#6.5k celebration

[userparamore]

6.5K CELEBRATION: 📼 + THE BEAR ↳ for @djo

[screampied]

❝ HELL ON HEELS . . ! ❞

ᡴꪫ sum. it's your third day on the job as a flight attendant. you work around a lot of snobby rich elites, but a particular one catches your eye. a particular one who tips you $300 dollars in cash and wants way more than just your uninvited attention.

wc. 6.5k

warnings. fem! reader, sugar daddy!gojo au, this is how gojo and reader meet, mile high club trope, flight attendant reader, age gap (early twenties/early thirties), semi public sēx, praise kink, degradation, dry humping, squırting, spanking, edging.

an. thank u to everyone who voted for this on the poll <3

➤ sd!gojo masterlist

the low-pitched whirring of the plane’s engine was quite loud. white noise could be heard through first class as you walked alongside the aisle. with a heavy sigh, you’d just wish the day would be over. the overall duration of the flight was about a good two hours, not too bad but you were already over it. dealing with haughty a-list celebrities or elites as a whole wasn’t for the weak. a majority of them were rude, snobby, and just stuck up individuals. except for one . .

as thick pieces of rubber stick against your heels and clank against the carbon fibre floor, you sashay through and from the rows before a cheeky voice calls over to you. “excuseee me, miss ‘ttendant,” and you crane your neck to where it was coming from. sat right by the window near the left— draped in nothing but a sable-black tuxedo with a pricey g-shock wrapping around his wrist, he simpers. “do you ahh, mind if you . . ?”

“huh,” you quirk your eyebrows into a brow before he nods his head up toward the cabin compartment above all of the seats. “oh,” you give him a soft smile. he takes a quick glance at your name tag that’s glued on the left side of your blazer. you lean over against him, reaching towards the latch to pull it down. the more you get close to him, the more you smell his cologne. it’s so strong, you were sure it was some kind of expensive designer brand. a small grunt leaves your lips as you stretch before just when you’re about to pry open the cabinet, the plane grumbles with a rude shake. a rude shake in which you fall—right onto the older man’s lap who’s got the smuggest grin.

“we’re experiencing a bit of turbulence up here, sincerest apologizes passengers..”

the pilot mutters through the intercom— it’s blaring through the speakers. he talks for about seven seconds, as well as reminding for everyone to have their seatbelts on at all times before he stops.

as if things couldn’t have been anymore embarrassing, your face lands right into his crotch. “oh my god—i’m so sorry sir,” you try to atone, sitting up and as you’re up so close to him, you take a moment to actually get a good glimpse at the man.

he was pretty, simply no denying it. you knew him from anywhere. gojo satoru, the gojo satoru. the snowy white hair was a dead giveaway.

he was more of a well known business man—a ceo of some hot shot company. he had his own clothing brand, does lots of men photoshoots, and even modeled a bit in his early twenties. although, the more you gawk at him, the more it seems like he barely even aged. gojo looks like he was still in his twenties, he had a bit of a stubble but was quite really well shaved. azul-blue eyes return the stare right back at you as you take in his prepossessing features for just a bit longer.

god, he was handsome.

gojo’s hair was neatly neat, a simple slick back of a sort with a few strands of white hair running down his face. he brings a wrist up to his face to rub his mouth before covertly humming. “. . oh, am i that good lookin’, princess?”

you gulp once he catches you staring, and then it hits you again,

you were still dumbly laid on his lap as he’s gazing into your eyes with the most complacent grin. “i-i’m sorry,” you mumble, cringing at your own stutter. thankfully, it was probably about four am, it was a private jet and only a few other passengers scattered around the sectioned row. sitting up, you rub your neck sheepishly before sighing. “i . . don’t usually fall on passengers during on my shifts.”

“heh well i’d hope not,” he teases. “oh, and don’t worry about getting my luggage by the way,” and his eyes trail you down before he glances at your name tag again. “hm, i think i’d like to request something else though,” and the more you stare into his pretty cerulean eyes, the more you get lost in them.

his eyes were equivalent to a maze, you’re always getting lost in his pretty irises—never finding your way out. “you’re probably all sore from walkin’ around in those heels, how ‘bout you take a little break?”

and he was right. the entire lower parts of your calves were a bit sore, so you do. you take a break . . although,

your 'break' mainly consists of you being hunched over, propped up in front of gojo’s seat with him eating you out from behind like a starved man. your bottom lip feels all numb and puffed from chewing on it for so long. your lips part into an exaggerated ‘o’ as your head’s repeatedly being pressed against the back of the airplane seat in front of you. the softly made material rubs against your face and you moan. some older woman was snoring in the front of it, headphones plugged in both sides of her ears.

thank god, you prayed whatever heavy metal track she was listening to would distract her slumber from hearing your loud, whiny moans.

alas again, by ‘break’, you didn’t expect this but you weren’t exactly complaining either. with gojo’s tongue rummaging against your clit, it had you gasping for desperate various breaths. “s-sirrrr,” you whimper, a lewd smile pursing against your lips. two broad hands of his had your jade-colored business skirt pulled up all the way to the very hem of your torso— just about reaching near your now wrinkled blazer. as you sling an arm over the seat in front of you, you whine once his nose prods against your soddened entrance. “ngh, ‘m gettin’ close again i think. f-fuck, right there.”

“please, call me satoru, baby,” he whispers against your pussy. you shudder from the coldness of his breath aerating against your bare skin—you whine once his palm swats by your right ass cheek, giving it a mean spank. “ooh,” he coos from the recoil of your rear. so pretty, it was quite funny how things even escalated so quickly.

right before he was buried into the depths of your plush thighs, you were just chatting with him. gojo had a charm to him. he was a lot different from the other stuck up elites you occasionally dealt with. he was quite easy to talk to. you make it a habit to talk to each passenger, despite how snobby they might come across anyway.

with him though, he was a pure smooth talker.

gojo showered you with a plethora of compliments. it came natural, it didn’t seem forced—he’d point out your pretty eye color, your hair, just anything. with your job, you were used to getting a few compliments here and there—but he’d go all out, all out in a way where it makes your heart flutter and fly. you’re rutting your ass against his face, loving the way his wet tongue curls into a few alphabetic letters. he’s just filthy. each breath that escapes from your lips as if it was being held captive felt like it was gonna be its last.

“so . . fuckin’ sweet,” he purrs, dragging a thumb down your slit for a moment. gojo takes a second to admire the way you easily soak in his digit, such a breathtaking sight inside. lewd, but breathtaking. “mhm, look at her givin’ me a little show. move your ass against my face a little more, sweetheart. yeah, fuck.”

your heart does jumping jacks at his dialogue. his voice was deep, rich—and seductive.

the silvery band of his watch continues to skim all across your skin as your hips judder. you shiver, feeling yourself about to reach your inevitable orgasmic peak before you moan out loud. you tried to suppress your noises, you did—but it was no use. you’re already biting at your hardened knuckles but oh, his tongue.

every few seconds, he’d break away to spit and slobber on your pussy. his nose consistently smears all against your folds, getting you ten times more wetter than you already were. he’s nasty, making sure you keep that arch for him. your skirt was pulled up and all wrinkled. the teeth-shattering stimulation makes you feel nerves surge all throughout your body like galvanic electricity.

“s- satoruuu.” you’d huff out in tiny pants, feeling your tummy cave in a few times. your sweet moan, its like a tune—a harmony, hell, it was melodic. he’d listen to you whine his name like that all day if he could. a gentle hand of his runs down your twitching leg, giving every part of your body from behind attention.

he was starting to get addicted, you were too sweet . . candied even, it was dangerous. he’s always had a bit of a sweet tooth anyways and perhaps you were his new favorite treat.

the raving pace of his tongue was simply relentless. you’re gripping onto the back of the seat for dear life, barely able to keep up with him.

ethereal ivory lashes of his open and close every millisecond that passes. it’s as if time was going slow for you— of course it was though, considering how you were thousands of feet in the air. you don’t know why, but the thought of someone just walking by and stumbling upon you all bent over for a passenger,

not just a passenger but the gojo satoru . .

you’d be lying a bit if you said it didn’t turn you on a bit. you knew it was against policy to screw on the job, in the air at that, but it was the middle of the night and partly everyone onboard was asleep anyway. having some affluent attractive guy right between your thighs, you were living the dream. you thought this only happened in the movies.

“aw, don’t give up on me just yet, pretty,” he soothes a tune against your cunt. after a while, gojo’s speedy flicking of his tongue transitioning to pure sucks. you’re shaking within the suction of his mouth. it’s almost too much to bare yet you didn’t want him to stop. he knows just the right tempo to make you roll your eyes back too. with prying hands, gojo’s spreading open your ass a bit more to lick a deeper area with his tongue. you zealously whine once he playfully uses a thumb to poke against your puckering hole. “mhm, yeah. thaaaat’s it, but don’t be so loud though, princess. i know we’re in the back row but still, heh.”

and with that— he gifts your ass another smack. he proudly relishes in your lewd, pornographic reactions. you’re an entire mess and he’s slurping your fervor shamelessly.

“s- satoruuuu, fuck f-fuck,” your breathing starts to significantly pick up. with your chest continuing to sink in and out, he briefly sneaks his dampened lips away from your entrance to bite near your thighs. the way you were shaking to him was just so cute. the white noise that continues to sing and reverb throughout the plane’s structure grew louder. or . . that was just the ringing through your ears—regardless, it was between that noise and the sounds of your own obscene pleasure that had a competition. a competition on who could be the most louder. your name-tag that’s still pressed against your blazer remains to rub off against the fabric of the seat in front of you.

your perked nipples snag in the process as you’re arching a bit more before a wail dies out your throat. “i- i’m gonna cu— oh!”

“another few hits of turbulence, folks. please stay in your seatbelts. time of arrival should be around six thirty am..”

you bring a hand over your mouth in a cute attempt to silence yourself as you’re meeting your high—listening to the pilot, you sob out a squeal from the inside of your palm. gojo’s slurping you up again with his tongue, your grinding against his face makes him chuckle. with his jaw tightening a bit, he doesn’t care—you were so sweet, he could eat you out all day. not to mention, he was quite thirsty. instead of having you retrieve one of his bags, he was gonna originally ask for a glass of water. but this quenched his thirst a lot better in his humblest opinion. his warm breath fans against your cunt all the while you feel his stubble tickle near the undersides of your thighs. “mmph.” you moan, peeking in front of you to still see the old lady knocked out cold. with the way you were rocking into the back of her seat— you were surprised she didn’t wake up. you were glad she didn’t though. otherwise, you’d embarrass yourself yet again.

with your orgasm still having its moment, you start to calm down a bit. he’s still slithering his tongue down your folds, savoring your taste as if it’s the last thing on the planet. his chin was coated with all of your slick, and he snickers before dragging a thumb to get another taste. “good girl. give it to me, ride my—ride my tongue, uh huhhh.”

a swarm of butterflies wanders around inside of your tummy from his words—his tone, it was so soft yet the dialogue that spoke out was just downright dirty. you pulse between your thighs and it only makes you crave him more.

as you’re still arched over in front of him, you take a few hard gulps to swallow as you’re finishing your perfect nirvana state. ecstasy, just ecstasy overtakes your entire body as he gives your pussy it’s final sucks and nibbles. once he finishes, he’s still sat in his chair. spinning you around, he gives you a warm smile.

“c’mere, sweetheart..”

out of breath and pants snatching out of your full lungs with ease—you move into him with your eyes half-lidded. “. . . atta girl, taste how sweet you are. gimme a kiss,” and you get on top of him. sliding off your heels, you get onto gojo’s lap. now straddling him, you lean into a steamy, hot kiss. two hefty built arms of his wrap around your waist, pulling you in close. once your lips meet, it’s just utterly sloppy.

throwing your arms around him and tugging on his tucked out collar, you deepen the kiss. he groans at your enthusiasm, allowing his hands to glide against every inch of your body. gojo’s fingertips dance against the pieces of clothing you wore, despite it being so few. your blazer was still on and yet couldn’t help but rock against his lap as your tongue parts inside of his mouth. gojo’s head leans back as you’re enjoying yourself. but all of a sudden, you moan once you feel it. 

his boner, right in the middle part of his pants. gojo satoru was hard—hard for you.

he grunts lowly, a hand of his snaking up your leg as you taste the sweet remnants of your own flavor on his tongue. the closer you are to him, the closer you get a nice everlasting sniff of his cologne. so manly, it’s a rich scent that you could never get enough of. it was so strong—roaming through the air so much that it almost gave you a headache. 

“fuck,” he sibilates. a single hissing word that comes from his mouth makes you throb oh so easily. you’re swaying your hips against him and his adam’s apple bobs back in rapture. every few seconds, he pulls away to leave a wet slope of kisses down your neck. a hand of yours tugs against his tie that was neatly worn on him. “damn girl you’re kinda kinky,” and he finally pulls away, teasingly biting on your bottom lip before finally departing. “i’m startin’ to like you.”

“more,” you murmur, leaning in to nip a wet kiss of your own near the crooked crevices of his mouth. naturally parted lips of his twitch, causing him to wryly smile back at you. “i need more, sir. we have a few more hours left. please.”

“baby, you can call me satoru. cut the formal shit yeah?” and his voice was a pitchy low, an almost rasp hidden underneath. a hand of his gently grabs your chin and you’re met with the most prettiest eyes. if it wasn’t his long lashes, it was his celestially blue eyes. so blue that it was as if you were star gazing at a summer sky. gojo satoru a pretty man, no doubt. he hums to himself in amusement at your cute doe-eyed expression, hungry for more. sitting on his boner was already torture enough, you just wanted him inside. 

sure, you were technically working but you didn’t care about that. “satoruuuu,” he’s being playful, a thumb still pulling down your bottom lip. as you’re both maintaining such intimate eye contact, his voice softens once more. gojo’s hand slides its way between your thighs before he raises a brow in a taunting manner. “what do you want satoru to do to you? tell me, girl.”

“t- touch me.” you almost whine out, it yanks out from your throat so pathetically. the throbbing you were feeling behind your panties only turned into straight convulses. 

playfully, he tilts his head with a smile. “yeah? touch ya where.”

“i gotta spell it out for you?” you pout, and he chuckles at your frustrated attitude. you start to jerk your hips against his lap and he holds your waist in place to bring those movements to a stop. “f-fuck, ‘s hard.”

stroking a thumb against your quivering lips, his minty breath hits against your nose—you smell it and it’s minty fresh. a scent of what seemed to be some kind of tangy beverage and a gum like substance. with a mocking tone, he presses a kiss against your nose before jibing. “i just wanna know where ‘m gonna put my hands on this pretty body. that’s all,” and his voice was so smooth, an almost purr. with a chortle, he moves a few strands of hair out of your view of sight before continuing his words. “now now, i’ll ask again, pretty. where do ya want me to touch you? let’s be descriptive this time.”

“between my t-thighs,” you confess, already soaked from him devouring your pussy just merely seconds ago. the shocking friction between both bodies had you feral, had you dizzy, had you stupid.

gojo gradually brings a hand down before you press a hand against his chest, pouting again. “actually, i want you to fuck me. please, satoru.”

“there we go, good girl. ‘n heh, aw i figured,” he cheeses, licking a single stripe up your neck. “mhm, you’ll have to ride me though. ‘s only so many positions you can do on a plane, heh.”

you barely let him finish your sentence before you start to unbuckle his pants. you’re so quick with it. gojo stares at the way you’re so desperate, taking it off the tiny hooks before yanking his belt all the way off. seconds later, you’re pulling down his pants toward his ankles. “ooh,” his eyes flicker towards your chest as you start to align yourself against his lap. you take a moment to stare at his now exposed cock and it was so pretty. lengthy if anything, a leaky mushroom like tip that was a bit reddened. he was so hard too, just gawking at his heavyset bulge that had you almost drooling. gojo leans back, rubbing against his thigh before flashing you a cheesy smile. “wellllll,” he sings. “don’t be shy girl. get on up here. ride all that stress away from work, pretty thing.”

he was so cocky, yet you were so needy. 

as you’re still aligning him, your damp entrance rubs off against the head of his tip. it’s peeling open a bit, the skin that attaches to the frenulum was just so mesmerizing to look at. it’s got a pinkish color, almost red. shortly following, a mere tannish color flushes on his cock near the base down. you moan once he grabs ahold of his length, helping you adjust. 

“easy . . easy baby, i gotcha,” he sighs, feeling your warmth slowly swallow him whole. those short seconds you spend taking in gojo’s dick feels like long, consecutive hours.

you’re dripping wet. as you straddle his lap, preparing to ride him, he slouches back in such a sexy way. manspread—gojo grunts out a single breath as his chest deflates. shifting his gaze towards your cunt, he spreads open your folds to get a better view. “ughhh, look at how she opens up for me. ‘s fuckin’ nasty,” he groans, staring dead at your cunt. you were indeed coating him with your slick from the base down. “give it to me, upside daisey, yeah.”

you’re taking his inches as the seconds go by before after a while—you plop down, feeling him bottom out already. gojo moans, gifting your ass with another spank. “f-fuck ‘toru,” you hiss, knowing that was a non-verbal sign for you to start up your hips. a cooling air that passes through the plane sets against your skin as you move. you whine, feeling his hands trickle alongside the secretive edges of your thighs. “touch me more, l- like that.”

“i don’t remember saying you could tell me what to do,” he meets your eyes as you start to thrust forward. he’s got the most impish grin stretching against his lips. gojo grips your chin for what was probably the nth time within this hour before he grins. “nuh uh, don’t look away. i wanna see those gorgeous eyes,” and he sneaks another wet kiss against your mouth. “ride it like you own it baby.”

you start off realllll slow, 

sashaying your hips up and down against his lap in the most alluring way. all six eyes were on you and only you..

your arms still wrap around him and he’s keeping eye contact with you the entire time. with your blazer practically ruffled and wrinkled, you continue to move yourself against him. gojo’s cock stretches you out in such a way you didn’t even know was possible. your walls craved him, you craved him.

as he leans further back, a hand’s still glued to your ass before he smacks it . . again.

he pats it afterwards, watching a cute sour expression slowly marinate against your facial features. 

gojo giggles at your cute noises, it doesn’t take long before you bury your face into the crook of his neck, gnawing your teeth against his collared shirt. “f-fuck, satoru,” you’d whine out, feeling his grip tighten against your ass. his cologne’s got your head spinning like a merri-go-round, giving you whiplash in all the right ways. “s-so big, stretchin’ me.”

“takin’ it so good, baby,” he licks against the lobe of your ear.  his breath against your neck was warm—not so cold anymore. two rough hands grasp onto your active hips, encouraging you to go more forward, more faster. “good girl, mhm, fuck me like that. use those hips for me, yeahh.”

his dick curves through every part of your walls as if it’s exploring. you feel him reach deep within every part and it’s driving you toward the first street of crazy.

breathy pants skate out from your lips as you’re swinging yourself back and forth against him. “s-satoru,” you whimper, feeling his hands continue to feel against the bare bottom parts of your ass. you could feel the bands of rings he wore rub off against your skin also, so fridgly cold. “f-fuck, ‘s good. mhm, fuck.”

“you’re so pretty,” he groans, the brief sounds of skin slapping resounding through your ears. it’s loud, almost sonorous.

his hair was getting a bit ruffled and unkempt, adding to his suave, mature features.

as he looks off into the nearly empty dim lit aisle, a silhouette appears—someone’s coming. it’s a familiar sound of heels hitting against the floor and you were too occupied of being horny to turn your head. at first, you barely even notice as you’re still grinding against his lap. “oh shit,” gojo gasps, grabbing the sides of your hips, suddenly bringing you to a stop. with a sly smile, he hums against your ear. “baby, don’t freak but i think your co-worker’s coming.”

“w- what?” you murmur, and he makes you spin around, still having his heavy cock hidden into the swollen depths of your cunt. glancing up, it was one of your co-workers coming. in a weak attempt to fix your nearly messed up blazer that was about to pop, you lean against his chest. “who— where?”

as he’s pressed right up against you, you’re met with a playful deep voice against your ear. “relax. act like you’re totally not cockwarming me, obviously,” and he runs a few fingers down your uniform, feeling you shift your hips a bit at his touch. gojo tries to make it look like you were just sitting on his lap, moving a cover over you and him from the waist down. you feel so full, you were growing more and more needy, a pout comes onto your lips because you didn’t want to stop so abruptly. you just wanted to keep riding him, but of course—you were working. “play it cool, baby.”

“um, is everything okay?” one of your fellow co-worker flight attendants, serena murmurs.

with a furrowing brow, she takes in the sight in front of her. you, happily straddling a passenger's lap whilst you’re heaving as if you’d just finish a 5k race. “we’ve been some getting complaints about noises. also, you need to restock the snacks near back. we’re runnin’ low on peanuts.”

“y-yeah, ‘m fine,” you sheepishly nod, knowing how fishy this entire scene might have looked. gojo’s dick was just idly enshrouded into your cunt, just one move and you’d be fucked. technically, you already were fucked. he’s tracing a finger against your thighs before you exhale. “but uh— can’t you restock?”

“i would but that’s not my job,” she snaps with an eye roll. gojo chortles at your co-worker’s attitude, he presses a single kiss against your neck and you almost moan. her facial expressions twist in disgust before she backs away. “anyways, just go restock,” and as she twists her heels to walk away, she utters under her breath. “weirdos. i don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

gojo lets out a breathy laugh as you finally moan again—it’s taking everything out of you and you start up the jolting of your hips again. “f-fuck, ‘m close, ‘toru,” you whimper, the friction feeling like hot static dragging against your legs. “mhm, ‘s good.”

“you’re even more dirtier than i thought, princess,” he whispers, a hand playfully wrapping around your throat as you’re moving your hips back. “i bet your co-worker put two ‘n two together. you could have been a little more believable.”

you’re moaning, his touch sending you more deadly shivers before you feel a coil within you squeeze shut tight. the beat of your heat grows rapid and your pupils dilate from pure pleasurable lust. you’re getting close again, it’s coming so quick that you barely have any time to breathe.

his aromatic cologne nearly blinds your sinuses before you feel against his neck with your palm. “i . . i don’t care if she knows,” you mumble with a scowl, feeling his base continuously rub against your entrance. you’re coating him with nothing but a pretty viscous sheet of your slick. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum again.”

“yeah? what if i want you to wait?” he purrs, his sloping trail of kisses turning into sucks. you whine, leaning into his touch as he’s stuffing your insides full of thick cock. jello—your legs felt like jello, barely even able to move. the warmth against him had you hungry for more. it was addictive, you didn’t know what it was. you didn’t get like this for any other passenger, yet here you were. your mouth croons open, whining out a single harmony at his pace. he’s still making you grind back against him, the tempo having your head going for a spin every time. “what if i want you to be a good attendant ‘n wait just a bit longer f’me?”

“but—”

“nuh uh,” he snickers, bringing a smack to your ass. “wait for me, pretty. this pussy’s gonna make a mess when i want her to.”

and he creeps a hand down between your jittery legs, rubbing a few circles against your already sopping wet cunt. a gasp wretches from your throat as you’re laid back against his chest. the rugged fabric of his tuxedo top whisks against your skin and you’re babbling out sweet nothings.

“f-fuck, ‘m not gonna last,” you whine, feeling yourself throb at the way his thumb brushes against your throat. he’s feeling the vibrations of your gruttural moans and it’s so cute. by this point, you’d already forgotten you were thirty thousand feet in the air. thirty thousand feet in the air and you were getting your pussy destroyed by one of your passengers. 

not just any passenger though, 

gojo satoru. 

he’s panting right with you as you’re just bouncing on his lap, two soft padded hands gripping against his thighs. as you bite your lip, your ass thrashes back gainst him and he hisses. “just like that, pretty girl. shiiiiit, ‘m gonna cum too.”

with his deep penetrative thrusts, it’s got you going ditzy. as he starts to spank against your puffy cunt, he nibbles against your collarbone. “you wanna cum with me, yeah? ‘s that why you keep dragging y’r nails into my leg?”

“s—sir,” you desperately spat, but he spanks your cunt again so you could switch your words around. “ngh, i mean satoru. wanna cum with you, pleaseplease. ‘s good, want it, finish in me.”

“my, well when ya ask like that,” he hums, and you feel the sharpness of his hips pivot. gojo groans, standing up before he lies you back against the now reclined seat. “lie back, baby. actually, changed my mind. i wanna push those pretty knees up to your chest.” 

panting, you lie back against the now lounged seat. gojo flashes you that same sly grin before he lifts up your leg—bringing a sweet kiss toward your ankle. “you can lose your license over this, you know? dirty girl, lettin’ your pussy think for ya instead of that brain, huh?”

“don’t care,” you moan, watching him quickly align his cock against your slit. gojo grunts, feeling you easily swallow his tip up again. your cunt was clingy, he was very much addicted to your slippery sloppy core. with his pants halfway on and hanging down to his ankles, he starts up a rapid pace again. “uh, uh,” you whimper again and again, your thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist. you’re keeping him warm from the inside, raw moans pulling out of your esophagus like it was nothing. “right there, ‘m gonna cum, please. s-sir, fuck me.”

“satoru,” he corrects you, a hand gripping your chin. pretty blue eyes leer down at you and he’s so close to you. as he’s jackhammering his cock into your sobbing swollen walls—eyes of your own goggle into gojo’s as he’s fucking you silly. you probably look a mess from this view, the heel of your foot grazing down his strong back muscles. gojo hears the sloshing squelches your own pussy makes and you feel the sudden throb arise from his dick. he twitches inside you and it makes his head throw back. after he gains composure again, he exhales deeply, tapping a thumb against your sealed lips.“you don’t gotta be formal when ‘m inside, princess,” and he squeezes your lips together, licking near the bottom. “open.”

you’re whining, his tempo growing quicker and you’re so close. crimson-carmine lips of his twitch into a feral smile once he sees you being so easy to comply. with your lips parting open, you tilt your head back before he spits into your mouth.

“theeeere’s your tip,” he teases, pursing your lips together with two fingers as you swallow. your cunt still gripping against him as he then pulls you into a deep kiss. with your legs clutching around his waist. “uh, manners baby. where’s my thank you?”

“t- thank you, ‘toru.” you breathe, feeling your cunt throb even quicker.

“oh, you’re welcome,” he smiles and he can’t help but giving you another kiss on the mouth shortly afterwards. the lustful stare he’s giving you could almost be described as lecherous has you more sopping wet by the second. with your legs tightly and securely keeping him from breaking away, he groans. right into your mouth, his tongue collides against yours before he sucks on it. as he brings you into a loving kiss again, gojo’s girth has you feeling a sudden arch in your back arise the moment you sit up. you’re being fucking into the reclined seat, his weight almost crushing against but it feels so good. “mhmmm, ‘m gonna cum. gonna spill so much inside of you, pretty.”

“don’t waste any,” you whimper, wrapping your arms around him. you didn’t even care how unprofessional this was. in the back of your mind, you’re thinking to yourself— if someone walked in again, who cares? not you. “please.”

“well aren’t you a doll,” gojo murmurs in a cooing tone, shoving your knees all the way up near your chest. you’re preparing yourself as you’re about to reach your final pleasurable demise. it feels almost tickling, the fat tip of his cock repeatedly kisses against that same spot within you. you’re whines sound almost melodic, not even caring if your pilot a few seats back heard. “look at me.” he taps your bottom shaking lip, leaning in to plant another kiss on your lips. one turns into two, then three, then four . .

and then— his phone rings.

you’re still a moaning mess, feeling your legs just about give out as he’s pressing such amounts of weight on top of you. gojo’s hands fondle with your neglected breasts that laid underneath your blazer. he groans, reaching for his phone near the counter of the seat. with a grunt, he answers. “tch. satoru gojo.”

still snugly shoved deep inside, he’s multitasking. one hand holds onto the left side of your waist, another holding his phone up against his cheek. he’s drilling into you so mercilessly as if his occupation was a construction worker. you whine, the scratching itch never leaving you. once it comes, it comes. “suguru, ‘m kinda busy. can this wai— oh f…fuck.”

in an abrupt gasp, he ends up finishing first. it’s so much. thick gooey spurts pour into your cunt, filling up the insides of your goopy womb. gojo’s peering down at you and his lip quivers. he finished a bit early. too quick, his hand shakes as he holds up his phone before you squeeze your legs against his torso even tighter. for a moment, he almost whines himself. the strong gripping grip your pussy has against makes him swear underneath his breath.

“huh? yeah, ‘m good,” he sexily whews, slowing his rhythm down a bit.

a hand of his snaps, making you look down between your legs.

he gives you a teasing grin and you spread your folds open. it was so much, so much velvety ropes of hot cum that ooze in and out of your sloppy folds. you’ve never felt more warm from the inside. it was a feeling that had your mouth watering, salivating with your sweet, syrupy saliva. your legs were practically mush, and once you finish, you end up gushing all out at once. it takes you by surprise more than anything. the feeling comes like a crashing, unpredictable wave, a fading fade then departures from your body. minutes eventually pass and gojo’s still yapping away on the phone—yet after a while, he decides to wrap it up and groan. “yeah yeah okay, man. i gotta go now. unless you wanna listen to how i sound post-orgasm, heh.”

“what—?”

with a quick bleep, gojo hangs up. tossing his phone aside, he looks down at you—cutely sprawled out whilst chills run down your body. he can almost see you palpitating from said chills. leaning up close to you, still balls deep, he pants heavily. gojo pressed a kiss against your right temple before teasing. “heyyy, did you just squirt on me?” he asks, and he speaks in a sly soft tone.

you don’t reply and he gives you a priggish smile. “you didddd. so nasty, i should make ya lick it off me.”

you did end up squirting. it was so much. so so much.

you’re still having your legs wrap around his waist before you grab onto his wide, stiff shoulders. “s-satoru,” you moan into his neck, getting yet another balmy whiff of his manly musk. “f-fuuuck, more.”

right before he could reply though— the intercom of the plane comes on and it’s the pilot.

“ladies and gentleman, we’ve made it to our destination. local time and time of arrival is six thirty-three am. for your own safety and others around you, please remain seated and keep the aisles cleared until i announce we’re at the airport gates. thank you.”

“aw, boo,” gojo laments, slowly pulling out of your pussy. a pout unfurls against your glossed lips as you feel suddenly empty. no more thick inches inside. the only thing you felt were the leftover masses of his cum spewing out of you. the seats were a mess, he brings a hand down to strum a few fingers against your entrance and you whine. so soaked, he gifts you with a kiss on your forehead before exhaling. “well, think it’s ‘bout time we part ways, gorgeous.”

gojo helps put back on your skirt and panties and you‘re just laid back with a cute scowl as he assists you off your feet. “i . . can’t walk like this,” and he chuckles at how stiff you were— a few droplets of his cum race down your thighs and you almost moan again. you’re still sensitive, throbbing near every inch of your body before he stands up. he’s so lean and tall. as gojo towers over you, you glance up at him and you’re met with that annoying flirtatious smirk he gave you when his eyes first laid on you. “my panties are practically ripped.”

he turns around to grab his suitcases above him from the cabinet and sighs.

zipping up his exposed fly, gojo leans in to kiss your forehead. “ah, well i can always buy you some more,” and then he pauses. “actually,” he grabs his wallet and your eyes widen once he gives you three hundred dollar bills. “i can buy you more than just panties if ya want, sweet thing,” he slides the bills in between your bra before pressing a kiss against your neck. “you’ve been such a good girl,” and he then hands you his business card. it displays his name and a cheesy saying near the front, all his information in bold blue letters too. before walking away with your bawled up underwear, he leans up to your ear for a final time and whispers, “remember though, it’s satoru gojo, baby. ah, and these panties—i’ll be keeping these as a souvenir.”

[the-boy-meets-evil]

on second thought | jww

(where your roommate, wonwoo, has an interesting solution to all your bad dates. nothing can go wrong with two friends crossing a line, can it?)

pairing: wonwoo x f.reader genre: roommates/friends to fwb to?? | smut, tiny bit of angst if you squint rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni word count: 6.5k warnings: there's some plot here but it's mostly smut, multiple sex scenes (some quickly referenced), roommates who enter a fwb agreement, kissing, fingering, oral (f. receiving), protected sex, multiple orgasms, use of actual lube, some scratching, after care, mentions: masturbation, kitchen sex, teasing, overstimulation, edging, i think that's it.

authors note: happy birthday to my bby @wongyuseokie! i'm thankful to have met you through nets. i hope you like some wonwoo to celebrate. thank you to @wonwussy for helping me with a title, you're a savior. this is unedited because i only started it yesterday so sorry in advance. also tagging: @aaniag @gyuminusone

Another disappointing date. Another man who couldn’t even seem to let you finish a sentence. Was so intent on proving how well he could provide for you that he forgot to treat you like a person. So intent on establishing his dominance that he tried to order for you at the overpriced restaurant with too-small portions. So irritated that he paid for your dinner and drinks only for you to leave separately from him and refuse his offer to drive you home. There was no way you were letting that man know where you lived. Is it really asking too much just to have a decent date? You aren’t going to let anyone try to tell you that your standards are too high. You’re really just asking for the bare minimum. 

That’s why you’re sitting on the counter in the kitchen of your shared apartment, spilling your guts to your sympathetic roommate. His hair is messy, sticking up at odd angles in some places because he’s been playing video games for hours. Probably streaming at some point. You admire that he’s able to do something he loves to fill up most of his days. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and you try not to find it so endearing. But, you fail at that. He really is impossibly cute sometimes.

“Do you want a bite of this?” you ask instead, holding out the instant ramen you made as soon as you got home. 

“No, I ate earlier,” he answers. 

“An actual meal or a Wonwoo meal?” you challenge and he rolls his eyes.

“I ate real food. Go back to bitching about your date,” Wonwoo says. 

“I don’t know, maybe I was being too harsh,” you say. 

“He sounds like a fucking nightmare,” he disagrees. 

“Ugh, maybe I just need to redownload one of those apps,” you whine. Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at you. “Don’t look at me like that. I hate fucking on the first date, but I’m so pent up that I need to release it somehow. I’m going insane.” 

This makes him laugh, at least. It releases a little bit of the tension, too. You’ve lived with Wonwoo nearly three years and were friends for years before that. Nothing is secret between the two of you. Not anymore. The first time you realized he caught you getting off in your room because you didn’t think he was home was mortifying. Even if he didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. After you got over it, things settled. And in the time since, you’ve both heard the other doing a lot of things. Some of your friends think it’s weird, but you just chalk it up to the comfort of living with someone. After all, you would tell your female friends all about your sex life. Why was that weird to share with Wonwoo? 

“Toys not doing it for you?” he throws out. You only fix him with a glare. It’s more proof that you’re entirely too comfortable.

“Our walls are thin, what do you think?” you answer. 

Wonwoo snorts a little before seeming to consider something. “Why don’t we just fuck? Get it out of your system.” 

The sip of water you’re taking when he suggests that comes bursting out of your mouth. A real life spit take. Thankfully, he’s out of the blast zone. He looks unamused at water coming out of your mouth, but he doesn’t look like he was kidding. It can be so hard to tell with him. You think that you know his face well after all these years. But, you never thought you’d hear that coming out of his mouth, so you’re not sure. 

“Please give me some indication if that was a joke or not,” you say.

“It wasn’t a joke,” he says.

“Pretty clear indicator,” you mumble. 

“Is it that crazy? You think I’m hot…” Wonwoo starts. If you were still drinking, you’d spit out your water again.

“Uh, what?” you ask.

“You think I’m hot. Hao told me,” he says as if it’s no big deal. You’re mentally running through what the appropriate payback is for this breach of trust. “It’s fine. He told me because I was saying I also think you’re hot.” 

“I mean, thanks,” you laugh, still considering how you’re going to torture Minghao. “But, we can’t have sex.” 

“Why not?” Wonwoo presses. 

“Because we’re roommates?” you ask like it’s obvious. 

“So I can hear you fuck yourself with a toy or hear you fake an orgasm with another bad date, but us fucking each other is the line?” Wonwoo asks. 

“I don’t fake that many orgasms,” you scoff to buy time.

“Yes, you do,” he argues. “I can hear the difference. And I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be faking it with me.” 

There’s a little bit of cockiness in the statement that shouldn’t be doing anything for you. But, it is. There’s also the very real possibility that Wonwoo does know the difference in the sounds you make. It’s not like you’ve bothered being that quiet since the first conversation where he heard you. What’s the point? The walls are pretty thin and you’re both adults. It’s not like you’re going to kick him out every time you bring a date home. And you’re definitely not going to only get off in the shower because it drives up the water bill. 

Beyond any of it, there’s also a little curiosity. Wonwoo is insanely attractive. Someone would have to be blind to miss that. He’s got that whole nerdy thing going on for him on initial inspection with the glasses and gaming. Or there’s the fact that he’s content to just hang out around the house, even with company over, wearing his pimple patches. But then, there’s this whole other side to him. It comes out when you’re both out with friends and he leaves the glasses behind. Swapping out graphic tees or hoodies for form fitting clothing and leather jackets. Casually leaning against a bar and whispering honey into some nameless, faceless stranger’s ear. 

And that leads you to the reason you’re actually curious. Sure, he’s heard you having sex with people you’ve been dating or just someone you brought home for the night. But, you’ve heard him too. If any of your orgasms sound faked, the ones he coaxes from the pretty girls in his bed sound anything but. There’s nearly always an incoherent string of praises. That thought alone has you considering his proposition. It has you shifting a little on the counter.

“Let’s pretend for a second that I’m considering this,” you start and he smiles. 

“Pretend, sure,” he echoes. 

“We’d need ground rules, right? Like we don’t want this to get awkward,” you say.

“It’s not gonna be awkward. But, we can set whatever makes you feel comfortable,” he says nonchalantly. 

A very strong, very hard to ignore voice in the back of your head argues against setting rules at all. Actually urges you to just drag him into your bedroom. Or his bedroom? Maybe you do need some ground rules. 

So, you talk. You don’t say that it’s only going to happen once because you never know what needs might pop up. The most important thing that you agree to is that nothing can change between the two of you. If either of you feels like it’s going to, then you have to talk about it because preserving the friendship is most important. It doesn’t matter what bed you have sex in as long as the other helps clean anything up. You’re not planning on this being a regular thing, so you don’t need to negotiate any kinks or anything like that. If it does become more of a thing, then you can revisit the kinks. There won’t be any weirdness about dating or talking to other people. This is just a solution between two friends that are both going through dating dry spells. 

Once the rules are set out, Wonwoo brings you into his room. Even though you’ve been in here more times than you could ever count, it feels different now. He tells you to make yourself comfortable on his bed. When he turns around to take his shirt off and toss it aside, your eyes map out his back. And, yeah, you’ve seen Wonwoo shirtless before, but never given yourself permission to so openly appreciate his body. His shoulders are impossibly wide and he’s in deceptively good shape for someone that hides under baggier clothes. 

“Should I take a picture for you?” he asks. It’s only then that you realize that he’s facing you. 

“Funny,” you say with an eye roll. 

Wonwoo crosses the space to his bed and settles next to you. The way he reaches out to pull your face into his own is so smooth. His lips are on yours before your brain has a chance to catch up. You gasp a little and pull back.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Uh, didn’t we just go over this?” he asks.

“No, I mean, we’re kissing?” you ask.

“What am I supposed to do, sweetheart, just get right down to fucking you without foreplay?” he asks.

You feel a little stupid for asking that because of course you don’t want to skip the foreplay. It’s just that you don’t want to force it, either. 

“Just let me take care of you,” Wonwoo says to keep you from overthinking anything. 

It’s not something that you expected to be doing. Giving up control to Wonwoo. But, it’s surprisingly easy when he starts kissing you again. Any thoughts that this might be weird fly right out of your head as soon as he deepens the kiss. Instead, your focus is on what a good kisser he is. The way his lips mold effortlessly to yours. The way his tongue licks into your mouth. The way his hands roam your body as if they’re trying to memorize every curve. 

You’re breathless by the time Wonwoo pulls back from you to pull your shirt over your head. When you changed after the date from hell, you hadn’t considered putting anything nice on. Hadn’t bothered to keep your bra on. What was the point when you were just going to be going to bed after having something to eat? Now, you’re wondering about that decision. Because your very hot roommate is drinking in the sight of you. It’s making you a little self-conscious, the way his eyes move over your body.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he utters. 

It’s a little too intimate for you to respond to. It doesn’t seem to matter, anyway. Wonwoo starts kissing down your neck and working his way to your breasts. He spreads his kisses between them, rolling your nipple between his fingers when his mouth is on your other breast. There’s something so consuming about the way he kisses your body, like he’s worshiping you. Like this is a lot more than roommates helping each other out. 

He works his way further down your body, kissing along your stomach, stopping at the waist band to your shorts. Thankfully, he doesn’t give you the chance to overthink here either before he pulls the shorts and underwear down your legs. Tosses them off to the side for good measure. You’re totally naked in front of someone you find you do actually trust. And someone that, yeah, maybe you’ve thought about fucking before. There was no reality where you thought it would happen, though. Even if it does make a lot of sense. Every part of you truly does feel safe with him. He knows you better than most people in your life. Which clearly translates to this part of you. 

Since you’re so comfortable, you’re finding it easier to not be embarrassed at the way he’s got you squirming under the barest touch. The way he ghosts his breath across your center makes you let out a whine. It’s unfair, the way that he wants to take his time like this. It’s also unfair that he’s the first person to ever make your mind go this blank during sex. Nothing exists to you outside of this moment and this man.

Wonwoo moves back to where you need him the most, blows gently against your center. The sensation sends a shiver down your body. You barely hear him mumble out a “so pretty” before he flattens his tongue and licks a stripe up your core. There’s just enough time to think this slow pace might actually be the death of you before he goes back in. Using his fingers to spread you apart, he starts tonguing your pussy. A mix of slow and deliberate movements with faster ones. His thumb circles your clit before his mouth moves up there to give it the attention it needs. 

With his mouth on your clit, he presses one finger into your pussy. You’ve never really thought much about his hands and now you’re wondering how you missed them. His long finger pumps in and out of you quickly. It seems that he’s reading your body and can tell that you don’t want something too slow. There’s so much pent up in you.

“Fuck, please, Wonwoo. I need another finger,” you whine. 

“Anything you want,” he mumbles into your pussy. 

He slides another finger inside of you and it makes you clench around him. That only seems to make him move faster. His mouth continues to work along with his fingers and your hands grip whatever they can reach. You’re a babbling mess and you suddenly understand what you overheard from Wonwoo’s room. There’s something so hot about knowing he’s this good with his mouth and his hands. It’s got you coming hard on his face. Harder than you can remember coming before. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises as soon as you’re coming down from your high. Your hazy brain doesn’t latch onto it the way it clearly should.

He presses a gentle kiss to your inner thing and then pulls himself up to lie next to you. His fingers trace patterns into your skin while he’s waiting for your breathing to come back to normal. 

“Jesus, I guess I know why I always heard so much praise through the wall,” you mutter. 

“None as pretty as the sounds you just made,” he says quietly. It’s so gentle, so intimate. There’s a lot of love between you and one of your closest friends, so you don’t dwell too much on it.

You turn your head to face him. His eyes are still dark with desire, fingers still keeping contact with your body. There’s like some kind of bubble around the two of you where nothing else exists. It’s a comfortable feeling, even in the quiet. Something pulls you in closer to him and you can feel his erection brush against your leg.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “You know, I’m still a bit pent up…”

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

“What? I’m gonna come on your face but we can’t actually fuck like we meant to?” you joke, a little braver than you feel. 

“This was about you, not about me,” he says simply. 

“It can be about both of us,” you say, hand running down his stomach. He tenses a bit under your touch and it’s unfair. He’s got perfect abs and you kind of hate it. Kind of hate that it’s so hot to you, too. 

You run your hand over the outline of his dick threw his shorts, enjoy the sharp intake of breath at the contact. It feels like a sign for you to keep going. But, he grabs your hand and pins it above your head. Kisses you hard and desperate. All of his restraint from before seems to be gone now. 

“Don’t play with me, sweetheart,” he warns. 

“Then show me how good you can fuck me. You were so sure earlier,” you press back. 

Wonwoo rolls over and pulls his shorts and boxers off. Casts them off to the side with your clothing. He reaches into his nightstand and pulls a condom out. He rolls back over to position himself between your legs. 

“One final time, are you sure?” he asks. It’s the first time since you came into his room that you’ve seen him look unsure.

“As long as you’re sure too, yes. I need this Nu, please,” you say, a little breathy with desire. 

“I love it when you call me that,” he admits. 

With your go ahead, he slides his tip along your entrance. You know you’re still wet from his hard work, but he still reaches into the dresser again. He pulls out some lube and runs it along his cock. Once he’s done that, he puts the cap back on and tosses it aside. He presses his tip against you again and this time slides in, slowly. Gives you a chance to adjust. 

You’re completely at Wonwoo’s mercy like this, with his arms on either side of you like he’s caging you in. Instead of wanting to get out, you can only think that you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Your hands find their way to his arms, gripping him tightly as he bottoms out in you. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he hisses. 

“Nu, fuck, please move,” you beg. 

“Give me a second, sweetheart, I’m trying to adjust so it doesn’t end too fast,” he says, voice so impossibly deep. 

“Please,” you beg again. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. 

It finally does get him to move though, barely pulling out at all and fucking slowly into you, so deep. He’s filling you up in the most perfect way. Your nails dig into his arms, but you can’t help it. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it spurs him on. Makes him pull nearly all the way out of you before snapping hard into you again. He repositions one of your legs so that he can reach a different angle. With each hard thrust, his dick hits exactly where you need him to be. The rhythm is fast, which is really everything you need for how stressed you’ve been feeling. Each thrust uncoils more of the tension in your body. Each moan seems to spur him on more. 

When he leans down to kiss you, it’s messy. A clash of tongues and lips and teeth and need, so much need. Your hands find purchase anywhere on his body they can, even as his own arms seem to be a little shaky. So, you pull him down on top of you, bodies pressed tight as he continues fucking you. You’re still so sensitive from the first orgasm that you’re building up entirely too quickly. Even though you wanted it fast like this, you’re a little sorry to think it might be almost over. 

Wonwoo must feel that you’re close by the way you’re clenching around him and begging for him to give you everything. He pushes himself up a little, just creates the tiniest amount of space between your bodies, and you miss it a little. Miss the feeling of skin on skin. But, he’s only doing it so that he can circle your clit. He just wants to take care of all that tension. You give control over to him completely. Let him set the pace. An embarrassingly short time later, you’re coming for the second time. He removes his hand but still fucks you through the high. 

When your body stops shaking, you realize that he’s stilled inside you. He’s barely even moving as he looks down at you.

“It’s okay, Nu, I’m not that sensitive yet,”  you assure him

“Thank fuck,” he whispers. 

His pace is fast and you reach up to run your nails down his back. That seems to get him like nothing else does. When you do it a second time, he hisses out and you know he likes it. Each time your nails find a new part of his skin, his thrusts stutter. You clench your pussy around his cock and that’s all he can handle. He’s coming undone. 

You return the favor through his high, lightly keeping the rhythm going and helping him settle his weight on top of you. His breathing is still heavy when he meets your eyes and gives you the gentlest kiss. Slowly, he slides out of you and rolls over. The next second, he’s up to dispose of the condom. He disappears into the bathroom and returns with a wet washcloth a few moments later, sitting on the edge of the bed to help you.

“Well, I guess I learned one thing,” you say when he gets up to take the washcloth back to the bathroom.

“What’s that?” he calls over his shoulder.

“All that confidence was definitely warranted,” you say through a light laugh. 

You can just feel him rolling his eyes. “And here I thought you’d have less to say after a good fuck.” 

“Nope, chatty as ever. No more tension, though,” you say. 

“I’m glad,” he says, but it looks like he actually means it.

You move to get out of the bed and look at the sheets. Probably in need of a change. “Hey, do you wanna throw these in the hamper and just sleep in my bed tonight?” 

“Are you sure that doesn’t break any rules?” he asks.

“No, we’ve done it…are you teasing me?” Your question morphs in the middle when you catch sight of his face. He can be such a shit for someone who acts like he’s chill all the time. 

“I would never tease you,” he says, faux seriousness lacing his voice.

“That’s a shame, I like being teased,” you toss back.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” he shrugs.

“Next time?” you wonder.

“Just go get in your bed, I’ll be there in a minute,” he says. 

It wasn’t like you agreed for sex with Wonwoo to be a one time thing. That felt like putting too many rules in place. Still, you’re not expecting it to happen again quite so quickly. You also genuinely didn’t realize he was home when you pulled out your vibrator. But, he was home and he barged into your room without knocking, pulled you to the edge of your bed, and fucked you hard. Made you wonder why you’d ever even consider using your vibe in the first place. 

The next time comes after another failed date. It kind of seemed like that was the recipe. Something goes wrong or you’re pent up and he’s there to let you use him. Although, he’s really using you just as much. You like to let him be a little rough with you. There’s something satisfying in the way he doesn’t treat you like he’s going to break you. It’s unquestionably the best sex you’ve ever had, but that’s your business. You don’t need to share that with the class. You do figure that it might be time to talk about some kinks and boundaries, though. It would be good to be on the same page. 

That seems to be how it goes for a while, at least. It’s mostly you needing something, Wonwoo being able to sense that, and helping you out. It doesn’t seem to ever start from him being the one to need something. He doesn’t even seem to be going out and bringing people home so much anymore. Not that you’re keeping track, you just can’t remember the last time he did. Or maybe he’s trying to only bring someone home when you’re not around. 

He definitely holds true to his promise to tease you. One night, after a really long week at work with a lot of little things going wrong, he asks if he can take his time with you. In hindsight, you should have known it meant that it was going to mean teasing. But, you agreed anyway, and let him set the pace. Instead of hard and fast, he takes everything slow. He brings you right to the edge over and over again without letting you have your release. It’s insane how well he seems to read your signs. It seems like he can tell you’re close before you can. That night, it feels like it goes on for hours before he finally lets you come. It’s the biggest mess you’ve ever made. A fact that you would be embarrassed about if Wonwoo hadn’t looked so proud. Still, it feels like you’re the one always working something out.

Until it doesn’t.

One night, you come back from a night out with friends and are rummaging through the cabinets looking for a snack. This is the thing you hate about living with Wonwoo. He’s taller than you and doesn’t think twice about using the higher cabinets. You, on the other hand, can’t reach them so easily. You’re on your tiptoes trying to reach something when you feel him press into your back. His hand comes up and grabs the box you were reaching for with ease. You press further back into him when your heels hit the floor again.

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” he mumbles into your hair. His hands find a place on your hips, holding you against him. This feels different from how every other time has started. 

“What do you mean?” you ask quietly into the silence of the apartment. 

He lets one hand slide down, quickly meeting the bare skin of your thigh. You know your skirt is a little shorter than normal, but the night seemed to call for it. “This. Did you go out hoping to bring someone home?” 

“Maybe,” you say, shivering a little at the way his breath tickles your ear. 

“Are you trying to tease me?” he asks. It comes across almost like a demand. 

You wiggle your ass against him a little before you answer. “I would never.” 

“Of course not,” he says. 

Everything that happens after that feels different. It’s never started like this. It’s been passionate, but it’s never been driven by so much raw desire. It’s never been the kind of sex where Wonwoo pushes your skirt up around your hips and pulls your underwear down to your ankles. Never been the kind of sex where he buries his face in your pussy while you grip the counter for support. Never been so desperate and needy and rushed. 

He makes you come twice on his tongue with your knees going so weak that you can barely stand before he even moves onto actually fucking you. You’re so weak by the time you finish that he has to help you to the bathroom to clean up before he tucks you into your bed. You’re so tired that you don’t even realize how intimate it is when you ask him to get into bed with you. 

The disappointment that sets in when you wake up to get some water in the early hours of the morning hits you hard. Entirely too hard for something that’s supposed to be free of feelings. Your bed feels a little empty without him taking up space. Which is really stupid because it’s not like that’s been something you’ve been doing all of the time. It’s not something you’re used to. But, there’s an unexpected comfort in him. Something that catches you completely off guard. As you drift back off to sleep, you resolve to deal with your feelings in the morning. 

That’s how you find yourself sitting on Minghao’s couch as he makes you both a cup of tea. He hasn’t asked about your roommate yet, but you know that it’s coming. He just wants to have everything he thinks you’ll need first. A few minutes later, he sets two cups of tea down next to the plate of snacks he threw together. If you weren’t in such a crisis, you’d have time to be envious over how pretty the presentation looked. 

“So things with Wonwoo have gotten awkward?” he asks without preamble. 

“Jesus, Hao, let me take a sip first, at least,” you groan. 

“I don’t want to say that I told you this was a bad idea…” he starts.

“You were the one who spilled the beans that I thought he was hot. This is your fault too,” you point out. 

“I told him that he wasn’t alone in thinking his roommate was hot. I didn’t tell you both to start fucking without realizing it was bound to blow up,” he says. 

“I know,” you sigh. 

“So, what’s going on?” he asks. 

Minghao is a lot of things. He can be a bit of an art snob. He’s that kind of impeccably dressed where he looks like he just stepped off a runway. He can appear a bit detached. But, he’s also one of the most thoughtful people you know. He’s complex and he cares for his friends more than he cares for himself most times. Both you and Wonwoo are among those he counts as his closest friends. So, he just listens as you lay out everything that’s happened since the first time you had sex. He doesn’t judge or interrupt. Patiently, he just waits as you get it all off your chest, including how you felt after last night. 

None of that really comes as a surprise. You know that he’s going to give you shit and be there for you at the same time. What does come as a surprise is what he says when you’re done laying out your issues.

“I haven’t wanted to set you up because I wasn’t sure you were in the right place for it, but I actually have a friend that I think you might hit it off with,” he says. “He’d definitely get you out of this whole Wonwoo funk you’re in so things can go back to normal.” 

“You wanna set me up?” you ask, surprised. 

“Yeah, I think it’d be good for you,” he says. 

“Okay, tell me about him,” you agree.

“He’s really kind. Kind of talks in a permanent pout, but it’s endearing somehow. He’s a giant softie at heart and he’s so incredibly loyal. He’s been talking about how he’s looking for something a little more serious. I think you’d like him,” Minghao says. 

“What’s his name, Hao?” you ask skeptically.

“Mingyu,” he answers and your eyes go wide.

“Mingyu? As in that hot model you’re friends with?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Minghao says evenly.

“Okay, you can see if he’s interested,” you agree.

It’s been a couple days since Minghao threw out the suggestion of setting you up with Mingyu. The two of you have exchanged a few messages and he does actually seem really nice. He’s also funnier than you expected him to be. When he asks if you want to get dinner the upcoming weekend, you find you’re a little bit excited. 

There’s only one issue. You feel like you need to tell Wonwoo. You know that he’s not going to care, but it still feels weird when you’ve been fucking around. Maybe Minghao was right and the whole thing was a terrible idea after all. It’s hard for you to tell him when you seem to keep missing each other, though. Lately, he’s been playing video games over at Vernon’s place more than normal. Even if they’re streaming, something feels weird. 

“Hey,” he calls out from the front door, snapping you from your thoughts. 

“Oh hey,” you answer, looking up at him. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he moves to head back to his room. “Everything okay?” 

He stops to look at you when you ask that question and his eyes still look a bit distant. “Yeah, fine. Why?” 

“I don’t know, you’re being short with me,” you say. 

He just shrugs. “I don’t have anything to say.” 

“Okay,” you say, drawing out the first syllable. “Well, I just wanted to tell you that Minghao set me up with his friend Mingyu and I was thinking I’d go out with him.” 

“You don’t have to tell me about your dates,” he says evenly.

“I just thought…” you start.

“We agreed,” he interjects. “Enjoy your date whenever you go.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly to his retreating figure. 

The whole point of agreeing to go out with Mingyu was to get things back to normal with Wonwoo. It was clear that you had gotten in over your head. Now, you’re wondering if things are going to be able to go back to normal at all. This isn’t your normal dynamic. You always shared stories about dates, hook-ups, anything and everything under the sun. Your other friends always said it was weird for the two of you and you just ignored them. Now, you feel like you’re in it alone. Maybe they’re right and it is weird.

Since it’s a little on the later side anyway, you decide to grab something from the kitchen and just head into your room. You can go to bed early and forget that whole conversation even happened. That’s probably for the best. It’ll be easier to get back to normal once you’re going on dates again. Once you stop fucking your roommate like you could have ever done that without forming some kind of feelings. 

It’s the middle of the night when you feel someone slide into bed around you. A familiar scent slips into your consciousness as an arm slides around your center. You nestle back into the chest and know for sure that it’s your roommate. The same man you’re trying hard to get over.

“What are you doing, Wonwoo?” you mumble in sleepiness. 

“Don’t go on the date with Mingyu,” he says. He sounds completely awake. 

“What?” you ask. Your brain is still foggy from sleep. 

“Don’t go out with anyone else,” he says. 

That makes you open your eyes as the words bounce around in your brain. You turn over to your other side so that you’re facing him. His hair is messy and all he’s wearing is a plain white t-shirt, but your heart still constricts a bit at the sight of him. 

“What do you want, Wonwoo?” you ask, voice thick with mental exhaustion.

“Exactly what I told you. I want you to turn Mingyu down,” he says.

“Why should I?” you challenge. 

“Because, well, we’ve got this…” he starts and fumbles over his words.

“We haven’t got anything. You’ve been avoiding me for days,” you point out. “Hell, I asked you to stay in bed with me after you fucked me in the kitchen and you couldn’t even make it til morning.” 

“I know, but I was scared that night because I realized I was starting to feel something,” he says. “And then Hao texted me to tell me he’d finally given your number to Mingyu…”

“Finally? What do you mean?” you asked.

“He’s been asking for your number for months,” Wonwoo says through somewhat gritted teeth. “So Minghao told me you’d agreed to be set up and I don’t know, I guess I just decided…”

“To avoid me?” you supply. 

“I didn’t know what to do. And I didn’t know how to process you not telling me,” he admits. 

“You weren’t around for me to tell you,” you point out. “We’ve been fucking. I wasn’t just gonna be like oh by the way, I’m going on a date.” 

“Please don’t go on a date with him,” Wonwoo asks again.

“I will consider not going if you can actually talk to me,” you say. 

“About what?” he asks. 

“Everything you’re feeling and why this whole let’s just be roommates that fuck was stupid,” you say. 

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he says immediately. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re not going to be able to go back to sleep, and send Wonwoo to the kitchen to get you something to drink. By the time he’s back, you’re sitting up in bed and ready to have an actual conversation. 

You stay up entirely too late talking about everything between the two of you. It’s a little hard to believe Wonwoo is so open with admitting how he feels. It’s harder to believe that Wonwoo knew he felt something for you before the very first time you had sex. In his mind, it was clear that he wasn’t just offering because the two of you were friends. He offered it as a way to gauge your own feelings. But, after that first time, he kind of figured it was just sex and tried to detach himself from it. That was when you started to feel something for him. 

When he’s done admitting his own mistakes and feelings, you figure that it’s time for you to own up to your own. It was really silly to just make up his side of the conversation about why he didn’t stay in bed with you that night. After all, the one thing you both stressed before sleeping together the first time was that you had to be honest in your communication. That’s what friends did and you were friends before anything else. As it turns out, you’re both way more on the same page than either of you realized. 

“You’re wrong about one thing, though,” you admit. 

“What’s that?” he asks.

“It was never just sex for me. I was totally done the first time you kissed me,” you share, picking at a thread on your comforter to avoid looking at him.

“I kissed you before we even had sex,” he points out, incredulous. 

“Yeah, turns out I’m not so good at the just friends who fuck thing,” you say with a shrug. 

“If I’d have known that was all it took, I’d have kissed you months ago,” Wonwoo grumbles.

That brings you up short. “Nu, just how long have you liked me?” 

“I don’t know, a while,” he says. 

You just shake your head at him before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Just talk to me next time.” 

“Can we go back to having sex now? I miss the feel of you,” he whines out. “And the taste.” 

“We literally fucked less than a week ago,” you point out to try and avoid the way it makes heat pool. 

“I could taste you every day and never get sick of it,” he says without any embarrassment. 

“Are we really giving this a try?” you ask.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Wonwoo says.

“I do, I’m just scared. What if we try a relationship and it doesn’t work?” you ask. “You’re one of my best friends. I don’t wanna lose that.” 

Wonwoo reaches out to tilt your head up. “We’ll just promise to be honest with each other. We can figure this out together.”

“Okay,” you agree.

“So, we’re doing this?” he confirms.

“Yeah, we’re doing this.” 

Just like that, you agree to take a leap with the only person that you’ve always trusted to catch you every time you fall. It feels scary, but also completely natural. 

i hope you enjoyed it! 💕

[itadorey]

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐀 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄!

pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: college au! in which you argue with the school's golden boy (in your defense, you didn't know!) and then find yourself unable to avoid him no matter where you go. genre: college au! strangers to lovers, humor notes: mentions of alcohol, college shenanigans, wingman geto!, shoko refuses to be gojo's wingwoman wc: ~6.5k

a shiver runs down your spine as you exit the stuffy house, the cool air a stark contrast to the warm atmosphere inside. 

you smile as you heard a loud cheer, excusing yourself as you squeeze past the two boys who were celebrating their beer pong win. you stumble slightly when one of the boys leans a little too far back, swaying drunkenly as he gives you a remorseful look and let out a small ‘sorry!’. bumping into something as you waved him off, you do your best to keep your drink from spilling, slightly leaning against whatever you had bumped into in an attempt to regain your balance.

"watch where you're going," a bored voice drawls, causing you to turn around. you look up to meet the person's eyes, instead being met with shiny, white hair framing a handsome face. you feel your face heat up as you study the stranger carefully, taking in his casual posture before observing the dark sunglasses that are perched on his nose. wait, sunglasses? at night? you realize you've been staring for too long when he suddenly leans down, looking you over before speaking. "what? you like what you see?"

his words snap you out of your thoughts, and you instinctively take a step back as you notice how close he is. his actions cause his sunglasses to slip down, giving you a glimpse of bright, blue irises that seem to glow in the dim lighting. you shake your head softly, clutching your cup to your chest nervously as you try to avoid eye contact with him.

"what? no!" you vehemently deny, frowning as you notice the amused smile on his face. "i was just going to say i'm sor—"

"i don't care," he cuts you off, his tone smug as he watches you stumble over your words. you balk for a few seconds, gathering your thoughts before scowling at him. he might've been pretty, that was quickly overshadowed by his irritating personality.

"you really should be more aware of your surroundings," he continues, glancing down at the cup held tightly between your hands. "or maybe you should stop drinking. i dunno, just an idea."

"what? this isn't even alcohol!" you protest, nose scrunching up as you look at him with distaste. you take a step forward, pointing a finger at him accusingly. "you were facing me! maybe you should've warned me before i bumped into you."

"sure it isn't," he replies smoothly, a wide grin on his face as he reaches out to grab your finger and wiggle it around. "and maybe, you're just a klutz."

you yank your hand out of his grasp, stumbling back slightly as you half-cross your arms, making sure your cup remains stable. you ignore the way your heart jumps at the contact. "i am not a klutz! and listen here sunglasses, this cup is full of water."

"you sure you're not drunk?" he asks, a condescending smirk on his face as he takes a step towards you. "you're stumbling an awful lot for someone who's sober. or is it because i make you nervous?"

"you know what?" you seethe, fed up with the white-haired stranger in front of you. "here, taste it."

before you can think your actions through, you toss your water in his face. "refreshing, isn't it?"

you're gone in an instant, and the stranger finds himself chuckling as he dries off his sunglasses. he grimaces when he realizes his shirt is also wet, tugging the fabric away from his skin as he heads inside to find his friends.

he doesn't know who you are, but he was now determined to find out.

a groan leaves your lips as you try to open your eyes, the sunlight streaming in through the window preventing you from doing so. the constant vibrations from your phone haven't stopped for the past ten minutes, and all you want to do is go back to sleep.

you raise an arm to block the sunlight as you fumble around for your phone, an eyebrow raising when you see that shoko was the one who had been calling you the entire time.

"hello?" you ask, confusion and exhaustion mixing to make your tone sluggish. you let your eyes close, turning onto your side as you snuggle into your comforter. "what's with you today? leave me alone."

"hey!" you hear shoko say, followed by another small greeting from utahime. "are you still in bed?"

"yeah," you reply, pulling the blanket over your head. "are you two together right now? thanks for inviting me. some friends you are."

"we tried calling!" utahime replies. you can hear shoko huff, presumably due to utahime pushing her away from the phone. "you didn't answer your phone. it's not our fault!"

"i know, i know," you mutter, a smile stretching across your face as you hear utahime apologize anyways. "but seriously, what's with you two? shoko usually gives up if i don't answer after the second ring."

"you mean you don't know?"

"know what?" you ask, a yawn escaping you as you feel your eyes lower. you're half-tempted to end the call, but you can't deny that you're curious as to what could've been so important that shoko would willingly call you so many times.

"you're famous," shoko says. you can hear the faint clicking of a lighter in the background, a brief distraction as you try to process shoko's words. "you're all over social media. at least, on the pages that post about our student body."

there's a moment of silence after her words, and you find yourself sitting up immediately. sleep has fully evaded you by now, and you throw the comforter off of yourself before sitting criss-cross-applesauce. "i'm what?"

"famous," shoko repeats, her voice a little muffled due to what you assume is a cigarette. you pull your phone away from your ear as it buzzes once again, making sure to put the call on speaker before checking your notifications. "check your messages, i just sent you a link."

the link leads you to a random instagram profile, full of videos and memes submitted by students at your university. you click the first video on the page, your jaw dropping when you realize it was you in the video. you and that stranger you had argued with the previous night.

"oh my god," you say, watching as the video plays out on your screen. you watch as the stranger leans in close to you, as you yell at him, as he grabs your finger, and as you toss your drink in his face. by the time the video restarts, you had placed your phone beside you, head in your hands as you chuckle in disbelief.

"this is awful!" you finally say, flopping back onto your mattress and squinting as the sun hits your eyes. "not just awful, this is humiliating!"

"yeah, for gojo," utahime snorts. "he needs to be humbled. if anything, you did everyone on this campus a favor."

"gojo?" you mutter, closing your eyes fully before letting out another groan and shooting back up. "is that his name? he was kinda cute. what a shame."

"you don't know who he is?" you hear shoko ask, a genuinely curious tone enveloping her words. you hum absentmindedly as you scroll through the comments, seeing that many of them agree with utahime's sentiment while many others seem to question your actions. "and ew!"

"no, do you?" you ask, choosing to ignore her sound of disgust.

"yes," both shoko and utahime say. you hear a glass clink against a table before shoko continues. "gojo is actually an old frie-"

"oh my god!" you shriek, interrupting shoko as you fling your phone against your pillow. you quickly grab it, apologies leaving your mouth as you try to calm down.

"what? what happened?" utahime yells, concern in her voice as she hears you laugh nervously.

"you're not going to believe this," you say, finally catching your breath. you feel boneless as you settle in between your pillows, not even trying to fight the sunlight anymore. "he just requested to follow me on instagram."

the rest of the weekend passes without incident, the follow request from gojo remaining untouched on your phone. by the time monday rolls around, you had hoped that everyone had forgotten about the incident, but based on the random high fives you get and whispers that follow you, you knew they hadn't.

"this is awful," you hiss, lowering your head even more as a group of girls walk behind you and giggle. the textbook in front of you isn't making any sense to you, causing you to slam it shut and push it away before resting your head on the table. "i can't go anywhere without hearing something about me and gojo."

shoko hums quietly, too caught up in her medicinal chemistry textbook to pay you any attention. you sigh pathetically, resting your arms underneath your head before giving her a pleading look. when she doesn't react, you sigh louder, earning a chuckle from her before she leans back and puts her pen down.

"what did you expect? he's one of the most popular people on this campus," shoko reminds you, running a hand through her hair before tying it up in a messy ponytail. "i'm more surprised about the fact that you didn't know who he was to begin with."

"i don't keep up with school gossip," you mutter, weakly reaching out for shoko's water bottle. she gives you a knowing smile before leaning forward, grabbing the bottle and pulling it towards her. you whine as she opens it, watching as she raises it to her lip to take a sip. the two of you are caught off guard when the bottle is yanked out of her hands, water sloshing out and landing on the table. you hurry to grab a napkin from your backpack, wincing as shoko slams her hands on the table.

"what the hell, satoru!" she exclaims, irritation clear in her tone as she yells at the newcomer.

"who the fuck is satoru?" you ask, humming in delight when you find a paper towel. you proceed to kick your backpack back under the table, placing the paper towel over the spill and letting it absorb the liquid. you can hear shoko snort at the question, and you raise your eyes to see her placing her now sealed water bottle back on the table.

"awww you don't remember me?" satoru asks, placing his palms on the table before leaning towards you. "i'm heartbroken."

his voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you tense up when you realize that you recognize it. you look up at satoru to meet bright blue eyes, familiar, dark sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose. there's a teasing smile on his face and you can feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you stare at him. "oh... you're gojo."

"satoru," he corrects, his smile growing even wider when he sees your flustered state. "i like it when you say my name."

you ignore the way he's looking at you, your stomach turning as you simply nod and turn away to face shoko. "isn't, uh, isn't satoru a childhood friend of yours?"

"i sure am!" gojo replies, sliding into the seat next to shoko and throwing an arm around her shoulders. he pulls her in close, swaying side to side with her as she gives you a bored look.

"he sure is," shoko says tiredly, turning to give gojo an annoyed stare. she flicks his forehead, shoving his arm off of her as he yelps. she rolls her eyes as she ignores him, picking up her pen and scanning her textbook once more.

"why didn't you tell me?" you hiss, leaning in close to give her a glare. she smiles when she notices your expression, tapping the tip of your nose with her pen and chuckling when you shake your head and lean back in your chair.

"we tried," shoko says, rolling her eyes. "you threw your phone across the room when you got that follow request on instagram, remember?"

your eyes widen in surprise at her words, mortification clear on your face as you glance at gojo. "i did not throw my phone!"

"you threw your phone? all the way across your room?" gojo asks, snickering at your reaction. he leans forwards, placing his elbows on the table and resting his cheek on his palm. "so i do make you feel all flustered, huh? i'm flattered, although, i'm a little hurt that you haven't accepted my request yet."

there's a pout on gojo's face as you stare him down, grumbling incoherently before you take your phone out from your back pocket. you can hear him giggling as you open up instagram, and you waste no time before pulling up your follow requests and turning your phone towards him. he raises an eyebrow when you smile, watching as your finger hovers over the "accept" button before you switch and press "decline".

"there, now you don't have to keep thinking about it," you say, watching as gojo's face falls at your actions. you stand up before he can say anything else, pocketing your phone and grabbing your wallet before glancing at shoko. "i'm gonna go get a bottle of water. do you want anything?"

shoko shakes her head, and you simply hum before turning to leave, freezing when you heard gojo speak once again. "i should head out too, it's probably in my best interest to leave before you come back with water. you know, in case you spill it on me again."

gojo's shit-eating grin only widens when shoko can't hold back her laughter, causing you to send them both a withering glare. you stomp off with an angry huff, and gojo can hear you muttering under your breath as he watches you walk all the way down the hall. he doesn't look away until you turn a corner, only then turning to face shoko, who has a skeptical look on her face. he gives her a knowing look, eyes pleading as he leans his head against her shoulder. "they're cute. really cute. can i get their number?"

"i'm not helping you," she says, snorting softly before digging through her backpack for her airpods. she manages to put one earbud in before gojo speaks again.

"i'll win them over," he states confidently, standing up and pushing his chair in. he gives shoko a kiss on the head before walking away, ignoring her as she laughs at his words.

"yeah, good luck with that."

geto watches amusedly as you trudge into your shared chemistry class, not even bothering to greet him before slumping in your chair and resting your head on the desk.

"rough day?" he asks, raising an eyebrow in concern when you groan in response. he sits quietly as he observes you for a few seconds, and you sigh as you sit up, realizing that he's waiting for your answer.

"more like rough weekend," you finally say, eyeing him skeptically. "c'mon, don't tell me you haven't seen the video."

geto laughs at your words, his bangs swaying as he turns in his seat to fully face you. heat rises up in your cheeks as he gazes at you with a smile, and you fidget nervously as you try to keep your composure. it's no secret that geto suguru is attractive, and having his attention focused solely on you is almost too much to handle.

"i did, i just figured i'd save you the embarrassment and not bring it up."

"how considerate of you," you mutter, smiling softly before taking out your laptop.

"hey, do you have a pen i could borrow?" geto asks, searching through his backpack before sighing and putting it on the back of his chair. "i have a sneaking suspicion that my roommate stole mine."

"yeah, of course," you respond, rummaging through your pencil pouch before pulling out a sleek, black pen. "is this one fine?"

"that's perfect, thank you," geto says. before he can grab the pen, it's yanked out of your hand, and you look up to see gojo standing beside you.

"gojo," you greet dryly, trying to ignore the smirk on his face. "do you make it a habit to always snatch things out of people's hands?"

"i can't help it," he says with a laugh, pulling his sunglasses down slightly as he twirls the pen. "that irritated look you give me is so cute, i just can't resist!"

your face twists up in embarrassment, a huff leaves your lips before you reach up to snatch the pen back and hand it to geto. you refuse to look at gojo in fear of letting him see your expression as you settle into your seat, but a sudden thought has you turning to face him when you realize you had never seen in that class before.

"wait, why are you here?"

"i'm in this class, silly," gojo replies, reaching down to tap your nose the way shoko had earlier. you swat his hand away, your mouth twisting into a scowl as geto snorts.

"no you're not," you say, eyebrows furrowing as you give him a confused glance.

"yes i am."

"no, you're not."

"yes. i. am."

"then how come i've never seen you here before?" you ask, crossing your arms as you give him a smug look.

"well that's because—"

"good morning, class," yaga masamichi says, cutting off gojo's response as he walks in. the professor sets all his stuff down before turning on the projector, grabbing his laptop to set up the day's lesson. "today we will be going over new mechanisms so make sure you—"

yaga goes silent as his gaze lands on you, and you shuffle nervously as you wait for him to say something.

"gojo," yaga states, mouth pressed in a firm line as he stares at the white-haired boy. you sigh in relief when you realize his stare wasn't directed at you. "what a nice surprise. i never thought i'd see you here."

"ah, c'mon yaga," gojo replies, a charming smile on his face as he tucks his hands into his pockets. "i care about my studies. besides, it's not like i've skipped every single lesson."

"yes, you have," yaga says dryly, facial expression unchanging as silence engulfs the classroom. a minute passes before he let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand down his face before waving him off. "just take a seat, gojo. quickly, please."

gojo salutes yaga, giving him a cheeky grin before sauntering over to the seat directly behind geto. you do your best to ignore him throughout the lesson, dutifully taking notes and only glancing at him once when you bend down to grab your water bottle. you're caught off guard when you realize that gojo has been staring at you the entire time, pen in hand but notebook closed as he focuses on you instead of yaga. he shoots you a wink as soon as you meet his eyes, and you pretend not to notice before turning back around. geto doesn't miss the way you fight back a small smile.

you can feel gojo's eyes burning into you for the rest of the lesson.

the class ends with yaga announcing a new project, and you wait with bated breath as he reads off the list of partners he had prepared in advance. you can't stop the sigh of relief that comes out of you when you hear your name followed by geto's.

"so, your place or mine?" geto asks, gathering all his materials before placing them into his backpack. you open your mouth to reply before closing it quickly, your eyebrows furrowing as you think about the messy state your apartment is currently in. sensing your hesitance, geto chuckles, grabbing his backpack and standing up before speaking. "mine it is. i'll send you the address later and we can figure something out okay?"

"sounds good!" you respond, smiling sheepishly as you duck your head. you wave goodbye to geto, turning to hurry out of the classroom when you notice gojo approaching. "just text me and let me know!"

"so... they'll be coming over?" gojo asks, sidling up to geto as you walk off. his eyes never leave your form until you disappear from sight. he turns to geto with a smile, resting his head on geto's shoulder while pushing up his sunglasses to look at him. "say, can i get their number?"

"not a chance. just talk to them and ask," geto says, laughing at gojo's audacity before pushing him off and leaving the room.

gojo's left standing in the middle of all the desks, a small smile appearing on his face as he realizes that you'd be over at geto's apartment sometime soon. the very same apartment that he shares with gojo.

"gojo."

his train of thought is interrupted by yaga, who is standing near the door with his bag slung over his shoulder. all of his supplies have been packed up and he sports an annoyed expression as he looks at gojo.

"yes?"

"get out of my classroom."

"yessir!"

it's been a couple of days since the project has been assigned, and other than gojo's sudden appearance in class, not much has happened. you still do your best to ignore his presence, focusing on yaga or even geto to try and remain oblivious to his persistent staring.

but you can't avoid him forever, that much is clear as the door to geto's apartment opens and you find yourself face to face with gojo satoru. your face remains blank as he greets you with a call of your name, merely watching him as he leans against the doorway and gives you a giddy grin.

"what a surprise to see you here!" gojo crows, head tilting down to give you a peek at his eyes. you find yourself looking away, refusing to interact with him as he pulls you inside.

"what are you doing here?" you finally ask, slipping your shoes off and taking a few steps back when you realize just how close to gojo you are. the hallway isn't that wide to begin with, and even pressed up against the opposite wall, you can feel him brushing up against you as he turns to close the door.

you look through your phone as you wait for geto, only looking up when you feel gojo step closer to you. you shrink into the wall behind you, tensing up when gojo's hand lands on the wall next to your head as he leans in, his other hand plucking your phone from your grasp. you look up at him as he fiddles with your phone, reaching for it and scowling when he holds it up out of reach. you never realized just how much taller than you he was.

you give up on trying to retrieve your phone, crossing your arms and leaning back as you choose to study him instead. you're reminded of the night at the party as you let your eyes trace his face, taking in the way his hair falls over his face and cast shadows that only seem to emphasize the color of his eyes. you're so distracted as you study his nose and lips that you completely miss the words he says.

"i live here. duh!"

there's a moment of silence as you keep your eyes on him, and you rapidly blink away your dazed expression when you see a teasing smirk on gojo's face.

"w-what?"

"i live here!" he repeats, holding out your phone. you take it from his grasp, inhaling sharply when he invades your personal space and points at your screen. "oh! also, i added myself into your contacts and made sure to send myself a message so that i have your number as well."

"you live here?" you ask dumbly, briefly looking down at your phone to see the message thread. you notice that gojo has saved his contact information under "satoru <3" and you make a mental note to change it later.

"yes. unfortunately, he does."

the two of you turn your heads to look at geto, who stands near the living room with his arms crossed. there's an amused smile on his face as he takes in the scene before him, and he smirks at gojo when he notices just how close to you he is.

a weak laugh leaves your lips as you shake your head, looking back and forth between gojo and geto. "of course he does. so you're telling me that the two of you are—"

"we're roommates."

"we're soulmates!"

"we are not," geto states, refuting gojo's claim.

"you're right," gojo concedes, letting his arm fall from the wall to rest around your shoulders. he pulls you into his side as you let out a surprised squeak, grinning down at you as he guides you further into the apartment. "actually, i think we're soulmates."

"we're really not," you mutter weakly, although geto notices that you seem to avoid gojo's gaze. you send him a pleading look, and geto simply shrugs before turning and heading into the kitchen.

"would you like something to drink?" he asks, opening the refrigerator and bending down to grab a couple of water bottles. his question goes unanswered as gojo leads you away from him, taking your backpack in one hand as he continues to speak. geto doesn't miss the panicked look you send his way and he closes the fridge with a chuckle as he follows after the two of you.

"i dunno," gojo says, placing your backpack down before waving his hand casually. "we meet at a party, you turn out to be friends with my childhood friends, we're in the same class, and on top of all that, you end up at my apartment after being randomly paired with my roommate. it's like fate is trying to tell us something!"

geto can't help but snort at gojo's hopeless attempt at flirting, earning a dirty look from his roommate. he doesn't think he's ever seen gojo try this hard to get someone's attention, and the only thing that makes the entire situation funnier is that despite your attraction to gojo, you seem determined to avoid interacting with him at all costs. geto wonders if it's because of the party incident.

"pardon the interruption, but we really have to work on that assignment" geto sayss, taking a seat on the couch and patting the spot next to him. he smiles warmly at you as you sit next to him, your thigh brushing against his as he sends gojo a smug look. gojo merely scowls in return, his eyes zeroing in on the casual touches between the two of you. "i'm not necessarily kicking you out, satoru, but i do ask for some peace and quiet while we work."

gojo gives geto a sarcastic thumbs up, smiling as he grabs the first book he sets his sights upon and takes a seat on the armchair across from you. he opens the book to a random page, pretending to read as he watches you and geto set up your work space. he ignores everything but you for the most part, averting his eyes and flipping a page of two whenever you glance up to meet his eyes.

"here you go."

you're thirty minutes into the project when gojo finally looks at geto, his eyes narrowing as he watches his best friend hand you an already open water bottle. geto meets gojo's gaze with a smirk as he leans back, his arm laying on the couch right behind you. if you settled into your seat any further, you'd have his arm around you.

"oh! thank you," you say, eyes wide in mild surprise when you realize the bottle is already open. you give geto a soft smile, taking a sip before he takes it back to close it. "you're so sweet, geto. i always have trouble opening those water bottles."

"it's really no problem," he replies, sending gojo a sly look as he opens your textbook. "anything for you."

gojo can't help the way he clenches his fist, the rustling of pages drawing your attention to him. you notice him glaring at geto, and you look at the death grip he has on his book before turning to give geto a confused look.

"what's wrong with him?" you whisper, leaning in close so gojo won't hear. geto holds back a laugh as he also leans in, amused at the fact that you're simply making his mission of making gojo jealous that much easier.

"i don't know. many things," geto confesses, his lips dangerously close to the shell of your ear. you breathe out a laugh in response, blinking rapidly when a strand of hair falls into your eye. "let me get that for you."

you look at geto as he tucks the piece of hair behind your ear, his fingertips brushing the side of your face as he does so. he's closer to you than you thought and you take a moment to admire his features before smiling. "thanks, geto!"

"you're wel—"

geto's response is cut short as gojo slams his book onto the table. he proceeds to shoot geto a dirty look as he jumps out of his seat, storming out of the living room as he mutters something under his breath.

"now what's wrong with him?" you ask, eyebrows raised in disbelief as you hear him borderline slam his door shut. you turn back to geto when he starts laughing, the noise soft and quiet as he presses a hand to his mouth. he shifts away from you, shaking his head as he gives you a knowing look.

"you really don't know, do you?" he questions, crossing his arms as he studies you.

"know what?"

"that he likes you," geto reveals, unable to stop his laughter when he sees the shocked look on your face. your lips part in surprise as your eyebrows get even higher, and you can't help the way your gaze shift towards the armchair gojo had been sitting in before you school your expression back into one of disinterest.

"no he doesn't" you reply, shaking your head at geto. "he just likes being obnoxious!"

"i saw the two of you at the party, you know," geto confesses. "i was going outside to get gojo so we could head out but then i saw him speaking with you and well, take it from me, he was definitely trying to flirt with you."

you look at geto's face for a few seconds, laughing nervously when you realize he's telling the truth. "well he's shit at it, if we're being honest."

"i know," geto says solemnly. there's a brief pause before the two of you break out into giggles. "listen, i know he's obnoxious and annoying and irritating and he doesn't seem to have many redeeming qualities."

geto pauses as you laugh at his words.

"but," he continues, smiling fondly as he looks towards gojo's room. "he's a good guy. trust me, i've known him almost our entire lives. go talk to him."

there's hesitance in your steps as you walk down the hall. you turn to look at geto before you knock, being met with a thumbs up and a smile. you take a deep breath before knocking on the door, pulling your hand back when it swings open. gojo's eyes have barely met yours before he reaches out and grabs your wrist, tugging you into his room before closing the door.

"what's up?" he asks casually, leaning against the wall as you take a look around. his room is clean, neatly laid out with an obscenely large bed and a polished, wooden desk facing his window. you take in all his posters and knick-knacks, smiling softly when you see a small figurine of a fluffy, white cat napping.

"is it true?" you ask, turning back around to face him. he avoids your gaze, and you realize that for once, he's not wearing his sunglasses.

"what is?"

you snort at his question, taking a step towards him and trying to catch his eye. there's a teasing smile on your face when he finally looks at you, and hold your hands behind your back as you get even closer. "that you like me?"

the silence seems to drag on for way too long, and you're contemplating walking out of gojo's room when he finally speaks.

"yes! okay, yeah, i think you're cute!" gojo proclaims, walking past you to take a seat on his bed. "i'll admit, at first i was annoyed because i thought you were someone who had come out to flirt with me and i just wanted to be alone but then you started talking and you were so easy to tease and you looked all cute when you got worked up and i couldn't help myself so i just kept making it worse!"

gojo pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing. "and you actually argued back and you didn't just let me talk to you like that and it was so refreshing because usually no one even tries to go against me and i just thought you were really pretty and i didn't want you to leave."

"what the actual fuck is wrong with you?" you ask, stifling a laugh as he shoots you an offended glare. "that's such a childish way to get someone's attention. has that ever actually worked for you?"

"well now that you mention it, no it hasn't," gojo admits, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "but then again, not a lot of people tend to reject me."

his sheepish tone lets you know he's not trying to be cocky, he's just stating a fact. you run a hand down your face in exasperation.

"well i couldn't even tell that you were flirting! you're so stupid," you state, rolling your eyes as he puts a hand up to his heart with a dramatic swoon. "you're lucky you're so cute."

gojo is up within seconds, approaching you quickly and placing his hands on your hips. he pulls you closer to him, and your hands go to his chest as you try and keep some sort of distance between the two of you. you look up to see him grinning at you, a faint blush staining his cheeks.

"so you think i'm cute?"

"shut up!" you groan, letting your forehead fall against his chest in an attempt to avoid his eyes. "you know you are."

gojo laughs at your mumbled words, one hand leaving your waist in order to hook a finger under your chin. he tilts your face up, chuckling when he sees the embarrassed look on your face.

"i do," he concedes, laughing when you scowl. "but it just feels so good to hear that coming from you."

you freeze when you see gojo glancing at your lips, and you feel your heart pounding as he draws closer and closer.

"gojo?" you say quietly, more of a call of attention than a question.

"satoru," he corrects, the single words now drawing your attention to his lips.

"satoru," you repeat dazedly, eyes fluttering shut as gojo's nose nudges yours. you draw in a shuddering breath, and gojo leans his forehead against yours as he waits for you to continue, his eyes slipping shut as well. he can feel your fingers grasping at his shirt, and he wonders if you can feel how hard his heart is beating. "i'm sorry. you know, for dumping my water all over you at that party."

gojo laughs, his nose bumping against yours once more as he does so. "that's okay. i know how you can make it up to me. if it's okay with you, of course."

you've barely breathed out a 'yes' before gojo's lips are pressed against yours. its a soft kiss, only lasting a few seconds before he pulls away. there's a moment where gojo looks at you, his eyes soft before his gaze drops to your lips once again. in an instant his hands have left your waist, choosing to cup your cheeks instead and bring you impossibly close to him as he goes in for another kiss. your fingers tighten around his shirt even more as your lips meet, trying to pull him closer as he deepens the kiss.

he guides you backwards until his knees hit his bedframe, causing him to take a seat. he pulls you down with him until you're sitting in his lap, and one hand leaves your face to pull you into his chest. his fingers burn as they stroke your cheek, and his gentle touch combined with the way his lips are moving against yours is almost enough to make you feel dizzy.

"sorry to interrupt!"

the two of you break away to see geto standing in the doorway, a surprised look on his face as he stares at the two of you.

"suguru!" gojo hisses, venom in his tone as he glares at his roommate. "get! out!"

"sorry, but we have a project to do that's worth 25% of our grade," geto says, not sounding very apologetic at all. in fact, the smug grin on his face tells you that he seems quite proud of himself in that moment.

"whatever," gojo mumbles, hiding his face in your shoulder to avoid looking at geto. "give us five minutes."

"how tragic that five minutes is all you need," geto says, not missing a beat. his response earns a laugh from you and gojo gives you a look of betrayal before flinging one of his many pillows at geto.

"get out!"

"okay, okay," geto says, holding his hands up in surrender as he backs away. "i know when i'm not wanted."

"clearly you don't," gojo mutters bitterly, causing geto to laugh loudly before he closes the door behind him. gojo's change in attitude is almost instant, and he turns to you with a smirk before pressing a kiss to your neck. "now where were we?"

outside, geto smirks to himself as he takes out his phone, opening his messages to his previous conversation with shoko. he wastes no time in sending her the picture he had managed to capture before making his presence known, the image clearly showing you sitting on gojo's lap. it's less than a minute before his phones buzzes with notifications, and he finds himself chuckling at shoko's words.

new messages (3) from: shoko

omg! i didn't think he had the balls to actually do it i guess i'm happy for them or whatever. fucking finally.

reblogs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!

[httpsserene]

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟰: 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗲𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗼 / 𝗺𝗮𝘅 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗺𝘂𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you can't remember the last time you've gotten to spend more than three days at a time with both of your boyfriends. you understand how demanding their job is but, you just can't remember the last time they really exhausted you...pleasurably. and then winter break comes around , and they have all the time they need to make you lose your mind. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. overstimulation. light dom/sub. quickies. cunnilingus. vaginal fingering. vaginal sex. unsafe sex. safewords. creampie. come eating. squirting. hand job. masturbation. dacryphilia. mention of taking explicit photos. praise kink. aftercare. set after the 2023 season. no beta we die like carlos’ fuel system. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 6.5k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: daniel ricciardo/max verstappen x black!fem!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: take me away • daniel caesar

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: set post 2023 season. mm, i luv me some danny caesar–i got to see him live this year 😛 i was originally gonna pick a classic country song in true american fashion to show some patriotism for the austin gp—as a black woman, i can attest that we love our country bangers—but take me away just fit perfectly. and daniel is definitely taking yall somewhere this upload—max and reader are just along for the ride 💀. i tried to write sub!max, i think it came across well, and ahead of time i sincerely apologize to the maxiel truthers…i think i may have slayed. i will not be paying for your therapy < 3 🙂 (and if you think i changed the summary, stfu no i didn’t 😌) enjoy y'all !!!!

do you want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!

cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss

to see what kinktober uploads have already been completed or to see what's coming next check my f1 kinktober masterlist ! for all of my works see my general masterlist!

this past racing season was long; daniel knows that well; he went from being the third driver at red bull, to having a seat at alphatauri, to breaking his wrist–and still managed to recover to drive in the last five races. max can also account for how lengthy this season was; he dominated every race illustrated by his 10 consecutive wins, won his team the constructor’s championship 16 races in, won his third world driver’s championship the following week through a sprint race, and still had to stick around for five more races. but, daniel and max both know who has the best firsthand account of how prolonged and draining the formula one 2023 season was.

you.

daniel knows that you’re they’re biggest supporter; you’re a sweetheart. and while you haven’t vocalized your displeasure for the twenty-three races this year–he can feel your dejection. at the start of the season, everything was seen through rose-colored glasses; max was winning, the three of you were having champagne-drenched celebrations in hotel rooms–so filthy the poor staff probably had to incinerate the sheets. you were satisfied; and daniel was with you whenever red bull didn’t want to parade him around at a grand prix. but as the months progressed and as daniel got a seat, the demanding nature of formula one was observable. the longer season had stolen them from you–they were flying from country to country, the gaps between races only long enough to only have them home for two or three days at a time, before they had to fly out and adjust to a new time zone. leaving your two boyfriends unable to make a mess of you as often as you all crave in doing so. phone sex is hot–but it can lose its luster over almost nine months. they’ve been neglecting you–even though every time either one of them suggests that notion, you disagree vehemently– but, it’s the truth.

they pride themselves on the fact that they used to make you beg for them to stop drawing orgasms out of you...but recently your sex life has consisted of dry-humping like horny teenagers, frantic pussy-eating and cock-sucking, and quickies in the shower. so, max and daniel formulated a plan.

after abu-dhabi, the three of you returned home to max’s monaco flat and fell into bed. you’re comfortably laying completely on top of daniel, front to front, and your head is tucked under his chin, turned to the side to face max, who’s settled on his side facing the two of you, arm draped over your back, with his hand squeezing at your waist randomly as he talks to daniel. you’re fighting sleep and losing; eyelids fluttering closed every now and then against your will, breath slowing as you edge closer and closer to sleep. you're floating on the brink of unconsciousness until you're dragged away at the soft sounds of daniel and max rousing you.

“there ya’ go, honey,” murmurs daniel, his voice rumbling in his chest underneath you, “we got somethin’ to ask you, before we let ya sleep, sweet girl.”

max’s hand shifts to rub at the length of your back, and you clear the sleepy haze from your mind enough to nod your head and hum softly in question, “m’kay.”

daniel gently pulls your head from his neck with his tattooed hand on your nape, making sure your pretty eyes, foggy with sleep, make eye contact, “how do ya’ feel about spending december in australia, hmm? a sunny christmas–on the ricciardo ranch; you, me, max and our families–ain’t that perfect, honey?”

max smiles softly at your pout–you’re never one to appreciate having your sleep interrupted–before adding on to daniel’s question, “jimmy and sassy can stay with the sitter; i already spoke to her a few days ago. she’d be thrilled to have them, so you don’t have to worry about where’d they stay. i don’t think i can get pet passports in three days nor do i want to see how two bengal cats act on a private jet for twenty hours.”

a few seconds pass, max and daniel searching your face for any hint to a possible answer. you blink a few times, before you murmur faintly, “‘m okay with it…can i go to sleep now?”

max laughs tenderly, guiding your head back into daniel’s neck before he scoots closer and rests his own head on the australian’s shoulder, “yeah, mijn schatje. sleep well.”

daniel wraps the arm pinned under max around him, pulling him closer to drop a kiss on his forehead. his other hand falls on your back over the dutchman’s, caressing it softly. he holds the two of you as tight as he possibly can, the big grin on his face only seen by the ceiling. he has his whole world in his arms right now, but come christmas time, his whole universe–his family–will be under the same roof back home in australia.

the next three days are filled with an absurd amount of packing. max and daniel have five suitcases between the two of them—you have five for yourself; it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. the night before your flight, they watch you pace around the bedroom making sure there’s nothing important you’re forgetting. jimmy and sassy had been dropped off at the sitter’s, and max and daniel had already moved all the luggage to the entryway for the early flight. the two drivers had stopped trying to convince you to join them in the bed and cuddled together, knowing it’s best to let you work out your anxieties now so you don’t overthink on the flight.

as you start combing through the closet again, max whispers to daniel, “we could fuck the nerves out her right now, danny.”

daniel smacks max’s hip, smirking when he whines quietly, “no, maxy. she has to sit for an almost twenty hour flight, we can’t make that any more difficult for her.” the dutchman huffs, unhappy with the answer even though he knows it's the logical course of action.

dan continues, “remember: as soon as we get to the ranch and settle in—we'll be alone for a week before my parents come ‘n join us. we’ll have plenty of time to take her apart and put her back together.”

daniel was wrong. after y’all landed in perth, and made the drive out to the countryside—it was apparent that the three of you weren’t the only ones at the ranch. his parents had come early to make sure the ranch was prepped and fully stocked for your vacation, and prepared a home cooked dinner to welcome you in. dan can’t help his big smile from becoming a permanent fixture on his face as he watches his mom and dad fawn over you and max. grace pulls you into the house, instructing the men to bring the luggage inside while she gets to fixing you a plate heaping with barbecue. joe affectionately calls max ‘son’ with a tight hug, congratulating him on his third championship before they all make their way into the house.

the original plan is put on the back burner as daniel watches you and max bloom under the loving attention from his parents. the days passed quickly, all of them spent horsing around the farm; horseback riding, dirt biking, atv riding, making a trip out to the beach, eating good food, and sleeping well. dan sees max’s pale skin pinkening and your melanated complexion glowing with warmth from the caress of the australian sun. your afternoon naps are taken underneath the warm rays, stretching out in any slice of sun you can catch, bathing in it like a cat. max and dan do as many things as they can shirtless attempting to get their tan in as quick as possible—dan tans gracefully, max, on the other hand, burns like a lobster first before his tan becomes apparent.

they fucked you on the second day after your arrival, but not exactly how they were hoping too. it’s still a relatively short affair—for their standards, at least. while it quieted the need within you, it didn’t completely satisfy the urge for any of you. daniel had to coax you into biting a pillow to muffle your squeals, and have max nearly choke on his tattooed fingers to quiet his whining—dan himself clenched his jaw so tightly to prevent his own moans from escaping that he’s surprised he didn’t crack a tooth. he loves his parents, but he’s genuinely going to snap if he doesn’t get to ruin you and max without worrying if they could hear how he makes you and max beg for him.

on the fifth day, you wear your first sundress to lunch and max pulls daniel in the kitchen to muffle a scream into his chest. 

“dan, baby—i love your parents,” max starts, his eye twitching, “you know i do! but, i can’t go another day without hearing her scream for me—for us.”

they’re only men. very desperate men. and you had the nerve to parade yourself in this flowy, yellow, strapless sundress at a meal they have to suffer through. they can’t even tear it off of you after, because dan’s parents have a chance of overhearing. but, what forces the australian to kindly kick his parents out of the house, is how you fail to stop yourself from drooling over them playing around in the pool—struggling to continue speaking with his mom as you sit on the pool’s ledge. 

before dinner, dan showers by himself first, changing into fresh clothes. he then ushers you and max into the shower, ‘to rinse off the chlorine and sweat from the day,’ he says. but, he could care less about that. as soon as he hears the shower start, he practically sprints to the kitchen to see his mom and dad put the finishing touches on the burgers they fixed up.

daniel skids to a stop in the doorway, leaning against it in faux-relaxedness, and says, “howdy.” it’s silent for a minute; his dad stares at him blankly, and his mom eventually breaks and speaks plainly, “what is it, danny?”

daniel gasps in mock-disbelief, “why d’ya always think i want something from you? i can’t just be greeting my wonderful, loving, and understanding parents?”

grace stares at him, not fooled, “are you just saying ‘hi’?”

daniel stutters aimlessly looking to his dad for help, but joe just shrugs at him in a ‘you did this to yourself, son’ manner. 

“maybe! well, no, actually…” daniel sulks, slinking into the kitchen, and resting against the counter next to his mom.

his mom hums knowingly, and gestures at him to start speaking.

“uh, so, you know i love having y’all around, right, and uh, it’s nice y’know—i mean, i don’t see ya’ as often as i want to, but uh—don’t get me wrong, you’re my parents, but uhm—“

joe sighs, “daniel, cut to the chase, please.”

daniel groans, before he leans his head back to look at the ceiling, “fine. look—we just expected to at least have one week to ourselves when we got here. not that y’all being here to surprise us is bad! you know that. but, uhm…we just made plans, i guess. a-and we kind of can’t do it, because, well…”

grace washes her hands as daniel continues to ramble through an unnecessary apologetic explanation. she turns the water off, drying her hands on a towel, and turns to her husband, pointing at daniel while rolling her eyes teasingly, before she cuts her son off, “daniel, we can leave tonight.”

daniel stops, head dropping to look at his mom in shock, “what?”

“we can leave tonight, if that’s what you’re trying to ask. your father and i don’t mind,” grace smiles gently, “we weren’t supposed to stay for this long anyways, we were just trying to get the ranch prepared for y’all, and you know how enamored we are with your girl and boy; we overstayed our welcome. we can go and come back a week before christmas with the rest of the family, danny.”

daniel perks up, “you guys don’t have to leave for that long, i don’t wanna kick you out—“

“daniel, please,” joe scoffs, walking over to clap daniel on the back, “you’re not kicking us out. we’ll be back on the seventeenth, alright. hopefully, that gives y’all enough time to work out your frustrations. we really don’t want to overhear or see anything—“

daniel pales, “okAY, thank you, yes—please don’t comeback until as late as y’all want, jesus christ. wait—did you hear the other night?! ohmygod…they’re going to kill me.”

joe and grace laugh, “no, we didn’t hear anything, danny. we just figured from how they were following you around in the morning—max couldn’t even look us in the eye, son.”

daniel groans, embarrassed, “don’t tell them anything about this okay? they’ll break up with me if they know i asked you to leave so i could have sex with them.”

his parents' laughter only gets louder, but they agree eventually after they indulge in teasing their son a little more.

dinner is pleasant; you and max remain unaware of the ricciardo’s intervention, enjoying the well-cooked meal and lighthearted conversation. when everyone’s stomach is full and the conversation quiets, grace and joe break the news that they unfortunately have to return to perth. you and max sadden, trying to convince daniel’s parents to stay a little longer—max’s eyes fail to hide his eagerness at their announcement, even though his voice manages to be completely sincere. daniel watches as his parents formulate a fake excuse about their departute before he gently reminds you two, “they’ll be back for christmas, babes. you’ll see them again.”

the two of you calm at daniel’s statement, and walk his parents out to the car, exchanging hugs and kisses before they drive off back to the city. daniel leads you two back into the house after you’ve watched his parents disappear down the road, and the shift in energy as soon as the door locks is missed by you.

you mindlessly amble back to the dining table, stacking the emptied plates and glasses and wandering into the kitchen to clean them. as soon as you turn the sink faucet on, a strong body pushes against your back, and presses you against the edge of the counter as their hand reaches around you to shut the water off. you turn around to tell-off whichever boyfriend did that, but before you can get any words out, you’re pulled into a filthy kiss.

your shocked gasp is muffled by max’s lips, and you half-heartedly attempt to pull away, but the dutchman chases your lips, not allowing you to stop. you give in with a sigh, allowing max to continue kissing you. he buries one hand in your hair, tilting your head to the side for a better angle, and licks at the seam of your lips. you squirm against him, not quite giving into the coaxing of his tongue, and max hums softly before he tugs at your bottom lip. you turn your head to the side, panting softly to suck in a few desperate breaths before max pulls you back and invades the opening of your lips. you squeal at the feeling of his tongue laving against yours, the lewd wet sounds of your mouths have your thighs pressing together. max brings his other arm to grasp around your waist, and pulls you against him, groaning into your mouth at the smallest amount of friction that movement provided. you feel lightheaded, your knees weakening, but max firmly holds you up, not letting you slip from his grasp. your hands come up to wrap around him, one feeling up his chest before resting around his neck, and the other hand digging into the meat of his back in search of stability. he hums at the ache of your nails and drops both of his hands to cup the back of your thighs right under your ass. he lifts you onto the counter, spreading your legs and shoving his body between them, while still managing to not break the kiss. at the show of strength you arch your back, whining highly, pushing your chest against his—he’s so strong. he eagerly starts tugging the sundress up your legs, making to expose your panties before he’s interrupted by a sudden heavy hand on the back of his neck.

max jerks away from you (you can finally catch your breath), his chest heaving, and his own whine fills the air at the weight of daniel’s hand.

“now, darlin’,” daniel addresses max with a smirk, “this wasn’t part of our plan, was it? you forget the script, maxy?”

max blushes a pretty pink, and murmurs, “no, daniel—sorry, danny.” dan hums at the apology, pressing a kiss to max’s warm cheek.

“w-what plan?” you timidly ask, still sitting on the counter, legs spread obscenely, dress skewed messily, and lips swelling from max’s ambition.

daniel chuckles, eyes shining at you hungrily, “mmm. how ‘bout we make our way to the bedroom and ‘ll show ya, sweetheart?”

you’re spread eagle in the middle of the bed, completely naked, with daniel fully dressed in between your legs sucking marks and pressing kisses on your thighs, max stripped down to his boxer-briefs on his side next to you, doing the same to your neck and chest. you’re squirming viciously just from the feeling of his beard scraping against your inner thighs, squeals ripping from your throat when he leaves a hickey or bites at the meat of your thigh. the australian’s pupils are blown wide, as he watches you try and muffle your cries behind your hand—if this is how you’re responding to the two of them thoroughly refreshing their claim on you, he’s thrilled to see how you’ll lose your mind as the night goes on. pulling his head away, daniel presses his thumb into one of the bruises he left and your back arches deeply–you choke on your squeal, thighs slamming shut around his hand.

“none of that now, sweetheart,” dan instructs firmly, “‘s just me, you, and max, honey. no need to quiet those sweet sounds of yours, alright?”

you nod wildly, stumbling over your agreement, “y-yeah, danny. ‘ll be- i’ll be loud for you guys.”

max moans at your words from where his lips were tugging at your nipple, pulling away to raise himself back to your lips, thirstily tasting your desperation from its source. dan allows max to bruise up your mouth, and leave his own beard burn around your lips, as he undresses himself down to his briefs. 

“max…max, maxy, babe,” daniel softly calls a few times, failing to get the impatient man’s attention, “max, look at me.” the switch from dan’s soft tone to a deeper, base filled sound has max snapping away to look at daniel, panting roughly.

“be good f’me and give yourself a hand, darlin’,” dan commands, and max sighs lovingly at the endearment, “you can manage that right, maxy? while i get our sweet girl ready to take you, hm?”

max whimpers, “yes, danny,” and shifts to sit upright, pulling his underwear off and wrapping his large hand around himself. dan purrs, “good boy. her sweet cunt’s already drippin’ for us, maxy. won't take me long to stretch ‘er open for you.” you keen, humiliated at the way dan speaks about you like you’re not in the room with them. daniel tugs your legs open again, hiding his laughter in the plush meat of your thigh, but you can feel the smirk against your skin. 

embarrassed, you whine hushedly, hands fisting into the sheets by your side, “mean.”

daniel hums uncaringly at your remark, “mean? don’t worry, honey–when i finish with you, you’ll think ‘m mean for a very different reason.” he doesn’t give you a chance to ponder his words, and a firm drag of his tongue across your cunt destroys any chance for your thought processes. this time around, your moans are clear, echoing around the room. the press of daniel’s tongue is unforgiving and working intently at your clit. your thighs clamp around his head, not allowing the australian to escape even though he can feel your hips bucking away, trying to escape the consistent stimulation on one of your most sensitive spots. when one of your hands flies down to tug at his curls, he relents his assault and switches to prodding his tongue against your opening. he moans depravedly against your entrance, the noise vibrating through you, causing your shriek to pierce the air. he eats you out like a man starved; savagely shoving his tongue deeper inside you, curling against your walls, nose bumping against your clit, mouth moving like he’s truly trying to eat you alive. he ignores the ache of his jaw, the tightness of his briefs, how his beard scratches your skin; and he smoothly slips a finger into you, beginning thoroughly stretch you out.

it’s absolutely obscene-sounding. daniel works his way up to three fingers, and any previous qualms he had about you being too quiet are resolved. your whines are constant at the insistent invasion of daniel’s curling digits, and based on the way your legs are trembling, he can tell you're nearing the precipice. what’s even more erotic, is the way your cries harmonize with max’s own grunts of pleasure; the dutchman’s hips buck into the frantic pace of his hands and danny wouldn’t be surprised if max comes before he even gets inside you. daniel sits back on his heels, his fingers still digging deeper inside you, forcefully pressing against your g-spot. with his left hand, daniel knocks max’s hand away, ignoring the responding yowl of displeasure, and fists max’s cock on his own, “doin’ a little too much, maxy. our desperate girl deserves to come first, anyways—lemme set the pace for you, darlin’.” max suffers under danny’s ministrations; the extreme shift down in tempo, the constant attention on the head of his cock, a finger pressing at his slit or the vein along his underside alternatingly. you, on the other hand, are being pushed closer and closer to your orgasm. daniel’s thumb joins, rubbing quick circles of your clit–and you scream out, pleasure overriding you. when your moans start to blend into breathy little ah-ah-ah’s, he slips his fingers free from the tight clasp of your cunt, and releases his hold on max’s cock.

you sob achingly, begging daniel to make you cum, dismayed cries of, “no! danny, why’d you stop, please, make me cum,” falling from your lips as max mewls next to you, his own hands trying to force danny’s back around him. daniel shushes you, and motions for max to come closer. max flies forward happily, his whines cutting off at daniel’s attention. he man-handles max into hovering over you in missionary, his cock resting against your fluttering cunt, waiting for permission. your cries quiet, and your heart races with anticipation for max to bury himself in you. danny’s left hand grips at max’s corresponding hip, and his right hand slips in the narrow space between you two, and he presses the flushed arousal in you. and the australian cannot stop running his mouth.

“that’s ‘t, baby–nice n’ easy for ya’–mmm–he’s splitting you open isn’t he–yeah, soak ‘im, babe, get him nice and wet–no, sweetheart, don’t run from it–yeahhh just like that, you take ‘t so well–”

your own orgasm suprises you, otherwise you would’ve at least made an attempt to tell the two men. max hasn’t even gotten halfway inside you and you’re cumming; back-arching, toes-curling, hands rushing forward to scratch down max’s back, eyes screwed shut, and walls clamping tightly around him. max is whining above you, flinching away from the hot grasp of your inner walls, but daniel won’t let him pull out.

“danny, danny! please–oh–i-i-i’m gonna–not gonna last–‘m gonna cum, if i stay inside her,” max admits, sobbing embarrasingly.

daniel laughs softly from behind max, and shifts so his front is pressed to the dutchman’s back. max shivers at the sound, the hair on the back of his neck rising. “aww, you can’t handle it, darling? don’t worry, i’ve changed my plans for you, anyways,” daniel smugly whispers into max’s ear. dan brings both of his hands to the younger’s waist, and forces him deeper inside of you, ignoring the way max cries sensitively and keeps pushing him forward until he bottoms out. you and max let out twin squeals from the white-hot flash of pleasure; you struggle to adjust to his size as quickly as daniel forced him in–you pulsate around him, it’s like you’re still trying to drag him further in and push him out at the same time. daniel presses a kiss to max’s shoulder blade and praises him, “see, maxy? i knew you could do it—such a good boy f’me.”

max’s eyes roll back, and he can’t fight it–he cums, loudly. his limbs weaken and his body collapses over yours, head falling into your neck, and his lewd moans vibrate through your raw skin. the younger’s body covers you completely, and your knees come up to cradle max’s hips, encouraging him to thrust through the aftershocks. daniel leans back, continuing to bathe the two of you with praise as he lets you guys shudder through the come down. a couple minutes pass before your legs relax and max’s moans die down to breathy hums, as both of your chests heave as you try to regulate your breathing. 

“feelin’ good, my loves?” daniel questions tenderly.

you’re the first to respond, a sated smile sent the australians way, “so good, danny.” max sighs out a breathy “yeah,” muffled into your chest. daniel brightens, “alrighty–maxy, fuck her properly now, and make her cum again.” the dutchman grunts in disbelief, “what? no, i-i can’t, i just came–”

dan cuts max off, “you can’t or, you won’t?” max’s breath stutters at the sudden dominance in daniel’s tone, sitting up to turn his head to look at the older man incredulously. the smile on dan’s face is gone, his expression suddenly firm and unyielding–max can only drop his gaze away from daniel’s eyes, avoiding the piercing gaze.

“max, look at me,” the australian states unflinchingly, and the younger man’s eyes fly to meet his at the command.

“what’s your color, darlin’?”

with his tongue flicking out to wet his lips nervously, max mutely whispers, “green.” daniel’s piercing gaze drops to you and he repeats the question, “sweetheart, what’s your color?”

you squirm under his intense attention—max’s hips stuttering at the stimulation, and your bruised brown thighs squeeze at his waist until he stops—but the slight flare of pleasure that races up your spine decides your answer, “green, danny.”

a smirk spreads across daniel’s lips, “see, you can, maxy,” the younger blushes deeply at his teasing croon, “now, be a sweet prince for me, and fuck our sweetheart, hm?” and with a pinch to max’s hip, he sinks in you deeply with an oversensitive sigh, before he pulls out and sets a slow rhythm to allow you both a little more time to recover. the drag of his cock is coaxing soft shuddery breaths out of your lips, and sharp over-sensitive whines from max. his hands are trembling from where they’re grip flexes on your waist, veins popping with the strength of his grasp, sure to leave a mark on your darker skin. dan’s hands halt the gentle roll of his hips, before the man leads him at a quicker pace. max throws his head back onto daniel’s shoulder, overwhelmed at the feeling of your tight, soaking wet cunt, and cries out “too much—ngh—i-it’s too much!” but aside from all of his whines, he’s getting hard again. unlike max, the sensitivity from your orgasm had faded quickly—if anything, it’s doubling the amount of pleasure you’re feeling. desperate for more, you plant your feet on the bed and start rolling your hips to meet max halfway; moaning yearningly at the change in position.

the younger man frantically tries to force your hips back down, the friction added from you meeting his thrusts is too great. “heyheyhey—none of that, prince,” daniel quickly tugs max’s hands away from your waist, one hand firmly holding them against the younger’s chest, “remember, we made a promise to give her so many orgasms to make up for how mean we’ve been to her. you don’t want to break that promise; right, darling?” max tries to hide his face in dan’s shoulder, but it’s too late—he starts sobbing. daniel watches how the tears rain down max’s cheeks, and how his face crumples so prettily—is it weird that making his usually unbothered boyfriend cry, turns him on?

max sniffles, “n-no, danny. -ll do it, i-i wanna make her cum.” not wanting to disappoint you any further, he starts quickening his strokes on his own, eventually outpacing the rhythm daniel set for him. it dawns on max quickly; he’s not going to last, again. he makes the mistake of looking at the blissed out expression on your face, the knot in his tummy tightening as he watches how your mouth falls open in a moan, wet and inviting. he drops his eyes away, but they fall on where the two of you are connected; the sight causes him to choke on his breath. his own thrusts have forced his cum out of you, frothing at your entrance, smeared all over your labia and staining your inner thighs. if he could eat you out and fuck you at the same time—he’d be doing it. max urgently asks daniel, “d-danny, ‘m gonna cum—please, can i cum?” ignoring max, dan’s hand lets go of max’s, and falls to let his middle and ring finger rub vigorously at your clit. your body jackknifes, a scream leaving your lips at the sudden addition, you choke out a warning, “g’na cum! pleasepleaseplease—” and when daniel’s thumb sneaks down to press gently at where you're wrapped snugly around max, almost like he’s trying to slip in alongside his cock—white flashes behind your eyes and you’re cumming hard. 

daniel hums, satisfied, “now, you can cum, maxy.” the younger had already started coming the second he started speaking. it’s erotic—how the two of yours’ orgasm feeds off of each other. every clench of your cunt has you squeezing tightly around max, causing him to thrust in you deeper, which in turn has you pulsating around him tightly, and the cycle continues. max rides out the two of your orgasms viciously this time around, his hips slamming into you, forcing himself as deep as possible wanting to empty every last dreg of his cum within you. you can only whimper brokenly, not making an effort to calm his grinds, wanting to savor anything you can get before he pulls out of you. with max’s last pump of his hips in you, daniel slowly guides him out of you. the two of you hiss, extremely over sensitive from the two times you’ve cum, so daniel tries to make the affair as smooth as he possibly can. with a squelching pop, max is freed from the tight grasp of your cunt, and dan leads him to lie down next to you on the bed.

you’re still floating, not a single thought in your head, a deep sense of satisfaction coating your mind, but you can vaguely hear daniel checking on max, making sure he didn’t push him too far. you hum quietly under your breath, almost like a purr, eyes shut blissfully as you allow yourself to relax in your afterglow. you faintly register daniel slipping in between your legs, his broad shoulders pressed against the underside of your thighs. you feel his left hand gently press at the raw skin of your thigh, and you fuzzily manage to move it over for him, thinking that he’s trying to clean you up. 

daniel can only stare. the pink skin of your hole has turned to a deeper red, with how max bullied your cunt. his mouth falls open, entranced, at the sight of your bruised pussy winking at him, struggling to close, and he moans softly as the pulsing of your cunt starts pushing max’s cum out of you. the creamy, frothy, white fluid slowly sliding out of you and down your ass. his tongue wets his lips—he wants a taste. dan drops the towel he was holding in his right hand, and brings the now empty hand up to spread your lips with a ‘v’ of his fingers. his eyes flick up to your face, and once he sees that you're still floating, he takes a gentle pass over your entrance with two fingers, collecting yours and max’s combined release. he sucks the mess clean, and a groan rumbles through his chest. fuck—he needs more. daniel quickly finds himself breathing softly over your cunt for the second time tonight, and he can feel how your thighs already start shaking at the exhales of his breath against you. he laps his tongue once in a broad stripe over you, and moans depravedly—and then, he pretty much forced to eat you out; why let this go to waste. 

the minute his tongue slips inside you, your thighs slam shut around his head, trying to halt his overeager movements. daniel doesn’t care, he’d happily suffocate in your cunt if it meant he got to eat max’s cum out of you for the last time. when he slips two of his fingers in to coax more of the cum max fucked deep in you out, your hand flies down and tugs at his curls. daniel pulls his mouth away, growling sharply at the pain from the grip of your hand, but he steadfastly dives back in—he’s going to swallow every last drop you’ll give him. “hngh—too much, –anny, can’t take it—my tummy feels weird—it hurts!” daniel’s hips starting grinding against the bed, and he’s made aware of how painfully hard he’s gotten throughout the night; he hasn’t cum once. daniel moans against your cunt, panting against you, “ya got one more f’me right, sweetheart? yeah, ya do—just let me taste you, yeah?” daniel tunes out your cries again, and brushes his nose against your clit as he laves his tongue over you picking up every drop of cum the two of you have spilled on your swollen cunt. his fingers start to curl upwards as he pulls them out, dragging wetness out from the depths of your walls, and you squeal, any pleads that you planned to say have been suddenly erased from your throat at the sudden pain-pleasure that bursts behind your eyes. your core tightens, and you seize against the bed cumming for the third time this night at daniel’s insistence. this is the most intense orgasm all night, and it feels never ending; all of your senses feel like they’re burning hot, nerves tingling from your scalp to your curled toes. what you’ve failed to recognize is that you're gushing all over daniel’s face. he practically gets waterboarded from where he was pressed against your cunt, but once he realizes that he’s made you squirt, he happily starts drinking down each spray of your fluid, uncaring of how his beard is drenched with your release, and how it puddles underneath your ass. 

he swallows you down to the very last drop, plump lips massaging your labia sweetly. he backs off your pussy, switching to your thighs to collect any wetness he missed out on. when your hand tugs at his curls again, pulling him away when the beard burn gets too much, daniel rises to his knees over you. he tugs his cock out of his briefs, the tip flushed the deepest red he’s ever seen it, and it throbs hotly in his grasp. he uses the hand soaked with your squirt to roughly rub himself off, tattooed thigh spasming, and it takes less than ten pumps of his hand before he’s cumming. with every spray of his hot cum that lands against your swollen cunt, your hips jerk—even that feels too much.

when daniel finishes, he moans at the picture he painted on you—would you let him take a picture if he asked? but his fantasy is disrupted when you squirm up the bed, your hand falling to cup protectively over your cunt, thighs tightening around your hand, and you murmur repeatedly, “no more, no more.” max coos quietly from where he’s laying, still just as fucked out as you, but he tries to soothe your cries. he sweetly pulls you into his chest when tears slip out of your eyes, petting at you clumsily, not quite yet having regained complete control of his limbs. “did so good, schatje. daniel did just like he promised—i-if, if you let him clean you up, we can cuddle and go straight to bed, ok? be good, j-just a little longer.”

you sob messily into max’s embrace, but after a few minutes with max and daniel both reassuring you that they’ve finished pulling orgasms out of you, and comfortingly massaging the already setting soreness of your muscles—your cries die down to sniffles, and you slowly spread your legs open for danny. daniel stares at the mess he created this time around, but dismisses the urge to lick it off you; his only goal right now is to properly clean you up, and make sure you go to sleep feeling satisfied and worn-out. as gently as possible, he takes turns wiping both your thighs and cunt, and max’s thighs and cock, switching when either of you says it’s too much. it takes longer than it usually does, but it doesn’t upset daniel as long as it means the two of you are comfortable. 

“okay, okay,” daniel soothes sweetly, “i’m done. you both did so good for me tonight.”

max blushes at the praise, and with a voice as airy as silk, you whisper, “you ‘ere good too, danny—made me feel r’lly good, thank you.” daniel smiles, his heart warming at your sweet words, “thank you, honey. you’re always so sweet to me.”

“now, let’s move this party to the bathroom so both of you can pee, and take a bath before we sleep, i’ll get some snacks for you to eat too,” daniel orders softly, “i took a lot from the two of you tonight—so let me make sure i put you back together, okay?

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© httpsserene 2023

[edenesth]

TWTHH Spinoff: Stitched Hearts [1]

Pairing: dressmaker!Hongjoong x noblewoman!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 6.5k

Summary: Throughout his entire career, Hongjoong has received nothing but praise for his work. Never once had anyone suggested his dresses were anything short of perfection. That is, until he met the youngest daughter of the Baek household—the family's black sheep, an enigmatic spinster whom he found utterly confounding.

A/N: As stated in the title, this is a spinoff. If you have yet to check out the main story, it's probably better to read that before starting this.

Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist | Part 2

"Father, mother, we're back!" called out Haeun, your eldest sister who had been married for years now, returning home with her husband and children to celebrate the birth of your middle brother's first child.

"You're home, our dear daughter!" Your parents enthusiastically rose from their seats to greet her, showering her with praise for leading such a successful life, whatever that meant; it was a concept you still struggled to comprehend to this day.

After exchanging pleasantries with your parents, she made a beeline for your brother, completely disregarding your timid presence in the corner of the room, "Hajoon-ah, congratulations, my brother! It's high time you joined the parent club!"

Your brother-in-law, displaying a touch more consideration than his wife, offered you a warm smile before joining 'the adults' in conversation, leaving you to quietly observe your nieces and nephews playing joyfully in the courtyard. At times, you were envious of the simplicity of children's lives—so carefree, with no expectations weighing them down. Unlike them, you felt constantly burdened by the expectations placed upon you.

This had been the pattern for as long as you could recall—living in the shadows of your successful sister and brother, both excelling in nearly every aspect of life. Haeun, intelligent and outgoing, had swiftly found a suitable match upon reaching marriageable age, becoming the epitome of a perfect daughter in your parents' eyes. Hajoon wasn't far behind, securing a position in the local government and dutifully marrying the girl your parents had chosen for him.

And then there was you.

The black sheep of the Baek household, the peculiar one, always kept to yourself, showing little interest in feminine pursuits such as cooking, gardening, embroidering, or any similar activities. Your days were spent predominantly at home, frequenting your father's extensive library and immersing yourself in the countless storybooks it housed, often seeking solace in the realms of fantasy they offered. Your lack of enthusiasm for conventional interests rendered you an enigma even to your parents.

You maintained scant friendships, lacking any love interests or potential marriage prospects. Unlike other young women, you harboured no desire to adorn yourself or enhance your appearance; you appeared strangely content in your plain white hanboks and minimal hair accessories. Your demeanour led most people to forget the existence of a third daughter in the Baek family altogether. Those who did recall you were hesitant to consider you as a potential match for their sons, and the young men themselves showed no interest.

While your parents had initially held onto hope that you would eventually find your own path to settling down, their concerns began to mount as you surpassed the ideal age for marriage. Beyond mere age considerations, most young women your age were already married with children, leaving you perpetually single.

Though you concealed it well, you weren't oblivious to the whispers and rumours circulating about you already being labelled a spinster. The servants of your family estate often used you as a topic for gossip and entertainment, speculating whether you would ever find a spouse and placing bets on your marital prospects.

Finally deciding to acknowledge your presence, Haeun heaved a sigh before addressing you, "And how have you been, maknae? Will I be hearing news of you getting hitched any time soon?"

Glancing at her, you simply shrugged and shook your head, "Same old, unnie. And no, I don't think you will."

Hajoon frowned in resignation at your customary bluntness, "With that attitude, definitely not. Do you even have any intention of settling down? What are your plans for the future, hm? Are you going to keep causing our parents to worry like this?"

Your mother shook her head, silently urging him to be gentler with you, a twinge of sympathy stirring within her. In your younger years, her favouritism was evident in the way she showered attention primarily to your sister and brother, especially since your father was often away for work. While your siblings made efforts to bond with him during his brief returns, you showed little interest. Consequently, your relationship with your parents wasn't as close-knit as theirs.

It wasn't until Haeun had married and left home that your mother attempted to show you some affection, though by then, it seemed too late to truly connect with you. Despite her earnest efforts, she struggled to understand you. The rest of the family faced similar difficulties. You remained a mystery to everyone, always lost in your own world.

For once, instead of reacting with anger or responding passive-aggressively out of frustration, your sister nodded slowly, as if making a concerted effort to remain patient with you. Despite her occasional harshness towards you, she hadn't always been unkind. As your only elder sister, she had tried to foster a bond with you throughout your childhood, but your reserved nature made it difficult, and your straightforwardness often unintentionally wounded her.

Deep down, she harboured a hope that her harshness might somehow elicit some sort of response from you. But by now, she had come to realise its futility, as you consistently maintained an unbothered demeanour, regardless of what others would say or do to you. Ultimately, she grew tired of attempting to decipher your mind and heart. The same goes for your brother.

However, despite their frustrations, you were still their youngest sibling, and they sincerely hoped that you would one day settle down, have someone care for you, and perhaps start a family of your own.

"I think I know what might help," Haeun began, capturing everyone's attention before continuing, "I've heard about a renowned dressmaker in town who has worked wonders for countless women. If I'm not mistaken, his craftsmanship has even garnered recognition from the King and Queen. I was just thinking... maybe all our youngest needs is just a little makeover?"

Your father's eyes widened in astonishment, "His work is recognised even by His and Her Majesty, you say?"

Haeun nodded enthusiastically, "Yes, father! I couldn't believe it myself, but it's true. He's the mastermind behind Lady Park's stunning white and gold wedding hanbok!"

"He must be truly exceptional! Well, then, it seems worth a try. Perhaps this is just what our youngest needs to catch the eye of a potential suitor," your mother chimed in, her gaze hopeful as she turned to you, "Are you on board with the idea, dear?"

All eyes swivelled to you, and you once again felt yourself shrinking under their scrutiny—this familiar sensation of never being enough for them. The truth was evident: they were all tired of you. You had been a disappointment your entire life. If all they desired was for you to marry and depart from the household, perhaps it would be best to acquiesce to their wishes. It wouldn't hurt to entertain their request.

With another indifferent shrug, you replied, "Sure, if that's what everyone wants. After all, I don't have much to lose."

For the first time in forever, your family's faces lit up with smiles because of you, cheered by your response. As you retreated to your quarters that night, your sister eagerly taking charge of contacting the renowned dressmaker they had discussed, you pondered whether their enthusiasm stemmed from a desire to see you gone.

In truth, your parents' neglect and blatant favouritism toward your siblings over you during your childhood had moulded you into someone who wore indifference as armour, a coping mechanism to shield yourself from the constant sadness you felt. The weight of constantly letting everyone down had driven you to suppress your emotions, opting instead to feign apathy. Eventually, this façade became your reality; it felt safer to shut yourself off from feeling anything at all.

As you attempted to drift off to sleep that night, thoughts of the acclaimed dressmaker they had been praising occupied your mind. You couldn't help but entertain the idea that, like everyone else, he too would eventually grow weary of you. Surely, upon seeing you, he would deem you a lost cause.

Heh, at least he'll be paid to deal with me.

"Thanks a bunch, hyung. I promise I'll treat you to the finest meal once this is over!" Wooyoung exclaimed, hugging the disguise crafted by the dressmaker at the eleventh hour for his latest case—more like a mission to play knight in shining armour, one that might finally win him the affections of a girl, unlike the silly crush he harboured for Lady Park, leading absolutely nowhere.

With a shake of his head, Hongjoong gave the younger man's shoulder a reassuring pat, "Yeah, you better. Off you go then, you don't want to keep her waiting a moment longer now, do you?"

"Yes, sir!" The private investigator saluted playfully before setting off in pursuit of his new dream girl.

Once he was out of sight, the dressmaker returned to his shop, settling comfortably back into his seat, ready to resume work on his latest batch of orders. His fingers moved with practised ease, guided by the rough design sketch before him. A faint smile lingered on his lips as he worked, a swell of pride warming his chest at his friend's development. It wasn't just Wooyoung; everyone had left the general's estate weeks ago, returning to their own lives. While part of him missed the chaos of their shared moments, he was content to give the newlyweds their well-deserved privacy.

Still chuckling to himself, he reflected on the fact that the once-intimidating Park Seonghwa was now but a lovesick fool. He had once worried about the general's prospects for finding love, but now he realised it had been a needless concern. Who would have thought that General Park would find love before him, or even before the ever-charming Jung Yunho?

As he put the final touches on one of his dresses, he couldn't help but wonder how the couple was doing. It had been weeks since he last saw them, and he shook his head when he recalled how 'excited' his friend had been, even when he was injured. Now that they had all the time in the world together, he imagined Seonghwa would struggle to keep his hands off his wife. He pondered whether he would soon hear news of a new addition to their family.

Before he could become further engrossed in his thoughts, his sharp senses alerted him to the presence of a man and a woman entering his shop. Without hesitation, he plastered on his best business smile—a façade rarely seen by his friends, perhaps except for Lady Park. It was part of his practised persona, an outwardly amiable demeanour he employed to win over customers and potential clients, doing whatever was necessary to secure their business. This isn't to say he wasn't genuinely pleased, but his true passion lay in designing and dressmaking rather than customer service. Unfortunately, the latter was an essential aspect of his job.

Hongjoong had never been naturally a people person, but as he had previously made it clear to the general, he was reluctant to hire assistance for such a simple task. So here he was, stuck with doing his least favourite part of the job: greeting customers.

"Good day, sir and ma'am! Welcome to Kim's Dress Shop. May I inquire what you are searching for today? A hanbok for a special occasion, perhaps? That happens to be one of my specialities. However, if you're seeking an upgrade in everyday attire, I also offer a selection of simpler yet elegant designs," he recited, sticking to his customary script upon each patron's arrival.

The couple glanced around in amazement before eagerly beaming at him. The woman spoke, "Um, are you the renowned dressmaker Kim who crafted Lady Park's famous wedding gown?"

Grinning proudly, the dressmaker was pleased to once again be acknowledged for his recent accomplishments, "Indeed, that would be me," he confirmed. He couldn't deny that his orders had doubled since news of the iconic hanbok he had designed for his friend's wedding had spread. Perhaps he owed Seonghwa a debt of gratitude for hiring him. Without him, Hongjoong might not have achieved the level of success he enjoys today.

Stepping forward, the woman bowed respectfully, "It's truly an honour to meet you, Mr. Kim! You see, we are interested in engaging your services, but it's not for myself—it's for my younger sister."

"Oh? Will she be coming by soon for me to take her measurements and discuss her design preferences?" he inquired, surprised that the intended recipient of his hanboks was not present.

Shaking her head sheepishly, she clarified, "Unfortunately not. Forgive me for not starting with a self-introduction. Good day, Mr. Kim. I am the eldest daughter of the Baek household, and I'm here on behalf of our youngest."

Upon hearing this, Hongjoong immediately grasped the situation. Having worked extensively with noblewomen, he was well-versed in local gossip about nearby noble families. He had heard of the mysterious third daughter of Official Baek from the local Civilian Office, who rarely ventured outside her home—a well-known wallflower who, if he wasn't mistaken, remained unmarried despite being well past the ideal marriageable age.

With a nod, he smiled warmly, "Ah, Miss Baek! Or should I say, Mrs. Heo," the dressmaker corrected with a grin directed at the man beside her, presumably her husband, "It would be my pleasure to create hanboks for the youngest miss of such a prominent family. I assume that means I will need to visit the Baek estate to meet her."

The couple nodded with a slight grimace, "Yes, I'm sure you're aware of her reputation. Whatever rumours you may have heard are true. She remains single, and our entire family is deeply concerned for her. We've heard of the wonderful work you've done for others, and we were hopeful you could work your magic on her. My sister has always been a unique individual. I apologise for the inconvenience of asking you to leave your shop just for her. However, I assure you we will compensate you for any inconvenience."

As he listened to her plea, the dressmaker's mind raced with excitement. That was because no challenge was too daunting for him; he thrived on the opportunity to showcase his talent. The woman was right in what she said; he had indeed helped numerous single young women find matches after they had worn his designs.

This time would be no different.

What truly fueled his enthusiasm was the knowledge that the youngest Miss Baek was known to repel potential suitors, making her a particularly challenging case. If he could help her in finding a match, it would undoubtedly bolster his reputation, adding another significant achievement to his already impressive portfolio.

Moreover, the Baeks were one of the wealthiest noble families in the area. It would be foolish not to accept this job, even if it meant temporarily closing his shop more frequently to visit their estate. He was certain that the compensation he would receive for his services would more than make up for any inconvenience.

With a feigned understanding expression, he nodded, "Oh, please don't worry about it, Mrs. Heo. Nothing brings me greater joy than helping young women gain confidence and find love. Miss Baek clearly needs my assistance. If it means I can help one more woman escape singledom, any inconvenience will be worth it."

The couple cooed at his kindness, profusely thanking him for his selflessness, while he celebrated internally, eager for the opportunity to make that buck. Reassuringly, he welcomed them into his shop, offering them seats and some tea as they made the necessary arrangements for the special job: determining which days he would need to close his shop and visit the Baek estate as well as negotiating the payment. Fortunately for him, they had even provided a down payment to demonstrate their sincerity.

After a lengthy discussion that may or may not have interfered with his current orders, Hongjoong happily bid the couple goodbye. He couldn't care less about any disruptions; his pockets were full, and he was content. With the success of the business that Seonghwa had brought him, he was sure that this would be his next most satisfying endeavour. As he watched the couple leave, a sense of anticipation washed over him, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Thank you, Miss Baek, for this wonderful opportunity. I'm certain we'll get along just fine, you and I. Gosh, I just love it when rich people are gullible, and money is easy to make," he muttered to himself, brimming with excitement for what lay ahead.

Oh, I'm going to have the time of my life.

Perhaps the dressmaker might have spoken too soon, been a tad overconfident in his abilities, and underestimated the true enigmatic nature of the youngest Miss Baek. He would soon discover this the hard way during his very first visit to the family's estate, which was nearly as large as the general's, albeit slightly smaller.

He remained confident and pleased as he was warmly welcomed, not only by the couple he had met at his shop the other day, but also by Official Baek and his wife, Lady Baek, along with their middle son and his new wife—everyone except for the one he was hired to make clothes for. The youngest Miss Baek was nowhere to be seen.

Nevertheless, he refused to let it dampen his spirits. If anything, it only heightened his curiosity about you. He was eager to finally lay eyes on the girl whom so many noble families and men tried to avoid.

The more your family emphasised how hopeless you were and expressed their concern about you remaining a spinster, the more determined he became. His fingers were itching to work another miracle. No ugly duckling could remain ugly forever, especially not if he could help it.

"We're terribly sorry our youngest is not here to greet you, Mr. Kim! We specifically informed her that you would be arriving by this time. She must still be holed up in her father's library. We'll fetch her immediately!" Lady Baek exclaimed, her urgency and embarrassment evident in her tone.

Hongjoong shook his head, waving his hands to signal that it was fine, despite feeling a slight disbelief at your apparent disregard for his presence. He tried his best to play the role of a considerate man, reminding himself that it was your family who wanted him here, not you. He tried to be understanding of how you might be feeling, "It's quite alright. Perhaps I could go meet her in the library if she doesn't want to come outside."

"Oh, is that really alright? You've come all this way, Mr. Kim. The least she could do now is come to you and make your job easier," Official Baek remarked with a slight wince.

"I assure you, it's perfectly fine. My task today is simply to take Miss Baek's measurements and discuss her design preferences. For that to happen smoothly, it's important she feels comfortable. Conducting it in her own space might be the best approach for all of us," he responded.

Your brother nodded, "If you insist, Mr. Kim. We'll have the maids escort you there. Let us know if there's anything you need."

Hongjoong bowed, "Thank you, sir. I will."

"We entrust her to you, Mr. Kim," said your sister, her hands clasped together to show her gratitude and hopefulness.

"Please do not worry, Mrs. Heo. I have a feeling Miss Baek will find love in no time."

"We're counting on it."

As a few maids escorted him towards the library as instructed, the dressmaker's mind buzzed with speculative thoughts. Considering all the talk about Miss Baek's perpetual singleness, he couldn't help but imagine you to be hideous. If that were indeed the case, he surmised it might stem from low self-esteem.

Throughout his career, he has developed a knack for identifying his customers' underlying issues. Just as he had done with Seonghwa's wife, he could often discern precisely what they needed, whether it be a boost in confidence or a transformation in appearance. He was almost certain he'd be able to figure you out in an instant.

Upon arriving at the destination, one of the maids spoke up, "We're here, Mr. Kim. You should be able to find the young miss somewhere inside. Just call out to any of us if you require anything at all."

Hongjoong nodded, expressing his gratitude, "Of course, thank you," he replied before heading inside. His heart quickened for some reason as he stepped into the room, uncertain of what to expect.

Taking a cautious step after gently closing the door behind him, he called out softly, as if afraid of disturbing the tranquil atmosphere of the silent and peaceful library, "Miss Baek...? Sorry for the intrusion, but this is Kim Hongjoong, the dressmaker your family hired to provide you with a new wardrobe. If you would be so kind as to come out, we could proceed with the initial stages of the dressmaking process for you."

Releasing a small sigh at the continued silence, he called out again, "Miss Baek...? If you won't respond, I'll have to enter."

While he understood your potential shyness, he struggled to contain his displeasure at what felt like disrespect towards him. After all, he had made the effort to come all this way and even prioritised your comfort. Yet here you were, still playing hard to get.

"Very well, don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, he began to make his way down the aisle, scanning the spacious room from left to right in search of you. It was only when he was about to pass by a hunched figure between the rows of tall bookshelves that he halted, doing a double take before fixing his gaze squarely on your form. There you were, seated on the ground, completely absorbed in the book you held in your hands.

Whatever he had anticipated, you were none of that. The girl in front of him was nothing like what he had imagined. Bathed in the sunlight streaming through the open window, your delicate and refined features were illuminated, accentuating your natural beauty. In that moment, you appeared almost ethereal. With such looks, finding a match shouldn't be a challenge at all.

Huh, guess I was wrong about her looks.

Yet, it wasn't your appearance that posed the issue. He had expected as much, considering the attractiveness of your family members. However, he could understand why you were often overlooked. The problem lay not in your physical attributes, but rather in that god-awful attire you chose to wear – a plain, white hanbok devoid of any embellishments. Furthermore, you seemed to lack hair accessories and makeup. He dared say that even some of the maids had put more effort into their appearance than you had.

Goodness gracious, you looked like a prisoner in that outfit. In his opinion, you ought to be arrested for donning such a monstrosity. Perhaps you weren't aware yet, but today you would be encountering the fashion police, and he was not pleased with what he saw. It was evident to him that you were in dire need of his assistance.

Kim Hongjoong was here now, and he intended to effect swift change. By the end of his makeover, he was confident you would be fit to enter even a beauty pageant.

"Hello, Miss Baek," he greeted, finally drawing your attention as you glanced up to see him approaching.

"Oh, you're here. Mr. Kim, right?" you responded, acknowledging him with a nod. Folding the edge of the page as a makeshift bookmark, you carefully slid the book back into its place on the shelf before rising from your spot on the ground.

The dressmaker's grip tightened around his bag of tools, a hint of displeasure flickering behind his façade of a smile, "Yes, that's correct, my lady. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard much about you," he attempted to charm you, a tactic that typically worked wonders with his clientele, eliciting blushes and smiles. However, his heart sank as you remained unfazed.

"Did you really? I can't imagine it's anything favourable," you murmured, turning to face him squarely, "And there's no need for pretence. I highly doubt there's anything pleasurable about meeting me. I prefer unvarnished truths to false pleasantries."

What in the world.

Taken aback by your bluntness, he paused briefly to compose himself before clearing his throat, "Ah, I see... If you insist, Miss Baek, I won't sugarcoat my thoughts on your choice of attire. Your family has expressed concerns about your ability to attract suitors, and I can see why. It's pretty clear to me that you struggle with dressing in a way that appeals to others but fear not. I'm here now, and I'll help you enhance your style."

Just when he thought you couldn't possibly surprise him any further, you shrugged in disagreement, "I don't believe I'm struggling at all. I know exactly what I like, and this is it," you gestured to your hanbok, "It's not my fault nobody shares the same opinion."

Baffled by your words, he finally grasped the true extent of your problem. Yes, your fashion style was the main issue, but more crucially, it was your entire character. Throughout his life, the dressmaker had encountered his fair share of eccentric individuals, but you seemed to easily surpass them all in peculiarity.

Your blunt honesty was one thing, but it was your overall lack of emotion or ability to read social cues that truly puzzled him. Perhaps it was simply your indifference. Regardless, one thing became abundantly clear to him: he did not like you. Despite having only just met you, he eagerly anticipated the moment he could leave your presence.

Lord help me, I cannot stand her already.

Blinking rapidly, he struggled to maintain the smile on his face as he responded stiffly, "I... I understand, Miss Baek. Perhaps that's your belief for now. However, I'm confident you'll change your mind once you see my designs. They never disappoint. I've never had a dissatisfied customer, and I fully intend to keep it that way."

Not wanting to dwell on your comments, he quickly clapped his hands together and continued, "Now, without further ado, let's proceed with taking your measurements."

Forget discussing your preferences, you had made your stance clear. But Hongjoong remained determined to impress you with his work. He was eager to unveil his best design, he couldn't wait to see the look on your face when you would realise how stupid you were to prefer prison clothes over his hanboks.

Retrieving his measuring tape and notebook from his bag, he turned to you, making an effort to conceal any hint of displeasure on his face as he approached, "Stay still, my lady. This will only take a moment," he instructed, beginning with your shoulders before proceeding to measure your height, sleeve length, and neck size. His breath caught and his hands trembled as he reached the final step, assessing your waist and chest measurements.

While he typically performed these tasks with ease, it was usually in the familiar surroundings of his shop, with others present. Now, it was just the two of you in the expansive, quiet library. For some reason, the atmosphere felt almost... intimate.

Focus, Kim Hongjoong!

Suppressing the sudden spike of his heartbeat, he maintained a composed expression and directed, "Please raise your arms, my lady. I'll need to measure your chest and waist next."

Flustered, he attributed the fluttering of his heart to the persistent, unabashed curiosity in your gaze throughout the measurement process. That must be it, he reasoned. You didn't possess goddess-like beauty, nor were you sweet as an angel. There was no other reason for him to react that way than sheer embarrassment under your scrutiny.

Little did he know, you experienced similar, if not more intense, emotions than he did. But who could blame you, really? It was the first time a man had ever been in such close proximity to you. The only difference between you was your adeptness at concealing your feelings, contrasting with the subtle shifts in his demeanour and the slight tremor in his hands, which did not evade your perceptive gaze.

He was merely a man, after all. You supposed it was only natural for him to exhibit such reactions in the presence of a woman.

But that didn't mean much.

You could tell he disliked you, a sentiment you had grown used to. Like everyone else you met, it seemed no one genuinely liked you. Your family's acceptance stemmed from obligation, your servants' compliance from their employment, and Hongjoong's engagement from his professional duty. Once that was done, you were certain you would never see him again. Armed with this notion, you maintained your stoic façade.

"Very well, Miss Baek. Thank you for your cooperation. I'll return when the first batch of your hanboks is ready," the dressmaker stated, swiftly gathering his belongings and offering one final bow before hurrying out of the library, pink tinting his cheeks.

"Goodbye, Mr. Kim."

Back at his shop that evening, he struggled to focus on his work. His thoughts kept wandering back to the moment your faces were inches apart, when he had to briefly encircle his arms around your waist to take measurements. Despite the unattractive hanbok you wore, he couldn't deny that you smelled quite pleasant. At the very least, you had good hygiene, he had to give you that.

Get a grip, you fool!

Giving himself a sharp slap on the cheek, he shook off the distraction. He reminded himself of the sheer frustration of being around you. From your perplexing bluntness to your questionable taste in fashion, it was enough to raise his blood pressure. How could someone like you even exist? He realised now that he had vastly underestimated your peculiar nature. Once confident he could see through anyone, he was beginning to have second thoughts.

Nevertheless, one thing remained certain: you would surely admire the designs he had in store for you. His work had always been his stronghold, never failing to impress. If even royalty had been impressed, why wouldn't a mere noblewoman like yourself? You claimed to dislike fashion, but that was only because you hadn't seen his masterpieces, he was sure of it.

No one, no one could ever resist his work.

Determined to swiftly overcome this minor obstacle, he reassured himself that you were just a small hurdle on the path to another remarkable achievement. In the end, when you were basking in the glory of the century's most sensational makeover, all the effort would be worthwhile. He could not wait for you to shed tears of gratitude, thanking him for opening your eyes to the true essence of beauty. With that conviction, he delved into his work, flipping through his sketchbook until he reached the section reserved for his finest designs, carefully curated for an occasion like this.

Pausing at one of his personal favorites, a masterpiece he had been saving for a worthy client, he decided that now was the perfect opportunity to bring it to life.

Oh, you were sure to adore it.

You had to.

But he should have known better than to actually believe that. He was, once again, in for a surprise a few days later when he arrived at the Baek estate with the first hanbok done. Only once he had your green light would he be able to proceed with making more for you. As the maids escorted him to your quarters, they noted his bright demeanour; you had risen late today and were still having breakfast in solitude, "You seem quite cheerful today, Mr. Kim," one remarked, arching an eyebrow.

He smirked confidently, "Indeed, I am. Your young miss will be very impressed with what she is about to see today. With this makeover, she'll surely catch the eye of potential suitors in no time."

The maid hesitated, cautioning, "I'm not sure you should be so certain. The young miss isn't like any other girl you've worked with."

"Ah, I know, but my work speaks for itself," he retorted, "She'd be silly not to like it."

"If you say so, sir," the maid replied, her tone conceding defeat. She knew better than to doubt his skill, but she also understood that you were unlike any other. He would soon discover that firsthand, and she was almost certain he wouldn't leave the estate with the same confidence he arrived with.

"Well, what do you think?" inquired the dressmaker, proudly unveiling his newest masterpiece to his latest customer.

Eyeing the elegantly colourful hanbok, which was a departure from your usual plain white ones, your gaze remained impassive. After what seemed like an eternity, you responded with a slight furrow of your brows, "It uhh... it looks nice, I suppose."

As you watched Hongjoong's reaction falter momentarily, it appeared as though he was experiencing a million emotions per second before settling on a deeply offended expression. With an audible scoff, he clenched his jaw, "Nice, you say? Just... nice? You suppose? Miss Baek, that is utterly outrageous! Throughout my career, I've only ever been praised for delivering perfection."

You stayed silent as he continued to extol his successes, boasting about being the best dressmaker in all of Joseon and citing his most illustrious achievements, such as the wedding dress he crafted for Lady Park, which even impressed Their Majesties. It dawned on you that your simple response had deeply wounded him.

"I-I mean... it's not bad," you interjected, hoping to fix the damage, but your heart sank as he only glared at you, "Not bad...? I'm sorry, was that supposed to console me?" he chuckled incredulously, "You know what? Now I understand why you're still single. At this rate, you'll never find a husband."

Ouch.

The awkward silence that followed was deafening, causing the maids who were waiting in your room to quickly shuffle closer to you, noticing you had finished your meal, "Young miss, we'll just be clearing this up and excusing ourselves."

"Thank you." You nodded curtly, watching emotionlessly as they hastily picked up the table containing the empty plates and bowls and left with a deep bow. Meanwhile, the dressmaker remained in his spot, visibly heaving deep breaths as if trying to calm himself from the outburst, before carefully setting the hanbok down.

After you were left alone, he took a deep breath before apologising, "Gosh, I— I'm so sorry, Miss Baek. That was uncalled for, I—"

Shaking your head, you cut him off, "No, please don't be. You were merely telling the truth. As I've said, I prefer unvarnished truth to false pleasantries. In fact, I believe you are right about that. You are not the first to say that, and you certainly won't be the last."

As he absorbed your words, a wave of discomfort washed over Hongjoong. For some reason, he would have preferred if you had yelled at him or thrown a tantrum rather than accepting his insults like that. Surely, it couldn't feel pleasant to hear such remarks, no matter how unaffected you made yourself appear. It made him feel terrible, and he hated it — hated the guilt that filled him for uttering such words.

Clearing his throat, he sighed, "I... my lady, please don't say that. It's just that... I really need your approval before I make more of these for you. At the end of the day, you are the one who has to wear them." His voice softened, an attempt to make up for his earlier harshness.

You detected the familiar pity in his tone, and you despised it. Raising a brow, you shrugged, "Why does my approval matter? It's my family who's paying you, not me. You owe it to them to make me look perfect, whatever that means. I've made it clear what I like, and if it's not to yours or anyone's taste, so be it. I see no point in consulting me on your designs, Mr. Kim. Just do what you're hired for; it doesn't matter what I like."

It never has.

While that should have brought relief to the dressmaker, knowing he had the freedom to pursue his vision without worrying about your approval, something about your words left him feeling... melancholic. It struck a chord within him, reminding him of his own struggles when he initially embarked on his fashion career. At that time, it was met with disapproval from society, which deemed it an unfitting profession for a man. Despite the opposition, he chose to be himself.

However, seeing you succumb to societal expectations, suppressing your true self to please others, including him, stirred a sense of empathy within him. It mirrored his own past battles with conformity. Unlike him, you were forced to adhere to societal norms, sacrificing your individuality for the sake of others' expectations.

And he didn't like that.

But what he hated even more was how you managed to evoke emotions he hadn't signed up for. Despite his efforts to push thoughts of you aside and concentrate solely on his goal—to craft the finest hanboks in all of Joseon and transform you into a vision of beauty, one you did not desire—the memory of your somewhat disheartening expression, as you dismissed the importance of your preferences, lingered in his mind. It unsettled him, he hated the way it was causing an uncomfortable tightening in his chest.

« Preview of Part 2 »

"I'm telling you, Yunho, she's infuriating!"

The physician, busy tidying his clinic counter, rolled his eyes, "How could I not know, hyung? You've been talking about her since my lunch break. We're almost at closing time; are you finished?"

Hongjoong crossed his arms, scoffing, "What, do you have somewhere else to be? Don't think I haven't noticed you've been going to that apothecary more often lately."

Yunho stilled, a faint pink dusting across his cheeks as he cleared his throat, "What do you mean? I've always gone there for herbs."

"Yes, but not as frequently as you do now. Ever since you met a certain herbalist," Hongjoong teased, wiggling his brows.

"If you have nothing important to say, please leave," the physician grumbled, tired of the older man's rambling.

Uncrossing his arms, the dressmaker said, "W-wait! Look, you're the most rational one among us. I just... wanted to know your thoughts on the matter."

Sighing, Yunho softened, "You know, she's right. You're hired by her family, your job is simple, and you know what you have to do. The only reason you're so affected by this is probably because you care."

"I do not care about her—"

"Sure, if you say so. Then go on ahead and complete your job. You'll receive your payment and all the benefits that come with it anyway. So, what's really bothering you?"

Oh my gosh, thank you so much for 1.6k followers! Same as Wooyoung's spinoff, the next part will be the second and final part. I've decided to standardise the format, so all the spinoffs will be two-shots.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 8 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: you and stanley go fishing 

warnings (TW): swearing, panic attack/panic-inducing scenarios, slight gore/violence 

tags: mutual-pining, fluff, angst, action, affection

notes: idk anything about ice fishing so pls don’t get my ass for this okay, this was v different to write than my usual long drawn out heart gutting character analyses that I love (not that that is NOT here) but all the movement was deffff hard so it took me a minute but hey this is what I wanted imma do it ya know 

Also i configured this chapter in like three separate ways in my head and it was so hard to chose? But i think the one i did end up writing is most true to their dynamic so far. To be of note for the v stubble reference im giving here but yall know The Kiss by painter Gustav Klimt? Ya… that…. Thats here (spot it if you can) as always thank you for the kind messages and notes and comments, love yall <3 also comment below if you'd like to be on a tag list I should maybe organize that hehe

word count: 6.5k

| masterlist | ix |

January, 1987

She had found them both nice fold-out chairs at the flea market just that last season, along with fishing poles the nice old man insisted went with the seats also. Talked her ear off about how he used to go ice fishing with his son, before said son went off to college. 

Now he wouldn’t be home during the ice fishing season, so he saw no use for his chairs or his poles. But she did. 

Stan would tell her flippantly about his youth from time to time, usually if not always said stories incorporated Stanford in one way or another. It seemed that the two barely, if ever, separated during their youth. Something that upset her more, that her friend had never spoken of his brother to her in the six years they had known each other. She didn’t think he would speak of it all as fondly, these memories, considering he never confided in her about Stanley, to begin with. 

Stan would speak of the shoreline in New Jersey, of the sharp sand beneath his feet and hidden caves along the coast they both would trek through. Talk of the setting sun, of racing his brother home in the dark down paved streets back to their shared room. 

He spoke most fondly of a boat though, one that had taken both twins years to configure. 

She figured the fishing poles could be some sort of link, at least in her mind. 

That and they spent some of their summers down by the dock at the local lake anyway. Splashing in windy tides off the dock and watching boats go by until sunset was a great way to cool off. That or revisiting the pool, where Stan would insist upon ice cream for the short drive home. 

She figured he would wait for the season opener to go fishing. Considering she gave him the poles and chairs in December, a quick wave to Christmas, a holiday he laughed off on the regular. He would routinely celebrate it with her, just for the holiday cookies and cheesy movies he wouldn’t admit he loved. But he was Jewish, after all. At least raised in a Jewish household, he told her flippantly, after opening his gift this last December. Laughing at her blushing face, and flabbergasted stuttering, asking him why he would bother with all this. She sat straight when he said it was for her. Because she wanted to, so he would. Not that he was a religious man, anyway. 

He found it amusing this holiday season then, to find her struggling to make some traditional dishes his mother would make each year come December for the holidays. Nothing he necessarily missed, but something he found endearing nonetheless. Her usual attention to detail, and odd need to ensure his comfort. 

The fishing poles were a welcomed gift though, and he lit up at them and the differing tackles the nice man at the flea market had also gifted her. Hugged her into his side, while he ranted and raved about being able to fish off the docks come summer. 

But he didn’t want to wait. 

Something she thought rather glumly in the very early morning that January weekday. The sun not even having made its appearance, she had stumbled out of her bed around 4 a.m., having promised to reluctantly go ice fishing with said enthusiastic man. They stood before the porch door now, while he knelt in front of her, lacing up tall winter boots and pulling over her snow pants. Tucking her in, layer upon layer. Putting to use some winter clothes they both had rangled out of donation bins that very first cold season. The snow pants and boots had only ever really been used when they would trek through the outskirts of the woods, searching for clues to Stanford’s other journals. 

She was still half asleep on her feet, falling forward into Stan’s bent shoulder in front of her to groan. For some reason, he was wide awake, and grinning like a fool despite it being 4 a.m. That dumb look on his face reminded her why she even crawled out of her cacoon of blankets. He was beyond happy to be able to go fishing. Something he couldn’t even wait for a warmer season to do. 

He seemed a smidge like his younger self when he was closest to water. Some of his favorite memories are those ones with Stanford by his side and sand intertwined in his hair. His skin dark in the sun and his toes were deep in the tide of the sand. 

It seemed more distant now, as distant as Ford was to him now. He wanted to ground himself here too, and some of his new favorite memories are of them hanging at the end of the dock. His feet in the cold water of the lake, and her nudging his shoulder. Teasing him, edging him off the docks’ wood and into the cold water with her. He preferred the summer to the snowy winters, but he figured they could make some new memories by the water now also. Even if they were colder ones. 

So he more or less begged her to join him. Promising that he would handle the fish after she made a disgusted face at the thought of stripping the fish of their skin and bones for the meal they would make of the catch. She agreed though, happy to tag along if it pleased him. 

He stood from his knelt position in front of her, standing to reach behind him to grab his red coat from the coat rack. Turning back to her to fold her arms into the coat also, her eyes still blurry as she smiled at him slightly giddy. 

He had a gift for her that last December also. A coat folded into shitty wrapping newspaper he had thought to repurpose. She smiled at the blue coat but quickly became confused when she pulled it out of the wrapping to find it was far too big for her own physique to be for her. He had quickly pulled out another present for her, presenting her with another newspaper-wrapped gift. Which she tore open with haste, and rocked up quickly to her feet to dance around their small living room, his old red coat in her arms. 

It was hers now, and she reveled in the shitty coat. His smell still lingered in the seam line, and when she leaned her head far back into the hood she could pick up on his shampoo. It kept her warm, despite also not fitting her physique. 

He had woken up earlier than her that morning, putting the appropriate supplies for ice picking into the trunk next to their foldable chairs, the tackles, and the fishing hooks. So they made their way out into the dark, ducking into the car next to each other to make for the lake in the early morning. 

She hummed along to the radio as per usual, random songs interspersed in between the local morning forecast. She stopped though now, picking her head up from the back of the seat to look over at Stan. 

“We missed the entrance to the dock.” 

“Nah there's another one we can go to. Farther down, less people.” 

She hummed, smiling over at him. What he actually meant was there would be no lake office to report to. So no need to register them for the lake that day, and no stupid state fee to pay for fishing on the lake. Amused at his shortcuts, she turns back to watch the pine trees pass out the car window. 

It was a sharp, nose-burning 10 degrees Fahrenheit that day, according to the radio forecast. Only made worse somehow with the creeping darkness from the horizon line. The sun slinked slowly in the coldness of January. 

He made his way out first, the car’s cabin light flashing on as he grinned over at her. Securing his blue coat closed quickly before getting out to stomp a path in the fresh snow around the car. Pulling around the sides to pull open her door, before chugging around to the trunk to unload the supplies he claimed they needed. 

She knew how to fish, but had never ventured into ice fishing. Mainly because the cold was beyond unappealing to her. But the thermos Stan had presented to her before making out the door that morning heated her hands enough to dismiss the onslaught of negativity thrumming through her. And partially woke her up on the drive over. Stepping out into the crunchy cold snow to help Stan gather supplies. 

He shuffled her chair into her hands, slugging everything else into his own broad arms. He could reasonably carry everything, stomping forward in the snow to make a path for her to follow in. 

They had made a spot on the ice, the snowy shoreline a good bit away. Stan claiming the best spots must be farther out. Because the farther out, the bigger the fish. She sat, glancing around the empty ice. When Stan meant fewer people he meant no people. A frozen dock far off near the shoreline also, its wooden structure covered in ice. She watched him now, the fishing poles cradled in her lap, and the thermos warm in her hands. He’s bent in front of her, his mittened hands working an ice auger to break a solid hole through the thick layer of ice. 

Grunting, he stands back up, hands on his hips admiring his work. 

“Is the ice too thin here?” She observes. 

He tilts his head left, turning to her now. “No, doll. Perfectly fine right here. We’ll only be here until a little after sunrise anyway.” 

He sits in his own foldable chair that she had set up for him while he was finagling with the ice. Their chairs positioned side by side, a little distance between them and the whole he had just made. He reaches between them, opening up the tackle box to shuffle around drawers, looking for something in its depth. 

“Close your eyes, hun.” 

She rolls her eyes, closing them, while shuffling the thermos between her thighs to hold out her hands in wait. He places something in her mittened hands, it’s slightly heavy in them now. 

“Open ‘em.” 

She opens them to see an odd black contraption in her hands. Two knobs, a dark screen, and a long antenna on what she presumes is a battery-powered electronic. Almost too dark to make out what it was, but it hit her and she gasped. 

“Ta-Da!” 

“A radio!” She sings, clutching it closer to her chest and swinging in her seat to knock her knees with his. Clawing at his shoulder to fold herself into his neck and coat’s furry trim. She wouldn’t question where he got it, just revel that he had thought to, for her. 

“I know you weren’t too eager to go fishing with me, doll. But I figured this could make up for some of it.” He chuckled, readjusting his hat on his head after they pulled away. Knee’s still knocking between them. 

“I’d do anything with you Stan.” She hums, unthinking, as she looks down at the device in her hands. Tweaking around the knobs and the antenna to turn it on. She misses his flush next to her. 

She gets it working quickly, the music faintly staticy in the background of Stan attempting to put lures at the end of their poles. 

He gets her’s ready first, leaning forward in his seat to situate the pole in her hands. Pointing out the slack line and the type of lure he put on the end of her pole. She’s too distracted, like she always is when he’s probably explaining something vaguely important. 

The music hums between them, perched on the tackle box he had closed. His cheeks flushed from the cold, his hat slumping down the back of his head, hair peeking out around the rim and sticking to his forehead. He leans in closer, his knee and thigh along her own. His own covered hand reaching for hers, folding it around the pole for her to hold. 

They enjoy each other's company until the sun peaks up along the horizon, a good hour in. As they pass the coffee-filled thermos back and forth, she hums to the radio. Enjoying stories Stan told about tourists from the end of the last season. Telling her about their ridiculous questions he had to work around last minute. 

“Then he asked me if they were extinct!” 

“What you tell him?” 

“Well he couldn’t have been more than eight years old, and he got all teary-eyed when he asked me.” Stan waves his hand around, drumming up the memory of when a child had asked him if the fake displayed plady-beaver was the last of its kind. 

“Annnnddd?” She hums, sipping on the last of their shared beverage. 

“And I may or may not have said they were not.” He shrugs. “Was easy to convince the kid’s dad to buy him a plushy.” 

She laughs, thinking about the stupid merchandise she’s still not used to, that she sometimes restocked in the front of the house. But of course, Stan didn’t have the heart to really crush the kid’s spirit. Sad kids equaled less money probably, in his mind. That and he had a weird affinity of being about to communicate with them like no other. 

There’s a tug on her line suddenly, not the first in the hour they’d been at their spot, but the first real strong one she’s ever felt. Jerking her pole, bending it forward. Both her hands met the pole, yanked straight in her seat suddenly. 

“Woah!” He says, sitting forward and reaching for her pole also. His hands encased hers around the pole. “Hold it tight, hun.” Grunting in her ear. 

But the pulling got worse, had them both standing from their chairs. His arms around hers, helping her reel back the pole, pulling it back towards his left shoulder. His arms encasing her, pulling her flush with his front. 

“I gotcha.” He grunts again, close to her ear. 

“Do you?” Gasping at the strength of the pull along the pole. 

It seems to drag them closer and closer to the ice hole he had put in the ground not even an hour ago. His feet planted firm, yet scrapping against the ice. Hers fumbling, dipping under the strength of being pulled forward. Her hands tight, beginning to sweat and ache in the casing of her mittens. A heat around the ring of her hat. He’s hot behind her, warmth seeping out from his coat and onto her back. He feels firm, and yet they both continue a slow crawl forward. 

Until it tugs. It tugs so hard that she instinctually releases her grip. Her hands were still steady against the pole though, still beneath Stan’s own hands. 

The jerk has them both flung forward, his feet no longer steady, flipping against the ice. She’s still between his arms when they fall forward, inching towards the hole. He turns them somehow, taking the brunt of it on his right shoulder. 

Her head swims, having met the ground rather suddenly. But she’s between his arms, her hands having let go of the fishing pole. He’d let them slip from the pole, his arms tight around her, trying to take the force of the impact. 

“Stan.” She mutters, mushy between them. Her head pounded for a minute, as they continued to slide against the ice. His chin propped on her head, warm around her still. 

He doesn’t respond, because he’s given no time to. Another harsh tug on the pole sent him forward quickly towards the hole. He thinks fast though, bending his arms, hooking his feet along her legs, and pulling her out of his grasp. 

She slides along the ice and snow, his push along her legs and waist burned. She turned, pushing herself up on her hands. Grasping at the snow to get some balance. She had run into the chairs and tackle box. All their supplies scattered along the ice. The radio was static behind her. 

It had all happened so fast, her voice cracking in the cold air. Calling his name but not finding him. One moment he was there, the next gone. The water still. 

They had been pulled forward so suddenly, a quick five-second span between the tug and her head meeting the ice. And he was gone as soon as she had lifted herself again, the ice cracking along the sides of the former small hole. 

“Stanley!” Scrapping, crawling towards the hole. The surface wet and slick from the cold lake water that had seeped through the cracks along the hole now. Stan’s visage far from view, the top of the water dark. 

She stares in what feels like forever but is only quantifiable in the movements of the sun. It’s rising now, around her. Sparkling on the ice and water around her. Something she’d marvel at, have her grasping at Stan’s shoulder. Nudging him to see as she does. 

She thinks only briefly before shucking off her hat and gloves, beginning to unlace her boots. She’d follow him, into the dark depths. 

A deep continuous thump. Running along the ice. First near her feet, then farther and farther from her. It has her racing towards it, the vibrations along the ice guiding her along. It must be him, must be that something that pulled him into the dark murky water. The rhythmic thudding has her racing back to the supplies. Fumbling for the axe Stan had packed to help pick out the ice in the hole. 

Running full force back, the ice cracking beneath her legs. Shoelaces dancing around her feet, her fingers nippy and uncovered around the wooden handle of the axe.

It cracks, sickenly loud and sudden. Water bursts beneath her shoes, seeping up and around her. The ground opens up in front of her, splitting along the horizon line. A flash of blue precariously balanced in the large maw of a blurred creature. 

It shakes the ice, splintering and fracturing it below her feet. The weight of the creature resting the front of its body along the ice. Shaking the striking blue figure in its jaw, trying to subdue it. 

She stands still in the ankle-deep water, trying to make out the blurry figure in the maw of the anomaly. It strikes her then that it could be nothing else but Stanley, confirmed by the sputtering grunts the figure heaves, coughing up cold water from his lungs. 

She stands frozen only until then, stepping forward into the slowly sinking ice bath. Ax swung behind her shoulder, ready to slice along the neck of the beast in hopes it would release her husband. 

He clamors in the cage of teeth above. Raised his large hand into a well-practiced fist, blindly throwing said fist to meet the eye of the beast. 

The hit startles the beast, cracking open its jaw to release Stan, a sudden sharp screech creeping up its large neck through its throat. Rattling her bones as she leaps forward in the ice and water, bringing the ax into the meat of the beast's neck. 

It crawls back further, slinking back into the dark cold waters. She stumbles back through the ice and the water until she feels snow beneath her unlaced boots again, the ax gone from her grasp and embedded in the skin of the anomaly. The beast is there and gone in a flash, scrambling back beneath the water. 

Stan has the air knocked out of him, having landed on his back. His head cracked against the ice and water below, the cold creeping in through his clothes. He opens his mouth to groan but finds only his shallow breath and the puff of heated air leaves his mouth. The sun creeping above the horizon now, something he can only gauge by the heat on his face. The rest of him rock solid and shivering under the weight of his wet clothes. 

A sudden eclipse above his head, the sun, and shadows shaded by a beautiful face. Her face shadowed by the sun, her hat gone and her hair spilling all around her head like a halo. Her cheeks flush from the cold, from the adrenaline. It could be the cold or the way the light looks around her head, but he swore she must have been an angel. 

He’s muttering when she finally reaches him, stumbling through the cracked ice and wet water. Her only thought was getting to him. He was beyond sense when she did make it to him, clutching at his tattered and soaked blue coat. He was soaked, drenched to the bone. His hat gone and his hair icy along his head, his gloves gone also, a boot missing from his left foot. And he’s drenched. It all stuck to his body, freezing quickly in the icy temperature. She had to get him home, get him out of these clothes, and heat him up. 

She runs her hands along his coat first, checking for punctures, for blood. He had been dragged several yards under the water in the toothy jaw of said beast. But no punctures and no blood made themselves apparent through his coat. Something she’ll have to access later. 

A thump along the ice has her whipping her head around. The vibration rippling along the ice and the shards of the broken lake surface. The beast lingered in the area, waiting for them to be off guard again. 

She wastes no time, lifting Stan’s large arm up and above her shoulder. Leveraging his body up to be leaned against her side and her back. All those stories about mothers and daughters and adrenaline ring in her head, a truth to the stories of women and abnormal strength in times of strife. She would ache tomorrow, and be glad of it anyways. 

He unconsciously shuffles his feet, and she makes note that he’s somewhat conscious. The ice helps her slip them both along the good hundred yards she has until they reach the shoreline. Their supplies the least of her worries, and the anxious thought of the beast meeting her back out there in the wreckage of it all. She does not turn back to look when abandoning it all. 

It’s harder folding his stiff body into the passenger seat. His legs flopped into the car last. She curses, reaching over him to buckle him in and then making for the driver's side. She rarely drove them, it was more of a special occasion between the two of them. She had only ever driven once in the winter and had been deeply scared of the slipping ice and heavy snowfall. But the sky was clear and she’d put the thought of ice away for a long while. 

She curses again, reaching over to Stan to feel up the inside of his coat pockets for the keys. He stirs at the movement, shrugging off her touch, shivering in his seat. 

“Not Doc’.” He mutters, his head spinning. 

“What?” 

“You’re not Doc’.” He grunts again, his lips loose. His head hurts like a motherfucker. 

“I am!” She hisses, hands pushing his away, reaching for his pockets again, looking for the keys. 

“Oh.” He looks back, eyes blurry under the odd pressure along the back of his head. This person sounded like his wife, he’d admit. Shifting his head to lean against the back of the long bench, making out the flush on her face and the halo of hair around her head. He thought this was his angel? He guessed it was the same thing in his mind, anyway. 

She’s still ruffling through his soaked half-frozen jacket. “Hi, angel.” He says, smiling down at her frusstrated face. Why was she so frazzled? 

He’s grinning like an idiot, and he just acted like he didn’t know who she was. Like she wasn’t her. Calling her angel? He’d only ever done that in her dream. That achingly sick dream she had of them, of them in this very car. Of his weight above her, of his breath along the crook of her neck. Of his kiss. 

She shakes it off. Finally finding the keys folded into a very frozen and flat pocket along his chest. Turning back to the wheel, starting the car up, and peeling out of the parkway backward. Leaving the same way they had come in. 

She races home, glancing over at Stan stiff in the passenger seat. His eyes hadn’t left her figure but seemed distant. His thoughts far beyond him, and his coat and pants were frozen against him. His hair melts off his head in the car, still wet but no longer frozen to his scalp. Messy wet hair tucked around his big ears. 

She parks and throws open doors as quickly as she physically can. Slipping in the snow, tripping over her loose boots. Fingers frigid when she reaches for him to move him out of the passenger side. 

She knows the signs of hypothermia. Knows the dangers of prolonged exposure to cold, and dropping body temperature. Doing math in her head, hoping he had been exposed short enough for her to physically raise his temperature before his heart began to slow. Before blood began to sludge its way through his veins. 

He looks as blue as his coat, his arm slugged back over her shoulder as she attempts to get him up the stairs. The slurred speech, the confusion, the dulled skin. It made her heart race, taking steps two at a time to drag him to the upstairs restroom. To the bath. 

She sets him against the open door, running and slipping along the tile, turning on the bath to its warmest temperature. The water would be scalding against his cold skin, would sting and tingle in contrast to his wet clothes, but it was the only way she thought to raise his temperature. 

She rushes back to him, kneeling in front of him, grabbing at his coat and pants to pull the wet clothes from him. He’s smiling again, giggling at her attempt to uncloth him. 

“Could have asked hun.” He jokes, but she cries. He’s so out of it, so gone from this reality and it shakes her bones. He’s here and not all at once. 

He thinks he sees her clearer here in the yellow bathroom light, hot fog swelling around them from the facet. She has her hands all over him, eager to get him out of wet clothes that stick hard against his body. Didn’t she know? That all she had to do was ask and he would shed any layer to get closer to her? He giggles again, leaning into her hot hands against his cold blue body. 

She manages to get everything but his boxers and socks off him, a flush to her face. Not for lacking of trying though, but Stan would laugh and shake her hand away. Muttering under his breath between them when she would reach for the waistband of his usual blue loose boxers. So she luggs his wingspan along her back again, leveraging him up to move him to the scalding water. Heat bubbling up in clouds around the water. Bruises along his chest have begun to form from the pressure and weight of the beast's teeth and jaw. They’d turn purple and swell soon, a good sign she sighed. A swell meant blood was flowing fast still.

He hisses, his head rocking back along the edge of the clawed tub when he finally is able to sit in the water. It’s hot, too hot. It hurts to breathe in the heat, and he attempts to lift his lungs above the water to gain air again. The muggy water hurts his skin and burns him. But her hand meets his chest, pushing him back into the scalding water. 

“Stay.” She commands, eyes wavering when she looks at him now. Melted into the porcelain of the tub. He’s still shivering. He doesn’t even register it but his body has been shaking, vibrating, this entire time. Moving his muscles in an attempt to warm him up. 

She reaches to turn the hot water back on, cursing, beating her hand along the rim of the tub when the water comes out cold. It’s all gone. She looks down at him again, her hand moving along his chest, trying to generate heat where her hand was. “Stay, Stan. Stay in the fucking water.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He mutters, still smiling at her like an idiot. God, she was pretty, god her hand felt nice along his cold bitter skin. She was out the door so quickly. Was it possible to miss someone who was just in the other room? 

She’s barreling down the stairs, flipping on every gas burner in her wake on the kitchen stove. Stumbling to the cupboard, pulling out saucepans and the like to put water in. She’d boil it, damnit. Like her grandmother used to do for her when she was preparing her bath. 

She doesn’t breathe until every corner of the stove is full. Leaned over the countertop next to the burners. Her hand rubbed along her chest, along her heart. Self-soothing, the purpose of the continuous motion above the erratic beating. She had tunnel vision up until now, suddenly noticing that she hadn’t even flicked on the kitchen light. Hadn’t even closed the front door. 

She had been scared. Still was. Shaken beyond something she knew. It pained her to be in the next room, afraid of looking over her shoulder and not finding him there. She’d never lead them through crowds again, never let him stray far from her peripheral. Because then he would be gone, could be gone. 

Ice seeps in through her snow pants, and she tugs off her boots too. Socks wet against the kitchen tile. Her hands shake as she pulls her boots loose. 

She had almost lost him. Lost him for good. It was a shell shock beyond her, beyond her imagination. For the last five years, it was hard to conjure up adventures and trips without him. The thought of flippantly leaving him behind never crossed her mind. Hadn’t ever left her mind. Not after storming in through the shack's door, not after his confession to her across the dim kitchen table, across their kitchen table. 

She sits there now, feeling like it was a lifetime ago, but knowing she could blink and mistake the past for the present. He had reached across to her that night, across the table. Held his palms face up when he asked for help. When he confided in a four-second mistake he had made. She had hesitated then, to reach for him. To reach across and find assurance between them, to fold her hands into his own. She had judged initially. But they had both made mistakes. Both made mirror image mistakes, it felt. She didn't want to hesitate to reach for him ever again. She just feared he would be gone before she could. Feared he would disappear along her shoulder line. 

She had thought it was obvious, the unspoken agreement between them. That they both meant something to the other. That her dreams threaded into a deeper reality, and that the jokes they shared weren’t some passing balm to deal with it all. That the late nights in front of the T.V. analyzing movies were for the thrill of each other's company, and that their yearly poker game was a silent promise of convergence. That the shitty driving lessons weren’t so she could drive away from him someday, that chalkboard lessons were so he wouldn’t scoff when she said he was smart with her whole chest. That the yearly diner dates were just that, just dates. Not something flippant, not something as unkind as the upkeep of an image. That he opened doors for her for a reason and tucked her below his chin because he cared enough to. That he reached across tables, palms up, because he never feared her hesitation. 

Something unwritten between them she believed, everything shared in everything but words and letters. She was a calculating woman throughout her years and didn’t know how to trace the beginning of the feelings she had amassed all the way to the end of it. She didn’t know how to explain that her heart clenched when he leaned over the seat to buckle her in or explain how her hands shake when he reaches for the chalk from her now in the middle of a lesson. It was inconsequential, improbable, and entirely unexplainable to well… explain the sum of him to her. It felt little in comparison to his constant devotion. 

The two front pots begin to boil over, she lifts her head, turning off burners and carrying a stem to a pot in both hands. Taking the stairs two at a time again, uncaring about the burning water running down her arms in her haste to make it back to him. 

He’s still the same shade, but he lifts his head to look at her when she enters now. His smile less doppy, more genuine. His hair beginning to dry along his head, no ice to be found in its dark strands. He’s still leaning heavily along the back of the tub, not yet able to hold himself up. Color coming back to his cheeks, to his face. She kneels beside the tub, the floor wet as it seeps in through her pants. She pours in one pot at a time, swiping the water around to acclimate it to the bathwater. His hands move unconsciously, grabbing a strand of her hair to fold behind her ear. To be able to look at her more clearly through the fog of hot water. 

She begins to pour the next pot into the tub, but he tugs her forward, folds her body against the rim of the tub. Something in her makes her stand, lifting her feet into the tub. The way he looks at her, so disorientated and shivering still. It moves her forward, has her crawling into the tub completely clothed just to lay her cheek against his chest. To make sure it continues to rise under her. Like when she sleeps, and he lulls her back to sleep by simply being there. She wants that, for him to lull her racing heart now. Make her forget about his disappearing visage and still water. He does that, hums like he always does, folding her head under his scruffy chin. Comforting her despite his weakened figure. Hoping she wouldn’t notice how cold he still was against her. 

Something unwritten she believed, something she had never had to say out loud because she had never felt this weird depth before. But he was slipping from her grasp now, heavy against the rim of the tub. And so very quiet it made her sick, made her heart chase up her throat. Made her anxious beyond words, because the thing she meant to say to him would stay unwritten. If he was gone she’d only voice such fantasies in her dreams. The dreams she had of him as hers, those other realities her mind conjured where he wore a golden band and called her his. Where she was his. 

“You're mine.” Her voice was unwavering, something unwritten between the syllables of her words. It blooms and bursts from her throat, a growth that had sprouted long ago, stumbles out of her mouth searching for light. Still folded under his chin, along his chest. Her shirt wet from the water, bunched up along her waist where he had put his hands. 

He gets that look in his eyes despite her intensity, a joke on the tip of his tongue. Something to soothe her racing heart, to stamp down the distant look in her eyes. How she had looked in the car scared him, the rush of her chest but the focus of her eyes. Like they had been driving in the dark, through a neverending tunnel. But she chases it away before he can open his mouth, her hand meeting and cupping his scruffy jaw, pulling back from her comfort to look at him. Turning his eyes to her intense ones, ones that held something unspoken. 

“No.” A shake to her voice, eyes blurry. “You’re mine.” 

He nods, his voice stuck in his throat. Running his hands up her back, his warmer hands. 

“Y-you aren’t allowed to leave me like that, Stanley. You can’t l-leave me all alone like that.” Flashes of a towering beast are nothing compared to turning over her shoulder. Of searching the horizonline. Like she does for Stanford, eyes drifting to tree lines. She wouldn’t, couldn’t compartmentalize doing such a thing for Stanley. She’d take back hesitancies and reach across tables palm up if it meant he wouldn’t leave her again. 

“I promise, angel.” He takes her again, tucking her back to his chest. Her racing heart fluttered against his warming chest. “I won’t leave.” 

Her hand fall into that crook in his chest, the other clutching along his back, trying to bring him closer, trying to make the space between them disappear. She sniffling, from the cold and stress, against his chest and he doesn’t think twice about his words. Thinking of reaching for her, of meeting her across bridges and tables and in tunnels to meet her open palms, her warm hands. Unfurling her from his chest to lean down and place his lips near her ear, something unspoken between syllables. 

“You’re mine, too.” 

His lips traveling to her cheek, hovering against the flush skin before tracing her warmth. Kissing the apple of her cheek as she leans into the front of him. His lips warm against her cheek, like she had dreamed of. He had never been this close in the waking world, something she craved more with each passing day. She never pulled away, sniffling as he brings her forward again. No hesitation to be found in the nod of her head along his scruff, a nudge, and nestle of agreement. Something unspoken, unwritten. 

She forgot about the pots and burners. 

[shroomdreams]

Fish Out Of Water

Jiyan x F!Mermaid!Reader

NSFW

CW: Strangers-to-Lovers, porn with plot, monster reader, light angst in the middle, first time, lots of foreplay, unprotected sex, p in v, cumming inside. A/N: I didn’t mean for it to get this long. I’m so sorry yall, I hope you guys enjoy! 6.5k words

Miles off the coast of a settlement in Tiderise Cliff, underneath the waves, a strange being gazes upwards and dreams of the breaching the unknown. You are a creature of the waters, some may call a siren. However, you don’t have aspirations of drowning sailors or anything remotely similar. Simply put, you want to learn more of the strange world above the waters you call home. The one thing that stops is that you don’t exactly look like the “humans” that populate the world. Few times your head pokes out of the water, they’ve mistaken you for something called a “Tacet Discord.”

Still, it didn’t deter you from observing them, watching how their bodies moved. You gained a better understanding of the human form after a year or two of observing them. Despite this, your plans to explore the land was interrupted by the chaos ravaging the area. You hid in the water, hoping for things to calm down.

When they did, you heard that there will be a festival celebrating the defeat of an enormous Tacet Discord. This was your chance! Even if you couldn’t stay for too long, this was your moment to take in the human culture and be among them. However, your first steps were rather shaky… Both literally and figuratively. For one thing, it was a massive learning curve trying to balance on legs, and you fell face first into the sand. Still, you had to press on, holding yourself onto a rock for stability.

“Excuse me, ma’am!” A voice sounds from afar. Looking up, you see a group of humans wearing the same outfits marching towards you. A few of them are looking away as they approach, while the leader of the squad walks up to you. “Are you alright? You took a fall over there…” He says, a light blush on his cheeks.

“Uhm… I’m okay, thank you.” The nervous look on their faces make you apprehensive. The leader scratches the back of his head, clearing his throat.

“That’s good. Have you been attacked in some way?”

“Er, no… I don’t think so.”

The humans seem to look at each other with a certain look, one you can’t really parse. The leader steels his gaze and straightens his back. “I see… Well, you should come with us. It’s dangerous out here. While we have dealt with the threnodian threat, we can’t be too sure…”

So you find yourself with a cloak wrapped around your shoulders, shielding your body from the sunlight as you walk among the humans. You learn that they were dispatched to patrol the perimeter around the settlement to make sure there’s minimal Tacet Discord interference. When you reach the settlement, the leader tasks for some of the humans to go back to patrolling while he and a few others make sure you’re okay.

“We’ll just conduct a quick medical examination, miss.” The woman in the white robe explains. You find yourself inside a tent with all sorts of important looking devices inside, sitting on an elevated surface. “Please tell me if there’s any sort of discomfort.” The woman presses a few instruments to certain parts of your body, sticking a tube in your mouth and taking it out after a certain point. She scribbles something on her clipboard.

“Your vitals are normal, and there doesn’t appear to be anything wrong.” The woman says. “However, there are still a few things I’d like to confirm. Would you mind waiting here for a moment?” After you nod, she walks outside.

“How is she?” A man in teal attire would ask. The woman bites her lip, looking at her notes.

“Results show me that she’s a normal human, but I noticed a few aberrations on her legs. They look like fish scales… and I spotted a tacet mark on the back of her neck. As for any injuries, there’s also a scar on her shoulder. I suspect that it was caused by a bullet.”

“So we have an unidentified resonator who seemingly washed up on the beach…” He rests his chin on his hand, eyebrows scrunched together. “This is troubling. Maybe the result of an exile attack?”

“Considering the patrollers found her without any clothes…”

The silence hangs for a brief moment.

“She didn’t mention any hostility, but we can’t be sure if she blocked out the memory or if she’s actively avoiding the subject. Either way, General, I suggest we handle this delicately.”

“Very well. Have someone bring her clothes. I’ll go talk with her, see if we can make a breakthrough.”

Back inside, you perk up when the tent flaps open, revealing a man with dark teal hair and golden eyes. You note the scales on his face as he takes a stool and sits down, making you look down at him. He smiles at you.

“Hello. How are you feeling, miss?”

You can’t help but smile back, leaning in a bit. “I’m feeling fine, thank you.” You pause. “Uhm, that woman from earlier… Is she coming back?”

“Ah, Dong Mei will return shortly. I’d like to introduce myself. I am Jiyan of the Midnight Rangers.”

Midnight Rangers… That must be the group who found you. From his attire, you get the feeling Jiyan must be someone important to them. The presence of someone like Jiyan suddenly fills you with unease, your eyebrows knitted together with worry as you shuffle awkwardly. Noticing your tension, Jiyan holds his hands up.

“Please, there’s no need to be worried. I merely want to know how you’re currently feeling, that’s all.”

“Well… I feel fine.” You answer honestly. “It’s a bit strange to have this many people care about me. I uhm, I would have thought strangers would be treated differently.”

Jiyan frowns at your reply. “Forgive me, but it’s troubling to hear you say such a thing. What makes you think we’ll just show you door?”

“Uh…”

The words struggle to form a coherent sentence in your mind, staring at Jiyan as you try and supply him with an answer. Nothing happens, leaving you in silence, your hands resting on your lap.

…You decide to change the subject.

“This settlement… They’re celebrating a festival soon, aren’t they?” You ask.

“Yes. Were you planning on attending?”

“Mhmm.” You nod. “It’s actually my first time here. I don’t really know of the customs or any of the rules.” You don’t mention the brief flash of sadness in Jiyan’s eyes as you speak. “I want to spend some time here, if only for a little while. I’ll be gone by the time the festival concludes.”

“Do you have a place to stay for a while? The festival wouldn’t be ready in two days.” Jiyan asks. When you shake you head, he closes his eyes in thought. “…If it doesn’t discomfort you, you can stay with us here until the festival. Will that be alright?”

“Really? But wouldn’t I be a burden to you?”

It’s Jiyan’s turn to shake his head. “Not at all. We have more than enough resources to accommodate one civilian. Now come along, we should get you cleaned up.”

“Oh, I see. Thank you.”

That’s the end of that conversation, apparently, as Jiyan leads you outside. Throwing your cloak on, you follow Jiyan towards a wooden house. “You can take showers here, if needed.” Jiyan explains.

”Dong Mei will come here with your clothes.”

You walk inside the house. Leaving your cloak on a cubby, you walk further inside and find yourself in a room filled with tiny bodies of water, with a few people already inside. You timidly make your way over a pool, surrounding yourself in the water. The warm temperature of bath is way different than the cold sea you grew up in, but it’s pleasant. You scrub away the grains of sand from your face and allow yourself to be cleansed by the water.

After a moment of soaking in the water, you remove yourself from the bath and dry yourself off with a towel. “Hello, miss!” Ah, that must be Dong Mei. You poke your head out and see the doctor from before holding a bundle of clothes. “A helpful couple gave us these clothes, said it’s a hand-me-down from their daughters.”

Indeed, you’re now wearing a modest dress that makes you blend in with the crowd. You giggle, twirling around to make the skirt flare up a bit. After a bit of thinking, you decide to keep the cloak on you. Jiyan smiles when he sees you walk out the bath house with Dong Mei in tow.

“Did you enjoy the bath house?”

“I did. I haven’t had a bath like that ever!” You giggle, clapping your hands. Jiyan laughs along side you. “Uhm, now that I’m clean, may I go down and see the preparations? I know you said the festival wouldn’t be ready for a while, I just don’t want to be idle.”

“It’s no problem. Would you want me to accompany you?”

Dong Mei’s eyes widen, darting towards to Jiyan then to you. A mischievous smile grows on her face as Jiyan blinks, processing the words that escaped from his mouth. “Oh look at that! Haoran and the others came back. I’ll just leave you in the General’s capable hands.” She quickly makes a strategic exit, leaving you alone with Jiyan.

“...Ahem. Well, shall we?”

“We shall.”

The hustle and bustle of the settlement makes for an energetic environment. You ooh and ahh even at the slightest things. Jiyan smiles as he watches your reactions, chuckling as you point out items and decorations.

“Oh! Jiyan, what’s this flower called?” You pick up a pink flower with five petals, inhaling its scent. “I’ve never smelled something so sweet before… Can I eat it?”

“I’d advise you to not do so.” Jiyan replies. “This is a Pecok flower. Usually, the artisans would use it to make seals for important documents. It’s a pretty one.” He looks you in the eye as he speaks, gently taking the flower from you. He brushes the hair from your face, setting the plant in your hair. A slight blush graces your cheeks at the gesture, eyeing the flower from the corner of your vision.

You spend the rest of the day strolling around, pointing out some oddities and asking Jiyan for his opinion. As the sun sets, you realize that you have no idea where exactly to go. Despite the general saying that you could stay in camp, you aren’t entirely sure where exactly you’re supposed to stay at.

“Jiyan,” You look up at him with a small frown. “Where am I going to sleep?”

Jiyan is silent for a moment. “If it it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, then perhaps you could stay with me?”

Your eyes light up, beaming at Jiyan. “That’s really nice of you. Thank you Jiyan!”

Settling in for the night, you change behind a screen and into your night clothes, which is just Jiyan’s shirt. You place the Pecok Flower somewhere safe, kissing one of the petals before going back to your cot. It was actually Jiyan’s first, but he insisted you take it while he takes the sleeping bag. Yawning, you roll over and flash a smile to him.

“Goodnight Jiyan.”

“Goodnight.”

Laying on your back, you close your eyes and drift off to sleep…

In the wee hours of the morning, Jiyan wakes up first. He stifles a yawn, sitting up and stretching his neck. The sun hadn’t even breached the horizon, the firmament cradling the stars in its embrace. He turns to look at your sleeping figure. Your head is titled to the side, drool running from your mouth and staining his pillow. He takes in how your chest rises and falls, the fabric of his shirt riding up to reveal some of your more intimate parts.

The way the neckline droops downward, nearly exposing one of your breasts, while the hem of his shirt just barely covers your rear… Jiyan gulps, his throat suddenly feeling dry. He lays back down. A tangled mess of feelings creates a tapestry of emotions, hung up by his conscience.

You were a resonator who came from out of the blue, with an unknown past and naked as the day you were born. Would he be like the people who had done you harm, Jiyan wonders as he palms himself, shame creeping in his mind. He freezes when you yawn, turning his head to see you smack your lips and adjust your position, facing away from him.

…He decides to take an early bath.

When you wake up, Jiyan is nowhere to be found. Taking a spare robe and your daily clothes, walking to the bathhouse under the slowly rising skies. As you shuck off Jiyan’s shirt, you pause when you hear groaning from somewhere in the bathhouse. When you peek through the door way, your hands fly up to cover your mouth when you see Jiyan doing… something. Urged by your instincts, you quickly turn away as he lets out a loud groan, panting at the end.

“U-Uhm… Is anyone in here?”

He jolts in surprise, hearing your voice. “I-It’s me.” He replies, quickly throwing a towel over his lower half as you walk inside the space.  You look elsewhere as you make your way to the pool, setting down your towel before you slip in.

“Good morning, general.” You timidly greet, looking up at him as you sink into the water. Jiyan mumbles out his own greeting, unwilling to meet your gaze. The two of you sit in silence, accompanied only by the chirping of birds outside. Jiyan can’t help but sneak glances towards you.

“...Jiyan, are you okay? Your face is all flushed.”

“Ah- No need to worry about me. I just… Had to take care of something earlier.”

“I see…”

Ever bashful, you sink further down while only your head pokes out of the water. “If you want, you can uhm, join… me…” Your words trail off, too embarrassed to say the rest. Still, you perk up when Jiyan decides to indulge you, the water rippling as he sits down.  Though you aren’t exactly sure of the  proper bath etiquette, you decide to move closer to Jiyan. The general says nothing, though he rests a hand on your shoulder.

“...This scar. How did you get it?”

“Oh, that.” You look to your shoulder, tracing a finger over your scar. “Well… It’s a bit of a funny situation. I remember swimming in the waters, diving down to the sea floor to collect shells. When I went up to the surface, I heard someone yell,” You cleared your throat, putting your best impression of the person you heard. “’Tacet Discord! Quick, shoot at it!’”

The color drains from Jiyan’s face as you continued on with your tale.

“So I tried to get away, and they started shooting… Bullets, I think they were called? A lot of them missed me, but they managed to hit my shoulder. And well, here we are.” You giggled.

Jiyan doesn’t share your amusement, instead pulling you in close. “Why do you laugh at your pain?” He asked, searching your eyes for answers. He finds confusion instead. “The fact someone harmed you because they thought you were a TD… What if you were killed?”

You smiled sadly. “I don’t think anyone would miss me, Jiyan. I don’t have family waiting for me, and what little friends I had leave me in the end.”

“Still… I wish you didn’t have to go through that.” He says, rubbing your cheek. Leaning in to his touch, his breath tickles your lips, the close proximity unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.

…However, the moment ended when you hear the murmuring of people approaching the area. You and Jiyan wrap up in the bathhouse, putting on your clothes and walking out, pinkies laced together.

Decorations slowly pop up in the area, banners and streamers being hung as vendors put up their stalls. You and Jiyan are the topic of hushed whispers and gossips as you strolled through the area. Though the festival starts tomorrow, a few vendors who managed to complete their stall began offering trinkets to you. Since you had no shell credits to your name, you manage to completely ignore most of them… Up until a certain stall.

“You there missy!” A woman would wave you over. She grins when you approach, pulling out a box. Flicking the lock open, she reveals an assortment of necklaces and collars. “That dress is real pretty on you… But you know what would make you prettier? Some jewelry, only for a few hundred shell credits.”

…You will admit, these necklaces are really pretty… But then again, you have no credits to you name. Still, it’d be nice to have one of these. As you’re about to decline the woman’s offer, you pause when you take note of a collar. The collar had a wavy pattern stylized in loopy shapes, with little beige rhinestones acting as sand at the bottom. The teal seashell hanging from the collar completes the look. The woman grins, taking the collar and placing it in your hands.

“Good eye, madame. This little beauty takes inspiration from the bay that surrounds us. Just for you, this collar is only worth two thousand shells!”

Two thousand shells… That’s still a lot. But as you were about to hand the collar back, Jiyan stops you by placing down a pouch of credits, pushing to towards the woman. She accepts it with glee while you stare up at Jiyan in shock. “Jiyan-”

“Don’t be so worried.” He smiles, taking the collar from you. “It really does suit you. Here…” He turns you around, eyes flicking towards your tacet mark. Carefully wrapping the band around your neck, his fingers graze over the mark, making you shiver. “How is it? Not too tight, I hope.”

“No, it’s perfect.” You smile, looking down at the shell collar. “Thank you, Jiyan… I’ll have to look for a matching shell.”

Again, you continue the routine of strolling through the settlement before retiring back to Jiyan’s tent. You’re back to wearing one of his shirts, and you sleep the night away...

Tomorrow, you’ll surely have the time of your life with the man who has been so nice to you. You’re sure of it!

When you wake up, a wave of mischief overtakes you, surged on by the excitement of the festival. Carefully climbing out of bed, you crawl over to where Jiyan is and hover over him with a smug smile. A dainty finger makes contact with his cheek. “Ji-yaaaan. Ji-yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan.” Poke poke poke- You pout, thinking your attempts of rousing him from slumber is a bust. Suddenly, you feel muscular arms wrap about your midsection and pull you down, tumbling until you end up pinned underneath your target.

“Getting rather antsy, aren’t we?”

“Good morning, Jiyan!” You chirp, smiling up at him. Jiyan’s gaze softens, before he gains mischievous glint in his eyes. You let out a squeal when Jiyan begins nibbling your cheeks, laughing uncontrollably as you feebly hit his shoulders. “Hahaha! Jiyan noooo! Stoooop! Hahahahaha!” This earns you a playful growl from the general, who starts prodding at your sides, sending you into a fit of giggles.

Jiyan eventually relents when you push him off, nibbling on his cheek as payback. The two of you get ready for the day, Jiyan preparing to leave in order to take care of some business. “I promise I’ll come back before the festival begins,” He says, adjusting your collar. Golden eyes paired with a small smile gives you reassurance of his oath. The general rubs your cheek before he sets off to secure the area. As you think about what to do for the rest of the day, you’re called outside by a familiar voice.

“Ah, Miss Dong Mei!” You greet, bowing slightly. “What do you need me for?”

“Well, since the festival starts later on, I figured I’d give you a whole makeover for when Jiyan comes back.” Dong Mei grins, taking your hand and leading you somewhere else. “It took us some time and we had to rush, but the girls and I got everything we need to turn you into the prettiest lady in Jinzhou.”

“But Miss Dong Mei-”

“No buts!”

So you’re dragged into a tent full of women whose smiles fill you with a sense of dread. However, you calm down when they gently preen and argue about what shade of eyeshadow is perfect for your skin. Eventually, Dong Mei proudly presents you in front of a mirror they borrowed for this occasion. The women pat themselves on the back as Dong Mei places the Pecok flower in your hair. Finally, you’re clothed in a short-sleeved dress that hugs your figure, accentuating your curves.

“What do you think?”

“Is this really what I look like? I look like a whole other person… Will Jiyan even recognize me?”

“Don’t be silly, of course he will. Oh! Here he comes.” Dong Mei saunters out the tent. Her conversation with the general is a bit muffled, your apprehension growing with each unintelligible syllable. It isn’t until Dong Mei calls for you did you snap out of your train of thought. With a small sigh, you shyly part the tent flaps, glancing at Jiyan’s reaction.

Pink dusts his cheeks, his eyes wide and twinkling with surprise, mouth parted open. Words seem non-existent as you timidly make your way in front of him, looking into his golden eyes. “Miss Dong Mei and the others gave me a makeover… Do you uhm… Like it?” It seemed like such a silly question to ask when Jiyan’s eyes scan your figure, and you take note that your legs seem to be exposed by the slit running up the side. Dong Mei elbows Jiyan, causing him to cough and straighten his posture.

“You look beautiful. Perfect for an outing at the festival.” He smiles, and you return the expression. Dong Mei giggles and waves you off as you link arms with Jiyan, walking towards the big event you’ve been waiting for.

At night, colorful streamers and lanterns decorate the starry sky as you and Jiyan strolled through area. Who would have thought you’d find such a wonderful friend when you ventured to the surface? Sure, you had an awkward start, but the elation you feel right now as you toss a lightweight ball into one of the bowls, earning you a pretty, albeit fake fish. Jiyan chuckles at you inspect the fish, turning it around in your hand. The stall owner generously gives you a bag to hold any trinkets you win, and you drag Jiyan to play more games.

Your bag of trinkets fills up, as does your joy. Currently, Jiyan had you sit down at a table while he went to get the two of you some food, leaving you to entertain yourself with the fake fish you earned earlier. It’s unlike any fish you’ve seen in the waters, but you wonder if such a creature could exist. The fake fish swims around in a tiny container, your eyes following its every moment.

“You seem occupied,” Jiyan says as he returns with a small carton box of fries, a few meat skewers, and two cups with pink liquid inside. “I didn’t know what flavor you liked, so I got us both strawberry. I hope you don’t mind.”

Shaking your head, you return the fake fish to your trinket bag as you indulge in the food. At some point, you take a fry and wave it in front of Jiyan’s face, clearly intending to feed him. Jiyan stares at you for a moment, before chuckling and biting the fry, giggles bubbling from your chest. Your eyes shine when you take a sip of the strawberry drink, making sure to savor every last drop.

“Whew… This festival is everything I thought it’d be.” You say, watching as lanterns float into the air. A sad smile graces your features as the water gently laps at your shoes. The two of you have decided to sit by the beach, where you could see the city of Jinzhou in the distance. Leaning into Jiyan’s shoulder, you look up at him. “Thank you for everything, Jiyan. I don’t think I would have had this much fun without you around.”

“...”

“...Jiyan? Are you okay?” The general had gradually stopped speaking over the course of your conversation, deep in thought. Just as you were about to poke his cheek, Jiyan gently grasps your hands as he looks deep into your eyes, his golden hues shining under the moonlight. “Jiyan?-”

Suddenly, Jiyan’s lips lock with yours, and you note the faint trace of strawberries staining his mouth. Jiyan leans in, one of his hands supporting your lower back as your hands fly up and grab onto his shoulders for extra support. You gasp when Jiyan pulls back, a string of saliva connecting the two of you. You gaze up at him with wide eyes and reddened cheeks, panting slightly as you processed just exactly what happened.

“Jiyan, wha-”

“I- Apologize for my rash actions… But I could not bare to keep it a secret for much longer…” He mutters. You could make out the faint blush in his cheeks as he holds your chin, giving your jaw light bunny kisses. “I cannot deny it anymore. I’ve fallen for you. You’re so sweet and genuine, I just couldn’t help these feelings sprouting inside me. So I have something to ask you.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

Time slows. Jiyan waits for your reaction.

What he doesn’t expect is for you push him off and for your dress to burst into energy particles, watching as your figure dives into the water. Jiyan can only stand up, watching as your tail waves at him before disappearing into the waters below. As he stands there, his mind scrambling to take in the situation, he notices your collar washing up beside him. The lonely shell glints under the moon’s pitiful light as Jiyan picks up your bag of trinkets.

The following day, Jiyan calls out your name at the beach, hoping he could at least draw you out. Dong Mei and the other rangers took some time off to help him in his search despite his protests. Jiyan clutches the collar in his hand as he scans the waters for any sign of you. “General Jiyan, we haven’t found anything.” Dong Mei says. She’s never seen the general so distraught before. “Perhaps we should send someone to look for her?”

“No,” Jiyan vehemently shakes his head. “She’s… She would just get scared off again. Thank you for your assistance, but this is something I have to tackle on my own.”

Without further instructions, Dong Mei salutes Jiyan and leaves with her fellow rangers. Jiyan lets out a deep sigh, staring into the water with a grim expression, his lips tightening into an uncomfortable line. Where could you have gone, he wonders as the sand crunches underneath his boots. His mind replays the scene from last night, his chest tightening when he takes in your shocked expression. Everything about you suddenly clicked that night. Your lack of clothing, the scales on your legs, and the bullet scar on your shoulder…

Still, Jiyan doesn’t give up. Day after day, he walks alongside the beach, hoping to see the distinct color of your tail in the waters. His soldiers mention how he always seem to smell of salt, and he finds himself losing his appetite whenever seafood is mentioned. However, his search is rewarded when he spots you near the shore, sitting on the sand. You dive back into the water, but before you could retreat to the depths, you hear him call your name.

You’re nearing the shallows, eyeing the shadow. You know exactly who that is. But could you really face him after what you did? He must be very upset at you. It’s so easy to just swim back into the deep and return to your simple life under the water. You could return to normalcy.

…But could you really do that? After the time you’ve spent up on the surface, you craved more. You want to eat yummy food, visit Jinzhou city, see all the pretty flowers you couldn’t see underwater. Most of all…

…You wanted Jiyan.

You breach the surface, staring up at the man who helped you navigate the world. Before you could speak, Jiyan breaks into a sprint and lifts you from the water, spinning you around and holding you close. You could feel his chest heaving. “…I missed you.” He whispers. Your heart breaks when you catch sight of his tear filled gaze.

“Jiyan… I’m sorry. It was all so sudden, a-and I…” You sniffle, feeling your own eyes welling up in tears. You curl into Jiyan’s hold, Jiyan adjusting his grip to hold you in a bridal carry, pressing his forehead to yours as you begin to cry. “I didn’t want to make you sad. I’m not human at all. Y-You deserve someone who isn’t… This.” Your hands clumsily wipe away the tears rolling down your cheeks. “You’re the g-general, while I’m just some nobody… You deserve someone better.”

“Shh shh shh… None of that. Love, I fell for you and you alone.” Jiyan murmurs, kissing your cheek. “I’m hurt that you ran away, but I understand why. You… You must have been terribly lonely all these years under the sea. It was my fault for scaring you off like that. I shouldn’t have dropped the news on you so abruptly. But I promise you this,” He plants light kiss to your lips as he closes his eyes. “I love you no matter what form you take. Whether you have legs or a fish tail, I’ll love you all the same. So please, don’t leave me so suddenly again.

“Oh Jiyan…!”

The waves crash against the rocks as you and Jiyan share a tender kiss, eyes closed as the water ripples around you. Opening your eyes, you shift into your human form as Jiyan smiles at you with blushing cheeks. The two of you make your way out of the water, and Jiyan cloaks you in order to preserve your dignity. Though if he was being honest with himself, it’s mostly because he wants nobody else to see your bare form.

If someone were to describe it, they’d say the trip back to the city of Jinzhou would be something out of a fairy tale, where you cuddled up to Jiyan as the truck makes it way back to civilization. Jiyan wastes no time bringing you back home, needy kisses on your neck and collar bones as you stumble through the front door. None of you realize just how starved the both of you were for attention before the cozy atmosphere of Jiyan’s home ignites that tiny spark.

After barely making it to the bedroom, Jiyan gently sets you down on the soft mattress of his bed, bashfully looking up at him through your lashes as he disrobes. Jiyan wastes no time kissing you again, tangling his tongue with yours and swallowing your moans, your legs feebly wrapping around his waist and pulling him close. Your soft curves contrast nicely with his muscular frame, the heated friction between your bodies making your head dizzy.

“Ah… Ji-Jiyan…” Whimpers fill the space as Jiyan nibbles at the flesh of your neck, biting and kissing such a sensitive place. Aiming to draw more sinful noises from you, Jiyan finally pays attention to your chest, pawing at one of them and gently kneading the flesh. The sensation was foreign to you, as you never paid much attention to that area before, but Jiyan’s mouth swallowing one of your buds was enough to get you moaning louder.

“Do you have any idea how much I wanted to do this?” Jiyan whispered, the pads of his thumbs drawing circles on nipples, teasing them until they hardened. You couldn’t reply, squealing when he suddenly tugs on your chest. “When you came to the bathhouse, I could barely control myself… You were so stunning,” He sucks on your nipple as you sob, your hands finding their way to his hair. “I wanted to devour you right then and there. But I couldn’t. Not with all those people around.”

Truly, you had no idea what you do to this man. You grip the sheets as you panted out, your chest littered with tiny bite marks and covered in saliva. Jiyan kisses your nipple one last time before settling between your legs. He was knelt on the floor of his bedroom as he parted your thighs, revealing your most intimate parts. You sit up, supported by your elbows as Jiyan licks at your inner thighs, shivering as his tongue makes contact with your skin.

“Mmmph!”

You throw your head back when he suddenly kisses the little pearl hiding in your folds, legs shaking as Jiyan licks up from your pussy to your clit. A yell escapes you when Jiyan’s mouth latches onto your clit, his groans sending sensual vibrations to your core, his fingers parting your folds to reveal your weeping cunt. This was a whole other range of emotions you never delved into before, but Jiyan is ready to take those first steps with you. Jiyan’s lips suckle on your clit with a vengeance as his fingers teased the entrance to your pussy, making you weep and cry out. “Jiyan! Oo-oooh- Hah! I-It feels… Good…!”

“Doesn’t it?” Jiyan asks, panting as his fingers tease your slit. “You’re being so good for me… Good girls deserve proper treatment.” You gasp when his middle finger slips in, Jiyan cursing when he feels your walls immediately tightening around his digit. His index finger has an even tougher time trying to join its twin as you babble about his treatment being too much. Your protests trail off when Jiyan finally manages to insert both of his fingers inside. Jiyan’s eyes widen when your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open, your pussy gushing out a white liquid.

Heavens above, you came just from two of his fingers. Your walls pulsate around the intruding digits, either trying to pull them inside or push them out. Either way, you keen as Jiyan plunges his fingers all the way in, trying to loosen up the tension in your core. You feel like he’s thrown you into the deepest parts of the ocean, trying your best to swim against the currents of arousal trying to drown you. However, the loss of Jiyan’s touch when he pulls out his fingers makes you whine, sitting up again. Your face is all red and sweaty, drool running down your chin. “Why… Why did you…”

Jiyan says nothing, instead turning you on your stomach as he climbs back on the bed. You whimper, feeling his hands part the globes of your rear in order to reveal the mess you’ve made between your legs, arousal dripping onto the sheets below. Jiyan lets out a groan at the sight, feeling his erection twitch. “Brace yourself,” he kisses your shoulder and tacet mark as he lines the head of his rod towards your entrance, hissing when the tip kisses your messy hole. Your grip on the sheets tighten when the tip breaches the ring of muscle, soaked by your arousal. “C-Come on… Loosen up for me, love.” Jiyan whispers, one hand keeping your hip steady while the other rests on your hand. Attempting to comply with his request, you will yourself to relax, moaning as Jiyan inches inside.

With every agonizing second, you find yourself becoming increasingly breathless as Jiyan takes up more space. By the time he’s fully sheathed inside your warm, gummy walls, you’re eyes have rolled back into your skull as your tongue lolls out from your mouth. Jiyan pants, struggling so hard not to immediately thrust into your warmth. You’re oh so precious to him, he doesn’t want to break you during such an intimate milestone in your relationship. “Hey, angel… Are you still with me?” He gasps out, leaning down to press light kisses to your tacet mark.

Though you couldn’t respond verbally, you’re able to nod your head. Jiyan kisses your tacet mark again. “I’ll start moving now. Just tell me if it hurts, okay?” When you nod your head once more, Jiyan breathes in and begins moving his length in shallow thrusts, testing the waters of your endurance. He listens intently to your pants and moans, and is quick to learn just what gets you going. Slick dribbles from your cunt as you become more vocal, spurring him on to speed up. His hips slap against your ass while his cock drags against your walls, searching for the one spot that’ll make you see stars. He finds it when you suddenly jolt and push back against his thrusts, and Jiyan starts attacking that sensitive area. Each stroke of his cock stimulates your sensitive walls as he takes in the sound of your voice breaking, struggling to say his name.

Still connected, Jiyan takes one of your legs and settles it on his shoulder, making lay on your side. The position has him reaching deeper than before, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. “Ji-Jiyan! Ohhhh! Mmmph- Haaaah! Oh- S-Sensitive!- Mmmp!” You could barely speak, eyes hazy and struggling to keep open from the pleasure he’s dutifully giving to you. Meanwhile, Jiyan finds himself in the same situation, panting and groaning out your name while he furiously ruts into your warm cunt. The headboard bangs against the wall as he passionately thrusts into your pussy, his cock twitching against your poor walls.

“I’m gonna cum…” He pants, leaning down and resting his forehead on your chest. Such an intimate act is offset by the harsh slapping happening between your legs, your pussy gushing around his length as you feel a knot building inside your tummy. Your eager moans are swallowed up by Jiyan’s mouth as his thrusts become rough and sloppy, slamming into your weepy cunny and stirring up your insides. Your muffled sobs are silenced by Jiyan’s own groans as the knot snaps, legs trembling as Jiyan spears you deep, feeling a warm liquid coat your walls. Jiyan curses as he thrusts a few more time, shoving his cum further inside as your cunt swallows every last drop.

The two of you stay like that for what seems like an hour before Jiyan finally pulls out, watching as the mixture of your arousals leak from your cunt. You’re trembling after the whole ordeal, hips bucking up and causing more of his cum to leak outside. Jiyan lays down next to you and pulls you in, kissing you again.

A few weeks later, you’re recognized as an official citizen of Jinzhou, and you’ve moved in with Jiyan. Every once in a while, the two of you would return to where it all started, at a beach at Tiderise Cliff. Jiyan joins you in the water, holding you close as you embrace him underneath the surface. You breathe air into his lungs, temporarily giving him the ability to breathe underwater.

You’ll never be lonely ever again <3

[afewfantasies]

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - MASTERLIST

Checking in again, heres everything in the Feyd's Blade series thus far in a masterlist of sorts. I will try to come back and update this page as the series continues.

[userparamore]

6.5K CELEBRATION: EMILIA CLARKE as DAENERYS TARGARYEN ↳ 💌 for @daenerys-stormborn

[bitchlessdino]

Do it already (m)

Pairing: best friend's brother!Chan x afab!reader

Genre: smut, slice of life

Word count: 6.5k

tags: actor!chan, childhood friends!chan, possessive!chan, yearning!reader, plot rich, reader with tits, reader masturbation, kitchen counter sex, reference to drugs, oral (giving and receiving), mouth fucking, choking, spanking, pussy slapping, degradation (slut, whore), praise kink, unprotected sex. tender love and care

Summary: You and the Lee siblings were like three peas in a pod. That didn't last long when Chan went for his dream and left you and sister to yourselves. That was no problem since she was the best friend you could ever have. Now he's back, hot, fit, oozing sex appeal and you're wondering what it'll take for him to rail you like a train on tracks.

author note: this banner took 3 minutes to make. It's take a lot shorter if i didn't have so many spelling errors. point is this banner is the coolest bc i found a template already premade. it's been a while since i wrote a lengthy chan thing that wasn't just smut so, here you go. enjoy! and thank you to everyone that voted on the poll to make this happen. also, every thought the reader had been once my own, I overindulged once again

tag list: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @honglynights @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han

You remember Chan eating dirt at the ripe age of 5. You were the cause of it. You thought it was funny to make a dirt and worms pie with real dirt and worms. You were right. He’s hated you since.

His sister, Chanmi, agreed with you. She thought you were really funny. Chan eventually got over the dirt pie, and found it incomplete without your presence. You became best friends after that and basically followed them everywhere. You always wanted siblings and since mom couldn’t afford to push out anymore, you settled on being fake siblings with the Lees.

Then Chan decided to pursue his dreams when he was 14. That was okay. You had more in common with Chanmi, anyway. His disappearance made you and Chanmi closer. She relied on you and you doted on her. It was a mutual symbiotic relationship. You couldn’t see a life without each other.

You ended up in the same college as well, living across the hall from each other in the same dormitory. Now you really couldn’t see a life without her. 

When it was time to graduate, you really worried you’d drift apart by now. When she reassured you wouldn’t, you trusted her word, as she trusted yours when you made that same commitment. It was time to commemorate it, so in came your joint graduation party. Your families and mutual friends had joined together and celebrated the end of an era. You would now go off into a world that you feared more than it would fear you. But you had Chanmi. You couldn’t imagine a better person to do it with.

Chan had hardly crossed your mind in all these years until the very moment he walked through your front door. You could hardly recognize him in the Armani blazer and dress shoes, but it was him. He had the same sharp yet attentive brown eyes since he was a teenager. He was simply all grown up now, as have you. Chan had come to visit a few times in the time he’s been gone but you only ever saw him a brief passing, caught up in your own life. 

Once our eyes have landed on him, it’s as if time has stopped. The acting school must’ve done this because his image seemed to be crafted in utter perfection. He was slightly taller than you remember, chiseled than you remember, and the least of all, more handsome than you remembered. You emphasize that you never saw Lee Chan attractive, not once, but here you were, devouring every detail of him.

He saunters over with flowers in his arms–noticeably two bouquets, one full of daisies and another with sunflowers–and stands before you and your best friend with a smile on his face. He congratulates Chanmi, handing her the bouquet of sunflowers and a hug, and within earshot saying how he knew she could do it.

Then came you. The expression on his face is something you’ve never seen him make. It bordered the line of surprised, startled, perhaps aroused, and you don’t know what to make of it. You clenched your legs anxiously before you pushed yourself up from your seat, seeing how much taller he really gotten since. It was funny since you had gotten used to being the taller one in your youth but it seems some of that has changed, along with everything about him.

“Congratulations, Y/n.” He hands you your daisies, unable to tear his gaze from you, fingers brushing against yours as he places them in your hands and electricity flows through you both.

“No hug,” you ask, trying it. His grin gets wider, arms now coming around you, and you feel his larger than life biceps close in a tight embrace. The scent that entered your personal circle now engulfed your senses, blackberries and cream. He smelled sweet, comforting, and if you help it, down right edible. 

You sigh, hugging closer, closing your eyes to fully appreciate his warmth and he spoke to a lethally soft tenor, “You’re looking good, Dirt cake. Welcome to adulthood.”

He felt strong and safe, yet left you breathless when he smoothed his hand over your back. You wonder how there can be so much tension in a seemingly platonic gesture. He makes you feel like the only other person to exist, but it ends when he pulls away, and his ghost lingers over your form.

The attention is all on him when his parents see Chan arrive, proud to have gotten the family back together again. Your parents greet him the same, having once known him to be a placeholder of a son they would’ve loved to have. Everyone is joyous.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him, the rest of the party or the rest of the night that matter, thinking only what he’d like underneath those clothes. As children, you’ve had your fair share of beach days, pool parties, joint family vacations to rented lake houses, but that was a time when Lee Chan wouldn’t even be considered in your dating pool. You were both children, almost like family at some point, and thinking of him in any manner besides that was icky. So, so icky.

But you’d be lying if you didn’t watch him tear off that blazer and put it away in a closet. His muscles ripple through his expensive dress shirt, sleeves pulled up to cut off at the elbows, revealing blue veins so thick and pulsing you imagine how they’d feel against your tongue at the sight of them. You lie in bed at the thought of them, overwhelmed at the pool it causes between your legs and goes to reclaim your arousal. Your digits languidly follow the trail of their escape and bite on your other pillow to muffle your ache.

Your head throws back into the duvet as you plunge two eager digits in your sopping core. The perfect arch you make goes unnoticed in your lonesome. You pleasure yourself in solitude, when in your mind one other person takes your fingers’ place.

“Cum all over me, sweet angel. I can feel you close.”

He had never uttered those words in his life, at least not you, but can hear them almost as clear as day.

Your hips slew in a circular type motion. Your moans get more curt as you bite hard into the cotton felt. Legs tense up, lifting off the bed, and hushed whimpers are all you communicate as you’re overcome with your release, taking the time for your legs to settle down. Your pulse would take a longer time to process your journey. Chan was still on your mind after all. Along with all the guilt built up from the considered betrayal you’ve made to his sister, your best friend, you were wondering if you could ever face her, or Chan, again.

“Oh my god, when was the last time we were out together like this?”

Chanmi’s enthusiasm combated your desire to hide away forever from guilt. You pick apart your burger, making sure there were no pickles as you’ve requested, and humming content as your message was received. “3-4 years. If you include that lunch, Chan took off in 10 minutes.”

The culprit chuckled, depositing a fry in his mouth. “I'm in high demand. You should be proud to be sitting so close to me.”

Chanmi snickers, shoving a nugget in his face, “Here, shove this in your pie hole.”

He happily accepts the excuse to shut up and enjoys it like it’s the most delicious thing on earth. “Yummy.”

You all laugh at his lighthearted nature and talk as if no time has passed. It’s familiar, warm, but jarring, because seeing you all united together proved that time came with age, and apparently for Chan, a new appreciation for a fully equipped gym.

He’s the same personality-wise, but you can’t help but focus on the physical. Looking at him while talking felt like he had been body swapped with some foreign adonis. You don’t forget the more stylish hair cut he sports, tapering slightly short at his sides and longer up top. He was becoming everything he meant to be.

“How’s shooting,” you curiously ask, “I’m sure it’s really exciting to be working on a bigger project like this.”

Chan took off the middle of your childhood to enroll in a boarding performing arts school. He wanted to pursue acting professionally one day, and he believed the networking and immersion of the curriculum would allow him to hone that skill. He made a pretty penny doing TV commercials in his attendance there, but his senior year he finally got cast in a small film. His mini break.

He played a minor role but got all the perks of a lead, besides the fame. He pushed himself hard to get recognized in his field of work. Corpses on criminal mind-esque shows, taking on five-minute extra characters, becoming a regular on a cable show with a beloved modest fandom, and finally now he’s done it. He was going to be a lead on an online streaming series that would be broadcasted internationally. Although, he hadn’t gotten the male love interest he strived for. He had claimed the role of the second love interest instead, and everyone always loved the second lead more than the first, he rationalized.

“It’s so exciting. Everyone is so talented and cool. I almost can't believe it.” He expresses with an excited glint in his eyes.

“It’s a big deal,” You cover his hand with yours, squeezing it affectionately. “You deserved this.”

You exchange proud smiles at each other. You wish you could feel the warmth from his lips as he lets out a quiet “thank you” as he places his over hand on top of yours. This feels too tender to be real, and you wonder how you could ever have noticed those creased smile eyes in the past.

The moment is interrupted when a text tone goes off and Chanmi claims it. “Oh, gotta go. I have a date.”

Chan rolled his eyes as his giddy sister hops out of her chair, releasing himself from your hands, and they suddenly drop cold. “Can't believe you planned a date in one of the few days I’m in town.” 

Chanmi lands a quick peck on your cheeks and sticks her tongue at brother in defiance, scurrying away in a quick farewell and she’s gone behind those double doors of the restaurant. This leaves you three: you, Chan, and the impending arousal that slicks your walls for being alone with him any longer than a second.

“It’s crazy isn’t it,” Chan breaks your silence, “you guys graduating, me being in a lead. It’s so wild how far we’ve come.”

You nod, “It really is. Everything’s different now.”

“Well, besides school, what else has happened? Now’s the time to catch up.”

You hummed, “where do I start?”

Let’s see where you could start.

The moment you walk right through that front door, I cannot stop thinking about your hands on my body how you would press me up against a wall and fuck me senseless, stupid, or just straight up use me until I can’t even remember my own name. It’s been only a few days since I last saw you, but every day since then I thought about you. I touch myself to the thought you. I wondered how you would say my name. I wonder if you would say my name at all. I even wondered what you would want me to call you, if that was even necessary. For you, I would lay my body with only the purpose of fulfilling every one of your desires. I’d have myself milk you until the end of our days.

You kept that to yourself. You were ashamed those words even ran through your mind in the brief moment it did, and you held your breath. “Well, since college is over, I can focus on the internship I got into. It’s a lot less intense than I’m expecting, just waiting for that adrenaline to pick up when it does.”

“You’re so grown up. I can believe I missed that.” There’s so much tenderness and fondness in his eyes.

I could say the exact same about you.

“So, Chanmi’s dating. You seeing anyone lately?”

If I was, they’d be gone the second I saw you.

“No, not really,” you respond, averting your gaze to your drink, “college guys kind of suck if I’m being honest.”

Humor is evident as Chan stifles a laugh, wiping away the reminder of his sandwich away from his face. “That I’ve heard of. Good. You deserve more than a guy just trying to get his dick wet.”

You halt, pleasure churning in your stomach at his vulgar language, hunching over the diner table in anguish. The pool of arousal spreads further. “That’s one way to put it. And you? Anyone caught your eye?”

Please say no. For the love of god and Buddha, say no.

“No luck on my end, either.”

Fuck yes.

“Oh, well, that sucks.”

“I have had a lot of work on my hands, so I don’t really fall into the practice of dating. I guess I’m just taking things as they come”

You nod, completely aligned with him. You didn’t see the point in dating apps if its purpose was only to put you out there in the world. You did plenty of that on your own. 

“And sex?” What are you doing?

He snorts, his pearly whites on display. “What about sex?”

Stop before you’re in too deep. “Are you having any?” For Christ's sake.

He bites his lip, amused, taking the last sip from his sprite before setting it aside. “At the moment, no. Why? Are you offering?”

YES.

“No,” you scratch your head, blinking in feign innocence, “just gathering intel to sell to paparazzi before you become a superstar and leave us.”

He crumbles up a napkin, a scrunched up smile on his face, before launching it at you, “You jerk. And no, I’m not fucking anyone.”

God, the way he cusses feels like drugs in my veins.

“Are you asking because you are,” he asks, “are you having sex with someone?”

There’s a sense of childish curiosity in his voice, like peers gossiping about the latest tea, but beneath it is something else. He circles his drink from his hands, eyes locked in place, mouth dropped in a way that screams ‘I dare you to answer’ and how his jaw tenses up after immediately asking, sets a fire into your inner thighs.

You let out a suffocated breath, pinching the skin of your thigh to snap you back into reality before the heat in his gaze singed your mouth shut. “Nope.”

He hums, relief grazing his harsh brows. “Not hung up on anyone?”

“No. Need an ex to be hung up with someone,” you quickly answer, before the bitter taste of regret stings your tongue.

“Interesting.”

You narrow at him. “What's so interesting about it?”

You want me. Just say it so I can lunge across this table to get to you.

“I haven’t seen you in years and you’re beautiful, smart, single. It doesn’t sound right.” He answers with a shrug.

Call me beautiful one more time. I will suck your dick right now under this table. I don’t care about being caught.

“There’s not really a reason, it’s just how it is. And maybe I’m not looking. Considered that?”

The only person I’m looking at is right in front of me—God, I can smell your cologne from here. Fuck. I want to devour you.

“Maybe, but me personally, I’d sweep you up before any guy could get the chance.” He chuckles.

Then do it. Stop teasing me.

“Chanmi would probably kill me tho. Probably say it’d ruin our dynamic.”

Oh shit. Here you were, lost in a head fogged up with lust and you hadn’t considered your best friends seeing you get shacked up with her brother. You were betraying her every second you though about her brother in a lewd sense. Although, she made no indication she’d be bothered by such a thing, but who wouldn’t? You weren’t going to let yourself off on a technicality.

“Don’t think we have much to worry about, though. I think we’ll be just fine.”

His words were like an anchor dropped in your gut. You didn’t know what was worse. Messing around with your best friend’s brother or the possibility of him rejecting the idea before it even started. You lose feelings in your legs, exhaling through your nose, and cry a little on the inside. You force an agreeing smile on your face. “Yeah. Chanmi doesn’t have to worry about anything.”

The meal comes to a close and you tell Chan you should get going home and he insists on driving. You were insane if you were going to spend another second in his presence, knowing fully well how he made you feel. He’s basically rejected you. It was over. Quit trying.

“Let me know if the AC is too cold. I can turn it down.”

You were that insane. 

“All good.”

You sit in silence. The radio envelopes the air and you interlock your hands in discomfort, while Chan focuses on the road. It's not a long drive from your place, but it sure felt like it was. But it gave you all the time to reflect. You needed some of that. Maybe you could get your common sense back.

Of course, Lee Chan wasn’t going to fall for you. Not like this. Maybe if you and his sister weren't attached at the hip, it’s possible. But then again, he would be living a life of fame, the spotlight, other people way hotter and more suitable for him. Face facts.

“So, since you haven’t dated anyone, I’m assuming you’re a virgin.”

Oh. He was going to keep going.

“Um, not quite,” you chuckle nervously.

He raises a brow. “So, you lied to me.”

You shake your head, “Of course not. I’m not having sex right now with anyone or a single person consistently, if that’s what you were saying, but I’ve had sex.”

“Did you?”

Something in his tone makes you want to turn your head to his side. You don’t regret your decision seeing the whites of his knuckles as he grips the wheel. His voice may have sounded friendly, but he held himself taut, visibly restraining himself.

Oh, Chan.

“Yeah. I didn't consider them exes, just flings,” you thought to add.

“Flings.” He repeats. 

You grin to yourself. “Yeah. I think a few times in high school and then a few more in college.”

“My, my. Aren’t you all grown up now?” You can almost hear him gritting his teeth, and you relished in it.

“Well, this is me.” You point at the building Chan forces himself to park at. He tightens his jaw in view, tapping the leather of the wheel in contemplation. Possibly at the revelation you’ve revealed to him. You lean in where your face comes into view, smiling an innocent smile. “Want to come in, Chan?”

You can see the dilemma in his eyes. There's a war going on his brain and either way, he was losing. Inevitably, he helps you unbuckle his seat before deciding to do the same thing to him. He plays your game with a humorless smile. “Why not?”

When you’re finally alone in the comfort of your home, it took everything in you to not jump him right then and there. His eyes scan over your living area, taking in the kick knacks, the tchotchkes you bought over time. It was as if he was rediscovering you, all of you, and for some reason, that made you more nervous than anything else. But that meant he was curious about you. He wanted to know more past what he saw as a child. He wanted to see you.

He snorts, crossing his arms, eyes finally landing on you. “I like your apartment. Am I the only guy you brought here you haven’t fucked?”

That could change.

You shrug, gallantly walking further and further away from him. “I don’t usually bring people over here. If I’m hooking up, it’s usually at their place.”

You let him watch. His eyes trained on your walk, a resisted urge tempted in every step you take. “You know that’s incredibly dangerous, right?”

“Anymore dangerous than letting them know where I live?” you retort.

He saunters over to you, side grinning in challenge. “Why are you trusting towards me?”

“Because,” you mimic his arms, “We have nothing to worry about. You said so.”

He glares down at you, taking one step closer. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Whatever do you mean, friend?”

He cocks his head, “You’re really testing your luck aren’t you, Y/n?”

You shrug, an obvious grin on your face, “I’m not testing anything. Exactly what are you implying?”

“Don’t push me, Y/n. You don’t want to find out what happens.”

“That’s funny,” now you’re the one backing him in a corner, pushing him, showing him, knee his shins until his fingers grip back in the arm of a couch, saying words you only ever dared to think, “Maybe don’t be a coward and fuck me already.”

His breath noticeably hitches and drinks in your assertion and feeds you back tenfold, pushing himself off the couch and colliding your lips, and a shock of immense arousal takes over your body. Goosebumps pebble your skin and involuntarily you moan in the lip lock, taking you longer than necessary to realize that Chan has backed you against a wall.

Your hand crawls into his hair, pushing him down to deepen your kiss as his hard member prods at your stomach. Hands run down to catch him, his clothed cock in your hands, feel how the zipper of his pants constricts him from taking up any more space, and you help spring him free.

“All this fat cock all for me? Chan, you shouldn’t have,” you playfully comment.

“It's what you wanted, isn't it?” He thrusts up against you, hiking up your leg to dig into your already pulsing core. “You want me to want you. To fuck you? Is that it?”

“Yes.” You answer definitely. “I want you to want me so bad it hurts. Just as badly as I want you.”

“It’s not some addiction you have? Move on from one fuck thing to the next?” He questions, venom on his tongue. He speaks with doubt, but his body defies him, drawn to you like opposing ends of a magnet, in need of you as much as you were in need of him.

“I don’t say things I don't 100 percent mean, Chan. If I wanted to just fuck you, I’d do it already.” You squeeze around him slightly tighter, wrapping your fingers around strands of his hair harder, hearing that stuttering grunt of his to reveal itself. “There's fucking, and then there’s you, Chan. I  don’t just want to fuck you. I want to worship you.”

You catch a glimpse of his reaction to your startling response before lightly shove him off of you to get on your knees, scraping them against the textured wood. Lowering yourself gave a good view of the shift in his eyes, watching how they go from pure animosity to earth shattering enthrallment. Your hands come up to his hips, fingering from the waistband of his briefs and pulling it down with his pants, just to push it aside. His cock is big, hard, veiny, perfect to push down your throat. 

You wrap your fingers around his girth, fingers trailing over his veins, counting the estimated inches. Disappointment didn’t even cross your mind.

“You have such a pretty, pretty cock,” you gasp, “have you thought about it? My lips wrapped around your cock. I know I have.”

Chan’s bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth. His eyes dilate as your lips purse over the curve of his tip, kissing the slit. His mind then settles on your previous words, wondering what they entail. “Worship? With that kind of offer, I’d hate to refuse. What about you?”

“What about me?” His shaft hugs the curve of your cheek.

“If you’ll worship me, what’ll happen to you?”

Your smile stretches across your face before kissing his length between speeches. “Well, if you let me. I’ll be all yours. Your tits”—kiss—“ass,”—kiss—“your pussy,”—“your mouth. I’ll be all yours.”

Chan can’t help but smile with you. His hand finds a way to thread through your hair, getting a good angle tug, and ripping a flirtatious giggle from your lips. “I get all that? Deal of the century.”

You hum in agreement before you feel him hug the inside of your mouth, fluttering your eyes at his size. Your tongue runs along his skin, taking it calmly, slowly. You make sure you’re breathing from your nose, savoring every second. 

Chan breathes out controlled breaths, boring his lust driven gaze into your presence. His cock is more than pleased in your hot, wet mouth coating him in drool Your sweet, swollen lips were like the cherry on top of sundae. They were gloriously full and glossy getting him off. “Your lips are perfect around me. And this mouth is mine, you say?”

You nod as you bob down, not expecting him to thrust inside you, flinching against the wall. He puts either hand on either side of your head, holding you in place. Your eyes shut tight, feeling him twitching in your throat before pulling out. A ribbon of translucency stretches from your lips to his head.

“My pretty, little mouth.”

There is a darkness in which he stares at you, like releasing of pandora’s box. He was lost in power, greed, filth. Whatever it was, you were ready for more and you didn’t mind what it took. He pets your hair, dragging his fingers from root to tips, saying his scary final words before he fills your cheeks more with his cock. “Cherish that last breath. You’ll need it.”

Your head stays pinned to the wall, cock plunged in your mouth, the view of Chan’s unfailing erection and groin the only sight you’re able to take in this moment of suffocation. He wasn’t slow with it and he didn’t plan to be. Groaning, his hips push in your mouth, the back of your head hitting the wall behind you with every thrust, and the length flossing the pipe of your throat. You become a makeshift version of a glory hole. Your hands steady themselves on his hips until they are forced to pin above your head.

You wretch at his sheer force, but take every inch. Your tears burn your cheeks, feeling the tremble of your limbs. You cough, gag, swallowing him as you’re pushed past your normal limits and finally meet the base of his cock. He rams in you, lips to lap, mouth stretched and sore. Full didn’t even begin to describe how it felt for him to fuck your mouth like this. 

He shows mercy when he feels close, thrusting in all the way and holds in your mouth for an exact five seconds until he lets you go. Your saliva and his pre-cum dribble all over your chin and neck, but a dazed smile on your face despite the mess. A hand to your neck, he pulls you up from the ground, pressing you full bodily back in the wall. 

“Well, aren’t you a pretty fucking whore.” he hisses.

His hand invades the depths of your pants. Your sopping folds are easy to find as they coat his fingers like syrup, sweet and thick. “Pussy’s mine, hmm? Ass too?”

“Yes. yes, take all of me.” You impulsively part your legs, the gateway of your throat closing up as his grip gets tights. All the stars you were seeing shined brighter than the stars in the damn sky.

Chan tugs off your bottoms, throws it aside like garbage and lifts you on top of a kitchen counter. The cool marble stings your ass cheeks but you hardly notice as Chan nose deep in your pussy. His fingers dig deeper, tongue flicking starved at your entrance. “Sweet Jesus, you’re fucking wet. Fucking dripping down my arm.”

“I wasn’t lying to you, Chan.” Your leg hangs off his shoulder, feeling light as his tongue makes himself home in your warmth. “I want you, every part of you.”

They were more than enough words of encouragement as he’s lost in your thighs. The curve of his lips suck on your clit, eliciting a moan and would forever be ingrained to every wrinkle of his brain. His fingers–now down to his knuckles–traveling you at an unforgivable pace. He makes it known that he’d give you what you want, anything and everything in between, but he wouldn’t give you his patience.

His hand comes down at you hard on the center of your core, rubbing between every strike as he licks deep stripes, causing your whines of ache to grow louder. “More, Chan please. Touch my pussy more, like that.”

Your pain receptors could usually take so much pain, but with Chan, you’d sacrifice your nerves just to have him cum covering every inch of your body. 

Swiftly, he reveals his upper body. Taut, firm muscles, packed in every region. Gleaming with sweat, his honey glazed abs flexes from the tension in his stomach. God, it was better than you ever imagined.

You watch as his strong arms pull you closer in his mouth. He latches on you like a leech, draw circles, finger fucking you until you’re drawing out his name in short bursts. Your jaw drops slack, clenching around his tongue, and pressing himself against you until you’re close. Oh, so close.

He pulls off at the worst moment and before you could protest, you taste your arousal on his tongue, feeling him pull off your blouse in the process. Tits in either of his hands, he roughly squeezes them, pinching tight at your stiff peaks enough for you to let out high pitched screeches. “Chan hurts!”

“Good.” He takes one in his mouth, nibbling one in his teeth before pinching the other one just as hard as before. You’re stuck between pain and pleasure, but as liquid escapes past your legs and the victor is clear.

“My tits…taste so sweet…like honey.” he mumbles.

You feel loved, worshiped, wet. You were wrapped around his finger, and if you get to be soe lucky, he’d feel that same way about you. After he’s done swelling your skin, he’s escorting you to what clearly is your room despite the first time of him being there and he dumps you on the bed.

“Ass in front, right now.”

Promptly, you do as he says, getting on all fours on the bed, lifting your ass welcome for him to take.

“Spread wider. I want to see that pretty pussy.”

Your legs naturally part further, the pigment of your sensitive flesh clear on display. Chan takes initiative. Putting himself between your divide, his tongue finding that familiar sweetness he parted with only a few minutes ago. “You taste so fucking good. I forgot all about saying that while in there earlier. You seem to do that to me.”

His hands come over the flesh of your ass, the sting of his hand is momentary before his tongue’s presence takes over, tasting you, inhaling you delicious scent, “Condom?” He manages to breathe out.

You shake your head, perspiration trailing your forehead. “But I’m clean, and on the pill. Like I said, you can do anything with me.”

Chan is blown over with a sense of relief, fishing his erection before lining up at your slit. He takes full strokes inside you, achingly slow, and you quiver at the fullness but whine when you’re immediately empty. He does that repeatedly, giving you the sensation before he rips it from you in mere seconds.

Yo pound your frustrated fists in the mattress. “Chan give me your cock… I want you please..”

“Really, Is it me you want?” He teases, “Or it is my cock fucking so deep in your pussy you feel it in your mouth?”

Vivid images in your head, you shudder at the depth of his now husky voice, “I want that from you. Only you. Please, I want you to cum in me…”

“Shit.” Hearing that made close already. “F-fine. Just shut the fuck up.”

He thrust in you, finding a pace to reside in. His mouth makes an o-shape at the clench of your wall. “Fuck wet pussy,”—slap—“wet, tight. All for me.”

Chan recalling your moans laced with ecstasy. Hearing you, watching the recoil of your ass hitting his lap, it was something he could get used to, but he could try. He forces his knees on the bed, pushing deeper inside you. He finds your hair before pulling, pushing you into to the mattress and muffling your moans until they melt into an oblivion.

“That reminds me,” he thinks to bring up, not minding the fact you were drowning in the duvet, “what is it you like being called?”

You muffle a response but if you were being honest, you could hardly think with his weight pushed back into you.

“Come on. What is it? Pick your poison.” He slows his pace, a hard, deep stroke taken with every term of endearment, “Baby? Sweetheart? Angel?”

You moan, but not enough.

He blinks, thinking it’s going somewhere when a light bulb goes up in his head. “Mmh, let's try this then. Clench harder, slut.”

You moan even louder, immediately following his command. He then pounds harder in you, lacking any clear remorse as his language becomes grunts, calling you ‘slut’, ‘whore,’ ‘fuckhole,’ every name in the book until you buck at his hips.

Shake as hard as an earthquake, saying his name, speaking your orgasm into existence. It’s all you feel as your vision becomes further away from the comprehensive. You become a lifeless body that takes every second as if you never would again, collapsing on the bed. 

Chan, a man with solutions, flips you on your back. A leg of yours comes up on his chest, ankle over his shoulder and he bottoms out inside you, another tidal wave that jumpstart your adrenaline. “I’m not fucking done with you yet. You said you’d be mine and you will be for as long as I want.”

Your leg takes his side as he folds into you, lips messily meeting yours, tongue tasting the inside of your mouth, he takes you even deeper and your way to feel can't be described as anything else but bliss. You caress his face, while his hand reconnected with your neck. You’re trailing down to feel down his torso, the pads of his fingers pushing against the column of your neck tighter. Life leaving your body, you count each ab, cup each peck, palm over each stiff peak, and trace over each muscle. If you could leave earth by this method, you would. Your voice is raspy, but takes no break from praising him. 

“You’re fucking my pussy so good, feel so fucking good in my hands. Don’t. Fucking. Stop.”

“You like that,” kissing you in a curt repetitive action, sweeter than intended, “can you take…my…cum?”

“Yes,” you frantically nod, “cum in me. I want all your cum in me. Breed me please. I want you, only you, to fuck me, empty out in me, and repeat.”

His load is as warm as a home cooked meal, shooting in you, jerking into your body in a well-practiced motion. His body embraces you, closing in on you, while he tucks you in tight. You only remember the smile on his face when he cums. It looks like love in his eyes, warmth, and you are positive that that’s what it is because you're looking at him the same way. It feels like a perfect happy ending.

But nothing is over until Chan says it is over.

That day turned into night before you know it and all you’ve done is be in each other arms and fucking your shared cum back into places they belong. Despite the performance, Chan ended up being a gentleman, asking you where your spare clean towels were and helping you clean up the mess you’ve made. All the time and energy drained you both and with the lack of motivation to cook, you both called food to be delivered.

In an attempt to be presentable, you take the shirt he once wore and display it on yourself, his scent enveloping you like it were his embrace. That meant Chan had to walk around topless, and by George, that was quite the sight. You join him on the couch. His arm slings over your side, tenderly kissing your face as you feel up his body. You couldn’t help but grin like a love stricken puppy, memorizing every dent of every chiseled muscle, appreciating its entirety. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

Chan hums, before muffling a thanks and taking your kiss-swollen lips in his. “I think you’re sexy.”

You giggle, reciprocating, already finding yourself straddling his lap, and that erection that’s already gone and inflated himself. This man had it all didn’t he?

Then it dawned on you. Maybe too late, but it did.

You part from him, eyes furrowed in worry.

Concern is written all over his face, and he curls your hair behind his ear, “what’s wrong?”

“What are we going to do about Chanmi?”

His expression soon matches yours as he sighs. His hand comes behind your head, kissing foreheads, and curls up in a reassuring smile. “I’m sure she’ll be happy for us.”

“And If she isn’t?”

His hands tighten on the fabric of the shirt. “She’ll just have to.”

“She’s my best friend.”

“And she’s my sister. And I’m her only brother. We are two people she cares about and we’re happy together. Why wouldn’t she be happy?”

Your lips curl up in a small smile. “We’re together?”

His smile reaches his eyes. “I don’t think I’d spend all day like this with you if we weren’t.”

You kiss him, chaste and slow, and letting go before the heat travels back to your head, fogging your rationale. “I like you a lot, Chan.”

“I like you a lot, Y/n.”

“What about your career?”

He rolls his eyes, filling rubbing circles in your hips. “Why? Scared this superstar will run away from you for his chance in the spotlight?”

You grin mischievously, “No, aren’t you worried I’ll outshine you on the red carpet? I’ll be your date for every one of them now.” 

“Then they’ll have no choice but to put me in everything under the sun.” He grins back.

[delicatejaws]

what’re friends for?

pairing: togame x reader, sakura x reader, little bit of togame x reader x sakura

tags: afab reader, virginity loss (m), exhibitionism, voyeurism, cum eating, slight manipulation/coercion/corruption (character wants to participate but feels morally wrong about it), cucking, pet names used (angel, baby, princess), oral receiving (m & f), unprotected sex, explicit smut, threesome (?)

author’s note: this is my first time posting my writing anywhere but this idea has been rotting a hole in my brain so it felt like a good one to put out into the world. a rot shared is a rot halved and all that

summary: togame was always a good friend, and this year for sakura’s birthday, he wanted to get him the best gift he could imagine.

wc: 6.5k

“Are you sure about this?” You ask Togame again, wanting to be 100% sure you are both on the same page.

“Baby, he’s one of my best friends. Of course I’m sure.”

He had sounded certain, but you still couldn't believe it. Sakura’s birthday was coming up, and Jou had decided to get him the best gift he could possibly imagine: you.

It was a well-known secret that Sakura was infatuated with you, but it didn’t bother your husband. He always assured everyone that it only made sense he would be into you; you were irresistible, and you were one of the only women Sakura ever spent significant time around. He was bound to develop a little crush on you.

It didn’t bother you either; Sakura was cute and sweet, and the only reason he didn’t talk to other women much was because he was painfully shy. You hoped that growing comfortable around you could help him gain some confidence to branch out a bit more.

Togame liked watching you two interact. Harmlessly flirting in an effort to warm him up, Sakura’s blush would rise to his ears as his eyes bounced around the room, too timid to look directly at you for long but also terrified that Togame would notice and think poorly of him.

Little did he know that watching your interactions had the opposite effect on Togame. Jou loved watching you work Sakura into a puddle, and he soon was inspired enough to come up with a plan that would ultimately benefit everyone involved.

Sakura’s 25th was quickly approaching, and your boyfriend happened to know that his friend, as shy and awkward as he is, is still a virgin. So what better gift to give him than the feeling of a sweet, tight pussy wrapping around him for the first time?

It would be a surprise, of course; the more flustered Sakura was, the more enjoyment your boyfriend could derive from this. Watching him melt under your innocent touches and sweet mouth before he even came close to getting to feel you—well, that was the real joy for Togame.

For you, getting to mold this experience into exactly what you wanted, knowing how easily Sakura would do what you asked, and feeling wanted by someone so desperately, well, that was your joy. And Jou would be watching the whole thing, which was just icing on the cake.

After weeks of planning, the day has finally arrived. Your head is buzzing as you finish the icing on the cake in front of you, a small little thing fit for a party of three. Vanilla, of course. Didn’t want to dive into anything too wild. Sakura would be coming over soon; Togame invited him over for a home-cooked meal to celebrate his birthday. An innocent enough guise to get him in the door.

You quickly clean up and head to your room. Togame encouraged you to wear something casual but a little provocative—something that would make Sakura feel like he was pushing it by ogling you—but gave him plenty to look at while he did.

You slip on a simple, stretchy tank; it’s snug with a low scoop neck, and it doesn't really allow a bra to be worn under it. You knew that if it got chilly at all later, it may leave a little less to the imagination—perfect. Jeans felt innocent enough, but this particular pair are a little tight, and were notorious for drawing a wandering eye from all men, Sakura included. The outfit as a whole is unassuming, just a simple, comfortable outfit on a Saturday night in your own home. Nothing nefarious about it.

Just as you finish up, you hear the front door open and chatter between the two men. You feel warm, excitement bubbling through you at the promise the night held. You take one last look in the mirror, truly hoping Sakura will like his birthday gift.

You make your way to the living room, smiling brightly at him as you enter.

“Happy birthday, Sakura!” You move in for a hug, arms wrapping around his neck, arching into his body as much as you could without being suspicious. You feel him tense up at the contact.

"Dinner will be ready in five if you want to sit!" He makes his way to the dining room. He’s relaxed in your home, having been here several times before. He knows the layout, and he isn’t afraid to help himself to a drink. You smile as he settles in, enjoying how at ease he looks.

Dinner is pleasant, jokes and stories are tossed around, and laughter fills the room. You occasionally feel Sakura's eyes lingering on you as you laugh or when you reach across the table for the bottle of wine you've been sharing, but more predominantly, you feel Togame’s predatory stare flash between the two of you. You have all finished eating, but you could tell he is still hungry, and you couldn’t wait to satiate him.

After cleaning up, the three of you migrate to the living room, with your husband tactfully taking the only chair, leaving Sakura to drop into a spot at the end of the couch. You join him, sitting much closer than he expected, your leg brushing against his. You watch as he shifts in his seat, warmth building where your legs touch.

“So Sakura, what’d you do this afternoon? Anything for your birthday?” You ask, smiling up at him as softly as you can.

“Ah, no, not really. Got my free coffee at Pothos and ran some errands, but that’s about it.” He picks at a cuticle, hands settled in his lap.

"Well, that’s not bound to make you feel special; everyone should feel special on their birthday!” You cutely pout at him, gently slapping his chest in exclamation. His eyes carefully watch your hands before making their way up to fixate on your lips.

"Oh, babe, I know what makes me feel special on my birthday!” Togame chimes in, and you eagerly await your set-up.

“Right at midnight on my birthday, you come to me no matter what you're doing and wish me a happy birthday with the sweetest kiss—it makes me feel real special.”

Sakura chuckles, a little awkward but still genuine. “God a birthday kiss, huh? Haven’t got one of those since I was probably 16—and it was from Ms. Chiyoko.” You giggle in response, patting his knee in comfort.

“Well, give him a kiss, baby,” your boyfriend smirks at the two of you. You do your best to feign surprise, but Sakura doesn’t need to fake anything.

“What do you mean?” Your hands are twitching. You know exactly what he means.

“You want him to feel special on his birthday, right? Kiss him.” He stares at the two of you, legs spread, his smile confident and waiting.

Sakura sputters next to you, raising his hands up in surrender and resistance, his eyes darting between the two of you.

“You really don’t have to do that; he’s just fucking with m-“ he stops short as your soft lips press against his cheek, a blush instantly spreading across his face.

You lean back, smiling at him. He stares at you, mouth agape, his hand cradling his cheek where your lips had just been.

Togame scoffs, unimpressed.

"Oh, come on, just a kiss on the cheek? He deserves more than that, don’t you think?”

You hum thoughtfully as you place your hand on Sakura’s chest again, and look up at him. A blush rises up your neck now too, and though it plays into your ruse of innocence, you know it was the anticipation that was causing your body to heat.

“Would you like that? If I kissed you?” You press into him more, pushing your chest out and tracing your hand on his knee. Truly evil of you to ask him questions while touching him like that.

“I,” Sakura starts, but his eyes keep diverting back to Togame. Your boyfriend’s cocky expression has not waned in the slightest, and it is not giving Sakura any of the answers he is searching for. Your hand moves to the younger man’s chin, gently forcing him to look at you.

“Don’t worry about him; answer me.” He swallows tightly, his eyes fluttering between your tits and your eyes. He nods slowly.

“Yes, I’d like that.” Using your grip on his chin, you pull his mouth to yours. It’s quite chaste, but as your hand slips from his chin and splays across his thigh, he gasps, and you take the opportunity to deepen it. You run your tongue across his lower lip, and he shudders. Shifting, your other hand moves to fist his t-shirt to pull him closer, and you push your tongue into his waiting mouth.

He groans, his tongue slowly starting to move with yours. His hands, however, remain stiffly at his sides, nails digging into the meat of his palm as he resists the urge to reach out and touch you. Much too soon, his body makes him pull away for a breath. You don’t let him get far, gently digging your teeth into his lower lip, tugging it slightly before letting go.

He stares at you dumbly, flushed pink, with little crescent marks littering his palms. You pull your own lower lip in between your teeth, your eyelashes fluttering at him. The hand still on his thigh squeezes him before letting go, and a rush of warmth pools in your belly at the little hiss that escapes from behind his teeth.

The silence is broken by a chuckle from Jou, still unmoving from his spot in the armchair. The laugh isn’t loud, but Sakura startles anyway, being torn from the little world you two had been in only moments ago. Sakura clears his throat, dragging his hands up and down his legs. He looks up toward Togame, who finally leans in, elbows resting on his knees as he speaks to him.

“Told ya she’d make you feel special.” Sakura nods, avoiding looking in your direction, unsure of what to do with himself.

“Although you’re gonna hurt yourself resisting like that,” he says, head motioning to Sakura’s hands, still red from his clenched fists and fingernails. “Sometimes you just have to give in.”

“That doesn’t really feel like something I should do, ya know, considering...” It seemed Sakura wasn’t sure what to say. You can practically see his mind scrambling—something about the fact that you’re his friend’s girlfriend, and he really shouldn’t touch what isn’t his. But then again, Togame was just happily encouraging you as you shoved your tongue down his throat, so how much did that reasoning apply in this situation?

“You’re just going to leave my beautiful girl all high and dry?” A frown settles on Togame’s face as he rises to walk around and stand behind you two on the couch. Your mind drifts to thoughts of a puppet master standing over his characters, orchestrating his ideal story. It makes you smile as you think about how the evening would go if Togame had his way.

“Look at her; just one kiss isn’t enough. She needs more.” Jou places his hand in your hair lovingly, and you look up at him, a slight pout finding your lips again. He’s right, you’re quite flustered, even from just a simple kiss. Your legs are crossed tightly, the tops of your ears pink, and your nipples have perked up enough to proudly press through your tank. You turn your pout to Sakura, whose eyes are flashing across your body, hands once again in fists.

“Please, Sakura?” You practically whine, and despite how hard he tries to hide it, you hear a moan escape Sakura’s throat. Confusion still fills his eyes as he tries to understand what game you two are playing.

“I shouldn’t, right?” He’s asking now, and you can see his hands flexing, wanting so badly to reach out. Togame crouches down so he can whisper in the younger man’s ear, but you still hear him.

“The only thing you shouldn’t do is leave my baby waiting, Sakura. She wants it. She wants you. So what’re you gonna do about it?”

You stand as he speaks, moving right in front of Sakura and knocking his legs apart with your knee to step between them. He takes a long, slow breath as he watches you, thinking about what Togame just said.

Carefully, you move into place above his lap, knees on either side of his hips, hands settling on his nape. His wide eyes meet yours as you finally sit, fully pressed against his pelvis, where you feel the slightest hint of him pressing through his jeans. You scoot further up his lap, trying to get comfortable, and his eyes roll back at the friction.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, nearly inaudible. You don't want to rush him or make him too uncomfortable, but you need to feel his hands on you.

You make eye contact with a pair of lazy green eyes over Sakura’s head. Togame looks like he is sinfully enjoying this. He knows how badly you need something—anything—from the man beneath you. He can tell how turned on you are from the tension, and he gestures at the man, encouraging you to press on. So you lean forward and whisper, “Please touch me, Haruka.”

His expression is filled with longing; you know how badly he wants to concede. You let your hands glide from his nape to his shoulders, rubbing gently before continuing down his biceps and forearms all the way to his hands.

You pull them forward, placing them on your hips. "See, not so bad, right?" He squeezes the seam of your thighs, and you grind forward in response.

"Do that again; rock me back and forth," you whisper as your arms find their way back to his neck, fingers toying with the hair there.

He experimentally rolls your hips ever so slightly, but the angle has your clit rubbing against your jeans, and you whimper. Sakura's eyes look up from your lap to your face, where your eyes are fluttering and your mouth is hanging open. So sinful, he can't be expected to resist you.

Your expression has him gaining confidence, and he's rocking you faster now before switching the pace to one that's slower but harder. It's also more precise, and you whine at each grind of his hardening cock against you. Somewhere, in the recesses of your mind, you're impressed by his intuition. Or maybe he’s just getting lucky.

“Do you want to see her tits, Sakura?”

The man beneath you grunts as he continues to move your hips against his, nodding fervently at Togame’s suggestion.

“Go on, baby, show him.” You remove your hands from the hair at Sakura’s nape and slowly pull the hem of your tank up atop your breasts. Sakura isn’t moving your hips too fast, but even the slight movement has them bouncing, enticing, and just calling to be touched.

He moans at the sight; between your perfect tits and the dry-humping, Sakura was horrified of cumming in his pants. He knows that as soon as he does, all this will be over, and he'll be back to pining glances and thoughts of you while alone in his bedroom.

"Want to touch you, please," he's practically begging, using every ounce of restraint to not immediately put his mouth on you.

"Touch her," your boyfriend encourages him, "taste her."

Sakura needs nothing more, and his hands slowly slide up your rib cage until finally, blissfully, they're wrapped around your breasts. He gropes you, clumsily but gently, his fingers flicking across your nipples. The stimulation has you resuming your rocking, sporadic against his pelvis.

“Fuck, am I a bad friend?” His voice is whiny, conflicted.

You lean into his touch, his hands kneading the flesh of your tits. It has you grinding faster, a slight moan escaping your lips.

“No, no, you’re the best kind of friend,” you hum out, lost in the sensation of his rough hands. Suddenly, his head dips forward as he captures your nipple in his mouth, tongue sloppily passing over the sensitive nub. His fingers pinch your other tit, and the sensation is overwhelming.

He pulls away from your chest for air, but you hardly allow him a chance to catch his breath as you’re pulling him to you, mouth on his again. You’re writhing, desperate, and your kiss is all tongue and whimpers because of it. The way he’s been looking at you makes you feel like you’re an angel, and you’ve hardly given him anything. You’re eager to show him just how good you can make him feel.

You separate and look at Togame, pleading for him to guide you two towards more, and mercifully he does. He leans over the back of the couch again, staring at your breasts, glistening with spit, and smiles.

“Doesn’t she look pretty? All riled up like this?” His slow drawl is dripping with lust; you can tell he wants you too.

Sakura doesn’t look back at him anymore; he’s much too transfixed on you, fingers still digging into your hips as he struggles to control himself as he waits for instructions he’s come to expect when the man behind him speaks.

“So fucking pretty,” you make eye contact with him, his pretty gray and gold eyes clouded with desire as they drag across your body.

“Baby, you should do a little something for him, don’t ya think?”

You can’t help the devilish smirk that graces your face, and you love the surge of nerves and excitement that cross Sakura’s face when he sees it. You slide off his lap, standing between his spread legs as you pull your shirt off the rest of the way.

Your body is like a live wire right now, and you feel yourself overflowing with the need for physical touch. You stare down at him, grasping at your own breasts to give yourself some of the stimulation your body desperately needs.

“I want you to stand for me.”

He’s taller than you, watching you down the line of his nose as he starts clenching his fists again. Your hands move from your chest to his, sliding down his front until you find the waistband of his jeans. You push up his shirt, hooking your fingers into the space between his pants and briefs, and pull his body to yours, humming at the feeling of him pushing against your stomach. You need to see it, now.

Your hands move to undo the button, and suddenly his hands are on top of yours.

“You--you don’t have to.” His voice was tinged with worry, and you realize that he thinks Togame talked you into this; that you’re only participating because you’re being told.

He’s too sweet, assuming that your boyfriend was the mastermind behind all this, as if you haven’t been thinking about what his cock looks like since the first time you made him blush and wondered if his head would flush the same shade. You reach up and weave a hand into his hair and whisper pure sin against his ear.

“I’ve been dreaming about sucking your cock since the first time I saw you get hard for me. I remember you desperately trying to hide it as you got out of the car, but I had already felt you squirming beneath me. And I just imagined,” you slowly slide your hand into his pants as you speak, gently combing through the hair you find there, “what it would look like, all flushed and leaking for me.”

His breathing hitches at your words, his hands falling away from yours, and you pull back from his neck.

“So, can I?” Your smile is sweet as you look at him, fingers back to fiddling with the button of his jeans.

“Yes, fuck, yes, please.” His face is rosy, a combination of embarrassment at the realization that you’ve known how badly he’s been pining over you and a little because everything right now is just so warm.

You make quick work of his pants, pulling them down to the middle of his thighs, and are met with a lovely sight. His briefs are straining, his swollen cock pushing to get out, a wet spot growing near the head. You want to tear them away, get to what you’ve been waiting for, but this day is about him. And so you choose to take your time.

You don’t touch him right away, instead, you glide your hands across his hip bones, underneath the bottom hem of his shirt, digging your thumbs in with anticipation. Slowly, very very slowly, you sink down to your knees, your hands following your descent down his thighs. You avoid touching anything too sensitive, at least for now. His hands are eye level now, and based on those alone, you would assume the poor man was in absolute anguish. His knuckles are white and protruding, and his nails are freshening up the marks from earlier. It’s time to put him out of his misery.

You slide your right hand from his thigh, achingly slow, until his clothed dick is under your palm, and you gently squeeze. You feel his body tense under your left hand, still braced on his (very tightly clenched) leg.

You stroke him through the fabric of his briefs, barely-there touches that have his hips thrusting forward. You could do this forever, tracing the outline of his cock with one gentle finger and watching it twitch for you over and over again, but you are quickly reminded you have more you should be getting to.

“Quit teasing the poor guy, baby,” Togame speaks up, humor lacing his voice. He’s back in the chair, reclined—he'd be the image of relaxation if it weren’t for the flush on his cheeks. He’s got a hand draped across his lap, palming his half-hard cock through his sweatpants. It sends a jolt through you—the thought of him getting off to watching you pleasure his friend... It gets you back on track with the task in front of you, ready to put on a show, as you slowly begin to pull Sakura’s briefs down his legs.

As you suspected, it’s stupid how pretty he is. His dichromatic hair is here too, neat, dark curls with wisps of white. He’s Togame’s opposite in so many ways, you should have guessed that his cock would be too. Where you’re used to Togame’s girth and slight curve to the right, Sakura’s thinner but lengthy, with an upward arch that makes your mouth water. And, to your delight, the shade of his leaking tip did indeed match his cheeks.

You wrap your hand around him and give an experimental tug, the velvet skin feeling so soft and promising in your hand, and you hear an uneven breath from up above.

“Fuck, Haruka, it’s even prettier than I thought it’d be.” You’re still stroking him lightly, nothing to send him over the edge yet, but just the right amount to make him stutter when he speaks to you.

A small smile graces his lips, and one hand cautiously finds a spot in your hair. You lean further into his hand, encouraging the touch.

“You’ve thought about me?” Fuck, he sounds smitten; his eyes all hearts, and brain completely flooded with thoughts of you. You adore it.

You nod with a hum. “Of course. What you’d look like, what you’d feel like, what you’d taste like,” you emphasize your words with one long lick, from the base to his pearly tip, following a beautifully prominent vein along the bottom. Dipping back in quickly to lick his head, already slick with precum and leaking more with every single breath you take in his vicinity.

The room fills with his soft groans and the obscene sound of your mouth slurping around his cock. Occasionally, you can hear Togame swear under his breath. You want to go faster, take him deeper, but you’re worried he’ll cum too quickly if you do, so you keep it slow and measured, just enough to have his tip leaking and pulsing in your mouth.

Finally, Togame stands and approaches the two of you, circling you slowly. A predator determining how it’ll play with its prey next. It seems, however, that he is running out of patience.

“Have you thought about fucking my girl, Sakura?” Sakura groans at the question, eyes fixated on your plush lips surrounding his cock, the thought causing it to twitch in your mouth. Lust-filled green eyes meet yours, coaxing you to pull off of Sakura so that you can lead him forward. With one last lick, you make your way to your feet and replace his briefs.

“You’re so pretty like that,” he says, breathless and reverent. In his delirious state, he follows you easily as you pull him toward your bedroom, stepping out of his jeans and leaving them behind.

“You know how else I look pretty? On my back,” he hums, in obvious agreement, but you don’t stop there, “or my face pressed into a mattress, ass in the air, my dripping pussy just begging to be fucked.” Sakura freezes at your words, and you give him a small tug to pull him into the room.

Togame steps around the two of you, settling into the chair he set up in your room just for tonight.

“Wait ‘til you see how soaked she is just from having your cock in her mouth.” You blush in a bit of genuine embarrassment; you know it’s true. You can feel how wet you are, slick and dripping, desperate for attention down there. You undo the button of your jeans and silently pull the zipper down before reaching for Sakura’s hand.

“Gimme your hand, wanna show you.”

You start to pull his hand, but he quickly takes initiative, reaching and twisting to slip into your panties.

You gasp as the tip of his middle finger grazes your folds, and his eyes snap up to meet yours with a look of pure awe on his face. He slips in further, all fingers sweeping past your slit now, becoming coated in you as you whimper at his slight touch. To your dismay, he pulls his hand back out and looks at his fingers as the slick coating them catches the light and webs between his fingers.

Togame chuckles darkly from his chair, satisfied with how right he was. Then, as a bit of a shock to both of you, Sakura sticks his fingers in his mouth.

“God, I want to taste you, please.” This, you weren’t expecting, and you look to Togame for guidance. He can see in your face how badly you want it and can clock your arousal even from across the room.

“Whatever my baby wants. You better make her feel good, Sakura.”

With that, you sit down on the bed as Sakura eagerly grabs at your pants, pulling them off your legs. Left in just your panties, you scoot up to the head of the bed to lean against the pillows, holding your legs together.

Sakura crawls his way up to you from the end of the bed, his eyes wild with excitement.

“Have you ever done this before?” He shakes his head no, but it doesn’t halt his eagerness. Kneeling in front of you, he gently pries your legs open, eyes narrowing in on the wet spot in the center of your panties, and he groans.

“Is-is that because of me?” Togame asks you the same question sometimes, but they once again couldn’t be more different. The nervous shake in his voice, the genuine curiosity and uncertainty—fuck, it has the spot growing even more.

“Yeah, baby,” you whisper to him, "need you to touch me, please.”

A swear escapes under his breath as he reaches out, his thumb gently rubbing against your slit through the fabric, and your head droops back. It’s almost nothing, his touch is so subtle and brings you nearly no relief, but you whine all the same. At the promise, the promise that it’s so close.

“Go ahead, pull them aside. Take a good look at her.” Your head lolls over to look at your boyfriend, who has finally caved and taken his dick out of his sweats. He strokes his half-hard cock slowly, and you whine again, desperate for any kind of relief.

Luckily for you, Sakura does as he’s told and pulls your panties to the side, and his breath hitches at the view. Pink and slick, he stares wide-eyed, and it has you clenching, and the sight has him breaking.

His tongue sweeps out, a tiny kitten lick into your folds. Then again, then slower, and you’re fighting the urge to flail your legs. Fingers come up to spread you open, and he pulls you apart enough to expose your clit. It’s twitching violently, and Sakura is awestruck by the cute little pink nub.

“That her clit,” Togame sounds just as pent-up as you feel, frustration starting to kick in while waiting for the virgin to figure things out on his own. “Take her panties off and give it a lick."

While maybe a little clueless, he takes direction incredibly well. Your panties are quickly pulled down your legs and discarded, and then the roughness of his tongue is rubbing against your bundle of nerves, and you practically squeal with joy at the feeling.

“Fuck, again, Sakura,” and he does, again and again, as you try to keep your thrashing to a minimum. It’s a clunky way to build you up, but it’s doing the job. But you think it’s your turn to be selfish.

“Want your fingers too, baby,” you thread a hand into his hair to slow his direct assault to your clit. "Take it slow, start with one.”

He props himself up on his elbow, then slowly takes his middle finger on his other hand and runs it through your slit, searching for where you needed him. With a guiding touch, you help him find it, and it's sinking into you with little resistance as you groan. He pumps it back and forth, but the motion feels stiff, his nerves getting to him again.

But Togame always knows when to step in.

“Add another one, then curl towards you as you slide in.” Sakura turns to look at Togame, unsure of his advice, and finds the man with his legs spread, thick cock leaking onto his hand as he fists himself at the sight of you two. It takes him by surprise, but what’s even more surprising is how it has him grinding his hips into the mattress.

“You like that he’s watching, don’t you?” Sakura’s blush finds its way to his hairline, and you giggle.

“That’s cute, maybe next time he can join.” Next time? Sakura’s heartbeat spikes with the idea of another opportunity to be with you, to see how Togame treats you, to watch you take it from someone more experienced... He is suddenly very determined to not disappoint you, and gets to doing as he was told.

He nestles two fingers into you and moves them a few times before curling, and you keen for him. Your back arches off the bed, and your hands are back in his hair. He repeats the motion, and after a few strokes, he nails down the exact spot that triggers you the most and starts to absolutely abuse it.

Little tears leak down your cheek; you feel like you waited so long for this, and finally, your release was getting close. Just one more thing.

“Mouth, Haruka, please!” It’s a pitiful little scream that comes out of you, and you’re not even sure it makes sense, but your boyfriend is always looking out for you.

“Her clit, from before,” he’s grunting, and it sounds a bit breathless. “Suck on it.”

The younger man complies, his lips locking around your clit and pulling it tight into his mouth. He grinds himself harder into the mattress, desperately willing himself to outlast you, and with one long suck and a flick of the tip of his tongue, he gets his wish.

You writhe around him, shooting up to hold his wrist and keep his fingers buried inside you as you come, fluttering around his fingers. Sharp, whiny moans escape you, and he looks up at you, eyes glittering, and you can’t help but yank him into a sloppy kiss.

Breathless, you lean back, and he retracts his fingers, sitting up to his knees. Deep breaths fall from your lips as you turn to check on Togame, whose jaw hangs open a little as the grip on the base of his cock tightens, desperate not to cum from your fucked-out expression. He’s waiting for the grand finale.

Sakura’s the first to speak, his voice airy and excited as he crawls even closer to you; he’s lured to you, needy. Watching you fall apart under him has broken any restrictions he was putting on himself. He shamelessly drapes himself over you, wanting to be as close as possible.

“Fuck, feeling you cum around my fingers like that...”

A laugh puffs out of your chest, and you pull him in closer and whisper in his ear, “It’ll feel even better when I’m cumming around your cock.” He shudders out a gasp as your mouth places open mouth kisses across his neck, arching up into his still partially clothed body.

The two of you are getting a little lost in your own world when suddenly Togame speaks up.

"I want her on her knees," your boyfriend says, speaking up for the first time in a while, eyes dark, "on her knees, facing me."

You kiss Sakura deeply one more time before he helps you roll over and slides an arm across your hips to hike them up. You're arching for him, leaning on your arms as you stare at your boyfriend. Is he getting jealous? Right before the best part?

Sakura's hands glide across your ass, pulling you apart to look at your pussy, still soaked and shiny, pulsing as it desperately waits for more. His movements feel in sync with the sight before you. Togame slowly drags his hand up and down his shaft, orgasm successfully delayed for now. He's staring into your eyes, but you can't read his expression.

"Sakura, please, fuck me," you call out to the man behind you, with your eyes fixated on the one in front. At your words, Jou’s eyes relax, and as he smiles broadly at you, you feel the press of Sakura's cock before it slides all the way to the hilt.

You break eye contact, and the shock of suddenly being so full knocks the breath out of you. Simultaneous choked gasps come from you and Sakura, but a soft chuckle comes from Togame’s side of the room.

Sakura bends over you, unmoving, deep breaths pressing his naked chest to your back.

“How’s my baby feel, Sakura?” The question causes Sakura to whimper in your ear.

“So good, too good,” he sounds panicked as he runs his hands up and down your waist. You peek an eye open to see Togame smirking, fucking his fist much faster now.

"Well, come on, Sakura. Fuck her,” you moan at his words and clench around Sakura, and the feeling causes him to jerk his hips. Not even a real thrust, but just the taste of that movement, and he’s fucking hooked.

The definition of 0 to 60, Sakura’s suddenly moving his hips faster than you’d think possible, hips colliding with your ass over and over. Until his hands find your ass and he squeezes the flesh there. The pull lets him catch a glimpse of him disappearing inside you, and the sight has him drastically changing pace.

The drag as he pulls out slowly as you moan, hands fisted into the sheets, feels torturously sweet. He pulls out all the way, tip just kissing your entrance for a moment before he slides all the way in again, the vein on the underside pulsing as he does. You feel like sobbing, and maybe you are crying a little bit. The bed under your face is mysteriously wet as you babble out the man’s name.

“More, I need more,” and just like always, your boyfriend is there to help you.

“A little faster, Sakura,” he says as he approaches the bed, sweatpants discarded his dick bobbing and dripping with pre as he comes to stand over you, “focus on the feeling. I’ll get her to cum on your cock.”

The younger man nods dumbly as he grabs your hips, picking up his pace to something steadily in the middle of the two he tried before. It’s better; it feels good, but Togame knows exactly what you need.

His own cock in his right hand, he rests a knee on the bed next to your head and reaches his left down your body until he finds your clit. In time with the way he strokes himself, he rubs tight little circles, and the tears are in full force now.

He stares down at you, confident and endearing, knowing that even though he’s letting another man fuck you in front of him, your eyes are starry and tear-filled, looking at him, because he’s the one that’s going to make you cum.

“Jou, ‘m so close,” you whine, so focused on the man above you, almost forgetting whose cock is the one pounding into you at the moment.

“Yeah, princess? Cum for us, then. Show Sakura what it feels like to have a pussy cum around him,” his words send you over, crying out his name as you clench tightly around Sakura, and he’s folded over you again, whining in your ear.

“I’m going to cum, fuck.” You’re not sure who he’s talking to, but Togame grabs him by the chin and forces him to look him in the eye.

“Go on and cum in my girl, Sakura. Make sure she knows how good of a fucking job she did, yeah?” Before he even gets the last word out, Sakura’s pinned his hips to your ass, and you can feel it. Warmth floods you as he cums, so much virgin fucking cum filling you up as you whimper.

“Can I come for you, angel?” You nod your head furiously, wanting so badly for Togame to feel as good as you do right now.

“Wherever you want, Jou, please,” you tell him, eyelashes batting up at him.

“Such a good girl,” he groans out as he finally cums standing over you, ropes landing across your pretty face as you smile for him. He takes his thumb and wipes some from your lips, which you promptly open to suck his thumb clean.

“I think you may have killed him, baby.” Togame points behind you, and you sit up and turn around, finding a completely passed-out Sakura. Arm draped across his eyes, chest rising and falling slowly with sleep.

“Poor guy,” you carefully drape a blanket over him, smiling fondly at the man, “you think he liked his gift?”

"Oh, baby, I don’t think he’ll ever forget this birthday.”

[miabebe]

Masterlist

| Seventeen | Monsta X |

Series

Reverse Tropes - One Shot Series of popular tropes turned upside down (rated m)

Seungcheol - Too many beds

Jeonghan - Accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss

Joshua - Really nice guy who hates only you

Jun - Fake amnesia

Hoshi - Bet to make someone fall out of love

Wonwoo - Academic rivals who are fighting to rank last in class

Woozi - Soulmates fated to kill each other

Seokmin - Everyone thinks you're fake dating when you really are dating

Mingyu - Too much communication

Minghao - Divorce of convenience

Seungkwan - True hate's kiss

Vernon - Your mom bought a seventeen member

Dino - Dating your enemies sibling

Camp Seventeen - Series with Seventeen as Greek Demigods (rated m)

| Prologue | Character Profiles |

(Ch. 1) Dildo of Dionysus It's been a week since you stepped foot in Camp Seventeen - as you navigated the days trying to wrap your head around the 13 boys, one's touch and another's voice start to become a bit too bothersome….

(Ch. 2) Aphrodisiacs of Aphrodite As you delve deeper into the world of the demigods, a party throws you spiralling down a road less taken. While it seems there's one member who may be able to help you, there's another you want to lend a hand to. And more.

Tales of Time - Series of age old tales with a twist (rated m)

Choi Seungcheol - The Legend of the Sea | Epilogue |

"You're crying? You must be turning Human, the Merfolk don't cry" "Of course we do. Why do you think the Sea is nothing but salt?"

| Yoon Jeonghan | Hong Jisoo | Wen Junhui | Kwon Soonyoung | Jeon Wonwoo | Lee Jihoon | Xu Minghao | Lee Seokmin | Kim Mingyu | Boo Seungkwan | Chwe Hansol | Lee Chan |

Scenarios

Where you belong (3k) One who showed everyone who you belonged to, one who showed you that you couldn't possibly belong to anyone else. Fiancé! Seungcheol × reader, Fiancé! Jeonghan x reader

Where you return (7k) One who you fell in love with, one who fell in love with you. Fuckbuddy! Mingyu x reader, Fuckbuddy! Wonwoo x reader

Where you're convenient One who you married because of a mutual deal, one who you married because of an accident and one who you married because of a promise. Husband! Jisoo × reader pt 1 (6.5k) Husband! Seokmin × reader pt 2 (11k) Husband! Jihoon x reader pt 3 (coming soon)

Imagines

Christmas with Seventeen Seventeen and their little ways of celebrating Christmas with you!

[lovsalvatore]

You’re a mess

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

Summary: Natasha tries to tell herself that she’s not jealous, but it's obvious that's the way she feels while looking at you talking to your friend across the room.

Warnings: +18, Minors DNI! smut, Nat has a penis, unprotected sex, bathroom sex, breeding kink, degradation, praising, hair pulling, spanking if you squint, age gap, infidelity, no aftercare as usual lol, fingering, a bit of edging, marking, choking, rough sex, jealousy and possessiveness.

Word count: 6.5k

a/n: after 3 weeks… here u (finally) go ✰ series masterlist, main masterlist

Natasha tries to pay attention to whatever her wife is saying in front of her, but the way your friend touches your shoulder and sits so close to you distracts her. You haven't noticed yet, but she's been looking at you all night.

Tonight's performance — the one in which you've been rehearsing for weeks — was simply amazing, your first time being a soloist couldn't have been better. However, the absence of your parents in the audience made you a little upset, but you're already used to it, and with all the applause at the end you felt for the first time that you didn't need their approval to do what you like. You just felt proud of yourself, knowing that you can play such a difficult piece so easily, and even better, for hundreds of people and without missing a note.

And of course, there's her. The look she gave you when the last note of the symphony was played is something you want to keep with you for a lifetime. She was also proud, and that's enough for your heart to warm even more with all these emotions you've been feeling lately. Emotions that Natasha feels too, but in a very different way.

As a tradition, every time there's a big orchestra event there's also a celebration dinner, and today was no different. You're sitting on a sofa in the house of one of the producers of tonight's event, listening to your friend chatter about all the tourist attractions she wants to visit during tour.

Meanwhile on the other side of the room, the Maestro is trying not to break the glass of champagne she's holding in one hand, watching you smile at a girl other than her. She's trying to tell herself that she's not jealous, that wouldn't make any sense. But it's a fact that she's hating every second of this interaction between you and your friend. Kate. If she'd known you were that close, she wouldn't have put the violinist's name on the list. She thought you were just friends for convenience, not that outside the auditorium you had a friendship too. She thinks about how you're going to travel the world together, and that the plans she had with you might be interrupted because of your friend. She could even take Bishop's name off the list, but now it's too late, and she knows you wouldn't forgive her for that.

"Natasha?" the redhead takes a deep breath, and closes her eyes for a few seconds before turning her attention back to her wife. This is the first time Maria has appeared at one of the celebratory dinners, and everyone seemed surprised to finally see Natasha's wife. Because she rarely wears a wedding ring, there are people who didn't even know she was married, Maria noticed all the stares and whispers her way, but she decided to ignore it. "Did you hear what I just said?" the brunette asks with worried eyes.

"Hm? What?"

"My god, where did you go?" she giggles, but her wife remains serious, looking your way again and noticing that this time you're the one with your hand on your friend's thigh. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why do you have to put your hand there? Can't you keep a distance while talking? The Maestro clenches her jaw, starting to get annoyed by it all. She's been holding back for weeks now, trying not to get too close to you so she doesn't end up doing something stupid in front of everyone, she was planning to be with you again only when you guys were far away from this country as it would be safer — not that she minds that much — but she's starting to think that waiting that long isn't the best idea. "I said I think I'm gonna go, I'm kind of nauseous."

That's enough for Natasha to pay all her attention to her wife. "What? Do you want me to take you home?" she's worried, she really is, it's her wife after all. "Did you eat something that made you feel sick? Did you drink something?"

Maria smiles when she sees her wife's concern, and thinks that the Maestro could be like this all hours of the day if she weren't such a busy woman. "Oh no darling, I'm fine, I think it's just tiredness." Natasha nods, but her worry doesn't completely evaporate. "And I'll ask Martin to come get me, I don't want you to leave without even eating the dinner they cooked just for you."

"It's not just for me..."

"Still, you're the conductor, you play the most important role in the orchestra, I'm sure they'll want you to stay even after dessert."

Natasha smiles weakly, and nods her head again. For a few seconds she just focuses on her wife's well-being. They've been married for four years now, not a long time, but not recent either. They've been through a lot together, and even though the marriage is good at times, most of the time they're yelling and throwing all sorts of curse words at each other. Yet, the Maestro sometimes feels bad knowing she's cheating, but it's happened so many times over the years that the guilt just seems to not be a problem for her anymore. She knows it's wrong and she also knows her wife isn't the most faithful woman in the world either, so that makes things less worse. She thinks about what it would be like if she tried to fix her marriage, try to make it work, but as soon as Maria says goodbye with a quick kiss on her lips, and finally walks out the front door, those green eyes end up landing on you again, and she realizes that even if she wanted to she wouldn't be able to stop wanting you. She's fucked, she knows it, but unfortunately for her she's not tired of you yet.

You're laughing out loud at something Kate said, resting your forehead on her shoulder as you try to wipe away the happy tears. Natasha just stares, waiting for you to notice. And that nagging feeling in her chest just grows by the second watching you look so happy without her.

"We could even go to the Eiffel Tower, but everyone goes there, we have to be different from the others, don't you think?" you just nod, trying to forget about the joke your friend told you a few seconds ago, and straighten up on the couch. "But like, if you want to go..."

"I mean, I always wanted to go there to be honest." you look at your phone screen, seeing images of the various places you two can visit in France. It has many interesting museums and beautiful parks. You also think about where you're gonna get the money to be able to do all the things you want during this tour, you expect your parents to support you at least in that. "Hmmm... there's this museum-." you start to speak but frown your eyebrows when you see a message from Natasha appear at the top of the screen. She hasn't texted you since you two exchanged phone numbers a few days ago, you thought she would never send you anything, you're not complaining either.

Maestro: Need to talk to you.

You lift your face trying to look for her among the other guests, and it doesn't take long for you to spot her across the room, already staring at you. You can tell just by looking at her that something is wrong, or at least that something is bothering her. Her gaze shifts quickly to your friend sitting next to you, and for a moment you think that might be it, but of course she's not jealous of you, right? You, on the other hand, couldn't contain that feeling when you saw her wife walk through the front door. You know it's pointless to be jealous of the woman she's literally married to, but you can't help but wish you were in her shoes.

Noticing your delay in responding, Natasha just sends you one more message, telling you that it's really important, and without wanting to keep her waiting, you just excuse yourself to Kate, saying you have an important call to take. As you make your way down whatever hall Natasha is taking you, you pray that this conversation won't take too long, that you'll still have time to eat the dinner they're serving later. Adjusting the hem of your dress you start to feel a little nervous when she stops in front of a door, one of the last in the hall, before grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you into a bathroom.

It's completely dark for a few seconds before the Maestro locks the door and turns on the lights. You lean your body against the wall, waiting for her to start saying something, but she stays in complete silence, staring into everything but your eyes. She hates herself for being like this, she doesn't understand why she can't say what she's feeling. Natasha doesn't want to see you smiling at other girls, but she also doesn't want to admit that she was uncomfortable watching your interaction with Kate.

She doesn't want you to know about this effect you have on her, an effect that even she doesn't fully understand yet. The silence starts to get awkward, and you wish you had the courage to do something, say something, touch her, especially make her feel good since you know that's probably what she wants right now, but you can't do it without her having the initiative. She plays with the lapel of her suit, feeling her heart pounding with all the thoughts she's having right now. She wants to curse you out for sitting so close to your friend, she wants to show you how much she hates the fact that you make her feel this way. But she can't find the right words without her sounding like an obsessed madwoman.

But if she knew that's really all you want to hear, she'd probably say it without a second thought. You want her to show how much she wants you in words, but as proud and selfish as Natasha is, she might never say out loud how she really feels. "So... are you gonna say something or..." you say in a low tone, and seem to try to sink even deeper into the wall behind you when she takes a step forward. She's looking down at your exposed legs as she takes off the top of her suit before throwing it on top of the toilet. She's angry, and she knows that talking about it would be better, but she thinks it's easier to show it with actions. "I..." you swallow hard, feeling her delicate fingers brush over your thigh. "You... I thought you-."

"Shut up."

The words come in a whisper from her lips before you feel them on your neck. She wants to mark you, she needs to know that when others look at you, they'll know that you already have someone. Even knowing that you're not exclusively hers, she kinda feels that way, for her no one but her deserves to touch you, and it may be hypocritical of her to think that way when she literally has a wife, but she doesn't care. Her hand starts to move up between your legs as she moves her mouth to your sweet spot, sucking on your skin with the intention of leaving a mark there. It feels good, but then you remember the way she was looking at you and how something is bothering her, you would even try to talk but you never talk about anything when you're alone, and it's also hard to formulate words when she sucks so hard on your neck, throwing every possible shiver down your spine. "Nat-." you try to push her away realising what she's doing, but she just presses her body even harder against yours, moving her face to the other side of your neck.

Natasha closes her eyes as she works her lips on your skin, marking you without even caring if you would want this or not. She's just thinking about what she wants now, how obsessed she is with your body, and how she wants it to be full of marks made by her. She gets lost in the way your perfume invades all her senses, lifting her hand high enough to get it playing with the lace of your underwear. "I want you." she whispers softly against your neck, trying to tell herself that that's all it is, that she just wants you, not that she needs you. You have to close your eyes tightly as she sucks your skin hard, grinding lightly against your leg for you to feel how hard she already is for you. "Are you gonna let me play with you for a bit, hm?" you're already a mess before you nod, feeling her stop sucking the skin on your neck to just spread kisses, moving up to your jaw, to your cheek, until she pulls away to look into your eyes.

It's strange how her gaze can change so much from one moment to the next, and how each one of them makes you feel something different. You start to remember all the times she looked at you like this even before the first time you were together, and you wonder if she always looked at you with ulterior motives. You feel small around her, and you think that feeling of inferiority you have in relation to her will never go away, but that is not a problem for you either, you even like it.

Biting your bottom lip hard and looking down as she starts circling your clit through your underwear, being able to feel the way your wetness spreads over the fabric. You love the way she doesn't even have to look to know the right place to touch you, knowing that either way she's always gonna take a reaction from you. You don't want to take too long not to look suspicious, but you know you won't be able to stop yourself once she starts. You keep looking down, noticing the bulge that starts to appear in her pants, arching your back in anticipation, but then you feel her fingers squeezing your jaw, making you look at her again. "Eyes on me." she says, wanting you to see that the only one who can make you feel this way is her, she wants you to see the desire she has for you, knowing very well that you feel for her too.

She starts by slowly sliding the fabric of your underwear to the side before you finally feel her fingertip teasing your entrance. She groans at how wet you are, and that only makes you even more aroused. You exhale heavily as she rubs her finger across your slits a few times until reaches your clit, her cold fingertips bringing you to literally heaven. "I love how wet you always are for me." she admits, making slow movements while all you can do is just look into her eyes. She wants to tell you that she doesn't want to see you with anyone else but her, only her can make you feel this good, she also needs to hear you saying it, she needs to be sure of that, or else she'll start going crazy. "You're always so needy." she laughs dryly, putting more pressure and speed on your bundle of nerves. You press your lips together, resting your head against the wall behind you, finding it increasingly difficult to keep looking at her. "Tell me, can anyone else make you feel this way hm?"

You immediately shake your head from side to side, thinking she already knew the answer without even having to ask you. Like, who else could? She was your first, and right now you're not attracted to anyone but her. "Only you." you reply in a breathy voice, gripping her shoulder and unable to contain a moan when she surprises you by sliding two fingers inside you. It really feels like you'll never get used to it, the pleasurable pain whenever you have her inside you is a feeling you can never seem to get enough of. "Fuck Nat-." she lets go of your jaw to press her palm against your mouth, not waiting a second to start fucking her fingers fast into you.

"Shhh, don't make too much noise." even though she would love for everyone to hear how good she makes you feel, she knows the timing isn't the best for her to let that happen. "You'll be nice and quiet for me okay?" you just try to nod your head, the heat starting to build each second with her so close to you, and her fingers feeling so good in your cunt. The way your walls squeeze her fingers just makes Natasha even harder, something her wife can never do that easily. The only way she's been able to have sex with the woman she's been married to for four years is by thinking about you, she wasn't lying when she admitted it to you. And it's not like her sex life with her wife is very active, she always ends up just touching herself thinking about you, and how she didn't want you to be the only person she thinks about at times like that. But that's what happens, and she can't do anything to get you out of her head.

You whimper against her hand, moving your hips forward to match her movements. The way her pupils dilate when looking at you just makes you even more mesmerized by her green eyes, and how you think about them almost every hour of your day. She just really knows how to make you feel like you're in another planet by using literally anything, any way she touches you makes you feel inexplicable things. You feel her pumping her fingers into your cunt, and how her palm slams against your clit with her every movement. You want to move your hand from her shoulder and slide down her body until it stops at the bulge you can feel against your thigh, but instead you just dig your fingernails on her skin, the fire in your abdomen growing by the second with an embarrassing speed

Her cheeks are flushed as her gaze locks on the expressions you make for her, pushing her fingers inside you down to her knuckles. She keeps her movement fast, increasing the pressure of her hand against your mouth every time she senses you're about to moan loudly. "Fuck." she groans at the wet noises, wanting to be inside you so badly, wanting to ruin you like she always does. The Maestro feels her cock pulsing inside her pants, and it’s good but very uncomfortable at the same time, while you roll your eyes, feeling her curl her fingers upward, hitting your weakest spot and bringing you incredibly close to the edge.

“Fuck… I love your pussy.” she gasps and brings her face down to your neck again, leaving nothing but light kisses. “I just love how tight you are and how you clench around me… so fucking hot.” she presses her thumb against your clit as she continues to sink her fingers into you, smiling at the way your sounds are muffled by her hand.

It really takes moments for you to feel the bones in your body losing strength, the way her gaze burns into you leaving your head totally empty. "Hm- Nat-." you mutter against her hand, holding her wrist to slow her movements down a bit, but that's no use, you know if she wants to slow down, she's the one who's going to make the decision, and you're already so close that you actually don't really want her to stop now, your mind is just all blurred that you don't even know what you're doing anymore. It's even getting hard to breathe, but you try to hold it for a few more seconds, something that's practically impossible to do.

She decides to leave one last mark on your neck, flicking her tongue at your pulse point slowly. You're hers, that's what she means when she again pulls away, seeing the red and purple marks on your skin. “You look so beautiful like this.” she wants to push your hair back so she can see her work better, but instead she just keeps stifling your moans, pulling her fingers in and out of your pussy feeling your juices wetting most of her hand. “So fucking pretty for me detka.”

Natasha notices how you start breathing harder through your nose, squeezing her shoulder tightly and moving your hips forward. So she just keeps going until she feels like you're almost there, she feels the heat spreading through her body as it spreads into yours, but as soon as you're ready to come all around her fingers she quickly stops, leaving you totally frustrated and wanting more. She wants to laugh at your disappointed expression, knowing she can do whatever she wants to you, and in the end you'll still thank her for it. "Aww, did I ruin your fun baby?" she smiles, taking her hand away from your mouth, and you finally manage to take a deep breath, feeling her slowly slide her fingers out of your pussy. It's as if she intentionally wants to tease you when she roams her fingers through your folds, avoiding touching your clit as much as possible. She spreads your slits, teasing your entrance and watching as you try to move your hips to get more of her. "Sorry... it's just... I want to have a bit of fun too, you know?"

She looks at you with a pitying look, and when you realize she's going to walk away, you hold her by the shoulder, not wanting her to stop touching you. It just feels so good, and you're practically begging her to let you come. "Oh detka, you're so cute." she gives a sardonic chuckle, finally pulling her fingers away from you and leaving you completely craving for more. Your clit is throbbing, and the emptiness that remains is screaming to be filled again. Taking a few steps back she unbuttoned a few buttons of her white shirt before rolling up her sleeves. You're still leaning against the wall, breathing hard as you watch her lean against the sink. Your eyes get lost in the way only a bit of her chest is shown, and how her skin shines with sweat.

"Come here, why don't you help me with this hm?" she says as she grabs her cock over her pants, you follow the action with your eyes, seeing her fingers still glistening with your wetness. Natasha looks with pride at all the marks she left on you, wishing there were even more, she doesn't know where all this possessiveness came from, but she's not willing to change her mind about the fact that she thinks you're just hers. You flash an innocent smile before taking a few steps towards the Maestro — feeling like you could trip any second because of how your legs shake just from the bit of what she already gave you — replacing her hand with yours over the hard bulge.

She sighs and throws her head back when you gently squeeze her cock, playing with it a bit before moving to the zipper of her pants. Natasha just stares as you pull her shaft out, pressing your thumb into the tip and feeling her pre-cum wetting your fingertip. Her size feels even bigger when you close your hand around her thickness, your whole body reacts just by looking at it, and how much you love when she's using you to relieve herself. You're so needy because she didn't let you come seconds ago that you just want her to use you as soon as possible, you've stopped caring if people will think it's weird that you two disappeared out of nowhere, all you need now is her. When you're about to stroke her length, Natasha holds onto your wrist, and you don't have time to ask her what's wrong before she changes your positions, pressing your front against the sink, while standing behind you, moving the hem of your dress to the height of your hips.

You can see it in the mirror's reflection as she looks down at your body, and you try to prepare for what's about to come before you feel her entering you all at once. Maybe you'll never get used to her size, or maybe it's normal and it will still take time for you to be able to take it without feeling any pain. All you can do is grip the edge of the sink as you struggle to stay upright, feeling every inch of her stretching your cunt. "Oh fuck-." it comes out louder than you wanted, and as expected Natasha goes back to pressing her palm against your mouth while keeping her hips still, just feeling the way your walls tighten around her, and how good she feels inside you.

"Shhh, what the fuck did I ask you huh?" you whine quietly as she moves her hips back, only to move them forward again with a force that seems to make all the walls shake. You're just a squirming mess, not being able to look at her in the mirror's reflection as you feel her body heat burn you inside out. Your breath is already hitching by the time you feel your wetness run down your thighs, while Natasha stays still for a few seconds, before again letting just the tip inside your tight hole, this time using her hand to push your hips back, making you feel her cock entering you all at once again. You grunt against her mouth, but she wants to see you struggling to keep quiet, she wants to see you trying without her help. "I'm gonna put my hand down now okay? But you'll remain quiet, or else I'll have to stop."

She actually lowers her hand to your neck, tightening her fingers around your throat as she finally starts to move inside you. You have to concentrate really hard not to make any noise, gripping the edge of the sink so hard it feels like you're gonna break it at any moment. "Oh look at you." the Maestro says in a husky voice close to your ear, each time your hips meet making a loud noise echo in the bathroom. "You always take me so good, don't you?" her hand goes up a bit on your neck to make you look at her in the mirror's reflection, and you wish she hadn't, because now it just gets harder not to show with your voice how good she makes you feel.

As she looks at you, she remembers the way you were smiling at Kate, and how irritated it made her. She chokes you hard with that thought, as she thrusts deep inside you. She fucks you merciless, just wondering if you're ever gonna leave her for someone else, she squeezes her fingers tight around your throat like she doesn't want you to go anywhere but her arms. "You're only mine to use." she whispers more to her than to you, you're so focused on not screaming with pleasure, not releasing everything inside of you, that to you it's just another thing she says while she's so worked up, with no meaning behind it. "No one else can touch you like this, understand?" the words gets stuck in your throat as she doesn't ease her fingers around your neck, and as soon as you keep silent and don't answer her a loud smack noise invades your ears as you feel your skin burning from the slap she just gave you. It hurts, you never thought she'd really hit you like this, but it really felt better than you could ever imagine. "Do you understand?" she asks again, and you just nod your head, moving your hand up to her wrist to pull it away from your neck, not being able to breathe properly anymore.

It's no use, Natasha just uses even more force, making your vision completely blurred. “Hmmm fuck, you feel so good.” the way she pounds on you makes her shiver at the thought of you taking all of her thickness, how it's so easy to sink everything inside you because of how wet you are. She ends up gasping quietly, slowing down just to feel her sliding inside you, while you just dig your nails into her wrist, asking her to ease her fingers around your throat.

It works this time, at least, but then she switches between gripping your throat to wrapping the strands of your hair around her fingers, tugging hard. The maestro also has a hard time containing her moans, but unlike you, she manages to have more control over it. "Then you better not flirt with other people." now it's just jealousy talking, while Natasha rests her other hand next to yours on the edge of the sink. You don't know whether to focus on how good her cock feels abusing your cunt, the words coming out of her mouth, or how painful is the way she pulls your hair. "You don't want them to know what a slut you are, do you?"

"N-no." you look at yourself in the mirror, and at how your cheeks are smeared by the mascara that runs down your face along with the tears. You also see all the marks she left on your neck, and how ironic it is that she tells you not to show what a slut you are when she makes that obvious to everyone by marking you like that. You feel embarrassed about your state, but even more embarrassed about how close you are. Walls fluttering around her cock, which slips in and out of you with ease. You two are so lost in your feelings that you don't hear Natasha's phone ringing, so focused on your own pleasure that you don't even realize that enough time has passed for them to serve dinner. "Fuck, don't stop, please." you say in a breathy voice, the relief washing over your body when Natasha finally lets go of your hair. You feel her hot breath against your ear as she guides your hand to your own sex, pressing your fingers against your clit, and encouraging you to play with it.

You sloppily try to rub your nerve, feeling like every moment you could collapse with the way her thickness slides through your walls, but after a few tries your hand stops, unable to continue because of the way her cock makes you feel. That also causes the Maestro to stop, and you see the evil smile on her face and how she looks so innocently at you at the same time. "Go ahead, keep going." she asks you gently, her dick twitching inside you as she does her best to keep still. She lets out a shaking breath while resting her forehead on your shoulder for just a few seconds before looking back at you, waiting for you to do as she asked to get back to using you the way she wants. You take time, but also wanting her to fuck you again the way she was doing, you end up sighing heavily, clenching your jaw while you go back to stimulating yourself. It's hard to do though, but even so you make circular movements on your clit, even feeling sensitive you keep going, moving your hips to try to relieve yourself on her.

You thank the universe as she slowly moves inside you again, and you realize she's mimicking your slow rhythm, and you hate yourself for not being able to increase the speed. "Really?" she mocks you, smiling as she looks at you through the reflection. "Gosh, what a pathetic slut you are, don't even know how to touch yourself." she takes your hand again, but this time to press it against your lower back. Even if she wanted to tease you a little longer she wouldn't be able to, so she just pounds back into you hard, sinking her entire length with no care at all.

"Fuck... I bet you can at least come, can't you?" you nod frantically, feeling your body slam against the sink with every thrust she takes inside you. You try to move away a little by the way it hurts to feel your body colliding with the furniture every moment, but Natasha holds you tighter forcing you to stay still. "Yeah of course you can, just a needy fucking whore aren't ya?" you agree with her, didn't even know you get so turned on by those kinds of names until she started calling you by them, and especially now this is just the last straw for you to feel the climax building.

"Please..." you beg her with your eyes, finding it the hardest task of all to hold on for one more second because of the way she fucks you so hard, and for the Maestro is no different, she feels the first drops of her cum starting to release inside if you, and that encourages her to keep going. “Please Nat-.”

"Please what?" she purposely breathes heavily into your ear, feeling the way your walls spasm and contract around her dick, and how she knows she won't last much longer either. "Do you wanna come?" you nod, muscles tensing unbearably. "Fuck baby... want me to come with you hm? Want me to breed your pussy so good? Fill you up with my cum?" you just keep nodding over and over again before the orgasm slams against your body, Natasha following you right after and emptying herself inside you. “Fuck… that’s it baby.” you feel all the strength you had in your legs fading away, and the only way you find to stay on your feet is the way she holds you. She bites your shoulder to stop her moaning too loudly and you also have to control yourself not to make any noise. You feel it until her last load is released into your pussy, and how she just stands there for long seconds trying to pull herself together.

“You’re always so good to me, you did so good baby.” she praises you, slowly moving inside you, fucking every last drop of her cum inside your pussy. You feel like something is burning between your legs as she stops completely inside you, breathing heavily against the curve of your neck.

When the two of you finally come off the peak you take a moment to return to your normal breathing as you feel the discomfort that is when Natasha pulls out, her cum dripping down your thighs as she fixes your underwear and drags the hem of your dress down. She looks into your eyes through the mirror, and then gently cups your chin to turn your face to the side. "I'm the only one who can make you feel like this" you feel her breath hitting your lips, and how close her face is to yours. "You'll never let anyone touch you like that, only I can do it." it's not a question, more of a warning, and you as usual just nod whatever she says as you lower your gaze to her lips. You always think how soft they must be, and how good it must be to kiss them, and Natasha notices the way you tilt your face even further, making your lips just inches apart, and with that just completely pulls away from you. "Fix your makeup."

You take a deep breath, coming back to reality, wetting your hands with the water from the sink to clean your mascara-smeared face. You look at her in the mirror's reflection, and see the way she also fixes the wrinkles in her clothes, sighing heavily as she looks at the ceiling. You wanted to know what she thinks after you guys have sex, and why she never wants to talk to you properly after that. For you it’s something really complicated, but for Natasha it's an easy answer, she doesn't want to get attached. You also have to get some paper towels to wipe the mess on your thighs, while the Maestro just puts her suit top back on, and close her shirt buttons. You place your hand on your hip bone, feeling the sore area from the way it kept hitting against the sink, and think of all the bruises it could leave the next day. "Fuck." she murmurs looking at her phone screen once she finishes looking presentable. "Uhm... you need to go."

"I'm sorry?" you turn to face her, finishing arranging a few strands of your hair.

"They started serving dinner a few minutes ago, you should go, it will be suspicious if we show up together." she speaks casually, tucking her phone back into her pants pocket.

"But I... Nat I'm hungry and... Kate was gonna give me a ride back home." she rolls her eyes when you mention your friend's name, while you tell the truth, you were waiting all night for this dinner, having sex in the bathroom of a stranger's house really wasn't in your plans, but now you don't want to go before at least eating something. "You can go ahead, I'll wait a while and-."

"No." she interrupts you. "You can eat at home, take a taxi or something." she's trying not to sound too insensitive, she really doesn't mean to. But between letting you stay and maybe ruin her career and sending you home, she prefers the second option. "What do you need? Money?" she sighs heavily and impatiently, pulling her wallet out of her pocket and scoffing in disbelief when she notices that the only thing she has is a $100 bill. "Here."

“Natasha…” you stare at the bill she holds out to you, refusing to take it. “I can't I-.”

“Gosh just take it.” she grabs your wrist, and places the bill in your hand before tucking the wallet back into her pocket. She sees the expression on your face, and how hurt you look about it, but she can't throw years of career in the trash. “Look… I'm sorry okay? But I really need to go now, just make sure no one sees you when you're leaving… you… baby… you're a mess.” she moves closer to you to adjust the hem of your dress which is still way above your thighs, before lightly caressing your cheek with her knuckles. “Just, text me when you get home, right?”

You don't look at her before you hear the door close, you just play with the piece of paper in your hands. It's like every time she gets what she wants, you just become her apprentice again, not someone she shares such intimate moments with. But at the same time she makes you feel so important that you’re starting to accept this kind of relationship that you two have. Even deep down what you really wanted is for her to look at you the same way you look at her.

taglist: @eliii1sblog @florojas @wannabe-fic-reader @supaheroine @kksalexa @madelineleong @chibilauren @smromanoff @chiar4anna @cl-e @wifeofnatasharomanoff @ccinnamongrl

[triple-7-heaven]

ONCE AGAIN

thank you for waiting for me, readers. i do hope you enjoy it ♡ my first aespa fic, awesome! i've been going through it, thus the lack of content, but things are looking up for me. take care of yourselves, until next time :-) pairing: male reader x winter; words: 6.5k ; categories: aespa, winter, reader insert, smut, slightly storyline heavy

Back in high school, there was a girl who shone above the rest, but wasn’t necessarily popular. A girl who was a member of the math club, the photography club, and the dance team, whose evenings were filled with activities, who made many friends, but wasn’t fawned over by the student body in the way the true popular kids were. 

One evening, you were at school pretty late, tutoring in the library. You were so engrossed in your work that you didn’t notice the time passing, until the janitor came in and told you he’d be needing to clean the library up, so you’d better scram. Backpack full of books, you rushed out of the library, and quickly made your way through the dark hallway. You turned the corner and nearly collided with a small girl, who grabbed onto your arm to steady herself. 

“I-I’m so sorry,” you said, and the girl looked up at you. Oh, perfect… “Minjeong, shit, I’m sorry…” 

“Hosang, what are you doing here so late?” Minjeong asked. 

“Uh, tutoring… You know my name?” you asked incredulously. She smoothed out your sleeve, folded the collar of your shirt down, and tucked her hair behind her ear. 

“You know mine, too,” she quipped and giggled before running to catch up with her dance team friends, leaving you without room to explain yourself. To explain that no, I promise it isn’t weird, everyone knows your name, Minjeong, I’m not a crazy stalker, and I’m not here to spy on you through the gym windows while you dance. But you never got to explain yourself. To be fair, you did admire her from a distance. In the halls, at lunch, you wouldn’t deny that you looked at her with heart-shaped eyes. As pretty as you thought she was, you didn’t ever talk to her, something you would eventually regret. 

Minjeong dropped out, and you didn’t run into her again. After graduation, you headed off to Seoul to learn how to fly, and soon, you realized someone else had come, too. Billboards, advertisements, you name it. For a solid month, wherever you looked, you saw her. 

The same Kim Minjeong who you nearly sacked in the hallway that night, who, instead of yelling or being upset, straightened your clothes and wished you a good night; who knew your name when you were nobody. She was Winter, now, styled with gorgeous long, blonde hair, imposed over ethereal backgrounds and colors. You had to give it to whatever company she was running with, they made that old crush of yours flare right back up again with the way they marketed that girl. Financially stable enough under an air charter company flying small private jets, you decided you’d buy a set of the group’s albums when they debuted. Sitting on the floor of your apartment, pulling the photocards and posters out of those albums, you felt the full force of the regret from your school days: if you’d only talked to her in high school, you could have her number in your phone right this minute… But you were resigned now to being a fan, and a strongly biased one. That’s all you could be. 

-

Charter piloting has benefits. Loads, surely. You’re essentially a glorified taxi driver, charging rich business people and celebrities $20k for a one hour flight from Incheon to Jeju. It’s morally wrong to allow a sucker to keep his money, right? As good as the pay, benefits, and overall experience are, the clientele… Well. Nothing you hate more than a stuck-up diva, and it’s even worse when you’re trapped in a flying metal tube with them. But you make do; the idol sightings you get on the job make all the asshole corporates worth it. From old school stars your parents might know, to drama actors and actresses, to the newest generation of idols, you welcomed a ton of each aboard, more than you could ever remember if you didn’t write it down. Unforgettable guests come along now and then; a trio of Twice members one weekend, some big-name producers behind insurmountably popular groups for a surfing trip, and the casts of award-winning shows on celebratory benders. Unforgettable loses its meaning when your secretary hands you today’s clipboard. 

“This is mine? Thought it was… Uh…” you trail off and your eyes widen. The secretary laughs behind the desk.

“I knew it! You’re her fan, right? You always talk about Aespa. And I know you have her photocard in your wallet,” she winks at you as your face fills with an embarrassingly deep blush. 

“It’s not just that, Jihye. I knew her in high school,” you say hesitantly. 

“Oh my God, it’s like a reunion!” the girl squeals. “Wait, were you cool in high school?” she laughs. 

“Uh… I don’t-” 

“Yup, I knew it,” she says matter-of-factly. “Let me guess, the lame, nerdy guy had a crush on the cool-chick future idol?”

“No! Well, I don’t know,” you say. Your mind is too busy racing to think properly. The young secretary giggles to herself as you walk to the hangar. Preflight routines are difficult to complete when your mind’s racing faster than a Blackbird. Would she recognize you? Should you say something? Nah… You’re kicking tires pretending to be busy and the door opens. The trail end of a conversation… 

“-ng is going to be your pilot. He’s a great aviator and an even better tour guide, so I’m sure he’ll be happy to show you around the island,” Jihye says. That damn secretary. 

“Hosang? I feel like I’ve known someone with- oh, hi,” Minjeong stops abruptly when Jihye walks her around the aircraft to meet you. Long, wavy, dark hair, with bangs curled and blown out to mathematical perfection. Fair, unlined skin of a small and cute face. A simple and comfortable black sweater, a modest manicure, and plain, natural eye makeup. You bow shyly and wave. 

“All good to go?” Jihye asks with the most annoying smile in the world. 

“Yep,” you answer. Jihye departs and you welcome Minjeong to get comfortable while you finish up. A strange look occupies those perfect features as you give her a quick safety brief, then turn to enter the cockpit. Before the door closes behind you, “if you need anything, let me know.” 

Why are you cold with her? Why are you nervous? You hardly smiled at her or asked what she was traveling for… Pure white clouds roll calmly underneath you. You resolve to be nice to her, even if she doesn’t recognize you, because let’s be real, it’s not her fault for not recognizing you. She meets tons of people. You’re just some not-cool kid from high school who had a crush on the cool-chick future idol. A pilot report over the radio snaps you out of it as you enter Jeju International’s airspace. Gusting winds and vertical movement, it’ll be a bumpy ride down. You reach for the intercom. 

“Hey Minjeong, forgive me if I startled you. Looking at some rough air on the way down, but we’re about 20 minutes out. I’d sit down and belt in if you aren’t already, okay? Call if there’s any issues, and think of what you’d like for dinner.” You toggle off the intercom and wonder where the hell that came from. What, Jihye said you’d be happy to show Minjeong around the island, right? So you’ll show her. Your inner autopilot (funny…) takes over and you idly nudge the yoke for your approach phases. Wheels on the ground, hangar door shut, you stand and exit the cockpit. Minjeong looks up at you sleepily, and you sit across from her on one of the bench-style seats. 

“So… dinner ideas?” you ask. Minjeong stands up and points at you groggily, shuffling towards you until her finger pokes the center of your chest. 

“You. You went to my school, didn’t you?” she says, tiredness dripping from her voice. You nod and meet her eyes. “How come you didn’t say anything?” 

“I didn’t think you’d recognize me…” you say softly, honestly. She moves her hand to your shoulder.

“Well you’re bigger, yeah, but… I recognize you. Bigger and taller. Same face,” she says. The smile can’t be kept off your face, unfortunately, and Minjeong smiles too. 

“You sound really tired. Let’s get going,” you say. After a quick post-flight and signing off with the hangar staff, you face her and say: “Gonna change really quick, then we’ll head to dinner.” You slip into the FBO restroom and drop your duffel, then slip out of your annoyingly stiff white uniform shirt. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment, then pull on a plain black t-shirt before swapping your slacks for black jeans. One careful ruffle of the hair later, and you’re leaving the restroom to meet Minjeong in the hallway. 

“Alright, ready.” You carry Minjeong’s luggage and she trails behind you, much like a puppy, on the way to the parking lot. The modest rent car’s parked right where the staff told you, so you open the door for Minjeong and she shoots you a confused smirk. You smile back, and hop into the driver’s seat. 

“So what’s the occasion? Family in Jeju?” you ask. 

“Honestly, I… When I get time off, I run a secret travel blog… So I take vacations, and take pictures and stuff,” she says quietly. “I dunno, it’s kind of silly.” 

“How come it’s silly? Sounds fun to me. We’ll have to go to some really cool places so you can write a good post, huh?” you reply. “Now, dinner?” 

“Mm. I’m too tired to think,” she mumbles. Great, now the pressure’s on you to pick something perfect… 

“How about Black Pork Street? Could make for some good photos, and it’s really as good as people say it is,” you say and put the car in gear. 

“Sounds good…” she trails off. Really, really sleepy. But she makes an effort to talk to you. She makes an effort to keep the focus off of herself, and more on you; she asks you how graduation was, since she didn’t go, and you really had to reach deep into your memory for that one. She asks you about flying, about why you chose it, about your life in Seoul, and about how you never ran into each other in the city. You hold yourself back from saying ‘well no, Minjeong, we haven’t run into each other in a city of 10 million people, with about 9,999,999 of those people being more interesting than me.’ When you arrive, Minjeong is lively and excited, telling you about her camera and asking what’s next after dinner. You kick yourself when you start wishing for a specific sort of dessert. Quit being dirty-minded, idiot… 

“Let’s go! I’m hungry,” Minjeong says, dragging you out of your thoughts. She looks perfect taking photos on the street, pointing her camera at the sky, at signs, storefronts, plants, street cats. The way her eyes light up when she takes a good photo, runs over to show you, insists that you take a few of her; she’s not much different than she was back then, huh? A person with a good heart. A person whose heart you’d like to learn. 

“Is it our honeymoon? First date? Must be a first date, you look nervous,” the dorky waiter says, nodding to you. Minjeong laughs, and you blush; the difference between you. 

“Uh… J-just high school friends,” you manage to say. Minjeong jots notes and snaps photos throughout the meal, and as you’re serving up some pork belly for her, she takes a few photos.

“C’mon, make it look nice,” she whines. 

“You’re serious about this, huh?” you laugh. 

“It’s… It’s my baby. My project. My travel blog is like… I dunno, it’s a way for me to be creative, but not be Winter. It’s a way to just be Minjeong,” she slowly explains. “To have a space that’s all my own. Where I can talk about stuff I like, and not worry about press, or netizens, or fans, or anti-fans.”

“I get it. A space of your own. I should call you Minjeong then, right?” you say, nodding your head a bit too fast and a bit too much. She smiles and nods. But she nods like a regular person, not like you. 

Dinner passes without incident. If we can ignore the waiter thing. Do you look like a couple or something? Maybe you do compliment each other. Maybe you seem like high school sweethearts. Maybe you could be. 

“Hosang?” she says as she leans forward. “You in there? Let’s go to the hotel!” You snap out of it for the second time and hop up to lead the way to the rent car. The paperwork Jihye gave you had most of the information listed for Minjeong’s trip, and the hotel she’d be staying in was, of course, the Lotte City Hotel. No less grandeur for the princess. The GPS gets you there quickly, and you pull up to the front doors, leaving the car on as you grab Minjeong’s suitcase. Just as you’re rounding the front of the car and waving goodnight, she makes a confused face.

“Wait, you’re leaving?” she whines. Minjeong the kid… 

“Oh, uh, yeah. I was gonna head to the motel near the airport, that’s where my room is. Did you need something else?” you say. 

God, why do I sound like a customer service bot? ‘Did you need something else?’ Seriously? 

“I… I dunno, I guess I just wanted someone to hang out with,” she replies.

Oh. To hang out? 

“Oh, of course, Minjeong. Let me park, I’ll meet you,” you say. And she’s waiting for you in the same spot once you return to the front door; she didn’t even go inside. Her long, dark hair’s ruffled by the wind. Cute. 

NO. Not cute. Not cute or pretty or hot. She’s my client, my customer, my responsibility; not my crush, my girlfriend, or my next body. Look at the ground or something, for the love of God, Hosang. 

But looking at the ground can’t keep her legs from your peripheral view. She walks through the sliding doors and you follow behind with her suitcase in your hand, and your duffel on your shoulder. Long, slender, perfect legs, and you’re looking right at them. You snap your gaze to the windows and pretend to be looking at the skyline through the windows while Minjeong checks in. After a moment, she turns to you and smiles. 

“Do you have a swimsuit?” she asks. You shake your head. “There’s shops on the bottom floors, go and find one, okay? Meet me on the sixth floor. There’s a pool! The pictures are gonna be perfect!” 

She shoves a room key into your hand and takes the bags from you. You’re left in the lobby, dumbfounded, wondering how you should navigate this. A bellhop whistles at you.

“First night with her? Sheesh,” the young man says. “Score!”

“Weird situation, man. Weird as hell,” you trail off as you walk away, still shaking your head, more so to yourself now. Okay, shops. Swimsuit. You begin to feel insecurity nagging at you. You’re lean, sure, but not perfect. Not as perfect as… Well, nevermind. Quickly, you make your way through the shops, and find a pair of rather plain, mid-length black trunks at a duty free shop, changing into them in the restroom and leaving your shirt on. The elevator ride lasts forever. And ever. And ever. Until the robotic voice announces,

Sixth floor. 

The doors open and you walk quietly out to the open area of the pool. You see one figure in the water already. She’s facing the city, hugging the edge of the pool and gazing at the skyline. The water laps at her back, just below her shoulder blades, and the silky smooth skin of her back is laid out for you, with only thin bikini straps to cover it. Her arms and shoulders are small, toned, but soft. Fancams and jacket shoots could never do justice to the sculpted angel right in front of your face. 

“How’s the temperature?” you say. She turns around. Her top is composed of white strings and back fabric; conservative, but form-fitting to her chest, that Goldilocks chest, the perfect balance of size and shape. Her collarbones are distinct, curved, beautiful. Hell, every curve you can see is perfect, from the angle of her jaw to the base of her neck to the gentle taper of her arms. 

“It’s heated,” she giggles. “Come on!” Insecurity. Nagging. Loudly. 

“Are you sure? I can just hang out and take pictures for you up here, it’s not-”

“Come onnn,” she pleads. You turn away from her and slowly drag your shirt off, then kick your shoes and socks off near where Minjeong left hers. The water is slightly warmer than room temperature, and a welcome change from the chilly air. You sit yourself down on a ledge in the pool, and Minjeong swims to your side, sitting right next to you. Not close enough to touch. 

“See? Isn’t it nice up here?” she says.

“It is. Ever been to Jeju before?” you ask.

“Nope. I think it’s even nicer with a good tour guide.” 

“Ah, come on. I’m not all that.” 

“You’re…” she trails off and sighs. Her hair tickles your shoulder when she leans into you. “I wish I’d talked to you more back then.”

“Hmm? Don’t worry about it, that’s way past us,” you mumble.

“So… If I said I wanted to make up for lost time… What would you say?” she says and you feel her fingertips smoothly run over your leg under the water. 

“I think I’d ask where that idea came from,” you say breathlessly. She moves her hand to your waist, arm around your front. 

“I always liked you. I just didn’t think you liked me, you were always so quiet,” she says. Your hand, now, meets her waist, and your eyes meet hers. 

“Is this okay? I mean… Can you do stuff like this? Now that you’re all famous and everything,” you say, struggling to form any words at all, overwhelmed by the electric sensations of skin on skin underwater. She cups your cheek with a wet hand and nods to the camera bag. 

“Can I get some pictures for the blog? Before… Before I forget,” she finishes cautiously.

Before you forget, huh… Gonna make me take an impromptu bikini shoot of one of the most beautiful women ever. No big deal. 

Minjeong disentangles from you; she tosses you a towel and you dry your hands, then power on the camera. Eyes fixed on the camera’s display screen, you start shooting. She moves through pose after pose, and you can feel yourself hardening. How could you not? A perfect, slim, pale Minjeong, body covered with water droplets, her skin shining in the flash of the camera. 

“Would you check and see if those ones are any good?” she calls to you. You begin scrolling through the photos, and sure, they’re great. It would be hard to take a bad photo of her. 

“Yeah, these are good,” you say. 

“Let’s take a few more, then we can relax a bit,” she says. The camera display switches back to photo mode, and you look through; this time, your heart stops. The screen shows you that Minjeong has shed her top, and now, the camera focuses on her bare breasts, nipples erect in the cold air, water streaming down her chest. Her hourglass shape is all the more prominent now, and you wonder how it would feel to run your hands all over her wet body. You begin to lower the camera, but she shakes her head. “These are just for me. Please?” 

“J-just for you?” you mumble, mostly to yourself. Her poses grow more erotic. She squeezes her breasts together with her arms, grabs them with her hands, and leans over for you to capture a shot of her from the side with her back arched. Now you’re definitely hard, no question about it, but at least now there’s no way she could be mad at you for it. It’s her fault. She moves towards you, and you set the camera on the ground next to the pool. 

“How’d they turn out?” she asks. Her arms reach around the back of your neck, and yours wrap around her waist. 

“You’re evil,” you say into her neck before planting a few kisses there. 

“Oh, how could you say that? It seems like you had a good time,” she says. Her hips grind forward against your cock; she wants you to know that she knows how hard she’s gotten you. “You know, to be really honest, Hosang, you’re the first guy I ever thought about while touching myself.” 

Really? 

“Why?” 

“You’re an idiot- Oh, God,” she’s interrupted by moans as you kiss further down her neck. “I just like you, okay? 

“Well I just like you, too. Always did,” you say. 

“I hope so. Otherwise this could be kind of awkward,” she giggles. You withdraw from her neck to place a kiss on her temple, and finally, on her lips. She tastes so sweet, lips so soft, tongue so aggressive. Her hand grabs onto your hair and she forces your head to turn so she can deepen the kiss. Minjeong seems hungry, desperate. You sit back on the ledge with your high school crush in your lap, her legs around your waist. She’s got both hands on your face, and she observes you like some sort of specimen. 

“What’s, uh, what’s up?” you say, eyebrows raised.

“Your face… As different as it is, it almost looks exactly the same as the face I fell for back then. And I think I’m falling for it again,” she says. You begin to speak, but she places a finger over your lips. “I know what you’re gonna say. Just don’t think about it right now. Don’t. Think. About anything.”

Between her words, she’s taking your hands in hers, and moving them to her bare chest. You swallow. Hard. She’s right. If only for tonight, for this weekend, for a week, you have to just let it go. Her breasts are soft, and she whimpers when you squeeze them. She giggles and moans through a toothy smile when you roll her nipples between your fingers. Minjeong is clay in your hands, melting under every single touch, and it’s your job to make this trip unforgettable for her, to mold her into shapes of pleasure she’s never felt before. 

“You know there’s a sauna,” she whispers through gasps.

“Good idea,” you reply. Water falls from both of your bodies when you stand up with her still wrapped around you, clinging to you like a koala bear to a tree. A quick jog from the pool to the sauna, but the wind still manages to chill you both to the bone. The sauna, though, is comfortably warm. Minjeong in your lap again, you sit on the wooden bench and she devours your neck. Her tongue and breath are hot against your skin and the steam begins to make you sweat already. She stands and takes hold of your hand, beckoning you to follow suit; you stand close to her and she looks up to meet your eyes. Small hands make their way to your waistband. 

“Can I?” she asks softly. You help her slide the trunks down your legs, and your cock springs out, painfully hard, smacking your stomach. Her hand wraps around it immediately, and she moves in to kiss you again. She moves her tongue slowly against yours and her hand works your length all the while; her delicate fingers find the precum dripping from your tip and spread it generously. Delicately, she kneels; cautiously, she licks your cock from the base to the tip before latching onto the head and giving gentle suction. She looks up at you with her deep brown eyes and you place your hands on her head. You’re gentle with her. Your fingers make their way through her hair, and you keep your hips as still as you can, so as not to overwhelm her. You feel the back of her throat suddenly, and a moan escapes your mouth briefly, before you slap your hand over it. Minjeong backs off and strokes you with her hand.

“Don’t… I want to hear you,” she says. You feel your cock twitch, and you let out a sigh. A soft moan when her strokes speed up. “Good…” 

“What if someone-”

“If someone hears? They’ll leave. Don’t worry,” she says. She gives you a few more seconds of suction, tongue massaging your head, then stands back up. You switch places with her, only now, she casually strips her bottoms off and sits on the wooden bench. Her toned thighs spread apart slowly while you stand back to take her all in. 

After all these years, there she is; imagine telling high school Hosang what’s happening right now. Forget moaning her name while I jerk off… She’s right there. 

Beads of sweat roll down your face and body. Minjeong, too; she’s covered in dewdrops of her own. Somehow you think they must look better on her than they do on you. A deep breath, and you step towards her. Her chest rises and falls rapidly under your hands when you give her pert breasts some more attention. You’re on your knees, now, watching her face contort and listening to her voice catch in her throat. If she never wore a bra again, you’d surely be happy. Kisses planted down her body, from her sternum down her stomach, halting at her hipline. You take a moment to stroke her thighs softly with your fingertips, and they shudder. More kisses for her legs, from her ankles up her calves to her inner thighs. Her sweat is salty and sweet. How will the rest of her taste? You look at her again.

"What do you like?" you ask. 

"I… I don't know."

"When you touch yourself, how do you do it?"

"That's embarrassing…"

"When you're using your hands, imagining they're mine, what do you do?"

"..." 

"Show me, so I can do it for you." Minjeong’s eyes are half-lidded, lust-laden. When you look down at her perfect, trimmed pussy, it’s dripping; your words got to her. She takes hold of your right wrist and places your hand on her stomach, thumb on her clit. 

“Slowly,” she whispers. You oblige, and slowly make circles on her clit, spreading her wetness over the sensitive nub. Her next move brings your left hand to her mouth. She sucks on your two middle fingers, taking them deeply into her mouth. Wet enough now, she moves your hand, palm up, near her pussy, and nods. “Inside.” The walls of her pussy are so hot, so scorching hot, inch after inch engulfing your fingers. One curl of your fingers and she’s cursing, moaning, bucking her hips. Poor girl must be starving. 

“Is that good for you, Minjeong?” you say. Your voice seems like it’s dropped an octave and slowed down about half a measure. It doesn’t matter; she can’t answer you, anyway. She’s busy stuttering out your name. Temptation gets the best of you and you move your thumb away. Minjeong whines, but it’s soon replaced by a near scream when your thumb is replaced by your tongue. As expected, she tastes incredible, some remnants of salt water from the pool, but overwhelmingly sweet underneath. She clenches around your fingers a bit.

“F- Oh my fucking-” Minjeong stutters. Her eyes roll back in her head. Her delicate fingers grip your hair, not so delicately. Rapid, shuddering breaths cause her toned stomach to rise and fall quickly, her arms and legs jerk, and the salty and sweet flavor floods your tongue. Unlatched from your hair, Minjeong’s hands grab your face and yank you up towards her face; as you stand, the tip of your cock grazes over her clit. 

“Whoops,” she whispers. Her lips are warm and smooth when they lock onto yours. And you feel her hand creep down your abdomen. Your attempt to break the kiss is foiled with Minjeong’s arm around the back of your head, and her other hand moves up and down your shaft. She’s devious, smiling into the kiss as you fill her mouth with moans, tightly gripping your cock and twisting her hand with her up and down motions. 

Kim Minjeong from high school is jerking me off. Kim Winter from Aespa is jerking me off. 

It’s a mindfuck. She kneads the back of your neck and sucks on your tongue. You can’t fuck her in a public sauna… Can you? 

“Minjeong…” you whisper against her cheek. She looks at you innocently. Like someone who isn’t driving you crazy. 

“What?” she giggles. 

“How about we go to your room? Could be bad if, you know, someone sees us,” you mumble. 

“How about once here, and a few more times there?” she says with a wink. “It’s late, baby… No one will come up.” 

‘Baby.’ 

Minjeong guides you towards her pussy with the hand that had never left your cock. Her legs rest on your shoulders, and you grip her pillowy soft thighs to brace yourself for impact, for entry. Her heat begins to swallow your length, quite easily due to how wet and aroused she is, and she makes the hottest noise she’s made the whole night. And now you’re hilted in Kim Minjeong in a hotel sauna with an unlocked door. Her nails scratch at your chest and shoulders frantically. 

“God, so full…” she moans. 

“You want me to fuck you now?” you put the sultry voice back on. She nods. “When you’re using your toys, imagining they’re me…” 

“Please, Hosang, just fuck me,” she pleads. “However you want. However you need.” It’s all you need to hear, certainly. You pull out nearly all the way, and watch your cock disappear inside of her with a grunt. Your thumbs nearly touch as you wrap your hands around her small waist to pull her down around your shaft with every thrust. All inhibitions are gone, any restraints have been lifted; you’re slamming into her hard, and the both of you moan loudly enough for the reception desk to hear. Minjeong’s tight abs contract and relax under your hands, you look at her face to see her drooling with her eyes rolled back. Like, actually, really drooling. 

“Fuck, babe… You’re really enjoying this, huh?” you say gruffly. You swipe your thumb over her chin and she leans down to suck on it instead. Lustful eyes meet your gaze and your thumb pops out of her lips. 

“I’ve been waiting so long,” she says. A quick sigh to punctuate her sentence. “So many years…” 

“Well-” you try to speak, but she clenches herself around you. “Fuck. I don’t think I can wait any longer than I already have-”

“Pull out baby,” she sighs. “I want to swallow you.” 

Regretfully, you withdraw from Minjeong’s tight hole, but the steam keeps your cock rather warm while she kneels down. After a lick from the base to the tip, she takes you all the way into her throat. She takes your hands and places them on her head, looking up at you sinfully. With fistfuls of her dark hair, you pull back, and thrust in again. She gags and coughs, but she never gives up, and soon, you’re shooting rope after rope, nearly convulsing in pleasure. She strokes you into her open mouth, wringing every drop out of your spent cock. When she’s satisfied, she swallows and stands up to kiss your neck and chest. 

“How about… How about we go to the room?” she says. 

“You want me to stay with you tonight?” you ask. She laughs a bit. Her laugh is fluttering and adorable, a sharp contrast with the noises she was making moments earlier.

“Of course.” 

-

After getting dressed and gathering Minjeong’s things, you head upstairs. In the elevator, you stand behind her; she grinds back onto your groin and brings your hands to her chest. Floors fly by and the number on the small screen goes up as you massage her chest and her delicate moans get you painfully hard once again. She rushes in front of you to the room, giving you another view of those creamy, toned legs, and you do your best to catch up. Once inside, she sits on the bed in front of you and waits. Her hands travel slowly from her hips to her knees, and even slower she parts them with her hands to reveal the glistening skin peeking out from her bikini. Her breath hitches when you step forward and gaze down at her. 

“I showed you what to do last time,” Minjeong whispers. “I want to see what you’ll do on your own.” 

“No pressure, right?” you joke, and she smiles. Her thighs are soft and malleable in your hands, and her neck softer under your lips. You untie the bikini top and cast it to the side, then kiss further and further down her neck. Kisses travel down her neck, over her collarbones, down to her sternum. There’s still salt from the pool on her skin, and you lick towards her nipple before giving it a bite. Minjeong jumps slightly and closes her fists in your hair. Your mouth works on one nipple and your hand kneads the other breast, perfectly sized for your hand. After switching sides once or twice, you kiss her stomach. Her hands move to your shoulders as you kneel on the floor in front of her.

Minjeong’s legs are wide open. You slide your fingers into the waistband of the swimsuit and slowly drag the bottoms down. More kisses travel from her knees across her inner thighs and up to her hip bones. She’s still dripping for you and you drag your tongue upwards over her pussy slowly to savor her. You spit on your fingers and slip them inside of her easily. 

“Ohhh my God-” she whispers and bucks her hips. “Go faster…” 

“Mm, so impatient, Minjeong,” you reply. Your tongue returns to her clit and makes smooth circles. She tenses around your fingers when you curl them back towards you, her moans growing louder, grip on your hair growing stronger. Taking her by surprise, you withdraw your fingers and stand up. While her hands work automatically on pulling your swim trunks down, you take a moment to just gaze at her. Her ruffled, semi-wet hair, strands sticking to her forehead and swaying wildly as she kisses up your thighs. Her flushed, glistening skin, cheeks inflating and deflating with the waves of pleasure coursing up your torso as your length disappears into her mouth again. Her pretty shoulders and arms. Her nose buried in your stomach.

Fuck. 

“You’re really good at that,” you moan. With a yelp Minjeong is scooped up into your arms and tossed, more or less, onto the pristine hotel bed. She pats the bed beside her, and you get the message. You lie back and let her mount you. She guides your tip to her entrance, and once in line, she slams her hips down aggressively. You’re content to let her ride. Her body moves in mesmerizing ways as she grinds on you, seeking the best angle for your cock to rub against all the right places. Just as soon as you begin thrusting into her, your phone starts ringing. 

“Dammit, sorry, Minjeong,” you curse and remove the girl from your lap. Fucking spam call? Really? With the phone silenced, you turn around to see her lying back on the pillows. 

Like an animal, you crawl towards her; you feel like one at least, with the way your cock is throbbing. She pulls her legs up for you, and you guide your tip towards her dripping center. The warm feeling envelops you again and you sigh, eyes closed. Your hands find her waist and keep her torso still while you begin to drive into her. You almost can’t even hear her whines anymore, her voice punctuated by each thrust, curses and iterations of your name following every other sound.

“-nside me,” Minjeong’s voice fades in as your stupor breaks a bit. You lean forward and make a confused expression. “Cum inside me. I want to feel you fill me…” 

And something about the way she says it just obliterates any second thoughts you may or may not have had. Her high, airy voice, begging for such an impure action, intensifies the warm, wet pleasure surrounding your cock. It only gets warmer and wetter as your cum dumps into Minjeong, deeper and deeper inside of her, coating your shaft, dribbling out onto the sheets. Your thrusts slow down, but your dick stays inside; you’re tired. You wrap your arms around her waist, and lie down gently on top of her with your face in her neck. She administers gentle scratches to your scalp. 

“You came so much, Hosang,” she whispers. Her legs settle around your back. 

“Drained all my energy,” you laugh weakly. 

“You’re heavy. Can we switch?” she says. So you do; you roll onto your back. Your cock slips out in the meantime, and you both laugh about it. She fits in your arms like she was made for them.

For a long while you lie there. The cold air condition and the crisp sheets are a welcome contrast to your steaming hot skin and the panting, sweating furnace lying on top of you. Minjeong painstakingly brings her hand to your cheek and kisses the other with soft lips. A slow blink. A thought in your mind. 

Is this what it feels like?

“What are you thinking about?” she asks. She knows. 

“How do you feel about me?” you reply. Her expression is mixed.

“How do I feel… I feel like there’s a reason we ended up on this trip together,” she answers. Her body rises as you take a deep breath. “I mean I feel like something brought us together.” 

“What do you want to do about it?” you ask. 

“I want to find out why. There must be a reason this happened, you know?” she says. A small yawn. “Like… There must be something waiting at the end of a journey we can take together to find out. Or something.” 

Together? A journey? 

“Think it might be time for you to go to sleep,” you whisper. Her baby hairs stick to your face when you kiss her temple. The sheets are smooth and cool when you pull them up over Minjeong’s body and yours. She falls asleep quickly. You don’t. You’re thinking about IFR plans and what to say to her in the morning. Your fingers trace along the smooth skin of her hips and lower back for a while. The softness is comforting. And you fall asleep. 

Is this part gonna go in the blog post? 

[randombush3]

a sense of coming home

ona batlle x reader

summary: part two of this! ona and you are (frustratingly) still just friends

words: 6.5k (i have NO idea why i waffle so much but lets pls allow it)

warnings: there's like five secs of smut at the end

notes: this has been the most self-indulgent fic i've written because this is how i met my gf and so i am glad to show you a nice happy ending

again, the quote is from 'this side of paradise' (said gf's fav book - i don't recommend however because the protagonist is a twat)

also i didn't proofread bc i am exhausted and i am hungover and i am very ready to go to sleep (#globetrotting is not for the weak) x

There is something difficult about forcing oneself back to their toxic roots. Ona discovers as such as she presses her body into a temple of meaningless sex, but she does so because she is a driven person. Ona is determined to get over you, once and for all, except she’d quite like to stay friends (hence why she agreed when asked). She also thinks it would expose her to fall out because her feelings shouldn’t have existed anyway, so she technically shouldn’t be heartbroken? 

Anyway, Ona rampages through Manchester! They appreciate her accent – some even ask her to speak to them in Spanish when she is three fingers deep inside of them, to which she obliges with little fanfare – and it isn’t like the city lacks queer women. It is a super solid way to keep her busy, to tear her attention from hungrily checking your Instagram whenever possible. 

It’s also what lands her with coronavirus. She’s embarrassed to admit just how many people she has come into contact with when the club doctors ask her questions over the phone.

You send her a lovely message after hearing she is yet another fallen soldier. 

Ona is at home, isolating, and you are apparently trapped in Spain, unable to get into Italy. You haven’t quite made it to your parents’ house since your flight was supposed to depart from Madrid. “How come you’re not on the phone to one of your ‘connections’?” Ona asks suspiciously, wondering why this call has lasted longer than ten minutes. “Surely someone knows someone else and they can get you back home.” 

“I’m hardly out of my depth in my own country,” you remind her with a twinging sigh, pained that she has suppressed all memories of your childhood. “It’s not like I don’t speak Spanish.” 

“Didn’t you get rid of it in your head to make space for Italian and English? Oh, and French too, right? That’s where the fashion weeks are.” 

You laugh at her pride for knowing something about your job, but it is not to ridicule her. “I am speaking to you, aren’t I?” 

“In Catalan,” she points out. “Forget Spanish, but don’t forget Catalan.” 

“I can’t. It’s the language everyone uses to tell me about how fucked you’ve been lately.”  You take in a deep breath, uncomfortable with Ona’s silence but knowing your piece needs to be said. “Are you aware of what happened a few months ago? Why I missed the wedding?” One of your friends met her dream man and he whisked her off to Menorca for a small ceremony. Only the people she loved the most were invited, which included your childhood friend group. “We were in New York, a whole bunch of us. It was late but the show had been a big deal so we went out to celebrate, and… these ‘friends’, these people, they aren’t the same as you and me. Most of them are English, you know, and they come from very fancy schools where addiction is normal. Two of them ended up in the hospital that night – the bag hadn’t even made it round to me by the time they’d dropped. I know it seems far-fetched, but all I’m trying to say is that addiction has consequences. Bad consequences.” 

“So you’re not on my side?” Ona isn’t taking this too seriously. A few people have joked about her questionable new hobby, but no one has made it seem so dire that they have needed to get you involved. You who, of course, Ona will listen to. 

“I am always on your side.” 

That is her main take-away from the conversation, Ona chooses, when it ends an hour later. She swoons, meaning the last twenty women have been a waste of time, but she also tortures herself into ignoring the potential problem. Being a sex addict would be embarrassing, so she won’t be. 

Though your subtle shaming for her abundance of quick-fix flings is hypocritical, Ona would also hate for you to see her that way. You can avoid commitment all you like, but she is determined to be different to prove to you that she is a viable candidate, should you wish to stop stringing her along. It’s probably toxic; it probably means that you are both clinging onto a friendship that should either end or be labelled something else. It probably is the push and pull that has kept you interested, Ona thinks, because she knows that you like the chase. 

However, as much as she’d like to be freed of whatever game she is caught up in, she can’t seem to let you go like that.

… 

The next time Ona and you have a proper conversation about something other than how your love lives have been stunted or how people back home are not as successful as the two of you is when most of the restrictions have been lifted. 

You waited out the pandemic in Vilassar de Mar, much to your annoyance, but now that you can travel again, the first person on your mind to visit is your childhood best friend. You’re not as close as you used to be, having drifted further during even more years apart, but it does not dull your love for her, nor hers for you. 

Ona has changed her mind about Manchester and is forcing herself to like it. It works enough for a visit from you to be the last thing on her mind, and so she slows her response time down until the next arranged date to see each other in person is all set for the summer before the Euros in England.

You’re not quite home but you are in the country, and, with the pre-Euros camp in two days, Ona is spending the final few hours of calm left before the storm in the comforting presence of her mum and dad. 

And… you, apparently. 

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” is Ona’s greeting when she opens the front door. 

Your smile is wide and genuine, and you are holding a gift bag in one hand. There is a nice bottle of wine in the other. “Not even an ‘hola’?” When no reply comes, you swallow the emotions that have arisen; the ones that are maybe, just a little bit to do with how soft Ona looks with her hair down. And the slope of her jaw. And the ghosts of defined biceps that bulge even when she isn’t flexing her arms. “I’m dropping by to see your parents. I thought you were in Barcelona with your footballer friends.” 

“You visit my parents?” asks Ona curiously. 

“Of course.” 

With that, you side-step her and call out to her mother, announcing both your arrival and your desire to hand them their gifts. Dinner is just about to be served, and Ona is soon tasked with setting another place at the table for you as though the last ten years had never happened and your friendship hadn’t lost its innocence. 

Maybe it would be better for Ona to not know what it feels like to kiss you, to touch you, to – dare she think it – love you. It would certainly make things less painful, and would have saved her from catching at least one illness and spending a good amount of money on Ubers to escape from random apartments. It would make it easier to listen to you talk about your life in Milan, where you seem to exist in a bubble of incredibly attractive people who are desperate to hold hands and form a raft. 

“Modelling can be brutal,” you agree, nodding at Ona’s father as you follow on from his concerns about your career. He voices them regularly; whenever you see him. Ona realises you have spent a lot of time with her parents without her. “It gets quite competitive between the girls so I’ve been somewhat avoiding them. They’ve brought in someone new, scouted from Germany, I think, and I’m a little worried that I’ll have to switch agencies if they start prioritising her.” You glance at Ona, wanting to know if she is listening, hoping she is. You wish that she were as good at suppressing her feelings as you are. You wish she didn’t look at you like you hung the moon, because you know that you have to tell her you have hung it for someone else. “I’d move tomorrow, to be honest, but I’ve started seeing this guy and he’s convincing me to stay in Milan.” 

“The minute he is your boyfriend, you bring him here,” commands Ona’s mother in a tone she hasn’t yet used on her actual daughter (said daughter has never mentioned anyone before). “Show us a picture of him! Is he a model like you?” 

He is, and if Ona holds her fork tighter after she sees the photo you pull up, that is her business. You secretly take in her clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows, and this might be the worst thing you have ever had to do. To see her so defeated, so hopeless, is upsetting, especially since you are harbouring the same feelings. However, you are able to admit when it is time to throw the towel in, and you can no longer live like this. 

Ona is too perfect for you. She is driven, hard-working, and funny. She likes to nutmeg little children on the street, and she likes to buy them an ice-cream if they slip a goal past her, slotting the flat footballs into imaginary nets and celebrating as though they have just won the Champions League. She knows a lot, more than she thinks she does. She cares about people, but sometimes it manifests in anger, in frustration. 

Any aspect of her is an aspect that you could love, and that is reason enough not to. Because how can you allow yourself to taint such perfection? 

But, in this unspoken rejection, the compliment is obscured from the recipient’s view. All Ona sees when you gush about how he buys you flowers and takes you out to dinner, is a burning, bright question. It flashes red and yellow, both as a warning and cry for attention. How can she compete if you don’t even recognise her as a competitor? 

…

“--And then they proceeded to finish a film they were halfway through as if it were the most normal thing ever,” Ona rants the minute she hits the concrete of Las Rozas, walking into the facility with Aitana and the other girls who travelled with her from Barcelona. Only the midfielder has been gracious enough to listen to the entire monologue, but the others joke that that is because Ona’s emotional state has led her to spiral in her native language. It is forbidden for them to openly speak Catalan in the Spanish camp, according to Jorge Vilda, who loves to hurl a ‘we can send you back to where you came from in an instant’ their way if he so much as hears a ‘bon dia’. Naturally, Aitana doesn’t give a fuck about the rule, although Ona chooses to believe that she is listening because she cares.

“Are you done?” Aitana asks thoughtfully, sucking on her bottom lip as she tries to absorb her friend’s crisis and formulate a valid, sensible response. The two have known each other for a while now, and Aitana remembers a time when Ona was relentlessly teased by their older teammates for being in love with her best friend. It is clear to her that those feelings never ceased, though she has heard through the grapevine (Leila Ouahabi) that you are now a model and you live somewhere in Italy. You’re part Italian, is what Leila also claims, having professed your ethnicity to a small huddle of fellow gossipers one day in the gym at the Barça training facility. 

“No! Nothing is ever done with her. It’s viscous and it continues in a horrid cycle that has me flapping around in circles like some idiot. I am one of her boys.” Ona groans dramatically, the sound perhaps a little too loud. A few of the girls in front of them turn around to see why a cat seems to have been strangled, but they quickly lose interest when they see it is just Ona and her disastrous situation. “Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to be one of her guys? I am a professional footballer! I play for Manchester United, one of the most historic clubs in the world, and I am about to represent my country in a major tournament. I am successful, Aita, and yet I am still not enough for her.” 

“Maybe she only likes men.” 

“A man has never made her scream like I have,” she bites back. Aitana blushes, but Ona is too far gone in her rage to hear her crudeness nor preserve her friend’s sanity. “She’s been like this since she decided she was gay! Isn’t that hilarious? ‘Ona, I think I’m gay’, she said. I know lesbian breakups can be hard, but there is no way my cousin fucked her up to this extent.” 

“I can’t help you with this, Oni,” Aitana laments, sorry to have to confess this to her friend. “I think you need to talk to her about it. A proper conversation to fix long-term issues, not like the ones you obviously had when agreeing to stop having sex and things like that. Only she knows what she’s thinking.” It is definitely not the advice Ona wants to hear, but she cannot deny the midfielder’s wisdom. “But for now, we focus on winning.” 

…

You are more than a little confused. 

To start from the beginning, Ona’s cousin fucked you up. She broke your heart, and that first impression of dating girls was incredibly traumatising. With girls, you don’t just kiss and sleep with them, you get close – really close – and then when you break up, it is like you have lost both a girlfriend and a best friend. 

Men are a lot simpler. Men like you and they aren’t shy about it. They can sometimes be just as cruel, but you have never felt invested enough to care too much. 

Some nights, you don’t fall asleep, tossing and turning between your sexual identity, aware that you don’t need to label it but desperate to… discover yourself. If you don’t understand that part of you, how will someone else? How can you be loved? How do you even know who you want to love you? 

For as much as Milan is great, it definitely doesn’t help you with your crisis. Girls in Milan like to do what they want. It is not uncommon for the models to kiss each other in clubs, in front of appreciative male gazes or not, and then reveal their engagement to their future husband the very next day. It’s easy to be drawn into such a bubble, but the minute you step out of it, you are hit with the real world. 

It’s what makes the pandemic so distressing for you personally, because you are forced to live like normal people for some time. Your eyes are held open and the question is shoved down your throat, and it really doesn’t help that Ona’s cousin never moved out of Vilassar de Mar. 

She sees you one day, saying hello from a suitable distance as you pick up milk as per your mother’s request. “I heard you’re modelling?” she asks with no agenda, no seductive glint in her eye. You notice the ring on her finger, and she feels the heaviness of your staring. “Oh, I got married a year ago. Did Ona not tell you?” 

You realise that you and Ona try to avoid talking about anything other than the love interests you have. “No, she didn’t. Congratulations, though. She’s a lucky woman.” 

“You don’t have to pretend you’re happy for me,” laughs the woman opposite you, amused and somewhat apologetic. “Look, I’m really sorry for how I acted when we were younger. I was definitely not the most mature person out there, and I know I hurt you.” 

“I cried for months.” 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. You suck in a deep breath, trying to hold the memories of your pain at bay. “The first breakup is usually the worst but at least it gets better, as you probably know.” 

She looks at you expectantly, awaiting your confirmation. It never comes. 

“I haven’t dated another girl since,” you tell her, sounding rather detached from yourself. 

Her eyebrows furrow and she is clearly frowning behind her facemask. “What about Ona? I thought you were together when you lived in Madrid. It takes more than a friendship to do what you did.” 

You were originally going to go to university in England. It was your dream, and Ona wasn’t entirely aware of the situation because you hadn’t wanted to tell her you were leaving. Then she was sent out on a professional contract to Madrid, and it wasn’t like you were the only one leaving. 

Ona’s cousin, years ago, had suggested that you go to Madrid if you wanted to get away from Vilassar de Mar. “You’ll be close enough to come home when you’d like, but not so close that you’ll feel as though nothing has changed,” she had said. 

No one had known about your offers in England aside from your parents. And Ona’s cousin, who’d only found out because you had called her, drunk on celebratory champagne, because you had to tell someone. 

“You gave up a dream for her because you didn’t want her to be alone.” 

“I moved to Milan. In the end, she was alone.” 

“You sound like you regret it,” she replies, nodding once at you to bid you farewell and then heading over to a woman who is standing with a puppy in her arms. You watch as she pulls down her mask and kisses her wife, her eyes shining with love and happiness, and your blood runs green with jealousy. 

You hate Ona’s cousin for devastating you once more. 

Do you regret it? 

It’s unclear. 

You try to make sense of it when you don’t hesitate to fly back to Italy the minute you can, going home to lick your wounds at Ona’s non-committal response to meeting you when you are in London the next month. It hurts that she is no longer at your beck-and-call, but you are somewhat happy for her. You know that lines have been crossed and that she has suffered for it. You know that you are probably the one at fault here. 

This time in Milan, you don’t fight it as much. You kiss other girls and let them go home to their boyfriends; you submit to the thing you had convinced yourself you would never become. 

As you drive yourself deeper and deeper into your stereotype, the thought of Ona gets pushed away and newer, more culturally-acceptable fantasies come to mind.

It takes a photoshoot for him to ask you out on a date. 

It takes returning home and gaining the approval of Ona’s parents (who are far more open than your own) for you to agree to be official. 

You don’t ask Ona what she thinks. She’s busy, you reason, because she is representing Spain at the Euros. She won’t care who you are dating and she certainly doesn’t need it rubbed in her face. 

There are many reasons why you go out with him. 

One is that you do like him; he’s nice, he’s funny, he treats you well. (He’s not Ona.) Another is that rent is going up and him sharing the load is helpful. (He’s not Ona.) There is also that he is very popular within the agency, and your chemistry on camera is enough to keep your jobs rolling in and casting directors satisfied. 

He’s not Ona. You know that. 

That's the whole point. 

If he were Ona, you’d be deeply in love with him. If he were Ona, you would never leave the house, never leave his embrace, never leave the little bubble created when it is just the two of you and no one else. If he were Ona, you would be excited about the conversations he gently guides you into; marriage, children, where you are going to live one day. You’d miss him more when he isn’t here. You’d care. 

But you just… don’t. 

Another year passes, more Ona-less than the last, and then she is suddenly coming back home to Barcelona, a medal around her neck and word of a relationship floating above her head. 

You could ask her about it if you wanted to because she is still one of your closest friends, but the truth is, you really, desperately don’t want to hear it. While Ona has been falling in love with someone else, you have been proving your stupid feelings to yourself. 

The act (your current relationship) lowers enough for you to go home for Christmas. You leave Milan as though fleeing from a hurricane, and you refuse to control the damage until you have entered the new year. Your parents aren’t entirely sure they want you moping about the house, confused how someone so successful can revert to a moody teenager the minute they are back in safe territory, and they heavily encourage you to accept an invite that was extended out to you a few months ago. 

Your friends are going skiing in Andorra, and they’d like for you to come with them. 

“Ona won’t be there,” one of them regretfully informs you. “She said she doesn’t want to make things weird. She has a girlfriend – or, I don’t know, a talking stage. She wants you to have fun.” 

“But Ona and I are friends,” you try to explain, feeling exposed by the look of pity she gives you; the same look someone receives when they find out their ex has gotten married or something similar. As a defensive mechanism, you hastily pull out your phone and dial her number. Everyone watches you, now uninterested in their food as you dine and plan your holiday. 

Ona picks up on the third ring, escaping her dinner with Lucy and rushing into the cool, nighttime air of Barcelona. 

“Hi?” she says – asks – with raised eyebrows, wondering if you’re in danger. 

“You’re coming skiing with us, aren’t you?” 

Your friends hide their laughs behind their hands, surprised by how firm your tone is. You do not need it for Ona, because she does anything you say regardless, but they enjoy seeing this side of you. This is someone who has had to fend for herself in a foreign country. 

Removing the phone from her ear for a moment, Ona sighs, disappointed in herself. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ve missed you, you know.” 

…

Skiing is not something Ona is really allowed to do. As a footballer, her legs are what pay her wage. Career-destroying planks of metal are not the best way to spend the dying embers of the year. She knows that. She does, she swears, but she is so eager to go that Jonatan cannot crush her dreams. He tells her, “if you get injured your contract will be reviewed, Ona Batlle,” and she promises him that it won’t happen. Nothing bad is going to happen. 

It will be the first time she has spent more than a day with her childhood friends, and she is unbelievably excited. 

Lucy finds it adorable and makes it known, helping her pack for her trip, versed in what to bring because her sister skis or something like that (Ona can’t really focus on her almost-girlfriend's monologue). Lucy likes Ona a lot, and it makes her stomach flutter when she thinks about Ona and her friends talking about them. She’s sure her feelings are reciprocated, and she cannot wait for Ona to return to her in the new year, all smiles and lingering hangovers, and ask her to be her girlfriend. Officially. 

Your friends convene in the centre of Vilassar de Mar with two cars between you. There are ten people coming. 

Someone, most-likely trying to keep the peace, instructs Ona into one vehicle and you into the other. The drive isn’t too long, but you suppose that the tension is uncomfortable for those who aren’t accustomed to maintaining a friendship despite the weight of it. 

It’s five days, and you are determined to have fun. 

Ona is naturally good at this, although she claims it is her first time. You, living in Milan, are just as advanced. 

By the third day, the both of you agree that going off together to do some of the harder runs will be harmless. Spending the day together won’t feel like a date or a romantic holiday. Watching Ona glide over the compacted snow won’t be attractive, watching her cocky smirk as she scales the bumps along the side of the piste won’t do anything. 

It won’t. (It does.) 

And it just has to be the third day that someone pulls out two bottles of tequila and a drinking game that is going to ensure every single one of you is off your face by midnight. 

In rooms opposite one another, you and Ona call your respective partners and tell them about how great a time you are having, actively avoiding telling them about who you spent the day with as though it counts as cheating. It doesn’t, technically. Nothing has happened. But, still, it feels intimate and secret; forbidden. 

Then, there is a shout that rings through the house. Everyone comes to the table; the party has begun. 

Ona finds out that she is absolutely terrible at drinking games, and loses in every way possible. 

You find out that she is still just as touchy when she is drunk. 

Your friends try not to comment on it, all having agreed upon yet another passive role in such an irritating situation. Their non-interference almost ceases by the time Ona climbs onto your lap, head turning as she whispers something into your drunk ears, making you laugh privately. In fact, someone has to hold someone else back before they shout at the two of you to make out or break up. 

But it’s not really necessary, their prompting, because it hits a certain hour and… nothing else matters anymore. 

Ona has been touching you the whole night and you have finally reached your limit. 

Boyfriend be damned, you lead her to your bedroom. 

She asks you many times if you still want this, and you cannot think of anything to say other than ‘yes’. 

You’re not as drunk as she is, and you both know that, but everything feels so perfect and right. 

When you wake up the next morning, your anger is more at yourself than the sleeping woman beside you, but she is an outward target for such a boiling emotion and it just makes things easier. 

“Ona.” You shake her awake, not caring for her hangover. “Ona, I can’t believe we’ve done this.” She rubs her eyes, dazed and confused for a moment but coming to her senses soon enough. “I have a boyfriend, Ona, and… I don’t like you like that.” 

It’s not true. 

It’s really, really, really not true, but the fact that you have said it is enough for Ona to leave your room with the intention of never seeing you again. 

She gets the train back to Barcelona, turning up at Lucy’s flat in floods of tears, and barrels straight into those strong arms with the intention of never mentioning what she has done. 

…

You break up with your boyfriend a month later. Or rather, he breaks up with you, tired of being messed around, tired of your hesitation to fully commit. 

The break-up is not the most upsetting thing you’ve been through, but your ego is a little bruised.

You try to make it look like you are having a great time in Milan, even though the agency has once again discarded your file and overlooked you for shoots you used to book in an instant. You try to seem like things aren’t falling apart, but it’s of no use when your father calls you and tells you that your mother is ill. 

It isn’t cancer but it’s similar, and you know that you need to come home.

You pack your bags and leave without a second thought, because maybe Madrid was far enough. Maybe there is a reason Ona signed for her home club again and most of your friends still live relatively close to their parents. 

Maybe you are not meant to be separated from those you love, because running away is futile if you are always going to end up together again. 

In Barcelona, a modelling agency eagerly draws up a contract with you. Although you are from there, your career being based in Milan previously creates an international allure about you (or so they say), and you are assured that work is going to rush towards you as though someone has just knocked down a dam. 

Your job is secured, your mother begins treatment, but there is something you cannot shake off. 

It hurts to think of Ona, to think of how you left things, but it helps, too. Seeing her face in your mind is comforting. You hear her voice as you drift off to sleep, and you let it soothe you in your dreams. 

“Ona has a girlfriend,” her mother tells you when you next visit them. Her frown is unexpected because all she has ever wanted is for her children to be happy and loved. “It’s not right, it doesn’t feel right.” You begin to shrug your shoulders and crawl into your shell, but she interrupts your thought process; “I think you should go see her.” 

“Why?” 

The woman rolls her eyes. “Just do what I say.” 

You nod because she is so scarily sure about it, and you… It’s hard to believe, but you call Ona. 

She picks up. 

“I was sorry to hear about your mum.” 

“Don’t worry. She’s fine.” 

“Are you back at home?” 

“Yeah, I am.” You pause. “Well, not quite. I’m living in Barcelona.” 

Something fizzes in the air; pops, crackles. 

“Need me to show you around the city?” 

And it’s Ona, so how could you say no? 

…

Your visit goes very well. 

She takes you out to dinner and shows you around her neighbourhood. She introduces you when she runs into people she knows, and she is insistent about dragging you to her football match on the weekend. 

Everything is seemingly forgiven and Ona is intent on integrating you back into her life. 

She wants you to feel at home, though she knows you should already, and she wants to lessen the stress of hospital appointments and death and, if not death, then a difficult recovery. 

You are sitting in her apartment – now devoid of all signs of Lucy – on her comfortable sofa, watching something together after a day of walking around and sealing up the cracks that formed in Andorra.

Sitting leads into cuddling and then into wandering hands that eagerly roam underneath layers of fabric.   

Ona’s breath hitches as you brush the hard lines of her abs, your hands particularly drawn to them and just how strong she has become. “You must have only felt them on men,” she offers as an explanation. “How many have you slept with in comparison to–?”

And your hands stop.

“Sorry,” Ona mumbles, seemingly upset at her outburst. “I’m just curious. I can’t work you out.” She can’t quite look you in the eye, mainly due to the logistics of your position, but she isn’t sure she wants to see the truth attached to her statement. 

You question if that’s a good thing, the fact she needs to ask; the fact that she has no choice but to communicate. It was going to happen sooner or later. “A few,” is what you settle on. Ona leaves it at that, carefully pulling the hair tie from your plait, unravelling it with one hand as the other rests against your stomach in an embrace. You smile. “You’re not going to ask who?” 

Her fingers stop for a moment. “No.” She speaks so quietly, her voice almost a whisper in your ear. “I don’t care about them.” You relax into her more, feeling her against your back, feeling the softness of the blanket against your feet as it hangs at the edge of the sofa. 

“Who do you care about, then?” 

“You.” 

Carefully, both her hands hold your hips and she sits you up, smiling as she does. You tell her she’s showing off, she replies that you are always showing off. To that, you brush those hands from your sides and lean down to kiss her, more decidedly for once; more in control. It’s a surprising feeling for both of you, the forcefulness. Urgency. Not unfamiliar, but unexpected for this time on this day. 

The last time you kissed Ona, you had a boyfriend. 

Your mouth goes to her neck as soon as she decides that she wants her hands back on your hips, pushing you down into her lap. It’s now a competition, you think. She’s quickly coming completely undone by your kissing and biting, but you are not ignoring the feeling as she makes you grind down, makes you need that friction. “Fuck,” you moan in her ear. She grips you tighter. 

You start to pull off her shirt having had enough of the grey between you, asking if it’s okay, if she’s sure she isn’t too tired. Her reply is, “take it off, god,” and then the removal of your clothes that get thrown just shy of the wine glasses set out on her coffee table. Leggings aren’t the most practical for impromptu sex, but she’s quick and smooth and someone who has definitely done that before. 

With your bare chest on display and almost nothing between Ona and you, she lifts you up for a moment with the intention of flipping the two of you, getting you on your back. You pause for a moment, trying to decide if she’s doing it because she wants to or because she thinks that’s the only way to do it, but her hands are moving now, up your sides, round the front of your chest and you relax. She laughs quietly, amused, because the tension dissipates, dissolving like sweet, sweet sugar in hot coffee as soon as your legs wrap around her back. 

Ona asks before she does it, picking you up and laying you back down without needing to part her lips from your own. You watch her as she sits up, body in between your thighs. “You’re going to just stay there?” She shakes her head. “I can top,” you tease, a stark contrast from how it was the last time you did this. Ona doesn’t like being told she can’t do something. However indirectly. 

“Yeah?” You nod, biting the smirk out of your lips. “I don’t care.” 

You are in the process of rolling your eyes when her cocky mouth is put to good use. Your underwear was taken off at some point earlier — you hadn’t realised. Ona’s head moves between your legs, up and down, your hand that isn’t holding onto the sofa in her hair, the soft waves lacing between your fingers. 

She’s good at it; thorough, practised. Her tongue circles your clit for a moment before dipping into your entrance. Something about the cockiness of her movements, her tongue, her hand rubbing between her own legs, makes everything more surreal, more blissful. She moans softly, lips kissing their way up your body, hands no longer focused on herself. Instead, they take the place of her mouth, two fingers inside you as quickly as it takes for her to ask if you are okay to carry on. Your reply (“yes”) is cut off quickly by her mouth on yours, tongue swiping at your bottom lip in another question of permission. You can taste yourself on her. 

At her command, you sit up, letting her pull you back onto her lap as she sucks at your neck. “Don’t leave any marks,” you warn as her teeth pull a whimper from your supposed stoicness. “I don’t want the makeup artists asking questions.” It comes out too late, because you feel her teeth graze your collarbone quickly, not painful, no, but something that feels so, so good. “Ona.” She sighs in disappointment and adjusts where you are in her lap, so your legs are either side of her thigh. 

You find yourself rocking slowly, letting her savour your breasts between her hands and her mouth. She whispers that she wants to see you come, that you don’t need to hold back – not with her, not ever – so you start grinding down, harder, faster. Her hands drop back to your hips, guiding your movements, forcing you to slow down when she feels everything building up. Each time, you let out a “fuck” and attempt to go against her grip to get that friction. “Not just yet,” she mutters, no longer touching you anywhere other than where her hands meet your hips and her thigh presses between your legs. 

“Fuck off, Ona,” you breathe, frustrated. “When, then?” 

She slows the pace even more. “Can you last a little longer?” You look at her face, brushing away the strands of hair that have fallen over her eyes, ghosting your fingers along her cheek, running your thumb along her lips. She smiles again, eyes creasing slightly. 

As her hands drop to cup your face, you say, “you’re beautiful.” 

Ona blushes. 

You look down at her exposed cleavage, nipples pebbled against the sports bra that is unusually low-cut. It might border on intense staring as you begin to grind against her with the intention of actually getting off now. She laughs, saying her eyes are higher up than that, but going back to her trail of kisses along your jaw nevertheless. 

For what seems like longer than a few seconds, the build up finally stops, the tower toppling over in a rush of pleasure. Ona’s hands move your hips as your head drops to rest on her shoulder. She talks you through it, telling you that you look so pretty, telling you that she’s so turned on. 

And that’s when she whispers it. 

It has taken years to get to this moment, many of them filled with unnecessary suffering. 

It has taken years but it does not matter. 

Ona tells you that she loves you and that is when you have finally come home.