting to pack up your things while sunghoon's already a few steps past the cafe door.

“hoonie, wait for me!” you whine, running to catch up and he pauses, looking at you over his shoulder.

he only resumes his strides when he hears the familiar taps of your footstep beside him, making him smile to himself as he shoves his hands in his pocket, walking back to class with the cold autumn wind that pushes leaves of gold and orange past his feet.

this is what he does. if he wanted to go somewhere, he’d guide you to the destination by walking instead of telling. sometimes, because you moved at the pace of a snail, he would need to tug on your shirt or on the end of your jacket to help you keep up.

he never actually touches you. not intentionally. the usual skinship he’d initiate is a tap on your shoulder, or on the back of your hand. if he was feeling extra touchy, the most he’d give is an affectionate pat to your head.

if you remember correctly, that has only happened seven times so far.

there was also that one time he touched your cheeks for a brief moment, but you don’t think that counts because he only did it to push your head away when jake jokingly leaned towards you with a kissy face.

“sunghoon!”

two heads turn around to see heeseung, a sophomore, approaching with a basketball pinned between his hand and hip. he’s a good friend of jake and jay, and by association, sunghoon’s.

“mind if i take him away for a bit?” heeseung asks you, the usual charming smile on his face as he taps on sunghoon’s shoulder. you nod and shoo them away, but not without sunghoon pointing to an empty bench first.

you head over there, one leg crossed over the other as you observe the bright smile on sunghoon’s face. words like “girls” and “after party” are thrown, and you already know it has something to do with the boys’ basketball match this weekend.

but their words translate more like faint buzzing because you’re too busy dwelling on the way sunghoon interacts with heeseung. it’s something that has been bothering you for a good while— the way he becomes much more animated when he talks to someone. the way sentences don’t sound strained leaving his mouth.

it’s like everyone has access to a button that activates talkative sunghoon.

everyone else but you.

the theory of deindividuation didn’t apply to him anymore. maybe it never did.

he wasn’t technically popular, no. he was still an introvert who preferred staying on the sidelines but from what you’ve seen, anyone who was brave enough to go up to him and make friends, he accepted without protest.

weren’t you already friends with him? so why can’t he be like that with you?

your mind reels back to the time you caught him talking to a senior on the way to your next class. they were having a conversation about the cameras he liked and his history with photography, and it made you wonder for a second whether he had an identical twin his friends forgot to tell you about. you could hear the childlike fascination as he talked, voice practically dripping with enthusiasm.

so when you asked him about cameras later that same day and all you got was a simple 'i like them', it simply broke your heart.

you've spent days thinking about why he couldn’t open up to you the same way he did with others. you’d scroll through your texts with sunghoon and it's always polite. always curt. always “how’s your weekend?” but when you ask him the same question, he’d reply with “just okay.” before turning the conversation to something about you again.

maybe he wasn’t interested in you. not in that way, at least. because why would he? he, who would make people stare whenever you walked the hallways together. he, who made every student in class stop whatever they were doing just to listen to him whenever he recited.

he, who hugged acquaintances yet can’t seem to stand the thought of his hand grazing you, his friend.

it made you overthink whether you truly were a friend to him or just another overzealous classmate forcing your unwanted presence.

you don’t even realize you’ve started tearing up until you see sunghoon kneeling in front of you, eyes full of worry as he looks into your glassy ones.

“angel? w-what’s wrong?” he asks, a hand reaching up but he bites his lips and brings it back down to his side.

you turn your head to the side and force out a laugh. “where’s heeseung?”

“he left. tell me what’s wrong.” he says, placing a hand on your knee. he doesn’t need to tell you, because you could tell how uncomfortable he was from initiating that simple touch.

“it’s nothing. just… i think some dust got into my eyes.” you rub your eyes with your curled fist, exaggerating a few blinks before you gently push his hand off your knee. not even a second passes and you already miss the warmth of his touch. it's pathetic.

“there. it’s gone now.” you hum, pulling him up by his bag’s strap. “let’s go? mr. shin will kill us if we’re late.”

he looks like he wants to say something. but he doesn’t.

he never does.

instead, he strips off his white hoodie and hands it to you, looking at you with expectant eyes. he just stands there, your bag in his hand with the same expression until you relent and throw his hoodie over your head while rolling your eyes.

you walk to your history class warm and smelling like a pleasant mix of sunghoon’s cologne and laundry detergent.

your exit plan hasn’t even started yet and you’re already failing.

three weeks.

three cruel and agonizing weeks of sunghoon missing your presence.

he thinks it started that weekend. like heeseung suggested, he texted you an invite to the frat party to celebrate the boys’ win. he never really got a reply but he did see you arrive safely which put him a little more at ease.

you greeted him with a breathtaking smile and the same little wave he started looking forward to receiving everyday— his biggest motivator to attend and do well in class despite the hell that it is.

you wore a short ivory white dress, blessing him with far more skin than he usually saw within the confines of yours classrooms, your hair done up to show the smooth curves of your neck and the sharp angle of your shoulders.

all he could think about is dirtying your exposed skin with marks so the annoying boys in your class would get the hint to stay away from what's his, and he hated it. you don't even know it but you make something deeply covetous stir inside him.

you’re already beautiful in his eyes, but that night you truly looked like an angel, and he wanted nothing more than to kneel and follow you towards the light.

jiwon and gaeul snapped him out of his trance by dragging you away to the other side of the house before he can even get a word in, and all sunghoon could do is pray that you don't leave with someone else.

the after party went on. drunk people leaning against the kitchen counter, a random couple sucking each others’ faces off on the recliner by the entrance, and jay crying “foul” when he lost another round of beer pong. for the sixth time.

sunghoon looked at his phone, brows almost meeting together as he stared at your conversation. still left on read, still no reply, but he decided to send you another one anyway.

💬 to: angel y/n. — your dress looks nice. :)

“why’s my y/n-ie not here?” jake approached him, red solo cup in hand.

“first of all: she’s not yours. second: you’re already slurring your words, jaeyun. sober up before we get to the car, i beg. i don’t want my car to smell like vomit again.” sunghoon grunted, trying to push the boy off as jake leaned against him for support, face pressed on his shoulder while whining about how much he wanted to see you.

“why? you gonna try to kiss her again?”

“if it’ll annoy you. like it always does.” jake snaps back, a drunken smirk on his face.

sunghoon rolled his eyes, taking jake’s cup and pushing him with enough force to make him land on the couch.

“you didn’t even get to kiss her sober. what makes you think your wasted ass can do it this time?” the laugh he let out is light, yet traced with a bit of venom.

looking at jake all sprawled out on the couch and giggling like a man without a care in the world made sunghoon sneer. even thinking about that memory makes him want to knock jake out. but he knows his best friend’s teasing is only done to get a reaction out of him, to press on a particularly sensitive bruise— the bruise being his feelings for you.

“hoon!” he turned, seeing jay from the kitchen pointing to a girl. he approached them with ease, flashing the stranger a smile. “he’s my friend who wanted to get something done.” jay said, charming as ever, palm pointed to sunghoon.

“this is the minha, the artist i told you about. let me know when you guys agree on something, yeah?” he pat both their backs and made his exit, probably to tend to jake who was wasted and still trying to dance.

the girl turned to him with a gasp, excitedly showing the jewelry on her hand and fingers. they talked about the bracelet he wanted to be made, noting colors he did and didn’t want to include, even passionately showing her reference pictures.

in the middle of his conversation, he raised his head to look for jay but caught you instead, unreadable eyes moving from him to his new-found friend. he took a step back from her and one towards you but you vehemently shook your head, raising a hand to make him stay in place.

you gave him a smile, one that looked a little forced, a little too disingenuous and foreign in a kind face like yours.

you mouthed ‘i’m heading home', thumb pointing to the door before waving goodbye. “wait. i— i’ll be back.” he says to minha, running and pushing his way through the crowd of bodies. when he stepped out of the front door, gaeul's car had already sped off, leaving nothing behind but a cloud of dust.

💬 to: angel y/n. — i didn’t get to say goodbye. :(

the three bubbles popped up on his screen. after a few minutes of watching it appear and disappear, you replied.

💬 from: angel y/n. — it’s okay, sunghoon. enjoy the party! 👍

and so ensued the twenty one days of sunghoon’s torture.

the absence wasn’t loud. it wasn’t immediate. it was a gradual pull, like flowers in a vase slowly losing their petals and vibrant color to their unnatural environment.

you were gone, but not entirely.

though a part of him thinks it would have been more merciful if you just left outright, because the moment he starts noticing things, it’s like he can’t stop. it's the type of cruelty only you could do to him.

you didn’t sit beside him anymore, opting to return to your previous spot behind him during classes. no more loud cheering by his side when he attended the boys’ basketball practices after class. and just to rub salt to his open wound, you made gaeul and jiwon replace him in your usual lunch spot.

that was the final straw— the thing that let him knew he somehow, some way, truly fucked up.

now he can’t even use classes as an excuse to see you because of course, of course, it had to happen right before the holiday break. not only was there an emotional distance, but a physical one, too. he can’t text you either— not without looking stupid or desperate. the last message he sent read “okay. good night, y/n.” which was a reply to your dry “i think i'll sleep, sunghoon. night! :)”

no more lunches, no more affectionate reminders of homework deadlines, and no more nicknames. things changed. and the shift, though unnoticeable to others, was strong enough for his best friends to speak up.

“i swear to god if you sigh one more time, i’ll actually mix bleach in your coffee to put you out of whatever misery you’re in.” jay grunts, throwing the couch pillow to sunghoon, unfazed and still busy fiddling with his phone despite getting hit square on his arm.

jake takes a peek from behind the couch, a plate of their shared dinner in hand, laughing as he sees sunghoon pathetically typing and deleting different variations of 'how was your day?' into his phone without actually sending anything.

“is our y/n-ie still not talking to you?” he teases, moving to the sit on the floor, right between his best friend’s legs. the nickname rolling off jake's tongue makes sunghoon's brow twitch in irritation.

“still? i thought they were okay? didn’t she visit us during a game?”

sunghoon’s head snaps up to look at jay. “she did?”

they nod. “the one we did before break.”

“without me?” he says this time, voice pitched up in disbelief.

they give him another nod.

“said she just wanted to drop by and watch us. sat with a long-haired blonde guy.” jay mumbles, giving him a shrug.

“yeah. he seemed awfully close to her if you ask me. arm around her everything. i’m surprised they weren’t making out.” jake adds, making the other laugh as he creates horrible slurping sounds with arms wrapped around himself.

sunghoon takes the pillow from earlier and smashes it across the side of jake’s head. “you’re disgusting.” he huffs, storming to his room, feeling his heart drop lower and lower with each stomp of his feet.

he hears nothing but static, clouded eyes burning holes on the framed photo atop his bedside table: a candid shot he took using his favorite film camera of you laughing so brightly that your eyes turned into crescents.

the mere thought of someone else seeing you in that light has dinner rushing back out his mouth.

you’ve made peace with your friendship with sunghoon.

you've long accepted that it won’t turn into anything more. at some point, you were able to tune out the girls that hang around him, not caring whether they'd confess. he rejected every single one of them anyway, and you know you wouldn't be any different than those pretty crying faces if you tried.

you only cared when people approached him to have a friendly conversation because sunghoon would happily give them a memorable one. that's what made you jealous.

hell, he even got your friends. gaeul mentioned natto once and sunghoon yapped about the delicacy like a day-one fan. he shared his favorite fashion brands with jiwon too– complete with a detailed explanation on his preferences and favorite collections.

granted, he wasn’t on the best terms with them right now because they were the ones who had to pick up the pieces of your heart when you started crying halfway through the drive back to your apartment after that cursed party.

you stood there long enough to see him laugh and giggle in amazement at whatever amazing thing the amazing girl was showing him on her phone, stood long enough to see how casually he held her hand and raised it to his face to look at her accessories. your eyes read his lips, 'you’re so cool', right before he saw you.

gaeul held you in her arms as soon as you curled up in your bed, jiwon on the other side shushing you while stroking your head. “i just— i don’t get it.” you grunted, brashly wiping your wet cheeks with the back of your hand, the mascara-stained tears staining your bedsheets as they dropped freely.

“why he’s– why doesn't he doesn’t talk to me like that? but.. he looks at me like he likes me and— and he does things for me he doesn’t do with other people!”

you were inconsolable, hiccuping in between sobs and screaming more words that your friends don’t understand anymore because you’re crying too much. they just exchanged tired looks while rubbing on your arm until you were exhausted enough to sleep.

the morning after, while pressing frozen spoons on your swollen eyelids, you were determined to treat him as he did you— sweet and kind, but from a safe distance. close enough to keep your friendship with him together, but far enough so you wouldn’t have to feel your heart get stomped on when you hear him ramble about his passions to someone else.

he still attempted to ask about you through texts, tried to talk about the weather, or your progress on a project. he never brought up the topic of this weird drift in your relationship and neither did you.

at first, you replied within the same hour, then the same day, then after three days and so on.

ignoring him became easier when you went back home because you couldn’t see him, couldn't feel the hairs on your nape stand straight whenever his inspecting gaze was stuck on you. you could put your notifications on mute and pretend you fell asleep when he shoots you another text to ask what's keeping you so busy.

half-way through the holiday, the ringtone you set specifically for sunghoon stopped ringing and you knew he stopped trying to reach you.

were you sad? were you relieved? you didn't know.

but what you do know is that you have to keep up this act. so even after the second semester started, you diligently stuck to your new routine. nods in the hallway, civil hi’s and ‘hello’s in the classroom, hoping and praying that your feelings would slip away the same way you were slipping from him.

you marked today’s date with another x — thirty six days since the rift, twenty nine days since the texts stopped.

ten days since random letters started appearing.

you didn’t think he was trying to hide it. and if he did, he was doing a shit job because you were able to recognize his penmanship with just a glance— sunghoon had an odd way of writing the letter y, after all. a different kind of neat with a little flick at the end.

some days, the letters would be slipped in through your locker, and on busier days, it would be on your desk accompanied with food. the drinks varied, but the pastry stayed the same. an almond croissant from your favorite café— the one you used to hangout with him.

“i don’t know what i did, but i hope you know i’m sorry.”

that’s the first letter he wrote. written in a plain piece of yellow pad, contrasting the way it’s elegantly wrapped — in an ivory envelope with a small heart sticker sealing it. you made your friends read it, too. and gaeul cackled loudly, teasing you for immediately turning soft and wanting to run back into sunghoon's arms.

“you’re seriously folding as quick as he folded that half-assed letter.” she said in amusement, chopsticks roughly poking through the seaweed roll on jiwon’s lunch box. the blonde just rubbed your shoulder in understanding, shooting the older girl a glare. “don’t blame our y/n! she’s just a girl in love.”

"hopeless romantics, the two of you." the other girl replied with a shake of her head.

since that day, the letters have improved. still in the same off-white envelope, the same red heart-shaped sticker. the content was different each time, but they made your heart race all the same.

“your hoodie today looks comfortable. i hope you’re staying warm.” “i’ve been thinking about how you're the only one that who understands me even when i don’t say a lot. i'm grateful for that.” “i saw you crying today behind the bleachers. you said it was just from a yawn. it must have hurt a lot if you couldn’t tell anyone. next time you want to yawn again, just call for me, okay?” “i look at you a lot, but i think of you even more. what do i do with you?”

you push the small calendar inside your locker and sigh softly as you peel the heart sticker off, eyes reading through today’s letter.

“it was drizzling today and i felt so much more sullen. it made me realize how much i keep searching for the voice, the presence that made everyday brighter. i miss you, y/n.”

you hate how your first instinct is to look around. to check if you’ll see the same annoyingly handsome, glasses-wearing face that’s been haunting you for the past month. but of course, he isn’t there. so you fold the letter again.

another one added to the collection of the letters that you keep safely in your room so you can read it again later tonight.

away from the crowd of students flocking to their lockers, sunghoon stands with a soft smile on his face as he watches you slip the envelope in your bag. when you close the metal door shut, he takes it as a sign to walk back to jay and jake, hands in his pocket, grinning in victory.

“she didn’t throw your corny letter away this time?” jake howls and sunghoon’s smug expression falls into one of panic, making him smack the boy in the back of his head.

“she never did, idiot. and keep your voice down.”

jay raises his eyebrow. “i don’t understand why you don’t just talk to her. surely it’s easier to just do that rather than… writing all this extra shit every night. who are you? shakespeare?”

sunghoon just sighs and shakes his head, his thumb reaching up to scratch his adam’s apple. “you don’t understand, and pray that you never do. because this shit? it ain’t easy.”

too much projects still left in your to-do list, too many passive-aggressive comments from useless group mates that you chose to ignore for the sake of keeping the peace, and one-too-many snide remark from a stranger in the women’s bathroom about how ‘interesting’ your shoes are.

needless to say, it's been a rough week.

most of the students have gone home by now. your girlfriends bid you goodbye an hour ago and you stayed behind, opting to work on your essay in an empty classroom because your head wouldn't work if tried to finish it at home. the fact that you'd have a meaningful rest tomorrow gave you the last push you needed to press submit.

tired footsteps echo down the empty hallway as you use your remaining energy to trudge towards your locker. it opens with a bleary rattle and you find a square box laid atop an envelope.

it’s been a while since sunghoon left you one.

you push the heavy books inside before reaching for the black suede box, the fuzzy material tickling your fingertip as you push the top open.

inside, a bracelet. fine silver chains alternating with four round glass beads– pink and green blooming from the center like ink dropped in still water. a flat silver rectangle hangs in the center with the corners of it smoothly rounded out, and embellished with detailed carvings of flowers around the edges. on the back, an engraving of your name.

why would he do this?

you carefully return the bracelet inside its case and reach for the envelope with pursed lips. you close your eyes and let out a shaky exhale.

you need to prepare yourself for what you're about to read. if this one's as sweet as his past letters, your resolve— the tiny amount left of it —wouldn't be able to hold you back, especially considering how worn out you are.

"you must have been having a hard time lately— the y/n who’s precious to sunghoon. i hope we can talk again because i want you to tell me that today was tough. i want to be the one you lean on— and the one who tells you that you’re doing a good job regardless. i know you’ve been suffering through a lot, and i want you to know that i’m here.”

the corner of the paper crumples in your tightening fist as you tilt your head up to keep your tears from smudging more of the black ink. you stand in place, trying your best to control your breathing, teeth biting down on your chapped lips as your eyes run over the last words.

“you’ve worked hard, angel. i'm proud of you.”

your shaky hands close the locker door, forehead leaning against it as you hold the letter close to your chest, quietly sniffling with your head hung low, hot tears falling directly on the dirty tiles. “he saw me. he always sees me.” you whisper to yourself, shoulders shaking as your pained cries begin to overtake your body.

there's a faint warmth radiating on your back and your nose picks up notes of sandalwood and leather cutting through the sterile scent of alcohol mixed with floor cleaners.

sunghoon.

he towers over you, body trapped in between his and the cool metal of the lockers as if to hide you from invisible prying eyes. his sturdy arms flip you around, one hand moving to your head to carefully guide it towards his chest, and the other wrapping around you to give your back gentle soothing pats.

as always, he doesn’t say anything. just wraps you in his arms while his fingers comb through the ends of your hair.

the two of you stand there until your loud cries are replaced with small hiccups.

there's a small, shameful whine that leaves your lips when sunghoon pulls away from the hug, but he leans in again, long legs slightly folding to match your height until his face is just a couple of inches away from yours. behind the thick black glasses, his dark orbs gaze into you with worry written all over his face.

you can’t help but feel irritated at how good he looks despite the cheap fluorescent lights hanging overhead.

still as handsome as the first day you saw him— just a little rugged this time around. he looks tired. frazzled. perhaps just as exhausted as you. the dilated vessels turned the whites of his eyes pink, and there’s a faint blue tint on his under eyes that make him look like he’s been losing sleep.

a selfish part of you hopes you’re the reason for it.

“i wanted to comfort you, and yet i still managed to make you cry.” he says with a sad smile, both hands cupping your cheek while his thumb brushed away the tears clinging to your lashes. “i’m sorry, angel.” he whispers before hugging you again, making you sigh in comfort.

you missed hearing that nickname. you missed his voice, his face, his scent, even his stupid glasses.

you just missed sunghoon in general.

the days you stayed apart drove him crazy too. it gave him the courage to hug you tighter, foregoing his fears and anxieties as he squeezes you in his arms. “i missed you. i think i still do, even now.” he whispers, lips brushing on the crown of your head.

sunghoon held your wrist as he walked outside your department's building to an empty bench.

the pink and peach tones in the sky have disappeared, replaced by the artificial neon orange from the street lamps. the trees are starting to grow their leaves back too, but the cool breeze still nipped at your skin like leftover air from winter trying to leave.

it was cold, but not painful nor unbearable. just enough to keep you alert, aware of how warm your side is from how close sunghoon is sitting beside you. aware of how he made more room by throwing an arm behind and casually resting it on the bench’s backrest so he could cuddle closer.

it feels like whiplash, the way he can’t keep himself from playing with your fingers when a month and a half ago, his obvious choice would be to hold the ends of your shirt like touching your skin would burn him.

and it does. it still does.

but who could blame sunghoon? he was an addicted man who got a taste of your touch and firmly decided he’d rather get simultaneously run over, stabbed multiple times, and be set on fire than spend another moment without him holding you or vice versa. kick him too while you’re at it.

he doesn’t care as long as he can feel you.

“i’m sorry.” he says again, voice as gentle as the way he’s squeezing your index fingers’ knuckles, both pairs of eyes looking at everything else but each other.

you let out a bemused laugh. “do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

he's stays mum, tongue running across his lower lip and you catch the faint pink color tinting the shell of his ears.

“i don’t. b-but… i do know that whatever i did was enough to push you away from me." he says eventually. "i hope you know it was never intentional. i— i wouldn’t ever ever do anything to hurt you. i understand if you don’t want to tell me what... wrong i did, but i can promise that if you do, i’ll do my best not to do it again.”

his shy mumbles contrast the way he bravely pushes his fingers between yours, the now-interlocked hands resting on his thigh moving up and down as he anxiously bounces his leg.

laughter shatters the solemn atmosphere, causing his head to snap to its source, the evident frown on his face growing deeper. “are you— did you just laugh at my apology?” sunghoon asks with an incredulous expression, making you laugh even harder. still, he can’t help his lips from quirking up at the sight.

he likes this. he likes holding your hand and hearing you laugh.

“it’s just— 'm sorry.” you pause, trying to swallow down another fit of giggles trying to burst out. “i just think it’s funny. that’s a new record.”

“what record?”

“the record of most words you’ve said to me at once. the previous one’s fourteen words, i think.”

sunghoon stares, head tilted to one side in confusion.

“think about it, sunghoon. classes and group lunches aside, you’ve never actually spoken to me properly. it’s never a conversation, it’s almost always just single words.” you let go of his hand only to lay yours on top of his and giving it a couple taps. “or stuff like this.”

“—it’s like... like you have a word limit. but only when it comes to me.”

the muscle on his jaw twitches as he sees the little smile on your visage falter, the slight crack in your voice mirroring the one growing in his heart. he wants to object, to defend himself but he knows he wouldn’t have anything proper to say.

“at first i thought it was just because you were shy— but i’ve seen the way you talk to your friends, to my friends.. everyone. everyone loved talking to you, and you seemed to have fun talking with them too. i just don't get why you treat me so different."

sunghoon's hand grips on his own thigh to execute a punishment upon himself. until it hurts, until it stings. but he bears it because he knows it's too light compared to the hurt you've had to silently carry throughout your time with him.

"it sucks that you don’t like me enough to share your hobbies with me, sunghoon. that i have to know you through our mutual friends rather than getting to know you from what you say to me. i—” a pause. “i just gave up because i knew i’m not worth your time, or your effort to speak. that's why i stayed away.”

“y/n… angel, it’s— it’s not like that. i swear.” he cups your cheek to make you look at him. you were still smiling, and yet he saw the sadness in your eyes. the uncertainty.

he hates himself for being the cause of it.

“then what is it, sunghoon? why don’t you talk to me?”

“because—” sunghoon takes a deep inhale and purses his lips before finally confessing. “because i don’t know how to.”

just as the weight is lifted from his shoulders, he feels an even heavier one get dropped back down. he knows there’s no going back. not when you’re looking at him with dissatisfaction in your eyes.

“there’s a reason why i resorted to writing letters instead, y/n. it’s just that… just— y-you— i’m— fuck!” exasperated, he pulls his hand away from you, using it to rub on his temples instead.

then one travels down and you see as his fingers starts to scratch the base of his neck, nails digging deep into his skin.

it's one of sunghoon’s habits you’ve noted— an ugly one. the first few times it happened, you tried to talk him out of it, told him how scared you were that he’d hurt himself, but he told you it was to help ground him when he feels frustrated.

like the stubborn man that he is, sunghoon continues to scratch harder and harder, half of his face scrunched up irritation. and true to your fear, he lets out a wince when a thin red gash on the space between his collarbones started to bleed red.

“sunghoon, stop.” you sigh, his wrists tightly trapped in your hold.

when he turns his head to look at you, he looks like his world has collapsed in itself. he's devastated. broken.

“i.. i want to explain. i swear, i just—” he closes his eyes tight, hands curling into tight fists under your hold as his chest puffs from how heavy he's breathing. you gently pry each finger open to see deep crescents on his palms. a frown is etched on your lips at the sight, and you know sunghoon’s not faring any better with the way he slumps against you, head rested on your shoulder.

“they won’t come out..” he finally says after prolonged silence, his voice thin and raspy.

“what won’t, hoon?”

“... nothing. please let me—” his breaths are trembling, and though you don’t see it, you could feel him holding back from scratching at his neck again.

“whatever it is can wait. just.. don’t. don't do that again.” you mumble, letting go of one of his hands so you could wrap your arms around his shoulder, your palm running up and down his tensed arm while he messily wipes the bleeding scar with his sleeve.

he waits until his breathing turns even before he speaks again.

“are you.. doing anything tomorrow, angel?”

“hm. no. why?”

“i… missed you. it’s been so long since i last talked to you.”

“that’s weird. i clearly remember that i was the only one doing all the talking.” you reply with a nudge to his shoulder, hoping your teasing voice is enough to lighten the atmosphere.

“hey! don’t be a smart-ass. you know what i mean. it’s been.. what? like, forty one? maybe forty two days since we hung out properly.”

you lean away from his side.

“you’ve been counting too?”

“too? so you also did it?” he raises his brow, the previous frown growing into a teasing smile as soon as he sees your expression, like you're glitching between the choice of fight or flight.

“would you look at that. seems like the misery over winter break was mutual.” he says, tone a little too proud for your liking, so you choose fight. you take the soft skin of his cheeks in between your fingers, pinching and stretching it with a whiny sunghoon trying to push your hand away.

you succumb to his pained pleads to stop.

you lean in closer to soothe the skin with your thumb while laughing under your breath and sunghoon’s eyes slowly flutter close at the touch, head tilting closer to your hand as if to encourage you to continue.

“this is nice.” he whispers, raising his hand and laying it on top of yours to keep it there.

you want to ask him what stopped him from asking for your touch because it wouldn't even take a heartbeat for you to say yes. you wanted to know why you weren’t given the privilege of seeing him this needy, this vulnerable and bare. yet you kept your mouth shut.

“the university is a place for learning, kids. not dating.”

the sweet little moment is interrupted by an older man, a security guard, pointing his plastic baton at the two of you. “and it doesn’t look like you’re in grad school either, which means you’re not allowed to loiter in university grounds.” he adds, making sunghoon stand straight, head tilted forward to give him an apologetic bow.

“we’re sorry, sir! w-we didn’t notice the time. we’ll be heading home. i promise.” his taller body instinctively steps once to the side, covering you like shield.

the guard tilts his head, brows raised at the odd couple in front of him but his eyes soften as soon he sees the dopey smile on sunghoon’s face when his hands blindly reach out behind him in search of yours. “i better not catch you staying here after-hours again, alright? now go. scram!”

sunghoon turns around and smoothly slings your bag over his other shoulder like he always used to, your hand held firmly in his as the both of you run to the exit gates giggling like children.

“girls. he just texted me. said he’ll pick me up in an hour.”

you set your phone screen-down on your vanity. jiwon’s behind you, scrolling through pinterest in search for a proper hairstyle inspo and gaeul’s lying on her stomach on top of your bed, busily typing away as she tries to cram her essay.

thank god you had the foresight to finish it yesterday because one, that meant you got to reunite with sunghoon— who apparently waited for you by the lockers that day —and two, because he was serious about hanging out today.

he double, no, triple checked that you actually wanted to go with him while he walked you to the bus stop, refusing to let go of your hand until you safely got in.

“i can’t believe that doofus finally got the courage to ask you out. we were wondering how long he’d take.” gaeul chirps up, fingers still busy tapping on her keyboard.

“finally? what do you mean finally? and what you do mean we?” your hands pause from applying your blush, head craning towards your bed to stare at your dear friend who just stares back with a straight face.

“oh, y/n. don’t be dumb."

"i'm serious!"

"jake and jay? us? we’ve all seen it since we started hanging out. you’re the only one who gets mister congeniality all nervous and speechless. now look in the mirror before i accidentally burn your cheek.” jiwon says, carefully taking your curling wand and a section of your hair.

“it’s so cute, it’s almost pathetic. but i’m still mad at him for making you cry like that, you know. he better make it up to you today, or else i’m gonna drag his stupid ass through the school field. by his ears.” gaeul says with a face that let you know she intends to follow up on her words.

jiwon continues to hum whilst curling your hair and you try your best to keep your hands from shaking as you apply your gloss.

when you look in the mirror, you can't help but ponder how much your body knew you needed sunghoon because you’re glowing. you look well-rested despite only catching three hours of sleep because of how badly you anticipated this date.

meanwhile sunghoon, alone in his car, is practically vibrating in excitement. or nervousness. he doesn’t know, really. he thinks he stopped being able to differentiate which feeling is which since he saw you that day.

he spent those thirty minutes routinely checking his rearview mirror: is something stuck between the gaps of his teeth? he flossed again just in case. is his hair styled correctly? didn't prevent him from running his fingers through it a few more times. should he put on his coat or would that look too much? fuck, what if he over dressed and you think he’s cringe?

god, he wasn't even this jittery with his exes.

it's different because he's never actually hung out with you without the excuse of classes or other university-related events. it's different because he's never actually seen you outside the usual café you spend free periods in or under the flashing strobes of the college frat house.

it's different because it's his first date with you, and he's adamant not to make this the last.

ding.

💬 from: my angel. — hoonieeeeee ! i’m almost done. :D

he glanced at his watch.

fifteen minutes left.

enough time for him to drive once around your block, get out of the car, walk to the passenger’s side and coolly lean against it while pretending he wasn’t an inch away from having a mental breakdown a few moments earlier.

and when sunghoon finally sees you walk out in a satin dress, he’s convinced he might actually have one.

“hey there, big guy. you look handsome today. well.. you always do. but today especially! i really like your fit!” you say, adorning that bright smile that sunghoon found so captivating.

the plan to look cool immediately got crushed.

he tried to stand up straight, he did. but he ended up leaning again on his car— not to look charismatic. rather, he needed to, because he was barely feeling his knees. his heart was racing, his breathing turned short, and he began feeling the all-too-familiar prickling sensation in his throat.

“don’t go quiet on me again, or i’ll ignore you. forever this time.”

he looks more made-up, different from the usual hoodie and jeans combo you always saw. still knee-buckling attractive, but clean. khaki trousers adorning his long legs, thin black belt around his hips and a loose blue-colored polo with thin stripes, the sleeves folded to accentuate his forearms.

there’s a small sense of satisfaction that comes to you when you realize your outfits make you look like a couple. it seems gaeul made the lucky choice of getting you to wear a baby blue today, but you’ll just thank her for that later.

“your hair’s.. n-nice.” sunghoon says, a bashful smile growing on his face. “o-oh! and– and i have this!” he opens the rear door of his car, and you hear it slam again before he turns around to present you with a bouquet of flowers.

white petals with vivid yellow blooming from the center, wrapped in crumpled iridescent foil and pastel blue paper.

“daffodils. the lady at the flower shop said it symbolizes new beginnings. and— a-and i want that. a new beginning. with you.” he stammers awkwardly, nibbling on his lower lip as his hands push the bouquet towards you.

you can only coo at his words, fawning over how cute and small he looked right now despite his height. so fucking adorable, this one.

pushing past the bouquet, your arms find purchase around his torso and you squeeze him in your arms. it takes him a second to return it and you feel him release a sigh, one done out of relief and longing, before leaving a gentle kiss on your hair as he lets you go.

sunghoon opens the passenger seat of his car for you with his signature shy smile, tipping his head to the side.

“get in, angel. i have a lot of making up to do.”

he takes you driving around first, wanting to spend a little more time together with you in the privacy of his car before he shares you with other people. one hand on the wheel and the other keeping yours warm, he aimlessly drove around while narrating how he spent his winter break with his family.

his dad took him and his two honorary siblings, jay and jake, to a skiing resort. his mom bought him a new camera as his holiday present, and he casually slipped in wanting to test it out next time with you.

in between those stories, sunghoon admitted that his younger sister was the one to suggest the idea of leaving you letters. the confession leaves his lips in between sheepish laughter, resulting in both your cheeks turning pink.

your heart felt full listening him be so engrossed in his stories, at one point even letting go of the steering wheel to imitate how jake wobbled in his snowboard. sure he still stuttered every now and then, still held himself back from cussing too much on the off chance you’d get turned off, but those are tiny details you’re determined to work through with him.

he asked about you too, and you talked about the boring train ride back to your old little town, how the place looked like it was frozen in time with the same faces, same remarks about how you look like a carbon copy of your mom. sunghoon just listens intently, a smile on his face as he steals glances of your face from time to time.

you also talked about how you spent a week trying to get dye stains off your hands when your older brother painstakingly made you dye his blonde hair to black in preparation for the new season.

sunghoon’s hand tighten around yours. blonde.

“what about.. uh.. dates? did you go out with anyone while we weren’t in contact with each other?”

“hm. not that i recall? there were a few boys in my town, but i know they’re just messing with me.”

sunghoon’s right hand leaves yours to grip on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white and lips turning into a straight line as he stares at the road ahead.

perhaps he’d been mistaken. maybe this is just how you get when you’ve grown closer to someone. maybe the hand holding or the comforting touches you gave him were ones you also gave to other people. maybe you had taken his invitation as a hang out rather than a date and that’s why you agreed despite having someone else waiting on you.

“the boys saw him, you know. if— if you’re still talking to him then… t-then what are we doing right now?”

the change in his tone isn’t lost on you, nor the hardened expression he wears. from the side of his eye, he catches the befuddled look on your face like you genuinely cannot remember the accusation being true.

“him? who? i— hoon, what are you talking about?”

the mere memory of his friends’ words, of that man, urges sunghoon to pull over to the side of the road so he can face you because when call him an presumptuous loser and friend-zone him, he at least wants to see your pretty face do it.

“jay said he saw you come to their game with a guy. long hair. blonde. said he was clinging on you like a damn shirt.”

when you laughed at his confession yesterday, he’ll admit he found it cute. but when you do it today, it does nothing else but make his scowl look more sour.

“is this little laughing-at-sunghoon thing a habit you’ve developed over winter break? because this isn’t funny to me.” he glowers, brows furrowing as your laughter increases in pitch, palms repeatedly slapping against your knee.

“you—” your fingers point to him with a snicker, face looking pained as you try your darndest to hold back a laugh but it comes out anyway.

sunghoon crosses his arms over his chest, thick eyebrow cocked up while gazing at you with an unamused expression. “y/n. i’m serious. if you have a guy back home, you can tell me. it’ll break my heart, yes, but i don’t want to take part in whatever open relationship you guys hav—”

“sunghoon, that was my brother.”

“what?”

“tall guy. long hair. blonde. my brother.”

“that was... jeonghan hyung?”

“yes, dummy. jeonghan just wanted to take see at how the basketball team was keeping up now after he graduated. he’s an alumni, remember? you know he had blonde hair. you even hogged my phone all to yourself when he facetimed me that one time.”

it’s your turn to have your arms folded on your chest, tilting your head with a little sass, lips curled in a smirk. wordlessly, his body snaps to the front and he attempts to start the engine again, but you clutch his wrist just in time.

“no— you can’t just say that and ditch the conversation. you’re gonna explain yourself right now, park sunghoon.”

the sound of his full name said in such a stern voice makes him squirm in his seat.

“i– i was jealous, okay? what more do you want me to say?” he grumbles, looking out the window while weakly attempting to shake your hold off of him, letting out a grunt that barely sounds like your name as you refuse to back down.

he sighs in defeat, and you can see the sharp tic of his jaw tensing up.

“you weren’t talking to me. barely even looked my way. of course i was worried when my friends started talking about how you went to their practice without me. with a new guy, at that. it just.. the thought didn’t make me feel good. c-can we leave it now? this is embarrassing.”

a satisfied smile pushes your cheekbones up as you turn the keys, giving his shoulder a pat.

“drive, big guy.”

sunghoon made a reservation for the restaurant you mentioned months ago in passing. it’s nothing upscale or expensive. no wines or steaks. just the regular korean food you’re used to, but elevated just a little bit to make it taste more contemporary rather than home-made.

but you didn’t really care for that. the sole reason you wanted to go was their aesthetic: the dining area looked like the inside of a greenhouse with its sunroof ceiling, leaves and flowers hanging from wooden beams, and the lighting was just warm enough to set the ambience.

a hand on the small of your back courteously guided you towards your seat, and you’re too enamored by the interior to notice sunghoon staring at you with eyes full of admiration, his elbow resting on the table so he could comfortably continue to look at you in silence while you take in every detail of your surroundings.

true to his words, sunghoon makes up for his shortcomings.

he refills your drinks, debones the meat for you, constantly fills your plate before your food even runs out, and he apparently even paid for the meal in advance.

throughout the meal, sunghoon indulges you in short stories, letting you take on the role of the listener rather than the yapper this time around. he's telling you about penguins in antarctica and you hum, taking a sip of your drink when you notice one tiny, yet very clear difference in him today.

he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

you know he has a collection of them, and he switches things up every now and then. from thick boxy clear glasses, to the trendy ones you’ve seen models rock on social media.

your favorite pair would have to be the rimless silver ones he wore during your department’s post-exam party because they make him look unreal— like a real-life manhwa character. but he usually wore the good ol’ reliable thick black ones to lectures.

the glasses had their charm but without them, he’s a different kind of handsome. his features look sharper, especially with the warm lighting casting shadows from his tall, unobstructed nose bridge. his eyes look clearer and more expressive too.

on the side of his chin, a tiny mole. and then another one. black dots mapped out across his fair skin, all varying in size and but your eyes lock on the distinct one under his eye, and one on the side of his nose, right below where his glasses’ nose pad would sit.

no wonder you didn’t see it.

“you’re checking me out? so blatantly?” sunghoon pipes up, and you notice how the mole under his eye moves when he raises an eyebrow at you. it makes you giggle, reaching forward to poking the round dot under his eye.

“i didn’t know you had moles.” you mumble, rubbing on the skin with extra gentleness before leaning back. “kind of reminds me of someone i met when i was a kid.”

“hm? do tell.”

“ah, it’s nothing. there used to be this kid in my hometown who had moles like yours. god, that was years ago. i was really young— around eight or nine years old, i think. i met him at a playground where older boys were making fun of him for it.”

“let me guess. you defended him from the big bad bullies and he fell in love with you?”

“defended him, yeah. jesus, they were assholes. the memory is hazy, but i tried to comfort him by chasing him around and stuff. i tried to go back to the playground again the next day after my classes, but he never came back.” you poke at your left overs with your fork, the distant memory making a grin dance on your lips.

“but falling in love? highly doubt it. told him my name but i never got his back. all i remember's his cute moles. he might as well have been an imaginary friend.”

“i say defending a kid like that can definitely make them fall for you.”

“are you speaking from experience, mister?”

"partly."

you smile, cupping your hands behind your ear, making sunghoon chuckle as he wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

“when i was a kid, i used to be so timid— waaaaay way worse than i was with you.” he says, and the way his eyes widen when he extends his words make you giggle.

“never talked to my classmates, always stayed at home. even my cousins who visited can’t get a word out of me. my parents tried making me do hobbies to get me out of my shell. you name it, i did it. and it helped, but only by a little. then they thought maybe going to the city might help my introversion. my little sister was growing up, too, so they started looking for a place here in seoul.”

your elbows perch on the table, chin resting above your interlocked fingers as you give him a dreamy nod. “mhm. and then?”

“and then the day before we moved, i decided i’m gonna try playing with the kids from my town. just to give it a last shot. except they teased me a lot because i wasn’t talking. they made fun of my moles, too. but then—” sunghoon pauses.

“this strange girl came shouting. i’ve never seen her before. think she went to a different elementary school, but she fought the boys off even though they were taller than her. she threatened to throw rocks at their heads and pull their hair out. and you know what? they looked scared. i think that was the first time i saw genuine fear.” he says, breaking out in a fit of giggles.

“picture this: i was half a foot taller than her but she was reprimanding me and pushing me to stand up straighter, saying i should learn how to speak up and fight back. that no one would fight my battles for me but me. since then, i started doing it— practicing my speech skills and self confidence. eventually, i stopped cowering whenever strangers approached me and i learned how to speak without my voice shaking. it's all thanks to her.”

when his monologue is over, sunghoon just grins at you like reminiscing alone was enough to comfort him. you feel a little irritated, jealous of the way he speaks so affectionately of her memory.

but at the same time, you can’t help but smile back. that's how you feel about your own little friend after all.

“so you fell in love?"

"i wouldn't be so hasty to call it love. perhaps admiration. deep admiration."

"don’t tell me you never told her your name like my old friend?”

his chuckle is mirthful as he shakes his head. “oh believe me, i did. swear on it. either she didn’t hear me, or she’s deaf because she just started calling me ‘pengoo’ instead of my name.”

pengoo.

it’s familiar.

you squint your eyes once more as you see the dimple on his cheek appear, the indentation becoming deeper as he flashes you a knowing smile.

pengoo, pengoo, pengoo.

wait.

“his shirt. that was the shirt he was wearing...” you trail off in a whisper, the words barely audible as you point your hands at sunghoon, and he just smiles even wider, nodding his head slowly.

you sit there in stunned silence, hands crossed over your mouth as you stare at the sunghoon whose look of pride turned into concern, nervous of the crystal clear shock on your face. he's cautious as he offers his open palm on the table, skittish and biting his lip when you still refuse to hold his hand.

he calls out your name with such gentleness that you’re transported back to that day— to the little, but still taller boy who had tears in his eyes, looking ridiculous and snotty while sporting a white shirt with a penguin patch.

the one who you affectionately called 'cookies and cream' for the specks of black splattered across his face, whose tears you wiped using your special barbie handkerchief, whose arm you scribbled your name on with your glittery purple pen that he wanted to taste because it smelled like grape juice.

though the memory isn’t as clear as it was to you years ago, he was a constant in your life. whenever you encountered people who leaned more towards timidity, it's him who appeared in the back of your mind. the nameless friend who you never saw again after his worried mom fetched him from the playground.

except he's not nameless anymore, and he's sitting right in front of you.

the salty tears burn when you try to hold them back, but they're insistent on coming out so you hang your head low and attempt to contain your sniffles. panicked, sunghoon gently holds on your arm and guides you outside of the restaurant to a more secluded spot in the front lawn.

“y/n.” he calls out again, pale hands gently squeezing on your hips as he bends down, trying to take a peek of your face that you insist to cover. “angel… did i make you cry again?” he sighs and you shake your head, quickly taking him in your arms, hugging him like how a mother would her child who’s come back from war.

“my pengoo.. my pengoo.” you choke out in between stifled sobs, stroking his head. his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you off of the ground for a moment as his face settles on the crook of your neck, nose brushing against the skin as he whispers back.

“it’s me. pengoo’s here. you're okay. i'm not leaving.” his words do nothing but make you cry harder, tears staining his shirt and fists crumpling the fabric on his back.

“i can’t believe it’s you. i–”

"do you want to talk about this somewhere else, angel?” sunghoon asks in a soft voice, a tone he reserved only for you, carefully wiping your damp under eyes.

a nod is all he needs.

the travel is silent aside from the small little sniffles you do and the faint melody from the car’s speaker. your eyes blankly stare outside, the view of the buildings just as blurry as the thoughts and memories running in your head. meanwhile sunghoon’s trying his best to console you, his thumb lazily rubbing the skin on the back of your hand while stealing glances every now and then.

“where are we?” you croak out when the car comes to a halt. sunghoon opens the car door, his fingers nimble as they take your seatbelt off for you. “a park near my neighborhood. in one of my favorite spots to rest my head which you need to do.”

his hand return to yours so he can pull you towards the picnic area.

sits down on a bench and you elect to sit on the wooden table itself, head craning as you take in the new environment. the place is beautiful. quiet, serene and full of trees that it looks like a modern glitch in the middle of a forest.

“you’re not gonna kill me for knowing your secret, are you?” you sniffle, feet gently nudging the side of his thigh with a soft chuckle.

“no people, no witness. i’m sorry, y/n. can’t have people knowing i was a loser back in the day.” he says in a gurgled voice after looking around, playfully pinching your arm which makes you squeal and swat his hands away.

in the middle of play fighting, your eyes catch the swing set nearby and you remember him again. pengoo.

the flashback is so clear you could almost see a younger version of yourselves: you, pushing him on the swing, and him using his voice properly for the first time to scream ‘stop!’ when his seated body lifts too high off the ground.

you turn to sunghoon, the real, grown sunghoon, and he’s already looking up at you with one hand resting on your covered knee, giving it languid strokes with his thumb.

"penny for your thoughts?"

“why, hoon? i mean.. if you knew all along, why didn’t you tell me?” you reach for his cheek and his eyes close at the contact, letting out a soft sigh of comfort. he holds it in place, tilting his head to leave a light kiss on your palm.

“i’m sorry. if you want me to be honest, i had no plans to let you know. i wasn’t even aware you remembered that day. for all i knew, i was just one of the strangers who got bright little y/n’s help.”

“you… you grew up so well.” salty tears blur your vision again as you lean down to press your lips against his forehead.

“i couldn’t have done it without you. that was a significant event in my formative years— i seriously can’t imagine what kind of life i’d live if i hadn’t met you that day.” he stands up so he can tower over you, looking down to wipe the wetness from your eyes.

“you're my savior. my angel in every sense of the word.”

you walk around the area holding each other’s hand, going over your first meeting— the actual one — the one you had before you met again as grown ups.

he tried talking his parents out of moving, and though they were surprised at his sudden enthusiasm, they ultimately refused because the new house in seoul was already paid for. he waited for you that morning, until the last second— until his parents were yelling at him from the car. 'i think i left a piece of my heart in that playground.' are his exact words.

his search didn't stop there. night and day he bothered his parents to contact anyone they could from their previous town, to ask if anyone had a child with your name. but because his parents were like him— aloof and private, nothing really turned up.

but he was a kid determined to keep you alive and present in his mind so when he met you again that fortunate morning in university, he immediately knew it was you without even hearing your voice.

every day he stayed by your side was spent in awe, marveling at the woman you’ve become.

there wasn’t much difference, physically nor emotionally. obviously you’ve matured and grown into your features— but you still talked in the same cadence, spoke your mind with just as much enthusiasm, and still cared for people the same way you did to the young boy in the playground.

still the same girl who’d get him too flustered to talk properly.

“so jay and jake knew about me the whole time too?” you ask after arriving at the parking area and sunghoon lifts you up to sit on the hood of his car. he nods, comfortably settling between your parted legs as his hands rest on your thighs.

“of course. they were the first to know about my childhood crush after all.”

“childhood crush, huh. what about now? am i still a crush?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him and he rolls his eyes, the cute little dip on his cheek becoming more evident.

“you know the answer to that already, angel.” he replies, pulling you closer to him by your hips and your arms naturally loop around his neck like they were always meant to be there.

you don’t know whether it’s the long day you’ve had, or the insane revelation of who sunghoon has been this whole time, but your head’s starting to spin.

perhaps it’s his cologne, how it’s starting to smell is stronger and stronger as his body leans closer to yours. or maybe it’s the way you feel too warm in your own skin whenever his eyes drop to your lips, and how he his sharp fangs poke out when he bites his in return.

it’s like the air turned heavy in a matter of a few seconds and the cool breeze is doing nothing to thin out the tension in the wide empty space.

from this close, you could hear his breath get slower, thicker, eyes never leaving your mouth. he brings a hand up to cup your cheek and your breath hitches when his thumb brushes over your lower lip.

sunghoon closes the distance first.

the kiss is sweet and gentle but filled with yearning and just a little bit of hesitation. your lips are the softest too, practically erasing any memory left over from the other irrelevant girls he’s kissed before. and you’re so damn sweet.

despite every inch of his body wanting to have more, he does the gentlemanly thing to do and breaks the kiss but not without biting on your plump lower lip first. when his eyes finally focus, your cheeks are flushed, tinted a rosey color like your slightly swollen lips that reflect the distant street lights.

sunghoon's grip on you is as tight— just a hair above bruising. it’s taking everything to hold on his self-control, to not take you for himself right then and there.

he just had you back. he doesn’t want to scare you away by being so forward with his need and indecency.

but it’s so, so hard to behave when you’re like this, so small and flustered, looking up at him with half lidded eyes and your lower lip trapped between your teeth.

so when he feels you attempt to press your thighs close, his instinct tells him to pull you even closer to keep them open, the movement making your dress ride up, the slit on its side exposing more of your skin.

and you whine—either from his touch or from the cold air— but sunghoon doesn’t care. not anymore.

the noise you make is more than enough to snap whatever’s left of his restraint and he leans down to capture your lips again. but it isn't soft this time.

it's sure.

it's hungry and handsy.

still full of yearning, but mixed with the raw, physical need to be closer to one another.

your heads tilt to opposite sides, lips weaved together while letting out small whispers of sweet nothings in between.

sunghoon takes your lower lip in between his again, sucking on the flesh while his hand slip underneath the slit of your dress, palm rubbing up and down the skin of your upper thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

while his lips keep your mind fuzzy, he busies his hand by trailing it higher and higher beneath the loose fabric of your dress until you feel his thumb graze your bare hips, just a fraction of an inch below where your panties are resting, making you gasp against his mouth.

a chance opens up for sunghoon to snake his tongue past your lips, and he greedily takes it, determined to explore every possible inch. you taste like decadence. like the coffee ice cream you had for dessert combined with something celestial.

it's fucking heavenly.

you try to fight him back with your tongue, and for a while, he lets you. convinces you that you’re winning when you try to push your tongue against his, pink muscles twirling together in a dance full of lust and wanting, but sunghoon eventually grows tired of it and he gives your thigh a reprimanding squeeze, making you moan again, providing him the perfect opportunity to take over the messy liplock.

you take the small bit of revenge you can by threading your fingers through the jet black locks on the back of his head, tugging on it once, twice, until he’s growling your name against your open mouth.

his lips wrap around yours, your tongue graze on the sharp end of his canines, his fingers wander near the plump of your ass, and you kiss until both of you are literally seeing stars.

you part, heaving oxygen back in your deprived lungs and your foreheads meet with eyes still in steady contact as your heavy breathing mingles.

sunghoon’s hands never leave your thigh or your cheek. rather, he gives them a final brush with his thumb before stealing a quick peck, damp lips brushing against your skin until it reaches your jaw, giving the spot a kiss as well.

“perv.” you say, raising your thigh a little just so you could push sunghoon’s hand away. “first kiss and you’re already feeling me up?”

“okay, y/n. let’s pretend your eyes weren’t my arms the entire time i was driving. i know you like how veiny they look.” he replies after leaning back, the same canines that were grazing on your tongue a while ago now in full display as he flashes you a cocky grin.

“i.. you noticed that?”

“i did. i notice a lot of things about you.”

“like what?”

he's quiet for a moment.

“like how you’re starting to shiver.” his muscular arms lift you up and safely bring you back down to the ground.

“i think it’s time to get you home, angel.”

a cacophony of cheers erupt in your classroom as the announcement blares from the speaker. an early dismissal due to seniors needing several classrooms to prepare for something you didn’t care enough to pay attention to.

all you knew was you needed to get out as soon as possible so you can see sunghoon again.

from: pengoo. 🐧— heard the announcement yet? :) to: pengoo. 🐧 — yep!! i'll just grab a few things from my locker and head there. see u! ♡ from: pengoo. 🐧 — see you, angel. :)

the two of you made the university garden your official hang-out spot. specifically the one near the big ginkgo tree where the both of you have spent hours under either people-watching, eating or reviewing.

and stealing kisses from each other, of course.

so when sunghoon asked to meet you there this morning, the answer was an automatic yes.

just as you sit down on the picnic mat, you see him appear from behind a tall shrub, bag slung over his shoulder and a big plastic bag hanging from his hand.

“did i take too long? i'm sorry, angel. it was lunch rush and there was a line in the restaurant and jake was arguing with a girl and—”

“hoon. i just got here. it’s okay.” you say, chuckling at his never-changing nervous demeanor.

he leans forward to give your lips a chaste peck, an apology leaving his lips again before he busies himself by taking your lunch out of the plastic and making sure your bottle is uncapped and your utensils are cleaned before tending to his own food.

a fond smile creeps on your lips as watch him try to talk about his morning in between bites. he really has improved since that date. gone is the boy who shied away from your touches, and replaced by one who openly asks for a hug and whines when he doesn’t feel your hands on his whenever you walk together.

his hand is always in yours when he drives both of you to school (despite the fact that he has to drive 20 minutes earlier to do so.) his arm consistently curled around your shoulder or your waist when you walk to class together. you always tease him for it too, but he just takes it with a smile because he knows it’s true.

he’s whipped for you.

after you eat and clean up, you offer to keep the picnic mat in your locker but sunghoon mentions he wants to stay for a bit more, and you appease him, letting him lie down with his head comfortably laying on your plush thighs while you lean back, palms pressed on the mat to support yourself.

silence envelops the both of you, but it doesn’t make your head run through a million thoughts anymore. it isn’t tense this time.

your eyes wander to him again— your not-quite-boyfriend boyfriend.

your finger pokes at the mole at the side of his nose out of habit, the glass beads in your bracelet reflecting bright spots on his smooth skin. you go from one mole to the next, moving it down the sharp bridge of his nose, then to his jaw, and you giggle upon feeling sunghoon shiver under your featherlight touch.

you move your middle finger down his neck, choosing to poke at the peak of his adam’s apple before noticing the pink lines on his neck.

again?

before you can even point it out, sunghoon’s voice cuts through the silence.

“i feel like pengoo whenever i’m with you.”

you sit up properly. “pengoo?”

he gives you a nod and you stare, giving him a look that spells ‘i don’t know what you mean’, making him smile.

“whenever you’re around… it’s like i become that kid again. the one that can’t speak or think properly. i don’t know, it’s weird. the same girl that gave me the confidence to talk being the same one i can’t be around without making a fool of myself? i can’t even give you a proper compliment for god’s sake.”

that’s true. he always compliments your outfits, or your accessories, or compliments you through implications. things like “you’re making everyone stare.” or “that cute puppy looks just like you.” but nothing that’s actually a straight forward compliment.

you never had the courage to bring it up to him, partly because you’re afraid he might find you too needy, but also because deep down, you know the words he did say already took a lot of courage from him.

“i don’t.. really mind. not that much.”

“don’t lie to me, angel.”

“i’m serious!” you laugh, fingers forcibly pushing the edges of his frowned lips upward. “i do have a question though.”

“what is it?”

your fingers ghost over the exposed skin on the base of his neck, fingers gently pressing on the spot between his clavicles, tracing over the faint red scratches over it.

“have you been scratching your neck again? why do you do it when you know i don’t like it?”

“angel… i just—” he sighs softly, reaching for your hand. “i get frustrated.”

“you always say that. but there has to be a way for you to release your frustrations without scratching? the scar from last time isn’t even healed yet.”

below you, sunghoon releases a soft sigh and raises a hand to poke at the same spot on your neck. “what is this?” he asks.

“my neck…?” you reply cluelessly, to which he just shakes his head, poking at the skin again flinch from the ticklishness of his touch. "what's inside here?"

“my throat?”

he finally nods, pointing to his own. “they get stuck here.” he opens his mouth, tongue sticking out and points to it as well. “and here.”

“they? hoon, you have to stop talking in riddles. you know i’m stupid.”

sunghoon runs a hand over his face and sits up, moving behind you until you're settled between his legs, back comfortably leaned against his firm chest.

“okay. i’m doing this.” he whispers mostly to himself before squeezing you in his arms as if to reassure himself. “don’t interrupt me, okay? because if i don’t get this out completely, i might not be able to say it at all.”

you press your palms on the arms wrapped around your waist and nod.

“you see those those?” sunghoon asks, and your eyes follow the direction of his finger pointing at the different florae.

the green leaves of the bushes look even brighter next to different bundles of spring-born tulips— colors of white, red and vibrant yellow scattered throughout the garden.

you're unsure of where this conversation is headed, but nod anyway.

“it’s like i have that inside me. a garden— of words.” he says slowly, taking pauses between every words.

“at least that’s what i started telling myself after i left years ago to aid me in my quietness and it helped. a lot. i realized that i don’t really have to give people anything of value, and it made talking easier. if i don’t like someone, i can give them dead leaves or even weeds. but if i do, i can give them grass or the most common roses and it’ll do. maybe even an arrangement of better flowers for the people i want to keep in my life.”

he stays quiet for a beat, and you can feel his nose poke on your skin as his lips press on the exposed skin of your shoulder. “but you… you know you mean a lot to me, right?”

you reply with a hum, eyes glued to the leaves and petals swaying in the wind.

“i'm slow to speak because i take so long walking through the garden. because it's so difficult to choose what to give to you. because i want to pick and gather only the prettiest flowers— the prettiest, kindest words —for you. i want them to be neatly arranged and looking just as beautiful as the way you appear to me. because you’re precious to me... and you deserve nothing less.”

the words tug on your heartstrings in a way you’ve never felt before. to be adored and admired so much to the point of speechlessness wasn’t something you’ve ever experienced, or frankly, ever expected.

so when he speaks of you in such a way, it overwhelms your chest with a sense of safety— of knowing your heart is safe with him.

and the way he says it too: voice low, shaky, and starkly different from the composed sunghoon you usually hear in classes.

it's then that you realize the apprehension you saw you wasn't done out of malice.

sunghoon only did it because he wanted to protect something dear to him.

he shifts and pulls his hands away from your waist only to sit cross legged in front of you. it seems like you aren’t the only one feeling vulnerable because when you see him, he looks just as flustered.

his cheeks are rosy and his ears are in an even deeper shade, almost matching the petals floating above the grass.

“don’t laugh at me for this, okay?” a defeated chuckle leaves his lips and he reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours before looking you in the eye. "jake and jay know about how much i've been rehearsing."

"hm?"

“i’ve dreamt of meeting you again, you know? so when i saw you on our first day, i told myself that i’ll do it. i’ll show you my gratitude. i’ll show you i’ve changed. that i’ve grown. that i’m not the sickly and shy kid in the park anymore.” sunghoon pauses. “so every night in front of my mirror, i rehearse the different ways i could talk to you— and it worked. it always goes smoothly.”

“but i’ll see you again in the morning and it’s like the hours i spent practicing rush out the window— because.. b-because i’ll hear your voice, and you’ll laugh, and you'll smile. and you’ll look at me the way you are right now… and it’s like all the bouquet of flowers get stuck here.” sunghoon explains, finger accusatorily pointing to the still-healing scar on the skin above his throat.

“it feels like their thorns are piercing me from the inside, angel. it sucks and it’s frustrating. and the only way to relieve it is to scratch, but they won’t come out even if i do. and then i’ll beat myself up over it, go home, and the cycle will repeat itself. and— you’re doing that smile again. s-stop it!” he stammers, finger now angrily pointed to you.

you chuckle because you don’t even know what kind of smile he means and sunghoon just sighs, reaching for his neck again, palm over his throat like he’s trying to relieve the itch without scratching.

he looks annoyed and irritated, nose scrunched up as he clears his throat one, two times.

“i— i love you, y/n.”

the three words he’s been itching to confess for months, now breaking free from the tip of his tongue.

both of you freeze in your spots.

you can’t believe the words he just said, and he looks like can’t believe it either.

“i love you.” sunghoon repeats, gnawing on the flesh on the inside of his lip while his hands squeeze on the base of his neck as if physically forcing the words out. “i think you’re so cool. and you’re pretty. but even that isn’t enough. beautiful is the closest i can get, but i hope you get what i mean a-and… fuck, i should’ve just written a letter.”

an intense battle of eye contact ensues, his free hand curled tightly atop his lap as he takes a deep breath in.

“i— i’ve admired you since i was a clueless kid in the playground. liked you s-since you talked to me on our first day. and i’ve loved you since our first kiss, but i was too much of a pussy to say it then because i didn’t want you to think i only loved you because of it.” he grunts, knuckles pressing on his temple. “and i’m sorry that i don’t talk much because every time i do, it just makes you cry and i don’t want to see you crying because it breaks my heart too—”

the speed at which his words come out begins to pick up, making it barely understandable so you call out his name in an attempt to slow him down but he just looks at you with determination in his eyes.

“no! listen to me. i know i’ve had my moments, and i’ll probably keep having them, but i want you to know that i love you. sincerely. you’re precious to me, y/n. and i don’t want you to doubt what i feel any longer so believe me when i say i’m trying my best right now, even though i’m babbling.”

he pauses just to take another inhale, and when he finally speaks again, both his voice and his eyes turn softer. so soft you can't hear his words.

"i'm sorry, hoon. i didn't quite catch that."

"y/n. will you please be my girlfriend? you can say no, o-of course. i'm just throwing the idea out there but if you think i haven't proved myself yet then i'll be fine just waiting, i swear i c—”

you swallow the rest of his words in your mouth as you press your lips against his, eyes closed while you grab sunghoon’s hand by his wrist and guide it to your nape.

he lets out a meek sound of surprise but you can immediately feel him melt into you, fingers tightly holding on the neckline of your shirt as his soft, pillow-soft lips locked against yours in a slow but passionate kiss.

when you pull away, sunghoon’s eyes are glassy and you can see love pouring out from the way the beautiful chocolate brown orbs gaze into yours.

you leave a gentle peck on the mole under his eye— a thing you’ve picked up after multiple make out sessions —and lean back to appreciate the full view of a flustered sunghoon.

“i love you too.” you finally reply with an elated smile. “and i’d love to be your girlfriend.”

if humans had the chance to have heart-shaped eyes, you’re convinced sunghoon would have it at this moment.

his cheekbones are pushed all the way up, pearly whites flashed at you before he tackles you down into the picnic mat with a tight bear hug making you giggle loudly as he rolls the both of you from side to side while pressing kisses all over your face.

“hoon!” you squeal while wriggling in his hold and he relents, standing up to run in a wide circle around the garden, arms spread out wide while yelling.

“she said yes! y/n’s mine! my girlfriend!”

thankfully, the few people meters away only flash the two of you confused looks before going about their business.

"can't believe you're my girlfriend now." he giggles breathlessly as he ends his run in front of you, only to wrap his arms around your figure once more, lifting you off the ground and spinning in place while professing his love at the top of his lungs.

it’s dizzying to be his, literally and figuratively. but you wouldn’t have it any other way. you're his, and he's yours.

you love park sunghoon.

from the thorns, to the long stems and rough leaves, up until the prettiest petals that are finally able to leave his soft lips.

but sunghoon is determined to spend the rest of life growing his garden until he can find the words that'll convince you that he loves you more.

BONUS SCENE:

"let me get this straight. you're telling me that you got jealous of me.. so you made my little y/n cry three times?" jeonghan's voice is low, face void of any emotion as his arms cross over his chest across the both of you.

"technically it's seven, if we count the times i cried over winter break too." you mumble, meekly raising seven fingers.

sunghoon turn to you with wide eyes in disbelief. why would you throw your boyfriend under the bus? during his first time personally meeting your brother, no less.

"y/n, what the hell?"

jeonghan's hand slammed on the table, making the both of you flinch. "don't look at her. look at me. i was asking you a question, and now you're going to explain."

he thought jeonghan was cool— and he still does— but he reminded sunghoon so much of you whenever you get stern, and it's like deja vu of the time you got serious with him during your first date.

"no, i— it wasn't necessarily because of that, hyung. i just so happen to have made her cry after i got jealous so it isn't really a cause-and-effect scenario—"

"love, you're getting a little off track..."

"he said he wanted me to explain—"

your brother's giggles echo throughout your family home's dining area and he shakes his head, leaning over to tap on sunghoon's shoulder. "nah, man. i'm just fucking with you. but you knew i had blonde hair so you really should've known better."

"i.. y-yes, sir! i mean hyung! sir— i.. i mean... yeah." he sighs in defeat, head hanging low in an apologetic bow while jeonghan just nodded in acknowledgement.

"but if you make my little y/n cry again, i'll make sure you really won't be able to use that throat of your ever again, got it?" the way your brother's able to make those words sound sweet make even your heart race, your hand finding sunghoon's underneath the table to give it comforting pats.

"and you're sleeping in my room. no nicknames or pda as long as you're under the yoon household."

your boyfriend's eyes travel between you and your brother and he only grips your hand, nodding.

he can't wait to go back to seoul.

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀aaaaaaaaaaa!! it's finally done. i'm gonna cry. ૮₍˶ ╥ ‸ ╥ ⑅₎ა i saw the video of i-lander sunghoon dancing to pretty u again and i just had to. if you can't already tell, this is heavily inspired by the song and the confession part is heavily inspired by it! i'm thinking of writing shorter drabbles of other members so just shoot me an ask if you have an idea. < 3

⌗ taglist — @neozon3nha @zerocoded @firstclassjaylee @yuyita-rosier @chiiyuuvv

#── fics ✦ e404 #sunghoon oneshot #sunghoon x you #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon fluff #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon #enhypen #── ✦ yannouncements !

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harshimpex · 1 year ago

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yeyinde · 8 months ago

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You want a baby. Simon can't get over his hangups to give you one. The solution to both problems? Johnny.

18+ SMUT. breeding. mildly dubious consent. Johnny feasts on your pussy and then does his best to knock you up while Simon watches. slight body worship. bastardization of religious imagery. Mean!Dom Simon. rough, messy sex.

He's not the type to saw off his own hand to feed you, but would rather find a third man to satiate you both. The only one who can care for you, he said. Can't do that when he's dead, can he?

Maybe that's why he calls for Johnny.

down boy. eager mutt. lil' pyedogs got himself all twisted up in a rutt. help him, won't you, pet?

Johnny's softer than Simon but only just. This margin of distance, however, could be the gaping maw of a canyon for how wide it really is when scaled down to fit. Boxed inside a narrow bed—on your belly, cheek on Simon's knee; ass up, legs spread. Johnny behind you—colluvium to Simon's mountainside, but still so broad, so thick, your hips twinge with the effort of keeping your knees so wide apart.

You feel it whistling through the chasm when he licks his lips behind you—a loud, lascivious smack, a wet suckle—and feel the burn of his stare riveted on the split of your flesh. This bare seam Simon swears he found nirvana tucked deep inside of. A buried ravine. Aquifer he quenches himself on.

A pilgrimage Johnny has been aching to take.

And that's what this is, isn't it? Yatra to the hidden piscina. A procession to pollute the tarn—something Simon can't bring himself to do.

Bad genes. Trauma—sticky, noxious tar that oozes from the rotting filaments; festering deep inside. Cancerous: a mass you long to cleave from bone but know it's not cosmetic. Not just the ball joints, or the studs, but the foundation itself. If you start tearing up pieces now you'll have nothing but an empty plot and a pile of damaged debris.

So:

Enter the third man.

A tool. Vassel. Pays fealty by fucking a baby into your womb.

It's what you wanted, isn't it?

(yes, but—)

It happens faster than you can keep up with. Hands on your hips. Coarse hair tickling the back of your thigh. Warm breath against sticky, wet flesh. A broad nose parting your folds. Inhale. Exhale on a deep, reedy groan.

"fuck, ye smell heavenly, doe."

Simon hums before you can peel your tongue from the roof of your mouth, answering for you with a brassy invitation: tastes even better, Johnny.

It's all the permission he needs before he pushes his head closer to your bare cunt, groaning as his tongue cleaves a silky, thick line between your folds. Gorging himself without much preamble. Hands curled around your hips like expensive silverware, pulling you back into the wanting, eager suck of his mouth.

All at once, it's too much. Your hips shift, squirming away from his tongue, the too-sharp press of his teeth against soft, sensitive flesh. Mewling, whimpering into the rain-wet fabric of Simon's jeans.

His hand falls on your head. A gentle tap. Behave, it says, but you can't.

Johnny tramples over that thin line between pleasure and ecstasy, blurring them both until it becomes pain. Overwhelming. Shoving you towards the edge before you've readied yourself for the fall.

"Can't, Simon, can't—"

The words elide, slurring into a high-pitched whine as Johnny feasts on your cunt. Devours you from the inside out—all teeth and tongue, sucking your clit until your thighs cramp from how tight your muscles tense, bleeding lactic acid over sore flesh. The scrape of his stubble over your folds, chafing them until they are raw. Swollen. Drenched hole fucked with the spear of his tongue, digging so deep you begin to fear that he's trying to crawl inside of you. Salt your womb with his own two hands—

"Can take it, birdie," is all Simon says before his hand slides down your arched, trembling spine. Fingers digging into the meat of your cheek, spreading you wider for Johnny to eat. "Look how eager he is. Can't get enough of that sweet cunt."

"It's—it's too much—"

You don't feel him move. Can't see much from the blurry tears in your eyes. But his other hand whips out, cracking over your untouched cheek in a firm, burning smack. One that makes Johnny moan when it lands. Cruel. Open palm. Hard enough to leave a welt in the shape of his hand—something that makes him groan when he sees it.

"fuckin' hell—" his fingers dig into the aching flesh, grip bruising.

Johnny peels his wet, open mouth away long enough to pant into the slick spread of your cunt, resting his cheek on the swell of your ass. "Bit rough wit' 'er, Lt."

Simon considers it. Body shaking the bed when he shrugs, leaning back to trail his hand back up your spine, curling over the arch of your nape. Keeping you still as you sob into his knee. "She likes it."

"know she does. Fuck, Lt. Can feel 'er little pussy twitching. Tryin' tae suck me in."

Another hum. The grip on your asscheek eases as his hand peels away, sliding over swell before notching a finger between your cleft. Dry. Rough. It drags down your seam until it brushes over your fluttering hole, calloused tip digging in.

"soft, too, ain't it?" He asks, words mockingly cruel in their conversational tone. Nonchalant. But Johnny's hands tighten on your waist, palms slick with sweat. Glueing to your flesh. You can tell he likes that. Likes the way Simon talks about you. Demeaning and brutish. Butcher selling a piece of meat. "Bit of a tight fit at first—" he curls his finger inside of you, stretching your sore walls with the width of his knuckle. Sinking in deep. Another follows before you can remember how to breathe around the sting. "But swallows you up like a goddamn dream, Johnny."

His breaths grow ragged. "Fuck, Lt. Look at th'."

It makes you clench up around Simon's fingers, embarrassment scorching through your chest. "Please—"

Neither of them acknowledge you. Simon's fingers split, spreading wide apart as Johnny shuffles forward for a closer look, and nearly choking on his next inhale when he does.

"such a pretty fuckin' pussy—" he says it like a curse. Spitting the words out on a snarl. Angry, now, for reasons you can't discern slobbering over Simon's leg. "God, Lt. ah cannae—"

Johnny shifts back. You hear the clink of a belt. The rip of a zipper. Choked groans barely swallowed down as Simon buries his fingers inside of your weeping cunt over and over again, blunt tips cruelly skating over a spot inside, just behind your navel, that makes you feel liquid and loose between your hips. Debris floating down a whiteriver.

Pleasure peaks with each brutal thrust until you're howling into his leg, unable to move with their hands on your body, holding you down. Making you take it. Making you come undone as Johnny watches.

"fuck, fuck, Lt—she's gonna cum, ain't she?"

"Wanna feel it, Johnny?"

Simon's name falls out of his mouth on a whispered prayer. Drenched in thick reverence. Arched in need.

"aye, sir—" there's something about the hush of his voice, the way it slurs into putty. Enshrining his need in a halo of gold. It sends shivers down your spine. Heats you up fast like a fever. Sends you screaming over the edge—

"gonna miss it, Johnny. She's squeezin' me so fuckin' tight—"

Whatever else they say is swallowed by the keen clawing at the hollow of your throat when you feel the blunt, fat press of his cock knocking against your swollen, stuffed rim.

It's a burning thing—a sharp, heavy ache. Knock, knock. Simon spreads his fingers again, forcing you open. Pulling your hole wide apart for Johnny's engorged head to push up against.

It feels like being split down the middle. Ripped apart. Simon's fingers flex around your nape, thumb brushing soothingly against the knob of your spine.

Can take it, he mutters, brassy and low. A rumble just for you. Gotta take it, birdie.

You forget why. Why you need Johnny's too big, too fat cock inside of your cunt until the head bullies through, scissoring Simon's fingers apart until they're pressed tight on either side of the flared glands. Squeezed between your taut rim and Johnny's cock.

Johnny makes a noise like you've gutted him. A gutwrenching sob. "Oh, shite, Lt. M'—m'nae gonnae last—"

"gonna cum inside 'er, Johnny? Knock my pretty birdie up?"

Right. Right. A baby.

There's a heavy push. Your flesh wrenched apart to fit the fat, throbbing length of his cock—

(the cock that's gonna knock you up—)

Simon's fingers slip out of you as Johnny bucks forward, burying himself deep inside with a long, throaty groan. It's a horrible sensation—a bellyache. Without the splint of Simon's fingers forcing you open wide to near numbness, you're forced to feel the thick girth of his cock. Rim fluttering, spasming over the flared base. Too much, and somehow, not enough.

You sob through it. Each one ripples through your chest until it feels like it will collapse. Every inch of your body burns, throbbing. You don't think you'll survive this ache—

Johnny sets a brutal pace. Likes pistoning into you in quick succession until you're nearly howling into Simon's thigh before slowing to a crawl. Force-feeding you every inch. Making you feel every single one. Long strokes that batter the plug of your womb, bullying against the aching seal of your cervix until the flashes of pain, the savagery of this pleasure, makes you feel sick.

Getting fucked by Johnny like this is both a punishment and a reward. Baptism in hellfire.

Be careful what you wish for—

"gonnae fuck ye 'til it takes, doe. Knock ye up. Want th', don't ye? Aye. Can feel it. Feel this little cunt beggin' fer ma cum. Dinnae worry. Ahm gonnae give it tae ye. A' o' it, doe. Every—fuckin'—drop—"

Each awful word lands like acid on your spine. Chewing through flesh, tissue, until it melts bone below. Liquified. Helpless.

And with Johnny's hands on your hips, anchoring you in place as he hammers into your sore, abused pussy, possessed with the need to carve a space inside of your flesh where only he fits, rots, and Simon's hand on the scruff of your neck, holding you down, there's nowhere to run. Nowhere to escape the ragged breaths that spill from Johnny's slick mouth, the desperate way he pumps into you—thrusts growing sloppy as he stretches towards the precipice they dangle you off of, kicking and screaming as the scent of iron fills your nose, as his flared cockhead scrapes over that place you thought only Simon would ever know. Bluntly battering into the altar that sits, nestled behind your navel, like he's allowed.

Holy offering in a handful of seeds he'll sow over fecund land until something grows.

"Look at you take it," Simon coos, sticky, damp fingers petting over your tear-stained cheeks. It smells of loam. Salt. Iron and ozone. "So pretty when you're gettin' bred, ain't you, birdie?"

It rips a mournful keen from your chest, a feverish moan following on its heels when the lewd squelch, the echoing slapslapslap of Johnny driving into your cunt fills your ears. So wet, so messy, you can feel the slick drying, tacky and thick, on the inner crease of your bent knee.

"He's gonna put our baby in you, ain't he, birdie? Like a good mutt—"

The hands holding you over the precipice let go. Johnny's answering moan spears into your head, fluttering around the pulsing heartbeat of liquid bliss frothing in the pit of your belly. Overflowing over the rim.

Too much, you think, but that's not quite right because you can't feel anything at all except the length of his thick cock lodged deep inside you. Throbbing in tandem with your second pulse.

"gonnae cum, Lt. Gonnae—oh, fuck, Lt—"

His voice is a warm river washing over your spine. Pooling ecstacy. Something heavenly. Divine—

Molten gold blooms in the pit of your belly. Cockhead spitting against the seal of your womb as he cums, filling you to the brim. Fucking it into you even as his cock softens, unable to pull out he says.

Feels like fuckin' heaven, Lt.

"ain't she just?" Simon volleys back, sounding oddly dissonant. Off-key. "Pretty little birdie got what she wanted, huh?"

The drawl of his tone—acid-scorched, electric—forces you to blink through the tears, lifting your aching, wet eyes upwards at him. Searching.

He has the eyes of a predator. Leonine. The gaze of a beast after it's devoured something whole. His touch is as gentle as he can be—a rough, cracked scratch over your blistered cheeks—and when he meets your divining stare, he coos.

"Maybe I'll 'ave a go next time."

In the pounding, soporific slurry of your mind, you can't wrap your head around the words. Can't make sense of them. Struggling to keep your burning eyes open, even.

Not that it matters.

Johnny huffs a scorching breath of laughter over your sweat-slicked spine before wedging his forearm under your belly. Keeping your hips tipped up as he falls into you, resting his broad chest against your back and smothering you into the damp mattress.

"Yer cruel, Lt," he rasps, chin nuzzling over the arch of your shoulder, cock giving a feeble twitch inside of you at something you can't seem to piece together.

"m'jus' givin' my pretty bird exactly what she asked for." Huh? He prods, fingers tapping over your cheek when your swollen eyes slide shut. "Forgettin' y'manners, ain't you? Say thank you, pet."

With Johnny's half-formed chuckle echoing in your head, you mumble the words out on an exhausted sigh.

"an' say thank you to this mutt f'knockin' you up."

It comes out slower this time. Sluggish. His cock gives another twitch as he buries his face between your shoulder blades, smothering a groan.

"Sweetest thing, Lt. Christ—"

"more where that came from, Johnny. Jus' you wait an' see." Another tap. You mewl in response, feeling war-torn and achy. Unable to open your eyes for a second time, all you can do is whimper, burying yourself into his thigh. Pleading, silently, for clemency. Later, you think. Later—

But Simon has other plans.

"Fallin' asleep on me, birdie? Ain't even gonna give me a chance to put my baby in you? Greedy little thing, ain't she?"

Buried under the weight of Johnny as he peppers sucking, open mouth kisses over the width of your shoulder, cum leaking out around the softening plug of his cock, all you can do is snuff out the sob on the arch of his knee, resisting the urge to bite instead.

"Maybe next time then, eh, birdie?" Since you've been so good for this mutt, huh? Maybe I'll give you a reward.

Just be careful what you wish for, huh, birdie.

#i don't know how to end things sorry #simon riley x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghoapdrabbles

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readwritealldayallnight · 8 months ago

Note

I would love a take on boyfriend Ghost coming home to surprise you, but he finds your bed empty and doesn't realize that you are in his room in his bed. Thanks.

The placebo effect, was what he kept trying to convince you it had to be, no matter how many times you rolled your eyes and told him he was wrong

How else could one explain your insistence that Simon’s bed smelled so much like him, becoming your safe space when he was away on long deployments, when he only ever slept with you in your bed most nights to begin with

Hard to believe it was nearly three years ago now that you’d told your friend since childhood, Johnny, about how your search for a new flat was going miserably. You remember how he’d perked up and recounted with a mischievous glint in his eye about how his Lieutenant was apparently searching for a flat mate at the moment, someone who’d be looking after the place while he was away for work

Unsure about living with a strange man you’d never met before, but trusting Johnny’s judgement (though the way he seemed just a bit too eager about this meeting did kind of throw you off-) you had reluctantly agreed to meet with him and at least give the flat a glance before you simply turned him down

It wasn’t until you were knocking at the door of the address Johnny had written down for you, that you’d realized he’d never even given you the man’s goddamn name, only ever referring to him at Lieutenant or LT

Johnny apparently also failed to mention the absolute SIZE of the guy, his huge frame blocking nearly all of the light from behind him as he had swung the door open and stood in the doorway before you

In a slight panic, thrown off by the massive man before you and the way the butterflies in your stomach suddenly began to flutter at the sight of him, you had greeted him for the first time with a squeaky, unsure voice saying ‘Um, hi, are you the Mr Lieutenant?’ (something he has never let you live down since)

He knew then and there that you would be the one

Not just his flatmate (though what a generous flatmate he was when he offered insisted on moving all your boxes out of your old place and into his that very same day), but the one, something he reluctantly had to give Soap credit for, seeing as he was the one who wouldn’t stop talking his ear off about you

You would be his other half, his better half

And all these years later, the two bedroom flat truly only acted as a one bedroom, considering that from the start Simon was always falling into your bed with you at the end of each night, limbs tangled together under the warmth of a lovers embrace a thousand times more comforting than an actual comforter

Still though, that first time Simon had to be gone for work longer than a few weeks, you found the lingering odor of him clinging to his bedsheets to be one of the few things keeping you sane in his absence, taking to sleeping in his room for the time being, imagining that the pillow you cling to your front was a strong muscular arm instead, littered in scars and tattoos you feel confident you could recognize from touch alone

And when his long awaited flight back home to you landed a few hours earlier than expected, tires touching down in the dark, stillness of late night hour, he decided he’d surprise you and come straight home, rather than calling you to meet him at the base like you’d insisted, not wanting to wake you

Barely able to contain himself, he decided the elevator ride up to the seventh floor would take too long, take away precious seconds that brought him closer to you, and so up the flight of stairs he went, taking them two or three at a time, rushing to see the face etched behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes, to hear the voice that haunted his dreams each night

Quietly as a man his size could, he crept into the flat, snuck his way into your room, expecting to see your sweet, sleeping form cuddled up amongst the blankets and pillows. But his heart dropped when he noticed the bed was still perfectly made, not a thread out of place.

Trying to remain calm, though his mind was instantly swarming with every possible scenario that could have taken place, he knew he saw your shoes and jacket by the door, you couldn’t have gone far… but where were you?

He glanced into the living room, wondering if he missed you sleeping on the couch after a long day, he poked his head into the bathroom, even went so far as to check the small balcony, but finally there was only one door left to open.

And there you were, safe and sound, a tiny ball curled up into the center of his huge bed, clinging to one of his old masks and holding it close to your chest as though it were a security blanket (you’d been sleeping in his bed so much you needed something that still smelled strongly of him, you were getting desperate)

Stripping himself down to only his boxers, he tiptoed towards the side of the bed, his mind finally feeling more at peace than he ever had, gently pulling the sheets back just enough for him to slip in behind you, his strong arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you into his muscular chest

Though it should be alarming to suddenly feel a pair of hands roaming over your skin, a body holding you firmly against their own, it’s as though your body knows who it is before your mind does

Any tension you were still holding onto during his absence instantly melts away, your own hands coming to land over top of his, giving a slight squeeze of acknowledgment, not yet willing to fully leave your half asleep state, but needing to touch him, to confirm he really is here

“Hmm,” You hum, voice groggy with sleep and a smile slowly stretching across your lips, snuggling further into his embrace. “You’re home.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in, wishing he could bottle up the scent of your shampoo and lotions and perfumes, if only to have something to hold onto while he’s away, understanding now why he found you in this bed rather than your own

“I am.” He whispers into your hair, sensing that you’re already drifting back into dream land, safe in his arms and his bed, knowing he’ll be there when you wake. He feels his chest tighten when he knows that you weren’t talking about the fact that he’s physically home, in the flat, but something more, something much more, because he means the same thing when he tells you, “You’re my home too, love.”

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humanjarvis · 3 months ago

Text

nurse for a day

synopsis: who knew a sick doctor could be such a handful?

tags: stubborn zayne who hates being sick, reader takes care of him anyway, sleepy delirious zayne, fluff fluff fluff, humor(?), suggestive for .5 seconds word count: 2k

a/n: i personally think i ate with this one

It was quiet. Too quiet.

As you slink through the seemingly empty house, ducking into shadows like you’re on a stealth mission, you really wish your boyfriend weren’t so damn stubborn.

On your earlier phone call, Zayne had tried admirably hard to mask the nasally tone in his voice—to pretend like his frequent coughs were simply him “clearing his throat.” But you knew better.

He doesn’t get sick often—what with knowing exactly how to prevent it, and all—but when he does, he detests it for several reasons. The most pressing one, at the moment? You love when Zayne is sick.

Not because you think he deserves it, not because you want to see him suffer, but because you get to play nurse. After so many days being taken care of and scolded by the best doctor in Linkon, you finally get to return the favor.

Except Zayne isn’t particularly…appreciative of the favor. You’re a very strict nurse, he’s frowned at you several times before. You tell him over and over again that you only want him to feel better, but that doesn’t stop him from holing up in a bunker every time he comes down with something. It’s the only time he avoids you.

And now, he’s hiding from you. In his own home.

You know he’s here. When you arrived, his freshly washed car was sparkling in the driveway, a full mug of jasmine tea was still steaming on the kitchen countertop, and various office supplies were left scattered across the coffee table. As if he’d heard you coming and frantically abandoned ship.

You’d searched the usual spots: his empty bedroom, so pristine it looked like a hotel cleaning crew had stopped by; the walk-in closet, to make sure he hadn’t disguised himself among the hangers; and his study, where there’d been nothing but heaps of paperwork threatening the desk’s structural integrity.

He’s being extra sneaky this time, you scoff to yourself as you tiptoe around upstairs. Room after room, and no endearingly, adorably, annoyingly stubborn doctor inside.

But then, pressing your ear to the laundry room door, you hear it.

The unmistakable crinkle of a candy wrapper.

You’ve never felt so lucky that Zayne reserves his self-control for you and not sweets.��

With a deep breath and a crack of your knuckles, you jiggle the doorknob slightly before bursting into the room. The man inside, hunched over the floor next to a tissue box, jumps at the sudden noise before freezing in place. And then, slowly, shyly, he spins to face you with the wide eyes and stuffed cheeks of a disgruntled hamster.

Zayne has spent enough time with you to know what the unimpressed look on your face means: Explain yourself.

“I don’t remember you knocking,” he sniffles curtly, unable to hide the way his stuffy nose constricts his throat. The rosy blush on his cheeks is the only indication of his guilt.

“I don’t remember signing up to date an escape artist,” you shoot back, satisfied with his resulting wince. “What are you doing all the way in here? Was the space under the desk in your study not suitable this time?”

“Just wanted a—”sniff—“change of scenery,” he jokes lamely, gesturing to the sleek washer and dryer towering over him.

Sighing, you crouch down in front of him, taking in the wall of chocolate wrappers barricading him in. “Is the idea of me taking care of you really that bad? I’m just trying to help.”

“That’s exactly it,” he says dryly. “You always help more than what’s needed.”

At that, your eyes narrow into slits sharp enough to cut through bone. His bones, if he’s not careful. “Excuse me?”

“I mean,” he clears his throat, grimacing at the dull burn in his sinuses, “You always help me exactly how I need it, and more.”

“That’s what I thought you said. Now, come downstairs so I can give you the medicine you need, Dr. Zayne. And hand over the candy.”

It was no secret that Zayne loved sweet things. The confiscated tub of chocolates sitting on the counter was evidence enough.

But as you look down at his frowning face, cup of chemically red liquid in hand, you can’t help but wonder if it’s because Zayne loves sweet things that he hates taking medicine.

Once he’d finally trudged into the kitchen, you’d sat him down on a barstool before fishing the dreaded bottle out of the cabinet. “Why not a lozenge instead?” he’d asked. “One of the citrus ones.”

You hadn’t fallen for his trap, of course. But as he eyes you like he’ll make a break for it any second now, a weary part of you wishes you had.

“You know,” you lean in conspiratorially, “they say if you plug your nose, you won’t taste it as much.”

“Illness doesn’t make me a fool,” he mutters bitterly. “I, more than anyone, know how fruitless that trick often is. It doesn’t even work on the kids in the pediatric ward anymore.”

“And why would a 27-year-old man need the same encouragement as sick children, I wonder?” you crack slyly.

Zayne looks away, taking a sudden interest in the floor tiles.

Snorting, you double-check the dosage in the medicine cup and hold it out to him. He regards it with abject misery, his big, hazel eyes staring up at you pleadingly, and you feel a crack in your resolve.

“Fine,” you grumble, pivoting to raid the pantry behind you. Retrieving the most acceptable pastry you can find—there are about 7 different options—you set the blueberry muffin on the island in front of him.

At the peace offering, those hazel eyes light up slightly, driving out some of the pallor on his face. With a deep breath, Zayne grunts softly before downing the liquid like a shot, shuddering at the aftertaste. Eyes closed in a lasting grimace, he reaches blindly for the muffin before you push it into his grasp, and he sighs in contentment when he bites into it.

Running a hand through his dark hair, you can’t help but grin fondly.

If only the pediatric ward could see him now.

After Zayne recovered from the horrors of modern medicine, he’d sullenly asked for more tea, since the batch he’d made earlier was cold now. Pinching his cheek, you’d sent him to sulk on the living room couch so you could keep an eye on him. Which had worked, for several minutes. You’d gathered the ingredients, and he’d flipped blankly through a journal, intermittent sniffles reassuring you of his presence.

But as you gawk at the abandoned sofa, you realize he must have ducked you while your back was turned.

Yep. Definitely an escape artist.

With a frustrated growl, you hurriedly plunk the tea bag in and listen for signs of movement. Hearing the faint clicks of a keyboard, you stomp up the stairs to his study, not caring if the drink in hand sloshes over the rim of his favorite penguin mug. Serves him right.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you snap, setting the cup on his desk to put your hands on your hips.

“Working,” he answers with an innocent upturn of his lips.

“I mean,” you clarify, “what do you think you’re doing when you should be resting?”

Too distracted to keep typing, Zayne switches his attention to the stack of papers before him. “I feel much better already,” he lies flatly, breaking eye contact when yours bore into his.

As an incredulous laugh escapes you, you throw your hands up in exasperation. “What would you say to one of your patients if they tried to work through an illness?”

“I’d say that as a medical professional, I only have the jurisdiction to advise them on the best course of treatment. Once out of hospital care, it’s up to them to exercise judgment and decide if they’re able to work or not. Like I’m doing now,” he retorts, and you almost commend his ability to bullshit such a polished answer.

“Right, of course,” you entertain him sweetly. “So is that why you just scrawled your signature through the bottom of that confidentiality agreement?”

With sluggish alarm, Zayne jerks his head down to survey the damage, and sure enough, his swooping penmanship has rendered the contract illegible.

“How could I have missed the signature line?” he whispers, face aghast with disbelief. “I…I don’t even know what…”

“I do,” you sing triumphantly, walking around to haul him up from his armchair. “I know exactly what’s wrong.”

The main reason Zayne hates being sick isn’t the symptoms. It isn’t the unneeded pity, the inopportune sick days, or even the insidious slide of what tastes like poison down his throat.

No. Unfortunately, for your stubborn snowman of a boyfriend, the main reason Zayne hates being sick is simply of his nature: cold medicine makes him terribly drowsy.

Its heightened effect on him is just like his alcohol intolerance—something in his genes just can’t handle outside influences.

So as you lead him back to rest on the sofa, laying his head across your lap, it becomes clear you’re now dealing with an oversized koala.

“You smell nice. I think. I can’t really smell anything,” he murmurs into your navel, tickling your skin with his rhythmic deep breaths.

“Mm. You smell nice too, under the medicine scent. Like jasmine tea.”

As you gently massage his scalp, he burrows into your stomach, lifting his head up seconds later as if remembering something.

“Did you d’something different with your hair today? Looks nice,” he slurs, blinking at you with sleep-laced eyes.

“Yep!” Nope. “Thank you for noticing, Zaynie. So observant even when you’re sick,” you coo, rubbing soothing circles into his back.

With a delirious hum, he smiles softly at the praise before his gaze lands on your chest, rising and falling above him. “You’re very…warm,” he whispers, baby pink tongue wetting his lips. But just as he leans up to nuzzle into you, you stop him halfway.

“Oh no, you don’t,” you chide, catching him by the scruff. “Not right now, at least.”

A quiet sigh is his only resistance, and as he slumps back down, he brings a hand around your waist to leave a lingering kiss on your stomach.

“Are you tired, Zayne?” you ask, cradling his head in your palms to meet his clouded gaze.

“Mm. I’d like to go to bed now.”

As you turn off the bedside lamp, preparing to leave Zayne in peace for the night, feverishly warm hands pull you down onto the mattress. Lying beside him, you flutter your eyes closed as he presses a tender kiss to your cheek.

“Aren’t you worried about getting me sick?” you question, raising a brow in the moonlight.

Chuckling, he shakes his head languidly. “Sinus infections aren’t contagious,” he yawns. “But even if they were, transmission would only give me the chance to look after you in return.”

“Are you sure? Someone once told me I’m too stern of a nurse. I’d hate to be the same way as a patient.”

Zayne frowns contemplatively as he rests a hand on your hip. “Even though your methods are…involved,” he swallows, “I appreciate the consideration you’ve shown me today. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Approval from the illustrious Dr. Zayne,” you whisper, gently tapping his reddened nose. “I hope this means he won’t hide from me next time.”

As he winces, you can almost see the events of this afternoon replaying in his mind. “If he can help it, there won’t be a next time. But yes, I won’t hide from you again. I truly do feel better with you here beside me.”

“And you’ll feel even better with proper rest,” you remind him. “Sleep. I’ll stay right here until you do.”

Finally relenting, he turns on his side, holding you to him like a child with a teddy bear.

And though he’s never believed in them before, when Zayne wakes the next morning, nose clear and fever broken, he thinks you might be a miracle worker.

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prkhaven · 8 months ago

Text

STICKY — p.js, s.jy

The good looking neighbors never know when to shut up so instead they shut you up

「 pairing 」 boxer!jay x fem!reader x boxer!jake

genre: smut minors do not interact, boxer/boys next door au, p without plot

content warnings: profanity, kissing, sweat, mention of injuries, mention and scene of violence/fighting(boxing), unprotected sex, p in v, threesome, dom!jay, soft dom!jake, dirty talk, praising, slight degradation, creampie, fingering, squirting, oral (f+m rec.), deep throating, cum eating, petnames (babe, sweetheart, nasty girl, sweet girl) — wc: 11.2k

Groggily opening your eyes, the sleep that once engulfed you now faded away to the muffle loud ruckus. Your eyebrows knitted roughly before taking a look at the time before a deep sigh let your mouth.

Realizing and knowing your neighbors are not going to finish until the crack of dawn—like always. Your chair screeched as you roughly stepped out of your apartment, walking over to apartment 512.

Rubbing your sore neck from the sleeping position you were awakened from,“Do they ever know when to be quiet?” You mumbled, your hands dragging down your face as you tried to ignore the evident loud grunts and sound of rubber colliding drawing closer with each step

At first, you thought having two good looking neighbors would’ve been the best thing to ever happen in your life. Always trying to catch

a glimpse of them in the beginning until the loud ruckus began not even an hour after they moved in.

Trying to give them the benefit of the doubt that it’d just be every now and then while they get accustomed into the new apartment, but when it kept happening every single waking hour possible in the day, you began to grow agitated.

You don’t know how many times you’ve complained to them about the noise or how many times they promised to keep the noise down to a minimum as you promised to not file a noise complaint but they never filled their end of the bargain and you’re tired of it.

Banging roughly on their door, hoping they could hear it past the already loud noise in there and just to your luck, a few seconds later, there was no response.

As you continued to bang at the door, determined to not leave until they opened up, the door opened in a haste but it was too late for you to stop your hand. Suddenly mimicking the knocking motion on a hard chest, you yanked your hand away.

The male in front of you smirked, looking down at the pec you knocked on, “Don’t think this one is going to answer, why don’t you try the other one?” He rested his head against his leaning arm, the sweat trickling down his forehead down to his jaw, tracing it down during its way

Your eyebrows furrowed seeing the new face. This was not either of your neighbors.

“Who’s at the door, Hoon?” You heard a breathless accented voice from inside the apartment and able to immediately recognize it from the sheer amount of times you heard it

“Promise to keep quiet” and “Didn’t mean to be so loud babe”

All empty lies from him—Jake.

“Don’t know but she’s cute” The said Hoon chuckled as he stared at you, his eyes traveling up and down your figure drinking in your appearance

The small compliment managed to tickle your brain as you tried to stop the heating from fully reaching your cheeks. “What’s your name?” The male leaned his head to level with yours but before you could comprehend a plausible answer, he was pulled away and there you saw the familiar face

Sharp jawline, piercing eyes, ruffled hair with a freshly new undercut drenched in sweat. The bulging biceps from the clinging tank top where you could outline every dip and crevice on his sculpture body.

“Jay” You squeaked out causing a light smirk to form on his face as he ushered his friend Hoon away from the door but not before he shot a wink towards your way waving out his thumb and pinky close to his ear, mouthing the words call me

“Sorry about… Just ignore him” Jay panted out, using the back of his hand to wipe away the sweat hanging from his chin

You gulped trying to keep your eyes leveled with his and to not look at the clear muscle definition sticking out with his every movement.

“He’s the least of my concern right now” You mumbled, which in fact was true, you fiddled with the hem of your shirt before clearing your throat, “How many times do I have to tell you guys to keep it down?”

“Sorry about that sweetheart-”

“I’ve told you and Jake to stop calling me those names” You huffed out causing Jay to chuckle using his fingers to brush away the hair sticking to his skin showcasing his sweat filled face

Your eyes looked over and saw a scratch on his forehead that was covered before. “It was a rough match” Jay spoke noticing your interest on the cut, “But don't worry, I won” He pumped his pride filled chest out, a side smile appearing on his face

“I-I didn’t- I don’t care” You looked away to anywhere that wasn’t him already feeling the heat spreading throughout your body, “Just stop or keep it down tonight, please”

“Oh?” Jay raised an eyebrow, never hearing you beg before but quickly loving how you sound, “You really want us to shut up, don’t you?”

“So damn badly” You softly let out making Jay raise his hands up in defense as his wordless apology

“We’ll try but no promises” He smiled hoping it’d satisfy you a little but only received an annoyed eye roll as you walked back to your place

Jay’s hand gripped the door frame, his body leaning forward to watch your hips swaying as you walked away, “Bye” He called out earning a warning glare as you opened the door and slammed it

He smirked to himself, closing his own door. “You guys must be annoying to live next to” Hoon commented as he rested up a chair waiting for Jay to return

“Shut up Sunghoon” Jay sneered earning a howl from his friend hearing the harsher tone used towards him unlike the softer voice used with you

“Just stating the facts” Sunghoon raised his hands up in surrender, “But what’s her name?”

“She’s so my type”

“Fuck off Hoon” Jake striked a direct hit towards the punching bag, the rubber sound echoing out before sending another strike as he spoke, ”She wouldn’t want you”

“Oh I’m sorry, did she tell you that?” Sunghoon raised his eyebrows towards Jake, “Why won’t she be into me? Because I’m not some fucking boxer like you two?”

Jay walked over to his discarded wraps of a glove, wrapping the white fabric around his hand and knuckles with precision making sure not a single piece of skin showing, “Exactly” Jay threw the boxing curved towards Sunghoon who grunted when he revived them on his stomach

“Now get up, I need to practice”

✮⋆˙

Coming back from a tiring day, you were ready to fall asleep the moment you met your bed. You let out a heavy sigh of relief seeing your front door in view. Just as you took a step forward, the door next to yours opened wide.

“Hurry up Jay” Jake yelled holding the door opened but it whacked behind him once he caught sight of you

He hissed at the collision and rubbed the back of his head, you sucked your teeth into a hiss but being the boxer he is, he must be used to it.

“It doesn’t kill you to hold open the door” You heard Jay’s voice once the door opened again, “Fucking move-” Jay shoved the frozen Jake out of the way and there he saw you looking at them standing not far away from them

You looked between the two males, now noticing the different duffle bags they each held. Jake having a lighter washed out green with his name largely written in the front and Jay having a blacked out one with different designs all around, “We have a match today” You looked back up to Jake who’s hand that now hovered over his head noticing your lingering eyes

Your lack of response made them shift to stand side by side with each other, reminding you of the times, very few times why you were happy—almost glad that they were your neighbors in the first place.

Not only one but two good looking boys next door who just so happen to be boxers, with raging muscles that called for you to claw at was the wildest and grandest fantasy you could ever have which became your reality when your two lovely neighbors showed up at your doorstep introducing themselves.

Opting to stay quiet, you slowly nodded your head and took a step in the opposite direction of them but stopped when you heard one of them speak up, “Wanna wish us good luck babe?”

“This match…” Jake looked off to the side catching Jay’s glance towards him, “It might be the biggest one of our career” Jake said turning his gaze back onto you and you furrowed your eyebrows noticing a glint of sparkle in his eyes

Why want you to wish them luck? You had no grand power towards them. “Uh good luck?” Your supposed support ended in hesitance rather than a welcoming gesture

“Who do you think will win? Me or Jake?” Jay suddenly chipped in, wrapping his arm around his friend where it allowed you to focus on the bicep growing in size

Taking a discreet gulp, you shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t know, who’s the better boxer?” Your question meaning to be harmless but noticing the sudden shift in them made you unconsciously straighten your posture

Not entirely sure why you’re deciding to entertain them but it’s definitely more fun than collapsing onto your bed.

“Why don’t you find out sweetheart?” Jay’s voice suddenly dropped into a slurred tone making your insides twist as you crossed your legs trying to hide how easy it was to leave you flustered

You hated the nicknames they used to address you but it sure did leave a squish in between your legs.

Jay’s smirk grew in size once he saw your reaction, Jake on the other hand, grew in dissatisfaction to the lack of attention towards him. He pushed Jay’s arm off his shoulder and rolled his eyes. “No need to worry or stress about it too much, I’ll win since you know” Jake shrugged his shoulder while consciously flexing his arms his shirt lifting in the process showing the bottom outline of his toned stomach in a teasing manner “I’m the better boxer”

“I’ll even dedicate my win to you-”

“You sure sound confident you’ll win” You sucked in your teeth cutting him off, tilting your head to the side, “Isn’t it bad to be cocky?” Jay turned his head to the side to stifle his laugh as Jake’s shoulder dropped along with his face

“No- Not cocky, what- There’s nothing wrong with being confident of yourself ” Jake defended himself making sure to put the emphasis on confident in his sentence causing you and Jay to burst out in an unexpected coordinated laugh

“Alright, if you’re so confident. Then win it” Jay stopped his laughter instantly with a dropped jaw while Jake held back a prideful smile at the faith you have in him

“And what’s in it for us?” Jay grabbed Jake’s shoulder to pull his friend back enough for him to step up

Jake shot Jay a look—a warning one that screamed for him to shut up.

You jerked your head back, thinking it was a terrible joke but seeing the seriousness in his face made you stop from laughing, “You want something for me?”

“I thought pride and dignity would be enough knowing that you won”

Jay shook his head and Jake pulled at his friend’s shoulder muttering something incoherent to you but noticing the snapped look Jay gave Jake who glared at him made you raise an eyebrow.

Jay sighed before shaking his head, “Yeah whatever, pride and dignity stuff is what matters” He waved off, hiking up the duffle bag from his slipping hand

“I-I mean we could play genie…” You cringed at the choice of words but tried to look past it as a terrible humor attempt, “Winner gets one wish but you each grant me one wish in return no matter who wins”

The sudden vocal admit of being able to receive something from you—of their choice triggered something into their mind, already motioning the gears sooner than when they were originally supposed to move.

“Wha-Why do we both have to grant you one wish? Seems unfair to me” Jay narrowed his eyes to hide the excitement building up in him

“You owe me that much at least” You snapped back, “Do you know how much I put up with you two? I think it’s fair game”

“Well in boxing-” Jay started but Jake quickly covered his mouth and pulled him back showing a gleeful smile

“Don’t listen to him, you got yourself a deal” Jake extended his freehand out for you grasp while handling the frantic Jay in his arm wanting to push him away

Feeling the twist of your stomach warning of the lack of care in your words or the situation in general but a wave of excitement took over in a matter of seconds as you focused on greater matters.

What you need to buy for the upcoming birthday this week and the bulging muscles peeping out from underneath their shirts.

Grasping Jake’s soft yet harsh hand, you both shook on it. A way too wide smile on his face and a strained one on yours. Regrets, you’ve had them, you just wish this wouldn’t be one of them.

✮⋆˙

“Remember our deal Jay” Jake reminded his friend and roommate with a smirk as his red mouthpiece showed the hidden excitement slipping out

Jay waved him off, tapping the side of his blue headgear to get in the zone. Both were aware of what could be theirs due to the grand opportunity presented to them by your terms so losing wasn’t really up their alley.

“Hey” Jay turned around hearing the call with furrowed eyebrows

Jake smirked before clicking the strap off, allowing his headgear to slip off his shoulder and down to the ground. Jay’s eyes never left Jake’s once, his stoic face soon grew a smile noticing the insinuation, “No gear, just gloves and mouthpiece”

He didn’t respond to Jake’s words, only following in suit during the silence. He clicked off his headgear to land in his arm and threw it off to the side with a loud clunk as it rolled off. Jake’s smile grew wider before kicking his own piece out to follow Jay’s.

“May the best man win” Jay murmured as he walked over, pushing out his glove covered hands for Jake to clink

Once the tip of their gloves touched, they both went to their respective corners in the confided boxing arena with worn out ropes outlining it that’s long overdue for its replacement.

Jake tapped his bare stomach feeling the crevice even through his glove as he shook out his limbs to get rid of any tension that could alter his performance.

Jay twisted his neck side of side, stretching his upper body backwards enjoying the cracks of the built up pressure releasing. He let out a satisfied groan.

At the sound of the whistle, they marched over to the middle, face to face, a stern determined look that screamed louder than anything they could express through words.

At the weak ding 5 seconds later, Jake striked the first punch causing Jay to step back in haste to avoid it. ”Wasting no time” He muttered under his breath before jumping on his toes

His arms leveled with his head protecting it with the lack of extra protection from the discarded headgear. Jake was still smiling through the whole thing as he twisted his body to the side.

He trains with Jay day in and day out that they are practically one, he knows how his roommate attacks.

Jay took his infamous step forward, his arm coming from below but Jake’s eyes caught it before it could fully land. He blocked the attack with his arm, deflecting it away.

“C’mon Jongseong, you’ll have to be better than that” Jake spat through his mouthpiece and Jay rolled his eyes at the muffled comment

While Jake was silently laughing at his comment like it was hilarious, Jay took the opportunity to swing straight to Jake’s side making him wince upon impact. “Shit” He grunted under his breath from the unexpected attack having Jay chuckle showing a covered teeth smile

You’re the one that’ll have to be better than that was Jay’s famous internal monologue before tumbling back from the strike straight to his stomach knocking him off his feet landing Jake the lead up by 1 point.

The match now tied continued far longer than they wanted but it was to be expected. Grander schemes were at play and in their minds, both of them needed to win this match, the two s’ in their lives depended on this.

Social and the other s that they’ve been denying far too long forcing it to bubble all thoughts in their minds whenever you’re around.

Jay could feel the exhaustion catching up to his body, the faint metallic taste on his tongue when he licked his lips. Jake, having his sweat mixed with whatever else was spilling out of him dragged down his neck, a wild smirk on his face mimicking his crazed gaze.

Having the more stamina out of the two, he barely had a dent in his energy levels unlike his roommate. Jake sucked his bottom lip, victory never tasted so good before.

Right when Jake was going to swing his final punch to end the match and earn the last point needed for his sweet sweet win, he felt the harsh pressure straight to his head knocking him down to the ground without much thought.

His head was pounding against his skull as he landed on his knees and elbows, trying to push his body back up to continue to the match, barely able to hear the faint countdown through his ringing ear.

Jay tapped the floor repeatedly in pure excitement once time was called. He walked around the secluded arena hyping himself up from the great play.

Jake crumbled and turned his body around to face the poorly lit ceiling, “I win” Jay’s bruised face came into view, panting heavily as he extended an arm to help the sprawled Jake up who glared up at him, shoving the helping arm away in a grunt

“Fucking cheater” Jake grumbled, “You swung a foul hook”

“We never said anything about following match rules” Jay twisted his head to the side, shrugging his shoulders like he did no wrong—well technically he didn’t. “I just interpreted it as a free fall” Jake’s face contorted in dissatisfaction at his friend’s words

Jake continued to stare up at Jay, the dim lighting behind blinded him in the process. The cocky demeanor that Jay tried to push down now slipping through that Jake could feel it in himself and he lost.

Rolling his eyes, he sat up his sore body from the hard mattress, the side of his jaw and head tingling with a sensation he tried to ignore from the reality of his loss. “C’mon Jake no hard feelings right?”

“You remember our deal” Being reminded while he finally stood up, Jake tapped Jay’s chest before grabbing his neck to crash and rest their sweaty foreheads together in hopes of the simple gesture being the wordless reminder of the full length of their deal

“Don’t fucking ruin her before me” Jake sneered causing Jay to smile widely as he dragged out the mouthguard, moving his mouth around to the freedom letting out a dark laugh as he stared right back into Jake’s eyes

“Where’s the fun in that?”

✮⋆˙

Your mouth fell slack as Jay stood at your door all bruised up as he dropped the filled duffle bag to the ground with a loud thump, “I won” He breathlessly muttered but his tone secure and firm

“Did you really?” You quietly commented seeing the dried up scratches and faint bruises forming on his sculptured face with his frizzy drenched hair

Something sickening twisted inside of you as you stare not able to peel your eyes away from him. Your legs stuck tighter together, it must be a worrying pity that you were feeling but the excitement that began to rise when you opened the door to see him was undeniable.

Jay huffed snapping you out of it, “I want my wish”

Perplexed, you blinked your eyes harshly, “What?” You asked wanting to make sure you heard him right through the muffling of your ears growing by the second he’s in your presence like this

“You said let’s play genie. So let’s play genie”

Trying to keep your jaw from dropping to the floor now realizing how your words did in fact come to bite you. Your eyes traveled around his face looking past the injuries to see pure determination. You opened your mouth to say something but nothing came out.

Nerves began seeping into your brain as you tried to make sense of his blazing determination, “I-I wait- Wha-What?” You stuttered out when Jay’s head suddenly leveled with yours as he drew closer

His faint breath fanning over yours, tilting his head to the side staring off to the distance, sucking his teeth in the process, “For my wish…” Jay turned his gaze back to you, nose bumping into each in the process from the closeness, “Take care of me”

You gulped harshly at his conceding words. There felt to be an underlying sense from just what was being said. As you stared at his deep eyes, it was like he read every thought that was crossing your mind—searching for the one that yelled for him.

“I-I don’t have anything to treat you” You softly mumbled but your eyes never looked away making him let out a low chuckle while his unnoticed hovering hand landed on your lower back to squish the distance in between to nothing

“What type of genie are you?” Jay jokingly tooted his lips softly shaking his head, “That’s okay sweetheart, good thing for you I have everything you need”

And a few moments later, you found yourself sitting on Jay’s bed, in his room that is exactly what you imagined it to be. A waif of musky cologne, a bunch of weights scattered around, an inflatable punching bag and to your surprise two guitars—one electric disconnected from the amplifier and an acoustic in the corner.

You dropped your head into your hands from the blur of you stepping out of your place and following Jay back to his only to find yourself in his room, on the edge of his bed and the prominent flutter in your chest growing in anticipation.

You should’ve been more careful with your words.

“What are you doing here?” You remained quiet holding your head in your hand, trying to ignore the question from Jake who you quickly recognized by the accent slipping through, “Babe?”

“I told you not call me any na-” You started hearing his voice drawing in as you lifted your head up only then realizing just how close Jake was to you all of sudden

Jumping from the unexpected closeness, Jake quickly wrapped an arm around you to prevent you from toppling over to the floor. “You should be more careful. Can’t have all three of us hurt” He lightly chuckled

Taking into account his words, you stared at him wide eyed soaking in the bruised lip, a cut on his cheek with a growing redding and a cut that peeked from under the messy fluffy hair faintly covering his eyes that you itched to sweep away.

In a moment of silence, Jake's eyes poured deep into yours—not in search of anything just merely looking, he let out a low sigh, “Don’t think I ever told you how pretty you are” He hummed while his eyes zeroed on your lips for a second longer, making sure you noticed “You’re so pretty” His eyes looked up to catch yours staring right at him, never looking away

Your mouth slightly fell open to respond but instead a strained noise came out of your mouth, “I have a small wish” Jake murmured in a soft hallucinated tone, his lips so close to yours, “Will you give it to me?”

“Jake” You breathlessly let out and Jake crashed his hovering lips onto yours and almost instantaneously, you closed your eyes shut and fell into his plump lips smiling against yours

The puttering of your heart was so loud, you're worried Jake might’ve been able to hear it from how close he was. The pad of his thumb rubbed softly at your back while he tilted his head to the side to deepen the kiss as much as he could.

His freehand rose and cupped at your jaw to stabilize himself, his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, silently pleading for your permission. You cracked open your mouth as he entered like he’s been waiting for so long.

Your hands grabbed the thin fabric you would barely call a t-shirt clinging to his body for support. Pulling at your lip, you slightly jolt making him smile harder in the kiss. His hand traveled from your jaw to the side of your neck as he pulled away from the kiss.

You chased after his lips with closed eyes not wanting to feel the warmth disappear but your eyes shot wide open when you felt wet splotches placed at the side of your neck.

Jake messily planted feathering kisses all around your neck. Your hands gripped his hair, erupting groans from him as you pulled when he nibbled at your skin.

Your neck fell pliant in his hand, providing all access to him. Jake roughly stuck his body to yours, curving your body with his. “Jake” You breathlessly pant, your eyes fluttering shut

“That’s right, say my name” He grumbled against your skin while his fingers dug into your sides not wanting to let you go even for a second

“You fucking sleeze” You jumped at the sudden voice not far from you or Jake

Jay stood at his door, an amused smirk resting on his face. He pushed back his hair from his forehead with a dark chuckle causing your stomach to erupt in butterflies.

Jake let out a heavy sigh, dropping his head down but his hands never letting go. He craned his neck back to see his roommate staring right at you, ignoring his presence as a whole.

Jake shrugged his shoulders as Jay threw the first-aid kit on his neat desk scattering the stuff around in the process, “You wasted your time”

The door behind him closed with a click following after and you watched, realizing you were locked with the boys next door. “No you’re just impatient and couldn’t wait your turn” Jay sneered as he strutted towards you and Jake, the bubbling anger in him filled the room

You looked between the two and Jay took notice of your wavering eyes between them, his eyes trailed down and saw when you squished your legs tightly together under his gaze.

The feel of anger melted away as he stepped closer, placing his hands on his knees as he leveled at your head. He chuckled while his thumb reached out and softly stroked your cheek. “Or maybe you’re the impatient one” He grinned and you looked at him like an animal caught in headlights

His eyes bore into you, his side smirk only grew wider when you looked away from him. That was the answer he needed. He patted his roommate’s shoulder until he looked back at him with furrowed eyebrows.

Jay tilted his head, pointing towards the lonely chair in his room far from the bed. Jake aggressively shook his head, not wanting to give up what he already started but Jay gripped his shoulder tighter and repeated the motion. “Move. A deal is a deal”

The reminder trickled the built-up sweat down the back of your neck. A moment of silence for the lost session before Jake grumbled under his breath, his hands loosening on your waist before pushing Jay’s hand off with an annoyed huff.

You watched Jake hunched over to the chair, kicking the chair in the process before sitting down with a loud deep sigh, folding his arms—the biceps and triceps peeking from underneath one another as he stared in front of you two.

Jay’s hand cupped your chin and pulled your head away from Jake’s direction onto him. “Let him wallow in his self pity for now. Right now, let’s focus on us genie” The name shouldn’t have let you hot and bothered the way it did but when Jay’s calloused hands cupped your face lifting it high up for him, all thoughts went out the window

Your eyes stared up at him and Jay felt a familiar carnal bloom inside of him. The crease at your cheek reappeared as he toppled his head down to capture your lips with his.

The initial shock melted away as your eyes fluttered closed again and you were enclasped in the moment with Jay. His hand held your jaw delicately, different from how you originally anticipated.

His lips moved with yours and you felt everything around you turn into nothing, even the other male sitting eyes burning into your existence.

Jay’s hand traced down to your neck, holding it firmly in his hold. Your hands gripped at his nape, your fingers tugging at the bottom hairs making him groan as he softly pushed you on his bed.

Your mind was dizzy, you could feel the twitch of his mouth, your lips would graze his damaged one. “Sorry” You managed to say through the kiss but Jay only smiled as he pressed his lips harder against yours hoping that it’d mold together as one

Letting out a squeak from your throat, you felt Jay’s hand drag up your side. The roughness contrasted Jake’s eagerness, whose leg bounced up and down as he watched the scene before him.

Jay’s lip melted with yourself that you could nearly taste the metallic taste on your taste bud when his tongue slipped past.

Your hand tangled with his hair, his hand roughly grabbing at your side as he hovered over your body.

Sinking into his mattress, you melted further into cloud 9. The lack of oxygen started to infiltrate your foggy brain, worsening it by the second, your mind screamed for a second of air while your body interpreted the kiss as your only need of oxygen.

Hearing your heavy shallow breaths Jay pulled away from the kiss and with hooded eyes, he took a glimpse towards you which stunned him. Your swollen lips begging for more, your closed eyes and hanging open mouth as you finally took in deep breaths to make up for the lack of it.

Before him was a scene he wanted to burn in his mind forever.

Feeling Jay pull away from you, you lazily opened your eyes to see him looking at you with a certain glint in his eyes making your insides churn.

Jay dipped his head down to the crevice of your neck and began planting soft kisses just like how Jake had done. You lifted your body off the bedding feeling his mouth messily leaving wet splotches on your neck. Your chest rumbled out with a satisfied held back moan.

“Let me- No Let Jakey over there hear how good I’m making you feel” The mention of the male made you turn to the side to see Jake with folded arms glaring at the two of you

You made eye contact with his strong one’s and saw the faintest smirk ghost his face as he slightly jerked his lips forward pointing to where you lay sprawled with Jay hovering over you—ushering you to pay attention to what’s in front of you.

“You’re shivering sweetheart” Jay pointed out feeling the goosebumps forming on your skin, he smirked before taking a nip at your neck causing your attention to come back to him

Jay’s kisses furthered down your neck until he reached the starting point of your shirt’s neckline. His eyes looked to yours, silenting asking for permission—waiting for the sign. You stared right at him as you softly nodded your head.

The smile he gave was different from the other’s he has given you, this being more genuine and softening. His hands grabbed the hem of your shirt, feeling the material against his touch before carefully hiking it up exposing your skin.

It felt like it was in slow motion. Jay’s eyes never trained off of yours, as you shivered once the cold air hit your skin and you could feel the warmth radiating off his hands grazing your skin. “I got you” He softly whispered just enough for you to hear noticing your shuddered

Your arms lifted up as Jay peeled the fabric off before throwing it behind him to be discarded.

Jake watched the shirt thrown his way and the sneak of a glance Jay took towards him, a prideful expression—gesture. His jaw clenched as he quickly unfolded his arms and the chair he was sitting in screeched from under him.

“Uh oh I think someone is growing impatient” Jay voice filled with a teasing tone as he saw how Jake walked over in strides

You lifted your head to see Jake standing next to the bed, “Can I help you?” Jay raised an eyebrow causing Jake to scowl before it instantly melting when he looked at you

He cleared his throat before tapping at Jay’s shoulder, “Time’s up” He told trying to make his tone firmer than usually which was followed by a stifled laugh from Jay who dropped his head for a moment at his roommates sternness

“Let’s see…” Jay caught your flickering eyes with a smile tilting his head just a little, “What do you think? Should we let him join us?”

You gulped down the lump in your throat. Through the fog of your mind, you registered your two good looking neighbors, the beat up boxer’s before you—both looking at you with a look that you couldn’t decipher but could feel in your bones.

You opened your mouth only to close it not trusting yourself to speak coherent sentences that wouldn’t end up with you tangled in the bed with the two of them but deep down it was what you wanted.

Only able to let out out a breathlessly tone as you roughly nodded your head , “Yes please”

Jake’s smile grew wildly as he hastily removed his shirt in one swift motion. Jay rolled his eyes at his friend before being shoved to the side by Jake who replaced his position. “What the-” You heard Jay off to the side but couldn’t focus on what else he said as your focus fell back onto Jake

You shifted in your spot at the sudden switch but Jake’s comforting smile eased your nerves. Hovering above you, his arm with his bulging bicep supporting him while his other hand stroked against your cheek.

Your eyes took in his face before trailing down body. The biceps are prominent with no distraction covering it, the cut of his triceps trailing down, his collar bone sticking out that your hand itches to grab at—more preferably gnaw at to keep you quiet and the outlining of his toned stomach that you’ve only seen through teasing manners in all its glory.

As you trailed further down, you see the raging bulge being restrained in his sweats. Your jaw nearly dropped seeing the print against the material but forcibly keeping your mouth closed was easier said than done.

Your eyes looking back up to see Jake’s hungry filled ones, a smile that melted your heart almost instantaneously. “You’re the prettiest girl ever” He softly murmured before going to capture your lips in a chaste kiss

Receiving it just as easily as it was given to you, your hands tangled into his fluffy hair that you’ve waited so long to rake through. Yet, through the muffle of your ears, you were able to pick up off the shuffling beside you.

Jake sucked at your bottom lip, tugging at the flesh with a grin before pulling away with a heavy breath. He rested his forehead against yours before making his way down your cheek then to your jaw, “Picking up where I left off” He blabbed against your neck as he softly sucked on the skin

His hand softly pushed your head to the side as his mouth traveled all over your neck. Having your neck craned, you’re faced with Jay smirking as he watches you and Jake.

His shirt and sweats were long discarded somewhere as he adjusted himself on the bed in a sitting position, his arm extending from behind to hold himself up. He turned his head to the side in a tilt, a smirk never leaving his face.

Your mouth opened, ripping out a soft moan when you felt the cold air hit your now bare chest which was then warmed by a wet sensation wrapping around the hardening bud.

You gasped loudly as your hands immediately grasped Jake’s hair, throwing your head back further into the sheets.

A sound fell from Jake the moment he came into contact with your breast, his tongue gliding over the hardening bud as his other hand fondled with the other.

Your mind became filled with his touch and mouth on you, your back arched as you squealed when he tugged at it between his teeth.

He smirked when he heard you, “J-Jake” You softly moaned, tugging at his hair harder earning a faint strained noise to rupture out of him, your heart hammered against your chest that you were sure he could hear and feel it

“Keep saying my name out of that pretty mouth of yours” Jake hummed as he never once let the slightest attention slip through his finger. He pulled at your hardened nipple in a teasing manner, one harsher than the last before running his tongue over the burning sensation

You melted further into the mattress as everything around you disappeared as you felt like you were lifted into a cloud. “Jakey”You called out the nickname you heard Jay call him and he harshly tugged at your nipple making your squeal

He usually brushed off the nickname as nothing hearing it from others yet, hearing it from you only fueled his farther down a rabbit hole he could never escape from—which he would never want in the first place.

His mouth popped your saliva covered bud out of his mouth only to move down the middle in between the crevice before sinking further down.

Your pants were heavy as he inches closer to the growing wetness in between your legs. Unconsciously squishing your legs together before he could reach in between, his eyes flickered up pleading for permission while his fingers stopped toying with your waistband. “Getting shy on me now?” His tone dipped deeper into a hum making your body shiver

With the lack of response, his mouth tugged to the side and peeled his hands away as he began pulling away. The warmth that hovered over your bottom half was disappearing only to feel the burn inside of you that you quickly wrapped your legs around his shoulder causing a yelp to fall as you stopped him, roughly shaking your head.

His hands gripped at your hips to stabilize himself as your legs hooked around him. The giggle he let out surrounded the room and your ears as you felt his head level with your leaking entrance with a nod.

His fingers glided up the side of your leg, able to feel the warmth of his hand through your pants before he tugged at the waistband again, “Going to have to let me go for a second babe” He teased running his hand up and down your legs causing warmth to rise to your cheeks

“Sorry” You murmured, loosening your legs around him to feel the tips of his finger tug at your pants before slowly pulling them down

Your breath hitched in your throat as you watched him, the tenderness and precision he had for simply peering the clothing off of you was warming.

Once it passed your ankles, Jake threw it off and immediately returned to his place right in between your thighs. Adjusting your legs over his shoulder easily exposing the damp undergarment sticking to your entrance. “So pretty” He blabbed, “Wet already”

Jake hummed as his eyes scanned over the wet patch on your panties, “Is this because of me?” He tilted his head to the side, having his shaky hand moved from your hips to swipe across the damp fabric making you squeal at the contact

Your head felt dizzy while your lower body moved with his finger, soaking in the feel, “Well?” He ripped his finger away once you weren’t responding

“Y-yes” You let out a broken cry, “It’s because of you��

Jake smirked to himself in pride, taking an obvious glance towards Jay who only let out a silent scoff at the ego growing in Jake. “Good” He hummed

He stuck out his tongue and took a long stride against your covered core, mixing his saliva with your soaked panties as his fingers teasing your folds just over the material. You jumped from the sudden touches as your hand flung to his hair, biting your lips as you held back the noise daring to fall

While being ignored long enough after being such a good friend, roommate and neighbor, Jay can no longer deny his own problem growing in size hearing your beautiful sounds.

Your eyes screwed shut, whines falling out as you let yourself feel Jake’s tongue protrude into your covered hole in a teasing manner to him sucking harshly on the bundle of nerves when his finger was at the brink of your entrance ready to slip in.

But, at the sudden lifting of your head, your eyes shot wide open to Jay placing your upper body to rest up against his while his arms came up from behind straddling over your bare skin.

The contact of flesh pressed up against your back with the sensation of Jake’s finger tugging your panties to the side to finally see your smeared covered pussy was consuming you whole.

Jay’s hand reached higher until finally landing on your chest, feeling it with his own hand after having to watch Jake do it first. Your body arched off his but he quickly dragged you back with a harsh pull. “Stay with me” He whispered into your ear leaving a shiver to run up your spine

One hand remained fondling with your breast fondling while the other traced up your neck, lifting your fallen head up, craning it to allow him to place his mouth messily on top of yours.

You hummed in satisfaction feeling how he kissed you, his hand holding the juncture between your neck and jaw firmly as he sucked on your bottom lip, the familiar taste of metallic hitting your tongue.

Yet, your mouth dropped in the kiss letting out a quiet gasp as you felt the intrusion of two fingers entering your hole. “Shit” Jake breathlessly pants watching how his two fingers disappeared inside of you

You whipped your head towards the male as he began pumping his fingers in a shallow thrust. Your hand landed to the side, gripping the sheets into a fist only for it to be replaced by Jay intertwining your hands.

With an agape mouth, the moans you’ve been trying to hold back slowly began to spill, feeling how Jake’s finger pushed deeper inside—curling up to feel your gummy walls surrounding him.

“He makes you feel good?” Jay lulled in your ear which you weakly nodded your head at, “Tell him how good he’s making you feel”

Your bottom lip shivered, “S-So good” You managed to get out feeling how he slipped until he was knuckles deep inside of you, “Jake” You called out his name as you threw your head back onto Jay’s shoulder

“So good Jake- Please”

Jake was too fascinated watching his fingers disappear that his name fell deaf on his ears. He watched how his dry fingers were now drenched in your arousal and he couldn’t miss out on anymore. He dipped his head close as he placed the first kiss against your entrance—elighting a soft moan from you.

Jake groaned the moment he tasted you on his taste buds. He pressed his face closer to you, his tongue gliding in between your folds “The absolute sweetest” He mumbled pulling at the bundle of nerves screaming for attention, his finger never faltering in pace

He sucked any essence that was slipping through his fingers, his tongue lathering itself all over you. His body felt so heavy and his mind too light, he lost himself.

Jay smirked, feeling you squirm against his chest, holding his hand tightly with the feel of his hands running over your breasts, softly playing with them as he ever so often twists your nipple, timing it when Jake tugs at your clit, to earn a louder squeak from you.

Your senses were heightened as they focused on their respective actions—perfectly in sync and coordinated with each other without having uttered a single word.

Jay gripped on your mound as he sloppily left kisses at the side of your face whilst Jake could feel you clenching around his finger when he intentionally shoved deeper.

The hot build up in your stomach was daring to snap, the rubbing mouth and hands on your body left your mind reeling.

“Look at what you’re doing to Jake” The mention of the man down below, you looked through heavy eyelids to see Jake’s tongue flickering as he matched his pace with his finger but you could see him softly rutting his hips against the mattress

At the sight, you could feel the fluttering shut of your hole around his fingers as the snap in your stomach erupted a loud moan, while your body shook from the ecstasy that washed over you, ”Shit” Jake breathlessly muttered seeing how along with you coming, there was another soaking stream coming out of you

Jake pulled out his finger quickly before rubbing at your folds roughly, wanting to earn more of your release out of you. You gasp at the stimulation as your body arches and slightly trashes but Jay hooked his arms at your waist keeping you in place.

Your pants were strained and heavy, “J-Ja… Please” You cried out until Jake finally pulled his hand away without dipping one finger into your hole

Gasping loudly, soft whimpers falling from your mouth, allowing your body to rest against Jay. “Now that was…” Jay softly said, pulling his arms away from your heaving body

“Fucking hot” Jake finished his sentence as he admired his soaked covered hand

You turned your head away in embarrassment but Jay quickly coddled you, “Hey, hey, don’t” Placing soft kisses against your head, your tensed body soon relaxed melting into the praise, “That was amazing. You did amazing”

You looked over to Jake who looked from his hand over to you. Your glistening eyes, your mouth hanging slightly open with your chest on full display rising with each shallow breath.

He dipped his hand flat onto the mattress, inching his head closer to your to catch your lips in a chaste chase. Cringing at the taste at first and the smearing of your arousal at the lower half of his face landing on yours. He held your chin, sucking at the lower bottom of your lip in need as you could feel Jay’s hand traveling down your body.

Feeling like you were on the fire, your blood ran cold when you felt the soft fingers inching closer until it reached the warming bundle of nerves and slid the tip of a single finger down the center of your drenched hole. You moaned against Jake’s mouth who gleamed hearing your noises reappearing.

Immediately you trashed when you felt Jay’s finger teasing your entrance, “Sensitive?” His seductive tone wished into your ear, infiltrating your mind with ease

A deep hum rumbled out of his chest as he slipped just the tip of his finger back in. You softly bit at Jake’s bottom lip letting a hiss fall from him.

But as Jay’s finger slipped further in, he messily planted kisses at your head and Jake’s mouth moved from your mouth to the side of your jaw down to your.

Jay ripped his hand away and Jake detached his mouth from your skin, a silent coordinated moment, leaving your body all hot and bothered. Your eyes wearily darted between them.

Jake and Jay noticed your confused gaze as they snuck a look to each other—Both seeing the familiar craze that only shows when they’re in the rink appear in each other now. “I still need to be taken care of” Jay’s voice dropped in tone and you churned your head back catching a glimpse of his gaze turning your insides to mush

“Will you take care of me? Sweetheart” His tone slurred soaking into you

You licked your lips before folding them and letting them go in a shaky breath, “Yeah” Your voice barely above a whisper as you softly nodded

“Atta’ girl” Jay chuckled softly tapping at your side

He shifted positions until you were sprawled back on his bed, looking up to the very neighbors you couldn’t stand their inability to stay quiet but at this moment, they didn’t seem that bad—not in the slightest.

Your heartbeat patterned against your chest harshly, anticipation growing by the second when suddenly a hand landed at your side, tapping at it, “Flip over” Jake’s voice rang through the room and not wanting to test either of the patience unable to know if it would be the end just like that

You gulped down the lump before planting your body up on your elbows, turning around but just when you were going to lay your front to the mattress, a hand stopped you, ”On all fours for us” You heard Jay’s voice from behind and a chill ran up your spine from the lack of sight of either of them

An inevitable shudder of your breath left you as you landed on your hands and knees, a burn resting upon your cheeks at the more revealing position.

Your neighbors remained silent, hearing each breath you took alerting them of the nerves growing in you. Taking a look at each other, unspeakable words understood, Jay switched positions with Jake.

Your eyes looked from the bed below you to see Jake’s warming smiling greeting you, “Hi” He giggled

Noticing how the tension in your body silently lifted, you felt roaming hands threading from your back to your hips until you felt a cup at your core making you gasp.

Shooting a look behind your shoulder harshly tugging at your mouth. Jay pulled at your cheek, baring the sight before him greater to see the soaked covered crevice glistening before his eyes.

He licked his lips in anticipation, tasting the hint of whatever was on it mixing together on his tongue.

Your head was turned back staring at Jake’s toned stomach, the lines dipping with each drop and your eyes fell further down to the bulge now in front of you.

You gulped feeling your hole subconsciously fluttering around nothing, having Jay smirk noticing your pulsating entrance.

Your eyes trained at Jake’s hardened cock making his heart hammer out of his chest that he swore you could hear it. Taking a look behind you to his roommate noticing his actions, he quickly shifted his eyes back onto you, creasing your head.

Right when you were going to look up to Jake, you suddenly felt the tease of your folds being pushed apart by a wet sensation. The obscene sound of the small taps against your dripping pussy made you shiver as Jay’s tip rubbed over your smeared entrance, mixing the already wet arousal everywhere.

“Jay” You whined at his tease and he sent a light slap onto your side

“What’s wrong? Still being impatient?” He hummed, his hand soothing the tingling sensation before slapping the same spot again, “What do you want sweetheart?”

Knowing what Jay was searching for, you harshly tugged at your mouth, “P-please…” Your voice too low to hear anything

“What was that?”

“Please fuck me”

Unable to see him, you were going to peer over your shoulder when the stretch at your entrance caught you off guard. You loudly gasped as you gripped at the sheets, your knuckles turning white from your hold while your body almost fell foward but was stopped by Jake.

Jay slowly eased himself into you, holding himself back from filling you up in one thrust, a hiss leaving his mouth feeling how you clenched around him. “Fuck” He stroked your hips harshly, “So good- Taking me so fucking good” His voice cracked each inch he pulled your walls apart, sinking and relishing in the tight feel around him

“J-Jay” Your voice squeaked as the stretched that quickly began to swift into a pleasurable feel, your mind too preoccupied when you suddenly felt a poke to your cheek

Your gaze shifted to see the raging tip, you looked up to see Jake sneering a cheesy smile towards you, no words were exchanged and yet, you opened your mouth wide as you looked up at him.

His expression twitched as the smile grew, “Who knew” Jake groaned more so for him rather than for you under his breath before grazing his leaking tip on your unblemished lips

Stroking the side of your face, making all around fall to silence. Maintaining eye contact with you, Jake could feel the throbbing at hand. Passing the warmth of your lips, you engulfed the tip in, welcoming the unwavering taste on your tongue.

Jake groaned, feeling the warmth around his cock lighting his whole body in fire.

At a harsh thrust jolting your body forward, you unintentionally gagged around Jake at the sudden harsh push deep inside of you.

Trying to even out your breathing in any way you can, you suddenly felt the drag of Jay’s cock slipping out of you in a slow manner before easing himself back in where he left.

Still not used to the stretched, you whined making the vibration send straight through Jake’s fuzzy mind and down the rushing blood to his twitching self resting heavy in your mouth.

Jay’s thrust started off slow and rhyminc, low groans leaving as he tried to keep himself rational to allow you to somewhat get adjusted to his size.

Your full mouth moved when Jay suddenly sent a harsh thrust forward as his rationality began to fade away, landing you further down Jake’s resting heft, who let out a stuffed grunt at the movements, having to remind himself to not release in your mouth so quickly.

Tears brimmed at your eyes, Jake’s roughed hands, the calloused feel of them rubbed against your cheek, wiping the fallen tears away. “Doin’ so good for us babe… You can do it” His words of encouragement raised your mind higher into the cloud of pleasure

You meekly nodded your head causing the movement to rupture around Jake having him let out a breathless moan when your tongue strung over, you mouth tightly wrapped around, sucking at what you can without choking.

Yet, you froze closing your eyes tightly shut when you felt the drag of emptiness before being filled again, “S-Shit” You managed to hear Jay through your ringing ears

Your shaky freehand managed to grasp the base that wasn’t in your mouth and stroke Jake focusing on your tongue swirling around tasting the faint precum that’s been leaking out.

Jay’s hand rested at your hips, the shallow thrust growing deeper after each one, his once even breathing shifted into a heavier one as he focused on the way you welcomed him in and allowed him to slip out with ease.

“Such a fucking sweetheart, taking me so good” He hissed, “Bet you were waiting for this” His finger pinched at your side making you muffle out a yelp

“C’mon tell us you’ve been waiting for this” Jay’s resting hand semt a slap towards your hips rippling out the sound followed by your huffed whine

“Y-yes” You weakly wailed trying to speak as clear as possible for them to hear

“Look at you trying to talk with your mouth full” Jay sneered seeing how you attempted to take more of Jake in your mouth

Jake’s hand rested at the back of your head helping you meet his weak thrust to push you further down his length. Your eyes tracked upwards to see Jake’s thrown head to the side, hooded eyes staring right at you.

He let out a smile watching how you looked with your lips wrapped around him. He stroked your head softly, “Pretty girl next door couldn’t wait to get fucked by us, isn’t that right babe?” He raised an eyebrow causing you whine

Jay’s pace soon grew faster, his hips slamming against you as his fingers dig at your sides for support that the form of idents could be felt. With how you clenched around his cock, taking more than the last time made his heart soar.

“Such a nasty girl but, you’re our nasty girl, aren’t ya?” Jay darkly chuckled sending a harsh thrust that made you swallow Jake whole

The moment that he hit the back of your, he groaned loudly, his fingers wrinkling as he could feel your throat contracting around the new feel of him deeper. “Fuck” Jake loudly grunted followed by your gagging sounds

The feel of Jay’s tip everything inside of you was a pleasurable feel you never felt before to feeling Jake hitting the back of your throat, your senses heightened as your mind faded into a fog of just your two neighbors.

“J-Ja-“ Your muffled voice was barely audible causing each of them to let out a laugh, the jolts of your body kept moving forward from Jay’s cock hitting your insides, molding you just for him

Jake softly drew himself back from your mouth, a wash of breath air filling your lungs making you suck in the deep breath before he bucked his hips back in and out, filling your mouth again of him, “You’re taking him so good, look at you”

You clamped around Jay’slength, “Fuck, you like getting praised?” He commented in a deep groan, “Like knowing you’re being such a good girl for us?”

You weakly nodded your head, unable to respond but wanting to show some type of response and that fueled Jay’s heart—seeing your efforts to get something out for him. He rubbed his hand over your lower back and hips, his touch leaving fire trails on your skin the moment of contact.

Spit accumulated at the side of your mouth, dripping down in its wake down your chin as Jake softly slammed his hips, his cock going back down your throat as your hands grabbed whatever it could to keep you hoisted up.

Your gargle sounds filled the room with the faint sounds of Jay meeting you and the inevitable moans falling from your stuffed mouth.

Jay snapped his hips faster, his eyes trained on how all of him disappeared inside of you perfectly as Jake slowly chased after your mouth when he pulled away, only for you to grasp on him and lick his hard on from the base all the way to the top—sucking whatever he was giving you.

You could feel how Jay’s thrust was growing frantic and irregular, the muffled moans leaving your mouth only grew louder the harder he slammed his hips against yours which only fueled their growing desire further.

“Come all over him” Jake whispered, encouraging you and somehow you managed to pick it up through the noises bouncing off the wall and your mind was set

Jake’s cock was throbbing in your throat, the closing and opening of each sound you released mixed with a gagging noise made him draw closer to tie daring to snap in his stomach.

He rutted his hips faster feeling the familiar coil build up in his stomach. “You’ll take it right? What I give you, right babe?” Jake’s voice squeaked higher as his stomach began to tighten

Jay’s hand thread over your back to your waist, wrapping his arm around as he slammed his hips harder against yours, his fingers pressed over your stomach and pushed deep into it, “Nasty girl is going to take what we give her” He grumbled it as a statement rather than a question and you knew that you wouldn't have to try—you would

Jake’s groans turned into small pants as he stilled his hips and let out a gruntled whine as the warm liquid filled your mouth and you jerked, feeling how it slicked past your throat. “So good-So fucking good”

Yet, Jay continued to ram his hips causing your mouth to vibrate around Jake having him hiss at the simulation still dragging out through his high, “H-Hurry up Jay” Jake sneered as he tried to pull away from your mouth, the shaking of his body worsening if he stays any longer

Yet, he stopped when you weakly wrapped your hand around his shaft that he could only pull away halfway. You pumped what wasn’t in your mouth, your tongue licking his tip clean seeking in the air that you could before taking a big gulp to get rid of the remnants of Jake’s cum in your mouth.

Your mouth fell open as the obscene sounds lolled off your tongue with Jay’s cock filling your insides with each trust and through it all, Jake caught a glimpse of the inside of your cleaned mouth—with the exception of a few white strings lingering behind.

“F-Fuck” His voice cracked when you sucked his tip cleaned regardless of his softening cock at hand, “P-please” Jake pleaded when you took him back in your slacked mouths

Muffled through the sounds, Jay’s harsh thrust after another soon came to a stop. “S-Sweet girl, such a good damn girl” One harsh thrust sent before another as he bottomed himself forcing himself as deep as humanly possible as he marked up your once velvet walls full of him in a loud groan—bliss taking over.

You moaned at the sudden warm fillment flowing in your inside as you let go of Jake with a loud pop, landing face first—your head on the mattress while your body shivered from Jay filling you up.

Your hands weakly crumbled the sheets beneath you as pitiful whines rumbled out of your chest.

Jay remained inside of you, stuffing you full of him as his calloused bruised hands roaming all around your back, “Did so good. So fucking proud of you-Took the both of us too damn good” His voice was warm that you could feel it in your body but wasn’t able to properly comprehend in your mind

“Sweetheart?” He softly called out and you turned your head to the to side catching a glimpse of the dismantled Jay behind you

The few hairs stuck to his forehead, the bruised face glistening in sweat as it trickled down his neck and past his collarbone to stop at his built chest.

You fluttered around Jay making his eyes whip to where he and you were still attached. He watched the few remnants of his release inside of you managed to escape where it could, his heart raced at the scene.

The feel of drag from his cock out of you made you whine at the sudden emptiness and stretch leaving you as Jay watched at how your hole flattered around nothing before the few spurts of his cum leaked out, his eyes widened realizing that it couldn’t stop at just that—after just one mere round.

Jake shushed your heaving self, his hand carefully stroked your head. Turning your head, you see Jake’s warm smile, his red cut cheek still catching your gaze and his side bruised lip.

Your eyes flickered closed as he dipped down capturing your mouth with his and his face slightly scrunched at the faint taste of him on your lips.

You melted in the plush of his lips meeting yours but you gasped when you felt fingers glide across your messy folds, gathering whatever was smeared around it and pushing it back inside of your entrance—where it’s meant to be, “Sticky” Jay whispered in a daze like haze as he watched his fingers disappear inside of you

Jake gave one longer peck as he softly gripped your face, a hum in his chest erupting out before he pulled away. “Can you go one more?” He asked past his swollen lips

Your heart was hammering out of your chest, your body was trying to catch up from the previous orgasms.

And yet, you nodded your head causing a bloom over his chest before he excitedly captured your lips in a quick peck. “So good for me-For us. Promise it’ll feel good. Just let us take care of you” Jake mumbled before giving a smile and letting go of your face to shoot a harsh glare towards Jay—different from how he looked at you

His roommate didn’t flinch for a second, already having been looking at him with a smirk resting on his face. Jay curled his fingers inside of you causing you to hiss loudly because even if he had his time—he’d enjoy it if you were still acknowledging him.

“You heard him sweetheart, let us take care of you” Jay planted a wet kiss on your bare back, his eyes falling into a hooded look that made your tired insides twist

Your body was turned over, your back meeting the soft mattress and a satisfied hum slipped past your lips at the stern support lifting your body.

Through your half-lidded eyes, you looked up to see Jay and Jake looking at you, a glistening look in each of their eyes that screamed something ineligible to you—fueled by a desire to devour you whole.

“Just focus on us. No need to think of anything else in that pretty head of yours”

✮⋆˙

Your face scrunched hearing the loud banging rupturing in the distance. Shifting in the sheets, you buried your head deeper into the warmth that engulfed you, believing if you ignored it long enough then it'll seize to exist.

When your eyes and mind began to fade back into slumber, the warmth at your side disappeared with the exception of a feathering touch ghosting your head with an inaudible whisper before disappearing.

Dazedly opening your eyes adjusting to the sunlight peeking inside, you looked next to you, noticing the once occupied space now empty with a dip in the mattress of who once laid there.

Your sore body is now catching up to your mind when you try to move with the addition of a weight holding you down and forcing you closer to the body behind you as the head nuzzles deeply into your back, holding you close.

You looked down to see the bruised red skin resting at the knuckles, the faint scratches on them wrapped around your waist.

However, at the sound of the door carefully opening, you lifted your head up to Jake’s loose clothing hanging onto his body, his disheveled messy hair, and his heavy eyes shining in the sunlight.

“Who was at the door?” Your voice low and strained as you rubbed your eyes, trying to slip out of Jay’s bear like hug at your waist who was yet to wake up

Jake smirked, closing the bedroom door behind him just to lean up against it with a sigh before pushing himself off, his steps slow and nearing until his head was leveled with yours.

Your breath hitched in your throat as he placed his finger over his tugging upwards lips.

The hands wrapped at your waist threaded higher nearing your chest in a slower manner, Jay rested his head onto your shoulder. Jake sank to his knees, his hands moving down to your knees before having pry them open.

“Neighbor. Told us to keep the noise down next time”

——

a special dedication and tag to @hearts4hee, for you hon<3

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