#I mean. I can probably explain more things than a word but I think that gets the point across

[karikarasuno]

part eight | part nine | wc: 4.4k | semi-public oral sex (again but this time m!receiving)

“I got somethin’ that belongs to you.” Ace hears Marco say from where he’s crouched behind the DJ booth fixing some wiring for Usopp. But before he can stand his hat lands on the ground beside him.

“It’s bad manners throwin’ a man’s hat on the floor,” Ace chides as he plucks it from where it sits and dusts it off. It takes him a second to remember where he left it, and when the memory hits him a blush that he has no control over settles across his cheeks. You make him feel so young. Which is an odd sensation for Ace since he’s never really known what it was like to be youthful. It’s one of the reasons he doesn’t go too hard on Luffy when he makes mistakes. It’s hard growing up when you’re not ready for it. He knows better than anyone else what that’s like. 

But this is different. You excite him in a childlike way. Ace has never really had a crush before. It seems so juvenile to describe his feelings for you in that way. But it’s the only thing that makes sense to him. 

“Whatever you were doin’ in the storage room was probably bad manners,” Marco responds, snapping Ace out of the memory of you. 

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he feigns ignorance. Better to play a fool then give away more than anyone needs to know. 

“Right,” Marco scoffs with a shake of his head. Ace watches him think for a second. He knows Marco well enough to see that he has more to say, but he’s choosing his words carefully. It always worries Ace when he can see the gears turning in his head because it usually means whatever he has to say Ace isn’t gonna be too big a fan of. 

“Tell me one thing,” he finally says, arms crossing over his chest as he meets Ace’s eyes intently. “This thing you got goin’ on, is it serious?”

Ace sighs. It falls heavily from his lips as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why is everyone so pressed about my love life?”

“Well for one, I’m nosey,” Marco says casually with a small knowing smile playing on his lips. “And y’know, we just want what’s best for ya.”

Ace has to suppress an eye roll. Agitation flares in his chest in an uncomfortable way. In a way he’s not entirely used to. “I’m a grown man capable of making my own decisions, but thanks for your concern.”

He turns away hoping that’s the end of the conversation because it’s one he’s not too keen on having. But his life doesn’t really work out in the ways that he wants it to. 

“I never said you weren’t,” Marco argues, tone even and calm. Which annoys Ace even more. “I just worry about you, kid. I don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

“Why would you assume I’m gonna get hurt? I like her. This shit is new. Obviously we’re still figuring it out,” Ace huffs out. He can feel his blood pressure rise and a warmth that makes his skin crawl starts to take over. 

“I’m just sayin’ ever since you came back you’ve been different,” Marco explains, throwing his hands up in surrender. “And I just wanna make sure you’re good. You don’t talk to me like you used to and I respect that. You’re a grown man after all,” he throws Ace’s words back in his face, “but that doesn’t mean I stopped carin’.”

Ace puts down his tools and tosses his hat on a nearby table. He doesn’t like talking about what happened in the city. He hasn’t talked to anyone about it actually. Besides Sabo, who was there. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve been distant,” Ace says, shoulders sagging slightly. “It’s just…”

Sabo’s scar fills Ace’s mind. The weight of guilt bears down on him so intensely most days it’s difficult for Ace to pull air into his lungs. His sleep is restless. His dreams are haunting. It’s been years but the memories of that night have yet to fade. Sabo told him not to go to the underground fight, but they owed Ace money. Sabo said it was a set up, but in his youth Ace was a stubborn idiot. Prone to irrationality especially when he felt disrespected. Sabo would probably still have vision in his left eye if he didn’t protect him that night. The dumbass nearly took a bullet straight to the face for him. The shrapnel ended up bursting right in front of his face, though, when he pushed Ace out of the way. 

Ace still hasn’t fully forgiven himself for it. It seems like tragedy follows him everywhere. Even when he tries to escape it. 

“Yeah,” he says at last, “I think it is serious. With her.”

He finally looks up at Marco and he visibly softens. His eyes are glowing with a fondness that makes Ace almost uncomfortable. It could nearly be mistaken for pity. But Ace knows better. 

“Good,” Marco nods resolutely. “Now Whitebeard can stop houndin’ me about it.”

“He isn’t,” Ace responds, taken aback by Whitebeard’s interest. 

“It’s about time for Ace to settle down. The boy ain’t gon be young forever. And she seems like a sweet girl too,” Marco’s impression of Whitebeard is perfect. So perfect that Ace folds over with a laugh and covers his face with his hand. It’s nice to know that people care. It satisfies him in a way words can’t really describe. 

“Guess I should probably take her out again then,” Ace smiles, his mind already drifting off to where he wants to take you. What he wants to do with you. 

****

“Hello?” You answer on the first ring. Which strokes his ego more than he’d like to admit. 

“Hey there, jailbird. How’s freedom tastin’?” He teases, grinning to himself as he holds his phone up to his ear. 

“Will you ever let me live that down?” He hears you huff out a small laugh, which lights his chest up with affection. “Because if my memory serves me I’m not the only one who’s served time in this little group of ours.”

“Very true.”

“But to answer your question, freedom tastes sweet. Peachy,” you joke and he can hear how proud you are of yourself in the way you giggle. He finds it incredibly endearing the way you make yourself laugh. 

“Glad to hear it because I got a question for you,” he says, leaning against his truck after he tosses his tools in the backseat. 

“Should I be worried?” You ask hesitantly. Rightfully skeptical since everyone in this town always seems to be up to no good. 

“Not at all,” he chuckles, “I was just wonderin’ if you were free tonight.”

“That depends. What do you have in mind?”

“You, me, and a drive-in movie,” he answers, giddy excitement rushing through him at the thought of spending more time with you. 

“What is it with you and getting me alone in a truck?” You ask cheekily, and he can just see the smile you’re wearing through the phone. It’s fun. The little game of cat and mouse the two of you are playing. He especially enjoys when that game leads the two of you into dark corners. Where you typically let him have his way with you. Not that that’s his intention. For the most part. 

“If I’m rememberin’ correctly that first time was all you,” he says, biting his bottom lip to keep the grin from splitting his face. He wishes he could see your face right now. He’s sure you’re rolling your eyes at him, but you still blush. You always do. 

“I blame the free shots and adrenaline,” you deflect easily. “But to answer your original question, I am free tonight.”

“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at eight, then.”

Oddly enough, Ace is nervous. Like ‘sweaty palms and racing pulse’ nervous. And he doesn’t really know why, but as he gets closer to your house he feels himself grow restless. Fidgety. There’s a strange pressure he’s feeling. Like at any second he could fuck this up. He blames Marco for that. Their conversation this morning has created a shadow Ace can’t seem to get rid of. One that compounds every mistake he’s ever made. One that whispers to him that he’ll inevitably make another one and lose you too. But he’s aware that things with you are too new to mess up. You’re barely on your second date and he’s already overthinking this. 

He takes a deep breath as he pulls into the short dirt road that leads to your house. You have your porch light on and he notices you added a few plants to the porch and a bench right beneath the window that looks into your kitchen. The sight is so distinctly you that Ace feels the breath he takes fill his lungs easier. And when he watches the way you excitedly walk through your front door his worries ease. The tightness that was previously in his chest travels down to his jeans though when you turn around to lock your door and he sees the way your shorts hug your ass. It’s concerning how attracted he is to you. How much of a distraction you’ve become for him. 

He hops out the truck the closer you get. You’re also wearing a thin poncho that drapes over your shoulders and sways around your torso. You make the simplest things tantalizing. It’s really becoming a problem for him. 

“New ride?” You ask, leaning up to kiss his cheek when you’re close enough. He feels his cheeks burn but he ignores it. 

“No, just new to you,” he answers, slipping his hand into yours to lead you to the passenger side. 

“It’s bigger than your usual truck,” you comment, stepping on the side rail when he opens the door for you to climb in. 

“Figured it would be comfier to watch a movie in.” He grabs the seat belt and buckles you in. He feels your breath kiss his ear and goosebumps tickle his neck. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea to get this close to you if he’s planning on surviving the evening with you without making a move. 

“That’s why you have the middle seat up?” He can see your sneaky smile from the corner of his eye as the seat belt clicks into place. When he glances at you, your eyes are bright. Tempting him. “For comfort.”

“I also got a blanket in the back if you get cold.” His fingers ghost over your bare thigh. He told himself he’d behave tonight. But when he looks at you he thinks you might have other plans. 

“I’m sure I won’t need it given how hot you run.” 

He chuckles. Flirting with you is so easy. Natural. “Sabo says I’m like a furnace. I usually can’t even stand wearin’ a shirt most days.” 

“I’ve never seen you without one.” Your lips form a pout, one that punches him in the gut with the urge to kiss it right off of you. “Kinda unfair if you ask me.” 

“Maybe later,” he leans in close, until your noses touch, “if you’re lucky.” 

He hears you laugh softly as he steps away from the passenger seat and shuts your door. He bites down a smile of his own as he rounds the hood and his nerves, the ones that were trampling his lungs not too long ago, morph into something with wings. Something that makes him feel lighter than he ever has. 

****

“So where exactly are we going?” You ask after about twenty minutes as he merges onto the highway.

“The closest drive-in is in Alabasta,” he answers. “Another ten minutes and we’ll be there.”

“I’ve never been.” You peer out the window and your hands fiddle with the ends of your poncho as you do. Maybe he’s not the only one who’s nervous. The idea of you sharing a feeling as benign as that makes his fingers itch to touch you. They spasm around the steering wheel. And he’s so distracted by the thought of you beneath his touch he almost misses the exit. He jerks into the right lane unexpectedly and your body flattens against the door. You let out a short yelp when your shoulder meets the window and when he finally straightens out the glare you give him sends a shiver of amusement down his spine. 

“Sorry,” he says with a chuckle. “I should’ve warned you.”

“You think.” You slap his arm, but there’s no real power in your swing. He flinches anyway, releasing an exaggerated “ouch” until you smile at him. 

“What movie are we even watching?” You cross your arms across your chest and straighten in your seat. Entirely too far away from him for his liking. 

“I haven’t got a clue.” He only managed to check the times earlier before he called you. Not really giving a damn what was playing to begin with. 

“Didn’t you check beforehand?” You ask, throwing your hands in the air. 

“Wasn’t my priority at the time,” he answers, making a left into the movie lot. 

“And what was?” Your brows furrow and your nose scrunches in a way that makes you look cuter than you have any business being. 

“Gettin’ you alone in my truck, obviously.” He winks at you, rolling down his window to ask the attendant for two tickets. He hands them to you after he pays, thanking the young kid as he drives off. He finds a spot near the back in a patch of grass. It’s the only area where he has enough space to park this truck. But it’s also private. Intimate. It makes him feel like it really is just the two of you. 

“So, I got popcorn, beer,” he reaches around to open the cooler that’s sitting on the floor of the backseat, “those seltzers Sabo says girls like.”

You chuckle when he pulls one out and gives it to you, snatching a beer for himself. “And sour gummies or peanut m&ms if you’re lookin’ for somethin’ sweet later.”

“I’ll actually take those m&ms now, please.” 

“Ah, dessert first?” He tosses the box at you and it lands on your lap. 

“Always.”

****

“How dark is your window tint?” The question rings as strange, random, when it falls from your lips. The movie is about half an hour in and you’ve managed to wiggle your way into the center seat, curling into his side. 

“Dark enough for Garp to ticket me every time he catches me drivin’ it round town.” He eats a handful of popcorn as he eyes you skeptically. You fold your legs onto the seat, angling yourself so that your face tilts directly up to him. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” you shrug, inching closer to him. Your perfume fully invades his space. He swallows quickly. Anticipating a kiss. But your head drops to his shoulder and your hand wanders from your knee to his. 

“I’ve been thinking,” your fingers skirt slowly up his inner thigh and even though he can’t feel your fingertips through the thick denim, his skin still chills beneath your attention. “I should return the favor for the other night.”

“What night?” He asks absentmindedly. Your hand is distracting as it creeps closer to the zipper of his jeans. 

“Ace,” you say firmly yet with a wistfulness that makes his heart stutter. You avert your gaze from your hand and look at him. Your hand pauses on his upper thigh and he already feels himself stir in his pants. It’s a little quicker than he’s used to but he really can’t help it. “I can’t get you out of my head.”

Your words ghost across his lips. His brain buffers. Your fingers curve around his belt buckle. “Can I…?”

“Can you what?” He wants to push you. He needs to hear you actually ask for it. He sets down the bag of popcorn somewhere at his side. His mind solely focused on the insinuation of your words. He knows what you want to ask but even if he didn’t he’d probably say yes. He struggles foreseeing an outcome where he doesn’t say yes to you. 

“Can I… taste you?” Your voice is quiet, sincere. Hesitant. His hand caresses your cheek and pulls you closer. Practically kissing you when he asks “where?” 

You tug on his belt, the buckle clattering when it loosens around his hips. You fit your lips to his and he’s tense. His whole body is wound up tight. Painful. It’s taking every ounce of restraint he has not to pounce on you like an animal. 

“I was thinking here.” You pop the button on his jeans and pull the zipper down. Your fingers slip into his pants until you’re cupping his erection. He’s impossibly hard at this point. He’s been craving you ever since your stint in the storage closet. He’s stroked his cock to the thought of you coming on his tongue more times than he can count in the last few days. In the morning before he even opens his eyes. In the shower after a long day. 

“Only if you want me to,” you whisper, your lips stretching against his in what he knows is a smile. One that suggests you already know his answer. 

“I would want nothin’ more than to feel your pretty lips wrapped around my cock.” You gasp. Your lips part and your fingers tighten around his shaft. His groan rumbles in his chest from the pressure of your hand. 

“Jesus, Ace,” you sigh, smearing your lips across his cheek until your face rests in the crook of his neck. Your hand softly strokes him, but the way your palm digs into him has him leaking. He wants you so terribly he’s surprised he isn’t shaking from his self control. “You really just say anything.” 

He chuckles darkly, breathlessly, as his head falls back on to the headrest. It allows you to drag your lips down his neck. Pressing tender kisses down his collarbone until your teeth graze the collar of his shirt.  

“Would you prefer it if I shut up?” He jokes, but the words hold too much air to be heavy. To hold any real weight because you shift further away from him. And he’d be bothered over the distance, but not when you pepper kisses down his torso. He can feel the heat of each one burn through the fabric of his top. He twitches in your grasp. 

“No,” you say once you reach the waistband of his jeans, working them gently down until he’s finally exposed to you, “I like hearing you.” 

Ace’s inhale gets caught somewhere between his lungs and throat. Your lips wrap around his head and the warmth of your mouth has his hips flexing. Itching to move. But he keeps them still as your tongue slips from between your lips. Wetting him. Exploring him. 

“Fuck, ok.” He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He wants to touch you but he can’t bring himself to cross that line because once his hands are on you he’ll be too tempted to pull you off of him. To push you down onto your back and beg you to let him fuck you. There’s more space in this truck for him to feel you the way he wants. The way he cannot stop imagining. 

You hum around his dick as you sink down and swallow. One of his hands shoots out to grip the steering wheel. He can’t breathe. Especially when you start bobbing your head and fisting him as your spit leaks from your lips, soaking him. He’s having a tough time connecting his imagination to his reality. You’ve been the subject of his fantasies the moment he watched you for the first time on the dance floor at Whitebeard’s. He’s never needed anyone as badly as he needs you. 

The audio from the movie warbles through his speakers and through his ears. He can’t focus on it or the scene playing out in front of him. Not when his vision blurs and sound is muffled by how heavy and dense his breaths are. 

You pop off of him briefly, your free hand clutching his thigh. His cock glistens in the minimal light that filters through his windshield. And when you angle your face to lick up the length of him, he catches the way your chin shines as well. Salacious. Beautiful. 

God, he can’t stand it. His hand finds the back of your neck once you start sucking again. And you moan. It’s more of a whine as it crawls up your throat and travels down to his base. 

“Shit, that feels…” His words die in his throat as his grip tightens involuntarily and another small noise catches in your throat. 

“You like that?” His pulse is racing and his heart thuds recklessly in his chest. You surprise him. Every time he tries to be tender, sweet, gentle with you you ask for more. Something rougher. Harsher. The realization alone makes his stomach dip low with pleasure. With a heat he cannot control. 

Your nod is enough of an answer for him. He holds you tighter as your movements pick up the pace. He’s gonna come. You’re gonna make him come and his restraint frays at the edges. His hips jolt, forcing him further into your mouth. He hits the back of your throat and you gag around him, but you don’t stop. It’s becoming too much. He’s suffocating. 

“That’s it,” he groans. His abs tense as his orgasm builds aggressively in his gut. “Fuck, baby, m’gonna-“

His words are stolen from him. His warning barely tumbles from his lips as he finishes inside your mouth. He has to smother his moan into his shoulder in an attempt to quiet the sound. It's difficult though when you swallow down his release eagerly. Your hand is still pumping him until he’s drained. Sensitive. 

When you pull back, the first thing he notices is how smudged your mascara is beneath your eyes. And your eyes glow with unshed tears. Your lips are swollen and even though he’s still reeling, it doesn’t stop the urge he has to kiss you. And you must notice the way his eyes cling to the sight because you part them to reveal the last traces of his cum pooling on your tongue. 

“You’re tryin’ to give me a heart attack, aren’t you?” But he doesn’t actually give you a chance to answer because he’s already pulling you into him. Kissing you. Tasting himself on your tongue yet he still tastes the sweet remnants of your lip gloss. 

Ace nearly tugs you into his lap. Already ready for another go. This time for you. To make you feel as good as you just made him feel. But you push away from him. He doesn’t wanna let you go, but your hands are firm as they press you away from his chest. 

“Let’s finish the movie,” you say, breathing hard but smiling at him. So much fonder than he expects for the moment you just had. 

“I’ve already seen it,” he replies, reaching for you again.

“Yeah, but I haven’t,” you laugh and swat his hands away. 

“You missed half of it,” he argues, watching as you twist to grab the blanket in his back seat. 

“Then catch me up,” you say, unfolding the blanket to cover your laps. Beneath the blanket your hands tuck him back into his pants before you turn your attention back to the screen. Even going as far as turning the volume up in an attempt to tune out his retorts. “Now pass me the popcorn.” 

Ace, no matter how hard he tries, cannot wipe the grin off his face for the rest of the night. And you don’t help his case either. Your walls are completely down and he thought he knew you before, but now he realizes how silly you can be. How chatty you are. He explained the movie to you but it ended up being pointless with you just talking through the ending. He didn’t mind though. You settle him in an oddly familiar way. He can’t quite put his finger on why that is, but he’d be stupid to question it. To overthink it to death. To make it out to be something that it’s not. 

“I had fun tonight,” you say as he drives up to your house. “Thanks for inviting me out.”

“No need to thank me,” he shakes his head, parking a few feet from your porch steps. It’s dark out and even though your porch is illuminated, he still decides to walk you to your door. Like a gentleman. 

“I’m serious.” He meets you on the passenger side and extends his hand to help you jump out. “We should do this again sometime. And maybe get out of the car next time.” 

“I should be able to make that happen,” he says, intertwining your fingers as you lead him to your front door. He won’t ask to see you tomorrow, afraid that it will be too forward, but that doesn’t stop him from spinning you towards him once you reach your door. Pressing your body to his in the hopes that this won’t be the last time he touches you tonight. “Before that, though, you should invite me in.”

“No way,” you laugh and try to wiggle away from him, but his hold on you tightens. “Not tonight.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. I owe you one.” He almost tacks on a please for good measure. Ace isn’t above begging. Especially if it leads to him between your legs again. 

“I can handle that for tonight.” You manage to wedge some space between your bodies, skipping heedlessly away from him. 

“Ugh, don’t tell me that.” His head falls forward in distress. Now all he can imagine is you alone in bed. Fingers nestled between your thighs and hopefully his name dripping candied from your tongue. 

“Tomorrow we’re meeting at Sanji’s for some breakfast,” you change the subject swiftly, twisting your key in the lock. “If you’d like to join us.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He loops a finger into one of the holes on your poncho. When he goes in for a kiss, you meet him halfway. He intends for it to be longer, more persuasive than it is. But your intentions are innocent. Your lips press to his warmly, romantic. 

“8:30,” you smile a breath away from his lips. “Don’t be late.”

taglist: @a-girl-cant-decide-on-a-name @nico-ith @chillerkiller @jozhenji @starchild-unnamed @certain-tragedies @hannahbarberra162 @kanekisheart @stuckinmymind22 @greenbnny@kimkat1822, @purplefluffycows @insomniacvoidsstuff

[kissingraine]

watch me pull a ‘it's supposed to be a three-part fic but break it down into multiple chapters’ move (i promise ill pull through chat🙏🏻)

mass-shifted mech

Lust for Life — G1 Insecticons x f!Reader (2.1)

• You like to think you’ve gotten a little closer after that. They trusted you enough to reveal what they are—though not exactly what kind. Big metal bugs that can turn into humanoid robots. That name’s gotta be shorter if you intend to officially put them in your journal. Shrapnel’s the easiest to get close to—funny and always dragging you to bug hotspots. Yeah. He goes hunting for the small suckers with you now. Something about EM fields. First time he heard the term, though? He nearly flipped out while repeating the last word in your sentence. And by flipping out, that meant almost zapping you like an eel stunning prey. You’ve made sure to explain exactly what you mean around him since then.

He doesn’t get why you insist on sticking to their de facto leader like a fragging bu—anyways. Kickback’s tried to squeeze the answer out of you, but it’s always the same thing. He’s funnier. Likes when you talk about their carapace under the sun. As if Shrapnel actually gave a scrap about that. But he gets it—he’s the ‘leader,’ and he’s supposed to be the one good at making people spill their secrets. Bombshell’s been spending nights on your couch watching bland organic soap operas—telenovelas—at 3AM. And… having very civilized discourse about which kid is going to get kidnapped next.

“See, right there,” you point, sitting on one edge of the couch while he’s on the other. One side tipping slightly because of how much he literally weighs. Two tons of pure metal. Can’t get any heavier than that. “That little girl is gonna get kidnapped while Daniel and Paulina over there flirt with each other.”

Bombshell vents, mass-shifted and leaning against the armrest, “Quite typical of your species, to be so engrossed with each other that they lose sight of their surroundings.”

“It’s called a fixation. Or, an obsession.” You shrug.

“Primitive.” Then you give Bombshell that look—one eyebrow raised and a half-smile like he amuses you. The way you amuse them. But it isn’t just that—it’s something warmer too. “It’s a very real and horrifying feeling, Shelly.”

Incessant little human. He’s told you many times that a respectable Insecticon of his caliber doesn’t do pet names—but you keep insisting. Because it’s satisfying to talk about something other than their war. Because it’s amusing to see you blabber about weak and useless human connections with him through the night—he lets you keep your head. All for the sake of documenting your habits in order to tempt you better. Shrapnel thinks it’s smarter to know more about you so they can get what they want, even though he could just charm you into it. Knows something is wrong. That you’ve done something to their leader, and he’s dying to find out what.

• Bombshell was different from Shrapnel and Kickback, as you soon found out from the other beetle. “He excels in mental warfare—warfare,” Shrapnel had mentioned in passing one afternoon.

“So, he’s a tactician?” you ask, ducking under a fallen tree log.

“You give him too much credit, squishy,” Kickback chimes in with a twitch of a wing, growling as he taps a clawed servo at your forehead. “He’s just as dangerous as we are, if not far more. Who knows what really goes on in that processor of his.”

• You’ve learned a bit of the grasshopper mech’s habits by now. And that’s the look he makes when he dares you to find out for yourself. Probably a good idea to be cautious around this guy—Insecticon genius, as he so often calls himself while ranting but there’s no denying Bombshell’s interest in telenovela mind games. It’s hard to predict. That’s probably the only reason he even entertains watching with you. It’s become routine. He waits outside, you let him in, and you both watch, then debate. Five minutes later, Eva—Paulina’s stepdaughter, the glue and everyone’s emotional center—gets kidnapped while Ave Maria plays in the background.

Why? How? The number of times he’s lost trying to predict it is taking up all the digits on one servo. And you laugh when the little girl eventually gets kidnapped by her mother’s evil twin sister. Not even because of what’s on TV, but at his reaction. He’s standing in disbelief like the show suddenly deserved a standing ovation for being so predictable.

“See? Told you. Nine years of watching this stuff, you get good at predicting even the wildest plots,” you say, just to rub it in.

Silence.

• He doesn’t answer. Just stares at the screen, then down at his claws. And something subtle, strangely human flashes across his face. Hard to tell with the mask on, but it’s definitely there. Defeat. Quiet devastation, you think. The brilliant manipulator outplayed by a human girl too interested in bugs. Then—he stands abruptly, towering, muttering something about statistical anomalies before sitting back down the same way you do when it’s the weekend. And the couch tilts hard to one side under his weight. You yelp as the momentum drags you across the cushions like a pinball, colliding into his side with a muffled oof.

You’re squished against him, he realizes. Soft and warm, right beside him, and he stiffens. So do you, while the telenovela continues to blare in the background. Neither of you are breathing. Just refusing to look at each other or move. Up close, you smell even sweeter to his olfactory receptors. And Bombshell’s suddenly aware why Kickback has been so insistent on this. It’s his job to get you ready for nesting, but the way you looked at that moment didn’t make him feel like he was doing it out of obligation. And what dignified Insecticon would let an organic be his undoing?

“You’re warm,” he rumbles, unconsciously. Like your warmth had pulled the words from his intake.

• You don’t think Bombshell has noticed the way one of his clawed hands has snaked around your side—slow and tentative, pressing you closer while you have an internal crisis. It’s sorta your fault for thinking you’d be fine, but the heat since the first time they revealed what they were hasn’t faded. Actually, it’s much more visceral now. The kind of visceral that makes you want to sit in his lap and fall asleep against his chest.

“And y-you’re heavy,” you reply, distracting yourself as you try to stand up.

• Except—his servo doesn’t let go. It tightens just slightly, not restraining… but holding. Like letting you go wasn’t yet an option.

“Stay,” Bombshell says, low and deliberate. There’s no command in his voice. Just… want. The screen flickers. Ave Maria ends. You’re not sure if the sudden warmth flooding your face is embarrassment, realization, or something else entirely. Maybe all three.

“I don’t…” you begin, but stop because you do.

He glances at you sideways, optics dimmer than usual. “For data collection,” he adds after a beat.

It’s a lie. A stupid, flimsy one.

But you nod. “Sure,” you whisper, letting your body relax against his.

“For science.”

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also- look who i found at my local department store👀 ladies and gentlemechs i present you to you, Ptimus Orime and Bumble-not-bee😭😭 i didnt get them cuz they looked like bootleg versions lmfaooo and they were pricey for no reason?! idek who's the third one supposed to be.

[earlgraytay]

So the "don't call trans women dude" discourse is back on my dash, and I just read something that might explain why it's such a frustrating argument for everyone involved.

TLDR: There's gender-cultural differences that explain why people are arguing about this- and a reason it hurts trans women more than you might think if you were raised on the other side of the cultural divide.

I'll admit, I used to be very much on team "I won't call you 'dude' if it feels like misgendering, but also I don't really grok why it feels like I'm misgendering you, especially if I'm not addressing you directly." But then I read an academic paper that really unpicked how people used the word 'dude' (it's Kiesling (2004) if you're curious) and I realized that the way I was taught to use the word was different from the way most trans women were taught.

... So the thing about the word 'dude' that's really interesting is that it's used differently a) by people of different genders and b) across gender lines. This study is, obviously, 20 years old, but a lot of the conclusions hold up. The gist is, there's ~5 different ways that people use the word "dude":

marking discourse structure- AKA separating thoughts. You can use the word 'dude' to signal that you're changing the subject or going on a different train of thought.

exclamation. You can use the word "dude" the way you'd use another interjection like "oh my god" or "god damn".

confrontational stance mitigation. When you're getting in an argument with someone, you can address them as 'dude' to de-escalate. If you're both the same gender, it's homosocial bonding. If you're different genders, it's an attempt to weaken the gender-related power dynamic.

marking affiliation and connection. Kiesling calls this 'cool solidarity'- the idea is, "I'm a dude, you're a dude. We're just guys being dudes." This is often a greeting or a form of address (aka directly calling someone dude).

signaling agreement. "Dude, you are soooo right", kind of deal.

Now, here's the important part.

When [cis] men use the word 'dude', they are overwhelmingly using it as a form of address to mark affiliation and connection- "hey, we're all bros here, dude"- to mitigate a confrontational stance, or to signal agreement.

When [cis] women use the word 'dude', they're often commiserating about something bad (and marking affiliation/connection), mitigating a confrontational stance, or giving someone a direct order. (Anecdotally, I'd guess cis women also use it as an exclamation - this is how I most often use it.)

Cis men use the word 'dude' to say 'we're all guys here'. It is a direct form of male bonding. If a cis man uses the word 'dude' in your presence, he is generally calling you one of the guys.

Cis women use the word 'dude' to say 'we're on the same level as you; we're peers'- especially to de-escalate an argument with a cis man. Between women, it's an expression of ~cool solidarity~; when a woman's addressing a man, it's a way to say 'I'm as good as you, knock it off'.

So you've got this cultural difference, depending on how you were raised and where you spent time in your formative years. If you were assigned female at birth, you're probably used to thinking of the word 'dude' as something that isn't a direct form of address- and, if you're addressing it to someone you see as a girl, you're probably thinking of it as 'cool solidarity'! You're not trying to tell the person you're talking to that they're a man- you're trying to convey that they're a cool person that you relate to as a peer.

Meanwhile, if you were assigned male at birth and spent your teens surrounded by cis guys, you're used to thinking of 'dude' as an expression of "we're all guys here", and specifically as homosocial male bonding. Someone using the word 'dude' extensively in your presence, even if they're not calling you 'dude' directly, feels like they're trying to put you in the Man Box, regardless of how they mean it.*

So what you get is this horrible, neverending argument, where everyone's lightly triggered and no one's happy.

The takeaway here: Obviously, don't call people things they don't want to be called, regardless of gender! But no one in this argument is coming to it in bad faith.

If you were raised as a cis woman and you're using the word the way a cis woman is, it is a gender-neutral term for you (with some subconscious gendered connotations you might not have realized). But if you were raised as a cis man and you're using the word the way a cis man uses it, the word dude is inherently gendered.

Don't pick this fight; it's as pointless as a French person and an American person arguing whether cheek kisses are an acceptable greeting. To one person, they might be. To another person, they aren't. Accept that your worldview is different, move on, and again, don't call people things they don't want to be called.

*(There is, of course, also the secret third thing, where someone who is trying to misgender a trans woman uses the word 'dude' to a trans woman the way they'd use it to a man. This absolutely happens. But I think the other dynamic is the reason we keep having this argument.)

[kenntoria]

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ nanami accidentally finds your small, anxious-but-sincere vlogs and quietly falls for you through the screen. and when you meet, he becomes a gentle, faceless presence behind the camera—helping you grow, and loving you all the while.

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ this was so fun to write

nanami doesn’t really use youtube. it’s too loud, too cluttered, too full of people trying too hard. he’s more of a quiet reader or podcast listener—he likes his content slow and thoughtful. but sometimes, during quiet lunch breaks or sleepless nights, he finds himself scrolling, searching for something simple to fill the silence.

the first time he sees your face, he skips the video. it’s nothing personal. the thumbnail just seems… ordinary. a soft smile, a blurry background of what looks like a street food stall, and a simple title: “trying something new today (๑•́‿•̀๑)”. he doesn’t think much of it.

but youtube, in all its persistence, keeps putting you in his recommendations.

every few days, your face reappears. new title. new blurry background. another small smile. there’s something oddly comforting about it, even if he hasn’t clicked yet. eventually, curiosity wins. one night, half-asleep and curled up on his couch, he taps on a thumbnail without thinking.

the video is quiet. not silent, but there’s no obnoxious background music or jump cuts. just you. talking a little nervously to the camera, explaining how you’ve never tried this kind of food before, how it makes you anxious to eat alone in public but you’re doing it anyway, for yourself. you pause a lot. laugh at yourself. your editing is minimal—sometimes you just leave long clips in where you sit there silently, debating the next bite.

and nanami… stays.

he doesn’t mean to. he thinks he’ll just let the video play in the background while he dozes off. but he finds himself watching. then clicking on another one. and another. you talk to the camera like it’s a friend. you say things like “i know no one’s really watching this, but…” and “this was scary for me, but i’m proud of myself anyway.”

there’s no performance. no show. just you, trying. trying to live a little braver. trying to make the world a little softer for yourself. and even though your videos have only a few thousand views at most, and a comment section with maybe ten or twenty kind words, nanami can tell you read every single one. you reply with gratitude and sincerity. you sign your replies with hearts and “thank you for watching!!” even when someone just says “nice vid :)”.

he doesn’t comment for a long time. he watches quietly, always late at night, a silent companion to your small adventures. his favorite video becomes one where you try to bike through a park trail you’ve never been on before. the camera shakes the entire time, the sky is gray, and you end up getting rained on halfway through. soaked and breathless, you laugh and say, “this was a disaster. but i don’t regret it.” and something about that sticks in his chest.

he comments on a video one day. it’s short, awkwardly formal:

“i admire your courage to keep stepping outside your comfort zone. thank you for sharing.”

a few hours later, you reply.

“thank you so much!!! i get really nervous about posting sometimes so this means a lot ;; i’m trying my best!! ♡”

nanami reads that reply more times than he’d like to admit.

—

he doesn’t think he’ll ever meet you. you feel like a little glowing orb in his private world. something precious that lives on his phone, just a click away, not real, not tangible.

but then, he’s at a weekend market. the kind of place you’d probably vlog, actually. he’s just there to buy fresh bread, enjoy the quiet, maybe grab a coffee. he’s walking past a stand selling handmade keychains when he hears a familiar voice.

soft. a little unsure. asking for the price of something.

he turns.

and you’re there.

you look just like your videos—maybe a little shorter, bundled in a cardigan despite the warmth, your bag too big for your frame, holding a small camera that’s not even recording. your hair’s a little messy. your eyes bright, darting around nervously. you’re alone.

and suddenly, nanami is nervous in a way he hasn’t been in years.

he debates not saying anything. he could let this pass. keep you as a digital secret. but then you glance in his direction, and smile—just polite, a brief flicker of recognition for another passerby—and nanami finds himself stepping forward before his brain catches up.

“…excuse me,” he says, and your eyes widen a little.

“yes?” you ask, voice soft.

“i’ve… watched your videos,” he says, and you freeze for a second. “they mean a lot to me.”

you blink. your mouth opens a little in surprise, then closes. and then you smile.

“really?” you say, a little breathless. “you… you actually watch them?”

“yes,” he says simply. “i think you’re brave.”

your hand flies up to your mouth, eyes darting away. “oh my god,” you mumble. “that’s—thank you. that’s so nice. i didn’t think anyone recognized me. my channel’s tiny.”

“doesn’t change the impact,” he says, and it’s honest. the way he always is.

you talk for a while after that. awkwardly at first—your nerves, his reserved nature—but slowly, something soft and lovely builds in the air between you. you laugh a lot, mostly just nervous. he listens a lot, mostly because that’s just the way he is. he tells you his name is kento. you tell him you were scared to even leave the house today, but you’re glad you did. he smiles.

before you part ways, you ask, very shyly, if he’d be okay with you filming just a little. not his face, of course—just his voice, his presence. he agrees.

that night, a new video goes up.

“a tiny adventure at the weekend market ✿ i made a new friend today…”

nanami watches it from his bed, and when his offscreen voice appears—gentle, amused, offering to carry your bag for you—his heart does something strange in his chest.

—

the first time nanami appears in a vlog, it’s his hand passing you a coffee.

you call him “a friend i made recently,” and giggle when he corrects your pronunciation of a pastry. he’s never shown — not fully. a shoulder here. the back of his head. your viewers are very curious. you just smile, almost bashful, and say, “he’s camera-shy, but he’s very sweet.”

you start mentioning him more in your vlogs. he’s still off-screen, but you’ll glance his way and smile. say something like “he helped me set this up,” or “he picked this place,” or just “he’s here with me.”

you don’t have to say his name. he stays a faceless figure in your videos. your viewers start to notice something more.

you never confirm anything. you just smile, cheeks pink, and say, “he’s really sweet. i’m lucky.”

nanami doesn’t need the spotlight. he’s happy to carry your bag, offer a steady hand when you’re nervous, and hold the camera when you want to capture something new. he’s happy to be the one encouraging you behind the scenes, whispering that you’re doing great when you doubt yourself.

you film together more and more. he goes with you to bookstores, little food stalls, quiet museums. he carries your tripod. holds your coat. gives you gentle encouragement when you freeze up in public and smile too hard when it’s over.

he falls in love with you quietly. over time. he doesn’t say it at first. he lets it bloom through little gestures — buying the tea you liked, learning how to edit videos just to help you with cuts, leaving voice notes when you’re too anxious to leave the house. he listens. he supports. he stays.

and he’s happiest when, in a quiet clip near the end of a video, you look off-camera and say, “i think i’m a little less scared of the world lately.”

he squeezes your hand off-screen. you smile at the touch.

and your viewers never hear the softest part—how, when the camera stops recording, you lean into his side and whisper, “thank you for finding me.”

nanami, who never believed in fate or chance or algorithms, just kisses your cheek and replies, “thank you for being found.”

[whatsverstappeningnow]

how f1 drivers react

when they notice you haven't been eating enough (requested)

drivers mentioned: MV33, LN4, OP81, AA23, CS55, CL16, LH44, GR63

-> tw: obviously references to ED behaviours and not eating, reader discretion is advised if this is a trigger for you!

max verstappen

You thought you were being careful. Smiling while he cooked. Saying you were full from lunch and moving the food around your plate just enough to make it seem like you’d eaten more than you had. You knew it was wrong, you should say something, but couldn't find the words.

You thought you were getting away with it.

Then one night, after a particularly long, stressful day, while the two of are getting ready for bed, Max quietly hands you one of his redbull hoodies. It feels like a peace offering. He's silent for a moment, like he too is struggling to the the right words.

“You’ve lost weight.”

You freeze with your arms halfway in the sleeves, eyes wide and aimed at the ground. “What?”

His tone is neutral, forcibly so, but his eyes aren’t. They’re serious. Studying your reaction.

“I can feel it when I hug you,” he says, blunt and truthful. “You’re smaller. You're tired all the time. You barely touched dinner. Not the for the first time, either”

You try to deflect. “I’m fine. It’s just stress...work’s been a lot—”

“I’m not judging,” he interrupts softly, hands on his hips. “But don’t lie to me. Not about this, schatje.”

You stare at the floor, guilt swirling and pooling in your stomach. His hands find your waist, thumbs brushing over your hips as if to emphasize what he already noticed. He leans in just enough that his forehead touches yours, leaning against eachother softly.

“I know you think it’s not a big deal. But it is to me,” he murmurs. “I don’t care if it’s small meals, snacks, whatever... but you need somehting. I need to know you’re okay.”

Then, after a long pause, “Please don’t shut me out. Your hurting the woman I care about, I can't let you do that.”

He doesn’t push after that. Just holds you tighter that night. Makes breakfast the next morning and doesn’t say a word when you take the plate. Just smiles a little when you pick up the fork.

lando norris

You’re lying on your stomach across your bed, scrolling through your phone aimlessly, when Lando flops down beside you with a sigh. You laugh at his sudden, unexpected appearance, but it dies out when he you don't hear him join in.

“I’m gonna say something, and you’re not allowed to get weird about it.”

You glance over, up your phone down, suspicious, but trying to lighten the tone. The sudden seriousness leaves you uncomfortable. "Hm, ominous."

He gives you a look, one that says he's not joking for once.

“You haven’t really eaten today. Or much yesterday. And I don’t think that’s nothing.”

You open your mouth to deflect, but Lando cuts in, gentler now.

“I’m not mad. I just… I want you to know that I notice these things. I don't want you to hide this stuff. I'm a... a bit hurt that you thought you had to.”

"I didn't mean to it's just. It's hard to talk about this stuff," you try to explain.

"I know that. Of course, I know that. But we spend hours talking about how I'm going, where my head is at, and that's not a one way street, love."

He nudges your shoulder lightly when you you can't find the words to say. “Let me take care of you, yeah? We’ll order something...anything you want! You don’t even have to leave the bed.”

And when you nod, he grins and kisses your cheek like it’s no big deal...like loving you includes this, too.

oscar piastri

Oscar notices something's off before you say even say anything.

You're out running errands together and get dizzy out of nowhere in the middle of the store. You hand grips his as you try and blink away the blurry spots. He's quick to put a hand on your back to help you stay up right, and even quicker to ask whats wrong.

You try to brush it off , I probably just need water or something, but he doesn’t buy it. The crease between his eyebrows deepens.

“You’ve been lightheaded more than once this week.”

You blink at him, surprised, heart suddenly beating faster than before. “No, I haven't.”

But he nods like you've said the opposite. Eyes searching yours for... something.

“I’ve also noticed you keep skipping breakfast a lot. And lunch, probably, if I'm not home with you. And you’re ‘just tired’ every night.”

Oscar isn’t dramatic about it. He just says it plainly, as truth, fact. But that just makes it harder to brush off.

“I’m worried,” he admits, voice quieter, hand holding yours tightly. “You don’t have to explain it all right now. But I need to know you’re okay... I need to know if you're not.”

You murmur that you're not sure what's going on, and it's the truth. Oscar doesn’t press.

“Let’s get head home. Have something easy. And if you don’t want to talk, we can just sit.”

"I'm sorry," you whisper to him, unsure of what to say.

"Please don't apologise. I love you. I want you to be well."

carlos sainz

You’re on your apartment balcony together, lounging around after a long morning sleep in. Carlos offers to make you breakfast, but you tell him not to bother. You’re not hungry.

He pauses mid-step, one foot inside, one still on the balcony. Looks at you, slightly offended on your behalf.

“No desayuno? Why not?”

You shrug, trying to keep your tone light. “I don’t know. I just… don’t feel like eating, I guess.”

Carlos doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches you. But the crease between his brows deepens, and then he's moving toward you, slowly, like he’s approaching something fragile. Maybe he is.

“You’ve skipped too many meals this week, mi vida. I’m not blind.”

His voice is quiet but firm, that kind of gentle stubbornness you’ve learned not to argue with. The kind that comes from a place of love, not discipline. You look down, suddenly finding it too hard to look Carlos in the eyes, but he doesn’t let the moment slip by so easily.

He finally steps right behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist lightly, and resting his chin on your shoulder. His voice is softer now, words whispered right into your ear like a sweet secret for just the two of you.

“I don’t need you to be perfect. I need you to take care of yourself.”

His fingers rub little circles into your sides, grounding and steady.

And before you can come up with a deflection, he’s pulling away just enough to kiss the side of your temple and mutter, “I’ll make something light. You don’t have to finish it. Just try.”

It’s not about food. Not really. It’s about how he wants you well. Wants you cared for. It's about showing you you are loved, and deserve to be taken care of.

alex albon

You're facetiming while he’s away, talking about qualifying, how the pets are doing, your plans for tomorrow, what you did earlier that day, when you offhandedly say, “I had a granola bar today, that counts, right?”

He laughs at first, caught up in your cute rambling. Then stops suddenly, all the humour draining from his face in a milisecond.

“Wait, that was all you had? Actually?”

You realize too late how that sounds. You can't take the words back now, and you can't find it in you to play it off as a complete joke. Part of you wants him to know.

Alex's expression shifts immediately. “Babe… You need to eat. No excuses.”

He leans in closer to the screen, voice suddenly quieter.

“Are you alright? Seriously.”

You start to downplay it, words coming out quickly to cover yourself, you weren't that hungry today, you were busy, you would eat later to make up for it, but he shakes his head gently at each excuse.

“Hey, hey. You don’t need to explain if you’re not ready. I’ve been there, I get it. But I wish you’d told me. I would’ve sent you like… twenty reminders. Or ubereats meals.”

Despite the worry, he smiles at you, soft and sweet, with the kind of look he always has before he leans in to kiss you.

“Okay. We’re ordering food together, right now. Virtual dinner date? I'll get room servivce, order something to the house for you. Yeah?”

You laugh, tear up a little, and agree. He smiles bright at your agreeance, beaming with pride.

charles leclerc

You're halfway through slicing vegetables for dinner when you say it. You'd been tossing up the right words to say all day. Deflecting is an art.

“I’m not really hungry tonight, but you go ahead.”

Charles doesn’t respond right away. Just finishes stirring the pan in front of him, sets the spoon down carefully, and, without another word, switches the stove completely off.

You glance up, confused and stunned. “What are you doing? That's not done yet.”

He simply shrugs. “If you’re not eating, then we’re not cooking.”

There’s no edge in his tone. No accusation. Just quiet finality, as if he had anticipated you not wanting to eat.

You blink, confused. “Charles, that’s ridiculous. You shouldn’t skip dinner just because—”

“Because you are?” he says gently, stepping away from the stove and closer to you. “No, I shouldn’t. But I’m not going to sit here and act like I haven’t noticed what you're doing”

He closes the space between you, wiping his hands on a dish towel before setting it aside.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, chéri,” he says quietly, searching your expression for the truth of the situation, but coming up empty. “I just want you to take care of yourself. And if I can help, even just a little, I will. If this is what it takes for you to know it is unhealthy, then I will do it.”

Charles reaches out and pulls you gently into his embrace. One hand on your back, the other smoothing your hair behind your ear. When he speaks again, his voice is soft against your skin. “Even if it’s just toast and juice. Even if it’s small. I’ll eat with you.”

You nod slowly, not because you’re convinced you can finish a whole meal, but because the idea of sitting across from him, even with something simple, suddenly feels like something you can do. Something you want to try. For him.

So he kisses your temple, rubs his hand down your back once again, and then says, “I’ll make tea. You pick the bread. Oui?”

lewis hamilton

You’re pacing around, trying to get stuff done, arms filled with knick-knacks you should have put away ages ago, when Lewis gently intercepts you. Hands on your upper arms, holding you still.

“You’ve been running nonstop all day, love. Did you eat yet?”

You wave him off. “I haven’t had time.”

That makes him stop cold. He exhales, long and hard, then walks over and takes your hands in his.

“That’s not okay.”

You go to respond, but Lewis lifts a hand. Gently, calmly stopping you.

“I’m not upset. But I also… don’t think this is the first time you’ve let yourself forget about food. And it’s scaring me a bit.”

“It’s not like that… I promise,” you reply in a hushed tone.

His thumb traces small circles over your knuckles, constant and soft.

“Ok, and I trust you to know if it was like that you could tell me. But I’ve seen what burnout looks like. What forgetting to take care of yourself does. I won’t stand by and watch it happen to you too. I love you too much to watch you crash and burn.”

"Lewis—"

He takes all the clothes and cups from your arms and places them on the table, leaving your hands empty and your heart beating fast.

He leans in and kisses your forehead, hushing you. “Let’s start small. Something warm. Something easy. Please? Gotta make sure my girl is taken care of.”

He doesn’t ask for more. Just reminds you, with every soft word and touch, that you’re worth taking care of, even on the days when you forget how.

george russell

You're lying in bed together when George brings it up for the first time.

"Love, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me. Please?"

When you turn to look at him, his face is dead serious, his undereye bags heavy and dark like something’s been worried about something for a while.

"You haven’t been eating enough." He says it quietly, thumb brushing just beneath your cheekbone like he’s afraid he’s already said too much.

"That’s not a question," you reply, a little too fast. A little too defensive.

George doesn’t take the bait. He just watches you for a second, gaze steady but soft. There’s no judgment in it, only worry.

“I know,” he says. “But I’ve been holding it in, waiting for you to come to me, waiting for the right time, and... I guess there isn’t one, is there?”

You sigh, low and long from the weight of everything you've been feeling. He shifts closer, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I’m not angry. I don't want you to think that. I just...noticed recently. And I didn’t want to corner you, or make you feel.. attacked, but I love you, and I can’t keep pretending I don’t see what’s happening.”

You rest your forehead against his chest, and his hand runs gently up and down your back.

“You don’t have to explain anything right now,” he murmurs. “Just let me help. We can start slow. A good breakfast tomorrow. I’ll make tea. We can talk about it, if you'd like. One thing at a time. Yeah?”

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, none of that. This isn't something you need to apologise for. I got you. We got this."

You nod against him, curling tighter into his soft hold. George presses a soft kiss to the top of your head like a promise. One that says: you’re not doing this alone.

lowkey inspired by both the anon request and the quote "i love you, i want us both to eat well" <3

[neodazed]

enhypen - boudoir polaroids

ot7!xfem!reader - showing them the polaroids of your boudoir photoshoot

boudoir: captures sensual, intimate, and often erotic images of a subject in a private setting

warnings: husband!enha, photos taken during sexual acts (solo), masturbation, recording, use of “slut”, brief anal sex, implied unproctected p in v, oral (f), tons of nasty shit i won’t spoil, lingerine, mdni, def longer than the other ones, not proofread

idea belongs to this lovely anon. interpented it in my own way somewhat, so it’s not 100% factually accurate lol. masterlist

HEESEUNG

Heeseung, your brand new husband — the most pussy-clenching title he’s ever worn, probably.

Ever since he became your fiancé, till now, he has been extra, super hot. Has been fucking you even rougher, better, like a good little wife should be fucked (by his words).

So this thing you decided to do, now it was like the perfect answer to that, the perfect sign of devotion.

You hand your brand-new husband an envelope—pretty cream paper, little gold wax seal, soft smile on your face like “open it later, okay?”

And Heeseung waits, as long as his curiousity let’s him. Then later, when he finds himself alone for some minutes, he opens it. You, taking your makeup off in the bathroom, can hear the paper rustling, and you smile at your reflection, waiting.

Silence.

Until he goes

‘Come here’

You gently open the bathroom door, and walk back into your bedroom. He’s sitting at the edge of the bed, a stack of little polaroids spread out on his lap. The look he gives you, is dark. Well, expected, because the photos are mostly close-ups of you…

— with your mouth open, two fingers shoved down your throat, gloss smudged

— you in a bridal white, fingering yourself with those same two fingers

— one with a toy, pink and cruelly realistic, barely halfway in – your eyes rolled back, thighs clenched

— one that appears to be a final shot, biting down on your veil, looking like you’re reaching your orgasm

And Heeseung?

Just processing.

Because his wife did this. For him. Because you posed like a full-on pornstar, hours before you walked down the aisle.

‘How many of these are there?’ ‘Who took them?’ ‘Where’s the rest?’

But he doesn’t actually give you the chance to explain or answer. He orders you to get on the bed. He’s already rock hard in his pants, and he is determined.

‘Wanna recreate this one.’ He holds up the shot of you with your fingers in your mouth and the toy barely inside you. His favorite.

‘But this time, you’re gonna fuck yourself on my fingers, and better keep your eyes on me the whole time.’

Obviously, it’s a sleepless night.

Doesn’t fuck you immediatelly, no, he makes you study the pictures with him.

‘Did you cum before or after taking this one?’

‘Did it feel as good as my cock?’

‘Don’t you think this is more slut than wife-material?’

And when he finally fucks you, it’s mean. No mercy, no patience, just using you to his own desires.

‘This how you looked when you came all over that toy?’

‘You wanna give me more pictures, baby? I want the ones you were too shy to include.’

JAY

It only suits you that you had a damn argument one day into your honeymoon with Jay. Maybe your plans and wants didn’t align perfectly, and the post-wedding stress was still wearing off. Jay was cold. Distant. Didn’t even say goodnight properly.

So the next day, you toss him an envelope across the bed like

‘Peace offering. Take it or leave it.’

Jay opens it like he’s giving you a favor, chin high and movements full of spite. But the second he sees the first photo?

You. His wife. In white lace. On her knees. Sucking a finger like it’s his cock. His reaction is immediate, his throat pushes out an almost choking like sound, and his whole body stiffens. Well, expect his hands which he uses to flip through some of the pictures.

One with you bent over, wedding veil still on, looking back at the camera while your hand disappears under your panties.

Another with your bra pushed under your tits and one hand squeezing lube out onto a toy off-frame.

He sits in silence for a minute. Hand on his thigh. Breathing steady.

Then folds the photos back into the envelope neatly… and comes to find you.

You’re brushing your hair or something casual when you hear his voice behind you:

‘You gave these to me just to get out of apologizing, didn’t you?’

You smirk. ‘Did it work?’

Jay comes up behind you, grabs your hips a little too hard, and leans in to your ear like:

‘You know what works better than an apology?’ He tosses the envelope onto the vanity table — ‘Giving me the real show. On your knees. Now.’

He makes you recreate every shot. Expect, this time he is behind the lens, using his phone camera to make himself even more intimate material.

‘Yes, that’s my perfect wife.’

‘Gonna save this one. Maybe send it to you next time you try to walk away from a fight.’

JAKE

Jake is the most grateful man alive on your wedding night. You could show up in sweatpants and he’d cry and pop a boner right away. But like with most things, you top his imaginations by far.

You pull out the pink envelope, decorated with a little bow in the middle. Slide it over to him on the bed, like it’s no big deal at all.

‘You should open it after your shower, babe.’

He opens it in the warm glow of the hotel lamp, fresh out the shower, towel on his hips — and he just stops breathing. Like genuinely. Just blinks. Stares. Gets real quiet. Because the first glimpse he gets, just a little part, already screams perfect. You’re layed out on soft sheets, pale ivory lingerine panties barely covering your folds. His mouth waters. Lot more of that kind. Some thigh-focused ones, some of you slobbering over your fingers and fingering yourself with the other.

The best one, though? (If gun to his head, he was forced to choose one).

It’s a close-up. Your fingers spreading yourself open, all slick and swollen. A heart-shaped lollipop resting just against your clit. Your hand holding it. His love for pussy and his habit of oral fixation are being stimulated through his eyes.

You’re in the bathroom brushing your teeth, and all you hear is, ‘Baby please come here. Right now. Please.’ In the neediest voice possible.

You walk out and he’s on his knees on the floor. Literal towel pitched up, photos spread out around him.

And when you smile and go — ‘I thought you’d like them. Do you? — he just whines.

Not groans. Not moans. Whines.

‘Are you crazy? I’m already so in love with you I could die, but this is literally attempted murder!’

Then he pulls you into his lap, kissing all over you, your lips, your neck, your breasts, going down on your stomach…

‘Fuck, I love you. I love you so much…’

SUNGHOON

You were sneaky with it. You gave him the envelope with a sweet smile, like you’re handing over a hand-written love letter rather than the dirty content it was hiding.

‘Hope you like them, Love.’

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow but takes it, fingers careful, gaze suspicious. He opens it while you’re brushing your hair.

Starting off strong, the first photo is you on your side, gripping your tit with one hand and pulling your panties aside with the other, head tilted almost innocently, but eyes filled with lust. Then a bunch of other positions, showing off your silky lingerine and delicate curves, always teasing what’s beneath but never displaying it fully.

And Sunghoon — Sunghoon does not react well.

He stands up, envelope in hand, and walks over to you with that same dead-calm expression. Slow and collected.

‘Who took these?’

‘What?’ You blink up at him.

‘The photos. Who the fuck took them?’

Though he’s not even close to being loud, you still stutter, seeing the tension on the veins on his neck, the way he grips the paper, trying not to crumble it entirely.

‘I-I took them myself, of course. Timer. I set it up. Just me. I swear.’

At that, his whole body relaxes. He might even flash a little relieved smile.

Then.

‘Get your ass on the bed.’

At first, he’s cold. No kisses, no nothing. He trips you naked, and studies the polaroids while playing with your body in real time.

‘Spread your legs. No, wider.’

And when he thinks it’s good enough (like he actually gave a fuck about how accurate it is), he grabs his phone and starts taking his own shots.

No warning. No direction, only

‘You want to give me photos? Fine. Give me new ones. Better ones. Real ones.’

‘You think your little solo pics could compare to this?’

‘You’ll look even better when I’ve filled you up.’

SUNOO

You slide it over while you two are cuddling on the honeymoon bed. You’re in a fluffy robe, bare legs over his lap, and he’s scrolling his phone when you whisper

‘I made you something. Open it after I shower, okay?’

Sunoo nods softly, excited but also curious about what could you have come up with.

But baby.

The moment he opens that envelope?

He lets out a scream.

Like a literal, hand-over-mouth, spine-curved squeal.

Because inside of that, it’s you, in a strappy white set, veil slightly off your hair, pink gloss on your lips, sucking your fingers while side-eyeing the camera like a whole whorehouse with a coquette dresscode.

One where your legs are closed on top of each other, but with your palm inside of them, obviously teasing your clit (he can just tell by looking at your face on it).

But the worst for him? Probably the one where you’re pressing your shiny little cunt down on his pillow.

‘You’re evil.’

‘How dare you be this sexy.’

‘You’re not fucking real. What kind of slutty wife does this?’ While he’s already palming his cock.

When you go over to him, giggling, saying it’s not that big of a deal, he just pushes you down on the bed.

‘No. You don’t get to act all casual after doing this to me, baby.’

After that, it’s a mess of giggles and recreating the ones he liked the most. Calls you “my beautiful wife”, “my good little girl”, and “my pretty slut” in the same ten minutes.

Sticks one of the Polaroids to the headboard like a shrine while he eats you out.

‘Just to see how much messier you can get when it’s me who makes you cum.’

JUNGWON

You hand Jungwon the envelope while you’re still glowing from the wedding night — robe slipping down your shoulders, bare thighs brushing his under the covers.

‘I made something for you’

He tilts his head to the side, like a confused little cat.

‘What’s in it?’

‘You’ll see’ Kissing his cheek. Then you stand in front of him, wanting the full, unfiltered first reaction you’ve been itching for.

Jungwon opens it.

Then he goes feral.

Cause every picture looks like you’ve carved the blurry image of them right out of the depths of his mind (which you might have, by how deeply you know and understand him).

Of course, you know he’s a tit-addict. And the photos feed right into that obsession.

You pushing your tits into the camera, covered by the prettiest white bras he’d ever seen. Gripping them, caressing them. With your bra off, looking into the camera with the deadliest doe eyes, licking off frosting (from God knows where) from your fingers, then circle around your nipple with the same one.

One picture of you rubbing your clit and wetting your sweet pussy, followed by smearing your own slick (then cum) all over your chest.

His mouth parts. He stares at them one by one, then flips through again. Ears red. So hard it’s painful.

‘Do you like them?’ You ask with a smile.

In a second, you’re under him, while he’s practically feasting off your boobs, rubbing your cunt with his hand, muttering shit like

‘Were you thinking about me while you did this?’

‘You want new ones? Want me to take them while I fuck these perfect tits?’

And he does.

Set up his phone on video mode while you’re straddling his lap, tits bouncing as he thrusts up into you.

Perfection.

RIKI

You hand Riki the envelope during the car ride back from the ceremony. He’s in the passenger seat. You’re still glowing and giggling, playing with your ring.

‘Open this at the hotel.’ And Riki just shrugs like whatever, tucks it into his jacket.

Later that night, you’re changing into something special in the bathroom, when he remembers he has it and opens it, not expecting to be flashed.

You in a white thong, back arched, pearls laying down your spine, heels still on. His favorite position, his favorite curve. Literally framed like art. It starts off like this?!

The second one might be even better though.

You bent over, panties pulled halfway down your thighs, ass cheek lifted so you can get your fingers underneath. Flash lighting up your thighs, gloss on your lips, veil around your shoulders. Looking like a fucking Goddess.

Polaroids from that position, with your finger teasing both holes, with toys rubbing over them, pearls on your spine, all pretty for him.

There’s one photo, which is…different than the rest.

No face, no pearls, no lingerine, no veil.

Just you, on your belly, knees spread, panties off, and your hands reaching back to pull your cheeks apart. The flash puts a delicious focus of the curve of your spine, ending in the most intimate, shameless shot of your tightest hole on full display — puckered, pink, just a little shiny.

Like you’d already played with it.

Like you prepared it just for him.

In that perfect little black polaroid border, you scribbled in sharp letters

“Next time, it’s yours<3”

Riki doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even move for a solid ten seconds.

Just stares. Blinks once. Closes the envelope. And then knocks on the bathroom door.

‘Babe. Come out.’

You peek out in a silk robe, small nightgown under, and his gaze goes straight down.

‘Hands on the bed. Just like that photo.’

He drops his pants, and gets behind you. Grabs your hips with so much harshness like he’s mad. Then pauses — cause you have the nerve to giggle.

‘You liked them?’

‘Stop talking.’

Then he spits on your back and watches as it slides down in between your cheeks. Your hole, it’s still open for him. Those damn pictures were freshly taken, with this exact purpose. To get him to fill you there.

So he pushes in. No more prep, no more teasing, just raw pleasure.

‘Gonna stretch it for me properly, baby’

‘You made it look so pretty… wanna see it twitch when I cum inside.’

[writerpeach]

Provocation

ITZY Shin Yuna x m!reader

15k words

“That’s not true,” Yuna argues, arms folded as if this is the most ludicrous thing she's had to explain. "Despite what everyone thinks, I don't sleep around. Maybe a few guys on the weekends, but during the week? I like to have a one-guy policy."

You don't believe her one bit—but you'll play along. "Just one guy? That's it?"

Yuna shrugs her shoulders. "Of course. One guy at a time. One guy on Monday—maybe Tuesday. And Wednesday. That's it."

"That's three, Yuna," you laugh, shifting in your seat to face her a bit more. She takes a sip of her drink, stirring it around before bringing it back up to her pouty, red lips—the ones that cause nothing but trouble.

"Exactly. A different guy each day of the week. I don't think that's a lot. If anything, Yeji gets around way more than me."

Now you know she's lying.

The way you can tell is when her lips move. That's the telltale sign. When a word slips out between them, you always know the words will be objectively false. 

Because this is Shin Yuna, the girl who flaunts every facet of her beauty like it's her job. This is the girl who wears skirts short enough to flash the entire bar a glimpse of her perfect little ass. The one who always leaves the house wearing a bra on purpose, her top always sheer enough to show the shape of her perky breasts. The same girl who would give head to a random guy just because he asked for a stick of gum.

"Yeji? Are we talking about the same girl?" you question, doubting that girl would even have a quarter the sex that Yuna has in one night. Yeji's definitely attractive, but reserved and soft spoken—nothing like the track record Yuna has.

"Hey, don't get it twisted," Yuna protests, nearly spilling some drink when she sets her glass down. "Yeji isn't some innocent church girl. She's a lot hornier than people think. Almost too much. As much as she acts all pure and sweet and innocent, she's a freak."

You'd say you believe her, except it's Yuna—so it's not probable in the slightest. "Right. She's totally a freak and you're an absolute saint."

"Glad we're on the same page." Yuna grins, stealing your drink to take a sip without even asking, leaving those red lips staining the rim of the glass. "She's more insatiable than me."

"I think you've had a little too much to drink, Yuna.” 

Yuna ignores you entirely. "I mean it—that girl is probably getting dicked down as we speak. Or if she isn't, then she's got a new vibrator that's getting the job done, watching some of the most depraved porn out there. That girl is obsessed."

"Obsessed with dick or obsessed with porn?"

"Both. You can't imagine some of the toys she has hidden."

Yuna keeps speaking, but she could say anything at this point, and you know there wouldn’t be an ounce of truth in it. She's gotten more than a couple drinks deep now. And her tight skirt rides up, each not-so-subtle movement revealing more thigh as she shifts, not even the slightest concerned who can see underneath.

"If she's a freak, what the hell does that make you, then?" you ask in all earnest, trying to change the subject, because Yuna clearly can't be trusted around alcohol. This girl and oversharing go together far too well.

"Me? Oh, I'm the best fuck of your life—the one who will choke on your cock like a goddamn whore and let you blow your load all over my pretty face." 

You don’t even look at her when you reply. "Forget I ever asked." 

"But you did ask. And now you're going to take me home so I can demonstrate exactly what I do to those poor, pathetic boys every weekend."

"Absolutely not. I don't recall making an invitation."

"Do I need one? Doesn't feel like it," Yuna asks, with a quick tilt of her head. "Doesn't daddy wanna spend all night fucking this tight little pussy?"

You nearly vomit hearing Yuna's poor attempt at seduction. "Stop it. Please, for the love of god, don't ever call me that again."

She simply laughs it off, leaning close as she rests a hand on your thigh, those nimble little fingers giving a good squeeze, when it wanders just a little too high. 

"Come on," she insists. "The second you’ve got your cock inside me, you know there won't be any pulling out. Daddy won't be able to control himself."

"I'm leaving you here. Take a cab if you have to," you warn, standing up from the barstool without even the slightest look back in her direction.

Yuna sighs. “Okay, fine,” she says as she grabs your wrist, keeping you from going very far. "I won't call you that anymore. Just take me home and fuck my brains out. Please?"

That voice, the desperation, it's hard to resist. Not to mention the pleading look, those big, round eyes staring, and when your focus falls down her shirt, barely even a shirt, the curves on this girl she dares to flaunt in your face. Yuna wants you to know that you'd be a fool to turn her down.

"What's in it for me? Aren't there plenty of guys lining up for a chance to fuck you here?" 

"This place is boring—and none of them can handle me." 

You're not even sure you can handle this girl and her attitude, but when Yuna stares like that, this longing look that begs for attention—it's difficult to say no. "Are you saying that just because you want a ride home?"

"It's a reason, yes." She can't hold back the smile, no matter how hard she tries. "You take me home, and then I'll suck your cock until your legs give out. Won't you help this poor, helpless little slut?"

Against your better judgment, there’s this temptation you can’t ignore. A devil resting on your shoulder, and on the other side, also a devil in the form of Shin Yuna herself. You can’t refuse that smile, those batting eyelashes, or those eyes without a hint of innocence in them. You’re already a lost cause. 

Yuna can’t help but smirk, seeing her prey lured in with such ease as she grabs her coat, one hand slipping in yours, and not even needing a response when the both of you know where this is heading. "No more daddy—that's a promise."

You don’t believe that for a second, but you also don't care one bit as you head out, Yuna clinging to your arm on the way to the parking lot. 

And this might be your biggest mistake yet. 

Neither of you even make it out of the parking garage to your apartment. Yuna has you backed up against the cold, concrete wall, in a dark corner that she swears doesn't have a camera—but even if it does, who fucking cares when the sight of her on her knees takes precedence, getting your cock wet between her lips as fast as possible.

And the sound of her greedy slurps echo off those same walls, somehow a thousand times louder than usual. 

"You know my apartment is right up there," you manage to say in between gasping breaths. Yuna's barely listening, staring straight into your eyes, with her cheeks hollowed to no end and every inch of your cock taken down so easily. She spits over your length a few more times, spreading it along your hard shaft before her lips swallow you whole, not breaking her gaze once for even a single breath. 

With another loud, sloppy suck with those red lips around the tip of your shaft, that's the only time she answers, a small pop filling the air when she backs off, stroking you slowly with her fist.

"That's two floors up. Why wait, when I can just suck your cock here? That elevator takes ages." she argues innocently, running her tongue underneath that most sensitive area of your shaft. "Unless you really want me to stop—"

"N-no. Fuck, no. Don't you fucking dare." 

"That's what I thought,” Yuna replies, and she has no intention to, burying her nose in your abdomen with every last inch consumed by her warm throat. And her wet mouth gets so noisy, so starved, these desperate slurps that could probably be heard all the way to the top floor of the parking garage. 

It's so completely Yuna: her lack of restraint, the enthusiasm as she bobs her head in a blur without any sign of a gag reflex. The way her lips tighten around your shaft and stay there for an eternity without pulling off even for a second, like she needs your cock down her throat for survival. It’s goddamn relentless. 

“God, Yuna, this fucking mouth—" you curse under your breath and place a hand on her head for guidance, wondering how the fuck Yuna manages to take so much at once while looking so beautiful at the same time. It's her lips wrapped around every inch, the way she stares into you, her lipstick all smeared along the base of your shaft with a fresh layer of spit glistening along the length of it. "Why the hell is your mouth so good at this?” 

It's a compliment that's only going to feed that inflated ego, as if that's even possible at this point. But you can't hold back the praise, when her lips feel this incredible, wrapped so tight with all the warm, wet suction you can handle, taking you back into the deep end of her throat like nothing. 

"I’ve told you…” Yuna starts with this smug little grin as she draws out every reaction she can out of your features with a messy kiss to your swollen cockhead. "Suck enough dick, and you have it down to a science. Nobody gives head better than me. Not Yeji, not a single person you've met."

Can’t say you find any fault with that, for once. The rare occasion when Yuna speaks the truth, with how good her mouth feels on you, slurping away to get these groans spilling that reinforces her point. How could anybody come close? 

“Don’t let it get to your head.” 

“Too late,” she says, with her playful little chuckle when you escape from the heat of her mouth. She continues to pump her fingers along every spit-soaked inch that sets you on edge, slowing down only so she can drag it out, savor the look of desperation etched across your face. Then she’s right back down, lips flush to your base in no time. 

“Shit, those fucking lips feel so good. Who knew you had any other skill other than being an obnoxious fucking brat.” 

Yuna doesn't even fight you for that one, giving your length a sloppy kiss, before sliding her mouth down to latch around your balls and suck hard. A tight fist strokes quicker than before, twisting so perfectly while her mouth is occupied, a motion that makes you completely unable to hold back the strangled noises that she gets off on. 

It all feels too good, with her full attention devoted to your aching cock that throbs in her fingers, these lewd slurps of your sensitive balls that drive you towards the edge faster when her mouth gets all hot and wet around you.

“F-fuck, fuck, Yuna—“ 

It’s so clear, the sheer enjoyment written across Yuna's features when she pops off your balls with a loud, wet pop. and then gets your cock right back in her mouth where it belongs.

There’s no stopping her this time—not when she gets a good grip on your thighs for support, so she can slobber on your cock with reckless abandon. A fucking shameless display, saliva dripping down her chin, a messy string that connects from her lip to the tip of your swollen cockhead while she takes you straight into the back of her throat, again, and again, not taking a breath unless she absolutely needs to. 

And then she’s jerking your cock right in front of her face. 

“Almost ready to cum for me, aren’t you? Don't you wanna fucking finish all over my pretty face? Don't you like how nice it looks when I'm covered in your thick load?"

Fuck, do you ever—and it doesn't help when Yuna tightens her grip and gives these rapid strokes that have your head spinning. All you can do is watch as she furiously jerks your cock straight towards her gorgeous face, tongue out so eagerly as she awaits every bit you're ready to release.

When it hits, the first explosive burst shoots across her forehead, streaking right over her hair. The rest follows, finding a place splattering all across her face. All over those open pouty lips—hot, sticky spurts that Yuna catches with her tongue as each shot paints a different spot of her features, the excess dribbling down her chin. 

Yuna laughs through it, trying not to close her eyes so she can watch you unload all over her features, a mess that has no end in sight. More hits her cheek, a nice shot across her nose as your cock pulsates in her tight fist, and the hot spurts continue to paint her in white streaks across her flawless face. A final few bursts land across her open mouth, a taste that gets her smiling so wide through a cum-stained mess.

"Fucking christ, Yuna," you exhale, out of breath as the high lingers.

Yuna lets your throbbing cock rest gently against her cheek, your orgasm slow to subside. Even when every last drop is wrung from the tip, she refuses to take her mouth off you, sucking your shaft clean with a few long slurps and flicks of her tongue that make you nearly collapse. 

"Just look at all that fucking cum. I'm covered in it, like a good little slut should be," she marvels, staring at the exhaustion plastered across your face. "Bet that felt good, huh? God, there's like a week's worth of cum here. All milked out of your thick fucking cock."

And Yuna has never looked better. 

"H-hold on, I'll get something to clean that up—"

Yuna gets to her feet, stepping in to shut down the idea before you can finish. "No need. I'll keep it on until we get to your apartment. Plus, I look the prettiest when I'm dripping with your cum."

It's insane—the words this girl will casually throw out in public, and how she wants to spend the entire elevator ride looking like that. Even if it's late enough that hardly anybody uses this elevator, there's always a chance you could run into someone who lives here. But saying no to this girl was never an option, already heading back the direction of the elevator without giving much a chance to argue, much less a chance to slip your pants back on.

Shin Yuna is quite possibly the worst influence—and yet, here you are.

Once she's all cleaned up, it's just pure unadulterated lust, from both ends as you find a spot on the couch to crash into with Yuna straddling you. Not an ounce of innocence in the kiss. Nothing but hot breath and moans, not even a second to break for air. The alcohol, the ride back here, the blowjob in the goddamn parking garage, you can't even contain yourself anymore. You let this girl get to you in the best of ways and give into this sinful temptation with an absolute desire to ruin her.

Yuna groans as you plant these rough, messy kisses along her neck—god, she tastes so good, like strawberries and sin and everything you're addicted to. She writhes under you, fingers tangled through your hair and you're not leaving your lips off her for a single second. 

"Keep doing that, please, f-fuck," Yuna pleads, and you flip her around effortlessly to do so, her tight little body flat on her back underneath you. You leave these marks all down her neck—sucking hard on that sensitive skin so easy to bruise, and sinking your teeth in at every opportunity. All these whimpers fill your ears and the louder they are, the harder you bite, the rougher your kisses grow.

This relentless assault leaves her breathless, an abrupt change from the usual confidence and arrogance that defines her. Right here, under you like this, Yuna makes it so easy to have her body entirely at your mercy—even more when you strip her shirt off and toss it aside, revealing those breasts fully to the chilly air. You barely have time to admire the sight of them before your mouth moves to devour the newly exposed flesh.

"You have no idea all the things I want to do to you, Yuna," you growl as you take a nipple between your lips, a sharp suck and a light nibble that makes her squirm even harder against the couch cushions.

"Like what? Tell me everything you want to do to me, d-daddy—"

You glare up, eyeing her intently and there's this sudden moment of silence while you refuse to get your mouth back onto her tits. 

"S-sorry, it just slipped," she says with this unabashed laughter, her apology as believable as anything else that escapes from those pretty lips. "Every guy I fuck loves hearing that. Force of habit."

"Don't make me leave you on this couch alone, Shin Yuna. Because I'll fucking do it, no hesitation."

"You'll never hear it again, I promise. Never, ever—now come on, back to what you were doing."

You raise a suspicious brow for a moment, but then it's back to your ravenous mouth focusing all over her chest, kissing up all over when you alternate between them. She loves it too—every hot and heavy kiss, every time you lick right at her most sensitive spots, latching onto her stiff nipples and sucking so hard. Yuna grips tightly at the back of your head, her fingers deep in those locks while you devour her tits and enjoy the softness of them against your face, skin flushed when you switch to the other breast.

And god, this sound that escapes her throat—when you travel down her body and kiss her abdomen, these soft little kisses that make her sigh harder and squirm more, getting lower and lower until the fabric of her skirt blocks your progression. It's this whimper from her lips when you swipe your tongue right above her belly button, a slow drag that tastes as much of her as possible.

"Skirt on or off? Your pick." You kiss at the top of her thighs, waiting eagerly for an answer as you toy around with the zipper.

"Whatever d—" she stops herself halfway. "You want. Whatever you want. On. Just fuck me with it on—can't wait, need you between my thighs already."

Can't say you're disappointed in the decision—pushing her skirt up her thighs to reveal that pretty purple lace that contrasts her pale thighs. But before you have the chance to put her out of her misery, you get a little more comfortable, stripping down to nothing but your boxers while Yuna bites her bottom lip and watches in silence. She keeps staring, wide eyes filled with anticipation as she catches the slightest glimpse of the way you're hard for her already.

"See something you like?" you ask her, Yuna shifting underneath with her skirt neatly bunched up her waist. 

"No, not a single thing," she answers, unable to hide her laughter for a second.

"Good, then I guess I can just go jerk off in my room or something," you tease, about to remove yourself from the couch until her hands lock tight around your shoulders, keeping you planted there.

"Shut the fuck up and eat me out. Can't wait a second more, ruin me with that amazing tongue of yours."

"Not even a please?"

"Absolutely not," Yuna insists, growing more impatient by the second. But it's a good thing you're generous—and more than raring to get between her thighs as much as she needs you to. 

She can hardly contain the noise when you grab the waistband of her panties and drag them down those long legs, Yuna lifting up just slightly to help guide them off. And when they slide past her feet, you don't hesitate one bit, spreading her thighs apart just to admire the sight—exposing her glistening wet cunt in all its glory.

"See something you like?" Yuna echoes your own question right back, flashing a smirk which only fades when you respond with a brief flick of your tongue. 

"Yeah, a perfect place to dump a huge load of cum," you remark back, licking a long stripe up her wet slit before ending in a gentle suck of her clit. "God, you're so fucking wet, Yuna. Dripping like crazy down here."

"Who's fucking fault is that?" 

"Not mine. You're the one who begged me to take you home because you were too scared to find a stranger in the bar to fuck."

The first few long licks do the rest of the talking for you as you bury your head deep between her spread thighs, tongue exploring her deliciously wet pussy. So sweet on your lips the more you taste, a suck of her clit every now and again, these unimpeded moans that can’t help spring free from her lips. 

"F-fuck, oh my fucking—first off, I did not beg. Second, don't pretend like you wouldn't fuck me if I found someone better," Yuna manages to get out mid-way through an absolutely filthy groan, grabbing fistfuls of your hair to push your face against her pussy.

"You're saying you could find someone better than me? In that shitty little dive bar?"

"S-shut up. Your ego's fucking broken," she argues between her desperate moans. You roll your eyes at her and get back to work—watching the way Yuna attempts to cover up her mouth with the palm of her hand. 

"Is that why you're struggling so much not to moan for me? You think any of those drunk idiots at the bar could do what I do to this pretty little pussy?" You're so determined to see her at a loss for words, lapping away at her clit, but that's all this girl brings out of you. It's difficult to play the nice guy when all her lips do is incite a response out of you like this. 

"You talk t-too much. Shut up and eat my cunt, so I can cum on your face already."

That you can do—more than happily. With a hand against her abdomen, Yuna's being pinned to the cushions as your tongue lashes away at her delicious folds to really lap up all her sweetness. It's addictive, the way you suck and lick away, from her swollen clit, right down to the bottom of her glistening wet slit, this intense groan tearing right through her as she locks eyes to watch you devour her cunt.

"Forgot how fucking good you taste—god, you taste fucking amazing.” 

“You forgot? Nobody forgets how good I taste. Not when you're addicted to eating my pussy as much as you are—"

That's a ridiculous enough statement to ignore, but you also can't bear the idea of stopping what you're doing, with your tongue exploring in slow, steady laps of every delicious morsel. Not when the sweet taste of Yuna fills your mouth and threatens to drown out everything else you feel, because she's so damn wet. It's the way your head is trapped between her thighs, keeping you right where she wants, smothering your face with her dripping cunt and forcing your tongue as deep as it can possibly reach. 

"Fucking shit—your mouth, that's so good, god. Fuck, fuck, y-you're gonna make me fucking cum! Don't stop—"

Like you could ever. Not when you have Yuna writhing against the cushions, watching the way her features contort into absolute bliss with just a harsh suck of her clit. 

Her mouth hangs open, head thrown back and the lewd, whiny little moans that you're so familiar with come right out. There's a rhythm of breathing that follows—heavy and erratic the more you try to break this girl. She struggles to even control herself when all she's reduced to is a soaking mess in front of your eyes, grinding against your face, needing to cum more than her next breath.

And that's the perfect opportunity to deny her what she wants so desperately. A split-second pause, watching the lust transform into absolute desperation. 

"N-no, please," she protests, urgency in her voice the second she feels your tongue stop. 

"Something wrong?"

"You ass—don't fucking stop. I said not to stop!" 

That's enough incentive to get back to it, fingers plunging right inside that wet heat to give your mouth a much-needed rest. Which only gives you these drawn-out moans, and fuck—there's not a single thing tighter than Yuna. Two fingers sink in with such ease, so wet, so warm, just taking whatever you'll give her at this rate. Nice and slow at first, so you can admire her reaction as you curl them inside, reaching spots that make her back arch right off the couch. 

"P-please, I'm so fucking close, fuck—"

Now she's begging, needing release at a level that's quite rare to see from Yuna. You pick up the pace, plunging those digits deep inside her sopping wet walls, hitting that same spot that makes her hips jolt so violently. 

"Is this what you needed? Come on, I know you're right fucking there. Fucking cum, Yuna. Cum like the needy little slut you are." 

You're not sure if it's the words that do her in, or the merciless assault of your fingers—both together is what gets the job done, the constant wet squelch that echoes with every furious plunge deep into her slick warmth. It's unmistakable when her cunt gushes around your thrusting fingers—spraying all over your hand, the couch, and god knows what else is just destroyed at this point. 

Yuna turns into a relentless, gushing mess, until she grabs your wrist to keep those fingers moving, filling the air with an even more delicious series of sobs.

Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe it when her body spasms the more you pump into this sensitive little cunt. Your fingers are so drenched, with the juices that spill like a fountain, these choked moans that escape with every thrust. And when that begging for more turns into pleading to stop, you're not interested in withdrawal, not until you wring a second orgasm out, a third, however many it takes for her to finally tap out. 

"S-stop, you're gonna fucking kill me, stop—god, it's just too much," she cries out, every ounce of strength left in her failing. Only do you pull out when Yuna forces your arm away, thighs still quivering in the aftermath as you get a good look of the damage done. Flat on her back, she can hardly move on her own. A mess all along her creamy thighs, along the couch, and who knows where else. 

"My poor couch."

"Your poor couch? What about my poor fucking pussy? Look at what you fucking did, I came like five fucking times—"

Even in the aftermath of an intense, messy climax, Yuna can’t help being Yuna.

"I didn't hear any complaints when you were squirting all over me,” you say, and bring your wet fingers to your lips to suck the delicious taste off. 

"Because your fucking fingers felt so fucking good, you asshole—" Yuna's so worn out, completely unable to do anything but just revel in the mess she's made.  

"You're welcome."

"That wasn't a thank you—oh my fucking god, look at my skirt, you fuck," Yuna groans, eyes shifting to the state bunched up above her waist. 

"This is your fault, don't even start."

"Because you fucking made me ruin it, this is like a $300 skirt!"

"My condolences," you say, without a hint of guilt, the damage to her skirt not even the least of your concerns. Especially when you unzip it to slide it right down her slim figure—revealing every inch of her gorgeous body naked for you to drink in. "Excuse me, princess. However can I make it up to you?"

"Don't fucking call me that," she snaps, and even in her weakened state she's not any easier to deal with. "I'm too tired to ride you right now, so you're just going to have to fuck me until my legs don't work." 

"Still not hearing a please," you remind her, slipping out of your boxers at last, your stiff cock finally freed after seeing Yuna's naked frame laid out so perfectly.

"You can take your please and shove it right up your fucking ass. I'm not saying it."

"Fucking brat," you curse, grabbing her waist to position Yuna right where you want her. "I'll do all the damn work then—you're not going anywhere but into this couch."

"Good, about fucking time."

When she's finally done complaining, her gaze falls back to your rock hard cock aimed at her soaking entrance. You shift forward, a hand on her slender waist for support, the head of your shaft nudging her wet cunt.

"Come on then, I haven't got all night—are you gonna fuck me, or just stare?"

"Yes you do. What the fuck else are you gonna do? Go fuck somebody else you won't even remember the next morning?" Angling yourself just right, you don’t waste a second longer to slide inside, right up to the hilt—feeling that tight, heavenly cunt consume every inch.

"My fucking god, Yuna—"

She's never felt more incredible, or so goddamn tight, impossibly wet, warm—every sensation just overwhelming, getting used to it all over like it's the first time inside her. A feeling that doesn't disappear, even before you move one bit, with these beautiful legs spread wide apart as they'll go.

"Forgot how tight my little pussy was, huh?" she taunts, loving the groans that it pulls from your mouth. "You haven't changed at all. Still have that same cute little face you get when you've got your cock inside me. My pussy just ruins every other girl for you, doesn't it?"

"Too tight, god—why are you so fucking tight? Greedy slut gets pounded by twelve guys a week and still this tight? Fuck—"

"Less talking and more fucking. Move your hips—fuck me like the filthy little whore I am, come on."

Your only response is to get your hands right on both sides of Yuna's tiny waist, sliding outside with just the tip of your cock remaining, before slamming your entire shaft to fill her again. The first thrusts alone have her clutching the couch cushions to brace for more, each one a little rougher, a little deeper, the walls of her cunt clenching so hard the more of your throbbing shaft fills her. 

"Don’t hold back. I wanna feel every inch of that thick fucking cock in my wet little cunt," Yuna breathes out with this demand in her voice. "Come on, harder—ruin my poor little pussy, f-fuck."

"That's the fucking plan." All this tension you've built up between each other has reached its boiling point, the frustration, the annoyance, all coming out here and now. Because once Yuna is under you like this, everything changes, your hips pulling back only to shove in again, a relentless rhythm on repeat. 

"Better be. Why do you even need other girls when my perfect little pussy is always here waiting for your cock? You already have a pretty fucktoy to use, don't you—"

"Yuna, stop fucking talking already," you groan with no patience for anymore of her rambling. "Your schedule is a little booked up right now, in case you haven't noticed."

That's when your thrusts hit without holding back, hard enough to get a reprieve from that bratty attitude—watching her pretty features contort as you keep drilling inside that intoxicating heat. Not letting up once, the sound of her slick pussy soaking every inch of your shaft with every slam fills the room, barely audible over the sound of her loud moans. And that tightness, god—it’s unfathomable, unforgettable, each delicious clench driving your hips so you’ll feel more of it. 

"Then I'll fucking clear my schedule. As long as you promise to fuck me like this—I'll put you in my calendar every fucking day."

That's not exactly the solution, and you can't imagine being with Yuna day in and day out, even if that comes with the prospect of having access to this pretty, warm little wet hole whenever you feel like. No, not worth the hassle—maybe for a weekend, but beyond that you'd go insane.

"Once a week is enough. Maybe twice if you can keep your fucking attitude in check."

"You love my attitude. Just like the rest of this body that you can't keep your hands off."

She has a point—a painfully accurate one, but not one that you're willing to admit when you keep trying to silence Yuna with these violent slams that have your balls ready to unload sooner rather than later. Her tight cunt drives you absolutely wild, almost distracting enough from that infuriating mouth of hers.

But even more distracting is the look in her face while you fuck her, and you can't resist staring with every thrust as she continues to keep those legs parted just for you. That's until they wrap tightly around your waist, the heels of her bare feet digging into your lower back, forcing you deeper into this perfect tight body.

"What the fuck are you—"

Yuna's light giggle interrupts your question, the look in her eyes almost enough of an answer on its own. "Just making sure you're not thinking about pulling out. Want every drop you have. Fucking dump it in me."

"God, will you shut up," you groan, face burying into the crook of Yuna's neck, unable to take another second of her mouth running while your hips keep up this unforgiving pace. This tightness, this wetness, it's more than you can handle, using her cunt to fuck every bit of annoyance building inside from what feels like forever. 

"I'll shut up when you cum inside me. It's been way too fucking long since you finished inside me, since I've heard you moan when your balls empty. Does every girl you fuck let you finish like this? Bet none of them do."

You're not even interested in playing this game with her, not when she has you so close already, your pistoning hips driven by such immense desire to flood Yuna's dripping cunt. She's even clenching harder than usual with those slim legs locked so tight, a grip you can't possibly slip from no matter how much you tried. Not that you even would. 

Thrust after merciless thrust, you keep your lips sealed to her neck, sucking so hard like it's the only thing to keep you anchored. All you can do is keep moaning in her ear, keep hammering her greedy little cunt, faster and faster—

"I'm about to fucking cum, Y-Yuna—"

The words leave your mouth right before you've reached your limit. Your mind's elsewhere, not even in control, as your balls tighten and every muscle in your body tenses. Not even a word on her end, like Yuna was waiting for this moment the entire night. There's just hot breath on her neck, your cock pounding so hard into this soaked pussy, every pump taking you further past the point of no return—until that first surge shoots deep inside her wet walls.

A hot, sticky load floods right into her pussy in a violent throb of bursts, pumping one spurt after the other deep as possible. Yuna wraps her legs tighter with each, keeping you buried completely while everything unloads inside her. Everything goes blank, losing track of how many shots fill her tight cunt, a complete blur while your hips move on repeat, fucking it all deeper into her slick warmth. 

"F-fuck, there's so much," Yuna groans, struggling to find the words, feeling every ounce of your hot load spill inside, threatening to overflow before you even finish.

You just continue to drive into her without mercy, until your body begins to give out, sweat dripping all along her pale frame underneath. By the time you're done, you’ve collapsed into the comfort of Yuna's neck, planting gentle kisses along the marks you've left behind while you ride out the high. She stays quiet for a moment—no taunting, no attitude, letting your still throbbing cock rest inside her with your thick load slowly seeping out.

It's the most deserved orgasm you've had in a while, you think. Putting up with Yuna—just to unload everything you have inside, where it belongs. All her annoying remarks, that shameless, filthy fucking mouth all seem to fade into obscurity after everything. For a few seconds, there's bliss. A quiet bliss. 

Bliss that doesn't last very long at all. 

"Did that feel good? Emptying your big, heavy balls inside me?" Yuna asks you, resting her long arms around your body. It's almost calming, the light scratches down your back that lull you into a state of relaxation. Something you didn't think was possible with this girl.

"Y-yeah," you breathe out against her neck, struggling to catch your breath as you linger in the warmth of her tight pussy that can’t stop clenching for more. "I came inside you, now get off me—"

"Never, you're still fucking hard. My legs still work, and I haven't even gotten to ride you yet," she reminds you, staring straight into your eyes with her legs staying perfectly in place. "That load was just an appetizer—daddy." 

You groan—louder than ever before, but not in pleasure.

"What the fuck did I tell you about calling me that?"

Yuna shifts beneath, legs relaxing enough to release the hold—allowing you to slide your cock free from the overwhelming heat.

"What's the matter, a nice, thick creampie in my tight cunt isn't enough for me to call you whatever I please?"

You're ignoring her, in as many ways as you can when you move your gaze between her thighs to admire the sight—the beautiful mess that's dripping from her pussy, so full of your hot cum. "Go home, Yuna. If that's what's you're going to keep doing, then we're fucking done here." 

"You're no fun. It's after midnight, you're not going to send a little innocent girl like me out alone like this, are you?"

Again, you ignore her, standing up from the couch in complete disarray and making a path to the bathroom instead. "I need a shower, but you can sleep on this couch you've defiled for all I care. Please be gone in the morning."

It's a bit heartless, you know, but Yuna brings out this part in you that rarely sees the light of day, when she refuses to listen. Even more so when her footsteps follow closely behind, her petite naked frame and that mess between her legs still dripping without any ounce of shame.

"God, you're such a mood killer," Yuna sighs, grabbing your wrist to pull your attention her way. "I'll stop fucking teasing you. I'll stop calling you daddy, you big fucking baby. Just let me shower with you. Please? I won't even talk. I promise."

That's a hard one to trust, given her track record. But she sounds far too exhausted to even try any tricks, pleading so hard to convince you to let her share your bed tonight. And it's hard to turn down that pout, those bright, widened eyes that stare you into submission.

"Fine. Not a single word in the shower. And if you call me that even once, Yuna, I'm never shoving my cock in you ever again. Do you understand?"

"Of course. Swear it on my life. Promise. Never ever ever—that's it."

And just like that, this look in her eyes when she steps inside the shower after you suggests she'll live up to that word. You'll see. If anything, seeing her naked under the hot steam is enough to commit to whatever terms you've created. A selfish, yet regrettable decision.

A nice, relaxing shower where this brat doesn't utter a single sound, not a single dirty comment—that's better than anything in your wildest dreams.

Things move to the bedroom, as they usually do with Yuna. The two of you are completely devoid of any clothing, because modesty with her around simply doesn't exist. She slides into the spot beside you, resting her head on your chest, delicate fingers in a relaxed grip around the length of your shaft. And you’re happy to do nothing but watch the smile on her face while she gives these magical strokes, not nearly enough pleasure to take things any further. 

"Whenever you're ready to put this big thing back inside me, let me know," Yuna says as casually as possible—as casual as someone can get while palming their hand around your cock.

But you're hesitant to leave this moment—her body curled so perfectly against yours, to the point where you can almost tolerate her. Almost. That being the important thing in all this.

"I already filled you twice today. Not enough for one night?"

"Never enough," she insists, giving a firm squeeze that makes you reluctantly agree. "Plus, you haven't filled my ass, and we both know what a huge fan I am of that.” 

"Obsessed is more the right word. You might be more into me fucking your ass than I am, and that's saying something. Like, I could live inside there."

She giggles, her delicate little fingers tracing down your shaft while she keeps stroking. "Can you blame me when I have an ass like this? You should be the one begging me instead of the other way around." 

"I'd never beg you for anything, Yuna. You're a pretty girl with a nice ass who spreads their legs on command, I don't need much more than that from you."

Yuna responds with a tug at your balls, almost painful in nature to get a point across. "Tell me that again when you want to bury your face in my ass. See if that's true then. Let's see how long you last without getting to eat my ass."

"Okay, okay—point taken."

"Not everybody gets to tongue my ass. It's a privilege."

"So lucky, my life is complete now that Shin Yuna allows me the honor of worshiping her ass." 

That makes her squeeze your cock all too hard in this agonizingly slow stroke. "My ass is fucking amazing. The only word for it, and it deserves some appreciation. I don't even let anyone else but you fuck me there."

"Why do I not believe that?"

Yuna drops a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your chest. "You don't have to believe it. I'll let half a dozen guys all have turns fucking me at once—until they cum inside me or on my face. Nobody but you gets the luxury of pounding my ass though."

“I’m touched.” 

"You should be. Every guy I fuck should be on their knees, begging me for the slightest chance to worship my body, especially my ass." 

Nobody has confidence like Yuna does, even if it's wildly inflated. As much as her very presence annoys you, it’s hard to say you could survive long without that tight ass. Whether it’s bouncing on your cock, your face, or just existing in front of your hips to have a handprint against it. That doesn't mean you'd ever drop to your knees and grovel for her, but there's no denying how much power that ass has.

"Nobody has a better ass than you, Yuna. Not even Yeji. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?" She laughs—this sinister laugh, while squeezing your cock in her tight little hand, nodding all excitedly in agreement. You know it's going to go to her head, but the alternative is much worse. "Good, now can you just jerk me off in peace?"

“Fine,” she says, with a defeated sigh. “If that's what you want. I won't make another sound. You can just relax. Pretend I'm not here. I'll just keep jerking off this nice, thick cock until you cum again." 

"Now you're getting it."

You close your eyes and appreciate the silence, knowing this might be the only time when Yuna doesn't find some excuse to run her mouth. Her hands keep busy, and god, are her hands just heaven when she's so slow and focused. The one time she doesn't say a fucking word, just pumping your cock until you're ready to explode all over her.

You don't even remember falling asleep. The last thing you remember is Yuna straddling you, riding with all the energy in the world despite her earlier exhaustion. Hair draped over her face as she bounced up and down, hips so frantic and needy, groaning while you slipped a finger to toy with her ass. And then it's all a blur. Sweet, uninterrupted slumber, and that's how you ended up like this.

But now, Yuna isn't anywhere to be seen. And you're not sure if that's a good thing or not. So, rather reluctantly, you rise from the comfort of your bed, grab a fresh pair of boxers, a clean shirt, and stumble right into the kitchen for some semblance of routine. 

The smell of coffee lingers in the air, a normally welcome start to the day. This time it's different—it's burnt. Far from the rich aroma of a good cup, the one you've brewed on your expensive coffee machine you imported just months ago. Something's amiss.

There's the culprit. Yuna is standing there, fiddling around with the machine like the controls are in a different language. She's dressed at least, kind of, barefoot in what appears to be your shirt, white and loose fitting, barely covering her delicious bare ass when she's bent over trying to figure out the buttons.

"Morning," Yuna says over her shoulder, as if completely oblivious to the damage she's caused. "Think your coffee machine is broken."

"Did you break it?"

She takes a good hard look at the machine, as if in disbelief, before turning back around. "No, not a chance. It was like this when I got here."

"Yuna, did you break my fucking coffee machine?" you ask again, in dire need of the very thing she's about to deprive you of. 

"What did I just say? It's not broken. Look, if you press this button it comes out with this weird looking water and if you do this—fuck."

This is unbelievable. As if you needed another reason to kick her out the second you're awake, because you know first hand that Yuna should never be allowed in a kitchen. Any kitchen. Not after the burnt chocolate incident. 

"Let me handle this. Before you destroy my kitchen too."

"Hey, rude—I was just trying to be helpful. But you have some weird fucking coffee maker that you need a PhD in three different languages to understand."

She takes a step back, sighing in defeat as you take over and deal with the chaos left behind. "This is why I don't have company in the morning. A pretty girl comes over and immediately tries to burn my entire place to the ground."

There's this surprised gasp that escapes from her lips as you start everything over from scratch, dumping out whatever awful concoction that was brewing earlier.

"Wait, pretty? You think I'm pretty?"

"That's what you're focusing on right now? You really are insufferable," you mutter, with Yuna's eyes fixating on you while she just beams at the compliment. A few adjustments here and there, a fresh pour of water, and the aroma of fresh coffee starts to linger, slowly clearing up the disaster zone Yuna has left behind.

"You didn't answer my question." 

You have nothing in you but an eye roll.

"Yes. You're very pretty," you finally relent, pulling down two mugs from the cabinet above. "I could do worse than waking up to that in my bed. With my ruined coffee machine."

"Hey, it's not ruined, you jerk. It's working now, isn't it?" 

For now. Not the point you want to argue about right now, because you need caffeine in your system more than you ever have. At least you can enjoy a proper cup on the balcony with Yuna, even if that means putting up with her presence. Which maybe isn't as bad as you once thought, given the eye candy alone makes it slightly tolerable. 

Days pass. Uneventful, mostly, without anything much but the occasional lewd text from Yuna at random points throughout the day. Which you'll admit, is preferable to her showing up at your place unannounced, because you think getting off to the nudes she sends without having to hear her whining in person is a much better alternative. 

It's the weekend, and you don't have anything planned that doesn't involve sleeping it all away. An hour at the gym, maybe. Catching up on laundry, cooking yourself a nice dinner—trying that new bottle of wine that's been sitting in your cabinet untouched for months.

But you’ll never get to any of that. 

"Guess who?" 

That’s all Yuna says before forcing her way into the apartment, like she's already expecting to be let in without a second thought. This bright, happy smile on her lips, strutting into the living room in a small little crop top, and these ridiculous white shorts that are tighter than they have any right to be. "I know you missed me. So I'm here to return your shirt. I washed it. Or the dry cleaning people washed it. Doesn't matter."

"Thanks. Just leave it on the counter, and then you can leave."

Yuna frowns, far more offended by this suggestion than any other you've laid out for her. "But you missed me, haven't you? So I'm going to stay for a couple of days, and you're just going to have to suck it up."

So much for peace and quiet. 

“Absolutely the hell not. Don't you have your own apartment to wreck? You're not staying here."

"Why not?" she asks, tossing your shirt on the counter, just like you said. But just as quickly, she takes a seat on the couch and makes herself entirely too comfortable. "My place is a fucking mess, and I'd rather have some company. Plus, you have that really nice bed that's a thousand times more comfortable than anything I own." 

"You're not staying," you reiterate. "Why are you even here? Did you just get done with a dick appointment, so you're coming here now? This isn't a hotel."

Yuna stretches out on the couch, not bothered in the slightest. "No. I haven't been fucked in three days. How crazy is that? We need to catch up, so I figured I would stay with you—"

"We? Try again. I'm sure there's a gangbang going down somewhere, or an orgy you can crash. I am not letting you stay."

"What, is having me in your life such a terrible fate that you'll die if you don't have a moment's peace? A hot girl on your couch and the first thing you think of is getting rid of her?"

"That's exactly right. I have things to do today. important things. Things that don't involve babysitting you."

Yuna cocks her head at you, wide-eyed. "What could you possibly have to do today that's more important than this ass? Huh? Name one thing."

This girl is the definition of exhausting. Trying to tear your attention away from her brazen attitude is harder than it should be, with her figure slumped against the back of the sofa—arms spread wide and long legs extended so invitingly. That top riding higher and higher each time she so much as breathes, offering a full view of her toned abdomen. You can't find the strength or motivation to fight this, when Yuna looks the way she does. And you're certainly no stranger to sleeping with her.

"I don't have to explain myself to you. There are a thousand things more important than giving you attention. Now get off my couch and go find someone else to annoy."

The demand only earns a childish scoff, Yuna folding her arms across her chest. "Oh come on—look, I'll be good. I'll sleep on the couch, I'll cook you breakfast and dinner and clean whatever the hell I mess up. I won't bother you. Promise."

"You're not stepping foot in my kitchen after you almost broke my coffee maker."

"Almost. Keyword, almost," Yuna adds, barely getting to the end of her sentence before standing up and making her way across the living room to your side. "If I can't cook or clean or do anything, how do you suggest I pay you back for letting me stay here, hmm?"

You clench your fists so hard while exhaling, staring daggers into this psuedo-innocent expression that doesn't have any weight behind it. Knowing damn well what those gears turning in her head have planned. 

"Don’t worry, you're not staying here. So there's no need to pay me back." A simple rejection doesn't seem to deter her. It never does. 

She’s no stranger to the word no, but it doesn’t stop her from taking another step forward. And another one, closing the distance between, almost as a test to see how far she can go before the resistance starts. Then she steps back. Only to spin around, those tempting hips and ass pressing right into the crotch of your sweatpants, using the armchair nearby like support to push a little harder. 

And when she's looking like that, the way Yuna throws that devilish look over her bare shoulder while wiggling her ass is such an easy sell, a perfect visual that causes blood to rush down towards your cock. "If you prefer, I could just pull them right off…"

Somewhere deep inside, you want this—to give up this charade and indulge yourself in every inch of her. In that ass you have memorized to every detail, in that perfect fucking cunt that's yours to taste anytime you please. But the second you give in, there's no turning back.

Because you can't keep pretending that you can control yourself around this girl. Every shred of composure you try to have is fleeting when Yuna's there offering herself up on a platter.

"Do you know how long it's been since I've had someone spank my ass? Two weeks? Maybe even three. Nobody hits harder than those big, strong hands. Nobody can put me in my place like you do. And I've been such a bad, bad girl.” 

Staring at the view presented before you, your knees feel a little weak. The things you want to do to this bratty little tease are practically limitless, sending your imagination racing when you follow the curve of her hips. Because maybe it’s about time she got what she deserves. All those handprints, her sensitive flesh just bruised by your palm, the sight of her bent over and spanked relentlessly—maybe her punishment is your reward. 

It's inevitable at this point. And the worst part is, Yuna knows this all too well.

"What are you waiting for? Spank my ass, make it yours. Make it hurt so good. Please."

That please is what does you in. Because you can picture it now, feeling the supple skin of her ass bounce under every smack of your hand, and that high pitched yelp tearing through her throat the second you really put power behind each strike.

It doesn't help those goddamn skintight shorts that hug her ass, a perfect invitation to have your way. 

You sigh under your breath. Because you’ll fold like always, giving in to those desperate pleas. If only to satisfy the lust that builds for Yuna’s tight body. The way your cock will feel buried inside her ass, while you get so rough fucking her. Until she can barely stand on her own two feet anymore.

Fuck. She knows she's already won.

"Fine. You fucking brat. But not here, not on the couch. I'll need a drink for this."

With a final look at her—looking like sin and sex on two legs, you drag her towards the kitchen to look for the strongest thing you have, looking past the bottle of wine that will have to wait. Yuna waits silently by the counter, with that same knowing look in her eye. A look that has no chance to fade even once you pop open a bottle of something to help wash the regret down.

"God, you're going to regret wearing those shorts," you tell her, not bothering with a glass and taking a huge swig straight from the bottle. And then another. 

"I don’t regret a single thing in my life. Now where's mine?" Yuna asks, pout on her lips as she ignores the fact that those shorts are coming off the first chance you get. 

"You're annoying enough sober—you don't get shit until I've had enough to tolerate you." 

She giggles. Which at this point is more infuriating than cute. "So never?" 

Yuna watches the bottle return to your lips for another long sip. You don't even deny that—instead, your eyes are glued to her shapely figure while you wait for the alcohol to kick in. 

"Give me your belt.” 

You slam the bottle down and stare straight ahead at the puzzled look on Yuna's face—but there's no objection. Instead, she complies and unfastens the clasp before sliding the white leather strip right out and handing it over without asking a thing. 

And that's when you do the honors. Unfastening the front button of those ridiculous shorts and tugging the zipper down. Her shorts are so impossibly tight that even after all that, they still take a little extra strength to tug down past the full curve of her ass. But you do manage to peel them down, staring at the tiny scrap of blue cotton and lace that hardly covers a damn thing—what those shorts are concealing beneath, this small string nestled just between her smooth, bare asscheeks. 

“Surprised you even wore panties at all today.” 

“I wore them so you’d rip them off me. It’s no fun if I don’t make you earn it first.”

That cocky little smirk doesn’t falter—not until you grab her ass like it belongs to you, fingers digging in deep, rough enough to make her squirm. Yuna wants to be manhandled, you know that already, so you squeeze harder, spread her wide and knead every inch, marveling at how much of her there is to take.

Her thong barely counts as anything, just a bright blue string that disappears between her cheeks. It's the only thing standing between you and burying deep inside.

"Fuck, I can't wait to feel your hands hurting this ass so fucking hard," Yuna groans, rolling her hips back into your grip. 

You don't respond—because now you've got your teeth hooked into the flimsy fabric of her thong. One swift tug downward snaps the thin fabric and tears right through so you can get right to that incredible ass of hers. No sooner have the scraps of her panties fallen to the kitchen floor before you've got a solid grip on each bare cheek, sinking your teeth in just enough to mark her pale flesh.

Laughing under your breath as you run fingertips across those creamy cheeks, you shake your head in disbelief. "You think I'm going to be using my hands?" you ask while picking up her discarded belt, an almost forgotten strip of leather until this exact moment.

Yuna looks back over her shoulder with the biggest grin.

"We're doing this my way.” 

Dropping your sweatpants right around your ankles for some relief, she can't help but stare at your bulge. And a smile perks up on her lips the instant she catches sight of the leather belt in your tight fist. Surprisingly, Yuna stays silent, even as you test the belt out between the palm of your hand, the crack of leather echoing around the kitchen. "You wanna get spanked? Then you're gonna get spanked. Bad girls don't get a say in this."

"Can't wait," she responds, not obedient, but almost daring as her hands clutch tight to the kitchen counter to brace for the first impact. Neither can you. 

"Eyes forward then, slut," you demand, running the leather down her skin, tracing along every curve until she has no choice but to face away. Before any warning, the satisfying crack of leather connects right against her bare ass, ripping a startled yelp from those bratty lips. A strike so forceful it jolts her body forward and leaves a light imprint on her delicate flesh. 

It puts a smile on your face when you get the same reaction. Another sharp crack cuts through the silence, right against the flesh of her ass with even much force. Another welt, another moan, as this bright red mark begins to form as the color spreads across her flesh. "M-more, please—that stings so fucking good. F-fuck, more."

The next smack sends her hips slamming back into the counter, another strangled noise coming from her mouth right as you hit her harder without thinking. “If it's too much, speak up." 

But the noise she makes is barely coherent. All you can see is the look of excitement on her face as you deliver more stinging slaps to her same cheek, over and over until you've had enough—only switching to the other for an identical treatment and marking the unblemished skin just the same.

"N-never. I love the pain, love the feeling of this belt on my ass—please keep going." Even with the crack in her voice, the smack of leather against bare skin overshadows her cries while you up the ante and show no mercy. 

Over and over with these slaps all over her cheeks, fueled by frustration with Yuna yelping each time you send the belt flying into that sore, marked skin. But she still grinds her hips back at you for more, eager for any ounce of pleasure, and every ounce of pain that comes alongside.

The entire time Yuna stays bent over, loud gasps and pathetic whines for another while these harsh spanks rain down so she can feel the sting that lingers right after. Hard enough to leave her speechless and biting back to not beg you for even worse. She grips the countertop like she'll simply fall over if she doesn't. And after a well-timed hit, you force a break that she doesn't ask for—a moment to collect herself and catch her bearings. A moment to admire the redness that's not going away anytime soon.

"Still want more?" you ask her with a tug at her hair, the belt grazing her tender skin. 

"M-more. Give me everything you fucking have," she can barely breathe out between whimpers, gripping even tighter onto the kitchen counter, so that your next hit to that reddened ass leaves behind an unmistakable imprint on those plump cheeks. "Fucking make it hurt, don't treat me like I can't take it. Harder."

You can certainly oblige her. Harder is exactly what you'll do—each vicious snap of the belt a little more relentless, no pauses between several loud cracks against that aching flesh, causing the most delectable noise as Yuna gasps every single time. Even as you step back, inspecting the artwork you've left on her backside, Yuna is far from satisfied. "I said to fucking make it hurt. But you're holding back on me, stop doing that."

Oh, let her fucking complain. Even with a burning sting on her ass, Yuna can't help but provoke you a bit further, with your grip in her hair tightening. But those slaps only come faster—each vicious hit with the leather cracks over her raw ass, moans muffled as her cheek gets pressed right up against the cold countertop. 

The belt swings wide again, hitting both cheeks at once and making them jiggle, the redness across Yuna's round little ass making a stark contrast against the pure, porcelain skin. And she hears it first before feeling it. 

Another cry of ecstasy that escapes her throat right as the belt brings about more stinging slaps, until you let the folded length of her own belt linger in the air, so she doesn't even know when the next swing will happen. You love nothing more than watching her body tense up—every single nerve on edge knowing another hard smack will come her way the second she even breathes, her reddened ass ready to receive whatever you have left in store for it.

"Like doesn't begin to describe it. I'm fucking crazy for it," she gasps out, when the belt stays far enough away that you give her some sense of relief—until it brushes over the sore, sensitive skin, making the softest touch seem worse than an outright strike. Then it cracks over her cheeks in succession, her thighs clenching together as she takes it. 

"My god, nobody has an ass like this, Shin Yuna. Nobody. Especially now with all these pretty little marks, and those noises you make when I spank you, I could listen to those all fucking day."

You put the belt down and stroke over the red welts from where you may have gone just a little too far, not that Yuna would ever object. She glances back over her shoulder with the biggest smile, even through the tears staining her cheeks.

"That’s as much as you deserve, you desperate little slut.” 

Up her body you wander, pulling her upright and stripping her of that small crop top so your hands have better access. Then straight into the clasp of her bra, cupping her tits once you’ve freed them, kneading with a little force the way you know Yuna loves. 

"I can handle so much more than this, I swear. I could take so much more," Yuna insists with another cute sniffle. The problem is, you know she can. All you have to do is glance between her thighs, and the mess on the tiles tells you enough. 

"I know you can," you breathe in her ear, hand trailing up around her throat until your fingers close tightly around it. Yuna lets out this short and sweet moan in your grasp when you apply more pressure. “But you got what you want. Now it’s my fucking turn.” 

Yuna drips at the thought. There's no sense in resisting her, no point in pretending this wasn't inevitable from the moment she had herself bent over with those tight fucking shorts. You'll give into everything she wants despite pretending to do the opposite. 

"What's that fucking word you keep calling me?" you ask her, the grip around her neck making her thighs clench even harder this time. "Go on."

"D-daddy. That's it. But you said never to—"

"Doesn't apply here. One time, this one time, use it. Use it while I'm shoving my cock in your needy little asshole, understand?"

"Yes—I fucking understand. Y-yes, daddy. Just this once."

A quick release of her throat so Yuna can turn her body in your direction, the tears in those alluring eyes yet to dry up. Your free hand palms over her ass once again, getting a nice, possessive squeeze as a reward for everything she's endured already.

"My ass fucking hurts," she says, laughing it off between shaky breaths and the occasional sniffle. "G-god, this belt fucking hurt more than your hand ever could."

"Are you complaining or bragging?" you ask as your lips meet, hot breath against one another as her slender fingers grasp against the hem of your shirt, up and off within seconds so she can slide her fingers up and down your bare chest. 

"What do you think?" 

Your boxers come off last, not even hitting the ground before Yuna is stroking your stiff cock with this playful expression on her features. Then it's in her grip the entire time you walk her down the hallway and into the bedroom. As expected, she can't keep her hands off of you for more than a second, right up to when the bed frame hits the back of her knees and the only option is falling back onto the mattress.

"God, Yuna, the things I'm going to do to you—the ways I'll ruin you." With her legs spread wide, and thighs glistening with arousal, you get to indulge in the view while Yuna plays with her clit in lazy, drawn-out circles.

“Need you in my ass, daddy—need it now. Isn't that clear?" Oh, how unexpected that she’s going to abuse the permission of that one single word. 

"I can assure you the feeling is mutual," you insist, and join her on the edge of the mattress, taking her hips and flipping her over until she's lying right on her stomach with that sore, marked ass up on display, raised up off the mattress.

She props herself up on her elbows so she’s in position, right in the center of the bed. The sight is perfection—this shameless, insatiable fucktoy, sprawled across your bed with her legs parted, knees sunk into the bed, ready and waiting for you. 

Just as she opens her mouth to say something, you bury your face into those pillowy cheeks, the tip of your tongue swirling against her tight fucking asshole.

"F-fuuuck, it's been so long since I've had your tongue in my ass, daddy," Yuna moans, your spit lubricating her puckered hole all over, the softness of her cheeks pressing deep against your face as she tries to grind back. You shove your tongue deeper, tasting, savoring everything—eating her ass like it's the only reason you let her stay here tonight. The reason why you even opened the front door.

There's nothing better than the unfiltered moans while you plunge your tongue deep into the depths of her asshole, face first against it and greedy, spreading her wide apart while you slip in, those cries of pleasure getting higher. 

You taste—no, you devour her, tongue exploring, thrusting in and out of that tight little ring that clenches around each swipe. This delicious tongue-fuck that gets better the more desperate Yuna sounds, writhing around your sheets and pushing back, all in hopes to keep your mouth where it belongs. 

"This ass belongs to me," you remind her, a harsh slap on the still reddened flesh to make the pleasure even better. 

Yuna spreads her cheeks wider so you can plunge as deep as possible, so you can hear her delicious moans as your spit covers her glistening hole. One long, sloppy lick in and out, tongue so deep in her asshole that all she can do is whimper helplessly for more. 

"D-don't act like you didn't miss this," she says, still as cocky as ever through a breathless groan of satisfaction. Your tongue teases one last time, a thumb replacing it to press into the ring of muscle that's already relaxed, seeing how easy it is to sink into.

She’s more than ready, but you need one more taste before grabbing the lube so you can slide a wet digit right inside the puckered hole of Yuna's ass—fingering her the same way you've done countless times already. 

She's tight, of course, that’s a given, but even as a finger curls inside, this grip around your finger won’t begin to compare once your cock is in the same place. Two fingers is the limit, plunging them deep enough to stretch Yuna just enough so your cock will slide right in. "Only I get to fucking pound your asshole, yeah?"

"O-oh fuck, it's only you, daddy. Nobody else, nobody but you, I promise—your cock in my ass, right where it belongs. J-just you." 

Your fingers finally pop out, and instead the slick, swollen head of your cock is pushing into the tightest, most inviting hole—one long, deep thrust right up until the base, so her asshole can swallow every last inch in a single motion. 

Yuna clutches the sheets so tight, arching her back to push that ass up into the air. She's so tight that you can't even fathom it, this delicious clench around everything stuffed to the hilt—and there's nothing like this. Nobody gets this privilege, you believe. Nobody gets to indulge in the luxury of fucking Yuna's perfect, tight little asshole. Not a single person but you gets to make her moan quite this way. 

"Stop wasting time and fuck my ass. Pound me, p-please. Don't make me fucking beg." 

So much for savoring any of it. You sink your fingers right into her ridiculous hips, gripping her harder than usual to drag her backwards onto your cock. Hard enough to force this groan out of her—so needy and pathetic in the midst when your hips meet her bare ass. A brief moment to take it all in, before sliding almost entirely back and rocking forward with full force. 

"Oh my fucking god—my ass feels so full, shit—"

She's barely breathing between words, and you don't intend on helping her out in that regard at all when you're too busy staring at her red, tender cheeks, loving how they jiggle with every rock of your hips.

“Did you expect anything else?" you ask while giving her a good, harsh slap to that same spot where red is still clear as can be. With such a good view, it's impossible to do anything other than drive deep and begin pounding her mercilessly. "A pathetic fucking slut like you deserves nothing but a rough fuck. And that's what you're gonna get." 

Yuna does little but spew moans and throw her head back when your cock buries deep in her ass. This tightness never gets old, your hips on a mission to bury in her and hit all the places Yuna loves, enough to get her drooling all over your pillows. But her asshole—as snug, warm, and irresistible as it is, you can’t fathom how hard she squeezes every time you drill forward, showing no signs of restraint.

"S-so good," she lets out through short gasps, her face buried in the pillows and her teeth biting your sheets hard. “Love when you treat me like a fucking toy, daddy—"

"Yuna, that's exactly what you are," you tell her while you're so deep in her ass it's almost overwhelming. "So tight, I'll never stop pounding you, fuck. Tightest little hole I've ever fucked."

Yuna glances over her shoulder, while you get a good, tight grip on her hair and tug so she clenches harder, with every stroke balls fucking deep—as rough as you think she needs it. Even as the sound of your cock reaming her ass echoes throughout the entire room, nothing could possibly be enough. 

Your unrelenting, deep thrusts into Yuna's asshole cause the whole damn bed to creak from the violent force of your strokes, pulling her hair harder for that extra roughness she loves. 

No break, not the slightest pause until you absolutely have to—because you could do this all day and not grow tired of the way Yuna moans or how her cheeks bounce when you slam into them. Those cheeks that you get a tight handful of—palms full, and dig your fingers in for some leverage while your thrusts turn animalistic, barely in control at this point. 

But Yuna can take it, you can see it in that fucked out expression. The pleasure written all over her features while her mouth falls open as you show her no mercy—spreading her ass just so you can marvel at your cock hammering in and out, stretched out so wide around you.

"So good, g-god, so deep, love how deep your cock goes," Yuna can barely get out, like it takes all the energy out of her. You know you're not anywhere near wearing her out, not while watching your dick destroy her asshole.

"Not enough?" 

“N-not even fucking close. Give me all you've got, come on," she pleads for in this broken, muffled whine with her face shoved so far against your sheets she can barely breathe. 

Another deep thrust, enough force behind that slams the bed against the wall, loud enough to compete with the sound of her ass slapping against your hips. And when you draw back again, you grab her delicate little wrists, pulling her arms behind her back and using them as leverage—so Yuna can't do anything at all but let her asshole get wrecked.

"More, more—keep fucking pounding my tight ass, come on. D-don't stop, daddy. You know I'm fucking addicted to this fat cock," Yuna pleads so pathetically, immobile and helpless, taking whatever comes next with her arms hostage and your cock impaling her to the hilt.

Your hips do exactly that. Fucking her ass in quick strokes until all she does is cry out for you to destroy her, and then some. Yuna takes everything, the groans and yelps when you give no chance for recovery, the thrusts so deep and noises more depraved by the second. Her wrists pinned by the small of her back so she doesn't even have the chance of touching her swollen clit.

"That cock in my ass feels so fucking amazing. Oh my fucking god, fuck me, fuck my asshole as deep as possible."

When you yank her body back, your hands stay locked around her wrists with enough force for her to gasp. But you’re too busy pummeling her ass to even get a word out—too focused on that impossible tightness wrapped around your cock, the  perfect grip around every inch like it's trying to force you to cum.

"Better get used to this, slut. My cock is going to keep wrecking your tight little ass over and over again for the next two days. And maybe even longer if you really deserve it."

Her wrists go free, only for your hands to find her delicious hips again, slamming back in and using all the momentum to crash into Yuna as hard as your body can muster—until she's pinned flat onto your mattress, trapped right under you without a single break between the thrusts that hit at a different angle. 

With your legs spread on either side of her, your torso stays flat against her naked back, keeping your weight right down over her small frame. The bed shakes each time you enter the deepest parts of her ass, every single stroke her greedy hole swallows up and demands even more than you can possibly offer. 

"That's it, j-just like that. Just keep fucking my ass, love the way that you ruin it—"

"Yuna—" You bring a harsh smack down across her reddened, sore cheek to really punctuate each thrust. "You think I wouldn’t when your ass is squeezing my cock so fucking good?"

Every bit of movement between the two of you happens right where your skin is pressed against hers—sweat on her body indistinguishable from the sweat on yours. Hands around her hips so you can keep a nice, possessive grip while you relentlessly drive forward to pound her body into your mattress, no chance of lasting much longer now. Not with the way you're drilling her, no chance at all.

And yet, you can't tear your eyes away from how her ass looks getting pounded, bouncing every time your hips make contact with the reddened cheeks of her ass.

"If you fuck me any harder, you might actually break this bed," Yuna gasps out, laughter still coming to her lips despite how ruined and breathless she is. That sounds like a good option, if you can’t help it, no matter how rough you need to be with her. Yuna is beyond that—insatiable and incapable of getting satisfied for very long at all, the way most people would. 

But that doesn't mean you won't give your all for this performance. So you get back on your knees, getting each hand full of Yuna's plump ass, sinking your fingertips as much as humanly possible to watch your cock destroy this perfect girl. 

"Then I'll keep going, until we've destroyed my entire goddamn bedroom. That's how much I love pounding your ass."

She just giggles until a moan replaces it, lost in all these noises. You won't stop, not if your legs give out from exhaustion. Every hard and deep thrust has your eyes fixed upon where your hips meet those decadent cheeks. With Yuna face down on her stomach, there’s no better view to watch how well your cock stretches her hole open. 

"You're getting there, I can feel it," she taunts. You hate that you can’t even see her face, but you know she’s grinning. Smug little brat. "Go ahead, fill this tight, little asshole. Use it until you cum."

And she just gets you so riled up, that it's inevitable, as soon as those words leave Yuna's mouth. "I cannot believe I went this long without my cock inside you. When you say it out loud, it just sounds—"

"Crazy? Come on. I know it drove you crazy. The only time you're actually fucking happy is when this big dick is buried in my ass. Not just inside some random girl who's not me, or a warm mouth who's not mine."

God, do you hate when she's right. Hate it with every fiber of your being, but you don't even have time to think about anything else, because these soft cheeks you're palming so hard is the thing that's about to break you first. That same voice that you can't stand on most days, is what helps you unravel—what brings you to that delirious edge and drives your hips with full force for these last few deep thrusts that rattle the bed. 

You start to lose full control, snapping your hips a little too fast, once, twice—before finally bottoming out with her name on your lips and erupting deep inside her ass. It's unstoppable, filling her with your thick, messy release in each deep throb when your cock pumps Yuna full, her asshole accepting it with each final burst of tightness.

"There you go, fucking cum in my ass," Yuna moans out as those harsh clenches milk everything out of you. You ride that high for as long as possible, each furious thrust pumping your seed deep inside, each hammering her body into the mattress—again and again until your balls have nothing left. 

Even after then, your hips don’t cease, fucking the rest of your load deeper inside her tight, filled hole. You can already see your release trickling out, her ass stuffed too full and overflowing with your cum already. "F-fuck, there's so fucking much, it's so thick—oh my god, daddy came so much…” 

Yuna sighs out into the silence, while you're left holding those sore cheeks to catch your breath. Both of you struggling to recover. 

"That's like, several days worth of cum in your ass," you say, dragging your spent cock out of her to get a good look, holding her cheeks spread apart as it flows in a thick mess between her thighs. Your fingers slide right into that gaping, ruined asshole, pushing back whatever cum threatens to drip out.

"Jesus, Yuna. Look at how much is spilling out. Was worried I actually broke you there for a moment when you're this tight."

"Nope. Still perfect. And it's still not enough," Yuna says, insatiable as ever. Only then do you start to peel yourself off of her, her worn-out body a complete sweat-covered mess.

“Too bad. You fucking drained me dry, you greedy slut."

Yuna laughs, and when she rolls over on her back to face you, she's the image of perfection: hair matted all against her forehead with sweat, makeup a bit smeared, her lips and cheeks redder than usual—ruined but still absolutely stunning.

“Like you could ever run out. Not when I'm around…” 

Yuna shifts right in front of you until she's directly in front of your gaze and kneeling between your legs. She smiles up at you and her mouth gets right back on your throbbing, sensitive cockhead. Each obscene slurp makes it a little harder to convince yourself that she shouldn't be staying for the weekend, because you might not ever let her leave. While not a day goes by without you hating her guts, not a day goes by without wanting to pin her up against a wall and fuck her senseless.

Her mouth slides deep, cleaning off everything, and her lips, her tongue running against the slit, and the cute expression the whole time, god—this girl is going to be the death of you.

She drags her tongue in slow, gentle swipes around the head, sucking every single drop clean and looking for more. There's not a single bit of reluctance—her wet mouth eagerly cleaning up your shaft in long strokes. Then she slides both hands around your hips and shoves you back, knocking you off balance until you hit the mattress. Yuna doesn’t give you a second to recover, already between your legs again. 

Now you're the helpless one, that hot little mouth working to fit the entire thick length down her throat. You don't even care about the overstimulation, not with this view of Yuna bobbing her head, those lips sealed tight. 

"Fuck, you’re crazy—“ you let out, running fingers through her messy hair, while Yuna ignores you and devours your spent cock, balls deep down her throat until she gags the slightest bit.

"You love it, though. Because it means you’re gonna fuck me harder now.” 

Maybe you do regret ever opening the door for her and letting her inside your apartment to ruin her. Or maybe you're the one ruined instead. You're not entirely sure at this point. 

"You're gonna have to wait, not everything is at full capacity yet." Yuna cocks her head to the side, stopping her full strokes so she can crawl up and get comfortable on top of you, until you're face to face, inches apart. 

"Daddy got too worn out pounding my ass? Is that my fault?"

All you have the energy for is to brush away strands of her disheveled hair out of the way, so you can stare at her gorgeous face. "Yes. And you can stop calling me that. One time thing, remember?"

Yuna giggles. "No—one time won't be enough. You know I like saying it."

You can’t even hide the sigh that escapes. But you should have known better, you suppose, for letting the floodgates open and allowing her that one time. Now you'll never hear the end of it, and it's going to be rolling off her lips the next time she begs you to fuck her again.

"You'll never listen to anything I say ever, will you?"

You already know the answer to that. But you’ll still indulge in her lips, this unexpected soft kiss after all the roughness. After all the debauchery of tonight, it’s what you both need. 

"Definitely not," Yuna replies, eyes wide and bright. “You’re just gonna have to find a way to shut me up—daddy."

You hate that word with a passion, you'd hate it if you were to hear anyone else say it to you—but for some reason, hearing that coming from those pouty lips, you hate even more that you might grow to love it the same amount. "You get to stay the weekend, and not a minute longer. Got it?"

There's this knowing glint in her eyes, all too confident that you'll break and think otherwise. "Don't be so sure about that. After one more night, you'll be begging me to stay an entire month. Begging me."

A roll of your eyes, and a laugh that’s far too loud escapes, because in truth, she's most certainly right. It's this push and pull between wanting her far away and wanting her around more than ever.

"Yuna, don't push your fucking luck," you warn, the last remnants of trying to distract from the truth.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think? I've pushed far past my limit. Might as well just start moving my things here."

That's a step too far. You'll fuck her brains out as many times as she needs, you'll even allow her to sleep in your bed for as many nights as she wants. This is already too domestic for your liking, but the thought of her staying here without giving you a moment's break? You'd rather perish.

"Absolutely fucking not. Don't even joke about that, Yuna."

"I was kidding," she insists, playing with the locks of your hair, not bothered at all by the agony on your face. "I'm here to get dicked down, that's it. I don't need to take over your whole apartment just to make sure my asshole is stretched." 

"Jesus, Yuna. Why the fuck are you so—"

"Insatiable? Hot? Good at deepthroating you until you explode down my throat? Because it's fun to see you get so flustered, daddy." 

Another one slips past her lips. You're just going to have to live with it at this point, she's so obsessed getting a reaction out of you, and you make it so easy for her. "Fuck off, I do not get flustered. And you need to stop saying that."

"No fucking chance. I'm going to call you that every single time you pound me. I'm going to scream it while you shove my face into your pillows and fuck the shit out of me, while you fold me up and choke me, get me on my knees and gag me until I'm drooling—"

"Yuna, I am not fucking you for at least another hour. Maybe even two."

"That's fine. We don't have to fuck at all, because my ass still fucking hurts,” she says, letting out a noise somewhere near a giggle and a sigh all at once. “I'm going to feel those welts you left on me forever, that belt made my ass so fucking sore that I'm surprised I can even walk. Just thinking about it makes me fucking drip—“

"Could you be any bigger of a slut than you already are?" 

Yuna shakes her head, this soft smile as if your insults only spur her on, as they seem to do. "Never. Not even if I tried." 

[yuujispinkhair]

NERD!SUKUNA HEADCANONS - Part 1

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). College AU. 2k words 18+, fluff + smut (Sukuna has some dirty fantasies about Reader. The actual smut will be in Part 2). "Enemies" to friends to fuckbuddies to lovers. Reader is shy and struggles with her grades. Sukuna is a genius but bad at feelings ;) Minors don't interact. Divider @/.lacedolliee. Credit for the super sexy fanart of Nerdkuna goes to my sweet friend @winterrbluess. The pic was used with Winn's permission 🖤 You asked if someone could write a little something about your fave sexy nerd, and I couldn't resist ;) I hope you'll enjoy it!

Nerd!Sukuna, who looks like a bad boy but is actually at the top of all his classes and a huge nerd when it comes to his studies and his various interests. Very intelligent, passionate, and hardworking. Sukuna always wants to be the best in everything he does.

Nerd!Sukuna, who could be one of the most popular guys on the whole campus if he wanted to, with his good looks and impressive height and fit body. But he keeps everyone at arm's length, not giving a fuck about popularity and not wanting to get distracted from his academic success.

Nerd!Sukuna, who once beat up a football player who tried to make fun of Sukuna's passion for all things history-related, and ever since that day, no one dared to bother Sukuna again.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is arrogant and condescending and thinks (rightfully so) that no one is fit to hold a candle to him. He is constantly looking down on everyone around him and would rather spend his free time perfecting his skills and studies than doing something useless.

Nerd!Sukuna, who hates group projects and prefers to work alone because everyone else is just holding him up, and Sukuna has to control all of their steps to fix their mistakes.

Nerd!Sukuna, who rolls his eyes in annoyance when he gets paired up with you for an assignment. A shy little thing whose name he never heard before, which means you are definitely not playing in the same academic league as him.

Nerd!Sukuna, who towers over you with his backpack slung casually over his broad shoulders and his tattooed face cold and hard when he informs you that he expects you to work hard and not fuck up his grades, or he will make your life hell.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is fully convinced this will be a disaster when he sees you wring your hands nervously and promise him you will work your ass off for this assignment because you really need a good grade so you can pass.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is a control freak who plans everything ahead and, therefore, doesn't let you have a word on how often you meet or when or where. He doesn't like having people over at his place, but he invites you over anyway because his kitchen table is his favorite place to study.

Nerd!Sukuna, who fixes you with a stern look through his nerdy glasses as he shoves a huge stack of books across the table, informing you he expects you to read all the needed information, which he already marked for you with various color-coded sticky notes. "Because you probably don't even know what we need for this assignment."

Nerd!Sukuna, who is surprised by how thoroughly you work and by the questions you ask him, which let him know you aren't as dumb as he thought.

Nerd!Sukuna, who likes how you hang on his lips when he explains stuff to you, clearly impressed by his detailed knowledge. And maybe, just maybe, he intentionally lowers his voice a bit more, just to see you get all nervous when he is talking in such a husky way, almost as if he isn't explaining political intrigues in the Heian era to you but rather telling you what he wants to do to you in his bed.

Nerd!Sukuna, who finds devilish joy in seeing how flustered you get around him and how clearly intimidated you are by his tall and broad body and his tattoos and arrogant attitude.

Nerd!Sukuna, who has to admit (only to himself) that getting paired up with you isn't too bad because at least you give your best, and you are actually kind of cute. The kind of sweet, shy girl who usually doesn't cross paths with him.

Nerd!Sukuna, who catches himself watching you during study time in his kitchen or in the library. He tells himself he is just checking if you really do your work, but his gaze mostly lingers on your glossy lips, which wrap around your pen while you focus on something or on your nose, which looks super cute when you scrunch it up in confusion.

Nerd!Sukuna, who isn't one to brag because he thinks that is something for losers, but he can't help but mention casually some of the academic awards he already won just because he is getting addicted to the buzzing in his veins when he sees the way you gulp hard and get all shy and cute on him, muttering something about how you struggle to even stay in college.

Nerd!Sukuna, who usually loves to be a little sadist and make fun of people who have bad grades, but somehow, he can't bring himself to do that when it comes to you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who instead surprises himself by reaching out and ruffling your hair, telling you that he will help you with your studies.

Nerd!Sukuna, who forms a strange little companionship with you, almost looking forward to your meetings and even preparing an extra plate of snacks for you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who usually isn't someone people would refer to as nice, but who drops his arrogant and mocking attitude at least a little when he is in his kitchen with you and instead jokes around with you and feels his heart throb weirdly when you get his humor, and laugh about his even most sarcastic remarks.

Nerd!Sukuna, who likes it when you come out of your shell more and more, joining in on his playful teasing or telling him about your favorite books and shows.

Nerd!Sukuna, who accidentally overhears you telling your classmate that you don't have time to go to the coffeeshop with her because you are already meeting your friend Sukuna after class, which leaves Sukuna standing in the middle of the hallway for a whole thirty seconds, with his mouth hanging open, completely stunned and looking like a brainless idiot as his mind tries to wrap around the fact that you see him as your friend when Sukuna never had a friend before.

Nerd!Sukuna, who makes sure to bake your favorite muffins and prepare your favorite type of tea before you come over that afternoon, wordlessly showing you that he values your companionship, or friendship, as you called it, too.

Nerd!Sukuna, who feels a small smile tug at his usually smirking lips when he sees your big happy smile and hears your sweet "For me? Oh, thank you!" when you see the plate with muffins on your place at his kitchen table. And yes, he refers to it as your place, and the thought makes him feel strangely warm.

Nerd!Sukuna, who playfully teases you for your Hello Kitty pens and glittery pink notebooks, asking if you are in some "Little Princess Kindergarten Club" or something. Only for you to march up to him the next morning before class to press a Hello Kitty text marker set against his chest so he can join the club, too, causing Sukuna to sit in class with a stupid grin on his face for a whole hour.

Nerd!Sukuna, who likes how easy things feel with you. How he can put all his hard work into your assignment and also see you working hard on it, but also have this light-hearted, playful banter with you, making him realize how boring and dry his afternoons used to be before you became his assignment partner.

Nerd!Sukuna, who has to admit that you definitely aren't as bad of an assignment partner as he thought you would be. He even allows you to fill out a whole page all by yourself, which is the biggest compliment he can give you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who catches himself playfully flirting with you, smirking smugly when he catches you staring at him when he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "See something you like, princess? Aww, no need to be embarrassed. I know those glasses look sexy on me."

Nerd!Sukuna, who loves to tease you like that and who ducks just in time when you scream in embarrassment and throw a pen at him while looking so fucking cute that Sukuna just teases you even more.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is quite happy with how your assignment is going. Usually, he would do the whole presentation by himself because he trusts no one else to deliver it the way he wants to, but Sukuna knows how shy you are about talking in front of the class, and Sukuna wants to teach you how to lose that fear.

Nerd!Sukuna, who just smirks at you when you complain loudly, "I can't do that! I am so bad at presenting things. I get all nervous and flustered, and then I mess up. Please do it yourself, Sukuna! You are so much better at this!"

Nerd!Sukuna, who tells you, "If you always run away from everything that scares you, you will never make it in life. So, nope. You will do your part. But aren't you such a lucky girl that you have me as your teacher?"

Nerd!Sukuna, who makes you stand in front of his fridge and practice your presentation over and over again while Sukuna sits on the kitchen chair, long muscular legs spread, tattooed arms crossed in front of his broad chest, occasionally pushing his glasses up as he watches you with an amused expression on his tattooed face, providing a brutal but honest opinion and actually helpful advice.

Nerd!Sukuna, who isn't just an overly critical and perfectionist asshole, but also someone who gives praise when he thinks it is deserved. And you, his cute little assignment partner, really deserve it. Sukuna walks over to you, stopping in front of you with a broad grin, "You did really well, princess. I'm proud of you."

Nerd!Sukuna, who wonders why your pupils look so blown out all of a sudden when you tilt your head to look up at him, stuttering in a slightly breathless voice, "Th... thank you. You were a really good teacher."

Nerd!Sukuna, who laughs and pets your hair as he smirks at you, saying something about how he could teach you lots of other things, too. Not sure anymore whether he is still just teasing you or if he really means it in a sexual way.

Nerd!Sukuna, who realizes he has a little big problem when he starts noticing the way your tits get pushed up and almost spill out of your shirt when you press a stack of books against them. Or when he loses his thread because you decided to wear a sexy little skirt, and now Sukuna can't stop thinking about how cute it would look if you were bouncing on his cock while still wearing that little skirt. Or when you suck on your stupid Hello Kitty pen, and Sukuna can't help but imagine how those sweet glossy lips of yours would feel wrapped around his cock instead.

Nerd!Sukuna, who tries to suppress those thoughts though, not wanting to mess this assignment up.

Nerd!Sukuna, who feels like encountering a world boss in a computer game, when you have a breakdown at his kitchen table, the evening before your presentation, crying and sobbing because you are nervous and convinced you will fuck up. And suddenly, Sukuna finds himself comforting you, gently caressing your arms with his large hands while murmuring reassurance to you. "Hey, stop being a brat. I know you can do it. You learned from the best, after all, didn't you, princess? And you got me. Just look at me the whole time, ok? Nothing bad can happen when you just look at me."

Nerd!Sukuna, who is surprised by how protective he feels over you at that moment. You are sitting in front of him looking like a wet cat, with your eyes all red and swollen from crying and snot running out of your nose, but somehow you still look so fucking cute to him, and somehow you make him so much softer and less rational than he usually is.

Nerd!Sukuna, who sighs and growls, "Oh, just come here." sounding annoyed but contradicting it by pulling you into his strong arms and holding you until you feel ok again. Sukuna still complains that you got his shirt wet with your tears, but his words lack the bite.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is genuinely proud of how much you improved when he watches your part of the presentation the next day. He even catches himself smiling a real smile at you when he congratulates you after class.

Nerd!Sukuna, who experiences a strange fluttery feeling in his stomach when you smile back at him and put your small hand on his tattooed biceps, "Thank you, Sukuna. It was really nice working with you."

Nerd!Sukuna, who manages a "same," but then just stands before you, opening his mouth and closing it again, not knowing what else to say because there are too many thoughts racing through his mind, and all of them seem to be too honest. And you do the same, shuffling around shyly, looking at him with wide eyes, parting your lips, but no words come out. And so both of you just lift a hand in an awkward farewell gesture and leave on opposite sides of the hallway.

Nerd!Sukuna, who tries to tell himself he is glad that your assignment is over and he can work in solitude again but then ends up staring longingly at the empty chair at his kitchen table, where you used to sit those last few weeks.

Aww Sukuna, do you miss us? ;)

I AM VERY ATTRACTED TO HIM AAAHHHH please, Kuna, tell me more about history and physics and every other subject that there is!!! You are so sexy!! 😘😘

Winn's fanart of Nerdkuna made me swoon so much and fall in love with him, and I always picture him as being at the top of classes anyway, so I think it was really time to finally write about him living his best nerdy life.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the headcanons! I will post Part 2 in a few days 💗 Will Kuna find a way to get us back onto his kitchen chair?

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet!

Here is Part 2

[boneblushed]

You can hear it in the silence

synopsis: everyone in the Figure Eight is convinced you and your best friend Rafe Cameron belong together. In a bid to prove them wrong, you attempt to set each other up with someone else. (And fail miserably.)

wc: 14.1k

a/n: I love this dumb OOC Rafe so bad 🤗 hope you guys love him too, any and all feedback is much appreciated!

You aren’t sure why you say it, the words tumbling out of your mouth all erroneous. Plain dishonest in the name of being evasive.

From the perplexed look on Rafe’s face, you’re pretty sure he’s thinking the same.

Stupid, careless word vomit. You lied to your mother about having a boyfriend and then expected her to drop the subject without so much as a name.

In your defence, you were only doing it to get her off your back. She’d glimpsed Rafe Cameron in your room during your fortnightly FaceTime call, hunched over your desk in all his handsome, pixelated glory. (He was copying your accounting assignment as close to word for word as he possibly could. Asshole.)

Naturally, she’d ushered him over.

Infuriatingly, Rafe had obliged.

Even more naturally, she’d alluded to something boyfriend, something girlfriend, partners, lovers, whatever.

And so of course you’d said, unblinkingly, “Actually, no.”

To which she’d replied, “and why not?” Sounding a pathetic mix of devastated and indignant.

Probably, a normal person would have used this opportunity to explain that the two of you were just friends. Guys and girls could be that… right? Extremely platonic, totally boring friends.

You weren’t normal, though. Neither was Rafe Cameron.

No, you guys were exes.

Sort of exes. In second grade, you’d played at the significant other thing. Held hands for two weeks straight, ran around the playground together, shared arts and crafts memorabilia. Kissed each other on the cheek, once. Got bored of the relationship once the novelty of romance wore off.

Basically not exes. Definitely just friends, with shared custody of cheek kisses.

Not that it matters to your mom. Or to Rose. Or really, to anyone who lives in the Figure Eight.

For some strange reason, they all seem to think that your friendship is a cover for something more serious. Fate, or a concept similarly ridiculous.

You’re fucking sick of it.

Hence the reason you say, “because I’m seeing someone else,” when your mother questions you on why you and Rafe aren’t together.

She’s at a loss for words. You’re momentarily chagrined.

“Oh!” She exclaims after a beat, sending Rafe a doubtful glance. “And Rafe is…?”

“Seeing someone else too.” Shit. You aren’t sure why you said that either. “We both are. Uh… right Rafe?”

If Rafe looked perplexed before, there’s something worse than astonishment on his face now. Alarm. You’ve dug your own grave and managed to drag him into it with you.

“Right?” He says it like it’s a question. You grimace.

“That’s… great,” your mother replies slowly, sounding unconvinced. You’re losing her. You need to think fast if you want her to believe this farce.

“And you get to meet him… and her — them,” you add quickly. “Um… this summer. They’re coming to the Eight for a few. Isn’t that great?”

Rafe’s had enough now — you’ve damn near given him an aneurysm with this revelation. He throws his arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side, giving you a squeeze that says: shut the fuck up immediately.

Warm and firm, the rough lines of his palm like pumice, but there’s a gentleness to his touch that’s almost imperceptible.

“So fucking great!” He announces then, quick with his words lest you say more. “Shit — I mean… uh,” he balks, grinning sheepishly, “excuse my French Mrs Y/L/N. Just stoked that you’re going to meet my girl.”

Another rough squeeze, gentler still. Almost like you’re the ‘his girl’ he’s referencing. As if. “And blink’s guy. Obviously.”

Your mother raises her eyebrows. “You’ve met him?”

“Oh yeah. He’s great!” Rafe’s still grinning, a little pained now. “Anyway, we better go. We’ve got a shi—a lot left to go of this assignment. Nice talking to you!”

He uses his free hand to swipe the phone from your grasp and end the call, cutting off you and your mom’s farewell.

“Hey!” You frown at his haste, reaching for your phone again. “I wasn’t done with—”

“Yes you were,” Rafe interrupts, swivelling you around so you’re facing him fully. “You absolutely were fucking done.”

He has one hand on each shoulder now, your phone in his back pocket. You cross your arms over your chest and continue to frown at him, your irises dappled yellow by sunlight.

Rafe’s always thought your eyes are pretty — in a fact kind of way, totally platonic. He thinks your pretend boyfriend would probably agree with this sentiment, think the eye contact would make him lose it a little.

He glares at you, mean but soft. Like his touch. “Don’t look at me like that. The fuck was that about?”

You sigh. “I panicked, alright? Sue me.”

“Understatement of the century.”

“I just… I didn’t want her to start harping on about me and you,” you say, your crossed arms acquiescing a little.

“But why?” He adopts a sombre expression, hands moving up to cup your cheeks faux-tenderly. “We’re betrothed.”

You make a face, ducking out of his grasp. “Shut up. I’m serious.”

If Rafe focusses too hard, he’ll clock how soft your skin is. The thought flits away quick. He grins, watching you walk away and flop onto your bed in defeat.

“Why do you care so much?” He asks. “She can harp on about us all she wants, we both know that it’s complete bullshit.”

“Still,” you groan. “I’m fucking tired of it Cam. I want her off my back for good.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “So you invented a boyfriend?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, narrowing your eyes at him. “You went along with it.”

“Like I had a choice,” Rafe scoffs, walking up to your bed until he’s towering over you. He folds his arms over his chest, and you’re reminded of the fact that he’s like, super tall.

Annoyingly so, except for when he’s a pair of shoulders to climb onto at a gig. Or a windshield. A hoodie giver when he’s feeling particularly chivalrous (almost never).

“Regardless,” you say. “We’re in this together now.”

“Ha! Nice try.” He narrows his eyes in tandem. “You’re fixing this.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, blink. That’s why it’s you doing the fixing.”

“Rafe, c’mon,” you say then, looking pained. “You know I can’t do shit now. What’s said has been said. We need to follow through.”

“Dude, how the fuck are we going to find you a boyfriend on such short notice?” He reaches down to pinch your cheek, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “This is a face only a mother could love.”

That earns him a scowl. You push his hand away, scrubbing the skin he squeezed exasperatedly. “We need to find you a girlfriend too, remember?”

It’s a weird angle, you below and him above. He pivots to the thought of other girls instead of this.

“I’ve got plenty of those.”

“You’re awful,” you say, making a face.

“I am,” he agrees, grinning roguishly. “They love it.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Enough to come all the way to the Banks over summer?”

Rafe hesitates. “Maybe.”

“Liar,” you say. The timbre of his voice gets rougher when he’s bluffing. “They’d never miss a Malibu summer. Not even for Phi Delt’s chief exec.”

“Why not? The Eight’s pretty lit over summer.” He sinks down on the bed beside you, placing his hands behind his head. “Dalt and Heath are coming for a bit, and I think I could convince Adi to as well. And they’re all like… fucking Beverly Hills royalty or some shit.”

“Wait a minute…” you pause, an idea dawning on you, “they are?”

“Oh yeah, they’re fucking pumped. We’re going to —” he falters at the look on your face, frowning bemusedly, “what?”

“Dude.” Your eyes widen, a triumphant smile on your lips. “That’s perfect.”

Pretty eyes, as previously mentioned. Though his frown acquiescing a little, the questioning look on his face endures them. “What’s perfect?”

You turn so you’re on your stomach now, head propped up on your elbows. Your forearms are pressed against Rafe’s side, legs dangling over the side of your bed.

“Tell me, Cam,” you begin seriously. “Any of your boys got a thing for me?”

Rafe cocks his head toward you, raising his eyebrows. “What do you think, blink?”

You frown. “Um. Is that your rude way of saying no?”

“C’mon.” He sounds bewildered, which is odd. “You know they all do.”

Your cheeks warm, abashed. “Oh. Wait — really? Why haven’t any of them made a move then?”

“I didn’t think you wanted them to,” Rafe replies, an edge to his voice now. It undercuts his aforementioned bewilderment. “Didn’t realise frat boy was your type.”

“Guy that likes me is my type,” you say then. “Reciprocity is my type.”

Rafe scoffs. “Right. So ninety percent of the guys at UCal then. Got it.”

You think it’s a compliment, which is also odd. Like finding you attractive is this matter-of-fact thing Rafe’s well aware of.

You wonder whether he agrees with the sentiment. The skin where your forearms meet Rafe’s side heats traitorously.

“Very funny,” you deflect, rolling your eyes. “Moral of… one of the guys you’ve invited to the Banks over summer could be into me?”

All of them. Sometimes he thinks they’re trying to goad him with how often they bring it up. Not that he’d care if you went out with any of them — they’re good guys, textbook charmers, would treat you right if they knew you were into it. If they knew Rafe was critiquing them.

He’d be happy to see you with one of them, he thinks. His blink.

“Uh huh. So?”

“So,” you reply, grinning now. “I just like… get one of them to be my guy.” Rafe’s train of thought snags. Your guy? “We could even go on a date or two before summer break, so we’re legit seeing each other. Wouldn’t even be a lie anymore. It’s fucking genius — I’m a fucking genius.”

“Alright, yeah, that’s pretty good,” Rafe allows. “What about me though? Can’t exactly get one of them to be the girl I’m pretend dating.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Maybe you come out as gay this summer.”

“I’ve seen enough locker room dicks to know I’m definitely fucking straight.”

You let out a laugh, and it unfurls over Rafe like warm sunshine. He used to dislike the sound when he was younger, too loud, all brazen and unabashed. It represents different things now — you delighted, you happy, him being the root cause of both of these emotions.

This he likes.

“Fair enough,” you say, amused. “How about… alright, how about I invite some of my friends to the Banks too? I’m sure I can convince one of them to tolerate you.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “You have friends?”

You scowl, giving him a reproachful shove. He doesn’t budge, not even a little, just grins at you all roguish. Asshole.

“Very funny. I know you follow all of them on Instagram, Cam.”

Rafe nods solemnly, giving you a mock salute. “Loyal story liker, baby. Gotta maintain the Phi Delt rep, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve got all of them under your spell,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “You’ll have to take one on a date if this is going to stick, though. Think you can do that?”

“I date,” he replies, defensive.

“Giving sorority girls a tour of your frat is not a date.”

You’re only teasing really, Rafe’s one of the good ones. Sometimes, when you’re alone, he lets down his armour of insouciance and acts like a chivalrous fool. Makes things feel less platonic — you know, if you were that way inclined. If you were his pretend girlfriend, for example. You think she’d eat that sort of thing right up.

Rafe grins then. “It’s hardly a tour if we’re in my bedroom for the majority of it.”

“Okay, ew,” you cringe, making a face. “Gross. Moving on.”

“Don’t be jealous, blink,” Rafe teases, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “You know you’ll always be my number one girl.”

“Focus, Cam. That’s the problem.”

Neither of you deny it, you being his number one girl. Like it’s obvious. You know, in a just friends sort of way.

“Alright, alright, you’re right. Who’re you going to pick?”

The tips of your ears warm. “Um. I don’t know. I could really choose any of ‘em?”

Rafe nods, bewildered again, because you being abashed doesn’t make any sense. He almost says: even me if you wanted, to properly drill in the fact that you really could have anyone on this planet.

Good thing he catches himself at the very last minute, speaking nonsense about his best just friend in a romantic sense.

“Ah,” your elbows tire from holding your head up, so you let it flop onto Rafe’s chest, chin to t-shirt. His heart beats steadily. “Why don’t you choose for me?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “Me?”

“Uh-huh.” You pause, tilting your chin to him. “You know them better than I do, and you definitely know me better than I do, so who better?”

“True.” Rafe grins. “Alright, deal. I pick for you if you pick for me.”

You smile in tandem, nodding. He leans in then, the hard ridges of his abdomen tensing. “I’m a boob guy, by the way,” he adds conspiratorially. “Keep that in mind when you’re picking a worthy suitor.”

You make a face like you’re going to retch. “I won’t.”

“Good thing all your friends have default massive racks.”

“Rafe.”

“Speaking truth, blink. Anyway — once we’ve picked, how do we play it?"

“Double date this Friday? We bring our picks to that new Asian fusion place on the edge of campus?”

Rafe doesn’t think a double date is a good idea. It’ll probably ruin the mood, having you bear witness to all of his God awful flirting.

Or him yours, now that he’s on the subject. Whichever brother he picks too, all their moves the same as his, charming but terribly predictable. Their rough hands on you, your bare skin on display.

No, not a good idea at all.

“Hm.” He pauses. “Nah. How about we all meet in between lectures on Friday afternoon? We can plan our dates then. Better alone than double, don’t you think?”

You begin to raise your eyebrows, acquiesce when you deep it a little. Rafe, you, the beautiful friend you choose, him not acting like your him all evening.

Bad idea. You nod your agreement. “Okay, yeah. Deal.”

Rafe holds out his hand for a fist bump. There’s something oddly sacred about the touch of your knuckles when you meet it with yours.

—

Rafe chooses exactly who you think he’ll choose: Aditya ‘Adi’ Patel of Patel & Co law firm fame, the only guy you know who openly studies for A grades.

He’s bring home to your mother sweet, his dark hair always windswept and his eyes the colour of thick molasses. The sensible choice.

And though you want to believe you aren’t as predictable as he is, you pick his date the same way he picked yours — finding a mirror of his outward persona, not the inner one you know. Reciprocally, platonically.

Phoebe, your darling roommate and friend, is frat guy bait disguised as a 5’5 brunette. The kind of girl you’d see at the airport once and think about for months. Unforgettable.

When you and Phoebe meet Rafe and Adi on Friday afternoon, you fail to mention how reluctantly Phoebe agreed to it all. Adi’s hesitation isn’t disclosed either. The pair of them seem not to think this is such a great idea.

Which is weird, because Phoebe’s as perfect for Rafe as Adi is for you — romantically, the way it matters.

All you guys need to do is prove it.

Rafe and Adi stand in the shade of a viridescent birch tree, freshly mown grass underfoot. The latter wears a stylish crew neck and Ralph Lauren shorts, an easy grin on his face and a Rolex glinting on his wrist. He looks cuter than he usually does, like he’s trying to impress, and you feel your cheeks warm as this revelation washes over you.

The former does too, though that’s no longer your job to notice. Rafe’s taller than Adi by a noticeable inch, the dappled sun painting his dirty-blonde hair a lighter golden.

Also not your job to notice.

Rafe’s noticing things too, like the fact that there’s something iridescent—highlighter?—making your cheekbones shine. That’s new. The shorts you’re wearing are new too, he’s guesses they’re Phoebe’s by the way they fit. You know… well. His gaze moves from Phoebe’s bare legs to yours, equally exposed but somehow far worse. Rafe’s gaze snags.

Very new. Thank fuck you decided against that double date you’d originally proposed.

“Phoebe,” Rafe says, all charisma as he accentuates his Southern drawl. You try not to smile. He’s told you way too many times how adorable girls find his Carolina accent. “Boy am I glad you see you.”

As he leans in to hug her, you hear him whisper, “I was praying it would be you, by the way. Gotta start believing in the big G now.”

Your heart flounders a little at how smooth he is, even if the amused part of you almost lets that aforementioned smile break through. It’s Adi’s voice that shifts your focus.

“Hello gorgeous,” he greets, pulling you into an equally cozy embrace.

“Hello,” you respond, a little breathless. Pet-names are new. Rafe thinks so too.

Your hugs break in tandem, Phoebe laughing at Rafe’s silly pick up line as she pulls away. It’s a melodic sound, far less annoying than yours.

Apparently, Rafe’s ribcage disagrees.

“Adi was pretty set on Malibu this summer, blink,” he says then, faux-solemn. “You being a million miles away was the only thing that convinced him to change his mind.”

Your cheeks warm. You still feel a little breathless. “Well I’m glad you’re coming,” you say to Adi. “The Banks is the best place to be over summer.”

“Yeah?” Adi grins, raising his eyebrows. “Will joining you in the OBX unlock the story behind your nickname, blink?”

It sounds weird coming out of his mouth, Rafe thinks. He realises then no one else calls you that but him.

He prefers it that way. Your bare legs snare Rafe’s traitorous gaze again.

You scrunch your nose up at Adi playfully. You’re fucking good, Rafe thinks, because that move is textbook adorable. “Depends how well dinner goes, I guess.”

“It’s all about location, baby,” Adi replies seriously, his dark brown eyes sparkling. “C’mon. Can I walk you to your next lecture while we decide where to go?”

“Anywhere but Lillian, yeah?” Rafe says then, sending Phoebe a meaningful look. “Wanna book that entire place out for me and Phoebs tonight.”

Phoebs. It’s so cozy your eyes staccato on his handsome features.

Blink’s cuter, right? Not that it really matters.

“Phoebs and I,” you correct.

Rafe makes a face. “You’re such a cock-block, y’know that?”

“Shoo,” you reply, ushering them in the opposite direction.

Rafe grins then, nudging your soft jaw with his knuckles before throwing his arm over Phoebe’s shoulders. His touch raises treacherous goosebumps in still air.

“Someone’s eager,” he teases, sending Adi a grave look over your head. “Don’t let her take advantage of you, Patel. She’s a fucking menace when she wants to be.”

You clasp Adi’s hand, using your other to flip Rafe off before turning. Where Adi’s thumb grazes your wrist, even more goosebumps bloom. Less treacherous. You let go of his hand so you can entwine your fingers in his more surely.

Once you’re out of earshot, Adi breaks the silence again.

“You guys are pretty close, huh?” He asks, the bones of his knuckles brushing the raw hem of your denim shorts.

You look up at him grimly. “Unfortunately.”

He laughs at your expression, shaking his head bemusedly. “C’mon. You don’t mean that.”

“Maybe not,” you allow. “Although sometimes, I wonder whether we’re almost too close.”

Adi nods in agreement, ducking his head until his lips are at the shell of your ear. “I wonder that too,” he murmurs lowly, his voice softening. “Whether this whole thing is overstepping.”

You shake your head quickly, looking up at him in earnest. “It’s not! I swear it isn’t. The fact that you even think that confirms my point.”

Adi cocks his head to one side questioningly. “And what would that be?”

“That we’re totally overkill. We’ve got everyone convinced that we have a thing for each other, and it’s scaring away the people we’re actually crushing on.”

Adi’s knuckles press skin this time, lower now, a surer pressure. “People like…?”

“Fishing for compliments is totally lame, by the way,” you tease, grinning up at him.

“Shit, noted,” Adi replies. “How about giving them?”

You smile gentler now. “I’ll allow it.”

“You’re really fucking pretty.” Now free from the shade of the yawning birch trees, the yellow sun mutes the dark brown of his irises. Burnt sienna. “I get why Rafe refused to give us your Instagram when we first met him.”

You balk. “He did what?”

Adi raises his eyebrows. “Uh… refused to give us your Instagram? Pretty sure it was Dalt who’d asked — he’d seen you guys walking to a class together I think. Was pretty stoked when he found out you weren’t like, his girlfriend or some shit.” He grins then, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “We all were, to be fair.”

Your skin warms, but you’re still balking, eyes unblinking. “But… why?”

“Shit… I don’t know. We all thought it was cause he was into you at first.”

“He isn’t, though,” you say quickly. Too quickly.

Adi pauses, surveying you. “Right. So I guess it’s because he didn’t want the douchebag mob to lay any hands.” He shrugs. “Like I said, I get it. I’d probably do the same if I had such a hot best friend.”

You turn to him then. “You would?”

“Uh huh. He was being protective.”

This makes your skin feel even hotter, as if that’s fucking possible. Protective Rafe who acknowledges the fact that you’re sort of attractive, platonic status notwithstanding.

“Weirdo,” you joke, deflecting hard. “You guys can’t actually be that bad.”

“You’d be surprised.” Adi’s timbre drops, faux-sombre. “Not me, though. It’s why Rafe’s letting me take you out.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Rafe is? Or I am?”

“Shit.” Adi grins, reproached. “I guess you are, huh.”

“Dunno, Adi. Don’t think you’ve even asked.”

“Shit,” he repeats, ducking his head sheepishly. “You’re right. Dinner at 7? What kind of food do you like eating?”

He flounders more than you think Rafe would, less debonair and more endearing. It’s sweet.

Unlike Rafe, who’s as confident as he is charismatic, who has a way of making the most ridiculous pick-up lines work. Not that he’d ever use one on you. Even if he does think you’re beautiful enough to protect.

“Anything, honestly. You know LA better than I do Mr 90210. Let’s go to one of your favourite spots.”

“Damn. That’s a lot of pressure.”

You grin. “You can handle it.”

Several feet away, Rafe’s arm slinks down Phoebe’s back until he’s circling her waist instead. The exposed waif of skin he finds here is soft, glowing in the sun. Like yours.

“You’re crazy, Rafe Cameron,” Phoebe announces, breaking the silence first.

Rafe glances down at her in surprise, balking. “I am?”

“You are.” She looks up at him in tandem, raising her eyebrows. “You’ve got this beautiful best friend who’d do almost anything for you, and you’re just like… going to let some other dude date her?”

Rafe probably shouldn’t have eaten those two cheeseburgers at lunch, because there’s this sensation in his stomach like heartburn but worse. There for a second before it’s gone, with the same permanence as the words coming out of Phoebe’s mouth. Anything for him.

To be fair, he’d do just about anything for you too. In a best friend kind of way, obviously.

“As opposed to…?”

“Dating her yourself.”

Fucking burgers. It’s that fake Kraft crap they use instead of real cheese.

He makes a face. “No way. Blink’s a handful. Besides, I don’t like her like that.”

Phoebe cocks her head to one side, surveying him with interest. “You really believe that, huh?”

“You don’t?” He replies, frowning.

“Absolutely not.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows at that, trying for a grin but landing on a grimace. “Shit. She was totally right about all this.”

Phoebe’s brow furrows in questioning. “Hm? Right about what?”

“Everyone being convinced by this bullshit concept of us liking each other for real.” He glances down at Phoebe faux-sombre, giving her bare waist a squeeze. “Alright Phoebs, this shit is business now, you being seriously hot aside. You’ve gotta let me take you on this date, yeah? Think of it as charity work or something. You making sure my street cred’s intact.”

Phoebe lets out a dulcet laugh, softer than yours. Rafe’s ego swells, gratified by her amusement.

His heart doesn’t budge, though.

“Your street cred?” She echos, still laughing. “And how exactly am I taking care of that?”

“By proving that Blink’s not a massive fucking cock-block.”

Phoebe scrunches her nose up, mildly chagrined. “She isn’t! It’s not her — it’s girl code.”

Rafe raises her eyebrows. “Girl code’s stopping you from going out with me?”

“Girl code’s stopping half her friends from going out with you,” Phoebe returns, her cheeks growing pink. “You know we all totally think she’s hit the jackpot, right?”

Rafe grins. “The jackpot, huh?” He releases her waist to throw his arm around her shoulder again, pulling her closer so she’s forced to look up at him. She’s frowning, mostly playful, the light streaming through the trees mottling her face in golden shadows.

She’s really pretty up close, all flawless skin and rosy cheeks, a Cupid’s bow that makes him think devastating things.

You have a Cupid’s bow too. And flawless skin that nine-year-old him has kissed.

He blinks. His grin’s faded a little and he fears it might be that awful heartburn he was suffering from a moment ago.

“I won’t be elaborating,” Phoebe declares.

“Not even if I bought you dinner?” Rafe returns.

“Rafe Cameron buying me dinner.” Phoebe shakes her head, bleak. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

Rafe’s fingers brush the exposed skin of her forearm, raising amaranthine goosebumps. “Fucking hell Phoebs, if I’d have known that some bullshit girl code was the only reason you hadn’t shown any interest in me, I would’ve asked you out a long time ago.”

Phoebe glances up at him, raising her eyebrows. “Who said anything about not showing any interest?”

Rafe lifts his in tandem, intrigued. “Like I said… flattery will get you everywhere.”

Phoebe rolls her eyes then, but there’s a smile on her face that juxtaposes her exasperation. “So maybe we like bringing up how hot you are often… you know, to fuck with Y/N’s head a little. And maybe it works like, really well. Maybe she’s so sick of the ab and bicep talk that she’s banned all mention of it in our apartment.”

“Ab and bicep talk, huh?” Rafe’s grin returns, cheek-achingly fond. “How come this is the first I’m hearing of this?”

“Because Cameron,” she says seriously, “it’s top secret information. She’d kill me if she knew I told you this.”

“Ah.” Rafe raises his eyebrows. “You have to go on a date with me now Durrant. Otherwise I’m definitely snitching.”

She groans, mostly teasing. “Shit. I do, don’t I?”

“Don’t worry, though. I’ll let you cop a feel of my biceps and my abdomen.”

“Oh to be so lucky,” Phoebe jokes.

“Seriously though,” Rafe says then, meeting her gaze with an easy, almost charming look of sincerity, “let me take you to Lillian tonight. I can pick you up at 7.30?”

Phoebe raises her eyebrows. “You’ll let me keep interrogating you about Y/N?”

Rafe makes a face. “If I have to.”

She breathes a laugh, slightly amused. “Alright, deal. Guess you want this more than I thought.”

“Just call me pussy whipped, yeah?”

“Charming, Rafe Cameron.”

Rafe gives her a wink, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “Blink would disagree.”

—

Your date with Adi is nice.

He’s as charming as he is endearingly gauche, with innocent hands and less chaste lips.

Your farewell kiss at the end of the night is textbook — all soft and fleeting, the promise of more ever-lingering.

So it’s weird when you realise your heart isn’t in it. You’re all giddy and breathless and yet it feels like you’re performing.

Nice. Just like Rafe’s date with Phoebe.

With her bringing you up as often as she did, it’s no wonder his thoughts kept straying to you and Adi.

Interrogating, but it’s his heart working overtime not his brain. Adi’s hand on your back, on your waist, his calloused fingers pressed to your soft skin. No longer untouched. Awfully chivalrous all night, definitely sweet, funny enough to be on the receiving end of your laugh.

And kiss you, probably. Cruel.

Not that he actually minds for real, he’s just doing that platonic protective thing again.

Besides, once Phoebe’s sick of lamenting you and Rafe, she begins leaning into his flirting and he begins enjoying himself a little. Thoughts of you endure though, like that double date plague the two of you were avoiding.

It doesn’t stop him kissing her. A nice feeling, sure with teeth-scraping pressure, the lust it awakens urging his roaming hands to search for more.

Not as tender as he predicts your kiss with Adi was. Tenderly is how he’d kiss you anyway, if it was him in Adi’s shoes.

“Did you tell him?” Rafe asks in lieu of a greeting, handing you an iced coffee and taking a sip of his own. Beads of condensation roll down the plastic cup ominously.

You frown, bemused. “Tell him what?”

“Why I call you blink, blink.”

The pair of you exit the café in tandem, walking onto the sunlight pavement. Dry leaves crunch underfoot, a blur of ochre and terracotta.

“Oh.” Your lips pucker around your straw when you taste your own, leaving a chaste sheen of gloss. Rafe’s never noticed it before today. His gaze has flickered to your mouth a perplexing amount. “Nah. Didn’t really come up.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “Didn’t come up, huh? What did come up then?”

“I don’t know, lots of things! We talked for ages.” You glance up at him then, smiling fondly. “He was sweet, Cam. Good choice.”

He was sweet? That’s all Rafe’s going to get?

He wants to ask exactly how sweet his friend was, whether he was saccharine enough to earn more than an embrace. Whether that shiny stuff on your lips left an imprint on his, whether the echo of his touch still lingers over your skin.

He wants to ask you whether you’re genuinely going through with this whole thing, but he knows this is unfair, it was his idea in the first place.

You and Adi in the Banks, visiting all your favourite spots as handsome tourist and cuter tour guide. Adi charming your family, meeting the old crowd from the Academy, buying you dinner at the Island Club and watching the sunset straight after.

Like you and Rafe always do. Fucking awful.

“How about you, though?” You ask then, breaking his train of thought. Hardly introspective, self-destruction in the name of being overprotective. “How was your date with Phoebs?”

Right, he has gorgeous Phoebe. It isn’t like he’s some sort of glorified third wheel, doomed to lie in the same grave he dug by suggesting this date thing.

You and Adi and him and Phoebe in the Banks, the pair of you playing tour guide, showing them the places you collectively favour. Together.

Better.

“Good,” Rafe replies, sending you a wink. “Think we did a little less talking than you guys did though.”

You make a face, trying for a jibe but landing closer to a grimace. This caffeine is making your heart race a little. “You’re welcome.”

“For setting me up with your hottest friend?” Rafe asks, nudging your arm with his. As you lift it to take another sip of coffee, the heat of his touch lingers. “Thank you blink, I owe you everything, including the bra she left in my —”

“Rafe,” you groan.

“Kidding.” Rafe grins, teasing. Golden sunlight reveals the specks of green in his blue irises. “Sounds like you’ve been gatekeeping her a while, huh?”

“Me?” You say, cheeks warming. You haven’t blinked in a bit and Rafe notices. “What about you dude? What’s up with the whole not letting your frat brothers follow me on Instagram?”

He balks. “Adi told you about that?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Told me they all thought you were into me because of it, too.”

If Rafe was hesitating before, he’s definitely buffering now. His poor heart flounders, troubled by the thought.

You’re nearing UCal business school now, the location of your afternoon lecture looming overhead.

He isn’t proud of what he says next.

“He’s fucking with you,” Rafe coughs out, taking another gulp of his coffee. “He just said it because he knew it’d piss me off.”

“Oh, yeah,” you reply. Unsure. “Sure.”

“Because he knows I’m not into you like that,” he continues, overcompensating hard now. “Would be pretty convenient if I was though, yeah?”

You splutter in surprise, full well choking on the mouthful of coffee you just attempted to swallow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shit. He was being sincere but perhaps that’s the problem. He looks down at you abashedly, his features rumpling into a grimace. “Uh, you know… we wouldn’t have to go to all this trouble to convince people that I wasn’t.”

You swallow. “What about me?”

“What about you?”

You’re avoiding eye contact when you ask, “How do I feel about you in this hypothetical?”

Rafe wants hypothetical you to be into him too, in a dangerously un-platonic way. He’s still looking down at you, taking inventory of the planes of your face. The smooth column of your throat, unblemished.

The mouth he’d kiss fondly, if this was all hypothetical and reciprocal and you weren’t just friends like you insist you are.

You and Rafe in the Banks, no Phoebe, no Adi, visiting the same haunts you’ve loved since you were kids. Rafe buying your mom flowers, playing golf with your father, making fun of you flailing when Wheeze manages to rope you into doing Tik Tok dances. You lounging on the same weathered sun deck his mother used to when he was younger, back when she’d supervise the hand-stand competitions you’d have in middle school.

Rafe blinks. He doesn’t know what the hell has gotten into him.

“The same as all your roommates, obviously,” he replies after a beat, grinning weakly.

You make a face. “Ew. So in this hypothetical, I’m totally pathetic. Noted.”

“So it’s true.” Rafe raises his eyebrows. “They’re all in love with me for real?”

You send him a playful glare. “I wouldn’t go that far, Cameron.”

“You’re right. Maybe it’s more lust than love, yeah? Because Phoebe did tell me something about my sexy fucking abs…”

This gets your attention. You glance up at him in surprise, looking equal parts pained and chagrined. “No she fucking didn’t.”

He knows he shouldn’t enjoy your embarrassment as much as he does, the way your eyes grow wide and your nose scrunches up.

It’s sort of adorable. He thinks he knows what Adi sees in you when your face is this sweet and abashed.

Amongst other times.

“Oh, she did,” Rafe returns, sending you a significant look. “Told me all about how talk of me is banned in your apartment.”

“For good reason,” you reply grimly.

“Cockblock,” Rafe teases.

“Hardly,” you scoff, making a face. “There are girls out there who don’t happen to room with me that’d hook up with you in a heartbeat.”

“And what if I want the girls that room with you, blink?” Rafe returns, nudging your shoulder jokingly. If his tongue faltered the same way his pulse did from the skin-on-skin, it might’ve skipped over “the girls that room with” bit and made a claim far more dangerous than this.

Even worse, you might’ve wanted him to. Your skin warms at the thought, and you send him a playful glare in retaliation. “You don’t, Cam,” you say. “You’d have to deal with me every time you came over.”

Rafe faux-grimaces. “Shit. You’re right.”

“Which means,” you continue, “now that you and Phoebe are dating, you’ll probably be seeing a lot more of me than you want to.”

In the beat that passes, Rafe thinks, no way. He isn’t sure there’s any amount of you that’ll ever be too much for him.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

“Tragic, blink. Guess all good things come at a price, huh?”

You glance up at him then, more curious than you should be. Almost wretched. This close, you can take inventory of every freckle that dapples his cheeks, trace the sharp line of his jaw even where the shadow of his stubble softens it.

He’d probably arrived to his date clean shaven, lest he mark Phoebe’s face when he kissed her. Smelling of something awful and woodsy probably, leaving his cologne where he touched her skin, where he embraced her.

You’ve held hands with your best friend Rafe Cameron before. Platonically. So you aren’t sure why the thought of his calloused fingers entwined in someone else’s is giving you a stomachache all of a sudden.

You try for nonchalance. “Your date went that well, huh?”

You fail miserably.

Rafe nods, almost thoughtful as he slurps down the deliquesced remains of his drink. “Way better than I initially thought it would.”

“How so?” You ask. The coffee you’re almost through with swirls uncomfortably in your stomach.

“Because it started kinda rough.” He looks down at you then, raising his eyebrows significantly. “Phoebe was fucking adamant we should be a thing. Didn’t know why the Hell I was taking her out instead of you.”

You balk. “She was?”

Rafe nods again, holding out his hand so he can discard of your plastic cup along with his own. Where his fingers brush your skin, unfamiliar goosebumps bloom.

Like they would have on Phoebe’s hands too, equally unblemished. Perhaps it’s the buzz of caffeine in your veins, but this revelation makes your pulse thrum a little faster.

Pathetic.

He says, “she was. Told her it was bullshit though, don’t worry.”

“Good.” You pause. It shouldn’t feel this awful agreeing with him. “Maybe she’ll believe it if it’s coming out of your mouth.”

“Maybe,” Rafe agrees. Another pause before he adds, “especially now that you’re seeing Adi, yeah?”

If it wasn’t him speaking, the same boy you’ve known since before puberty changed his Southern timbre, you might’ve missed the odd inflection in his voice as he says this.

Seeing Adi. As opposed to what? Seeing Rafe?

Reticence as you navigate the crowd gathered in the business school courtyard, thick as honey. As you ascend the steps leading to your lecture theatre, Rafe turns to you, brow furrowed in thought.

“You know what’d be good though?” He asks, pulling open the door. “If our next date was a double.”

As he ushers you in, you’re struck by the fact that his bicep is this awful, formidable shield of body heat and muscle. Your shoulder bumps it as you squeeze past him, expelling a traitorous jolt of static.

Pathetic.

You frown, bemused. “I thought we agreed that was a bad idea.”

“For a first date, yeah,” he replies, raising his eyebrows. “But now that we’ve got the ball rolling, it might be good for Adi and Phoebs to see how much we definitely aren’t into each other.”

“By going on a double date,” you echo, still skeptical.

“Exactly.” Rafe doesn’t really know where he’s going with this either. You’re wearing a new perfume, something floral and unfamiliar, and he’s dwelling on the fact that it’s probably for Adi’s benefit. It’s stuck to his bicep where the skin-on-skin stunned him, and he’s still trying to figure out why it’s making him feel so strange.

Bad strange, almost wretched. Like he wants to go on this double date to keep tabs, not prove your friendship status.

“Um.” You pause. “I mean… I guess that makes sense?”

Besides, it’ll be interesting to see just how enamoured Phoebe is with Rafe. And vice versa, more so vice versa.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

“It does,” Rafe agrees. “Next weekend, yeah?”

You nod, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth. The eye contact you share vacillates, and in the beat that passes, you’re sure you’re probably thinking the same thing.

That this is a bad idea, desperate as you are to see it through. That you’re totally fucking fucked, even if your traitorous heart doesn’t share the same sentiment that you do.

—

When Rafe’s red Ford ranger pulls up to your apartment, Adi hops out of the car to hold the door open for you.

Rafe stays idle, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, impatient. He hears your fond voice thank Adi, hears Phoebe do the same, and resists the urge to push down on the accelerator and rev the engine.

He thinks about all the times he’s picked you up over the years. Alone. Fresh-faced at fifteen driving his dad’s car on a learner’s permit, seventeen in his first car, nineteen in his second.

Twenty-one and sober when he drove yours home from Kelce’s birthday party, where you’d sworn you’d only have one but well overshot that number.

Where you’d called him cute whilst being cute yourself, all drunk and cross-eyed with shiny gloss on your lips.

Every summer since he’d got a car of his own, and never once has he offered to open the passenger’s side door for you.

It’s a dreadful revelation. He feels his throat burn like the belch of stale leftovers.

Except worse, because there’s something green and angry and wholly emotional about this. Something terrifying that he doesn’t think he’s ready to come to terms with.

“So you going to tell us what we’re doing tonight then Cameron?” You ask, getting into the backseat with Phoebe.

You’re wearing a blouse he hasn’t seen before with a heart-shaped necklace that he has, exposing kindling-like skin which makes his throat burn harder. And Phoebe looks gorgeous beside you, the way she always does, her brown hair styled in curls and her full lips a rosy pink.

That’s unfair. You always do too. It’s just that this fact is extra debilitating right now.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Rafe replies, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. He flicks on his blinker before pulling out onto the road, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the centre console.

His bicep in your direct line of vision, the entire length of tanned muscle bulging.

You narrow your eyes. “I hate surprises. You know I hate surprises.”

Rafe nods. “Exactly.”

“Don’t worry Y/N, Rafe said you���d love it,” Adi says then, grinning.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Sweet, näive Adi. He’s forgotten the importance of taking everything Rafe says with a grain of salt. “Are we going to mini golf?”

Adi balks at you through the rear-view mirror, bemused. “Wait. Shit. You don’t like mini golf?”

“I don’t like mini golf with Mr Island Club’s under par champion,” you correct grimly, glaring at Rafe.

“Under par champion?” Phoebe echoes, raising her eyebrows. “I’m almost impressed, Rafe.”

“Shit Phoebs, how do I get you the rest of the way there?” Rafe asks, grinning.

“Prove it tonight I guess.”

Rafe sends her a salute through the rear view mirror, faux-sincere. “Aye aye captain.”

Adi must notice that you still look fairly indignant, because he pipes up then, tender bordering on abashed.

“Don’t worry Y/N, he only planned half of the date,” he says. “The other half’s all me. We’re going to that restaurant in Wilshire you’ve been dying to try.”

Your frown acquiesces a smidge. “Wait… seriously? I don’t even remember telling you about that!”

“You didn’t.”

The look on your face melts into surprise, almost endeared. Rafe aches. “Then how did you…”

Adi raises his eyebrows, tapping the side of his nose conspiratorially. “I’ve got spies everywhere.”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” You ask then, turning your head toward Phoebe intently.

She raises her arms in surrender, shaking her head. “Wasn’t me, babe, looks like Adi’s got moves.” She sends him an approving look, her bright green eyes sparkling fondly. “Not bad Patel, now this I’m totally impressed with.”

Rafe’s ego takes less of a blow than his wretched heart does. “Oof,” he says, trying for a grin and landing closer to a grimace. “I’m wounded.”

Phoebe winks. “Thought man-eater was your type, Rafe Cameron.”

“Nah,” he returns, mirth returning to his features. “More like women so beautiful they can get away with fucking anything.”

“So Y/N then,” Adi says.

You smile bashfully, cheeks warming. “Okay cute, but definitely not Rafe’s type.”

Rafe disagrees — he thinks it’s pretty obvious that you’re his type. Not in a romantic sense, or anything, it’s just that he’s a straight guy that resides on Earth and he doesn’t think there’s any of those whose type you aren’t.

Not that he’s going to disclose that at a double date with your friend and his.

“No,” he accedes, lying through his teeth. “Blink’s way too Outer Banks for me.”

“Exactly,” you agree, raising your eyebrows significantly. “We’ve got to bring new people in before our shitty bloodlines destroy us.”

“Fucking hell,” Phoebe says then, amused. “You guys are doing a great job of selling this place as a holiday destination, y’know that?”

“Hey now, don’t judge the place by the people,” you admonish, nudging her shoulder with yours. “If it wasn’t for my overbearing parents, I probably would’ve picked a college in the Carolinas.”

You don’t tell them that it’s really Rafe’s family that catalysed the move, how his mother passed away and his relationship with his father subsequently disintegrated. You don’t tell them about the quiet abuse he endured, how it prompted him to apply for a university a six hour flight away. For you to follow him, no questions asked, because in what world would you have survived three years away from each other?

“We both would’ve,” Rafe agrees, his gaze hesitating on you before moving to Phoebe through the rear-view mirror. “Glad we didn’t though.”

Phoebe turns to you, smiling fondly. “I’m glad too.”

“For me, yeah?” Rafe asks, his momentarily stoic features softening into something playful.

Phoebe rolls her eyes, mostly affectionate. “Who else could I possibly be meaning?”

“Well I for one,” Adi declares then, faux-sombre, “am extremely grateful for you brother.” He glances at you over his shoulder, winking. “For having a friend as gorgeous as Y/N.”

Rafe makes a face. He’s trying for a jibe but his heart isn’t quite in it. Begrudgingly, he says, “I’ve got plenty of gorgeous friends.”

That I’m not this protective over, his mind privately adds.

“Me and the boys don’t count,” Adi replies, raising his eyebrows. “Besides, none of us tolerate you as much as she does. That shit takes superhuman strength, Cameron.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, sweet and unabashed. Not for Rafe. It makes his wretched heart feel awful. “Finally,” you say. “The recognition I deserve.”

“Hey hey, what about me?” Rafe asks, admonished. “We did grow up together, you know. If anything takes superhuman strength, it’s living through all of blink’s tragic phases.”

Adi meets your gaze through the rear-view mirror, his hazel eyes mirthful. “Phases plural? Please elaborate.”

You send Rafe a warning look. “Don’t you dare Cam.”

Rafe grins in response, a dangerously roguish expression on his face. “Don’t you think it’s time everyone heard what your first ever Instagram handle was?”

“Okay,” Phoebe says, leaning forward in anticipation, “now I’m interested.”

“Rafe.” You’re basically begging now. Pathetic. “C’mon. I’m serious.”

Rafe hesitates. He doesn’t think your eye contact has ever left him this debilitated, all wide and pleading with sunset speckling your pretty irises. “Alright, chill, a story for another day.” Another pause. “Besides, memory lane is probably easier to go down with some visual aids.”

You groan. Adi and Phoebe perk up, grinning playfully. “Stop,” the latter says. “Like baby photos?”

“Blink’s mom is a hoarder,” Rafe returns, nodding. “She’s got so fucking many photo albums filled with digis of us, it’s embarrassing.”

“Both of you?” Phoebe asks, meeting Rafe’s gaze. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like Ward Cameron’s much of a memory collector,” Rafe returns, suddenly diffident. He coughs. Your features soften on instinct. “Someone’s gotta keep track of us I guess.”

“Besides, my mom’s more than happy to do so,” you add, attempting to shift the focus away from Rafe. “Before she married my dad, she worked as a wedding photographer.”

“Shit, that’s pretty cool,” Adi says, smiling kindly. “I’ll have to get some tips off her this summer. I’ve always been pretty into that stuff too.”

You glance up at him in surprise, a little endeared. “Wait… really? I didn’t know frat boy prodigies could have creative interests.”

Rafe’s heart pulls, something terrible and envious threatening to rear its ugly head.

You’re lying, you do know that they can — it was your mom that gave Rafe his first camera as a young boy. This antiquated old thing with a scratched up Canon logo above the lens; it was your mom that told him he had a good eye, your mom that encouraged him to transform his pain into meaningful images.

He’s finding it difficult enough to share you with Adi, he isn’t sure he’ll be able to bear lending him his favourite hobby. Or your mom, basically his mom, especially after his own passed away.

It’s dreadful.

He turns into the mini golf carpark and pulls into the nearest spot, quick to turn off the ignition and unfasten his seat belt so he can be the first person out.

He’s going to hold the door open for Phoebe if it kills him.

And he’s quicker than Adi this time, making his chivalry difficult to ignore. Adi says, “you’d be surprised,” in response to your previous remark, but you’re too busy taking inventory of Rafe’s fond expression to register it at all.

Him and Phoebe are all sparkly eyed with tandem smiles, his hand taking hers and her figure proximal to his. Devastatingly proximal, almost skin-on-skin with this promise of more that makes your chest feel awful.

“Oh,” you breathe out. It doesn’t matter that Adi’s opened the door for you too. “Right, yeah. Clearly.”

“Alright,” Rafe declares then, throwing his arm around Phoebe’s shoulder. More awful now, cloying as it climbs to your throat. “We going to make this game of mini golf interesting or what?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Interesting how Cam?”

Adi falls into your step seamlessly, knuckles brushing yours a beat before he’s entwining your fingers. He squeezes your hand comfortingly, the rough ridges of his palm exerting a grounding pressure. Your shoulders relax a little.

“Well,” Rafe begins, turning his head to look at you over his shoulder. Faltering in surprise when his gaze drops to your interlocked fingers. “Uh… I don’t know. Loser pays for dinner?”

Phoebe frowns her disapproval. “Uh, no deal hot shot. If I have to pay for anything, I’m not counting this as a date.”

“Woah slow down, who said you’d be doing any paying?” Rafe returns playfully, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “Don’t worry Phoebs, I’ll make sure you aren’t the loser.”

“By being the loser yourself?” You ask, raising her eyebrows.

Rafe lifts his in tandem. “This coming from the girl who hasn’t made par in the history of the game.”

“Hey!” You defend, faux-admonished. “Every other time we’ve played I’ve been half cut on shitty beer.”

“So have I,” Rafe returns, grinning triumphantly. “Still manage to smoke everyone’s asses.”

“Not that it’s hard or anything. Kelce and Topper play more tragic than me, as if that’s fucking possible.”

Rafe lets out an appreciative laugh, his hold on Phoebe’s shoulders loosening a smidge. “Fuck, do you remember that time Top fell into the pond at Holey Moley?”

“Hard to forget,” you return, laughing in tandem. “Wasn’t that the night we took him out because we were sick of hearing him cry about John B and Sar?”

“Shit, it was! Back when Kelce was seeing that foreign exchange student… what was her name again?”

“Oh, um…” your hold on Adi’s hand acquiesces as you think on this, your brow furrowing in concentration. You don’t notice. Rafe’s arm has slipped down Phoebe’s back, lingering at her waist absent-mindedly before falling to his side again. He doesn’t notice. “F something…”

“Florence!” Rafe exclaims.

“Oh my god, yeah, Florence!” You reply. Adi and Phoebe share a look. The pair of you don’t notice. “Speaking of, did you see that hard launch he posted on his story? Since when does Kelce fucking Smith have a girlfriend?”

“Dude, fuck if I know, you know he’s always been so secretive about that stuff. Remember how long it took him to tell us him and Flor were a thing?”

Another amused laugh bubbles out of you, sweet and unabashed and all Rafe’s. His chest swells. “Until after she’d gone back to London,” you reply. “Classic Kelcey, huh?”

“So,” Adi interrupts then, sounding gauche. “This Kelce guy is one of your Outer Banks friends?”

You glance up at him in surprise; it’s as if you’d forgotten that he was there. That this was a double date with him and your gorgeous friend Phoebe, not just another Friday night hang-out with Rafe. The aftermath of this revelation is more sheepish than it is bashful, like a switch in your brain that reminds you that you’re supposed to be performing.

Double dreadful. You’re standing at the mini golf reception and you can’t even remember how you got here.

“Oh, yeah!” You reply, momentarily chagrined. “You’d like him Adi. He’s pre-law just like you.”

“Is he the hot one or the cute one?” Phoebe asks thoughtfully.

“Hot,” you reply without missing a beat. At Rafe’s raised eyebrows, you add, “not to me! They FaceTimed me the other day and Phoebs happened to get a glimpse of them.”

“Ah,” Rafe returns, and then he meets Phoebe’s gaze, looking comically grave. “Not as hot as me though, yeah?”

“Hotter,” she teases, smiling saccharine sweet. “Too bad they’re too polite to be my type.”

Rafe grins at this, sharing a knowing look with you. “Don’t know if that’s an adjective I’d use to describe Top and Kelce.”

You adopt a faux-bemused look, mirth hiding behind your expression. “Really? I don’t know. Remember that time Top politely told your dad to fuck off when he was wasted?”

Rafe cringes. “He’s lucky that the Ward Cameron didn’t press any charges.”

“Ha,” you scoff, “even if he had, it’s not like anything would’ve happened. Judge Thornton would’ve had that shit revoked within the hour.”

“C’mon, we can’t hate him too much for that. Remember when I got caught driving you guys around on my learner’s, and he managed to sweet-talk the cop out of confiscating my permit?”

Adi and Phoebe glance at each other awkwardly. They’re vying for a stake in this conversation and failing miserably.

Luckily for them, it’s in this moment that the receptionist beckons them over.

“Hey!” Adi greets in relief, springing into action. “Could we please grab four tickets?”

“Sure,” she replies, starting to ring it up. “Paying together or separately?”

“Together,” Adi and Rafe say in unison, just as you say “separately.”

You frown at the pair of them, shaking your head. “You guys can pay for dinner.”

“Loser pays for dinner,” Rafe corrects. “I’m paying for this.”

“You’re algood brother, I got it,” Adi insists, sliding his wallet out of his back pocket. “Besides, you’re going to be the loser that pays for dinner. The least I could do is cop this expense for you.”

Call it pride (even if it’s closer to something slightly possessive), but Rafe Cameron refuses to acquiesce on money matters. He has to pay, he always pays when it’s you and him.

Not that he particularly gives you a choice in the matter.

“Ha, very funny,” Rafe returns, activating the Apple Pay feature on his phone. “I’ve gotta pay Patel. If I don’t pay for this, I won’t have paid for anything tonight. It won’t even be like a real date. I’m paying.”

“Or,” you say then, sounding exasperated. “We could all pay for ourselves and not make a big deal out of this.”

The cashier lets out a beleaguered sigh, holding out the EFTPOS machine expectantly. “I assume you guys are on a double date? Why don’t the boys pay for their girls and we call it even?”

Rafe doesn’t like this idea either. The thought of Adi paying for you makes his heart drop to his stomach.

He knows this is kind of ridiculous. It’s why he’s forced to keep his mouth shut when the rest of you don’t share his sentiment.

“Very diplomatic,” Phoebe says approvingly. “I like it.”

Adi nods in agreement, tapping his card on the sensor once it’s ready for him. Rafe does the same, his lock screen displaying an old photo of you two before switching to his virtual credit card. His expression is almost unreadable — almost, perhaps to those who don’t know him very well.

To you, it’s clear as day. He’s resentful. It’s perplexing.

The emotion’s far too fleeting for you to comment on, melting into the same mixture of warmth and charisma you’re familiar with within a second. He grabs the equipment the cashier hands over, giving each of you a club with a charming grin on his face.

The yellow lights overhead speck his blue eyes with hints of aureate. As he smiles down at you, his ridiculous bone structure accentuated by the shadows they cast, you’re struck by the fact that your best friend Rafe Cameron is like… effortlessly handsome.

Double perplexing. You accept your club in a daze, missing the way his calloused palm lingers.

The rest of the night is similarly perplexing.

You and Rafe spend the first hole—which features an artificially azure pond—reminiscing over Topper’s aforementioned stumble.

At the fourth hole, he pulls a move that makes your traitorous stomach churn. When Phoebe hits it two under par, he lifts her up in triumph and twirls her figure around.

“That’s my girl!” He exclaims, the words tumbling out of his mouth all effortless. Holding her close with his strong muscles taut and looking like the absolute death of you.

“We’ll get them at the next one,” Adi murmurs comfortingly, ducking his head so his lips are at the shell of your ear. No sparks. He must think that your pained expression is a byproduct of your competitive spirit, not the surprise that jolts through you at hearing Phoebe is Rafe’s girl.

Not you. You could hold a mirror up to his resentment right about then.

It’s alright though, because diplomatic hole ten ensures you’re even.

When you struggle past par—and sure, perhaps more for Adi’s benefit than yours—it’s Rafe’s turn to feel his stomach pull despairingly.

“Here,” Adi says kindly, stepping toward you. “Mind if I…?”

When he embraces you from behind, chest to back with no regard for personal space, the crown of Rafe’s golf club forms a crater on the Astro turf.

At the tell-tale scrape of pressure, Phoebe glances down at the artificial grass, bemused. Adi’s rough hands find your waist and Rafe’s exert a punishing force on his handle.

“This is gonna sound like a line,” Adi murmurs, his deep timbre raising goosebumps on your neck, “but it really is all in the hips.”

He demonstrates by swinging them side to side gently, this effortless motion that makes Rafe’s heart flounder.

“Smooth Patel,” he calls weakly, trying for a jibe as if he isn’t attempting to throw him off.

Adi sends Rafe a pointed look just as you glance up at him, eyes widening in tandem. Unblinking. It makes him feel even more wretched, as if that’s fucking possible. Adi’s hands acquiesce on your waist so that they can fold over yours on the golf club handle. Arms and forearms touching, now.

No sparks. Maybe if Rafe knew this, he wouldn’t have left another dent in the Astro turf.

“So instead of pivoting with your wrists,” he continues, drawing your arms back with his, “you wanna pivot with your hips.”

When he brings the club down to take a hit, his chest presses closer to your back, emanating body heat and vetiver. He’s bigger than you, paradoxically strong as he is gentle.

Wearing a cologne you’re unfamiliar with. You’ve had Rafe’s woodsy cinnamon scent down packed since you were in high school together.

The golf ball rolls into hole ten easy. Rafe mistakes the triumphant smile on your face as a display of affection, hopelessly enamoured.

It fills him with this overwhelming urge to separate your figures now, to give his frat brother a baseless shiner, to replace his embrace with an even fonder one. He aches. You’re smiling an only-for-Adi smile that’s far from the platonic one he knows and he really aches.

“Hey,” Phoebe says then, breaking him out of his reverie. She’s staring at him with this funny look on her face that prickles uncomfortably up his neck. “Did you hear me Rafe? We’re heading to the next hole now.”

“Oh,” he replies, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Right, yeah.”

Phoebe cocks her head to one side, continuing to stare. Something knowing in her gaze that terrifies him. “You good?”

“Of course I am.” He grins weakly. “You’re just really fucking distracting, y’know that?”

A beat before she responds. She shakes her head soberly, turning to follow you and Adi to hole seven. “You’re a terrible liar, Rafe Cameron.”

By the time you’ve reached the last hole, both of you have already sworn to never do this again.

Privately. For less platonic reasons than previously mentioned.

You think your last straw was probably Rafe’s hole fifteen victory, when he asked his lucky charm Phoebe to give him a kiss before his final swing.

On the cheek, but still.

He’d wolf whistled approvingly when the ball had landed near the hole, beckoning her over to help him get it in in two.

“Me?” She’d asked, raising her eyebrows. Mostly skeptical; you think you’re the only one who registered the bashful lilt to her tone.

“You,” he’d returned, lifting his in tandem. Ducking his head when she neared, angling his sharp jaw forward. Accepting her kiss as if it wasn’t making your wretched heart flounder, and having the audacity to send you a wink when the ball rolled into the hole thereafter.

Payback, probably.

Because Rafe’s is earlier, when you comfort Adi for fucking up par at hole thirteen.

When Adi’s ball lands several meters short of its destination, Rafe lets out a delighted laugh, amusement evident on his features. He says, “Shit Patel. That’s gotta be a record.”

“Yeah yeah,” Adi mutters in response, slightly ruffled. “I’m just giving you guys a chance to win, alright?”

“My hero,” you tease, circling his figure to give him a reassuring squeeze. On your tip-toes, lips at the shell of his ear, you add, “don’t worry Adi. It’s a par four anyway.”

Awfully proximal, awfully liberal with your touch and disposition, as if that’s fucking allowed, as if Rafe’s supposed to be okay with it.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to make it through dinner. You’re now at the last hole and it’s getting closer and closer.

“Fuck yeah!” Phoebe exclaims, getting the final hole in three. She was the last one to go; the rest of you have already made hole eighteen. “That’s us done, right? Because I’m fucking starving.”

“That’s us done,” you echo, smiling feebly. More a grimace than anything particularly delighted.

“And if my calculations are correct…” Adi says, squinting down at the scorecard in his hand, “Phoebe’s the one paying for dinner.”

Phoebe gasps, faux-scandalised, sending Rafe a playful glare. “We had a deal, Cameron! What happened?”

Rafe grins. “What happened is I can’t stand anyone else paying for my girl. It’s on me Phoebs, don’t worry about it.”

Your heart drops again, that ‘my girl’ phrase feeling a dreadful weight in your ribcage.

You miss the fact that he didn’t specify who his girl was on purpose.

—

The restaurant is a bustle of energy when you arrive, soulful jazz undercut by the steady hum of conversation. Retro wall sconces bathe it in muted auburn light.

The four of you approach the front counter, where a pretty waitress is scrutinising the laptop screen in front of her. When she glances up to greet you, you don’t miss the way her eyes linger on Rafe’s features.

It draws forth a hunger pang. What you presume to be a hunger pang.

“Hello,” Adi begins, sending her a smile. “Reservation under Patel? Should be for 7pm.”

The waitress’ gaze drops to the screen again before she nods her approval. “Oh yes, four for 7pm,” she says, grabbing some menus and stepping out from behind the desk. “Follow me.”

She leads you to the back of the restaurant, where a candlelit table is tucked into one corner. The orange flame flickers ominously.

“Here we are,” she says, placing the menus down with a flourish. “Can I get you still or sparkling water to start?”

“Still,” Rafe says, just as Adi says, “Sparkling.”

The pair balk at each other, hesitating.

“Uh,” Rafe glances at you, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, “sorry brother, force of habit. Blink hates sparkling water.”

Your cheeks warm instinctively. “We both do.”

Rafe frowns. “I don’t.”

“Why don’t you ever ask for it when we’re out for dinner then?”

“Because you don’t like it,” Rafe replies, like it’s obvious. It makes your warm skin burn even hotter, as if that’s fucking possible.

“Oh.” You look from Adi to Rafe, momentarily bashful. Behind them, you see swear you see the waitress raise her eyebrows. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Rafe replies, shrugging matter-of-factly. He takes a seat and gestures for the rest of you to follow, turning back to the waitress and repeating, “Still would be great, yeah?”

You slide into the banquette seat beside Phoebe, still abashed, the vivid merlot upholstery complimenting the orange mood lighting. She’s wearing a tandem expression to the waitress. You try your best to avoid eye contact.

“So Y/N,” Adi says then, passing the menus around, “I assume you already know exactly what you’re ordering?”

You grin at him, once gauche now a little more fond. “Obviously.”

“Good,” he replies, placing his menu back down decisively. “You can order for me too, then.”

Rafe sends Adi a pitiful look, faux-sombre. “Rookie mistake Patel. Prepare to eat the weirdest combinations of food known to man.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “This coming from the guy who dips pickles into peanut butter.”

“No way!” Phoebe exclaims then, letting out an appreciative peal of laughter. “I’ve never met anyone else who enjoys that combination before.”

Rafe regards her with surprise, this awfully pleased smile on his face that makes you rue bringing up the connection in the first place. “Holy shit,” he returns, his Southern timbre like smooth molasses. “We really are a match-made in heaven, aren’t we?”

Soulmates. The regret cloys at your insides, lamenting.

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely only letting Y/N pick my meal,” Adi declares then, looking mildly disgusted by the pair of them. “You guys are fucking weird.”

You nod in agreement. “Thank you.”

Phoebe sends you a reproachful look, mostly teasing. “Alright hot shot. What exactly are you picking for us?”

Rafe responds before you can, the menu held up to eye-level as his thoughtful gaze pores over it. The emblazoned restaurant name stares down at you in mocking.

“Let me guess,” he starts, and then he pauses, contemplating, “edamame beans and vege tempura to start, obviously.” He looks at you over the menu’s edge, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “No comment.”

He grins roguishly. “That’s a yes. And…” he glances back down at the menu “uh, gotta be the rainbow roll and avocado roll, definitely no sashimi, and maybe… the teriyaki chicken?”

“You forgot drinks, genius.”

“Too fucking easy, you’re obviously going to get a yuzu sour.”

Your eyebrows lift in tandem, juxtaposing the amusement that softens your voice. “And you’re going to get a Coors light and eat none of the edamame. Is that supposed to be impressive Cam?”

“Guilty.” Rafe shrugs. Adi and Phoebe share another reluctant look. “Edamame is fucking nasty.”

The waitress chooses this moment to return to your table with a notepad. She glances at the four of you in turn before her pretty gaze stalls on your features, expectant.

“Um,” you falter, the tips of your ears warming in gauche abandonment. You turn to Adi and Phoebe, directing your next question to them. “You guys happy for me to order for us?”

Phoebe’s got a funny look on her face that makes your skin feel terribly see-through, bare to the bone save the Rafe-sized box of details in your ribcage. You swallow. “Yeah,” she nods after pause. “If you’re gonna order everything Rafe says you will, it sounds delicious.”

“Agreed,” Adi says.

“Okay.” You look back up at the waitress, who’s stolen a quick glimpse at oblivious Rafe beside her. Oblivious handsome Rafe. What you assume is another hunger pang sears through you like a bullet. “Um… we’ll grab the edamame and vege tempura to start if that’s okay.” A pause. “The rainbow and avocado rolls too, please. And, um… the agedashi tofu.”

Rafe sends you a look. “No teriyaki chicken?”

You shake your head, looking at the three of them in turn. “Not unless you guys want any?”

“But it’s your favourite,” Rafe says then, ignoring you. Like there’s no way he’d pass up a dish that you’re fond of.

Like there’s a you-sized box in his ribcage too.

“If it’s your favourite, we’ve gotta try it,” Adi declares, looking up at the waitress. “Can we grab that too please?”

She nods in response, jotting down the menu items. “Any drinks?”

“A Coors light and a Yuzu sour,” Rafe replies before you can, ordering for you. As if it’s you and him on this romantic rendezvous, not you and him on dates with two other people.

Just shy of platonic, almost chaste with his intentions. He glances between Phoebe and Adi as you balk, adding, “You guys know what drinks you’re getting?”

They share another secret look that you’re sure Rafe clocks too. You swear you catch his ears redden as his eyes dart to you, almost sheepish. Flecks of ochre juxtapose the bright blue of his irises.

He knows you’re pretty the same way he knows the Earth is a sphere, but he finds this fact extra debilitating when you’re sitting opposite Adi Patel. Not him. Flirting all saccharine sweet with his good friend Adi Patel, smiling with your eyes when you regard him, wearing shiny lipgloss for his benefit.

Not Rafe’s. It’s absolutely wretched.

“A negroni for me,” Phoebe replies, sending the waitress a smile.

“Coors light too, please,” Adi says. He has an unreadable expression on his face.

The remainder of the dinner proceeds in much the same fashion, progressively devolving into this awfully gauche nightmare. Every attempt you make at flirting begins to fall short for some reason, and you find yourself grappling for purchase on something familiar.

Something you know. Like Rafe.

He does the same, even if his teasing jibes land easier. He’s doing a winning job at courting Phoebe; it’s a shame her heart isn’t quite in it.

The four of you probably come to the same conclusion at different points in the night — that this double date thing was definitely a bad idea. That perhaps you don’t gel as well with each other as your hopeful minds once predicted.

Except you and Rafe. Obviously.

Phoebe and Adi aren’t shy to bring this up with the pair of you when the night is finally over.

After saying farewell to Adi and Rafe—no goodnight kisses, thank God—you and Phoebe walk to the front door of your apartment in awkward silence.

Phoebe breaks it first. “Well. That was interesting.”

You look over at her, pathetically hopeful. “Interesting fun?”

When she meets your gaze in turn, there’s an undercurrent of skepticism painting her green irises deeper verdant. Your stomach turns. “Interesting interesting.”

At your reticence, she raises her eyebrows, adding, “Interesting sort of weird, don’t you think?”

“Only because we’ve never done that before,” you defend, frowning. “We tend to stay out of each other’s love lives, alright?”

Phoebe guides her house key into the mortise lock, opening the front door. “I wonder why.”

The tone of her voice suggests she knows exactly why. Your cheeks warm. “Obviously because we’re grade A cockblocks to each other.”

Phoebe enters the apartment first, your figure following close behind her. At your response, she turns to face you, hands on her hips with an arch expression on her features. “I wonder why,” she repeats, eyebrows still raised.

“Phoebe…” you sigh. “Lesson learned, okay? No more double dates.”

“No more Rafe and me either,” Phoebe replies with a snort, shaking her head. “You can deny your own feelings all you want Y/N, but it’s pretty fucking obvious that guy is totally into you.”

You eyes widen, unblinking, your wretched pulse thrumming. “He isn’t,” you reply weakly, hardly convincing. “If he was, why would he set me up with his friend?”

“Why would you set him up with yours?”

“I…” the answer seems less obvious now than it did when you first devised this plan, “I guess I thought you guys would be cute together.”

Half true. You fail to mention how this whole thing was borne as a bid to get the Figure Eight off your back, because suddenly they seem less imposing than seeing Rafe with someone else. Romantically.

Selfishly, you think you might want him both ways. Familiarly platonic and now also a little less chaste.

It’s a terrifying revelation.

“D’you still think so Y/N?”

No. “Yes.”

She sends you a look. “Y/N.”

“He’s not into me Phoebe,” you return, hopelessly stubborn.

“He is,” she disagrees, crossing her arms across her chest. “He may not have known it before, but he sure as hell knows it now.”

She’s always been awfully perceptive; Rafe’s driving back to his frat now and his fists are tense against the steering wheel, troubled. He’s trying to find a way to tell Adi you’re his without saying it straight. He wishes his friend could just feel his cumbersome heart ache and just know it.

Good thing Adi’s pretty observant too.

Although is it that impressive when the pair of you make things so obviously un-platonic?

“You were right,” Adi announces suddenly, breaking the silence. “Blink and me really do make a good match.”

Rafe’s heart drops. “Yeah?”

Adi nods in response, hedging while continuing to sound painfully nonchalant. “No offense, but I kinda wish that was a solo date. The only reason I didn’t kiss her goodnight was because of you and Phoebe.”

Rafe thinks his heart is probably at his knees now, his ribcage empty. He forces himself to stretch out his fingers on the steering wheel, the tension in them beginning to hurt.

“Oh,” he says roughly. “Right, yeah. You think you gonna ask her out again?”

“I want to. She’ll probably say no though.”

“What?” Rafe frowns. “Why would she do that?”

“Because I’m pretty sure it’s you she wants, Cameron. Not me.”

Rafe falters, glancing at him in surprise. “Huh? No she doesn’t.”

Adi raises his eyebrows. “At the risk of getting us into a car crash, yes she does.”

“Fuck off,” Rafe scoffs weakly, feeling his poor pulse jolt. “Blink doesn’t like me like that. She’s the one who wanted us to set each other up with our friends.”

“Bro.” Adi’s tone is firm, almost determined. “The female race is a fucking mystery, what’s new? All I know is she’s as into you as you are into her.”

Rafe’s foot staccatos on the brake, bringing them to a jostling stop in front of a set of traffic lights. He coughs. His Adam’s apple bobs awkwardly in his throat. “I’m not into Blink.”

Lie. He doesn’t know who the fuck he’s kidding.

“Yeah?” Adi raises his eyebrows. “Cause I clocked the look on your face when I said I wanted to kiss her.”

“Do you actually want to kiss her?” Rafe asks slovenly.

“Of course I do, she’s fucking hot.” A pause. “It doesn’t matter, though. I know she’s off limits now.”

Rafe glances at him as the light turns green, accelerating forward hesitatingly.

He knows his friend is right. Because it’s dreadful, the highlight reel of Adi’s unwanted touches that’s playing in his brain right now, taunting him. He wouldn’t survive it if you and Adi were actually a thing, if you and anyone on planet Earth but him were a thing. Romantically.

You’re his earliest platonic memory and now he’s wondering whether you’re his earliest ardent memory too.

It’s a terrifying revelation.

“She… yeah. I guess she is.”

—

“You’re being weird,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes at Rafe over your laptop.

Rafe meets your gaze sheepishly, and you’re momentarily thrown. A beam of sunlight divides his handsome face in half, painting one eye brilliant teal while the other hides in shadow.

You haven’t seen much of him since your disastrous double date, and you attribute this to the stress of studying for finals. Two weeks later with three difficult exams under your belt, the pair of you finally organised to study for your last one together.

Which is weird, because you seldom fly solo during exam season. Last year, you’d spend all your time together at this library table, laptops touching with tandem tired eyes and concentration aging your features. Last year, you’d take turns buying each other sugary energy drinks, alternating your all-nighters between his frat house and your apartment.

So maybe it’s more than the stress of finals keeping you apart. Maybe being cognisant of your romantic feelings for each other is also wreaking havoc on the poor chambers of your hearts.

“No I’m not,” Rafe murmurs back, his voice deeper when it’s quiet.

“You are!” You exclaim-whisper, frowning at him. “You’ve barely looked up at me since you sat down.”

Rafe sighs; he knows you’re right. He just doesn’t know how to tell you there’s a good reason why.

He can’t just say that it’s because of the window of blinding sunlight behind you, that it’s because it creates this golden halo around your face as it silhouettes you. So beautiful it’s distracting. Feels like the understatement of the fucking century.

“Because we’re in a library Blink,” he lies, frowning back. His eyes drop to the shine of gloss coating your bottom lip. “C’mon. Let’s take a caffeine break.”

You falter. You, Rafe, coffee without a buffer, no physical Phoebe or Adi but the memories of your last conversations with them ever present .

Terrifying. You nod after pause, slowly closing your laptop. “Yeah. Okay.”

The two of you walk out of the library in tandem, awfully proximal, the tip of your shoulder brushing his upper arm intermittently. Shifting a very un-platonic jolt of static through your skin everytime it does.

Outside, the tepid warmth of summer unfurls over you. You join the footfall heading toward the plot of cafés at the fringe of campus, a cloudless blue sky stretching out overhead.

When you glance up at Rafe with earnest eyes, you find that he’s already looking down at you. Coffee seems less important now than it did a second ago. “So…” you ask tentatively, “what’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Rafe lies.

“C’mon, you can tell me. Did you bomb a final or something?”

Worse. “Way to believe in me Blink,” Rafe returns, looking somewhere between amused and exasperated.

You raise your arms in surrender. “I’m just thinking worst case here. What is it then?” You hesitate, the tips of your ears warming. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”

Rafe balks. If he thinks on this too hard, he’ll say yes.

Except is it wrong for you to have inadvertently forced him to come to terms with his romantic emotions?

“Shit.” Your eyes widen abashedly, and you groan. “I did do something, didn’t I?”

You take his arm and pull him onto the side of the pavement, lest the steady foot traffic snag either one of you away. This is serious now. You’re to blame for his gaucheness and you need to get to the bottom of it before it kills you.

“What is it?” Your hand acquiesces on his bicep, and the skin where your fingers were burns traitorously in their absence. “It’s the double date, isn’t it? I was a total cock block and you’re pissed at me for it?”

Rafe opens his mouth to disagree, but you refuse to be interrupted.

“Fuck,” you groan, your pretty features scrunching up. Sunlight dapples them golden and Rafe’s skin burns harder. “I knew it was a bad idea. Listen… I can totally make this right. Did you ask Phoebe out again or something? Did she say no?”

You look up at him expectantly, and he’s momentarily thrown by the eye contact. It takes him a second too long to recalibrate and you mistake his silence as confirmation.

You swallow nervously, your poor heart in your stomach. “Right, yeah, of course you asked her out. She’s beautiful, why wouldn’t you? She’s silly for saying no.”

“No,” Rafe interrupts then, “that’s not —”

But you’re not listening. “Don’t worry though, okay? I’m gonna make this happen for you. I’m going to get you another date, trust me, I just need to have a talk with her.”

“Blink —”

You’re rambling hard now, eyes wide, and Rafe feels helpless to it. He’s struck by the memory of the first time he addressed you by your nickname, at your fourth grade science fair when you were presenting an experiment.

Floundering through it, really, dreadfully anxious and unblinking.

It’s the first of your tells he learnt, and he’s ready to admit that he thinks it’s kind of cute. He’s watched your eyes grow with every callow crush you’ve had over the years, every nerve-racking presentation, every blunder and improvisation.

He’s pretty chuffed to be on the receiving end of it now, all things considered.

“I’m serious Cam, I’ll do it tonight. She’s into you, I swear she is, she just has this stupid idea in her head that you’re —”

It happens so fast, you’re momentarily caught off guard. One moment you’re shaking your head at the pavement and the next they’re cradled sweetly in Rafe’s large hands.

When he kisses you, it’s with a sense of urgency that leaves you breathless. His lips exert this devastatingly ardent pressure on yours that makes you think he’s wanted to do this for ages.

And he has, if he’s being really honest with himself. As you melt into the embrace, something in Rafe’s ribcage cracks. He feels the tender press of your body against his, firm on soft, and figures he’s probably incapable now of letting go.

And he tastes like this heady mix of peppermint toothpaste and the absolute death of you, his sloven hands on your skin like the peal of a siren song.

You don’t want to pull away from him at all. You think you could stand on this pavement and kiss him until your poor heart finally stops.

So it’s him that finally breaks away, more to marvel in the luxury of your closeness than anything particularly chaste. Your long eyelashes flutter open, and Rafe’s heart fucking aches.

“That I’m into you?” He murmurs roughly, his calloused thumb swiping across your cheek. “Yeah. Not so stupid.”

“Awful,” you reply softly, still breathless. “We aren’t supposed to be into each other.”

Rafe grins. “Yeah? So you’re into me too then, Blink?”

You make a face. “Apparently it’s obvious.”

“Not to me.”

“Not to you.” You glance up at him through your eyelashes, suddenly bashful. “How long?”

“Apparently forever,” Rafe returns, grinning sheepishly.

“Awful,” you repeat, mostly teasing now. “Does this mean your friends aren’t going to be coming to the Eight after all?”

“Of course they are!” His thumb continues to brush absent-minded circles on your cheek, and you lean into his touch instinctively. “Adi’s still pretty keen. Just… maybe don’t introduce him as your boyfriend, yeah?”

You grimace. Rafe thinks you’re adorable in a wholly un-platonic way. “Is he upset?”

“Not at all. He’s been trying to get me to tell you how I feel since our double date.”

“Seriously?” You ask then, smiling abashedly. “You know what Cam? Think we need to set him up with Phoebe. Because they totally think alike and she’s totally been doing the same to me too.”

Rafe grins in tandem, his tender heart soaring. “No way. That double date really was pretty shit, huh?”

“Needed though,” you murmur.

“Needed,” Rafe echoes.

“Awful,” you say again, the jibe bordering on fond now. “After all that, the Figure Eight still wins?”

“No way.” Rafe ducks his head to sear your lips in another heady kiss, the feel of his mouth on yours the delicious opposite of just friends. Wholeheartedly romantic. “If you’re into me, I’m the one who’s winning.”

[fortunxa]

THESIS: DEVOTION . . . (nsfw)

I Think, Therefore I Beg

# cw. sub-top!reader, power bottom!Jinx, oral (Jinx!receiving), thigh riding/humping (r!receiving), loser!reader, free-use!reader, degradation, taunting/teasing, dumbification, worshipping, r!passes out, fwb(?), smut with plot, college au, “aftercare”/soft Jinx moments. mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ

# wc. 2.4k + short bonus

Jinx has a type. not the loud ones, not the cool ones. no—she has a soft spot for the shy, brainy girls. the ones who can’t quite meet her eyes when she smirks at them, who flinch when her knee brushes theirs under the table, then apologize like it wasn’t the best part of their day. those are her favorites.

they’re easy to spot—blushing behind thick glasses, nervously fiddling with pens or sleeves, trying so hard not to look when she stretches just a little too far or speaks just a little too slowly, hearts already halfway in her hands before she even smiles.

she likes the way they react to her. one offhand comment laced with innuendo, and they short-circuit—eyes wide, throat tight, cheeks burning. it’s addictive. she likes watching them come undone and likes the way they try so hard to keep it together when she leans across the table, fingers brushing theirs. her voice is low and syrupy sweet as she asks them to “just explain that one little part again.”

she doesn’t need the help, of course. she’s smarter than most people on campus, probably smarter than some of the teachers, but that’s not the point. the point is watching those sweet girls fumble over their words, cheeks flushed, thighs pressed tight under the desk while she twirls a strand of their hair and hums like she’s thinking of something much more interesting than equations.

it fascinates her, watching how far they go to keep her attention, how easily they fold when she says please in that low, honeyed tone that turns yes into a reflex. she never has to lift a finger—unless it’s to trace lazy little circles on a thigh while they work, just to see how long they can keep their hands steady. sometimes, she murmurs praises into their neck, low and slow, and watches them squirm like she’s lighting them up from the inside out.

and the best part? those girls are givers, desperate to please. Jinx will bat her lashes, pout a little, and suddenly her assignments are done, her projects are perfect, and her inbox is full of carefully written notes with highlighted sections and color-coded tabs. all because they want to impress her. all because they want her to stay. chasing her approval like it’s the only grade that matters.

she likes what they can do for her—in every sense. those shy little things, trying so hard to be good, will do anything to keep her attention. and Jinx? she makes damn sure they never know if she actually means the things she says, or if she’s just playing with her food.

because when she crooks a finger or tilts her head with that wicked little smile, her nerdy girl of the month will come running—books in hand, heart pounding, already apologizing for being two minutes late. it’s adorable, really. the way she scrambles to impress, how she lights up when she so much as acknowledges her.

Jinx loves making smart girls stupid, and this time? you’re her victim.

it’s routine at this point—one that you follow like a well-oiled machine. she’ll stretch out across her bed, headphones in, humming to some glitchy beat while you fumble with her laptop, trying to perfect her assignment or fix her code. she’ll barely glance at the screen, just stroke your hair and murmur lazy praise when you get her formatting right.

and that praise? it’s currency. one “good girl”, and you’re glowing. one moan, soft and breathy, and you’re working harder, always hoping to be rewarded.

and she does reward you—when she feels like it. sometimes, she lets you put your mouth on her while she scrolls on her phone, legs thrown over your shoulders, only glancing down when you make a particularly pretty noise. other times, she makes you wait, just to watch your frustration bloom.

Jinx doesn’t care if you break. in fact, she wants you to. she wants you to shake and sweat and whimper from the effort of pleasing her. she expects nothing short of full devotion—and she always gets it. she only has to say, “be useful,” and you will do anything—begging, shaking, soaked through your cute little panties—just to hear her moan.

that was her favorite thing. how girls that smart can still fall apart for her. how all those degrees and good grades don’t mean shit when she has her legs spread and a hand in your hair, lazily pulling as she reads through the essay you wrote for her like it's a bedtime story.

and you love it. you love being used, love the challenge of keeping her satisfied. she edges you for hours while you beg into her thighs, and then she just grins, purring, “c’mon, baby. smart as you are, you still haven’t figured out how to make me come?”

you love every second of her ignoring you in public but curling into your lap in private. you love being ordered to type while she straddles your thigh, grinding slow and lazy while you try to keep your hands off. try to stay focused. try to be good.

so when your phone lights up with a succession of messages, you don’t hesitate to snatch it up.

jinx [9:47 PM]

hey brainiac

you’ve been so good lately, thought you deserved a treat

(it’s me. i’m the treat)

you’ve got like 10 mins before i start faking it with a pillow

that’s it. not even an emoji to soften the blow.

and it still hits you like a fucking spell.

your stomach drops, heat pooling between your legs so fast it makes you dizzy. your hand is shaking as you grab your keys, leaving your laptop open, the essay you’ve been outlining still blinking at the top of a google doc titled ‘DRAFT 3 - FINAL (for real this time).’

it’s ridiculous how fast your body responds to Jinx’s voice—even when it comes through a screen. your mouth is dry, your thighs already slick. every erratic step closer to her dorm feels like your brain is shutting down and your cunt is taking over, like your body knows exactly what it’s going there for.

you barely knock. just the softest brush of knuckles—more habit than necessity—before you push the door open with trembling fingers. and there’s Jinx, lit by nothing but her purple LED lights, sprawled out across the bed like temptation itself, waiting in a hoodie and thigh-high socks. she’s grinning like a spoiled dream, legs parted to display the lack of underwear, eyes half-lidded with the kind of smug boredom only someone worshipped too often can wear.

“there she is. my favorite little honor roll slut,” she greets, voice low and ruined like she’d been waiting with fingers between her folds for longer than she’d admit. “you look like you ran.”

you stand there in the doorway, chest rising too fast, sleeves bunched in your fists like you’re trying to hold yourself together.

you’re not doing a very good job.

Jinx tilts her head slightly, that slow, lazy grin tugging wider at her lips. “well?” she drawls, voice a husky thing wrapped in smoke and heat. “you gonna keep panting in the doorway, or are you gonna get on your knees and make the walk worth it?”

that does it.

you stumble forward like you’ve been yanked by a leash, the door clicking shut behind you. each step is half-mindless, guided more by want than will. she watches you crawl across the bed, eyes wide behind your glasses, lips already parted, trembling with the kind of reverence most people save for altars. because that’s what she is to you—something holy. something sharp and shining and above you.

Jinx doesn’t just fuck. she gets worshipped.

and now, there you are—her favorite little overachiever. so good. so smart. so utterly fucking wrecked already.

no words. no breath. just mouth on cunt—moaning as soon as your tongue meets slick, licking like you’ll die if you don’t get every drop. you lick up, then down, then in, sucking her clit into your mouth like you’re trying to memorize the shape of it, earning a groan as she throws her head back.

“god, you’re such a fucking sucker for this pussy,” she gasps. “i could probably get you to drop out if i let you live down there.”

she spreads her legs further and leans back like a goddess, licking the inside of her cheek while you work. your mouth is open, your jaw is shaking, and your cheeks are wet from something you can’t even name anymore by the time she comes for the third time. sweat, slick, tears, spit—it doesn’t matter.

“good girl. now do it again,” she simply whispers after coming back down from another high. “and maybe i’ll let you rub that filthy little cunt on my thigh.”

that’s all the motivation you need. glasses fogged and askew, fingers curled into her thighs like you need something to ground you while your mouth moves with the kind of desperation that doesn’t come from hunger—it comes from need, from obsession.

because that’s what you are. Jinx’s obsessed, overstimulated little genius, so smart on paper and so fucking dumb for her. the kind of girl who begs to be useful, who gets off on obedience, who’s already grinding her soaked little cunt against the bedsheets while sucking Jinx’s clit like her life depends on it.

she lets you struggle. lets you sob into her skin and tongue-fuck her like you’re starving. you’ve been there a while—maybe too long—trying so hard to make her come, again and again, needing to hear that low, lazy purr of approval. she doesn’t rush you. she doesn’t help you, either.

she just watches, calm and pretty, hips shifting just enough to guide the rhythm when you start losing it, jaw locking. Jinx knows just how long to keep you down there—long enough for your thighs to ache, long enough for your brain to fog over, long enough to make you forget yourself.

you lick her like you mean it—flat, deliberate strokes of your tongue from base to clit, slow enough to make her hips twitch, hard enough to make her throb.

and when she finally shatters again—soft and slow, spine arching, breath caught on a quiet gasp—you whimper like you’ve been blessed, collapsing after, face buried in her thigh, body twitching from the effort. she doesn’t say thank you. she just glances at you like you’re something cute and wipes a thumb across your soaked lips.

and you get lucky tonight—you worked for it, after all.

“c’mere,” she says softly, still coming down from it as she pats her thigh. “you’ve been so good. go ahead. rub that soaked little pussy on me.”

and you obey fast, clumsy, nearly falling off the bed in the rush to kick your panties off, knees red and sore as you straddle her, already apologizing under your breath for how wet you are before you even start moving. your hands grip Jinx’s shoulders for balance as you drag your swollen clit on muscle and skin and nothing else, grinding down in slow, stuttering rolls, making obscene little wet sounds.

and you must’ve done something really right, because she doesn’t push you off after you come for the first time that night. she doesn’t push you off after the second or third, either.

“uh—fuck—please—” you’ve been at it for what feels like hours, your rhythm messy and sloppy now, like you’re chasing something you can barely hold onto. you’re sweating, sobbing, leaving claw marks as you rut down, again and again, slick smearing across skin like you’re trying to fuse with her. all that intelligence and you’re just humping her thigh like a bitch in heat.

you’re dumb for it now. absolutely, irreparably stupid—babbling nonsense, half-words, desperate little gasps. you used to correct people’s grammar, now you can’t even form a sentence unless it starts with please and ends with Jinx, body jerking every few seconds like it can’t decide whether it wants more or less. it stopped being about pleasure a long time ago. you don’t even feel your cunt anymore—just heat, pressure, friction.

“you’re so fucking gone. riding me like the whole semester depends on it,” she taunts, voice low and full of delight. “what happened to all those big words, baby? what happened to my honors student?” a sound tears out of you—something between a sob and a moan—but you don’t answer.

your brain is fucked.

“you don’t know how to stop, do you?” she whispers. “so smart, and now you’re just… stuck. dumb little thing fucked herself into a loop.”

no answer.

and then—between one gasp and the next, between the frantic roll of your hips and the whimper that follows—it slips out:

“i love you—fuck—Jinx, i—”

soft. shattered. mindless.

Jinx hears it, but doesn’t say a thing. doesn’t stop you, doesn’t react. just sits back against the headboard, half-lidded, one hand on your waist as you keep fucking yourself into oblivion.

it’s not the first time someone says it, but this? this is different, because you don’t even know you said it. and somehow, that makes it worse. she’s not thinking about it, not really. just replaying the sound in her head—those three words, cracked and filthy, pulled from a mouth too wrecked to lie.

“c’mon, baby,” she finally whispers. “be my little dropout and come for me.”

your body jerks once, violently—hips slamming forward, clit catching just right—and you shatter, a silent scream falling from your mouth as your pussy pulses in waves you can’t ride anymore.

and then you collapse, right there in Jinx’s lap. she catches you before you can slump backward, arms looping around you just as your head drops to her shoulder, breath stuttering. she pulls back just enough to see your face—peaceful, lips parted, out cold.

out. cold.

she blinks—once, twice—then laughs, low and slow, rubbing a hand down your back as your soaked cunt still flutters against her thigh.

“holy shit,” she whispers breathlessly, grinning into your damp hair. “passed the fuck out on my thigh,” she murmurs, voice soft with something dangerously close to fondness. “guess we found your limit, huh?”

she doesn’t move for a while, simply watching you. blank-faced at first, expression unreadable. then, slowly and carefully, she reaches for the edge of the blanket and pulls it over your bare shoulders. not tucked in, not coddled. just… covered, like a quiet little claim.

she sits back against the wall, hoodie half-zipped, her thigh still damp, her breath finally starting to level out. normally, this is the part where she gets bored, where the affection fades, the attention drifts, and she starts thinking about who she’ll get her mouth on next month.

but then she looks at you again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face with a surprisingly soft touch. “might keep you around.” a pause. “might not even fuck it up.”

── .✦ BONUS (for the lover girls) ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

you’re curled up in Jinx’s bed, both of you warm and clean and full of leftover vending machine snacks. you’re drowning in her hoodie, hood up, sleeves over your hands, a granola bar only halfway eaten resting on your chest like you’ve been too exhausted to finish chewing while your thighs are still twitching every now and then like your body hadn’t figured out how to stop remembering the orgasms.

she reaches for a bag of chips, opening it with her teeth. “okay,” she says, shoving one in her mouth, “serious question.”

you groan, half-asleep. “if it’s about sex, i’m gonna cry.”

she grins around a crunch. “it’s always about sex.” she grabs her phone from the nightstand, opens notes, and starts typing. “you’re lucky,” she says. “you’ve been selected for an exclusive, post-orgasm academic assessment.”

“no,” you mumble, immediately dragging the covers over your face.

“too late. i’m the professor now. pop quiz, bitch.” Jinx peels them right back, uncovering you. “i call it—‘Am I Allowed to Fuck You Again Yet?’”

you can’t help but groan once more. she just pulls you a little closer, then clears her throat dramatically. “question one: can you walk?”

“no.”

“honest. good. bonus point.” she keeps typing. “question two: is your pussy still thinking about me?”

you cover your face with both hands. “Jinx—”

“is that a yes?”

a whimper. “unfortunately.”

she kisses your forehead as a reward. another chip, another line. “question three: are you emotionally prepared to be fucked into oblivion again right now if i promise to kiss your thighs after?”

“Jinx.”

“that’s not a no.”

“that’s a crime.”

“still not a no,” she whispers, grinning. “god, you’re acing this.”

you bury your face in her shoulder, half-laughing, half-mortified.

“question four,” Jinx says softly, suddenly quieter. “do you feel safe?”

the answer comes fast. certain. “yes.”

she looks at you for a long second. no teasing. just… that look. then she drops her phone, pulling you tighter, and whispers into your hair: “cool. then i’ll wait.”

she reaches back and grabs a half-empty water bottle off the nightstand, passing it to you gently. “bonus question: are you emotionally prepared to feed me a granola bar while i grind on your thigh for ten minutes like a perv?”

a deep, slow sigh. “…i will if you stop asking questions.”

Jinx’s eyes light up. “consent confirmed.”

the inspo (durrrrr):

[okaylikeschaewon]

Choices

~6k words, Dating Seraphs Part 10

“I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what?” Sakura yawned, rubbing her eyes.

“Kkura I’m fucking scared.”

She took one proper look at you and that was enough to let the drowsiness instantly fade from her face. The fact that it was the break of dawn and that she had just rolled out of bed a moment earlier seemingly no longer mattered. Shrugging her shoulders to protect herself from the cold, Sakura shut the door behind her and stepped out into the crisp morning air, pulling her robe tight around her body.

“What happened?” she asked softly, her beautiful, round eyes widened. Her expression was warm, despite the chilly morning air.

“What if she doesn’t take it well?” you asked, your breath catching in the cold and your teeth clattering.

“Let’s slow down for a second,” Sakura began shivering. “But first, can we go inside? It’s freezing out here.”

“Uh…”

“Oh, right,” Sakura frowned. “Car?”

“That works,” you agreed, turning around and leading Sakura towards where you parked.

Sakura got into the passenger seat as you turned on the car.

“Much better,” Sakura shivered, holding her hands up to the vents as you started blasting the heat. “Alright, now do you want to explain what you’re talking about?”

“I slept on it, like you said,” you began anxiously. “I can’t shake my head around… I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Sakura sighed, her eyes shimmering with compassion. Her gaze was soft and understanding, radiating a soothing energy that promised there would be no judgment on her end.

“You’re going to need to clarify who you’re talking about.”

“Sorry. It’s Zuha. I can’t get that girl out of my head. I swear ever since she confessed, I’ve felt something inside me that I just haven’t been able to shake.”

“Then I guess you have your answer.”

“Isn’t it fucked up though?” you raised your voice unintentionally, nearly shouting at the girl without even realizing it. “Sorry, I just mean like, for Chaewon, I feel awful. I still really love her, I think, but I think I also have feelings for Kazuha? I don’t know, nothing makes sense to me anymore, what am I supposed to do?”

“I’m not here to tell you what’s right and wrong,” Sakura replied calmly. “I love both of those girls with all of my heart.” 

“And I still have a lot of love for both of them.”

“But you can’t see both of them romantically,” Sakura smiled gently. “There’s no real nice way to put it, you have to pick one.”

“It just feels wrong,” you let out an exasperated sigh. “Why can’t I just have them both?”

“It’s one thing to sleep with both of them, but it’s another to have feelings for both,” Sakura chuckled. “Unfortunately, I don’t think it would be fair to either girl if you tried keeping both.”

It sucked to hear, even if for just a moment you tried to trick yourself into thinking it would be possible. “You’re right, I know, it just blows.”

“And I’m not telling you which one you should pick, that’s your decision,” Sakura continued. “Lucky you, by the way, in the grand scheme of things there are worse choices to be left with.”

“I know, I’m making my own life difficult.”

“I’m not saying it’s an easy choice.”

“But I have to make it.”

“Yeah, you do,” Sakura pursed her lips as her expression bled empathy. “They both really like you, more than you probably know.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

“My bad,” Sakura chuckled before her expression turned more serious. “If it makes you feel better, I know better than anyone that you’ll do right by Chaewon even if you decide to move onto Kazuha.”

Better than anyone. Something about that comment didn’t exactly sit right with you, and immediately you figured something was wrong.

“Sakura?” you gave her a look of confusion as you fixated on that one line.

“I’m fine,” her voice cracked as she quickly turned away from you to look out the passenger side window.

“I… are you…” your voice trailed off, and it was like there was a rock in your throat. All of a sudden you couldn’t speak, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You reached out for Sakura’s shoulder with your hand.

“I said I’m fine,” she repeated firmly, pulling her shoulder away from your touch, still staring out the window. “Just… give me a second, please.”

“Sure, let me know,” you leaned back slowly.

This couldn’t be much further from what you expected the conversation would be like. It all happened too fast, you were still trying to comprehend how it turned into this. You kept your gaze fixated on Sakura’s back, confused and worried about her, forgetting about your own dilemma for the moment.

She brought one of her hands up to her face, presumably wiping her eyes with the cuff of her robe, followed by a couple of silent sobs. Her body trembled just enough for you to notice, as if she was still outside in the cold, but the car was as warm as it could be. She let out one final sniffle, shrugging her shoulders as she took a deep breath and turned back to face you.

“Sorry about that,” she stated, her beautiful round eyes stained scarlet. “As I was saying-”

“Sakura,” you cut in, barely hearing your own voice over your thumping heart. “Are you okay?”

A shaky exhale escaped her lips as her brow furrowed. Her lip began to tremble, and her eyelids began blinking rapidly. She nodded, unable to find her voice.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Sakura laughed as a couple of tears flew down her face. “About how pathetic I am? How it takes one mention of our past to send me down a fucking rabbit hole all night?”

“What are you talking about? You’re not pathetic-”

“Aren’t I?” she shouted, her voice unstable and shaky, each syllable wavering and threatening collapse. “I bet you didn’t think about it at all after we stopped talking last night.”

“Of course I did,” you responded unconvincingly, fully aware that she knew you were lying.

“Yeah? Did you also spend all night looking at pictures? Pictures that I refused to delete? Even though I told myself I would?” Sakura snapped back. “That’s what I thought.”

It was tough to hear and you were admittedly at a loss for words, staring at Sakura as she was on the verge of fresh tears. It hurt so unbelievably bad to see her like this. You’ve known this girl for years and seeing her in this state was a rare occurrence, but it was so fucking difficult whenever it happened. You hated it. You hated every second of what was happening in this car.

“I’m fine,” Sakura choked, still struggling to get the words out. “Being reminded last night just really had me thinking about those days.”

“I’m sorry-”

“It took me a really long time to forgive you,” Sakura confessed, ignoring your apology. “Like, a really fucking long time.”

“I had no idea-”

“I once told Zuha I was going to murder you in your sleep.”

“Oh,” you raised your eyebrows. “Understandable, very reasonable.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Sakura scoffed. “What you did was… honestly it’s been long enough, I’m going to say it. What you did was fucked up.”

“Excuse me? We both agreed to end things when we ended them,” you finally found your voice and defended yourself. “How can you put all the blame on me like that?”

“You’re right, we both agreed,” Sakura retaliated with her voice full of rage. “I’m talking about the reason you gave and what you did right after.”

“You mean-”

“Yes you fucking asshole,” Sakura interjected. “Do you have any idea how much that hurt me? And it’s not like she knew a thing, I made sure to never tell her, because it wasn’t her fault, she didn’t deserve to have that in her mind.”

“I didn’t plan for things to happen the way they did, you know this. It just… things just happened the way they did, no one could have seen it coming.”

“I. Fucking. Know,” Sakura sighed with exasperation, frustratingly agreeing as if she knew she had no other option. “Of course I fucking know, I’m the one who basically…” she sighed deeper with heavy pent up frustration behind her before adding in a nearly-silent whisper. “But it still really hurt.”

“I’m really sorry Kkura, I-”

“Never thought about it? Had no idea? Why would you? You had a pretty girl obsessed with you while all I had was fucking nothing, nothing but the pleasure of watching you replace me in less than… however long it was. I don’t even give a fuck about that part, it’s just the reason you gave me.”

She was right, to a degree. It’s not that you hadn’t thought about it, but you clearly did not realize how much you put her through, or perhaps you were just too much of a dickhead to care. She deserved better, and it took you far too long to realize this, you hurt the girl who was there for you far more than you ever could have known.

“Kkura-”

“Alright, fine, maybe I did care about that part as well, maybe I felt like what we had wasn’t very special if you could replace me that quickly. I don’t know, but I could have overlooked it,” Sakura kept going, not letting you get a word in. “Really it’s probably my fault, I could have said no when you asked me that night, I could have just ignored your text, never set you up on that date.”

“That’s not fair at all, no one could have ever predicted that night to turn into what it did. Chaewon wasn’t even in the picture at that point. It wasn’t even supposed to be her, you know this, things just kinda fell into place after.”

“Obviously I do, I set it up,” Sakura snapped at you. “And we both know damn well how I don’t have it in me to ignore you like that, but I probably should have.”

“Sakura, I know I hurt you,” you began as you chose your next words carefully. “But you know my first date with Chaewon was before the announcement, right? I had no idea she was going to debut again, she didn’t tell me until way later.”

“Even if you knew, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but it still matters,” you replied softly. “The reason I gave you was genuine, and I don’t think I would have gone forward with Chaewon had I known about the group. You believe me, right?”

She paused for a moment to think about what you said. “Yeah, I do, and honestly I don’t really blame you, I know I don’t,” Sakura replied, her voice losing the anger and being replaced with a touch of dejection - one that stung much more than when she was yelling at you. “I get it, I saw the way you looked at her. It was clear as day you were madly in love with her, and you two were just so perfect together.”

“That must have made it even harder on you,” you muttered, your vision starting to blur. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Sakura replied bluntly. “How could I be upset? Chaewon was happier than I had ever seen her. I was happy for her. Of course I was. It’s not her fault.”

Words once again escaped your brain.

“As mad as I was, I was also secretly happy for you as well,” Sakura confessed with a smile stained with melancholy. “It may sound stupid, but even though we didn’t work out, deep down I still wanted to see you happy. Oh, who am I fucking kidding, it wasn’t that deep down. I wanted you to be happy, even when you hurt me. Pathetic as fuck, right?”

“And I also want to see you happy, does that make me pathetic too?” you replied, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. “I hope you know I really mean that, I’m not just saying that to make you feel better. And my reason wasn’t bullshit, I swear I really felt that way, I just wasn’t expecting that whole thing to unfold the way it did.”

“I know, I don’t think either of us expected it, I didn’t even know it was an option,” Sakura mumbled quietly under her breath. “I promise I never held it against Chaewon.”

“Just against me.”

“Only at the start,” Sakura laughed softly as the tears finally spilled. “You know how I said I know you’d do right by Chaewon? Yeah, as much as you hurt me, there’s a reason I didn’t actually murder you in your sleep.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know, but sometimes things happen,” Sakura smiled faintly, her eyes glistening as she fought the losing battle against the wave of emotion threatening to break through. “Seeing how happy you made Chaewon made it a lot easier for me to forgive you.”

Just like that, tears also began flowing down your face in a way you couldn’t control.

“That… wasn’t supposed to be…” Sakura stammered quickly.

“Sakura I’m so-” you choked up before finishing your thought.

“It’s okay,” Sakura whispered, leaning over and wrapping you up in her arms. “I promise it’s okay. I’m here with you.”

It took you a few moments - squeezing Sakura tenderly - before you were able to compose yourself again. You let go of her slowly and another wave of warmth shot through your body when you saw her face tear-soaked.

“It’s all behind us now,” Sakura said softly. “Just like I was able to forgive you, I’m confident Chaewon will, too.”

“Does that mean you think she’ll be mad at me?”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that,” Sakura quickly backtracked. “This situation is different.”

“Isn’t this one worse?” you asked nervously. “Fuck, Sakura I don’t know anymore, maybe this is all a mistake.”

“I don’t think you should doubt yourself, just listen to what your heart’s telling you. It’s also kinda too late to back out now, think about Zuha.”

“You really think so?”

“I don’t see a better option, but it’s definitely complicated,” Sakura replied nervously. “Just be thoughtful when it’s time to tell Chaewon, if you’re mean to her, maybe I will have to murder you in your sleep.”

“Then let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you half-smiled. “But let’s be honest, we both know I could never hurt that girl on purpose, ever.”

“You probably thought that about… actually let’s not go there again,” Sakura returned your smile half-heartedly. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

“I really hope you’re right.”

“Fingers crossed,” Sakura chuckled, wiping her face clean as she opened the door.

The two of you stepped into the brisk air once more. You walked around your car to Sakura who was waiting for you. Without speaking a single word, the two of you embraced in a tight hug, properly this time.

“Thank you,” you mumbled into her shoulder, the coldness of the morning being completely replaced by the warmth of Sakura’s hug.

“Good luck with everything, I’m always here for you if I can help with anything,” Sakura whispered back before letting go of you and shooting you a nervous glance. “When do you plan on talking to them?”

The talk with Sakura ended up creeping just a bit of doubt into your decision, but your mind was still set. You knew, as much as you didn’t want to do it, this conversation had to happen at some point soon because the longer you waited the worse it would become. With that in mind, you returned Sakura’s nervous expression with a look of determination.

“Right now.”

—

“Hey,” you whispered, peeking your head through the door to see if she was awake.

“Oh! I thought it was Kkura,” Kazuha blurted out as she looked up from her phone. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I came to see you, actually,” you answered while opening the door a bit more. “Mind if I come in?”

“Oh, uh, yeah of course,” she replied, sitting up in her bed and putting her phone aside. “Come, sit. What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Kazuha raised an eyebrow at you as if you were an idiot. “I pieced together that much,” she giggled softly. “Did you not sleep well? Your eyes are a bit red.”

“Oh no that’s just-”

“You don’t have pinkeye do you?” Kazuha leaned back away from you. “I really don’t want to wear an eye patch, not during promos.”

“No, Zuha, it’s not pinkeye,” you smiled meekly.

“Okay good!” she giggled again, leaning back in and cuddling up next to you before quickly pulling away in fear. “Uh, sorry, that was… I probably shouldn’t do stuff like that right now with the whole… sorry…”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” you scooted closer to her as her face turned a shade light pink. “Forget everything else for a moment, because things are a bit complicated, but just listen to me. I like you, Zuha. A lot.”

“Oh,” Kazuha blushed even harder. “T-Thank you? I also like you, a lot.”

“I want to make you my girlfriend.”

“What?” Kazuha began blinking rapidly as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “But what about-”

“I told you, please just for a moment forget everything else, we’ll figure that stuff out,” you cut her off. “Just tell me, would you like that?”

Kazuha pondered your words. Unknown to you, her heart was beating harder than it ever has before. “I… I would…” she muttered before smiling brightly at you with her eyes twinkling. “Yes, I would.”

Just like that, you knew you made the correct choice. The way she looked at you, the way you felt right now, everything was perfect. You wanted nothing more in life than this girl sitting next to you, that precious smile and those pure eyes. Your insides were burning up in a warmth of comfort and love that you didn’t know you felt towards this girl, all of a sudden it just came rushing in. That gnawing sensation you’ve had inside you ever since her confession, it finally made sense.

Unfortunately, the feeling only lasted for a fleeting moment before reality came crashing in and Chaewon popped into your mind again.

“What’s wrong?” Kazuha looked concerned as she immediately noticed your shift. She pulled you into her arms, just like Sakura did earlier. “I guess we need to address the elephant in the room.”

“How am I supposed to tell her?” you whispered, pulling away from Kazuha slowly. “I want this, I really do, but I don’t want to hurt Chaewon.”

“And I don’t either,” Kazuha agreed as worry filled her expression. “Should we talk to her together?”

“You think that’s better? It’s a bit of a unique situation, I don’t really know what to do.”

“I don’t either,” Kazuha smiled softly. “You’d be my first relationship, remember?”

“I guess we’ll be traversing some uncharted territory together,” you smiled back at her before leaning in.

Without thinking, you kissed her. As soon as your lips touched, you froze, regretting and realizing this probably wasn’t the right time - but then you felt Kazuha kiss back. You let her take control as she ended up on top of you, her lips pressed softly against yours.

“Zuha,” you whispered into her mouth.

“You asked me to forget everything else, just for a moment,” she whispered back before kissing you again. “Can we really forget it all, please?”

“You mean?”

“Yes,” she gasped as she sat up and began taking off her shorts. “Can we?”

Your mind went a bit hazy as you thought back to the other night. The memories of how good Kazuha felt flooded into your brain.

“Fuck it,” you also began lowering your pants before you flipped Kazuha onto her back and spread her legs.

“Is this wrong?” she asked, looking up at you with her hair framing her face as if she was some sort of angel laying there beneath you.

“Probably,” you shrugged as you pulled her underwear to the side. “We could stop, we don’t have to do this right now.”

“No!” her voice cracked, immediately followed by an intense red glow of her cheeks. “I just mean… uh…”

“Don’t explain, I understand,” you smiled down at her as you lined yourself up. “Whatever happens in this room this morning, it’s between us and only us, let’s agree to put everything else on pause, alright?”

“I’d like that,” Kazuha nodded at you before spreading her legs a bit wider. “Go slow?”

“Let me know,” you whispered back as you pressed yourself forward carefully. You leaned in close, slipped your hands under Kazuha’s body, and pressed your mouth to her neck, kissing it softly as she flexed her body. “Try to relax, if you can.”

“It’s really fucking tight,” Kazuha whispered, arching her back.

“Should I stop?”

Kazuha hesitated, taking a couple deep breaths before speaking. “No, not yet, just… just slowly…”

“Okay,” you moved up a bit and began lifting Kazuha’s shirt up.

She helped you take it off, exposing her perky tits, letting a sweet moan escape her lips as you pressed your mouth to her chest.

“Oh that’s nice,” she whispered as you started moving your hips. “Good, but still really tight.”

“Hold on,” you moved your hips back and pulled out. “How about we slow down even more?”

Kazuha bit her lip. “I’m sorry, for some reason I’m more nervous this time.”

“It’s okay,” you smiled reassuringly while bringing your fingers between her legs. With delicate and deliberate movements, you tried your best to ease her nerves, slowly pressing where she was most sensitive. “We can take our time, or we can try again another time, it’s up to you.”

“How about a different position?” Kazuha suggested as she pressed her fingers down on top of yours and pressed them down a bit harder. “But this feels nice.”

“Yeah? Should we just keep doing this?” you asked before leaning into her again and kissing her collarbone.

“This feels really nice,” Kazuha moaned softly as she pressed her fingers even harder, guiding your hand around her pussy.

Your fingers began sliding easier as time passed. The gentle sound of wetness, accompanied by Kazuha’s eyes shutting and her features softening, put you into a state of ease. It was working, and you didn’t want to stop. You had her entire body relaxing, you could almost see each and every fiber of Kazuha’s toned muscles relax.

She began moaning in a musical-like tone, one that screamed class and innocence with just a touch of naughty. It fit her so well, that pretty - unbelievably pretty - face. Even as she scrunched up her expression, she just looked so fucking pretty. You could stare at her all day.

While this was going on, the pressure building up in your cock was becoming too much. You couldn’t help but start stroking yourself to the view, trying to relax your own body as Kazuha began squirming beneath your fingers. It took a lot of self control, you knew that you could finish in just moments if you let yourself go, but right now you were more concerned with how Kazuha felt.

“You’re so beautiful,” you muttered softly under your breath as Kazuha’s body began trembling. He moans crescendoed, that beautiful voice of hers piercing your ears, but despite the increase in pitch, she stayed quiet. Elegant, in a way, even as she started cumming on your fingers, the epitome of grace and tenderness.

“I want it,” Kazuha moaned, fluttering her eyes open as she let go of your hand.

“What were you thinking? You wanna try being on top again?”

“No,” Kazuha smiled before pulling you closer. “Just like this, I want to see you, to kiss you. Is that fine?”

“Absolutely,” you gasped as Kazuha spread her legs a bit wider for you and took hold of your cock. She gave you a couple of soft strokes before rubbing her thumb against your tip, pressing against the little glob of precum. “That sounds perfect.”

With your cock in hand, you slid forward between her legs, pressing your tip against her entrance.

“Come on,” Kazuha replied while spreading herself even more, showing off her flexibility. “I need this.”

“So do I,” you muttered as you eased your cock into her pussy.

This time was a million times better than last time. She was still perfectly tight, but her pussy accepted your cock beautifully. The warmth and snugness hugged your cock like a blanket, bringing you unmatched comfort and sensation. She had the most ideal pussy.

She was like a flower, her soft and delicate curves moist to your touch. There was this warmth, this allure, that kept you captivated. You were entranced by Kazuha’s body, so much so that you felt this irresistible urge of greediness within you.

As carefully as you could, you grabbed Kazuha’s neck from behind and began kissing her deeply. Once you started, you pressed your thumb against her clit, making little circles along her skin. Your tongue slipped past her lips, gently intertwining and mixing against hers, while you worked her entire body.

“You feel so good,” you whispered as you leaned away from the kiss.

“Give it to me,” Kazuha pleaded with her eyes wide. “Please.”

So you picked up the tempo, pushing your hips harder, pressing your cock deeper. You slowly broke down that layer of delicateness that you viewed Kazuha through - her expression was basically begging for it. The more you fucked Kazuha, the harder you went, and the better it felt.

At this point, your thrusts had lost almost all degrees of tenderness, and both your hands had found their way to Kazuha’s hips. She took it well, bracing herself as you pressed your fingers into her skin and slammed your cock against her pussy. She showed no signs of anything other than raw pleasure as she took your cock over and over.

If she felt good, you felt fucking amazing. You lightened the grip you had on her hips as you slowed down your thrusting. This wasn’t a moment you wanted to rush, but you could only slow down so much - your body wouldn’t let you stop completely, it was out of your control. Still, you made do, sliding your hands up Kazuha’s body and giving her tits a few little squeezes. Her body was fucking amazing.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that you were too close to hold back. Despite your best efforts, it was already too late, so you took hold of Kazuha’s hips once more, pushing down on Kazuha’s body and shoving your cock into her as hard and fast as you could. Kazuha’s moans filled your ears as she shut her eyes and arched her back beneath you.

She looked so fucking good right now, even as your vision was going blurry. You held on for just a bit longer, fighting back any fatigue as your cock throbbed harder than ever. Her warm pussy felt better than heaven in this moment, and with a couple of final thrusts and grunts, you began launching your cum deep inside her pussy.

“Zuha,” you grunted a final time as your body gave up, collapsing onto her.

The next few moments had you in a trance as you let your cock pulse inside Kazuha’s warmth as she wrapped her arms around your body, rubbing your back softly.

“You feel so good,” Kazuha whispered against your ear. “Oh fuck, you feel so damn good, cum for me, fill me up.”

Such gentle words when delivered through her voice, but she was driving you insane right now. You almost felt paralyzed inside her as your cock just kept on spilling cum again and again, the pulsing felt like it went forever. It took so much strength for you to finally, carefully ease yourself out of Kazuha’s body. Even lifting yourself up off her was a task.

“Fuck, that’s a lot,” you mumbled as you pulled out, leaving your cum spilling between Kazuha’s legs as you reached for some tissues. “One second.”

“Wow,” Kazuha muttered as she gently rubbed herself, spreading your cum around, playing with it between her fingers. “That was something.”

“Something good or something not good?” you asked as you sat back down on the bed next to her.

“Something amazing,” Kazuha smiled softly. “But also a bit inappropriate.”

“If it makes you feel better, Chaewon technically wanted me to do this,” you carefully wiped her inner thighs clean before tossing the tissues away. “Although it still feels a bit wrong.”

“Oh,” Kazuha turned her head away from you.

“Not you, that felt amazing,” you quickly pulled her into your arms for a hug before grabbing her by both shoulders and staring tenderly into her eyes. “Zuha, let there be no confusion, that was fucking perfect.”

“Right, sorry, I guess I’m still just a bit…” her voice tapered off as she looked up at you and gave you a weak smile.

“You’re. Perfect. And. Amazing,” you whispered, kissing her neck between each word. “It’s totally natural to be a bit-”

“Sensitive?” Kazuha finished your sentence. “Because I am, I’ll admit it.”

“And that’s completely okay. What I said was stupidly phrased. I’m sorry,” you wrapped an arm tightly around Kazuha’s shoulders, pulling her to sit next to you, and leaned against her head. “Things are just messy, but we'll figure it out. Together.”

“I hope so,” Kazuha sighed softly. Her hand began exploring your thigh, inching towards your shaft slowly until she gently caressed it with her fingertips. “I wish there was some sort of way that we could do this without all the mess.”

“Zuha, you know it doesn’t work like that.”

“I know,” her voice faded softly and she unwrapped your arm from her shoulder, leaning away from you and turning towards you. “Okay, this might sound stupid since you call me Zuha all the time, but I loved that. This time it felt… different?”

“I’m glad,” you smiled as a wave of warmth flooded your body. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly,” you kissed the top of her head. “But one thing - do not call me daddy.”

“Oh no I could never,” Kazuha agreed quickly, sounding completely put off just by the thought of it as she rested her head against your body again. “I guess we should probably talk about boundaries and stuff at some point.”

“We have a lot to talk about, but maybe we should wait until…”

“Until after you talk to Chaewon?”

“Yeah, I think,” you replied as your mind drifted into thought, trying to figure out how to go about things, gently stroking Kazuha’s hair. “Hey, I thought you said we should both talk to her together?”

“Well, I think you got it, I don’t know what I’d say.”

“I don’t even know what I’m going to say,” you sighed. “Zuha, do you think this might cause problems with the group dynamic?”

“Truthfully? At first, yeah, I did,” Kazuha answered quietly. “But then I got to thinking.”

There was a pause, a bit longer than you expected. Kazuha lifted and turned herself slightly so that she could look up at you.

“And?” you encouraged her to continue as the anticipation grew.

“Promise you’ll keep this between us?”

“I promise.”

“I’m serious, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Zuha, yes, I know. Not a soul.”

“Alright,” she bit her lip nervously. “I think there might have been a bit of… something… between Sakura and Chaewon at the very beginning.”

“Oh?” you waited for her to continue as you thought back to what Sakura told you in the car earlier.

“Look, I met them a bit after everyone else, but I could tell there was some sort of… resentment? I don’t exactly know, and maybe it was just because we were all getting to know each other.”

“Well, most of you were.”

“So you see what I’m saying?” Kazuha pursed her lips. “Chaewon and Sakura barely talked. I never understood it since they knew each other already, but then, seemingly overnight, the two of them became closer than ever. I don’t know if the others ever noticed it.”

“Chaewon never gave me details, but I sort of know around when this happened,” you explained. “She told me she spent a night with Sakura, and I didn’t really ask questions.”

“Right. Anyway, the reason I brought this up is because I really think no matter how the conversation with her goes, as a group we’ll get through things, we always do.”

Her words were reassuring at least, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit better. “Thank you, really.”

Then, you leaned in, but before you could kiss her, Kazuha lunged up towards you and pressed her lips against yours, catching you a bit by surprise. She kissed you aggressively until you fell onto your back with her on top of you. It felt like this kiss would go on forever, and maybe it would have if it weren’t for the knock on the door.

“I don’t know what’s going on in there, but I really need to get ready!” Sakura's voice came through the door.

---

A/N:

I posted a poll and based on the first day responses, Dating Seraphs was in the lead. Ask and you shall receive!

The Kazuha arc continues! Maybe? Probably? I guess next chapter will have more answers. The talk with Chaewon, the history with Sakura, sex with Kazuha, there's so much to cover in the next few chapters! Also, there's a cameo appearance coming soon that I can't imagine anyone will be able to guess because I don't know if I've ever talked about this idol, but we'll see how popular she is among my readers (ex-izone member). I'll give this chapter at least a few days to marinate before my next post.

Based on how things are going in my writing world and the initial responses to that poll, Dating Seraphs needs attention. My next post will probably either be Debauchery p2 or something in the roommates universe, followed by Dating Seraphs ch11, and then most likely I'll give Twice some love and post an update to that story. Of course, this is subject to change!

Feedback, requests, messages, comments, asks, whatever you feel like sending, feel free. I'm a bit more active these days with writing stuff, but just please be considerate if you're going to send something. I've gotten a few questionable DMs recently. Use common sense!

[appleblueberry-pie]

Explaining your First Love to the Yandere's

A/N: "The Yandere's", meaning as many yandere's i think I can characterize as yandere's as perfectly as possible without burning myself out. Also, are the pictures too much?????? Also, I couldn't find a good pic for Sugu without picking the one where he's literally going insane LMAOOO. Love how my semi-debut for my yandere characterization for him is shown w a not so pleasant picture of him(they're all perfect). Anyways, this is probably gonna be my most chaotic, yet organized, post about jjk ever. I have a solid plan and will go through with it. It's friday and this is me "letting loose" before the weekend. Also, the first love story will be pulled from my own experience. With multiple twists to it to make it sound as interesting as possible.

SCENARIO:

"Mmmm. I remember my first love." You hum in a pleasant tone as you start to reminisce events of who you first gave your heart to. "I loved him so much, it was insane. Because....we grew up with each other. We used to be like this." You twist your fingers together, smiling at him as you explain. "He was an embodiment of me, as I was of him. I don't remember a time we weren't friends. I think it helps to mention that our mom's were friends and they were neighbors. So....we've always known each other. He's a year older than me."

You two were out in the park on the grass. He suggested a little picnic together, hoping to bring you two closer so he could possibly make more moves to be more than a friend. But you were so oblivious to it, even going as far as talking of your first love as if you still missed this stupid asshole.

"I still miss him." You go silent for a few seconds and stare down at the checkered blanket, smiling. He gapes a little and resists the urge to scoff. "We both loved playing video games, we watched the same tv shows, went to the same elementary school....a lot of things happened between us. He didn't like me back, though. I confessed to him when I was 9 and he said no." You laugh. "But even then, I still loved him. I still feel it, too. For some reason, my love for others doesn't really go away. Just sits at the bottom of my heart to make more room for others."

You sigh and continue talking about the guy. "He just grew more and more....attractive as I grew up. I am pretty sure he's why I have my type that I have in men currently. He's very tall....a deep voice." You sigh, closing your eyes to remember. "Relaxed, closed off.....I heard him on the phone when our moms were talking a month ago. He sounds....so different. I don't even know what I'd do with myself if I saw him again." In real time, he watched you unravel slowly to show how.....inf*tuated you were with this guy. You were so focused on naming his qualities. As if you could picture him perfectly in your mind.

"I'm so glad we don't talk to each other anymore. I ruined our relationship. Said a few inappropriate things I shouldn't have said at the wrong time. I haven't spoken to him in....6 years. And I'd rather it stay that way, honestly. Because he's a rather boring person outside of his physical attributes. But I have attachment issues." You pick up one of the snacks laid out between the two of you. "Yeah. I'm done talking about him. I would rather not think of him anymore."

YANDERE REACTIONS:

Sukuna:

Sukuna was baffled. Anger, frustration, fear, and even jealousy kept his tongue from moving. He thought this moment wouldn't ever happen in his life. He thought this wasn't a possibility. Your extreme disloyalty to him was what made him clench his hands in anger. But if he rationally thought about this, you don't know. You don't know how much he loves you. How much the Ryomen Sukuna loves you. You were supposed to be his in all lifetimes. He felt like he absolutely knew you were pure. You smelled pure and your energy felt pure when he first met you. So why were you fixing your mouth to say such disgusting and unfaithful words to him as if he wasn't right there?

He wanted to ask you if you've been trying to give yourself to him like a whore, but he knew that was just him overreacting. He wouldn't ever say such things to you, anyways. He wanted to change for you and was trying, starting with these stupid little date settings he knew you loved. A fucking park. And here he was being stabbed in the chest multiple times without your knowledge of it. It was all your doing.

He might be human in this lifetime. He might be nothing but a mere human for you to toy with freely, and he would let you do it to him. But he would never allow a puny roach get in the way of getting what he deserves. He deserves you and he will have you, one way or another. And if that means cutting a small piece of your heart out just to keep the rest, then so be it. He can't have any piece of you in him. Just thinking about him makes another vessel pop in his body somewhere. He will kill this thing.

Kento:

Maybe he was overbearing. He really just couldn't help but feel insecure. There should be no real reason for you to bring up a man from the past. Someone that should clearly be out of your mind. Was he boring? What did that fool have that he didn't? And why did you mention it while you two were on this date??(It wasn't a date, but it felt like it to him) Maybe he was too plain. Men like him were just smokers and loners, of course you'd bring up someone else that can satiate your desire for real love. It's all because he couldn't. Not in the way you want to be loved.

But he knew, he knew that he was enough. He knew he was your type as well, so, what did you mean by he was the type you have in men?? What does that mean for him? Will you use him and throw him away? He doesn't want to be used and tossed out like trash. He wanted to be yours forever. He wanted to be your man. Your man. He wanted to be your lover, your obsesser and the one you obsess over, not that imbecile. He wanted to be skin to skin, he wanted to be under your skin, he wanted to make his mark on you and for you to do the same to him. He deserves your love. But here you are expressing it for another man you haven't even spoken to in over 6 years. He deserves that type of commitment, there's nothing he's done to deserve it this late.

"I love you." The words slip out like oil on water. And it makes his heart oh, so much lighter.

Suguru:

"Heavens. I'm glad you aren't talking with him now." Suguru chuckles and shakes his head, peeling off more strawberry leaves for you. "This is why." He points with the strawberry at the people walking past and then gives you the strawberry. "This is why I don't want you talking with them. They do this to hold you in their clutches, I've seen it." Suguru sighs as he recalls your story in his mind. Jesus, was it trying to hypnotize you? If so, it was working. No worries, it won't be around to mess with your mind much longer.

"They actively lie, they laze around, let their emotions control them, and then try to manipulate you to stay with them to be their stepping stool." He brushes your hair back neatly, and you scrunch your eyebrows at his words. "But I know you're better than him. Better than all of them." He calls out your name and stares into your eyes with a look that makes you flustered. What is his problem?

"You are the light. You are one of the most strongest and intelligent sorcerers I have seen of this time. You hold up your potential and continue to blow my mind with how beautiful your soul is. I am constantly drawn to you and your energy, I never get enough of it. I don't ever want to hinder you and I don't want anyone else to hinder your energy. That's why I will kill that filthy animal that tried to touch you." It's scary, the way he maintains eye contact with you and spits the nastiest insult about the man you once loved with your whole heart.

"I can't wait to get to know you better. You've been teaching me so much. Maybe you can tell me about your favorite nature spots and we can relax there whenever you're free. And sometime later, I could also take you to meet my family. You'll love my two daughters." He laughs lightly, knowing Nanako and Mimiko would adore finally having a real mother worth of raising them. Together, you and him would be unstoppable.

Choso:

Choso was finished with peeling the mandarin for you. You kind of were confused about how he went about doing this, though. Because all over his lap were the smallest bits of mandarin peels you've ever seen. But the mandarin looked perfect. He obviously took his time. He handed it to you softly, smiling. You accept it happily and begin peeling.

He was surprised he didn't rip the thing apart then and there. Maybe be should peel things more often. The way you so freely spoke about your love for another man when your soulmate was sitting right next to you, peeling fruit open for you was preposterous. He needed a hug. A lemonade, had to kill someone, something. But he stopped killing people for you(secretly), so he has to resort to acting like he's peeling off that devil's skin. Starting from where the shiny skin first shows. The first piece is always the hardest to pick off and it's hard to choose where to begin. But soon enough, the color underneath began to show. He slowly picked off every. Little. Piece. He heard a yelp of pain and cries of "sorry's" in his head for every piece.

Every single little piece made the air smell more and more sweet and tangy. The more you spoke, the faster he picked. The stronger the smell was. So citrus-y and delicious. It made him smile. He loved peeling this mandarin. Then picking off white strips connected to the mandarin itself, so that it was smoother and you had no access peel. Like veins, they came off one by one. He simply stared at it when he was done. Smooth, perfect. Scattered remains laying everywhere on his lap.

He's never felt this way before. What were you doing to him? What is this twisting feeling in his gut that makes him want to puke? Why can't he breathe? Why does he want to kill the kids and mothers at the playground not too far away? He needs you to calm him down.

He hates this park.

"Here you go, angel." He hands it to you, smiling. You looked a little confused at first, but then took it from him, opening it to take a slice. "Oh, this looks real nice, Cho. ......Why are you smiling like that?" He shrugs, picking up one of the strawberries you brought from your place. "Like what...?"

Toji:

Toji was silent. The awkward silence he was creating between the two of you made you nervous. He was sitting close to you, leaning over to you, his arm supporting his weight behind your back with your shoulder touching his chest. He was just staring down at the bowl of strawberries. ".....Toji?" Your soft voice made him sigh.

No, he couldn't do it. Killing you won't kill the pain and anger in his chest. This was probably the angriest he's ever been. He wanted to shout at you to apologize for how you were making him feel. But what he really wanted was to feel your lips on his and for you to shut the fuck up. For some reason, every time you open your mouth, it always ends with him degrading further and further off the side of sanity and just going completely ballistic.

You saw his hand on his hip. The hip that wasn't actually his hip, but was his gun he was resting his hand on. He would feel so much better if those shrieking rats would shut up. Fucking rodents running around you two freely like he wasn't about to ruin everyone's day.

He wouldn't say he was often traumatized, but he could've went his whole life without hearing that story. Now he has to find a random man and kill him for stealing your heart. I mean, the least the bastard could've done was reciprocate his feelings and not leave you feeling helpless. "I could treat you better than that dick." You flinch at his words before smiling, averting your gaze as well. "Oh....." He leans in closer to your face. "Where does he live, huh? Is it the prick with the glasses?" "No?" "The one you work with?" "I-I told you I haven't-" "Eh, whatever. I'll find him and kill him." He smiles at your bashfulness and grabs a few strawberries from the patch.

Sometimes he forgets you don't care much for how he says things. If the right message gets across, you usually don't mind how he says it. But he just blatantly threatened to kill him. You grab the leafless strawberries from his hands and begin eating. Nah. You were his, for sure. He sighs and lays down on the blanket, staring up at the blue sky.

Satoru:

Satoru nodded along with your words, his hands trembling. When you smiled, he did. When you sighed, he would, too. And when you finished your story, he had to swallow the thick bile in his throat. You were just....recalling old memories, that's all. Nothing else. He tried to focus on the grass blades he felt through the blanket. He tried to focus on the sounds of the kids running around squealing.

He watched you eat some of the cold grapes he brought you. They were big, and you praised him lightly for finding such a great batch. He nods quietly and stares down at his lap. Everything was fine. You were fine, and so was he. "Satoru...?" Honey dripping naturally in your voice makes his head turn automatically. The worry etched on your face made the strings holding his mind together break one by one. "Are you alright..? You're sweating."

Nothing was fine. He can't believe you just said that to him. Why would you..? Why did...? Why?.....wait, why?? Why??? Why why why why why why WHY would you do that? Why would you say that to him? He sacrificed so much for you. He killed all of the assassins that went after you when the higher ups found out about you and him getting closer. He paid off your parent's debt secretly. He paid your rent. He woke up early in the mornings to talk to you because he knows you like to wake up to see the sunset. He memorized all of your schedules when you have special weeks, special breaks, he memorized all days that you memorized, he knows what mattress you like to sleep on, he knows how you like certain foods to be seasoned, he knows your favorite weather and season, he didn't fucking learn all of this about you for nothing!! WHY don't you ever appreciate everything he's ever done for you? Why don't you notice him? Why don't you love him? He stalks you every day to understand the type of man you would want to live under your roof and be under your covers and that wasn't enough.

He's been so alone all of his fucking life. No one understood him like you do. He couldn't help but open his ribcage, breaking them off of his body to one by one to let you touch his hot beating heart with your cold fingers. He wants you inside of his heart forever and never let you go, can't you understand that? He hasn't slept in three days, predetermining what he was going to say to you during this picnic, and you tell him that?? Just fucking kill him. Kill him, kick his face, spit on him, ruin him like you're doing now. He clearly doesn't matter.

"Satoru??"

He's supposed to be the one you compare playing video games with, he is supposed to be the one you watch the same tv shows with, he was supposed to go to the same school as you!! His skin is on fire, he can't breathe, his mind hurts, the grass blades are irritating his skin and the children are making his migraine worse. Are you saying something? He can't hear you. His ears are ringing.

He wants to be him. He wants to rip open the skin and spine of the man who lived in your soul since the dawn of time and crawl into his body to experience what he experienced. He wants to do all of those things with you as kids and live with you, grow with you, let him be your infatuation. He wants to rewind time. He wants to die. He wants both of you to die and be reborn to be given a second chance he can never ever have.

"Satoru!"

Your face is twisted into heavy concern and slight fear. Satoru sat in front of you, staring at you. He hasn't moved in three entire minutes. His face was covered in bucket loads of sweat, his lips twisted into a tight smile that threatened to break into a million pieces. The corners of his lips wobbled as if he was going to cry, but his eyes were wide open and dry. His legs, arms, and back stiff as he sits in such an uncomfortable position, it had to hurt. You were scared for him.

Can he hear you? You slowly raise on of your hands to touch his cheek and he flinches under your touch, finally blinking. "Yes?" You purse your lips and bring out a cold water bottle from your basket. "Here, maybe you should drink some water." He takes the water bottle you dropped into his hand. "Thank you." He whispers and sighs, twisting open the cap. You watch him guzzle the whole thing in 5 seconds. "......maybe we should go indoors." He nods, closing the now empty water bottle. "Yeah. The sun is hurting my eyes."

No part 2's. Because I don't like continuing old plot and I love seeing people go crazy for me not continuing good content.

[moonstruckme]

hi !! can i request a sirius x whimsical! reader? maybe sirius and reader meeting for the first time or him revealing their relationship to the other marauders? Whatever you like best <33 Happy New Years !!

My shayla <3333 Thanks for requesting angel, happy new years to you too!

cw: near-miss motorcycle accident

Sirius Black x whimsical!reader ♡ 843 words

Sirius likes to take his bike out at night. He’ll find any excuse to do it, a shortage of sugar or a hankering for chips or an urge to visit James across town. And tonight is perfect for a ride; the wind is cool as it whips past his jacket and tangles in his hair, the roads are near desolate, and neon signs and lit windows smear across the edges of Sirius’ vision as he flies through green lights. This is to say, he’s really having a rather good night when you nearly end both of your lives. 

You’re hardly a shadowy figure stepping out into the road, gaze skyward and green traffic light casting you in ghostly silhouette. Sirius’ breath catches in his throat as his tires squeal against the asphalt. He barely manages to come to a stop. 

“Oi!” 

You turn towards him like you’ve only just realized he’s there. You probably have. The light casts a green halo around you and obscures your face, but Sirius can see your eyes fall on him curiously. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, walking out right in front of me?” he asks, heart beating a mile a minute. 

“I’m sorry.” You’re surprisingly calm for someone who’s just faced death. Your voice is like the wind whistling through trees. Sirius finds himself leaning forward to hear it. “Was I in your way?” 

He laughs, appalled. “Yeah! Yeah, I’d say so, seeing as I was going up to a green light and suddenly you were in the middle of the street.” 

“But…” You glance down at his bike. “...couldn’t you have gone around?” 

Sirius might laugh again, if you didn’t sound so genuinely curious. As it is, he’s shocked into silence. A single, disbelieving breath puffs into the space between you. 

You take a few steps toward him. Your features come more into focus, pretty and innocently perplexed. Your brows bend with concern. 

“Are you alright?” 

Sirius finds himself nodding. “Yeah,” he says. “Though I wouldn’t have been, if I hadn’t seen you in time. Neither would you.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say again. You seem to mean it. 

Sirius leans his elbows on his handlebars, bike still rumbling beneath him. He finds, oddly, that the anger at your transgression has left him. The light is red now, but you hold his gaze, still standing in the middle of the crosswalk. You seem unsure of what to do next. Sirius has the inexplicable sense that you won’t leave until you feel things have been righted. 

He asks, “Why are you wandering about at this hour, anyway?” 

It’s not his business and he knows it, but this doesn’t seem to occur to you. 

“I was looking for the moon,” you say. 

Sirius blinks. “The moon.” He was expecting you to be out for milk or biscuits, not the moon. 

You nod. 

“Why?” 

“I can’t see it from my apartment,” you say, as though that explains it. 

“But why do you need to see it?” 

Your brow furrows like Sirius has said an odd thing. “I want to,” you reply simply. 

Sirius sucks his teeth, considering you. “I got a glimpse of it earlier,” he says, pointing East with his chin. “Over there. It wasn’t very impressive, I have to tell you. Only a sliver.” 

At his description, your face lights up. “Really?” you ask, as animated as you’ve been this whole while. “How thin? Was it bright?” 

Clearly, Sirius isn’t going to dissuade you. 

“I can try and help you find it, if you want.” He says it without any plan to, like the words are simply pulled from him. “My bike’s a bit faster than going on foot.” 

You smile. It’s sweeter and more brilliant than the moon could ever hope for. “Really?” 

“Sure.” 

You look eager, but hesitate. “Are you going to abduct me as revenge for crossing the street in front of you?” 

Sirius laughs, but sobers when he realizes you’re not joking. 

“I did think about it,” he says, “but I’ve decided not to, no.” 

“All right, then.” You step up to his bike, sliding one leg easily over the seat in back of Sirius. You take hold of him without him telling you, and through the material of his shirt your hands feel cool against his abdomen. 

When the light turns green again, Sirius sets off at a crawl. You press closer, winding your arms tighter around his waist. He’s going slow enough that the breeze barely catches in his hair. He turns to speak to you. 

“I have to ask,” he says, “do you really believe I won’t kidnap you just because I said I wouldn’t?” 

Your lips come so close to his ear Sirius has to fight a shiver when you speak. “I don’t think you’re a liar.” 

“So you don’t think I’d lie, but you did think I might kidnap you?” 

“You don’t seem like a liar; you do seem like someone who enjoys revenge.” 

Sirius grins into the wind. You might just have him figured out. 

[caotictimmy]

Hey!!! Can you do Curly x (gn, but it's okay if you don't! Whatever you prefer writing) reader headcanons? Post or pre crash idk it's up to you! Even if you want to write a one-shot I don't mind really whatever you feel like writing it's up to you I JUST NEED CURLY CONTENT JDJDJDJJWJSBSB

Btw I hope you have a wonderful day!!!

Thank you!!! I hope your having a good day to! I’m gonna be doing pre crash Curly. I’ll probably be doing the same format I did with Daisuke. Crushing - confessing. Dating than NSFW. It will prob be more Gn but I’ll put (AFAB) when in gonna talk about more AFAB stuff. (Btw this is gonna be like what a regular trip would be for them.)

Crushing - Confession

- Kind of like love at first sight. But it’s a love at first true conversations. Lemme explain

- Yes you’ve had conversations with Curly before. But not on a personal level. Your guys first conversation was prob Like you guys were either both up going to get coffee at a late hour. So when you both see each other where the coffee machine is. You guys make small talk. Before the conversation starts get more real. Not just forced talking. The conversation flows freely. And you guys find out you have a lot more in common.

- After that moment he realizes how much you guys click together. You interest him. So except for him to come up and talk to you a lot more. He wants to get to know you better! (Totally not to remember everything you like and love to woe you)

- He’s another person who’s gonna be a bit obvious. Not as much as Daisuke though. But he’s still gonna be obvious.

- Curly definitely treats you better. Not like he doesn’t treat his crew good (jimmy doesn’t exist here.). But it’s more like picking favorites. Opening doors for you, before letting it slam shut even though Swansea was just about to walk through the door. (Curly got an ear full after that happened.).

- But the funny thing is that no one really notices that you’re getting treated better. Except for Daisuke funny enough… For another example imagine they have his surprise birthday party! He’s cutting the cake and he gives you a noticeable bigger piece of cake. Giving Daisuke a smaller piece. And let me tell you. This man was outraged. HE ASKED FOR THE BIGGEST PIECE AND CURLY GIVES HIM A SCHOOL PARTY SIZED PIECE?

- So of course he had to speak up. “Listen Curly, since I’m such a righteous man, I’ve let the favoritism towards them slide. BUT I CLEARLY ASKED FOR THE BIGGER PIECE! AND YOU GIVE THEM THE BIGGEST PIECE. I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS TREATMENT ANY LONGER!”

- To say everyone was stunned is an understatement. It was quiet for a good couples of minutes. Just standing still like the moment was paused. You then silently switched plates with Daisuke. Taking the smaller piece. He then found balanced was restored!

- “never mind Curly now I get why you favorite them.” He said looking over to you before raising his hand. “High five dude!” He said, smilingly giddily. (I love daisuke he’s so silly!)

- To say Curly was embarrassed would be an understatement. After that moment Curly knew he had to confess to you to soon. So he called you down to the cock pit. When you got there he lead you to sit in one of the chairs. Crouching before you. Holding your hands on his as he stares up at you. “You’ve made me feel emotions I’ve never truly felt before, god you mean so much to me. Will you be my partner.”, He asked.

- When you say yes he cups yours face with his hands. Leaning upwards to bring you in a passionate kiss.

Dating

- Like I said in that brief moment In Daisuke’s headcanons. This man is a die hard romantic to his core. So if you don’t mind. Curly would love to cuddle with you in bed, while watching sappy love movies. Just holding each other. God he loves you sm I’m gonna tweak up in this bitch.

- I think the affection he likes to receive is quality times and words of affirmation . And I think the affection he gives is acts of service and physical affection. Now let me cook. Guys LET.ME.COOK

-(receiving) Curly loves spending time with you. He tried to find as much time to fit you into his busy schedule. So when he finally gets to spend time with you. Omg he’s love sick!!!!!! He really doesn’t care what you guys are doing while being together. Whether that be doing or watching something together. Or maybe doing your own stuff. Your presence is so comforting. You calm him down sm.

-(receiving) He receives compliments a bit. But when you do it. It’s different. It makes his heart flutter, makes him feel like he has butterflies in his stomach all over again! He just feels so special when you compliment him!!!! Please compliment how good of a captain he is. Yes he gets praised for being a good captain. It just feels so genuine from you.

-(giving) He doesn’t care how you guys spend your quality time together. Whether that be doing or watching something together. Or just doing your guys own thing. He just loves being in your presence. You being there just makes him feel calmer, he knows he doesn’t have to keep this big stoic act in-front of you. He doesn’t mind if theirs silence or background noise. As long as he got to spend time with you.

-(giving) Curly isn’t gonna be doing big/a lot of physical affection all the time. Even though he does give you a lot of physically affection. I know I sound dumb right now stay with me. He’s more soft with his affection. Gently rubbing his thumb on your hand. Drawing shapes on your back while cuddling. Rubbing your leg when you sit next to him on the couch. Kissing a bruise you got from falling(those floors look slippery asf PROVE ME WRONG). He’s very romantic and soft with you and Curly’s just such a sweetie.

- A SUCKER for pda. Like he loves it so much. He feels bad if he has to “hide” how much he loves you away from the world! He feels so special knowing you wanted him, HIM! He’s just so sickly in love with you. He wants to show you off. Not in a trophy wife way but in a. Yeah see the drop dead gorgeous person that picked ME, yea that’s right, be jealous.

- He loves if you draw in him! From his hands to his arms. I think he finds it very relaxing and therapeutic. As long as you don’t draw anything inappropriate, he won’t care what you draw. He WILL proudly show off the drawings on his hands and arms. Like FLEX his arms. He loves them sm. Every time you draw on him, he takes a picture and keeps it in a folder on his phone.

- Loves anything you make him. Bracelets? Wears them all the time he might acually get a permanent imprint. Clothe? Try’s to find any opportunity to wear them. Art? Hung proudly in his bedroom. He appreciates anything you do for him. No matter what form affection it is.

- This man loves slinging his arm/arms around you. Arms around your waist. Arm around your shoulder. Hand on your hip. Idk why I think he likes it. But I have that spicy sense.

NSFW - DO NOT READ IF YOUR A MINOR OR UNCOMFORTABLE WITH NSFW (AFAB)

- Another man who would be into public/semi public sex. Y’all have DEFINITELY done it in the cockpit. Like almost everywhere. Curly and you have probably done it on the table too(you guys cleaned it afterwards don’t worry). But I think he just loves the thrill of it. You guys have almost been caught but thankfully Curly knows how to be quiet! (No shade to you Daisuke we love you)

- This man loves keeping his hands on you. Like a FIRMM grip on your hips as he’s hitting it. Gripping yours thighs. He just likes sinking his fingers in your soft flesh. Somehow just kinda grounds him in the moment. He also just loves feeling up your body.🫢

- Speaking of feeling you up. Dry humper. DRY HUMPER. I feel like this man is a tease. So this man will pin you against a wall, and just grind on you. Teasing you until you can’t take it anymore! He loves seeing a pout on your face before he gives you what you want.

- Like before, curly is a tease. He will push all your buttons. Just get you right there! Then stops. He wants to make sure when you climax. It’s better than the last time you guys had sex. It’s a GOAL for him to make you feel even better than the last time you guys slept together.

- Loves overstimulating you. Unlike Daisuke who accidentally overstimulates you. It’s Curly’s mission to get you brain dead by the end. He knows he’s making you feel good. This man won’t over do it though. Your comfort and safety is his priority! So he’ll always make sure you’re comfortable.

- Call him captain!!!!! God Curly gets so riled up when you call him captain. Teasingly calling him captain earns you a night of either overstimulation or edging. So I hope you are aloud to take sick leave, cause wooo…. You will be sore my friend

- (AFAB) Sit on his face.. OH GOOD GOLLY SIT ON HIS FACE. I imagine he’s buff. Like have you SEEN that fanart. So he can definitely take a lot of weight!( shout out my cubby AFABs i really wanna make a chubby reader FIC but idk..) BUT PLEASS, he’ll beg on his hands and knees. Like why are you keeping that tantalizing gift away from him???

- Yes I’ve been saying he can be a freak.(guys I promise I’m trying to be original 😭🙏) But I definitely think he’s More into romantic, soft sex. He likes to take his time. Kissing up and down your body. He wants to make sure you feel loved, and that he’s not just using you for your body. He is a sucker for you.

- He loves watching your face when he’s pleasuring you. No matter what he’s doing or where. He wants to know your getting pleased! That’s how he figured out what you liked and didn’t like fast. He kept his eyes trained on your face. He truly is a giver!

Authors note: GUYS I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. IVE BEEN HAVIBD SIRE AFFECTS FROM MY PLAN B. Like dude I’ve been bed ridden for the past two days. But I’m feeling better and it’s the weekend. So more requests are on the way!

[chiscaralight]

locker room shenanigans!

includes: nsfw! semi public sex. continuation of college athlete!gojo. you don’t need to read it but makes more sense if you do. fem!reader, knee humping, use of ‘princess’ fingering, shower sex, p in v, unprotected sex, hair pulling, panty thief!gojo, don’t try this at home, they’re kinda cute aren’t they. can you tell i’m emotionally constipated

the air is warm as you make your way to the field. you're never here except for when your friends drag you to rallies and matches against your will. practice was over long ago, and you can see some of the regular team members walking off towards the campus. you're not even sure where you're supposed to go exactly, but you spot a familiar head of white hair sitting in the bleachers.

gojo greets you with a boyish smile as you walk over. you're a little nervous, seeing that the last time the two of you spoke, you were admitting how badly you wanted him. but you shake off the embarrassing memory as you close the distance between you.

he's as charming as ever when he greets you, voice silky smooth as he gets up. it's almost as if he didn't have you bent in almost every way possible a few days ago; he's speaking like he's known you for ages! to be honest, you're not paying too much attention to what he's saying. he's all huffy and sweaty from practice, and the way white strands are sprawled out and glued to his forehead is reminding you so much of how good he looked above you, icy blue eyes piercing into your soul as the two of you walk towards.. where are you walking to again?

"the locker rooms, duh."

"the male locker rooms? what do you need to do in there?"

"i need to take a shower. we need to take a shower."

when you finally reach the door, a little bit of dread settles in the pit of your stomach. was satoru gojo trying to tell you that you fucking stink? what the hell is he talking about? and should you even be there? there's probably a lot of naked men in there you're sure wouldn't be happy to see you. you're both just standing off to the side waiting for god-knows-what as you shift in your spot. you finally decide to ask why you're out here if the showers are in there. but before the words are out, you're being cut off by someone pushing the door open and sprinting out.

gojo explains that college athlete!choso is usually the last person in here, which means two things. one: he's going to run all the way to his girlfriend house now, and two: the locker room is completely empty.

the steam from the room throws you off a bit as he closes the door behind you. you're eyeing everything around you; setting your bag down on one of the benches as gojo pulls his shirt off. you try not to stare, but his frame is so mouth-watering that you can't even look away before he catches you staring. your cheeks flush and you decide one of the used towels on the ground is much more interesting than whatever he's doing. he thinks it's so cute just how shy you are. have you forgotten his dick was down your throat less than a week ago already?

of course, you haven't, but that doesn't change the fact that this is so awkward for you! clearly, he's enjoying this way more than you are, because he can't even hide that shit-eating grin that takes over his lips as he makes his way over to you. his hand is guiding your chin up to look at him warily, and your eyes are closing again as his lips find yours.

your body is practically melting against his when his fingers find your waist, and he hums into your mouth. you kiss so sweetly for someone with such a sharp tongue, but hell keep the snarky remarks for when you're too fucked out to retort. gojo is pulling away way too soon, and you pout as he avoids the way you chase his lips. he's softly pushing you towards one of the lockers, pressing your back against the cool metal; in heavy contrast to the heat dancing all over your body from the room and his touch. you gasp when he slides his knee between your legs and he uses the opportunity to lick into your mouth, wet tongue gliding against yours as you unconsciously grind onto him.

you're trapped between a rock and a hard place. the rock being his cock, because you can feel how hard he's getting from rubbing against you. that, coupled with the fact his knee is brushing your clothed cunt just right, and you're barely able to kiss back. your broken whimpers are making him twitch in his pants hard. he really did want to take his time, maybe tease you just a little, but everything about you is just so addicting. you whine as his warmth leaves your body, but you're quickly distracted by his fingers hooking the waistband of your pants. kicking them off, you're pulling his wrist to draw him closer again.

your breath hitches as his knuckles brush against the damp spot on your panties. they're soft, pale pink and he makes a mental note to pocket them when he gets them off you later. shifting them to the side, he makes quick work of circling around your sopping entrance, never fully dipping his finger past a few millimeters and it’s driving you insane.

“stop teasing, satoru.”

“oh, we’re on first-name basis now?” and he chortles at the way you lack a response. you can barely think of what to say before he’s flipping you over, and your face is now in close contact with.. not him. he’s too close for you to shift your head to see what he’s about to do, but he answers your mental question by plunging two fingers deep into your cunt fairly quickly.

you can’t catch the moan that rips from your throat as he starts to move, and you’re already a mess from his starting pace. gojo can feel you dripping down his palm and how desperately you’re trying to pull away, but his hand is locked between your body and the locker. not like he planned to stop anyway, but he’s a little offended seeing you struggle to get out of his grip. he’s sliding another finger in as his head dips down to your ear.

“if you stop movin’ around so much, it'll be much easier for the two of us.”

“i-it’s too much-“

“none of that. you took me so well last time, i'm sure you can do it again.”

he doesn’t even give you time to respond before he’s curling his fingers hard. he’s basically knuckles deep in you, and your cunt is starting to flutter hard around his digits. you’re using your free hand to grip his wrist, unable to form words as your orgasm crashes down over you. you’re going eyes are pressed shut as the waves of pleasure roll over you, and you swear the man above you is grinding against your exposed ass.

it’s his fingers pulling out of your cunt that has your eyesight returning, and you’re locking gaze with him as he slides those three fingers deep into his mouth. his mouth travels down his palm to his mid-forearm, just where your release stopped before he managed to catch up. gojo releases his mouth from his skin with a satisfying pop, and he sighs in relief while he licks his lips.

“now, you need a shower.”

one of gojo's greatest traits is how easy he is to talk to. it’s why so many people have such a good impression of him from just one conversation, and why the two of you are bantering like he didn’t just finger the shit out of you and then eat your cum before your very eyes.

you’re desperately trying to get away from him in this too-small space. he’s convinced you’re insanely ticklish from the way you react when he touches you, and what better way to check other than when you’re completely naked? the only thing saving you now is the fact that the floor is dry, otherwise you would have bashed your head into the ground trying to get out of there.

satoru is insanely offended you’re trying to escape from his grasp again, so instead he’s pulling your body flush against his just under the shower. he stretches an arm back towards the valves and you’re pressing your face into his chest to stop the water from getting into your eyes. it’s getting much warmer faster than you thought, and you’re melting in his hold once more.

he’s nudging your head away from the stream, so he can press his lips to yours. your hand trails up to the back of his head, and your fingers softly scratch his undercut. you’re coyly darting your tongue out to brush against his lip, and he parts them for you to go on. gojo is trying his hardest not to smile as you concentrate on working your tongue against his. those large hands of his are palming the fat of your ass as he pushes his own tongue into your mouth and you whine. he pays no mind to it though, continuing his actions until he’s sure you’re getting stupidly restless under his hold.

“do you trust me?”

you shake your head no. frantically.

“too bad. you’re gonna need a lot of faith in me for this.”

and he was right, you do need a lot of faith in him. because your hands are tightly holding the slim metal pipe of the shower as he raises your hips up.

this is way too risky. you could get really injured; or die! you’re not too keen on having ‘death by failed shower sex’ or your headstone, and the thought alone is enough for you to tell him to put you down.

but once his mind is made up, it’s made up. he just shushes you and tells you to close your eyes, imagine the body of the shower is his sheets! you were gripping onto those pretty hard last time, weren’t you? it’s all in your mind. you should tell him to fuck off right then and there, but his cockhead is already bullying its way into your cunt with an ease that should be illegal.

you’re putting the damn shower to shame compared to how wet you are. gojo is hissing at the warmth enveloping his cock when he finally bottoms out. honestly, he could stay like this forever, just nestled in the heat of your dizzying cunt. but he knows your arms will give out soon enough; so fuck you as best as he can for the time you can keep your body up, like a little reward.

the flow of water hitting your lower back is nothing in comparison to the way he’s pounding into your cunt. he’s holding you low and angling up, and his fat tip is painfully poking that one spongy spot that has your vision spotting. you’re almost glad you’re facing away from him because you look like a fucking mess; open mouth and cross-eyed from the sheer pleasure of it all. your noises are reverberating against the walls and you would usually be ashamed, but there’s nothing on your mind other than holding yourself up and the fat cock that’s currently stretching you out.

satoru is more than impressed, you’re lasting much longer than he thought. he’s resting his forearm against your belly so he can release his other hand and stretch up to pinch at your nipples. you’re sobbing at this point, and he’s feigning concern, asking if you’re okay. the only thing you can respond with is a broken noise. he’s content with how much that brain of yours is focused on him, so he taps your side with two fingers before speaking.

“gonna put you down real quick, okay?”

and you’re so quick to cry out a no, begging him not to stop.”

“relax, princess. just wanna switch positions. your arms hurt, don’t they?”

you don’t register the strain in your arms until after your feet hit the ground. you groan, massaging the fat of your upper arms until you’re getting hit in the face with the shower stream. you’re quickly shifting away, wiping at your eyes like a little kid.

“fuck you.”

“i’m trying.” he snorts, as he places his hands behind your knees. you place your arms on his shoulders and jump, and he mutters a there you go under his breath. you’re slightly higher than he is, but your faces are still so close. he’s fucking stunning, hooded eyes trained on your tits that he’s eye level with as he pushes up into you for the nth time today. your eyes are fluttering shut as his lips close around your nipple, and his hips start to move.

it’s hot, he’s hot, the water is hot and your entire body is on fire with bliss as he pistons in and out of you. his mouth is alternating between each of your sensitive buds, and you’re sighing in contentment at the delicious pace he’s set. he’s still finding a way to push against that sensitive spot over and over, and your orgasm is starting to brew in the pits of your belly.

gojo isn’t too far off himself, but he’s holding out, drinking up every little noise and twitch that you give him. he’s obsessed, mind solely focused on you, you, and you. you’ve been on his mind far long before he got to you that night, he’s going to enjoy every moment he has. whether it be bothering you out in public or milking your cunt on his cock, just like he’s about to do.

your fingers find his hair and pull back sharply as you smash your lips against his. your orgasm is quickly bubbling up and you’re moaning hard into his mouth when it comes. you’re barely able to kiss back, vision going white and voice cracking as you cum for the second time. your whole body is shaking, and just the feeling of you creaming around his cock is sending him over the edge, cum pouring into you in thick spurts.

you both just stay there for a bit, panting and catching your breaths until he puts you down. you grimace as his release leaks down your thigh, and he tuts in disappointment. what a waste.

it’s a comfortable silent walk out of there, different from how much you had to argue for him to give you back your underwear. which you didn’t get back by the way, you can see the edge of the pair sticking out of his pocket as he slings had bag over his broad shoulder. one of his clean shirts is hung around your neck, catching the water that’s dripping from your hair to prevent it from soaking your clothes, although you’re not too worried since the sun has mostly set and the number of students here have dwindled significantly.

you’re spacing out as the two of you walk, sticking your finger in one of the belt loops of his pants. you’re still looking forward when satoru smiles down at you, sliding his arm around your waist.

and you said you hated him. what a joke.

[leviruthan]

asking them if you can hold their hands

summary : reader has auditorial and visual hallucinations, when first meeting them reader requests to touch hands to ensure they're real [requested] (hi I accidentally deleted your message 😭)

characters : all overbloat boys + kalim

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

riddle would be really taken aback

not only hand holding seems kinda inappropriate, you just met

"excuse me?? why do you wish to touch my hand?" he would ask in a confused and a bit strict tone

after you explain it, he has an uncertain and worried look in his eyes

seeing the genuine need in your expression, he would nod stiffly

"very well" he says, extending his hand with a formal air

his movements precise and a little stiff, but his touch is gentle

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

"tch. first meeting and you're already asking for weird favors" he grumbles. crossing his arms loosely over his chest, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he took you in

inside though, he feels a smug kind of amusement

when you tell him the reason why, he first thinks why should he even bother helping

after a moment's pause though, he would reluctantly offer a hand because well why not, it's not that of a big favour. and you better remember him as being real rather than part of your hallucinations

his palm would probably feel warm and calloused

"get it over with" he'd mutter, though his hand would remain still until you withdrew

MALLEUS DRACONIA

extremely surprised at the request

after all not many people are bold enough to ask to hold his hand

should he be offended since you're randomly asking something that is considered intimate out of the blue when you don't know each other that well? but all he feels is curiosity and amusement

when you explain why malleus would be intrigued

"you wish to ensure my tangibility?" he would ask

without hesitation, he would extend a hand. his long, elegant fingers held still and waiting

his touch is be cool, like smooth stone warmed by the sun

"does this reassure you?"

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

"WH- ah, an interesting request" he'd comment, his tone measured (ignore the first incomplete word) "may I ask why?"

when you tell him why his eyes widen behind his glasses. he would extend his hand, slowly and deliberately with a formal air like he's making a business deal

his touch would be cool and smooth

he'd observe your reaction, if you visibly relax or seem comforted by the touch, his eyes would soften

he would ask a few gentle questions afterward, both out of politeness and genuineness

IDIA SHROUD

idia would flinch when he hears your request, his entire body language radiating discomfort

he would take a step back instinctively

"e-eh?! t-touch?! um I mean w-why?" he'd stammer, his gaze darting nervously avoiding eye contact

his visibly stiffened body would start to relax a bit when you explain the reason

but hand holding!? couldn't there be any other way?

seeing the genuine need in your eyes, he stops himself from voicing his thoughts... it's just hand holding....NOOO

sensing your hopeful gaze, he would finally decide to slowly, reluctantly, extend a hand

his skin would feel slightly clammy and cool to the touch and he'd likely pull back as soon as it was done

"o-okay, done. are you... feeling more logged in with reality now?"

please say yes cause he can't do that again! even if he didn't really mind it, he doesn't want to die from sudden physical contact with human beings

KALIM AL ASIM

kalim would beam, his usual boundless enthusiasm undimmed by your unusual request

no hesitation "oh! you want to hold hands? sure thing!" he'd exclaim, his smile wide and welcoming he would immediately reach out

his hand would be warm and his grip firm and friendly

he wouldn't mind holding hands even if you don't tell him why you want to, but you do anyway

"don't worry, I am totally real!" he would say with his eyes sparkling with genuine warmth and a complete lack of hesitation or judgment

he will ask you questions about this out of curiosity and because he wants to know you more and so that he can make sure you're comfortable when you're around him <3

JAMIL VIPER

jamil would initially eyes you with suspicion and a look that clearly says why?

once you explained, a subtle shift would occur in his demeanor, a hint of understanding softening his gaze

he would offer his hand with a calm and steady demeanor "if it provides you with reassurance"

he would observe you carefully, if it helped, he'd simply nod

VIL SCHOENHEIT

alright, he has dealt with fans, and some of them were...not that normal, and tend to make unusual request sometimes

so when you ask if you can hold his hand, he would think you're probably another fan

would let you do it with a fan service smile

if you explain the real reason he will look surprised before his expression returning back to the normal one

"hopefully, that has helped?" he'd watch your reaction with keen interest, his usual theatrical flair replaced by a quiet attentiveness